One of the hardest things to do for someone with a mental illness is to live with strife in the home. If you don’t already know in my home I have not only the kids but my mother and her brother as well. Anytime you have that many adults in one home together you will end up with some arguments. I mean you can only spend so much time together before you get on one another’s nerves.
However, there are times when it can be too much. One example is today I began packing for an unexpected trip that I have to take next week. I know it is a week away but packing early allows my anxiety and OCD to coexist. Because of my OCD I will have to pack and unpack at least three times or my anxiety will be through the roof. Not doing that will just throw me off in so many ways.
I know that makes no sense but that is life for me. My uncle this morning made a remark about it, saying I’m the only weirdo in the world who packs this early. When I explained he said he didn’t really care about it.
The thing is he did care, at least enough to make a remark. For someone with mental illness a single remark can send them into a spiral. I get that packing early is odd and the fact that I pack and unpack so many times is odd. Yet at the same time I wanted to cry because I clearly am not normal. To be reminded of that hurts at times.
The beginning of strife is like letting out water, so quit before the quarrel breaks out.Proverbs 17:14 ESV
So what do I do when strife enters the home? Most of the time I attempt to ignore it if possible. I walked away after the remarks today. There is no point in explaining further or letting him see how much his remarks got to me. My uncle (god love him) is one of those people that thrives on arguments.
He is happiest when he has something to argue about and it drives him up a wall if he can’t engage you in one. I don’t know why he is like that but he is. I guess he just isn’t happy with himself in some way.
For me I had strife and arguments. I will disagree and argue when it is something I am passionate about or when I am right. Yet, afterwards I beak down. I have learned over the years that parts of my mental illness is the reason for my reactions. I’ve learned to live with the way I am and to be okay (most of the time) with the fact that I am different. A weirdo but one who is proud that she is.