I feel so dumb after my last post. I feel like protecting it or even erasing it. It’s a one-thousand-word whine about how embarrassed and humiliated I felt. Truth is I could’ve saved my readers from it, it was nothing more than a public display of what an anxiety disorder looks like. Well… when I put it that way I guess I can find some use for it and leave it there. I’ll change its name and it’ll stay put, maybe someday it can help someone.

Right now I feel much better, though it was a very tough morning, with whines on Facebook and Twitter included. There should be an emergency protocol for when my AD peaks, where I was banned from any form of internet ramblings. Anyhow, glad things are stabilizing a little. I’m not sure what it’ll be like tomorrow when I have to show my face in Mount Olympus though.

I wish I could go through these kinds of situations, like the one yesterday, like a normal person. I wish it didn’t affect me so hard. But I’ll stop whining about that too before I get sad again.

Thanks for your support, it helped me so much!



What angst looks like

Today I made a huuuge fool of myself. I wanted to start digging and get in the ground, cover myself real good with dirt, and never, EVER come out again. And what’s worse is that if it hadn’t been for this gigantic embarrassment, my day would’ve been fine, maybe even a little better. But now my day is ruined and I’ll go in the record as the dumbest attempt at a student ever.

I think I’m gonna have to divide what actually happened in two parts. The first is the good part of my day, something I had been looking forward to, and the second is the self-inflicted torture that ruined my day, and possible a lot more days to come.

So the first part goes like this: I’ve been offered a job at my uni’s historical institute (a.k.a. Mount Olympus), I’ll be working as an assistant to two of their journals. This was made possible thanks to a dear dear teacher for whom I’ve worked as an assistant before and who (as what happened later only confirms) thinks just too much of me. He suggested me for the position to the other editors when it became vacant, and it was thanks to him that they chose me over a several other candidates, without so much as an interview. Today was the first time I was meeting 2 of them (there are four editors, two of them were absent: my professor and another one whom I didn’t know). I was excited because I was going to find out everything about what it is they want me to do and the whole nine yards basically. So I left my job at 3:30 and not a second earlier, drove like crazy to try to be there at 4 like they had asked me to, and made it at 4:10 more or less. I met two of the editors and they laid out their plans, and everything was dandy.  And this is where it gets ugly and complicated.

There was another business I had to attend at the institute, I had a thesis seminar my tutor signed me up for. At the time (it started back in December)she let me know I had to attend it once a month on a day where I had failed yet again to meet the deadline for a chapter, and she looked pissed with good reason. This seminar includes undergraduate, graduate, and doctorate students who are in the process of writing our respective dissertations, and this made me feel absolutely unsuited for the whole thing. How could my thesis, a simple, probably boring, not even from a history major, undergraduate dissertation, be compared to an eloquent thesis for a doctorate in History??? But up to today I’d managed to keep my head above water, reading the texts and managing to open my mouth without letting the butterflies escape. Yep, up to today.

This week however, I didn’t manage to fully read one of the two texts that we were going to discuss; I was a lazy ass and quite frankly forgot about reading them until yesterday. I read one and about three thirds of the other one  last night on my laptop and didn’t write down my notes. I arrived late to the thing (it also started at 4), and was almost immediately asked to provide my feedback for the text I didn’t finish. It was the first chapter of a graduate dissertation and a damn good text, but I didn’t really have much to say besides that. I should’ve been honest and say I hadn’t had time to work on it, however for a split second I thought I could wing it. Guess what…I couldn’t. I started babbling without saying anything remotely articulated, and then… I just couldn’t shut up!! I looked like president Peña Nieto on a streak. I went on and on talking without saying something for about two minutes that felt like 2 hours, with 7 people staring at me waiting for a mildly reasonable idea to come out of my mouth, until a kind soul put me out of my misery by saying “why don’t you just think about it, and we’ll go back to you?”. I wanted to open the window and just escape, but that’s not even it!

It was bad enough making a complete fool of myself in front of all of them, but it just gets worse. This guy who gave me an out was the other professor who’s responsible for the seminar besides my tutor, but as I was about to find out, that’s not the only way I’m connected to him. When the seminar was over and I thought I could begin to recover from my humiliation….this same professor approaches me and tells me he wants to see me in his cubicle… as he is the other absent editor I’m supposed to work for!! I just felt like dropping dead right there.

So I went to his cubicle where he explained details he considered important for me to know about my new job, but all I could really do was wonder if he was thinking something on the line of: “THIS??? REALLY??? THIS is the girl I’ve been told about?? This mediocre, dumb, insecure loser is who I’m supposed to trust my journal to?”

God, just remembering this makes me want to die all over again. And I feel like cutting again. Bad. Something’s different though, I feel like calling Mr. Shrinky. He and N always tell me to call them when I get like this. Most times it doesn’t even cross my mind. Sometimes it does but I dismiss it like the stupidest thing I could do. But today… I wanna talk to him. I probably won’t, I’m not strong enough to call, and don’t have the privacy to do so either, so maybe, for the second time today, I’ll see if I can wing it.


Monday, kind of Sunday

I’ve been eating like a pig, my clothes don’t fit, specially my pants. Binge eating is something I’d trained myself to avoid, and I was successful for a long time. Now, it’s apparently become hard to remember cookies are not love nor peace of mind, and whenever I manage to loose some of the weight I’ve gained, I gain it right back. People say I’m ok, but they don’t know what it is to feel obese and ashamed and to hate yourself and your body so much you wanna cut the fat right out of you. The worst part is when they laugh at you for having such worries: “lol, your far, far away from being obese!”, or “if you think you’re fat, I can only wonder what you think of me!”
I wish it wasn’t such a big deal, I trick myself into thinking this is a silly thing to worry about, just like everyone tells me. And I feel quite dumb admitting this, but it really is a big, big issue for me, it’s something that affects me every second of every day. This is more serious than just being uncomfortable in my body, it actually feels more like being trapped in hell. This thing I look at in the mirror can’t be me! Get me out of here! But no one gets me out because this isn’t a bad dream, this is one of my biggest fears come true.
Anorexia is not something as simple as not eating. It sticks with you forever, even when you don’t look anorexic anymore. At least that’s the way I live it, I’ve almost lost hope that I’ll some time feel normal about food, because it haunts me ALL THE TIME.
This Monday looks quite a lot like s Sunday, anxiety is back at it and chest pains are creeping in on me, I wish it were Tuesday already so I could relax a bit. But I won’t relax. I never do. I just become less anxious. Well I still wish today would end so I could at least enjoy that. And also so I could start again my lately never-kept promise of not eating. I always say I’ll stop eating, and I always think I’m gonna keep the promise. But I hadn’t really told anyone about this, so maybe I’ll have a bigger chance of sticking to my goal this time.

I’m not dead

It’s been a week since my last post. I don’t think I had taken so long between posts in a while. I tried to write a continuation to my “Daddy Issues” post, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. This past week was a particularly tough one, I had a lot of trouble finding meaning in my life and I couldn’t help feeling like a complete failure. When I sat down trying to write, it just felt like it was pointless because nobody would care, even if I had a lot of positive feedback from the above mentioned post and some people even asked for part two, I’m just too much of a coward to go ahead with it, so I guess I’m putting it off for a bit, just until I get my head around what I want to say and how I’m going to say it.

I’m starting to wonder if part of the reason I have trouble telling the deepest stuff about my father issues is because I’m afraid people will think I’m just a whining baby, maybe they’ll see me for what I am, a young adult who’s traumatized by events that aren’t even comparable with the horrors other people went through while growing up. Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to tell me, like my mother has for so long, to suck it up and get over it.

And hell, I haven’t even started about my mother, that’s gonna take a whole new level of nerve. I’ve been dancing about the idea of writing about my mother for a lot of time, and I know I’m gonna keep on doing just that for a long time before I dare to dip my feet in those waters.

Anyhow, I guess this is some kind of  hi-there-I’m-not-dead post, just to get back on track. I love this blog and I don’t want to get away from it for too long, and my writing prompt for today ends there really.

Oh wait! I have some juicy stuff! Ha, I’ve been so absorbed all week about not finding meaning in life, that I completely forgot to tell you that I finished another chapter of the Frankenthesis, and now I’m just half a chapter away from finishing it, yaaaay! I can’t believe I’m almost there, I can see the light at the end of this tunnel. When I’m done with it, I know it won’t be so hard to find meaning in stuff, and just enjoy life a little more.

In other news, we’ve got a new addition to the kitty family. Except…well… it’s not really a kitty, and it’s not an addition I agreed on, but since it wasn’t my decision to make (and I loove her cutie face), I’m just gonna see if me and my kitties can roll with it. Of course if kitties can’t adjust, I’m not gonna let this go by so smoothly, their well-being is my priority in this case. Without further adieu, meet… Lula!

It’s just sad

Trigger warning: self-harm is dealt with in this post.

So I talked to Mr. Shrinky about cutting one session from my treatment. He wasn’t happy about it but he understood, and said something that made my heart clinch a bit, that went a more or less like this: “it’s just sad that your emotional part has to pay up for the mess your outer part has made”. This remark hurt me a little, but not because I thought the comment was hurtful in any way, because it’s true. I just don’t know how to take care of my emotional being. I feed and clothe myself, I can manage to get by society’s requirements in a not-so-dreadful kind of way, but I just don’t know what to do with my inner me.

She’s always been left to mend for herself, and when she just can’t handle the pain anymore and sends s.o.s. signals to the outside, that’s when I cut, I cut until the pain is balanced between the outside and the inside. Or sort of anyways. I did it again on Saturday night, my anxiety pain was just too much, I felt I couldn’t breathe, it was surprising I wasn’t fainting or something thanks to it. And it felt good because it was soothing in a way, caring for my wounds felt as close to caring for my inner me as I could get at that point. And little me has way too much on her shoulders to begin with, and now she indeed has to pay for outer me’s rampage.

It just dawned on me right now that I really haven’t talked much about all the stuff that got me here in the first place, I guess I’m taking baby steps into it. When I first started this blog all I knew was that I needed to write and be read, even by just a handful of people. Writing has always been an amazingly powerful therapy for me, no matter what the topic is, and so I blogged about Mexico’s elections, the #132 movement, and the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named.

But then one night I felt like sharing a little about me, and a little more in another post, and next thing I know elections are out the window and I’m sharing my inner demons for the world to see. It was something entirely new and exhilarating in a way…though it was and continues to be scary and threatening because I don’t know who might read this and if they’ll judge me, and because talking about me in any form has never come easy for me.

So far I couldn’t be more pleased with what I’ve gotten from blogging, most importantly the people I met through doing it. Empirically finding out you’re not alone and that there are people going through stuff you can relate to, well it helps a long way, so thank you for being there!


I know I know, this post is all over the place, but these were things I needed to get of my chest.

Thesis rant

Why is it so hard? Is it supposed to be like this? I swear I’ve been working all day and when I looked, I realized I’d only written about 2 pages and still have at least four more pages to write. When I was still taking courses it wasn’t so hard. I could sit down at 8 o’clock at night, maybe even 9 or 10, and I could write down a 15 pages long essay that was due the next morning, and still get a pretty good grade. Where is that girl? I need her so very much.

I just feel so desperate, it’s like swimming real hard to get to the shore, but you’re barely moving because the tide is so strong, and you see the shore, and you know you’re close, but you just can’t get there and you get so tired and frustrated you feel you’re gonna drown any second. That’s how I feel. I hope it goes away soon. I hope the apple cinnamon tea I just made for myself washes these feelings away.

I need to write two 25 pages long chapters for Jan 15. Right now I’ve been working on one that’s already 21 pages long, but I just can’t seem to be able to finish it. The other one… well I don’t even want to look at it but it must be about 8 pages long if I’m lucky.

BF says it’s normal, that it’s only my second day back after the Xmas break, that it’s not acceptable to say I can’t, I’m just simply off-court and need to get back on track. Maybe I’m just too hasty and terrible at waiting to see results.

I do have to say the comments from yesterday’s post helped a lot, and I’m already following your advice so I hope to see the outcome soon.

Anyways, my rant is over. Thanks for bearing with me. I’ll now get back to working on my little monster.

Made it out alive

What are your 2013 resolutions?

For me, I definitely hope to finish the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named, I’ll be damned if I don’t! By the way, Mr. Shrinky and I re-named it the Frankenthesis, ’cause it’s my creation turned against me. I was just watching a movie about a girl who got in a car accident and ended up quadraplegic when she was in junior high ans STILL managed to get into Harvard and get her dissertation done in a flash WITH summa cum laude honors and then went on to a P.H.D. and a postdoctoral stay at who knows where. I mean, come on! Give me a break here! The quadraplegic gets summa cum laude and I can’t finish a four chapter thesis!*

My other resolution (yeah, I don’t trust me so I’m gonna keep it at two) is to loose all the weight I’ve gained in this last depressive time. It sucks to have such a common resolution, but my weight is really something that’s keeping me from enjoying stuff, for example my last trip to the beach. I want my skinny body back, and I’ll get it for me as my birthday gift at any cost.

There was another thing I wanted to add to the list, but I’m not sure when and if I’ll get it done, so I’m gonna leave it in the wish-category. I wish my depression goes away. Like, for good. I’m tired of the ups and downs, of the triggers, of the self-harm, of hating so deeply the way I look… I wish I could be done with it all. I don’t expect to be done with my healing path, I’m well aware that’s a lifetime project and that’s why I’m committing to stay in therapy (maybe I’ll even add it to the resolutions list just so I don’t start wanting to quit as soon as I feel a little better), but I do wish I could go about it in healthier ways. Soon. In other words, I wish life wasn’t so hard all of the damn time.

In the meantime, I’ve made it out in one piece of one of a very difficult time of the year. Now I just have to survive New Year’s Eve and then I’ll be happy to celebrate I made it out alive of 2012 and its celebrations.

‘Til next time!

*I should add, in case needed, I by no means intend to offend anyone with my remark, I just want to point out how bumming it is to find someone who has such overwhelming obstacles and still manages to strive and achieve so much, while yours truly, with much more ordinary hurdles, can’t manage to get a sad little thesis done.

Do you have kids?


I cheated on my shrink. There, I said it. More specifically, I cheated on my psychiatrist, and I did it because she made me angry at her by refusing to answer the silliest question of all times: Do you have kids?

Let me start at the top. I’ve been seeing her on a monthly basis ever since Mr. Shrinky (a psychoanalyst himself) said, very early on in our work together, that therapy was too much to handle by myself at that point and I needed extra help. I was severely depressed and suicidal so evidently I agreed, after all I was sitting there at his office asking for help wasn’t I? He referred me to her and said she’s the best at what she does. Fine then.

Anyhow, after a while I hit it off with Mr. Shrinky, but things with N have never been quite very smooth. For one thing, I don’t see her far as often as I do see him, and when I do I usually don’t have a lot of things to say to her because I don’t feel entirely comfortable, among other things because of her office. It’s dark and cold, and our chairs are so far away we have to speak up to hear each other.

Another thing is the barriers she puts up: once, at the end of a session when I was looking for my wallet to pay (a moment which is always very uncomfortable for me), I found a pair of chocolates, so I offered her one. I didn’t even think about it, it just came out of my mouth (for those of you who don’t know, us mexicans tend to be sharers, we share whatever it is we’re about to eat to anyone who is around), and she said no, thanks. It didn’t bother me, it’s also rather common for people to first say no, and then accept whatever it is they’ve been offered. When I insisted, she said “but it’s yours, I can’t accept it”, response that caused a big WTF gesture on my face as I proceeded to put the damn thing back and take out the money.

So during my last session with her in the middle of November, I saw something in her office that resembled a Xmas gift and I wondered why she would keep such a thing in her office when it wasn’t even December, which got me to think that maybe it was a gift she was hiding for her kid(s), and I realized I didn’t know whether she had any kids at all. And so, without paying attention to any of the previously described signs, I asked her if she had kids, and she simply stared at me. So I asked yet again, and the conversation went on a bit like this:

-Why do you ask?

-Just because, I saw that thing that looks like a gift and it got me wondering if you were a mother.

-Is it important for you to know?

-No, I’m just curious,do you have kids N?

-(Stares at me)

-Are you really not going to tell me?

-(Stares at me)

-Fine, whatever.

Then she said something about me redirecting my anger towards her and we needed to find out where it was coming from, but at this point I wasn’t really listening and was just waiting out for the damn session to end, I was too pissed off. What really fueled my anger was that she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t even say “You know? I’m just not going to answer that” or something, all I got was her silence. And it offended me. It was like I wasn’t even worth an explanation.

After the session I was sure I wasn’t coming back to see her again. I told Mr. Shrinky about all of this and he said it was something she and I needed to talk about. Right, yet another conversation fueled by an insignificant, silly little question, don’t they have enough?

Aside from this, my female progenitor approached me one day, as female progenitors do, to say she wanted me to get a second opinion on my psych treatment, after all I’d been going for quite a while and it wouldn’t hurt to listen to what another shrink had to say about it. My most natural, immediate response, would’ve been something on the tone of : “Hell no! You’ve got no idea if I’m making progress or not, and I’d really like you to say out of it”, but because the situation with N happened just days before, I was suddenly open and willing to do as I was being suggested, and much to my surprise I even made an appointment with the doc she suggested.

Mr. Shrinky was pissed, he said this was a decision that we should’ve made together, that he couldn’t make a team out of the blue with this “person” and that I could “get confused”. After this session with him I realized I didn’t want to see any other shrink at all because I trusted them both and was content with the progress made. In fact I couldn’t find a single fiber in me telling me to go see this new doc, except for one: the part of me that was still very upset and offended and angry at N.

So I went, this other shrink concurred with the way my treatment had been handled, and I even got to leave with a month-supply of the meds I’m on. So far so good. Now, my next appointment with N is tomorrow and I’m gonna have to tell her I cheated on her, and I think this may cause yet another bump in our way, and all because of a simple unanswered question.

Agreed, I may have a bit of a problem with boundaries, but it’s not as if I asked for her address or her children’s names. And these steel barriers are not something I think I can get accustomed to, mainly because they seem illogical to me and thus I can’t seem to deal well with them. Let’s see how it goes (I may or may not report back on it 😛 ).


I’m fat. Fat fat fat. I don’t know how many times a day I think about it but it’s a lot, and I’m creating a little hell for myself. I used to be considerately underweight, and I had the diagnosis of atypical anorexia sprung at me at least twice in my life, plus a lot of people sticking their noses where they didn’t belong calling me anorexic. The way I see it I was skinny, real skinny, but not in the hospitalized kind of way, I never made it that far and a baggy sweater would usually do the trick for me.

Now I’m supposed to be within a healthy weight range, but to me it feels like hell, and I wonder if I’m ever gonna lose all this fat to be back to a place where I’m comfortable with my body. It’s something that’s eating me away (haha, bad pun) and it’s only made worse by the fact that I feel vain and shallow to worry about these things. ‘Cause believe me, I wish they didn’t cross my mind, I just can’t help it.

It all started when I was in 6th grade. All of my childhood I’d been a rather chubby girl, and as all the other girls in the class where starting to grow breast, mine where nowhere in the horizon, so now I was not only fat but flat as well. I couldn’t magically appear boobies on my body, but I could control it in another way, I could be the skinny girl. And man did I get skinny.

I became almost addicted to that empty stomach sensation, feeding myself with imaginary delicacies, and in fact I don’t even remember suffering because of hunger, I could trick my body into not being hungry (an ability I seem to have lost btw). Then, when my rather minimum breast decided to make an appearance, it turned up I liked my body. For the first time ever, I liked my body!

Now I’m as fat as I’ve ever been, and I can’t even share what I’m going through with most people because they don’t understand, I get strange looks and people just go like: “But you look ok!”. The problem is I don’t feel ok, I feel obese. Really, I’m not exaggerating, I feel like I could bounce my way to work. And I feel uncomfortable all the time, it’s like I was always naked, and I’m just shocked people don’t notice.

The only thing I was never able to manage too good was people making comments about my weight, whether they’d be from people who was honestly concerned, or mere acquaintances who thought it was ok to underline the fact that I was skinnier than the average person. That’s something I definitely don’t miss, and even if it’s the only thing, I’m thankful that for the time being I don’t have to sit through these remarks.

Bad sushi

I absolutely adore Japanese food. I could it eat every day for the rest of my life. The rice, the noodles, the sushi, the soups, all of it. So yesterday, after yet another gray day, I decided the higlight of  it could be treating myself with some sushi. Around 5pm I ordered some rice and a roll from my favorite place. I didn’t have dinner and for a change I went to bed not too late, only to wake up at 2 in the morning feeling so nauseous I could barely make it on time to the bathroom. I don’t know how many times I puked before the sickness went down to my stomach and D (no, not depression, the other D) made it’s grand appeareance.

Long story short, when it was time to get up and go to work I was a wreck and had to ask willingly for the sadistic procedure of getting an injection. I just can’t afford to skip another day of work, especially not today. Good news is the kids got out early today so I only had to teach 3 classes. Bad news is they got out early because we the teachers are in for one of our monthly marathonical meetings so I’m stuck here until 4 in the afternoon (in case you are putting two and two together, yes, I’m writing this post while I should be working. Bad employee, bad, bad employee 😉 )

The thing I’m wondering is, does it ever get any easier? I mean working. Or is it always gonna be a struggle while I’m dealing with D (no, not the stomach-D, the other one) Because it’s been almost four months since I started here and it’s not getting easier. Or is it difficult because this is not my passion? What I want to do is research. For those of you who don’t know, I studied Latin American Studies and I’m specializing in Gender History. Now THAT is my passion. Except I can’t go after it until I finish the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named, and so the vicious circle continues.

Go to work? I'd rather stay curled up inside this blanky!

Go to work? I’d rather stay curled up inside this blanky!

Random thoughts

I haven’t been writing in the past few days because I’ve been feeling like I have nothing else to say, guess I’m still in my meh phase, trapped in robot-mode, and I’m so sick of it!

Work’s better, with a little help from my partner I have managed to stop being late and go back to having enough time in the morning to get me some coffee on the way to school, which makes it easier to do my job. I think I’m getting used to it (I just started at this school in mid-August), but it’s still hard having to deal with it AND with my thesis, which is not comming to good (or not at all I might say).

The kitties are fine, getting bigger and stronger, they’re going to their permanent home this week, and I’m gonna miss them so much. With the help of meds they did beat the skin fungus, the bad news is now my cats have it and need to be medicated as well. Now that the babies are going I’ll have more time to focus on helping my cats beat it as well.

In other news, I’m thinking about quitting therapy. I’m just not sure it’s helping me anymore. The crisis keep comming and it’s been months since I felt I made some real progress. Also, I certainly could use the money; half my paycheck is going to my mental health, be it therapy or meds, and as much as I try to stretch the other half I’m just not making ends meet. It’s a very hard and unfair decision to have to choose between your mental well-being and your personal finances health, but I’m getting pretty close to having to do just that.

It does worry me that maybe I won’t be able to cope with my issues, but how not to be depressed if I’m not having enough money for my expenses? Money problems are certainly not the cause of my depression and I’m sure that even if I didn’t have issues with it I would still be depressed, but the problem here is that I don’t want money to be just another aggravating factor.

I’m just thinking out loud and probably won’t make a decision like that in the remaining time this year has left, but I am worried and it’s something that’s on my mind.


I don’t know what’s going on with me. It’s like I’m back in robot-mode, except I’m a broken robot. I can’t be on time for work, I can’t catch up on my work, and most of the times I feel like I have no feelings left in me. My mind’s been playing hooky and leaving the auto-pilot on, the down side to vacationing inside my brain is that I can’t control it, and there can be times when I have no memory of what happened in the time I was gone. Fortunately it seems like robot Dani knows how to handle herself and knows not to get in trouble, the worst thing that’s happened is having awkward situations where people act like I should know something but I don’t, or where I come back in the middle of a conversation and have to discreetly find out what it is about. I know for sure it could be worst, I’ve driven and gone places without really being there

It’s like I’ve lost the ability to feel happy or sad, and most of the time I feel like a blur. The only time this week when I felt emotion was rather lame: right before T, I decided to stop for a coffee. I’m very picky about my coffee, probably because it’s very comforting and because if I’m buying expensive coffee I expect it to be exactly the way I ordered it. Anyhow, I payed and waited for it. It took them a while, and when they finally gave it to me, it was all wrong, so I politely mentioned this to the girl who prepared it, who said my coffee was ok. I told her I had asked x and y, to which she answered: “Your coffee is done the way it’s supposed to be, but if you still don’t like it I can change x and for you”. This coffee was not even close to being ok. Even if I had ordered a plain one from the menu it wouldn’t have been ok. I was mad but I told her it was fine. She was making me feel like the most annoying client ever, so I just left with my crappy expensive coffee.

I wanted to let it go, but I was triggered by now and when I got to the car I cried and felt miserable while drinking my crappy non-foam, weak, coldish latte. How lame! And this was the feeling-peak of my week! This was the reason I started feeling(!)  uncomfortable about not feeling stuff. I’ve been playing along with it because I thought it was better than being miserable, but when you start crying over coffee I guess it’s a sign that you’ve done as much denial as you can. Problem is, I don’t know how to shut if off. I’m paying more attention to the things I do and that’s helped me stay inside my body, but I still can’t find the on button for my pressed down feelings, anyone know where it is?

If i find it, I wish it’s over the weekend when I can take some time to deal with stuff, and not on Monday first thing in the morning like it’s happened before, because if I’m lucky I’ll manage to bottle everything and go to work and if I’m not I’ll go to work a mess…again, either way I’d be screwed.

In the meantime before any of this happens, I know I won’t be going to that coffee shop again! 🙂

Not me anymore

Today my long weekend ends. I really needed it, thank goodness for Mexican Revolution. However, I do have to go to work tomorrow. I do have to face a thesis seminar and I do have to face my tutor. It’s not a matter of wether or not I can take it, it’s is a matter of last chances. Tomorrow I have the obligation of not f*ucking up. As of this moment I feel sort of capable, I hope to continue feeling that tomorrow morning.

It’s just so hard getting out of bed in the morning. Once I manage to do that, it’s usually already a little bit late and I have to run, which makes me very anxious all day long. If I could only not feel sick, if I wasn’t sick, I know I’d have finished my thesis already, I know I’d enjoy my job, and I know I’d be on may way to graduate school. The worst part is having to lie about it, because no matter what people say, being severly depressed is frowned upon. And even though I don’t want to, even though I should know better, people’s view on my performance affect my own personal view of myself. I’ll  feel like an irresponsible whining baby because I can’t comply with what’s expected from me.

And when I stop being so hard on myself, still I can’t shake off the failure sensation. I can’t forget that I used to be the shining star of my undergraduate generation, the one everybody consulted before handing in papers, the pride of teachers, and a girl who had her act pretty much together ALL the time.

I’m not that person anymore. I don’t know where she went and I don’t know if she’s ever comming back. I sure do hope so because I miss her. I can only wonder how she managed to handle everything, not just her everyday stuff but also the garbage that keeps me a complete mess and forces me to be medicated and go to therapy three times a week.

There are flashes when I feel everything will get better, and periods of time when I do feel better, but even when that happens I can’t forget I’m not what I used to be, I don’t forget my utter failure in all of my goals, and I don’t forget there are still battles comming up ahead.

Damn, I’ve written a sad post again, and I’m not even feeling that sad. Come to think about it, maybe writing all this stuff helps me chanalize it instead of feeling it on my flesh. It has always been this way, except before I only wrote when pain was piercing me and now, sometimes I’m able to hit the keyboard at the first sign of a crisis, and I think it has helped me in reducing them. I wish this was all the therapy I needed, but until that’s the case (I do hope that’ll be the case someday), here’s a cat.

This is (not) a happy post

Someone told me the other day that I have a good, though somewhat sad, blog. I made the point that I thought my blog was at least sometimes a little bit funny; the answer was: “yeah, if by funny you mean having a dark twisted humor”.

Now, since this person happened to be my BF, and since I sort of value his opinion more than that from the rest of  humankind, I’m determined to writing at least one happy post every once in a while…well, maybe once every other ice age.

That being said, my Monday started in a very sh*tty way. I didn’t have my morning coffee, I messed up at work first thing in the morning, and I had an absolute lack of energy despite having agreed yesterday to a painful and dangerous torture that promised to give me more energy (also know as a B-vitamin injection). My day didn’t look to good, I was already swearing and feeling very depressed, and it wasn’t even 10 am!

Still, right now I’m feeling better and my afternoon has the unique opportunity of picking me up. I’m gonna eat with BF, have an afternoon coffee, and rant away in therapy, after which maybe I’ll feel up for preparing my stuff  for tomorrow and avoiding being in a hurry in the morning.

This is as happy as I can get right now, but I promise I’ll try not to always be so dark and twisted, though I must say it sounds far more interesting than being a happy-go-lucky girl (or maybe I’m just saying this because I don’t know how to be a little carefree?).

I hope you enjoy the rest of your Monday!

Angsty Sunday

I hate anxiety. Anxiety’s a bitch. Today I woke up thinking it was Monday and I was already late for work (this has become a permanent anxiety issue since I overslept). I couldn’t undertstand why I hadn’t done my stuff like preparing my lesson plan or taken a shower the previous night. When I started thinking about all the things I should’ve done but didn’t I started to wonder whether it was actually monday, though I wasn’t convinced until I checked my cell and carefully read what it said on the screen: Sunday, November 11th. I had to do it twice to be completely sure.

I wish my anxiety was at least reasonable, but what makes it such a hard thing to tackle is that it can oversize anything, and next thing I know I’m having chest pains without even kwnowing what’s causing them…or knowing what’s causing them is irrational.

I know for sure I won’t enjoy my Sunday like Socrates will, but at least I’ll try. Here’s him at hist max worrying level:


Veredict’s in: I need surgery on my left wrist. With it I’m gonna have 3 of those on my back, and though thoughts of my painful recovery from the previous 2 I had on my right wrist keep flooding me, when the doctor told me I felt like he was casually sharing me news from another patient… I didn’t feel anything. Also, an inner voive keeps telling me that this isn’t real so I don’t need to worry about it. I’ve even managed to feel better, so maybe I’ve fought this thing off, like it was possible to “fight off” a damaged ligament that has cysts.

When my more reallistic side tells me that I should get the surgery as soon as possible so that my condition doesn’t get any worst, I can only mentally utter that I’ll have to wait until until I’ve finished the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named because there’s no way I’m writing it with one hand.  Ironically, accostumed as I am to finding new things to procrastinate on instead of working on my thesis (hence this blog), now she (yes, she) has become a way of delaying my surgery until further notice. And hell, it has worked so far, I’ve gotten more work done on it on these 2 post-diagnosis days than I had in weeks. Also, I find myself miraculously enjoying my job more, so I can tell myself it’d really be a shame to skip some days of work, even if it’s on a sick leave of absence, and I certanily cannot be absent one more day if I’m indeed gonna have to take some days off. I’ve even stopped having self-harm thoughts, maybe because I know that there is quite a lot of pain right around the corner for me anyways.

I don’t know if I want to or if I will get the surgery yet, but it seems like having it in the horizon can be a positive thing for me…even when most of the time it feels like this isn’t really happening to me.

My hidden words

Tonight my left hand aches too much. I haven’t mentioned that my hands, specially but not only my wrists, are quite faulty and apparently came without spares, which has meant two right-hand surgeries and excruciating pain from physical therapies; and now my left hand seems to want to join the club. It’s been mildly bothering me for at least two years but this is the second time in the same number of weeks that I’ve been unable to use my hand from the pain it’s causing me, and what worries me is that I know this pain, it’s the same I felt on the other hand before I had to get the first surgery, so that can’t be good news.

Aaanyhow, the point being that my hand in pain, together with the guilt for having spent yet another day without much progress on my ongoing-torture (a.k.a. the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named), somehow managed to trigger my chest pain, which I know comes from an increasing angst that at some point becomes unmanageable for me. It started a couple of hours ago and it kept growing and growing, and since I’m not up to spend one of those nights, I had to resort to my special cry-baby medicine, only to be used in some cases…and tonight I guess this little episode qualifies.

While I waited for the meds to kick in I turned on my ipod and the random mode gave me a gift to help me relax, and I wanted to share this beautiful song because it describes very accurately what I feel when this anxiety attacks me. I had to translate ’cause it’s in Spanish but I think I did an ok job. Here you go:

Under my tongue are hidden the words

That reveal all about me

They could tell you about my insecurities

How small I can sometimes feel

But I do everything to stop them

It is too soon to tell

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

That’s what I didn’t want to admit

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

And I don’t know how to handle what I’m starting to feel

Under my tongue all my fears will remain hidden

To everything I don’t know about you

Dangerous and precise words that try

Everything they want to define

But I do all I can to stop them

It is too soon to tell

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

That’s what I didn’t want to admit

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

And I don’t know how to handle what I’m starting to feel

Writing also helps

I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking down again, and I’m not sure I know how to stop it. All day long I’ve been feeling empty, robot-like, and now the tremblings are starting, together with the ache right in the middle of my chest. But I know it’s not gonna happen today, today I’m just gonna lay down and I’m even gonna fight it.

The strange thing is I had been feeling ok. Halloween at school was fun for the kids and I even dressed up, makeup and everything, like a black cat, something I hadn’t done in years. All I can think of is that stepping out of the routine, as much as I hate to admit it, got to me yet again.  And it’s not like I like my routine, I pretty much f*cking hate it, however it does give me some structure, something to hold on to, in the middle of my chaotic life. A demanding job from 7:30 to 3:30 is the last thing I wish for me, but I do have to admit that it’s the part of my day that puts my feet on the ground, most of the time everything else is just spinning around and I have absolutely no power to stop it.

Something different this time is that I don’t want it to get to me. Who knows… my little experiment of writing about it is surprisingly already helping me feel better.

Me, myself and I

3 in the morning.

Body: I need to pee. I need to pee NOW.

3:10 am, post-peeing.

Right hemisphere: Writy write write…writy write write.

Left hemisphere: But it’s almost 3 am and you have to get up early, if you start writing right now, you’ll be tired and sleepy in the morning.

RH: Don’t care. Writy write write, writy write write!

LH: Ok, we have to get up at 5:30 anyways, so I’ll get up, put on a pot of coffee, write for an hour, and I’ll just have an early start today.

Body: BTW, I’m hungry! Feed me now!

3:30 am, post-feeding.

LH: Ok, laptop’s all yours RH, go ahead.

3:40 am, post-minor writing.

Body: I’m sleeeepy! Let’s go back to sleep now!

LH: Sorry RH, we really have got to go back to bed.

4:30 am, post-minor sleeping.

Body: Can’t sleep anymore, think we should listen to RH!

LH: No way, I’m not gonna listen to you two irresponsible dumbasses anymore, we’re going back to sleep!

RH and Body: Not gonna happen dude!

LH: The hell it’s gonna happen, we’ll just lay here in bed until we get sleepy. We’re not writing any more!

5:30 am.

Body: I’m sooo tired, what a terrible night, let’s sleep until 6:00 just for today, pleeease!

LH: Ok, just this once, but we have to get up at 6 sharp and hurry up.

RH and B: Will do, promise!

6:37 am

LH: Damn it! I’m late, I’m super late! Can’t be late for work again!


In the end, we made it, minus coffee or makeup that is. Let’s hope for a better understanding tonight!

Up against myself

So I skipped my job today. Second time this month. So much for my functional adult being in charge… After a huge fight last night, I simply didn’t wake up on time. So much for my 5 (I swear, 5) morning alarms…

The only thing worse than being absolutely pissed at someone is to be terribly pissed at yourself. And since I can’t scream to myself, I’ll try to make the most out of the unexpected time I have. I’ll work on the chapter that’s due on November, finish my lesson plan for next week, and if I manage to be in a better mood, maybe even read my Proust.

Right now there’s a big argument going on inside my head. There’s my nerdy self feeling like the world’s about to end over the fact that I’m probably a complete failure at my job and I should probably just quit it to stop pretending I’m not. On the other side of the ring there’s my cynical self thinking stuff like: they’ll probably just deduct this day from my paycheck and that’s it, the worse thing that could happen is me loosing my job, in which case I’d just have to find another one; but they won’t dismiss me ’cause, where are they going to find another not entirely sucky teacher in the middle of October? If I could only pick a side and stay there, but I guess that’s impossible when both sides of the argument come from within you…

This feeling of being torn into 2 completely different different personalities has been growing stronger since I consciously acknowledged it some weeks ago. It has become so obvious that I don’t know how could I not recognize it sooner. There’s one side of me that builds, prepares for the rainy days, exercises, reads, is a straight A student; this side is also the one that can’t take no for an answer, the one that obsesses, that prefers to be alone and avoids being in social situations as much as possible. The other side is a destroyer, it goes about tearing apart what the other side builds, the one that smokes and curses and hates exercising, the one that avoids doing what has to be done until the very last possible moment (wich means an absolute torture to the other side), and sometimes it’s even successful in its task of not meeting deadlines. But this is also the side that knows how to have fun, to relax, that’s funny, extroverted, lets things go and remembers to have a chocolate every now and then.

So it’s not as easy as having a dark and a bright side, it’s more like having two people with their own dark and bright spots fighting each other for survival inside a single body, a single brain, and a single identity. It’s like watching a tennis match and wanting both opponents to win… no matter what the result is, you know you won’t be satisfied.

In the meantime, I’ll set a sixth alarm for tomorrow.