Why?

Today, I went through something I haven’t been through in almost two years.

Anyone who has experienced mania, true mania, can understand. I don’t know where it came from, I haven’t been able to put my finger on a trigger, but nevertheless, it showed up.

I got angry, irritated, and took it out on a dear friend. I was able to ignore my phone, and watch a movie, alone, to decompress. It took over an hour to rid these thoughts and feelings from my mind. All things considered, that’s no time at all. This used to last for days— weeks, really— so under two hours is amazing.

I hate that feeling. I have no control over my thoughts (of which there are a million), so everything comes out with no filter. It feels like I’m in fifty-million pieces, clinging to any part of me I can find. I’m not me. The last time I felt this way was back in 2018, in England (sorry, again, B, J and L!). 

A long time ago, I promised God and myself that I would find at least one good thing in every day. I do this to remind myself that my life isn’t 100% bad. This keeps me alive. If I can find just one little reason to keep going, I can survive. 

So, today, I got a call from the car salesman I’ve been working with, who told me my new (kind of used) car will be ready tomorrow! Yes, I bought a new car! I wanted an Outback three years ago when I bought my Legacy, but couldn’t afford it. Now, I can! It’s a 2020, but they’re calling it “used” because it has 2,400 miles on it. I’m calling it new. I was joking with friends that I was going to get a license plate frame with “Mijn Tomaat” on it, because it’s red and kind of round on top 😂 And now, it has stuck, so I officially dub it “De Tomaat”! 

**Dutch words, by the way. “My Tomato” and “The Tomato”

Go Stick Your Hand In A Blender

That’s what I told it to do.

So, the narc has the usual trait of “I need this, so you must move heaven and earth to get it for me”. Our kitchen was designed by a moron. The counter hooks a corner, then sits right in front of the fridge. So, if someone is looking in the fridge, another can’t get past. And heaven forbid you need to be in that spot when the jackass comes in. 

It gives a disingenuous “excuse me”, then will either pin you to the fridge, or simply knock you over, so it can get through. Today, I’m beyond irritated. When it gave the obligatory and meaningless ask for excusal, I said, “You push through, I push back, and you will fall”. I’m done with this sad piece of crap. 

A narcissist isn’t a real human; it’s a construct of its own superiority complex. 

I hate it. It’s 74 years old. It’ll die soon. Not soon enough, but the end is in sight. Then my life can begin.

Overreact Much?

I laugh to keep from punching.

So, as I’m sure you’re aware by now, my father is a full-blown narcissist. Its “me, first and always” attitude is irritating to no end. The “my way, no highway” demands are intolerable. One thing that I can laugh at, however, are its overly juvenile overreactions.

Many years ago, mom had gone to bed, I was sitting in the dark living room, and the thing was downstairs (as usual). Welp, I turned off the dining room light, setting it off. It comes storming into the living room, yelling so loud that I’m sure the neighbors heard... “DON’T TURN THE LIGHT OFF! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I TOOK THE LIGHT OUT OF THE BATHROOM?!?!” Yes, really. Because heaven forbid it simply turn the light on when it enters the room...?

Things like this have happened throughout my life, and I seem to be the only one who can incur the wrath of three-year-old Satan.

Today, like every other day, it proved, once again, that it is nothing more than a spoiled toddler.

It has one of those hospital mugs that it keeps on the table. For years, it simply drank from it, directly. Not sure when, exactly, but at some point, it started keeping a straw in said mug. No big deal, right? Not always. It refuses to let me through, thus forcing me to reach over its precious mug. Guess where my wrist will inevitably land. Every. Single. Time. I finally had enough, and warned that I’d start throwing away the straws if the mug wasn’t at the edge of the table, and perfectly out of my way. I did this once. Tonight, it did it itself, and decides to blame me. Narcissists can’t take responsibility for their own actions. They will always blame the nearest person. This particular event gets even more hilarious. It replaced the straw, and literally taped it in place! I know elementary students with more maturity!

If you’re wondering... no, it didn’t apologize. It never apologizes. Unless it can make itself out to be the victim.

Please enjoy the picture of what immaturity looks like.

Job Hunting Is Hard Work

Rant in 3... 2... 1...

If you’ve applied for jobs recently, you know how frustrating those online assessments are. “There are no wrong answers. Just answer what you think” is total bull. There are wrong answers, or you wouldn’t get the “We regret to inform you...” email thirty seconds after submitting it. They take, like, twenty minutes to fill out, and twenty seconds to get a response. Tonight, I’d had it.

I applied at Ross, did the assessment, and got the denial. So, I wrote this to them:

I know the thing these days is using internet assessments in job applications, but they only tell you the very narrow views the computer tells you. You don’t get to know the applicant as a person. Clicks on a screen tell you exactly zero about who that person really is. Asking someone how they’d react to a situation, and only giving 4 pre-determined responses, simply doesn’t work. The way a person talks, moves, and engages, cannot be explained in an internet assessment. That is only something that an actual, live person can determine. You, along with far too many other companies, are losing out on some absolutely awesome employees, and making it harder for people to get good jobs that they would rock at. I did your assessment, and less than 2 minutes later, received an email, reading, “After careful consideration, we regret to inform you...” The computer didn’t think I can rock this job, but I guarantee, if I’m allowed to meet with the manager of the location, I’d wow them! I’m a person, not a score on a computer.

Thank you.

I’m done with these stupid things. What happened to the days of going into the business, filling out a paper application, and meeting the manager? That’s how I got my first three jobs. It’s a good system! People don’t matter anymore. They don’t want to mold someone into the perfect employee, no... they want the perfect employee already gift wrapped.

If you’re tired of this, feel free to copy that message, and send it to the company you know you’d rock with.

Slow, Not Stupid

Are you lucky enough to know a special needs person?

I’ve worked most of my career with special needs. I spent four amazing years with a self-contained high school class, I’ve worked with elementary specials, and for a week (yes, one week) with a day center for special adults. These people will test you until your very last hair has been ripped out, but they will also love you without limits.

I’m watching Burn Notice, and this episode had a higher functioning special needs man. When it came down to a fight between his longtime “friend”, and the good guy he’d met a couple times, he chose the good guy. This made me think about all my former kids.

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know one of these amazing humans, feel blessed. Parents of special kids, you know what I’m talking about. 

After watching this episode, I was thinking back on the kids I’ve worked with, and noticed that Hollywood finally got one thing right. These very special people have a gift— they can spot the good person in any situation. It’s almost like they have a sixth sense that can identify someone’s heart. If you’re good to them just once, they’ve got your face tattooed on their heart forever. 

There’s one former student of mine, in particular, who will always bring a smile to my face, every time I think of him. I believe everyone needs to meet someone like him. I may have taught him how to count, but he taught me so much more.

Every person who comes into your life has something to teach you, and needs to learn something from you. You never know what that will be, and it’s never anything you might expect. 

Not my usual post. Was just on my mind. 

An Unusual Post

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this post, but decided that a professional is needed.

Every day in this house is basically the same. Narcissist wants something, flying monkey gives in. The narc doesn’t care if it inconveniences anyone else, as long as “it works for me”. Insinuating he’s done something “wrong” is grounds for a tantrum. He’ll run away if I raise my voice at him, yet gets pleasure yelling at me. In every situation, he is always the victim. He views his first child as superior, based on the fact that she’s married, lives on her own, and has been able to hold a steady job. I, therefore, am useless. He has exactly zero sympathy for anyone, especially his family. He pretends to be sympathetic towards his church congregation, but that’s because they worship him in return. He does nothing, unless he gets something out of it. 

The best day of my life will be the day he dies.

I found an article on growing up with a narcissistic father. Click the link to read about what I’ve had to deal with.

How to Survive a Narcissistic Father

Foodie

I tried finding gluten memes, but all the pictures were grainy.

Long story short, I’ve had digestive problems my whole life. I’ve heard about the FODMAP diet from a few doctors, but I’ve never had the desire to have that level of self-control. I like food, but I’m ridiculously picky, and the list of foods allowed just doesn’t work for me. I went back to the doctor, who told me something interesting... Since I don’t eat many of the forbidden foods on a regular basis, the foods most likely causing me issues are lactose or gluten.

Fast forward to today...

Day one without lactose and gluten. I picked out some gluten-free waffles at the store last weekend, based solely on the fact that, A- I could reach them, and B- they were blueberry. Now, every single gluten-free thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, has come right back out. It’s vile, and really shouldn’t be called “food”. Welp, I tried these waffles at lunch (judge me), and they were the best waffles I’ve ever had! Forget Eggo... get Van’s! 

Ok, now for the mental ramifications of excluding beloved foods...

I’m one of those women who mindlessly shove food in their mouth, then complain they’re fat. Having to tell myself I can’t eat something is rather stressful. You’ve probably been through the same; you get a craving for something, but can’t have it (enter: Nando’s), and that’s the only thing you can think of the rest of the day. I don’t know about you, but when I can’t have something, the craving moves me on to other, similar things. Stress leads to agitation, agitation leads to annoyance, annoyance leads to three candy bars, two Mountain Dew cans, and a night of feeling like a failure.

Today is only day one. Not bad, so far... but I have to do this for a solid three weeks. Twenty-one days. Yes, there are alternatives for these foods, but they’re simply not the same. Some are better (like my waffles), some should be removed via HAZMAT (like every gluten-free bread available).

Anyhow, this is my life for the next little while. If you know of good lactose or gluten alternatives, please share!

Learning

Ik leer veel dingen. 

Rwy’n dysgu llawer o bethau. 

🎼🎹

So, not having a job (or being able to even keep one) has opened up a ton of time for me. This has created boredom. 

I can’t stand doing nothing all day, so I’ve turned to, well, probably too many things.

About a year ago, I started learning Dutch. It was my mom’s first language, and is half my heritage, so I thought I’d give it a go. I’m still learning words, and word forms, and starting to use them in sentences I’ve not memorised from the apps I’m using. But I’m doing OK with it.

Maybe eight or nine months ago, I added Welsh into the language learning path. The only experience I have with Welsh is the episode of The Crown where Prince Charles goes to Wales and learns the language, and I’m actually picking up on it faster than I am Dutch. I’ve heard Dutch throughout my life, but nooo...

Then I added in exercise. Getting off my morbidly obese butt, and actually working out. Aerobics, walking (indoor and outdoor), and I joined a gym. I’ve been doing the elliptical, which is kicking my morbidly obese tush, but I’m doing it!

Now I’ve added in learning to play piano. It’s been a lifelong dream, so I bought a do-it-yourself lesson book, and I’m surprised at how fast I’m picking up on it!

This is all super fun, but I’d still rather be stressing about finding time to run errands because of my work schedule. My main goal is still substantial, gainful employment (it’s a thing, look it up). Being able to work full-time, and not have to rely on the good taxpayers of America to pay my income, rent, food, and medical. It’s my job, and mine alone, to take care of me, and it irritates the ever living crap out of me that I can’t do the one thing that defines adulthood.

Anyhoo... that’s that.

This

It’s time to separate the adults from the brats...

This is the era of offense. People getting their knickers in a twist over words. “Don’t say this, cant say that” stuff, because people are all about feelings. If someone hurts your feelings, they must be fired, cancelled, and have their name dragged through the mud. 

Welp, I had someone get all offended because I pointed out that saying “I love you” after every sentence is inappropriate, since they’re not a super close friend. Boo-freaking-hoo. Get over it. This person has now unfollowed me on FB. Fun fact: I don’t care. You want to be so childish as to cut me out over that, I frankly don’t need you, or  your drama, in my life. 

So, I posted this, but since they’re no longer following me, they obviously didn’t see it. I’ll post it here...

“Ok, folks. Wanna know what happens if you’re offended by one of my blog posts? Nothing. That is, if you’re a functioning adult who can get past it. You do and say things that offend me, but I move on, like said functioning adult. Those who cannot move past WORDS, are what we call “immature”. I’ve had 2 “friends” cut me out, in the last 6 months, because they couldn’t accept someone with a different viewpoint. That’s ok with me. ADULTS understand that your friends, close or not, don’t have to agree 100% with you. ADULTS also understand that you annoy them just as much as they annoy you. ADULTS move past it when these annoyances are pointed out. So... are you an adult?”

This goes for everyone. I don’t follow the current narrative, and I frankly don’t care if you don’t want to be a friend. Quality over quantity any day. I’m way too old to play these high school level games with over-the-top drama. 

If you’re over 23 years old, your drama is no longer a game. It’s now an attention-grabbing tactic that needs therapy and, probably meds, to fix.

Did this post offend you? Ask me if I care.

Little Sister

I’ll never understand why I got screwed in the family department.

I’ve told you about the sad excuse for a father I was cursed with, but I haven’t said much about the sad excuse for a sister I was cursed with.

Growing up, I watched my friends around their older sisters, and they were all best friends. They hung out, they hugged, and they smiled when they saw each other. Mine did none of that. In fact, she did the exact opposite. She shut me out, yelled at me if I tried to hug her, and glared if I was even in the same room as she was. Everything I did was wrong. Everything. My existence, alone, irritated her.

About four or five years ago, she shows up at the house, no notice, and starts talking to mom. I had paused the movie mom and I were watching, but the blu-ray player was new, and I didn’t know that it shut itself off after 30 minutes. This, obviously, turned the TV back to live shows. When it did that, with zero help from me, she gave me a look, like I’d just done her a great injustice. Oh... I’m a horrible person for not knowing in advance that this would happen. I should be in jail!

Now, let’s go back seven or eight years...

Something had happened, yet again, with the (insert profanity of choice) at home. I had to get out. I wound up driving the solid forty-five minutes to where she was living in her in-law’s basement. One of their daughters let me inside, and I went downstairs. I knocked on the door, and she started yelling at me for not calling before coming. Up and down, yelling, because I was inconveniencing her. She was watching TV. Oh... the horror. I’m no better than Dahmer.

Since she and her husband moved out twelve or so years ago, not once has she called before coming here. Not. Once. But do it to her, and she blows a gasket. How do you say “hypocrite”?

Family, especially me, has never meant a single thing to her. On occasion, she’ll contact my mom. Usually when she needs something (food, money, or most commonly, a sympathetic ear to listen to her rants). Despite mom sending her a text every morning, her responses are few and far between.

It took me far too long to decide not to care about her or anything she does. Believe me when I say it was difficult. I’ve always been the good sister. Anything she wanted or needed, I was on top of. She exploited my generosity and devotion as much as she could. 

**Example: I worked at Barnes & Noble for a while, and we had a Starbucks café. She’d call and ask me to get her coffee no less than once a week. I did, without complaint. The next Thanksgiving, she wanted to go get coffee, and I asked her if I could join her. She asks, “Do you have money?” Are you serious? You can’t afford $2 after I spent no less than $50 for you?**

Even still, every day, not caring is a conscious action. But I’ll tell you what... keeping her out of my life and thoughts has made my self esteem get to a somewhat normal level. 

The way she bullied me my whole life will take the rest of my life to recover from. (Profanity) was my first bully, paving the way for her to follow suit, which then allowed me to make myself available for Britch and everyone else.

I’ve been able to work through a lot of the abuse that went on at school, but what happened at home will be a constant shadow out the side of my eye.

I have no dad, and I have no siblings. I have bullies. Sad, empty inside, bullies.

Lights

There’s so much darkness going on. Finding the light can be difficult.

Every time I open social media, turn on the TV, or drive down the street, I’m punched in the face with hateful politics. The Marxist movement, fueled by domestic terrorists who think destruction and murder are justified based on political differences, is absolutely insane. But that’s all I’ll say about that...

With all the dark, I’ve been trying harder and harder

To find the light. Sometimes, it’s harder than others. Sometimes, it’s easier. But every day, I try to find something bright. Here’s some of my favorite things...

- First and foremost, my faith keeps me going, no matter what.

- I’ve been reading more. I’m currently reading The Scam by Janet Evanovich, A Gathering of Shadows by V. E. Schwab, and The Hobbit by the legendary J.R.R. Tolkien.

- We recently had to get a new TV, since our faulty-from-the-start one died. The new one is a Samsung. If you have a Samsung, you probably have Samsung Plus TV. Welp... I’ve discovered Drybar Comedy. Funniest channel ever! 1334, if you’re wondering.

- There’s also videos of puppers and cattos on Instagram. I watch those way too much, sometimes.

- I’ve been blessed with some very good friends. We may all be in different states, and sometimes, we’re in different countries... But we still talk, regularly. 

Find your escape, your light, your feel-goods. 

An Introduction

Ladies and gents, my father:

**These are actual things it has said and done. Sadly, no exaggeration is needed.**

"I can only eat half a taco." Well, if you hadn’t binged all morning on brownies, popcorn, crackers, and other junk food, you might have been able to eat the whole thing.

“I’m gaining weight, and I don’t know why.” Refer to previous statement.

“I’ll nibble on it.” This means it’ll sit in the fridge until it’s so moldy and gross that it’s unrecognizable.

“How do I know you’re talking to me if you don’t say my name?” Oh, I don’t know... Could be that you’re the only other person in the room. Moron.

“Well, today I watched a couple John Wayne movies, read the news, and watched Nova.” That’s nice. I vacuumed the entire upstairs, scrubbed YOUR bathroom, cleaned up YOUR mess, and made YOUR food. Wanna trade tomorrow?

“Our neighbors are great people.” 40 minutes pass, several other topics are discussed. “They’re really good people.”

“All the tups (Tupperware) without lids, I WANT!” Literally because he has a panic attack when I throw anything out. Even actual garbage.

“I need the fan (over the stove) on.” So, you can’t stand the smell of bacon, but your thoroughly burnt popcorn, choking the entire upstairs, is fine?

“It smells fine to me.” Said the man with no sense of smell, about the 3-week-old leftovers...

“Is the stove top hot?” No. We cooked an entire dinner without heating the stove.

“My program starts in 120 minutes.” That’s like saying you’re 893 months old. 2. It’s 2 hours away.

“Are you going to sit and talk, or go watch something?” Then... mom says something to me, incurring the childish, tantrum-motivated manipulation. “Well, if you’re not going to talk, go watch something.” Manipulation level 💯 

**Nobody was physically punched in the making of this blog post**

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.