Hum-bugged

Don't wear hearing aids. Stare at food. Don't punch anyone.

Happy Christmas to all of my lovely readers! Hoping you all have a wonderful day.

My Christmas is a disaster. I mentioned a while ago how my "sister" and her husband swindled my mom out of two thousand dollars for an unnecessarily extravagant laptop. I've mentioned a few times exactly how much I really don't like them. I'm pretty sure you're all tired of hearing about the useless narcissist I was forced to call "dad". Having all these... beings... in one place is going to drive me off a cliff.

Mr and Mrs Swindle are talking about how "We were going to do this, but didn't want to be creepy." Sooo.... instead of being helpful to someone in need, you decide to care more about your appearance, and what someone might think about you?

King Henry VIII told a story about a Jeep pulling its Ford out of some mud, and it emphasizes how IT wanted to give that driver a medal. This may not seem like much, but it's one very large piece of the narcissistic puzzle. 

The best part of this torture is the ego stroking. It absolutely FLIES back and forth between the three of them. Add on the fact that the two... males... both keep talking, at the same freaking time, because neither will concede control of the one-sided "conversation".

I can't deal with this. I can't stand these... beings... at the best of times. Get them together and my nerves are shot, my teeth are all ground down, and I'm ready to spit fire.

I grew up being told to stand up for myself, unless it's standing up to "sister" or "father". All I ever heard was, "Be nice" and "You need to apologize". Yeah... Where are the apologies from these two... things? Where's the validation that I'm not, in fact, their doormat?

If you've got someone who treats you like you're unimportant trash, never believe them when they say they'll change. They won't. They've been treating you like trash for years, and promises to change are empty. There's always the "honeymoon" phase, where they're nice and good, then the ball drops, and they double down on what they're doing to you. Abusers of all kinds are entirely incapable of treating you any other way. Remove them from your life. It'll hurt, thanks to them making you believe you need them, but realize you're worth so much more.

They won't change.

They can't change.

They don't care.

They can't care.

It's just who they are.

Time

Be here. Do this. Take that.

It's been said a million times, and I'll just add to it: there isn't enough time in the day. Between full-time work (going on six whole months, now!), doctor appointments, errands, and the extremely limited "me" time, I'm just done. 

A few weeks back, I lowered my Seroquel from 400mg to 350mg. There were a couple of really bad days, but overall, it's not bad. Weirdest part is that I'm sleeping better now. Anyhow, my moods are pretty level, considering the time since I lowered it, but I still get this awful feeling at the end of the day. Like, full-blown depression, with a smattering of "I'd like to punch you in the face" anger. Unfortunately, this lovely concoction of emotions pops its ugly head out at some inconvenient times. My poor mom is getting the force of it.

Today was odd, and tomorrow will be very similar. I took the morning off for a doctor appointment, and worked the six hours from noon unti, well, 6:00 PM. The darker the sky got, the darker my mood got. Bad enough that work was nonstop busy, but between people being people, and this foul mood of mine, I'm sure a few unsuspecting souls got a taste of it.

I'm trying desperately to lower my Seroquel to the lowest tolerable level, because I was recently diagnosed with insulin resistance, and Seroquel is known to have an effect on that. I've started to change the way I eat (being without a constant supply of Cheetos isn't helping my mood 😡), and I'm exercising more, but there's a long way to go. I'm round. I look like, if you took a bouncy ball, stuck toothpicks in for arms and legs, and added a Cocoa Puff for the head. A large part of that is genetic, but that won't stop me from trying my hardest to change it. 

I haven't written in a while, because I'm so done after work, that I simply don't want to. However, this blog is my catharsis. Talking about these things and emotions is helpful in treating them. I very much encourage everyone to have a catharsis. Write, clean, rant, sing... Just do something to get it out in a constructive way. I've got a whole list of "my life sucks" songs, if you find yourself in need. 

That's all.

Thank you for your time.

You may now continue scrolling.

It's A Thing- Go With It

Some days, you just need a pool noodle.

Today can go away, and never return. But that's the great thing about todays- they always go away, never to return. Even when you're suffocating, trying to get just one sigh of relief, today will be gone tomorrow.

It's stormy, today. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing. Today, it means my depression has turned on me, keeping me from really doing much of anything. I can't even smile. It's annoying.

One of my coworkers simultaneously made me laugh and feel a bit better, if only for a minute. She told me I sounded cheerful. That's the last word I'd use to describe me, today, but I guess sounding cheerful is a good step in keeping me from a total breakdown. It was just a nice thing to say.

Then, after stupid people did lots of stupid people things, I get a text from a friend, informing me that she found me a pool noodle. Yes, there's an explanation. No, I don't feel like explaining it. Let it be a mystery.

That seemingly small thing let me know that today will, in fact, end. Tomorrow will come, erasing today from my mind.

As this wonderful friend says... "The moral of the story" is you never know what can make your day. It could be something you always do, or something so small that you'd never think of.

Good friends should be everyone's go-to. Find your happy place in good people. You deserve it.

Second Thoughts

Big red flags...

So, last week, I did intake for a new therapist. I didn't do this with my actual therapist, but with some rando who does it. That was red flag number one. 

During this intake, there was an intern, who was simply observing. That's fine. Everyone has to learn their profession, sometime, right? Red flag number two  was when I was "advised" with things like, "don't talk about that, during therapy" and "don't say that during therapy". So... what's the point of therapy, if I can't talk about why I'm there?

Literally the only reason I'm keeping the appointment with this therapist, is to find out if she's any better than the company she works for. I've been in and out of  therapy since I was, like, twelve. Over they years, I've learned to read the warning signs for a bad therapist. I had one who didn't accept my interests or choices, and actually met with my mom, concerned about my desire to get into criminology. I had another who, during our first appointment, was twisting words, trying to make me say that I didn't work, because it's not important to me (which is 100% false). Still the worst, by far, was when I was locked up in the world's worst inpatient facility. She drilled it through the heads of all the women there, that we were there because we did something wrong, not because we had illnesses.

There's a shortage of therapists, in general, so finding a good one is about as easy as finding a snowball in Yuma, Arizona.

I have my first appointment with this new one, next Thursday. To be honest, I'm not holding my breath, but we shall see...

OK, I'm finally gonna say it.  

I have an aunt who needs a smack to the head, in hopes that she'll learn a thing or two. I don’t like her-- I never have, and I never will. (Well, I have two aunts I can't stand, but this is just for one.)

This woman felt that she had the right, throughout my childhood, to dictate how I kept my bedroom. Every time she'd come in from out of town, she'd go into my room, and act like bloody Hitler, to "clean". No. That's not your right. You are not my mother. You do not live here. You do not get a say. Yes, my bedroom made disaster zones look organized, back then, but you had ZERO right to do that.

She's one of those narcissistic jerks who thinks she's the center of attention, and if you don't acknowledge her in the way she thinks you should, she needles you until you do. Yes, she has some serious narcissistic tendencies. She should know that, too. I mean, she has a degree in psychology, which we are all aware of, because somehow it makes her better...?

I've bitten my tongue for thirty years, when it comes to her, but I'm done. I sincerely hope she's reading this, because I will not be acknowledging her existence again. I'm fed up, and today was the final straw.

She and my uncle are in town, again. They came to the house to pick up my mom and the other narc, to go do some super boring stuff. They're on the porch, chatting, and I open the door, to find out where I need to move my car. I get a "hello" and a smile from my uncle. That's it, because he's the normal one. Then the aunt... she says hello, right about the same time uncle does. I wave, because I'm me. She then proceeds to say "hello" again, like I've done her some great injustice. My mom tells her I'm antisocial, because, well... I am. What aunt said next, had my blood boiling. She says, "I don't care! I'm her aunt!" and tries to push past my mom, to get to me.

Yeah, I heard that. Hearing aids are wonderful inventions. They're great to be able to hear, and even better is taking them out when you don't want to listen to someone. 

Aunt... no. You may be my aunt, but that gives you exactly ZERO right to invade my space, my privacy, and it sure as ever loving HELL does NOT give you the right to touch me. That psychology degree is absolutely useless if you can't grasp basic "touch me and die" or "I don't wanna talk to you" body language.

You aren't the center of the universe. You aren't special. You're factory-standard. If someone acknowledges you like the queen you think you are, it's probably because they want to avoid your theatrics.

Stop. 

Now. 

You don't get to dictate other people's lives. 

You're not God. 

Bye!

Epitome

So done.

As anyone who takes psych meds knows, it's a ride. I'd say it's a roller-coaster, but if an roller-coaster was built to mimic this, it'd kill people. Sharp corners, sudden drop-offs, rises so sharp that it'd just crash...

I've been seriously agitated, lately, so I took a small amount extra (yes, prescribed by my wonderfully knowledgeable med manager). I took half the extra dose, but it still punched me. All day, I've been tired, drained, uninterested, and now, I'm crying for no reason at all.

I barely got through this workday. Thankfully, my load was light, but I still just wanted to go back to bed. My brain was so foggy, and the dystonia-- typically contained in my left foot-- made it's usual, drug-induced appearance in my mouth. Suddenly, if a word had a B in it, my mouth decided it didn't want to open up for a solid two seconds. Yes, I timed it.

I went to dinner with a friend, who was visiting from out of town. That was nice. Didn't really notice anything wrong. But... then I came home, and it all hit me, again. 

Around 9:00, my brain decided I needed to cry. No reason. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular. When that stopped, I just about fell flat, I was so tired. Here I am, thirty-seven minutes later, and all I want is to disappear. 

I hate this.

Friday the 13th

Die.

I have never been superstitious. Friday the 13th isn't a thing. All it is is people being overly cautious, looking straight ahead, so as to miss the telephone pole in front of them. They missed walking into the pole, but got smashed from the side by something they were too busy thinking wasn't going to happen. This particular day has no super powers. It's no different than any other day. Then today happened...

I've never said what my job is, or with which company. I do this so I can say things, like I'm about to say, without getting fired.

Today started off stellar. I didn't sleep well, thanks to my body fighting an elusive illness, which I won't explain. When I could finally drag myself up, I couldn't eat anything. Because sick.

I logged on, an hour early, to make up for some time I missed this week, because I've been, you got it, sick. Only half the programs I use actually came up correctly. The others taking a solid fifteen minutes to decide to grace me with their presence. 

The day had been going relatively well, but super slow. Then I got the email...

Something to the effect of, "Sorry, but this isn't excused because, if you're not prepared, just take a break". To which I responded, something to the effect of, "It's not that I wasn't prepared to work, it's that I wasn't prepared to do this totally new thing, which I had never done, and have zero idea how to do".

I was bombarded with something new, which I wasn't supposed to be doing until next week, and it's not excused?!?! Management didn't bother to check what was happening, and I'm the one at fault?!?! No. Management's fault. 100%. **Ammendment: It was finally excused**

Here's the kicker... I was so wrapped up in defending this thing to management that, when I clocked out for lunch, I forgot to set my availability as "Hey! I'm not here! Get someone else!" Thus creating the exact same problem that I'd been fighting, before. 

Other things that have happened include:

*Bashed my toes while walking around the house.

*Split my heel open by stepping on a freaking magazine.

*Splashed soda up my nose... twice.

*Published this post to the wrong blog. Obviously that was fixed.

**UPDATE (1:17 pm): I got new glasses from mail-order, today. They're wrong. My day continues to sink even lower.

**UPDATE NUMBER TWO (3:34 pm): I slammed my knee directly into the corner of my desk's leg. I can no longer feel my big toe 

**UPDATE THREE (3:42 pm): The cords that keep my work computers, ya know, on, have now decided they're done.

It's only 1:00. Here's hoping this day ends with all my limbs still attached.

No Better

So many types of toxic people, so few nerves left intact.

I've written, before, about not begging for attention from those who obviously don't want to be in your life. I'm finally taking my own words to heart. 

I've got friends, then I've got Facebook friends. People who do nothing more than hold a place, and make me seem more popular than I really am. People don't like me. I accepted this a long time ago, and I frankly don't care. I've got the best, most amazing real friends, so I tend not to notice others. But those others who feel the need to "unfollow" me, just to spare my feelings by not deleting me, those are the worst.

Some of these are blatantly ignoring me, and others choose to stay out of my life, completely.

I've got some people who I used to be super close to, who are now FB placeholders. The vast majority of them unfollowed me for the most petty of the twenty-first century reasons: politics. Super adult-ing, there, folks. 

Welp, I'm not going to keep placeholders, anymore. I deserve better. I deserve real friends. Friends are involved with each other's lives. Friendship isn't a one-way street.

So, for all my FB placeholders, this is your last chance to show you're still the person who was my friend. For any reasons you may have for walking out of my life that abruptly, you've got one last chance. Be a friend, or go your own way.

Dear readers, I implore you, do not allow yourself to be taken in by people who don't cherish you, just as much as you cherish the! You're worth much more!

ISO: Big-Girl Pants

Nope, nope, nope.

Today marks something in my life that has literally never happened before. I have officially been working forty hours per week, for a month! Major milestone, here! Of course, working at home definitely helps. No traffic, no weather, no special work clothes. It's wonderful!

I'm plugging along, enjoying life, when I'm punched in the face with an upcoming "retreat". I got an email asking for ideas on where to go, and where to eat. There was definitely panic involved.

I'm not big on socializing, in general. Add in loud, busy places, and I'm gonna have to take the next three weeks off, just to recover from that.

It's nothing against my coworkers or manager, at all. Everyone is great! I simply can't do everything normal people do. Add in the whole "I'm deaf" thing, and it'll wind up being me sitting awkwardly, while everyone else talks. That is, if the places are loud. Not even the best hearing aids help when there's a ridiculous amount of background noise.

By the time I was seven, I was a pro at talking my way out of things. Sure, some of them are awkward, and leave people entirely confused, but I still did it. And every single time, I made things up. "I've got a family thing that night", or "So sorry, but I've got something I've got to do", or "My mom called, and something terrible has happened" type things. 

I've worked very hard to stop lying to get out of things. It doesn't help my cause, and it definitely isn't easy keeping all those fibs straight. But, as we all know, the truth is much harder to say. "I'm super anxious, here, and need to leave" is perfectly fine to say, and people usually understand, but saying it is near impossible. 

I've now got to stand up, put on my big-girl pants, and explain that I simply don't do well in social situations. Or, on the flip side, I could put on my big-girl pants, and expose myself to something that seems impossible, but may actually turn out well. Either way, I've got to find a way to do this.

Umm... Not Ok.

Beyond pathetic. Absolutely inexcusable.

As some of you may know, I started a new job last month. In fact, tomorrow marks one month! And this isn't necessarily just a job. There's a very real possibility that it could turn into a career! Full time, benefitted, the works.

With this new job, comes new health insurance. Yes, I pay through the nose for it, as well as for the co-pays, but at least I'm earning my care, now!

The only plan I was able to really afford, happened to be the only plan my therapist of three-or-so years did not accept. I let her know in advance. Plenty of time to wrap things up. Or, so I thought.

I wanted to be sure she'd canceled my future appointments, so I sent her a text. Her response? Nothing. Zip. Thumb-tied. She ghosted me faster than a blind date would ghost a raw-organic-vegan (which I totally got stuck with, one time).

As a professional, that's not OK. As a therapist, that's dangerous. You don't ghost someone with a delicate mental state. Thankfully, I'm pretty good on my own. But it does make me wonder if she's done this to others who weren't OK. 

No, I'm not going to tell you her name, or where she's located. But I will tell you that she'd not ever really helped me. It was always just shooting the breeze, or ranting about one thing or another. No actual work has been done in the more than three years I'd been seeing her. I'm sure that works for some, but it definitely doesn't work for me.

So, farewell, old therapist. Great person, and definitely helps many others! But I'm glad to be moving on.

It Just Never Ends

My body is bound and determined to stop me from reaching my weight loss goal.

For those not in the know, I was born with the bones in my legs and arms twisted. This includes the bones in my feet and hands. All of which have varying degrees of rotation. I had one leg fixed, and that's all that's ever gonna happen. I hope. I also deal with Dystonia in my left foot. Because why not? 

Welp, thanks to this lovely deformity, I tend to injure myself quite easily. My wrists are useless, both with chronic tendinitis, and playing the cello is interesting, as my fingers aren't straight-on, but sideways. But the worst is the rotation plus the Dystonia, in my left leg, have combined to just about kill me.

My Dystonia forces my foot forward, making my knee go to an uncomfortable degree inward. Last October, I managed to injure something in the back of my knee, which is supposed to be impossible to injure. Since it's impossible, two doctors had no idea how to treat it. "Rest and ice" is what I got. Yes, that time it did help. Not this time. 

It doesn't stop there, no... 

Today, I officially overworked the tendon on the top of my right foot, to the point of actual tears (as in legit crying). It frickin hurts! How did this happen? Twisted tarsals, and lots of walking.

Since I re-injured my knee, I haven't been able to use my bike, or my snazzy new sitting elliptical, so I've been walking (carefully) while work is slow. I was super proud of myself, yesterday, when I got over 10,000 steps! I've been getting, like, 2,000, so this was awesome! I'm paying for that, now, after getting over 8,000, today.

I guess my body decided that a three pound loss was enough, and just shut down.

Bright side: I'm still three pounds down! In just three weeks, too! That hasn't happened since I was eighteen and still dancing!

Should Have Known

Urge to stab...

The evening of July 4th, our air conditioner kicked the bucket. Couldn't find anyone to come out until the 7th. It got up to 88° inside. 

On the 7th, we had a new stove delivered, after our seventeen-year-old one died, a few weeks before. The guys couldn't install it, because the wall has the wrong kind of outlet.

Also on the 7th, in the evening, the thermostat for the air conditioner decided to finally stop working. Once again, it got up to 88° inside.

Here we are, today...

The air works, thanks to a friend of a friend, who came out to install the new thermostat. It would have been fine, if the thing would have fixed it a year ago, when the thermostat started having issues. But what does it care? It's got the nice cool basement to escape to.

We still have no stove. Why? Because it canceled the appointment for the electrician, who was supposed to come this coming Thursday. But, you know, what does it care? It's not the one who has to cook.

I've said it for a long time, and I'll say it again: This house is a dump, and it's 100% the narc's fault. It doesn't believe in updating a house. Most of the carpet and paint, here, is circa 1970-something. Original to the house. Any updates have been paid for by mom. Usually after a lengthy debate about how she doesn't want to live in a dump, and it throwing a tantrum, because it doesn't want to do it, let alone help.

It broke its toilet, in the basement, a couple months ago, but won't fix it. We got so many generous donations to fix the kitchen floor, but won't allow anyone to come in to do that, insisting that it can do it, but we all know it won't do it  (yes, that money is still put away for that purpose).

It's father was a hoarder, and it had to clean out the apartment when he died. It's not just the garbage, it's the damage done because of that garbage. Now it's placing that on me. But, as we all know, narcissists don't give a single crap about anyone else, and hoarders literally have panic attacks when actual garbage is chucked. So, mom and I live in a dump, because Herr Henry VIII (yes, that's a reference to 2 people) won't allow anything to get fixed.

Ladies and gents... my life.

Growing More Cranky

My life. My reality.

OK, you know what? I'm so close to being done with you. Literally anything I say, these days, gets an angry response. Everything. My existence, alone, seems to set you off. You whine and complain about anything and everything, but if I ask how you are, I get either a huge sigh, an annoyed grunt, or a combo of the two.

Yeah, I complain. Everyone does. Get over it. Not everything I say needs to be greeted with distain, because, believe it or not, you complain a crap load more than I do! Just listen to yourself!

You're growing into one of those cranky old women that nobody wants to talk to, and will have customer service people making notes in your file, so as to avoid taking your call. And 99% of your anger and irritation is aimed at me, when I'm not the one creating those feelings in you. 

It's not fair. I have to prance on broken glass, and pray I don't have the "wrong" tone, or ask the "wrong" question.

Mom, you've been my only source of sanity, in this hell created by the monster you married, and now I've not even got you. You defend that monster's behaviors, and get mad at me, not it, when it starts a fight! Do you not see the idiocy in that???

I don't even know who you are, anymore. Since you retired, you went from mom to cranky old woman, in less than three months. And you're just getting worse.

I beg you... DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! Go to therapy, if you think that'll help control your moods. Or, here's a crazy idea... Aim your anger and irritation at those causing those feelings, instead of piling it all on me!

Once that's taken care of, you can start trying to make me a priority when we're together, instead of your elder child or something on your phone. I sit there, in silence, as it's made crystal freaking clear that you don't really want to be stuck with me.

34 years of narcissistic abuse has set me on the edge of the roof. Don't be the wind that finishes it.

So Loved

I literally have the best friends in the world. Hands down. Your argument is invalid.

I have successfully completed two whole weeks of training for the new job that has turned out to be so much more complicated than I'd imagined. It's been a bit like trying to fit a soccer ball into the hole of a needle, and I'm pretty sure my brain has escaped through my ears to find shelter.

Anyhow, I put on Facebook how I finally feel like a real adult, and how I can actually have some pride in myself. No surprise, my friends were 110% supportive. So many likes, loves, and comments, telling me that I've got a network of amazing people!

We all have friends, especially on Facebook, who we don't really talk to, but we all still support each other. We don't always come across each other's posts, or react to them, but we all know they're still there. Just because you don't talk every single day, doesn't mean you don't care. That's what the "delete" button is for.

Anyhow, I was thinking, late last night, how these wonderful humans have always supported all my major life decisions and changes. Every time I got the job, got accepted into a college, or simply made a big jump in my mental health, they're there. Every time something has failed, they're there. 

I've been blessed with a spider web of fantastic friends who catch me when I fall, and help me get back up. 

Nobody can get anywhere, alone. We all need good people with us, encouraging us to be our best, and empathic when we need a pick-me-up. If you don't have those types of people, you're hanging with the wrong crowd, because you deserve to have people challenging you to be your best self. You deserve to be around people who love you, and who you can love and support.

YOU ARE WORTH IT! And don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

Fed Up

Worse... and worse... and worse...

I'm at the end of my rope. It's now a "me or it" situation. It's getting worse. It's more childish, more demanding, and more forgetful. It's upping its game, tenfold, and I simply can't handle it, anymore.

That's all.

Hate

There has never been such a hatred, than an abused child for their abuser parent. 

The day it dies, will be the best day of my life. All I can do is pray that its death is incredibly painful and soon. Maybe colon cancer, or an Anne Boleyn-style decapitation. No matter how it happens, it needs to feel every ounce of pain it has inflicted on me, tenfold.

I have prayed, almost every single day of my life, that it would die. Even on the "good" days, it still had nothing nice to say about me. It literally told me that, the way my mind works "isn't attractive", it told me, "everything I give you, is a gift, and can be taken back at any time". Yes, really. It told me that I'm no use to it, because I don't enjoy the same things it does. It has yelled at me for its shortcomings; threatened and carried out physical harm, many times; it continues to do the latter, on at least a weekly basis. It has backed me into a corner, while I'm sitting, and unable to move, and it sees no problems with its behavior.

If I say literally anything against it, it comes back with what a six-year-old would do. If I say something like,"go away", it'll come back with, "you go away". Yes, really.

I've only ever really wanted three things in my life:

*A trip to England, which was achieved

*To be able to work full time, which is in the works

*The death of the mixed reincarnation of Henry VIII and Atilla the Hun

I am so done. It's gonna get to a point where I resort to physical defense mechanisms. Next time it backs me into a corner, it's getting punched right in the face. That, friends, is self-defense.

I ask all you lovely readers to join forced, and help me pray for an incredibly quick release from this monster. Whether it be through me being able to leave, or it's painful death, I couldn't care less. I just need to get away from this disgusting, sad excuse for a human, before I have to use even more force in self-defense.

Classics

So fun!

Fun fact: Classic car shows are way fun! Old cars, yes, but there's so much more to it, than that! There's a vibe with car show people. Laid back, summer evening chill. Add in the classic music, and it's a perfect way to spend an hour or two.

Tonight, there was a show right down the street from me, and my mom and I went down to see. So many fun cars, great music, and that atmosphere that makes me just... happy.

I was singing along with some of the songs, but when "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" came on, mom joined in, and we were in our own little world. There was one of the car owners who was watching us, totally amused. 

It's how I always imagine evenings in small towns. It's idyllic. I love it.

Anyhow, enjoy these pictures of some awesome cars!

Unequal

Parents do not love their children equally. You'll never convince me otherwise.

When I have a problem, and I call my mom, 99.9% of the time I'll be able to talk for no more than two minutes, before I get an overly annoyed, "I don't know what to tell you. I gotta go". 

Mom's older child calls with a problem, and mom listens for as long as it takes, is sympathetic, and gives ideas and advice. Keep in mind, older child loves the sound of her own voice, so this is never less than fifteen minutes.

I pointed this out to mom, just now, and she got ridiculously defensive, and gave me yet another overly annoyed, "Well, I never know what to tell you". Ok... but does that warrant a quick, annoyed cutoff? I'm having a problem, and you don't even try to hear me out? You don't bother to get the details, listen to literally anything I have to say, and you're straight up rude when you cut me off. Nice.

I guess mom will be last on the list of people I call when I have a problem, now. The one person in my biological family who I don't wanna punch in the face, and she's really pushing that line. Jackass always comes first, then princess, then lazy BIL, then her church thingy, then her office friends, then, way down at the very end... me. 

I feel like Dr Gant in ER season three...

Done. I'm just done.

Starting Something New-ish

I've lost count of how many times I've tried this, but I'm hoping beyond hope that it works out, this time...

Pee in a cup: ✔

I-9: ✔

ID photo: ✔

Office chair: ✔

Chair mat thingy: ✔

Desk: Ordered

That's right, ladies and gents, I have a job! A real job. Full time, benefits, work at home, real job! I will be working for one of the biggest and best companies in Utah!

I'm entirely terrified that I'll, as usual, not be able to handle it, but there are some good things about this, and I hope they help me. Being able to work at home, there's no possibility of the, "I don't wanna deal with traffic, today" excuse, or the, "My work clothes aren't clean" excuse, or the worst one: the, "I can't be around people, today" excuse. Yes, I am in a customer service position, but it's on the phones, and not in-person (which has proven to be career-fatal every single time). 

I'll be starting toward the end of the month, so I've got some time to prepare. And then there's two to three months of training, so I'm not just thrown to the badgers. 

The absolute best part of this is: I can move out of state, while keeping my job! I'm limited on which states, but at least it'll be out of this... well, I'll let you call it as you like.

Pray, cross your fingers, and grab your rabbit's foot. This is happening... again.

Fine, Do Your Thing

Just don't expect me to follow your lead.

Today is the last day I try to get my mom to stand up for herself. She never will, and trying to get her to, just irritates her. So, I give. 

My mom is the epitome of abused wife. She's been abused so long that she can't say anything, anymore. The narc gets its way, every single time, because mom has been conditioned to fear its wrath. 

Now, this started long ago. This isn't something that happens suddenly. It most likely started with something like:

Narc: I want this here.

Mom: OK. Doesn't bother me.

After forty years, she is so afraid to piss off the asshole that literally anything it wants, she permits. She has given in so much, that she has zero rights. 

A friend if mine posted a picture, reading, "You can't keep getting angry at someone for sucking the life out of you, if you keep giving them the straw". But give it the straw, she does.

One of the biggest problems I have with Mormonism is their views on marriage. They believe that, if they're married in a special building, with very specific words said, that it's for all eternity. If someone, like a narcissist, should be abusive, or if he has an affair, they have to petition their church to get a "temple divorce", like it matters. Fun fact: In the afterlife, God will not force people to be together, despite these unforgivable actions, just because they were married in a special building. Divorce is divorce. But, as mom is a faithful member of that church, she believes otherwise. It's her right to believe that way, but she's just harming herself.

She is so conditioned to obey the narc, that if she does get slightly annoyed, it'll say, "What's your problem?!" Her response? To bury it deep, eat her feelings and needs, and conceed to what it needs or wants.

So, mom, I will stop trying to coax you into standing up for yourself, and that waste of space will continue to push you lower and lower, until you are literally nothing. I can't help you, anymore. I, however, will continue to fight off the abuse, and set boundaries. Yes, it'll throw fits over literally everything, but that's not going to be my problem. I didn't create this monster. Neither did you, but you sure as hell helped make it as bad as it is, today. And by continuing to indulge the asshole's demands, you continue to make its reactions worse. Good luck with that.

Making it angry will actually help show that it's not God, despite what it believes it is. I know it's uncomfortable for you, but what's worse: Dealing with 20 minutes of anger, or living the rest of your life with a proverbial gun to your head, being made to cater to it out of fear?

Your choice.

Antsy

I'm not a patient person...

OK, readers... Once again, I have applied for an absolutely wonderful job, and I'm awaiting their answer. I got the first interview, the second interview, and the request for my references (again, thanks Kappas!), and I'm going nuts, waiting on a phone call.

The seriously lucky people who will be offered positions, will hear between May 24 (which has passed), and June 7. Two solid weeks of nail-biting anxiety, going back and forth from, "I screwed it up, as usual," to "I think I have a chance!" Not a fun place to be.

Understand that this is an absolutely incredible opportunity, with an incredible company! So, the more time that passes, the more nervous I get. This has created problems.

I haven't been sleeping well, I've been more attached to my phone than a teenager trying to get Tik Tok famous, and despite my exercise routine, I've gained weight, thanks to all the junk food I shove in my mouth. 

Did I mention that this is an absolutely incredible opportunity???

I haven't been this nervous about a potential job in... well, ever. It would completely change my life, in the best ways possible! 

On the bright side, I've been working on a story I've been writing. 99.9% sure it'll never get published, but I'm entertained by it! I've also been advancing on both piano and cello, and my Dutch, Welsh, Irish, and Greek are all coming along nicely. All because of my nervous energy. Put that energy to good use, if you find yourself with an excess of it. You'd be surprised what you can do!

Repeated... Again

I'm sensing an overly obvious pattern...

My June 15, 2020 post, Enough Is Enough, maps out yet another narcissistic blow-up, where it causes the problem, but when I defend myself, suddenly I'm the one with the problem. It "apologized", and gave the usual empty words, "This won't happen again. I promise."

Wanna guess what this post is going to be about? Thats right, folks! There was yet another narcissistic fight. It poked and prodded, giving first grade level comebacks to anything I said, and it wound up with me throwing a bottle of mayonnaise (because, close) at the useless waste of space, and it getting in my face. It was about six inches away from my face. Mind you, I was stuck in a chair, with nowhere to go. Big man, it is... Had it not moved, I'd have kicked it in its obviously microscopic junk. Or in its knee, which would have broken it. Either way, I wouldn't have lost a second of sleep.

Let's take a step back to the first grade level comebacks. I don't remember most of them, but there was one that perfectly showed the emotional maturity of a narcissist. I said how we were going back to elementary comebacks, and it legit said, "I don't think you even know what a school is". Yes, really. 

This waste of space, air, and energy, deserves a special place in hell, where it's constantly needled with the crap it puts on others. The condescension, the manipulation, the "my way, no highway" ways, the whole flying-off-the-handle-because-it-wasn't-done-my-way crap... The list goes on. And on. And on. And on...

The day it finally dies, I will praise God, like I've never praised Him before! It will be the best day of my life! Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is continue to pray to God, asking that the narc's end comes quickly, and with pain equal to that which it has inflicted.

A Quick Notice

Hey readers!

In case you hadn't heard, Blogger is discontinuing the option for email subscriptions. You won't be able to subscribe, and if you are a current subscriber, you will no longer receive those emails. This is planned to happen at the end of July, 2021. 

As I know that some of you rely on those emails, I invite you to join our Facebook Community where I post each blog. It's also a place to learn about, support, and get support for mental health. Not many people post, but it's definitely encouraged!

I wish this didn't have to happen, but I've no control over it. Maybe enough people will complain, and it'll get turned around. Who knows?

No More Excuses

Stop. Now.

Far too often, people will blame their disability, ranging from hardly noticeable to life altering, for bad behavior. Even more often are the excuses made by someone who thinks they're being genuine. Neither are helpful.

As I'm sure most of you have heard, there was a 4-year-old boy who bought over $2,600 worth of popsicles. He's getting all sorts of attention, people think it's cute, and all the brat has learned is that, if he does something bad, he gets rewarded. But there are so many clueless morons out there who believe he shouldn't be punished based on his age and, apparently, because he's "on the spectrum". 

People always assume that autism is an excuse for literally anything that person does. The idea that autism keeps people from knowing right from wrong, purple from blue, or up from down, is the most idiotic thing. I've been blessed enough to work with some beautiful souls, while I was working in a special education room. Some of these beautiful souls were autistic, and you will never convince me that autism is equal to stupidity or ignorance. I had one who could beat me at math, puzzles, and Uno. I had another, who didn't speak much, but was the best artist I'd seen. But my biggest argument is... When these kids broke rules, they were corrected, and they learned! 

People make excuses for anything. Here, in Salt Lake City, back in the 80's or 90's, there were two schizophrenics who decided to shoot up buildings. One at the Triad Center, and the other at the LDS church's Family History Library. Both ended with body counts. People actually tried the "They didn't know what they were doing" bull. At least one of the two had the mind to plan it out. They knew exactly what they were doing. It wasn't the illness-- it was the person.

I'm so bloody tired of people making excuses, therefore creating more fear, and/or less understanding. 

So, by the logic of people like this, I, a redhead, have no soul. Or that my twisted legs make it so I can't understand how it feels to be free. Or because I have green eyes, I'm evil. 

This needs to stop, but it never will. Especially these days, when "diversity" reigns, instead of facts.

One Thing After Another

I'm done with today. Maybe tomorrow, too.

Have you ever had something irritating happen, then everything that happens after that just follows the same path? That's me, today.

I went with my mom to go to the car wash, and grab something at McDonald's. While I was using the vacuum at the car wash, I bashed my head while getting into the car. This, in turn, made me absurdly aware of the ice pick trying to come out of my ear.

These two things had me beyond frustrated and annoyed. Then... When we got home, I dropped the McDonald's bag, spilling some fries. Since today is the day Henry decides to finally lift a finger and vacuum the dining room, I couldn't get to the trash bin. He wouldn't move, so I threw the fries in the general direction of the bin, silently praying it interfered with his moment of helpfulness. 

Things that followed were far too infuriating for how minor they were. My phone slid off the couch, I got yet another eyelash in my eye, the soundbar cuts the sound when I change the volume... The list goes on. And on. Aaaaaaannnnnnnd on.

I call times like these my "mini manic moments", because the way I feel, and the way I react to these chains of disasters, is 100% mania. There's no precursor, the irritant only lasts an hour or two, but it is full. blown. mania. 

I'm not in a manic state. My meds are usually just fine. I just get these mini manic moments, every now and then. It doesn't mean I need to up my dose. I simply have to step back, take a breath, take myself out of my own way, and chill. 

It took me years to recognize that this happens, and years more to figure out how to fix myself during these. It's nice to have more control over myself, my feelings, and my actions. 

Blasted Phones

Irritating. No... infuriating.

You know when you go literally anywhere, and you see teenagers "hanging out" with each one with their nose buried in their phone? That's my life with my mom. 

A solid 90% of the day, you can catch her with her nose buried in her phone. When I try to show her something, or, heaven forbid, talk to her, I get a half angry, half sigh, "What?!" What is she doing the other 10% of the day? Word searches, which get me the same reactions. 

Mom, I get that you're retired. I get that you can read or do other things while the TV is on. But do you really have to bury your nose so far into these things, where literally anything I do or say is an annoyance to you? When you were working at the office, you'd get annoyed at Henry (as in Henry VIII, notorious tyrant) in the evening, because he'd talk and talk and talk. Then you justified it with "He doesn't have anyone to talk to during the day". Fun fact: Neither do I! You're it! I can text my friends, but they all have lives, families, jobs, and are between 50 and 2,000 miles away. I'm not attention whore, but it would be nice to actually have a conversation that isn't interrupted by something on your phone.

I know you'll say something to the effect of, "You're on yours, too", but guess what... It's because I have nothing to do! And even at that, I'm on it a solid 75% less than you are!

I'm gonna make you a bet. You can choose to accept, or decide to continue blocking out the real world, like today's teenagers do. Your choice. I bet that you can't go one whole day without Facebook, news, or anything online. Text and phone calls, only.

One. Whole. Day.

24 hours.

No internet.

No Facebook.

Nothing.

One-Way Friendships

I won't make this mistake, again.

I was just thinking about something that I wanted to put out there for anyone who needs to hear it...

Quite a few years ago, my "sister" was cleaning out some of her stuff. One thing she was chucking was a dolphin statue. I had a friend, Kasey, who I hadn't spoken to in a couple years, but I knew likes dolphins. I contacted her, asked her if she wanted it, drove out to her place, and gave it to her. The thanks I got? I got deleted as a friend on Facebook. If you didn't want to be a friend, why the hell did you accept that?! Super person...

A few years later, I bought the full set of "Game of Thrones" books, but wasn't liking them. I knew my friend, Jake, in another state was a big fan. I asked if he wanted them, spent a ridiculous amount to send him the books, and he immediately stopped talking to me. You childish jackass. Do you drop everyone who gives you something?

I've always had a problem with being a giver. I see something, and I'll think of someone I could give it to. That's the difference between me and my "sister", and it's the chief reason we no longer speak. I'm an habitual giver, she's a chronic taker. Apparently she's not the only one.

These so-called friends, showed their true colors, and to be honest, I'm glad they did. I don't need ungrateful assholes in my life. There was a time when I was close to these two, but like so many, they couldn't handle anything outside their "puppies and sunshine" worlds. Even if the person disrupting it was apologizing for past wrongs.

People like this are toxic. If you're unfortunate enough to have one in your life, don't make the mistake of crying when they've left you. They obviously aren't your friends. Take a moment, be sad, then realize how much you're worth. You deserve real friends who treat you with the same kindness that you treat them with.

You are better than these types of people.

Max Level Ignorance

Always the scapegoat...

Every time there's a shooting, people blame one of two things: guns or mental illness. Fun fact: it's neither.

I have a gun. I loaded it, set it on the table, faced it towards me, and I'm still waiting for it to shoot me. I'm beginning to think it's defective...

I have mental illness. I wasn't properly medicated until after I turned 30. I've never even threatened to shoot anyone. I'm beginning to think I don't actually have an illness...

Why have these two things not happened? Because pulling the trigger is a choice.

There are millions upon millions of people suffering with some kind of mental illness. Less than half a percent of that number go on shooting rampages. Blaming mental illness is your ignorant way of trying to create awareness, but in actuality, you're creating more fear. It's not a mental health issue, it a societal issue.

Mental illness AND guns have been around a lot longer than mass shootings. Stop trying to blame them for the lack of self control and anger management, created by the "me first, and always" world we live in, today. People don't know how to deal with someone they disagree with, someone who has hurt their widdle feewings, or someone who simply didn't use their signal before changing lanes.

Stop. Blaming. Mental. Illness.

Pass/Fail

Step one: Pass. Step two: Fail.

As we all know, the first step is to admit you have a problem. The second step is to ask for help. I haven't had a problem with that second step. At least, not in a few years. Today, for the third time in a row, I chickened out.

Thanks to the constant, relentless abuse from the narcissist, the king narc, specifically, I have a serious problem when it comes to expressing anger in a psychologically healthy way. Whenever I'd get angry (which happened quite a lot when I was a kid), the narc would do one of two things: Make fun of me, so I couldn't get a word out, or spank me. Yes, really. 

This has stuck with me, to this day. Now, when I get angry, I can rant, I can write, but I literally shake the whole time, and it can take weeks to really get over it. However, the hardest part is when someone is taking their anger out on me. 

People suck. Anyone who has been in any kind of customer service position, knows this. Anyone who has been on social media for 0.3 seconds, also knows this. People take their anger and frustration out on the nearest person, or the person they've deemed as having done or said something "wrong". My own theory is that, since I never learned how properly express my own anger, I can't deal with the emotion, as a whole. As some of my friends have been unfortunate enough to see, I usually get super quiet when I'm seriously angry.  I bottle it up. Sometimes there's an eruption, later. Sometimes it just festers inside my mind. Not healthy.

Anyhow, I have a note in my phone, to talk to my therapist about how to process anger like a functioning, healthy adult. I've had it for the last three appointments. That's about six weeks. Every time I see her, she always asks what's going on, and each of these last three appointments, I've chickened out on bringing up what I really need. I get the sentence in my mind, get it into my throat, and what actually comes out is, "Mm. Not much."

I feel like a freaking coward. Why is this so hard to ask? All it takes is a simple, "I need help handling anger better". That's it. That's the dam breaking, letting every single bit of pent-up anger and resentment... Ugh. I don't get it.

I've got to be as brave as I was when I published the very first post, here. Dig my heels into the ground, take a deep breath, and just get it out. That's the only way I'm ever going to get through this.

Sad Excuse For Neighbors

Society is in trouble.

As we all know, 2021 is all about feelings. If you feel something, you're encouraged to act upon that feeling. Unless, of course, you have one of the socially unacceptable, "scary" mental illnesses which are not included in the popular acronym.

When someone's feelings get hurt, every major entity (government, social media, news media, and the like) encourages that person to (over)react, and to subsequently "cancel" the one who hurt their feelings. 

Mind you, nobody was physically injured, no property was damaged, and despite popular belief, you cannot get PTSD when someone disagrees with you, politically. Yet this "victim" is screaming at the top of his or her (because 2) voice that someone hurt their feelings, and quickly gains a riotous mob, determined to destroy the life of someone they've never met, in the name of feelings.

If your feelings are hurt by something someone said, which was not intended to be hurtful directly to you, you are the one with the problem. If someone looks at you, stares into your eyes, and tells you you're stupid/ugly/useless, that's something intended to hurt your feelings. Does this mean that you're allowed to eliminate that person from social media? Can you get that person fired, evict them from their home, and destroy their reputation, based on sore feelings? NO! You are allowed to cry, you are allowed to say something snide in return, you are allowed to blast them on social media.

People absolutely disgust me. 

If you're one of these overly-sensitive wankers, you have a serious problem! You have no idea how to properly process your overly-indulged feelings. This is possibly due to your upbringing, having your parents tell you that "you're allowed to feel this way or that", while not giving you productive ways to work through these feelings. Possibly because you have an underlying mental illness. Or possibly because you're a spoiled brat who needs a belt taken to your tush.

Freedom of speech does not belong to you, and you alone. It belongs to all Americans, even those you disagree with.

Don't be a whiny-ass loser, who needs a binky at the age of 30. Left, right, or right smack dab in the middle... we all get to express ourselves. And yes, we are allowed to do so at one another's expense. We should be free to do this without fear of wimps reporting us, because their feelings got hurt. Being offended is a choice.

America is in danger. Stop it, now, before we fall.

450

It's a milestone... or something.

This is post number 450, if that wasn't clear as mud, already. Lots has happened in the last six years. There's been good, bad, and embarrassingly bad. But, as always, you amazing readers keep me going through it all. Thank you!

Now for the point of this post...

I've been more or less steady for quite some time, now. Yes, I had to up my meds for both my sanity and sleep schedule, but still stable. Enter the amazingly big BUT... as always, things change.

I got a shot called Lupron, which most women, and probably many men, know the basics of. If you don't, look it up, because I'm too lazy to explain it. 

Anyhow, one side effect of Lupron can be depression. Seeing as how I've been chronically manic for quite some time, I thought this would either bring me down enough to lower my Seroquel, or simply be a welcome change. Wanna guess which one happened? Neither. At least, not yet.

I lowered my Seroquel back down to 400mg, but I still feel the darkness creeping inside. And since, when my moods change, I go from manic, to hypo-manic, to depression, I'm in that hypo place where I'm needing something to help me sleep. This helper is, you guessed it... SEROQUEL! 🎵All around the mulberry bush, the lady chased her sanity...🎵  (I know you sang that. Don't lie.)

Anyhow, I've been useless, lately. I walk between one and two miles per day. Total. For the entire day. My cello (I named it Flynn, judge me), has gotten zero love, this week. The piano (simply called the piano) has been touched for maybe 30 minutes total, this week. My Duolingo looks like a Wall Street crash, and I've read so little that I'm not entirely sure what's going on, anymore.

I'm not handling this well. 

Sometimes

Things are different, these days.

I watch a show called Random Acts, where they “do nice things for nice people”. Anyone can nominate someone they feel is deserving of a random act of kindness. The episode I just finished, really hit home with me.

The act was for a young girl, who has a love for aerobatic performing (I guess that’s the term?), who was traumatized by an undisclosed act of bullying. Her father mentioned her having night terrors, and everyone involved noticed that, a once happy child, was withdrawn and not as happy. It happens far too often.

This little girl was able to fight her way back to who she really is, thanks to the fact that she first came forward about what was happening to her. She began being more lively, happy, and had gone back to herself.

I looked at this child, and was actually bitter about my own experiences. But then I remembered... This isn’t the 90’s, anymore. There’s more awareness, more help, more encouragement to come forward. 

My life was pure, unadulterated hell because of certain members of my family, and one POS, who then got her followers to treat me the same. I’m over 30, and I still have night terrors. Yes, I’ve worked on much of my past, and have been able to make it over one mountain after another. But the fact remains, I was treated like, and lead to believe I was, useless, disposable, and not worth anything. Not just outside home, either...

But the thing that really connected me to this girl, was her love of dance and performing. She absolutely shone on that stage! 

For me, growing up, I always say I had two lives: One at school/home/church, and one at dance. Dance was my escape from everything and everyone. Yes, I danced on a team, but these were girls I didn’t know outside that studio (for the most part, anyhow), and therefore weren’t subject to two narcissists’, and POS’s mind-control tactics, so they judged me on who I was, not what these useless humans said I  was.

Yes, many adults knew what was going on, and tried to intervene. My mom tried talking to POS’s useless mom, which went about as well as you’d expect from the wording of this sentence. One of my teachers actually pulled POS aside, once, stared her in the face, and said, “I don’t like you”. But there wasn’t the help there is today.

Example: When I was in fourth grade, the Cracker Jack school psychologist decided that I was, in fact, the problem, stating that it was me who couldn’t get along with them. Yes, really. Her solution was to sit me in her office, and leave me there, all day long, for weeks on end, while giving me my schoolwork with no instruction or help. I didn’t get to go to recess, or even lunch. I was in there the entire day. I was being punished for being bullied. And POS got away with it.

Things she, my so-called sister, and the jackass narcissist have done, still haunt me. Jackass is probably the entire reason that, to this day, I can’t stand up for myself. Princess narcissist is the reason I’m super self-conscious about literally every move I make (“your handwriting is ugly”, “your face is making ugly looks”, “you can’t like that”, “that’s stupid that you do this”), and POS is the reason I have some serious trust issues. 

The funny thing about trauma from bullying is that, it’s that you remember; the people who defended you; the good times you had, even with them existing; every waking moment that they weren’t there to torture you... Those memories don’t stick. I can remember almost everything these useless humans have said, but the good times without them... Those memories are more sparse.

I’m glad there’s the help there is, today! And I’m thankful for the therapists I’ve had, who have helped me get to where I’m at! Trauma is permanent. Fact. But it doesn’t have to control your life, forever.

Discouraged

**SIGH**

It’s a well-known fact that I’ve not been good at keeping jobs over the last ten years. I honestly can’t even remember the vast majority of the jobs I’ve had, as most of them ended within just two weeks. However... Things have changed, for me, in the last year. Changed to the point of looking for full-time work.

I spend hours a day, just looking through job sites, as well as filling out applications on company sites. Of the, give or take, hundred jobs I’ve applied for, I’ve got just five interviews. They’ve all ended with the polite, if not damning, “We have a few more interviews to get through. We will let you know by the end of next week”. Anyone who has ever heard that, knows that that is code for, “We don’t want you, and we’re not going to call you. We just say this for politeness sake”.

It’s incredibly discouraging. Not working is a massive blow to my self-worth. Especially now that I’m ready to take the dive into functioning adulthood. I feel like this is definitely a step I’m ready to make, after spending years working on better managing my symptoms, and getting proper medications. Yes, I’m odd, but I’m fully capable of working. I want nothing more than for the right people, and the right job, to give me a chance! 

So, I guess the search for the proverbial needle in the haystack continues. As does the steady decline of my mental state, with each and every “no”.

Blown Away

Faith in humanity: restored!

So, long story short, my mom lives in a dump, and it’s 110% her husband’s fault. The two biggest problems upstairs are the kitchen floor and the master shower. “Awful” doesn’t even begin to describe them. No joke, this house should be condemned.

Anyhow, I decided to start a GoFundMe, since mom has no financial way of fixing these disaster zones. In twenty-four hours, it raised $240, and I’ve had no less than a dozen complete strangers offer their time and expertise! I’m blown away by the kindnesses people can do! These offers and donations have proven to me that, the real world is far from the negativity, hate, and general crap that social media has made us believe. People are awesome!

You can read the GoFundMe here (if I can get the link to work...)

GoFundMe for Mom

You may not know my mom, and the description of her in that link doesn’t even begin to explain just who she is. She gives and gives and gives. It’s her turn to have something given to her.

Constant Change Is Here To Stay

That was eye-opening...

Those who have followed my blog for a while (thank you), have probably noticed that I’m not the same person as when I started this, nearly seven years ago. I was going through some old posts, and was actually rather embarrassed at some of them.

Everyone changes. You grow up, your circumstances change, you find out you’ve got one or more mental illnesses. Literally anything can change who you are. Maybe not in massive, life-altering ways, but it happens. Best part is that we don’t always notice the changes in ourselves, unless you really look back.

One of the posts I read was about how I have nothing and no one. Back then, my brain was so foggy with anger, anxiety, and self-pity, that it wouldn’t allow me to see what I had. What I still have. I recently wrote some posts about all my amazing friends (not all of you were in it, but you are all very much appreciated). Those friends have had my back for years, and have never abandoned me. Those are real friends!

So many posts I’ve written have been obsolete for quite a while, now. The ones bemoaning my mania or deep depression, ones talking about how I couldn’t go out by myself, and some seriously heated rants that were far from appropriate (like calling out certain people).

No, I am not the same person I was when I first started this blog. I’m not even the same person I was a year ago. This is a good thing, in my case. It may have taken until my mid-thirties (yes, I’m really that old), but for the first time, in my entire life, I can see the top of this mountain I’ve been climbing. It’s a good feeling. 

Will I ever be “normal”? No. But, let’s face it, there’s no standard definition of normality, anyhow. My goal always has been, and probably will remain so for the foreseeable future, to appear as close to a functioning adult as possible. I’m almost there, but, like any other chronic, lifelong illness, I’ll have to keep treating it for the rest of my life.

Just want to say a giant thank you to all my supporters! Whether you’ve been with me for a month, a year, or the life of this blog, you mean the world to me! It’s you who keep me going! From family, to friends, to total strangers, it’s nice to see you all (in the “views” counter, at least)!

I Give Up

“No more.”— Bad Wolf (Rose) in Day of the Doctor.

Since my initial hearing loss, in September 2018, I’ve been to so many doctors that I’m pretty sure I’ve spent a solid six months’ time in offices and doing tests. Today, that ends.

I have been to ENTs, audiologists, and even a specialist who is supposed to be the best and has seen everything. Nobody has an answers, and nobody is willing to dig into the issue to find one. They’ve checked for holes, tumors, and even blood pressure, but there’s no answer.

As my friend put it, this is “... depressing, aggravating, and demoralizing...” Perfect words, dear friend. This is exactly how I feel.

When something goes wrong in your body, you expect a doctor to fix it. When that can’t be done, it’s beyond frustrating. I’m sure a solid 99.9% of you lovely readers have been through something similar. Maybe it was short-lived, maybe it has become a lifelong mystery. We have all been through trying to solve a health mystery. 

Modern medicine is marvelous, but doesn’t know everything. Despite what we want, sometimes there’s just no answer. The most frustrating part is when a doctor simply gives up, rather than digging deeper. I guess that’s just a TV medicine thing. 

Anyhow, I now have a a journey to take, to help me accept it. I am at the bottom of a cliff, having to climb straight up to find my acceptance. Here’s to learning to rock climb.

A Letter To Judy

Dear Judge Judy, 

Whenever someone does something irrational, you ask questions such as, “Are you on medication?” and “Have you been in a psychiatric facility, in the last six months?” These ignorant questions are a big reason why those who truly suffer can’t be taken seriously in this country. It also makes me wonder: Since you’re a grumpy, argumentative, demanding old bat, are you on the proper medication? 

By your own definition of mental illness, you need to be looking in a mirror when asking your signature questions. You often seem to be shouting at nothing, indicating schizophrenia. 

Example: Someone is explaining something further than you’d like, but since you don’t like it, so you proceed to tap your pen, while continuing to shout “I’m talking! Be quiet! I’ll shut off your mike!” long after that person has silenced.

Also by your own definition of mental illness, you could easily be diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, simply because you decide to change your mind, after hearing both sides. 

Do you see the faults in these diagnoses? Neither have legitimate symptoms. Symptoms of mental illnesses are often not obvious. Simply shouting at another person, does not mean that that person has an illness which needs medication. 

In conclusion, Judge Judy, you’re a joke of a celebrity. Unfortunately, people look to you for advice, and are getting Cracker Jack notions of law, order, and mental illness.

One Step Back

Not bad, considering I’d gone a hundred steps forward; but still sucky.

A while ago, my med manager had to up my meds. I was on the max dose, but it wasn’t working. My med manager felt comfortable giving me a bit more, which I halved a bit later. It’s been working, and maybe a bit too well. I stopped the extra, about four or five days ago, and now I’m paying for it.

I felt it coming on this morning, but by three o’clock, I was ready to smash my head in with a mallet. **No, that is not a threat. All is well.** Anyone who has ever dealt with symptoms of Bipolar Disorder knows that there aren’t actual words to describe the feelings. We can come close with things like, agitated, irritable, or simply bah, but they don’t even come close to the way it is.

I went out to the store, with my mom, and that’s when it got really bad. Feeling like this, for me, is exacerbated by being around others. Going out in public, having visitors, or even going to see my friends is like giving meth to a sugar glider. It never turns out well. 

The way I feel is beyond words, and the way I want to act is far from appropriate. If I acted on my feelings, I’d be adding to the stigmas that I’m desperately trying to fight. I’d be yelling at everyone who annoyed me; I’d be darting around, changing subjects and ideas like said meth-filled sugar glider; I’d be digging my nails into my head and screaming, trying to make it stop. 

This behavior does nothing to create awareness around mental illness. It perpetuates the “Don’t shoot me, you mentally ill freak” stigmas that the media already spreads. It’s up to us, the real sufferers, to show the world that mental illness is not the same as evil. 

Being aware of your behavior, despite how you feel, can help you more than you think. It’s helped me understand myself, and given me back my self-control. I rule me; my brain does not! It’s not something I learned to do in one go, though. It took years to really be aware of myself. It’s a learning curve, and takes everyone their own time. There’s no time limit on learning. 

Do you, your way.

Pain Killers Suck

No. Just... no.

Yesterday, I went into surgery to get a couple screws removed. They were put in back in 2010, during the major surgery on my leg. These screws got to a point where, when they’d hurt, I couldn’t put weight on it at all, without severe pain. It was time to get them out.

When I woke up in recovery, I thought I was going to die! It hurt like mad! I could hardly breathe, it was so bad! As a result, the nurse, knowing my aversion to opioids, asked if I’d like something for the pain. I didn’t have a choice, because it hurt so bad, so I agreed to take a Percocet, and get half a dose of fentanyl. It didn’t kill all the pain, but it brought it down to tolerable. Kind of...

Opioids are uppers. Just the little I had in me, sent me into an eighteen-hour mania. I didn’t sleep at all, during the night. I did finally get sleep later, today, after the drugs were out of my system.

All I have to say is, I hate opioids. I see their need, but I can’t stand how they make me feel. I’m not in control of myself— they are. Bah!

Anyhow, today has been much better! I’ve had my ice pack on, the times I’ve been awake, and all I’ve had is a couple Tylenol. 

Random post.

Self Diagnosing

It’s dangerous. 

I’m watching a documentary on a missing person, who, in her blogs, said “I’m bipolar”. Again, nobody is bipolar! She continues to say that she found an antidepressant that was working for her. Yeah... anyone with actual Bipolar Disorder, or anyone who knows anything about it, knows that antidepressants make BD intolerable. It sends the sufferer into a spiraling mania, that gets dangerous. So, no, she didn’t have BD.

Thanks to the internet, there’s a ton of people self-diagnosing. Everything from thinking you’ve got COVID, when you actually have a cold, to thinking you’re dying from cancer, when it’s nothing more than a headache. I knew someone who self-diagnosed as having autism, based on a Facebook list of symptoms consisting of things like, being sensitive as a child, having an imagination growing up, and having a sensitive scalp. Ridiculous, as I dare you to find a child who isn’t sensitive, or who doesn’t have a vivid imagination. As for the sensitive scalp... It’s beyond common.

When you use the internet to diagnose your ailments, it does exactly no good, and causes you unnecessary stress. Always, always, ALWAYS see a professional, for any problems you’re having!!! Also, many times, it takes years to get a proper diagnosis. Why? Because your symptoms are going to shift, change, and morph as whatever’s causing you problems will also shift, change, and morph. 

You cannot look up something like Bipolar Disorder, look at the list of usually made-up symptoms, and say for certain that you have it. It’s a dangerous road, and often leads to even worse things.

In school, I knew a girl who insisted that she had BD, but she jumped from psychiatrist to psychiatrist, because they’d eventually say that she didn’t have it. When they told her differently, she’d find a new doctor, because, “He’s wrong”. Best part of it was when she started on lithium. It’s known that lithium can make you lose hair. However, it’s maybe ten more hairs per day, than you’d usually lose. She’d show up to school with systematically shaved lines, going farther and farther back, until she finally shaved her whole head. She did this to get pity and attention. Wanna guess which personality disorder craves pity and attention? Nah, I’ll just tell you... Borderline Personality Disorder! But she kept insisting that she had BD. I haven’t heard from her in years, and it makes me wonder if she’s giving up that disturbing dream of getting that diagnosis, or if she finally got the proper help.

If my point wasn’t clear enough...

Do not use the internet to diagnose yourself! No matter how much you think you know, you cannot properly diagnose something while looking inward. It takes someone on the outside, with the proper education and experience, to see what’s going on!

Deaf

Well this is just super fun...

As some may already know, I started losing my hearing in September, 2018, after I returned from a trip to the UK. Since then, my hearing has deteriorated to (R): severe/profound, and (L): moderate/severe. As much fun as it is, I have hearing aids, so it’s not all deathly silent.

Welp, I had to go have my aids adjusted, last week, and all I have to say is... Ed Sheeran at Wembley is quieter! It’s not like hearing aids make things clearer, at this stage of hearing loss; they simply make things louder. 

Imagine this: a blow horn, at max level, right next to your ear. It’s loud, it’s concussive, but you have zero idea what, if anything, anyone is saying.

It’s beyond painful. So, until I can get them tuned down, I’m on my own. My wrinkled brow, and constant “Eh??” are rather annoying to those trying to talk to me. However, fun fact: It’s much more frustrating to me, than it is for anyone else.

Since this started, back in 2018, I’ve had people legitimately tell me “You don’t look deaf”. Yeah, and you don’t look mentally deficient. My favorites are those who think that I should be able to communicate perfectly well with both the deaf and hearing communities. Another fun fact: One does not learn Sign Language by simply by going deaf, just the same as one cannot communicate with hearing people when they refuse to try talking to a suddenly deaf person. Many hearing people give up when they can’t make their points clear, and most deaf people exclude late-deafened because we’re “too hearing-minded”. 

Basically, late-deafened people are in their own community, which is much smaller than anyone realized. Yes, there’s ALDA, but their resources are slim, and not available everywhere. I live in a capital city, but there are zero ALDA groups, here. I have no idea why I wasted $30 to join them. To get emails about things way outside my area? No. 

If you’re late-deafened, do some serious investigating before joining ALDA. Make sure your $30+ go towards something you can actually  use.

Uncultured

Really? In this day and age?

Why is it that, when some expert or another, meets someone who finds no interest in that expertise, they feel the need to look down on them? Or, better still, when an expert meets someone with a different opinion!

Take, for example, an artist, or an art critic. 

A-“This painting was done by so-and-so, using this medium, and this technique, and is the best example of its age!” 

B-“I don’t care for it.”

A-“*GASP* You uncultured swine!”

So, just because this so-called expert thinks it’s great, that means everyone must like it? This goes for everything. Music, dance, food, home design... Literally everything is subject to personal opinion. Wanna take a guess whose opinion matters, when it comes to your preferences? Yours, and only yours.

Do you like the green couch? Buy it. Can you not stand the gross yellow color of those shirts? Fine. 

When it’s all said and done, no matter how many people have sneered at your home/fashion/food/whatever, as long as you like it, it’s perfect!

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I like what I like, and nobody’s going to bully me into thinking something different. I was relentlessly bullied for the music I like (still am, actually), but I still listen to it. I’m a die hard Hanson fan, have been since the beginning, and absolutely love where they’ve gone with their music! I also adore One Direction! Good music to dance to!

There was one instance where I allowed my “sister” and her husband bully me into putting a shrimp in my mouth. I very nearly threw up. I hate seafood! It smells gross, tastes gross, and has the most disgusting texture. This was a point of amusement for many when I went to England, but I swore that I’d never try it, ever again. The one and only time I submitted to peer pressure, and it taught me all the lessons I needed.

I’m always telling people, “do you, your way”, and I mean it. Not one single person on this planet deserves to not like, and be pressured into liking, anything. Everyone is also allowed to like whatever they dang well like! You are an absolutely unique person! Nobody else like you, on the planet! Even twins are their own person (to the dismay of many parents who like to dress them identically)!

Like I said...

Do you, your way!

Good Intentions

The road to Hell was paved with them...

I’ve got something to say to a friend of mine, but I’m actually afraid to. See, this friend is in a difficult situation, but doesn’t know it. Or should I say she doesn’t see it...

This friend is like a sister to me, and I’m afraid that, if I tell her exactly what’s on my mind, she’ll get super upset, and not talk to me, anymore. But it hurts me to see her go further down this path of darkness, when she really doesn’t have to.

As some readers know, I’m not typically one to keep my fingers tied. I’ve said some things that have hurt others— both necessarily and not. A lot of what I type is feelings, and how certain things and situations are seen, but there are facts, as well. Sometimes, these get meshed together into an emotional, fact-based post (such as my recent post titled “Useless”). These types of posts tend to be over-the-top with insults, and/or overly-dramatic appreciation. Either way, my words tend to have more of an impact than I intend.

I wrote what I’d say to her, in a note, but have reservations about sending it. It’s written straightforward, no prancing around the truth. This friend is one of the most understanding people on the planet, and even when I’ve been an absolute beast to her, she’s stuck by me. However, this isn’t about me— it’s about her, and how her situation is an absolutely awful one. 

I’m a fair writer, but what I mean doesn’t always come out in the nicest of ways. So, I call on you, my wonderful readers, to give me some advice. Should I send it? Should I not? Is there a better way to tell someone that their situation needs to change? 

Twitter readers, feel free to message me.

Facebook peeps, comments or private messages.

Many thanks!

I Repeat

Still a pet peeve of mine...

Recently, I’ve had two people tell me stories of bad behavior, and justify it by saying “they’re bipolar”. Let me make this perfectly clear...

NOBODY IS BIPOLAR!!!

Bipolar Disorder (usually shortened to simply, Bipolar), is a devastating disorder, which is much more difficult for the sufferer than it is for those around. 

Riddle me this: Would you say, “You’re Covid-19”? How about “You’re epilepsy”? No. You’d say “You have (insert illness of choice)”. Therefore, the unfortunate have Bipolar, we are not the disorder, itself.

Granted, there’s no “-ic” word to describe a person suffering with Bipolar Disorder, as there are for other diseases (diabetic, schizophrenic, hypochondriac, etc), but it’s still not alright to use mental illness justify poor behavior. It just perpetuates the stigmas that most of us are tirelessly fighting. Would you allow a person with a cold to treat you poorly? How about someone with cancer?

POOR BEHAVIOR IS NOT JUSTIFIED. EVER.

Yes, those of us suffering with this incredibly difficult disorder have a tendency to not always watch what we do and say, but, fun fact: Every single person on this planet, no matter their struggles and trials, has the option of keeping quiet, and/or striving to behave better than one’s mind would dictate.

Your personality cannot become one with your illness. You have to keep them separate, or people will identify you as your illness. Are you an illness, or are you a person?

AGAIN: STOP CALLING PEOPLE “BIPOLAR”, AND STOP USING IT TO JUSTIFY BAD BEHAVIOR!