Goddamnit I have Feelings Too Ya Know?

So who gives a damn about me, anyway. I have three co-workers who have a group text among them. I know this, because they are constantly talking about it in front of me. I guess it wouldn’t be such a big deal if there was more than the fucking four of us working together on that same damn shift. They have also planned a weekend together to celebrate two of their birthdays, complete with inviting a former coworker who no longer works with us. I also hate how they will talk only among the three of them and make decisions as if I am not a part of the workplace team. It’s very hurtful. One of them is moving away in a month and I cannot fucking wait. I’m getting very irritated that she is running the show and treats me the way she does. My feelings are hurt and I have too much going on to be giving a damn, yet here I am.

On top of that, I hate that I don’t have a best friend. I’ve always wanted one and it never seems to work out well for me. For example, the one person that I feel has been my best friend in adulthood decided to change her Maid of Honor to someone else. That was fucking hurtful. And it devastated me. I felt thrown away. The relationship never recovered my hurt and Even though she has called a few times, I don’t really feel comfortable talking to her about my life. My mom had a best friend. My sister has three. I don’t really have any. I have a ton of in-the-moment-friends, and probably a few that I know well. But I don’t have any that I trust enough or actually consider my best friend. I also feel like any attempts that I make at having one fall flat on their face and I’m left sitting here all awkward again like every other moment of my life.

So I’m lonely in that way. I realize that my hurts from people I care about run very deep. I have a friend who, although we met in person, is largely online. I consider them such a good friend. I worry about them often, and there are so many things that I share with them because I know they will appreciate it as I do. Yet when they were having a rough go of it somewhat recently, I asked a question to make sure they knew I was there for them. Their response hurt my stupid heart and I have seen and felt myself pull away because I feel that if they feel that way, then I shouldn’t be around.

Because at the end of the day, my biggest fear is that people are annoyed by me and don’t like me. That my presence is more of an annoyance than a joy. And I feel that any buff from someone I trust, appreciate, like, love, or enjoy is devastating and unfixable. I would never say anything to them directly, because the possible rejection I could experience may not be something I will recover from.

Oh and the man. The man is such an introverted, man’s man. He’s very rough around the edges and I like and love him for who he is, but I would give anything for him to ask me how my day at work was. Or possibly just ask how I am doing. But that’s what *I* want and not necessarily what he says or does to show affection. He hates when I cry; he frets and starts yelling and trying to “fix me.” His solutions are not very helpful, especially when I often simply need someone to hear what I am saying and validate it. I also see that his way of showing me that he cares about me is doing things like making sure my dad’s old truck that I drive continues to run. He put in a new alternator last weekend. That’s his love language. I appreciate and love that so unbelievably much.

At the end of the day I still need a friend. I’m missing that. And I don’t know how to get that. I’m a defunct human, I know it.

Lingering Trauma

I have been dating a wonderful man for nearly a year now.  We will celebrate a year together next month.  Our relationship started much like any of my other relationships; wham, bam, boom.  Not the best aspect of myself, but it’s how it is.  Neither him nor I intended it to be that way, but once I spent the night, I didn’t want to go, and he didn’t want me leaving.  It’s been quite the interesting 11 months.  We’ve learned quite a bit about each other, and about being ok.

Things that work for us, is our desire to be together and to work things out, my patience, his vulnerability, and we love each other.  It’s not like how I loved David, or Michael.  This is different, and better, in the way that it’s something that can last.  David was my first love and heartbreak. Michael, he was my lesson.  And J, well, he’s exactly what I need and everything I never knew I even wanted.  I don’t know how else to explain it.  He makes me laugh, and I absolutely LOVE the laugh he makes when I surprise him.  I love when he can’t help but smile when he sees me, even though he tries to look all serious.  I love learning things from him.  And I even love him when he frustrates the ever loving hell out of me.  Which he does-often.  I simply and completely love him.

And then, tonight while we were talking on the phone I recognized the signs of trauma while I was talking with him.  We were having a frustrating conversation (about money and bills), and I realized my anxiety was sky high, my heart felt like it was going to explode (not in a loving way), and I was on the verge of tears.  I was having to ask him for money.  Now, I’m not the best with money.  Although I’m aiming to be better with money, I’m not quite 100% there yet.  And he’s really good with money, and gets really frustrated with me when what he thinks needs to happen with money doesn’t.  It’s definitely one of the things we are working on as a couple.

But I don’t want to ask him for money.  That’s horrible.  I hate asking any man for money.  I also realized while he was joking with me, that his jokes reminded me of Luke.  And Luke’s abuse still gives me hell some days.  I feel like every time I get over something and learn how to accept it and be ok, then my damn brain will come up with something else that’s ridiculous to heal from.  I think that a lot of people make this assumption that trauma is something you work on once and then it’s done.  But the power of trauma and it’s lingering bullshit is something that makes trauma a work in progress, always.  I don’t know if I will ever be completely healed of the trauma from Luke.  But I’m going to be ok.  And each time something new comes up, I will do the next right thing and address it.

There wasn’t anything horrible going on with J.  But my trauma was triggered and now I’m sitting here writing about it.  My nerves are a bit shot, and I might have trouble going to sleep now, but I’m ok.  I will be ok.  That’s probably the greatest strength I have is to be self-aware.  I know when I’m fucking up, and when I messed up, and when I could have done better.  But the difference with me is that I WILL fix things.

I mostly just wanted to write about the frustrating aspect of trauma that it lingers in weird places among my psyche.  Each day is a new day and something that I can build on for the days following.  J knew I was in a weird place.  And he knows how to calm me down.  He doesn’t necessarily understand it, but he accepts it, and he does what he knows to do.  I am so blessed to be with him.  And to experience this journey with him.  He’s going to have to marry me though; there’s no escaping me now. 🙂

 

Oh Ladies, if You Could Only Get Past this Moment.

“Learn to love yourself and then you’ll meet the right person!” – stupid saying that happy people in relationships say.

No.  The worst part about it is, they’re fucking right.  If you could only get past this small moment of agonizing pain in the midst of your loneliness, then maybe you could see the truth of this.

I’m so frustrated with some of the women in my life.  And I’m frustrated with them because I did the same stupid shit at some point.  I have compromised my beliefs for men.  I have said things I did not mean for men.  I have lived through terrible expectations because I had this erroneous belief that I had to please others before making myself happy.  Now that I’m at this weird moment in my life, I can look back and see all of those train wrecks long before they ever got started.

And although I’m primarily speaking about women in this post, and using the feminine pronouns, I truly mean this for everyone.  The guys too.  I recently had some interactions with a guy who was DESPERATE for connection with his recently-estranged wife.  He had no willingness to hear about a solution.  He had no desire to actually fix the situation.  He was so entirely consumed with his pain that he failed to see that the more he tried forcing a connection between them, the worse he was making it for himself.  And there wasn’t a connection between them because he had absolutely no idea who the hell he was, let alone like himself.  He hated himself.  He told me terrible things he thought about himself and told me how “worthless” he was.

I wish he could have heard himself.  If he believed himself to be worthless, what did he think he was bringing to the relationship with his estranged wife?  I mean, letting your happiness exist solely on the shoulders of another is such a heavy burden.  If you cannot see the goodness in yourself, how the hell would others?  Not beyond a superficial level, anyhow.

Here is what I propose:  Fall in love with you.   Get to know what you like and don’t like.  What you love and don’t love.  Find out what brings your passion to life and what breaks your soul into a million pieces.  Go to the movies on your own.  Spend time in quiet solitude, where the only things you can hear are the sounds of your environment and your own thoughts.  Take a look in the mirror and check out the lines of your face.  Smile for real, not because you are “supposed to.”  There are so many ways to discover the beautiful, messy, chaotic and universal person that you are, and the weird thing about it is that you will discover life.  When you find this freedom, the Universe has a way of sending you a compliment to your soul.

I sincerely believe that is what happened to me.  I had to be open to receiving another soul.  I had to be ok.  And I happened into a situation where I found a soul that matched my own.  I’m ridiculously in love and it’s ironic how I see the world now.

I’m so grateful that I never married the idiots that I thought I loved.  I’m sad that I lived in such fear for so long that I chose to stay in misery rather than discover the possibilities of love.  But I worry about these people I love who are searching for happiness everywhere but where it can be found.  Here’s the thing, when you know who you are, then you are ok no matter who is around.  And when you find your match, then you can bring to the table so many wonderful things.  And you can discover yourself WITH the other person.  Discovering the parts of you that needed more and the parts of you that you can share.  There are these moments where I am so unbelievably grateful for the terror I’ve survived, because I simply do not think that I would be able to appreciate the love I have now.

So pause, pause and let yourself feel the pain of loneliness.  Pause so you may find healing and comfort in your own arms.  Pause to be able to see things for what they are and not for what you want them to be.

That has to be a form of destination addiction.  Creating this idea of a person you want them to be, when the reality of them is far too gone to be salvageable.  Love people where they are, and not where you want them to be, or assume they could be.  That’s a waste of time.

By no means am I perfect or even good at any of this.  But I am self aware.  I can see this pattern in myself, so I now notice it in others.  I wish they could just get past that moment.  The moment when the pain overtakes your senses and you make terrible decisions.  The moments on the other side of that pain are the most beautiful moments in all the world.

Greek Tragedy, All Damn Day.

Just when I think everything is going to start coming together, I remember that my life is a Greek tragedy.

My sister has finally settled on a date for her wedding.  At this point in time I don’t want to go.  She’s an asshole.  My dad’s truck is more important to her than I am.  And I get it; she’s trying to hold onto any shred of our dad that’s left. Desperately, too.

But what does she expect me to do?  It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t care.  ‘Cause fuck me, right?

And then I find out that a source of my happiness may need to go.

Fucking tragic.  I feel like I will never catch up, I will never be ok, and I will never be truly happy with my shit together.

Fuck.

Unlovable.

I feel unlovable.

Not in the sense of some deep desperate despair, but in the sense that I am a mix of character traits, assets and defects that I’m not entirely sure anyone can get past enough to fall in love with me.  I am not lovable in the sense that I am painfully awkward and say the worst things at the worst times.  I am not lovable in that I will always be seen by potential lovers as “crazy” because of my mental health.  I am not loveable in that I am neurotic, and difficult to be around for long periods of time.  I am not lovable in that I have traumatic experiences which cloud potentially amazing experiences.  I am not lovable in that I am physically unfit, unhealthy, and misshapen.  I am not lovable in that on occasion I am gripped with paralyzing, crippling and debilitating anxiety caused by mostly nothing at all.  I am not lovable in that I have a double chin that makes me look and feel like a Thumb-thumb.  I am not lovable in that I am passionate and morbid and dark.  I am not lovable in that I have never really felt like I fit in.  I am unlovable in that I am plagued by medically issues and as a result I end up looking and feeling terrible while simultaneously scaring those around me.  I am not lovable in that I’m always a bit off-color and running late.  And I am not lovable, in that I don’t know how to love.

Not many people know this, but when I am asked about my “first love,” the person I always think of was my ex ‘The Devil’.  I have said it more times than I would ever care to admit, although what I felt for him has always been different and better and worse than any of the others.  I hate that I told so many people that I love them out of habit.  It bothers me now.  It also bothers me that the one time when it meant something. . . I would end up feeling this pain for so long.  I don’t regularly feel the pain of his loss, only when I forget how thinking about it hurts.

Today I made some irrational turns while I was driving.  I think I thought I had enough money to buy some gloves to work with at my house on a few projects, and was distracted by my dying phone battery as well which all caused me to make a weird right hand turn.  But I digress.  I drove back across the street into the Ace Hardware parking lot and I see an old friend sitting under the shade of a tree.  I waved, and he returned the wave – clearly not having a clue as to who I was.  I pulled into a parking spot, and played with my phone for a bit before I stepped out of the truck.

My friend, whom I met through ‘The Devil,’ goes, “Oh!  It’s MO!” I then walked over to him and asked how he was doing.  The conversation was fine until he asked me if I had seen The Devil.

And that’s when my heart hurt.  I read once that there is a syndrome called ‘Broken heart syndrome,’ and that there are these delicate strings that are attached to your heart and hold your heart in place, and when the heart is stressed enough, those strings can break which can then lead to death. One of the more common stressors for this to happen is heartbreak.

My heart still hurts.  I wonder if I snapped any of those heartstrings.  I should have known that he never loved me.  Or maybe he was telling the truth.  What he said…I can’t think about it too much because I don’t want to induce the anxiety attack.  I had one Friday.  I was paralyzed and stayed in my room in complete darkness because I simply could not deal.  I’m starting to run out of medications for that.

Again, I digress.

I don’t know why he said he loved me.  I know that the Asshole never did, if anything he absolutely hated me.  If he could hate.  I’m of the opinion that he might possibly be a sociopath.  Whatever the case, I know I’m unlovable.

I have some awesome selling points.  Clearly, however, it is not enough to be as awesome as I am without the blonde hair, perky tits and fit and toned body.  I don’t know how I could ever let someone stay over when I sleep with a CPAP mask on my face and wear a mouth guard.  I am not sexy.  I’m clumsy and awkward about nearly everything I do.  And I have absolutely no idea how to flirt, or what it would look like if someone was flirting with me.

Whether or not any of this is true, this is what I feel.  And what I perceive.  It was recently brought to my attention that I see my life through the eyes of someone with depression and mania.  I don’t know what it means to see my life as ‘normal’.  I wouldn’t have any idea how to be smooth, calm and collected.  I don’t know if I will ever be able to be with anyone.  I believe I am too damaged.  And I’m truly ok with being alone.  I like it.  But I hate that I’m so easily glossed over as I am.

Some days I simply have no idea what is real anymore.  I believe that if it were not for my animals I would have given up a long time ago. Because with them, always, I know I am loved unconditionally.  I can never tell that with humans.

The Art of Living on One’s Own…And the Actualities No One Tells You About

I love Oscar… he is definitely one of my absolute favorite authors by far.  And I love this quote of his.  There are a lot of times I spend with clients that I bring up this quote.  Why not?  Co-dependency seems to run rampant among the addicts that I know. Both in recovery and in active addiction.  I never knew what co-dependency meant.  And I think that the meaning has changed throughout time.  I do not believe that my mother was co-dependent.  I believe that was they way she was raised.  However, times are definitely changing.  Now women do not have to be dependent on a caretaker.  We can vote, own land, keep our last names, we are not generally considered property anymore, and we may even bear children without a man!  This alteration of gender roles has greatly affected the world we live in, and because of it, we are all a mess.  We are trying to figure out how to keep up with all these new things, ideas, and concepts of a modern society and at the end of the day, our biology has not changed much.  I choose not to have kids.  However, regardless of the birth control that I am on, my body has an uncontrollable desire to want to procreate.  So while my mind says I am a modern woman and the lack of offspring does not define me as a woman, my body still wants a damn child.  But I digress.  Again.

People always talk about being alone.  People say various stupid affirmations like, “It’s ok to be alone.” or “Once you learn to be ok with being alone, then you’ll be able to be with someone else!” That last one is my favorite.  I usually use it myself when speaking with clients or when talking about myself. However, I have also usually come to my senses by the end of the day and I remember that I genuinely like being alone.

All of that being said, liking being alone and the practicality of it are two entirely different things, as I have recently discovered.  I have a three bedroom home, two bathrooms, a large yard, two large dogs, two indoor cats, two turtles, one Betta, and three finches.  I go to school full time.  I have a full time, salary job.  I have no human children (thank god), and I am working on turning my passions into a part time job.  I realize, that I am the one who took on all of this mess on.  My complaint is that doing everything by yourself is not a joke!  I have to feed all my animals, I have to clean my entire house, I have to do all my homework, etc.  That is a lot to do by yourself.  Everything that I do, is to better myself.  Except all of my rescues.  I love animals much more than I ever would a child.  So, nearly everyone I know has either or both a significant other and/or children.  So children are really these super fucking convenient slaves that you just happen to own (be related to, whatever…) and that’s not to mention the significant other.  My boss for example has a husband with a shit-ton of cash, three teenage children, one additional breedlet old enough to help with chores, her parents, a brother and friends with nice set-ups where they do not have to work all day and/or night.  I FUCKING DON’T HAVE THAT SHIT!

My mom works, my sister works AND goes to school, I have no other family here, all my friends have children and/or significant others and those creatures are usually busy working or taking care of my friends, and I don’t have any of that.  So when someone makes a comment about how dirty my truck is, I’ve decided that I’m going to finish the ride with, you can find your own ride from now on, drop them off and leave.  How fucking rude!  I am by myself!  When I sprout 8 arms, 36 hour days and 8 day weeks, then I will be able to finish everything I’m supposed to finish.  And because it’s for me, not for the moochers in my life.  With everything that I do, how dare you say that I need to clean out my truck!  I know I need to clean out my truck!  How can I do that with everything else I do?  I don’t have the time for certain things and because of that certain area’s of my life have to suffer.

I have finally realized that I am only capable of doing so many things at a time.  Well that, and I am not able to be in two or three places at once.  Because that is the first thing I would do if I had the means.  My clients pay $450/month on program fees which include their bed, food, utilities, computer use, substance abuse services, basic needs, heat, cold, etc.  That is $250 less than what I pay for my rent alone.  Then people really try to get mad when I tell them I’m busy.  What do you think I’m lying?

There is this stupid little meme I see on occasion on Facebook that says something about people making you one of their priorities.  No offence to the idiot posting that, but don’t you think that there might be a reason that someone is “avoiding” you, that you aren’t their priority?  I’m not sorry that I spend a lot of time along trying to better my life, and no one can make me feel otherwise.  I make myself a priority.  And I can do that, and anyone trying to make me feel bad about it can suck my dick.  When I get spare moments of time, I usually spend it with my animals or napping.  Napping gets me through the day!

Unless you are going to be one of the three “F”s (fucking me, feeding me or financing me), I don’t really want to hear about what you have to say.  I’m busy, there is no one else to do this but me.  And quite ruthlessly, I don’t particularly fancy the idea of being fucked, fed, or financed.

And I had a large piece of cake, so now I’m passing out. #naptimebitches

I Have Three Brains, And The Winner Is Never Me

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks lately.  Let me begin with this:  I do not and cannot have insurance.  The Social Security Administration has me listed as completely disabled, and as such that makes me eligible for Medicare.  Because I am eligible for  Medicare, I am completely unable to qualify for Medicaid.  Medicare will not cover my allergy shots, birth control or any of my doctors…So why would I bother with that?  In addition to that, the lovely and “generous” credit that the government so compassionately offered me (does the sarcasm come out in this writing as much as it does in my head?) is not enough to let me even attempt to pay for insurance on my own.  And even if I could afford it, women’s healthcare is crap, I couldn’t see any of my doctors and my allergy shots are NOT covered.  So again, what is the point?  Oh, and add to that the tax that I will have to pay next year ironically enough for not being able to afford it now.  Two words:  I’m fucked.

So with all of that, I am not out of medications.  Not like I wanted to be on them anyway, but I’m somewhat resigned to the fact that I probably do need them.  The week of graduation, I pulled it off with less than 22 hours of sleep.  My mind was racing.  Some of that happened during finals.  Oooh!  Let me backtrack!  Finals?  I got four hours of sleep the Sunday night before my first two finals.  During the first final I fell asleep before I finished the last two questions on the test.  I had to be woken up by the teacher.  I woke up, finished those two stupid questions and then left.  Just to go home (work), and finish up the final for my Spanish class later that day.  Fall semester I didn’t have the words to tell the class about my dad,  but this semester I did.  I was so excited.  But when it came to my turn I kinda lost it.  Then when the slide show was on the page showing my dad, I just started bawling my eyes out.  Most of my final was me just crying in front of everyone.  I got an 85 though…..Meh.

Then the rest of the week I should have relaxed.  But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t do it.  I was so miserable and excited and happy and crazy that I just stayed awake most nights.  Then the morning of graduation, I awoke to thunder, lightening and rain.  I got out of bed and threw a proper fit like a two-year old stomping my feet and such.  Thankfully the rain quit a little before the ceremony and began again after everyone was finished.  I took a nap later, in my graduation gown.  I was wrapped up like a little jail burrito, and warm and happy and wrinkly because I’m not a real burrito.Then I went to a speaker meeting with my graduation party to immediately follow.  It was fantastic.  Food, karaoke, friends and family….What more could I have asked for?  I’m sure there’s something I’m kinda greedy.  Anyhow, it was great.  Then again, very little sleep that night.  Then Monday.

Fuck Monday.  I woke up severely sick and depressed.  I thought about how ugly I felt, how fat I was, how no one will ever love me and how I don’t have any money, how I have no food at my house, how I hated the world because no one cared about me…And the reality of it is, that none of that is true.  Not true whatsoever.  But it didn’t matter.  Then there was a knock at the door.  Turns out my work was served garnishment paperwork.  For me.  Now my check is about to be even smaller!  Great.  Then I thought about how I just wanted to die.  That’s all I wanted.  I thought about using drugs again to overdose on purpose and not come out of it.  I felt the entire world resting on my shoulders and no one cared.

None of that bullshit is anything more than just that, bullshit.  But I hurt so unbelievably bad.  The pain in my heart and mind was so excessive.  Thankfully I received a 12 Step call and I was able to get out of my head and think about someone else for a bit.  The feelings passed.

My coworker came back from hawaii, and then I went on vacation.  I went to a 12 Steps Convention in the big city.  It was an amazing spiritual awakening……And then Saturday night I was suggestively groped by a creepy old guy who was 70 + years old, and I wish that I could say that I defended my own Honor.  But that is not the case.  I froze, I froze and I let it continue to happen till I was able to come up with a plausible story to get out of the situation.  I should have been able to just stand up and walk away.  But inside of me there is this horrible voice that says I’m not good enough to do that.  That I’m deserving of the creepers.  That I somehow DESERVED that horrible moment in time…

It really threw me for a loop.  I hate it.  I have these sick thoughts about myself and sex and it’s all a jumbled mess.  It’s hard to say what is real and what isn’t.  Mostly because I feel like I have three brains.  I have a brain that tells me lies, that everything is amazing and wonderful and this brain makes me feel exhilarated and hyperactive.  Then I also have this brain that tells me that I’m not worth a sack of dirt, that I should just have sex with whoever offers it to me, because that’s all I would be able to get, and that I will never have an actual romantic relationship because I’m a pointless, worthless, shitty person.  Then I have this brain that sits quietly in the corner because that’s what it was told to do, and even though THIS brain knows the truth, that the other two brains are sick and need help and that what they say isn’t the truth and that things will get better someday…..it doesn’t really matter because the winner is never THAT brain.  It’s the other two.  They fight each other constantly, but then they also team up together when something tries to quiet them down.  I hate it.

I would love to have the company of another human, someone who I could be intimate with. But I am so unpredictable right now.  I’m scared and frightened and excited all at once, and none of it is good.  Then someone really tells me that they prefer me when I’m off my meds because I’m more of myself then, than any other time.  Uh, yeah?  When I’m on my meds I’m normal. And much less crazy.

I can’t talk to very many people about this.  Because they don’t get it.  And that isolates me even more.  All I want it to be better….But I don’t know if I ever will be.  That terrifies me.  But I want something I don’t know if I could have with all my mental illness.  Some days are ok days, but most days, especially lately, it seems that the demons win and take over.  I’m not quite sure I’m prepared for that.  Nor is anyone else around here.

Oh look a mushroom!

I Want to Save the World…One Person at a Time. And Push the Rest off a Cliff.

It’s been a long day.  I got three and one half hours of sleep last night as I was attempting to write a 6-9 page paper on “Kennewick Man” for my Biological Anthropology final paper.  It was due at 11:30 am this morning.  All I had to do was show up and give it to her.  I turned in a five-page joke.  I shouldn’t have been slacking.  But I have been!  I’ve been a wreck lately and I’ve also gone off my meds.  I have been slowly stopping my medications as I do not want to be 60 years old later on in life with permanent and uncontrollable Tardive Dyskinesia that I have due to a lifetime of psychotropics!  I spent three months going crazy while still working two jobs and journaling what was going on in my head.  At the end of the day I determined that my anxiety was the killer, and that the rest of it could be maintained by working on the anxiety. This theory worked rather well, and I went on citalopram for the anxiety.  I felt amazingly calm about the world around me.  And then I started weaning myself off the citalopram slowly under a doctors watchful eye.

Just Kidding.  I stopped them and now they sit in a drawer next to my bed as if I am going to actually take them again some day. Ha.  That’s cute.  I dunno.  Maybe if things were different.  But at the end of the damn day I don’t want to be on the fucking meds!  I  hate all the stupid side effects:  cottonmouth, lack of sexual appetite, insomnia, the fucking shakes, feeling like I’m swimming and underwater all the fucking time, confusion, etc.  The fucking list goes on.  None of that shit was pleasant and I’m not so sure that they were worth it.  I mean, I already hate sex as it is, and these fucking meds will not even let me masturbate because NOTHING gets me excited.  Oh, there was also the time that I was on Prozac and couldn’t cry for over a year!  That shit was miserable!  I mean, granted, Prozac had it’s place in my life.  Like the time that I was hanging out with my then-boyfriend and he attempted to sell me to a family of East-Indians (please note, I have nothing against Indians and in no way blame them for the bullshit that happened.  I am merely describing what happened.).  I firmly believe that it was the Prozac and the coma-induced stupor in which I lived and occasionally thought in that allowed me to look over at this fucking guy and say, “But I love you!  I LOVE you?  And you really want me to suck off some Indian guy while you watch because that sounds FUN?!”  And then I promptly left him.  Had I NOT been on Prozac, I probably would have cried and let it happen.  And on a side note, that would have been a perfect time to use the interbanger.  We should bring back the use of the interbanger.  But I digress.

Meds.  Fucking Meds.  It’s been about three months that I have used any psychotropics.  I feel pretty good.  Crazy and suffering from a prolonged sense of grandiosity and severe rapid manic cycles, but good nonetheless.  And I could probably have a sex drive.  If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t really care.  Ha.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, that’s right, meds have their place.  But I don’t want them anymore.  I want to feel and shit.  And more than anything I do not want to be dependent on something for the rest of my life that keeps me “sane.”  I’d rather be insane any day of the week.  But like Jack Sparrow says, “Crazy people don’t know they are crazy. I know I’m crazy, therefore I am not crazy.  Isn’t that crazy?”

Speaking of grandiosity, That appears to be the most concerning symptom of the Bipolar recently.  Although this time around I haven’t convinced myself that I am the governor of the great state of Texas.  Which is somewhat of an improvement.  Meh.

Earlier tonight I was waiting for a new client to arrive at the house, and I received a phone call from a desperate officer of the law.  He picked up a woman who he had initially thought to be inebriated, however when he took her to detox they were unable to accept her due to the fact that she wasn’t drunk.  She blew a .000.  So he then tried to contact a local homeless shelter who apparently was of no help whatsoever.  He felt very let down by them.  So then he called my work.  Unfortunately I was unable to bring her to work and let her stay – we are NOT an emergency shelter.  However I did have a little bit of cash and I offered to put her up in a room for the night so she wasn’t wandering around in a very small rez town.  There’s skin-walkers and other horrible humans out there in those hills.  Did I really have the money to put her up?  No.  Not really…But I felt sick at the thought that she might not have a place to stay for the night.  I have been that disoriented woman found wandering around in a parking lot with no where to go for the night…and had to stay there because no one was willing to help.  Shit, I really needed that money.  But I have this weird idea that it might come back to me.  I dunno if it will or not, and none of that matters till I am unable to pay for the room I booked next weekend for the convention.  What matters is that she has a nice warm bed for the night.  She had a limp, and it appeared to be bad, however there wasn’t any signs of outward trauma.  She said that her foot hurt because she’s been walking all day.  She also said that she knew where she was and that she was from the next state over.  She said she had family here, but that they were all at work at the mall (mind you our mall closed two hours before this interaction).  She didn’t appear to be under the influence of drugs, and clearly she wasn’t drunk.  Ugh.  I don’t know.  I wish I could have done more for her.  Thinking about it later, maybe she was diabetic and her blood sugar was low?  Maybe that’s why she appeared disoriented?  I don’t know.  I’m fairly bothered by it.

I say all the time that the love in my heart is enough to envelop the entire world.  Which is funny, because I also really hate people.  I want to help people, but then I also want to push most of them off a very steep cliff with crocs at the bottom.  Both crocs, those terrible shoe things AND the things that have lots of teeth and could eat us.  Seriously though, I imagine stabbing people and various other horrendous things all day long.  But in between those moments of raging homicidal thoughts, I also find myself coming up with ways to improve the world around me.  It’s important to me that the world is a better place than when I found it.  Yes, I realize that’s an uphill battle.  But I’m stubborn.  And I have to be crazy with all this in-congruent shit in my head.

I’m done.  I’m pretty sure that I just had an olfactory hallucination and smelt the distinct stench of my favorite aunts perfume and soap.  That and it’s nearly 1 am.  Although the insomnia is running rampant these days, I try not to let it win and go lie in bed for hours solving the worlds problems till the hours just before my alarm is set to go off and I finally succumb to that sleep thing people talk about.  Sleep and nightmares.  Sleep and nightmares.  Meh.

God-damned Mutinous Bastards

If I get a friend request from someone I do not know on Facebook, I ALWAYS check out their profile.  After perusing their profile, I then check out our mutual friends.  Once I find a mutual friend whose opinion I trust, then I question them as to what type of person this potential “friend” is.  If I do not get an immediate, “Oh yeah!  That guy/girl!  I love them, they’re amazing!  No drama!” then I will immediately deny the friend request.  Sometimes I deny their request due to the mutual friends we share.  If all of our mutual friends are of the unsavory type, then I can tell what type of person you are, and I choose to stay away from all of that noise.  Other denial factors would be misspelling simple words, misuse of the words they’re, their, and there, not understanding the difference between the words “are” and “our”, and last but certainly not least using “text language” such as “u” instead of “you”, etc.  Is that harsh?  Maybe, probably…however I do not give a shit.  I am looking to surround myself with people I can relate to, understand and/or who will help me grow.  Education is important to me.

Another thing that I might be harsh about is judging others for things like getting a tattoo of their significant other’s name somewhere on their body.  You should have used Henna.  At least that will wash away eventually like the honeymoon stage of your jailhouse/prison relationship.  Call me a traditionalist, but I will NOT tattoo anyone’s significant other’s name on their body.  I think that’s absurd.  And I have never seen one of those tattoo relationships make it very far.  Speaking of relationships with people in jail or prison…I wonder if people are aware that there is life OUTSIDE of those walls?  I understand what institutionalization does to a person.  I have seen it many times.  I just don’t understand why anyone would LIMIT themselves to a relationship that exists over the phone.  Jailhouse syndrome is this condition where a man/woman who happens to be incarcerated has suddenly ‘found god’ and makes all these promises to their SO on the other end of the phone that they “have changed” and that they will live a different life!  Bullshit.  They say that stuff so their SOs continue to put money on their books and they are able to get commissary.  It’s a brilliant scheme!  However the idiot that ‘isn’t’ in jail or prison believes every word they write or say.  It’s so sad, and it would be comical if it were not for the sad fact that these people base all of their lives on those stupid empty promises.

It’s been so long since I have been in a relationship, that I am not sure I would know what to do with one anyway.  And I am also not so sure that I would be able to handle being in one.  I will not be asking for permission to go anywhere or do anything ever again.  I will not be altering my life in such a way that my friends and family wonder what happened to me.  I will continue to have my “Me Time Friday’s” and I will be sitting across from you if we go on a date.  Not next to.  That’s strange to me.  I hate to cuddle with people.  It gets hot and sweaty and I feel completely awkward and uncomfortable.  I have issues with sex…and I need to feel completely comfortable with someone and explain to them that I am fucked up in the head when it comes to sex.  If we are going to go down that road you need to understand I may exhibit some strange or unannounced behaviors and that you did not cause my reactions to things necessarily.  I have so many concerns and issues…I just simply do not know if I could handle one.  And above all of that, there are still my mental health concerns.  That’s a whole other blog for a different day.

On a side note, the god-damned mutinous clients that I am currently working with are conspiring about me at the moment. I would love to be able to just tell them, “No!” and then the other two staff members that I work with back me up.  But that never appears to be the case.  I work with two people who are extremely easy-going and have excuses for all the things that the clients do and why it’s ok.  I do not understand what is so wrong with the word No.  I mean, people should use it more and they should accept it occasionally at the very least.  But I guess that means nothing to these people.  I really wonder why I stick around sometimes.  I have two clients right now who are trying to make any changes.  Any at all.  And for them I am really excited to be at work.  The rest of them are driving me crazy.  I could work in fast food dealing with less drama and bullshit for more money than I do at this place.  I work here because I like it, but then I feel completely invalidated when my decisions are over-turned or over-run without any explanation except that I’m being too harsh.  I’m only too harsh because they don’t do shit!

Ugh.  I’m over it.  Today has been a long day, and I’m cranky now.