Little green monster

My best friend Emily is also bipolar. Other than that, we have very little in common, especially now. Why is she still my best friend? You know, it's just one of those unexplainable connections. Anyway, right now I'm super jealous of her. Sure, she's got the husband and the kid, which is cool but probably not going to be my life. That I'm ok with. But she just got promoted and moved halfway around the world for her job. Now THAT makes me burn green.

I've always wanted to travel for work. I am also unemployed, which makes the jealousy sting a little bit. But I'm trying to be supportive. I'm cheering for her via Facebook and commenting on the videos she's posting. I'm planning to go see her once I get a job and can take a vacation from it. I'm watching the weather over there and hoping her curly hair can stay down and not frizz too much. But man am I jealous.

I suppose it's a natural emotion when someone close to you gets something you want and you don't even have anything close to it. I will probably never travel for work in the line of work I've chosen. I hardly get to get out of the office at all, let alone move for a job. It might also help that she's been in the same company since she graduated college. I tend to move once a year. I know, it's not good, but I don't have the attention span for long-term commitments.

I'm just going to sit here and pout for a minute. Poop.

F*&# it all

Woah. Forgot to take my night meds two days in a row and almost had a breakdown. Proof positive that the only thing holding me together are the drugs.

I got a call today from a dear friend who talked to some of the people I've interviewed with and she had some really good advice for me. Easy stuff to fix, nothing bad or scary. Just adds to the frustration, though. I mean, really, are people that petty when they hire? Won't people just look at how qualified I am and how I can articulate that in person and know I can do a job? It's the little things, apparently, like not carrying a purse. Whatever. I'll make sure to do it next time.

But it set me off. I'm so over it. I'm fucking done. I've had an interview a week since I've been unemployed, over 5 months now, and I still don't have a job. And I don't know if any of the prospects out there are good jobs - at this point they all look the same: moving out. That's my goal. I need to get the fuck out of here immediately. I'm sick of living at home. Even if I have to take a job I know I'll hate. Whatever. I'm not above it.

Then my dad and my aunt took it upon themselves to council me about job hunting tonight. They spent 2 hours telling me how to do it. Like I don't know. I'm apparently a professional at it. I can get an interview. I can get a second interview. I just can't get a job. If it's all about dressing to the culture of the area, fine, I'll go buy some pinstripes. Whatever it takes.

But all of it just makes me long for the life I left. It's Jennifer's birthday today and everyone is out with her celebrating, and I'm here. Why the fuck am I here? Oh yeah, I wanted to be closer to family. Well I've discovered, family is overrated. I'm so done.

Give me a cigarette

All I want lately is a cigarette. I'm stressed. I'm in chaos. I'm not in control of my life whatsoever. I want a cigarette. "mild depression already is known to reduce the success of quitting. This study suggests that major depression reduces the success rate even farther." See? Even my brain is conspiring against me!

But I won't have one. I haven't had the urge to buy a pack, yet, or even bum one. I just want one, you know? I want that drag, that exhale, that thing in my hand that kills time and reduces stress. Something, anything. Cigarettes were my go-to; my good friends. I could escape with them. They gave me a good reason to get out of the house.

I bummed that one from Diane a while ago, and all I did was cough after one drag. And I took care not to inhale very deep, either. So one little drag... can't even have that. And that's good. It's good to know that.

So I ordered a dress and a few shirts online. Not pants, cause I can't fit in any, but dresses usually fit. I have my workout clothes on, which doesn't cure the cigarette urge, but maybe I'll run today. Maybe.

Chaos rules the day

I gathered my strength and drove to the neighboring state for an interview today, and when I got back home my dad and my aunt had taken over my room. They moved all the furniture to the middle of the room and then painted. Everything is piled high, but luckily I had most of it in boxes in storage already.

"I want them to start in your room first," dad says. Which is good, because then they'll be out of my room first and I can re-arrange it the way I want. But they took down the curtain. So I'm sitting here exposed to the street. We're on the 6th floor, but it's pretty much at eye level with the hill in front of the apartment building. The building across the street was torn down, so I have a nice view of the office building two streets away. I bet the cleaning ladies don't care what I'm up to, but it's creepy to be so exposed. I don't even know where the curtains are, or I'd put them back up.

So I went to therapy. "My life is chaos. I want to cry. I think the meds are working, cause I'm not suicidal, but I sure as hell am depressed." And Julie gave me the speech: there are people worse off than you, you have a lot going for you, the universe is aligning to help you out, blah blah blah, go buy yourself flowers. So I did. Pretty, purple tulips.

I wandered the aisles of CVS for over an hour and bought all sorts of shit I didn't need, like new lipstick, and shit I did, like travel size contact cleaner. Then I went to the grocery store and bought 100-calorie packs of Oreos and some ice cream. I grabbed the flowers and, feeling a little better, walked home.

I get home and dad says, "Aren't you allergic to flowers? I am. Your mom is, too." No, actually, I'm cool. I can't stand the high perfumey ones, but tulips are fine. Then he tries to talk to me about moving stuff again, and how I need to put more stuff in boxes. So I ran away and took a nice hot shower. I even shaved my legs and then plucked my eyebrows. Self care. A little self-love.

And I still feel insane. I need to move out and be in control of my own life again!

A little folded slice of life

I'm getting the remnants off the floor and surfaces before the floor people make it to my room, and I was taking out the trash when I found a piece of paper on the floor, all folded in fours. I put down the trash and unfolded it. "To whomever is listening, this is a note. Nothing more, nothing less." I found a suicide note from God knows when. How strange to find it just sitting there on my bed. It must have fallen out of something else, but what? Where did it come from? It's not dated, either, but it's signed, and the handwriting is strangely mine. It's calm handwriting, but slightly manic. With flourishes. It's too pretty.

I suppose I've been living in this room, off and on, for 15 years now. It could be from college, or it could have fallen out of something from high school. I've moved ever era of my life out of this room in the past week. Anything could have been unearthed.

How sad, too. How sad that I always feel this way. That nothing can make it stop; this pattern of self-love and self-hatred will always continue. Amazing the capabilities of the human brain. My beautiful, defective, human brain.

Spring has sprung

It's an absolutely beautiful day outside. We even have the sliding glass door open here to let the breeze in. It sure doesn't feel like February.

I tried all my pants on this morning, and they zip, but they create the dreaded muffin top. I have 3 pair that fit alright, so that's what I'm going to be rotating between. That, and mumus.

Add all that up and you would think I'd be out there running today. I have to make it at least 12 miles this week sometime, just to get ready for the marathon I'm not going to finish. But I'm here, on the bed, typing, as usual. I'm just feeling overwhelmed by everything; so much so that all I want to do is nap. And then I wonder why I can't sleep at night. I didn't even get up till 2 today. It's only 4. How can I possibly want a nap?

Trust

"You never reach out. You can lean on other people, you know."

I keep hearing this lately. But really, what are they going to do? You know what my problem is? And my aunt told me this; I don't want to get close to anyone because I think they're going to leave. I just don't trust anyone.

You know who I do trust? My tattoo artist. Isn't that odd? I mean, I pay the man to do a job, and he does and excellent job, so I trust him. He's not going to fire me for being a bad canvas. And I tip really well. I trust him so much that I've let him cover 1/3 of my body in art, and I'm letting him have free reign with this next one. I don't even know what it looks like and yet I scheduled a time to go in and get it started. I just gave him the perimeters and let him get creative.

Is that sad? I trust my tattoo artist the most?

Eat to feel better

So I just had another Cadbury Egg. I think it may have been my second one. And then I got the sugar shakes, so what did I do? I had cereal. Because eating makes everything better. Jesus, no wonder I'm getting fat! I eat to make things feel better! And man, do I want to eat right now. Everything is crap. I'm trapped in this house. I can't move out, and it's driving me mad.

The floors get started tomorrow, so the chaos is only beginning. I'm thinking of going to the local coffee shop with my iPad and just hanging out all day. I don't care if I have to spend money, I don't know if I can sit here with a bunch of strangers ripping up carpet in the next room.

I need a job. The little grocery store job is good - I made $500 towards my next tattoo - but it's just not the same. And I don't have a set schedule. It's just work every now and again when he feels like taking off and playing golf. I like to have a schedule; to know what I'm up against. I like to plan.

And maybe that's what bugs me most about my whole situation. I can't even plan. I don't know any of the perimeters, so I can't guess at the others. Damnit.

A little nap will do ya

I feel so stuck right now. I don't know what to do with myself. I have all that stuff in storage that needs to be gone through and sold. I have all sorts of stuff here that needs to be categorized in boxes and then moved to storage. I have job opportunities and I want to house hunt, but I don't even know where to look or in what price range.

As usual, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's all so overwhelming. So what do I want to do? I want to take a nap. I have this overwhelming urge to sleep right now. I just can't handle all the chaos that's going on around me. It's too much to think about, so I want to sleep.

Maybe just a little nap....

Ex-libris

I can't even bear to look at them. I have so many, and they just sit there collecting dust, but my love for them is strong. I love books.

I had a nightmare last night that I gave away a bunch of books to the library, but they just threw them out. It pained me so much to watch the imaginary librarian throw out my beloved novels and works of fiction. I couldn't stand it in my dream, and I don't think I would be much better in person.

There are just so many of them, and thinking about moving them all with me forever just makes me... overwhelmed. I can't imagine it. At this point I have over 20 boxes of books: novels of young women in trouble, non-fiction about mental illness, art books, and 3 boxes of religious texts. All things that I love to read and think about, and even quote from occasionally. I can't just let them go without knowing they would be going to a good home.

So they're all moving to storage. It's becoming a catch-all for things I just don't want to think about anymore. It's all just becoming a hide-away. I know that kind of behavior can't happen. It will become crowded with crap and I'll end up moving in somewhere with a UHaul full of junk. I need to go through the storage already and get rid of some things. Spring is here: time to clean.

A burden shared

Last night my little 89 year old grandmother pushed her walker up to me, leaned in and said, "You don't have to shoulder this alone. You need help, you just ask for it. Don't worry about money. Stop trying to carry it all by yourself." Except it's cuter when she says it with a British accent.

And she's right. I don't have to carry the load of unemployment and depression all on my own. But I'm really bad at reaching out for help. I've never really done it before. I'm just bad at asking because I believe I can, and should be able to, take care of myself. I'm an adult, right? Adults solve their own problems? Apparently it still takes a village to support an adult.

But I did ask for help. I moved in with my dad. I asked my mom to take the dog and car. I asked my dad to help pay for meds. I didn't hesitate to reach out on any of those fronts. But the depression is just crippling. How do you accept help when you're so low that you don't even know what would help you?

It's funny: my dad leans on his sister and his mom for support. Know how I can tell? Cause the two of them have been trying to help and talking to me about how it's all going to work out all week. Ever since I told my dad I wasn't doing so hot, suddenly his family is all over me. And my aunt just came into town last night. She brought me a good luck charm, too. It's nice to know you have family who care.

No baby boom here

I was just having an email conversation with someone on Facebook and complimented her on how adorable her daughter was. She thanked me, and the conversation went on, but it led my thoughts in another direction: I don't think I want kids.

I bat that idea around all the time, but I am starting to think that it's really true. I mean, when my cousin's son was little I hated having to babysit. I just didn't know what to do with him. Of course, I was 16 and crazy at the time, but I think it is a character part of me. I just am not interested in small children. I don't particularly find it fulfilling to be around them. They just distract from conversation. Is that harsh?

I imagine a life without kids could be lonely. I hope to get married, or partnered, or whatever someday. I would like to share my life with another adult, but kids... I just don't think so. If it suddenly happened I don't know that I would say no, but I wouldn't seek out kids.

Does that make me less of a grown up?

Alright, Phil. I'm counting on you

So tomorrow is Groundhog day and I'm hoping little Phil brings with him some good news. I, personally, love the snow and don't mind the longer winters at all, but let's use Phil as a gauge on how I'm going to feel this spring.

My aunt sent me an email. "I know it is taking every thing you have to keep it together. Only a few more days, the medicine will begin to work and it will be looking better. Tomorrow is groundhog day and I am sure that little critter will say that winter is coming to an end."

Finally, someone that understands. It seems like everyone else is expecting me to hold it together, and she actually acknowledges that it's taking every fiber of my being to not break down completely. And I've made my dad a worried mess, now. I knew I shouldn't have told him how I was feeling, and I even left out the suicidal ideation part.

I yelled at Adam earlier because he said I was "bullheaded" and "don't reach out for help." I call shennanigans. I asked my dad for help buying the meds that came too late; I got a therapist, that's help; I got on meds as soon as possible, that's help. What other help could I possibly ask for? He's "detaching with love" or whatever, so it's not like I'm heaping my burdens on him or anyone else. I don't ask for what I don't need. I don't need him worrying about if I'm going to kill myself. That's psychic energy he could be using to keep himself on track.

I am bad at reaching out, but I've done it this time. Things just, still, didn't work out the way I had hoped. Instead, I've got all this anxious energy to deal with and no outlet except eating. I should really go to the gym (If I keep saying it, will it come true?).

Feelings are not facts

"If it happened, it’s a fact. If it hasn’t happened, it’s a theory or a prediction. If you hold a kitten over a working blender and open your hand, the prediction that it will fall in is actually not a fact. It’s a theory. It’s a theory that has a whale of a lot of evidence to point to the probability of kitten puree, but it’s not a fact."

One of the gratitudes on the list tonight was being grateful that feelings aren't facts. I like that, yet it kind of throws me. Maybe that's why I like it. I also really like the description of facts above. Kitten puree is a probability, not a fact. Nothing is a fact until it happens.

Poor Job

"The word "forsaken" refers to an experience of total abandonment that leaves individuals feeling alone in their time of greatest need. Recall Job in the Old Testament, crumpled over and covered with sores, pleading with a seemingly indifferent God."

And now I'm just being dramatic, but forsaken is a great word. When you're depressed you often feel forsaken. Sure, you have friends, but none of them are there for you or understand what you're going through. Of course, since you're depressed, you probably haven't reached out to them to let them know any of this, but still, they've forsaken you. The world has forsaken you. No one understands, no one is on your side. You're all alone in this. Right. Here we are, again, alone in a crowded building.

I reached out to Jennifer last night, and I let Diane reach me today, but I'm still having a case of the forsakens. I need a little more attention, I think. I need, need, need.

Can I tell you something? I thought about killing myself yesterday. Just for a little bit. I didn't have a plan or even try to think of one, I just thought about going away. Life is tough! It just seems to be getting tougher, and I seem to be getting more isolated even though I'm reaching out. I know a lot of it is situational: I have a lot to be depressed about, and I'm out of meds still. So I let myself sit with it for a minute and the feeling passed, as feelings do.

I'm still here today. I didn't cut, I didn't smoke, I didn't drink, and I'm not out somewhere trying to pick up a boy. All in all, it's a success.

Alone in a crowded room

I'm not sure what to do with myself. I had about 3 or 4 hours of sleep before Adam texted. He said he didn't like where we left it last night, and he hates having serious conversations late at night because nothing comes out right. He's probably right, there, but I believe in having conversations when they come up, not at predetermined times. You just end up not having them, then. Anyway, nothing was solved by text this morning. That was the end of the conversation - he feels bad and woke up thinking about it.


I'm not hungry. I've had coffee and diet Coke today and a cheese bite. I worked a little this morning and tried to just listen to music and space out, but I couldn't even focus on that. My mom also emailed yesterday saying she might move up north and wants to take the dog. I told her the dog was hers. He's already been there for months, and she really loves him. I think it's best for both of them. But it's still a loss for me.

I'm feeling really lonely right now. I don't have anything of my own, except some clothes and jewelry, my friends are all really far away, I lost my dog, and it's weird, but my dad being on vacation this week has made it worse. I just feel... alone. Not in like the, hey, I'm the only one in the apartment, alone, but alone like there's no one else in the building.

I'm jumping from up to down a lot. I need to just chill - just relax and stop thinking so much about everything.

I'm crazy and so are you

“You are someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that in my view is a serious illness.”

“Live. If you live, God will live with you. If only everyone could know and live with their inner craziness…people would be fairer and happier.”

I'm not a crazy person, I know that. I may have a mental illness, and I may look at the world in a way that others might think is odd, but I know right from wrong; up from down. Sometimes I label myself and all of my emotions. "You're just manic; You're just depressed," instead of it's ok to be happy, or sometimes things can make you sad. It doesn't all have to be based on the chemical imbalance in my brain. I can feel, you know. I'm allowed.

I need to give myself a little more credit for being human. I do a pretty damn good job. I go through stressful things and don't fall apart. I linger on Adam too much, but everyone has their Achilles heel. I can be up, down, normal, and these things are just fine - just sane.

So how do I let myself just live? How can I let go of all the things that tell me, "Don't do that! You'll look crazy! People will think you're manic!" You know what? Screw "them." I am me. Me is a little kooky. Me likes excitement and adventure. Me is willing to do funny and outrageous things. Me is willing to give all. And that's not crazy, that's living.

How don't you know?

Ok, so that last bit has been making me think a lot more. Ten years ago I was 20. I was in college, living at home, and had just made a friend with someone in my class, finally. She took me to a bar where I ended up going every night for the next 5 years. I lived in that bar. I took home half the male population of that bar, or more like it, they took me to their car and then I came back and drank more. I was 20, what do you want? So I was a bit of a slut. Oh yeah, and yes, I was drinking underage. Oops. No one seemed to care, and I didn't either.

That bar is where I met my dear friend Amanda. It's where Emily and I left and she got pulled over by the cops, and got a DUI. It's where many a man has serenaded me from the stage, and many a beer has been poured on my shoes. It's where Halloween was every day, and where I broke up fights. It's where I sang God Bless America on holidays with the boys, and where I met Adam.

I don't remember the first time we met, but I do remember a lot of the times we talked. We would be standing behind the dj picking through the book for our next song to sing, and he would give me that great, sexy look he gives. Or he would be playing pool with someone I knew and I would sit on the stools and look on. I saw him everywhere, and I loved to hear him up on stage. His voice. Oh, his voice. He mostly sang rock songs, but there was still something soft to it. And there was always something in his eyes.

Ah, a wounded animal. Just my type. We found each other one night away from the bar and connected over finishing a party's keg. Our eyes met, our lips met, and that was it for me. I could never look at him the same, and I could never look away. Something just happened to me. Some sort of magnetism.

Amanda and I were talking about it today, and we just came up blank. There's just something about him, something you can't put your finger on. He just has the je n'sais quoi. And it's like a tractor beam to me.

Sometimes, most of the time, I don't want to love him like I do. I want to just be friends with him, want to love him like a brother. I just want to care about him, and for him, but not want to be with him, not want to give him anything he asks for. But I can't seem to shake it. And it's killing me that he doesn't know how he feels, so he says. How can you not know? Not knowing is code for I don't feel that way, and I wish he would just say it. I wish he would stop acting like he wants me, but I know he can't. He's a Lothario. He's Casanova. He just loves women, and women love him. I don't think he knows how to just be friends with a girl without touching and flirting.

No matter what happens with he and I, I'll probably have to teach him one day. I want to be the last woman he flirts with, but I may end up being the one to teach him about just being friends. Ugh, I don't want to just be friends. I need to make up my mind: can I handle this or not? There's always something in the way, like he doesn't know how he feels, or the meds make him not know, or I don't have a year yet. All bullshit. He needs to know. He has to know. How can you not know how you feel about someone!? I'm so sure....

What is happiness?

There's really a Wiki for everything. From WikiAnswers on how to get over someone: It's not about getting over a person, it's about feeling good about yourself. It's about knowing that you are the most important and you need to be happy. If this other person doesn't feel the same way, it doesn't really matter.

It's about being happy in my skin. I don't hate myself, anymore. Really. I like the way I dress, the way I look on the outside. I like how much more dependable I've become since I quit drinking. I think I'm compassionate and kind. I could work a little more on being a better worker and not so lazy, but that's all going to come as I start to focus more on myself.

So when you take Adam and unemployment/living at home out of the equation, am I happy? I think so (thank you Abilify). I don't want to die, so that's a good thing. I guess I'm not sure what happiness in your own skin really looks like or feels like.

From an interesting short story by Ikeda: "...the secret of happiness lay in building a strong inner self that no trial or hardship could ruin. She saw that happiness for anyone - man or woman - does not come simply from having a formal education, from wealth or from marriage. It begins with having the strength to confront and conquer one's own weaknesses."

To conquer one's own weaknesses. Well, this all relates back to step four, now doesn't it? Finding my character defects and getting the strength or even just willingness to overcome them. Perhaps through this process I will learn what happiness really is.

Stuffing down the pain

"Our fear of pain is what leads us to addiction. We can't bear the pain of our current situation or the memories of a painful past, so we numb ourselves in an effort not to feel it.

The irony here is that our efforts to avoid pain just cause us more pain--and make true happiness impossible. We don't take the risk, so we never get what we want. We don't face the difficult past, so we are never free of that pain. We don't sort out the painful present, so we never make things right. And the pain just goes on and on. We can't be numb 100 percent of the time. And in sobriety, we can't be numb at all. So we need to learn how to experience our pain--truly feel it--and just sit with it."

Ah, numbing the pain. I know how to do that so well. I use drugs, alcohol, sex, food, tattoos... anything I can get my hand on to make that pain go away. All that stuff I've been stuffing down for decades now. But in sobriety, it's got to come out.

I'm working on my fourth step again; looking at all the resentments I have against other people. The list just keeps growing, as I'm sure it will continue to do over the course of my life. I suppose even people with serenity get mad every now and again. Hopefully I can figure out what that means about me, and how to let God lift some of those things away from me.