Unapologetically

It’s been a long time since I’ve wrote. It’s been even a longer time since my thoughts have been this jumbled. I need this space again to let it flow out. It needs a place to sit and be seen or heard or maybe just released. There needs to be a place of truth. It won’t all come at once. I wish it would. I wish I had the time and energy to open the flood gates and pour it into this one post. I’m not going to though. It will drain me. I thought I was being drained before everything taking and pulling everyone wanting something. I think I’m changing the perspective. Talking about it is the draining part. Everyone and everything keep pouring in to this shell that I have that is overflowing with too much. So, instead of procrastinating anymore let’s get started with poking holes in this shell so some of it can leak out. 

I don’t know where to start and it doesn’t matter. Honestly, I don’t know if any of it matters but I know that thinking leads me to the deep dark depths of depression. I have gone to enough counseling now that I have the skills and the knowledge to differentiate from my depressive thoughts and the real ones. At least I had enough before I stopped going. It’s been a while since I went. I didn’t necessarily quit. I just stopped going. At the time I was in a good place, at least mentally I was. I realized in my last few meetings with her that I had stopped talking. I didn’t discuss what I felt I needed to talk about but rather what I thought she wanted to hear. They weren’t lies but it wasn’t the truth coming out either. She would ask me simple question that I didn’t know the answer to or didn’t care to explain to her. I felt protective of my thoughts and actions and feelings about certain things. The meetings had become so infrequent that I just felt like it was a lunch commitment with an old friend to catch them up on my life except I didn’t know what was going on with the other party. It started feeling more of a social chore than mental health work. It is what I made it and I made it into something that was no longer helpful to me. Last week I asked my primary care physician for a referral to a new counselor in an email. He told me he wanted me to come in to discuss why I didn’t want to go see my current one and I haven’t responded. It made me frustrated. I threatened in my head that I’ll just find a new pcp too but I’ve said that for about a year. 

I haven’t came out. I probably should eventually to my family but I haven’t. They’ve met the girl I’m seeing but I haven’t actually told them. My friends know. 

The girl I’m seeing is pretty great. We go through cycles and when we’re good we’re freaking awesome. When we aren’t though, it’s a mess. She has some issues. We all have issues but with me being who I am the things I see get to me more than she understands. I have this strong passion about mental health and she was raised that mental things are fake and shouldn’t be discussed. Which drives me up the wall, pushed me in the corner and makes me cry uncontrollably. 

This is where I’ll stop for this one. It’s a good start. Once it’s out there I’ll see how it feels. 

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Volume Control 

My mind is pretty chill. It’s strange. I get to give myself positive feedback and tell the negative ones to go fuck themselves. It’s taken a while to get to this point but it was worth it. I still have depression and anxiety but the fear of it being a life long battle has lessened. I know it’s there. I still have the same thoughts and voices in my head I’ve just figured out how to control the volume a little more. 

Let’s get down to business 

I’ve neglected this space for a while now. I’ve thought about it often but haven’t sat down to make the effort. I could go back and fill you in on what’s happened but then by the time I get to the place I want to be, I’ll find a way to avoid it again. I guess this is my way of focusing and forcing myself to jump right in instead of hiding from myself. It’s time to think, feel, learn, realease and move forward. This is me trying. 

The void is still there. It never went away. It’s lurked around, sulking that I’ve been ignoring it or too busy to give it the time of day. I knew it I hadn’t gotten rid of it forever but that I had found a way to cope, to deal. It’s really no difference now than before except I have the better skills. 

I’m feeling remorseful and discouraged. I guess I’ve had it in my head that since I have the new skills I wouldn’t have the same feelings. Logically, I know this isn’t the way. Emotionally, it seems tragic that I’m in this place again. 

I now reserve the right to use this place for my thoughts, for my feeling. You also have the right to disagree or agree or have no feelings about this at all or anything in between. I feel like something is missing. Something is out of place. Or not there at all. I don’t feel like I’ve lost it cause that would mean I had it in the first place. The self that was raised in the country where there are churches close enough to throw rocks from one to another, would tell me that I need God. I’d used to agree with that but I’m not sure if it was my true self or the one amid to please others and do what was expected of me. The self I am now, at this current moment is unsure. I don’t think it’s religion I’m missing or the concept of religion. There is this hole, this pit, this emptiness where I believe my depression had taken a piece of my brain and is using it as a host. Maybe it is a higher power that I’m missing but I’m not finding comfort in this thought or any pull. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or just depression with a side of anxiety. Or anxiety with a side of depression. Whatever it is I don’t want to feel more empty than I do happiness or satisfied. 

Talkin With Grandma

It’s difficult to write. I know it helps to sort stuff out in my brain but that’s only if I write about things that I am trying to process. Or to let other stuff out so there’s more room in there.
I do well for a while and writing isn’t that bad. Then when my brain starts being an asshole again it gets increasingly difficult. By the time I’m really in s dark place it seems impossible to write which is when I need to release my thoughts the most.
I guess I’ll do the back story before getting to the now. Growing up my mother made a point for us to see blood relatives. Once a week we would go to my grandmothers house and my 3 great aunts house (they all lived together). My mother tried to take us to see my fathers side of the family as well. My father wouldn’t go with us but my mother would take is to see his mother and his father when he was in town. My grandfather on my fathers side used to drive tractor trailers and didn’t live in the same state but we saw him regularly. Then one night I remember the fight my parents had about how my dad didn’t want us to go see his family anymore without him, that it was making him look bad. He didn’t want us to see them unless he went. My mother fought back that we would never see them again if we were to wait for him to go. That was that. We didn’t go back unless my dad was in the car. I think we saw my grandma on Halloween one year and for Christmas two years. My mother would make comments about how he never saw them or called or took his children to see them. He would brush it off. They never made the effort to come see us. That’s just how it was.
Now to present day, well close to present day. I graduated in May from undergraduate majoring in psychology and sociology. My mothers, mother helped me move to my new apartment, helped with funding some of my expenses, got a smartphone so we could text, ect. My fathers mother doesn’t know what college I went to. My father didn’t know my cell phone number until a few months ago, I’ve had the same number since high school.
Now to present day. The week of Christmas my mothers father found out that she has cancer. The sentence my mother keeps using is “she’s eat up with cancer and it’s growing fast”.
I don’t know how to process this or how I’m supposed to feel. I know that whatever or however I feel is acceptable but I don’t know how I feel. Maybe it’s empty. I don’t really have any connection or fond memories or memories in general.
I don’t live there and probably won’t get to know her any more now than I did growing up.
She has asked for the grandkids to come see her so why not? I made a plan to go to my parents house and go see my grandmother. It ended up being a whole day event. My father made breakfast, we went to my mothers mother house, then to my fathers mothers.
When I was sick I asked if for family medical history. My mother was able to go back to great grandma had high blood pressure and probably diabetes but they didn’t know it was that… My father was able to say everyone is fine and always has been. I ask specifically do you have…does your sisters have…nothing. So when I was at my grandmas house my dad wanted to show me how he fixed the bathroom floor, shower and sink. While I was in there, on the shelf, was anti anxiety medication with my grandmothers name on it. I was so pleased with myself. I knew it I knew it! It is genetic for me! Muhahaha. I has so very proud until I left. Then I was disappointed with myself and my family. We don’t talk about this stuff. We sweep it out the door in hopes the wind will blow it away. This is the very subject that is incredibly dear and close to my heart and I didn’t speak up. I didn’t say a damn thing. I still was alone in my knowledge of something I wasn’t even sure about.
I tried to let it go. I tried to forget the feeling. I thought about calling to ask but it just didn’t seem like the right way to bring it up. I wanted to know more. If I knew more maybe it would help me understand. Or have support or closure or hope or guidance or anything. This opportunity had laid itself in front of me and I let it stay there. Not doing anything which is the very reason I’m so frustrated with my family. Damn it.
On Monday, I was driving back to my apartment just thinking about how I wouldn’t know if I didn’t ask. If not now then when? When would I decide to ask? On her death bed? After she dies? After or before a chemo treatment?
She lives right off the highway I was driving on so I took a deep breathe in and decided I’d go ask for myself.
I’ve never just stopped by at her house. They saw me pull up and didn’t know who I was until I was at the door. They didn’t know I had a new car maybe they didn’t know I even had a car at all, I’m not sure. She seemed confused and excited that I was there. I explained that Bella was in the car so I didn’t have long but I wanted to talk about something. I wanted to ask about mental health in our family. I straight up asked my grandmother if she has or had anxiety or depression. She calmly but abruptly said yes. I told her that I’ve tried to ask Dad but he doesn’t know about any of the family history. She then proceeds to tell me about other family members and their bouts with mental health. I learned that she is currently on medication ever since her husband found her with his gun. She said she just didn’t want to do it anymore. She said that the only people that knew about that was her husband one of my aunts and her doctor who prescribed the medication. She also told me about how she really noticed the change when she found the Lord. She believes the Lord delivered her from her depression.
I am so glad I stopped to ask. I wanted to know and now I do.

Thoughts at work

I’m frustrated. I think because I want the play button to be pushed but once that happens I’ll want it to slow down. I’m worried that I’m just not happy. I’m not okay. That my depression has laid it’s blanket down and is ready to stay a while. I’m not looking forward to anything. Nothing. Everything seems pointless again and overwhelming and I’d rather not deal with any of it but I don’t have anything is rather be doing which really bothers me. I wouldn’t rather be hanging out with bella, watching Netflix, going on adventures, organizing, blogging, exercising, at my partners house, or anything else. I’d rather be sleeping and not moving but that isn’t even what I really want. If I give into that I won’t get over the hump any faster.

Outside part two-not superficial

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I have this really cool app that does inspire me to think. As much as a pen knows what it’s writing. Whoa. My pen never knows what it’s writing. I don’t know most of the time. My pen sits there or moves and just keeps going.
How do I let it go? How do I become a pen? Life happens and it uses that part of you. You can’t get it back. It’s gone. Done. Over. Nothing you can do. You can either dwell on the part you lost or keep going with what you have left. I don’t know if you can do both at the same time. If you can dwell and move forward. I’m going to be 22 tomorrow. I don’t want to keep looking back at all the ink that had been used. All the things it would have been used for, saved for. That it could have been or should have been. It is what it is. That ink is gone. It was part of me. It is still part of who I was and who I am now. But what about the rest of the ink? Am I trying to save the rest for a special occasion? Don’t use the ink that’s left because then I might regret that? Out of you don’t use it the ink will dry out anyway and then you just have a shitty pen.
Let it go. Let what go? Everything? A few things?
I am still working on morning the loss of my idealistic parents. I am still coping with the rape. I don’t think I have a handle on my past relationships with depression and anxiety. I am very shameful and hold a lot of guilt. Which now that I’ve typed that out that seems ridiculous. Maybe that’s what I need to face head on and let go. Yes, I am who I am. I just happen to have anxiety and depression. It’s a part of me. It’s what makes my pen the pen it is.
What kind of pen would I want to be…
I would say colorful. Like the purple g2 pen that writes really smooth the click one. But that’s not very official and sometimes gets left in the drawer for special notes. While a black, fine tip, smooth writing pen with a lid is official and gets used for notes and signing important documents. Or I could be a funky color sharpie. I really like sharpies. And they aren’t used for everyday documents but when they are it’s pretty official. Anything written in sharpie is official in my book.
What kind of pen are you?

Being sick- Update #2

I’m watching Ellen DeGeneres stand up comedy on NS amazon prime account. It was really funny. When she got to the point about making jokes about how we don’t just focus on one thing at a time. “If you need both hands for something your brain might need to be in it too.” I decided that it was better to take a moment and just enjoy watching the show.

I’ll keep going with the update now.

After I graduated I was still didn’t have a job lined up. Then I clicked all the buttons and got an interview then a follow up interview and a job offer. Then I had two weeks before I started a new job. –Regurgitation

Then I forgot to take my Effexor one morning before work. That was fucking hell. It was my first week and I would have to leave training to go loose my cookies. I called my previous psychiatrist and asked her if this was normal. She said she was surprised I hadn’t missed a dose before then and yes it was normal.

So you get the picture that I have been vomiting a lot.

When I vomited my breakfast I work I decided I would go to the doctor. Now it’s been 32 days today since my first doctors’ appointment to find out what’s wrong. They can’t find anything, nothing, nada, zilch. I’ve been to the emergency room three times and had a billion doctor appointments. I’ve been on about everything they are willing to give me for nausea and vomiting. I’ve only had 52 hours without vomiting in the last 4 weeks. Before that it was 28 hours and then 18 hours before that. I’ve had three iv bags, an MRI (of my brain, to make sure it wasn’t migraine related), an ultra sound, an upper endoscopy, urine test and several blood tests. Nothing! They have said that it could be abdominal migraines, cyclic vomiting or psychogenic vomiting. Which all just means that I am vomiting.

It’s been a new level of hell. A level I’ve never experienced before. I hate going to the doctor, I hate waiting rooms, I hate hospitals, I hate vomiting, I hate that I keep getting medicines that aren’t helping, I hate not being able to work my 8 hours 5 days a week for 40 hours at my kick ass job.

Rent comes out of my bank account soon, student loans are asking for money, medical bills have started pilling up and when I got to work 10 hours they took over half my paycheck to pay for insurance. I have threatened to stop taking my medicines. I don’t think that’s such a good idea any more. I know that my brain is a little off. It’s not balanced in a way to allow me to function. I’m so frustrated that I have anxiety, depression, migraines, and have been vomiting. I’m pissed that every medicine they have given me has the potential of making something else worse. Headache medicine has side effects of vomiting and nausea. Vomiting medicine has side effects of headache. Depression medicine has the potential of making the depression worse, increasing anxiety, and if you start vomiting seek immediate medical attention. What the fuck?! Then everything cause constipation! Then one causes diarrhea? But one doctor gave me more fiber…so how do I know what side effects are because of the new medication or just normal body things. BUT IT’S NOT NORMAL TO VOMIT FOR 32 DAYS!!

All of this has been going on physically and emotionally for me. They keep switching everything. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m wanting to just go back to my normal mood swings. Not this awful shit. Everything says if you are vomited more than 72 hours seek immediate medical attention. If this medicine makes you vomit contact you’re doctor or pharmacist immediately.

I might have mentioned that Mother hasn’t spoken to me since April. I know she wasn’t talking to me before that but that was when I finally was like alright this shit mess is shitty. Since I’ve been sick it’s gone from not talking to me to calling me four times a day and then not speaking to me for a week, sending emails that say I haven’t called her with an update, she won’t answer the phone…anyway it’s really stressful and makes my vomiting 20x’s worse when I try to deal with it.

My father has tried. He’s really trying the best he knows how. When I called to ask if someone could come down to go to the ER he said he would be here just as soon as he could get here. It only takes an hour and a half to get here if you speed. Even with traffic it would take maybe 3 hours. So when it had been two hours and no one was here yet and I hadn’t heard anything I called. My brother answered and said mother had just gotten out of the shower they hadn’t left yet. I drove my happy ass to the emergency room. I didn’t feel well I had already pushed it out as far as I could. Aaron was here but left because he needed to go to work. Pretty Lady (my room mate) offered to take me but I didn’t want her to because she needed to finish writing a paper. They showed up 3 hours after I was in the emergency room. I was so over it. What do you do at that point? Then mother didn’t speak directly to me the whole time and just kept talking about food -_- what?!? I asked both of them if they could find something else to talk about…no they couldn’t. Then four days after the emergency room mother screams at me that she wanted me admitted into the hospital but I wouldn’t let her. I won’t let her help me.

I also had a screaming fight with father during all of this. I have been wanting to get a newer car for a while. I’ve brought it up at least 4 times at dinners with them. Even when no one is speaking to me. Anyway, Father claims he didn’t know anything about it until two weeks ago. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He agrees with my grandmother and mother that I don’t need a new car. I need to focus on feeling better. -_- What the fuck have I been doing?! He and Mother decided on their own that they were going to bring me mothers old car, get brother a new car since he just turned 16 and got his license, and get mother a newer car and mine isn’t worthy enough to be driven anymore but I’m also not allowed to sell it, trade it, anything with it. Father and Mother decided to tell me once they were already on they way down to swap cars. I lost my freaking mind. I don’t want mothers car. I wanted help, advise, guidance at finding something more reliable.  During the yelling match with Father on the phone he said that he didn’t wanna hear a damn thing about the neon again then if I wouldn’t take the Kia rio. He doesn’t want to hear me bitch or complain about it then. I told him then I guess he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore then. I ended up getting off the phone told them I was going to NS house. Don’t bother even coming the rest of the way down I wasn’t going to be here. They called back I texted them it wasn’t a good time I was too worked up we would talk tomorrow. So after having 3 more calls and 3 text messages I turned off my phone. I still have the neon and my brother who got his license, Wednesday, is looking at used cars on craigslist.

When I had the upper endoscopy my partner, his mom, my (maternal) grandmother and my grandmothers boyfriend (who happens to also be my great uncle on the other side of my family) were in the waiting room. When I filled out the paper work of who I wanted to come back there to see me after it was done I put my grandmother and my partner. The GI doctor was trying to show sympathy when he explained that it wasn’t a GI problem but rather a stress/anxiety related issue. He tried so hard. He even was talking about how he read my chart the night before and saw that I had been in the Female Sexual Survivor Group at college. He asked me how old I was when the incident happened. Luckily my partner tried to step in and ask some kind of question. Then he asked me again how old I was. So I said 17. Which is true. Which sucks. Grandmother didn’t have a freaking clue. Grandmother went home and told Father and Mother. Father called and confronted me about it. It was the most awkward but grownup conversation I’ve ever had with him. He asked me if I had been molested. I explained no it wasn’t that but don’t let that answer fool him that I was in group because of stuff that has happened in my past. He asked what happened, I explained that I wasn’t comfortable enough to tell him but I was willing to answer questions. His questions were “Was it a family member?” “No” “Was it a teacher?!” “No.” “Was it one of your boyfriends?!?” “Now I’m uncomfortable answering your questions.” I already judge myself for the plural boyfriends part and I know it’s in my head but the judgement that I heard with the one of your boyfriendS the “S” really stood out. Mother called my sister and asked her about it who in return called me to let me know that Mother knew. Mother didn’t call about anything from the emergency room situation or GI doctor…none of it. Father called and said he really wanted to be there but had to work, keep him updated, I had my partners mother texting him the whole time.

What else has happened…? I told you I’m vomiting, lots of doctors, missing a lot of work, family is still being my family, more doctors, more poking, more meds…maybe that’s good enough right now for Update #2