I am batshit crazy.

And I think I’m about to get batshit crazier. I think I might be about to enter a depressive cycle, so I’m just gonna jot this post down real quick. No rewrites. That way I can just throw it on the site and go into hibernation knowing that I’ve accomplished at least something.

And it might be the dumbest thing ever that’s triggered this particular downward spiral.  Feel free to laugh about this, but I think it was The Mandalorian.

Let me start at some sort of beginning- A little while ago, I was at my writing desk, which I have decorated with an embarrassing amount of nerdery paraphernalia.  I’d like to say I was writing, but I was probably just playing The Sims, when my eye fell on a couple of ragdolls that my great-grandmother made for me when I was born. I have always had them. When I was just an itty-bitty thing, I named them Safe and Safey, which has been the source of tedious humor from those that have known me for that long. And for decades, I could not blame anyone for making fun of me for it.  Those are some weird-ass names. How does someone whose age you can count on one hand come up with names like that?

So, I was just considering the dolls and letting the feeling of wonder at realizing I have had them. All. My. Life. wash over me. I picked one of them up (Safe if you must know.) and like it was some sort of instinct, I held her to my chest, and BOOM.  For a second, I flashed back to a time that I shouldn’t be able to remember.  For a second, I was a small child again and I was terrified and I was holding the doll to my chest to protect my heart. To keep me safe and to keep her safe because she was the most precious thing to me. And then I remembered why I named her what I did. I was so alarmed that I threw the doll away from me to get out of that memory as fast as possible. But then I felt bad, because Safe didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t deserve that.

Okay, so, The Mandalorian is a television program set in the Star Wars universe.  Star Wars never really resonated with me as a kid, and I can tell you why, and it’s so fucking stupid.  (I literally can’t look at the screen while I type this, I’m so embarrassed.)  When I was young, and my adults separated, I told the adult that did raise me that I missed the absent adult.  The absent adult was a great source of pain for my present adult and was probably the last thing they wanted to talk about with a five year old while they were attempting to recover from the trauma and move on. So, my adult, in a fit of frustration responded, “You didn’t even know him!”  I remember thinking that was a good point, and I began to feel like I didn’t have a right to my grief. And I certainly wouldn’t have understood that the grief was preferable to the trauma the other adult was inflicting.

Again, I am super embarrassed and I really want to throw an apology out to the nerd community because this is so fucking stupid- Because I didn’t think I could be upset about not knowing one of my adults, I always thought Luke Skywalker was a total pussy.  I at least had known my adult for five years.  Luke NEVER met either of his adults and he couldn’t fucking shut up about his dad.  I thought if I, a child, was not allowed to mourn for the absence of one of my adults, than Luke DEFINITELY wasn’t allowed because he was more or less an adult AND he lived in a galaxy far, far away.  It just always seemed to me that he should have bigger fish to fry, like R2 units with bad motivators. So, I just always considered him a wimp. And if HE was a wimp and still a Jedi, I was FOR SURE a wimp.

So, while I’ve enjoyed Star Wars, it just wasn’t my jam.  (Obviously, Trek has resonated better with me.) But then The Mandalorian came along.  The Mandalorian is a sexy-ass motherfucker who’s bouncing around the galaxy trying to keep a small child safe. Every episode is basically an adventure of the week type thing, not unlike The A-Team. (If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire The Mandalorian.) But NOT like The A-Team, because that show was filled with misogynists. (Ever wonder why they could never hold on to a female cast member?)

So, the whole show is the Mandalorian protecting an infant, affectionately known by fans as Baby Yoda.  (I call mine Yodi.)  That baby is the fucking most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life and it’s the only thing that has ever made me feel remotely maternal. I love him, and I would die for him, but let’s face it- he’s just a fucking puppet. He’s a doll. The Mandalorian frequently holds him to his chest to protect him. He holds him. Why did I feel so compelled to type that last sentence? Does anyone understand?

And that’s how I know I’m batshit, because I can’t stop crying about how the Mandalorian protects the kid. Because I have never felt protected. I have never felt safe. It’s just not something that’s in the cards for me, and I can’t help but feel a great swell of pity for myself at this particular FOMO.  Because being protected probably feels really nice, and I haven’t had so much as a taste. That’s just the way it is. Thems the breaks.

So, I have a bad sad, so I’ll probably be hibernating for a little while. I’ve got an appointment with my medication manager coming up, so maybe I’ll see about upping my anti-depressants. (But Jesus Christ, I don’t think we can go much higher. SO MUCH fucking medication and I’m still this goddamn sad.) Until then, I’ll probably be “off the grid” so to speak, while I lay in the fetal position and binge watch television (NOT The Mandalorian, obviously) and cry at stupid fucking stuff in those shows, too.

There’s no need to worry. I do this all the time. I’ll be gone, but I’ll come back. I always do.