Meds and birthdays

I’m not used to having sucky Fridays. They’re not my favorite day either, but I handle them. Today sucks though. And I want to write about it but I don’t want this post, and my blog for that matter, to become a place where I come and barf all my negativeness. And it’s also angering because I don’t understand how I can wake up and feel like shit in one second, before I even walk out into the world. So I’m placing the blame on the meds. Fuck ’em.

I usually take my morning dose somewhere around 8am, but today it was one of the first things I did after getting up at 6 because I knew from the moment I woke up it wasn’t going to be pretty. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I set my mind to have a shitty day, it just comes that way sometimes, it sneaks up on me. And to be honest, I haven’t been taking all of my meds either. Ever since N admitted one of the pills was making me gain weight, I  stopped taking it. She had told me to just lower the dose until I had my next appointment with her, and she could then decide what to replace it with, but I just couldn’t put it in my mouth knowing that it was making me hate my body all over again. So yeah, that’s what happens when you tell crazy people to take their meds I guess.

Also found out earlier today that I’m gonna have to work on my birthday. It’s a Saturday so I was thinking I could at least take the day off but no, I have to be at school entertaining parents on the Family Day, whatever the hell that is…  Still I’m considering the possibility of doing something for that day. I haven’t properly celebrated it since I turned 19 some ages ago, and maybe I’d like people to celebrate me for a change though it’s something that makes me anxious.

I’ve had some shitty birthdays that’s for sure. Right now there’s one that comes to my mind. I remember once BF asked me to spend my birthday at his place as they were celebrating another friend’s bday, it seemed like a good plan for me. Little did I know no one except BF gave a shit about my birthday. I hate people singing happy birthday, and the cake ritual and stuff is just not my thing, but when a cake appeared and everybody started singing to this guy and then to congratulate him and simply ignore me, I just wanted to hide under the table. His birthday had already passed, and mine was on that very night,  and still they didn’t care! Thanks for the appreciation…

I haven’t really decided yet, but I’m giving it a thought. It would be something very low-key, absolutely NO cake included, and probably at my house (exxxtra-anxious!) because I don’t really have a group of friends. I have scattered friends from all the lives I’ve lived and so I think it would be easier to make the reunion at my house instead of at a restaurant or something.

One of the reasons I think this might be a good idea is that maybe the time after my birthday wouldn’t be so hard for me. Last year I had it rough. Fell into a deep crisis and zombied through April mostly. This way, there could at least be the possibility of having something to look forward to. There’s also the possibility it becomes an epic fail and throws me into some miserable days, there are just too many things that could go wrong.  So what to do? I’ll let March be the judge of that.

So there you go. Meds and birthdays. Are my post-naming skills getting smoother or what? Happy weekend!

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!


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

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

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

Thanks for your support, it helped me so much!



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.


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.

(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.



Success! Well… sort of…

I’m happy to report that I’ve finished the chapter I was working on, I still have to review it, but I’ve done what I can with it and I’ve stopped being mad at my thesis. I’m gonna take the rest of the afternoon to do the proofreading and I’m gonna take a look at the last chapter missing, and if it all goes well tomorrow I’ll be working on it.

Today my horizon seems quite brighter than yesterday’s, I don’t know exactly what happened but when the sun went to bed, I completely freaked out, I mean, lost it. I Kept having SH thoughts that were kind of hard to restrain in some moments (though I managed to), and I just felt so terrible about myself for not finishing the chapter already. Then, when I wasn’t beating myself up I was busy being immersed in self-pity, I wanted to cry because things have been so hard on me, because I didn’t have anyone to comfort me, because I lost the first place in my class (yeah, that’s how much of a nerd and obsessive I am), I think I would’ve cried if Sylvester would’ve so much as left my side.

By the way, I haven’t talked much about him but you should know he’s my baby boy, the one that makes me look like a crazy cat lady (not saying I’m not), and the most spoiled one of my kitties too. So without further ado I present you, Mr. Sylvester Bombon:


But as I was saying, it all got better in the morning, ran some errands in the morning and when I started working on Frankenthesis I was on fire! I just hope I can keep up this speed, it’s be about time!

Thesis rant

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Frankenthesis strikes again

I don’t consider me a New Year’s Day Grinch, but I do wonder what the fuzz is all about. The firts day of the year is always a dead day, nobody’s out on the street, everything’s closed, and your supposed to enjoy the quietness and calm around you. Well, I don’t. Even more, this calm worries me because I fear that’s one of the reasons why Sundays are so hard on me. That’s what it’s come to, I’m feeling just a hint of a chest pain, but I’m terribly scared of what it may become as the day goes by, because it can get so strong it amazes me it doesn’t kill me. So I’m gonna try to keep busy, probably reading and working on the Frankenthesis. I haven’t finished a couple of books and I might get to that.

As for the thesis, I didn’t deliver what I was supposed to in December, and now I have a lot more work to get done by Jan 15th, and I’m not sure how exactly I’m going to manage to get it done. If only I’d type on it as many words as I have on this blog, I’m sure I would’ve finished it by now 🙄 and I have to admit I need all the cheering up I can get to work hard and maybe finish what I’m supposed to.

This time around, New Year’s Day is reminding me of everything I didn’t accomplish, of all the different ways I messed up, and all the problems I got myself into, money being the most worrying one. I guess I’m feel a little ripped out because people act as if  on Jan 1st everybody got a clean slate, and I don’t see that. What I see is a reminder that time keeps going by, it doesn’t stop and everything we do keeps adding to our tab.

All I got left, and I realize it’s a very big thing, is the hope that things will get better, and man do I need a brighter horizon to keep me going right now! Hope is the fuel that so many times keeps our engines running when all evidence says there’s no point. And today I can be thankful that I do feel the warmth of hope (however small it may be) in my heart to keep me going.

I realize this is a bittersweet post (that’s a little more bitter than sweet), but still let me take the time to wish you all a happy 2013 full of happy moments and goals achieved, and a year that brings you as least sorrow as possible! 🙂

What the Frankenthesis looks like these days.(Image credit:

What the Frankenthesis looks like these days.
(Image credit:

Made it out alive

What are your 2013 resolutions?

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

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

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

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

‘Til next time!

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

Death-lines and facebook depression

I have to hand in the third chapter of the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named on Friday, and this is more of a death-line than a deadline, since I’m absolutely convinced the world will end if I don’t*. I’m missing about 8 pages, so that’s about 2 pages per day, doesn’t sound too bad right? When I put it like that it looks perfectly doable, and yet instead of working in on it I’m writing a post.

The fourth and first chapters are done, so when I hand this one in, I’ll only be missing the second one, which has about 30% of its contents written. My problem is not so much the quantity as much as the quality of the writing. I have such a big lack of confidence that I can’t tolerate the thought of putting my incompetence out there in a piece of paper for everyone to see and probably laugh at. And I’m honestly terrified of my dissertation, it’s crushing not only my confidence but my every goal and hope in life. I can’t shake off the feeling of the huge desapointment I’ll be for everyone and for myself if I never finish it and honestly, this is an option that’s starting to appear on the horizon, as opposed to the new paths and possibilities opened for people my age that are graduating. I’ve started seeing it all the time thanks to the wonders of Facebook: What’s-his-name from elementary school just got his degree and now is going to backpack through Europe, there’s the girl who always annoyed the shit out of me getting married and having perfect babies, and oh don’t forget the armies of former classmates going off to graduate school abroad.

My bottom line is Facebook sucks ass. And that’s the main reason why I’ve deserted it. I don’t need the constant reminders of what a failure I am and how my life is going nowhere. What’s worse is that facebooking has become some sort of obligation and people constantly pressure me into loging in and checking this or that, and when I don’t, for them it’s like I’ve stopped caring because I’ve missed a lot of the stuff that’s going on with them. In order to stop that, I’ve been logging once every other week and take some minutes to see what I’ve missed, that’s about all the facebook I can take right now and I do hope people stop taking it personally. Also, I just can’t deal right now with the I’m-always-so-happy image that most people put up in their profiles. I think when I’m done with this torture that my thesis is, maybe I’ll be able to go back to it for the things I enjoy about it, like the political expressions and being more in touch with the people I know, or the cat pictures! 😉

* I’d be so great if the world would end on the D-21st, I wouldn’t have to finish my thesis! 😀

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.


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

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

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

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

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

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

Random thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

The trick is to keep breathing

Sundays suck *ss. It’s as simple as that. Today I tried to do something different, get myself out of the routine to see if that helped me conquer Sunday. It didn’t. Well, it did for a while.

Maybe I should be more specific: in the morning my partner and I went to the movies. Comedy. I can’t say it was all fine and dandy, but hey, the film got some smiles and laughter out of me, and I got to spend some time with him, which doesn’t usually happen on Sundays. But I had to come back home eventually, and when I did, the angst hit me. It hit me hard.

It hasn’t always been like this though. And I think it’s not a sh*t-I-have-to-work-tomorrow depression, because Sundays have been horrible for me for so many years I can’t even know when it started, but it was long before I had to work.

On the bright side, Sunday’s almost over!! 🙂

I wanted to do a post on my tattoos, and I have another one lined up about my favorite author, Marguerite Duras, but tonight I just don’t have the energy for them. Truth is I probably  just wanted to vent a bit and that’s why I’m writing, though I worry I’ll get my two faithful readers tired of yet another I-hate-Sundays post, so I promise to try to find yet another way to avoid this from happening again next week, both for my blog’s and my own sake.

[I just wondered, are Sundays a trigger for me? And if so, a trigger of what?]

Right now I just have to remember, like I did thanks to a WP friend, to simply put one foot in front of the other, which also reminded me of this beautiful song by Garbage: The Trick Is To Keep Breathing. Its title alone is so meaningful for me in so many ways, and its lyrics speak to me so much that I just wanted to share it over here:

Don’t know what this week will have in store for me, and I don’t know if I can take it, but I’ve got to find a way to stop Sundays dragging me down so hard, any thoughts?

Not me anymore

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is (not) a happy post

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you enjoy the rest of your Monday!

Angsty Sunday

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

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

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

My hidden words

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

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

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

Under my tongue are hidden the words

That reveal all about me

They could tell you about my insecurities

How small I can sometimes feel

But I do everything to stop them

It is too soon to tell

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

That’s what I didn’t want to admit

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

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

Under my tongue all my fears will remain hidden

To everything I don’t know about you

Dangerous and precise words that try

Everything they want to define

But I do all I can to stop them

It is too soon to tell

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

That’s what I didn’t want to admit

Everything I want slips right through my fingers

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