That's what she said 'well at least you're not crazy.' I wanted to turn and laugh at her but I suppose that would only have proved the mess of my mind. Crazy I wanted to say, you're so bloody right, I'm not crazy. And I'd laugh, perhaps it would be a cackle.
But instead I smile and say 'how true.' It took a moment to not grit my teeth, but it's not her fault. Of course she doesn't know that I may perhaps be just a little tad crazy, of course she doesn't know how many rancid thoughts are tumbling through my head. Maybe if she did, laughing would be the only response. Then I'd have to go away and cut her out of my life before she got too curious and wanted to know more, or even wanted to help me.
It's certainly not that I don't want help, and even more certainly not that I don't need it, but how could I tell someone? How could I talk to someone who could help me stop the thoughts. But it's not just the plain ol' thoughts, it's about questioning things, about how every little thing I think might be wrong. There's God out there, what if what I'm thinking is by Him, what if it's not what he wants, what if I'm sinning? What am I meant to think? And when these thought slip into my tumbling head every time they get a chance (and they're quite lucky thoughts to have so many chances), then I don't know what to think.
So that's why I just continue to smile, and we talk about how it might rain, and we laugh over leaving the washing out; and it's a laugh, that's as fake as the smile, but it's a laugh, and that's all she needs to see.