For Now

This isn’t goodbye, it’s “see you later”.

In my post “Tot Ziens”, I told you about the absolutely incredible man I was blessed enough to call my uncle. The world lost a great light on October 22, 2020. Today, we came together to share memories, stories, and the cheesiest jokes he’d ever used (which, let’s face it, most of them were).

My amazing uncle was finally laid to rest. He battled cancer, Parkinson’s, even COVID. Now, he’s free.

Being who I am, I have to take pictures, even at funerals. Here are some of my favorites...

Disgusting

Gross. Just... ew.

So, the reigning narcissist has a tendency to exercise, then sit and eat something, in the dining room, which then stinks up the whole room. In turn, it stinks up the house. Anyway, it gets angry when told of the smell, and even angrier when told to shower. Then come the rants about how I won’t eat in there when it stinks.

Friends, readers, sane people, lend me your opinions! Would you like to eat in a room that reeks of body odor? Imagine this: Take your lunch into the football team’s locker room, right after practice. Can you do it, or would the smell affect the flavor of your food? Fun fact: Smells are a BIG factor in enjoying food. It smells good, it tastes good. It smells bad, it tastes bad.

My life, ladies and gents... It gets upset because I react to a problem that it created. It is the victim, and I just have a problem. That is a narcissist.

Short post. Fin.

Tot Ziens

Perfect in ev-er-y way.

My uncle— the funniest, kindest person you’ll ever meet— was sent home, this morning.

I don’t have a ton of memories with him, since he lived a couple states away, but I have three very vivid memories. When I was in my early teens, he and my aunt were at our house, along with another uncle and aunt, and a couple cousins. My aunt Cathy played the accordion, while Uncle Dick sang. He always got demands for one particular song, that is so perfectly him. It says, “Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in ev-er-y way”. I don’t remember the whole thing, but I remember his goofy look, dance, and the pure joy of everyone around.

Then there was the time, after my aunt passed, when Uncle Dick came over, and brought us all some legit Mardi Gras beads. I still have them. I have a picture of him from that day, with his usual goofy pose. I love that picture.

Then there was another aunt’s birthday party. So many members of our family gathered together for that one, and of course, there were cheers for the ever humble Uncle Dick. 

My mom and I were able to go down to visit him last year. We were told, then, that he had about two weeks left. Yeah... that was eleven months ago. This man was the most stubborn person ever to grace this planet. He started with nothing, and built himself, and his family, an amazing life. 

He was in his teens when the family came to America, leaving his home, his friends, and his life an ocean away. He married young, and never gave up. He learned English to a point where he had exactly zero accent. He learned a trade, and became a master. He travelled the country. There’s not a whole lot he couldn’t do.

Uncle Dick, you have been a spot brighter than the sun. Thank you for the memories, and the stories (especially when your as broke). You affected more people than you realize, and you are, and will always be, so dearly missed.

Until we meet again...

One Of Those Days

Sit. Open book. Read for three hours. Sleep.

Today was a trial. I got a great job as an in-store shopper at Sprouts, which I started two weeks ago. To be perfectly honest, I love it! I work with some absolutely awesome people, I’m almost always kept busy doing something or another, and I finally feel like I fit in somewhere. No, I’m not vegan, vegetarian, or organic, but neither are most of my coworkers. Everyone gets along, as far as I can tell. It’s nice.

Anyhow, remember that disorder I have? Tardive  Dyskinesia. It mostly affects my left foot (because, why not?), but also affects my left hand and my jaw. It’s been mostly ok for a while, but it acts up every now and then. Today was that day.

When it’s acting up, my foot turns itself inward, forcing other muscles to work harder. This, as you can imagine, results in searing pain, and, subsequently, my left leg being twice the size of my right (looks awesome...). I have no control over it, and if I try to force my foot forward, I literally trip over my own feet. 

Since my job is split between standing, walking, and almost running, you can imagine the effect it has on my foot on days like today. The pain was unbearable, causing me to be less chipper than I have been while working. Unfortunately, a few of my lovely coworkers picked up on my mood. I felt like I was bringing everyone down, so I hid in the corner, as often as I could.

I’ve been home for near two hours, now. I’ve been sitting almost the whole two hours. My foot is still twitching. I swear, my foot acts up more than my mood does, lately. I’ve been properly medicated for almost two years now, making my life a gazillion times better! But that stupid foot... 

Anyhow, I’m off tomorrow, giving my foot time to think about what it has done. A nice time-out should do it some good.

Pressure Building

And now, we sit back, and enjoy the show.

My mom is a very patient person. To a point, anyhow. I remember just one time where she blew a gasket. The other child and I were fighting, as usual, so mom pulls into a parking lot, gets out, slams the door, and took a breather. That’s the only time I really remember her reaching her limit. Now, that limit is slowly creeping up, again, and I’ll only say this: Vesuvius will be down to second place after mom blows.

As I’ve mentioned many times, her husband is both a narcissist and a hoarder. The basement is a nightmare that stinks beyond words, but that’s just half of it. 

Here’s a list of what’s upstairs:

The Living Room:

- Eight seriously heavy boxes of flooring he swore he’d use to redo the kitchen about fifteen years ago.

- A Lay-Z-Boy recliner (circa 1984, but still looks good) that he broke on May 6, 2020, and hasn’t fixed.

- Six (yes, six) bath-size towels he has stuffed between the couch and the piano.

- A statue of The Last Supper, with a decapitated apostle, that has been sitting there for eleven months.

The Dining Room:

- No less than six bottles of various outdoor poisons that have been used maybe four times this year.

- Another box of the flooring that he swore to use in the kitchen.

- Various actual garbage items he’s shoved between the shredder and the wall next to it.

- Other cans of who-knows-what in front of the shredder.

- A massive piece of cardboard from the box of our 65-inch TV.

- Garden clippers.

- Wood water-sealant, along with the brushes and rollers used (those smell real good...).

- A camp stool.

On The Table:

- Dead batteries of varying sizes.

- A pack of toothpicks, “just in case”.

- A napkin so dirty that a toddler wouldn’t even touch it.

- A can of mandarin oranges (just... why?).

On Top Of The Fridge (yes, really):

- A plate.

- A bowl.

- Two spoons.

- Two forks.

- A straw.

- A knife.

- Empty containers (fruit, soda bottles, etc.).

- Three cups.

- A food storage container.

- Two soda cozy things.

Back to my point...

Every time mom or I leave something on the counter, it gets a “What do you want done with this?” Or a “Can we find a box to put these things in?” Or my personal favorite, “We need to keep this space clear.”

He had some stuff in the kitchen drawers that didn’t belong there, and hadn’t been used in ten years, or more. I took it out about a month ago, and he just noticed tonight. Mom gave him the bag of all the crap that I’d taken out, and told him that, no, he can’t put it back in the drawer. His response was to find room in the pantry. Here’s the kicker... He wanted mom to move her cookbooks because they’re “in the way”. 

Moral of the story: A narcissist never does anything wrong. They can do whatever they damn well please, and you have to compromise what you need or want to accommodate their demands. He sees nothing wrong with leaving his crap around, but mom and I have to chuck stuff we want, simply because he needs more space for actual garbage.

I’m going to love the day mom finally blows up at him. It should have come decades ago, but at least it’s coming to a boiling point, now. I just hope I have time to make popcorn, first.

Hear Ye

Good things happen!

I suddenly lost my hearing in June. Today, that changed.

As I was driving, this morning, my ear popped. Painfully. And gross stuff I won’t tell you...

So, freaked, I went to the urgent care. Doctor said, yes, my ear burst, but the hole isn’t big enough to worry about. Best part: When the pain and ringing went down, I actually heard things! 

I heard my music (and am now aware why people looked annoyed), I heard my phone, I even heard my car! I may have cried a little. It was seriously emotionally overwhelming. Still not ever it.

Anyhow... Today is gonna be a great day!

Butt Out

Buh-bye!

So, there’s a woman who likes to put her opinions into everything. I mean, she’s a nice lady, but she has exactly zero right to butt in where she does.

I got a new car last month, right? When she found out, her response was a snooty “I thought she just got a new car”. Yeah... not your business. Are you paying for it? No. So, butt out.

Then there’s the...

Ok, backstory, first:

As some may remember, I recently lost most of my hearing in my right ear. There’s now a 95% loss in the right, and a 60% loss in the left. I was finally able to get in to see the specialist, who wanted to do an evaluation for a cochlear implant. I thought it over, did some research, and decided that it wasn’t a path I wanted to take. Not right now, anyway.

Back to the woman...

She just about blew a fuse when she found out I didn’t want one. “Well, it’s worked so well for my (whatever relation she was)!” Ok... great for her. She was born deaf, and hasn’t heard any other way. To someone who spent thirty-three years as a hearing person, I’ve read that it sounds like a talking doll whose batteries are dying. No. Not happening. Butt out.

You can have your opinions. You can voice your opinions. You can’t, however, judge someone so harshly for not agreeing with your opinions (good tip for this election year, too).

I love my new car, and I’m 110% happy with my choice to not get the CI. These things affect nobody but me, so, no... you have no right to get upset, judgy, or tell me I’m wrong because I don’t agree with you. 

Autumn

Can’t you just smell it?

October is both my favorite, and not. On the one hand, I lost a friend at the end of October, all the way back in 1997. On the other hand, I love the leaves, the weather cooling down, the smell in the air, and the beautiful way the world changes. 

Yesterday, I took a trip around the cemetery. I didn’t stop at Bryan’s grave, but I caught some pictures of decorated graves. 

Enjoy!

Seester Dearest

Come again?

I was informed, today, that my “sister” is now trying to convince my mom that our relationship problems are, in fact, my fault! Allow me to rebut...

I am by no means a perfect person. I admit that I am a difficult person to get along with. Close quarters make that difficulty an almost impossibility. I’ve flown off any handle there may have been, for stupid stuff; or worse, no apparent reason, at all! Having been entirely unmedicated for twenty-six years, then not properly medicated for nearly thirty-two years, has made it difficult for people to stick with me. However, it’s not impossible (e.g. Kierstin— 26 years, Berkeley— 21 years, and Anna— 18 years). 

All I got was, “She says she’d like to hang out with you, but you always... I can’t remember”. So true, it’s that memorable! 

So, what do I always do? Half the time, I don’t even know what I do! My life has been one giant inconsistency. There’s not a whole lot that I always do. Do I always sleep? No. Do I always get angry when you say that? No. Am I always going to agree with you, and be exactly who you want me to be? To quote “She’s All That”(1999)... That’s a hell no. 

But seester, dearest, here’s what you have always done...

1- Put me down for not being 100% like you. Most notably for liking the music that I do.

2- Roll your eyes when I talk about mental illness. Fun fact: It’s not something I can “learn to get over”, like you like to tell me. Just like your pain can’t.

3- So, this one isn't an always thing, but I remember four times (yes, four), when you flat-out told me that I’m not as classy as you are. Why? Because I have the audacity to wear jeans! Oh! The humanity!

4- Last on this list, but definitely not last in reality: You’ll decide to be a friend for anywhere from an hour to a month, then just drop me like a Large Hadron Collider (it’s a thing, look it up).

You, dear seester, are consistent, predictable, and intolerable. I may have Bipolar Disorder, but the way you go back-and-forth is as steady as a pendulum.

Ask yourself these questions:

-Has she ever told me that who I am isn’t good enough?

-Has she mocked me for something I like (even when Backstreet was life)?

-Which one of us blocked the other out when we were kids?

-Have I ever told her she’s good enough, without emphasizing the word “enough”?

-When was the last time I actually listened to what she had to say, instead of running my mouth like the speedometer on a Lamborghini?

Answer Sheet: (Read in first person, for ya.)

No, but I did that to her, like, a lot. 

No, but I’d pick at everything I could.

Me. Unless I was bored. 

No, but I did that to her. Still do.

Never. Didn’t even know she had a blog.

So, go ahead, make up these stories that make you the victim. If they make you feel like a good person, go for it, because I simply don’t care. You can lie like a public defender, but the one person you’ll never convince is the person you have put through hell for over thirty years.

We can still make holidays pleasant, but we will never be friends, let alone sisters.

Southern New Hampshire University

**This issue has since been solved. SNHU did right by me, by actually approving it as a one-time correction. But let this still be a warning.**

Basically... run!

As some of you may remember, I tried starting back at college in May of this year. I applied at, and was accepted into, Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU), taking online courses. This is my nightmare...

When you apply for college, in America, you fill out an application, send it to whichever college or university, and after a bit, you’ll get a letter or email with either an acceptance or rejection. Not with SNHU. No... You fill out a form to express your interest, then they call you, and they fill out the application, with you on the phone. Weird, but not totally unacceptable.

Then you go through the typical financial aid crap. Miracle of miracles, you’re in, and are approved for federal loans!

Then there are the classes...

The absolutely useless professors are, well, useless. Ask a question, get a vague response. Ask an and/or question, and get a yes/no response. “You can reach me anytime! Here’s my email, phone number, and available minute.” Yeah... right.

This crap hole has less than 50% graduation rate. Those who do graduate, even with a BA in English, can’t figure out the difference between “apart” and “a part”, let alone “farther” and “further”! Great education they got...

Now for the worst of it...

Should you need to drop a class, or drop out altogether, here’s a helpful hint: Let the semester go by, even if you have to fail the class. They don’t tell you about the drop process and fees, so reading ahead, and making copies of the current process is a must. 

I had to drop out about four or five weeks into the term, because of my mental state, and the rapid decline of that state. When I called, I was told that I’d have to pay back the federal loan I used. Totally makes sense. When I was on the phone with one of their representatives, I was told, no less than three times, that I wouldn’t have to pay back any grant money that was disbursed. 

Here we are, almost four months later, and I get an email, telling me I owed SNHU over $400! I called the financial office, told them what I was told, and got, “I’m sorry for any misinformation, but the balance still stands”... ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!

This joke of an institution won’t stand by their word. Anything you’re told can, and will, be countered by some rule that they hide on their website so well, that it would take a freaking programmer to find! 

Do not, under any circumstances, use this money-sucking factory! It’s not an educational institution, it’s nothing more than a nationwide shark, betting on your failure.

Rolaids Spells Relief

Yes, I’m talking about a specific person. No, I won’t tell you her name. She’s a good person, but she needs major help.

I met her in, like, 2009. She was odd, but good odd. She danced to music like nobody was watching, her sense of fashion was purely her own (and she rocked it!).  She talked, she listened, she cared. We were good friends! Then things started changing...

She got married to a guy I didn’t think was good for her, but that was her choice. When she had her first kid, things really started showing. Her tone, her body language, and her behaviors started seeking attention and validation, instead of giving it.

Things started getting bad for my mental health about three years ago. She’d post dozens of pictures of her kids in the comments of posts that had nothing to do with kids or pictures. On pretty much every post, I could expect no less than five responses. She’d respond with things out of left field. I’d say something about, say, cleaning out my closet, and I’d get a paragraph about what her kids did that day. Then she turned to pictures and descriptions of her kids on public posts of pages she followed, where anyone and everyone could see. Fun fact: Pedophiles go around social media to find pictures of your kids, and we all know what they do with those pictures.

The more attention she got, the more she needed. Same with validation and, yes, pity. She turned into a perma-victim. Any tiny thing she could get pity for, she’d blow it way out of proportion. Example: The last time I saw her, we went out for dinner. When I was driving her home, literally every pebble we hit, somehow hurt. And it had to be expressed with moans, groans, and detailed descriptions.

It got to a point where, every time I’d see her name pop up on my notifications, I’d get stressed. What’s her latest attention-getting tactic? How far from relevant is her comment? It was stressful, and frankly, it was irritating.

I had to unfollow her on all social media, and I actually blocked her phone number. I simply couldn’t deal with her, anymore. She wasn’t doing anything to help her disorder (Borderline Personality Disorder), because the reactions she gets from family, friends, and strangers, are too satisfying for her. Fun fact: Feeding into someone’s personality disorder, is counterproductive. It hurts them, not helps them. 

I’ve talked to my own therapist about this woman. I said, “She’s a good person, but she drives me nuts. I can’t deal with her.” My therapist’s response? “That’s ok! Borderline is a difficult disorder to be around.”

She recently removed me completely from Facebook, and holy cannoli... the stress is gone! 

Like I said, she’s a good person, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, but not having any contact with her, well, that’s just for the best.

You will always bring a smile to my face when I listen to Soolaimon. I wish you well, and I pray you find your happy place. 

Too Full

I’ve never been through this, and I gotta say... I really don’t care for it.

Ok, I have this weird reaction when I eat, which,  everyone who has ever seen it, has to laugh. Normal people get the sensation of, “I’m almost full. Maybe a bite or two more”, right? Not me. I feel hungry while I’m eating... until I don’t. Like, I’m going along, enjoying my taco, then very suddenly, I’ll literally gag because I’m too full. Most of the time, I wind up not being able to even swallow that bite. It gets gross, if you have to watch this.

Anyhow, I’ve never felt the feeling I’ve heard about when someone is too full. Tonight, that changed, and it’s just... no.

I’m not a fan of new things that I can’t control. New pants? Great. New car? Fun! New feeling? No. Yes, this falls under the OCPD tab in my ever-growing owner’s manual for my brain. I’m a major control freak, especially when it comes to myself. I can’t handle when I feel “off”, because it’s not what I want for myself. 

For the last couple weeks, I’ve been fighting certain things that annoy me to the point of irritation, or even anger. I’ve managed to keep my thoughts to myself when reading something with grammar vying for first place in the “I read it in the comments” awards, which is a massive step for me. But, I mean, come on! What kind of kindergarten drop-out spells “Abviously”?!?! 

Anyway, my point is: Trying to deal with something new, has always been difficult for me. Anything about my mind or body, that suddenly changes, is just not ok with me. I’m nearing thirty-four years old, and I still can’t handle these things. Working on it, but not holding my breath.

I’m Amused

Ok, this is fun.

If you’re not in the know, there’s a scam going round with online sales. They find an item you’ve listed online for sale, offer a cashier check for more than the asking price, say they’ll arrange a pickup (since they’re conveniently out of the state for a while) after the check has cleared, and ask for personal information that seems innocent (name, address to mail the check, phone number, etc.). 

When you cash the check, all is great... for around six weeks. That’s when the bank finds out that the account it came from is empty. Then the bank comes after you for reimbursement, plus fees. Scammer gets the money and what you’re selling, and you’re out hundreds, or even thousands of dollars.

I’ve gotten so many of these. Thankfully, I have a smart friend named Taylor, who knows about this kind of thing. I’ve usually just left the scammers hanging, but today, I had some fun...

The following conversation is one such scam. The address and phone number are easily Googled to reach the Salt Lake City field office for the FBI. 

And now, we wait... 😈 

Check out the phone number these texts came from, and have a little fun, yourself. Maybe something to the effect of...

Hey! My friend sold you (insert something expensive), and I was wondering if you’d be interested in my (something similar to expensive item).

Then, feel free to send it to your local police office or fraud department, or go all out with your nearest FBI field office.

Go forth and spam the scammers!

End Of My Rope

I damn well better get this job...

Every time the jackass narcissist is around, his flying monkey treats me like crap. Anything I say gets an eye roll, a glare, or an answer with a seriously annoyed tone. I can do no right, narc can do no wrong.

The term “flying monkey” for a narcissist’s enabler, comes from The Wizard of Oz. The wicked witch’s flying monkeys do her bidding. The narcissist’s enabler does their bidding. Get it? And since the jackass narcissist’s goal in life is to tear me down to suicidal levels, the monkey picks up on it when the narc is around.

Tonight, I posed the question, “Are you aware of how you treat me when he’s around?” As you can imagine, this went over about as well as throwing an egg off the roof. 

“I either get the eye roll, a glare, or a bite.”

“No...”

“Yeah, ya do.”

“When you put dad down, yeah.”

“Not just then. I asked for help, and you glared at me, and said ‘just a minute’ like you were annoyed.”

Then... in the least apologetic tone I’ve ever heard in an attempt at an apology...

“Well, I’m sorry I did that tonight.”

🙄🙄🙄

I interviewed for a fabulous job, last Tuesday. People love working there, it’s got great benefits... Just sounds like a great place. However, the best benefit of this would be: I could get my own place! Away from the jackass, away from the back-and-forth enabler... 

I’m just done. It’s time to make time for myself— Time to find out if I’m worth more than my family thinks I am, time to choose who I have to be around, and time to be me. 

I won’t give my family the satisfaction of my death. Instead,  I’ll shove my happiness in their faces. Repeatedly.

Complications

Oh, the irony...

All Americans will understand HIPPA. It’s the overboard privacy law that prevents anyone from knowing anything about you or your medical history. It’s absolutely ridiculous that, if I was in a horrible car accident, my mom wouldn’t be able to know anything about where I am, what’s wrong, or if I’m on life support, simply because I’m an adult. Yes, if I list her as an emergency contact, she would have slightly more power, but still.

Welp, thanks to COVID causing an ever-increasing number of people suffering from paranoia, HIPPA is taking a blow, and medical offices could face a hilarious fine.

I’m at a doctor office, and they have a taped line on the floor, with a big, bright sign telling us to STAY BEHIND THE LINE! Because of this, I now know that Mr. L has an overdue balance of nearly ninety-four dollars. I know his name, phone number, and address, because he had to say it loud enough that the receptionist could hear. Keep in mind my level of hearing loss, and this is even funnier. 

Jennifer needs a referral for physical therapy, April needs a refill on her heart meds, and Kevin got an STD.

It has been proven, multiple times, that one person wearing a mask, lowers the chance of getting sick to just one percent. Put two people, still standing two or three feet apart, wearing masks, and there’s zero chance you’re going to get sick.

So, what’s more important? Would you prefer the zero percent chance of getting a cold, or your private information being out there for everyone to hear? 

The people who believe the high COVID numbers, need to do some investigating. Here, in Utah, they have hundreds of COVID deaths reported. Fun fact: Many of these deaths were car accidents, and many died of other, major causes (old age, liver/kidney failure, cancer, etc.). They haven’t even reported five actual, legitimate deaths. The deceased are tested during the autopsy, just to make the numbers higher, and increase mass paranoia. Over 90% of people who test positive, have no symptoms. Less than 5% end up in the hospital for any amount of time. Less than 1% are hit hard. 

Think about this.

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.