The worst Oscars life reel would be mine.

I know this might be shocking but I’m crazy. Not “oh cool, the aliens in my toaster are repainting the walls again” kind of crazy, but the kind that still warrants keeping an eye on oneself. I think of it as being more like a jigsaw puzzle that is frequently put together, missing a few pieces, or has pieces of another puzzle mixed in. Recently got diagnosed with ADD, which runs through my family like lactose through the intolerant. Whenever our dog Daisy goes bonkers, we say that she’s got “head bees”, so in a way, I’ve got my own head bees. As well as head goblins. To put it simply, the inside of my head hovers between the chocolate room in the Wonka factory and Silent Hill on a rainy day, with random useless knowledge popping up like VH1’s Pop Up Video.

Recently during my usual struggle with my brain’s refusal to shut up when its time to go to sleep, I wandered over mentally into my memories. Memories of how long have I really been dealing with this bullshit. So here’s where it gets personal people!! Prepare for the realness!! This list is kind of crappy when you think about it, but its just what it is. I’ll admit that it will make for the WORST “this is your life” reel for the Oscars. Feel free to skip it if you don’t want to know. I’ll understand. It’s lacking in glitter ponies so I can’t really blame you for skipping it:

  • At age 6, I was bullied for my glasses and my emotional sensitivity. I begin hating what I look like.
  • At age 9, the first time that voice tells me that I was worthless, and that no one cared about me. It was the first time I felt invisible.
  • At age 11, I heard the whisper to be dead.
  • At age 12, my household started getting………..different. I began experiencing anxiety issues as a result of many of these shifts, as well as the toxicity within it.
  • At age 13, I hurt myself for the first time. Small scratches, but enough to trigger a mental sense of relief when I did it.
  • At age 14, I become involved in a physically abusive relationship, later sexually assaulted. Not much longer, my first suicide attempt. I try to slit my wrists at school. My mother’s response was, shall we say, inappropriate. I never told anyone about the abuse or the assault until I was in my thirties.
  • Between ages 15-18, whatever it took to numb myself emotionally. Dabbling in drugs and always believing that I meant nothing to no one.
  • At age 19, I came close to committing suicide again after a painful breakup with yet another emotionally harmful relationship. Had the pills in my hand, but a letter from a friend made me laugh so hard I cried and I didn’t stop crying for a few hours which got me to pull away from the edge.
  • Age 30, after dealing with some other issues I reach my mental breaking point when I locked myself in my bathroom to prevent myself from punching my fist through a window in order to cut my wrists open. I finally decide to seek therapy.
  • Age 37 diagnosed properly with ADD with chronic depression and an anxiety disorder.  Medicated and therapy becomes part of my life.

See! The audience is now all uncomfortable and desperately wants to sneak out to the lobby to get some M&Ms or popcorn. My therapist recommended to me years ago that talking openly about my struggles helps take the shame I associate with my craziness. She said that asking for help is the strongest act I can take, so saying to people, “Hey, so yeah I know that most of the time I’m all rainbows and shenanigans, but underneath all this is a scared little girl that thinks that everyone hates her because she cries, so I could really use some love right now otherwise I might just walk over to that edge and not stop.” I guess this is why I love Catherine Tate’s Donna Noble from Doctor Who. She put up this facade of snark because deep down she believed that she was worthless.
17522897_1336657633055591_8966408900149772778_n I frequently find Hubby and me having this very conversation. Made even more amusing that he has a doctorate so he’s my own Doctor. Minus the Tardis of course. But he reminds me that I am, for him, the most important person in all of the known universes. Once again, The Doctor saves me. Only its my doctor. Have GOT to figure out how to get him to make me a Tardis. He’s smart, so I’m sure he could figure it out.

So the voice has started up again recently, whispering lies, and I push against them. Its exhausting sometimes. But, I push on. Numb, but push on. Lather, rinse repeat. I’ll get my glitter back again. The sparks will fly and the chocolate factory will overflow with delights. Great, now I want candy! I might need to hit a candy store this weekend. Get me a big ass bag of diabetes!! Candy glitters people. Just go with me on this.

Fuck you wind!

I’ve always hated really windy storms. I don’t particularly care for thunder storms either but I can mentally process THAT noise, but wind? I’m as much a wimp about wind as Daisy is about the vacuum cleaner. Growing up, my bedroom was in the back of the house. In the yard we used to have a HUGE palm tree that I think was at least 2-3 stories high. When the Santa Ana winds or a really bad windy storm would hit, that blasted tree would sway and loudly creak. It used to cause me massive panic in my youth that it would suddenly snap and come crashing through the roof of my bedroom. When the Northridge earthquake hit in 95, our backyard wall and awning fell so my folks decided to gut the tree thankfully. But ever since then, I now go into full panic mode about really huge gusts of wind.

Here in CA we’re finally getting some proper rain and last night was an intense storm that felt like the world outside was trying to get in. It was so bad I could hear the vent over the stove rattling. So of course, this triggered a panic attack. Haven’t had one of those bastards in awhile. It probably hit because I’m alone this week as Hubby is on a business trip. I locked myself and Daisy in the bedroom, blared Sherlock on my laptop while I did some drawings hoping to subside the anxiety. But once I noticed it was almost 1 am, I decided to go to bed. The storm had died down so I figured I’d be okay.

Apparently, my brainmeats didn’t get the memo! It started spinning about me dying, the weight on my chest turned into a boulder, the heart started running a marathon, and I started crying. Managed to after about an hour of deep breaths and mentally screaming at myself to go the fuck to sleep, my brainmeats decided to chill the fuck out.

So yeah, fuck you wind. You suck AND you blow. Eat a bowl of dicks wind.

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I should be studying, but,….

Its finals time again, and I’m stalling my studying to write this because I’m lazy and don’t want to. *glares at neglected studies* Stop it. Stop guilt tripping me, ya bastard! I’ll get to you in a minute!

Anyhoo, thought I’d write up something since I’ve been dealing with a few things and I figured it might be best to get it out of my overcrowded dysfunctional brainmeats before they start to go rabid and all foamy at the mouth, leaving me a twitching ball of insanity on the living room floor. I don’t really twitch mind you, more like stare blankly at the TV like a zombie that’s been neutered.

So what’s life been like recently? Well I’m glad you asked, and that you care, because one of the issues lately is another bout of depression trying to sneak its way in under the guise of “See, no one cares. I’m you’re only friend, so let my torture you with aaaaaaaaalllllllllllll the things you suck at, including this whole people loving you thing, as its so much fun!” Little fucker. I am on the hunt for a new meds doctor as my current one has moved to a far away location that I don’t think is worth driving out to for 30 minutes to just get a refill on my prescriptions that I am not sure I want to continue taking or are working properly at the moment. I don’t really agree with the ADD diagnosis and want to reevaluate that whole thing. I know I suffer from chronic bouts of depression and anxiety issues with the occasional panic attack. I don’t like how the ADD meds make me feel, I don’t think the anti-sad pills are helping as much, and I want something to help with the resurgence of the panic attacks. I also want to see if this doctor can help me get a weed card. The chocolates I have aren’t helpful ever since I had that horrific panic attack in February. Every time I’ve tried to have some, even the lowest grade in a sliver amount, triggers my panic. Hubby thinks its psychosomatic which I agree is more than likely, so I figured if I switch back to the herbal version, I might be able to get back to using it like I used to. I do find it amusing in an ironic way how the idea of going somewhere to get the card is causing me anxiety. So a giant middle finger to the useless DARE program that I was forced into taking as kid.  (Seriously, waste of time and a boring t-shirt to boot)

Hubby has a new job, again, but this one seems like it should be far more productive for him, as well as stable. He’s looking at more traveling as well, which is another reason for why I want something for the anxiety as whenever he’s gone for long periods, I become paranoid about the house getting broken into by someone, and I’m getting killed or hurt because even though I have a “dangerous pitbull” as a pet, all they have to do is bring a vacuum with them, or say they’ll give her a bath, or have some fries to distract her and I’m freaking toast! She’s not as cowardly as Milo was, but she’s just as useless of a fierce protector. I probably shouldn’t be saying any of this because now I’ve given all the bad guys a road map for how to kill me. Fuck! Uhhhhhhhh, ignore all that! She’s vicious! She’ll gnaw your face off and eat your toes! She hates fries and will laugh at your threats of vacuum monsters and evil foamy baths! Ever hear a pitbull laugh? Its terrifying! Fear her!! I’m so screwed.

Well in case I’m not killed because my ferocious pitbull is still gnawing on the bones of her enemies, I still need to deal with the depression that wants to barge its way in. I feel lonely at the moment, as I hunker down for finals and whenever Hubby is away, so I don’t tend to get out as much. I swear, I’m the living embodiment of a balancing scale of weirdness! I am introverted in that I LOVE being left alone to do whatever I feel like, watch whatever I feel like, but yet after about a few days, I crave social interaction, but don’t want to be alone in doing it. Throughout all my life, I watched as friends seemed to form tight groups with other, while I never seemed to be included. I saw them go out and have all these adventures while I was never even thought about inviting me to. They have all these moments that they tell me about, and as I’m hearing it all I can think of is “Why didn’t you call me to join you?” I feel…………..forgotten. As a got older, I figured it was fine as life made it tricky to have more free time, and the funds, to do all those things. But still…………………this continues to happen. So one begins to wonder: is it me? Am I the reason for being left out? Did I do or say something that makes people not want me around? So this kicks off the train of “Why Do I Suck” spiral of doom that leaves me crawling around in my own skin. The effects of abuse have resulted in me wanted to please everyone, to make sure that everyone loves me so that they either don’t hurt me or leave, which I’m getting better about letting go of. But this? It still remains. Its why I have such a love/hate relationship about my birthday because it always flares up strongly during that month. Lately, its been a loop in my brainmeats that if I disappeared, no one would notice I was gone. How do you shut that voice off when it continues to point out the fact that people DO leave you out? Its hard to not listen when you see an overwhelming amount of people you love all gathered together going on trips, going to events, or having parties and you were never called or asked to join in, and when YOU reach out to throw your own events, they all suddenly are busy doing other things. Being an adult sucks donkey balls, people! Especially when you’ve got brainmeats that don’t work properly!

I KNOW its childish and ridiculous to feel like this. I’m almost 40 for fuck’s sake! “Its quality, not quantity”, as Hubby tries to soothe me with. *eye roll* Stupid charming man. *sticks tongue out* I need to make more friends. Ones that art artistic, history nerds, geeks, and unicorn allies. And glitter enthusiasts! You can never have enough glitter. As Raymond Reddington said: Never underestimate the power of glitter!

*sigh* I need to get to studying. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming……….