When the school year was over, I thought that’s when I’d be the happiest. Even if I still had to work for an extra week, there’d be no kids at school and we’d all just concentrate on planning for the … Continue reading
Has it been a month already? Tomorrow’s the dreaded thesis seminar again and for the first time I’m not sure I’m showing up. I may not be able to handle it. I still haven’t answered back to my tutor’s email … Continue reading
Today I made a huuuge fool of myself. I wanted to start digging and get in the ground, cover myself real good with dirt, and never, EVER come out again. And what’s worse is that if it hadn’t been for this gigantic embarrassment, my day would’ve been fine, maybe even a little better. But now my day is ruined and I’ll go in the record as the dumbest attempt at a student ever.
I think I’m gonna have to divide what actually happened in two parts. The first is the good part of my day, something I had been looking forward to, and the second is the self-inflicted torture that ruined my day, and possible a lot more days to come.
So the first part goes like this: I’ve been offered a job at my uni’s historical institute (a.k.a. Mount Olympus), I’ll be working as an assistant to two of their journals. This was made possible thanks to a dear dear teacher for whom I’ve worked as an assistant before and who (as what happened later only confirms) thinks just too much of me. He suggested me for the position to the other editors when it became vacant, and it was thanks to him that they chose me over a several other candidates, without so much as an interview. Today was the first time I was meeting 2 of them (there are four editors, two of them were absent: my professor and another one whom I didn’t know). I was excited because I was going to find out everything about what it is they want me to do and the whole nine yards basically. So I left my job at 3:30 and not a second earlier, drove like crazy to try to be there at 4 like they had asked me to, and made it at 4:10 more or less. I met two of the editors and they laid out their plans, and everything was dandy. And this is where it gets ugly and complicated.
There was another business I had to attend at the institute, I had a thesis seminar my tutor signed me up for. At the time (it started back in December)she let me know I had to attend it once a month on a day where I had failed yet again to meet the deadline for a chapter, and she looked pissed
with good reason. This seminar includes undergraduate, graduate, and doctorate students who are in the process of writing our respective dissertations, and this made me feel absolutely unsuited for the whole thing. How could my thesis, a simple, probably boring, not even from a history major, undergraduate dissertation, be compared to an eloquent thesis for a doctorate in History??? But up to today I’d managed to keep my head above water, reading the texts and managing to open my mouth without letting the butterflies escape. Yep, up to today.
This week however, I didn’t manage to fully read one of the two texts that we were going to discuss; I was a lazy ass and quite frankly forgot about reading them until yesterday. I read one and about three thirds of the other one last night on my laptop and didn’t write down my notes. I arrived late to the thing (it also started at 4), and was almost immediately asked to provide my feedback for the text I didn’t finish. It was the first chapter of a graduate dissertation and a damn good text, but I didn’t really have much to say besides that. I should’ve been honest and say I hadn’t had time to work on it, however for a split second I thought I could wing it. Guess what…I couldn’t. I started babbling without saying anything remotely articulated, and then… I just couldn’t shut up!! I looked like president Peña Nieto on a streak. I went on and on talking without saying something for about two minutes that felt like 2 hours, with 7 people staring at me waiting for a mildly reasonable idea to come out of my mouth, until a kind soul put me out of my misery by saying “why don’t you just think about it, and we’ll go back to you?”. I wanted to open the window and just escape, but that’s not even it!
It was bad enough making a complete fool of myself in front of all of them, but it just gets worse. This guy who gave me an out was the other professor who’s responsible for the seminar besides my tutor, but as I was about to find out, that’s not the only way I’m connected to him. When the seminar was over and I thought I could begin to recover from my humiliation….this same professor approaches me and tells me he wants to see me in his cubicle… as he is the other absent editor I’m supposed to work for!! I just felt like dropping dead right there.
So I went to his cubicle where he explained details he considered important for me to know about my new job, but all I could really do was wonder if he was thinking something on the line of: “THIS??? REALLY??? THIS is the girl I’ve been told about?? This mediocre, dumb, insecure loser is who I’m supposed to trust my journal to?”
God, just remembering this makes me want to die all over again. And I feel like cutting again. Bad. Something’s different though, I feel like calling Mr. Shrinky. He and N always tell me to call them when I get like this. Most times it doesn’t even cross my mind. Sometimes it does but I dismiss it like the stupidest thing I could do. But today… I wanna talk to him. I probably won’t, I’m not strong enough to call, and don’t have the privacy to do so either, so maybe, for the second time today, I’ll see if I can wing it.
Trigger warning: self-harm is dealt with in this post.
So I talked to Mr. Shrinky about cutting one session from my treatment. He wasn’t happy about it but he understood, and said something that made my heart clinch a bit, that went a more or less like this: “it’s just sad that your emotional part has to pay up for the mess your outer part has made”. This remark hurt me a little, but not because I thought the comment was hurtful in any way, because it’s true. I just don’t know how to take care of my emotional being. I feed and clothe myself, I can manage to get by society’s requirements in a not-so-dreadful kind of way, but I just don’t know what to do with my inner me.
She’s always been left to mend for herself, and when she just can’t handle the pain anymore and sends s.o.s. signals to the outside, that’s when I cut, I cut until the pain is balanced between the outside and the inside. Or sort of anyways. I did it again on Saturday night, my anxiety pain was just too much, I felt I couldn’t breathe, it was surprising I wasn’t fainting or something thanks to it. And it felt good because it was soothing in a way, caring for my wounds felt as close to caring for my inner me as I could get at that point. And little me has way too much on her shoulders to begin with, and now she indeed has to pay for outer me’s rampage.
It just dawned on me right now that I really haven’t talked much about all the stuff that got me here in the first place, I guess I’m taking baby steps into it. When I first started this blog all I knew was that I needed to write and be read, even by just a handful of people. Writing has always been an amazingly powerful therapy for me, no matter what the topic is, and so I blogged about Mexico’s elections, the #132 movement, and the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named.
But then one night I felt like sharing a little about me, and a little more in another post, and next thing I know elections are out the window and I’m sharing my inner demons for the world to see. It was something entirely new and exhilarating in a way…though it was and continues to be scary and threatening because I don’t know who might read this and if they’ll judge me, and because talking about me in any form has never come easy for me.
So far I couldn’t be more pleased with what I’ve gotten from blogging, most importantly the people I met through doing it. Empirically finding out you’re not alone and that there are people going through stuff you can relate to, well it helps a long way, so thank you for being there!
I know I know, this post is all over the place, but these were things I needed to get of my chest.
I’m currently writing this post on the notepad of my tablet. My internet browser keeps crashing so I can’t read other blogs, I feel like I’m trying to talk to someone in a dark room without really knowing if they can hear me, but I can’t really complain, even if I’m suffering from not having my computer with me, I get to be the beach, yay!
This isn’t the first time I’ve escaped Xmas celebrations but it is the first time I get to spend it all alone with BF, and that’s just awesome. Plus, I absolutely love the ocean, and Mexican beaches are incredibly beautiful, so there is no downside to this trip.
Also, ever since I cheated on my shrink I decided to try to be more ordered about my meds, and it’s worked out most of the times. I really want to be ok for me to enjoy this trip and not spoil it both for me and BF, though I feel the demons of self-harm creeping in and I’m just trying to keep them at bay, because I know if I fall for them things could get ugly. Xmas is a tough time for me (though not half as much as my birthday apparently), but I’m determined to have a good time! 😉
Today we left Guadalajara for Vallarta, a trip that lasted about 5 hours, which took so long because things got interesting thanks to BF racing and a police officer pulling us over because of it. BF is a good lad, and he was probably racing because he got desperate of being stuck behind a truck for over an hour in a one lane highway. However, he’s a good lad with really bad luck, he not only got us pulled over, but he crashed the car door on his finger while getting out, and now his finger is purple and in pain, we’re hoping tomorrow morning it’s better or we’re gonna have to find a doctor.
When we finally arrived at Vallarta, the first thing we did was go out for dinner. We ended up in a lovely Cuban restaurant, and after that we just walked around the malecón before going back to the hotel, we don’t have any more plans for today as we’re so tired from the road trip.
In the morning we’re gonna have to find out what we want to do at night (here in Mexico Xmas is celebrated on the evening of the 24th), because BF wants to do something special, but we’re basically spending the day at the beach, which to me sounds like a damn fine plan.
I’m getting tired of typing on the screen of this thing so I’m gonna stop it here, I hope it all goes well tomorrow, and I’ll try to keep the posts coming in, though I depend on the wimps of this iThing.
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.
Veredict’s in: I need surgery on my left wrist. With it I’m gonna have 3 of those on my back, and though thoughts of my painful recovery from the previous 2 I had on my right wrist keep flooding me, when the doctor told me I felt like he was casually sharing me news from another patient… I didn’t feel anything. Also, an inner voive keeps telling me that this isn’t real so I don’t need to worry about it. I’ve even managed to feel better, so maybe I’ve fought this thing off, like it was possible to “fight off” a damaged ligament that has cysts.
When my more reallistic side tells me that I should get the surgery as soon as possible so that my condition doesn’t get any worst, I can only mentally utter that I’ll have to wait until until I’ve finished the-thesis-that-must-not-be-named because there’s no way I’m writing it with one hand. Ironically, accostumed as I am to finding new things to procrastinate on instead of working on my thesis (hence this blog), now she (yes, she) has become a way of delaying my surgery until further notice. And hell, it has worked so far, I’ve gotten more work done on it on these 2 post-diagnosis days than I had in weeks. Also, I find myself miraculously enjoying my job more, so I can tell myself it’d really be a shame to skip some days of work, even if it’s on a sick leave of absence, and I certanily cannot be absent one more day if I’m indeed gonna have to take some days off. I’ve even stopped having self-harm thoughts, maybe because I know that there is quite a lot of pain right around the corner for me anyways.
I don’t know if I want to or if I will get the surgery yet, but it seems like having it in the horizon can be a positive thing for me…even when most of the time it feels like this isn’t really happening to me.
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.