Very inspiring blogger award 2013

A couple of weeks ago, two people thought of me when they received this award, and I’m so honored especially since this two bloggers are an inspiration for my life everyday,  you should definitely check out their sites. I’m talking about Benjamin Prewitt at benjaminprewitt.com, a great artist who shares with the world his amazing art and his daily struggles with young onset Parkinson’s disease; and Valentina at En el Jardín de los Elefantes, who finds and shares incredible and inspiring images.Now I’m supposed to share some facts about me. I’ve decided to do a sort of basic-facts-about-me list, so excuse me if you know this stuff already:

1. My favorites in the whole world:

-Books: The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry) and The Lover (Marguerite Duras)

-Animals: Cats       -Music: Fito Páez       -Author: Proust  and M. Duras

-Cinema: Chaplin        -Place: the beach and the sea
2. I would do anything to spare an animal from suffering.
3. Whenever I see a plane fly by, I secretly wish I was on it, no matter its destination, better yet if it were as far away from home as possible.
4. I’ve wished to be a writer since I was 6 years old, when I wrote my first story.
5. I don’t believe in religion in any form, I do believe in a higher being somewhere out there, but one who’s not interested in us.
6. Sometimes I have problems expressing my thoughts in Spanish, usually when it’s personal stuff. That’s the main reason I have for writing a blog in English, because I’m able to deal more comfortably and more honestly with my emotional baggage.
7. I love all kinds of animals, I love them to death. Except for bugs. Can’t rationally deal with them and I have to accept they’re beyond me. I feel guilty for this.
8. I used to think I knew what I wanted from life. Now I’m lost and don’t know where to run off to. This is related to the fact that I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression and started therapy for the first time in my life in late 2011, so I guess I’m on a journey not only to heal but to find myself amongst the shit. I’m not holding my breath though, I’ve become aware that this is gonna take time.

On the other hand, I’d like to mention the blogs that inspire me, but it’s getting hard to keep track of who’s in the accepting-awards business, and there are a few I’d like to mention that I know for a fact don’t accept them, so I’m just going to leave it out here in the hopes that the bloggers whom I follow find it, because I wouldn’t be following you if you didn’t inspire me. If I read your blog, I nominate you for this award, go on and take it.

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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.

Naked

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.

Me, myself and I

3 in the morning.

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

3:10 am, post-peeing.

Right hemisphere: Writy write write…writy write write.

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

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

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

Body: BTW, I’m hungry! Feed me now!

3:30 am, post-feeding.

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

3:40 am, post-minor writing.

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

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

4:30 am, post-minor sleeping.

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

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

RH and Body: Not gonna happen dude!

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

5:30 am.

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

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

RH and B: Will do, promise!

6:37 am

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

——–

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

Up against myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cut myself, I want you to love me

I don’t remember when was the first time I hurt myself, but I know I started doing in on a regular basis as a teenager, after a couple of harsh isolated episodes when I was around 12 or 13. I don’t know if I enjoyed being in pain, I just remember I was desperate for attention, but my efforts were always futile, so it turned into my own little private ritual to take out all of my anger on me. Yes, it sounds dumb. To take out on yourself the anger caused by the abuse donde to you in the first place. But when you feel your blood boiling with anger inside your veins and you know the blade will make it stop, sometimes you just don’t stop to think about the pros and cons of it.

However, cutting makes it better only for a very short time, and after that it makes it worse. The anger certainly stops, but as time goes by and I realize how pointless and stupid my actions are, I start to fall into a depression that’s almost handicapping at times, and its a fight uphill to be able to feel functional again.

The difference this time around is that I’m talking about it (not without some pressure from Mr. Shrinky). I told my partner, which was pretty hard, and I guess know I’m letting it out into the world, something I probably wouldn’t have done without meeting such brave and amazing people and their blogs here at WP. And now that I’ve done it, that I’ve shared it, it actually feels just a little bit better, almost as if I were exorcising at least one of my demons. If I could only not feel that kind of anger again… all that seems to help right know, besides this, is Proust, so I’ll leave this little piece of me right here and continue my reading.

Chaotic Organization

I can’t seem to balance what I want to do with what I have to do and what others want me to do, such as having to work, having to finish my thesis, while hoping to one day (that seems to be further away each day) being able to do the things I actually want. All of this, having people pushing and pushing on one side for me to finish this antiquated rite of passage while on the other I have more (if not the same) people expecting me to be able to meet economic responsibilities that started long ago before I could manage them and continue even when I never really had the proper  time to mentally and pragmatically prepare for them. I feel like I am being forced to bake a cake without the proper ingredients (not that I will ever do such a thing).

Still, I also don’t feel like I have plausible reasons to bitch about it ’cause the way I see it, the situation here in Mexico is getting darker and darker by the moment, and I’ll hopefully be writing about it soon enough, since right now I’m stealing hours from my most needed sleep to catch up on my other writing, the one I keep talking about but stays offline.

And about that, I’ve been thinking about creating an anonymous blog, maybe that could be more helpful to me and definitely more entertaining. I of course will not be linking it to this one but I thought I’d share the news anyways. It may sound like I have all the time in the world to spam my two readers with my babbling, but I guess it’s just a matter of getting my sh*t together.

I will however promise myself to work on my organizational skills all through the month the remaining week and see if it sticks, since this Monday was my first day at a new job doing something I had kinda thought I wouldn’t do again: teach English to elementary kids. This will require me to force my usual chaotic self to take a hike at least in the mornings, I’ll report on the results.

In the meantime, here’s the first image I have of one of my students:

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One does not simply “write” a thesis

You should know this post started out in Spanish. I simply didn’t feel like writing in English… or so I thought, and before my text resulted in a reasonable causality for a linguist’s heart attack I decided to go back to my adoptive language (still not sure of who adopted who).

I’m meeting my thesis director tomorrow afternoon. I’m considerably afraid of her. The worst part is that there’s no justifiable reason to do so. She’s not only an academic warrior and someone to look up to professionally, but also a very nice person, and whenever I come down with my regular this-thesis-is-a-joke mood, she’s the one to show me all the good things about it. In short, I’m scared of her and ashamed for being so. I’m meeting her tomorrow and as I sat a moment ago wondering what it was that made me so uncomfortable when she’s so nice even as she helps me work out every millimeter or my work, I thought that it really isn’t her whom I’m afraid of, but my thesis.

Grabbing it and working with it has become something similar to working with The Monster Book of Monsters (go google it…ready?…let’s continue). And when anyone tries to stick their nose into the matter, it’s usually on the tone of: it’s just a matter of sitting down and writing it, I just feel like paraphrasing poor tortured Tolkien’s Boromir and screaming: ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY “WRITE” A THESIS!, though what actually comes out is a low, pathetic little voice saying “yeah, you’re right”. Of course they’re not right! Are they? Well, maybe… The fact is the “writing” process is coming close to a whole year and even though I’m working in the fourth chapter, I feel like I’m moving as fast as Frodo and Sam inside Mordor (gosh..maybe I should re-name this blog: Almost Everything About The Lord of The Rings…) and yes, just as them, as I get closer and closer to achieving my goal, the task becomes harder and harder. So I guess what I urgently need is a way of dealing with my pathologic fear of my own thesis.

By the way, while wasting valuable time researching important issues on the web, I found this (though I guess my thesis won’t have tea and cookies with me anytime soon): Image

And finally, to honor the actual name of this blog, I should report that exactly a week ago Mrs. Gobby was lost and found. She fell dow the balcony of her first floor flat and spent a couple of hours hiding in some bushes, which has resulted in her becoming the most spoiled and neediest ensalver cat ever.

The Butterfly Effect

I’ve always been one to observe people. Most of the time they’re gestures, attitude, or sometimes even their tone speak louder to me than the words coming out of their mouths. I guess I’m more of a looker than a hearer, and it does get me in trouble every once in a while when someone catches me off guard and notices how I didn’t seem to pay attention to a word they just said; it’s just that I wasn’t paying attention to what they wanted me to, but to what they usually don’t want me to.

Now, when it comes to being watched, I’m probably no more comfortable than most people, but most people don’t really seem to notice or observe others so I’m not usually in that place. And then there are the tattoos: a butterfly sniffing a flower on my lower belly, and The Little Prince flying away from his planet on my upper back. I never imagined they would prompt such a wide range of reactions, or that people would tend to be so eager to share them with me.  Some probably won’t ever see them or notice them, but when they do, especially for the first time, chances are they’ll want to tell me all about it.

However, noticing their reaction does tell me more about them than the other way around. The one I like the most is the honest no-reaction face, where they’ll see them just like something completely ordinary, add them to their recollections of me, and then we can move on and forget about it; maybe they’ll even be mentioned in the future, though more as a natural part of people sharing themselves. The funniest one is the pretend-I-saw-nothing face, where the person in particular will have to gather all of her strength just to NOT look at them, it will bother me a little bit but mostly it will entertain me. Then there’s the Ahem-excuse-me-I-don’t-know-you-but-I-love-your-tattoo reaction, which doesn’t entirely piss me off though it’s still uncomfortable to have some complete stranger telling you how much they love a part of your body. The opposite reaction I’ve only had once, and it left me so shocked I didn’t even know how to respond; I was writing my name down on a list before a lecture, when this old folk taps on my shoulder and goes “Excuse me, but is that the Little Prince?”, “Why, yes. Yes it is sir”, “Oh, I thought so… I guess it’s nice, though why would you want something like that on your back?…Well, to each their own, right?”, to which I could only answer in a soft voice: “Indeed”. And I was almost forgetting about the one where simple acquaintances expect me to share my tats’ personal meanings like we’re talking about what we had for breakfast.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the least of my concerns when I get tattooed is people’s reaction to my chosen modification, though it’s something I have to deal with every once in a while. I also wonder if it’s something cultural, and what other people with a lot more tats and piercings may have to deal with here in Mexico, ’cause if this happens to a fresa girl who’s got just a few tats… Anyway, of course this is no reason for me to hide them, of course I like to have them seen and appreciated, and most times I’ll even share their story if asked, but don’t expect me to always be in the mood for it, because the way I decide to live within my body is not a free pass for everybody to give me their opinion about it every single time. (I swear it din’t sound so bitter in my head!)

By the way, this is the reaction I absolutely love the most. It comes from Mrs. Gobby and it is wordless, has a perfect balance between awe and approval, and if you can manage to put this face on for my tattoos, or even better, just for me, I’ll adore you! (though I have to say, if you’re reading this, you probably lack the mandatory whiskers needed for that).

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