Pet Peeves

We all have ‘em, so let’s taco bout ‘em... 🌮 

I’m typically one of those people who let things slide. Well... some things, anyhow. Like when the woman at 7-eleven called me “sweetheart” six times in our thirty-second transaction. People that say things like that, bug me to no end. “Hey, hon!”, or “Hello, sweetheart!” are like nails on a chalkboard, only worse. I’m not your child, or a child in general, so stop talking to me like you’d talk to a toddler. Exclusions apply when a friend greets me as “hon”. That, I don’t mind.

Then there’s people who eat so loudly, that eve I can hear it. The sucking and smacking... no. Even the sucking noises when someone’s making out. Ew. If it’s on TV, I mute it. It’s gross.

Grammar is something that needs to be a pet peeve of more people. There is exactly zero excuse to be typing things like, “Your welcome”, “I'll call there office”, or “We should of went their” (a 3X for you). We all graduated sixth grade, most of us graduated high school. The worst are people who are high up in their company, and still can’t figure out the most basic grammar and spelling. While we’re at it, let’s stamp out “finna”. It’s not a word, and the spelling doesn’t make a lick of sense for the current definition.

Oh! And let’s not forget the “love you” at the end of every sentence texted, messaged, or posted to me. No. You are not family, you are not one of the three people I consider my closest friends, and I’m most certainly not in a romantic relationship with you. Even at that, those three closest friends don’t say it. To me, when someone says “love you”, it means one of two things: they have no idea what the word “love” actually means, so they throw it around at everything, or they’re trying to get attention. It will, in fact, ensure that I ignore whatever it is, and possibly get you blocked. 

I get that people are all different, and have different ways of talking, but some of these are beyond inappropriate. If you aren’t best friends, don’t call that person “sweetheart”, and don’t keep saying  “I love you”. And if you insist on being a loud, obnoxious eater, eat alone. Also, if you simply don’t care about appearing as an educated, functioning adult, be prepared for the educated population to correct your comments and posts online. 

These things are not just irritating to me. I’ve heard so many people complain about the exact same things.

If you are one of the people who do these things, stop and think about how it affects others. You may think that everyone thinks you’re just a super nice person when you greet them with a “Hello, sweetheart!”, but I can guarantee that at least fifty percent of those people don’t like it. Same as telling everyone that you love them. It makes people uncomfortable.

And this concludes my rant on pet peeves. This round, anyhow.

My father

Yes, I always capitalize my post titles. Yes, this one is an intentional statement.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder 101:

Since this whole COVID mess started, and mom started working at home, this useless invalid has become even worse. It’s done exactly nothing to help out around the house this week. Unless you count bringing in the garbage cans after basically being needled and nagged into it. It never runs errands, and so rarely leaves the house that I’m sure it has trouble knowing what season it is.

Today: Mom has been super tired all day long, literally falling asleep, upright, at times. Well, the dishes were piled up past the point of needing just one load. The jackass is literally watching while mom fills the dishwasher. No offers to help, no “I’ll get this later”. Nothing that a considerate human, living in a house with other people, would do. Why don’t I do it? I vowed to never load the dishwasher in this house again, because the narcissist always pitches a fit on how I do it, and I refuse to put myself in a situation where it can make me feel that way. I won’t give it that satisfaction.

Now, we all know it’s a hypocritical POS, but there’s one thing that’s just beyond juvenile. We have a massive kitchen table. It can seat six, and there are two and a half of us living here. Yes, half of it is usually covered in mine and mom’s crap, but it’s in nobody’s way. Jackass takes this to mean that it can keep all sorts of crap in its spot, too. These things include, but are not limited to: a hospital mug full of water that it rarely drinks from, two Costco-sized muffins that it says it’ll “nibble at”, a box of candy that it insists on calling “mint sandwiches”, a box of nuts, and my favorite, six used toothpicks that are kept together in a lid from something or another. There are also frequent appearances by used napkins that a three-year-old wouldn’t touch.

This cluster mess is on top of the roughly ten-year-old flooring that’s been sitting in the dining room (in the living room since February 26), and the four or five giant bottles of outdoor poison it occasionally uses in the yard, two big boxes of food storage containers that we’ve had for around three years, and newspapers from a week ago— all of which is sitting in the dining room, next to the basement door, which is also behind its chair, making it impossible to walk through. Oh! And let’s not forget the top of the fridge! It has its own reserve of dishes (two bowls, two to three plates, and countless pieces of silverware), as well as who-knows-what.

But it’s mine and mom’s stuff that’s a problem. Leave something on the counter? You can expect a “Where do you want this?” or “What do you want done with this?” within ten seconds of putting it there. I won’t even get into the basement in this post...

So, all afternoon, I’ve been saying things like, “Mom, you’ve done everything. Come sit.” or “Why do you have to do everything lately?” All, of course, while it can easily hear. And, of course, it gets offended and acts like the victim. And people wonder why I call this sad excuse for a human an “it”. When it grows up, starts acting like it has a family, and is considerate of others in the house, maybe it can graduate to a “that”. That’ll never happen, of course, but for my mom’s sake, I’ll cross a toe or two. I have, however, lost all hope of it respecting anyone it doesn’t have a major man-crush on. “Respect” isn’t a word in the NPD dictionary. Nor are “responsibility” or “love”.

In other news: If you’re in Salt Lake County, and you know of a good job hiring part-time, I beg you, let me know! It’s a daily battle to not punch it in the face.

Small Victories

Something that appears to be nothing, can, in fact, be something big.

Ok, back story: I grew up completely terrified of dogs. Yes, now, I’m dying to have a fluff butt of my very own, but it wasn’t always a love affair. 

My mom just loves to tell me a story (repeatedly...) about one time we were out, and this tiny white fur ball was on the other side of the road. I was freaking out, screaming, and the more freaked I got, the more excited the fluffer got. Yeah... my fear was that bad. 

The only reason any of us can think of as to why I was so afraid of them is that, when I was a baby, my crackerjack babysitter left me in a room, alone, with her two big dogs. This woman wouldn’t feed me, or even bother to pick me up. Then she complained to my mom that I never stopped crying. Funny how that works...

Anyway... I’ve been ok around most dogs for many years, now. The more active or agressieve ones still get me nervous, but generally, I’m ok.

Now for today: I was out on my walk when my neighbor’s dog starts charging me. Straight-on charging. Barking like mad, too. I always take my pepper spray with me as a precaution for any situation that may arise, so when I saw the dog, that was my first thought. Kristen (my neighbor who is also a fabulous human) was walking toward me, after doggo. Not running and yelling... walking. I took that to mean her pup wasn’t dangerous. So, despite my lizard brain (it’s a thing, look it up) screaming to use my pepper, I put my other hand out in as non-threatening way as I could think— back of my hand out for fluff butt to sniff. He was still barking, but I went ahead and gave him a little scritch behind the ear, and like magic, he was nothing more than a derp enjoying the attention.

It’s taken decades to get to this point, but the fact remains: I did it. So, no matter how long it takes to overcome something (something that actually can be overcome, that is), if you work at it, you’ll get there. Phobias, traumas, even physical things like strength or weight loss... it’s not impossible. It’s never going to be 100% gone. Things like that leave permanent imprints on us. Just don’t let it define you, and don’t let it run your life.

I know this is so much easier said than done, but I challenge you to look at your life one year ago. Are you in the same place? I mean the exact same place. Those battling severe agoraphobia... can you open the front door? That’s a step. Those battling trauma... have your panic attacks decreased by just one each day? That’s a step. The list goes on, as do the steps. Like I said, I’m 33 years old, and I’m still nervous around many dogs, but I’m functioning at a level I never thought I could.

Your journey is your own. Do you, your way. Healing isn’t a race. 

Revolving Door

Make up your mind!

So, all my life, I’ve managed to find a ton of people who use my life like a revolving door. They come into my life, create unnecessary drama, then leave. But it doesn’t end there, no... They come back in when the timing seems convenient for them. The most common reasons are: 

1- Their relationship is going down the crapper

2- They need someone who understands them and will listen to their nonstop complaining

The reasons they walk out of my life are always somehow my fault. So... if I’m so horrible that you no longer want to be friends, why do you keep coming back? 

This started with a “friend” in elementary who, to this day, holds the world’s most childish grudge. More than twenty years she’s refused to talk to me because of something that happened in elementary school. Ok, she’s the exception to the “revolving door” type, but still.

There’s a couple from Jr High and high school who just pop in and out as they like. But things are about to change. 

Fair warning: Should you choose to leave my life, even those who hold a place on FB but never bother to talk to me, you’re out for good. I’m too old to care about how many FB friends I have. You don’t want to even say “hello” once or twice a year? Bye!

There will, inevitably, be those who call me juvenile for doing this. Guess what... I don’t care what you think. My life isn’t your convenience store. I’m not a sounding board that you can just use when you need. I don’t do that to you, and I’m not going to continue to allow you to do it to me.

I’m not angry with you. People grow apart, it happens. But you won’t be allowed back. Not without some serious convincing, that is.

So, if you haven’t messaged me, or shown some form of interest in our friendship in the last year, you gotta go. I’m done with one-sided friendships.

You’ve obviously built yourself a new life, and that’s great. Live it, well! Just don’t expect me to kiss the carpet if you come walking by.

Defeated

Queue quippy opening line...

Today is just... yeah. This morning, I had my follow up with the doctor about my sudden hearing loss. An hour and a half in the office, two hearing tests, no change. I get to do an MRI, and see a specialist. Oh, and let’s not forget about the blood test my doctor insists on because he won’t take my word that I don’t now, nor have I ever had, syphilis. Yes, syphilis. He wouldn’t let it go, so I had to give in.

After that super fun experience, I hopped on DoorDash to pick up some deliveries. All I have to say is: Emily, I hate you. If you can’t afford to leave your drivers an appropriate tip... DON’T ORDER IN! Especially when these people typically go above and beyond to ensure your order is correct and on time.

I wound up losing more money than I made. Again, Emily, I hate you.

This feeling of irritating defeat just gets to me. It’s draining, so exercise isn’t a thing, today. That makes me feel even worse, because I’m a freaking whale. Yes, I’ve lost about twenty pounds, now, but every day I don’t work on it, makes me feel useless and hopeless. I’m also hyper-aware of the fat engulfing me, so I’m extra uncomfortable.

Worst part about all this is the straight up hunger created by this feeling. I’m not out for munchies... I’m actually hungry. All day long. Thus creating the circle of self-hatred.

All in all, today has sucked. If I could burn calories by ranting about people who suck, I’d be a solid hundred pounds down in a week. 

Be kind to those serving you. They’re trying to earn a living, just like you. If you’re too selfish and/or poor to properly pay those you have hired to do a job for you, DON’T ORDER IN!

Heavy, Man

It’s been a day...

All day long, I’ve felt... heavy. Everything was slow, today. My movements, my speech, everything. I did manage to do some heavy cleaning in the house, so that brought me up, if only for a little while.

For those in the know, I’m on yet another dose of prednisone to try and bring back some kind of hearing in my right ear. Prednisone is a steroid. Steroids cause mood fluctuations. I also had to take what typically equates to poison for me. The dreaded decongestant. Both of these meds tend to have an upper effect, which leaves me wondering why I’m feeling so... blah.

I went out to do some deliveries this evening (Jeff, my hero for the day!), but had to stop after just an hour and a half. My energy was just drained. 

All day, even something as small as a smile has been a struggle. I’m not depressed... I just don’t have the energy to do anything. My mood is just fine, so, again... why am I feeling this way? 

Short post. Thanks for reading.

Americans

Happy 4th of July!!!

This is something that has been irritating me for months, now.

Americans have the unique right to freedom. However, some are taking it to mean that, their rights matter, but nobody else’s do.

Today, at the grocery store, massive (insert profanity of choice) was going the wrong way down a one-way aisle. When I pointed it out (because, me), he says, “America”.

Yes, we are free. No, that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. Laws and rules keep us free. Plus, how selfish can you get? Are you really so important that these laws and rules don’t apply to you? What about traffic lights? Laws say that you must stop when the light is red. But, if we’re free, don’t you have the right to just keep going? Laws say you can’t murder someone, but I mean, if they’ve really done you wrong, shouldn’t you have the right to do so?

These sound stupid? They should. Laws and rules protect us, they don’t inhibit us as a whole. If you care about nothing other than your rights, please feel free to go to those autonomous zones to see what lawlessness really is.

Oh! Not to mention... Are you aware that, in America, private businesses have the right to tell you what to do while in their business? Those “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service” signs aren’t just catchy, they have a meaning. If you don’t abide by the rules of a business, they have the right to deny you service, and even remove you from their premises. 

America will cease to be America if (insert plural profanity of choice) continue to care about nothing but themselves. We are either united or we fall. That’s all there is to it.

Sorry?

There goes, well, everything.

As some may remember, I lost some hearing in both my ears, back at the end of 2018. It’s gone down a little since then, too. Welp, last week, my right ear went completely deaf for roughly half an hour. Not much has come back.

I went to my ENT this morning, and did a hearing test. The doctor came back in, looking rather concerned. He asked about things like, if I have an autoimmune disease, family history of some disease I’d never heard of, and other things like that. The answers were all “no”. The test showed a greater than 70% loss in that ear.

So, he says that Sudden Sensorineural Hearing Loss (SSHL) can sometimes be treated with steroids. “Sometimes” being the key word. So, I’ll be on that for a week, then go back to see if it’s worked. If not, there’s a possibility of steroid injections in my ear. Yeah... not going there. If this round of steroids doesn’t work, I’m just going to have to accept it.

Side note: I’m going to be on a high dose of said steroids. As most of us know, steroids wreak havoc on our moods. So, I get to message my med manager and ask for something to keep me steady. Awesome.

At this point, I don’t know how much longer I’ll have any hearing. The local deaf center has ASL classes, but they fill up with people who just want to learn it, and those of us who actually need to learn it are just out of luck. And I’ve found that the deaf community doesn’t welcome those of us who didn’t grow up deaf, or with a deaf family member. They get impatient, and call us “hearing-minded”. Well, yeah, I’m hearing-minded. I had supersonic hearing until I was 31 years old. Should I say you’re deaf-minded, and exclude you from hearing places and activities? 

I did not choose deafness. It’s not like I’m trying to fit in where I don’t belong. Hearing people are much more accepting of the deaf, than the deaf are of late-deafened. Side note: This is my own observation of my experiences in my area. This may not be the case everywhere. 

If you’re wondering what my world sounds like, put a small piece of tissue in your left ear, followed by an earbud, and completely block off your right ear.

Prayers and good vibes currently being accepted. Here’s to the steroids working 🍻 

Toes In

Testing the waters...

I’ve been completely off social media for a few weeks now, and I gotta say, I’m much happier, and have a truckload less stress. Granted, I’m not connected to a lot of friends this way, which makes me sad. The lack of politics and race tensions (don’t get me started...) has helped my overall mood and quality of life.

I obviously didn’t follow my zero-social-media oath, as I have posted a few blogs. I have not, however, shared them to any platform. That counts, right?

So, I’ve decided to not download FB on my phone. Because my other blog... 

(The Rieview)

... is basically my job, I will be using IG and Twitter for that, and maybe checking my personal IG, as well. I hate Twitter, but I guess I have to use it to promote The Rieview...

Cherished friends and family can reach me via FB messenger, or messaging my IG (@the_rieview or @riedefine). If you’ve got my number, that’s the best way.

Gee, Thanks

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Thanks to growing up under the thumb of a toxic father, I’ve finally decided that moving out is my number one priority. I looked into renting in quite a few places, but I randomly looked up less expensive condos and whatnot. Yeah, it’s significantly less to buy than it would be to rent. I got connected to a mortgage lender and buyer’s agent, and have been working with both.

Now, every time I’ve tried something, even if it was just an idea (like that history video thing that never went anywhere), I’ve had 100% support from everyone. I got 100% support when I decided to go back to school, get a job, even when I stopped talking the the narcissist. Every single person I’ve told about moving out has been less than supportive. They’re treating me like that special ed kid who doesn’t understand the real world. Believe it or not, I do understand that living alone, whether renting or buying, costs money. I’m not just going to save up a grand, move into a place I can’t afford, then leave a month later. I understand the concept of HOAs and taxes. I also understand that this is a big decision. So people, I beg you, stop treating me like my IQ is 12.

Seriously, if you can’t at the very least show the pros along with the cons, don’t say anything at all. There are rare instances where every outcome is negative. This is not one of them. However, staying in this house with he-who-can-do-no-wrong will end up one of two ways: a bullet in my head, or me in prison for putting one in his.

I’m not asking you to blindly support me. I need to know the things you’ve run into when buying your home. But I need the bad and the good. 

Things to keep in mind:

- I wouldn’t consider a place unless I can afford it (that really shouldn’t have to be said)

- I’m dying in this house. Whether some people (mom) want to believe it or not, narcissistic abuse is abuse.

- I do, in fact, understand what I’m getting myself into.

- You’re not going to stop me from saving myself.

Enough Is Enough

Try all you like. It won’t change anything.

So, since my mom’s surgery, I’ve given the narcissist another chance. He didn’t change in the slightest, despite saying, yet again, that he’d “work on it”. Tonight, it ended. This time, for good.

He comes in, yelling at me, because I acted on a threat I’d made more than a week ago. I gave him more than enough time to simply take the mess he’d made in the living room, and put it in the back of his truck. It wasn’t done, so I put it on the porch. He knew there’d be consequences if he didn’t clean it up. I made that perfectly clear. Even someone as stupid as he is, could understand “Friday night, or it’s out of here”. It wasn’t done by Friday.

He’s always taken great pleasure in picking on me for every tiny thing. Apparently, his father did that to him, and he just kept the tradition going. But today, I made the decision that I will not allow him to make me feel that way, ever again.

He finally got his big boy pants on, and, for the first time in my life, apologized. I use that word loosely, as it wasn’t so much an apology as it was an attempt at a guilt trip. I told him that we were done, that he wasn’t to speak to me unless it was an emergency. My favorite part was when he used this: “... have faith in scripture ‘forgive seven times seventy’...” My response? I told him flat out that I have no faith in him, because he always says he’s going to do better, and he always comes back to fighting, yelling, and making me feel like crap. So, no, we have no relationship. Never have, never will.

I have no dad. Never have. Mom keeps saying, “He’s dome some good things.” Yeah... if you use “some” instead of “a lot”, you’re grasping at straws, and those good things are obviously the exception to the rule. She should have left him. Would have made her life a crap load better.

I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m looking into moving out pretty soon. Here’s praying it works. If I’m not out of here soon, he’s gonna wind up with a fist to the face.

I honestly have zero idea why I ever gave him yet another chance. I knew it would end like this. It always has. My mistake. Won’t happen again.

Something New (Kind Of)

Just something I’ve been thinking about...

When I was tiny, I was the tantrum kid. Some called me a brat, others called me spoiled. I was always described as a light switch. Nobody knew why. Until now, that is.

I was born with Bipolar Disorder. That’s rare. Most people who wind up with it, do so in their mid-20’s. Some sort of psychotic break. I didn’t have that luxury. I didn’t get a normal childhood. I’ve never known anything else.

See, those tantrums had an actual cause. I was having feelings and emotions when I was even three years old, that most adults never have to experience. 

Spankings were fairly common for me. You can blame my parents all you want, but fact remains is that they simply didn’t know what was going on, and spanking was the way with their generation. You can’t go back in time and change that. But it did, in fact, cause other problems for me.

I was diagnosed with OCPD, just this week. What’s OCPD? It stands for Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. It’s not OCD in the sense that I have to flip a light switch six times when I get nervous, or repeatedly clean the same thing. From the very little I understand about it, it’s more about control. Control of myself, as well as needing to control everything and everyone around me.

One big thing is the need to follow rules. When I didn’t follow the rules, I was punished in what I experienced as excessive. “Excessive” is different in everyone’s unique experiences. Now, if someone doesn’t follow the rules, it irritates me to the point of anger. Driving too fast? You’re a jerk. Driving too slow? Get off the road, moron. Get “your” and “you’re” mixed? There’s no hope for you. Just stay off the internet.

Some things that those close to me may have noticed that indicate OCPD:

- Stiff, formal, or rigid mannerisms

- The overwhelming need to be punctual

- Extreme attention to detail

- Inability to share work out of fear it won’t be done correctly

- Fixation with lists

- Complete adherence to rules and regulations

- Overwhelming need for order

- A sense of righteousness about how things should be done

- Rigid adherence to moral and ethical codes

I was talking to a friend about this, and how it makes sense, no matter how much I didn’t want it to. But, now that I know, I can work on fighting it.  

Again, I understand very little. I mean, I only found out about this last Monday. What I read from one place stated that this is usually trauma-induced. Which definitely makes sense. And looking back, it seems to have been getting worse since my father retired, which increased both his narcissistic and hoarding traits. 

I’ve got a two-year plan to move out. I’ve been looking around at cities I could afford, and I’ve found some good small towns. I much prefer small towns, so here’s hoping I can do this!

No. Just... No.

I’m so over this...

Long story short, I have a birth control implant in my arm for the simple reason of keeping my moods from going haywire every month. It’s supposed to last three years. Yeah... I’ve had it just over a year, and it’s dead.

My mood stability has been debatable, at best, for a few days. Now I know why. Add pain so bad that I can barely breathe, and today is just awesome...

My last doctor said she wouldn’t do a hysterectomy until I was 35. She moved. Today, I called for an appointment with whoever replaced her, but nooo... They didn’t replace her, so they have two doctors for hundreds of patients. My appointment is now very near eight months away! I can’t do this for eight more months! 

I got a call from the nurse, who was actually sympathetic toward my reason for wanting the hysterectomy. She said she’d send a message to the doctor I’m supposed to see, and ask what her position on the matter was.

And now, we wait.

Oh, as if the cramps weren’t bad enough, I have a migraine! Those, too, have been controlled up til now. 

Dear body,

Stop.

Last Time

This is the last time I’m going to say this, so pay attention.

You don’t look at me when I sign, yet you continually complain that you don’t know what I’m saying. Funny how those two things go hand in hand.

You roll your eyes and straight up ignore me when I voice a complaint, yet you get upset if I’m not 110% attentive when you complain up and down, all evening long, about your job.

You say “Been there, done that”, or “You’ll survive” whenever I say something is wrong with me, but your broken fingernail needs my immediate attention and sympathy. 

I give and give and give. All I ask for in return is some sense that you actually care that I exist. It’s actually rather rare that I feel worthwhile around you. 

Fix this, before it’s too late.

Ik Slaap Te Veel

My life will never be normal.

Ok, so I started back at my usual, full dose of Seroquel a few days ago. Yesterday was the best I’ve been in weeks. It was absolutely amazing. Then there was last night...

I got a fabulous new reading chair for by bedroom, and apparently it’s a little too comfortable. I read for over an hour. Still didn’t get to bed late. I’d call 10:30 pretty average. But then I wasn’t able to get out of bed until 10:00 this morning.

It wasn’t the reading that did it. It’s the Seroquel. I’ve been up for an hour now, and I’m still so tired that I can barely function. 

The most annoying part is that, I have a routine. I go out for a walk around 9:15, then do aerobics around 10:30. Thanks to living in a desert, by the time I’m up and running today, it’ll be well over 80 degrees outside. Not ideal for exercise.

Med adjustments are never fun. You’ve got to figure out how to function all over again. Yay...

Dw i wedi blino. Trwy’r dydd.

Mine, Not Yours

Tonight, I’m done arguing.

Recently, I’ve had way too many people telling me what to do, and how to live my life. Everything from friends, to family, to absolute strangers. I’m just done.

What makes you think you have the right to tell me how to be? How to act? What I’m allowed to do? You haven’t lived one single day in my life. You just see snippets. Especially now that everything is online, you don’t see anything more than I intentionally give you. And you think you can make judgements about my entire life based on those glimpses? Who died and made you God?

You don’t know my childhood, you don’t know everything I’ve been through— emotionally, physically, or mentally. You see a post on Facebook about my father, and assume I’m being too hard on him, or something I’ve said about my emotional state, and tell me how to treat the defect in my brain. You. Don’t. Know.

Have you been in my brain? Have you lived 33 years in my house with my family? Have you even bothered to talk to me in the last fifteen years? No. You haven’t.

If you feel like you have a suggestion, that’s great, but don’t you DARE lecture me on things you know exactly zero about! 

How would you like it if I pointed out that your hippie, pot-filled lifestyle was ruining your chances of a good life? Or that vegans don’t live as long, or as healthy, because actual animal meat is an essential part of the human diet? Or how about that you’re just plain wrong for being who you are?

I didn’t ask for your ignorant “advice”. You are not all-knowing. You are not my spiritual leader. Dudes, you’re not even my friends! 

If you can’t butt out of other people’s lives, there’s seriously something wrong with you. Go away. Nobody, and I mean nobody wants to be told what to do with their own lives, unless the person saying it is a licensed professional.

Buh-bye.

I will be cutting these toxic people from my life. I will also be off Facebook for a while. I will obviously still post my blogs, but that’s it. I won’t see likes or comments, so I frankly don’t care if you’ve got em.

Pure Ignorance

There is exactly ZERO excuse for this level of ignorance.

Today, I posted a video explaining some stuff about Tardive Dyskinesia. Most people are chill. One person, whom I will not name, posted this comment: 

*** This person’s comment has since been removed to protect his/her identity, should anyone who follows my Instagram stumble upon it.***

I wasn’t aware that this person knew me, the ins and outs of my unique disorder, and my history. I mean, to give such advice, they must, right?

Let me rip this apart...

“Try not to take too many medications because the side effects really harm the body.” I’m aware, as was stated in the video. 

“Also, medications don’t really cure the disorder, but helps you cope with it.”  Ya think?! If there was a cure for mental illnesses of any kind, do you think we’d choose to be on daily medications all our lives?!

“But only you can dig and go to the core of the problem that triggered it and start healing fully.” Ok, commenter, MD, tell me what causes Bipolar Disorder. Oh... you’re not a doctor. Could have fooled me by your authoritative “knowledge”. Bipolar Disorder is caused by an actual defect in the brain. How am I supposed to simply dig into myself and heal it? 

“Try it sometimes.” How’s about you try something? Try not speaking about things you know exactly nothing about? Try that sometimes.

Comments like this are entirely inappropriate. You don’t know me. You aren’t familiar with me and my disorder. You don’t know what actually works for me. Same goes for me. If something is working for you, I can’t second-guess it. It’s not my place.

A friend of mine came back with this after I ranted to her about all this:

Think before you type.

Make It Stop

I’m so beyond over this.

Story:

Since my mom had surgery, she’s not allowed to bend over, making it my job to carry in groceries. The jackass narcissist is always asked to help. He never does. Today, I let him have it.

He actually made it out to the driveway, this time, but instead of helping me carry in some heavy stuff, he decides to stare at a new scratch on my car. I’d had it. I went off with “Why are you even out here? You’re not helping!” And, oh, the response. This was pathetic, even for him. He says, and I quote, “I am helping. I’m looking at this scratch.”

Are you FREAKING kidding me?!?! How the hell is looking at a scratch even come close to helping carry things in?!?!

That was it. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. I exploded, pointing out that he never helps. That is, unless it benefits him. Of course, he was denying it all, because a narcissist never does anything wrong.

Enter: my mother.

She’s more than happy to rant to me about things he does, and I’m expected to listen and be sympathetic. If I tell her things the jackass does, she ignores me, and defends him. Yes, silence is a defense of his behavior.

So, I’ve had it. I’m just waiting, hoping he’ll die soon. Preferably painfully, so he can understand the pain he has inflicted.

This Is Fun...

That backfired spectacularly...

In my last post, I talked about how my Seroquel dose had been lowered from 400mg to 300mg. Things have been going all right, mood wise. But then the fallout...

Monday night, I got about five or six hours of sleep. This, naturally, resulted in my inability to function like a walking, talking human. But it gets better... I have been awake since 6:00am Tuesday, was too tired to do schoolwork all day, and now I can’t get myself to sleep. 

I finished the book I’d been reading, laid in bed for 30 minutes, gave up that pipe dream, and got up. I decided to try schoolwork, thinking I’d get through about a quarter of a section. Yeah... I finished the section and the section test. And I passed! That was surprising, to be honest.

Right now, it’s 1:00am, Wednesday. I feel tired, but not. Maybe I’ll try bed again.

Experiment

Here goes the neighborhood...

About a week and a half ago, my Seroquel dose was lowered. I’m down from 400, which is the max dose, to 300. My neurologist wasn’t exactly pleased at the high dose, and when I asked my med manager about lowering it, she was all for it.

Things in the mood department have been going pretty well for quite a while, now. I was afraid of lowering the dose for that reason. I’ve been pleasantly surprised.

My dose was lowered right before my classes started. I thought all hell would break loose. I mean, I’m taking two classes that both have pretty high demands on my time and mind. I’m taking a writing class, which should be pretty easy for me, but it’s persuasive-writing. I literally have zero persuasive abilities. I’m to write a persuasive paper on a topic relating to my major. I’m majoring in European history, so I chose monarchies— England’s monarchy, specifically. Sounded like a good idea, but then I delved into it a bit more. My best argument pro-monarchy is feeble, at best, but my argument against is much more substantial. Yeah... I’m supposed to be pro-monarchy. But then, I’m American. Our country was founded on anti-monarchist beliefs. Washington refused when he was asked to be king.

Back on topic...

I’m also taking math. I hate math. I suck at math. However, after four tests, I’m 94% strong! Maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

My point was that, with school starting, being mostly stuck inside, and what’s going on with my mom (🎶mysterious music 🎶), I thought for sure I’d have to go back up to the higher dose. But things are actually getting better on the lower one.

Here’s to that continuing 👍🏻 

Retroactive Mourning

And the hits just keep on coming...

So, my mom is in the hospital for a few days, and thanks to COVID, I can’t go visit her. This leaves me home alone with my father. I’ve had to talk to him, but to be honest, it’s actually gone well. We even had a pleasant conversation at dinner tonight.

With mom in this situation, my nerves are shot. But I was dealt a blow today that put me completely out of commission for a few hours. I pulled myself together, put my mind into schoolwork (school started today, which adds to my stress, too), and though I couldn’t put it out of my mind completely, I was functioning. To some degree, anyhow.

For a couple years now, every time I typed “know” into a Facebook post, an old, dear friend of mine would pop up as an option to tag. I haven’t heard from her in years, so I thought I’d check out her profile. Somehow, we weren’t Facebook friends, which was weird. So I asked a mutual friend to see if this friend was online still, and check in to see how she’s doing. My friend came back with a punch right to my stomach. This friend had passed away more than a year ago.

I sat down, my legs buckling, and I cried. Even now, I’m crying just thinking about it. I got nauseated, and I couldn’t breathe. 

This friend and I had a very strange beginning. We were in 8th grade, the only year we were in the same school. I kept hearing things about how she was going to beat me up. Mind you, she was twice my size. 

Well, our parents were called in for a meeting with us to discuss the trouble. Turns out, she‘d been hearing all about these things I was supposedly saying behind her back. The common denominator? Her brother. He was making things up to get us to fight.

Right after the meeting, this girl who I was straight up afraid of, wrapped her arms around me, and called me her friend. And it never changed. She was instantly the kindest, most welcoming person. 

I moved schools not long into the next year, so I wouldn’t see her again until 9th grade Lagoon day. *Lagoon is our local amusement park* We took a picture together, that day. It would be the only one I’d get.

This absolutely beautiful woman had four children of her own, and several step-children when she passed. She was 32-years-old. Barely.

Kristina, though you are gone, your smile will forever brighten my days. I miss you.

Eww

There are so many illnesses and disorders. There’s no way to keep them all straight.

So, quite a while ago, I had Dr Oz on as background noise, when I heard two words: skin picking.

My first thought was, “Umm... ew.” He brought to the stage a woman who had her arms and legs fully covered. He asked if she would be comfortable showing her skin so we could see what this skin picking looks like. When she showed the camera, my thought changed to, “Oh. That’s what my arms look like.”

I’ve been picking at my arms, on and off, for years. They look absolutely awful. Open sores covered in bandages, scars at various levels of red, and the self-conscious thoughts that everyone is staring.

I did my research, and found out that this particular mental illness is associated with OCD, but no known actual cause for it. And it affects women more than men. 

Naturally, I didn’t want to add this to my already long list of diagnoses. Who would? But I couldn’t deny it anymore. I decided I was tired of looking like a leper, and even more tired of the pain. So, I tried to think of something I could do. Then it hit me: Sleeves.

Keep in mind, that I have never liked long sleeves. Even in the dead middle of winter, my sleeves are pushed up to my elbows. I just hate them. So, I thought, what about something tight? Something that I couldn’t push out of the way? So I found some light compression sleeves.

I have had these on for just four days, but holy cannoli! The redness is way down, and the open spots are actually healing! 

No, this is neither a cure, nor medical advice. But it’s a start. For me, at least. If you’re one of the not-so-blessed, I’d really suggest you try the simple, quick fix until you can get the help you need.

Read more here:

The Battle Continues

I just received this message from Cigna:

Hello Rie,

The pharmacy team has responded and states the following:

After further review of the coverage details for each medication listed, the Quetiapine 400 is the only medication with a Prior Authorization Approved, effective 1-1-20 until 1-30-21. 

All other medications, will require Prior Authorization approval. The Health Care Professional should contact the Express Scripts Coverage Review Department at 1-877-813-5595. 

I would be happy to help facilitate the authorizations if you provide me the name and phone number of the prescribing doctor(s).

This was my response:

I’m aware that they require prior authorization. The problem is that the doctor who prescribed my LIFE-SAVING inhaler, is no longer in practice, and therefore cannot request the PA. This has been explained REPEATEDLY to Cigna employees who are, as I said before, not interested in actually helping people, but simply following marching orders. If I cannot refill the Symbicort, I will have a massive asthma attack and wind up in hospital. But no... Cigna doesn’t care about that. They just care that an extremely common medication isn’t on their extremely small formulary. During this time, especially, asthma medications are paramount to keeping asthmatics healthy. What do you think will happen if I, am asthmatic, is exposed to COVID-19? There is a high possibility that I can wind up in the ICU with machines breathing for me. But again, Cigna doesn’t care about that. They just care about making people jump through as many hoops as possible. As I have said REPEATEDLY, I do have an appointment with a new doctor, but not until May 15. I made this appointment more than 3 months ago, and this was her first opening. I have exactly one week left of my LIFE-SAVING inhaler. Cigna, as a customer-based company, needs to refill it. If the new doctor wishes me to continue with Symbicort, she will request your precious prior authorization at that time. I think Cigna can afford to cover this ONE medication, this ONE time, don’t you? I will await the call from the pharmacy, telling me I have a prescription. This message will come before the weekend. I really don’t want to involve the insurance commissioner, so get on this ASAP.

Thank you

I’m in for the fight with these unhelpful automatons.

Repeating History

I’d welcome you back, but I’d really like to sleep.

Before I was properly medicated, I’d go days, sometimes weeks, without much sleep. Sometimes I’d get none at all during that time. It’s been quite some time, now, that I’ve been sleeping. How normal my schedule has been is up for debate; sometimes sleeping too much, odd hours, or surviving on just seven hours with meds that knock me out for nine or ten.

It really started last Sunday night. I woke up early Monday morning, after what my Fitbit says was seven and a half hours of sleep, and wasn’t tired at all during the day. 

Fast forward to now... 

It’s well past midnight, here, and I’m not tired. I laid in bed for round about an hour before giving up and getting up.

“You can get so much done!” Right. With two sleeping people just down the hall. That’s not going to happen.

I did do something, though. I’ll only mention it, not spending anything more than this link: 

Mystery link (this is not for this blog, but for my other blog)

So, here I am. Middle of the night, not tired, with nothing to do.

Believe it or not, just because those going through a manic episode don’t require much sleep, doesn’t make it healthy. Your body and brain need that time to reset. If you’ve been through a major manic episode, going ten or more days with little sleep, you know what happens. That’s right, folks... Hallucinations! That goes for anyone who keeps themselves awake that long, actually.

I’m tapped out of things to say. 

Are You Cursed

I sent this as an email to Cigna. If you have been cursed with what is quite possibly the world’s worst insurance company, feel free to copy and paste this (replace my name with yours) and send it to: LetUsHelpU@cigna.com. 

Add any flourishes you like.

My name is Rie. I had your company dropped in my lap without choice. Ever since you took over, I’ve been able to fill maybe 2 of my usual medications without having to beg for your grace. You are a pain to deal with, as your employees are not interested in helping, but merely following marching orders. In case you weren’t aware, when someone finds a medication that actually works, for one condition or another, it cannot simply be replaced by what you consider to be a comparable drug. Doctors prescribe a certain drug because, believe it or not, they know what they’re doing. You, as an insurance company, do not know the ins and outs of the delicate balance of chemicals needed for each person. You are, by far, the WORST company I’ve ever had to deal with. And I deal with GOVERNMENT! If you continue to decline the medications that were prescribed to me by a knowledgeable medical professional, I will be compelled to contact the insurance commissioner. Repeatedly. 

Hope that you are well,

Rie

Stupid Stigmas

Rant incoming...

Mental illness is not the same as evil. I’ve said this before, and you can bet I’ll say it again and again. I’ll shout it from every mountain top until people stop thinking they’re the same thing.

Mental illness is painful. Fact. Some illnesses create anger in its victims. How that person expresses that anger is mostly on that person. Once they figure out how to treat and control their illness, that is.

I have seen far too many horrific crimes, mostly murders, blamed on Bipolar Disorder. But I have yet to meet another person with it who is, or ever has been, violent. And I’ve met plenty of my fellow sufferers all over the world.

News media thrives on stirring up emotion. They’ll take one tiny detail, and use it to their advantage with no actual proof. 

So, this imaginary man who killed his family has suffered with Bipolar Disorder for years. True. But in this scenario, say he found out his wife was leaving him for another man, while taking the kids with. This enraged the man to the point of passion, and he kills them all. What the media won’t tell you is that this man has been medicated, stable, and not at an inpatient facility for twenty years. They do this to stir emotion. Anymore, the news outlets are nothing more than click bait.

They really don’t care that they’re perpetuating a very dangerous stigma. In today’s world, someone coming out as any of the LGBT labels is praised, while those diagnosed with even minor depression are in hiding. People are so afraid of those with mental illnesses that they’re willing to cut off lifelong friendships to escape the perceived danger.

Where are our allies? 

Where are the ones fighting for our lives? 

Where is the education about the realities of these illnesses?

Our parades? 

Our marches? 

Our flag?

Our right to be confident in public?

An Explanation

There isn’t a single word in any language to describe how I hate that sorry excuse of a human.

I’ve been waiting my whole life for the day my father dies. Hasn’t come yet. No, this is not spiteful, it’s out of self-preservation. He’s bullied and abused me my whole life, while his chosen, older child is praised for simply existing.

Older child was a druggie, smoked in high school (which got her arrested, and yes, I laughed), and was basically the kind of child every parent fears getting. No, I was not without fault or problems, but mine seemed to be fodder for his own entertainment.

I was born with Bipolar Disorder. I didn’t acquire it later in life. So, naturally, I was a difficult and angry child. My tantrums were legendary. However, instead of trying to calm me, he would make fun of me, and poke and prod until he was laughing hysterically and felt that his need for entertainment was fulfilled. And more often than not, he was the reason I was pitching a fit to begin with. Great father, eh? I can’t even tell you how many times I told him I wanted him to die. Mom always got mad when I would say it, but she didn’t understand why I did. 

Fun fact about narcissists: They pick on the empathetic people around them. The older child has as much empathy as her father, as she is also a narcissist. This kept her immune from the abuse. I’ve always been sympathetic and empathetic towards people. A narcissist isn’t born, they are made. I saw the pain in him. It was all over his face. He used this as kindling for what would become his raging fire against me. 

I haven’t said more than five words to him in over a year now. If I don’t tell him anything, he has no fuel. However, mom tells him everything, anyway. I try to not react to the crap that flows so fluently out of his mouth, but sometimes, it’s a lost cause. And his behaviors seem to have worsened in this last year, if that was even possible.

Nobody believes me when I tell them the things he’s done. They aren’t around all the time, so all they see is a funny guy. Yeah... he’s super funny. 24/7 jokes and what he considers to be clever comments. The only things he takes seriously are the perceived attacks on him. These include, but are not limited to: 

- Closing the basement door so the stench doesn’t come up.

- Mentioning, yet again, that his body odor stinks up the whole house after he exercises.

- Not laughing at every... single... joke.

- Pointing our that he has been told something before.

- (And my personal favorite) Pointing out that the basement is a mess.

Yes, he has done good things, but he’ll remind you of every single one. He worked extra overtime to buy me my beloved clarinet. This was shoved in my face for around ten years. Oh! And not to forget that I’m stuck living with my parents, and still financially dependent on them (despite my desire for independence). He said, and I quote, “Everything we buy you is a gift, and can be taken back at any time”. This statement came after I put a note on a soda saying it was mine. Mind you, he wouldn’t have drunk it anyhow. He just had to assert his perceived dominance.

So I will continue to wait for the day I am free of this (insert profanity of choice), praying it comes soon. Whether it be through death, or my ability to leave, I really don’t care at this point.

Children Are Difficult

If you have, or have had, a two-year-old, my heart goes out to you.

This child will be the death of me. Whether he gets his way, or not, he’s the biggest terror. Allow me to elaborate...

If he’s got something to say, even if you’ve told him you don’t want to hear it, he’s gonna say it. You can’t stop him. If you try, he just starts shouting until he’s finished his thought.

He has this super weird thing about keeping the door to the basement open, and if you try to close it, it’s Tantrum Town. He’ll literally stand in the doorway just so you can’t close it. 

As with most kids, he either can’t smell, or simply doesn’t care about, his own stench. 

You can’t make him do anything, unless he’s getting rewarded by the act itself. 

And oh, the messes he creates. He loves them. He revels in them. His mess is his happy place.

This two-year-old of mine is actually 74. A 74-year-old narcissistic hoarder I was forced to call “dad” for 32 years. The “dad” who made fun of me, provoked me for his own amusement, and played the victim when I finally let him have it. This is my reality. 

He doesn’t have conversations. He has monologues. If you try to say something, even in response to what he’s saying, he’ll shout over you until he’s finished.

He wants the basement door open the entire time he’s upstairs. Why? Because he will, at some point, go back downstairs. This could be anywhere between a minute and several hours. The biggest problems with this are the fact that the basement rivals the temperature of Antarctica, and it reeks. *Read on...*

The basement reeks because the man is a hoarder. A vast majority of what’s in the basement is actual, literal garbage. Newspapers that are ten or more years old, VHS tapes he can’t watch because he has no VCR, towels that have been labeled “trash” by any sane person are being used as “blankets”. Then there’s the old TV that was replaced like four years ago, and the two (yes, two) old computers that are nothing more than oversized paperweights. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the attached video.

What?

That was an adventure I’d like to never experience again.

Earthquake. Aardbeving. Daeargryn. Terremoto.

My first earthquake happened this morning. A first for many Utahns. We have tiny, almost undetectable quakes just about every day. Today hit 5.7,  with aftershocks hitting up to 4.6.

In Utah, we get the possibility of “the big one” drilled into our brains from birth. It’s well known that Utah is a ticking time bomb, and has been for centuries. But it’s always been a “what if” situation. 

My entire life, I’ve maintained that “the big one” wouldn’t happen in my lifetime. I’m now rethinking that stance. I’m no scientist, but in my mind, this could have potentially set other quakes in motion. Could “the big one” be next? Could it be soon? 

I was sound asleep when it hit. People always talk about the sound of an earthquake. I heard nothing. I just felt it. Not gonna lie, I’m thankful for my hearing loss this morning.

Loads of people had damage to their homes and businesses. The bright spot was that there were no reported fatalities or serious injuries. I’m still surprised that the only thing in my house that fell was my Luna Lovegood figure. We got off super easy at my house. 

I’ve got a friend who lived in Japan for a while (go Army!), and she was keeping me sane in my panic. Telling me what’s normal and what to expect was a massive help!

Overall, not the best day. Here’s to tomorrow.

Don’t Panic

“Coronavirus, coronavirus, COVID-19”

As you’re well aware, we’ve got a global problem. It’s all over every news outlet. Every. Single. One. That’s all we’ve heard about for at least a couple weeks now. I don’t know about you, but I’d even be happy to see an “Epstein didn’t kill himself” meme. We’re bombarded with coronavirus updates everywhere we look, and it’s getting to us.

The media has blown it up so that people are hoarding things that really aren’t necessary. I mean, come on. Are you really going to use a thousand rolls of toilet paper in two weeks? That is, assuming you even get sick. And I promise, you don’t need to buy every bit of food you see. There are other people in your city. They need food, too.

The biggest problem I’m seeing, however, is the effects on mental health. Having all this shoved in our faces, and down our throats, 24/7, tends to bring us down. Whether it be the ever-rising death toll, the closures of restaurants and other social places, or wondering how to care for your kids while schools are out, you’re getting stressed. I get that there are some serious possible ramifications, but like my friend, Anna, said, “... hope for the best, and plan for the worst.”

Live now. Today. There are so many advantages to this whole social distancing thing:

-Go to the park. Big, open spaces. 

-Text, call, Skype, or FaceTime your friends and family. Today’s technology allows us to stay close, even when we’re separated. 

-Get out those Richard Simmons DVDs we all know you have. Sweat to those oldies without judgement. 

-But the most important thing you can do: check in with yourself, often. Are you ok? Are you worrying too much? Can you talk to someone if you need to?

Don’t let this get the best of you.

Steps

One foot in front of the other...

So I spoke to an enrollment person and officially applied. My projected start date is May 8. I contacted one of the other schools I took classes at, and got my transcript sent to SNHU. Not that there’s much there, but it could maybe save me a math class.

To be honest, I’m terrified. 

One really good thing about this school is that, if you take one class per eight-week term, you’re part-time (duh). But only one class more defines you as a full-time student. I’ll obviously be doing only one class at a time. At least for now. My life is constantly changing, so there may be a time when I can take two classes. And there may be terms when I just need a break.

Feeling a little better.

I have two friends (that I know of) who did their degrees online. They both loved doing it that way. Not gonna lie though, they’re both a truck load smarter than I am, so... 

One step forward, two steps back.

I’m always thinking how far behind I am in life compared to my friends. They all have school behind them, are married, have jobs, and most have kids (not in my plans, though). But something my mom always says is “Even if it takes you ten years... in ten years, you’ll still be better off than if you didn’t” (something like that, anyhow).

One step. That’s all I need.

Here goes nothing...

Picture of the day

Conisbrough from the top of the castle keep.

Well, "SNHU" To You, Too!

Money flying out the window in 3... 2... 1...

Since junior high, my favorite subject in school has been history. European history, to be precise. Not surprising, really. My mother's family came straight from the Netherlands, and my father's side came from England. Yes, I've had a slight obsession with England since I was five, but reading or watching their history is my favorite thing. Going there in 2018 was an absolute dream come true!

Ok, back on topic...

I've attended college. Twice. Two different schools. Four different majors. None of them in history. I've done majors in Special Ed, Criminal Psychology, English, and Social Media Marketing. Obviously, none of them stuck. I've now decided to apply at Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU) and do their online European History program.

I'm nervous. I mean, everything I've tried, I've failed. Not just when it comes to school. Everything.

I called up a good friend to talk about all this, and we came to a couple conclusions:

1. Failing is a part of life and learning.
2. Maybe online school will be better since there are no people around.

So, I filled out my FAFSA, hit that "Apply" button on SNHU's website, and am now in the process of pretending to wait like a patient person.

I'll only be able to do like two or three classes per year, so even if I do happen to succeed, it'll take until I'm ninety, but at least it's doing something.

Mystery link

Picture of the day (because I said so): I took this in 2015. It's the Utah State Capitol Building.

Fed Up

The reigning narcissist is at it again!

Ok, so the house we live in is... special. It has more problems than an entire city. If someone flushes the toilet while I’m in the shower, I get burned. When they turn on the sink to wash their hands right after, it rivals liquid nitrogen. Back and forth. Super fun. Wires are put together in no particular order, and I’m pretty sure it was partially built with popsicle sticks. **Disclaimer: My parents didn’t know any of this when they bought it. The original family lied thru their teeth** 

Tonight, we had what is quite possibly our 300,000th disaster. Backstory: I found a wet spot on the carpet yesterday. No big. Then it grew... a lot. Come to find out tonight that the wet spot goes all along the cupboard. Fantastic. Best part is that, in his highness’s hoarding, we’ve had a stack of extremely heavy boxes of flooring, sitting in the spot we need to get to, for around 15 years. “I’m going to redo our kitchen floor”... said the man who won’t even paint.

Obviously, we had to move those boxes to get to where we could see the floor. He decides that the perfect place for these boxes is exactly one inch away from my beautiful, and irreplaceable, wood music stand. Awesome. I moved them a whole six inches over, so my beloved stand wouldn’t even get close to getting hit. This was unacceptable. The narcissist moved them back. Why? Because he can’t be so inconvenienced as to have to walk six inches further to look out the front window. Heaven forbid! The world may end! I mean, how else is he supposed to know exactly what the neighbors are doing? Six. Inches.

I’m done just threatening to get rid of things. Things that haven’t even been seen in years? Buh-bye! Actual garbage? See ya! And to keep with the thought process of a narcissist, if I don’t need it, it gets trashed. 

I’m done living in a landfill that requires a hazmat suit to enter.

Music Speaks

I've got a quote on my bedroom wall that reads, "Where Words Fail, Music Speaks". It's all decked out with notes and curly... stuff. ANYHOW... My point is that, music affects everyone. It can calm you down, get you pumped, and get out those feelings we all have stored deep inside.

I've got so many playlists across all the apps and devices I use for music, that it can take ten solid minutes to find just the right one. I've got one for every emotion, every type of day, and one for each of my favorite artists with their greatest hits.

More often than not, I'm blasting something through any speaker I can connect to. I search for new stuff every day. This is then posted to my other blog (shameless plug in 3... 2... 1... Rie's Views).

"So what's your favorite genre?" Yes. I'll admit that I can't stand metal, hardcore punk, or rap, but I'm open to anything else.

Music affects everyone, all over the world, in many different ways. Check out some of my latest finds below (and click HERE)

I Give

I’m done.

I have nobody to talk to. If I text anyone about something the narcissist has done, it goes ignored. If I text pretty much anyone about a bad day, it’s either ignored, or turned around on that person's bad day. If I try to talk to my mom about the narcissistic hoarder, even if she, herself, was complaining about the exact same thing just five minutes ago, she gets mad at me. If I try to use ASL with her, she nods as if she understands, yet gets maybe one word. That is, when she doesn’t look away altogether. She’s not trying to learn the language at all. I’m putting in a truckload of effort to learn Dutch for her, yet she won’t even practice the ASL alphabet. 

Best part is that I’m expected to be the sounding board for EVERYONE! You had a bad day? I’m here. If I’m not 100% sympathetic to everything someone says, they get upset. If I call out the fact that you don’t listen to me, I’m suddenly a horrible person.

Every single one of my friends has a spouse they can talk to, they have family members they can talk to, and they have me. Every single day, they have support. I have support twice a month when I see my therapist. That’s a total of ninety minutes per month that I have to really talk out my problems. I try reaching out to friends, but at best, I get the “I’m sorry you have to deal with that” response. Thanks, but, like you, I need people to actually talk to. 

I’ve never had the support system everyone else has. My only sibling is as narcissistic as her adoring sad-sack of a father, my mother (whether she believes it or not) has been conditioned by the narcissist to bow to him so as to avoid confrontation, and my friends all have their own families and circles in the states they’ve moved to. I have zero friends in my entire state. Nobody to see a movie with, go to dinner with, or simply get out to a park with. I. Have. Nothing.

“Go out and meet people!” Right. If you’re saying that, you’ve obviously never been to Utah. You’ve got 2 options: Mormon churches and bars. Both are no-go for me. And now that my hearing is going, it makes it even harder. Yes, I’ve got hearing aids, but they’re more a pain than they are a help. I can’t hear hardly anything in a crowded room. Hearing people don’t want to be bothered, and the deaf community doesn’t accept late-deafened because we’re too “hearing-minded” (who woulda thunk?).

I am alone.

Support

The wonder that is social media...

Some of you may remember that, after I returned from the UK in September 2018, I lost some of my hearing. It’s progressive nerve damage that could take 50%-70%, depending on which doctor you ask. I have hearing aids, but believe me when I say they are no substitute for actual hearing.

A couple weeks ago, I stopped in at my local Deaf center to find out when ASL classes are. The woman up front was deaf (duh!). I’m sure my very limited sign skills are a joke around the office, but I did manage to understand that classes are full until this Fall.

Not being able to hear as well has put me in a space where I’m basically alone. When I’m in a restaurant, or trying to talk to more than one person, it’s near impossible to catch everything. It feels like when you go to a foreign country and have no idea what the locals are saying. You’re outside, looking in. It’s very isolating.

I found a group on Facebook for deaf and hard of hearing (HOH), and oh my wow... They’ve got so many helpful hints and ways to deal with what’s happening! Books, tips, understanding. It’s like a whole new world has opened up!

I’m usually not a supporter of social media. It creates too many problems. This, however, is a great use of it. Creating groups where people can connect with similar people with similar experiences. A+

Fun Fact

So, for those who don't know, I have started a second blog called Rie's Views. It's a music blog. Basically, I listen to music, then tell you what I think. You may thing that it doesn't sound very interesting, but if you follow along, I can guarantee you'll find something new!

When I finally get things organized, Monday's will be a review of an album, and Thursday's will be a 10-track playlist. I will also be continuing my posts on Instagram.

LINKS
You can follow along on the blog here: riesviews.blogspot.com
Instagram here : ries_views
Facebook here: Rie's Views

I'm sure there are other platforms I could use, but that's it for now.

I'm always open to suggestions on music, and you are completely welcome to disagree. Music is subjective- everyone has their likes and dislikes. My main goal is to get you to discover something you might not have found otherwise.

Go forth and explore! And if you like something, the biggest compliment you could give is hitting that share button!

Not Sorry

Not one bit.

Ok, so you know how a memory will pop into your head at the least convenient time? And then it makes it so you can’t think of anything else for the next three hours? Well that’s me tonight.

My whole life, I’ve had to apologise to people because they can’t handle who I am. I walk on eggshells around everyone because something about me “offends” them. The way I talk, the things I say, and how I say them tend to be on the top of the list. Best part is the things people get their knickers in a twist over are typically the things they do to me without me pointing it out. You don’t like the way I told you something? Suck it up, Buttercup. We’re adults. You can be a horrible person, but I basically have to treat you like a spoiled two-year-old who hasn’t ever heard the word “no”? Not the way things work.

Then there’s the whole thing about how I’m not “allowed” to be proud of my accomplishments. When I was in high school (let’s not talk about how long ago that was), I was talking to a friend about my dance. I simply mentioned that my team wins and I have a few trophies. Oh, the horror! He lectured me for the next twenty solid minutes on pride and how I shouldn’t “boast”. Dan Smith, you are SO one to talk! Your ego couldn’t make it through an industrial-size door.

My favorite, however, is how offended people get when I give them the opinion that they asked for. If I ask for yours and don’t like it, I say “thanks” and move on with my life.

In a country so “tolerant”, there are an awful lot of intolerant people. Funny that it’s usually the ones claiming to be so tolerant. 

So how about we all work on not being so fragile? Not everything someone does “wrong” needs to be announced. Things they do “right”, however, need to be said. Even if it’s just between the two of you.

Side note: As I know some will take it this way... I am in NO WAY saying I don’t fall into the “fragile” category. We all get upset at things people do and say. It’s just super annoying when people feel the need to point out and needle at everything, instead of just accepting the person as-is and moving on.

Dear Insurance Companies

How stupid can you get?

So, thanks to Medicare and my lack of choice in my own healthcare, my prescription plan changed companies. I’ve been cursed with Cigna, and oh my holy crap they’re stupid.

I was sent a list of the meds I take that told me which ones were and weren’t covered. One is an acne cream that is covered so long as I have a “taper plan”. So, you just expect my face to clear up after a couple months use and be fine after that? Makes perfect sense 🥴

My favorite, however, is quetiapine (generic Seroquel). It’s not covered because they seem to think that there’s something else that “works the same”. So, let me get this straight... You think that one psych med is the same as another? Why, then, are there so many? If one drug worked for everyone, that would be fine, but psych meds, which are extremely delicate in their balances, are not the same in the slightest. When you’ve found the magic mix, you can’t go playing with it because you don’t want to pay thirty cents more.

Shameless political plug: Medicare for all is not going to work unless you’re willing to pay $2,000 per month (or more) for medications that aren’t covered. Good luck with that.

In closing... Cigna, may you and your employees burn in the hell you’ve created for those who have had you thrown in their laps. I did not want you, I do not like you, please remove your head from the dark place it was obviously shoved up.

No Year’s Resolutions

Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.

First off... HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Now, every year, people all over the world make New Year’s resolutions. “I’m going to lose 100 pounds!” “I’m going to read 1,000 books!” “I’m going to meet Mr/Ms Right and get married!”

In reality, 99% will fail to complete these extreme and unrealistic goals. This results in negative thoughts and depression. Even if we set a reasonable goal, like keeping a certain area clean, we ultimately have our habits, and changing those is stupid hard.

Yes, habits can be changed, but I’ve noticed in my own life, and the lives of friends and family, that many of our habits are for self-preservation. Personally, I find cleaning cathartic. You probably wouldn’t know that if you walked into my house, but there’s a reason behind that. I intentionally allow my space to collect garbage and such so that I have something to clean when I need it. Sound ridiculous? Yeah... it does to me, too. 

Back on point: If you make resolutions, I pray you are able to complete them to your liking, and that you have the support you need to achieve your goals. If you choose to not make them, that doesn’t mean you can’t decide on July 27th (or any other day)  to start making a change. Do you, your way. Don’t let any person, thing, or tradition tell you how to improve you.

Improvements are on your schedule.

Christmas Z’s

Words. Those are things, right.

Anyone who has had their meds adjusted at all, can understand the oh-so-fun side effects. And when things are that far off, it’s difficult to be nice to basically anyone.

I’ve spent the last month or so on Depakote because, well, mania. It started out all right, for the most part. Then one day, it decided to make me super tired. It started out with sleeping nine to ten hours per night, but now I’m sleeping a good fifteen to eighteen hours a day. And even when I’m awake, I’m tired.

As you can imagine, this makes me feel so very useful. And since today is Christmas, there’s loads to do. Cooking, cleaning, being awake long enough to open presents... Thankfully, the thing I’m forced to call “sister” didn’t come over as early as it usually does, so I got a nap. I’ve been awake from that nap for two hours now, and I’m already needing another.

In other news... I hope you and yours had a very Merry Christmas 🎄 Spend time with the people you actually like. Don’t ever feel obligated to spend it with family if there are members who feel the need to treat you like trash. You deserve better than that. If you have to, do what I do when “sister” comes over: I bury my nose in a book, and block everything and everyone out.

Santa, Baby

Christmas. It’s a thing. Have a happy one.

As Christmas is like, super close, I thought I’d say something about it.

I know everyone has their list; things wanted or needed. I, however, would like to take the price tag off and offer something else. Yes, this is random. Deal with it.

For Kate: A kept hope that you will get a child of your own. You are always in my prayers.

For Anna: Hopes that you find happiness so far away from your family and friends.

For Kierstin: May your anxieties be hushed as you continue to grow. Know that I’m behind you 100%.

For Berkeley: May that stupid foot of yours finally get better! It’s beyond ridiculous.

For my mom: Hopes that the year goes by quickly and you have a happy retirement afterward!

For my aunt Ria: Prayers of support as you go through this tough time.

For Jemma & Lee: As you bring your new daughter into your lives, may you find joy in the harder times.

For Rose & Glen: Prayers you find happiness in your lives, work, and family.

For Amber: A big, BIG hug and know that I’m always here!

For Crystal: Again, congrats on the new job, and may it be everything you hope, and more!

I know I can’t do everyone, but Happy Christmas, and a great New Year for everyone ❤️

Last Place

*Quippy opening line goes here*

You know those friends? The ones you’d do anything for, whether you talk a lot or not? If they asked you to jump the Grand Canyon, you’d do it. I’m that person. However, I don’t have someone like that.

I’ve got a few good friends, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. It would just be nice to have a do-anything-for-you friend like everyone else has. 

Someone puts up a fundraiser, I’m first in line to share or donate (if I can). I put up a fundraiser, nothing. Someone posts something personal and emotional online, and they have hundreds of supporters. I do it, and it’s ignored.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I am simply someone created to create a sense of obligation in others. Not a strong enough sense to have anyone actually do anything, just enough to keep me as a Facebook friend. My happiness has  never been a factor. I simply exist to keep a seat warm.

I feel as though my role in life is to experience as many difficulties as possible so God can judge the charity of those around me. Feels real good to know I was never meant to be happy. Fuzzy bunnies couldn’t make me happier.

You want to know the best part? I won’t stop walking on coals for my friends. It’s just who I am. I’ll get nothing in return, and I’ll silently hold it against you, but I will always be there for you. Because that’s what friends do.

The Smaller Side Of Mental Health

Not my usual post, but hopefully it’ll get to the right people.

I’ve got a friend/sorority sister whose son, well, I’ll let you read for yourself. I copied this from her Facebook... Yes, I took the names out.

A lot can happen in the lives of our children that we never share with others. (Not just because husband’s in information security 😂)

 The good and the not so good often go un-posted and even just unsaid to anyone outside of our families and close friends. But it's time to open up about one of the hardest things that we are going through as a family. 

Our sweet son has been diagnosed with some unique challenges with Anxiety and Oppositional Defiant Disorder that we have been working with for a few years now, More recently he's also been diagnosed with Celiacs and juvenile RA. It's been such a learning experience for our whole family, but husband said it best in one of my many times of stress..."he came to us because you CAN do this, you CAN help him." #blessedwifemoment

I know God trusts us.

So from the suggestion of his Dr and therapist, through many, many prayers I finally could not deny any longer that we were supposed to get a dog, and train them as a service dog, to help our son.

This is not an easy or inexpensive process and we've been working on getting one for quite a while now. It's been though for is to decide what we can cut out of our lives to save money and what our family, especially the other 3  kids still needs to feel like this son isn't talking over or lives-even though many days he does.

We are so lucky to have some friends set up a Go Fund Me on our family's behalf. Donate if you can, share if you are willing, say a prayer or send good vibes that this will all work out and that we can help our sweet son. ❤️ #thankyou #wecandothis 

You can help here

The Most Horrible Time Of The Year

One. Één. Uno. Une.

Holidays are hard for many people, and for many reasons. For me, it’s because it’s just me. Single, unattached me. Everyone’s talking about their spouse and/or kids, and I’m all, “I’ve got my mom, two narcissists, and a brother-in-law.” No husband, no boyfriend, not even a date.

The last actual relationship I had was in 2007. It ended because he was 27 and ready to get married, and I had just turned 21 and wasn’t ready for that. Instead of waiting, he booked it. Yeah... that made me feel super worth it.

And now I’m significantly overweight, and not even fat guys wanna get to know the personality behind the pounds. Plus, when you’re over 25 and single in Utah, you’re basically labelled “defective” and a “lost cause”. 

Best part is seeing everyone’s family pictures, and hearing about traditions. Awesome.

So I’m not super festive. Bite me.

In other news: I’ve got a broken tooth and no way to cover the cost of the crown. If you enjoy my blog, a spectacular way to show it would be to donate 

HERE

Beware Of Resident: She Bites

I’m angry that I’m angry, and that makes me angry.

The picture most people have of mania is pure elation. Super happy and carefree. Those who watched “ER” would have seen a wider picture of the quicker-than-light switch to a “freak out”. What most people do not see is the anger.

Now, I know everyone experiences mania in their own way. You may be the one who is the happiest person alive during an episode. I, however, get annoyed, agitated, and straight up angry.

I learned the hard way to keep the majority of it off the internet. This time, I told friends that they’re better off not talking to me. Apparently this did not sink in, which lead to a shouting post to leave me be. 

I’m one of those who is super picky with those I will talk to when I feel particularly yucky. There are exactly 3. Outside of my therapist, of course. They know who they are, and I would hope they know why. 

I have lost friends (well, more like “friends”) through manic episodes. I’m not nice to mostly anyone, and anyone who hits that itty bitty last nerve is going to get a full-force verbal punch to the face.

So, please, let me be. My brain is giving me  a time ten million times harder than anything I’m giving you. No calls, no texts, no emails, no messages, no cards, not even smoke signals. None of those things (or any other form of communication you can come up with) will earn you a pleasant response. I will bite, your feelings will get hurt, and in the occasion you take this warning as a joke, you will no longer be part of my life. 

This, friends, is mania.

Kindness Is Contagious

Random acts of kindness are fun.

Ok, so I went to lunch with my mom today. We went to a place right across from the high school, so we were expecting loud, obnoxious teenagers. Granted, that’s like, every teenager on the planet, but still.

Anyhow, we get there behind four high school boys, and I was less than thrilled. You can imagine my reaction when they were, get this, quiet and respectful! They waited their turn, didn’t make the entire restaurant privy to their conversation by shouting, and cleaned up after themselves! 

When my mom and I left, I snapped a picture of the car and its plates. Here comes the fun part...

Schools are all too used to getting calls from people complaining about their students, so I decided to flip that. When I was finally transferred to the school police officer, I explained the situation, gave her the car info, and asked her to thank those four boys for behaving so nicely. 

You never know how far a simple compliment can go. You’ll never know how your behaviour affects that stranger you didn’t even talk to. Especially this time of year, patience and kindness are desperately needed and, when given, very much appreciated.

A challenge for everyone: Do five things that help someone else. Move a shopping cart out of the way, pick up the toy the stressed mother’s baby threw on the ground for the millionth time, tell someone they look nice... There are endless possibilities.

Go forth and be kind!

It’s A No From Me

Picture this...

If our moods had to audition for America’s Got Talent, how many would actually make the next round? Let’s see...

Depression: No desire to get out of bed, can barely lift limbs,  doesn’t want to talk despite need to, but really good at crying.

Mania: Annoyed at every little thing, overly critical of others and self, suicidal ideation typically higher, but house is super clean.

“Normal”: Doesn’t really know how to feel because you’re used to feeling so much, but can smile without crying inside, and can tolerate obnoxious people and situations.

Simon Cowell would have a blast with these. He asks Depression if they have a dog, sends Normal to the next round, and is afraid Mania will take his place as most critical and feared judge.

For the last couple weeks now, I have been so manic that I seriously can’t stand being in my own brain. I’ve got music on almost all day. When it’s not on, I’m reading or using Duolingo to learn Dutch, and even watching TV. 

I don’t like this. 

I hate this.

Stress Mess

So. Much. Fun.

Stress is a fact of life. Some have daily stress, some are blessed with just occasional stressful days. Wherever you are between those points, you’ve experienced this super fun thing.

An awesome thing about mental illness is that stress pokes its ugly head into our lives in so many different ways. Personally, it makes me manic. What you don’t see is the physical effects.

A little over a year ago, I had to get a new mattress. I wound up with a Tempur-Pedic. “Ooh! Fancy!” Yeah. And expensive, to boot. It was designed to mould to your body and straighten your spine. That’s all well and good... unless you’re stressed. Stress has a tendency to keep your muscles from relaxing. This is a massive problem for something that only works when you are, well, relaxed.

In the 13 months I’ve had this mattress, I’ve spent about 2 months in my recliner all night, and about 8 months having to spend part of the night out in the chair.

Best part: it’s not paid off and I’m already looking forward to the day I can get rid of the evil thing. I. Hate. It. It’s really fun in my case because, when I don’t sleep well, the mania gets worse and hangs on longer.

In closing, never again will I buy anything Tempur-Pedic. Ever.