At this very moment, even as I type, my "sister" is moving her things out! Let the bells ring out, let the music play! She's gotten a place of her (and the husband she's apparently reconciled with) own and I get my safe zone back. Everyone wins!
For the first time in nearly six weeks, I feel like I can breathe! I feel... happy. This is strange. I'm not sure what to do with it. Usually when I think I'm happy, I'm really just manic. I don't think I've been truly happy in years. Side note: I could very well be manic now, but I'm not arguing this time.
Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...
Since joining Twitter (@AROTBEblog), I've met some really cool people. I generally don't care much for technology, but the internet can connect people from all around the world. You never know who you could connect with. I'm rambling, so back to my point...
I read these blogs almost religiously and the people who write them are quite possibly the most amazing people on the web. Check them out!
Last night, I was attacked and made to believe that I'm a horrible person. Who did this? My family.
Several times now, I have made clear my feelings on my "sister" and the husband she "left" staying in our house. They are invading my safe zone and sending my anxiety off the charts. I've never liked them coming over. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter are pure hell for me.
Story:
After telling my father several times that I will no longer give in to my brother-in-law staying here, he, once again, invited him to stay. Instead of simply listening to me when I said, "they are most literally killing me," he passed off my feelings in favour of the married people who are more than capable of getting their own place. When I stood my ground, he had to go get my mother out of bed because, apparently, he still has no idea how to talk to me. I gave up on trying to talk to him a while ago. He never listens anyway.
Once my mother got involved, my father could not grasp the concept that I have no idea why I feel this way and kept repeating the same things. "What if you had a friend who needed to stay the night? Would it be the same?" "They lived here when they first got married. What's changed?" I will say this again... I DON'T KNOW!
My mother seemed sympathetic while trying to weasel me into concession. I had to get on the repeat train to get my point through both of their heads. "I need to feel comfortable in my own home. I don't know why I feel like this, and I don't want to. I want it, and them, to go away. They are invading my safe zone and I'm feeling attacked."
After they "understood" how I felt, they went to "discuss the situation." When I went to bed, I couldn't sleep because the light was shining under my door. Annoyed, I was less than kind telling them to turn it off. I was done asking for things, at this point. My brother-in-law's response? "It's on because we're trying to accommodate you." Excuse me?! This is MY home. You shouldn't have to accommodate me because YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!
My mother then came into my room and began telling me how "she has to feel comfortable here, too. This is her home, too." Gee... wonder who she'd been talking to. Both my sister and brother-in-law are terribly manipulative. They will both make themselves out to be the victim or the hero with just a few words. Either way, they will tear you down to do it. I find it amusing when they pull it out on each other.
Naturally, I got angry. Once again, the boundaries I try to set are twisted and made to make me feel like a selfish brat. I have tolerated her here for three and a half weeks. There have been confrontations and blow-ups, but I've never straight out told her to leave. When he started staying here, things escalated because my anxiety hit "attack mode." I was being attacked, so I fought back.
The one person I thought would never attack me was my mother, and she was the one doing it last night. There was screaming, swearing, and I left. Side note: Walking on an old, uneven asphalt driveway without shoes is a bad idea. I have lost my support system. Sure, I have friends who say I can come to them, but I can't bring myself to be a burden on anyone else. My mother chose to have me and therefore deal with all a child comes with. My friends have also never seen the full force of my messed up brain, and I don't know if they could handle it.
I say I've lost my support system because, if my sister can manipulate my mother into thinking that I'm the problem here, how can I believe that she truly understands that I have a problem, and no, I can't make my brain concede?
What do you get when you cross a bottle of Xanax, a bottle of Percocet, and a bottle of Vodka?
The last three weeks, I have given up on trying to stop my suicidal thoughts. My "sister" still has the husband she "left" sleeping over when they've spent so much time together after work that he's too tired to drive home (grammatically correct run-on sentence #... I lost count). Tonight, I let my feelings on the subject be known. I explained (ok, basically shouted) how all this is affecting me, and how badly I wish I knew why. I pointed out (for no less than the tenth time) that this narcissist is, quite literally, killing me. Then my father pulls the "he's son-in-law" crap and completely disregards my feelings. Needless to say, the soon-to-be ex-son-in-law is staying the night.
My whole life, I have tolerated everything that has been thrown at me. Better still, I survived it all. Since she moved back, I have zero control over how I feel or what I think. Last week, she got me cornered while shouting at me and demeaning me, and, almost as if I were watching from the outside, I saw my foot go out and kick her. I suddenly understood how people can lose control. I'm not sorry I did it, I'm just a bit confused as to how it happened.
As my mother was sitting with me, attempting to make this whole "him staying over" thing okay somehow, I said something that I'm not sure if she fully understands: "I can't do this anymore." She probably took it as a passing comment, but it's way more than that.
I have been entertaining my suicidal thoughts quite a bit today, but tonight, I'm seriously considering it. I don't feel sad about it. I don't feel angry. I don't feel anything. I have dug my nails into any place on my body that will bleed, as well as pinched and pounded just trying to feel something, but there's nothing. I can't make myself cry because I can't make myself feel.
I think this is what "giving up" feels like.
The truly tragic part about all this: I'll still go to bed, not really sleep, get up in the morning, and do it all over again.
My grandma's funeral was today... (and as usual, I was jealous of the people already in the ground)
I know I already praised this woman up and down, but there's one thing I left out and I have no idea how.
When I was a kid, my grandma ran this program called "Achievement Days" for the kids in our neighborhood. I don't really remember what activities we did, but I remember only going because it was at grandma's house. Backstory: There wasn't one person in the neighborhood that didn't know about Brooke being a bully. Quite a few of the adults would catch it occasionally and just let her have it. Grandma was one of them.
Anyway, my grandma (among so many others) talked about how getting away from here would be helpful for me. Get out, go to college, do military, just something away from here. I know that would help, but, in my mind, I'd return a different person and everyone would notice and either stop bugging me, or become a friend. My dream was crushed the other day when I heard someone saying this (Side note: I have edited it because, well... grammar.):
[He] tells the story of a young man... who, for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life, he moved away from his community. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past.
Then, after several years, he came back to the town of hos youth. Most of his generation had moved on, but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old "so-and-so"-- you remember the guy with the problem, that idiosyncrasy, this quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn't it all just hilarious?
Well, you know what happened. Little by little, this man's effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that [was] laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again [...] unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad, that he was again to be surrounded by those who thought his past was more interesting than his future.
Give those around you the benefit of the doubt. You never know how they have grown and changed. Do not gossip or spread rumors. Do not judge. Be kind, be open... see in the heart. Look for the good in others and remind yourself of the good within you.
I think I'll just end with that.
"Over You"~ Miranda Lambert
I went to a new doctor this morning. Going somewhere new is always an adventure for my blood pressure. My anxiety spikes, leaving my hands red after just ten minutes of wringing. Add the twenty minute drive into downtown, and well, I don't even want to be around myself.
Here's where our adventure begins...
On my way down, The city bus decided to stop right in the middle of the lane, forcing those of us following to go around. I was half way 'round when the driver thought "now seems a good time to take out a tiny red car." I had to floor it so as to not get hit by him or head-on with the car coming from the other side.
Needless to say, I was already a bit wired when I got to the massive complex that contains every doctor you could ever need. Yes, pointless info. Deal with it. I had to ride the elevator with five people who had absolutely zero concept of personal space, and the old man in the back decided that those of us up front should have waited for him to get off first. Anxiety spiking...
When I got to the desk, I was prepared for the typical apathetic, all-business robots that run the medical field. I just about choked when the woman at the check-in was, get this, smiling!!! Then... she kept doing it while she checked me in. Weirdest part: she said more than was necessary to do her job! Actual conversing!
I was made speechless when the nurse was as, if not more personal than the lady at the desk! Granted, we found something in common right off the bat. Never underestimate the power of Doctor Who. The thing that knocked me down was the doctor (no pun intended). He was just like the nurse and desk lady. He listened to what I said, explained any question I had, and I kid you not, spent an entire hour with me! Usually, doctors rush you out the door (faster if you have Medicaid), but he made sure he went over the form I had to fill out before along with anything else.
I have found the best doctor in the world! I have no faith in any other doctor, but hey, I got the good one! I can count this as a good day.
I'm constantly getting movie recommendations because, get this, it has a character who is mentally ill. Umm... would you, a diabetic, want to see every film with a diabetic character? No. At least diabetics are portrayed correctly in film, whereas the mentally ill are overdone and stigmatized.
When I turned on Netflix today, the ad at the top was for Benny and Joon. I'd heard the title before, but never knew what it was about. When I read the synopsis, I just about choked! It reads, and I quote, "Benny is the overprotective caretaker of his mentally ill but artistically talented sister, Joon, who falls in love with an eccentric comedian." So, if you're mentally ill, that it? You can't be anything else? I don't know about you, but I'm many other things. I dance, play an instrument, write, and do photography.
I watched Girl Interrupted because, well, I wanted to, but I've given up on watching anything that has been suggested after trudging my way through Manic.
One of the most stigmatized portrayals of Bipolar Disorder got the actress an award. Sally Fields in (the ever epic) ER. I'm not dismissing her performance, but her role was what ran through my mind when I heard those words put on me. She was the reason I was afraid of coming out with my illness.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have plenty of things to blame Hollywood for, but mental illness stigmas are the worst. Along with women's body image issues, what defines a "real" man, and 40 year olds playing teenagers, and in turn, making me look 12.
"I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell."
"Unwell"~ Matchbox Twenty
I went to my high school reunion last night. I initially didn't want to go because I've always seen reunions as a way for people to brag about their successes, but it wasn't like that at all. Yes, people talked about what they're doing now, but it was never bragging. I didn't really get to talk to very many people, but some were quite surprising. The best part: I wasn't the only single, childless person there!
It was quite eye-opening. Most people have grown out of the whole, "judgmental teenager who cares more about how they look than about how they treat people," and "my parents don't understand me because they're crazy," but some haven't. The friend that I went with pointed out that, generally speaking, the people who were shallow in high school were the ones who stayed fit, but the ones who were nice, gained weight. Side note: the awesome exception was that Brooke, the bully, is twice what she was. I couldn't stop smiling all night!
I thought I wouldn't get through the night without my friend Xanax, but it was actually fun. Not gonna lie, Xanax helped make it fun. It made me not really care about the fact that there were way too many people for the space we had. I even found a way around my lack of employment! I just told people I do photography and run a blog! Only two people asked what my blog was about, so it wasn't too uncomfortable!
This is the song that was huge when I was in high school.
"Boulevard Of Broken Songs"~ Green Day/Oasis/Aerosmith/Travis/probably someone else
I have no idea what's happening to me. Since that thing I'm forced to call "sister" moved back in, things I've worked on quite a bit are reversing and new things are popping up that I don't understand. I'm loads more angry, I'm breaking down three to four times a week, and my anxiety is always on red alert.
A couple of nights ago, she went out, leaving just my parents and me at home (the way it should be). It was like the world was right for the first time in a while. I was genuinely smiling, laughing, and just happy! When she's here, I suddenly hate myself, have no hope, and get dangerously close to ending my life.
My mom asked what the problem was- why I can't handle my "sister" being here. I still have no answer. I don't understand why my brain is reacting so strongly. I mean, my "sister" has never been a real sister. My parents even admit that she thinks about herself first, her friends second, parents third, and somewhere down a long line of people she'd rather associate with (like drug dealers and con artists) before me. She made it very clear, growing up, that she wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn't have the same shirt, same toys, I couldn't even like the same music.
She moves in here, whines about the same things every day, can't decide what she wants to do, says one thing and does another, but the biggest problem is: she comes in here after eight years of not living here and knowing what's going on, and judges me. I have a mental illness that , lately, I am understanding less and less. She sees some of my (increasingly) weird behavior and makes her own, narrow-minded assumptions that make her look even dumber than I thought, and make me angry.
Side note: I can say whatever I want because she doesn't care enough to read this.
Tonight is my ten year high school reunion. I live at home, can't get, let alone keep a decent job, I haven't been in a relationship in nearly eight years, and I have no foreseeable successful future. Today is just awesome...
I honestly and truly believe that Medicaid is useless. Getting any level of decent care is just not an option. I'm stuck with apathetic doctors just looking to get me out the door as quickly as possible so they don't feel cheated out of a ridiculous paycheck. They don't care how I'm doing, how I feel, or how my medications are working. They'll prescribe whatever drug they're getting kickbacks from to supplement what Medicaid doesn't pay, even though I tell them that I cannot take this one or that. All this after having to wait three months for each appointment.
Rant #2
Since my genetically similar female relative moved in two weeks ago, my life has gone to Hell. Her total and complete lack of respect for me and my things is out of control. I found out today that she has been using my shampoo. Why did I just find out today? Because she didn't bother to tell me, let alone ask if she could in the first place. When she invades my space, she'll (badly off tune) sing "it's the end of the world as we know it" and laugh like it's nothing. I cater to her, I made space for her, and this is how she treats me? Well, I'm done being the good sister. I'm going to hit the hardball she pitches out the park!
Rant #3
Monday through Friday, I am awakened by my sister and father. They don't seem to realize that talking at normal-to-loud levels right outside my freaking door is not alright. Then, common courtesy has always been lost on the narcissistic... When I wake up enough to speak, a rather annoyed "SHUT UP" comes out and suddenly I'm the problem.
Rants over.
All this, plus a few other things (I'll spare you the details) has been building up inside because, let's face it, I don't speak up. I try to say my piece and when it's shut down, I back down faster than anything you could imagine. Anyway, I blew up tonight. There was screaming, crying, cursing, and much more ranting than I've done here.
I hate blowing up even though it releases the crap that's all built up. The screaming leaves my throat sore, the crying makes my eyes red, puffy, and burning for about twelve hours, and getting angry is never fun in general. I really need to learn to speak up instead of backing down. Maybe this wouldn't happen so often.
After my last post, I was telling my cousin that I thought it would be weird to write what I would have written in a suicide note, even though I find that it helps sort things out. His response? "Yep! I know it helps sort things out! Been there, done that! To "normal" people that might sound weird, but "normal" people scare me!" I've never actually written it, but I think about it quite a bit. When I feel like I've hit the end of my rope and nothing matters anymore, I start thinking about what I'd say in my suicide note. When I do that, I start to notice things that, at the moment, my mind won't let me see. Usually, it's the people in my life. When I start to picture who would come to my funeral, I see people that I don't necessarily talk to on a daily, or even weekly basis, but who still care about me. Sometimes, when I feel like I haven't done anything worthwhile in my life, things that I have done come to mind. Things that may not seem like anything to anyone else, but, in the moment that they happened, made me feel good. It's really amazing the things that you can think of when you're at the bottom, if you just let yourself. Every time I get to that point, where I think about writing that note, it helps. It gives me hope. I know it sounds weird, but it's true. No, it won't cure me, nor will it make the pain go away. What it does is make me see the bigger picture; not just myself. This song will almost always come to mind before I start thinking of all those people... "Why"~ Rascal Flatts
I'm not perfect. I've never claimed to be. I know I let my emotions take control of me rather than controlling my emotions. Not that it's an excuse, but I've got quite a few emotions going on all the time. I just have to release them sometimes and, judging by the reactions I get, I shouldn't.
My genetically similar female relation moved in a week ago. Since then, I've been torn down so much, I can't even remember each little incident. This week has been pure Hell, and now, more than ever, I want it to end.
My "sister" is quite possibly the most condescending, self-centered person on the planet.
She'll interrupt me and keep talking, but when I try to get back to what I was saying, she freaks out because "you're interrupting me!"
She makes it abundantly clear that I'm beneath her because I can't work full-time. I've explained to her time, and time again that, not everyone can take whatever job pays the bills. Some of us have to think about it very, very carefully.
She won't drink tap water and insists on buying bottles because "Britas aren't good enough."
She won't wear jeans. Says they're "too casual."
She'll sit there and whine about the same... freaking... thing... for an hour... every... freaking... day, but if I mention the same thing twice in one week, I'm being whiny and repetitive.
She won't even read my blog because she doesn't "have time." And the award for 'Crappiest Sister' goes to...
Although, and I know she'll get upset about this, but she isn't the sole reason I'm ready to give up. Surprise! The world doesn't revolve around your ego! My father has become worse, as of late.
I've told you before about how the only way I can get him to do something is to pitch a fit. Well, now I think he's doing it intentionally. That's actually abuse, in case you were wondering. With my sister moving in, we've had to clean out her room (which was only cluttered in the first place because dad deemed it storage since he couldn't be bothered to clean up his hoarding mess in the basement). Most of what was in there was mine. I lost track of how many of my things were damaged or destroyed while trying to move it all.
Now, this wouldn't be such an issue, except for the fact that, when dad cleaned a space in the basement for my storage, it wasn't even a quarter of the space my sister's stuff takes. I can't even lie down in it and all my stuff is supposed to fit there?! Just another example of child favoritism.
I'm tired of being looked down on. I'm tired of it being made clear that I'm not good enough. I'm tired of having to get angry. I'm tired of feeling like an unwanted guest in my own home. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep. I'm tired of watching from the outside. I'm tired of living. I hate my life and I hate myself for holding on this long. I'm done.
Today, I had an interview for a job that sounds absolutely perfect. I would be a photographer for the company who does school pictures in my area. Yes, I would be getting paid to play with a camera all day. I've been jumping hoops since high school to get a job in one of the fields I find interesting (photography and criminal justice), and I finally got the opportunity! I was even offered the job right there on the spot!
This is great, right? I'd get paid to play with a camera all day, get paid to drive all over to set up, and get to act like an idiot to make kids smile! Sounds perfect! Well, perfect except for the fact that it's full-time and ridiculously public...
As I was driving home, those two little things sank in and I got nauseous. I could barely handle eighteen hours a week with the same kids every day, how am I going to handle more than twice the hours with hundreds of different kids each day?
Photography has always been a connection for me, so maybe it would be fine, but the tiny voice in the back of my brain still says, "you're not ready for this." Anyone who knows me knows that I want a full-time job; I don't want to job hop every three months.
This is a rather precarious situation... If I take the job, my disability claim goes out the window. Granted, I'm not excited to get labeled "disabled," and would much rather work than be a government dependent, but if the job doesn't work out, I'm back at square one with a claim.
Lately, when we watch an older movie (like "Trip To The Moon" circa 1902), I'll say something to the effect of "they're dead now." Okay, fine... that's exactly what I say, but still... When we go to the cemetery, I tend to actually voice my envy for the, umm... residents. I think, however, that the thing that would frighten anyone is what I said the other day.
In Utah, we have two seasons: winter and construction. You can bet that, once the snow clears, almost every major road will be torn up for one pointless reason or another. Anyone who has driven through a construction zone knows the familiar sight of flagmen. They're the all powerful beings that you either praise for the "slow" sign, or curse when they turn it around to the "stop" side right in front of you. Since I have been looking for a new job, I mused that this job would be perfect for me. No social interaction, super easy, and pays quite a bit. My mom, always looking out for safety, said that there are some of these people who are hit, and even killed every year. My response? "Fine by me."
Was I being morbid? Yes. Was I also being serious? Definitely.
This goes right along with the conversation I had with a friend of mine a couple of days ago. I was telling her that I truly and honestly see no valuable future for myself. I don't see me ever holding a real job, getting an education, or even getting married. How can I do any of these things when just the thought of having to talk to someone gives me a panic attack? Better still, even when I can talk to someone, I'm so used to people judging and subsequently rejecting me that I strike before I can get hit. People don't tend to stick around when the person they just met is intentionally pushing them away.
I have folded in on myself to the extent where I've pushed practically everyone away. I rely on books and my own, slightly (*incredibly) twisted imagination for company. Most of my conversations with friends, even through text, are no more than ten minutes. On Facebook, I generally hit "like" and call it good. Even with people I've known for years, I'm absolutely terrified to talk because I don't want them judging me. Side note: I love that I can't talk directly to people, but I'm willing to put my innermost thoughts into a blog that hundreds of people read.
Avoidant Personality Disorder(as defined in the DSM-IV)
A pervasive pattern of social inhibition, feelings of inadequacy, and hypersensitivity to negative evaluation, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by four (or more) of the following:
(1) avoids occupational activities that involve significant interpersonal contact, because of fears of criticism, disapproval, or rejection (2) is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being liked (3)shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed (4) is preoccupied with being criticized or rejected in social situations (5) is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy (6) views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others (7) is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing
I'll be the first to deny that anything is wrong with me, but every one of these criterion describe me. The DSM-IV goes on to say that APD is often diagnosed with Social Phobia and Panic Disorder With Agoraphobia.
Now, I'm not necessarily afraid of going outside, but I make sure that nobody on my street is outside before I go out. The thought of (a) having to talk to someone, and (b) not looking good enough or (c) not having anything interesting to say keeps me inside more often than not.
I was talking with my mother about this after the Hellish experience at the coffee shop, and she made a valid point: With all I've endured with Brooke (the bully) and the crap shower of "friends" I had in high school, I just expect everyone to be critical and reject me as a person.
I was just reading an old post (Just Another Figure), and I realized that my issue with criticism goes deeper than I thought. I've talked before about how my sister never approves of anything I do, but even something so stupid as her saying, "I wouldn't wear it" to my new jeans, hurts.
Going through all my old posts, I've talked about a few of these criterion before. Like in Socially Inept. The title alone calls out criterion 6.
I had never heard of Avoidant Personality Disorder until someone sent me a link suggesting this may be an issue for me. Looking into it, I must (reluctantly) admit that it seems to fit. Heh heh... that rhymed!
I'm not going to claim this on my long list of issues until I talk to my therapist and psychiatrist. The less I have on it, the happier I am.
