Monday, February 14, 2011
Romanticized Revelation
A little while ago I had a horrible day. Everything was going wrong! And I was becoming sicker and sicker. That night I showered and got all ready for work, and at 9:30pm (a half hour before I needed to leave for work!) I get stuck on the toilet with a pounding heart. 'Because a sinus infection and dizzy head wasn't enough to deal with, let's throw in diarrhea at the last minute!' (insert evil laugh here)
I text my boyfriend, because that's the first thing I do when I'm getting panicky and feeling like I'm going to be sick. Text my boyfriend, or BriBear or daddy, or my sister, or sometimes I text everyone all at once because I'm desperate for (digitally typed) company! This time though, I text my boyfriend, who was at a Birthday party for our friend, and I got this in return,
"I'm here with you, just breathe"
'Just breathe' is a common response that I get from him. By now, after all the texts I've sent him in a panic, he knows that 'Just breathe' is a comfort. But I have never gotten an 'I'm here with you' before.
For just a minute, a profound warm feeling took over all the aches and pains and shakes. And even though the symptoms returned eventually, I had a thought..
I'm always wondering, or screaming, "WHY ME?!". Why in a world full of pedophiles and serial killers, am I the one who gets a sinus infection when I've already been dealing with a GI issue and a panic disorder for the last few years?
What if I am so unlucky health-wise, because I have been SO lucky in love.
Could that be it? Does anyone else vote that maybe that's why I'm so sick? In order to balance out all the great loves in my life, I need to be sick?
Maybe that's just it. And if I had to choose between the two, well, what's the point in being healthy and normal if you have no one to share it with, and no one to send you beautiful text messages when you need them the most?
(Deep down, frankly I believe I deserve both. But anxious, infected beggars with brilliant boyfriends..can't be choosers!)
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY, Love Princess Georgia
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The more I learn, the lamer I feel..
I was with a friend last night, and among many fantastic topics of conversation, came marijuana. And it got me thinking more. About smoking it. Lol
I used to smoke a lot in high school. Though, I'm pretty sure MY definition of smoking a lot is rather pathetic compared to the majority of my fellow classmates. I remember us girls bonding over the fact that our 'cycles' had aligned naturally..and then further bonding over how much getting high helped lessen the painful, bloated, nauseous side effects that are coupled with being a woman.
A little while ago my dad and I were watching a Discovery Channel mini series about drugs (do YOU know how they make cocaine?), and I started considering the positive effects that smoking again could have on my anxiety.
Its a toughie though! I don't drink because panic has lead to a severe fear of not being in control of myself, and drinking greatly enables a loss of control. And besides the fact that I don't really hang out with people who smoke weed anymore, I'm sure that I've chosen to avoid it over the last few years because as good as the high can feel, you're still losing control.
Plus, I've had my fair share of bad highs. Sometimes I'd end up staring in a stranger's bathroom mirror for what seemed like hours with my best friend, laughing hysterically and taking turns peeing because we were laughing so hard..and other times I'd wind up paranoid and hallucinating and wishing there was some kind of de-high button you could push!
You never really know how a high is going to turn out (maybe unless you're Snoop Da-double G) and panic has has destroyed my interest in any kind of unknowns. There's a good chance I could have a drink or two tonight and feel totally fine and happy..but there's also a chance I could end up shoving $50 at a cab driver and begging her to get me home before I shit my pants, and then end up throwing up. And honestly, the idea of THAT chance has my heart speeding up even now.
Still curious though, I Googled 'marijuana and anxiety', because that's what we do now when we have wonders! And every site states the same thing, whether it's some stoner's blog or a web M.D. And that is that the effects are different for anyone, and you can't predict it. Even getting a medical marijuana prescription and buying from some hippie/legal store doesn't ensure a nice, panic-reducing high. And I don't think I could survive a bad trip..no matter how many friends I had around to babysit me, or how many Ativans I had on hand. So really, why bother risking it?
Because if you don't risk it, how will you know?
Ya, ya.
This entry wasn't meant to be all about pot. My point was that Googling pot lead me to other sites about anxiety (because that's what Google does..takes you on an unexpected journey through interspace, every time!) and the new things that I learned have left me feeling a little extra useless.
Firstly, 'Agoraphobia'. This was never properly explained to me when I was first getting treatment. When people have their first (or one of their first) attack, they often form a fear of whatever they were doing when panic struck. If you were driving on the highway when you first felt the symptoms, driving could become something you're afraid of, because your brain assumes that doing it could lead to the next attack. For me, it was getting sick. I am definitely terrified of any stomach flu-related symptoms. And that's Agoraphobia, an often unnatural fear that only develops because of anxiety, and not for any other rational reasons.
I read about people not being able to be around kittens because they had their first major attack when they were in a pet store trying to pick out a new cat to bring home! And really, how pathetic does that sound? About as pathetic as it sounds to say, Im scared of going to the bathroom now.
Also! Nocturnal Anxiety Attacks are a real thing! And why hasn't one of my doctors mentioned this term before? Do you know how mental I feel, trying to explain that I can be having a perfectly fine sleep and then suddenly wake up in the middle of a level 10 attack? I'm not having scary dreams, I'm not having flashbacks of some bad guy breaking into my house in the middle of the night, I'm just waking up for no reason, pounding and sweating and trying to breathe for no reason. And yet, there are other people out there who experience the same thing. Well, there must be, because that term wasn't invented just for me.
The bottom line here, is that even after nearly a year of KNOWING that I have an actual anxiety disorder, there's still a lot that I don't know. Learning new things is supposed to make you feel better, but it actually makes me feel more desperate for help, and that makes me feel stupid. Not that needing help is stupid. But feeling my skin start to crawl when I'm sitting in my perfectly safe bedroom just reading about what a panic attack is, makes me feel extra stupid. And thinking that this panic might be something that I'm going to have to just have to deal with for the rest of my life, feels pretty lousy too.
I don't have a real conclusion here. I'm trying to think of a well-written way to end this. But this is my blog, so I'm just going to deem proper endings unnecessary for now. The end!
I used to smoke a lot in high school. Though, I'm pretty sure MY definition of smoking a lot is rather pathetic compared to the majority of my fellow classmates. I remember us girls bonding over the fact that our 'cycles' had aligned naturally..and then further bonding over how much getting high helped lessen the painful, bloated, nauseous side effects that are coupled with being a woman.
A little while ago my dad and I were watching a Discovery Channel mini series about drugs (do YOU know how they make cocaine?), and I started considering the positive effects that smoking again could have on my anxiety.
Its a toughie though! I don't drink because panic has lead to a severe fear of not being in control of myself, and drinking greatly enables a loss of control. And besides the fact that I don't really hang out with people who smoke weed anymore, I'm sure that I've chosen to avoid it over the last few years because as good as the high can feel, you're still losing control.
Plus, I've had my fair share of bad highs. Sometimes I'd end up staring in a stranger's bathroom mirror for what seemed like hours with my best friend, laughing hysterically and taking turns peeing because we were laughing so hard..and other times I'd wind up paranoid and hallucinating and wishing there was some kind of de-high button you could push!
You never really know how a high is going to turn out (maybe unless you're Snoop Da-double G) and panic has has destroyed my interest in any kind of unknowns. There's a good chance I could have a drink or two tonight and feel totally fine and happy..but there's also a chance I could end up shoving $50 at a cab driver and begging her to get me home before I shit my pants, and then end up throwing up. And honestly, the idea of THAT chance has my heart speeding up even now.
Still curious though, I Googled 'marijuana and anxiety', because that's what we do now when we have wonders! And every site states the same thing, whether it's some stoner's blog or a web M.D. And that is that the effects are different for anyone, and you can't predict it. Even getting a medical marijuana prescription and buying from some hippie/legal store doesn't ensure a nice, panic-reducing high. And I don't think I could survive a bad trip..no matter how many friends I had around to babysit me, or how many Ativans I had on hand. So really, why bother risking it?
Because if you don't risk it, how will you know?
Ya, ya.
This entry wasn't meant to be all about pot. My point was that Googling pot lead me to other sites about anxiety (because that's what Google does..takes you on an unexpected journey through interspace, every time!) and the new things that I learned have left me feeling a little extra useless.
Firstly, 'Agoraphobia'. This was never properly explained to me when I was first getting treatment. When people have their first (or one of their first) attack, they often form a fear of whatever they were doing when panic struck. If you were driving on the highway when you first felt the symptoms, driving could become something you're afraid of, because your brain assumes that doing it could lead to the next attack. For me, it was getting sick. I am definitely terrified of any stomach flu-related symptoms. And that's Agoraphobia, an often unnatural fear that only develops because of anxiety, and not for any other rational reasons.
I read about people not being able to be around kittens because they had their first major attack when they were in a pet store trying to pick out a new cat to bring home! And really, how pathetic does that sound? About as pathetic as it sounds to say, Im scared of going to the bathroom now.
Also! Nocturnal Anxiety Attacks are a real thing! And why hasn't one of my doctors mentioned this term before? Do you know how mental I feel, trying to explain that I can be having a perfectly fine sleep and then suddenly wake up in the middle of a level 10 attack? I'm not having scary dreams, I'm not having flashbacks of some bad guy breaking into my house in the middle of the night, I'm just waking up for no reason, pounding and sweating and trying to breathe for no reason. And yet, there are other people out there who experience the same thing. Well, there must be, because that term wasn't invented just for me.
The bottom line here, is that even after nearly a year of KNOWING that I have an actual anxiety disorder, there's still a lot that I don't know. Learning new things is supposed to make you feel better, but it actually makes me feel more desperate for help, and that makes me feel stupid. Not that needing help is stupid. But feeling my skin start to crawl when I'm sitting in my perfectly safe bedroom just reading about what a panic attack is, makes me feel extra stupid. And thinking that this panic might be something that I'm going to have to just have to deal with for the rest of my life, feels pretty lousy too.
I don't have a real conclusion here. I'm trying to think of a well-written way to end this. But this is my blog, so I'm just going to deem proper endings unnecessary for now. The end!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
To those of you whose cell provider is Bell,
Thank you!
For every text you sent today, and every long distance call you made, Bell donated 5cents to Canadian mental health initiative programs!
If you're reading this today (February 9th) and it's not quite midnight, get to typing! "GOOD NIGHT" can easily be turned into two separate text messages! Add an "X" and an "O" on their own, and you're already at 20cents!
Go here for more information about Bell's LETS TALK About Mental Health 5 year program:
http://www.newswire.ca/en/releases/archive/January2011/17/c2899.html
For every text you sent today, and every long distance call you made, Bell donated 5cents to Canadian mental health initiative programs!
If you're reading this today (February 9th) and it's not quite midnight, get to typing! "GOOD NIGHT" can easily be turned into two separate text messages! Add an "X" and an "O" on their own, and you're already at 20cents!
Go here for more information about Bell's LETS TALK About Mental Health 5 year program:
http://www.newswire.ca/en/releases/archive/January2011/17/c2899.html
First Lesson of 25, Learned:
Not all the world is bad.
I absolutely lost my mind Monday night.
And by mind, I mean I lost my iPhone.
I remember texting a friend from the parking lot, getting out and going into the grocery store, then realizing at the check-out that my phone wasn't in it's pocket. I rushed back to the car assuming it'd be in the cup holder where it sometimes ends up if I'm driving.
It wasn't. Huhhhhhhhhh.
I opened my door and ran around the parking lot looking for it, retraced my steps in the grocery store, then rushed home to have a VERY decent cry.
I kept calling and calling my own number and when it kept going straight to voicemail, the only logical assumption was that someone had found it, planned on keeping it and therefore turned it off. So then I started sending texts to the phone offering a reward, and leaving sniffling messages on the answering machine.
A few minutes later, mom called. And someone had called her to say they'd found my phone and had turned it into the customer service desk at the grocery store.
I don't know who found it, and why they turned it in instead of taking home a free iPhone...but they taught me that not all the world is bad. I was SO sure that it was gone for good, because life has never been all that fair to me, and why NOT add a lost and stolen phone to a still-officially-undiagnosed illness?! But I caught a break this time. A super huge one!
Whoever found a green-cased iPhone in the Food Basics parking lot on Clairfields... I hope Karma gives you a giant kiss, from me.
I absolutely lost my mind Monday night.
And by mind, I mean I lost my iPhone.
I remember texting a friend from the parking lot, getting out and going into the grocery store, then realizing at the check-out that my phone wasn't in it's pocket. I rushed back to the car assuming it'd be in the cup holder where it sometimes ends up if I'm driving.
It wasn't. Huhhhhhhhhh.
I opened my door and ran around the parking lot looking for it, retraced my steps in the grocery store, then rushed home to have a VERY decent cry.
I kept calling and calling my own number and when it kept going straight to voicemail, the only logical assumption was that someone had found it, planned on keeping it and therefore turned it off. So then I started sending texts to the phone offering a reward, and leaving sniffling messages on the answering machine.
A few minutes later, mom called. And someone had called her to say they'd found my phone and had turned it into the customer service desk at the grocery store.
I don't know who found it, and why they turned it in instead of taking home a free iPhone...but they taught me that not all the world is bad. I was SO sure that it was gone for good, because life has never been all that fair to me, and why NOT add a lost and stolen phone to a still-officially-undiagnosed illness?! But I caught a break this time. A super huge one!
Whoever found a green-cased iPhone in the Food Basics parking lot on Clairfields... I hope Karma gives you a giant kiss, from me.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Night Night, Sweet Dreams
After an already craptacular morning, I'm in bed now with a garbage can next to me. I was getting ready for bed, and all of a sudden I felt so nauseous I almost fell over. It's a hot pink garbage can, but it doesn't make me feel any better!
Huhhhhhhhhh. I'll be fine.
The Gravol will kick in, I'll have a few gold fishes so I can take my sinus meds, finish some Greys, and then go back to bed. And I still believe that I could feel better, when I wake up and try all over again tomorrow.
I do! Strangely enough, I keep hoping and trying to remain optimistic. But I mean, I have to! I have to keep pushing through. I have to hold on and keep trying.
Because there WILL be a day when I'll wake up feeling...nothing worth noting, and I'll get out of bed and get ready to go out and work my semi-enjoyable full-time job. And at the end of the day I'll come home to make dinner with Nolan in our own kitchen, and we'll eat on the couch watching TV and then have some superb sex! Or maybe sex before, because I don't enjoy full-tummy sex. We will clean up the kitchen, pack our lunches for the next day, maybe have a shower, and then get into our big cozy bed where we'll laugh, and fall asleep to the TV. And nowhere a long the way, will I need to stop and take notice of how shitty I feel. I'll have a good sleep, next to the man I love, and I'll wake up feeling just fine again the next day.
I know it. I have to know it! That one day, I'll be just fine.
And until then? Huhhhhh... I'll just keep trying to push through it and keep hanging on.
Huhhhhhhhhh. I'll be fine.
The Gravol will kick in, I'll have a few gold fishes so I can take my sinus meds, finish some Greys, and then go back to bed. And I still believe that I could feel better, when I wake up and try all over again tomorrow.
I do! Strangely enough, I keep hoping and trying to remain optimistic. But I mean, I have to! I have to keep pushing through. I have to hold on and keep trying.
Because there WILL be a day when I'll wake up feeling...nothing worth noting, and I'll get out of bed and get ready to go out and work my semi-enjoyable full-time job. And at the end of the day I'll come home to make dinner with Nolan in our own kitchen, and we'll eat on the couch watching TV and then have some superb sex! Or maybe sex before, because I don't enjoy full-tummy sex. We will clean up the kitchen, pack our lunches for the next day, maybe have a shower, and then get into our big cozy bed where we'll laugh, and fall asleep to the TV. And nowhere a long the way, will I need to stop and take notice of how shitty I feel. I'll have a good sleep, next to the man I love, and I'll wake up feeling just fine again the next day.
I know it. I have to know it! That one day, I'll be just fine.
And until then? Huhhhhh... I'll just keep trying to push through it and keep hanging on.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
10:10am and 3 days before my 25th Birthday
I swear to fucking god I will be killing someone if THIS is how I wake up on Saterday morning.
Just breathe, Jorja.
Honestly, this isn't fair. This gives me no chance to be hopeful for the day, no chance to be glad that I woke up. And yes, that sounds ridiculously morbid, but who wants to wake up this way? I opened my eyes, and for half a second I start to think, "Hey, I had a pretty decent sleep!" Then this gross reality kicks in: No, you pathetically hopeful loser! You were not magically cured over night!
(Being hopeful only ever feels pathetic after the hopes get too high, and someone/thing manages to crush them.)
I've been up for 20 minutes now, and I have flushed the toilet 4 times already. Two Imodiums, and two re-coolings of my washcloth. And I realize I work tomorrow night! A decent shift too. So forget Saterday, right now I just want to wake up TOMORROW without feeling this way.
And it's not like I'm asking to feel ok-enough tomorrow so I can go to some raging party where I'll be doing slutty and illegal things! I just want to go to work. I WANT to go to work. I don't think people usually believe me when I say that, because the majority of my time is spent not going to work. I really want to though. I really want to feel ok-enough to go to work...like everyone else gets to, every single day. And I know some of you are rolling your eyes at me because having to work blows, but I'd trade you my stomach for your work schedule any day. Now if only I could find someone gullible enough to make such a trade...
Realizing that I'm scheduled tomorrow, and that a mere $25 in tips would cover Saterday's Birthday festivities, I start to heavily consider not eating today. Maybe I won't eat until my Birthday 'breakfast' on Saterday! No..ice cream cake with Jenn and B Friday night.
Huhhhhh, deep breaths. Big exhale.
Truthfully though? Panic, and an impressively anxious digestive system has bullied me into a near-eating disorder before. I moved into a friends house my first semester of college, and I was so sick all the time that my daily menu began to consist of nothing more then a hand full or two of gold fishes, and a few dry Corn Pops when I needed a sugar fix. When you spend the majority of you day feeling nauseous, or like you could shit your pants at any given moment...hunger pains become your greatest comfort. And you can't feel hungry, if you eat like a normal person, so I didn't.
Why are hunger pains such a comfort? And how dare I say that when there are millions of children out there dying of starvation? I'm not an awful person. Nausea is a feeling for which I don't know the cause, and I don't know how to fix it. Uncomfortable bowels are also a big fucking mystery. And not knowing = anxiety. Hunger though, I know exactly why I feel that feeling, and I know exactly what I need to do if I want to get rid of that feeling. Knowing = power. And where I am, where I have been stuck all this time, I don't have much power over that.
So did/do I allow myself (often subconsciously) to go hungry for the power? Or am I still just being bullied into believing that if I get sick, I can't throw up or get stuck on the toilet if there's nothing in my system?
I don't know. Who know?!
All I DO know, is that if I wake up this way on Saterday morning...if THIS is how I'm going to kick of my 25th (26th, technically) year...Princess Georgia is going to start kicking some serious ass. And she will not be feeling guilty about it, either.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Just enduring a nice little Monday panic
I'm home, I'm not home alone, I'm safe, I'm prepared, and I'm medicated..now I just have to hold on, and hang in there until it dissipates. Which gives me time to write about something that has been bothering me ever since I started to get really sick!
My mom and I got to go to a baby shower yesterday. And you know not much makes me more comfortable then a baby! On the opposite end of things, there is also one thing that makes me extremely uncomfortable. Not quite as uncomfortable as I am stuck on a toilet right now (where would we be, without mobile phones that allow you to type drafts for a blog no matter where you're stuck?!), but uncomfortable.
"What's new with you? What have you been up to?"
Huhhhhh.
I'm rarely at a loss for words, but my brain doesn't function fast enough to spin my current situation into a something to be proud of, on the spot like that! "Can I just go over here and jot down a few ideas, and then get back to you?" That is my first thought.
Yesterday was especially hard, though. We were visiting family friends that we hadn't seen (and I'd been missing!) for a really long time, so there should be a lot to actually catch up on. But when one of the sons has just brought a perfect little girl into the world, two of the sons are engaged, and all four of them have brilliant and beautiful girls with them..I can't help but feel ashamed of 'what's new and what I've been up to'. It also doesn't help when it's mentioned how brilliant my baby sister is, and how successful she's been at University, and how she's really going places. And that my little brother lives independently and just started a big new job he's really excited about!
Sometimes it feels like the whole world is making leaps and bounds all around me. I'm just siting in the middle of a giant intersection like an unsafe moron, and everyone else, whichever direction they're going, is passing me.
I suppose I could just suck it up, and be thankful that at least no one has run me over yet!
I bump into people in the grocery store, moms of old friends, or old high school classmates at work, and I become a big fat liar. What's the point in saying anything but, "I'm doing good thanks"? Nobody asks how you are and actually wants to hear, "Well. Since we last saw each other I've lost 20lbs because I've been so sick, I've been a patient at a mental hospital, I've begged my own father to just kill me after throwing up and shitting my pants for two hours, I've lost like 4 jobs because of too many legitimate sick days, and I still live at home because I can't afford to move out with the love of my life..yep, that's about it! How about yourself?"
Last night my mom spoke up (I think, because she feels sorry for me) and let everyone know that I'd graduated college with my ECE diploma, and that I'd like to go back to school so that I can specialize in working with children with special needs. But who hasn't graduated college? And who doesn't have plans to go back to school one day? I just can't compete, when I'm the only sick and anxious person at a table full of beautiful and normal-abled people.
I will note that one of the boys was really impressed by my newest tattoo, which lead to talking about all my poetry, and blogging, which made me feel a lot better about myself. Tattoos are fantastic diversion! "What have you accomplished lately?" "Ughhh..Wana see my new tattoo?!"
I could take a second, and stop feeling so sorry for myself and just tell people the truth when they ask, I just don't know how to say it. It doesn't make any real sense to anyone, no matter how I explain it. People don't realize that for me, remaining alive and willing, is a huge accomplishment. Actually. People can't understand that having a panic attack in my bathroom without calling my daddy in to hold my hand until it's over, is actually something that I can now be really proud of. Or I should be, anyways!
I don't have a problem talking about depression, or panic, or a constant fear or pooing in my pants again...I'm not actually embarrassed. But I need to really know that someone really wants to know the truth. And that's hard to decipher. Is someone asking about your life because they're genuinely interested in whatever you might say? Or are they just being polite, because it's polite to ask people about themselves? (It is the polite thing to do)
I don't know. And this particular entry doesn't have a decent conclusion. Which makes it more of a rant I guess. Or just something better for my brain to concentrate on, instead of 'Why the hell am I spinning, and nauseous, and pounding and sweating YET again?'
If I have one weakness as a writer, it's my lack of ability to end things eloquently. Beginnings are easy-peasy once you have any kind of idea, and after that I can write, and write, and write! But whether it's a story, or a blog, or even a poem, I'm not all that good at wrapping things up.
Maybe it's because everything I write is just so damn good, I don't want it to end.
My mom and I got to go to a baby shower yesterday. And you know not much makes me more comfortable then a baby! On the opposite end of things, there is also one thing that makes me extremely uncomfortable. Not quite as uncomfortable as I am stuck on a toilet right now (where would we be, without mobile phones that allow you to type drafts for a blog no matter where you're stuck?!), but uncomfortable.
"What's new with you? What have you been up to?"
Huhhhhh.
I'm rarely at a loss for words, but my brain doesn't function fast enough to spin my current situation into a something to be proud of, on the spot like that! "Can I just go over here and jot down a few ideas, and then get back to you?" That is my first thought.
Yesterday was especially hard, though. We were visiting family friends that we hadn't seen (and I'd been missing!) for a really long time, so there should be a lot to actually catch up on. But when one of the sons has just brought a perfect little girl into the world, two of the sons are engaged, and all four of them have brilliant and beautiful girls with them..I can't help but feel ashamed of 'what's new and what I've been up to'. It also doesn't help when it's mentioned how brilliant my baby sister is, and how successful she's been at University, and how she's really going places. And that my little brother lives independently and just started a big new job he's really excited about!
Sometimes it feels like the whole world is making leaps and bounds all around me. I'm just siting in the middle of a giant intersection like an unsafe moron, and everyone else, whichever direction they're going, is passing me.
I suppose I could just suck it up, and be thankful that at least no one has run me over yet!
I bump into people in the grocery store, moms of old friends, or old high school classmates at work, and I become a big fat liar. What's the point in saying anything but, "I'm doing good thanks"? Nobody asks how you are and actually wants to hear, "Well. Since we last saw each other I've lost 20lbs because I've been so sick, I've been a patient at a mental hospital, I've begged my own father to just kill me after throwing up and shitting my pants for two hours, I've lost like 4 jobs because of too many legitimate sick days, and I still live at home because I can't afford to move out with the love of my life..yep, that's about it! How about yourself?"
Last night my mom spoke up (I think, because she feels sorry for me) and let everyone know that I'd graduated college with my ECE diploma, and that I'd like to go back to school so that I can specialize in working with children with special needs. But who hasn't graduated college? And who doesn't have plans to go back to school one day? I just can't compete, when I'm the only sick and anxious person at a table full of beautiful and normal-abled people.
I will note that one of the boys was really impressed by my newest tattoo, which lead to talking about all my poetry, and blogging, which made me feel a lot better about myself. Tattoos are fantastic diversion! "What have you accomplished lately?" "Ughhh..Wana see my new tattoo?!"
I could take a second, and stop feeling so sorry for myself and just tell people the truth when they ask, I just don't know how to say it. It doesn't make any real sense to anyone, no matter how I explain it. People don't realize that for me, remaining alive and willing, is a huge accomplishment. Actually. People can't understand that having a panic attack in my bathroom without calling my daddy in to hold my hand until it's over, is actually something that I can now be really proud of. Or I should be, anyways!
I don't have a problem talking about depression, or panic, or a constant fear or pooing in my pants again...I'm not actually embarrassed. But I need to really know that someone really wants to know the truth. And that's hard to decipher. Is someone asking about your life because they're genuinely interested in whatever you might say? Or are they just being polite, because it's polite to ask people about themselves? (It is the polite thing to do)
I don't know. And this particular entry doesn't have a decent conclusion. Which makes it more of a rant I guess. Or just something better for my brain to concentrate on, instead of 'Why the hell am I spinning, and nauseous, and pounding and sweating YET again?'
If I have one weakness as a writer, it's my lack of ability to end things eloquently. Beginnings are easy-peasy once you have any kind of idea, and after that I can write, and write, and write! But whether it's a story, or a blog, or even a poem, I'm not all that good at wrapping things up.
Maybe it's because everything I write is just so damn good, I don't want it to end.
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