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  • Robin Kastengren

50 First Dates and Why Adam Sandler is the Pig, Not Me

I'm still not sure what happened to me this year. I'm not even well enough to see a doctor yet, but I've been in contact with everyone either by text, mail, or...? Sorry. Melted Brains Robin is like a box of chocolates. Never know what you gonna get.


My husband was thankfully able to intercept almost all outgoing communications except those to my mom, sisters, and my therapist so there's less wreckage to clean up today. And I don't mean wreckage like it used to mean to us in the old days.


In the old days, the kids would clean up the wreckage while the adults got to sleep it off. Today, I take responsibility for my wreckage and roll up my sleeves. My husband is really good at making money and for reasons I'll never understand, my kids hate spending it. What a fun puzzle for me to try and solve while I'm working on regrowing my brains.


When the anxiety gets to be too much, I look for someone to love. They see me coming in this house and they know what I need. Some of them yell, "NOT ME AAAAAH!!!." Others look me dead in the eye and say, "sandwich, mother." And then he farts and we laugh. And I practice my fine motor skills in the kitchen while my 11 year old comes down from weeks of back to back panic attacks he didn't understand.


Life's hard, guys. Lead with love. Be curious. Go slow. Relief is helpful and you can have as much of it as you like. You're the boss of you. But relief will never, ever be enough.


Live your truth. Otherwise, you're the liar. And protect your brains, people! You're in there and you matter, too!


Oh, and one more thing: Before I can feel real every morning, my mouth starts telling my husband a story about myself before I'm even aware that I'm awake. And before I can really believe it, I try an assemble something that makes sense and email it to my therapist. I gave the two of them consent to talk to each other about me. To help me. Secretly, I think they're comparing notes to make sure they know when it's time to call 911, and that's all I really needed.


Let them play their own fucking tapes in the morning before you start shoving things in their bodies that their bodies gave a clear NO to the very first time. Pig. My husband suggested I think of myself as needing two yeses to proceed, but only one no to stop. I like it.


Now it's time for a sammich and a nap because that's called self love. And cookies. Always cookies. C is for cookie and singing means go to bed mama. We love you, but please. Take lessons.

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