Asking for Help

I don't write much anymore.  I'm going to try to keep this on the shorter side because I think when I drone on and on, less people read all the way through.

It's possible that my Depression has been worst this year versus previous years, but it's really been awful this year.  I hospitalized myself back in March and stayed in the hospital for 5 days again.  This time I opted not to go for the ECT, and I'm really glad I made that decision.

However, the meds I was prescribed in March seemed to stop working about a month ago - I started to notice my mood dipping again, so I asked the doc to increase my meds (300mg Wellbutrin to 450mg and 600mg Lithium to 1200mg).  Within a couple of days of the Wellbutrin increase I got sick. Not any sustained illness, really, but consistent nausea coupled with throwing up about once a day.  That lasted about 2 weeks.  I thought back to the hell I went through switching from Cymbalta to Wellbutrin and Lithium and it dawned on me that I was probably sick as a result of side effects from the increase.  On top of that my mood not only continued to suck but my functioning began to decrease as well.

I applied for Disability back in March or April, when it became apparent that I was not going to get another job. I hate that I felt like I had to do that, but I can say with certainty that my mental illness is absolutely the reason I cannot seem to keep a job.

My mood has not gotten any better over the last 2-3 weeks.  I have again - for the hundredth time - thought about killing myself.  I told Ethan I didn't think it was fair that I had to stay alive just for him and for Phoenix when I'm in so much pain.

I feel worthless because I don't think I contribute to my household in any valuable way.  I feel useless because I don't have a job to go to every day.  I feel lazy because I often can't get up off the couch to so much as put the dishes in the dishwasher.  I feel disgusting because I was working out 6 days a week, sometimes 2-3 times a day and I'm on like day 4 in a row without working out.  I feel hopeless because my history has shown what happens when I try to start a new job or am working a job and my mood significantly changes.  I feel stupid because of how many jobs I've been terminated from or asked to leave as a result of my mood, attitude or attendance problems.  I hate that I'm not a reliable person - that I flake on plans probably more often than I keep them.

Over the last few weeks I've been beating myself up more and more because of all this.  I hate who I've become.  I cry too much.  I feel like I'm a piece of shit as a person.  I have nothing of value to offer the world.  I start a whole lot of projects but rarely finish them.  I have a whole lot of ideas but never do anything with them because either I know I won't follow though or it exhausts me to even consider the amount of work I'd need to do.  I'm able to talk myself out of great ideas because I think a few steps ahead and always find an obstacle I know I won't be able to get around.

I got denied Disability, though apparently everyone does the first time.  I'm appealing the decision but I'm doing it while gritting my teeth because I hate that I am going through this process and can't just suck it up and work like a normal person.

I'm most upset because I thought I would be somebody; I thought I was going to be worth something.  I thought I would have something to offer the world other than taking up space unnecessarily.  I have always felt like I am supposed to be doing something important.  But I'm not.

So that's where I am right now.  I've been seeing my therapist weekly for several weeks now, and she says that I am too hard on myself, and that I need to treat myself the way I treat other people.  Better.  She says that I need to start asking for help.  I used to have no problem asking for help at all.  I don't know what happened, though.  I think I got so used to being self-sufficient and being able to do things myself that asking for help is sort of painful.  Not that I find asking for help weak, but I think I don't deserve the help I need.  I've asked for too much already and I don't even know what else anyone could do for me.  Maybe help get me a job doing something I find useful and have passion for?  I think I really just need someone to give me a chance.  Despite my history of fucking up the chances I have been given.

I feel pretty pathetic.  I'm unemployed - fired from my last full-time job. I filed for bankruptcy at the end of last year.  I'm on Medicaid. And now to complete the picture of the model government leach, I'm trying to get Disability.

The thing is, I'm really tired of people feeling sorry for me.  Or maybe I just don't want people to feel sorry for me because deep down I am a very strong person.  I just can't find the strength to crawl out of this very, very deep hole that I'm in and have been in for some time.

It's Not Won't, It's Can't

Apparently I have a relapse of my horrible, awful, crippling Depression this time of year every year.  Two years ago is when I checked myself into the Looney Bin.  This time last year, we had a shitload of snow and I remember because I had to drive in it to get to my initial appointment with the Mental Health Center.

I've been stable for awhile now, and so I'm supposed to see my Primary Care Physician for meds from here on out.  Also, I'm not a big fan of my psychiatrist because one time she actually YELLED at me because I looked up the side-effects of the meds I was on on the Internet because I had lost the ability to feel carbonation in carbonated drinks (go head and look it up, it's a real thing. Topamax.).  She yelled that she couldn't treat me if I was treating myself.  I'm not kidding at all when I say yell.  I left her office in tears that day.  Anyway, I feel like shit.  I feel like whatever is beyond shit.  I have once again pretty much lost the ability to function as an adult.  It's probably a good thing I was fired 3 weeks ago (oh yeah, I'll go into that in a second) or I'd probably get fired now for not being able to get up to go into work.

Anyway, I've been steadily going downhill since I got fired.  I knew I was going to be let go but that doesn't make it any less of a punch to the crotch of my pride.  I was ambivalent about taking a full-time job in the first place because as someone with a chronic major illness, I require more self-care than others and working 40 hours a week doesn't allow for that.  But I thought I'd give it a try. I missed too many days of work, apparently (jury duty, root canal, bankruptcy court, plus a surgical procedure and 1 day of being sick).  They told me it "just isn't a good fit."   I could have predicted that when I separated from this employer, it wouldn't be voluntary on my part.  Either way, I'm no longer employed.

Back to the main point.  I saw a regular doctor today.  Actually, he's a PA.  Anyway, the whole point of me seeing him was that a.) I won't be able to get in to see my psychiatrist for a few weeks anyway, and b.) she refuses to prescribe me Xanax or anything to help me sleep.  I haven't been sleeping well or much lately.  One of the really fun aspects of falling into an infinite pit of sadness and anxiety, I guess.  When I wake up in the middle of the night, it's usually because of a good old-fashioned anxiety attack.  And if I can't get to sleep, it's because my brain won't shut off.  Having had mental illness for almost half of my life I've got a shitload of tools and skills at my disposal, but for some reason they don't seem to help when I feel like I'm at the bottom of the ocean.  I've tried Mindfulness, which has been the most helpful over the last year.  I've tried distraction.  I've tried writing.

I was supposed to go to the Denver Coroner's Office yesterday to do a day of morgue shadowing (which is without a doubt my favorite thing of all time), but the night before, I could not sleep.  Every time I thought about having to wake up and put clothes on and drive down to Denver and look for parking, I could feel my heart start racing.  I had two anxiety attacks in 2 hours.  The biggest symptom I have when I have an anxiety attack is waves of nausea, and we all know how fun it is when you feel like you're going to throw up.  By 1am (I got in bed at 8:30, for reference), I decided to just go ahead and call and cancel, because even if I finally went to sleep, I'd have to get up at 5:30am to get ready and at that point I know I would call and cancel, and if I tried to stay up all night and just go anyway, I would be miserable.  As soon as I called, I felt immense relief.  Then I spent the day watching horror movies on the couch.  Literally, all day.  Got in bed at 7pm.  About the middle of the day yesterday I did make the appointment to see my regular doctor today to see if he'd help me get any relief.

When I saw the PA today, I told him I was relapsing and that I am THISFUCKINGCLOSE to checking myself back into the Looney Bin and he said that maybe I should.  All I'm looking for is some relief.  I told him my psychiatrist won't prescribe me anything but Klonapin for my anxiety and she won't give me anything to help me sleep (this is true, and I do understand due to addiction and stuff, but I don't have an addictive personality).  I just need it long enough get some sleep and try to relax enough to clear my head.  Also, just having it helps decrease my anxiety because I know that I have relief at my fingertips if I need it.  He said he doesn't prescribe those things, either.  And then he asked if I've been exercising, to which I answered, "I can hardly get out of bed to brush my teeth."  Then I got the usual, "if you could exercise a little every day, that would help with your anxiety and your depression symptoms, better than any medication can."  Had I been feeling more normal, I would have been more sarcastic with him.  I should have asked him to take a look at me, as I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, put my contacts in and went.  I didn't even do anything with my hair.  Which I put up after I got out of the shower Tuesday night.

My Bestie is a maniac for exercise and I'd give anything to be like her.  Exercise is something she just does every day, like how some people drink coffee when they get up, or brushing your teeth in the morning.  It's just part of the routine.  But this morning when I was trying to wake up, I literally considered canceling my doctor's appointment because I didn't think I could get out of bed.  The thought of getting ready and going to the gym is absolutely paralyzing.  I'm worried that maybe I'm borderline agoraphobic because the idea of having to put different clothes on and leave the house for any reason makes my heart rate increase.  I know that exercise helps.  For the 6-8 weeks I was running 3-4 times a week over the summer, my anxiety attacks stopped altogether.  100%.  And I learned that I loved running.  It didn't matter how much it hurt my legs, I almost couldn't stop running because I loved it so much.  I was running about 5K every other day.  It's not that I won't exercise.  It's that I can't.  I'm stuck in my little bubble of unhappiness right now.  It's not forever and I know that, but right now, the best I can do is anything that doesn't cause me guilt, or make me hate myself any more than I already do.  All I CAN do right now is the bare minimum.  Waking up and moving from my bed to the couch.  Not letting the dishes pile up in the sink.  Making sure the cat and dog have food and water.  Exercising isn't a won't right now.  It's a can't.  Because I will when I can.  I'll probably even enjoy it, especially if I can bring Phoenix along because I can tell my immobility is not good for him, either.

What makes me angry is the apathy and near-ignorance that my doctor showed me today.  I thought we were past the point of stigmatizing mental illness within the medical community.  Don't they like, have to take classes now on how not to make you feel like an idiot when you tell a doctor you simply cannot do something because of your mental illness?  It's not a matter of me not wanting to exercise.  I fucking want to exercise.  I just CAN'T right now.  If I could exercise, knowing it would make me feel better, wouldn't I??  Jesus.  You know what?!?  I haven't had an alcoholic beverage in three days because I know that drinking will make me feel worse.  Isn't that doing something to help myself?  I have a chemical imbalance IN MY BRAIN that I can't just fix by trying harder.

For years now, I've been doing my best not to make myself feel like shit for having an illness that no one can see.  It made sense to me the first time someone told me to look at my illness like someone who has diabetes.  Their bodies don't make the insulin they need to survive, so they have to inject insulin into their bodies every single day in order to survive.  I have to take medication and do things for myself every day to make sure that I don't go home and hurt myself or kill myself.

What the actual fuck.  I'm supposed to just go exercise!!  It's that easy!!




Fuck.  It's like I'm not even trying.

Failure

I'll be 31 years old in less than a month, and I feel like each year gets a little bit more difficult.  I mean, I don't feel that old, but like, if I died in a really cool way, the news would report it as "A 31 year-old woman died after tripping over her dog on the stairs and was impaled by a trekking pole her boyfriend left out in the hallway below."  31 years is a long time.  We were talking about it a little at my friend's bachelorette party the other night, and while it seems like it's taken forever to get to 30, I feel like I was just in high school last year, the memories are so vivid.

I think where I struggle the most is that I thought that by now I'd be a more successful adult.  I thought I'd have started my career, or that I'd still be in grad school working on some doctorate of some kind.  I hoped I'd have my own home by now, maybe be married, maybe have a kid or two.  I never thought I'd be getting fired for the fourth time in my life, considering filing for bankruptcy and applying for disability.  I'm on Medicaid.  I live below the poverty line because I can't work a full-time job since my mood disorder(s) make it really hard some days just to get out of bed, let alone get ready for work and be on my game for 8 hours each day, 5 days a week. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had a meeting with my supervisors and they told me that it's time for me to leave this job.  I didn't argue with them, because I've been looking for a new job since roughly April of this year, but with no luck.  I haven't kept it secret that I'm looking for other work, either, and that hasn't seemed to be a problem.  They know that I'm too smart for a job like this, and that I need to be challenged in order to keep coming to work. 

The problem isn't my performance (despite my accidentally calling a client's patient an idiot under my breath on the phone, and he heard me), it's my attitude, my mood and my behavior as a result of those things.  I think I got called in for the meeting on a Tuesday, because the previous day I'd seen my therapist and I'd told her how miserable I am at work.  We decided that my only real option was to practice "acceptance" of how things are for me at work, and I resolved to put that into practice the next day.  And then they told me that I need to leave.  They didn't say "You need to leave," they said, "It's time."  Which I assume means I'm overstaying my welcome at this point.  They're sick of me.  They said I could stay as long as I needed to, but they put the ad out on Craigslist for my replacement that day, and a person was hired about a week and a half later.  At this point, I don't know how much longer I'm staying at this job, but I sure as hell don't have a new job yet.

I've been applying for job after job after job.  The only jobs that I've gotten calls on are the jobs that I have already done, and that I don't wish to continue to do.  Real estate receptionist, front desk receptionist, administrative assistant, data entry clerk.  Any job that I've applied for that actually sounds the least bit interesting to me, I have either heard nothing on, or received an email saying that they appreciate my applying but someone more qualified has been hired for that position.  My degrees are literally a $30-something thousand dollar piece of paper.  I can't even get copies of my official transcript because I owe CU Denver $10K from registering for a semester of grad school and then having a complete mental breakdown.

It's really frustrating and discouraging to try so hard and not get much out of it.  All I need is for someone, somewhere, to just give me a chance.  I blew my last chance when I actually got the internship with the Denver Coroner's Office, but wasn't in school.  I had to apply for school, enroll in school, and start school with a schedule that worked around my work schedule, and by the time I did that, the internship was no longer available.  I feel like that was my one chance.

But here's the thing:  I'm not really complaining.  For the most part, I'm happy with my life.  Honestly, having a job that I want - career that I'm passionate about - would pretty much be the icing on the cake.  Everything else in my life is quite lovely.  I have pets, which make my life sooooo much more worth living.  I have a pretty decent support system.  I've actually been taking care of myself, which is actually exceedingly more difficult than it was 10 years ago.  I live in a beautiful place.  I have a partner that has changed my life in ways I never thought possible.  I have a supportive family.

On that note - I think I really don't like all the time it takes for me to make sure that I'm healthy.  I have to wear sunscreen every day if I don't want to look like a shriveled peach within the next 10 years.  I have to put on face cream each night to attempt to make the wrinkles I do have disappear.  I have to wear lotion.  I have to floss my teeth.  I have to take vitamins and supplements in addition to the medication I already take.  I have to exercise!  I have to cut out the really-yummy-but-not-so-healthy food I love to eat if I don't want to weight a couple of tons.  In fact, I have to exercise just to maintain my weight WHILE eating healthy if I don't want to put on weight because of the hormonal cocktail that's ever-changing in my body.  I have to see my doctors and get blood work done regularly.  I have to see my therapist and psychiatrist regularly.  The only thing I refuse to give up entirely is drinking, though I've been told that sobering up (and going to AA) might really help me.  At least I'm trying to help myself in other ways.

Why am I working so hard to take care of myself all of a sudden, you ask?  Because I've just recently discovered that I am terrified of getting old.  I don't mean getting older, I mean old.  I'm talking Velcro shoes, cane, white hair and thick glasses old.  I don't ever want to be hard of hearing, or lose my skills of observation, or stop caring about how I look or how long it takes me to do something.  I don't want to get crotchety.  I don't want to take forever and a day to tell a story.  I don't want to repeat the same stories I've already told.  I'm fine getting old as long as I am still me, upstairs.

Well, those are the things that have been revolving inside my brain these days.




 

Trying and Failing

I woke up this morning just filled with anger and hatred.  I literally woke up this morning and the very first word out of my mouth was "Fuck!"  I was awakened just before my alarm clock went off this morning by the stupid cat walking around on top of my legs.  Then my alarm went off at 4:38am, as I set it to go off sometime between 4:30 and 5am so I could get up and work out before work this morning.

I laid in bed until about 5, trying to decide whether or not to go back to sleep until 6:30 or 7, but my brain was already on hyper-drive and so I decided to get up and at least go out to the living room and then decide between laying on the couch and watching Friends or working out.

I eventually decided to do my yoga video and Jillian Michaels' 30 day shred video, for the third day in a row.  I thought about doing them when I got home from work, but when I really couldn't turn my brain off, I decided that at least when I'm working out, I'm focusing so hard on my breathing and my movements and also trying not to die, but at least I'm not thinking about the other stuff that consumes my entire brain when I feel like this.  Also, on Sunday, Ethan and I did both the yoga video and the shred and my attitude was fantastic afterwards.  Endorphins, I suppose.  I thought that if anything, maybe working out this morning would help change my attitude.  The fact that I had this kind of mindset at all is astounding.

So I did the two stupid workouts and it took a stupid hour, and I didn't even burn very many stupid calories.  I had to stop a couple of times during the shred video to cry because I was so frustrated because my stupid knees hurt so damn bad.  My doc says that I have this stupid thing called Chondromalacia that makes my knees crack and hurt a lot when I do anything knee-related, e.g. walk, squat, lunge, sit, walk up stairs, walk down stairs, get up from a sitting position, etc.

I tried to just work through the pain and not think about it too much, but my frustration level peaked right after I got done and I just had to sit and cry for a few minutes.

I hate so much of myself right now.  I hate that I feel so fat and flabby.  I hate that even though I'm trying to do something about it, I have obstacles in the way.  I hate that I'm reminded infinite times throughout the day how much I hate my body when it gets in my way.  I hate that my sense of smell is so sensitive and that the shirt I'm wearing today smells like cat litter box because we have to keep the damn thing in the closet because there's really no other place to put it.  I hate that I have been irritable and moody and angry most of the time the last few weeks.  I hate that I take out my irritability and anger on Ethan and pick fights with him and make him feel bad for things he may or may not do for me.

This morning, for the first time in forever, I thought about suicide.  I know I'm not supposed to even give that minute consideration, but I feel so incredibly hopeless and perpetually unhappy that I can't think of anything else to do.  I'm trying so SO hard to do things right in my life - do the things that people without mental illness do that make them happy - and they're not working.  I don't drink alcohol much anymore, which in and of itself is miraculous.  I don't take any drugs at all, not that I really did before.  I am eating more healthy than I was before (including cutting out a shitload of carbs which studies have shown people with depression actually crave).  I'm working out.  I'm getting enough sleep.  I'm even trying essential oils.  Short of going back on antidepressants, I don't know what the hell to do.  And I really, REALLY don't want to go back on antidepressants because I never want to have to go through that withdrawal ever, ever again.

I have so many debts that it is overwhelming and I don't know how to work enough to pay them off.  I grab extra hours at work here and there, and that helps, but I'm accruing interest on my CU debt at an astonishing rate and the payments I can make hardly cover the interest.  I have student loans that are going on 90 days late, but I don't make enough to afford even the minimum payments.

I need to see an orthopedic doctor about my knees, but I am on Medicaid, and apparently, there are no orthopedic doctors in the state of Colorado that accept Medicaid.  Even the ones on the fricking website that are "providers" don't accept it.  I made some phone calls.

I get so angry when I am in the car because other drivers don't seem to pay enough attention to the other cars around them.  Is it so difficult to drive a damn car - a one ton hunk of metal with wheels as it moves through time and space - and focus solely on that one thing?  My impatience when I'm driving is making me become a terrible, road-rage filled creature that thinks the absolute worst of every other driver on the road.

I feel so hopeless and helpless and overwhelmed that I don't know what to do with myself.  I feel like I am trying so fucking hard to do what I need to do to be healthy and to feel good, and it's not fucking working.   Obviously suicide is a terrible thing to contemplate and I really don't want to go in that direction because it would hurt so many people that care about me.  I guess my only real option at this point is to see a doc and go through the process of getting back on antidepressants and having to deal with all the shit side-effects like weight gain and inability to have an orgasm.

I feel nothing but despair right now.

***Edit:  I almost titled this one "Another Damn Tuesday," with this explanation in the body of the post -   I hate Tuesdays, because it seems like whenever I'm having a bad day, I realize it's a Tuesday.  Mondays aren't so bad because you're still riding the high and/or relaxation from the weekend.  Wednesday you're halfway through the week and you can sort of see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Thursday might as well be named pre-Friday because that's what it is, and Friday is self-explanatory.  Tuesdays are just plain awful.  Then I found this, published today:

Navigating Emotional Support Animal Policy in the Workplace

So like an hour ago, I felt my mood just drop.  I'm not sure why.  I have been in a decent mood all day (except when I woke up.  I didn't want to wake up and rated today a sad face on my sleep-tracker app when I woke up).  I suspect it has something to do with what happened at work today.

We had to hire a new Sales Coordinator for my office.  It's essentially a property management job with the added bonus of having to sell our product to people as well as manage all of us that take phone calls and act as administrative assistants to the 200+ companies we work for.  A coworker had been optimistic about applying for the job and getting hired from within, but we were told that our company doesn't like to do that because it creates "animosity" and "favoritism" and "resentment" among those of us that don't move up the ladder.  Without even responding to the fact that my coworker wanted to apply for and interview for the job, an outside person was hired today.  That really pissed me off.  When I explained to Ethan this "policy," he said, "Imagine what the world would be like if all companies had that policy, of not hiring from within because of how the other employees felt."

As I have this problem of not taking shit like that sitting down, I immediately emailed our Director of Operations to ask if I could meet with him.  And I made a list of the crap that is happening in our office that my coworkers and I are upset about.  Then it was brought to my attention that two of our normal 5 would be leaving early so I wouldn't be able to meet with the DO right away.  I think that's what took the wind out of my sail.

So I'm sitting here thinking about why I feel bluer than when I came in, what might have happened to make me feel this way.  Was it something I saw on the Internet?  Some sad story of an animal being mistreated?  Which brought my thought process over to animals, and how much I love my puppy and how my heart just kind of feels better even just thinking about him, and how if I had him here with me at work, I would not have felt sad at all, and therefore my attitude and behavior wouldn't have changed.

And THIS, ladies and gentlemen is why I think I think I need to get him certified as an emotional support animal.

I started a blog post back before Christmas about a day when I'd brought Phoenix in to work with me to sort of test out his ability to sit with me at work as my emotional support animal:

"I tried to bring my dog to work with me today.  This is not the first time I've done it without explicit permission to do so.  It's just that at my office, lots of clients bring their dogs in with them, and as far as I can tell everyone loves having a dog around the office.   My manager has even gone so far as to say that it does the whole office good to see a pup running around because it lifts the entire mood of the place.  One client brings her new puppy in almost every day since she and her significant other can't leave her at home all day while they're gone at work.  (Two words for them - DOGGY.  DOOR.)

Anyway, to prevent myself from going completely bat-shit crazy mental-health facility admission insane (as I've already gone once in 2014), I'm going to start writing again.  Every day.  Maybe even make my writing into a book.

And thus begins the story of why I got pissed off today.

I decided last night to bring Phoenix to work today.  It's 2 days before Christmas, so the phones are slow (of course), and just about all of our on-site clients are gone for the holidays and I figured that it would be a good day to let Phoenix take stock of what it's like around the office so he can get used to it as we try to move forward getting him certified as an Emotional Support Animal officially.  It was my day to open the office, and he very politely just followed me around the office, stopping when I stopped, and occasionally sniffing a spot a little more in depth, but he was very well-behaved.  Then my manager came in, with her dog.  Her dog and the client's puppy ran around the office like crazy, and Phoenix wanted no part of it, so he just sat with me behind the desk as I began my work day.  He let out a bark when he heard the front door open once, and then let out another bark when a client walked by (both said that it was okay, and I told them that he's just jumpy because he's in a new place).  At which point my manager called the HR lady to tell her that I had my dog in the office (no mention of her dog), and asked if I had cleared that with anyone ahead of time.

Now, when I first began thinking about having Phoenix accompany me everywhere as an Emotional Support Animal, I asked the HR lady what the policy was and she told me that there wasn't one as far as she knew.  That it needed "to be researched."  Whether or not that means that I was supposed to do the research or she is supposed to do the research, I have no idea.  Either way, I was told that I needed to bring Phoenix home because my manager didn't want to have to deal with the owner of the company (who happens to work at our location) making a big deal about it....even though he's seen the plethora of other dogs wandering around the building and has yet to say a word about any of them."***

*To add to that story, the owner has NOW said something about dogs in the building.  He said he was in one Saturday, and went downstairs to use the restroom when a dog came up and "sniffed his crotch."  I don't know what kind of point he was trying to make, but it shows that he now has become sentient to the fact that sometimes there are dogs in the building.

**Also this guy is NOT the property manager, and there is NO signage in, on, or around the building prohibiting animals from being inside.

Either way, it's something I'm going to continue to look into.  I'd love any input or ideas or information anyone has on the subject.

Minute Changes

First order of business.  Mad props to me!  I'm off antidepressants entirely, and yesterday, I not only went on a loooooong walk with Ethan and Phoenix, I got sunshine AND I jogged a part of it.  In January (THE WINTER).

So I was driving yesterday - this is when I do most of my really scary and honest thinking, for some reason - and this thought occurred to me.  I think it's pretty profound, but most likely someone else has said it before, and then written it down, and probably done it so much more eloquently, but here goes:

Trees are stuck.  Literally rooted to the spot by whatever force put them there.  But that doesn't stop them from growing towards the sun, the sky, and outwards.  It still blossoms and grows leaves and provides oxygen and shade for people who are hot, and places for birds to nest.  Despite it being stuck exactly where it is, a tree still grows in the ways it is capable of growing (upwards and outwards), and provides use it's entire life.  Even in death it provides wood for people to burn for heat.  That's pretty incredible.  It's pretty optimistic.  I would like to utilize this simile for my life.

I feel pretty stuck a lot of the time.  Stuck in my job, stuck in my family situation, stuck financially.  But that doesn't mean I can't still grow and change and provide things for the people I have to be around on a daily basis.  I don't like being grumpy and grouchy all the time.  I would much rather have positive thoughts and smile and laugh at the dumb jokes or silly things my boyfriend and coworkers say, or be able to make pleasant small talk when I'm out in public.  I feel like I need to re-learn how to be a nice, charming, engaging person, because I feel like all that I'm able to do is be negative and judgmental of everything around me.  Although now that I think about that, it might just be a side-effect of getting old...

Lately when I'm having conversations, with just about anyone, just about anywhere, I worry that I am not properly conversing.  What I mean is that there's a sort of social guideline for how a conversation is supposed to go:

Person 1: question
Person 2: answer, with a little detail, asks question of their own
Person 3: answers question with a little detail, makes joke or sarcastic comment
Person 4: agrees with joke or sarcastic comment, makes additional joke or comment, asks another question

...and so on and so forth.  The conversation is a give-and-take, with both people contributing equal parts.  I feel like I'm awkward, selfish, or judgmental.  I never ask questions of my own in conversation, really.  I answer the questions I'm asked, and then just focus on myself and my experiences (present conversation included).  I recently attended a memorial and reception for a friend's mom who recently passed away suddenly, and there was a person there who I'd met before but didn't really remember meeting.  Turns out he'd been along for my first trek up Longs Peak, and I'd completely forgotten he existed.  He's one of those people that I'd love to emulate, who asks all kinds of engaging questions and talks to you as though he's known you his entire life, and is friendly and warm (coincidentally, the friend's mom that passed away was also very much like this).  And I feel like I made inappropriate comments, and just talked about myself without asking him any questions.

So then it begs the question: AM I SOCIALLY AWKWARD?  And: WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??

More and more often, I feel like I'm not navigating conversation with other humans quite correctly.  I definitely listen, and pay attention, but I feel like I immediately form judgments and opinions and simply focus on those instead of reminding myself that other people have different perspectives and experiences than me, I just blurt out whatever's in my head.  Which is a quality of my sister's that I HATE.

Anyway, it's just something I've been noticing more and more often and would like to work on.

A Twinkle in the Dark

I really wanted to write a positive post today because I've gotten an incredible outpouring of support since my post on Monday, and today I'm feeling the closest to my normal self than I've felt since about September.

First I want to say thank you to everyone who has read, or reads my posts.  The last one was really difficult to write and probably pretty difficult to read for some of you.  It's not easy to talk about hurting myself.  It's pretty embarrassing, actually.  Especially because you're supposed to eventually grow out of feeling reckless and impulsive and you're not really supposed to want to hurt yourself when you're my age.  Rest assured, I have Ethan to keep me from doing myself harm just about all of the time, and when he's not around, I know that I can reach out to any or all of you if I need to.  I know that.  I think that I am nowhere near where my baseline "normal" mental health is or should be, but I finally feel like I am on my way there.

Here's the thing.  I know I'm loved.  I have a family and I have a few friends, and I know they love me.  But the rest of you - man, that's a complete surprise!  It is wonderful to have so many people who are reaching out to me to just give me support, or to help me find a job, or to listen to me, or to just let me know that they're thinking about me!  My aunt, my cousin, some old friends from high school, some people who are going through their own HUMONGOUS life crap that still manage to make time to send me a message telling me they're thinking of me.  That.  Is.  Amazing.  It makes me feel so very loved.

On that note, I'd like to pass on some good will.  I know some people that need prayers, support, thoughts, good vibes, and even money, because they're going through things that I cannot imagine or comprehend.  And even though I've been whiny about my own problems (which are seriously MY problems, they stem from no one else but me), they've still reached out to me to give me support.

I have a friend named Lisa, and we have been friends since forever.  Some of my very first memories are of having sleepovers at her house with my sister.  Lisa's 3 year-old son Eli is very, very sick.  He's been diagnosed with Evan's Syndrome, which is an autoimmune disorder that makes Eli's body attack its own red and white blood cells and platelets, which makes it nearly impossible for Eli's body to fight off infection on it's own.  The only known cure for this is a stem cell transplant, which Eli will be getting in the next few weeks.  This has been very, very difficult for Lisa, her husband, Eli, and their other son Tyrell.  Poor Eli has been in and out of the hospital since August with bleeding issues, a couple of lower bowel infections that prevent him from eating or drinking ANYTHING for at least 10 days at a time, and getting blood transfusions.  Getting any kind of fever or infection at all could be fatal.  Lisa is a teacher, and hasn't been able to work since Eli was diagnosed, and though they're taking things one day at a time, it's an extremely precarious situation.  Despite all of that, Lisa has reached out to me to tell me that she's thinking of me and supporting me and she makes me cry a lot because of her kindness.  So please, if you will, show your support for this amazing and resilient super mommy, go to one or all of these sites:
-  http://www.gofundme.com/i2am14
-  https://www.facebook.com/elisjourney4life

The other friend I have that could use support, money, prayers and thoughts and good vibes, is Ashley.  I've only actually met Ashley in person once, but she's whatever synonym for awesome you can think of as well.  Ashley has been battling Hodgkins Lymphoma for just over 3 years now.  She went through several rounds of chemotherapy, and had a stem cell transplant, and even though it appeared as though the stem cell transplant was successful, a recent PET scan showed that the cancer has returned.  I met Ashley though someone I had known since kindergarten (she's his baby-mama!), and now their son Traeden is 5.  With donations, they were able to fulfill a huge dream and spent a week at Disneyland at the very beginning of January.  Ashley has been traveling back and forth between Lafayette, Colorado and Houston, TX for treatment for the last few years, and it's been extremely expensive.  Because of the nature of Ashley's illness, she's not been able to work, and is relying almost entirely on donations to support herself and Traeden.  Ashley's going to need massive support now that the cancer has returned, both emotional and financial, and I'd really like to spread the word.  She's got a sense of humor that speaks to my soul, she's sweet, and very smart, and she'd really like to be around for Traeden as long as she possibly can.  This is her site, and you can also stalk her through my Facebook page:
-  http://www.healthyforeverafter.com/

These ladies are awe-inspiring.  Their strength astonishes me.  They make my problems look like hangnails of life: slightly painful and certainly annoying, but not life-threatening.  Lisa and Ashley, I bow to you.  You guys are going through something that would almost certainly beat me.  If there is anything I can do for you, please, let me know.

That said, right now, I am doing okay.  I'm trying to sort out some debt issues that I've been dragging around for awhile, but Ethan is helping me get organized and helping me come up with budgets and payment plans.  I had to take my car into the shop, and then either misunderstood or misheard the quote the guy gave me over the phone for how much it would cost, so I'm trying to work that out as well.  I reached out to my mom, and she read my last post and then we went out to dinner last night to sort of touch base and catch up.

The biggest issue I am working through is this feeling of worthlessness or uselessness.  I have this nagging feeling that reaches deep down into my bones, that I have some purpose in this life, but I don't yet know what it is.  It's kind of like feeling like you're forgetting something, but it's all the time.  I don't hate my job now, but days like today make it really difficult to come to work.  I had set some toy dinosaurs on my computer screen, and all our in-house clients would giggle when they walked by.  But ohhhhh noooooo it takes away from our "PROFESSIONAL" appearance, so I had to take them down.  And not just take them down, but I had to put them away entirely, so they could not be seen at all!  GOD FORBID we make our workspace our own in any way that makes it look like we are actual human people.  Never mind the fact that the paint in our conference rooms is chipping off the walls, and where it's not chipping, the walls are scratched and scuffed.  Never mind that it is in our COMPANY MANUAL that we are not to go out and PURCHASE flatware for use by our guests and/or in-house clients, but we are to GET IT FROM THRIFT STORES so we are not spending money erroneously.  It's the toy dinosaurs that make us look unprofessional.  Plus I made the mistake of bringing more cookies in to work, and the company owner (who shall still remain nameless) managed to slip in and grab some before I realized he had arrived, so I didn't have time to hide them or make a sign that said he wasn't allowed to have any.  When he made a "joke" that there were enough for him but what were the rest of us going to do(?), I thought my head would burst into flames.

Sorry.  Kind of went off track, there.  I'm still searching for my purpose.  Right.  I apply for new jobs weekly.  I monitor the State of Colorado jobs website and anything that sounds like it would be something I'd be remotely interested in, I'll apply for.  Right now, I'm waiting to hear back on a few different ones.  I've applied to be a youth corrections officer, the State Patrol, a Forensic Autopsy Technician (on call), and an Inmate and Court Records Specialist.  I'm now "eligible for consideration" for the autopsy tech position, which is a first.  I've sent in applications 3 times for this position and I think I've finally got a shot.  I have to go take a test for the Inmate and Court Records Specialist in a couple weeks.  So perhaps I have some things to look forward to.

Every time a requisition opens up for a Forensic Autopsy Technician for the DOME (Denver Office of the Medical Examiner), I apply for it.  I figure I'll just keep applying for that job until they either hire me, or call me to ask me to stop applying, at which time I will have to ask them why they won't hire me and tell them how much they should hire me.  When you want something bad enough, you don't give it up :)

I'm also still writing.  I'm trying to have enough discipline to work on something that would eventually someday become a book, and I'm attempting to continue writing on here to keep from going entirely insane.  I also applied to be a contributor on hellogiggles.com, and have been asked to send in some pitches for what I might like to write about for them.

When you've been in darkness for so long, and you see a tiny glimmer, a minute sliver of light, you grab on to it with everything you've got, and that's essentially where I am right now.  Next week is my first meeting with my new therapist/counselor.  I'm still staying away from alcohol almost entirely.  I am getting my energy together to begin a new exercise regimen that I'm putting a lot of hope in.  For the first time in my adult life, I feel like I have something resembling control.