Blast From The Past

Well, that was unexpected...

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

  

Just My Life

That awkward moment when...

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...

"Welcome To My Life"~ Simple Plan

Writer's Block

"I'll call for pen and ink and write my mind"~ William Shakespeare

I love writing. My blog gets most of it lately because I don't have a program to write anything else. I've had a story running through my head for years, but when I got my new computer, I couldn't afford to replace my Microsoft Word. It's a pretty good story, I've been told, but it's stuck in my head until I can get Word back.

Writing is, for me, a way to get things out. I write daily, but most of the things I write just get deleted because, well, I don't need to make you yawn. A lot of it is rambling, some pointless rants, and some short stories that make Twilight look mature, but I'm dying to write the one in my head!

I've been telling one of my best friends about this, and she did something absolutely amazing! She set up a GoFundMe so she can buy Microsoft Word for me!

I am the absolute last person that would ask for money, like ever, so doing this actually makes me incredibly uncomfortable. The only reason I can is because it's not technically me; it's my friend. Side note: this is the only time I'll ever do anything like this.

If you have just $5 to spare, please consider helping out. If this book gets published, everyone who donates will earn themselves a huge "thank you" inside!

http://www.gofundme.com/getcharmaineastart

Thank you in advance!

This song always makes me giggle!
"Anthem For The Year 2000"~ Silverchair

I'm Sinking

I've had it. I'm ranting.

Rant #1

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.

"Something's Gotta Give"~ All Time Low

Because It's You

I just want to take second here to thank all of you!

Over the last two months, the view count here has skyrocketed! When I checked this morning, there were almost seventeen hundred just in July! That's incredible!

I've also been seeing some new countries show up! Croatia, China, Denmark, Ukraine, Netherlands... the list goes on! Although, I have to apologize to France because you, my friends, have been the solid number two spot (behind the USA) on my top ten countries, and now the UK has overthrown that spot. Side note: THANK YOU, UK!!!

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know that some of you faithfully share every post, and I am forever grateful!

If you have any ideas on what I should blog about or if you have some music you'd like to share with me, please feel free to email- bipolarexpressride@gmail.com.


"Appreciated"~ Rixton

My Note

I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE!!!

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

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 More Time

I'm sorry.

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.

"Vegas Lights"~ Panic! At The Disco

Dream Job

Congratulations! You're officially screwed!

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.

I really don't know what to do...

"Dream Big"~ Ryan Shupe & The Rubberband

Dead Inside

I think I'm scaring my mom a bit...

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.

"Trip To The Moon"

Hit The Fan

Why does this always happen?

Whenever I have an all-around bad day, it hits a spike at the end. It's like a balloon that is slowly being filled, but after it's been full for a while, and it has finally gotten used to the pressure, someone decides to see what a pin would do.

Four weeks ago, I was having one of those days. Long story short, there was screaming and throwing. Wednesday, (read Wednesday's post for the explanation) ended with a crap-filled balloon exploding all over me. This time, my entire life is going to be uprooted.

My sister is moving back in. Sure, it's "temporary," but this is my sister we're talking about! My, "I won't answer your calls, but I'll answer mom's or dad's," "my little friend takes priority over you any day," "your pain is in your head and my paper cut will ultimately result in my untimely death," sister! This genetically similar human being is the second leading cause of my self-esteem issues! For eight blissful years, she has lived forty miles away and only visited on occasion, thus ensuring my fairly well managed (fine, slightly better) mental status.

She takes over everything. Space, conversations; you name it, she'll dominate. When she's around, I don't exist. My mom tries to get me involved, but inevitably it will wind up my sister and my dad talking with the occasional interjection by mom. It's not hard to see who dad's favorite child is.

The worst part of all this not-so-pent-up anger: I'm still the wide-eyed, adoring little sister. She says "jump," and I don't even ask how high, I just do it until she's satisfied. I will do anything she asks, and she knows it.

Story (which is kind of funny in retrospect): After both of my major leg surgeries, I had a walking boot. Anyone who has ever worn one, knows they're no fun. The second surgery allowed me to walk on my heel for the first time in my life. Since said heel was not used to being used, it hurt like mad. Well, my sister asked if I wanted to go shopping "for a minute." I went. Two hours (and several inventive ways of saying "ouch") later, we finally leave.

I am, by no means, saying that my sister is a bad person; just that she's not the ideal big sister. She never has been. I guess I just keep hoping one day that we'll be as close as some of my friends are to their sisters.

When I was a kid, I used to as my sister to play "the cherry cola song."
"I Want You"~ Savage Garden

Scaredy Cat

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate... leads to suffering." ~ Yoda

This was me today. I got scared, then angry (which I took out in a rather caustic post on Facebook), hate got into that post, and now I feel like crap.

I wish I could say that this was a rare occurrence, but when I get as angry as I did today, you can bet that I got scared out of my wits not long before.

Story: I went somewhere with my mother this morning (cryptic, I know). After a while, I had a bit of a sugar low and needed to leave to get something. Well, as I was walking out to the car, there was a man who was asking people for a lighter, and when people denied having one, he would get angry and start yelling. When I ignored him (since the only thing I could think to say was less than kind), he started shouting and following me! I practically ran to my car, got in, locked the door, and started going before I could put my belt on! When I returned to pick up my mother, there were three (maybe four) police cars and this man was in handcuffs.

I was shaking so badly that I could barely drive. I made my mom take over and I haven't been behind a wheel the rest of the day. She even had to drive me to my therapy appointment.

I guess that, when I get scared that badly, everything that has ever frightened me in my entire life floods my mind and my brain sends out an anger response.

On Facebook, I've been trying to do a "Daily Dose of Happy." A friend actually noticed this and gave me this song. I'm really liking it! Maybe it'll get me out of my funk.

"Sunshine"~ Matisyahu

Ride Of A Lifetime

Oww.

Four and a half years ago, I had a surgery to straighten my leg. Basically, the doctor broke it, twisted it, shoved a rod down it, and pinned it in five places. I was stuck in a wheelchair for three months and had to relearn how to walk.

Exactly thirteen months later, I had to have yet another surgery. When my bone was twisted, it pulled on my Achilles tendon so much that I most literally could not put my heel on the ground. This landed me in the chair for another three months and had to relearn how to walk again.

Yesterday, I did something that I haven't done since the summer before the first of the two life-altering surgeries: I rode my bike!

It was incredible! I had forgotten how much I love riding! It was the best mood-altering high I have felt in years! The wind in my face, the speed... pure freedom! I was in the best mood the rest of the day!

The down side hit me this morning. My butt is killing me. You know how bike seats are. They're not meant to be comfortable. I swear, there's a convention every year to see who can come up with the least comfortable design. Add that to the fact that I haven't ridden in about five years, and you get bruises that make me look like I had gotten pelted with paintballs!

It was quite the exercise for my injured hand/wrist/whatever as well. Now, every time I move my ring or pinky fingers, a horrid pain reminds me, "I'm here!" At least I won't forget that my hand is still attached...

Neither of these pains will stop me from riding, though. No chemically designed pill in the world could make me feel this good! It's unbelievable!

"Unbelievable"~ Owl City (Feat. Hanson)

Avoidant Or Just Shy?

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.

"Learn To Be Lonely"~ Minnie Driver

Picture Of Hell

Nope, nope, nope.

So, last night, my sister and I went up to where the Utah State Capitol Building is so I could take some pictures. Whenever we do this, we crank up the stereo and dance and sing along like a couple of teenagers. It's a blast! I got some great pictures this time thanks to the fact that the sun was still up.

After the Capitol, we swung by to get my dad and the three of us went to this coffee shop that my sister knows with a great view. The second we got out of the car, I could tell that this wasn't going to be a piece of baklava.

Everyone inside were the type of people who think bathing is overrated and everything they wear/eat/whatever has to be natural (including the carcinogens in their cigarettes). Thankfully, my sister said that the view was out back.

As we walked through the shop, I could hear the music in my head get tense (like you hear in movies before you get the reprieve). I was expecting to be able to breathe deeply when we got outside, but no... Outside were the people who, in high school, look down on anyone who isn't driving a brand new BMW. Needless to say, the music went something like, DUN, DUN, DUUUUUUN.

I wish I could say that the whole time, I went through unnoticed, but the fact of the matter is, I don't fit either group and everyone was staring with their faces on permanent judgment.

Long story short, I managed to get out of there pretty fast, and, better still, managed to hold in my total and complete breakdown until I got home.

Instead of a video, I thought I'd share some of my pictures :)

The Changes

Things need to change.

The last few days (and posts) have been rather depressing. I'm sure you could see that yourself since you're just that smart, but voicing your feelings is... well I just... I lost where I was going with this.

I've been trying to be optimistic, but that's just not me. I've been indulging  my depression and trying to make it slightly better with Gilmore Girls and more chocolate than anyone should eat in a year. This helps, but as I've said before, music is my life. Nothing can change my mood faster or more efficiently than music.

Sometimes, I get on YouTube and find a song I like, then make a sort of chain by clicking on one of the suggested videos. It can take some weird turns, let me tell you! I've done 90's, 80's, YouTubers, interviews, you name it, I've done it.

I did a chain today that started with the video below and ended with a documentary about kids who don't age. Yeah... weird. Anyway, this totally made my day because I am, as I'm sure you remember, a One Direction fangirl and Batman is my all time favorite superhero. Side note: I would love to know what the boys would think of this.

Enjoy!

"Dark Knight Changes"~ Eli Thomas (??)

The Outcast

I really just don't understand why people don't care.

I've had people tell me that I write about something that others are too afraid to, that I'm a good writer, and that they enjoy my posts. In the last month, I've had two people share my posts. Yep... it really affects you.

I was scrolling through my Facebook just now and saw one friend post that she has had over five hundred views on her blog in one day. I had nineteen yesterday. She thanked her friends and family for sharing and supporting and attributes her number to them. I'm not trying to downplay her or her blog because she is amazing and so is her blog! I'm just curious why I don't have people who care enough about me or what I have to say.

I have asked, begged, and even bribed people to share my posts, yet nobody ever does. I've threatened to kill my blog a few times because of lack of interest, and every time I see others get that much love, I still think about it. I mean, if you like a restaurant, you tell others about it. Why, then, do you read my post, like it, but not share?

It has been this way in everything I've ever done. I go to a birthday party for a friend and there are so many people there. I could invite fifty people to mine and three would show up. I just wish that people could understand exactly how much it hurts to be excluded by the people who are supposed to care.

I may not be the most intelligent or sociable person, but you will never find a better, more loyal friend.

"Through The Dark"~ One Direction

What Goes Down, Must Come Up

Anyone got a white glove?

I just cleaned my entire room. Why? Because I got seriously annoyed. Things today have just been one fail after the next. My wifi was out for awhile, so I couldn't really do anything, so I decided to run a few errands. This is where my adventure begins...

I went to mail a package for my friend in Oklahoma, but when I got there, I realized that I had forgotten her address. Side note: the guy working at the post office was unusually nice for a postal worker. He even smiled! Then, I went to the pharmacy to get a prescription that I was told had been called in on Monday. It wasn't there. You want to know what was there, though? An old woman who couldn't figure out that, standing right next to me and butting in on my business was far from OK! Most pharmacies have a "privacy rope" that instructs patrons to stand a certain distance back, but not this one.

When I got home, I called my doctor's office and was on hold for, get this, fifteen minutes before someone finally picked up! Then they deny having told me they would call it in on Monday and say that it should be there tonight.

Needless to say, I was hopping mad! So I did what I usually do when I have energy: I cleaned. Maybe I should seek a career in housekeeping...

Now I'm just cooling down with a Cherry Pepsi, pretzels, and Gilmore Girls. I really need a job...

"Something's Gotta Give"~ All Time Low (totally my spirit song at the moment)

Simple Things

Did I stammer?

My biggest pet peeve is when someone either doesn't listen to me or hears something wrong and doesn't bother to ask for clarification. This is a daily occurrence at my house. The worst part is when I'm already visibly upset and get misheard. This will send me into "stare at the ground and shut mouth" mode every time.

My family has seen me in this mode so many times that I'm sure they know I'm upset, but it's rare to hear a "what's wrong?" Is it really that difficult to see that I'm upset? No. Someone I've never met could see it. Granted, I don't always want to talk about whatever it is that's bugging me, but it never hurts to ask.

The absolute worst thing anyone could ever do is know that I'm upset and completely ignore the fact. Like I said, I may not want to talk about it right then, but don't just go on talking about the schedule or, my favorite, tell me personal things about people I don't know and don't care about.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm upset. I'm sending a good friend back to her home in England, my computer keeps kicking me out of whatever I'm trying to do, and I didn't get the job that I (strangely enough) actually wanted.

Word of advice: when you see someone agitated or upset, ask why. It's not difficult. You never know how a simple kindness will affect that person.

"Appreciated"~ Rixton

What Doesn't Kill You...

There comes a time when you must stop thinking as a victim and start thinking like a survivor.

This is something I have said for quite a while, but have a hard time applying to myself at times. Most of the time, I don't think about my illness, but sometimes I just feel like the universe screwed me.

After nine months of working with my therapist (still the best one in the world!!!), I finally accepted my illness as a part of me, rather than a defining quality or even a separate entity. This was huge! Then came the diagnosis of PTSD. I'm still in Egypt on that (denial= the Nile), but every now and then it hits me in the face and I can't ignore it.

Fun example: A few years back, someone who I had always seen as this strong, indestructible person wound up in a coma. Side note: this is incredibly difficult for me to write. I rushed to the hospital where I saw this pillar of strength lying on a table with a breathing tube down the throat and tubes attached all over. For eight days, I went to the hospital and sat by the bed, praying for this person to not only survive, but to come back normal.

This story has a happy ending, but the image of that person on the table will forever haunt me. It intrudes my thoughts and turns dreams into nightmares.

Back to my point... When things keep getting piled on, it's easy to sit and pity yourself. I look at others who seem confident, have careers or families, or have loads of people who like them and I feel like, if I didn't have Bipolar Disorder or Anxiety that I would be just like them. I blame my circumstances for pretty much everything wrong in my life.

Feeling like a victim is OK on occasion, but making it a habit isn't. People always tell me how strong I am and I usually shut it down because I feel that my illnesses make me weak. The truth of it is, however, if you are living with a mental (or physical) illness, you are strong! If you're still breathing at the end of the day, you are a survivor!

"Stronger"~ Kelly Clarkson

Can't Think... Too Tired

Dear sleep,

I'm sorry we fought. I miss you. Please come back.

Sincerely,
Me


Have you ever had a night where you can feel every single stupid second pass? Where every tick of the clock kills your hope just a little more? This has been my last few days.

Sleep is crucial for everybody's health and well-being, but when you're on a medication that is supposed to knock you out... I've been practically catatonic. Especially fun at my interview last Wednesday.

I'm sure everyone around loves when I don't sleep seeing as how I get cranky and overly sarcastic. The really obnoxious thing is that, what people don't seem to understand is, when I'm cranky, it's not because of my Bipolar. Everyone has moods. Everyone has bad days. Just because I have an illness that messes with my brain and moods, doesn't mean every single mood is because of that. If that were the case, every single person on the planet would have the diagnosis.

The really fun part for me is the total and complete lack of coordination. My mind isn't in sync with my body. Half the time, I have no idea what I'm doing. I tried washing my hair with conditioner this morning, then tried to blow it dry with my brush. It took me at least a minute of trying to turn it on to figure out that I was holding the wrong thing. I wish I was kidding.

Well, since my brain isn't working, I'm going to leave it here.

In honor of The 4th of July...
"Made in America"~ Toby Keith

Politics, Anyone?

Self discovery is annoying sometimes...

For as long as I can remember, I have had panic attacks when I get angry or try to stand up for myself. It's not a pretty sight and it just makes the situation worse.

Fun example: A few years back, I got the front end of my car taken off by an imbecile who... well I'll spare you the details. ANYWAY... needless to say, I was raging! I got out of the car, already shaking, and when he tried to blame me, I started shouting and eventually got to a place where I couldn't do anything.

I have finally figured out why. My entire life, I have been punished in some way or another when I would get angry. At home, well, let's just say my father has never been "daddy." (Don't you dare let your thoughts wander down Abuse Alley!) At school, Brooke and her lemmings would just egg it on and when I'd get home in a bad mood... Not to mention the school psychologist who literally locked me in her office and cut me off from any social interaction.

I learnt that anger is an emotion that was punished at a very young age. Yay epiphany...

Now with all the ridiculous political crap that's going on, I get pretty upset just looking on Facebook or Twitter. There are accounts on Twitter who have made it their mission to end bullying. Kudos! However, now with the SCOTUS decision, these people seem to think it's alright to bully anyone who supports traditional marriage. I'm going to say this once...

Free speech is not limited to one point of view. Support for traditional marriage is OK! Support for LGBT marriage is OK! Not supporting one or the other is also OK! I promise.

Life would be so much less irritating if there weren't so many people who are perpetually offended. I hate politics because there is yes and there is no. I try not to get involved, but this one is getting beyond ridiculous. If you don't make your profile look like a bag of Skittles spilled, suddenly you're homophobic.

I've got friends all over every imaginable spectrum. I don't care what your preferences are, what colour your skin is, or what religion you are or aren't... I respect people. The only label anyone should ever be given is "person."

Well... that took a very different turn than I intended... I'm going to end it here.

This song has been stuck in my head for days!
"Appreciated"~ Rixton

The Pedal's Down

Well, that was telling...

Have you ever had something happen that reminds you of something you feel? Not sure what I mean? Allow me to explain...

Today, while driving, there was a car that had been creeping up on me (more like going ten over the limit) who decided that the yellow light meant "floor it so you don't have to wait." This left me the only car waiting at the light (since I'm apparently the only driver in the state who follows the road rules).

As I was waiting, quite a few cars started piling up at the light going the opposite direction. There were enough of them that they got the straight and left turn light first.

So I'm sitting there with all these cars coming right at me, and I'm thinking, "Lovely. I'm sitting here alone while everything is coming at me."

I've felt like this more times than I care to think about. It just seems like everyone is passing me in life and when crap shower hits, I'm left to deal with it myself. This year's high school graduates are ten years younger than I am. Most of them are going to college, or at least have some kind of plan. I've got people I know who are five years younger who are married, live in their own place, or have graduated college and have careers.

I've heard people say, "Never judge your chapter one to some else's chapter ten," but I'm on chapter twenty-eight and I've got none of those things people on chapters twenty-five or even eighteen have.

Things just seem to be spinning out of control lately. I lost my job, my independence (thank you, wrist), and the one person who has ever called me "best friend." Not to mention, people have tried to start arguments on Twitter. Hate to burst baiter's bubbles, but I won't. Arguing with strangers online is pathetic and a desperate cry for attention. If you want my attention, just say hi! I've got enough negativity in my life, I don't need yours.

Basically, I feel like I'm losing control.

"No Control"~ One Direction

The Struggle Is Real

Huh?

So, I had my appointment with my psychiatrist a couple days back and we upped my medication. Doubled it, actually. I started the new, higher dose last night and I'm doing my best to function.

I slept for thirteen hours last night and only got up because I thought it was a bit pathetic to still be in bed at eleven o'clock. I wish I'd just stayed there because I've been freakishly tired the whole four hours I've been up. My brain isn't loving this new dose, either. I'm having trouble with the whole, words-putting-into-sentence-doing. Fun example: I had to retype the word "into" six times because I kept hitting the wrong keys. I also just had to fix "fun" because I spelt "fen," instead.

I went through this when I started the medication initially and my body adjusted fairly quickly. I'm hoping the same thing will happen as the dose continues to get raised.

Since I can't think of anything else to say on that, here's just a couple of reminders...

• You can sign up for email notifications so that when I post, Blogger sends you an email. That's not going to stop me from posting it everywhere, but it could potentially be easier for you.
• I'm on Twitter. My Twitter handle... name... thingy... is @AROTBEblog.
• Facebook group here (hope that actually works). Side note: I hate that Facebook is 99% politics now, so please keep all of that out.
• You are all fabulous!

I'm too tired and not functioning enough to find a relevant song...
"Courtesy of The Red, White, and Blue (The Angry American)"~ Toby Keith

My Daily Road

I hope I'm not kicking myself in the butt here...

Group interviews are the bane of my existence. I've been to a few and every time I get back to my car and practically break down. The whole time, I'm sitting there smiling and pretending to have an ounce of confidence while attempting to keep my breathing in check and mentally willing my heart to keep some sort of regular rhythm.

Not to say that interviews aren't a condoned form of torture in general, but for anyone with anxiety, they're pure hell. Add the group aspect and not even a heavy dose of Xanax can help.

I seem to have an incredible knack for making people believe that all is well when all I really want to do is scream and pace. This comes in handy on occasion (like when I do a group interview for a job that I really want!), but it doesn't really help when I'm trying to convince a psychologist that I'm really dying inside.

The socially accepted sadism happened five hours ago and I'm still trying to get out my anxious energy. Ok, the interviewers were really nice and kept the pressure to a minimum, but the whole social anxiety thing always takes over. It even takes over when I have to go out to my therapist's office.

I lost track of my point... SO! Releasing anxious energy... I've always been fidgety, but when I'm trying to hold it together, I try to sit still, but it always comes out my hands or feet. I tend to tap my foot or wring my hands. When I interviewed for my last job at the school, when I walked out, my hands were bright red and incredibly sore. In public places, I usually just hold on to my worry stone, but at an interview, it would look really bad. 

I'm having a freakishly hard time finding a song to go along with this topic, so you get this...

"Every Road"~ The Maine

Actions & Reactions

That was not fun.

I told you about my new medication and the struggles that came with. Nothing has changed there, but last week, I found out something the hard way: Seroquel does not mix with prednisone.

Story: I was also blessed with asthma and severe allergies. These two things often make it difficult to breathe. When this happens, my doctor puts me on a few days of prednisone (steroids help calm everything down- contradicting much?). Well, about three hours after my first dose, I got super dizzy and my vision got all blurry. That, for me, is a migraine.

I thought this was just my typical Thursday (migraines are pretty common in my world) and didn't think anything of it. The next couple of days were the same: take pills, get migraine. Four days in a row is abnormal, so I asked my mom (blurry vision... can't read) to read the side effects of Seroquel. She found that it could interact with steroid medications.

Ah-HA!

Now, before you go judging my doctor, I was the one who failed to update my medication list, so he didn't know what I was taking.

I have a nasty habit of not reading those ridiculously long information inserts the pharmaceutical companies put with medications because, well, I'd really rather not know every possible reaction. It gets disturbing. I've learnt my lesson.

Know your medications. Know them so well that you could go one-on-one with the chemists who created them. The more you know, the fewer unnecessary reactions you'll have to endure.

I'm kind of obsessed with this song right now.
"Wait On Me"~ Rixton

Blank

I'm so done with this.

When a dog is sick and has no hope of recovery, we euthanize it and call it humane. When a person is sick and has no hope for recovery, we medicate them beyond comprehension so they can live in the horrific pain they've so longed to be rid of. People always talk about how selfish suicide is, but honestly, how selfish is it of those forcing this person to live in agony?

As the school year ended, so did my job. My days are now filled with job hunting, watching a TV show with an obnoxious liberal agenda, and arguing with my father who can't seem to realize that he's my anger trigger. Let's just say, he's not the type of person who should have gotten married, let alone had children.

Side note: The more I realize my whole life has been a one sided relationship with my father, the more I realize why I can't get along with men in general. I just expect every one of them to be selfish.

Anyway, along with no job and a self-serving father to argue with, I also have a bum leg and two busted wrists. Needless to say, I'm feeling pretty worthless right about now. I can't exercise, so I've been gaining weight. I still have no friends in the valley. I'm, as always, the good friend who talks first (exceptions made for two). The only thing I want is for this to all be over.

I'm a Christian and firmly believe in an afterlife, but I don't even want that. I just want to stop existing altogether. I have no hope; I have no future.

What exactly did I do to deserve the hellish life I was given?

A Classical Matter

Why does this always happen?

It seems that, no matter how good a day has been, my mind is flooded with negative thoughts and memories at night. Tonight is particularly bad and I can't sleep because of it. I can't really say I'm thinking about this, but rather my brain seems to think I need to be reminded. The thing keeping me up tonight happened in high school.

We did a musical every year at my school and I was always in the orchestra pit. Most of the time, I can only remember how fun it was. We had a tradition-- every drink bottle we finished would be put on the ledge surrounding the pit and the goal was to get the whole thing covered. My friends and I put more than our fair share up there. We also had our "costumes" for each musical (crowns for Once Upon A Mattress, Cowboy hats for Oklahoma!, etc...). We had pit parties, pajama day for our Saturday rehearsals, and so many other fun things! Tonight, however, my brain has decided to remember Kathryn and Brad (I frankly don't care that I'm using real names here. Bullies have no right to identity protection).

Kathryn played string bass and Brad played trombone. Both sat behind me in the pit. Side note: I play clarinet. I honestly can't remember if this was my sophomore or junior year, but I want to say sophomore, but either way, it has stuck with me. See, they decided that, whenever we reached a poco rit. in the music, they would poke me with the bow and say "poco retard!" I tried a few times to passively wave it off, hoping that, by not reacting, they'd lose interest and quit doing it. They didn't. It went on from the first pit rehearsal all the way through closing night. All I could do was pretend not to notice then cry in the bathroom during breaks and intermission.

To this day, I get a minor panic attack when I'm playing a piece and I see poco rit. Every now and then, people ask why I don't play anymore. I give excuses like, "I don't have anyone to play with," or, more recently, "I busted my wrist," but honestly, I just get sick of being afraid of  basic music notations. I play a wind instrument. I can't afford to lose my breath.

I have no idea what I did to deserve to be their target. Even after the musical, I tried being nice to them, but they both treated me like something they'd stepped in. Was it something I did? Was it something I said? Was it Brooke? If any of my fellow Colts still talk to either of these two... people... any explanation would be appreciated. I'd even accept an "I don't remember, but I'm sorry."

Cliché, but I love this movement of this piece.
"K622- Allegro"~ Mozart

I Will Remember You, Bugs

(Clever opening line goes here)

All my life I've never really cared if people didn't like me based simply on what I like or what I wear. I got relentlessly made fun of in sixth grade because I loved Hanson, but I never once denied that I did just to please anyone. In seventh grade, I had this blue lipstick that I couldn't live without; I got snotty comments left and right, but I kept wearing it. Basically, I refuse to change anything about myself for the simple reason of "to please you." My entire existence has been validated by an eight-year-old-girl.

This may sound entirely trivial to you, but it meant the world to me. Yesterday, some of my girls had a One Direction book (mostly for the pictures since they can't really read yet), and every one of them said that they liked Niall-- all except one. When she said she liked Liam, the other girls were practically appalled! "How could you think he's cute?!" But she never backed down. She didn't care that her choices weren't popular, she held to her opinions and didn't let anyone or anything sway her.

This school year, working with these kids, I've learnt quite a lot.

• It doesn't matter where you come from, you'll always have a friend.
• A mental illness label doesn't mean a thing.
• No matter what bad things you think about yourself, someone else always has a different perspective.
• Everyone has bad days, but tomorrow is a brand new start.
• Your weight and dress size mean squat.
• The unconditional love of a child is the best feeling in the world!

Today was my last day with these monkeys. I just hope I get the opportunity to see them again next year.

"I Will Remember You"~ Sarah McLachlan

I'm A Bit Off

I've had a blank post open for four days trying to find something to write about. Right now, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel just to get a post up. I've heard stories about how people stop taking their medications because they feel like the pills destroy who they are. I definitely understand now. My creativity and imagination have stalled and I don't even really want to write anymore. Well, I do, but I don't. Know what I mean? I'm most definitely not myself right now. Here is my best effort today...

Let the adventures begin!

So, I was finally able to get meds. I've been on them for about two weeks now, and I have no idea if they're working or not. Sounds weird, right? I mean, I've been on such a roller coaster for so long that I can't tell if I'm on my way down or if the medication is bringing me down to make things more even.

I'm still in that "body needs to adjust" phase so I'm constantly tired and just basically annoyed that I'm not really me at the moment. The really fun part is when I'm in the middle of something and I suddenly get so tired that I can't function. The recent rise in temperature (88f right now!) isn't helping matters any, either.

I was also lucky enough to get anxiety meds. Now, I've never been on anything for anxiety, so I don't really know much about them, but the one I got is apparently a controlled substance and I only get twenty pills per month. Each pill lasts only six hours. So basically, I have to hide ten solid days each month and can only be out for five or six hours the other days? I don't think so! If anyone knows of something I can take regularly instead of "as needed," please comment below.


"Reflection"~ Christina Aguilera

A Reckless Mistake

So...

I got some feedback from my last post (which is now deleted) saying that I shouldn't kill the blog. The only reason I was given was that these few people enjoyed reading it. Sorry, but that's not enough. I don't do this for the pure sake of entertainment; I do it in hopes that someone dealing with this may find solace in knowing that they are not alone. I also do it for myself as a catharsis. I pour my heart, soul, and mind into every post, so when it gets maybe thirty views, it confirms everything I've ever believed: I'm not important; I don't matter. So, I've made a decision that I won't share this on Facebook anymore. We all know how most Facebook users are-- you get bored, so you scroll through your feed and click on a link because, well, you have nothing better to do. I'm done being that link. I only want people to read what I have to say because they want to.

I may place too much weight on numbers, but my entire life, I've never felt important.

• I danced as a kid, and all I ever wanted was to do a duet. When I finally talked my teacher into it, we practiced three times and it ended.
• I was in the wind ensemble for six years. I was last chair most of the time, but after my sophomore year of high school, I worked really hard and made second chair- not just in the school, but in the district orchestra! At the end of the year, I was hoping to get the class award for "most improved junior." I got "on her way to success." Yeah... that took no time or thought at all.
• I will bend over backwards to help someone, but when I ask for help, I get half-baked offers that are quickly forgotten. I asked my sister to paint the Batman logo on a pair of shoes I had. That was in October; I still don't have them back. She asked me to pick something up from a place that was closing in forty-five minutes. I was getting my hair done and didn't think I'd make it. After I was finished, I drove like mad to get there only to find she was already there and hadn't told me.
• I visited St. George last summer for a Blue Angels airshow. I have a friend down there who has been like a second mother to me for years. I told her I was coming down several months in advance and gave reminders between. When I was there, she said she was too busy and had other plans. (For those who don't know, St. George is about three hundred miles south of Salt Lake City. Not exactly walking distance.)

 I've never been the girl people think about and it has made me wonder if I'm important to anyone. I have absolutely no self-worth because people have made it known that they don't think I'm worth the time or effort.

So now comes the experiment... how many people are going to make the effort to read what they have said they like when it's not conveniently linked on Facebook?

"Polaroid"~ Imagine Dragons

Hello

"Hi. My name is Charmaine."

An easy enough sentence. It's completely true, has no pretenses, and is the one thing that can't ever change. So why is it so difficult to get out?

I've always had a problem with social interaction, but lately, it's been getting worse. I tend to attribute my lack of social skills to my years as a bully's doormat. Between her and her cronies, I just expect everyone to use me, abuse me, or stab me in the back. In high school, I started to strike before they could, and I guess I just never let that go.

When I meet someone new, small talk is just not going to happen. I can't stand the whole, "What do you do? Where do you live? What are your hobbies?" I learned a long time ago that someone will only ask me about myself so they can use it against me, so now, when someone starts talking to me, I either freeze or, more often, say something so incredibly stupid (e.g. far from the original topic).

As you can imagine, this sets off alarms in the other person. She's weird. Is she slow? Is she trustworthy? The people who will talk to me for more than a couple of minutes are few and far between. When someone is patient with me, I don't know what to do. I can count the number of people who haven't made any assumptions about me in the last year using one hand. I recently started going to a new congregation ("ward" for Utahns), and every single finger I can hold up came from someone there.

Most people will never understand the feeling of pure terror someone with social phobia gets when around people. Going to the bank, ordering at a restaurant, even just a nod or smile to someone passing in the other direction makes me panic. My heart races, I can't breathe, my palms sweat, and I can't hardly stand because I'm shaking so badly.

So, since I can't seem to make a proper introduction in person, I'll do it here...

Hi. My name is Charmaine, but most people call me Rie.

I work part-time at the most amazing elementary school in the world as an aide for students who need a little extra help.

The only thing I'd ever give it up for is an opportunity to work as a crime scene photographer or clean-up. I was going to school for Criminal Psychology, but haven't been able to take classes for a few years.

Most of my hobbies revolve around music or criminology. I have played clarinet since I was twelve years old. Music is really everything to me. I own more music than most people know exists, but most of it is punk or indie. I also love to study serial killers and have quite a few true crime books in my library.

I have a hard time in social situations, and many times, I'll make an excuse to get out of going. I'll say things that sound weird or off the wall, but I promise, I know what's going on in my head. Someone has to, right? So please be patient with me, and I'll warm up.


"It's Time"~ Imagine Dragons

Smoke, But No Mirrors

This isn't going to be like anything I've ever done.

With the weather getting nice, I like to drive around with my window open. I like to stick my arm out and feel the breeze. I like how my hair moves. I like a lot of things, but every time I get around a smoker, I have to roll up my window.

They will argue that it is their right to smoke, which it is, but what about the right of those who don't smoke to breathe?

There are two things all smokers know, but choose to ignore: 1~ It is harmful to yourself, 2~ It is harmful to those around. If you knowingly hurt yourself any other way, you would be put on a suicide watch. If you knowingly tried to hurt someone else any other way, you'd be arrested. Why, then, do we allow smokers to roam free?

With the knowledge that they are harming everyone around, they should be arrested and charged with attempted murder (first degree murder for all those non-smokers who die of lung cancer), and if kids are around, child endangerment. It may sound harsh, but everyone around is inhaling the smoke, not just the person who made the decision to light up. If someone were to inject heroine into your system without your consent, do you think that person would get away with it? If a parent had a meth lab in the house, do you think they'd keep the kids? The only difference between smoke and illicit drugs is the rate at which they kill.

I recently lived (vicariously) the last days of a beautiful soul who passed away due to lung cancer, having never smoked a day in her life. She left her young family, her parents and siblings, and many friends behind. I don't know for fact if it was caused by second hand smoke, but think of all those who die because of someone else's choice.

Just as driving drunk or high, you made the decision... why should someone else suffer the consequences?

Speechless

I'm a little mixed about how I feel...

Yesterday, I talked about trying to find a good inpatient programme. Today, I follow that up with: I went to the emergency room last night. No, I didn't attempt anything, I was just desperate for meds and it was my last option.

I dragged my mom with me because I knew I would chicken out or overreact. When I first got there, I wanted to turn around and go home. I've been through this before and it's never pleasant. If you've ever been there, you know how demeaning it is. The nurses treat you like an inconvenience, the doctors know nothing about mental health, and the crisis worker just wants to do the admit because it's less work than actual patient care. Last night was... unexpected.

I get there, and the girl at the check-in wasn't condescending when she heard why I was there. She didn't necessarily go above and beyond to be kind, but to be honest, it was better this way- less demeaning. Then, the nurse who took me back to do all the vitals and whatnot was super nice and very understanding. She believed me when I said I had no active plan and didn't try to make me feel bad at all!

By this point, I figured that those were all the nice people in the place, and my hopes died, but it never ended. The techs, the nurse, the doctor, and the crisis counselor were possibly the best team I could have asked for! Every one of them treated me like a person! Never once was I described to someone else by my diagnosis, but simply by my room number. Better still, the crisis counselor actually listened to me! He realized that I didn't need to be admitted to inpatient, so instead of doing that, he found an alternative.

I'm still in a bit of shock. I've never been treated like an actual person in an ER before. Seriously, if you need anything in Utah, go to LDS Hospital. (No, they didn't pay me to say that...)


"Thank You"~ Dido

On The Hunt

"May the odds be ever in your favour."

I've spent the better part of today looking into inpatient treatment programmes, and let me tell you, it's hard. The one everyone around here knows is booked to capacity and no one else will even tell me if they have an open bed. They insist o a referral from an emergency room or your psychiatrist. Why is this a problem? Because A~ I don't technically have a psychiatrist until the 20th, and B~ If I go to the ER without a life-threatening injury, Medicaid can deny it and I get stuck with the full bill.

Why am I looking at inpatient programmes? Because I can't do it on my own anymore. I know I have an appointment in two weeks, but every thought I have ends with me hurting myself somehow. It gets rather creative, if I do say so myself. Put your mind at ease, though. I have no actual plan, I just keep hoping that a truck will veer into my lane.

I'm beyond terrified, though. I'd be out of my comfort zone, around loads of people, and I wouldn't have access to music. Each of those individually will make me nervous, but put them together and you've got a bomb with an incredibly short fuse. That's the reason I can't be "blue sheeted." I need to know that I can get out whenever I want. With a blue sheet, I'd be there for at least three days. That's three days away from my bed, my room, my pillow, and my music. Everything that calms me down.

There are places that do what is called a "partial hospitalisation programme," where you are there for six hours per day and get to go home at night, but as I looked into those more, they're all for ages twelve through seventeen.

Trying to find anything in Utah is difficult. I searched "adult inpatient psychiatric" and almost all of the results were for substance addiction recovery or adolescent psychiatric units. I get that Utah has a "rose coloured glasses" view on the world, but seriously? This state is severely lacking in mental health assistance. Small wonder we rank highest in suicides.

I wish I could make my own lyric videos with the correct lyrics... Not sure if these are right, so just listen.

"Through The Dark"~ One Direction

My Personal Inferno

Aaaaaaaaand I'm a turtle.

This social anxiety thing is incredibly inconvenient. I got a call for an interview which I was more or less expecting, but for a different position that is way more public than the one I applied for originally. Just the thought of the place makes me nauseous. It's a small area that can get super busy. There are a few positions within, but every single one involves talking to people. Not going to lie, it sounds like a wicked fun job, but maybe more for someone less social/claustrophobic.

I've been getting calls from numbers I don't have in my phone, and every one of them makes my heart race. It's like a pop quiz that you're not prepared for. My heart and brain are screaming, "THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!" It's the same thing when I have to call someone, and heaven forbid I have to leave a message. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

The thing is, I know I should like being around people because I don't always like being alone, but I don't. Makes me wonder if that's why I like cemeteries so much. Technically people, but no pressure to talk or make an impression. Plus the old ones are absolutely beautiful...

I almost forgot! This lovely lady features someone new every Friday, and yesterday was my day! Her blog is amazing and inspiring! I love reading it! This link will take you to the feature, but please, please, PLEASE read more! You'll thank me. I promise.

I got to play this in high school. Love these pieces!
"The Divine Comedy-- Inferno"~ Robert W. Smith

An Obligation

Don't mind me. I'm no one.

For a very long time now, I've been the obligatory friend. If I call and you can't think of a good excuse fast enough, you hang out with me. If you think I can help you in any way, you might call, but probably not. If I offer help, you jump at it, say "we need to hang," and I don't hear from you until you need help again.

Sure, I've got friends I can text, but they're mostly in other states. The closest one is about half an hour away by freeway.

The last time I got invited to something besides someone's Facebook lash/jamberry/whatever-you're-selling party was a friend's wedding. That was four years ago. Side note: exception- I had a friend visiting from another state who invited me to hang every weekend she was here.

A few weeks ago, I helped out an old friend who needed something I had plenty of. As was expected, I got a "thanks" and a "we should get together" and then silence. Every other person who helps someone at least gets a public thank you on Facebook. The only time I get tagged in something is when I hijack my mom's page and tag myself.

I constantly see people talking about going to concerts, lunch, or movies and not once has anyone asked if I want to go. Side note: I'm literally sitting here crying while writing this. It hurts, more than people realize, and when something hurts that much, you start avoiding it. I've folded so far into myself that just the thought of talking to someone gives me a panic attack. Have I really been ignored so long that I no longer know how to interact with people?

Just once, I'd like someone to genuinely invite me to do something without me hinting that they should. No obligation, no ulterior motives.

I was thinking about this last night and actually got to a point where I was looking for inpatient facilities because my thoughts scared me so much. I texted the one person I knew who knows exactly how I feel, and like an opening in the clouds, he responded. I didn't know what to say when he asked if there was anything he could do because not many people genuinely ask me that, but he listened to (well, read) my senseless rants.

 Most people have the mentality of, "I don't need to worry because someone else will," and that's how people like me wind up alone. It just takes one to say, "I got you."

Yes, this again. Maybe you'll listen to the words this time.

"What If"~ Five For Fighting

The Avoidance Queen Returns

Social Anxiety Disorder as defined by the DSM-5 (found @ socialanxietyinstitute.org)

A.  A persistent fear of one or more social or performance situations in which the person is exposed to unfamiliar people or to possible scrutiny by others. The individual fears that he or she will act in a way (or show anxiety symptoms) that will be embarrassing and humiliating.

B.  Exposure to the feared situation almost invariably provokes anxiety, which may take the form of a situationally bound or situationally pre-disposed Panic Attack.  

C.  The person recognizes that this fear is unreasonable or excessive.

D.  The feared situations are avoided or else are endured with intense anxiety and distress.

E.  The avoidance, anxious anticipation, or distress in the feared social or performance situation(s) interferes significantly with the person's normal routine, occupational (academic) functioning, or social activities or relationships, or there is marked distress about having the phobia.

F.  The fear, anxiety, or avoidance is persistent, typically lasting 6 or more months.

G. The fear or avoidance is not due to direct physiological effects of a substance (e.g., drugs, medications) or a general medical condition not better accounted for by another mental disorder...

Copyright 2013, The American Psychiatric Association

This is me. I'm always afraid of doing or saying something stupid, I avoid social interaction as much as possible, I know it's excessive, and I've been doing this for years. Best part, I can't even handle the thought of going to something social.

This is on my mind right now, because in less than an hour, I have to leave to go to a group interview. A one-on-one interview is bad enough (Am I dressed properly? Will I say the right things? Is there something in my teeth?), but "group"? I'm freaking out!

For anyone who has been to a group interview, you know that you're all given an opportunity to speak (at least the one's I've been to). I'm a quiet person at the best of times. I don't usually speak unless absolutely necessary, and the more people there are around, the harder it is for me to open my mouth!

Anyway, back on topic... I'm basically the queen of avoidance. I avoid driving past places that remind me of traumatic events, even years after the fact. That (insert demeaning expletive here) lived in my neighbourhood, but I still manage to avoid its house more often than not. I take the long way round just to avoid places in this city that set off the anxiety. Side note: There are quite a few places. I may have to move to a different state if many more happen.

I know, I know... I use this song quite a bit, but it's perfect for this topic!

"Xiat"~ Trevor Moran

So Many Thoughts

This is hard...

I've been asked to write my story to post in someone else's blog (major cool, by the way!), and it's bringing things up that I really wish would just stay where I've kept them, so very well hidden.

I've been incredibly off lately. I've said and done things that are so far from my norm that I'm actually questioning myself. I don't like myself right now. I mean, not that I'm ever my own best friend, but it's much worse lately. Because of this, I'll be deleting and/or editing some recent posts. Actually, it's because some people got their knickers in a twist.

Time to be completely open... Yes, it annoys me that, as a white American, I'm not allowed to voice my pride in my ancestry. Everyone should be allowed to be proud of themselves for who they are and where they come from. Being proud of being Dutch/Irish/French/pretty much anything without an actual skin tone, does not in any way qualify me as racist. If you think it does, then you need to reevaluate your definition. To be honest, if I was anything besides white, nothing I say would be considered racist. You know it's true, so suck it up and move on.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programme.

Not one single paragraph in this post corresponds with any other, so this would be a good time to say that it's been fun, but I can't concentrate any longer. Here's a song...

"Church Of The Poison Mind"~ Culture Club