tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69419984428384563132024-03-18T23:36:01.252-05:00Life With LavendersI'm just a blog, standing in front of a person, asking you to love me.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-28972434079210124442017-09-12T12:03:00.000-05:002017-09-12T12:03:14.702-05:00Hey you, with the low self esteem....For the person reading this who struggles with low self esteem.....I'm sorry. I wish I could help you.<br />
<br />
Because I know what it feels like to not feel good enough. To not be pretty enough or skinny enough. I know what it's like to avoid mirrors because you don't want to be reminded of what you look like, it will just make you anxious for the rest of the day.<br />
I know what it feels like to see other girls on Facebook who get a hundred likes per selfie. I know what it's like to tell yourself, "Psh. Who cares?" I know how we try to rationalize it by thinking, "I could get that many likes if my tits were halfway out in my pictures too".<br />
<br />
I also know what it's like the next day when you take a picture of yourself and pull your shirt down a little lower than usual but then feel stupid because that's not the kind of woman you want to be. You rather be highly regarded for your character, admired for your real beauty, not "liked" because of your cleavage. You think, "Ha. Thank God I have more respect for myself than those girls...." as you bare your shoulder and take a 50th snapshot. Maybe this will be the one.<br />
<br />
I know what it's like to never believe him when he says, "I like your body. I like how you look." I know what it's like when you first notice the slight annoyance in his voice, when he has to reassure you once again, for the 100th time.<br />
<br />
I know what it's like to get insanely jealous. Because deep down you're positive you aren't good enough and when they figure it out, oh boy, they'll be out the door.<br />
<br />
<b>I know what it's like to feel like you're not worth much at all. To feel like you weren't worth chasing after. You weren't worth the trouble of keeping.</b><br />
<br />
I know what it's like to feel like your friends deserve a better friend. Or found a better friend. You can't blame them, you aren't much fun anymore and you just seem sad all the time. And you don't really want to go out anymore because then people will see you and if they can see you, they can judge you and you just can't really handle that right now.<br />
<br />
I know what it's like to wonder if you'll always be alone. To feel like it's somehow your fault that you're alone. I know what it's like to cling on a little too tightly to someone because inside you're screaming, "Please don't leave me. DON'T LEAVE ME. I can't be alone."<br />
<br />
I know what it feels like. I know what it all feels like. And I wish I could make things easier for you. <br />
<br />
I wish I could show you how amazing you are, how strong you are.<br />
<br />
I
wish I could gather up all the people who see beauty in you, who
respect and admire you just to show you that those people really do
exist.<br />
<br />
I wish I could point out your greatness to you
and make you realize how insignificant your "biggest flaws" really are.
Because I barely notice them, I only see good.<br />
<br />
I wish,
just for a moment, I could give you an outside perspective from the eyes
of someone that loves you. So even just for 5 minutes you could feel
the way you make others feel when they are near you.<br />
<br />
I
wish I could share with you what it's like to have memories of you that
replay during random times. The stifled laughter that gets strange looks
at the grocery store because something reminds me of you. Or seeing
something that makes me think, "Oh my gosh. They would love this!"<br />
<br />
A
random tag on Facebook that says so much more than just the words or
the picture on the screen. It says, "I'm thinking about you" "This reminds me of you" Or "I know you'll find something
in this as I did."<br />
<br />
I wish I could show you what you mean to me and everyone else.<br />
<br />
But until the day you can see these things on your own, I promise to do what I can to show you what you mean to me. Because whether you believe it or not, you're worth it.<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-66741844045033010912017-08-10T11:57:00.002-05:002017-08-10T11:57:50.586-05:00The Time I Tried Selling My Used Panties<br />
So I woke up this morning and thought to myself, "I'm sick of working everyday of the week" and suddenly I had a brilliant idea. I decided that I was going to start selling my dirty panties online. I watched Orange is the New Black, I know the basic concept. I just wear a pair of underwear around for a couple days, take a couple pictures and boom! Money in my pocket. The more I thought about it, the more plausible the idea sounded. Before 8am I have a fucking solid business plan. See below.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GgbRrODB4jeZwAvpy10yvgx_fMlbOnkM4rmIbCB7kv4NOlwXXTF-kiujXfaa_iRbRE39hK_hw6c5ijLL3z0nl4Ynt4DCximNpRAVEVHeIsDPdYTpRnuWpltIAExlZ5RtR74cu-kwjGGn/s1600/20170810_111720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GgbRrODB4jeZwAvpy10yvgx_fMlbOnkM4rmIbCB7kv4NOlwXXTF-kiujXfaa_iRbRE39hK_hw6c5ijLL3z0nl4Ynt4DCximNpRAVEVHeIsDPdYTpRnuWpltIAExlZ5RtR74cu-kwjGGn/s640/20170810_111720.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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So I'm super pumped and like, "Hell yes. I'm about to sell the shit out of my dirty ass panties!" I mean I had it all figured out. I could buy up a bunch of underwear at my retail job when they are on sale, get my employee discount so the overhead would be low. I wanted my business to be customer friendly of course, each buyer would have several options. Color, style, length of wear, etc. I wasn't real excited about taking pictures of myself in them but then I remembered I got some mad talent when it comes to camera angles and lighting. I was like, "I totally got this!" </div>
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And though I was fully confident in the above business plan, I had to do a little more research. So I start searching, 'selling used underwear'. I'm looking and getting some answers and info. I'll need a PO Box so I don't get stalked and murdered, turn off your phone's location to take pictures so they can't track you down, don't take pictures that show identifying marks unless you want everyone finding out about it. Sounds good! I'm actually doing this I guess. So then I find a link to a site that has a section where some of this panty selling goes down. Ok, more research couldn't hurt.....</div>
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Yeah......I'm clearly at a disadvantage. In all of the excitement, I failed to considered the fact that I am not a hot, skinny, tanned, 20 something college babe. I am an overweight, 31 year old, sad person with an extremely uneven tan. I mean, I'm sure there is some niche market somewhere I'm probably overlooking but just reading the descriptions some of these girls wrote up.....I mean I have daddy issues but not THOSE many daddy issues. Seriously: </div>
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[Selling] VERY dirty and super old white cotton</div>
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thong with SKAT marks 💩💩💩 </div>
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(yes..she put three poop emojis)</div>
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.............................😐</div>
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It was about then I decided to stick with what I know best...working my normal, non-pornographic jobs and telling myself that I'll someday write a book. So that's my story about "The time I thought about and almost tried selling my dirty panties online before I realized that those girls need some serious counseling but more importantly are way better looking than I am". <br />
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-74509320073755944002017-08-02T09:20:00.001-05:002017-08-02T09:20:20.105-05:00Relationships With BPD - Part 1The other day a Facebook page I follow, that acts like a support page for people who have been in abusive relationships, posted something somewhat negative about "borderlines" or people who have BPD. I took to the comments section to give my perspective on what it's like being in a relationship while having BPD and this is what I said:<br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>"Please
understand that nothing we do is intentional. No one except another
borderline will ever understand how difficult it is to get through each
day with this disorder. The anger, the immediate guilt afterwards, the
following self hate. We cannot regulate our emotions, we will never be
able to regulate our emotions. We HAVE to rely on coping skills and it
is exhausting. Every day is feeling every emotion, and every emotion
hits us so strong and last so much longer. Imagine every time you feel
sad, it feels like the saddest you've ever been and you just want to die
and end the pain. Every time you feel anger, its like a rage that
completely consumes you, every time you feel love it is euphoric. It's a love that
fills you completely, to a point you never thought possible. But you're
terrified because eventually.....they will realize you are worthless. You
are trash. They will find someone better than you and they will leave
you, taking your heart with them. You get paranoid, you need constant reassurance
because its too hard to believe that someone as great as them could ever
love you, you're nothing. You are replaceable. Everyone will leave you
because you aren't good enough. You will never be good enough. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>You get
jealous easily because you're so insecure. Over the littlest things because to you, nothing is without intention. There is deeper meaning in everything. Who is she? Why did he like
her Facebook photo? What does she have that I don't? Why is she better
than me? Why didn't he like my Facebook photo? Is he embarrassed of
me? Does he not want people to know he loves me? Does he love me? That person you love, the one you are so obsessed with, the one you
would literally die for, does something that hurts you. And that hurt
cuts down into your soul and it hurts more than you've ever hurt. Why am
I not good enough? Why can't I be thinner? Prettier? Please what can I
do? Please I want to be perfect for you! And suddenly....you split. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>We
don't see the world like everyone else, it's black and white to us. So
either everything is good or everything is bad, so this perfect person
is now bad. And you don't want to hate them but you do. You try so hard
to remind yourself "No you love him, remember how he made you feel just
days ago." But it's impossible. The feelings are too overwhelming. You begin to hate that person, when you
look at them it makes you sick. You want them to hurt the way they hurt
you so they can know what they've done. So you try, forgetting that they
will never understand how bad it hurts, because their brain doesn't
work like that. They don't feel those intense emotions like you do. But
you still try. You say terrible things, the most hurtful things you can think of and you try to stop yourself but it flows like venom. Maybe it doesn't work, they aren't hurt enough, and you get violent. Things get broken, things get physical. Then a few moments or hours or days or weeks pass, you never know how long it might last, and that hate turns onto yourself.
You are a fucking psycho. You are too much work. You will be alone
forever. No one will ever love you enough to deal with this shit. You
are a fuck up. You don't deserve to be happy. You don't deserve to feel
love. You will ruin everyone's life you come in contact with. The best
thing you can do for yourself and everyone else is just kill yourself.
Just do it. They might be sad for awhile but they'll get over it. Life
will actually be easier for them without having to deal with your
constant emotions and drama. Just fucking kill yourself. You don't
deserve to live. No one cares about you. Just do it, please!!! </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>Then a switch flips. You
look at him, his smile, his eyes. The way he laughs, the way he holds
you. You look at him and the butterflies come back. He's so perfect. How
could you every have thought otherwise. Yes, he said mean things to you,
maybe hit you a couple of times but you deserved it. You know you did.
It takes a lot to put up with you, so you owe him. I love you, please don't leave me! I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. Whatever he asks, you
do. You don't have the money but you have credit cards, buy him things
so he knows you love him. You must be available for anything, at all
times. Let him do whatever he wants with your body, you owe him that.
Even when you don't want to, which is rare because at least if you are
being used for sex it means someone wants you for something. You're
worth something for a moment. At least you're worth a fuck. And the
cycle starts again. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>I hate the way I am. I hate that my brain know
exactly what's happening but my emotions have the control. I hate the
constant internal war. When you're brain is telling you two competing
ideas at once. "You're worthless, no you're not that's just the BPD
talking. Yes but BPD is what you are therefore you are worthless. No one
loves you, yes they do, are you sure? I think so.... Then why haven't
they called." Every day is a struggle. I'm sorry, I wish I was different."</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>Seems pretty dramatic right? Unfortunately for 1% of the population this is their reality. This is the constant in our lives. And it sucks, it really does. It's completely exhausting for us and it's not a surprise that our interpersonal relationships suffer like they do. Honestly I wouldn't blame someone for not wanting to be in a relationship with someone with BPD, it can be extremely hard at times. "When things are good, they are great. They are amazing. But when things are bad, they are terrible." This is something I've been told many times and sums it up pretty well. Sadly, this is just brief overview, there is much more. Part two to come soon.</span></span></span></span></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-36131917456819074742017-07-13T14:40:00.001-05:002017-07-13T14:40:31.193-05:00My Biggest FlawYou know when you're in an interview and they ask you "What would you say is your biggest weakness?" and you have some bullshit answer already planned like, "I would say.....my biggest weakness......is that I'm <i>too</i> organized." I mean come on, pretty much everyone answers that question with a carefully worded compliment to themselves. No one is like, "My biggest weakness.....would have to be........meth. Yep. Definitely meth. Can't get enough of it. I just fucking love meth!" Or "I literally do like two hours of work and then spend the rest of my day on Facebook." Or "I'm habitually late, I call in sick a lot and my house looks like a bunch of raccoons have been squatting there for the last three years." No, it's always something good. So that's what I'm about to do here. I'm going to pretend that my nail biting, bad temper, tend to over react and all the other 100 things I do don't exist and tell you about what I feel is my biggest flaw.<br />
<br />
I have a tendency, for the most part, to try to see the good in people. Even after I've been taken advantage of, been treated poorly, yada yada yada. I feel that although people are responsible for their own actions, it's still important to realize that the reason they do the things they do can be traced back to something that happened to them in the past which in turn altered how they react to things. And people do change, although it sometimes takes a lot of work on their part, people can and do change if they really want to. Or if something is important enough to them.<br />
<br />
I'll be the first to admit this is a very stupid way of thinking. You're putting yourself directly in the cross hairs for disappointment, hurt, guilt, a whole bunch of shitty emotions that you've probably already felt before. So why do it? I guess because as much as I feel I have fucked up in my life, people should still be given a chance at redemption.<br />
<br />
As human beings, the potential each one of us holds is outstanding. We all have the ability to do great things with our lives but sometimes you need an extra push. It seems as though a lot of the time, people just don't get the support they need. Maybe if they had someone rooting for them it would change their thinking and plant that idea of "Hey. Maybe I can do this."<br />
<br />
In closing, be supportive. Encourage those in your life to succeed. Do what you can to help them heal and become better people. But don't get carried away. My niece is probably mentally scared for life thanks to me insisting I train her to be an Olympic gymnast. I'm beginning to think that screaming at her in Ukrainian from ages 4 to 5 and giving her a nightly workout routine to get them gainz may have been slightly unreasonable. Or she's just a quitter and quitters never win. Just saying.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-56502596040373997942017-06-07T10:17:00.004-05:002017-06-07T10:17:40.162-05:00The Best Intentions<div dir="ltr">
Hi. It's me. I'm not missing or dead or abandoning this blog, I've just
been depressed and completely lost interest in it. Sad, right? Maybe
I've become hypercritical of myself, maybe I'm letting negative people
get in my head. I feel like I have to defend myself, I don't write this
shit for attention, I do it because I fucking love to write and I want
to share my love of writing with other people. I want to use my words to
make others laugh and smile or maybe not feel so god damn alone in
their struggles. I don't care how many shares or likes this gets, I just
do it because it's a part of who I am and what makes me happy. That
being said, here is a blog post about stuff.<br />
<br />
So yesterday was the start of the summer reading program at the library I work at. We had a whole bunch of kids in to sign up for reading logs, get event schedules, etc. One family in particular stood out due to their very adorable son named Gio. Today they family came in again and I greeted them with a big smile and hello. As I wandered around the children's reading area I stopped to talk to Gio's mom. That's when things turned south....</div>
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Me- Hi! I have to tell you, a coworker and I fought over your son Gio last night.<br />
Mom- *horrified look* What?! Why?!<br />
Me- oh no! Not like that! We just think he is adorable and argued about who likes him more...</div>
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Mom- *uneasy shifting in chair* Oh...ok...</div>
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Me- "Yeah, we definitely want to keep him!"</div>
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Mom- *a little shookth* Ummm...</div>
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Me- "Not in a weird way..I just mean if he ever goes missing you know it was one of us!"</div>
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Mom - *rehorrified* ........</div>
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Me- ........</div>
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Me- I want to steal your child and raise him as my own...</div>
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<br /></div>
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They left about 5 minutes later. I would really like to say it was a case of "lost in translation" due to English not being her first language but thinking back on the conversation, I did come off as a little creepy. And that's how I ended up on a government watch list.</div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-25609375057549000082017-02-02T13:29:00.003-06:002017-02-02T13:54:30.476-06:00Alone TimeI love my cats, I really do. They are great. Everyday I get home they greet me at the door, they always seem to know when I'm sad and need some kitten love, they make me laugh with their antics constantly, except for the occasional flying claws out sneak attack they are the best roommates I've ever had. Well, the attacks and one other thing.<br />
<br />
The problem with animals is they don't give a fuck when it comes to personal space or more specifically, personal time. And as much as I try to explain to them that mom needs some time alone to do, ahem, alone things they don't seem to understand.<br />
<br />
"Ok guys, we need to talk about last night. Though I appreciate that you wanted to hang out, it makes me very uncomfortable when I'm trying to, errr, alleviate stress and you decide to walk all over me or start batting at the blankets or meow directly into my face. I understand some of this is my fault for not locking you out of the room but sometimes things just happen spur of the moment. Anyways I hope you can understand where I'm coming from. I mean I let you guys go down to the basement and do your weird yowling thing without bugging you so I don't think it's much to ask that you not bother me while I'm doing my thing. Sooo we cool?"<br />
<br />
They weren't really picking up what I putting down, so I tried to be a little more straight forward.<br />
<br />
"I feel like you guys aren't getting it. Woman and men sometimes have needs and urges and sometimes when we are alone we decide to act on those urges. It's nothing to be ashamed about, lots of people do it but when I catch you looking at me with your judgemental stares, it really kills the mood and makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. So if you could, during that time, possibly go find something else to do I would really appreciate it...."<br />
<br />
Still they just stared at me<br />
<br />
"Stop watching me masturbate."<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-64887685145706601912017-01-20T10:39:00.000-06:002017-01-20T10:39:30.209-06:00Tall GirlSomeone called me "tall girl" about 34 months ago, so I started writing this and never finished. I don't believe in time, tis but an illusion. Anyways back to the point, I'm ok with Tall Girl, it's much better than giant which I've been called a lot. And a whole lot better than the other things I've been called in my life. I'm not always well received...<br />
<br />
I'm tall. Not THAT tall but yeah I'm nearly a half foot taller than the "average" for women in the US. Someday I'll lose another 30 or so pound and then I'll be tall and skinny and I'm sure life will be perfect....har har har.<br />
<br />
One good thing about my height is when people are being jerks, especially when I'm at work, I can nonchalantly get up and walk past them after they just chewed me out. I must not look that tall while sitting because they usually change their tone. 'Uh..well..uh..." Or when someone is trying to intimidate one of my co-workers, I can saunter up and with my man voice ask "What seems to be the problem here?" Does it actually work? I dunno. Is it actually my prison face tattoo and baritone voice that is intimidating? Could be. Are they just so focused on trying to not make eye contact with my no soul, Teletubby like stare that they have forgotten what they are complaining about because I'm so creepy? It's a good possibility.<br />
<br />
Also the long legs come in handy...for running from bears, as in highway patrol...I'm guessing. I have the non-running edition but I can take several stairs at a time, which is cool. I also decided after years of complaining about how "I'm not allowed to wear heels" "Who says that?" "They" "They who?" "Ummm....society?" I can in fact wear whatever I want on my feet and screw people if they have an issue with it. Maybe they should have thought about that before they stopped growing. So I've been wearing heels lately....good story right?<br />
<br />
Like I don't mind being tall and Amazon like but it definitely has it's draw backs. I'm never going to get to be one of those girls who gets picked up and carried off during a hug like those petite, super feminine little things. Unless the other person is super tall and strong. Sometimes tall people don't look like they weigh that much but trust me, it's just spread out more. I am pretty freaking solid. Even my doctor the other day looked at my chart and said, "Huh..obesity. You don't look obese at all." I assure you, I am. Brick fucking house. Maybe she was just being nice because she was about to give me my annual vagina examination, who knows but it was nice to hear.<br />
<br />
I've accepted I'll never get to be lifted and pushed up against a wall in the throes of passion but I have other attributes. Need a couch moved? I'm there! Something off the top shelf? Definitely! Perhaps I can help you hang this portrait or help you paint! I'm super good at cleaning gutters or dusting fan blades. You know what's really sexy? Usefulness. I'm kind of like a good table, I'm solid and sturdy. And there's nothing wrong with that.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-75194647627279229092017-01-17T16:26:00.000-06:002017-01-17T16:26:32.947-06:00Call Me CrazyIt seems like I'm constantly being threatened with, "I'll tell everyone you're crazy..." To which I respond "........don't I already do that by blogging about it all the time?" I guess it is a lot worse in person than what I type out? I dunno, it's weird but in case you hadn't heard, I'm crazy.<br />
<br />
Not just a little crazy, a whole lotta crazy. I have days where I'm super depressed. I bet no one can relate with me on that one. I have days were my emotions are a hot train wreck. Yeah so far it seems pretty crazy. Sometimes I just cry. Look out guys. I'm not saying I'm normal but I am saying that yeah, last time I checked I never denied having issues.<br />
<br />
I think the one thing that I have always been worried about is a video my ex boyfriend took of me during one of my episode. It's pretty embarrassing but the more I think about it, the more I don't care if he posts it or shows people. Why? Because in the video, I'm laying on the floor, curled up, begging for him to call someone. The police, my mom, I say over and over I need help and to please call someone. Instead, he chose to continue recording and not help me at all. Long story, short. I guess I really rather be seen as crazy than the world's biggest asshole.<br />
<br />
I really wish I had that video, I'd post it myself. In fact, I'd love to have video of any of my episodes. It would greatly help me as far as treatment goes. See I'm really not the kind of person who refuses to admit they have a problem. I rather admit to it and get the help I need. Which I've been doing for over a year now.<br />
<br />
In closing, yes I am crazy. Does it suck? Yep. Do I wish things were easier for me? Yep. Believe me, it's hard enough living life every day with all these extra heavy emotions, I really don't feel like I should have to defend myself to anyone. I've accepted who I am, if someone doesn't like it they can kiss my crazy ass :)<br />
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Until next time...Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-73814247062234582152017-01-10T11:48:00.000-06:002017-01-10T11:48:20.669-06:00Sorry MomOnce again I was told to stop putting my whole life out there for the internet to read. To which I responded, "My life, my life..WOOOOOOOOOAHHH." You see it is just that, my life. If I want to write about it on the internet, I will. If that makes things hard on me, so be it but I've had far too many positive responses to my posts to just stop doing it. I talk about things that people don't talk about to their friends or family. I put shit out there that's embarrassing or overly truthful. I expose myself to others in hopes that they will someday be able to talk about their own struggles with the people in their lives. And if they don't at least they know there is someone else out there going through the same stuff they are going through. No one should have to feel so desperately alone. I've been there and it's a really shitty place.<br />
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I can understand that it's hard to understand. Why would someone put their lives out there, give out so much personal information? When I started this blog, I did it to make people laugh. Unfortunately life isn't always laughter. Sure it is full of happiness but there is shitty stuff too. It's hard to talk about life and evade all the crap stuff that goes along with and it's the hard parts that people need others to help get through. So eventually my blog evolved to sharing my own battles. Is it too much information? Yeah, probably but if it helps even one person get through a tough time in their life then I feel it's worth it.<br />
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Maybe if everyone was as open with their thoughts and feelings as I am at times, the world would be a more understanding place. Maybe less people would cast judgement if they were honest with themselves once in awhile. If it became the norm to openly say, "Hey guys. I'm hurting..." more people would begin to realize how surrounded each of us are by people who just want to help and support us. Even people you wouldn't expect will step up and ask "What can I do for you right now?" Just having a person to talk to and relate to make such a tremendous difference in how things proceed.<br />
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So mom and sister, I'm sorry I put my business on the internet. And then called you out on this blog post but this is just who I am. You don't have to like it but eventually you'll have to accept it because I'm not changing anytime soon. In fact, if anything I'll probably become more exposed on the internet. I'm having a pretty rough time financially and I might start webcamming for money. Don't worry it will probably start off pretty innocent. Until the money comes in, then I'll start to wonder how much I could actually make doing this, then my morals will start to waver, then before you know it I'll be a huge web whore and we will all think back to the time I only used to post my business on facebook and my blog and you'll think, WHY OH WHY DIDN'T WE JUST ACCEPT HER.<br />
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So yeah, it's this or internet prostitution. Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-50185448874698464542016-12-20T13:24:00.002-06:002016-12-20T13:24:55.887-06:00My FriendWorking 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-18883187259387072952016-12-13T10:11:00.000-06:002016-12-13T10:11:00.347-06:00A Day With BPDIt 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-23803016368974207972016-11-30T17:08:00.002-06:002016-11-30T17:08:27.568-06:00Cattin PatrolMy 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.<br />
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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:<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Here are a couple pictures of the little devils themselves, being all adorable. <br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-85139451868347197572016-11-29T10:53:00.001-06:002017-01-10T11:34:53.052-06:00Great ExpectationsDoesn'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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-73719149514019067912016-11-25T12:37:00.000-06:002016-11-25T12:37:03.474-06:00Control IssuesI'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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-58123940605060772512016-11-09T09:37:00.001-06:002016-11-09T09:37:30.670-06:00Election DayToday 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.<br />
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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:<br />
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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.<br />
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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. Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-30146639250647266322016-10-20T09:21:00.001-05:002016-10-20T09:21:37.309-05:00Word Bombs EverywhereSo 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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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*drops mic*Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-74274589388076110082016-10-18T14:34:00.001-05:002016-10-18T14:34:42.147-05:00The Time I Was Committed - Part OneI 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
<br />
So this is part one of my story. The next part will be my arrival and first day or so at the hospital. <br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-17545801802490951042016-10-14T10:25:00.000-05:002016-10-14T10:25:12.940-05:00Postpartum DepressionSuper 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-91893937250076625802016-09-14T10:20:00.000-05:002016-09-14T10:20:25.567-05:00Cats On Cats On RabbitsWhat 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-30024754626050170212016-09-07T08:54:00.001-05:002016-09-07T08:54:40.548-05:00Rev Rach and the ExorcismIt 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.<br />
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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<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-20160593403256972752016-08-29T18:03:00.001-05:002016-08-29T18:06:11.205-05:00Milestones 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!<br />
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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.<br />
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Mug #1<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen from Amazon.com. Sorry bout it.</td></tr>
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Mug #2<br />
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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.<br />
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Yay! Prizes!<br />
<span id="goog_1494196521"></span><span id="goog_1494196522"></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-48315900809907041842016-08-24T09:37:00.000-05:002016-08-24T09:37:30.383-05:00Livin' On The EdgeOne 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.<br />
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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."<br />
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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."<br />
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Thanks crazy brain! I suuuuper appreciate all your help. You are always there when I need you, ready to talk me off the ledge.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-13660034303307651532016-08-16T13:26:00.001-05:002016-08-16T13:26:24.758-05:00TransparencyI 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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."<br />
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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.)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-72636093867596666292016-08-15T13:43:00.001-05:002016-09-21T09:17:01.196-05:00What'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?!<br />
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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?<br />
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Are you trying to kill yourself?<br />
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. <br />
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Why do you do it? Why would someone
purposely hurt themselves? What do you get from it?<br />
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.<br />
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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?<br />
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Doesn't it hurt?<br />
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....<br />
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What about the
scars? Why would you ruin your body like that?<br />
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.<br />
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So how are you?<br />
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.<br />
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What would you say to someone who self harms or is thinking of doing it?<br />
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.<br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6941998442838456313.post-14041371860355579652016-08-11T15:43:00.000-05:002016-08-11T15:43:53.572-05:00Insignificant yet life altering traumas: Accidents HappenOnce 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.<br />
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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.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05863273961517152460noreply@blogger.com0