Wednesday, June 7, 2017

The Best Intentions

Hi. It's me. I'm not missing or dead or abandoning this blog, I've just been depressed and completely lost interest in it. Sad, right? Maybe I've become hypercritical of myself, maybe I'm letting negative people get in my head. I feel like I have to defend myself, I don't write this shit for attention, I do it because I fucking love to write and I want to share my love of writing with other people. I want to use my words to make others laugh and smile or maybe not feel so god damn alone in their struggles. I don't care how many shares or likes this gets, I just do it because it's a part of who I am and what makes me happy. That being said, here is a blog post about stuff.

So yesterday was the start of the summer reading program at the library I work at. We had a whole bunch of kids in to sign up for reading logs, get event schedules, etc. One family in particular stood out due to their very adorable son named Gio. Today they family came in again and I greeted them with a big smile and hello. As I wandered around the children's reading area I stopped to talk to Gio's mom. That's when things turned south....

Me- Hi! I have to tell you, a coworker and I fought over your son Gio last night.
Mom- *horrified look* What?! Why?!
Me- oh no! Not like that! We just think he is adorable and argued about who likes him more...
Mom- *uneasy shifting in chair* Oh...ok...
Me- "Yeah, we definitely want to keep him!"
Mom- *a little shookth* Ummm...
Me- "Not in a weird way..I just mean if he ever goes missing you know it was one of us!"
Mom - *rehorrified* ........
Me- ........
Me- I want to steal your child and raise him as my own...

They left about 5 minutes later. I would really like to say it was a case of "lost in translation" due to English not being her first language but thinking back on the conversation, I did come off as a little creepy. And that's how I ended up on a government watch list.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Alone Time

I love my cats, I really do. They are great. Everyday I get home they greet me at the door, they always seem to know when I'm sad and need some kitten love, they make me laugh with their antics constantly, except for the occasional flying claws out sneak attack they are the best roommates I've ever had. Well, the attacks and one other thing.

The problem with animals is they don't give a fuck when it comes to personal space or more specifically, personal time. And as much as I try to explain to them that mom needs some time alone to do, ahem, alone things they don't seem to understand.

"Ok guys, we need to talk about last night. Though I appreciate that you wanted to hang out, it makes me very uncomfortable when I'm trying to, errr, alleviate stress and you decide to walk all over me or start batting at the blankets or meow directly into my face. I understand some of this is my fault for not locking you out of the room but sometimes things just happen spur of the moment. Anyways I hope you can understand where I'm coming from. I mean I let you guys go down to the basement and do your weird yowling thing without bugging you so I don't think it's much to ask that you not bother me while I'm doing my thing. Sooo we cool?"

 They weren't really picking up what I putting down, so I tried to be a little more straight forward.

"I feel like you guys aren't getting it. Woman and men sometimes have needs and urges and sometimes when we are alone we decide to act on those urges. It's nothing to be ashamed about, lots of people do it but when I catch you looking at me with your judgemental stares, it really kills the mood and makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. So if you could, during that time, possibly go find something else to do I would really appreciate it...."

Still they just stared at me

"Stop watching me masturbate."


Friday, January 20, 2017

Tall Girl

Someone called me "tall girl" about 34 months ago, so I started writing this and never finished. I don't believe in time, tis but an illusion. Anyways back to the point, I'm ok with Tall Girl, it's much better than giant which I've been called a lot. And a whole lot better than the other things I've been called in my life. I'm not always well received...

I'm tall. Not THAT tall but yeah I'm nearly a half foot taller than the "average" for women in the US. Someday I'll lose another 30 or so pound and then I'll be tall and skinny and I'm sure life will be perfect....har har har.

One good thing about my height is when people are being jerks, especially when I'm at work, I can nonchalantly get up and walk past them after they just chewed me out. I must not look that tall while sitting because they usually change their tone. 'Uh..well..uh..." Or when someone is trying to intimidate one of my co-workers, I can saunter up and with my man voice ask "What seems to be the problem here?" Does it actually work? I dunno. Is it actually my prison face tattoo and baritone voice that is intimidating? Could be. Are they just so focused on trying to not make eye contact with my no soul, Teletubby like stare that they have forgotten what they are complaining about because I'm so creepy? It's a good possibility.

Also the long legs come in handy...for running from bears, as in highway patrol...I'm guessing. I have the non-running edition but I can take several stairs at a time, which is cool. I also decided after years of complaining about how "I'm not allowed to wear heels" "Who says that?" "They"  "They who?" "Ummm....society?" I can in fact wear whatever I want on my feet and screw people if they have an issue with it. Maybe they should have thought about that before they stopped growing. So I've been wearing heels lately....good story right?

Like I don't mind being tall and Amazon like but it definitely has it's draw backs. I'm never going to get to be one of those girls who gets picked up and carried off during a hug like those petite, super feminine little things. Unless the other person is super tall and strong. Sometimes tall people don't look like they weigh that much but trust me, it's just spread out more. I am pretty freaking solid. Even my doctor the other day looked at my chart and said, "Huh..obesity. You don't look obese at all." I assure you, I am. Brick fucking house. Maybe she was just being nice because she was about to give me my annual vagina examination, who knows but it was nice to hear.

I've accepted I'll never get to be lifted and pushed up against a wall in the throes of passion but I have other attributes. Need a couch moved? I'm there! Something off the top shelf? Definitely! Perhaps I can help you hang this portrait or help you paint! I'm super good at cleaning gutters or dusting fan blades. You know what's really sexy? Usefulness. I'm kind of like a good table, I'm solid and sturdy. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Call Me Crazy

It seems like I'm constantly being threatened with, "I'll tell everyone you're crazy..." To which I respond "........don't I already do that by blogging about it all the time?" I guess it is a lot worse in person than what I type out? I dunno, it's weird but in case you hadn't heard, I'm crazy.

Not just a little crazy, a whole lotta crazy. I have days where I'm super depressed. I bet no one can relate with me on that one. I have days were my emotions are a hot train wreck. Yeah so far it seems pretty crazy. Sometimes I just cry. Look out guys. I'm not saying I'm normal but I am saying that yeah, last time I checked I never denied having issues.

I think the one thing that I have always been worried about is a video my ex boyfriend took of me during one of my episode. It's pretty embarrassing but the more I think about it, the more I don't care if he posts it or shows people. Why? Because in the video, I'm laying on the floor, curled up, begging for him to call someone. The police, my mom, I say over and over I need help and to please call someone. Instead, he chose to continue recording and not help me at all. Long story, short. I guess I really rather be seen as crazy than the world's biggest asshole.

I really wish I had that video, I'd post it myself. In fact, I'd love to have video of any of my episodes. It would greatly help me as far as treatment goes. See I'm really not the kind of person who refuses to admit they have a problem. I rather admit to it and get the help I need. Which I've been doing for over a year now.

In closing, yes I am crazy. Does it suck? Yep. Do I wish things were easier for me? Yep. Believe me, it's hard enough living life every day with all these extra heavy emotions, I really don't feel like I should have to defend myself to anyone. I've accepted who I am, if someone doesn't like it they can kiss my crazy ass :)

Until next time...

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Sorry Mom

Once again I was told to stop putting my whole life out there for the internet to read. To which I responded, "My life, my life..WOOOOOOOOOAHHH." You see it is just that, my life. If I want to write about it on the internet, I will. If that makes things hard on me, so be it but I've had far too many positive responses to my posts to just stop doing it. I talk about things that people don't talk about to their friends or family. I put shit out there that's embarrassing or overly truthful. I expose myself to others in hopes that they will someday be able to talk about their own struggles with the people in their lives. And if they don't at least they know there is someone else out there going through the same stuff they are going through. No one should have to feel so desperately alone. I've been there and it's a really shitty place.

I can understand that it's hard to understand. Why would someone put their lives out there, give out so much personal information? When I started this blog, I did it to make people laugh. Unfortunately life isn't always laughter. Sure it is full of happiness but there is shitty stuff too. It's hard to talk about life and evade all the crap stuff that goes along with and it's the hard parts that people need others to help get through. So eventually my blog evolved to sharing my own battles. Is it too much information? Yeah, probably but if it helps even one person get through a tough time in their life then I feel it's worth it.

Maybe if everyone was as open with their thoughts and feelings as I am at times, the world would be a more understanding place. Maybe less people would cast judgement if they were honest with themselves once in awhile. If it became the norm to openly say, "Hey guys. I'm hurting..." more people would begin to realize how surrounded each of us are by people who just want to help and support us. Even people you wouldn't expect will step up and ask "What can I do for you right now?" Just having a person to talk to and relate to make such a tremendous difference in how things proceed.

So mom and sister, I'm sorry I put my business on the internet. And then called you out on this blog post but this is just who I am. You don't have to like it but eventually you'll have to accept it because I'm not changing anytime soon. In fact, if anything I'll probably become more exposed on the internet. I'm having a pretty rough time financially and I might start webcamming for money. Don't worry it will probably start off pretty innocent. Until the money comes in, then I'll start to wonder how much I could actually make doing this, then my morals will start to waver, then before you know it I'll be a huge web whore and we will all think back to the time I only used to post my business on facebook and my blog and you'll think, WHY OH WHY DIDN'T WE JUST ACCEPT HER.

So yeah, it's this or internet prostitution.  

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

My Friend

Working with the public has it's ups and downs. Of course you get the great patrons who can brighten your day just by walking in the door but you also get the other ones, who are mean or scary or sometimes just a little not there. Every staff member is different, we all have our own favorites and the ones who make us shudder. Personally, one of my favorites doesn't always talk much. He goes months sometimes without saying a word to anyone but when he does speak. I always listen. Or at least try to, he has a very heavy Spanish accent which makes me strain to understand him sometimes. I've heard he has a mental illness, schizophrenia. He is usually homeless but very kind and as God fearing as them come. He has never been mean that I know of, he is just a little different. I've listened to his stories about family, his childhood, analogies on his culture; he shares bits and pieces.

One thing I've noticed, and I don't know if he does it on purpose, if all of his stories have incredible meaning behind them.  Even his actions have such a deep level of thought. Maybe I over analyze, who knows, but one thing I am sure of is that after speaking with him I always feel very touched. This morning he didn't say much except as he put on his coveralls to go back outside he called it his armor. Then he left and came back in and told me he can punch and kick without hurting anyone. He kicked up and punched his own foot. "See?" he asked me.

Then this afternoon he told us a story. A story about when he was a young boy with no fear. His mother always told him to go to the restroom inside the house but one night, at 1 in the morning is went outside to the field to pee instead. He remembers in the wind, "whoooosssshhhh" he said but he wasn't afraid because it was December and it was not unusual for the wind to blow. He wasn't afraid. He looked down and saw his cat had followed him out to the field and was standing by his feet. Then he heard another sound like the wind was moaning. He still was not afraid, he was fearless. Then his cat looked up and suddenly, "MEOW!" and ran in to the house. He said he turned and looked. His eyes searched and searched in the dark, then he closed one eye, opened it and closed the other. He told me he does this to see if one eye is lying. He saw nothing but the cat did, so he ran back to the house. He said when people ask if he fears, he says yes but it's a good fear.

After he left I told the girls at the desk he was my favorite. Amy said "Yeah he is really nice but sometimes I can't understand what he is saying with his accent." I told her I was the same but I always try my hardest to listen because it's worth it. Sometimes the hardest things in life to do are the ones that have the most meaning behind them. Whether it's straining to hear the words of a man you hardly know or moving forward with your life when it seems impossible to keep going. Everything has its rewards, you just have to see them.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

A Day With BPD

It felt as if my heart were in a vice; with every breath my chest grew tighter and tighter. I was exhausted, both from lack of sleep and emotional strain. Too tired to attempt to hide the infinite sadness that I was feeling. Smiling felt so forced, so fake and I couldn't manage the effort to make it seem genuine. "Get over it," I thought to myself, "Just stop it. You're being dramatic. Just stop it." I tried convincing myself that it was all for attention, that if I really wanted it, I could stop this feeling and just get on with my day. My head ached with pressure as if I had been crying all night. It reminded me of when I was a child and I wouldn't get my way. I would cry and cry until it hurt too badly to cry anymore and I'd fall asleep, waking up to a feeling of regret and embarrassment.

My rational mind searched for reason, it raced with the events of yesterday that still lingered, making me relive each one over and over. The subtle infliction in someone's voice causing a dismal inferiority to set in, the feeling of judgement, the paranoia that my character was being sullied by a deceptive opportunist and then the terrible sadness when I tell myself these are the symptoms rearing their ugly heads. My inner self pleads with me, "No! You're right! You're feelings are valid!" I thought back, back to the times when I trusted myself, before the gaslighting and self doubt overcame me. I thought of the times I was right, when premonitions were forewarnings and my conviction never faltered because it had validity. I envisioned myself reaching into the darkness and grasping to what little bit of my truth was left, trying to keep it from dissolving any further.

Competing commentaries filled my inner dialogues, depleting what was left of me until my mind gave in and shut down. The infighting was too much, frailty overwhelmed me. In my defeat, I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I wasn't a stronger person, that over the years I had lost the willingness to fight for my well-being. In that moment, I no longer saw in myself someone worth championing for. The avocation no longer came so easily, or at all.

Hours later I finally start to feel back to normal. All those bad feeling begin to fade and by the next day it's like I'm reading words written by someone else. As I read them over and over a sense of remembrance, yes those were my words. Those were my feelings. The tightness, the sadness, all of it too familiar. I don't want to have those days but I do; they are a part of me that I can never release. No amount of medication or therapy will stop them from coming. I can only take solace in the fact that there is a tomorrow and maybe tomorrow will be better.