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.

When In Crisis

I had melt-down yesterday.  Pretty bad.  For some reason, I woke up in the morning, just straight pissy.  I warned Ethan of this, and he was really understanding at first.

I started the day trying to figure out how the godforsaken iCloud works, so that I could get the pictures I have on my phone OFF my phone so that I could take new pictures.  Apparently there is no easy way to do that.  All I wanted was to move all of my pictures to the iCloud, so that they were off my phone (no longer taking up memory), but so that if I wanted to see them, I could still access them on the iCloud from my phone.  I don't understand what would be so difficult about that, but then again, maybe I don't understand what the iCloud is actually for.

After trying, and failing, to figure it out, and then having trouble with my laptop performance speed, I just about threw the thing out the window (which wouldn't have done much as we live on the ground floor).  My laptop isn't that old, but I guess it needs some work to clean it up so it will actually run at a normal speed, but that's really not the point.  The point is that it pissed me off to the point that I wanted to be destructive in some way.  Whether it was destroying the computer, or destroying another object, or even destroying myself, I wanted, I needed, to take my anger out in some way.

Instead, I decided to take Phoenix out for an extended walk/sniffing adventure.  What I really wanted to do was plop down and try to calm down by watching TV shows or a movie on Netflix or something.  But the weather yesterday was fantastic, and Ethan hadn't gotten around to planning a bigger walk/hike/adventure for us (even though I'd asked him early in the week), so we just walked out the door and walked around Rock Creek Open Space for about an hour.  We stopped by the dog park that's right next to our complex, and Phoenix was so hot he even went into the water of the creek itself a few times.  It was a really nice walk.  By the time we got back home, I had relaxed quite a bit.

We then decided we would go to Ethan Allen to look at coffee tables (we don't have one right now and Ethan has always wanted a piece of furniture from there), and then we would go see a movie.  We didn't have time to stop to get something to eat in between the furniture store and the movie, so that made Ethan cranky, which in turn made me cranky.

We ended up seeing Wild, the story of Cheryl Strayed, who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in the mid-90's as a sort of soul search.  This summer, Ethan attempted to finish the last 250 miles of the Colorado Trail that he hadn't yet done, and although I was very involved in his planning and preparation, I wanted to see what it might have been like for him.  The movie was, in my opinion, very good.  Ethan would have probably liked to see more of the hike itself and less of the flashbacks and story line of why she decided to take on such an enormous feat.  Either way, in my super sensitive state, I of course cried a bit during it.

When we arrived and were trying to figure out what to eat before or during the movie, we talked about Que Bueno, this Mexican place right next to the theater, about whether or not either of us had ever been there (neither of us had), and he made a face that indicated to me, "maybe we should try it."

So after the movie got out, I directed us to the restaurant, and when he asked me why, I said I thought he wanted to go there.  He said no, that he didn't mean that we would be going there after the movie.  I was still starving, and I assumed he was too since he's hungry pretty much anytime, anywhere, and after hearing that we were not going to get food right away, I lost it.  In my head, I was trying to understand why I felt so upset, and I decided that it was because this happens between us a lot.  He mentions something, I assume that it means that he wants to do it, and so I assume it is going to happen.  It's simply a misunderstanding, probably on my part because I assume things.

He had mentioned that Sunday was going to be Chipotle day.  Ethan loves Chipotle.  And Mexican food.  He could eat Chipotle for lunch and go to a Mexican restaurant for dinner every single night and never ever get sick of it.  I love Chipotle too but I can't eat it as often as he can without getting sick of it.  Either way, when he said he wanted Chipotle on Sunday, I kind of assumed that we would be getting Chipotle on Sunday.  So when he said we would not be going to Que Bueno, I asked if we would just go get Chipotle and he was very ambivalent about it.  And again, I lost it.  I yelled at him.  I yelled that I was tired of misunderstanding him, and that he needed to TURN HERE to get to Chipotle, at which point he said he was done talking to me.

And whatever I had left, at that point I lost it too.  We pulled up to Chipotle and I let him go in by himself.  I had told him Saturday when me first mentioned Chipotle and again Sunday while we were walking that I would get something different from what I usually get (carnitas burrito, no beans, white rice, mild and green salsa, extra sour cream and cheese), and get a chicken quesadilla.  I knew, though, that he wouldn't have gotten me a side of green salsa, and when he got back in the car, I asked him if he had - in order to avoid a fight or him feeling guilty when we got home, and me getting even angrier for no apparent reason.  He hadn't, so I went in and grabbed it (did you know that if you don't make an actual order they charge you $1 for a side of anything?!  I almost threw a fit in there too, because they seemed to not believe that my boyfriend had just been in there and forgotten to get it).  I HATE being a bitch to people out in the world

When I got back into the car, my brain pretty much exploded, flooding me with thoughts of negativity, worthlessness, and hopelessness.  I thought about the movie, and how she walked this whole 900 mile trail in order to get some clarity and finally feel like the daughter that her mother had raised her to be, and how I am not at all the person I thought I would be by now.  Not at all.

I'm so freaking smart.  I got straight A's all through school.  My goal through high school was to be Valedictorian.  When I got my first B, I freaked out.  When I hit college, I discovered that my Depression gets worse the more stressed out I get, and that's why it took me 8 years to get my Bachelor's degree.  But when I finally got it, I thought the whole world would open up for me and my intelligence and my abilities.  Not so.

I thought at least, then, if I didn't have a career, or a career PATH, or be doing some kind of job that I felt I had a passion for, or felt like I was suited for, maybe I'd be a housewife, staying home with an immaculate house for my husband to come home to, and a delicious dinner on the table, and with happy and healthy kids.  Not so.

It hurts me a whole fucking lot that I am a piddly receptionist at an office full of people who have dreams and accomplishments.  I work for lawyers.  Who all made it through law school.  I work for business owners - successful business owners!  And I get yelled at on pretty much a daily basis by the clients of these people, and told how stupid I am for not knowing the answer to a very specific question, or yelled at because I am not allowed to give out someone's email address, or cursed out because the cost of the appointment someone called in to schedule is way more than they were anticipating.  I am a peon.  I hate this job.  I'm good at it because I'm detail oriented, and very intelligent, and I try every day to problem solve so that one problem one day is not a problem the next day.  But it is entirely the opposite of fulfilling for me.

I'm so very disappointed in myself for not working harder, or not letting my moods and meltdowns keep me from finishing school faster.  I'm so disappointed that I didn't follow through on some of the things I started - like going to NecroSearch International meetings, or actually attending the Westminster PD Citizen's Academy last year.  I feel like I've disappointed the world, too, because maybe if I were active in these things, I would have better direction in my life at this point.  But I don't, because I completely shut down when I feel the way that I feel right now.  I say, "I can't" to the very littlest things because I feel like if I start something (read: laundry or cleaning the house) and I don't finish it, I'll just disappoint myself more, and as the disappointment mounts, it becomes very overwhelming and I pretty much just want to die.  Or hurt myself.

So that was just one line of thought that thundered into my brain last night.  Another one was that Ethan shouldn't want to be with me because I am a gigantic mountain of crazy, just waiting to spew molten hot crazy all over him, and he is going to get hurt.  He so does not deserve for me to hurt him.  In any way.

To continue the story, we got home from Chipotle, and I sat in the car for a minute after he got out and went in the front door.  Phoenix came out, and was wagging his tail all over the outside of the car, so I got out, shooed him inside, dropped my purse in there, and then shut the door and walked away.  My initial instinct was to walk around the corner to where my friend lives, because she's out of town right now and my ol' roomy Meredi has been staying there taking care of the dogs.  I walked over and she wasn't there, so I kept walking, trying to find a place to sit and think for awhile.  I eventually settled on a grassy spot on a hill overlooking a basketball court, and I just sat there and thought and cried for about half an hour.  It wasn't cold, but I was definitely chilly.  I really, really did not want to be in my head right now, but I didn't want to talk to anyone about it, either really, so I tried really hard to just breathe and look around me and ground myself.

I thought about why my anger gets so out of control, and why I so often think about hurting myself, and why.  I thought about breaking up with Ethan so that I am forced to get out of my comfort zone and figure out how to make myself happy.  I thought about killing myself and what people might say about me at my memorial (I didn't write about this, but a friend's mom passed away suddenly a couple of weeks ago and her memorial was on Saturday and I went and all everyone said about her was how sweet she was in life).  I thought about what would happen to Phoenix if I weren't around anymore.  I thought about what I could do when I got home to simply just try to relax.  I thought about how I should be proud of myself for leaving and going for a walk alone (despite it being night and there being coyotes very very active in this area) instead of staying at home and yelling at Ethan, or driving to a liquor store to get a bottle of vodka, or locking myself in the bathroom and cutting myself, except that I wasn't proud of myself because I still wanted to do any or all of those things.  I tried to think of all the other times I've been in crisis, or in a thought process like this that just spirals down and down, and how I've handled those in the past.  I thought about how I don't really want to kill myself, or even hurt myself, and how ridiculous those things sound to me when I'm feeling really great.  I tried to talk myself into realizing that this is just a momentary thing, that it will not last forever, that I will feel better again, and that my life is important.  I thought about how I still feel like I have some purpose on this earth that I have yet to find, but that my patience is really running low.  I thought about how sad it makes me that neither of my parents ever really call me to check in on me, but how I worry so much about them both that I call them at least a couple of times a week to check in on them, and how it makes me wonder if they even care about me at all.

None of it helped.

When I finally got up and walked back to the condo, I didn't feel any different.  And I didn't know how I was going to handle Ethan, or how he would react to me coming home.  I didn't know what I was going to do when I got there, aside from taking half a Xanax XR and shooting the last little bit of tequila that's been sitting in our freezer in an attempt to calm down very quickly.

I took the Xanax with the tequila, and then grabbed a bag of candy from the counter, and decided I would go lay on my bed and watch something on Netflix, because in the last 10 years or so I've been dealing with these feelings, watching a show or a movie has been the only thing that I can find that will help.  I also saw Ethan's buck knife on the counter and I grabbed that too because I still wanted to at least draw blood somewhere so I didn't feel so dumb about being so emotionally messed up without feeling some physical pain.  I don't hurt myself to draw attention to myself.  In fact, I'm actually embarrassed today that I have marks from what I ended up doing last night.

Ethan noticed that I'd grabbed his knife and took it back.  I told him that it was okay, because I could still hurt myself by punching the wall (which I've been wanting to do for awhile), and followed that by punching the wall a few times.  I kept telling him to leave me alone, and he kept asking if he left me alone, would I hurt myself, and one thing I pride myself on is that I don't lie if I can help it, so I told him no, that I could not be trusted not to hurt myself since that's all I could think about doing last night in order to feel some kind of relief.  I then punched another wall a couple of times.  I tried locking myself in the bedroom, but the stupid setup we have has 2 doors, one out to the living room, and one to the closet/bathroom, and only one locked from the inside.  So he forced his way in.  I told him I could still find ways to hurt or cut myself and then proceeded to punch a mirror we had sitting on the floor of the bedroom.  It was at that point that he grabbed me forcefully and moved me to the bed where he stood next to me until I got up into the bed.

I feel really, really embarrassed to have acted out that way.  It seems so very immature to me to act like that, to throw a fit or a tantrum or however you want to label it, but at the time, I felt like that was all I was able to do.  I still feel pent up anger inside, I still want to hit something or slice my skin open with a knife, but I am not really sure why.  My hand swelled right up, and it hurt, but not too bad.  I have a bruise on my knuckles today, and a teeny tiny cut on one knuckle, but that's it.  I had to take my ring off because my ring finger was swollen and I didn't want to have to cut the damn thing off later because of circulation.  It's still swollen.

I think that maybe part of the reason I want to hurt myself is that the pain from it is lasting.  Like, when you have a bruise or a cut, and you accidentally bump it, it still hurts for awhile.  If I hurt myself, and I bump it or whatever, I remember why I have it, and that feels better.  It's not the cutting or whatever that releases the pain when I'm right in the middle of the crisis.  I think it's that I remember for a week or so after I do it, that I'm still here, that I'm still alive, that I survived that awful experience.  I don't like having the scars.  The scars on my wrist from this time last year are terrible, and I'm always embarrassed of them.  That's why I wear a watch all the time.

When I finally started to settle down last night, I texted my mom and talked to her for just a little while.  I told her that I was in crisis, that I was acting irrationally, and that I needed her to know it.  I told her that I'd gone off the Effexor, and that I'm struggling a hell of a lot right now.  I think I reached out to her just so that she would know that I'm having a hard time and with hopes that she will check in on me from time to time.

I fucking hate that I feel this way right now.  It's fucking awkward as fuck, for me and for the people around me.  I like me better when I'm hopeful and happy and warm (my hands have been cold for weeks now and it's driving me nuts).  I like me better when I'm efficient and productive and proud of the things I accomplish, however small.  I hate this with every single fiber of my being.

Effexor Withdrawal

Sooooooo...

It looks like if I don't keep myself to some kind of schedule for posting anything, I won't post much.  Which is not really the point.  The point is to empty my head of the vortex of thoughts that dictate my attitude and emotions on a daily basis.  I guess I need to be held more accountable to that so that I don't dump on Ethan when he comes home to me each evening.

To that end:

I've been off the Effexor for almost 2 weeks now.  I'm not quite the mess I was, but I'm also not anywhere near 100%.  Maybe like 46%.  Physically, I am not really experiencing hard-core withdrawal symptoms anymore.  I'm not really nauseous, but now I'm really hungry a lot of the time.  I'm not dizzy, either, but I don't feel great.  I feel kind of like I am hungover.  Which is impossible because I haven't had a drop of alcohol since I stopped the Effexor!  I'm actually terrified to drink because I have been feeling decent this last week and I don't know what alcohol (being a depressant) will do to me.  I still feel on the very precipice of crying at any given second, but I'm better able to control what makes me want to cry, I guess.  I still have the electrical popping in my head, but it's less startling and I really only notice it when I'm laying in bed trying to go to sleep at night.  My body temperature is still all out of whack - my whole torso will be sweating, dripping sweat, literally, but my hands will be freezing.  It's very uncomfortable.  And confusing.

I feel unable to really control my reactions to things as they happen.  Yesterday, when my coworker told me that the company owner (who shall remain nameless) had eaten the last of the cookies I brought in, I exploded.  He's notorious for coming into our little work area and helping himself to whatever food is sitting there for us to nosh on without asking if it's okay.   One time, that same coworker gave me the last of the cookies she had brought in because I was sad or something, and I didn't eat it right away, but placed it on the counter behind me, next to my stuff.  This asshole came up, saw it sitting there, and just TOOK IT.  Without asking.  For some reason, unknown to me, that ruffled my feathers to the point where I wanted to punch a wall.  Something about the inconsideration and the fact that he's completely incapable of reading social cues or whatever, just pushed me over the edge.  So any time he's come back here and taken a piece of candy, or a cookie or anything, that is not meant for him (he doesn't have a CLUE how difficult our job is sometimes, and to him we are expendable), I lose my shit.  I know it also has to do with this man's personality, because he is a NARCISSIST, and I cannot deal with narcissists in my current frame of mind.

Then, the other night, I climbed into bed and checked Facebook one last time before going to sleep and on my feed was a friend's announcement that she was pregnant, and again, I lost it.  For some reason, it made me very, very, very upset.  I'm pretty sure it's because it was such a big surprise to me.  She and I were really close in high school, and when she got married (she's since been divorced), I was a bridesmaid.  Her ex-husband was in the Navy and they had to move to San Diego, and after the divorce she stayed there.  We've kind of lost touch a bit and I only see her when she comes home for holidays, and I guess I just kind of assumed by what pops up on her Facebook that she was not going to be starting a family before me.  I'm happy for her, if this is what she wants, for sure.  I love her unconditionally and I think she will be a wonderful mom.

There seems to be this unspoken competition among women in our culture.  In your early 20's, you win if you get married and/or start having babies first.  When you get to your late 20's, you start to discover how much of the world you haven't seen and how much you haven't experienced, and if you're unmarried and/or childless, you're winning at life.  However, you still see friends getting engaged, getting married, buying houses, getting pregnant and having babies, and if you're like me, it starts to eat at you.  You begin to question the decisions and choices you made in your 20's that led you to being unmarried and childless at 30.

Your logic tells you that 30 still isn't that old, and that lots of women have babies after 30.  Some have babies in their late 30's and even 40's for crying out loud!  Studies show that couples that wait to have kids until their 30's have a longer and stronger marriage than their twenty-something counterparts.  I mean, I'm pretty thrilled with my choice not to have kids - although it could have simply been the endometriosis and not an actual thing I had any control over to begin with - and I'm still not even sure that I want to have a child of my own.  I'm really scared that it will turn out like me, or even worse, like my sister (the sociopath).  I worry it will have really severe depression, or that it will have my skin, or - even worse - the keratosis pilaris that's plagued me my whole life, or the respiratory problems from my dad's side of the family.  I worry that I am too lazy and too selfish to be able to care for a brand-new human being that requires so much attention and care.  I worry that I'll suffer from the kind of post-partum depression that makes women drown their babies.  I worry that having a baby will change my life, for the worse, and irreparably.

So why in the world would my friend getting pregnant upset me so much?

I'm chalking it up to a complete loss of control over my emotions due to Effexor withdrawal.  They don't warn you when they put you on antidepressants that coming off of them is a bitch.  It might be because when they put me on them to begin with there wasn't a whole lot of research being done on how badly they screw up your brain and your body, but now there is, and that's why I've titled this post very simply, "Effexor Withdrawal."  I want people to know that a.) coming off Effexor SUCKS, 2.) that they're not alone and that they will be okay, and III.) they'll experience the widest array of symptoms possibly imaginable and that it's okay to make excuses during this time because the chances are that if you're feeling really emotional and mentally out of control, it's because of the Effexor.  Oh, and that if you're feeling nauseous, just throw up - you'll feel better if you do.

My brain feels lighter so I think that's all for today.

And This is the Short Version

I want to write so badly, but I don't feel like I can write today.  I haven't had my antidepressants in going on 3 days and I'm in major withdrawal.  I want to cry at the drop of a hat, I feel totally nauseous and sort of visually disoriented.  The weird electrical popping in my ears hasn't started yet, but I can only imagine it will.

The reason I haven't taken my antidepressants in 3 days now is because I am almost out and had an issue at the pharmacy last week where they told me that my insurance company denied my claim because they should have "issued a new card" to me, but I didn't have it.  Because I work part-time, and make so very little, I'm on Medicaid.  I just spent 40 minutes on hold with Boulder County Medicaid to check on this to be told that nothing is wrong with my account and that they did not issue new cards for the new year.  So now I have to call the pharmacy back and ask them what the fuck.  Because seriously, WHAT THE FUCK.  Because Effexor XR, the only medication that has been able to keep me stable over the last 5+ years, are roughly $10/pill without insurance.

I hate that I am sick.  I can't imagine that there are people out there that delight in being sick.  I'm definitely a low-grade hypochondriac but I also definitely have Depression, Anxiety, Hypothyroid, and Endometriosis.  The combination of these diseases - while not fatal - is absolutely miserable.  My body and my brain are working against me.  Without medication, my brain is virtually unable to make enough Serotonin or Dopamine to allow me to feel joy for any reason.  Depression and Anxiety alone indicate seriously low levels of Serotonin and Dopamine, the two neurotransmitters that allow you to feel joy or euphoria, then throw in Hypothyroid, which also messes with your hormone levels, and a huge symptom of which is Depression.  And Endometriosis causes the body to produce too much endometrial tissue (the tissue the body eliminates during monthly menstruation) which can eventually cause infertility due to scar tissue.  To treat that, I'm on oral birth control.  Which messes with your hormones.  I know women who are on or have tried oral birth control, who have no other illnesses, who go completely insane because of what oral birth control does to their hormones.

And so I drink.  Alcohol.  Lots of it.  Daily.  Which combined with Depression and antidepressants is ruining my liver and my brain.  But it's the only way that I can get my brain to shut off enough to not want to dissolve into a puddle of tears or maybe even kill myself.  Today has been one of those days that I knew was going to be rough just by the thoughts that I was recognizing floating around in there as I was getting ready for work this morning.  And it has been rough.  I almost burst into tears 3 times at work.  I'm crying right now.  I've spent the last hour that I've been home on hold with Medicaid and three different billing companies trying to check on the mountainous amounts of money that I owe lab companies for bloodwork and collections agencies for the 5 days I was in inpatient treatment at a mental health facility last year, plus the 10-week stint of Electroconvulsive Therapy I received after my breakdown about a year ago.  I feel like no matter which way I turn, I run into a huge wall.

I don't know what to do.  My boyfriend is just about the only reprieve in the whole thing because he's so optimistic and supportive of me and tries so hard to be my rock and my anchor.  Sometimes he suggests that we get married just so that I can be covered under his insurance, and while that is a solution, marriage should never be used as a solution to a problem.  Marriage is hard enough without adding something like that.

I'm broke.  I owe upwards of $40K in student loans and somewhere around $5K in medical bills from the past year or two.  I work a part-time job at freaking $13/hour even though I worked my ass off through this horrible disease for 8 years to get my freaking college degree and I can't even use it to make payments on my student loans.  I know exactly where my passions lie, and what kind of career I want, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it.  I apply for jobs in that area weekly.

And lastly, my family, the one thing that I never thought would disintegrate, has essentially disintegrated.  My parents split up.  My grandma died.  My dad's health is quickly spiraling downward because of the impact of these two things and I cannot hold him up on my own.  My little sister works full-time even though she's a damn genius (Bachelor's in Forensic Chemistry, the only one in the 2014 graduating class at UNC)  and she's so overworked, underpaid and exhausted from it that she can't do much to help my dad, either.  It is absolutely killing me to see them being beaten down, and there's nothing I can do to help either one of them.  My family has been perhaps the biggest source of my anxiety, but usually the biggest source of my joy, too, and it is no longer.

I need help.  I need to escape.  I don't know what to do.