002: Fuck Depression

Here I am again. Writing. The last time I sat down to do this was February.

I am through the healing of skin cancer. I have facial scarring on my cheek. That’s still hard to deal with. People still look away from me. It doesn’t sting as much as it used to but it still hurts in its own way. A reminder that I am different.

In the span of these months I was hospitalized for suicidal intention. I know that’s hard for people to read. Sometimes life sucks.

In june my godfather died. Two weeks later Ox’s dad died. A week after that my cousin, who was more like a sister, was taken off life support. The following Monday I had to be back to work, being productive. I tried really hard to be ok, but the truth was I wasn’t and the harder I tried the darker it got inside my head.

I was placed on short term disability. I went to therapy a lot. I was put on different meds. The best one was Prazosin to help with the night terrors I was having. Being able to sleep was the start to my recovery from crippling depression.

I’m not recovered fully, but I am better than I was and so maybe that counts for something.

Through therapy it was decided that I wanted to be closer to family. In two weeks I had my stuff packed in my car, cats included, and moved to Ohio to live with my dad.

I don’t know what that means for Ox and me. We haven’t really talked about it much. We text every so often but it’s not about anything deep. It’s not about the hurt I know is there or the unanswered question of if we are still together. Maybe one day I’ll have it in me to ask those questions, but today doesn’t seem to be that day.

I was told that I needed to be selfish for a little bit. I need to find myself through all of the wreckage of loss.

What do I want?

I can feel myself pulling away from that question.

I want my mom back. Forever and always, I will want this thing that I can’t have. Another phone call. One last hug. One more, “I believe in you.”

We celebrated my birthday yesterday. My halfsisters were there with their significant others. It was a “good” evening, and yet I wanted to cry so many times. I didn’t ask for a celebration. I didn’t want one. If I were truly being selfish I would have said no, don’t do this painful thing that reminds me my mom is dead. But I didn’t.

I know they mean well. I know this action comes from a place of love, but I am so tired of people thinking that everything is ok, that I’m fine, that these things don’t hurt.

I want my mom and I can never have that again. It makes everything else seem so pointless and hollow.

I want to feel safe. I want to feel like my life matters and has a purpose. I want to be financially stable. I want to have my own apartment because it seems like I’ll never be able to own a house. It’s like I fucked that up when I was younger, made stupid choices and now that dream, too, is unattainable. An apartment is more realistic.

I want a stable job that doesn’t drain the little life I have out of me.

I want a bdsm relationship. I want to be polyamorous. I want to be me.

I guess that’s what it comes down to. If I were selfish, I would be wholly, unapologetically me.

How sad that I don’t know what that even means any more. Through all of the loss and struggle and hopelessness, I don’t know who I am in the aftermath.

So I guess this is the first step to finding myself. Writing. Hearing my own thoughts. My own fears and wants. My own selfishness which is really just another way of saying existence. We all have wants and needs, and I know on some level mine matter.

I guess I’m hoping that one writing at a time, one small moment at a time, I’ll hear that voice I know is there. The one that got beaten down to nearly nothingness. She’s there, somewhere.

I want her to know I still care. I’m still here. She still matters and I love her.

Daily Post 001: Hello World, Hello Self

I feel like crap today. I have a headache that’s only now starting to go away. I don’t think I’m sick, though I’ve been congested the last few days… weeks really. It’s come and go. No covid symptoms, so at least there’s that.

It’s winter. It’s past the holiday season. I survived it. I had my cry session a few days ago where Ox held me while I cried into his shoulder about how much I miss mom and how I want her back.

I passed my first semester of nursing school. I did really well it in. I maintained a 4.0 until Thanksgiving break. I think my lowest class was an 85 or something. I don’t feel accomplished about it. I became suicidal twice during those four months. Academically it might have seemed like I was being successful, but internally I wasn’t.

I was able to switch back into the part-time program for the following semesters. Instead of graduating at the beginning of May, I will be graduating in December again; nearly two years later. That knowledge sucks, but it feels better than trying to make it through another four months of full-time work and full-time school.

I currently am not taking any classes for the next four months. No prerequisites. No “this class seems fun”. Nothing except work and trying to find myself again.

Maybe that’s what a lot of this comes down to. I’ve lost myself yet again. I allowed it to happen. I haven’t gone to the gym since the start of my program. Jon and I are having a talk on Sunday about if we want to renew the lease together because the living situation sort of sucks. Ox and I are doing well and I feel that has to do with having winter break from school and actually being able to spend time with him instead of studying 9 million hours a day.

I’ve started playing World of Warcraft again. It’s given me an outlet. It’s given me a community and tasks and focus on something other than the issues in my life. I know I’m using it as avoidance. I know I’m letting myself indulge in an addiction instead of doing laundry or being at the apartment or grocery shopping. There’s a part of me who cares about it; who thinks I should do something other than nothing. And yet, the injured part of me just wants to hide and not hurt.

I’m tired. Still. After nearly a month away from school, I’m still so tired of everything. I had wanted to grocery shop today while Ox was at work. Feeling like death vetoed that though and it sucks. I could have done all of this stuff yesterday, but I didn’t, and now it won’t get done and so I’m a slacker, a failure, and I hate these emotions. These thoughts.

They’re not true, but I have very little to show for myself other than a virtual game that means nothing.

I don’t even know if I can say I’m lost because being lost implies you had a direction you were going, a destination you were trying to reach.

I don’t want to graduate. I don’t want mom to be dead. I want her to be here. I want her to say “I love you”. “I’m proud of you.” “I believe in you.” Anything. I would give so much just to hear her say anything to me one more time. To have one more hug. One more hand squeeze. Anything. Anything to not feel so alone and pointless. Something to hold on to; to let me know it’s not pointless and it’s worth it to keep going day after day, year after year of this hurt and change and difference.

Financially things are going alright for once in my life. It’s nice to have that area fairly stable and not affecting things. Politically I think my government and a clusterfuck of a disastrous dumpster fire. I don’t waste much energy thinking about it or stressing over it. Working an essential job may factor into my mentality of not giving a fuck. Regardless of what happens, my patients are still going to require treatment. I’m still going to have to get up at 2 am on the days I work to set up the clinic. I can’t take time off work like other people to protest or be involved in movements. I voted and that’s all I have the capacity to do.

Work has been going alright. One of my patients died shortly after school started. It was extremely unexpected. I wrote a letter to him which I never posted. Maybe I will at some point. I guess it depends on if I actually post this writing. There was one other I started a while ago which I never finished. I haven’t wanted to write in so long. I haven’t had the time or energy. And even now, I don’t really know if it’s supposed to help with anything since I’m so out of touch with myself.

I guess I could start there. “Hello, Self. It’s been a very long time, hasn’t it? How are you?”

Not good.

Why, not good?

I don’t know. I really don’t know and figuring it out is going to hurt and make me cry and I don’t want to do it. I’ve been cancer-free for a year. This time last year I wasn’t able to lift a laundry basket because I had to trust a stranger to cut my throat open. I had a new scar that I had to get used to. I had a week with my dad where he came out and made sure I was ok. I had a sociology class I was taking as a way to get me out of the house and stay involved in society.

I had a birthday where mom wasn’t able to call me. I had a Christmas where I got a new computer chair and a new desk which I can’t set up because in four months I might be moving again, but I don’t know where yet. Still in Nebraska, but will I be able to afford a house? Do I have to stay in an apartment? Will it be in Lincoln, Hickman, or Beatrice? Am I going to have to pay a pet fee for the kittens? What’s Jon going to do? Is he going to think I abandoned him? Am I bitch of a sister?

There are all these things going on and all I want is for life to not be a fucking disaster.

I’ve made it this far. I’ve made it through five years without mom. I’ve made it a year past cancer. I can figure all of this out. I can. I know I can. I don’t want things to stay the way they are and instead of looking at everything all at once, I know I need to break it down into small things. Small tasks. One task. One chore. A small chore. A doable chore to prove to myself that one thing can get done. If one thing can get done then other things can get done, one small step at a time.

And so I’ve done my first step. I’ve written. I’ve said hello to myself for the first time in months. I’ve acknowledged that I’m not doing well along with some of the areas that need attention, mending, healing. I didn’t think the cancer thing was such a big deal, but I guess it is in the dark corners of my head.

I feel weak and tired and that’s ok. I’m allowed to feel those things. I’m allowed to feel hurt and sad and alone. I’m allowed to miss mom. Holidays are always hard. Winter is always hard. I will get through this hard, and while today maybe another day where I play a video game and merely eek by in life, eeking by, surviving, is the highest level of achievement. It means I can try again tomorrow to do “better” or “more”.

I’m at square one at the moment. Maybe not even there. Maybe it’s more of a “pre-square”. The square where you start brainstorming and making plans and getting organized. It’s a new year and there’s going to be a lot of change in the coming months. I’m allowed to start over. I’m allowed to throw out all of the plans and to-do lists that I’ve had in my notebooks and start a new one; one that’s relevant to what life is now, not what it was four months ago.

I guess that’s what this writing can be. It’s my start. It’s my “hello, world”. My return. To me. To life. To trying. To doing.

We’ll see what happens, I guess. I am glad I wrote. I feel more stable than I did at the beginning of it. I might still be laying face first on the ground, but at least it feels like there’s solid ground beneath me.

Musing Moment 144: Revelations Not Resolutions

I find it fitting to be writing this post on this the first day of 2020. I have not made resolutions for this coming year. Instead, I have been fortunate enough to have the time and space to have revelations instead; revelations I want to share.

Revelation One
My life is about to change. Not end.

There was one night, a few weeks back, where it got really dark inside of my head. I was alone in the apartment. It was night time. I was ridiculously tired from work. I hadn’t been sleeping or eating well.

I felt lost. Hopelessly lost. I felt weak and powerless with no way to change or control the things going on in my life. Nothing to look forward to. Just the endless cycle of work and sleep and chores and paying bills.

I don’t think there are really words to accurately describe the battle I felt consuming me from the inside out. A battle I knew I was losing, slowly, surely, day after day after day after agonizing day.

During my battle that particular night, during that moment of darkness, I looked up different ways to overdose. I didn’t want to end my life, but I needed to know what would happen if I did. If it got bad enough for me to follow through, what would I do and how? What would the side effects be like? How long would it take? Would it be painful? If it were found out, what medical interventions would take place?

Through doing that, researching, I realized I didn’t want to kill myself. I didn’t want my story to end, but I wanted, needed, something to change. Death wasn’t want I wanted. At least not death of my self… just of my life; of the things fucking with my life. I wanted all of these outside forces wrecking havoc on me to die; my cancer, my stress, my expectation of myself.

Ox and I ended up having a conversation, I believe it was the next day. He asked how I was doing. It was a different question than the normal, “how are you feeling?” or “how was your day?”

Ox: How are you doing?
Me: Not well.

I said those words with a voice on the verge of breaking as tears rolled down my face because I knew them to be true, but how do you tell the person you love that you were looking up different options for suicide without them freaking out or worrying more or any number of things that could go horribly wrong by being honest? How do you bear your soul and the pain you feel like no one else can understand and elaborate on “not well” without the risk of ruining everything?

The truth is, you don’t. You have to take that risk. You have to be honest, with them, with yourself. You have to trust that you can let go of the fear you’re clutching onto like a life line and that the other person will be there to catch you, hold you, hug you.

When he asked what I meant by not well I said I was afraid to talk about it. I was afraid to explain what was going on inside my head. I was afraid of losing him. I was afraid of losing my job. I was afraid of being put in an institution. I was afraid of fucking it all up further by admitting that I was having these thoughts.

He helped me past that fear and I told him about what I had been looking at on my phone that night as I lay in bed fighting with my self. I told him how I was so tired mentally, emotionally, spiritually, that I didn’t know how to keep going forward; how to keep putting one foot in front of the other and getting out of bed and showering and eating. I didn’t know how to keep doing it but I didn’t know how to make it pause either. I didn’t know how to catch my breath or find my footing or a handgrip to keep it from feeling like I was falling into a never-ending abyss of hopelessness.

We talked for a long time and in the end, I didn’t have any sort of answer or solution, but I felt safer. I had shared what I thought would be something horrific that would lead to alienation and came out the other side of the conversation with a stronger foundation of trust.

I learned that I CAN share dark, unsettling things and that Ox and I will still be ok. That I will be ok. That thoughts and feelings ARE ok, even when they’re as extreme as that.

Sharing those thoughts, admitting to those actions took away the guilt and shame that I had been feeling. The weakness. The loneliness.

A few days later I met with my counselor. We talked about my upcoming surgery, how my dad is going to be here for a week during the procedure. We talked at length about my research into overdosing and my feelings about the events afterward with Ox. We talked about how I felt about actually looking into things like that.

Recently Ox made a comment about a post he saw where another person who had contemplated suicide wrote that he didn’t want his life to end, he wanted his life as he knew it to end. He wanted, needed, it to change.

I feel like that is true for me. I can relate to that statement. I don’t want my story to end. I don’t want to die. I want how I know life now, currently, with all of the internal pain and anguish and sorrow, to end. I want things to be different.

I think on a subconscious level I have been allowing myself to feel victimized. Victimized by Life and the Universe. By my self. By my body.

In the book, Leadership from the Inside Out, it is written that everyone is a leader. Be it the leader of a company, a team, or of your own individual life, we are all leaders.

I have not been acting as a leader. At least I don’t feel like I have. I have been haphazardly jumping from one event, one crisis to another. I have not put much thought behind my days. I have not had clear, defined intentions. No strategy. No goal other than “survive”.

If we want change, then it starts within ourselves. If I want my life as I know it to end, to change and transform, then I am the only one who can take the actions required for those changes to occur.

Revelation Two
I have the power to start a new chapter.

This is my life, and while I may not have control over the events that occur in it, I do have control over my response to those events.

I have cancer. I cannot make that fact untrue. It will always be true. Even once my thyroid is removed, I will still have had cancer. I will be changed, physically, because of that cancer. That cannot be undone. Denying those facts is useless. Being angry about those facts is useless. Denial and anger change nothing. Facts do not care about emotions. They will continue to be true regardless of how you do or do not emotionally respond to them.

So I have a choice. I can continue feeling angry, sad, lost, and scared, or I can accept that this is happening in my life and continue writing my story.

My surgery is in two weeks. These two weeks will be the prequel to my new chapter. Surgery will be a big event in my life. It will be life-changing. I will have to learn how to be comfortable in my skin again, knowing that a stranger has touched things within my own body that were never meant to be touched. I will have to learn to be ok with the knowledge that there is in fact, a part of me missing. I will have to learn that I am not defined by organs.

I will have to learn while some scars, most scars, are invisible, some are very real and cannot be hidden. I will have to learn how to explain why I have such a mark on my neck. I will have to learn to function with and through the sympathetic eye contact from my patients, coworkers, friends, family, and strangers.

This coming year will be a year of learning. Learning how to be me through all of the mental, emotional, and physical adjustments I will need to make. While very little of my everyday routine will need to change, there will need to be changes. That marks a loss of familiarity and that loss is just as real and valid as the loss of an organ.

Post-surgery will be a new chapter in my life not the end of it. I will still be me, but it will be a me that I need to get to know, learn to care for and be empathic and compassionate with.

Revelation Three
I am not who I was.

I keep trying to “find myself”. I keep remembering how I was before mom’s death or before becoming a dialysis technician. I keep comparing myself to what I used to do or how I used to be. I keep looking for my old self and the harder I look and try to get back to “there” the more lost and hopeless I feel.

I don’t know when, where, or how it came to me, but I realized I am no longer that person. I mean… yes… I’m still me, but my life has changed so drastically in the past three in a half years…

How could I be exactly the same? How could I handle situations exactly like I used to?

What a disserved to the person I have become and am becoming to constantly look back to 27-year-old me as my marker for excellence and success and grace through stress.

I have changed and that is why I can no longer find the old me. I am no longer that version of my self. I keep looking for something that doesn’t exist anymore; for something that CAN NEVER exist anymore. And that, too, is not a bad thing. I am myself, will always be myself, but there have been changes and iterations and updates that I, personally, need to acknowledge and accept.

I need to stop looking at my past and realize who and what I am in the present. I need to be aware of everything that I am going through rather than brushing it off or downplaying it or berating myself for not handling it better.

What had berating myself gotten me? Nothing except shame, guilt, and suicidal thoughts.

How is that in any way beneficial to anyone, most of all myself?

It’s not and so I’m done doing it. I’m done disrespecting my current self by searching for something I can never be again.

Revelation Four
I do have a home.

I have been missing mom a lot recently. Well… always, but holidays and my birthday are where the waves of pain seem strongest. Mom was always home. It didn’t matter where she was. Whenever I thought of “home” it was of her. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her hugs.

Much like how I can no longer be the me of three and a half years ago, I can no longer have the home I used to have. While I do believe it is ok to miss what was, I feel I should have gratitude and acknowledgment of the things I do have.

As my birthday and Christmas presents this year, Ox’s parents gave me money for the class I will be taking during the spring semester. I’m stepping back from the LPN program due to the surgery, but I will be taking Introduction to Sociology; a prerequisite for the RN program. I mentioned during dinner one night how I wasn’t going to be eligible for financial aid since it is only a 3 credit hour course, but Ox and I had looked at finances and we believed we could afford it.

Ox’s parents signed my cards, “Mom and Dad [last name here]”.

I was so touched. So deeply, profoundly, touched. I am not their daughter. They have no obligation to me what so ever, and yet here they are, helping me with something that is important to me. These people opened their house to me, share their food with me, care for me, and love me.

No, they aren’t my family. No, they cannot replace mom. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love them in return or think of them as Mom and Dad [last name here]. That doesn’t mean I can’t find a new home for the new me in this new chapter of my life.

So that’s where I’m at currently inside my head. I will remember and honor my past but I am no longer going to continue searching for it in my present life.

This will be my Year of Learning. Learning to be present. Learning to be grateful. Learning how to write this first, new, post-surgery chapter of my life.

Musing Moment 0059: I’m Not Alone And Neither Are You

This was the post I made to my Facebook account last Friday. I feel it deserves to be on my blog as well, so here it is. I have left it unaltered, another coffee stained page folded and tucked away for safe keeping.

Fair warning. This post is not for the faint of heart. I’m not writing this for sympathy or empathy. I’m not writing this for myself. This isn’t a cry for help, and I honestly don’t want comments on it.

This post is meant for very specific people. They will know who they are. I don’t want their message tarnished with comments aimed at me. This isn’t for me. This is for them, because they’re worth it and deserve to know that.

These past four-ish months have been extremely hard for me. To the point that there have been two instances where I seriously contemplated suicide because things became so dark, cold, and hopeless that I honestly didn’t know how I could wake up the next day. I didn’t know how I could walk out to my car, drive to work, sit for four hours pretending that I was ok when inside the only thing I could think of was how much I hurt. How the only thing in the world I wanted was for that pain to end in whatever way that meant.

I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to keep going. Breathing, something which should be an unconscious action, took so much energy that it didn’t feel worth it. It would be so much easier to just not wake up.

I’m not writing this for people to think I need intervention. I don’t need help. I don’t need to be put into a padded cell and watched over.

What I need is for the other people, the ones who are quiet and wondering themselves how they’re going to keep going on, wondering how they’re going to keep breathing, to know that it is worth it. It’s worth the struggle.

There are people out there who care and love you and understand the pain you feel inside. The pain that feels as if you are bleeding out even though there’s no physical wound. There are people who understand how sometimes the thoughts of self-harm are all consuming because the hurt is so intense there becomes a compulsive need to manifest that pain.

I am not the only person to have experienced these emotions. I am not alone. I am not the only person to feel sadness, hopelessness, despair, and depression, even though during those horribly long, lonely hours the only thing I could think of was that I was alone.

But I’m not alone. And neither are you.

I want to reach out, publicly, and let anyone fighting their own fight to know that it’s ok. That it will be ok. The journey right now might seriously suck, and it might seem like the darkness will never end. But I promise it will. Sunlight does come back, and eventually the coldness slowly melts away and the pain stops and the wounds heal.

I’m writing this to let those people know that they’re not alone because sometimes that’s the only thing you need to know. Sometimes that one thing, having just one person reach out and say that they have felt what you feel, makes it worth continuing the fight.

You’re not alone, and you are loved. Keep fighting the good fight because you’re a badass. You got this. Give Life a giant middle finger and tell it to fuck off because no matter how hard it tries, it can’t keep you down. Prove it wrong. Show it that you’re strong. That you’re amazing. That you’re fantastic, and awesome and that you won’t be denied the happiness you deserve to feel.

You’re not fighting alone. I’m fighting with you, and together we’ll come out victorious.

Daily Post 000: The End of Summer One Year Later

Today marks the actual one-year anniversary for this blog. I knew it was coming up soon, but it was just a nebulous, “oh, it’s sometime in at the end of September” sort of knowing. I actually went back and looked at the date on my first post thought, and wouldn’t you know it says September 23, 2014.

One year.

Part of me feels so weary at that thought. All of the things…

And while I do feel weary and battle worn, it is a relaxed, restful weary. A contented feeling. A feeling of survival where I have given my all and made it, if just barely, and now all I have to do is focus on breathing. In out. In out. Blessed darkness as I close my eyes and let all of it go.

I feel like I have made it through something. Some fight that tested me to my very depths, making me push myself, strain, strive, question, rage, scream, cry in frustration and hopelessness as I kept fighting for no other reason than because I refused to give up. I refused to admit defeat. I refused to let someone else, something else, win. And now it’s over and all of it can wash away.

All of the dirt, grime, sadness, sorrow, pain. It can rinse away under the water until my skin is all that’s left. Frail, scratched, broken, bruised, but mine.

That’s where I’m at today. It is a very real day. Good in its own way, though painful as well.

I’m aware of just how much has happened since my last relationship. I’m aware of how I have moved three times. I’m aware of all of the stress and weight I have put on financial goals, not just the Bank of America card, but money in general. I’m aware of how I found aikido and how I also feel I have lost that outlet. I’m aware of how it was within this year that the situation with Ari altered. I’m aware of how my encounter with James was in December. Less than a year.

There have been so many moments that I have written about. So many points in time which mattered to me. Which made me hurt, which made me feel. Which made me smile. I’m aware that Tre left this year, and Nicole. I’m aware of how work as declined.

Thinking of things in reference to this day, a year ago, puts it into perspective.

I have survived a lot. I have endured a lot. And while there have been lots of good moments, looking back on it, a lot of it was rough. I feel like I’ve been a trooper. An ungraceful one, but one none the less.

I haven’t written for a few days, so on top of it being the one-year mark and having all of those overwhelming feelings, I have what feels like an eon’s worth of things to process.

Monday was great. After writing I went out to the living room to talk with Zane. I mentioned everything that I wanted to do, including the shopping. I said how even though the shopping was something that I wanted, I didn’t really want to go out, and I couldn’t figure out why. We ended up concluding that Monday was supposed to be an anti-social day, and going out sort of defeated the purpose of taking the day off… It seemed so obvious after talking about it.

So instead I stayed home and watched the last two episodes of Pycho-Pass. It was a pretty decent show. Not my favorite, but I wouldn’t be against having to watch it again. I wish the ending had been more complex for as involved and twisted as the rest of the show was. The conclusion seemed sort of hallow to me.

I did clean the kitchen hardcore. That made me feel good. Zane and I also think we’ve figured out why cleaning relaxes me. It’s because I can’t relax in a cluttered environment. I sit and stew about how things should be taken care of, so even if I’m not doing anything, my mind is stressing, and will continue to stress until whatever is out of place is “fixed”. It’s better to let me do it and get it out of my system so I can actually enjoy sitting still, rather than trying to force something that’s never going to happen.

So even though it was a day off I cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the room, went through my “in” pile which I haven’t touched since I’ve moved in. That was four months worth of build up. So much of those papers were garbage. I even went through my “important” box. It’s a portable storage filer where I keep all of the papers that I really aught hold on to. Tax information, passport nonsense, Scarlet’s vet forms, warranties and manuals.

I had car insurance contracts from 2011 in there… I’m pretty sure I don’t need to hold onto those anymore.

I didn’t go to the gym, but after all of the cleaning it felt like I had already had a workout. Zane and I did a bunch of cooking. I ended up going to sleep around 11pm which is crazy early for me since normally I don’t get home until midnight. Zane didn’t come to bed until around 5am. I think those were the main highlights for Monday. If I remember more I’ll toss it in.

Tuesday started super early for me. At 6am I was wide awake. I got up, made breakfast and coffee and poked around online. I completed all of the video assignments for my class and wrote my discussion post. I did a fair amount of research for my final assignment and even got a rough draft (read final copy) started.

I’m having a hard time meeting the 1000 word minimum though. I feel that I’ve answered all of the questions thoroughly with only 600ish words, and if I add more it’s just going to be filler that takes away from what I actually want to say.

I emailed my instructor today asking for her to read over what I have so far to see if she could let me know if any of the areas need further clarification, or if there’s a perspective that I haven’t explored yet. Aside from that I need to find images to help with the overall display of the information. It’s due on Sunday, so I think I’m doing well in that regard. I might even feel up to doing some extra credit for the class.

I went to a yoga class at 11am, and that totally, completely, kicked my ass. I’m not sure if it was just an intense class, or if I’ve slacked off that hardcore, or a combination of both… But yeah, I totally felt it afterwards. Even during it I was working up a pretty intense sweat.

Yoga class : 1
Jen : -9 million

Ok. It wasn’t that bad. In fact I was able to crack my back in several spots. Lately I’ve been having pain in-between my shoulder blades. I wasn’t able to get that particular area to crack, but I should be able to soon if I keep up with stretching. It would be nice to get back into proper alignment.

I called my mom after the gym since I haven’t talked with her in a while. I have a hard time talking to her when I’m depressed because I know she will know something’s wrong and with all of the distance between us it makes it hard.

I told her about how things had been rough. I actually wrote a post on Friday for my Facebook, where I admitted to the past four months being rough, and how there had been two instances where I had seriously contemplated suicide because I felt so overwhelmed with everything. Since my mom is on my Facebook she had seen the post.

I will most likely add that Facebook post to my blog. Another loose leaf page tucked into my journal.

I had posted it because everyone assumes that I’m fine. That I’m always ok and that I’m this bright shiny beacon of peaceful perfection, when I’m not. I struggle and fight and feel bad just like everyone else. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed, and sometimes the darkness is so dark I don’t know where to go or how to find the light that I know is there.

Sometimes the only thing you need to know to keep fighting is that someone else has felt the way you feel. Sometimes that one, single truth is enough to make it worth the struggle.

In my post I said that I didn’t need help or intervention. What I needed was for the other people out there to know that they weren’t alone. That I was fighting with them, and that together we would be victorious.

I worried about making that post, but it felt like the right thing to do. So I did it.

My mom and I talked about it. We talked about the fight that Zane and I had, and how he had hugged me and said everything was ok. How things have been going ok since then. How I was taking the day off. How I felt like I was getting better, but still sort of hesitant about it. It’s like the calm before the storm in a way, and I’m waiting for depression to come back and drop kick me in the face.

It was a really good conversation. I just wish we could have had it face to face over lunch or something.

We talked about work, and the apartment. We talked about my younger brother, and how she’s doing now that the house sold. We talked about my older brother and what’s going on out in Vegas. Both of our phones ended up close to dead before we said goodbye. We’re going to try to chat more at some point this week since we both had more to say.

So all of that happened while I was sitting in my car in the gym parking lot, at least for the most part. I ended up driving to the bank and getting $20 for the laundry card so I could have clean cloths. Oh, the silly obsessions I have…

I ended up saying goodbye to mom after I had gotten back to the apartment. Zane was up by the time I got back home. After showering I went back out to Salvation Army to do the shopping I wanted to do. It’s closer then Goodwill, and while I wanted to be out, I didn’t want to go all that far.

I got three new outfits for $20. Most of the stuff I got was actually half priced. I got three skirts and three tops to go with them. They’re long skirts that go to my ankles, and they’re swooshy. I think of them as peasant skirts. Two are dark brown and one is black. I really like them.

When I got back I was super tired. Between schoolwork, yoga, talking to mom, and an hour picking through cloths and trying stuff on I was beat. I took about a two-hour nap before Zane woke me up. We did laundry and started watching Sherlock since we needed a new show to watch together.

I have seen two episodes so far. Oh man. So much amazing. I’m already hooked on it.

Since laundry was done before I went in to work I was able to wear one of my new outfits. I also totally put all of the cloths away. Go me.

It was a little awkward wearing the new outfit to work. But the only way to get comfortable with something new is to not shy away from it. So yeah, I wore a skirt to work with a girly top. I compromise with myself and wore my Army hoodie, so while I was girly, I was still within an acceptable comfort zone.

Small steps…

It didn’t feel like I got much done at work last night. Clavan wants me to do better with clocking in and out. Part of me doesn’t care, but I know I will put in more effort because Clavan is actually a good boss. It’s the system I’m frustrated with, and he’s at its mercy as much as I am.

I got to start my new cross-stitch project. I’ve done this pattern before, so I know I’m going to enjoy it.

I ended up going home and watching the second episode of Sherlock with Zane. After that we went to sleep and that was my Tuesday. Long and tiring, but productive and good.

And so here we are, most of the way through Wednesday.

I woke up feeling like today was going to be broken, like listening to a scratched up CD. All of the events were going to be hiccups of time, disjointed and bumpy feeling, and so far it hasn’t proved me wrong.

Today was Shading and Lighting, so I had to go in at 1pm. I woke up at 9:30 even though I didn’t go to sleep until after 3am. I had a weird dream that I may write about. I still remember all of it surprisingly.

Anyway, I was tired, and sore (damn you yoga!), but I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, so up it was… Breakfast and coffee happened, along with checking email. There was a blog that I wanted to reply to, which ended up taking a bit of time because I couldn’t write a handful of sentences. Nope. My INFJ self had to write two pages worth of “This is my opinion”. Hopefully it’s helpful though.

Zane woke up right when I was finishing my writing. He was still super tired, too. We talked about the dreams we both had. We talked about the day, and how I felt like mine was going to be rough. I showered eventually.

Oh! One more thing that happened on Tuesday. I ended up catching everyone in the kitchen so I brought up an issue that I had. Go me, again!

I asked if we could make the eggs communal since we take up a fair amount of space in the fridge to have three different cartons, all different sizes, of eggs, and how the carton of eggs that Zane and I had bought ended up getting knocked over so some of our eggs broke.

I should mention that when I saw the broken eggs on Monday that I went into furious “Dragon of Rage” mode. So I was super proud that I was able to let go of that anger for the conversation.

So, long story short, eggs are now communal. We won’t have to waste so much space with everyone having their own thing of eggs, and it was a fairly smooth encounter. Huzzah.

Back to today…

I went into work early so I could scan some of the cross-stitch projects that I’ve been able to finish. To keep from spamming WordPress I’ll be posting them over the next few days. I have already added them to my Facebook, though. One of my friends made a comment saying he unliked my album just so he could like it again. XD

I have some pretty amazing friends.

He actually sent me a private message asking if I could be commissioned for a personal cross-stich, to which I said of course. I would love to. So we’re going to try to meet up tomorrow night. He leaves work the time I’m showing up, so I’m going to try going in early.

I replied to several work related messages on Facebook, I got my work email squared away. I got more information about the classes I’ll be taking over the next two months due to the switch in degrees I’m making. I called and got more information about taking my certification test. They aren’t open on weekends so I’ll most likely be taking the test next week.

I ended up sending an email to the test center with a list of questions because I didn’t get all of the information I wanted from the receptionist I spoke to. I’m hoping to have that information by tomorrow. So that’s underway.

I took a stereotype test online for my class. That was actually pretty interesting. It was a resource from last week, but I never got around to looking into it.

Work was actually super frustrating today. An email was sent out about one of the departments. It resulted in Frank being gone for a bit in two instances, and what I can only categorize as a bitch-fest about work upon his return. I totally fed into it. I have so much frustration build up about the environment right now. I’m not the happy optimistic, “go team, go!” person when it comes to work.

I’m more of the “I’m sick of being screwed over, so I’m going to stand back and watch all of this catch on fire and burn to the ground, maybe dance on the ashes, but more likely just grind said ashes under my heels as I stand in the center of the destruction and bask in the feel of everything getting its just reward, possibly even helping to spread the fire so as to ensure nothing escapes its much deserved fate” sort of person right now though.

Yep. Still in line with my shadow traits right now and that whole, “Screw you, and the horse you rode in on, and the one the sired it, too” sort of mentality.

My plan is to talk to Clavan and say that I need, not want, need, to go back to having two days off. It doesn’t matter that my days are fairly short days. I’m not getting the alone time I need and that’s factoring into my “death and destruction” mindset when it comes to work. I don’t get enough space away from it, so it’s a sensitive wound that keeps getting poked at. Or from my perspective, stabbed at, repeatedly, with a rusty spoon.

But yeah, work was just a bunch of frustration because everything that I’m sensitive about felt like it was raked over hot coals because of the conversation with Frank.

I had planned on staying at work until after rush hour, but after that conversation I just couldn’t. No matter where I went there was going to be people and I didn’t want to take out my frustration on anyone. So home it was. I didn’t calm down any by being alone in my car. So when I came into the apartment I hugged Zane and basically emotionally vomited all my frustration on him…

If that doesn’t sound sexy that’s because it wasn’t…

Though it was pretty comical now. He pulled out the container of Talenti ice cream and we stood in the kitchen passing it back and forth as I ~~ranted~~ explained the new development at work, the frustration of the lab, and the conversation with Frank about the development.

Arg! Rage! Rawr! *eats some ice cream*

More rage and rawr! *stabs ice cream with spoon*

Does any of this make me a bad person? Wait. Scratch that. Zero fucks given right now. Burn it all to the ground! *stabs ice cream again*

I sort of feel bad for the ice cream now… It’s probably traumatized what with a crazy white chick stabbing it and stuff…

There were several times where Zane said that he realized that I was angry and frustrated, but that he was standing right by me, and that I didn’t need to be quit so loud. I didn’t even realize my voice was raised, that’s how much my emotions were in control. I had to fume and vent and get it all out, and poor Zane was amazing and let me have my tirade.

We’ve changed plans a little due to how today went down at work. We’re going to move date night partially to tonight. We’re going to Arby’s for dinner, and then going to the Publix in the same plaza because we need to get a few things like eggs, deodorant for him, and razors for me. I had wanted to do the shopping before coming home, but that wasn’t going to happen, and now I don’t feel like going out alone. So we’re going to go together.

Past that I want to work on my cross-stitch and listen to my book, maybe watch another episode of Sherlock. I’m not sure yet. But that’s been my day so far.

Today also marks the Fall equinox. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Sort of sad I guess. Summer is over, officially, though I felt its passing stronger on Monday than I do today. It was something I mentioned to Zane. How I could feel it in my skin, the turning, the changing.

Summer died on Monday, and there is a realness with that fact which is somber. Much like how this is one year for me. While some people will see a reason to celebrate, it’s like I see everything and so the sadness negates the joy until there is only fact.

Almost all of this summer I was fighting, struggling, with myself. I suppose that lines up with this year, though. I feel like I was confronted with one of my worst fears and I held on. I flinched, and struggled, and thought about running away, but I didn’t. I stayed, and I think that I should acknowledge that about myself and this situation.

I could have left. When Zane first lost his job, heck, when they started cutting his hours and I knew internally that things were going to get worse I could have moved back with Jeremy and Ashley. I could have not paid Zane’s bills and made the situation worse for him. I could have done so many other things instead of trying to stand beside him through this. I could have ditched, cut my losses, instead of investing and saying that this dynamic is worth it.

I feel like I didn’t really come out standing. I feel like he had to drag me through a lot of it while I made it worse by giving into fear. He helped carry me through this all while trying to carry his own inner turmoil. But I stayed. We stayed. And I think that says something about the dynamic we have.

We might not be each other’s forever, but I think we’ll have a bond of comradery and a certain level of trust and respect because of the situation we went / are going through. It’s not fixed yet, but October 12^th isn’t that far away, and we’re doing well. I feel like we’re winning.

So summer is over. This year has been rough. Work still sucks. I haven’t lost all of the weight I wanted to. I haven’t paid off my credit card like I wanted.

But I’ve survived.

So take that, Life. Screw you, Unvierse. You can’t keep me down.

Today marks the day that one year ago I shaved my head. Today marks the day that I decided that I was going to be true to myself, and so far I feel I have been. It’s been hard, and some things haven’t changed as much as I wanted. But I am a different person than what I was.

No. Not different. I’m still me. I have learned though. I have learned more about myself and what I need, and what I want. It will be an ongoing process. For the rest of my life I’m sure. I hope.

I am doing well, so here’s to another year.

Here’s to another chance, another day, to make myself a better me.

Cheers.

New Scene – Felix Cartal, Ofelia

Daily Post 0192: Some Much Needed Sunlight

Yesterday wasn’t without it’s darkness, but in the end was nice and today seems to be a journey on a bright, sunlit path.

I don’t even remember why we fought, but Zane and I did. Badly. That hopeless feeling was consuming everything inside me. The sound of the bedroom door closing when he walked away from me felt like what I would imagine a shotgun wound would feel like in my chest.

For a while I stayed on the couch. There wasn’t thought. There wasn’t anything. I remembered how I had written that I would be proud of my actions from now on. How I wouldn’t stay on the couch all day letting depression kill me. And for a while I couldn’t bring myself to get up. All I could to was think that after everything I have gone through in my life so far that this would be it. This would be the end of my story and it would be a shitty ending.

Worst book ever.

I then started thinking about how I was supposed to stop being a jerk to myself, and that my thoughts were pretty jerkish at the moment.

Hey, by the way, you’re failing even more… failingest failure ever to go along with a shitty ending.

Thanks… Not like I wasn’t feeling crappy enough as it was. You know what? Screw you, Brain. I’m going to feel better just to spite you. Just because it will make a sick, twisted part of me happy to see your plans foiled. Forget you and all of the garbage you constantly throw at me right now. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of this situation.

Eventually I got up, wiping the tears away. I went to the sink, because of course there were dishes to do. I could do that. I can wash stuff, make it clean. I can do something productive.

While I was washing Zane came back out. I was so tense. I wanted to hide, I wanted desperately to not hurt. I wanted for everything to be ok. I wanted for there to be a reason for the hurt, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I still don’t.

He started making a hookah bowl, not speaking. It felt like he was ignoring me, which I couldn’t really blame him. Who wants to deal with emotional BS every awaking moment of everyday?

I bit my lip as breathing became harder. He came to the sink to rinse the stem piece off and I stepped to the side so I wouldn’t be in the way. I didn’t think he wanted to touch me, the distance between us felt like worlds. Universes. So close and yet we couldn’t have been further apart.

He walked away, set the stem down, then came back and wrapped his arms around me, sighing. The touch was gentle and yet it felt like I was being crushed by sadness. He’s going to pull away. He’s going to leave. Don’t take comfort. It’s a lie.

He told me to turn around. I knew he would see the new tears, so I didn’t want to. I tried to not do it, but so much of me wanted this hug. Needed to know that we were ok. I put my head against his shoulder, biting my lip harder, trying to hold it together.

“Everything’s ok,” he whispered in my ear.

And all I could do was cling to him. That’s all I want. To wake up and for things to not be bad. For us to not fight over stupid shit. To not feel like a terrible person, a failure, because not matter what there’s always something that I seem to do wrong. Everyday, something.

After a few minutes of closeness I was better. More composed. At least enough to get a paper towel so I wasn’t an absolute mess. Just mostly a mess. Rational thought returning gradually.

I sat in one of the kitchen chairs while he continued going about making the hookah. We talked. The thing I remember the most is asking why there always had to be a problem.

“What’s wrong? What can I do to make things better?”

Every time we see each other, which in my head is always, he asks me those questions. And every time I’m normally fine, but he doesn’t accept that answer. I’m not smiling. There has to be something wrong, and he keeps poking until I become frustrated, and then he feels attacked, and then I feel bad, and I think that was part of the issue yesterday.

It was supposed to be introvert day for me. He said I could have space, yet every time he came into the living room it was, “Are you ok? Is something wrong? Can I do anything?”

You can go burn in a fire? Is that an ok answer on introvert day?

While we were in the kitchen, talking about the blow up he said that there didn’t have to be a problem, but that he wanted there to be something that he could fix. He wanted there to be something he could do to make me happy because it felt like weeks since he had seen me smile. He said it felt like I have been seriously depressed for so long and he just wanted to help.

I can understand that. How not having something to fight can make you feel useless, helpless. If only there was something to slay. Some evil to conquer.

I told him that all that needs to happen to to let time pass. That I’m in the process of healing on my own, and had actually been feeling better before our spat, but that his constant poking at my wounds makes it sort of hard to heal around his fingers.

He laughed at that, saying it was a pretty good way of putting it.

I said how being around him has become stressful. How he doesn’t feel like that friend I can hang out with on a bad day, playing video games and not having to pretend that things are ok. It doesn’t feel like I can be me. I have to keep up the “act” when I come home. I have to be happy, always. It’s stressful and draining. Nothing is wrong. Nothing needs to be fixed. I just need a safe space where I don’t have to pretend and not have the reality of being sad be a bad thing.

It’s not him. It’s the situation. And I know that gets confusing, because he’s part of the situation. But he’s the one cooking dinner and making sure I eat. He’s only asking if I’m ok because he’s concerned and wants to help. He’s frustrated because he feels like he’s to blame, and when he tries to “fix” things it seems to become worse.

We all want something to blame. We want a thing to be responsible. As humans we want, need, something tangible. But sometimes there isn’t a “thing”. Sometimes it’s just life. Sometimes it’s a concept, and neboulous collections of thoughts and events outside of your control.

Sometimes it’s just the path you’re on and the only way to get through it is to keep going, even though it sucks. You can’t turn back, so the only choice is to keep going forward through the vines and thorns, getting scrapped up and bloodied. Yeah, we may be on this path because of our choices, and it’s painful and we’ll have new scars, but at least we’re on it together. We’re making it through together.

We ended up smoking a hookah with a mint water basin and rose shisha. It was a new mix, I think I like the chia tea mix more though.

So after all of that he ended up watching Critical Roll on my laptop in the living room while I finished listening to Dragonflight and kept working on my new cross-stitch. I finished the first book and began Dragonquest actually. Not sure how far I am into the book, but I’m enjoying re-listening to the story.

I ended up being in a fairly stable place when I went into work. There was more news about the changes in the meeting yesterday, and I guess the school is altering the way lectures are going to be conducted. I don’t know how that is going to affect the lab schedule, but I know Clavan will do his best to not have the lab staff screwed over, so I’ll just wait to see what happens with that. I’ll know in about a week. Hard to believe the month is almost over. That it’s already Friday.

Zane and I watched a few episodes of Psycho-Pass when I got home, and afterwards we both went to sleep, together, in the same room, in the same bed. The first time in about a week. I woke up a handful of times, but was able to get back to sleep each time. I woke up around 9, decided that 9am sucked, and went back to sleep until 10:30.

John and Trevor were gone already. I had my coffee in the living room alone eating a handful of strawberries for breakfast while Zane checked his email.

Today is supposed to be a low day. Take care of the storage unit, go to sports bar, go to work, work on homework, come home. The end.

Tomorrow Zane and I are supposed to have a “game day” most likely consisting of watching the rest of Psycho-Pass. No obligations. No people. No social stuff. Just chilling and decompressing because I mentioned how Sundays don’t feel like days off for me anymore. They’re the days for Pathfinder games. They’re a social obligation now, and in a way that sucks. They’re fun, but a stress at the same time. At least when I don’t have any other days to offset the social aspect of work and the game. I need a quiet day and I’ve been neglecting that.

So that’s what tomorrow is supposed to be. I’m looking forward to it. I’m looking forward to going home today.

I have already taken care of the storage unit issue. They actually fixed it for me without my knowing, so when I went into the store it was an amazingly fantastic surprise. The problem took care of itself. The Universe does still love me, and some things can actually get solved easily.

So not only did I have a good morning with good coffee creamer (because I opted not do use the hazel nut today), but the worst thing I had to get done today was actually most likely the easiest thing on my list.

I’m currently at my sports bar, my food staring at me uneaten as I write. I’m almost done with my blog with 2% left on my battery life, because I’m a bawce like that. I have all of the information I need for my assignment so if I can get that into a rough layout I can save formatting for tomorrow or, more likely, Sunday, before the game.

And past that it will be over 24 hours of whatever Zane and I choose to do. I feel relief, I feel better. I have an idea for a project that I want to do for some really special people in my life, and that gives me motivation. I have a purpose right now, something I’m working towards, and that makes me feel good.

I have a new theme song playing over and over in my head since last night. The lines that speak most deeply to me are, “Stand unafraid,” and “How can you expect to win the war if you’re too afraid to fight?”

Soft Skeletons – Anberlin

I’m looking forward to today. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

I’m not afraid to fight. I may still have darkness to travel through, but today I’m going to enjoy the sunshine. It’s not dark all the time, and today is a reminder of that. It’s worth the struggle.

Daily Post 0174: Leading By Example

It’s 10:30. I’m sitting at the kitchen table since I cleared off a space on it. Zane is in the room sleeping. He was up late and isn’t ready to wake up yet.

Yesterday was another day that started well enough and then ended badly. For both of us.

There was an off-handed comment, I’m sure it was meant to be self-depreicating and a ‘joke’, But it wasn’t funny to me. And I don’t know what to do with the swarm of anger and sadness inside me.

I scanned my artwork yesterday before leaving school. I got to see Mike, a co-worker who was moved to a different department. I got to see Sean as well and split a cookie with him since there was leftover food in the breakroom from some meeting that had happened.

I went home and was able to go to kickboxing. It was a good workout, but the sound system kept messing up so it was a little frustrating. I came home and had time to spend with Zane before showering and going to dinner.

I had a wonderful evening with Nicole, Marc, and Desiree. I might be seeing Nicole on Thursday before she leaves town at 3 in the morning on Friday. She’s nervous but excited about her move. I’m hoping everything works out for her. She deserves it.

I came back home afterwards, and that when things got a little icky.

The sink was full of dishes, and none of them were mine. I had cleaned the kitchen before I left for work, and it had been empty before going out to dinner. Zane was in the room watching anime. He had drawn a little bit earlier in the day while I was at work, and I actually like how his sketch turned out, but he had said job stuff would happen and it didn’t seem like anything had.

And this was after I had a conversation with my mom where I said I felt like the situation was different. How I reassured her that even though the situation was rough and sort of sucky, that I felt like leaving would be the wrong thing. I felt like I was eating my words.

Zane asked what was wrong, I mentioned the kitchen, which he said he would take care of. I asked about job applications. He hadn’t done anything. He would tomorrow.

I said ok.

He asked if I was alright. I was quiet for a little while, then I said that I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. That I didn’t want to be angry, but part of me was. I asked what he would feel if he was in my situation.

His answer was angry. I nodded. Scarlet was in the room, sitting in front of me as I sat in my computer chair, contemplating my situation. I ended up curling up on the floor with her so we could cuddle. It was comforting to feel her purring next to me.

Zane actually ended up filling out a few applications while I was spending time with Scarlet. There was silence which I was thankful for.

One of the applications he is in the process of filling out is for a post office position. It pays 15 an hour, but I guess the application is beyond annoying since it is a government job. He ended up getting frustrated because he has to call a number to get some information, so he didn’t finish the application last night.

Instead he stopped. He would finish it when he woke up since the place he needed to call wouldn’t be open at midnight. We watched an episode of Aldnoah. Three more left. We’re supposed to finish it today, but I don’t think we will. I don’t think I’m up for it. At least not right now.

When the episode was over we started talking. He’s upset and frustrated. He doesn’t want to get a part time job because it won’t be enough money. I had mentioned applying at the grocery stores or other businesses close to the apartment. He doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want to work in fast food. He doesn’t want to have to go through that for the fourth time in his life.

I can understand that. But I can also see how it’s not fair to me. He doesn’t feel like he deserves this hardship in his life, but I don’t feel like I deserve it either. I don’t think it’s right that I sell valuable items to cover someone else’s life because they don’t feel like they should have to work a part time minimum wage job while I go to work and not only deal with my stress but the added stress of figuring out how to support someone else.

If he had been working part time minimum wage for the past two months he would have his bike fixed already. He would be able to apply to more jobs because travel wouldn’t be an issue.

I told him that if he worked at all, that the money could go towards the bike. That I would keep covering as much as I could of his expenses so he could get it fixed since that’s one of the main issues.

He said ok. That he would apply to more places.

I don’t know how it came about, but he ended up saying that a solution would be going outside and stepping into traffic but at midnight there wasn’t traffic. How then he wouldn’t be a burden to those around him.

I was furious. I was hurt. I still am.

I left the living room. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have anything except blind emotion. Righteous fury blended seamlessly with ice cold depression.

I went into the room and had an angry cry where I felt like my actions aren’t enough. My effort and caring aren’t enough. My support isn’t enough.

I can’t be his will to live. I can’t be his will to change. He has to want that for himself. He has to want to be in a different place in life rather than sitting and wallowing in icky, murky water.

Just like me. We both have to want to change, and to actually do things to alter the situation.

I feel like I am. I feel like I’m working on myself, and putting in more effort into maintaining emotional stability. I feel like I’m doing better with the gym and that plays a huge role into it. I feel like I’m trying.

I can’t be the change for him. I can only be an example.

I wish this didn’t hurt.

Daily Post 0059: Not for the Faint of Heart

Massive disclaimer: This is not a feel good post.

In fact this talks about some pretty not cool situations that very few people in my life know about, but which are currently relevant due to events on Monday.

Because of that I feel the need to write about them.

I know I haven’t written much. I still haven’t gotten around to my weekly saga, and last week was the end of February, so I have a monthly recap to do as well.

Between being sick, switching back over to a PM schedule, and my Monday afternoon I haven’t been up for the tasks.

Mainly the thing that has me so quiet about my days is that right now I am very introspective.

Warren #2 has popped back up in a way.

I don’t think I ever really explained him. I know I’ve mentioned him in previous posts. How he’s an ex, and how he was a negative relationship. But I don’t think I’ve ever fully explained the why behind him.

He was roughly two years of my life. He was the person I dated after Joe, who I wrote about here.

Warren was supposed to have been a one night stand. I had just broken up with Joe, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could “be just like the guys” and not have to have an emotional connection. I didn’t need the emotions, and I could have sex and have it just be that. A physical experience.

I wish I had known myself better. I understand now that I was hurt, and that I was lashing out and being mildly self destructive. I understand my personality type better, and that for me sex and intimate interactions ARE emotional for me, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just part of who I am.

I had just started taking classes for my degree, and some of the people I considered friends were going to a party, and offered for me to go with them. That’s where I met Warren #2.

He was super forward with me. At the time I didn’t mind that he was in my space. That’s what I wanted, so I didn’t view it as rude or inconsiderate, though I probably should have.

He ended up coming home with me, and never really left. He moved in with one of the friends who took me to the party. And since we both lived in the same complex Warren #2 was always over at my apartment.

There’s two years worth of events between then and the last time that I saw him. So many things happened, good and bad (though honestly there was more bad than good). But all of that is for a different post. I have come to terms with a lot of the things that happened, but to understand what happened Monday I have to explain certain parts of my time with Warren.

So while, yes, I acknowledge there were good times, I need to explain these bad times, so they tie into the bigger story.

Warren was / is a very mean person. While I was taking classes he would tell me how he thought college was a waste of time, and how my degree was a useless art degree. How I would never have a successful career, and how the money I was spending on school was a waste.

He yelled and cursed any time we had a fight. He thought that was normal and healthy for a relationship. Telling me to go fuck myself was ok, and he didn’t understand why I was hurt after our fights. Why I didn’t want to be around him, talk to him, let alone have him touch me.

If I didn’t want to have sex I was a bitch. He would get angry and more yelling would happen, which I hated. I only every wanted to make him happy. That’s the point of a relationship, for two people to be happy and to deal with the stresses of life together. Not to make more stress.

So I learned to not say no when he wanted sex. I learned that going through with it was the lesser evil.

I never realized until after our breakup that there was never cuddling, or kissing. There was never affection. Not even after sex.

He would always leave and shower afterwards, which bothered me. I wanted the closeness and affection, and not having that need met hurt. When I mentioned it he said it was because he didn’t like smelling like me.

That comment made me feel like I was something gross.

One of the things that I tried to share with Warren was my interest in BDSM. Warren #1 and I had an extremely heathy and functional life style relationship. It was something that I had for five years, and it was something that I extremely enjoyed.

It was something that I thought was ‘normal’.

Not normal as in everyone is into it. But normal as in, we’re not harming anyone, this is consensual, there isn’t anything wrong with having fun, type of normal.

Warren said that because of my interest in BDSM that I was mentally unstable, that I should be on medication. That the relationship dynamic that I wanted was dysfunctional, and that I had ‘daddy issues’.

Yet all of his sexual interests were acceptable and ok, even though by society’s standards they are more unacceptable than BDSM.

I felt his comments were unfair, closed minded, and shallow.

There is a BDSM establishment that we went to a few times. I had been there on my own for a few of the Submissive Safe Space meetings. Warren went with me a few times, to try to get a feel for being a more dominate partner, and to find a mentor who would be a person Warren to go to and ask for information, guidance, that sort of a thing.

BDSM isn’t all that hard or confusing, but it can be nice to have someone to talk to about it. That’s a completely different subject though, and not the point of this post either.

The main thing is that whenever we went to this establishment we would have a massive fight, and it was always an awful experience for me. After a while I stopped trying to bring the subject up. He wasn’t interested in meeting my masochistic needs, and he didn’t want me to get those needs fulfilled outside of the relationship.

I felt like an awful person. I went from a relationship where these needs were understood, to being told that I was ‘fucked up’. I started questioning myself. I had never thought my sexuality was bad or wrong. But now I wasn’t sure.

Maybe I was messed up. I met his needs, but maybe mine really were just too out there.

I ended up stuffing those wants and needs as far down as I could. I never brought them up again, and I accepted the fact that while I was with Warren I would never be able to express that aspect of myself.

One of the fights we had was about my submissiveness. I asked him what my submission met to him. And he replied with “Nothing. It means nothing.”

For my, my submission is my love. My submission is my time. I am doing acts of service for you because I love you. And to be told that my submission, my love, meant nothing was agony.

One of the nights we came home from the BDSM establishment wasn’t all that bad. We ended up on the couch. Him sitting, me with my head in his lap.

He was petting my hair and we were actually talking, not arguing. I felt safe and like we were actually communicating and getting somewhere.

He said that part of the reason he didn’t like the whole BDSM thing was because of the place we went to. He didn’t like the establishment.

For me that was odd. It was a ‘no sex on premises’ establishment, there was rules you had to follow, there were ‘Dungeon Masters’ to make sure people were safe. There was no alcohol allowed. Everyone was super nice and friendly and more than happy to share information. It was a really healthy community and what I felt was an extremely safe environment.

So I asked what about the place made him uncomfortable.

While he was petting my hair, while I felt safe and secure, he told me that the reason he didn’t like it was because he was embarrassed to be seen in public with me when I didn’t have my cloths on.

He told me that after I had just lost ten pounds. After I had been going to the gym every day for a month. He said that he didn’t believe that I worked out as hard as I said I did because if I did I would have lost more weight by now.

That is what caused me to be suicidal. The one and only time in my life where I seriously lost sight of any reason to live.

It didn’t matter what effort I was putting in to better myself. My very existence was an embarrassment to him. I didn’t fit the image of a Playboy bunny, and because of that he was embarrassed by me.

I couldn’t even cry.

I felt nothing, literally nothing, for days. I stayed in my room, in bed. I didn’t eat. I didn’t cook. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t go to the gym. I stayed at home, moving as little as possible because breathing was hard enough on its own.

I slept a lot, and when I wasn’t sleep I hurt so much that all I could think about was dying.

I thought about how I wanted to do it, but that would mean that I would have to get up. And, if I did, what would happen to Scarlet? It always came back to her. My cat. What would happen to my cat if I died?

It wasn’t thoughts of my mom, or my brothers, or Warren. Who would take care of my poor cat?

There was a night a little while after the ‘discussion’ with Warren that he came to my doorway. In a soft voice he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. I didn’t answer, but I made myself get out of bed.

We lived near a bike trail, and there’s a section of it that turns into a bridge that crosses over a busy street. It’s the same bridge that I talk about running up in some of my previous posts.

I was silent the whole walk. He didn’t say anything to me. He didn’t try to touch me, and I didn’t reach for him.

When we made it to the top of the bridge I stood there, my fingers laced through the fence running along the sides, and I looked out over the street, at the headlights driving by below us.

“What are you thinking?” he asked me.

I was quiet for a really long time. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be thinking at all. I didn’t want there to be this pain in my chest.

But after a little while I couldn’t keep the words in anymore. I wanted someone to know how I felt, and he was the only one there.

“I’m thinking that if the fence wasn’t here that I would jump. I’m thinking that everyone always comments about how strong I am. And that reminds me of an oak tree. I’m strong, tall, and proud on the outside. And that’s all anyone can see. But on the inside I am dying. I am rotting away, and one day I will fall, crashing down to the Earth and there will be no recovery. I will be dead.”

I never looked away from the street while I spoke, and I didn’t stop looking at the headlights after I was done. I have no idea what his expression was for any of it. But I remember what he said afterwards.

“That’s really emo.”

I didn’t have anything in me to feel worse. I was already as low as I could be. His words meant nothing to me. He meant nothing.

The thing that saved me from that consuming depression was Scarlet. There was one day not long after the walk that she jumped onto my futon where I was curled up and she meowed at me. And meowed, and meowed, and meowed, and would not leave me alone.

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, then I had the first real thought I had had since Warren’s first comments. She most likely didn’t have water. Or food. Maybe for days. No one had touched the litter box I was sure.

I could neglect myself. I could try to kill myself through starvation if I wanted, but it wasn’t fair to neglect Scarlet.

She’s the one who pulled me out of it, because she needed me to be there. After I took care of her food and water, it was easier to make the bed. It was easier to see that I needed to shower.

Life still went on. And I could go on too. Not for Warren, but for Scarlet. Because I loved her, and she loved me and she needed me to be there for her.

There was a time when Warren and I were fighting and he stormed out of my room, so I shut the door so I could get space away from him. We had an agreement that he wasn’t allowed in my room unless he asked permission. My room was my space, it was what I was paying rent for. My area.

When I shut the door he came and opened it. He didn’t come in, just sort of threw the door open like he was offended that I had closed it, and the stormed off again.

Super pissed, I closed the door and locked it, so he couldn’t open it again. I went back to my computer, fuming inside my head, but not really doing much of anything.

Not a minute later, Warren picked the lock to my door, came into my room, and pushed me out of the computer chair onto the floor. I was scared. I was pissed, and I knew if I stood up that things would escalate further. So I stayed on the ground while he yelled at me.

Another time we were fighting and somehow we ended up on my futon. He was above me and I was trying to push him away. Our hands were tangled together. His hand slipped and hit me in the jaw.

I seriously do not think he meant to hit me. He didn’t even seem to realize that he had. But it had hurt, and shocked me. It was the first and only time I had been hit in the face. I stopped fighting back. I was still crying, but I stopped resisting. I never said ‘no’, but I didn’t want the events that followed. And when he was done, he left the room as if nothing had happened, as if I wasn’t still crying into my pillow.

He went and played Team Fortress 2 and I stayed alone in the dark, my one space, my room, desecrated.

All of those things, and more. And still I stayed with him for two years. We broke up and I went back to him. And I could never justify why.

I always made excuses for him.

He didn’t really mean it that way. I really was being overly sensitive. I was emotional and overreacting like he said I was. It was my fault. I was doing things wrong, and not thinking about his feelings. I was the one who was selfish.

I believed the things he told me. I felt the way he told me I should feel, and I stayed with him. For so long.

I don’t write these things for sympathy. I write them because they factor into Monday.

After the breakup I didn’t talk to Warren very much. He would message me every once in a while. He missed me and wanted to hang out. But hanging out always meant sex. And even after all of the horrible things he said and did to me, there was part of me who missed him, and so I would go to his place, and I would hate myself afterwards.

There ended up being a girl that he wanted me to meet. Ashley.

We hung out twice. We both really liked each other and thought we could be friends, but Ashley was going to start dating Warren and thought it might get awkward, so we agreed that we wouldn’t hang out. It was a mutual choice.

A few months after they started dating Ashley messaged me and asked of Warren had ever been physically abusive. I answered her honestly, explaining what my experiences had been.

I told her that my experiences might not be her experiences, and that I wasn’t saying to stay away from Warren, but that she should listen to the little voice inside her head, because it wouldn’t steer wrong.

That was the last time I talked to Ashley until Monday afternoon.

I had been at the gym, literally, had just gotten done running another solid half mile and was feeling super proud of myself, when I got a text message from a number I didn’t recognize.

The person said they were Ashley and they were trying to reach Jen.

I said that I was Jen, but that I knew several Ashley’s. Could they be a bit more specific?

She explained who she was, Warren’s girlfriend.

I was so happy to hear from her. She really is a cool person, and it made me warm for her to reach out to me.

I said that I remembered her, and asked how things were going.

She said bad. That things had gotten so low, and blew so out of control, and that she really needed to talk to someone who would understand.

I immediately went into care taker mode. I knew how bad things could get with Warren because I had been there. I knew she would need someone to simply be there to listen. To let her know that she wasn’t crazy, or a bad person, or doing the wrong thing by leaving. I knew she needed someone to listen to her tell her side of the story. Someone who would believe her.

So I dropped all plans for the rest of the night, even aikido, because I didn’t know how long this would be, and it didn’t matter.

I would be there until she felt ok.

So we arranged to meet at a park. Somewhere out in the open, away from people.

We hugged when we met, but she was so frail, so different from the person from two years ago.

She told me mostly about the past two months since that was when things started getting super bad. But she told me lots of stories about things Warren did over those two years. Stories that made my heart bleed.

For as bad as some of my experiences were, Ashley went through so much worse. The police actually got involved and were trying to get her to press charges.

She said she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to do anything other than to have Warren go away, to leave her alone and be out of her life.

I know those feelings. I was there. Where the only thought is to get away. Far away. So he can’t hurt you anymore.

I told her that if she didn’t want to press charges because she seriously didn’t want to, that I understood and respected that. But if it was because she didn’t want to stand alone, that I would stand with her.

I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I don’t think she will do anything. Warren isn’t staying at the house with her and her other roommate. So there’s that at least. The locks have been changed, and I think the situation has been made public enough that Warren wouldn’t try to do anything like break in.

That leaves a room available for rent at Ashley’s place. It would be $250 total, for everything. It is closer to school then Monica’s place, and a bigger room. So I am going to be looking at the room in the next few days just to see if it is an option I want to explore further.

Ashley was going to go to aikido with me tonight, but that ended up not working out. My phone got dropped in water on Monday, so it’s been acting screwy, and we weren’t able to get in touch with each other tonight. So she opted to stay home instead.

I don’t blame her. I would have done the same thing. Mostly because we’re both INFJs, which might be why we get along so well. We understand each other’s brains.

I don’t know really where I was going with any of this.

I know that I am a much different person now. I know a lot of that has to do because of Warren. After Warren I was single for a year. The was the longest time I had been out of a relationship since I was 14.

I went from Warren #1, to Joe, to Warren #2, to Corey, back to Warren #2, to single, to Jarrett, then Sir, and now back to single.

That year I healed a lot, but there are still things that I need to work through.

One of the moves in aikido is a pin where one person ends up on their back, the other person is leaning above them, on their knees, and their hands are pressing the other person down onto the mat.

I can’t do that move. I just can’t yet.

And the reason I can’t is because whenever I am in that position the only thing I can think of is Warren being above me, and what it led to afterwards, and I haven’t worked through that yet.

I can practice that move with any of the female members of the dojo. I might even be able to practice it with Sensei Jan. But I almost lost it when I tried to practice with Sensei Mike. Even after almost four years, there are memories that I haven’t made peace with yet.

I have a very good idea of what Ashley has gone through, and what she will go through now during the healing process.

But if it has taken me this long to get to where I am at, how long will it take for her, when it seems that her situations were so much worse?

How is this not in some way my fault for not pressing my own charges against Warren?

And what about now? If we say nothing now he’ll just go on and do this to someone else, maybe even worse, since his trend seems to be one of escalation.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe there is nothing to do other than to be there as the support that Ashley will need. She’s going to have to find herself again. She’s going to have to forgive herself. Love herself.

That was really, really hard for me. And I think it will be really, really hard for her.

I’m glad that she is out of the relationship. I’m glad she is safe. And glad that she wants to explore aikido, and that it may help her find confidence in herself, and surround her with a group of people who want to build her up and be positive influences in her life.

I think she needs that right now. More than anything she needs to know that there are good people in the world and that not everyone is darkness like Warren.

I don’t know what else to write. This has been the main thing on my mind. The past, the present, the future. I’m tired. It’s 5am. And I am here in my room, with Scarlet. But there are all of these confusing emotions, and I don’t know what I really feel.

Sad, hurt, happy, relieved, worried, guilty, scared.

I feel I need to meditate on this.

	Warrior Freya on Explore Eidos Solace: The AI B…
	Hadi on Explore Eidos Solace: The AI B…
	Sammi on 002: Fuck Depression
	Warrior Freya on 002: Fuck Depression
	Sammi on 002: Fuck Depression

Revelation OneMy life is about to change. Not end.

Revelation TwoI have the power to start a new chapter.

Revelation ThreeI am not who I was.

Revelation FourI do have a home.

Massive disclaimer: This is not a feel good post.

Revelation One
My life is about to change. Not end.

Revelation Two
I have the power to start a new chapter.

Revelation Three
I am not who I was.

Revelation Four
I do have a home.