But, You Know, Whatever.

My bones are cold. There’s a constant, aching chill, and find myself shivering then try to stop myself. But I can’t feel warm.

My jaw hurts from the pressures of keeping it together. The urge to sob and scream and burst into hysterics all mingled into my ready smile should someone look my way.

It’s always the corner of my eye. Or not so much the corner, but just barely beyond perceptibility. Dark shapes, light shapes. Metamorphosing into some terrible nightmare fodder. Humanoid, demanoid. “It’s just my imagination” I tell the slowly-growing shadow. My jaw aches.

I’m quick, though. They’ve always told me I have “wit.” So while in the company of others I laugh and I joke and wow so normal until a moment’s silence and I remember everything terrible that’s ever been and ever will be while the shape in the doorway grins at me and reaches out then I think of a clever response and get a few laughs.

Silence is painful. There’s a hum, and it’s not just from all the concerts. I know. It physically hurts. Drives me to tears when I wake at night. Because they’re trying to reach me. That faint hum before the speech, the dying to say what can’t be said and I’m afraid of what they’ll say. So I put the pillow over my head try and snuggle up to the warm mass who snores and moves away from me and I’m forever left alone in my head with these new ghosts and the old ghosts who won’t leave me to a moment’s peace.

When I drink my cheap, fruity liquor I’m too engrossed in my phone and trying not to have drunk face that it’s peaceful for a moment. But heaven forbid I have to pee or go somewhere else alone because they follow me and they take advantage of my fear and my tears and they laugh and I have to pretend I’m not scared out of my goddamn mind because no one likes a drama queen.

I’ve hallucinated before. It’s been years. And I’m terrified.

I’ve been desperately trying not to be so whiney or dramatic (hence the infrequent posts) and even to friends I’m like eh I’m depressed but whatever but damn it even as I type this they’re brushing me on the shoulder and trying to whisper in my ear and I shudder and try and remember where I was in my thought.

And I thought being coherent was difficult before.

Is this the bipolar? The dissociation? The stress? Have all the many, many, long years of too-frequent nightmares started following me into daily life, desperate to be heeded?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It’s almost the anniversary of my last utter descent. Makes me think it’s bipolar. I made a promise it’s almost impossible not to think about. Even now my pants are sticking to my hips and my sleeve to my arms and my jaw hurts and my usual hurts hurt because everything hurts but it’s “just stress.”

But you know lol everything fine it’s good 🙂  how’re you?

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Maybe This Isn’t The Best Time to Post This

Don’t know if you all know this, but I work extremely hard to make sure people like me. I try to please everybody. I aim to be neutral in disagreements. I am to not piss anybody off. I aim to be as helpful as I can and act with as much tact and poise as I know how to; especially at work.

I have nightmares that all of my friends, or coworkers, or family, have pretended to like me all this time and have plotted against me. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat because I felt like my inability to make/keep friends was going to be never-ending.

Nightmares really do come true. Well, in a sense.

Tonight I found out that several of my coworkers talk about me. Bad. Like, they don’t believe me when I’m sick, and they call me lazy, and they say I have an excuse for everything.

I have one of the best work ethics I know. When I call in sick, maybe I don’t have food poisoning. I’ll admit it. But when I throw up, it’s usually anxiety related. I will make myself so crippled from anxiety and worry and stressing about the assholes I’ll have to serve seafood to throughout the day that I just can’t handle the thought of going in.

It gets to a point where if I had to step into that restaurant, I would find the nearest cliff to drive my car off of on the way. I’d forget to turn my car off or open the garage door with my running car in the garage. I’d accidentally cut too deep. I’d accidentally overdose. I’d accidentally go off on somebody and end up fucking up my chances of getting good references from the job I’ve stayed at the longest.

Apparently, even though I thought I’ve made huge strides in my work ethic and my mental health regarding work, it doens’t mean a thing.

I’m not trying to say everyone should pity me and my anxiety.

But being mean to me? We’re all inconvenienced sometime. How many times have y’all inconvenienced me? This entire job has inconvenienced me! I’m am FAR TOO INTROVERTED to do this job well. Yet here I am. I even got employee of the month, for biscuits’ sake.

Even the manager I thought liked me (the only one I thought liked me) makes snide comments about me.

And this all just came down the grapevine to me tonight.

How the hell am I going to face these people? I want them to feel guilty, but I know they won’t care.

I don’t know what to do.

I wish I had some decent coping mechanisms right about now.

No one fucking understands and I’m fucking tired of being paralyzed by my stupid neurotransmitters.

And I’m fucking tired of being judged for it.

And I’m fucking tired of being blamed for saying it just as an excuse.

I just

I just

Fuck. Fuck it.

And all of you?

Fuck you.

(Except for the readers that have some compassion. In which case, thank you. I love you, too. Have a good evening.)

P.S. The funniest part? Through all this turmoil tonight, I thought “This wouldn’t be such a problem if I were skinnier.”

I’m just a failure entirely.

All of the Inadequacy

From the start, I was destined to be independent. I always went off my own in the store, always used my allowance to buy things and learned money management early. I was obsessed with wallets, purses, organizers, and the things important people used them for. (All those company credit cards and appointments!) I wanted to wear my hair down in a convertible with shades on and drive to my important job, have lunch with other important people, and send important emails all day. Of course I’d also be wearing a pencil skirt or its equivalent, and workout every morning then cook healthy meals for my family every night.

Did I want to be a lawyer? A doctor? A pharmacist will do. No, not just a pharmacist at the local drugstore. Maybe I wanted to be a pharmacologist, study pharmacokinetics, or toxicology. Do something that took time, patience, and super important chemistry skills. The problem was that I still wanted to play viola. I was already best in my class, I might as well do something with it. Problem solved! Audition for the local symphony (no way would I stay in Omaha. I have far more important places to go) and participate in all the ground breaking performances. What about singing? I loved singing and everyone told me I was good at it. Done. Be music director at my eventual church (yet another symbol of having my shit together).

Now that life has killed my dreams (overly dramatic?) I’ve decided I want to be a stay-at-home cat lady. I’ll still have a job, but it will be a safe job I can do from my house completely eliminating the need to deal with people outside. I’ll have internet access to perform my job, and communication lines to talk to (relatively) important people. I want to be a pharmacist/pharmacologist/toxiologist so, so badly. However, that would require a lot of money/applying for things, leaving my house a LOT, and having a real life career with all these real life responsibilities that would just be way too much to handle.

I think I’ve accepted all of this. My current career path as a work-from-home is promising enough, and it’ll get me to a very stable point in my midlife years. I just wish I could ever be as important and independent as I wanted to be. Blame it on the agoraphobia.

I really wanted to go further with this post, but my brain-thoughts-hands system is under construction. Just insert thoughts of failure regarding college degrees here.

It’s About Time

My Kindle Fire is very neat. It was a birthday present, and it’s terribly useful. Not only do I manage to write most of my blog posts on it (wee) but it’s great for recording any other kind of written nonsense because I have a that keyboard I had mentioned in an earlier post. The keyboard, by the way, has mostly fixed itself! The buttons aren’t as sticky as they used to be. It’s much more user-friendly now. So I keep a dream journal on it because every now and then I remember that eventually I want to be able to lucid dream, and the experts all say it starts with being able to remember your dreams and all the little details.

It’s an app specifically designed for dream recording very quickly, because it even has a nice voice recording feature so I don’t even have to bother typing all the details. I just sort of list things, and go back later to add minor details or overall feelings the dream left me with. This morning was the first time I’ve used it. I’m always so busy first thing in the morning. I have calories to count, meals to plan, and pills to take.

Last night, after my random sudden spiral down into who I used to be (see Ridiculous) I had a slew of weird dreams. One of the first involved me being upset about something and taking big swigs out of a big bottle of nameless Merlot. I was driving. Then, as I was gulping it down on the interstate and started feeling “fuzzy” I remembered that it was illegal. I tried to hide it on the floor by the passenger’s seat but I was too thirsty. I was getting more and more inebriated and trying to drive to wherever I was going and started to panic.

Later down the dream-road Matt and I get framed in a bar and end up being taken for testing. I narrowly escaped, but once I got out of the building I got caught again. Then we’re put to sleep to undergo some “testing,” and wake up naked in Rohan to get directions from Gimli.

Dreams is weird. And recording them is the second most useful thing my Kindle does for me, next to having Netflix for when I’m on the treadmill.

Happy Tuesday, sorry for the sadness Sunday night, and sorry for the accidental early post Sunday evening.

La La Land

There was a time about a year ago when all I had were bad dreams. Bad dreams about this, bad dreams about that, bad dreams about the most random, irrelevant things. They just gave me bad feelings. Recently I had stopped being able to remember my dreams. Before either or those I had a healthy mixture of good, bad, and neutral dreams and periods of not remembering any. (One day I’m going to try and figure out if it has to do with my moods at all.) It’s been a while since I’ve such terrible dreams, though. Dreams that not only leave bad feeling residue, but that actually wake me up crying and scared. A few days ago it was a nightmare about my job. I woke up all startled a few times, but I kept going back to it when I fell asleep again.

Forgetting tables, countless joiners… Each table had to make sure I was embarrassed. A free dinner and all the apologies wouldn’t work. My manager turned into the server at Old Chicago who doesn’t like me. I know I’m not alone in this because at work we’ll compare our worst nightmares in serving and what can happen to make the dreams worse, such as working a lot or having high stress on top of working a lot. We also compare real life serving nightmares.

Which leads me to one of my greatest wonders in life: Why are people mean just to be mean? What did I do to you? Anyway that’s a point I made already and I won’t bore you complaining about it again. (Be nice.)

I find it interesting how often my bad dreams involve my cat. My poor cat. My unconscious brain really likes him to get attacked or locked inside without food. He always makes little meow-crys and it’s so sad! A few nights ago involved guns and the kind of dreams where  being shot feels very realistic, and so does your fiance getting murdered right next to you… *gags a little.

I wouldn’t even say my brain is in a worse place than usual. Why can’t I dream of sunshine and free cat rent? Why can’t I dream of zero-calorie foods and world peace? Stupid brain. I’m tempted to say again what I used to always say about a year ago, that I hate dreaming. What’s the point if I’m not flying or saving cats and eating candy? (There you go, David.)

Maybe it’s only a matter of time until I start having screamy dreams again. Those are the worst because they scare you and the people you live with. Have you ever noticed that screamy dreams aren’t scary at all when you wake up again? I have. The transition is really odd, too.

In other news, smoothies made from vanilla yogurt, fresh blueberries, and fresh raspberries are delicious. And Seedy.

It’s the Little Things

I love when it’s 12:34. I love when there are 3 of something. I love avocados and mountain dew.

I love the sound fancy keyboards make. I love flipping through a new book. I love leaving for work and seeing squirrels and birds in my tree.

I love hearing great songs on the radio. I love having an “ah ha!” moment in school. I love the freedom of eating something and not knowing the calorie content.

I love the smell of clean laundry. I love buying office supplies. I love having fun at work.

I love coffee with whipped cream. I love getting to be green when we play board games. I love when people get my bad jokes.

I love my heated blanket. I love when I wake up thinking I’m late for work but it’s actually my day off. I love breakfast food.

I love when my cat follows me in the house. I love when I have time to watch Doctor Who on Netflix. I love remembering a whole night’s worth of dreams.

I love getting gumballs out of the $0.25 machine. I love swingsets. I love meeting new pets.

I love seeing the Northern Lights in Nebraska. I love coupons. I love decorating my living space for the respective season or holiday.

I love the feeling of taking out my contacts at night. I love writing big on chalkboards and dry erase boards. I love new textbooks.

I love studying with candy. I love back scratches. I love camping.

I love getting excited about things. I love making things for people. I love fuzzy pants and fluffy socks.

I love the feel of a room after deep cleaning it. I love getting butterflies every time I see my engagement ring. I love remembering a lot of little things starting from when I was 3.

I love when people are nice to me. I love when people notice how nice I am. I love art supplies.

I love the comfort of my Grandma’s house. I love riding bikes. I love to pretend I have conversations with animals.

Everyone has down days. I’m in a bit of a depression, and have been for a couple weeks. I like to remind myself that there are so many little things (besides people and financial issues) that make my day brighter. What do you love?

Talking About Food Again

Last time I only briefly touched the issue of going out to eat with friends. A lot of my close friends and I eat out a lot. At least a few times a week, I’d say. One of them is a chef at a local restaurant, the rest of us just appreciate tasty food, and aren’t really in a place in our lives where cooking our own dinners every night would make a lot of sense.

Every Monday we head over to the neighborhood Old Chicago for beer, happy hour food, and pool. The fiance and I usually eat when we get off work a couple more times a week. Nights like tonight, we’re meeting friends for sushi when we’re all off work. Now, I did work out today, and I believe that I should eat when I’m hungry regardless of calories, but sushi and I have a very strenuous relationship. I love it so much that I will throw “dieting” out the window to have a Las Vegas roll or some tempura fried crunchies on top (I had this roll at Kona, but I don’t remember what it actually was. It was a roll laid flat with edible claws sticking up? It looked like crab claws, but more little. Anyone know what that is?).

Thus far I’ve basically reached my calorie limit for the day. Even with the run I took. I munched a lot at work because it was slow and my coworkers kept ordering delicious food. I kept stealing things like french fries and biscuit pieces from their plates. I also really like to have a drink when I go out. Wine is great with sushi!

I’m very stressed out about what I’m going to do at dinner tonight. When I order more than half of my meal to go, or when I stop but still say I’m hungry, my friends will say, “You deserve a cheat day!” when unfortunately I don’t feel I do. Maybe I’m still more disordered than I thought. Is everyone who’s mindful about their net calories this anxiety ridden when it come to situations like these? I had a cheat day last week where I consumed double my limit for the day and then some. I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin, but I also just want to eat all the sushi, burgers, and snacks that I want. Ah, inner turmoil.

Edit: The roll with the delicious crunchies is called a Spider Roll! The crunchies (not actually very crunchy this time, as there was more meat in these than I remember) were actual pieces of actual crabmeat actually tempura fried and actually delicious. The more you know!

Also! (Last thing) I recently downloaded a dream recording app for my handy kindle fire, because actually writing things with pens can be so tedious. Especially when details in things like dreams can be so elusive. So I’d expect a dream post or two every now and then. I’ll still keep the Tuesdays and Thursdays theme going, but dreams are so interesting. I’ll warn you in the title if it’s a dream post.

Happy Dreaming.