Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!
So today was supposed to be a happy day, full of family and fun, right? Well... Mine was ruined by two sentences tonight. All day, my sister behaved herself. A couple of weeks ago, she even went so far as to say she accepted me, "skinny jeans and all." (She hates skinny jeans, btw.) But the two of us went out to get coffee and cocoa, and she blasted all the respect I had for her right out the window.
What could possibly be so offensive, you ask? Allow me to explain...
"You cray cray, Ducky, but you haven't been cray cray for awhile." A) Yes, she calls me Ducky. B) No she wasn't kidding. As you may now have guessed (or not, who knows), she was, in fact, referring to my mental illness. She called me crazy. She told me about a friend at work who "is Bipolar," and when I questioned whether he is or has, she insisted that he is. I tried to explain that Bipolar is something you have, not something you are, but she was having none of it. "He identifies with it." Well you just answered my question there, didn't ya, poopsie? But no, she doesn't get it.
If you've been following me regularly, you may remember about a year and a half ago, she backed me into a corner, towered over me while berating me, and my leg (mind of its own, I swear!) shot out and kicked her, almost knocking her down. To her ignorant mind, this is crazy. To her ignorant mind, I am not mentally ill... I am crazy.
It's difficult enough to tell people I have this burden without them making assumptions and straight up being rude to me (like in the psych ward), but to have my big sister, the one I've always looked up to no matter how much I hated her at whatever moment, to have her be so cruel and ignorant toward the biggest piece of me... I'm broken. Not even Brooke has said anything quite this cruel to me.
I now want nothing to do with her. I'll be polite, but I'll never tell her anything ever again. And when our parents are gone (morbid, I know), she'll have no place in my home or my life. I'm through bending over backwards for someone who thinks I'm nothing more than crazy.
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Into The Darkness
Time is a friend to no man.
This whole time change thing really blows. Winter blows. Apparently I like the word "blows" now. Why do these things blow? Because with the time change, it's suddenly dark at 5:30. Winter blows because it's dark at 5:30. I'm sensing a correlation... You'd be right, side-thought! These two things definitely correlate.
I'm going to stop that now before this gets awkward...
With the longer nights and days growing shorter, my depression is all wonky. Like, I'll be fine-ish during the day, but as soon as the sun goes down, I'm sunk into a pit as low as Dante's Hell. I feel it physically, too. Like this pressure sitting on my chest that makes it hard to breathe, and on my shoulders that makes it hard to be upright.
The absolute worst part about all this darkness is my irrational fear of being alone. As I've mentioned before, I still live at home with my parents. I'll often hang around until the last second before they go to bed. But when they do, everything explodes and I'm suddenly depressed and anxious beyond words. Lately, I've been drugging myself with Nyquil just so I go to sleep earlier. The earlier I go to sleep, the less time I spend alone in the dark.
Darkness has represented aloneness to me since I was about ten years old (I think...) when my sister moved out of my room and back into her own. I've always hated the dark because of, again, my irrational fear of being alone. I HATE being alone. I'm slightly codependent that way.
The other night as I was lying in my bed in the dreaded dark, I was overcome by the thought of my grandma who passed away a year and three months ago. It was like I had just heard the news of her death all over again. The pure pain of it. I couldn't stop crying.
In closing...
I
HATE
THE
DARK!
This whole time change thing really blows. Winter blows. Apparently I like the word "blows" now. Why do these things blow? Because with the time change, it's suddenly dark at 5:30. Winter blows because it's dark at 5:30. I'm sensing a correlation... You'd be right, side-thought! These two things definitely correlate.
I'm going to stop that now before this gets awkward...
With the longer nights and days growing shorter, my depression is all wonky. Like, I'll be fine-ish during the day, but as soon as the sun goes down, I'm sunk into a pit as low as Dante's Hell. I feel it physically, too. Like this pressure sitting on my chest that makes it hard to breathe, and on my shoulders that makes it hard to be upright.
The absolute worst part about all this darkness is my irrational fear of being alone. As I've mentioned before, I still live at home with my parents. I'll often hang around until the last second before they go to bed. But when they do, everything explodes and I'm suddenly depressed and anxious beyond words. Lately, I've been drugging myself with Nyquil just so I go to sleep earlier. The earlier I go to sleep, the less time I spend alone in the dark.
Darkness has represented aloneness to me since I was about ten years old (I think...) when my sister moved out of my room and back into her own. I've always hated the dark because of, again, my irrational fear of being alone. I HATE being alone. I'm slightly codependent that way.
The other night as I was lying in my bed in the dreaded dark, I was overcome by the thought of my grandma who passed away a year and three months ago. It was like I had just heard the news of her death all over again. The pure pain of it. I couldn't stop crying.
In closing...
I
HATE
THE
DARK!
Friday, November 11, 2016
Knowledge Is Power
Me.
I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with. My Facebook rants have stirred up things that ought not have been. When I'm crabby I say exactly what I mean and feelings have been hurt. When I'm manic, my almost maxed-out credit card (which my lovely parents are paying in my unemployment) gets a workout. But there's one thing I actually like about myself, and that is that I know myself. Inside and out, head to toe.
I was watching The Crown on Netflix tonight, and in it, there was a painter who was doing a portrait of Winston Churchill. I don't remember it word for word, but the painter was telling Churchill that nobody ever truly knows themselves- that you had to take a step back and look in from the outside. I've done this for years. I am an observer by nature- people are my favourite subject- and I have mastered observing myself. I notice my behaviours, my words, my tones... Before I was properly medicated, I became a master at knowing exactly when my mood would shift simply by noticing the way I spoke. With no instruction, I managed to figure out how to take a step back and observe myself. Because of this, I know everything about myself.
I can't tell you how to do it exactly, but when I do it, I picture myself separating. Like my body stays where it is, but my soul steps back. I've heard of others picturing themselves in front of a mirror. Whatever way works for you, do it. You may never be your own best friend, but knowing yourself can help you in ways you never imagined.
In other news...
I got my bangs cut today. I can see again! I'm getting the rest of my hair chopped in about a week and a half. I'm excited! OH! and we're finally celebrating my birthday at a comedy playhouse tomorrow! I still can't believe how old I am... I kind of feel like a giant failure. I'm thirty years old, I live with my parents who pay all my bills because I have no job, I'm working my butt off in school but seem to be failing anyway, and I'm still overweight. I eat like nothing, I'm fairly active, and I can't lose this infernal weight! Any tips would be appreciated.
I'll stop there... Self-deprecating comments aren't going to help me out of this depression.
I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with. My Facebook rants have stirred up things that ought not have been. When I'm crabby I say exactly what I mean and feelings have been hurt. When I'm manic, my almost maxed-out credit card (which my lovely parents are paying in my unemployment) gets a workout. But there's one thing I actually like about myself, and that is that I know myself. Inside and out, head to toe.
I was watching The Crown on Netflix tonight, and in it, there was a painter who was doing a portrait of Winston Churchill. I don't remember it word for word, but the painter was telling Churchill that nobody ever truly knows themselves- that you had to take a step back and look in from the outside. I've done this for years. I am an observer by nature- people are my favourite subject- and I have mastered observing myself. I notice my behaviours, my words, my tones... Before I was properly medicated, I became a master at knowing exactly when my mood would shift simply by noticing the way I spoke. With no instruction, I managed to figure out how to take a step back and observe myself. Because of this, I know everything about myself.
I can't tell you how to do it exactly, but when I do it, I picture myself separating. Like my body stays where it is, but my soul steps back. I've heard of others picturing themselves in front of a mirror. Whatever way works for you, do it. You may never be your own best friend, but knowing yourself can help you in ways you never imagined.
In other news...
I got my bangs cut today. I can see again! I'm getting the rest of my hair chopped in about a week and a half. I'm excited! OH! and we're finally celebrating my birthday at a comedy playhouse tomorrow! I still can't believe how old I am... I kind of feel like a giant failure. I'm thirty years old, I live with my parents who pay all my bills because I have no job, I'm working my butt off in school but seem to be failing anyway, and I'm still overweight. I eat like nothing, I'm fairly active, and I can't lose this infernal weight! Any tips would be appreciated.
I'll stop there... Self-deprecating comments aren't going to help me out of this depression.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
A Shadow In The Wind
I am no one.
I often get annoyed when I post something on Facebook that goes ignored because, well, I took the time to share something with my friends and they don't even acknowledge it. Like my posts. I've got friends who say they read every post, yet never bother to hit that "like" button. I beg you, let me know you've read this and every other post. I need that validation and confirmation that I'm not doing this alone. I can't handle thinking that I'm all alone.
I can get twenty random strangers to like my pictures on Instagram, but the same picture gets maybe five (if I'm lucky) likes by my one-hundred and forty-two friends on Facebook. Things like this make me feel unimportant, unwanted, and like I have no place in this world. Tonight, I'm feeling very suicidal because I specifically tagged someone in one of my posts and she didn't even acknowledge it. Thanks, Amy. I know I'm not your favourite person in the world, but please, at least have the dignity to tell me you don't want to be friends instead of just ignoring me.
Right now, I'm hiding in my room, muffling my sobs with my pillow and wanting more than anything to simply disappear. This girl who ignored me today had a brother commit suicide, so she of all people should understand the way I'm feeling, but she doesn't seem to care. We used to be good friends- sorority sisters, even! It seems like when my friends get married, I'm no longer needed or wanted around. I try to keep in contact with so many of them, but it's always a one-sided relationship. I text, invite them to do things, and give them gifts, but I never get any of these in return.
My problem is that I'm too good a friend. I'm the loyal one who will be there for you no matter what, but I get treated like the bloody doormat. I care about others far more than I care about myself and nobody seems to care. I just feel like so few people care about me that it wouldn't matter if I disappeared. I've thought it over a hundred times, but there would be a maximum of twenty people at my funeral because I simply don't matter that much to anyone.
Who knows... maybe tonight is the night.
I often get annoyed when I post something on Facebook that goes ignored because, well, I took the time to share something with my friends and they don't even acknowledge it. Like my posts. I've got friends who say they read every post, yet never bother to hit that "like" button. I beg you, let me know you've read this and every other post. I need that validation and confirmation that I'm not doing this alone. I can't handle thinking that I'm all alone.
I can get twenty random strangers to like my pictures on Instagram, but the same picture gets maybe five (if I'm lucky) likes by my one-hundred and forty-two friends on Facebook. Things like this make me feel unimportant, unwanted, and like I have no place in this world. Tonight, I'm feeling very suicidal because I specifically tagged someone in one of my posts and she didn't even acknowledge it. Thanks, Amy. I know I'm not your favourite person in the world, but please, at least have the dignity to tell me you don't want to be friends instead of just ignoring me.
Right now, I'm hiding in my room, muffling my sobs with my pillow and wanting more than anything to simply disappear. This girl who ignored me today had a brother commit suicide, so she of all people should understand the way I'm feeling, but she doesn't seem to care. We used to be good friends- sorority sisters, even! It seems like when my friends get married, I'm no longer needed or wanted around. I try to keep in contact with so many of them, but it's always a one-sided relationship. I text, invite them to do things, and give them gifts, but I never get any of these in return.
My problem is that I'm too good a friend. I'm the loyal one who will be there for you no matter what, but I get treated like the bloody doormat. I care about others far more than I care about myself and nobody seems to care. I just feel like so few people care about me that it wouldn't matter if I disappeared. I've thought it over a hundred times, but there would be a maximum of twenty people at my funeral because I simply don't matter that much to anyone.
Who knows... maybe tonight is the night.
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Midterms, Keychains, and Thanks
It's over!
So I had to do my midterm presentation today. I was supposed to do it last week, but things happen and I did it today. Thankfully, this teacher understands social phobia and let me do it with just him in his office. Now I just have to hope that I got a good grade on it. I'm not really an eloquent person unless I have time to type it out. Side note: my backspace button gets quite a workout whenever I write. But... I did my best and I think my teacher knows that.
Even though I did it with just my teacher, my anxiety spiked. My heart was pounding and my palms got all sweaty. Funny thing about that: I take Xanax every day before I leave the house. I guess I need a higher dose now. Oh well.
Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...
My mom took today off work to hang out with my aunt. I get home and they're both in the front room, talking. My aunt says, "Guess what I brought you." You want to know what she brought me? Two keychains! One from The Netherlands and one from Switzerland! Not sure if I've ever mentioned this before, but I collect keychains from places I go and love, love, LOVE when people send me one from where they are or have been. I've got them from every state I've been in, as well as places my friends and family have been. If y'all ever feel like sending me one, I wouldn't complain... haha!
Bad segue number two...
I want to thank every single one of you for cracking two major milestones for me. First off, this blog hit one hundred thousand all-time views last month! And secondly, you blew up my month record. My last record was seventeen thousand. In October, y'all got me to thirty-six thousand!!! I know I'm obnoxious with all my retweets, but I guess there's just that many people who are looking for what I have to say.
So I had to do my midterm presentation today. I was supposed to do it last week, but things happen and I did it today. Thankfully, this teacher understands social phobia and let me do it with just him in his office. Now I just have to hope that I got a good grade on it. I'm not really an eloquent person unless I have time to type it out. Side note: my backspace button gets quite a workout whenever I write. But... I did my best and I think my teacher knows that.
Even though I did it with just my teacher, my anxiety spiked. My heart was pounding and my palms got all sweaty. Funny thing about that: I take Xanax every day before I leave the house. I guess I need a higher dose now. Oh well.
Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...
My mom took today off work to hang out with my aunt. I get home and they're both in the front room, talking. My aunt says, "Guess what I brought you." You want to know what she brought me? Two keychains! One from The Netherlands and one from Switzerland! Not sure if I've ever mentioned this before, but I collect keychains from places I go and love, love, LOVE when people send me one from where they are or have been. I've got them from every state I've been in, as well as places my friends and family have been. If y'all ever feel like sending me one, I wouldn't complain... haha!
Bad segue number two...
I want to thank every single one of you for cracking two major milestones for me. First off, this blog hit one hundred thousand all-time views last month! And secondly, you blew up my month record. My last record was seventeen thousand. In October, y'all got me to thirty-six thousand!!! I know I'm obnoxious with all my retweets, but I guess there's just that many people who are looking for what I have to say.
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