Life keeps throwing chances at me…

…and I keep throwing them away.   Maybe I’ll never graduate. Maybe I’m supposed to be an ESL elementary school teacher forever. I’m starting to get comfy in my teacher jumper. I’m starting to see myself doing this in the … Continue reading

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.

 

 

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

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 🙂

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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!

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:

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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.

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.

 

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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.

 

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Back to where I started

I almost made it, but as the day closes in on me, I’ve surrendered. I managed to keep at bay all the dark thoughts throughout this cold sunny Sunday, but it’s stronger than me. It doesn’t matter that I don’t wanna think this thoughts because I feel them, right in the middle of my chest. It’s this pain that announces angst and anxiety are back and having a picnic on me. I wish there was a way of rationally making it go away, but there isn’t, at least I haven’t been succesful in any of my attempts so far.

It wasn’t all bad though, before the my demons arrived I managed to get some work and reading done (something quite unusual in me for a Sunday), and I think I’m even gonna put some words on the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named after this short hi-there-post. I think today was a little better because vacations are getting closer and closer. They’re the ones I’ve needed the most since I don’t know when. And what’s best, I won’t have to deal with Xmas and family. This year I get to run away and enjoy with BF at the beach, yay!

As for the mushroom kitties, I’m happy to report they’ve all been successfully neutered in a non-invasive micro-surgery facilitated by the fact that they’re all boys. Three of them have been moved to another temporary home since no matter how much I care for them, the levels of cat-crazyness were peaking over here with no sign on the horizon of a permanent home. It’s sad how picky people can be when adopting pets. If they are looking to foster a cat, how can they possibly care about it being gray or black, boy or girl? So I’m now actively searching for homes for these fungus-free kitties, before Mrs. Gobby truly convinces herself  she’s the mother of the remaining naughty pair.

How could you say no to these little faces?

How could you say no to these little faces?

Mrs. Gobby upon hearing she's not the mother of the babies.

Mrs. Gobby upon hearing she’s not the mother of the babies.