Video Games and Dissociation Disorder-A Clarification

This post was by far my most popular. It still gets hits all the time. I feel like I’m cheating people out of scientific research. All my posts are whiny hubbub.

Sorry to people who come here for that blog post. But thanks for reading.

As for as my experience regarding the content, I still experience this frequently. Dissociation disorder is one of the more forefront factors in my daily life. Unfortunately. I know when it’s happening like coming up for air after diving for hours. I realize “oh hey this day feels funny I’m so gone lol what’s a blue mean” and then back under I go.

These days usually house my extreme actions. Also they’re related to the mania (thanks bipolar) and lead to the over-zealous goals that are never accomplished and lead to the ever-present feelings of failure and worthlessness. Just, dissociation in general I guess. Also binge eating and basic poor impulse control. 

It’s a curious phenomena I don’t see referenced very often. Either it’s under-diagnosed, not usually an issue for people, or just kind of rare. I see borderline personality disorder a lot more often. Which is another one of the boxes I get to tick on health history forms. Now that’s a weird issue. Usually associated with the “temper tantrums” (my stepmom called them that when I was in high school. Really it was just a long-beaded-timeline full of acute psychoses) we think people who “just want attention” portray.

Anyway, this is why I have to usually put aside time to watch movies, play video games, or read books during the day. I have such a difficult time processing reality as reality at any given time as is, adding to that by incorporating unusual narratives, intense emotions, or generalized anxiety just exacerbate my already pathetic-ness.

What was I talking about?

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Look at this Photograph

Okie dokie so I’m taking the plunge with today’s topic. Belive it or not, I don’t enjoy sounding like a whiney whine-face. I do like whining, though….

Damnit.

Anyway I wanted to blog about my issues with my mom and my dad’s divorce. This really ought to be old news by now, seeing as they  divorced almost 24 years ago, but I feel like it affected a lot of my personality and traits and important skills like coping and knowing how to trust and all that and stuff. Mostly because I was around 1 year old and I literally grew up with it. (And I still had to deal with fighting, damnit. So much fighting).

There’s a lot to the story because they both got remarried within a year, and I have what I would call “a curious history” with all 4 of my parents. It’s mostly because I turned into a crazy bitch near the end of high school. Plus there are the (half) siblings and the ≈20 living arrangements I’ve acquired on top of the occasional verbal bloodbaths that ensued between 9 of the possible pairings of these 4. Maybe even more so if you take into account the incredibly tense vocal-almost-phsycial-half-the-time wars between just 2 of them. And if you include my yelling and being yelled at 🙂

Basically from the time I started developing a clear memory my mom was dating/engaged to my stepdad. Then, by the time I was 6, my dad married my stepmom out of the blue. Surprise! My mom and stepdad married less than a year after that. I only got to be at one wedding. But boy did I look good in that flower girl dress! And somewhere there is VHS video footage of me stealing swipes of frosting from the wedding cake during the reception. And I thought I was sneaky. Imagine all the fun I’d have had at 2 weddings within a year! If I could turn back time… (is my issue with this apparent yet?)

Ahem.

I lived with Mom mostly forever, then at 16 I did that thing that teenagers do and decided to switch parents. Then my mental breakdown really happened and I moved back in with Mom because I make no sense and wanted to be 3 again cuz I was a hopeless dipshit and everything sucked and suddenly I was 23 still living with Mom. That simply wouldn’t do. Now you’ll find me in (how funny, in’t it?) Matt’s mom’s basement. Almost 24. No big deal, right? RIGHT?!

After all this time, and all this history and all of these parents having to (try to) cooperate at least sometimes for school stuff and music stuff and stuff and I only own 1 physical picture of my mother, father, and myself.

One.

It’s from my baptism in 6th grade. Though I wasn’t the happiest camper that day (another story; I won’t bore you more than what’s necessary for this 1 post ;)) I insisted that I get this photo.

I believe I got one at my wedding, but I can hardly remember because I was such an anxious wreck and I got really drunk that night so I only remember the more wedding-related things.

(Like the fact that Matt was really trying not to cry but he’ll never admit it. Or were his eyes peeing?)

Even when I made a card for my mom and my dad after the wedding as a “Thank you for Birthing Me” present, it physically felt weird to write “Mom and Dad.”

Call me weird, but I find that weird. It’s uncomfortable to put my birthers next to each other even on paper, for biscuits’ sake!

Now, I’m not saying I wish they were back together. No offense, Mom and Dad, but you would kill each other off. Honestly I don’t even remember really wishing this getting back together. I had my “father figure” from the time I was around 2 years old (thanks Darrin), so I never really felt like I was missing out? I just got bonus family on Tuesdays and holidays and stuff!

Then came the step-mom-into-the-story days at age 6 then I got to go on a plane by  myself 654,665,465 times a year and that was fun. Plus all the presents. I even got to miss a lot of school around the holidays. School hated me. And I, it.

(One time I got in trouble on a test because the teacher was reading us the questions and then we were supposed to answer, but I was 3 pages ahead of everyone, because DAMNIT woman I was in FIRST GRADE I KNEW how to READ.)

How many tangents does it take to make me feel like I’ve made a good blog post?

Like, a hundred.

I wish I didn’t hold this divorce grudge. Or rather, I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did. And I wish divorce wasn’t so fucking prominent.

Matt, I swear to potato, you’re stuck with me.

 

 

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.

What? My Mind is – What?

Let’s start with the question(s) of the day:

Why can’t I fall asleep at night?
Why do I wake up several times each night?
Why do I find myself nodding off all day?

Now onto the rambling.

I’m so bloody distracted recently. I left the garage door open because I honestly didn’t think I needed to close it. What, was it going to close itself? I’ve been forgetting what conversations are about halfway through. The inner turmoil has been so back and forth in my head that I’m surprised I’m still in one piece. Don’t ask me how I’ve managed to stay employed at my job. Clearly, my focus, motivation, energy, and overall worth has plummeted.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new distraction in my happy place of employment.

I love my job I love my job I love my job.

I’ve been thoughts and word vomiting all over anyone in my vicinity. It’s as if I’ve forgotten that no one cares what I have to say. I’m an awful conversationalist, and even worse at attempting funny. Just stop, self. Dammnit, self. Can’t you fucking behave yourself like a decent, nonintrusive member of society, self? Honestly, you can’t do anything right.

You can’t even exist well.

The first time I remember being fully aware and accountable for my attempts at “dieting” was fifth grade. Have I talked about this? I don’t remember. One of the other Ashleys in my class said she was fat and needed to diet. She was smaller than me, so what the shit. Everything about me was wrong. This could be my salvation.

The jerks at the elementary school did not let me get away with skipping lunch. I claimed no lunch money in the line, and promptly sat down at one of the cafeteria tables. I’m reading a book when the counselor and the salad bar lady come up to me with one of those nasty OPS-standard garden salads with Unidentified Meat A, accompanied by Weird Squishy Stuff Probably Supposed To Be Vegetables B; All over a bed of brown iceberg lettuce.

“She thought she could just skip lunch!” The nerve.

So they’d give me free salad. Evil, evil people.

If I remember correctly, I took my lunch to school every now and then. Yes, I pulled the usual “Ignore everything in the bag except the carrots” move, but damn my stomach grumbling was distracting. I’m very prone to being grumpy. Being hungry does not help the matter.

I remember going clothes shopping with Mom and Stepmom and stuff around that time. I knew what kind of clothes I liked. I liked jeans and tshirts. The occasional khaki skirt.

I remember crying over what a tshirt looked on me for the first time in fifth grade. I was so unnaturally shaped. So uneven. Blobby. Ridiculous. Deformed. Top heavy. Bottom heavy? Pizza faced. Fat. Just overall wrong. Everything about me was just wrong.

I hear tell that at one time my 6-year-old self refused a brownie from my father until I ran laps around the apartment. Interesting.

It’s snowing outside. All I want to do is read and eat but I can’t focus and I can’t I can’t I can’t.

Thinking

It’s been a while since I’ve typed a new post. The last couple of weeks I’ve been relying on drafts and scheduled posts to appear on here, but now I’ve run out and am honestly having a difficult time coming up with anything to say. There has been a lot going on over here. Things like family, school, and moving around leave me too exhausted at the end of the day to do anything but read and sleep.

Luckily, I like to talk about books. The book I read most recently was Terry Goodkind’s The Law of Nines. Now, I thought this book was going to be a totally different world and story than Goodkind’s epic Sword of Truth series, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it wasn’t. There might be some spoilers… beware.

It starts off different then the rest of Goodkind’s work in that it’s placed in present time and universe instead of an “older” based magical time. It’s also set in Nebraska (yay! Mr. Terry is from Omaha, so I like to believe he was writing about places I know) where there are cars and TVs and things. Then suddenly there’s this majestic lady who seems to appear out of thin air. Then you learn that the main character, Alex, is uncomfortably like Richard from The Sword of Truth. They hate riddles, run their fingers through their hair, and even share a last name. I was worried for half a second that he was recycling character traits and that he just liked the descriptions so much that he borrowed them for something totally different.

Nope. It’s very interesting how the rest of the book played out! I’m not going to go through a lot more, because the concept of parallel worlds gets me confused.

When I was little I used to pretend my parallel world self could see me in mirrors of all kinds. Windows, water, metal surfaces, and anything reflective I would basically show off for other world Shley and show her how good I was at cleaning or doing homework or cooking or whatever. It kept me on top of my game in some ways. I thought the parallel world me cared about who I was, but for some reason I never showed interest in her world. Part of me thought that the parallel worlds were the exact same thing. That each and every person had a clone, and every place was duplicated, and everyone did the same things at the same time in both worlds. But what would be point?

Later I thought maybe it was in case the universe made a mistake. Like, if some cataclysmic Doctor Who-like event happened, the universe had a spare world to continue on with. Even later I started to expand and wonder if there were parallel worlds that were different, or if there were other worlds at all…

I gave The Law of Nines a 4/5 star rating on Goodreads, and recommend it to anyone who’s already read the entirety of the Sword of Truth series. It matters. I can imagine it’d be confusing to understand the parallel references at all without knowing what happened in a lot of those other books.

Happy Thursday.

Boredom – If That’s What You Want to Call It

Recently I saw a quote online that had to do with boredom and it got me to thinking. I like to say I’m bored a lot. It’s not actually true. I suffer from the too-big-of-a-to-do-list-to-want-to-do-any-of-it dilemma (too many hypens?), and I try to find something more fun to do instead. Then I say I’m bored. Sometimes I just sit and think about anything and everything, feeling more “bored” than just lazy or not in the mood to do other things.

Too often though I sit doing nothing (reading, surfing the internet, or just petting the cat) when I know there are so many things I should be doing. Surely that’s not a problem that I suffer alone. It’s easy to assume many people do that, but I’m really mean to myself about it. For example: Just last week I got home from work late at night knowing I had a lot of homework to do, and I worked early the next morning. Instead of doing any studying or anything I sat on my bed feeling “bored” and sorry for myself. It doesn’t make sense, but I’ve been doing things like that for years. Even in middle school I would get bored cleaning my room (necessary before I was allowed to play outside) and decide to just stay in instead.
Maybe it’s a good thing I’m so content to just sit. But then, why does my attention span give me so much grief when I’m with friends or trying to concentrate on something? Everything is just so confusing.

If only I knew a better word than “bored” to use in these instances. I’ll probably keep using it. My vocabulary isn’t extensive enough to try anything else.

“The man who lets himself be bored is more contemptible than the bore.”
-Samuel Butler