And then spring break was over

Today was my first day of work after the spring break. I spent the whole Sunday in angst and afraid that I wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. Well, I did. I managed it just fine. Got up super early, taught my classes, chatted with co-workers, and everything was ok. I’m actually proud of the way I handled myself. I did get one remark about looking sad from another teacher who’s sharp-eyed, but what I essentially got were “Whoa you got bangs” remarks that deflected the attention from other issues. But the thing is, I was trying so hard to be ok, that I actually convinced myself I was indeed fine, and that’s how I got through my workday.

And then…then it was time for therapy. I dreaded it a little because I knew I’d have to face what I’d been avoiding all day long in order to function. I know that once you open the worm can, you can try to close it but the smell will escape; once the warranty seal has been broken, its contents will inevitably escape the container.

I was actually in a good mood when I arrived at Mr. Shrinky’s office. We joked a bit about him moving the furniture around so that now he was sitting in what used to be the patient’s armchair. But I eventually had to update him on what’s been going on, including my severe anxiety attacks and the fact that not even the meds are being completely effective in reducing my symptoms. He basically told me the same thing that N said to me last week: my uncle’s passing, the last time I saw him, and the memories and nightmares that were triggered on that horrible night that followed are probably the cause of this chain-reaction that’s got me in a complete wreck.

And after therapy, the anxiety hit hard, so hard. The first thing I did when I got home was take the anti-anxiety med. Once again, I really didn’t care about feeling weak or crazy or any of that dumb rambling, I just wanted to stop feeling that bad. It took a while for it to kick in and meanwhile I was lying on my bed, wishing it would all just go away. Then I took a different approach: shiny things! I took out my ever-growing collection of nail lacquers and started with my toenails, I put together some pallets until I made one I was happy with, and proceeded to paint each nail a different color. Then I went on with the fingernails and even added some sparkly polish in the end. When I realized it, I had successfully spent an hour not feeling anxious. The only problem is as soon as I finished, the bitch came back, and I was not about to wipe my nails and start over just to enjoy another numb hour. I definitely feel better, the med really helps with the heart flips, but it doesn’t entirely wipe out the chest pains, that hollow sensation right in the middle of my chest.

I can only hope I won’t have to deal with this tomorrow since I won’t be seeing Mr. Shrinky until Wednesday. It might sound self-contradictory, but I wish I could accept his proposition of seeing me four times a week, because I feel like I’m walking on a very fine edge here. But I can’t afford it, I don’t have either the money or the time to do so, and I’ll have to play with the cards I’m given. Another option would be to stop seeing him altogether: today I proved myself that I can keep the sh*t locked away and function normally, so what if I decide to avoid it entirely? Will it explode on my face later on? Will it mean I’ll end up paying a higher price than dealing with it right now, even with the limitations that surround me?

I don’t think I will be posting for a bit. I’m gonna take a small break because I think I might also be triggering myself out. Or maybe I’ll try to write about other kinds of stuff like Juliet is doing, I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to take at least a couple of days to figure this out, try to find out how I can help myself or if I’m making things harder for me.

I’ll be seeing y’all shortly, be good!

Reality check

I go back to my real work tomorrow. I have to get up at 6am at the latest. I have to work for 8 straight hours. I have to wear my dreadful uniform.  After the end of my workday I’ll have to go to therapy, and so I’ll come back home at 8pm, I will have been out for at least 13 hours. I’ll have to go to bed at 10pm at the latest, because if I sleep any less than that, I simply can’t function, especially now that N has increased my anti-anxiety med after I showed at her office on Thursday completely mental.

About that, remember my post from Thursday where I said I was feeling a bit better? Well it didn’t last. After I left the Institute I went to a coffee shop to make some time since my appointment with N was at 8:45. I was still very anxious and stopped there in the hopes that a mint tea would help me relax. Sitting there with my smoky tea and reading blogs felt like a good idea…until a quake happened. Not a huge earthquake or anything, but a strong one. It was a magnitude 6.5 quake exactly. I’m not usually the kind of person to be scared about these things, they’re quite normal here in Mexico City. But in my jumpy state I guess I was triggered. I was sitting by myself when I started to feel the floor beneath me moving. I honestly was in such a state that I thought I was imagining things. Even when I looked at the lamps tilting I believed it might be the wind or something. But the sensation was growing stronger, and when I looked around at the rest of the people there, everyone was carrying on their activities as if nothing, that really freaked me out, I really thought I was loosing it. I don’t know how scared I looked on the outside, but a man came up to me and told me “it’s trembling”, which really helped me get a grip.

I waited until the last possible moment to get in the car and drive to N’s office, which almost caused me to be late. When I did get there I stayed for some moments inside the car, and when the car locked automatically with me inside, I had the shock of my life. My heart stopped, it was as if someone had shot point-blank at me. I got out, rang the bell, and then I had to wait outside for a couple of horrible minutes. Every car passing by was scaring me to death, there were even a couple of loud motorcycles that had me put my back against the wall. The previous patient eventually came out and I came in (N doesn’t have a secretary or a waiting room)…completely freaked out. I was crying, telling her all the things I had experienced just on that evening. I started to calm down and was able to talk to her about the past weeks, how anxiety had really taken a toll on me ever since my visit to my uncle’s house. She basically scolded me for not calling her and deciding on my own to take the anti-anxiety med…which is ironic considering in the end she told me not only to keep on taking it but to increase the dosage and to take it continuously for some time, even if I don’t feel the angst anymore.

As I said in an earlier post, I hate taking medication, I hate needing it. But the past few days had been so horrible that I truly didn’t mind anymore, I just wanted to feel better. And it has helped I have to say. I still feel bad, anxious, but the chest pains and the heart flips have stopped, so that’s good news. I’m coming back to Mr. Shrinky’s office tomorrow. I don’t know if N called him or if I’m gonna have to spread the lovely news of how I dealt with my holidays on my own. I have barely done half the things I needed to get done by tomorrow, and even so I’m here writing. I don’t feel scared of coming back to work anymore, but I’m finding it hard to even feel excited for the coming days, probably because even if it’s occupied by birthday-celebration-related events, I’m not keen on having too many social situations in one weekend (and by too many I mean even one).

Also, there are just a lot of commitments for me to deal all at once, at least that’s how I feel it. I have to prepare the open classes for 1st, 2nd and 3rd grades that are due on May but need to be handed in by April 19th. My tutor has emailed me about the Frankenthesis, she’s pressuring for me to be done with it, as she should, but I just haven’t found the time to deal with it. Is it really such a crime that I didn’t want to work on it over the holidays? I’m busy every weekday all day long, so when I got some days off, I actually wanted to clear my mind of things (which didn’t entirely work looking back on my anxiety crisis). But I’m not entitled to do this, there are just too many things to be done. All the time. Will it ever end? Will I ever get to do the things I like because I want to, and actually make a living out of them?

God, I’m still young and I’m already tired of responsibilities and sick of the system. How does one break free? Is it just a wild dream? Is is just the personal crisis I’m going through what’s making feel so unfit to live my life? I obviously don’t have the answers to any of those questions, but hopefully in about two or three weeks I’ll be readjusted to this unsavory routine. That is, if my post-birthday-depression doesn’t kick in as it has for the last couple of years. That’s actually the main reason for doing a small reunion this year. I can’t expect things to be different if I keep doing the same every year right? So this year I wish having company on Friday and attending a concert on Saturday will turn things around…even if just a little.

 

 

Rambo skills

This is just not a good day. I hate how my mood can go up and down just like that with no apparent reason for it, not on the outside at least. It started since last night. Wild suicidal thoughts running through my mind. Hadn’t had those in months. And it just sucks. Not because I’m about to throw myself out the window, I’m not really suicidal at this point, but the thought crosses my mind and then I just start thinking of ways I could do it, lovely hobby isn’t it? It feels like a loss, like I was getting away from that and then in a day I can be thrown right back into it.

As much as I wanted to pretend everything was ok just because I had the gift of a couple of happy days, truth is I’m still broken, and it won’t go away because I got to play in a pool.

I know one thing that is for sure contributing to making me feel this way. I got two weeks off from teaching but only one off from Mount Olympus, so this week I was able to show up at the Institute earlier, without the pressure of running back and forth between the school and the campus, and I got to stay for as long as I wanted, there was a lot to be done anyways. But the point is this isn’t my real routine. On Monday I have to go back to teaching English, which was perfectly fine by me until I got this other job that constantly reminds me of what I really want to do with my life, or rather what I don’t want to do with it.

It’s not that I don’t like being a grade school teacher, I think I like it and I don’t suck at it. It’s that I didn’t choose this to be my life, but rather it chose me. It’s something that happened to me, not something that I made happen.

Writing for a living, being a historian, working in the editorial business, becoming a foreign affairs official, those are things that I want to happen to me, any of them, but I’m gonna have to make them happen, they’re not going to come on their own. But how can I work on obtaining any of those things while I’m so busy making a living out of teaching? I guess I do think I can do it, that’s what I’m fighting for everyday, but this week is just reminding me how easier it would be if I didn’t have to juggle so many things at the same time, especially things that I consider are keeping me away from my dreams.

I’m going to be 26 next week, I’m not a young girl anymore, I’m actually going to be closer to my 30’s than to my 20’s, and I still haven’t gotten there yet, I still feel like my dreams are millions of light years away from me. In fact, I feel like they are further away than what they where some good 4 years ago. I feel like I’m wasting my time, and while other people my age are steadily on their way to achieving their life goals, I’m still in line to get on life’s roller coaster (wow, that sounded a so corny lol)

It’s been a couple of hours since I started writing this post, and I feel a little better, it’s a good thing I let it rest here for some time before publishing it. Maybe it’s because  I’ve been so busy with documents and emails from one of the reviews I’m working for, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve resigned myself that I’m gonna have to keep going this way for longer than expected. Maybe it’s the weather, that has become cloudy and probably rainy and sure suits my mood better than the sunny spring day we had in the morning. Who knows… I guess we all have our moments. I’m still feeling down, but as we say in Mexico, I’m not cutting my veins with animal crackers anymore. Now I’m working on my Rambo skills: this is life, it’s not great, sometimes it sucks, deal with it.

 

Rambo cat disapproves of my weakness

Not so Good Friday

My uncle passed away this morning. We’d been expecting the call for days now. Whenever the phone rang at unusual hours our hearts would skip a beat. And it finally came. I don’t know the details, but apparently he died in his sleep, his heart just gave out. My mother, together with my remaining aunts and uncles left around noon to be there for the wake and burial and are coming back tomorrow afternoon. A couple of my cousins left a bit later and got there by the evening, they’ll probably be coming back at down tomorrow. Irapuato is a 4-hour-long-drive away, give or take. And still, despite all these facilities and opportunities, I stayed behind. That’s how much of a chicken I am.

I chose not to go to the wake for a number of reasons. The good thing about driving my mom to see my uncle for the last time a couple of weeks ago, is that I myself got to say goodbye and see him while he was still conscious and express my aunt (his wife) and one of their daughters (the one I’ve been closest to), how sorry I am for all of this. Having said my goodbyes and having seen the two women I wanted to see, I couldn’t really find a point in meeting up with the rest of his children and grandchildren, whom I’ve never been close to. Also, there’s the fact of how horribly triggered I was the last time I was there, just by the mere idea of seeing this particular cousin of mine whose memories I’ve been having to deal with ever since that night I stayed there, and all of the terrible dreams I dreamt that caused a week-long anxiety attack.

I feel like shit about staying behind, and still I think it was what was best for me. Amongst other things, I would’ve been forced to see my cousin, and I don’t know how triggering that might have been. A couple of weeks back I suffered like hell, and I think now it would’ve been worse. However, even staying here in Mexico City didn’t entirely keep me out of harm. I’ve been having these palpitations and anxiety pains that got so bad I actually needed to resort to my anxiolytic today.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been having a different kind of chest pains. The experience is similar to what you feel when you just heard incredibly bad news, something you just couldn’t believe possible or something that goes terribly wrong and there is way too much at stake, do you know the feeling? I can kind of describe it like my heart flipping over… it’s weird and it feels horrible. The thing is, I’ve had this sensation while doing the most ordinary things, it’s happened while driving, teaching a class, working, playing with the kitties, anything really, and since I felt it related to my heart, when I shared it with BF he obviously got worried.  The first thing he wondered is if this was an anxiety-related issue, like the regular palpitations I get on Sundays and I said no way, because this time it wasn’t happening while I was experiencing anxiety or angst in any way. So, when I continued to feel this way, he suggested I met with a cardiologist or something like that. I of course didn’t like the idea so I was trying to ignore the sensation.

Today, however, the sensation happened so many times I lost the count, and by the evening I was also experiencing my regular angst chest pains. That’s when I decided to hit the med cabinet and grab the anxiolytic. I don’t like taking it, it makes me feel like I’m weak and a loser, but today I really needed it. It was also sort of an experiment, if the heart-flipping-over-thing didn’t stop with the med, then I would be sure it wasn’t anxiety-driven. But it did, both to my relief and sorrow. Relief, because it means I won’t have to go on a heart-doctor-quest that would most certainly imply uncomfortable and expensive tests. Sorrow, because it means I’ve developed yet another cuckoo symptom. Now I’m getting anxiety related “heart flips” or whatever you want to call them, and I get them even when I’m not particularly stressed! Granted, today has been a stressful day with all the family issues, but this thing started before today.

And now I’m gonna have to mention this to the shrink board. Because yeah, I really haven’t brought it up before since I had convinced myself this was entirely physical. So, I’ve been dealing with a new and quite discomforting symptom, and haven’t said a word to the actual people who might help me deal with it, way to go! I was probably just waiting for it to go away and leave me alone, but by this point I’m beginning to realize it’s not going to go away by itself, damn it!

About my uncle, I can only say I’m relieved he’s resting now. Of course it’s terrible to have someone in the family die, but what he was going through was way worse. I only worry about my aunt now, she had been taking care of him for so long she practically gave up her life for him. I just hope sadness recedes just enough to let her see he’s now in a better place, whatever it may be.

I’m still going to see her and her daughter next week though. As I mentioned before, I’m going on a small trip with BF to this village called San Miguel de Allende, which is actually just an hour away from their city, so when we head back, we’re going to stop there for me to give my condolences to them, and hopefully by then the family huddle will have dissolved.

Downtown San Miguel de Allende
Image credit: Sandy Baum Photography

Kitties, Chaplin and bangs

Today I got something similar to an idea for a post I can actually write (I got tons of awesome ideas for posts that somehow just can’t write). It may be just a tad lame, but hey, I once heard it’s better if inspiration catches you working, so that’s what I’m doing. Anyhow, as my title very subtly implies, I will be talking about kitties, and bangs, with just a sprinkle of Chaplin.

First things first. Yesterday, I went to get my hair cut, just a little trimming of my hair ends* really, and when I sat down on the chair and the girl asked me what I wanted to get done, I just couldn’t stop myself from saying: bangs! And so, today was my first day out with a bunch of hair on my face. Not particularly comfortable, but I think I’ll be able to deal with it. Today was also a quite social day for me, which I loved (not). First I went to have breakfast with some of the teachers from work. I really wish I could get more in-sync with them ’cause they do try to include me in their stuff, but I just can’t let go and open up, it’s really hard to let my guard down, and I’m learning it only gets harder with age. That, and the breakfast was stressful in itself because it meant I was in a social situation where I was required to eat. And boy if I did! Well, I guess objectively speaking it wasn’t all that much, but compared to what I’ve been eating lately it was a huge change, and it forced me to not eat anything else throughout the day except for diet coke and coffee.

This little issue reminds me that I had a sort of a sour session yesterday with Mr. Shrinky. He was fishing for details regarding my weight and what I’ve been eating, and I just wasn’t prepared for that kind of questioning from him. Mainly because I’m used to expecting those kinds of questions only from N, but also because I was upset he didn’t notice my bangs! I know, it sounds silly, but I remarked how unfair it seems that I notice every little change both in his office and in him, things that he’s even told me nobody else notices, and he can’t even notice that half of my face is covered in hair. It just made me feel like he doesn’t really care, like my assumption that I’m just the 5 o’clock appointment is true. This, together with the knowledge that I won’t see him next week because of spring break, got me in an I’m-not-talking mood, which isn’t exactly the most fruitful mood in therapy. I’ll see him tomorrow again before the break, let’s see how that goes.

After stuffing my face in the morning, in the evening I met a dear friend from uni (my only remaining friend from uni actually) whom I don’t see very much these days with all the things we both have to do now school’s over. We met at a midway mall ’cause we live in what would be opposite sides of the city if Mexico’s City were a normally sized town. We had a lovely chat. Not that we talked about butterflies and clouds, we actually discussed sad and angering issues, but it was lovely to share our mutual stuff with a girlfriend who cares. And then, though I’m not much a buyer ever since my depressive shopping-lollapalloza that’s still has me tied by the balls to the freakin’ banks (excuse my princess-like vocabulary), I agreed to accompany her to a couple of stores to get some stuff she needed, and that’s when the magic happened. I found the cutest kitten tee I’d seen, and just couldn’t help myself when I grabbed it and walked right up to the slaughterhouse cash register. As we were leaving, I found yet another item that seemed just perfect for me, a Chaplin tee! I’m a huge Chaplin fan, though I don’t own many Chaplin memorabilia, so I thought for a sec about taking the kitties back to get Chaplin home. I’m just not in a position to buy two things on the same day anymore, but before I made a decision my friend grabbed the tee and paid for it, she gave it to me as a birthday gift, and so I got out of there with two adorable pieces of clothing and with the feeling that my friend was trying to find ways to express she’s missed me and cares for me.

I know that this post is all over the place and serves no apparent purpose, but as I said I’m just trying to keep the words coming in the hopes that the good ones come back, I certainly don’t want to spend yet another week without writing.  Anyways, maybe wishing you don’t think you’ve completely wasted your time by reading me, let me at least show you what I’ve been rambling about:

Me and my bangs, together with the kitty tee:

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The Chaplin tee, which I’ll proudly wear tomorrow:

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Hope I’ll see y’all real soon!

Chatte

*Is that the way you call the tips of the hair? Being a non-native speaker, I sometimes get the idea that I use awkward, old-fashioned, or right out non-existent terms, so if you catch any one of these in my posts, do let me know, it’ll be much appreciated!

Picture of my life

I’ve been having this Jamiroquai song in my mind all week. Probably due to the fact that he just had a gig here in Mexico City on Monday and I couldn’t be there. Had been waiting 7 years to see him and because of work I had to be an adult and miss it. Goddamned adult responsibilities!

But there’s something else too. I’ve been feeling so lost, filled with such hopelessness, and I just can’t pinpoint what it is. Instead I’ve been focusing all my undetected and unresolved issues on my weight. This is something that’s been torturing me for sure, and I’ve effectively starved for some days now, I’ve lost a pound a day and whenever I get on the scale I’m petrified by the fear it’s going to show how much of a fat cow I am, and yet it keeps showing I’m loosing weight and it gives me comfort and peace of mind, though it still doesn’t show the weight I want it to show. I’ve also been looking at YouTube videos of the downwards spiral many women get caught it thanks to anorexia, the aim of their videos is to warn others…but I think they just fuel me. I don’t look at those pro ana-mia sites though, don’t get me wrong, I think they’re stupid and dangerous for women, especially teenagers, to look at. You want to be anorexic? Trust me, you don’t.

I do eat when I’m with company, because I know how much of an annoyance it can be to have people noticing you’re not eating. But on weekdays nobody really notices wether I eat or not and I can get away with it. I said I was going to lose the weight I’ve gained thanks to those damn pills before my birthday, and that means I have a little more than a month to do so. I wish it didn’t matter to me, I wish I could just let it be, but I can’t, and it makes me feel stupid and sad. Just as the song says, I wish someone could show me what my life should really be like, because this can’t be it.

I never had a dream that I could follow through
Only tears left to stain, dry my eyes once again
I don’t know who I am, or what I’m gonna do
Been so long I’ve been hopelessly confused
This can never really end, it’s infinitely sad
Can someone tell me when
Something good became so bad
So if you have a cure
To me would you please send
A picture of my life
With a letter telling how
It should really be instead

The precipice is there
But will I ever dare
Throw myself in the sky, so at last I can die
See I’ve become a man
Who holds nothing too dear
Who will mind if I just disappear 
This can never really end, it’s infinitely sad
Can someone tell me when
Something good became so bad 
So if you have a cure
To me would you please send
A picture of my life
With a letter telling how
It should really be instead

On a brighter note, I’m not going to go to work tomorrow, yay! Thanks to my other job at Mount Olympus I have to go to the SAT department, which is like the IRS in the States, to do a bunch of paperwork for the uni to be able to hire me as an external employee. It’s probably going to take most of my morning and I was first bummed about it, but then I realized I could see it as getting a break from an otherwise dreadful humdrum Monday, and it cheered me up! I won’t have to give classes, I won’t have to wear my horrendous uniform, and I sure will be out of there before 3:30, which is the time I get off work, so it’s a win-win really! Well… that is if I conveniently put aside the fact that I won’t get paid on that day, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay for a day off 🙂

business_cat

Panic inside

Being having panic moments since yesterday. I start sweating like crazy, my heartbeats rise, and I feel like I could die. And I want to die. I actually dreamt I was about to be killed by a lunatic and in my dream I just closed my eyes and hoped that he did it, I didn’t put up a fight, I just lowered my arms and silently waited for him to slash my throat. Nice huh?

I wanted to write yesterday about how I was feeling, but nothing sounded right. Perhaps because nothing IS right. Some of the stuff I was writing yesterday looked like this little draft I forgot to erase:

My life’s just too much for me. I’m glad it’s Sunday because I can’t handle Monday. I’m a chronic underachiever. Not only have I been given an education and basic needs covered, I’ve been blessed with some level of talent, wits, and common sense. And yet, I keep complaining about life, get into financial troubles, am stuck in the final chapter of my thesis, and single-handedly manage to make my life miserable. Because lets face it, blaming your parents can only get you so far. Why am I not stronger? Why I am sick? I guess I just wish I wasn’t such a loser.

Mr. Shrinky says my dream was very important because I’m learning to cope in different ways other than self-harm. I haven’t cut despite of how overwhelmed I feel. Instead I dreamt that someone else did it for me, and come to think about it, the dream has indeed helped because I haven’t felt that horrible urge all day long even when I’ve had such a dreadful one.

I feel like I’m doing a fool’s dance. One step forward, two steps back. It may have been some sort of breakthrough…but that doesn’t change the fact that my life is too much for me. People are starting to be condescendent with me: they are nicer, they let me get away with whatever’s on my mind, they look at me and stop themselves from saying things that may hurt me. Because they feel (or know) I’m weak, I can’t handle stuff, I’m broken. Ugh…

A good day today.

This one should be yet another short post. I hope I’m not making a habit out of it, but I’m just so incredibly tired, both physically and mentally. Sunday was a sucky day, didn’t get any work done, and it was a generally bad angsty day, even when I got to prove yet another time that it doesn’t matter what I do by going out with a very dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in a year. I just couldn’t enjoy it and be myself. When it’s a sucky angsty Sunday there is nothing I can do that will change it. And this particular Sunday was a bad one, that’s where my exhaustion began. When Monday came and it was time for me to get out of bed, that’s when my depressive-mode really hit me hard. It’s exasperating that on Sunday evening I kept wishing it was Monday already so I could get on with things, and when Monday did come I was just to depressed to enjoy what I had been waiting for.

All through Monday morning I just felt like quitting everything. My job, my thesis, my new job at the institute, my life really. Then I went to Mr. Shrinky’s office and he made it a little better. He helped me realize I’m struggling very much with the fact that there are people out there who care about me and who appreciate me for many reasons, even though I was made to believe I didn’t deserve it. I grew up with parents who would look at me as if I were a something like a pet. I never had any physical needs unattended, but I was not worthy of their time and affection, I just wasn’t interesting or good enough. I too watched some stuff I shouldn’t have watched, but they didn’t care what I saw, just like you wouldn’t mind what a dog or a bunny caught you doing. You feed them, you keep them clean, you teach them a few tricks. Then your job is done isn’t it?

And now, I’m faced with a new job I’ve apparently earned with my personal traits. There are people who think I’m valuable, responsible, smart, and they’re willing to put themselves out there for me. That’s just a very twilight-zone thing for me. They don’t HAVE to appreciate me, they don’t HAVE to care for me. They don’t HAVE to have me near them. But they still want to. This is something that’s causing a big unbalance inside of me, and on Monday I just couldn’t keep it together.

I did manage to get up and go to work though. Got there on time by the skin of my teeth. And I functioned. That was my biggest achievement yesterday. I functioned. Felt like torture, and getting the day done is actually something I’m proud of because of how hard it was.

Today was different. I’m once again alone at the house with the kitties. I don’t usually see the mother until night-time but knowing she’s out of town lifts a burden off my shoulders. So that made things a little better. Also, I went to Mount Olympus (I’ll be going there two days a week) and got a lot of tasks done. I felt productive and engaged, something I don’t usually get when working with the children and that somehow has a sweeter and longer aftertaste in me (with the children what I get are feelings of joy and concern, the first one lasts momentarily, and the second one stays with me through the day but it’s not something that makes me feel good).

So yep, I’m working two jobs now, a part-time and a full-time one. That besides the ever-lasting torture commitment of my dissertation. By the way, remember that thesis seminar where I made a huge fool of myself and got triggered like hell? Well, next month, it’s one of my chapters they’ll be discussing and I’m so excited (not), especially since I STILL haven’t finished my last chapter, the one that would set me free. It too feels excruciating, except I’m not getting the job done, unlike my last Monday.

I’m off to bed now, hope y’all are being nice boys and girls. I miss reading your blogs, but I’m gonna have to leave it ’til tomorrow for as they say here in Mexico: I can’t even handle my soul. Night!

The depressed and the stoic.

There’s nothing more natural to love than fighting, and so BF and I apparently decided to celebrate St. Valentine’s in a very traditional way lovers have always had to express their love: making the loved one feel like shit. And that’s how I decided to write today even though I thought I wouldn’t, I just have some things that I want to get out of my chest and into BF’s ears, or in this case eyes, so excuse me if I shift the way I’ll go around this post and address BF directly:

I told you I’ve had a tough week. You know how I was triggered, and you know I’ve been suffering from a heavy migraine that just won’t go away. These are the upfront reasons I gave you for not being considerate, for not taking into account your wishes and your feelings. But there’s more than that.

Loving someone who is severely depressed is not exactly a day in the park. I know that. I’ve been putting you through hell for quite a while now, I know that too. You’re always there, and even when I push you away you take my blows, my anger and my frustration and you try to make it go away.

But baby, you can’t. I can see it hurts you deeply, but these things are not yours to make better. You give every ounce of strength and will in you to make this demon go away, but you’re only trying to crack a concrete wall with a blunt knife, it’ll suck life itself out of you before you can see a change. You can walk next to me while I fight these demons though. Please do. I’ll be lifting my head to see if you’re there keeping me company, and it’ll give me strength to keep fighting them.

I know my depression can be like a back hole that sucks everything around it, even yourself if you let it. But please, don’t think I’ve forgotten your importance. I don’t love you just because of the things you do for me (which I have to say are enough in themselves), I love you for the person you are. You’re important. And I care.

You’ve been putting so much more than me into the relationship for so long. I’m so incredibly sorry for that. You’re not getting what you give in this deal, and I can see how frustrating that is, to give your self entirely to someone only to see them continuously dwelling in their own individual shit. I’m not romantic, I’m not cute, I’m not tender, even when I seem to demand these things from you. It’s not fair, I know. And I know it looks like I’m very, very selfish, because I can’t look past my own nose. What I think makes a difference is that I’m aware of this, and it hurts me, and I’m trying to fix it by trying to heal myself, I wish you could see that.

I don’t know how, when, or if I’ll be able to love you the way you deserve, and I’m so sorry for that. I can only assure you I’ll love you as much as I can. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you the way you have been for me, I wish I could change that in the past, but I promise I will work to fix it, to make it different in the future, to give you the place you’ve earned, because I love you.

Will you be my Valentine?

PudgeTheCat

Pic credit: http://www.pudgethecat.com

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.

Embarrassed

Battle lost

Went to my monthly appointment with N on Thursday. She’s finally convinced that one of the meds is making me put on A LOT of weight. On one hand I’m happy that my voice is being heard. On the other hand, I’m very much pissed at N. I asked her about the med making me gain weight months ago! I’ve gained 20 pounds since then! And now after I’ve fallen into my old puking-fasting-bingeing habits, now she tells me the med’s the reason. No shit Sherlock…

I’m mad ’cause I feel like she wasn’t listening to me when I told her first, because she dismissed my guesses like those of an overly-worried-probably-anorexic girl who needed to do as she was told. And I did. I trusted her. And now, 20 pounds later, if my metabolism has changed, how in the f-ing world am I going to lose this weight!? I know, I’m still formally inside what’s considered healthy weight, but I can’t look at myself in the mirror, sex is weird, my clothes don’t fit, my self-esteem is six feet under!

Yesterday I had to buy a pair of jeans. Fat-ass jeans to be more exact. I knew I needed them but put it on the back of my mind ’cause it was like accepting a battle lost. Also, BF bought them for me. Because I can’t afford to buy a fucking pair of jeans these days. Nor anything really, almost my entire paycheck goes to therapy and paying debts, with only some spare change for my most immediate needs. Still, him paying for me made me feel a little better actually. I know he’s worried about me, he loves me so much, and that’s a whole lot more than many people have in the world and for that I’m thankful.

P.D.

This Sunday doesn’t entirely suck ass, this may be longest streak I’ve had in months.

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.

Mind blocked

Still nothing. I’m torn between a desire to write and a feeling of disgust towards it. And I know it’s still a mother-thing. I need to get it out of my system, but I’m too much of a coward. I. Just. Can’t. There’s a horror movie in theaters right now called Mom, lol, I think it’s a great name for a scary movie. Don’t know what it’s actually about but I know it’s a Guillermo Del Toro’s production so I wanna see it, and hopefully it won’t be triggering. (Or maybe I want it to be a trigger so I can get this over with?)

Today doesn’t seem like a regular Sunday because I don’t have to work tomorrow. Alleluia for long weekends. However, it also means I’m gonna miss my appt with Mr. Shrinky. I should do a post about him lol, after all, I’ve done one on N already. But I’m digressing. The mother is out of town and BF is enjoying his Super Bowl day with his friends so I’ve been pretty much left on my own, just chilling with the kitties. Also, I’m sad to report that Lula, the doggy addition to the household, had to go to another house; the kitties weren’t adjusting well to her and she was always scared and hiding from them. I’m glad se went to a nice home though, with a huge garden and where she’ll be properly looked after. This is the last pic I have of her, I’m the one holding her:

332150_10151346854184407_1880656673_o

Maybe I’m not into the writing mood because this Sunday doesn’t feel like one, maybe tomorrow I’ll have something worth saying, or maybe my mind’s blocked until I let it have its way and write about what it wants to say? I guess we’ll see tomorrow who wins.

(Not) Employee of the month

Today I was late for work. Again. It was just 5 minutes but it still counts as a mark on my payroll. Last week there was a day when I was half an hour late. I’ve yet to celebrate the day when I’m not running around and driving like all hell broke loose just to be on time and of course, just like today, there are days when even that’s not good enough because in a place like Mexico’s City there’s just no way of predicting when traffic’s going to be demential, and that’s why one should always leave with a lot of time on their pocket.

I always set my alarm with plenty of time, but when I turn it off I just go back to sleep. I’ve even recruited BF to call me and convince me to get the fuck off bed, sometimes it works… most times it doesn’t. He says I always agree to get up, and make small affirmations like “Ok, I’m getting up, I’ve turned the light on, I’m gonna go get my clothes..” and so on, but the moment we hang up I get my lazy ass back in the sheets, there doesn’t seem to anything that motivates me enough to do otherwise.  I’ve given him lines that might work well, I’ve told him to remind me that I have to be professional, that I have responsibilities, that if I get up I’ll have enough time to actually enjoy my morning coffee, nothing works! In those precious moments I can’t think straight and just can’t find any good reason to get up and live.

I know this is a symptom related to my depression, but it hurts just the same to know I’m far, far away from being employee of the month. I’m used to being the best, or at least one of the best, and now I’m experiencing a period where I’m scratching not even being good enough, it’s hard to be a constant disappointment to myself. I know this job isn’t what I want for my life, but it’s a job, and I’m adult, or at least I claim to be, so it should be easy!

I’ve tried going to bed early, setting tons of alarms, promising myself expensive on-the-go-coffee or yummy homemade one, none of it works! What do you do when you have to get up early? Is it too hard? Do you have any good methods for getting out of bed? They’d be much appreciated!

The misfit employee

Sunday’s here again, and I think I’m getting away with it. I’m not feeling any chest pains at all and it’s almost sunset so I think I might be on the other side. I haven’t experienced the burden on my chest for a few days now, and it’d be good news if it weren’t for the fact that I’m still a jumpy nervous wreck, especially at my job.

This past week was 5 months since I started working at this school, and I still can’t feel comfortable. The last job I had it took me a year to be myself, and then I left it for my current one. Is it also going to take me a year to stop being constantly anxious? It is definitely much better than it was at the start, but it feels like I should feel much much calmer right now, and I don’t. My coworkers are nice to me, my boss is strict and demanding but open and honest, my schedule (which I keep complaining about) is much nicer than what most people get here in Mexico, and my job is something I’m prepared to do. Still, it feels like I can’t relax for a second, I’m constantly on guard, and it’s pretty damned tiring.

And because I loove lists, I made a short list of the reasons why I’m insecure at my job all the time:

  • My classroom is next to the principal’s office so I’m always on the watch or so I think.
  • My class must be boring for my students because I must be a boring teacher who comes up with boring activities and for that sake let’s just admit I’m boring person
  • My open class is in May and I won’t be prepared for it because I’m a lousy teacher
  • Sooner or later someone will figure out I’m not a good enough teacher who’s not really committed and I’ll lose my job.

There was only one time when I wasn’t insecure at doing my job, and it had nothing to do with teaching. I got to Mount Olympus to do my uni’s mandatory social service for 6 months, and ended up staying there for a year. For the first half-year I ordered one of the institute’s historical review’s files, and for the second half I transcribed historical customs documents into excel files. For the whole time I worked alone in a cubicle and had barely any supervision at all and no official schedule; it was more of a phantom job really except for the times when I presented my results. I was very much trusted, and I felt it. Sadly these jobs were only temporary and when they ended I had to get a real one.*

Now I have a very strict 8-hour schedule and all my comings and goings are recorded in a fingerprint timeclock, I also have to wear a uniform and I’m supposed to follow all kinds of regulations. I do not work well with this kind of Big Brother pressure, and it’s eating me away. I don’t hate my job at all, but the constant supervision and ever-present rules make it almost impossible for me to enjoy it. I know it’s my problem, but I’ve yet to find a way to deal with it.

Still, if I survive an entire school year, and it looks like I might, I’ll have a very good reason to celebrate 🙂

 

* There’s a possibility of  getting another part-time job at Mount Olympus, and I couldn’t be more excited! I don’t want to talk too much about it though, at least until it’s not for sure.

 

 

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!

Daddy issues

Mommy wasn’t married to Daddy. In fact, Daddy was married to someone else. Everyone knew this. Everyone except Dani that is. Dani was told mommy and daddy were divorced, but she shouldn’t say this to anyone because it was a secret. Mmmm, ok… but, then, how could she explain the three of them traveling together and Mommy and Daddy kissing in front of her and sleeping on the same bed during those trips? Well, she just didn’t, because children just don’t ask those kinds of questions, they just acknowledge there’s something phony and then go around it.

I met my father when I was around 6 years old. Well, technically I’d met him before, there are pictures to prove it, only I was too small to remember. Don’t know if I’d asked questions before, I’d lived all my life with my mother but then, just around this age I guess, I was told I had a father. “Me?? I have a father? You mean like my friends at school!?” I remember my mother telling me they used to go motorbike riding all around Mexico, and I even remember little details like her telling me the exact spot where he used to park his bike. Then I was showed pictures. And then the day came when he was going to pick us up and we’d all go on a road trip. I was kind of disappointed when he didn’t show up in his bike, mom had forgotten to mention the three of us didn’t fit in one.

One of the pictures I was shown

I guess it must have been between the ages of 6 to 8 or 9-ish that this sort of event happened. After a period of time that seemed like ages to me, he would show up with presents and we’d all go travelling to all sorts of places. Later I figured out that we went on what might have easily been covered up as “business trips”, because he’s always gone on those because of his job. Then it all stopped. Daddy didn’t love Mommy anymore.

Me and my father on a trip

Me and my father on a trip

After this period, my mother would nag me to make me call him, like it was my duty. Had I been older, I might have said something like: “Now, wait just a minute, why should I call him, isn’t it HIS responsibility to at least check up on me???” But I wasn’t older, I was still a girl, and I had always been scared of him. So, I was made to call him to his office, and I was told to change my name when I did so, probably so the secretary wouldn’t ask why a girl with her boss’s same last name and who wasn’t his wife’s daughter was calling…or something.

So, my responsibility included calling him and asking him to meet me, and during this meetings, which usually took the form of Saturday breakfasts, I was instructed to ask him for money for all sorts of things. And he would refuse and I’d have to beg. I was also told to say this and that to him, I think my mother was just a step behind making me learn my dialogues, and so seeing or having any form of communication with my father became something I dreaded profoundly. Of course, the breakfasts became more and more spaced, until they stopped too.

The next time I saw my father I was in high school, and I was so filled with anger and hate towards both of my parents that I barely uttered a word during the whole dinner… but I’ll leave the reasons for my feelings to another post.

 

Related articles:

Daddy issues

Mommy wasn’t married to Daddy. In fact, Daddy was married to someone else. Everyone knew this. Everyone except Dani that is. Dani was told mommy and daddy were divorced, but she shouldn’t say this to anyone because it was a secret. Mmmm, ok… but, then, how could she explain the three of them traveling together and Mommy and Daddy kissing in front of her and sleeping on the same bed during those trips? Well, she just didn’t, because children just don’t ask those kinds of questions, they just acknowledge there’s something phony and then go around it.

I met my father when I was around 6 years old. Well, technically I’d met him before, there are pictures to prove it, only I was too small to remember. Don’t know if I’d asked questions before, I’d lived all my life with my mother but then, just around this age I guess, I was told I had a father. “Me?? I have a father? You mean like my friends at school!?” I remember my mother telling me they used to go motorbike riding all around Mexico, and I even remember little details like her telling me the exact spot where he used to park his bike. Then I was showed pictures. And then the day came when he was going to pick us up and we’d all go on a road trip. I was kind of disappointed when he didn’t show up in his bike, mom had forgotten to mention the three of us didn’t fit in one.

One of the pictures I was shown

I guess it must have been between the ages of 6 to 8 or 9-ish that this sort of event happened. After a period of time that seemed like ages to me, he would show up with presents and we’d all go travelling to all sorts of places. Later I figured out that we went on what might have easily been covered up as “business trips”, because he’s always gone on those because of his job. Then it all stopped. Daddy didn’t love Mommy anymore.

Me and my father on a trip

Me and my father on a trip

After this period, my mother would nag me to make me call him, like it was my duty. Had I been older, I might have said something like: “Now, wait just a minute, why should I call him, isn’t it HIS responsibility to at least check up on me???” But I wasn’t older, I was still a girl, and I had always been scared of him. So, I was made to call him to his office, and I was told to change my name when I did so, probably so the secretary wouldn’t ask why a girl with her boss’s same last name and who wasn’t his wife’s daughter was calling…or something.

So, my responsibility included calling him and asking him to meet me, and during this meetings, which usually took the form of Saturday breakfasts, I was instructed to ask him for money for all sorts of things. And he would refuse and I’d have to beg. I was also told to say this and that to him, I think my mother was just a step behind making me learn my dialogues, and so seeing or having any form of communication with my father became something I dreaded profoundly. Of course, the breakfasts became more and more spaced, until they stopped too.

The next time I saw my father I was in high school, and I was so filled with anger and hate towards both of my parents that I barely uttered a word during the whole dinner… but I’ll leave the reasons for my feelings to another post.

 

Related articles:

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!

P.D.

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