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 20, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Cattin Patrol
My two cattins, which are what I call my teenage kittens because they aren't really kittens anymore but they also haven't taken their final cat form yet, have successfully out assholed the resident asshole, aka da bun named Magnus.
Without the need to even put up a Christmas tree these two fuzzy effers have managed to cause just enough annoying little disturbances to throw our household into utter chaos at any given time. Don't believe me? Here are just a few examples of the end of days currently taking place at mi casa:
Water. All water is their water. Any running water is grounds for them to come Seinfield Kramar sliding into the room where said water is running so they may closely supervise the running water. This including jumping all over the sink while brushing your teeth, washing dishes, washing hands, filling the bath, taking a bath, taking a piss, flushing the toilet, anything water related is their business. Get a glass of water? The second you put it down their heads are in it. Why? Who knows! They have their own water, they get water everyday but that water isn't good enough apparently. Even though it's the same damn water everyone else is drinking.
C.C. has also taken a liking to sitting on the window still while attempting to high five your face while you go to the bathroom. Yes, I've tried to lock them out of the bathroom but they are fast and they will work as a team so at least on of them gets to creepily watch you from an eye level shelf while you use the facilities. They are ruthless.
They are cleptos to the extreme. Once upon a time I owned like 25 hair elastics. I lost about 15 on my own, still giving me 10 to use throughout my week. I used to think it was so cute when they would play with hair ties and throw them up in the air and scoot them around the floor. But soon, my hair tie numbers began to dwindle. Suddenly they became rationed, I found myself hiding them in various drawers and in my purse, I was taking more care in hiding them than I do hiding other things I should probably keep out of sight, like my porn or my drugs. Hell, leave the pile of cocaine out in the open but let me make sure I put this hair tie in the bottom of a vase, on the top shelf in the office with the door closed. Because that's my life now. So the other day I'm in the bathtub, don't worry the water nazi cattins were monitoring me closely while I soaked, and I look over to see Jax has left his post on the side of the tub to investigate the sink. Stupidly I took my hair tie, my last hair tie, out of my hair and left it on the sink. That how to train your dragon toothless look alike mother fucker straight grabs it, turns to me while it's hanging from his mouth, wiggles his eyebrows and runs out the door with it. So I'm yelling, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You golden eyed bastard!!" Not two minutes later this fuck saunters back into the bathroom like, "What, bitch?" and proceeds to claw the shit out of the shower curtain like he bought it. Hair tie was completely gone, nowhere to be found and I was shit out of luck once again.
Here are a couple pictures of the little devils themselves, being all adorable.
Without the need to even put up a Christmas tree these two fuzzy effers have managed to cause just enough annoying little disturbances to throw our household into utter chaos at any given time. Don't believe me? Here are just a few examples of the end of days currently taking place at mi casa:
Water. All water is their water. Any running water is grounds for them to come Seinfield Kramar sliding into the room where said water is running so they may closely supervise the running water. This including jumping all over the sink while brushing your teeth, washing dishes, washing hands, filling the bath, taking a bath, taking a piss, flushing the toilet, anything water related is their business. Get a glass of water? The second you put it down their heads are in it. Why? Who knows! They have their own water, they get water everyday but that water isn't good enough apparently. Even though it's the same damn water everyone else is drinking.
C.C. has also taken a liking to sitting on the window still while attempting to high five your face while you go to the bathroom. Yes, I've tried to lock them out of the bathroom but they are fast and they will work as a team so at least on of them gets to creepily watch you from an eye level shelf while you use the facilities. They are ruthless.
They are cleptos to the extreme. Once upon a time I owned like 25 hair elastics. I lost about 15 on my own, still giving me 10 to use throughout my week. I used to think it was so cute when they would play with hair ties and throw them up in the air and scoot them around the floor. But soon, my hair tie numbers began to dwindle. Suddenly they became rationed, I found myself hiding them in various drawers and in my purse, I was taking more care in hiding them than I do hiding other things I should probably keep out of sight, like my porn or my drugs. Hell, leave the pile of cocaine out in the open but let me make sure I put this hair tie in the bottom of a vase, on the top shelf in the office with the door closed. Because that's my life now. So the other day I'm in the bathtub, don't worry the water nazi cattins were monitoring me closely while I soaked, and I look over to see Jax has left his post on the side of the tub to investigate the sink. Stupidly I took my hair tie, my last hair tie, out of my hair and left it on the sink. That how to train your dragon toothless look alike mother fucker straight grabs it, turns to me while it's hanging from his mouth, wiggles his eyebrows and runs out the door with it. So I'm yelling, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You golden eyed bastard!!" Not two minutes later this fuck saunters back into the bathroom like, "What, bitch?" and proceeds to claw the shit out of the shower curtain like he bought it. Hair tie was completely gone, nowhere to be found and I was shit out of luck once again.
Here are a couple pictures of the little devils themselves, being all adorable.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Great Expectations
Doesn't it suck when you go to a movie and have all these great expectations for it then it ends up sucking a big one? Yeah, it does. Much like life, we all have ideas of how we'd like something to turn out but some times shit goes a whole different direction leaving us wondered what in the hell we've done. A lot of times it's like super sneaky too. Things will be going well and then one little thing happens where we are like ".......hm....that was weird..." then maybe a while later something else occurs where we think "......ok...a little out of left field but alright.." Then next thing you know you find yourself in the middle of a giant septic tank of human waste wondering how in the fuck you even got there.
I'm here to tell you, it's alright my fecal covered friend, it's alright. You didn't know. It's like those hoarder shows, you didn't mean for it to get out of hand, it just did. Who could have possible know cats reproduced so quickly? And even when the kittens arrived they seems so harmless and cute and fluffy. But then they got bigger and suddenly you find yourself under a fallen stack of old Newsweek magazines, getting your face eaten off by 37 cats. I mean, of course your fatal yet adorable demise was inside the realm of possibility but still very unexpected.
Thankfully you can fix things for yourself. You don't spend your final days as a cat buffet. Just pick yourself up, dust yourself off and say, "Hey. I may have fucked up a little but will a little adjusting I can make the changes I need to figure this out." You don't have to be sad or upset, things just didn't work out like you thought they would. No need to be super cold hearted and hateful, be grateful for the lessons learned and how the experience helped you evolve into the person you are today. Even if you come out a little more worn, you have the opportunity to work on repairing what you need to and strength will come from that.
In closing, everything happens for a reason, whether you believe in a god or the universe is in control or even just your own mind, everything happens and we grow from it. The shitty days have as much purpose as the good ones.
I'm here to tell you, it's alright my fecal covered friend, it's alright. You didn't know. It's like those hoarder shows, you didn't mean for it to get out of hand, it just did. Who could have possible know cats reproduced so quickly? And even when the kittens arrived they seems so harmless and cute and fluffy. But then they got bigger and suddenly you find yourself under a fallen stack of old Newsweek magazines, getting your face eaten off by 37 cats. I mean, of course your fatal yet adorable demise was inside the realm of possibility but still very unexpected.
Thankfully you can fix things for yourself. You don't spend your final days as a cat buffet. Just pick yourself up, dust yourself off and say, "Hey. I may have fucked up a little but will a little adjusting I can make the changes I need to figure this out." You don't have to be sad or upset, things just didn't work out like you thought they would. No need to be super cold hearted and hateful, be grateful for the lessons learned and how the experience helped you evolve into the person you are today. Even if you come out a little more worn, you have the opportunity to work on repairing what you need to and strength will come from that.
In closing, everything happens for a reason, whether you believe in a god or the universe is in control or even just your own mind, everything happens and we grow from it. The shitty days have as much purpose as the good ones.
Friday, November 25, 2016
Control Issues
I'm not a psychologist, even though I play on on tv, but I do feel like I have some insight when it comes to people's behavior because let's face it, I'm a little nuts myself and I feel A LOT. One thing I have noticed in myself and others is when it comes to control, you either have it or you don't. What my biggest issue with control is that when you feel completely lost and out of control, people tend to project a lot. They feel so out of control of their own lives that they make up for it by trying to control everyone around them. This might work for a short while but in the end you'll find people get sick of that shit real fast and you'll eventually lose any respect they once had for you.
I know this because I am terribly, terribly guilty of it. When I lose control of my emotions, I used to take it back through self harm. It gave me that sense of control I so badly needed at that moment. If I can't self harm, I try to control my focus person by any means necessary. It's honestly pretty disgusting. If said focus person is a rock, then I'm completely fucked and I get really defensive because not only can I not control myself but I can't control them either. Eventually I calm down but it's not without it's after effects. I feel shame and embarrassment, I feel like a terrible person because I know that is not the kind of person I want to be. I don't want to be the reason why someone feels shitty about themselves. Why would anyone want to be responsible for bringing someone else down? Why would that perverse power feel good to live with?
The more we tell ourselves we are hot messes and excuse our fucked up out of control behavior, the more we begin to become that person we don't want to be. The crazy thing is, it doesn't take much to regain that control. Like any type of recovery, you have to admit to yourself that you have a problem. This is super hard because it's so much easier to place blame on everyone around you. It doesn't have to be a shameful thing either, it can be a releasing action. Just let all that hurt and pain go. Make a list. What actions make you feel out of control? Then problem solve. What can I do to regain control or prevent myself from feeling out of control?
Self-control doesn't always feel good. I mean the definition of self control is "the ability to subdue our impulses in order to achieve longer-term goals". It's so much easier just to go right to your impulse and do what feels good in the moment but in the long run you just end up in a worse place. For example, I was pissed the other day, got aggressive and broke my hairbrush. My hairbrush doesn't mean very much to me, I can buy a new hairbrush but know what does mean a lot to me? A painting I have had for several years that I had yet to hang in my new house. I have been protective of this painting since the day my mom gifted it to me, I love this painting but in that moment I hated myself. I wanted to hurt myself, so I took the brush handle and threw it at the painting, ripping the canvas. I knew in that moment what I was doing and it absolutely kills me everyday to wake up and see what my lack of self control did. It's a heartbreaking reminder that in a moment of vulnerability I ruined something that means so much to me. Maybe it can be fixed but it will never be the same. Like so many things in life.
Well that was depressing but I needed it. I'm going to work on my own issues and hopefully this might help someone dealing with shit of their own. Love you all my little special snowflakes.
I know this because I am terribly, terribly guilty of it. When I lose control of my emotions, I used to take it back through self harm. It gave me that sense of control I so badly needed at that moment. If I can't self harm, I try to control my focus person by any means necessary. It's honestly pretty disgusting. If said focus person is a rock, then I'm completely fucked and I get really defensive because not only can I not control myself but I can't control them either. Eventually I calm down but it's not without it's after effects. I feel shame and embarrassment, I feel like a terrible person because I know that is not the kind of person I want to be. I don't want to be the reason why someone feels shitty about themselves. Why would anyone want to be responsible for bringing someone else down? Why would that perverse power feel good to live with?
The more we tell ourselves we are hot messes and excuse our fucked up out of control behavior, the more we begin to become that person we don't want to be. The crazy thing is, it doesn't take much to regain that control. Like any type of recovery, you have to admit to yourself that you have a problem. This is super hard because it's so much easier to place blame on everyone around you. It doesn't have to be a shameful thing either, it can be a releasing action. Just let all that hurt and pain go. Make a list. What actions make you feel out of control? Then problem solve. What can I do to regain control or prevent myself from feeling out of control?
Self-control doesn't always feel good. I mean the definition of self control is "the ability to subdue our impulses in order to achieve longer-term goals". It's so much easier just to go right to your impulse and do what feels good in the moment but in the long run you just end up in a worse place. For example, I was pissed the other day, got aggressive and broke my hairbrush. My hairbrush doesn't mean very much to me, I can buy a new hairbrush but know what does mean a lot to me? A painting I have had for several years that I had yet to hang in my new house. I have been protective of this painting since the day my mom gifted it to me, I love this painting but in that moment I hated myself. I wanted to hurt myself, so I took the brush handle and threw it at the painting, ripping the canvas. I knew in that moment what I was doing and it absolutely kills me everyday to wake up and see what my lack of self control did. It's a heartbreaking reminder that in a moment of vulnerability I ruined something that means so much to me. Maybe it can be fixed but it will never be the same. Like so many things in life.
Well that was depressing but I needed it. I'm going to work on my own issues and hopefully this might help someone dealing with shit of their own. Love you all my little special snowflakes.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Election Day
Today is the day where we exercise our right to be heard and cast our votes for the next leader of the United States of America, among other offices. I've never been super into politics, mostly because the whole thing is so overwhelming and people are adamant in hammering their opinions on who you should vote for into your head that like many other aspects in my life, it cause me to just shut down in defeat. I can barely make my own important choices throughout the day, it's miraculous that I keep myself alive. It makes me question whether or not I should have a say in how an entire country should be run but then I remember that there are plenty of people much less.... intelligent? of solid breeding? human? than I who are also making this decision, therefore it is my duty to head to the ballot box and become part of the process.
I think the biggest issue with politics is the "yeah but". Everything has two sides and based on opinion these two sides can be extremely differing. Politics, at the end of the day are black white. With a whole lot of gray in between. Also I've been waiting to use this analogy for awhile and this is a good example:
I really like spring salad. If you don't know what that is then go find some and get back to me. But here is my issue with spring salad, I only like parts of it, the other parts I don't really like that much. So I will go to the store, buy some spring salad, go home and eat the parts I like and throw the rest away. It's wasteful and it doesn't make much since but I really, really like the parts I like. Enough so I am willing to pay for it just to pick through it to get to those parts. I could just bit the bullet and eat all of it but I really don't like those other parts and they leave a bad taste in my mouth. Unfortunately, I will never convince a store to change their entire recipe just to satisfy my specific taste. Not just because it wouldn't make any since but then it wouldn't be spring salad anymore, it would be something entirely different.
This is my stance on politics. Sometimes I don't like things as a whole. There are pieces that I can't stand but on the other hand there are parts that I really do like. Basically I have to dig through to find the parts I do like, that mean the most to me, even if that means having to also deal with all the other shit that I don't like that much.
I think the biggest issue with politics is the "yeah but". Everything has two sides and based on opinion these two sides can be extremely differing. Politics, at the end of the day are black white. With a whole lot of gray in between. Also I've been waiting to use this analogy for awhile and this is a good example:
I really like spring salad. If you don't know what that is then go find some and get back to me. But here is my issue with spring salad, I only like parts of it, the other parts I don't really like that much. So I will go to the store, buy some spring salad, go home and eat the parts I like and throw the rest away. It's wasteful and it doesn't make much since but I really, really like the parts I like. Enough so I am willing to pay for it just to pick through it to get to those parts. I could just bit the bullet and eat all of it but I really don't like those other parts and they leave a bad taste in my mouth. Unfortunately, I will never convince a store to change their entire recipe just to satisfy my specific taste. Not just because it wouldn't make any since but then it wouldn't be spring salad anymore, it would be something entirely different.
This is my stance on politics. Sometimes I don't like things as a whole. There are pieces that I can't stand but on the other hand there are parts that I really do like. Basically I have to dig through to find the parts I do like, that mean the most to me, even if that means having to also deal with all the other shit that I don't like that much.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Word Bombs Everywhere
So a few month agooooo.... I had an interesting conversation with someone and it kept bugging me so I wrote about it. I didn't get around to posting it because I'm lazy and I felt like I needed enough of a buffer to not be obvious about it. It was a post explaining the feelings I had that ended with an uplifting message about forgiveness and empathy. Today, I'm feeling a little different about the situation because today I'm in one of those 'zero fox given' modes. I keep telling myself to put down the keyboard but I'm a sucker for dramatics so away we go!
Hey. What's up? You seemed a little pointed in that conversation we had. In fact, everyone I shared it with, which I seem to have a lot of people who care about me so I shared it with quite a few, all thought it was pretty fucking ridiculous. They wanted me to respond with some fairly harsh words but here's the thing, I don't care. I do not care how you feel about me. I don't care if you feel I wronged you in some way because I know that anyone else who looks at this situation would agree that you were the one who is being irrational. You disliking me for what essentially you made the choice to become involved in, doesn't affect my life one iota. I'm not going to feel bad for something I had nothing to do with. And I can promise the other side of the party that was actually involved, doesn't give an eff either.
Also, if you haven't realized, everyone has shit in their lives. You act like you are the only one dealing with it, you're not. You're not some special circumstance where everything falls on you just a little harder than everyone else. One time you told me there are two types of people in the world, those who act like a victim and those who don't. There are two other kinds of people, those who try see things for what they are and handle it in a healthy, understanding way and then there are those who decide to be a Negative Nancy and attempt to make others feel bad because they feel they are owed something. I can admit, sometimes I'm the latter but at least I fucking own it. At least I'm aware of my own unhealthiness and I don't blame it on other people.
Feel free to take some time to reflect on exact what you're pissed off about. If you're able, which after all these years of holding on to shit I have very little confidence you are, take a look at it from the other side. Don't just look for reasons to justify your feelings, open yourself to the possibility that there was and maybe still is something much deeper than the initial issue you chose to attach your feelings to.
Me writing all this might seem like I give a shit but I assure you I don't. I'm writing all this because I feel like you obviously surround yourself in people who only try to cater to your best interest, whether they truly feel that way or not. It just makes me feel grateful I have family and friends that call me out on my bullshit. It would really kind of suck to live in a world of self imposed ignorance.
*drops mic*
Hey. What's up? You seemed a little pointed in that conversation we had. In fact, everyone I shared it with, which I seem to have a lot of people who care about me so I shared it with quite a few, all thought it was pretty fucking ridiculous. They wanted me to respond with some fairly harsh words but here's the thing, I don't care. I do not care how you feel about me. I don't care if you feel I wronged you in some way because I know that anyone else who looks at this situation would agree that you were the one who is being irrational. You disliking me for what essentially you made the choice to become involved in, doesn't affect my life one iota. I'm not going to feel bad for something I had nothing to do with. And I can promise the other side of the party that was actually involved, doesn't give an eff either.
Also, if you haven't realized, everyone has shit in their lives. You act like you are the only one dealing with it, you're not. You're not some special circumstance where everything falls on you just a little harder than everyone else. One time you told me there are two types of people in the world, those who act like a victim and those who don't. There are two other kinds of people, those who try see things for what they are and handle it in a healthy, understanding way and then there are those who decide to be a Negative Nancy and attempt to make others feel bad because they feel they are owed something. I can admit, sometimes I'm the latter but at least I fucking own it. At least I'm aware of my own unhealthiness and I don't blame it on other people.
Feel free to take some time to reflect on exact what you're pissed off about. If you're able, which after all these years of holding on to shit I have very little confidence you are, take a look at it from the other side. Don't just look for reasons to justify your feelings, open yourself to the possibility that there was and maybe still is something much deeper than the initial issue you chose to attach your feelings to.
Me writing all this might seem like I give a shit but I assure you I don't. I'm writing all this because I feel like you obviously surround yourself in people who only try to cater to your best interest, whether they truly feel that way or not. It just makes me feel grateful I have family and friends that call me out on my bullshit. It would really kind of suck to live in a world of self imposed ignorance.
*drops mic*
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
The Time I Was Committed - Part One
I figured I'd write this post for anyone who is curious as to what it's like to be sent to a "psych ward" because I can't lie, I've always been curious myself. Luckily for you little wombats, I went crazy, got sent to one and can tell you all about it! I'll be writing this in a series since it takes place over a few days. So here is part one, starting after the police transported me to the hospital around 4:00pm or so on the fateful Wednesday afternoon.
Once in the emergency room, I sat in triage until a room in the actual emergency room opened up. Apparently they only have one or two behavioral rooms so it was a very long wait. Like 6 hours long. During this time, I had a police officer guard my door, then eventually a hospital security guard once they realized I wasn't going to do anything but sit there and wait. While I waited I had an evaluation with a psychiatrist over Skype, after the evaluation she recommended a committal. Knowing I had no choice and hoping it would make things easier, I gave my consent. I figured if I committed myself, I would be able to leave whenever I wanted. Later I would find out, that is not how it works. Finally a behavioral room opened up and I was moved. At this point they take everything you have, since I had my husband with me, they allowed my personal belongings in the room. I was asked to strip down to my underwear, I was not allowed to keep my bra, and given one of those open robe things to wear. The furniture in the room was made of this hard plasticy foamy type stuff. There I would stay until they could find me a bed somewhere. As it got later, they brought me in a "bed" to sleep on.
I can't say I don't understand why they have to take the precautions they do, I get it completely. It's a safety thing. Around 11pm, a nurse told me they received a court order and they could now legally place me. This shocked me, I figured since I volunteered to a committal that we wouldn't need to go through the courts but I was told no, the only way they will place you is if you get a judge to sign off on it. I don't know how accurate this statement was but at the time I was feeling a thousand different things so I didn't even ask anymore questions. I don't remember what time it was, very early morning I think, the nurse came in to tell me I had been placed. She assured me it was one of the nicer units in Iowa, a hospital called St Anthony's. They had placed a call in for a transport and were waiting to hear back. Throughout this entire endeavor and the huge stress that had come with it, I wasn't really in the healthiest place. After the several hours that had past, I began to gain the lucidity back and realize what was going on. Once the reality began to set it, I was frantic. Never having been in a situation like this before, I was terrified as to what I was about to experience. I had no idea what to expect and all I wanted to do was go home. At about 8:30 am, the transport arrived and I was loaded into a car and driven a little over an hour away to the hospital.
Between waiting for a place to sit in the emergency room to waiting for a bed at a behavioral unit, I waited about 16 hours. I was not overly surprised. Prior to that visit, I had gone to a hospital in a nearby city after my family had a small intervention on me to commit myself and was told there were no beds, no one would be discharged until at least the next day and there was already someone in the ER who had been waiting for 22 hours. Yes, this is the actual state of affairs when it comes to someone trying to get help. Because I was with family and would have support at home, they sent me on my way but there are many people who need the help that don't have a family to keep them safe.
So this is part one of my story. The next part will be my arrival and first day or so at the hospital.
Once in the emergency room, I sat in triage until a room in the actual emergency room opened up. Apparently they only have one or two behavioral rooms so it was a very long wait. Like 6 hours long. During this time, I had a police officer guard my door, then eventually a hospital security guard once they realized I wasn't going to do anything but sit there and wait. While I waited I had an evaluation with a psychiatrist over Skype, after the evaluation she recommended a committal. Knowing I had no choice and hoping it would make things easier, I gave my consent. I figured if I committed myself, I would be able to leave whenever I wanted. Later I would find out, that is not how it works. Finally a behavioral room opened up and I was moved. At this point they take everything you have, since I had my husband with me, they allowed my personal belongings in the room. I was asked to strip down to my underwear, I was not allowed to keep my bra, and given one of those open robe things to wear. The furniture in the room was made of this hard plasticy foamy type stuff. There I would stay until they could find me a bed somewhere. As it got later, they brought me in a "bed" to sleep on.
I can't say I don't understand why they have to take the precautions they do, I get it completely. It's a safety thing. Around 11pm, a nurse told me they received a court order and they could now legally place me. This shocked me, I figured since I volunteered to a committal that we wouldn't need to go through the courts but I was told no, the only way they will place you is if you get a judge to sign off on it. I don't know how accurate this statement was but at the time I was feeling a thousand different things so I didn't even ask anymore questions. I don't remember what time it was, very early morning I think, the nurse came in to tell me I had been placed. She assured me it was one of the nicer units in Iowa, a hospital called St Anthony's. They had placed a call in for a transport and were waiting to hear back. Throughout this entire endeavor and the huge stress that had come with it, I wasn't really in the healthiest place. After the several hours that had past, I began to gain the lucidity back and realize what was going on. Once the reality began to set it, I was frantic. Never having been in a situation like this before, I was terrified as to what I was about to experience. I had no idea what to expect and all I wanted to do was go home. At about 8:30 am, the transport arrived and I was loaded into a car and driven a little over an hour away to the hospital.
Between waiting for a place to sit in the emergency room to waiting for a bed at a behavioral unit, I waited about 16 hours. I was not overly surprised. Prior to that visit, I had gone to a hospital in a nearby city after my family had a small intervention on me to commit myself and was told there were no beds, no one would be discharged until at least the next day and there was already someone in the ER who had been waiting for 22 hours. Yes, this is the actual state of affairs when it comes to someone trying to get help. Because I was with family and would have support at home, they sent me on my way but there are many people who need the help that don't have a family to keep them safe.
So this is part one of my story. The next part will be my arrival and first day or so at the hospital.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Postpartum Depression
Super exciting news everyone! On Wednesday October 11th, 2016 we welcomed into the world the newest member of our family, Piper. I am once again an auntie! Everything went perfect and she's a perfect bundle of joy. I was lucky enough to be there for the entire experience and witnessed the miracle of childbirth firsthand. I think it is best described as UUAAAHHHHH, *toothpaste squeeze*, POP! SPLLOOOSHHHHH, WATERFALL OF LIQUIDS, WAAAHHHHHHH.
Overall it was very interesting and very rewarding. Unfortunately, the reality soon hit me and my emotional train choo choo'ed right out of the station. What sucks is how you can be so happy for someone but so sad at the same time. Just being up in the room, becoming an auntie to a new little angel but at the same time becoming the only woman in the family who has yet to have a child of her own. Every time the doors of the elevator open and the big window of the OB nursery fills my view I remember back to a time I was so full of hope and nervousness, so sure that I would be having a baby within a year. Those memories never go away either. The baby class, the pamphlets, the happy browsing for what items I was sure we would need, potential names, announcing to our stepson on a car ride to a concert, "So how do you feel about becoming a big brother?!". Just knowing it was finally time to bring a new life into the world. Then the pangs of sadness come, the memories of the bloody sign my period came again, the negative pregnancy tests, followed by negative ovulation tests. Blood draws, consultations, more tests and bad news. The tears that never seemed to stop, the emptiness, the hope turns to hopelessness, self doubt, wondering if this is the universe telling me "You are unfit to be a mother". Then the self-hate, telling myself I don't want kids anyways, I can't even take care of myself how would I handle taking care of someone else. Attempts to convince myself, I don't even like kids. What makes me think I'm allowed to have a child, I'll just fuck them up too. I should just be alone forever, I don't deserve anything. The anger at the world, I should have had that, this should be something I know about firsthand, this should be me.
There is so much more than that though. There are so many emotions wrapped up in the whole situation and unless you've been through it, it's hard to understand. Impossible to understand. As much as I like to pretend it doesn't bother me and that it's not a big deal or joke about my barren womb, it sticks with you. It affects so much of your life in ways you can't even explain. Even if I were to have a child someday, those memories will never fade. That struggle will always stay with me as long as I live. And it sucks but it's a part of who I am. I just hope that in some way, somehow it made me stronger.
Overall it was very interesting and very rewarding. Unfortunately, the reality soon hit me and my emotional train choo choo'ed right out of the station. What sucks is how you can be so happy for someone but so sad at the same time. Just being up in the room, becoming an auntie to a new little angel but at the same time becoming the only woman in the family who has yet to have a child of her own. Every time the doors of the elevator open and the big window of the OB nursery fills my view I remember back to a time I was so full of hope and nervousness, so sure that I would be having a baby within a year. Those memories never go away either. The baby class, the pamphlets, the happy browsing for what items I was sure we would need, potential names, announcing to our stepson on a car ride to a concert, "So how do you feel about becoming a big brother?!". Just knowing it was finally time to bring a new life into the world. Then the pangs of sadness come, the memories of the bloody sign my period came again, the negative pregnancy tests, followed by negative ovulation tests. Blood draws, consultations, more tests and bad news. The tears that never seemed to stop, the emptiness, the hope turns to hopelessness, self doubt, wondering if this is the universe telling me "You are unfit to be a mother". Then the self-hate, telling myself I don't want kids anyways, I can't even take care of myself how would I handle taking care of someone else. Attempts to convince myself, I don't even like kids. What makes me think I'm allowed to have a child, I'll just fuck them up too. I should just be alone forever, I don't deserve anything. The anger at the world, I should have had that, this should be something I know about firsthand, this should be me.
There is so much more than that though. There are so many emotions wrapped up in the whole situation and unless you've been through it, it's hard to understand. Impossible to understand. As much as I like to pretend it doesn't bother me and that it's not a big deal or joke about my barren womb, it sticks with you. It affects so much of your life in ways you can't even explain. Even if I were to have a child someday, those memories will never fade. That struggle will always stay with me as long as I live. And it sucks but it's a part of who I am. I just hope that in some way, somehow it made me stronger.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Cats On Cats On Rabbits
What I have failed to mention because I've been too busy writing about my sad life is I managed to obtain kitten number two a few weeks ago. We stopped by a gas station and this little black oil slick came walking up like it was no big deal. So of course I had to stop everything I was doing and catch the damn thing, walk it to the gas station, hold the kitten out in front of me and ask the cashier, "Does this belong to you?" Apparently it did not, hence me having acquired kitten number two that would be later known as Jax. Jax is an all black kitten, a week or two older than C.C. and when we first got him, a very mild mannered kitten. He was quite relaxed until C.C. decided he was a new play thing at which point he turned into a banshee. Whenever C.C. would try to play, Jax would serenade us with his best "Help me, I'm being murdered by a poltergeist" yowls. After about three weeks of getting bully beatdown by the orange fury, Jax finally learned how to stand up for himself and start fighting back, sans yowling. Thinking this was a good thing, the playful kittens got a lot of laughter and awwws. They still play will each other but only more...demonically, which has resulted in both of them needing special ointment because they love to kangaroo gouge each others eyes out with litter box feet, resulting in them each having a case of pink/gouge eye. Like idiots.
I could deal with the yowling, I could deal with the mortal kombat style fighting but they have now decided that everything in the house is fair game. The sweet little kitten purrs the once filled the night has now been replaced with mystery banging and crashing. They have basically turned the entire house into their personal American Gladiator arena/parkour course. They also enjoy murder attempts by running underneath your feet while you walk anywhere.
I don't just blame the kittens. Magnus the house bunny recently decided that me bring two kittens into the house makes me literally Hitler and he shows his disapproval by headbutting everything the fat ball of fluff can come in contact with, including said kittens. The kittens then retaliate by scaling the rabbit cage or laying just on the outside of it while they bop him on the nose. Then since I am truly the one at fault here, Magnus goes into my studio office and chews any and all documents that he can get to. Which considering he is a slightly....ok maybe more than slightly... overweight fluffy basketball, he does an incredible job getting to said documents.
So yeah, my house is basically just a bunch of half-feral animals running rampant while I cry in the corner. This is the life I chose.
I could deal with the yowling, I could deal with the mortal kombat style fighting but they have now decided that everything in the house is fair game. The sweet little kitten purrs the once filled the night has now been replaced with mystery banging and crashing. They have basically turned the entire house into their personal American Gladiator arena/parkour course. They also enjoy murder attempts by running underneath your feet while you walk anywhere.
I don't just blame the kittens. Magnus the house bunny recently decided that me bring two kittens into the house makes me literally Hitler and he shows his disapproval by headbutting everything the fat ball of fluff can come in contact with, including said kittens. The kittens then retaliate by scaling the rabbit cage or laying just on the outside of it while they bop him on the nose. Then since I am truly the one at fault here, Magnus goes into my studio office and chews any and all documents that he can get to. Which considering he is a slightly....ok maybe more than slightly... overweight fluffy basketball, he does an incredible job getting to said documents.
So yeah, my house is basically just a bunch of half-feral animals running rampant while I cry in the corner. This is the life I chose.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Rev Rach and the Exorcism
It was the evening of December 2nd, 2008 I decided to become an ordained minister. Via the internet, of course. And it was the evening of May 26th, 2012 I became Rev Rach.
Though I had been ordained for approximately 3 years, 5 months and 24 days and performed one legal marriage ceremony in that time, it wasn't until 5-26-2012 that I fully became who is and will always be known as Rev Rach. I assume I'm not the first person who has had their moment of clarity after the fact, there are probably men and women all over the world who become people of God and not until years later stumble upon a revelation of their true calling. Like maybe monks and nuns? Unlike them, I'm not particularly religious, hell I can barely spell the word, but I do believe that others believe that there is something grander in the universe than ourselves. Does this mean there is someone in the great beyond calling the shots? No, at least I don't think so. But then how do you explain the collaboration of Lady Gaga and Beyonce in "Telephone"? That's right YOU CAN'T just like I can't say if there is or is not a higher power
Regardless of which power does what, where...the important think is that on the 26th day of May in the year of two thousand and twelveith, Rev Rach was born. Like a phoenix rises from the ashes, all the glory that be personified into a wondrous spectacle of a southern baptist preacher at one of those old timey revivals.
It all happened on a warm spring night at my friend's bachelorette party. After a passion party of vibrators and lube being passed around, some light snacking, drinks and a hot, sweaty bus ride the bride was not feeling to hot. So there I was, at an impasse. Do I let my friend die on the curb from heat exhaustion or do I do something about it? I took in my surroundings, fair maidens were already coddling the poor bride to be with water and cool paper towels, the steeple of a church loomed over us as we asked, "What can we do?!" Deep inside me, I searched for a reason. Any reason to not have to go home for I was only a little wasted and wanted to be a lot wasted. "Back the fuck up..." I said to the beautiful gaggle of gals, "I got this..." With a mighty deep breath and closed eyes I called to the Heavens, "Jesus!!! JE--SUS! Our Savior, Lord Almighty I ask upon you to release this child from these demons that have taken over her soul. TAKE THESE DEMONS AND PULL THEM FROM THIS CHILD. BREATH YOUR SWEET HEAVENLY BREATH INTO HER AND REVIVE HER WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT! LORD OH LORD. LET US FEEL YOUR POWER AND HEEEAALLL THIS POOR SOUL..." With that, my body was taken by the Holy Spirit and I was a crucible of healing. I danced, I shouted, I sang the song of truth for Jesus is a biscuit, LET HIM SOP YOU UP.
By the end of it, my girl was completely better and Rev Rach had solidified a place in the hearts of many, including my own. So whenever you are feeling down and feel the need to cast those demons from your soul, ask yourself a simple question: Have you exorcised today?
Though I had been ordained for approximately 3 years, 5 months and 24 days and performed one legal marriage ceremony in that time, it wasn't until 5-26-2012 that I fully became who is and will always be known as Rev Rach. I assume I'm not the first person who has had their moment of clarity after the fact, there are probably men and women all over the world who become people of God and not until years later stumble upon a revelation of their true calling. Like maybe monks and nuns? Unlike them, I'm not particularly religious, hell I can barely spell the word, but I do believe that others believe that there is something grander in the universe than ourselves. Does this mean there is someone in the great beyond calling the shots? No, at least I don't think so. But then how do you explain the collaboration of Lady Gaga and Beyonce in "Telephone"? That's right YOU CAN'T just like I can't say if there is or is not a higher power
Regardless of which power does what, where...the important think is that on the 26th day of May in the year of two thousand and twelveith, Rev Rach was born. Like a phoenix rises from the ashes, all the glory that be personified into a wondrous spectacle of a southern baptist preacher at one of those old timey revivals.
It all happened on a warm spring night at my friend's bachelorette party. After a passion party of vibrators and lube being passed around, some light snacking, drinks and a hot, sweaty bus ride the bride was not feeling to hot. So there I was, at an impasse. Do I let my friend die on the curb from heat exhaustion or do I do something about it? I took in my surroundings, fair maidens were already coddling the poor bride to be with water and cool paper towels, the steeple of a church loomed over us as we asked, "What can we do?!" Deep inside me, I searched for a reason. Any reason to not have to go home for I was only a little wasted and wanted to be a lot wasted. "Back the fuck up..." I said to the beautiful gaggle of gals, "I got this..." With a mighty deep breath and closed eyes I called to the Heavens, "Jesus!!! JE--SUS! Our Savior, Lord Almighty I ask upon you to release this child from these demons that have taken over her soul. TAKE THESE DEMONS AND PULL THEM FROM THIS CHILD. BREATH YOUR SWEET HEAVENLY BREATH INTO HER AND REVIVE HER WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT! LORD OH LORD. LET US FEEL YOUR POWER AND HEEEAALLL THIS POOR SOUL..." With that, my body was taken by the Holy Spirit and I was a crucible of healing. I danced, I shouted, I sang the song of truth for Jesus is a biscuit, LET HIM SOP YOU UP.
By the end of it, my girl was completely better and Rev Rach had solidified a place in the hearts of many, including my own. So whenever you are feeling down and feel the need to cast those demons from your soul, ask yourself a simple question: Have you exorcised today?
Monday, August 29, 2016
Milestones Giveaway!!
Over 10,500 HITS! Holy shit guys, this is mind blowing. Sure some of them were from the creepy Russian in his tundra shack but still! My blog has been clicked over 10,000 times! Even if you minus the spam sites, talking to you vampirestats.com, I'm still over 10,000 hits so that is seriously awesome!
To celebrate this good feeling, I've decided to have a giveaway. I'll be giving away two mugs. One is very similar to one of my favorite coffee cups, that I recently accidentally dropped and busted the handle off but still use because I am dangerous as hellllll. The other will be a custom made coffee mug featuring the Life with Lavenders logo or some shit plus a surprise picture! I have no idea how to do this giveaway thing so I guess comment below to be entered or get on Facebook, like the Life With Lavenders page if you haven't already and then share the page with your friends. Then maybe comment on the Facebook post that you did it, so I get notified. Like I said, no idea what I'm doing. And I know, its a lot of work but for fuck's sake, you could get a free coffee/vodka mug. Everyone loves free shit.
Mug #1
Mug #2
So yeah! I'm super excited about this! I'll actually try to not procrastinate and get these shipped/delivered to their rightful winners in a decent time frame as well. My promise to you. Anyways to give people plenty of time I will post this tonight Monday, August 29th and will give people until sayyyyy...September 6th to do the damn thing.
Yay! Prizes!
To celebrate this good feeling, I've decided to have a giveaway. I'll be giving away two mugs. One is very similar to one of my favorite coffee cups, that I recently accidentally dropped and busted the handle off but still use because I am dangerous as hellllll. The other will be a custom made coffee mug featuring the Life with Lavenders logo or some shit plus a surprise picture! I have no idea how to do this giveaway thing so I guess comment below to be entered or get on Facebook, like the Life With Lavenders page if you haven't already and then share the page with your friends. Then maybe comment on the Facebook post that you did it, so I get notified. Like I said, no idea what I'm doing. And I know, its a lot of work but for fuck's sake, you could get a free coffee/vodka mug. Everyone loves free shit.
Mug #1
 |
| Stolen from Amazon.com. Sorry bout it. |
Mug #2
Yay! Prizes!
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Livin' On The Edge
One thing that really sucks about being vulnerable to ones emotions is that in many cases you're always mentally preparing yourself for the worst case scenario. Not every day, what if I spill on my shirt at work, type stuff but anything to do with interpersonal relationships makes me incredibly anxious. So as an attempt to soften the blow for when something bad does occur, I like to live my life just this side of miserable and paranoid. Let me tell you how well this works out for me, not at all. I worry so much about what could happen that I honestly think I bring this shit on myself. I get so caught up in not feeling like I can trust anyone, so convinced that if I open up they are going to hurt me so badly, I refuse to let myself live in the sunshine for any amount of time. I am a mole person, living in the depths of my own self-deprecation, pale and naked and alone. But also poetic as shit.
As much as I try to live with a "It is what it is" attitude, it seems like when it comes to close relationships, which here I am encompassing all types of relationships by the way (family, friends and the other), I fucking fail hard. I'm honestly always looking for the edge of the cliff, the moment my world will come crashing down. Now if I was anyone else telling me this I would say to them, "Hey you pretty little thing, guess what? Even if your significant other cheats on you, even if you stop being besties with your closest friend, even if you have a falling out and never talk to your sister again, shit is going to be ok. That cliff you think you are standing on, isn't a 1000 ft drop, it's only about 3 feet. Yeah, you might fall off it and you might get a couple scratches but after you take a minute to catch your breath, your ass is going to stand back up and you're going to keep going. And you're going to heal. It might takes some time but you will heal. Being afraid all the time isn't any way to live. You have to take those chances, whether it be opening up to someone, or loving someone or trusting someone, you have to take those risks. Don't worry, you are strong and you can do this."
See?! Great advice. But when I talk to myself I say, "Hey sad panda... I know you feel like you need to worry all the time but I'm here to tell you....it's much, MUCH worse than we first thought. Turns out you are not that great and people are going to figure it out. Man, you better hold on to whatever you have with a tight grip. You need to lock it down but make sure they care about you. Be sure to ask a million times. And don't be afraid to be jealous, that's how you show that you care. Oh shit! Was that a text message?! Ask who it was! Quick! WAIT! Better yet, don't ask who it was, just pout about it. If they don't tell you, it's safe to assume they are cheating on you. Wait for them to go to the bathroom, then check their phone. Remember, you are not that great, they could totally do better and will just as soon as they realize what a dumpster fire you are. Also you're getting fat and aliens are real."
Thanks crazy brain! I suuuuper appreciate all your help. You are always there when I need you, ready to talk me off the ledge.
As much as I try to live with a "It is what it is" attitude, it seems like when it comes to close relationships, which here I am encompassing all types of relationships by the way (family, friends and the other), I fucking fail hard. I'm honestly always looking for the edge of the cliff, the moment my world will come crashing down. Now if I was anyone else telling me this I would say to them, "Hey you pretty little thing, guess what? Even if your significant other cheats on you, even if you stop being besties with your closest friend, even if you have a falling out and never talk to your sister again, shit is going to be ok. That cliff you think you are standing on, isn't a 1000 ft drop, it's only about 3 feet. Yeah, you might fall off it and you might get a couple scratches but after you take a minute to catch your breath, your ass is going to stand back up and you're going to keep going. And you're going to heal. It might takes some time but you will heal. Being afraid all the time isn't any way to live. You have to take those chances, whether it be opening up to someone, or loving someone or trusting someone, you have to take those risks. Don't worry, you are strong and you can do this."
See?! Great advice. But when I talk to myself I say, "Hey sad panda... I know you feel like you need to worry all the time but I'm here to tell you....it's much, MUCH worse than we first thought. Turns out you are not that great and people are going to figure it out. Man, you better hold on to whatever you have with a tight grip. You need to lock it down but make sure they care about you. Be sure to ask a million times. And don't be afraid to be jealous, that's how you show that you care. Oh shit! Was that a text message?! Ask who it was! Quick! WAIT! Better yet, don't ask who it was, just pout about it. If they don't tell you, it's safe to assume they are cheating on you. Wait for them to go to the bathroom, then check their phone. Remember, you are not that great, they could totally do better and will just as soon as they realize what a dumpster fire you are. Also you're getting fat and aliens are real."
Thanks crazy brain! I suuuuper appreciate all your help. You are always there when I need you, ready to talk me off the ledge.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Transparency
I love getting compliments on my writing. That may make me sound conceited but it's true. They are some of the only compliments I can truly take will full gratitude and believe them. All the other things like, you are beautiful or you look pretty today, are a lot harder for me to heard because, well, low self esteem. But writing is something I've always loved and I do believe that I excel at it. Though I appreciate and am overjoyed by anyone's compliments, those from fellow writers basically make me brain-gasam because I assume they know what they are taking about. I never studied English or writing in a serious manner, I just type or pen my thoughts so props from people who are professionals at the craft are amazing to me.
I had a fellow writer comment the other day that I write "so openly" which I replied, "To a fault". The reason I say this is because my open style of writing does come with some backlash. Putting yourself completely out there as I do doesn't come easy. Not only do you have to get past that personal hurdle of feeling like you are oversharing but people have used what I've written against me, several times. Mostly from family who say, "I can't believe you just put that out there for everyone to read. Why?!" Well, because I understand that others can relate to me and my situations. And if they can't relate, it hopefully brings them some kind of feeling. Whether it's anger, sadness, joy, laughter, for lack of a better word, I am willing to sacrifice my privacy for the feelings of others. I also have to worry about my job. I would hope that nothing I write would negatively impact my position but there is always that fear. Even if I couldn't get fired, if some of the public I work with read my blog, they would have a much different view of me than what they see when they come in for programming or to check out books. Especially after the last few bat shit crazy posts I blogged. Just to reassure all you who have to come in contact with me, all my shit, does not affect my work life. I strictly forbid it to.
Being transparent comes with a cost. It makes you very vulnerable to the world in a deeply personal way. Your feelings and thoughts will be brought up during a fight, you will unintentionally hurt people's feelings, you may portray yourself in an unflattering way. There are so many reasons not to do what I do but I will never stop because it gives me life. It gives me purpose. It helps me get through the rough stuff. By typing it all out, I'm giving a big middle figure to my problems and saying, "You know what, screw you. I'm not going to let you consume me. I'm going to take you out of my brain and put you somewhere where I can see you and just see you for what you are."
Writing is my therapy and I'll be damned if I'll let some adverse responses take away something so important in my life. That being said, if you've got a question about something I've written, ask me about it. If you don't like the answer, tough shit. This life is my story, I'll write it however the fuck I want. (Sorry for swearing in my blog, Mom. I know you hate it.)
I had a fellow writer comment the other day that I write "so openly" which I replied, "To a fault". The reason I say this is because my open style of writing does come with some backlash. Putting yourself completely out there as I do doesn't come easy. Not only do you have to get past that personal hurdle of feeling like you are oversharing but people have used what I've written against me, several times. Mostly from family who say, "I can't believe you just put that out there for everyone to read. Why?!" Well, because I understand that others can relate to me and my situations. And if they can't relate, it hopefully brings them some kind of feeling. Whether it's anger, sadness, joy, laughter, for lack of a better word, I am willing to sacrifice my privacy for the feelings of others. I also have to worry about my job. I would hope that nothing I write would negatively impact my position but there is always that fear. Even if I couldn't get fired, if some of the public I work with read my blog, they would have a much different view of me than what they see when they come in for programming or to check out books. Especially after the last few bat shit crazy posts I blogged. Just to reassure all you who have to come in contact with me, all my shit, does not affect my work life. I strictly forbid it to.
Being transparent comes with a cost. It makes you very vulnerable to the world in a deeply personal way. Your feelings and thoughts will be brought up during a fight, you will unintentionally hurt people's feelings, you may portray yourself in an unflattering way. There are so many reasons not to do what I do but I will never stop because it gives me life. It gives me purpose. It helps me get through the rough stuff. By typing it all out, I'm giving a big middle figure to my problems and saying, "You know what, screw you. I'm not going to let you consume me. I'm going to take you out of my brain and put you somewhere where I can see you and just see you for what you are."
Writing is my therapy and I'll be damned if I'll let some adverse responses take away something so important in my life. That being said, if you've got a question about something I've written, ask me about it. If you don't like the answer, tough shit. This life is my story, I'll write it however the fuck I want. (Sorry for swearing in my blog, Mom. I know you hate it.)
Monday, August 15, 2016
What's With The Cutting?
The number one question I get, besides "Are you ok? You look like shit..." is "What's with the cutting?" I know, unless you've been there it's a super hard things to wrap your brain around. There are a lot of questions people have. Why do you do it? Are you trying to kill yourself? Why would someone purposely hurt themselves? What do you get from it? What about the scars? Why would you ruin your body like that? Doesn't it hurt? I don't understand, why?!
Well, I can't speak for everyone but I can give you some insight into why I do the things I do. So let's do the damn thing, shall we?
Are you trying to kill yourself?
No, I'm not. I think cutting and bleeding out is not a good way to end it all and because it does not hold that significance to me, I would not choose that route. Yeah, that whole sentence is kind of fucked up. Unless you're brand new here, you should know by now it's par for the course.
Why do you do it? Why would someone purposely hurt themselves? What do you get from it?
Like I talked about here, I have a disorder that likes to fuck with my life. Long story short, my brain feels emotions much more intensely than a regular brain. So much so, that when these emotions kick in it's very overwhelming to me. Some studies I have looked into say it has to do with abnormalities in the amygdala and the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex areas of the brain, density and what have you, therefore completely fucking with how people with BPD process emotion. Which is why very unfortunately, this disorder can't be treated with any medication, only the triggers can, the anxiety, depression, that jazz. So what does it all mean? It means once I get triggered, it is extremely hard for me to calm myself down, which affects my thinking. It feels like the most angry or sad you've ever been times 100. Like my heart is going to burst, there is so much adrenaline, followed by confusion and an internal battle of what the fuck to do. The rational part of my brain fights with the crazy part and it really is exhausting as shit.And all this can happen over something little, like a break up or if I'm particularly emotionally vulnerable that day, an disagreement on the pronunciation of a word. It also takes my brain much longer to calm down than a normal brain, just peachy.
So why cutting? Because when I was younger, I somehow discovered that I could reduce the overwhelming inner hurt by replacing it with physical pain when these episodes happened. So pretty much when I get to the point of pacing back and forth, feeling like I'm going to literally explode, I try to replace that feeling with pain, that compared to the emotions, doesn't last long at all. It also takes concentration, I have to focus on something other than the emotion and the situation. Starting to get it yet?
Doesn't it hurt?
Well...yeah. Or course it hurts, haven't you ever accidentally cut yourself before? It hurts a lot, usually for several days after as well. Unfortunately, that's the whole point so....
What about the scars? Why would you ruin your body like that?
I can't say there aren't scars. I have scars. Mostly on my thighs but some on my wrists and a couple on my upper arm. Any of the visible scars were done impulsively, the others were more planned out. Sometimes I would hurt for hours and hours before finally being able to self sooth. I am lucky that my scars are not bad, I have seen a lot worse. Yes, I've had people noticed them. Yes, I usually would lie about what happened. I still do sometimes.
So how are you?
I'm actually doing a lot better. I haven't been using cutting as a coping mechanism lately. When I have, it's brief and very superficial. I've been able to recognize when I am getting weird or on the verge of a breakdown and ask for help, I was able to get through an episode the other night while in a room full of people without having to leave which is a pretty big deal. I still have bad days and I still have times when my day is completely screwed because my emotions are so high.
What would you say to someone who self harms or is thinking of doing it?
Well there are a lot of reasons why someone decides to self harm but in every case I would tell them don't. It's not healthy and it doesn't even work. Whether it's cutting, burning, picking, whatever, it's a temporary fix that doesn't last and doesn't make the problem go away. If you ever want to feel peace, if you are sick of feeling overwhelmed and sick of hurting, you have to take steps towards recovery and the first step is to stop hurting yourself. You are hurting enough, you don't need to do it any more. Write, paint, run, scream, just stop hurting yourself. It's going to be hard and it's going to take time. There are going to be relapses but keep trying. You are worth it, even if you don't feel that way sometimes, listen to me when I say, YOU ARE WORTH IT.
Well, I can't speak for everyone but I can give you some insight into why I do the things I do. So let's do the damn thing, shall we?
Are you trying to kill yourself?
No, I'm not. I think cutting and bleeding out is not a good way to end it all and because it does not hold that significance to me, I would not choose that route. Yeah, that whole sentence is kind of fucked up. Unless you're brand new here, you should know by now it's par for the course.
Why do you do it? Why would someone purposely hurt themselves? What do you get from it?
Like I talked about here, I have a disorder that likes to fuck with my life. Long story short, my brain feels emotions much more intensely than a regular brain. So much so, that when these emotions kick in it's very overwhelming to me. Some studies I have looked into say it has to do with abnormalities in the amygdala and the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex areas of the brain, density and what have you, therefore completely fucking with how people with BPD process emotion. Which is why very unfortunately, this disorder can't be treated with any medication, only the triggers can, the anxiety, depression, that jazz. So what does it all mean? It means once I get triggered, it is extremely hard for me to calm myself down, which affects my thinking. It feels like the most angry or sad you've ever been times 100. Like my heart is going to burst, there is so much adrenaline, followed by confusion and an internal battle of what the fuck to do. The rational part of my brain fights with the crazy part and it really is exhausting as shit.And all this can happen over something little, like a break up or if I'm particularly emotionally vulnerable that day, an disagreement on the pronunciation of a word. It also takes my brain much longer to calm down than a normal brain, just peachy.
So why cutting? Because when I was younger, I somehow discovered that I could reduce the overwhelming inner hurt by replacing it with physical pain when these episodes happened. So pretty much when I get to the point of pacing back and forth, feeling like I'm going to literally explode, I try to replace that feeling with pain, that compared to the emotions, doesn't last long at all. It also takes concentration, I have to focus on something other than the emotion and the situation. Starting to get it yet?
Doesn't it hurt?
Well...yeah. Or course it hurts, haven't you ever accidentally cut yourself before? It hurts a lot, usually for several days after as well. Unfortunately, that's the whole point so....
What about the scars? Why would you ruin your body like that?
I can't say there aren't scars. I have scars. Mostly on my thighs but some on my wrists and a couple on my upper arm. Any of the visible scars were done impulsively, the others were more planned out. Sometimes I would hurt for hours and hours before finally being able to self sooth. I am lucky that my scars are not bad, I have seen a lot worse. Yes, I've had people noticed them. Yes, I usually would lie about what happened. I still do sometimes.
So how are you?
I'm actually doing a lot better. I haven't been using cutting as a coping mechanism lately. When I have, it's brief and very superficial. I've been able to recognize when I am getting weird or on the verge of a breakdown and ask for help, I was able to get through an episode the other night while in a room full of people without having to leave which is a pretty big deal. I still have bad days and I still have times when my day is completely screwed because my emotions are so high.
What would you say to someone who self harms or is thinking of doing it?
Well there are a lot of reasons why someone decides to self harm but in every case I would tell them don't. It's not healthy and it doesn't even work. Whether it's cutting, burning, picking, whatever, it's a temporary fix that doesn't last and doesn't make the problem go away. If you ever want to feel peace, if you are sick of feeling overwhelmed and sick of hurting, you have to take steps towards recovery and the first step is to stop hurting yourself. You are hurting enough, you don't need to do it any more. Write, paint, run, scream, just stop hurting yourself. It's going to be hard and it's going to take time. There are going to be relapses but keep trying. You are worth it, even if you don't feel that way sometimes, listen to me when I say, YOU ARE WORTH IT.
Thursday, August 11, 2016
Insignificant yet life altering traumas: Accidents Happen
Once upon a time, back in my party days, I used to have a strange admiration for Drunk Rachel. She always seemed to have great ideas and could do just about anything until she tried it. From hurdling objects in wet grass to cooking pizza, there was never any hesitation that anything would ever go wrong. Until it always did. Luckily for Drunk Rachel, Sober Rachel was always there the next day to clean up her messes. Scraping burnt pizza out of the oven, tending to ass bruises...any aftermath was on Sober Rachel.
One night after a visit with her friends at the bar, Drunk Rachel decided it was time to sober up a little and head home. As she left the bar, she thought to herself "Hmm...I want a chicken sandwich" and took a detour through Hardee's. As she pulled up, she debated waiting in line, even though it was late, there were a shitload of cars ahead of her. She decided that chicken sandwiches are worth the wait, pulled up and waited to order. After ordering she waiting patiently in line. Now just before D.R. left the bar, she felt the urge to go pee but she didn't because sometimes it's nice to pee in your own house and not at the bar. With each customer, the urge grew and grew until Drunk Rachel thought she was going to explode. Frantic, she tried to figure out a plan. Should she jump out of the car and pee in front of God and everyone, should she leave the line and try to make it home....it was too late for those options. So she reached for the Mt. Dew bottle on the floor of the front seat, fully confident that if truckers could do it, so could she. She carefully wiggled out of her jeans and positioned the bottle near her peehole. Then she promptly completely missed what so ever. At this point there was nothing that could close the flood gates so she had no choice but to just let it happen. Pee flooded the seat as she still foolheartedly tried to catch any amount of the warm, yellow liquid in the bottle but the task was beyond her. So she sat there, peeing herself as the cars ahead of her inched closer to the pick up window. Distraught and amazed by the amount of liquid exiting her body, she ripped off her shirt to try to soak up as much of the urine as possible. Luckily for the drive thru guy, she had a tank top on underneath. She shoved the shirt behind her, down to her ass, which was completely exposed because obviously when you pee, your pants are down.So she tried to pull her pants up but she was still peeing at this point so she put her purse in her lap and prayed that the drive thru guy was too distracted by the line of customers to pay any attention to the half dressed, piss soaked lady in front of him. Which is exactly what I hope happened, things were sketchy at that point and I can't really remember. I'm sure I looked super obvious but we are going to pretend I totally got away with it and fooled the world once again with my quick thinking.
One night after a visit with her friends at the bar, Drunk Rachel decided it was time to sober up a little and head home. As she left the bar, she thought to herself "Hmm...I want a chicken sandwich" and took a detour through Hardee's. As she pulled up, she debated waiting in line, even though it was late, there were a shitload of cars ahead of her. She decided that chicken sandwiches are worth the wait, pulled up and waited to order. After ordering she waiting patiently in line. Now just before D.R. left the bar, she felt the urge to go pee but she didn't because sometimes it's nice to pee in your own house and not at the bar. With each customer, the urge grew and grew until Drunk Rachel thought she was going to explode. Frantic, she tried to figure out a plan. Should she jump out of the car and pee in front of God and everyone, should she leave the line and try to make it home....it was too late for those options. So she reached for the Mt. Dew bottle on the floor of the front seat, fully confident that if truckers could do it, so could she. She carefully wiggled out of her jeans and positioned the bottle near her peehole. Then she promptly completely missed what so ever. At this point there was nothing that could close the flood gates so she had no choice but to just let it happen. Pee flooded the seat as she still foolheartedly tried to catch any amount of the warm, yellow liquid in the bottle but the task was beyond her. So she sat there, peeing herself as the cars ahead of her inched closer to the pick up window. Distraught and amazed by the amount of liquid exiting her body, she ripped off her shirt to try to soak up as much of the urine as possible. Luckily for the drive thru guy, she had a tank top on underneath. She shoved the shirt behind her, down to her ass, which was completely exposed because obviously when you pee, your pants are down.So she tried to pull her pants up but she was still peeing at this point so she put her purse in her lap and prayed that the drive thru guy was too distracted by the line of customers to pay any attention to the half dressed, piss soaked lady in front of him. Which is exactly what I hope happened, things were sketchy at that point and I can't really remember. I'm sure I looked super obvious but we are going to pretend I totally got away with it and fooled the world once again with my quick thinking.
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Rantin' & Ravin': Divorce Edition
One thing I have come across pertaining to our pending divorce is, "Just be glad you didn't have kids, it's so much harder with kids..." or my personal favorite of "No offense but ours is different. We have a family, we have children..."
I'm sure it's just because people forget or maybe they just downplay it in their own minds but news flash mother fuckers, I did have a child. My stepson is one of the best people I have ever met. He is funny, caring, loving and all around just wonderful. I have been in his life for 12 years and now it's very confusing and unclear to me where exactly our relationship stands. Not just because I am divorcing his father, which I suppose makes me no longer a step mother but also because he is an adult now, he just had his 22nd birthday. He is an adult, making up his own mind about the situation. Also, I am a product of a divorce, so excuse me while I throw out that card and have little sympathy for those who still get to have a strong, close relationship with their children, whether it be every other weekend or whatever. I'll just be over here, crying, wondering what the fuck my role is in regards to a child I watched grow and thrive from a 10 year old boy playing little league to a responsible, good-hearted, 22 year old man But fuck me because I didn't produce him myself so it must not break my fucking heart every time I think about it. Right?
Everyone is always so concerned about being politically correct when it comes to what constitutes a family but when it comes to my situation, it seems like the lack of biological children makes the family I'm losing, less. Which is completely unfair to both Rob and I. I'm wrestling with the thought of losing nieces, nephews, a sister and brother in law, a mother.... If it was up to me, we would stay family, there is nothing I would love more but even if I am lucky enough to still be accepted, it will never, ever be the same. So if it seems for one second that my life isn't just as devastated as those who divorce with children and a "real family" by whatever fucked up, bias standards you hold, I'll gladly let you know exactly how wrong you are. Because it seems to me, we have it a lot worse off. We are losing a lot more.
I just want to finish with this, to Rob's family and friends, I love you all. I'm so sorry everything went to shit and I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I will always, ALWAYS be here for you, no matter what. You are my family and once family, always family. If it's all too weird and too soon, I understand. Just please know that if you ever need anything, I'm here for you. No expectations of reciprocation, whatever you need, if it is within my means, I will give it to you. I get that things are different now and they will never be the same. It sucks and it breaks my heart. I also want you to know that Rob is always welcome in my family as well. All my friends, are his friends and they will always be his friends. We may be a questionable bunch but we know a good one when we see it and Rob is one of the best.
*rage sob mic drop*
I'm sure it's just because people forget or maybe they just downplay it in their own minds but news flash mother fuckers, I did have a child. My stepson is one of the best people I have ever met. He is funny, caring, loving and all around just wonderful. I have been in his life for 12 years and now it's very confusing and unclear to me where exactly our relationship stands. Not just because I am divorcing his father, which I suppose makes me no longer a step mother but also because he is an adult now, he just had his 22nd birthday. He is an adult, making up his own mind about the situation. Also, I am a product of a divorce, so excuse me while I throw out that card and have little sympathy for those who still get to have a strong, close relationship with their children, whether it be every other weekend or whatever. I'll just be over here, crying, wondering what the fuck my role is in regards to a child I watched grow and thrive from a 10 year old boy playing little league to a responsible, good-hearted, 22 year old man But fuck me because I didn't produce him myself so it must not break my fucking heart every time I think about it. Right?
Everyone is always so concerned about being politically correct when it comes to what constitutes a family but when it comes to my situation, it seems like the lack of biological children makes the family I'm losing, less. Which is completely unfair to both Rob and I. I'm wrestling with the thought of losing nieces, nephews, a sister and brother in law, a mother.... If it was up to me, we would stay family, there is nothing I would love more but even if I am lucky enough to still be accepted, it will never, ever be the same. So if it seems for one second that my life isn't just as devastated as those who divorce with children and a "real family" by whatever fucked up, bias standards you hold, I'll gladly let you know exactly how wrong you are. Because it seems to me, we have it a lot worse off. We are losing a lot more.
I just want to finish with this, to Rob's family and friends, I love you all. I'm so sorry everything went to shit and I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I will always, ALWAYS be here for you, no matter what. You are my family and once family, always family. If it's all too weird and too soon, I understand. Just please know that if you ever need anything, I'm here for you. No expectations of reciprocation, whatever you need, if it is within my means, I will give it to you. I get that things are different now and they will never be the same. It sucks and it breaks my heart. I also want you to know that Rob is always welcome in my family as well. All my friends, are his friends and they will always be his friends. We may be a questionable bunch but we know a good one when we see it and Rob is one of the best.
*rage sob mic drop*
Monday, August 1, 2016
Truth is.......
Preface: I wrote this post a long time ago, just found it, read it and decided it needed publication asap.
If you have anyone on your Facebook friends list between the ages of 13-19 or so, chances are you've see this little back and forth commenting game referred to as "Truth Is..." From what I've gathered it's basically a passive aggressive way of getting and passing out compliments and/or insults. And we all know how much I enjoy Facebook passive aggression.
If you have anyone on your Facebook friends list between the ages of 13-19 or so, chances are you've see this little back and forth commenting game referred to as "Truth Is..." From what I've gathered it's basically a passive aggressive way of getting and passing out compliments and/or insults. And we all know how much I enjoy Facebook passive aggression.
I'm not going to sit here and pretend I didn't write a big ol' post about how I wondered what people thought of me, I did that, but I am going to bitch and moan about how stupid this Facebook game is. Ready? GO!
You can safely assume about 97% of juveniles between the ages of 12-17 are little assholes. They spend half of their time talking shit about everyone they see and the other half crying about how so and so is mean to them when they receive retribution. Apparently puberty causes the blood flow to shift, moving away from the brain. The first part of the brain to be affected is the part that regulates empathy, turning the once sweet child into a soulless hate monger which feasts on tears. Knowing this fact, who in their right mind would really want to know the opinions of these hormonal monsters? Follow up question, where the hell are your parents?! Unless you are some kind of miracle child birthed to a 65 year old thirteen years ago, I know these damn kids' parents know how to use facebook. Some of the crap I see teenagers posting is absolutely redonkulous, but then again I've witnessed adults post some pretty stupid shit, so maybe that high degree of class just runs in the family? I LEARNED IT FROM WATCHING YOU!!!
The more I think about it, we did have a version of "Truth is.." back in my day. Yearbooks. That was your chance to leave a little note for someone and be completely truthful. Plus it was the last day of school so you wouldn't have to see them again until the fall. The yearbook entries I'd get were always about the same "You're funny! I liked having you in class! Have an awesome summer! CALL ME!"
Then one year, I asked a girl who was new that year to sign my yearbook. Here is the thing, eventually the general compliments you give to someone will get blurred into all the other compliments they receive over their lifetime and they will just remember you as a nice person. BUT when you make a snide remark, that person will forever see you as a stupid hoe. I mean, probably. So her awesome yearbook note to me was something like "I don't really know you. We had a class together."........really bitch?! I don't really know you either but fuck me for trying to befriend your stupid ass. That kind of shit is why A. I hated high school and B. Had no friends. I couldn't do the fake smile, pretend to be your friend bullshit. I mean, I may not have been the nicest person but you bet your ass I wouldn't write some bitch ass comment like that in someone's yearbook.
I'm still bitter about that shit. Like she might walk out one morning and find her house t.p.'ed and have no fucking idea what's going on because I'm sure she doesn't remember it at all. I guess that goes to show you, be careful what you write in people's yearbook. They might grow up to blog about it and you'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. to a 30 year woman and her best friend in matching spandex leotards drunkenly throwing rolls of toilet paper at your house.
The more I think about it, we did have a version of "Truth is.." back in my day. Yearbooks. That was your chance to leave a little note for someone and be completely truthful. Plus it was the last day of school so you wouldn't have to see them again until the fall. The yearbook entries I'd get were always about the same "You're funny! I liked having you in class! Have an awesome summer! CALL ME!"
Then one year, I asked a girl who was new that year to sign my yearbook. Here is the thing, eventually the general compliments you give to someone will get blurred into all the other compliments they receive over their lifetime and they will just remember you as a nice person. BUT when you make a snide remark, that person will forever see you as a stupid hoe. I mean, probably. So her awesome yearbook note to me was something like "I don't really know you. We had a class together."........really bitch?! I don't really know you either but fuck me for trying to befriend your stupid ass. That kind of shit is why A. I hated high school and B. Had no friends. I couldn't do the fake smile, pretend to be your friend bullshit. I mean, I may not have been the nicest person but you bet your ass I wouldn't write some bitch ass comment like that in someone's yearbook.
I'm still bitter about that shit. Like she might walk out one morning and find her house t.p.'ed and have no fucking idea what's going on because I'm sure she doesn't remember it at all. I guess that goes to show you, be careful what you write in people's yearbook. They might grow up to blog about it and you'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. to a 30 year woman and her best friend in matching spandex leotards drunkenly throwing rolls of toilet paper at your house.
Moving On
I have decided that it is basically impossible to "move on" in the way I thought moving on meant. Ok wait, not impossible, just fucking dumb. Why would you choose to completely dismiss everything and every moment you shared with a person or in a specific place or during a time in your life? Whether it be good, bad or in between, what happened happened and in one way or another it has shaped the person you are today. Everything we experience in life affects us in some way. Sometimes we don't even realize it changes us, sometimes it kicks us in the face like Chuck Norris and we need new faces.
Besides the internal struggle of your own emotions, which can go from "I'm totally ok" to "I'm a fucking mess, how do I even survive the day" in a matter of minutes, you also have the anxiety of what everyone else is thinking about your situation. All the "Does she really think she will make it at a huge university?" or "Hmm...already talking to another girl. That was fast." or "Why in the hell would she ever even think of going back with him?" It's hard enough to deal with self-doubt when facing a major change or leap of faith, to deal with everyone's opinion on top of that is just unnecessary punishment.
Basically my advice to you is, fuck them. Fuck them all. As long as you feel you are doing the right thing by you, fuck....them... By no means does this mean you should go smoke meth or anything like that, this is for like healthy, thought out shit. If you have always wanted to move to LA and pursue acting, do it. If you want to go back to school, do it. If you want to break up with your current boyfriend so you can date a guy who deals crack and you really want to start doing crack, I strongly advise against it. Don't be fucking stupid and get your ass in some kind of meeting, your life choices are terrible. Like if you really think your relationship isn't working out or you're not happy then fine, break up with the boyfriend but put down the crack pipe and quit being fucking disgusting. Crack is wack, yo.
It's safe to say that everyone has their own point of "moving on". Moving on doesn't have to mean you're completely over what happened, it doesn't have to mean you pretend it never was. You can move on and still be sad sometimes, still wonder if you made the right choice, the right school, the right city, the right person. I think Rob explained it best when I asked him about a macroeconomics course. He had taken a similar course and hated it, when I asked him why he said because it makes no sense to figure something in relation to 100% productivity since there isn't really such a thing as 100% productivity. Humans and our emotions are an inconsistent variable, which is just fine. We don't have to strive for 100% certainty because in all actuality there is no 100%. That's just life.
In closing, as I always say, do what feels right to you. Fuck the haters, screw all those who judge you and your situation, it's really none of their business. Just try to be happy and if you can't, just be. Be in the moment, it will all come to you eventually. Also don't do crack.
Besides the internal struggle of your own emotions, which can go from "I'm totally ok" to "I'm a fucking mess, how do I even survive the day" in a matter of minutes, you also have the anxiety of what everyone else is thinking about your situation. All the "Does she really think she will make it at a huge university?" or "Hmm...already talking to another girl. That was fast." or "Why in the hell would she ever even think of going back with him?" It's hard enough to deal with self-doubt when facing a major change or leap of faith, to deal with everyone's opinion on top of that is just unnecessary punishment.
Basically my advice to you is, fuck them. Fuck them all. As long as you feel you are doing the right thing by you, fuck....them... By no means does this mean you should go smoke meth or anything like that, this is for like healthy, thought out shit. If you have always wanted to move to LA and pursue acting, do it. If you want to go back to school, do it. If you want to break up with your current boyfriend so you can date a guy who deals crack and you really want to start doing crack, I strongly advise against it. Don't be fucking stupid and get your ass in some kind of meeting, your life choices are terrible. Like if you really think your relationship isn't working out or you're not happy then fine, break up with the boyfriend but put down the crack pipe and quit being fucking disgusting. Crack is wack, yo.
It's safe to say that everyone has their own point of "moving on". Moving on doesn't have to mean you're completely over what happened, it doesn't have to mean you pretend it never was. You can move on and still be sad sometimes, still wonder if you made the right choice, the right school, the right city, the right person. I think Rob explained it best when I asked him about a macroeconomics course. He had taken a similar course and hated it, when I asked him why he said because it makes no sense to figure something in relation to 100% productivity since there isn't really such a thing as 100% productivity. Humans and our emotions are an inconsistent variable, which is just fine. We don't have to strive for 100% certainty because in all actuality there is no 100%. That's just life.
In closing, as I always say, do what feels right to you. Fuck the haters, screw all those who judge you and your situation, it's really none of their business. Just try to be happy and if you can't, just be. Be in the moment, it will all come to you eventually. Also don't do crack.
Impregnation Nation
Everyone at work today has had enough of me. Mostly because I dropped this on them this morning, "I want to have a baby this year. Do you think I should do a donor or have a baby with someone?" Which led to a lot of remarks, none positive. This whole idea came to me about two weeks ago when I decided I may never get married again, if I do it wouldn't be for a long time and I am already 30. I want a baby eventually, I don't want to have to wait until I maybe get married again. So I tried explaining it to them how I saw it....
1. No baby daddy drama. With a donor, you don't have to worry about getting along with the father, child support fights, differences in parenting techniques, etc. I was with someone for 11 years, I thought we would be together forever but people change. I now know nothing is 100% guaranteed to work which makes me very hesitant to involve another person in any more of my life choices.
2. No heartbreak. I've seen the aftermath of a father leaving a child in my niece. She struggles with the fact her dad lives states away everyday. Seeing her heart ache for her daddy kills me every time, then I get instantly pissed because its a dick move to move away. And trying to explain to her is impossible because to a child, that love should be enough to make someone stay around.
3. A baby will help me continue my life. Yeah I can't lie, I've been through a lot lately but if anyone knows when to back off, it's me. The fact that I still think this is a good idea, even with all the recent changes, tells you I am being responsible. Yes, I'm in therapy. Yes, I'm in the middle of a divorce...which is stupid because what does that even mean? There is no fighting, no ill will, I'm basically just in the middle of moving and we are finishing up financial shit. It's not like I'm in the middle of a semester where I have divorce homework every night or a big divorce final coming up. I don't understand what people are trying to say when they say "focus on your divorce". What is there to focus on? I moved, we are waiting on the bank to finish up financial crap and eventually we will file and sign some papers. It doesn't seem like it needs that much focus.
Ok...I'll be honest. I only made it to three before I got distracted and stop writing. Now it's been a week and even though I still feel like I need a child, maybe the fact I was able to get so distracted in the first place is a large indicator that it may not be the best idea. I also have a sneaking suspicion I have yet to move on with my life enough to bring another person into it. Woe is me, I guess I'll be babyless for a while longer.
1. No baby daddy drama. With a donor, you don't have to worry about getting along with the father, child support fights, differences in parenting techniques, etc. I was with someone for 11 years, I thought we would be together forever but people change. I now know nothing is 100% guaranteed to work which makes me very hesitant to involve another person in any more of my life choices.
2. No heartbreak. I've seen the aftermath of a father leaving a child in my niece. She struggles with the fact her dad lives states away everyday. Seeing her heart ache for her daddy kills me every time, then I get instantly pissed because its a dick move to move away. And trying to explain to her is impossible because to a child, that love should be enough to make someone stay around.
3. A baby will help me continue my life. Yeah I can't lie, I've been through a lot lately but if anyone knows when to back off, it's me. The fact that I still think this is a good idea, even with all the recent changes, tells you I am being responsible. Yes, I'm in therapy. Yes, I'm in the middle of a divorce...which is stupid because what does that even mean? There is no fighting, no ill will, I'm basically just in the middle of moving and we are finishing up financial shit. It's not like I'm in the middle of a semester where I have divorce homework every night or a big divorce final coming up. I don't understand what people are trying to say when they say "focus on your divorce". What is there to focus on? I moved, we are waiting on the bank to finish up financial crap and eventually we will file and sign some papers. It doesn't seem like it needs that much focus.
Ok...I'll be honest. I only made it to three before I got distracted and stop writing. Now it's been a week and even though I still feel like I need a child, maybe the fact I was able to get so distracted in the first place is a large indicator that it may not be the best idea. I also have a sneaking suspicion I have yet to move on with my life enough to bring another person into it. Woe is me, I guess I'll be babyless for a while longer.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Yet Another Kitten Tale
I've been doing a suuuuper awesome job bingeing lately. Eating. Drinking. Watching TV. Shopping. I've been rocking it all. Some may call it manic but I call it taking advantage of the one life we have. YOLO! Here is a story that leads into another story that makes this all relevant.
Part One
When I was up in the behavioral unit aka "let's not call it a psych ward" I met quite a few people. A couple of them I became fairly close with, such as T. Not her real name because I'm not going to do her like that so we will just call her T. T has what I have plus a couple other things. Super nice, quiet, pretty young woman. We spent most of our days just hanging out, waiting to see the doctor and hoping for discharge so we had plenty of time to walk the hall and talk. One of my favorite...no THE favorite conversation I was apart of while up there was the time we were talking about when we get manic, what we do. I usually get anxious, then upset, then I start cleaning. Sometimes I eat, for awhile I was working out a lot, shopping is also fun. Then it was T's turn, which turned out to be the best freaking reply I have ever heard in my life. T would get manic and buy dogs. Specifically chihuahuas. She only had two at the time but she would like acquire chihuahuas then rehome them to make sure they were going to good dog parents. I instantly knew we would be friends forever at that point. Unfortunately, I never got her last name before my discharge and we may never talk to each other again, which really bums me out. You can't exactly call and ask, "Hey. Can you tell me the name of the person I was hospitalized with?" So even though I have searched and searched Facebook, I will probably never find her. Sad :(
Part Two
On Friday I was feeling a little anxious and manic. I was off all day so it would have been a perfect time to clean but instead I decided to make a hair appointment and figure out how to pay bills and then stress out over said bills. I was completely in a panic as I came to the realization I was going to have to start soliciting aka prostituting to pay my bills, then I did more math and really started to freak out when I realized how many clients I'd have to have on average, I had to figure out a way to calm myself down. So I left town a little early to drive out to my hairdresser's, smoking 600 cigarettes on my way there. By the way, smoking totally disgusting and I definitely do not recommend it. It's the worst. Anyways I drove out to her little town, right outside of my town. Just as I pulled in she text me saying she'd be a little late, so I text her that I was a little early. Being it was 1:45pm on a Friday, I told her to text me when she got home, I was driving the next town over to go to the bar. While I was enjoying myself, I saw a post on Facebook from a friend who works at a car dealership. Apparently someone had brought their car in to be tuned or fixed or whatever and there was 3 little kittens in it! Not sure where in the car, I'm guessing the hood but I like my own version where the kittens actually stole the car, they are ninja rebel kittens, but noticed the oil change light was on and being that not all kittens are complete assholes they kindly took the car in to be serviced. I'm probably not accurate but since I have no other story, I'm sticking with that one. Regardless, they found three kittens and called the shelter to come get them. Me being manic, one Coors Light deep into day drinking and reminiscing about my good friend T and her life choices, I decided that I NEEDED one of the kittens. I have been wanting a cat for awhile but could never get one because Rob is deathly allergic.Well now that things are happening as they are, I am free to have as many cats as I please, at least until my landlord finds out and evicts me. Which, honestly, just means I can have even more cats so it's a win-win! Anyways, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce.......C.C. (short for Cool Cat because I am very original)
TADA!
Part One
When I was up in the behavioral unit aka "let's not call it a psych ward" I met quite a few people. A couple of them I became fairly close with, such as T. Not her real name because I'm not going to do her like that so we will just call her T. T has what I have plus a couple other things. Super nice, quiet, pretty young woman. We spent most of our days just hanging out, waiting to see the doctor and hoping for discharge so we had plenty of time to walk the hall and talk. One of my favorite...no THE favorite conversation I was apart of while up there was the time we were talking about when we get manic, what we do. I usually get anxious, then upset, then I start cleaning. Sometimes I eat, for awhile I was working out a lot, shopping is also fun. Then it was T's turn, which turned out to be the best freaking reply I have ever heard in my life. T would get manic and buy dogs. Specifically chihuahuas. She only had two at the time but she would like acquire chihuahuas then rehome them to make sure they were going to good dog parents. I instantly knew we would be friends forever at that point. Unfortunately, I never got her last name before my discharge and we may never talk to each other again, which really bums me out. You can't exactly call and ask, "Hey. Can you tell me the name of the person I was hospitalized with?" So even though I have searched and searched Facebook, I will probably never find her. Sad :(
Part Two
On Friday I was feeling a little anxious and manic. I was off all day so it would have been a perfect time to clean but instead I decided to make a hair appointment and figure out how to pay bills and then stress out over said bills. I was completely in a panic as I came to the realization I was going to have to start soliciting aka prostituting to pay my bills, then I did more math and really started to freak out when I realized how many clients I'd have to have on average, I had to figure out a way to calm myself down. So I left town a little early to drive out to my hairdresser's, smoking 600 cigarettes on my way there. By the way, smoking totally disgusting and I definitely do not recommend it. It's the worst. Anyways I drove out to her little town, right outside of my town. Just as I pulled in she text me saying she'd be a little late, so I text her that I was a little early. Being it was 1:45pm on a Friday, I told her to text me when she got home, I was driving the next town over to go to the bar. While I was enjoying myself, I saw a post on Facebook from a friend who works at a car dealership. Apparently someone had brought their car in to be tuned or fixed or whatever and there was 3 little kittens in it! Not sure where in the car, I'm guessing the hood but I like my own version where the kittens actually stole the car, they are ninja rebel kittens, but noticed the oil change light was on and being that not all kittens are complete assholes they kindly took the car in to be serviced. I'm probably not accurate but since I have no other story, I'm sticking with that one. Regardless, they found three kittens and called the shelter to come get them. Me being manic, one Coors Light deep into day drinking and reminiscing about my good friend T and her life choices, I decided that I NEEDED one of the kittens. I have been wanting a cat for awhile but could never get one because Rob is deathly allergic.Well now that things are happening as they are, I am free to have as many cats as I please, at least until my landlord finds out and evicts me. Which, honestly, just means I can have even more cats so it's a win-win! Anyways, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce.......C.C. (short for Cool Cat because I am very original)
TADA!
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
I'm Crazy For You.....But Also Actually Crazy
I think I never put a name to my disorder when I wrote about it because honestly I think my family is worried people will think I'm crazy. Which technically I am but we like to pretend I'm not because it makes us all feel a little better at the end of the day. Well, since I threw all my divorce business out there, have talked about suppositories, bleeding orifices, etc. I might as well come out and say it. If only to discourage anyone from thinking I'm dateable and/or friendable. Tread lightly readers, shit's about to go down.
As I talked about here I have this lovely disorder that makes my life a living hell at times. Before you judge me by it's name, give me the chance to explain it myself, which will probably make it sound a heck of a lot worse but fuck it. I have Borderline Personality Disorder. As I explain it to many people, including my 8 year old niece when she told me one night, "I'm sad. I can tell you are having a rough time..." (Which by the way broke my fucking heart...) Most people have a range of emotion like so:
Basically I feel much more emotion than a normal person. So when I feel "happy", I feel SUPER FUCKING HAPPY. And when I am sad, I feel like dying. It's hard for me to regulate my emotions. Sometimes they refer to BPD as emotional instability which is a good description. I can be feeling fine then something happens and I fall into a black hole of despair. And by something I mean like my significant other didn't hold my hand, or touch me when I walked by, or kiss me long enough. That's all it takes for my brain to decide that I'm not loved anymore or they aren't attracted to me anymore. But it's not just about that, if someone comes into my work and doesn't say hello back or uses an unfriendly tone with me, it triggers me. Then I get upset and angry, I feel like nothing and I just want to give up. Why? Because people with BPD feel worthless, we have no sense of self worth. We determine our worth by what others think of us. We need constant validation, to a point it becomes an addiction. The more I get, the more I need. Can you imagine how incredibly exhausting it is to be with someone with BPD? The fact that I was able to be apart of an 11 year relationship is note-worthy. People with BPD have very unstable relationships with others because of a constant swing from fear of abandonment to breaking up before they can because we know it will eventually happen.
Some of the features of this lovely disorder are: inability to regulate emotions, reckless behavior, distorted self-image, severe mood swings, etc. It doesn't sound that bad, a lot of people may even relate to it like "Hey I experience those things too..." but times what you feel by about 1000. Then enter the other stuff like stress induced paranoia, disassociation, suicidal thoughts and actions, self harm....it sucks butts.
I self harmed in high school. Those who knew about it thought it was an attention thing, they figured I would grow out of it, which I did, for awhile. I "relapsed" at 21, stopped, relapsed in 2015, then started treatment for it because I didn't want to cope that way. In the last few months, I cut more frequently and more severely than ever in my life. I didn't feel like I could stop. Thankfully today I am 54 days clean from cutting and I hope to continue. Then there is the suicide shit. The first time I attempted suicide, I was about 14. It didn't work. For the last 3 years or so, I went through the steps of accepting my fate as a suicide victim. In about February 2016, I set a date and had a plan. In May 2015, I held a loaded gun to my head but I didn't do it because it wasn't time. Instead I was committed to a behavioral unit for 3 days. I lied my way through it so I could be discharged because I didn't want to be there. For the last year, I've put my family through hell, my spouse through hell, my friends through hell and as badly as I have been suffering, they have been as well. I made my plans known in an attempt to soften the blow for my family when it eventually happened. Which would have been July 5th, 2016. That day came, I woke up depressed and wanting to die but I didn't. I went to my therapist, my family kept tabs on me all day and I made it until July 6th.
I have BPD. It sucks but it is what it is. I might never be "cured" but I can be treated. It doesn't make me a bad person, it means my mind is different from others and life is harder for me in some ways. It doesn't mean I'm crazy, or maybe it does. I've had it for years, undiagnosed, so everyone who knows me, this is me. That is me. It doesn't change that person you know, it's just a part of who I am that no one knew about, I didn't even know about it. The reason I wrote this is to explain that mental illness is just a thing. Brown hair, blue eyes, BPD, depression, bipolar, 20/20 vision. It's a part of life. Maybe me sharing will help remove the stigma, maybe I'm making it worse, I dunno. I apologize if I'm not who you thought I am but I promise I'm a good person, at least I try really hard to be. And sometimes I'm funny. And I'll pay for shots of Patron when we go out. AND I give great compliments plus I mean them.
Now that that's out there...I have a WHOOLLEEE bunch to write about! Stay Tuned....
As I talked about here I have this lovely disorder that makes my life a living hell at times. Before you judge me by it's name, give me the chance to explain it myself, which will probably make it sound a heck of a lot worse but fuck it. I have Borderline Personality Disorder. As I explain it to many people, including my 8 year old niece when she told me one night, "I'm sad. I can tell you are having a rough time..." (Which by the way broke my fucking heart...) Most people have a range of emotion like so:
{Very sad----------------------Very Happy}
MY very special emotional range is more like this:
{UNBEARABLY SAD --------------------------------------------------------EUPHORICALLY HAPPY}
Basically I feel much more emotion than a normal person. So when I feel "happy", I feel SUPER FUCKING HAPPY. And when I am sad, I feel like dying. It's hard for me to regulate my emotions. Sometimes they refer to BPD as emotional instability which is a good description. I can be feeling fine then something happens and I fall into a black hole of despair. And by something I mean like my significant other didn't hold my hand, or touch me when I walked by, or kiss me long enough. That's all it takes for my brain to decide that I'm not loved anymore or they aren't attracted to me anymore. But it's not just about that, if someone comes into my work and doesn't say hello back or uses an unfriendly tone with me, it triggers me. Then I get upset and angry, I feel like nothing and I just want to give up. Why? Because people with BPD feel worthless, we have no sense of self worth. We determine our worth by what others think of us. We need constant validation, to a point it becomes an addiction. The more I get, the more I need. Can you imagine how incredibly exhausting it is to be with someone with BPD? The fact that I was able to be apart of an 11 year relationship is note-worthy. People with BPD have very unstable relationships with others because of a constant swing from fear of abandonment to breaking up before they can because we know it will eventually happen.
Some of the features of this lovely disorder are: inability to regulate emotions, reckless behavior, distorted self-image, severe mood swings, etc. It doesn't sound that bad, a lot of people may even relate to it like "Hey I experience those things too..." but times what you feel by about 1000. Then enter the other stuff like stress induced paranoia, disassociation, suicidal thoughts and actions, self harm....it sucks butts.
I self harmed in high school. Those who knew about it thought it was an attention thing, they figured I would grow out of it, which I did, for awhile. I "relapsed" at 21, stopped, relapsed in 2015, then started treatment for it because I didn't want to cope that way. In the last few months, I cut more frequently and more severely than ever in my life. I didn't feel like I could stop. Thankfully today I am 54 days clean from cutting and I hope to continue. Then there is the suicide shit. The first time I attempted suicide, I was about 14. It didn't work. For the last 3 years or so, I went through the steps of accepting my fate as a suicide victim. In about February 2016, I set a date and had a plan. In May 2015, I held a loaded gun to my head but I didn't do it because it wasn't time. Instead I was committed to a behavioral unit for 3 days. I lied my way through it so I could be discharged because I didn't want to be there. For the last year, I've put my family through hell, my spouse through hell, my friends through hell and as badly as I have been suffering, they have been as well. I made my plans known in an attempt to soften the blow for my family when it eventually happened. Which would have been July 5th, 2016. That day came, I woke up depressed and wanting to die but I didn't. I went to my therapist, my family kept tabs on me all day and I made it until July 6th.
Now that that's out there...I have a WHOOLLEEE bunch to write about! Stay Tuned....
Monday, July 11, 2016
Dirty 30
Yes, last week I turned 30. Honestly, I'm surprised I made it this far, I'm a pretty reckless bitch. With 30 comes a new outlook in life, mostly that I'm not 20 anymore. Which just because I'm not in my 20's doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly start acting right. Fuck that, I'm just figuring out how to do me, I'm not about to let something like beginning a new decade change that.
So what exactly have I learned in the last 30 years of my life? What majestic, golden nuggets of knowledge can I spread to the world? It's hard to decide which ones are the most important but I'm going to try really, really, hard.
#1. I'll never remember to take my meds.
Ever since I got off birth control to try and get prego, my uterus has gone rogue and continually attempts to take my life once a month. Because of this, my friendly neighborhood vag doctor suggested trying out birth control again, this time the pill. So I was like, "Alright. Whatever keeps my insides from committing harikari every 27 days is fucking a-alright with me." It seemed like a great idea until I figured out why I never took the pill in the first place. I can't remember to take that shit. It's annoying and it makes my penis envy skyrocket. All I can say is its a pain in the ass and come shark week I'd better see some positive results.
#2. I am getting too old for the bullshit.
From the little petty fights over dumb shit to the little fibs we all tell to spare each others feelings to being treated like anything besides the magnificent land mermaid I truly am, I'm fucking over it. My bullshit tolerance has severely diminished in the last few years. There is absolutely no reason for me to emotionally explode over stupid shit anymore. You talk trash to me, I'll give you a respectable response but beyond that, by Felicia. Go be sad about your life somewhere else, you hateful heifer. I don't need your negativity in my life.
#3. I'll sleep until whenever the hell I want.
I get that I probably should be productive on the weekends but honestly, if I want to sleep all day, I'm gonna do it. No amount of texts or calls is going to change that. So to my sister, I'm sorry you're bored but I'm an adult. If I want to sleep for 17 hours, I'm going to sleep for 17 hours. I'm not going to feel bad about it. Also I probably peed the bed, please come change my sheets and roll me so I don't develop bedsores.
#4. I'll act whatever age I wanna act.
I'm not saying that in a tantrum like way but if I want to beat on a tambourine while wearing a pink wig and interpretive dancing to Sia, well damn it, Imma do it. I pay taxes. If you don't like it, go find something more adultier to spend you time on, like analyze the stock market or organize your sock drawer, I don't give a shit what you do. Just get your foot off my ribbon dancer and clear the room, I've got cartwheels to attend to.
#5. I am allowed to make mistakes.
I'm 30, not dead. Last time I checked there isn't an age that automatically makes you immune to bad decision making. So I'll continue to make mistakes and yeah, most of them are going to be really, really dumb but I'm not that worried about it and you shouldn't be either. Shit happens. Plus it's all the mistakes that make life entertaining. Maybe not at that moment, maybe not to you but I'd probably laugh at your misfortune, just as I expect you to laugh at mine. Life is too short.
#6. Patron is delicious.
Nuff said.
So in closing, those are a few of the magical things I have to share with the world as a 30 year old. I'm super not pumped about being 30, not that it really matters because I was told a couple weeks ago I look 27 so I'm sticking with that. I'm 27...don't ask questions...
So what exactly have I learned in the last 30 years of my life? What majestic, golden nuggets of knowledge can I spread to the world? It's hard to decide which ones are the most important but I'm going to try really, really, hard.
#1. I'll never remember to take my meds.
Ever since I got off birth control to try and get prego, my uterus has gone rogue and continually attempts to take my life once a month. Because of this, my friendly neighborhood vag doctor suggested trying out birth control again, this time the pill. So I was like, "Alright. Whatever keeps my insides from committing harikari every 27 days is fucking a-alright with me." It seemed like a great idea until I figured out why I never took the pill in the first place. I can't remember to take that shit. It's annoying and it makes my penis envy skyrocket. All I can say is its a pain in the ass and come shark week I'd better see some positive results.
#2. I am getting too old for the bullshit.
From the little petty fights over dumb shit to the little fibs we all tell to spare each others feelings to being treated like anything besides the magnificent land mermaid I truly am, I'm fucking over it. My bullshit tolerance has severely diminished in the last few years. There is absolutely no reason for me to emotionally explode over stupid shit anymore. You talk trash to me, I'll give you a respectable response but beyond that, by Felicia. Go be sad about your life somewhere else, you hateful heifer. I don't need your negativity in my life.
#3. I'll sleep until whenever the hell I want.
I get that I probably should be productive on the weekends but honestly, if I want to sleep all day, I'm gonna do it. No amount of texts or calls is going to change that. So to my sister, I'm sorry you're bored but I'm an adult. If I want to sleep for 17 hours, I'm going to sleep for 17 hours. I'm not going to feel bad about it. Also I probably peed the bed, please come change my sheets and roll me so I don't develop bedsores.
#4. I'll act whatever age I wanna act.
I'm not saying that in a tantrum like way but if I want to beat on a tambourine while wearing a pink wig and interpretive dancing to Sia, well damn it, Imma do it. I pay taxes. If you don't like it, go find something more adultier to spend you time on, like analyze the stock market or organize your sock drawer, I don't give a shit what you do. Just get your foot off my ribbon dancer and clear the room, I've got cartwheels to attend to.
#5. I am allowed to make mistakes.
I'm 30, not dead. Last time I checked there isn't an age that automatically makes you immune to bad decision making. So I'll continue to make mistakes and yeah, most of them are going to be really, really dumb but I'm not that worried about it and you shouldn't be either. Shit happens. Plus it's all the mistakes that make life entertaining. Maybe not at that moment, maybe not to you but I'd probably laugh at your misfortune, just as I expect you to laugh at mine. Life is too short.
#6. Patron is delicious.
Nuff said.
So in closing, those are a few of the magical things I have to share with the world as a 30 year old. I'm super not pumped about being 30, not that it really matters because I was told a couple weeks ago I look 27 so I'm sticking with that. I'm 27...don't ask questions...
Monday, June 27, 2016
The Time I Went To The Doctor.....
So I went in to the doctor last week to get a sensual and romantic pap smear done, as a woman does every couple of years. They do whatever they do, call me obese, tell my to change my lifestyle, scrape the inside of my vag with that wirebrush thing, the usual. Two days later they call me and say, "You have an STD..." Ok not an STD but I did come back with a yeast infection. Which happens to women every once in awhile when our bodies decide that they want to be rouge bastards. Also if you ever ask a girl if she's ever had a yeast infection and she says no...she is a fucking liar. Or maybe her vagina is so jacked up she just never noticed she had one. Either way, probably wouldn't bone her if I was you. So they tell me I have this and I say, "That sucks" and they said "We are sending a prescription in for you" so I say "Cool. Thanks. Much Love. Peace out." and drop my phone like a boss.
I go to pick up that perscription and another one I had waiting for me when I run into Rob. Obviously we are still cool and talk to each other. No T. Swift bad blood between us. I'm chatting with him as we are waiting on our meds and tell him the whole story about the yeast infection. Because after 11 years together, we've both seen some shit so it's not a big deal to talk about that stuff. We get our meds, pay, walk through Target, I get a pop, we pay again. So while we are talking I pull the pill out to take it because I want my lady bits back from the dark forces. I take it right as we walk outside of the store and immediately it gets caught in my throat, I hack it up like a hairball into my hand. It had already started to dissolved and i say, "Does this look weird? Like it was a chewable or something?" and Rob says, "I really don't think they make chewable yeast infection pills...." So I hammer it down, just as I finish my drink of pop he goes, "Wait.....don't you usually have to stick it up there with yeast infections?" I turn to him and my face drops, "Holy...fucking...shit...." He asks, "Didn't you read the instructions?!" Now I'm in a full panic because I didn't, I assumed it was an oral pill, "NO!! WHY WOULD I DO THAT?! HOLY SHIT DID I JUST EAT A VAG PILL?! WHAT DO I DO?! AM I GONNA DIE? DO I NEED TO CALL AND TELL THEM I ATE IT SO I NEED A NEW ONE. OH MY GOD!!!" Let me remind you this is all happening in the parking lot of Target with actual humans around us while I'm screaming my head off. I start throwing things out of my purse looking for the wrapper thing it came in. "OH THANK BABY JESUS. It's a mouth pill." We both laughed about it, said goodbye and parted ways.
And that's the time I was 200% convinced I ate a vaginal suppository.
I go to pick up that perscription and another one I had waiting for me when I run into Rob. Obviously we are still cool and talk to each other. No T. Swift bad blood between us. I'm chatting with him as we are waiting on our meds and tell him the whole story about the yeast infection. Because after 11 years together, we've both seen some shit so it's not a big deal to talk about that stuff. We get our meds, pay, walk through Target, I get a pop, we pay again. So while we are talking I pull the pill out to take it because I want my lady bits back from the dark forces. I take it right as we walk outside of the store and immediately it gets caught in my throat, I hack it up like a hairball into my hand. It had already started to dissolved and i say, "Does this look weird? Like it was a chewable or something?" and Rob says, "I really don't think they make chewable yeast infection pills...." So I hammer it down, just as I finish my drink of pop he goes, "Wait.....don't you usually have to stick it up there with yeast infections?" I turn to him and my face drops, "Holy...fucking...shit...." He asks, "Didn't you read the instructions?!" Now I'm in a full panic because I didn't, I assumed it was an oral pill, "NO!! WHY WOULD I DO THAT?! HOLY SHIT DID I JUST EAT A VAG PILL?! WHAT DO I DO?! AM I GONNA DIE? DO I NEED TO CALL AND TELL THEM I ATE IT SO I NEED A NEW ONE. OH MY GOD!!!" Let me remind you this is all happening in the parking lot of Target with actual humans around us while I'm screaming my head off. I start throwing things out of my purse looking for the wrapper thing it came in. "OH THANK BABY JESUS. It's a mouth pill." We both laughed about it, said goodbye and parted ways.
And that's the time I was 200% convinced I ate a vaginal suppository.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
THESE......Are The Days Of Our Lives
I can't tell you how many times someone has come up to me and said, "You guys need your own reality show" but if I had to guess, probably 7. I'm like yeah, cool, definitely but then I take a look at my life and realize the only reality show I have a chance of being on would be Intervention. Or Hoarders. Or anything they air at 4 in the morning on TruTV but less tow trucks.
I would demand it be a full on reality show too. No producers butting in trying to get ratings, we wouldn't need them. I mean look at all the stuff I blog about, that's all the crap I don't mind sharing on the Internet. People I know in real life read this shit. Now imagine all the other stuff that goes on that I'm either too mortified or not allowed to blog about. Oh yeah, that's money. I mean we might have a few uneventful days but when something goes down, it goes down for real. I'm not even trying to sound like a badass, in fact most of the time I am busy covering up the chaos. My entire life is just a distraction to keep society from finding out what a bunch of eff-up people we are. I mean, we are cool as shit but sometimes things get a little crazy so we offset it with a lot of crazy. Because, you know, logic. I'm fairly certain we ruin at least one outsiders life per year.
Someday I'll write a memoir and never be able to to show my face in public again.Well, I might be able to, if I move to like a remote village in the Amazon or something. That or no one would believe me and it would end up some reverse James Frey "A Million Little Pieces" fiasco where it's published as fiction, everyone thinks it's great but then they find out it's actually a memoir but instead of feeling lied to, they just feel really awful and filthy inside. Which is fine with me, my main goal in life is to make people feel awful and filthy so I'd call that mission accomplished.
Lately our lives have been less entertaining reality show and more Maury with sporadic injections of those weird Japanese game show segments or whatever the hell Wayne Brady does for a living. Something with costumes and very sad clowns. I can't lie, it's very mentally exhausting and hard to keep up on. You have to remember who you're currently pissed at and why. Eventually enough time passes where you just end up forgetting and you start talking to them then someone will bring up a something that happened two months and you think, 'Oh yeah...HEY! Screw you!" and threaten to shave off their eyebrows or just keep asking them, "So....how was your orange juice?" Or "Hmm..it would be a shame if you were to be pulled over...considered what's currently in your car...."
I have seriously considered, one time, this morning, while pooping, that I should just start video taping us. Just to see what happens. I could throw it on YouTube, sit back and wait for the trolls to roll in and start talking shit. Then our new reality show would be the fat ugly love child of Catfish and Squidbillies. We would all wear shirts with cut off sleeves and track down the assholes who wrote I was a ratchet bitch that needs a tan. So basically Dog the Bounty Hunter....which after the initial dry heaving I just had thinking about that show, I'm alright with that.
Stay tuned you adorable little flying fish, this might actually happen.... and yo,TruTV, hit me up.
I would demand it be a full on reality show too. No producers butting in trying to get ratings, we wouldn't need them. I mean look at all the stuff I blog about, that's all the crap I don't mind sharing on the Internet. People I know in real life read this shit. Now imagine all the other stuff that goes on that I'm either too mortified or not allowed to blog about. Oh yeah, that's money. I mean we might have a few uneventful days but when something goes down, it goes down for real. I'm not even trying to sound like a badass, in fact most of the time I am busy covering up the chaos. My entire life is just a distraction to keep society from finding out what a bunch of eff-up people we are. I mean, we are cool as shit but sometimes things get a little crazy so we offset it with a lot of crazy. Because, you know, logic. I'm fairly certain we ruin at least one outsiders life per year.
Someday I'll write a memoir and never be able to to show my face in public again.Well, I might be able to, if I move to like a remote village in the Amazon or something. That or no one would believe me and it would end up some reverse James Frey "A Million Little Pieces" fiasco where it's published as fiction, everyone thinks it's great but then they find out it's actually a memoir but instead of feeling lied to, they just feel really awful and filthy inside. Which is fine with me, my main goal in life is to make people feel awful and filthy so I'd call that mission accomplished.
Lately our lives have been less entertaining reality show and more Maury with sporadic injections of those weird Japanese game show segments or whatever the hell Wayne Brady does for a living. Something with costumes and very sad clowns. I can't lie, it's very mentally exhausting and hard to keep up on. You have to remember who you're currently pissed at and why. Eventually enough time passes where you just end up forgetting and you start talking to them then someone will bring up a something that happened two months and you think, 'Oh yeah...HEY! Screw you!" and threaten to shave off their eyebrows or just keep asking them, "So....how was your orange juice?" Or "Hmm..it would be a shame if you were to be pulled over...considered what's currently in your car...."
I have seriously considered, one time, this morning, while pooping, that I should just start video taping us. Just to see what happens. I could throw it on YouTube, sit back and wait for the trolls to roll in and start talking shit. Then our new reality show would be the fat ugly love child of Catfish and Squidbillies. We would all wear shirts with cut off sleeves and track down the assholes who wrote I was a ratchet bitch that needs a tan. So basically Dog the Bounty Hunter....which after the initial dry heaving I just had thinking about that show, I'm alright with that.
Stay tuned you adorable little flying fish, this might actually happen.... and yo,TruTV, hit me up.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Ch-ch-ch-changes
I guess now that it has been made "Facebook official" by husband, it's time to let people know what is going on in our lives. After 11 years, and many, many changes on both our sides we have decided to get a divorce. Yes, there are obviously a lot of emotions but overall it is the best decision. I've had many people comment "But you guys seemed so good together!" True, we did have a million awesome times together but personally for myself there were things missing that I needed in our marriage that I wasn't able to get from him. Our closest friends will tell you, both of us are amazing people but just because amazing people are together doesn't always make it work. This isn't something that was rushed into, there have been feelings of incompleteness on my part for awhile and I'd been quietly mourning the lost of a marriage on my own for quite some time. We talked about it several times and we tried, we really did, but things never lined up the way they needed to. Everyday I would wake up hoping I would feel differently, that he would fill that hole I needed filled (not in a perverted way), that it was just my disorder screwing with me but I soon realized that wasn't it.
Towards the end, I wasn't giving him enough respect, I stopped trying and I didn't want there to be so much animosity between us that things would get ugly. I don't want to hate anyone and I don't want anyone hating me, especially someone I spent such an enormous part of my life growing with. There is no love lost in this separation. I have no regrets and I am incredibly grateful for Rob and what he has given me and helped me become over the years. I was with him since 18 years old, he is 85% responsible for the 29 year old woman I have become. He has been a determining factor in the person I have grown to be, especially the awesome parts.
I've seen couples who you can tell should have been divorced a long time ago but are still together, I don't feel it's fair for either person to go through that when they could have moved on and continued their lives. I've also seen terrible divorces full of hatred, selfishness and jealousy and didn't want any ill feelings to come between us, though I would never fault him if he did feel some of that towards me. It's just a shit situation. Of course we are hurting and sad but for the sake of us both, I believe it was the right decision.
Speaking of changes, besides the obvious emotional stuff and growing as individuals, there is a more literal sense to the word. I've been extremely lucky in the last few years to never want for anything, ever. Due to our separation, pending divorce and trying to pay off some mutual bills to make everything go more smoothly, my lifestyle is taking a major hit in the way of finances. I'm slowly getting used to the idea of transitioning from two incomes to just one and I haven't quite gotten the hang of it. I was maniac this weekend and spent too much money on dumb shit but at least I have a tennis racket, two fishing nets, jeggings, shorts, a couple new shirts, sunglasses and some other stuff (but not new boat shoes, my brother cut me off before I could buy them) Not just that but I only know how to show my love by buying things for people and it is seriously a terrible habit. I also can't say no because I feel like people might hate me or think I don't care about them if I can't give them what they want. I do draw lines but it's super hard for me. Back to my point, today I had an eye-opening experience. I was buying a pop at work and looking for change in my purse, not just change, I had to use pennies. If you know me, I have this super weird thing about touching change that is mixed all together but especially if pennies are involved, I hate it. I absolutely hate it, so much so I usually just throw the pennies out, in the garbage. I know it's totally #basicbitchproblems and I'm sure people will reading this and be disgusted but it's the truth. Even I know it's completely ridiculous so don't feel bad hating on me at all. They are just weird and gross and it makes my almost sick handling them. I have a lot of weird quirks, I'm not proud.
Overall, there are a lot of emotions. I can't say there isn't. When you are with someone that long, changes happen and it can really fuck up your plans. Luckily the universe knows what it's doing and you can rely on the fact that you will eventually end up where you are supposed to be. At least that's what I am doing.
Towards the end, I wasn't giving him enough respect, I stopped trying and I didn't want there to be so much animosity between us that things would get ugly. I don't want to hate anyone and I don't want anyone hating me, especially someone I spent such an enormous part of my life growing with. There is no love lost in this separation. I have no regrets and I am incredibly grateful for Rob and what he has given me and helped me become over the years. I was with him since 18 years old, he is 85% responsible for the 29 year old woman I have become. He has been a determining factor in the person I have grown to be, especially the awesome parts.
I've seen couples who you can tell should have been divorced a long time ago but are still together, I don't feel it's fair for either person to go through that when they could have moved on and continued their lives. I've also seen terrible divorces full of hatred, selfishness and jealousy and didn't want any ill feelings to come between us, though I would never fault him if he did feel some of that towards me. It's just a shit situation. Of course we are hurting and sad but for the sake of us both, I believe it was the right decision.
Speaking of changes, besides the obvious emotional stuff and growing as individuals, there is a more literal sense to the word. I've been extremely lucky in the last few years to never want for anything, ever. Due to our separation, pending divorce and trying to pay off some mutual bills to make everything go more smoothly, my lifestyle is taking a major hit in the way of finances. I'm slowly getting used to the idea of transitioning from two incomes to just one and I haven't quite gotten the hang of it. I was maniac this weekend and spent too much money on dumb shit but at least I have a tennis racket, two fishing nets, jeggings, shorts, a couple new shirts, sunglasses and some other stuff (but not new boat shoes, my brother cut me off before I could buy them) Not just that but I only know how to show my love by buying things for people and it is seriously a terrible habit. I also can't say no because I feel like people might hate me or think I don't care about them if I can't give them what they want. I do draw lines but it's super hard for me. Back to my point, today I had an eye-opening experience. I was buying a pop at work and looking for change in my purse, not just change, I had to use pennies. If you know me, I have this super weird thing about touching change that is mixed all together but especially if pennies are involved, I hate it. I absolutely hate it, so much so I usually just throw the pennies out, in the garbage. I know it's totally #basicbitchproblems and I'm sure people will reading this and be disgusted but it's the truth. Even I know it's completely ridiculous so don't feel bad hating on me at all. They are just weird and gross and it makes my almost sick handling them. I have a lot of weird quirks, I'm not proud.
Overall, there are a lot of emotions. I can't say there isn't. When you are with someone that long, changes happen and it can really fuck up your plans. Luckily the universe knows what it's doing and you can rely on the fact that you will eventually end up where you are supposed to be. At least that's what I am doing.
Saturday, May 28, 2016
Insignificant yet life altering traumas: The Lesbian Years
Growing up, my parents both seemed a little worried about my lack of dating. This plus the fact that I was a tomboy, didn't really do my hair or makeup and fit the "stereotype" apparently led them to only one possible conclusion. I must love vagina.
If you recall or maybe I've never mentioned it, my parents were divorced and by divorced I mean loathed each other with the fire of one thousand suns. Honestly, I don't remember them being married, all my memories are visitation arguments and crap, but holy hell. Like I don't know what the fuck happened that made them get a divorce but whatever it was, it had to have been some catastrophic event to make two people harbor so much hate for each other. It's almost fascinating! I'm sure each of them have their own story, frankly I give zero shits about either side BUT I do want to say if it was "He was crazy!" or "She was unstable!" I will have to take offense because I am actually crazy and unstable and I still can't imagine doing anything so bad to be on the receiving end of what I witnessed. I think they mostly just blamed each other for shit that, in all sincerity, probably didn't fucking matter at all in the scope of life but they were both so dedicated to hating each other it didn't matter the topic. It was out of this world. I'm not saying they are why I am so messed up but I'm not denying it contributed in one way or another. Ask all of my three therapists....they'll tell you what's up.
Anyways that entire paragraph was just to explain that my parents did not communicate about anything for any reason. This is important to know because that means they both came to the verdict of my lesbianism very, very separately. And when I was approached by each of them, the conversation also differed greatly.
Father: I remember he had a couple of friends over and they were sitting on the back deck having a couple drinks. Though any type of socialization with "those kind of people" was pretty much excruciating for me, for some reason I went out near them. By "those kind of people" I obviously mean the upper middle class who censor themselves in public, talk shit about people even though they are 40-some years old and have probably never worn sweatpants to Aldi before, even though everyone knows Aldi's produce is always on point. Anyways, they were probably drinking wine or craft beer back when Sam Adams was the "craft beer". It was unusual because my father had been drinking and was slightly intoxicated which was out of the ordinary for him, usually he would drink one or two but I never remember him drinking to excess at all. Regardless, I went outside, I was at the table and he says something like, "Blah blah blah, you better not be a lesbian" or some shit like that. The only reason that it stuck with me so long is because A. It was in front of some other people and they laughed about it so I felt really embarrassed and B. I put it on my "Stuff that will disappoint your father" brain list. I probably could have busted out the fact I jumped into bed with my camp boyfriend and this happened. All on his dime, by the way, but I was too traumatized to do anything but walk back inside
Mother: We were driving in the car, she asked about if I ever talked to any boys or something. I just shrugged and she said, "Well are you a lesbian?" and I said, "No." and she said "Ooook. Well if you are.... that's fine...you can tell me." *wink wink, nudge nudge*
There were also a lot of people in school who apparently thought I was a lesbian. During my graduation ceremony, two girls were talking a bunch of shit about me and called me a "fucking dyke" for cheering for my best friend. It was pretty cool of them to get that last shot in, they were class acts. Just for the record, my life isn't perfect but their lives seem waayyyy shittier than mine so they can go fuck right off. Dumb bitches.
Anyways, if being a lesbian were a choice, I feel like if I wanted to choose that path, I wouldn't have just because of all the shit I went through. And it makes me feel really horrible for any individual who actually is gay and has to deal with this shit. I'm not gay, that I know of, and it was terrible for me. I can only imagine how it would feel to be personally attacked and made to feel shame for just being who the fuck you were when you were born. It just goes to show you how amazingly strong some people are, I admire the shit out of that.
If you recall or maybe I've never mentioned it, my parents were divorced and by divorced I mean loathed each other with the fire of one thousand suns. Honestly, I don't remember them being married, all my memories are visitation arguments and crap, but holy hell. Like I don't know what the fuck happened that made them get a divorce but whatever it was, it had to have been some catastrophic event to make two people harbor so much hate for each other. It's almost fascinating! I'm sure each of them have their own story, frankly I give zero shits about either side BUT I do want to say if it was "He was crazy!" or "She was unstable!" I will have to take offense because I am actually crazy and unstable and I still can't imagine doing anything so bad to be on the receiving end of what I witnessed. I think they mostly just blamed each other for shit that, in all sincerity, probably didn't fucking matter at all in the scope of life but they were both so dedicated to hating each other it didn't matter the topic. It was out of this world. I'm not saying they are why I am so messed up but I'm not denying it contributed in one way or another. Ask all of my three therapists....they'll tell you what's up.
Anyways that entire paragraph was just to explain that my parents did not communicate about anything for any reason. This is important to know because that means they both came to the verdict of my lesbianism very, very separately. And when I was approached by each of them, the conversation also differed greatly.
Father: I remember he had a couple of friends over and they were sitting on the back deck having a couple drinks. Though any type of socialization with "those kind of people" was pretty much excruciating for me, for some reason I went out near them. By "those kind of people" I obviously mean the upper middle class who censor themselves in public, talk shit about people even though they are 40-some years old and have probably never worn sweatpants to Aldi before, even though everyone knows Aldi's produce is always on point. Anyways, they were probably drinking wine or craft beer back when Sam Adams was the "craft beer". It was unusual because my father had been drinking and was slightly intoxicated which was out of the ordinary for him, usually he would drink one or two but I never remember him drinking to excess at all. Regardless, I went outside, I was at the table and he says something like, "Blah blah blah, you better not be a lesbian" or some shit like that. The only reason that it stuck with me so long is because A. It was in front of some other people and they laughed about it so I felt really embarrassed and B. I put it on my "Stuff that will disappoint your father" brain list. I probably could have busted out the fact I jumped into bed with my camp boyfriend and this happened. All on his dime, by the way, but I was too traumatized to do anything but walk back inside
Mother: We were driving in the car, she asked about if I ever talked to any boys or something. I just shrugged and she said, "Well are you a lesbian?" and I said, "No." and she said "Ooook. Well if you are.... that's fine...you can tell me." *wink wink, nudge nudge*
There were also a lot of people in school who apparently thought I was a lesbian. During my graduation ceremony, two girls were talking a bunch of shit about me and called me a "fucking dyke" for cheering for my best friend. It was pretty cool of them to get that last shot in, they were class acts. Just for the record, my life isn't perfect but their lives seem waayyyy shittier than mine so they can go fuck right off. Dumb bitches.
Anyways, if being a lesbian were a choice, I feel like if I wanted to choose that path, I wouldn't have just because of all the shit I went through. And it makes me feel really horrible for any individual who actually is gay and has to deal with this shit. I'm not gay, that I know of, and it was terrible for me. I can only imagine how it would feel to be personally attacked and made to feel shame for just being who the fuck you were when you were born. It just goes to show you how amazingly strong some people are, I admire the shit out of that.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Psychoanalyzationatorism
First of all, I feel like one of you mother fuckers have just been clicking my links a lot to make me feel good. It's hard for me to believe 90 people read my last blog post. Or I'm getting good at making all my titles click bait. Anyways.....
Anyone who knows me will tell you I've always been interested in psychology. Unless I never told them, as you can tell by the way I write my blog I am an extremely private person... Well lately my love for psychology and my extraordinary amount of therapy has combined into one super annoying hairball of psychoanalyzing. When I used to get into arguments, I would go off on some ridiculous tangent, wave my arms around and yell a lot about random government officials trying to rule my uterus and how I have faced persecution my entire life from the Free Masons or some shit. That has drastically changed to the other end of the spectrum, for the most part. I still get loud and talk with my hands like a stereotyped cartoon of a pissed off Italian but instead of ridiculous conspiracies, I use my psycho-knowledge to just tell everyone how the *actual* feel about things.
It's seriously a whole lot of, "Listen, I know you're mad right now and I understand why you would feel that way. But I have a pretty good feeling that all this anger you're projecting is just how you channel your feelings. I think it would really help if you try and be mindful of the real emotion behind that anger, which is hurt. It's ok to feel hurt! You were raised being told you had to be tough and not cry but that's not the case at all! If you allow yourself to feel that hurt and really try to understand where that hurt is coming from, you will be able to recognize that it doesn't have to define you. You are not weak for feeling hurt, you are only human. And that's just fine!"
Followed by a blank stare and, "BITCH! I AM MAD! I'M MAD AS HELL. YOU ATE ALL MY ICE CREAM SAMMICHS AND DIDN'T BOTHER TO SAY ANYTHING. WE WERE LITERALLY JUST AT THE STORE! NOT ONLY THAT BUT WHEN WE WERE IN THE STORE I SPECIFICALLY SAID TO YOU, 'DAMN.. I CAN'T WAIT TO GO HOME AND EAT AN ICE CREAM SAMMICH.' AND YOU DIDN'T THINK ONCE TO MENTION THAT YOU ATE THEM ALL?!"
To which I respond, "Hmmm...I think I know what's going on here. In this scenario, the ice cream bar is your mother and you are seeing me as your father, taking away the one who provides for you. The ice cream is significant here as it represents the breast milk that you suckled from your mother's teat. This seem like a very clear example of how the Oedipus complex develops in childhood and permeates throughout ones life! Fascinating! Don't you find that fascinating?!"
To which they reply, "Fuck you, you're a fucking monster...."
So yeah, I'm basically a psychologist now. If you ever want to talk about your feelings, let me know and I can tell you what's actually going on in that amazingly beautiful brain of yours.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I've always been interested in psychology. Unless I never told them, as you can tell by the way I write my blog I am an extremely private person... Well lately my love for psychology and my extraordinary amount of therapy has combined into one super annoying hairball of psychoanalyzing. When I used to get into arguments, I would go off on some ridiculous tangent, wave my arms around and yell a lot about random government officials trying to rule my uterus and how I have faced persecution my entire life from the Free Masons or some shit. That has drastically changed to the other end of the spectrum, for the most part. I still get loud and talk with my hands like a stereotyped cartoon of a pissed off Italian but instead of ridiculous conspiracies, I use my psycho-knowledge to just tell everyone how the *actual* feel about things.
It's seriously a whole lot of, "Listen, I know you're mad right now and I understand why you would feel that way. But I have a pretty good feeling that all this anger you're projecting is just how you channel your feelings. I think it would really help if you try and be mindful of the real emotion behind that anger, which is hurt. It's ok to feel hurt! You were raised being told you had to be tough and not cry but that's not the case at all! If you allow yourself to feel that hurt and really try to understand where that hurt is coming from, you will be able to recognize that it doesn't have to define you. You are not weak for feeling hurt, you are only human. And that's just fine!"
Followed by a blank stare and, "BITCH! I AM MAD! I'M MAD AS HELL. YOU ATE ALL MY ICE CREAM SAMMICHS AND DIDN'T BOTHER TO SAY ANYTHING. WE WERE LITERALLY JUST AT THE STORE! NOT ONLY THAT BUT WHEN WE WERE IN THE STORE I SPECIFICALLY SAID TO YOU, 'DAMN.. I CAN'T WAIT TO GO HOME AND EAT AN ICE CREAM SAMMICH.' AND YOU DIDN'T THINK ONCE TO MENTION THAT YOU ATE THEM ALL?!"
To which I respond, "Hmmm...I think I know what's going on here. In this scenario, the ice cream bar is your mother and you are seeing me as your father, taking away the one who provides for you. The ice cream is significant here as it represents the breast milk that you suckled from your mother's teat. This seem like a very clear example of how the Oedipus complex develops in childhood and permeates throughout ones life! Fascinating! Don't you find that fascinating?!"
To which they reply, "Fuck you, you're a fucking monster...."
So yeah, I'm basically a psychologist now. If you ever want to talk about your feelings, let me know and I can tell you what's actually going on in that amazingly beautiful brain of yours.
Monday, May 16, 2016
The Timing Method
The weather was finally nice enough over the weekend that we could do outdoorsy shit. I had planned on just hanging out on the deck writing all day but after a grueling 7 block walk/jog over to my sister's and a snapchat convo with my bestie, we decided to go on a bike ride for an hour or so. Our booming small city has recently added a bunch of paved bike trails so I loaded up my bike, my niece and her bike and headed out to meet my friend and her daughter. We ended up taking this nice trail which heads out of town towards a park. It does this little detour so for a good chunk of it, you are actually riding out in the country. It was freaking amazing. Growing up on an acreage makes me instantly homesick when I get out surrounded by fields and the quietness of it all. Unfortunately, we had to move into town when I was in about 6th grade and eventually ended up selling our childhood home in the country. I was completely devastated but the house had gone to shit and none of us had the money to put into in and move back. The people who bought it basically bought it for the land, tore down the 2 bedroom underground house that held so many good memories and the out buildings to build a monstrosity of a McMansion on the 4 acres. It fucking killed me.
Back to the bike ride, it was great. I felt so at home and peaceful which considering my life, is a pretty big feat. After the 5 mile or so ride those good feelings stayed with me until I came home and realized that nothing had changed. In fact, for the hour we were gone shit went a little awry. My sister had somehow jammed the wrong key into our back door, making it impossible to open. We had to take the whole thing off and go get a new handle. It really wasn't a big thing because we have the means to go out and buy a new lever but not really something I had expected to deal with.. After that things went alright then I started getting some text messages in regards to some personal shit I am handling poorly at the moment. Once again, not a big deal, just another thing that I am trying to figure out on my own that from the outside looks very different from the inside. Or maybe my perspective is just skewed and biased since it involves me.
I guess besides the fact that leaving for any amount of time doesn't mean when you return all the problems in your life will be magically solved, there is also a lesson here about timing. At the time my mom decided she was going to sell our house and land, she didn't really have a choice and we didn't have the money to fix it. At the time that our door handle got all jacked up, we did have the money to fix it. Yes, there is a significant difference here but the fact remains that overall, timing is important. I feel like everyone misses opportunities because of poor timing. We miss important events, chances to do amazing things or see the people we love. We get in accidents, we have accidents, things break that we can't fix at the moment. We overcook our steaks and we under cook our chicken, we eat at restaurants the day before they announce a listeria outbreak in their lettuce.
Other times when the opportunity is there, we are too caught up in other shit or too afraid to take any chances *ahem Second City*. We create excuses and put it off but, and watch this magically fucking tie in right here, YOU STILL HAVE TO EVENTUALLY DEAL WITH IT. Say your basement decides to let in a bunch of water one spring, you clean it up, a couple months go by and you think "Hey! We haven't had any problems and I really don't feel like throwing a bunch of money and work towards it this summer so eh, I'll deal with it later. So you put it off and guess what happens the next spring...fucking basement water. You clean it up and start the whole process again and again until finally one day you notice that it's starting to smell a little and the baseboard look a little jacked up so you decide to investigate and TA-DAH! You now have mold in your walls. What?! But how?! I've only been letting my basement flood every freaking spring since I moved here 5 years ago, how could this happen?!
That's life. You put shit off because of bad timing, whether real or imaginary, and then wonder a few years down the line, when the problems get too big to ignore, how it got to that point. Maybe if we all spent a little more time looking at the reality of the situation and try to rectify it a little earlier, our lives would be a whole hell of a lot easier. But we won't. Because it's too hard or there is too much involved. So we end up chalking up the missed opportunities as something we had no control over while people judge us for not doing enough or trying hard enough when our basements flooded the first time while standing in their own basement, knee deep in water
I guess what I'm trying to convey is everyone is the same. We all put things off for another day secretly hoping it never comes because keeping things the same is easy and seems less stressful that way (hint: it's not). So let's all just keep playing in our moldy basements, breathing in those spores while pretending that it's not slowly killing us.
Yes, I AM in a great mood. Thanks for asking.
Back to the bike ride, it was great. I felt so at home and peaceful which considering my life, is a pretty big feat. After the 5 mile or so ride those good feelings stayed with me until I came home and realized that nothing had changed. In fact, for the hour we were gone shit went a little awry. My sister had somehow jammed the wrong key into our back door, making it impossible to open. We had to take the whole thing off and go get a new handle. It really wasn't a big thing because we have the means to go out and buy a new lever but not really something I had expected to deal with.. After that things went alright then I started getting some text messages in regards to some personal shit I am handling poorly at the moment. Once again, not a big deal, just another thing that I am trying to figure out on my own that from the outside looks very different from the inside. Or maybe my perspective is just skewed and biased since it involves me.
I guess besides the fact that leaving for any amount of time doesn't mean when you return all the problems in your life will be magically solved, there is also a lesson here about timing. At the time my mom decided she was going to sell our house and land, she didn't really have a choice and we didn't have the money to fix it. At the time that our door handle got all jacked up, we did have the money to fix it. Yes, there is a significant difference here but the fact remains that overall, timing is important. I feel like everyone misses opportunities because of poor timing. We miss important events, chances to do amazing things or see the people we love. We get in accidents, we have accidents, things break that we can't fix at the moment. We overcook our steaks and we under cook our chicken, we eat at restaurants the day before they announce a listeria outbreak in their lettuce.
Other times when the opportunity is there, we are too caught up in other shit or too afraid to take any chances *ahem Second City*. We create excuses and put it off but, and watch this magically fucking tie in right here, YOU STILL HAVE TO EVENTUALLY DEAL WITH IT. Say your basement decides to let in a bunch of water one spring, you clean it up, a couple months go by and you think "Hey! We haven't had any problems and I really don't feel like throwing a bunch of money and work towards it this summer so eh, I'll deal with it later. So you put it off and guess what happens the next spring...fucking basement water. You clean it up and start the whole process again and again until finally one day you notice that it's starting to smell a little and the baseboard look a little jacked up so you decide to investigate and TA-DAH! You now have mold in your walls. What?! But how?! I've only been letting my basement flood every freaking spring since I moved here 5 years ago, how could this happen?!
That's life. You put shit off because of bad timing, whether real or imaginary, and then wonder a few years down the line, when the problems get too big to ignore, how it got to that point. Maybe if we all spent a little more time looking at the reality of the situation and try to rectify it a little earlier, our lives would be a whole hell of a lot easier. But we won't. Because it's too hard or there is too much involved. So we end up chalking up the missed opportunities as something we had no control over while people judge us for not doing enough or trying hard enough when our basements flooded the first time while standing in their own basement, knee deep in water
I guess what I'm trying to convey is everyone is the same. We all put things off for another day secretly hoping it never comes because keeping things the same is easy and seems less stressful that way (hint: it's not). So let's all just keep playing in our moldy basements, breathing in those spores while pretending that it's not slowly killing us.
Yes, I AM in a great mood. Thanks for asking.
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