My moods will shift in a second. I will wake up fine and then Mommy Dearest will look at me the wrong way or say something and bam! I turn into a super bitch. The super bitch mood is the hardest to snap out of; it feeds on itself really.
At this point, everyone knows I am crazy again and therefore not to be messed with or looked at directly in the eyes. Mommy Dearest made sure everyone who I didn’t tell knew (I’m sure, her favorite past time is blabbing). I told 3 people including her and I’m sure I’m the hot topic in her martyr pity conversations she has with friends. That’s fine, but she needs to get her facts straight when telling my business to others.
Anyway, the point is, if you know I am about ready to crack and I tell you any little fucking thing will set me off, why do you then purposefully get the fuck on my nerves and try to pick fucking fights with your ignorant ass comments? And the kicker, you ask? When we get into a fight and you realize you are loosing to the crazy one you then throw your hail mary play of : “why did you even start this in the first place, Ashley?” or “why are you getting so upset over this, Ashley?” . Mother Bitch.
Did you not hear me when I said I am crazy and my moods are unpredictable!!!!!!!!!!! I am sure you did because random relatives and people are asking if I am okay, offering words of encouragement and telling me not to worry!!!!!!!!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Emo Rain
It has been raining here the past week and everyone hates it but me.
I. Love. It.
I love the fall and I love the rain. It has really suited my disposition as of late.
I looked outside earlier and it was a hurricane of raining/swirling leaves. Very beautiful and hard as hell to take a pic of; damn you swirly beautifulness and my too slow digi camera!
I. Love. It.
I love the fall and I love the rain. It has really suited my disposition as of late.
I looked outside earlier and it was a hurricane of raining/swirling leaves. Very beautiful and hard as hell to take a pic of; damn you swirly beautifulness and my too slow digi camera!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Aunt “Melanoma Mary”
My Mommy Dearest’s younger sister, Melanoma Mary, got her nickname from being diagnosed with skin cancer. After that, Aunt….Mary would come to every family function and look over everyone for cancerous moles or questionable skin blotches. This turned into hours and hours of internet medical research and all of us being diagnosed with several illnesses. She is now kind of an unlicensed pseudo family Dr. that everyone laughs at but still goes to with their medical questions.
The other day I went to Aunt Mary’s house and took my insanely expensive bare minimum insurance policy for her to read over and see what it included. I asked Aunt Mary if it included anything for mental health and surprise surprise. Well really not, the thing is essentially worthless unless I am in some sort of freak accident, but then it will only cover up to 5,000 and only if I didn’t go against any of the fine print disqualifiers (being born may be one of them).
Aunt Mary asked why I would want/need mental coverage and of course I told her.
Me: “Well, I’m 24, living at home, broke, in uber student debt, too educated for most jobs and under qualified for the rest, I got a bad haircut the other day (seriously what was I thinking with a radical hair change at this time), I am a looser oh, and I do not have a drivers license.”
Aunt Mary: “Do you know how many unlicensed 24yrs olds are living at home with their parents? I’ll tell you; a lot more than you think.”
I found myself pathetically crying, AGAIN, and tried to change the subject several times. Aunt Mary is like a dog with a bone when she wants to talk something out. Usually I would have been all for it, she has been present when many family fights have gone down and has successfully argued for both sides (amazing), but it was early and I had a long day ahead of me.
The other day I went to Aunt Mary’s house and took my insanely expensive bare minimum insurance policy for her to read over and see what it included. I asked Aunt Mary if it included anything for mental health and surprise surprise. Well really not, the thing is essentially worthless unless I am in some sort of freak accident, but then it will only cover up to 5,000 and only if I didn’t go against any of the fine print disqualifiers (being born may be one of them).
Aunt Mary asked why I would want/need mental coverage and of course I told her.
Me: “Well, I’m 24, living at home, broke, in uber student debt, too educated for most jobs and under qualified for the rest, I got a bad haircut the other day (seriously what was I thinking with a radical hair change at this time), I am a looser oh, and I do not have a drivers license.”
Aunt Mary: “Do you know how many unlicensed 24yrs olds are living at home with their parents? I’ll tell you; a lot more than you think.”
I found myself pathetically crying, AGAIN, and tried to change the subject several times. Aunt Mary is like a dog with a bone when she wants to talk something out. Usually I would have been all for it, she has been present when many family fights have gone down and has successfully argued for both sides (amazing), but it was early and I had a long day ahead of me.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Day 9
I must be the dumbest person ever; no, I must be borderline retarded. I have an associates and a bachelor’s degree and I have worked at the pizza joint 9 times now and still make a shit ton of mistakes every day. Ringing people up wrong (I’ll remember where one button is and forget another), running out of things to do and not looking busy (I can only sweep a clean floor or wipe a clean counter down so many times), and I have to keep asking everyone q’s on how to prepare things. I am so pissed at myself and then I get pissy with those around me.
The other night THE pizza guy came in and I had already done everything I was supposed to do, so I was standing waiting for the phone to ring. When THE pizza guy left girl coworker-that-no-one-likes informed me he was THE pizza guy and when he comes in I should look busy. THANKS FOR TELLING ME THAT AFTER HE LEFT!!! Seriously, that is what I hated about my last job – the standing around and waiting for work then getting in trouble for waiting for work. I had done everything already even making up shit to do and asking others for shit to do, so fuck me if I’m standing around.
I get pissy with those around me because a) I have never worked in the food industry before so I’m gonna ask fuckin questions (I hate it that I have to keep asking; its just I’ve only done something once before and that was days ago) b) when I ask questions don’t get annoyed with me for doing so and c) if I do something wrong, tell me, so I can fix it or do better in the future. All of those reasons, and I am like the oldest person that works there; except for my Sensei’s husband, Bobba Fett, who got me the job.
So, here I am a 24yr old college graduate who cannot get her shit together and works (struggles to not make mistakes) at a pizza jizzoint.
The other night THE pizza guy came in and I had already done everything I was supposed to do, so I was standing waiting for the phone to ring. When THE pizza guy left girl coworker-that-no-one-likes informed me he was THE pizza guy and when he comes in I should look busy. THANKS FOR TELLING ME THAT AFTER HE LEFT!!! Seriously, that is what I hated about my last job – the standing around and waiting for work then getting in trouble for waiting for work. I had done everything already even making up shit to do and asking others for shit to do, so fuck me if I’m standing around.
I get pissy with those around me because a) I have never worked in the food industry before so I’m gonna ask fuckin questions (I hate it that I have to keep asking; its just I’ve only done something once before and that was days ago) b) when I ask questions don’t get annoyed with me for doing so and c) if I do something wrong, tell me, so I can fix it or do better in the future. All of those reasons, and I am like the oldest person that works there; except for my Sensei’s husband, Bobba Fett, who got me the job.
So, here I am a 24yr old college graduate who cannot get her shit together and works (struggles to not make mistakes) at a pizza jizzoint.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Where I am at
I have a part time job at a pizza place - the only place that would hire me. I am the oldest person there being trained by people way younger than me and I suuuuuck at it!!!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Addressing the I shoulda’s
Looking back, there are several points where I could have made a different choice and could have possibly ended up in a different position than where I am now.
For instance, I should have refused to take the drivers test when I was clearly not ready to take it. Daddy Dearest and Mommy Dearest didn’t want to pay, at the time, the three dollars to renew my permit, so they forced me to take the test even thought I told them I wasn’t ready. They made me. It was a major failure and the evil poodle-permed, Sally Jessie bespectacled, and hot pink lipped driver cop was a bitch! It was a scaring experience; I left in tears with no sympathy from Daddy Dearest (who forced me to go). Since then I have had a freaky phobia about driving – but that could be because my g-pa used to fake die while he was driving his truck and little me would freak out and have to steer the truck so we wouldn’t go off a cliff. Yeah, maybe that’s it.
I should have gotten a real part time job in high school. My resume is bare bones looking, I mean tumble weeds are blowing through it with my lack of real job experience. I was lucky in that my parents didn’t make me get some job in high school. The agreement was as long as my grades were good and I behaved I was golden. Now, the “part-time” job I did have was baby-sitting, but that doesn’t count for anything in the real work world. I would baby-sit and make in two nights what some of my friends made in a week. If I needed something major my parents would get it for me. If I got all A’s my parents would reward me with cash or clothes that I needed. It was an exchange/deal that we had. Had I known at the time that my lack of real work experience would be a major issue I probably would have gotten some crappy high school job like the rest of my friends, but at the time I didn’t need to and it didn’t occur to me.
I should have gone away to college. Obviously my choices of schools were dependent on income. How much I could afford and how much I could get in student loans. At the time I had a crappy part time job and didn’t feel like paying thousands of dollars more for a name school that had manicured lawns and looked pretty (as Bestie 2 likes). No, I went to a local junior college and then transferred to Big Kid College. I applied and was accepted to other schools, but when I looked at the tuition/ room and board costs I quickly decided on Big Kid College. It was not in my budget to pay an absurd amount of money for a degree that may not get me anything (foreshadowing, maybe). I do not regret this decision, I learned a lot there. One of my fav old man prof’s (a retired big-wig from a StL engineering firm) , who was a floating prof from Uni to Uni, said he liked our school out of all the ones he went to because we didn’t act entitled and actually came to learn.
Anyway, I’m half and half on this one. I feel I learned a lot form the classes that I took (except prof crazy raccoon guy and some Bestie 2 moments) and I liked my school. I am bummed that I can’t find a job – shit happens. BUT, if I would have had the money I would have went far far away. AND, even if I would have went away and got away from these peeps there is no guarantee that I wouldn’t have ended up right back from where I started.
For instance, I should have refused to take the drivers test when I was clearly not ready to take it. Daddy Dearest and Mommy Dearest didn’t want to pay, at the time, the three dollars to renew my permit, so they forced me to take the test even thought I told them I wasn’t ready. They made me. It was a major failure and the evil poodle-permed, Sally Jessie bespectacled, and hot pink lipped driver cop was a bitch! It was a scaring experience; I left in tears with no sympathy from Daddy Dearest (who forced me to go). Since then I have had a freaky phobia about driving – but that could be because my g-pa used to fake die while he was driving his truck and little me would freak out and have to steer the truck so we wouldn’t go off a cliff. Yeah, maybe that’s it.
I should have gotten a real part time job in high school. My resume is bare bones looking, I mean tumble weeds are blowing through it with my lack of real job experience. I was lucky in that my parents didn’t make me get some job in high school. The agreement was as long as my grades were good and I behaved I was golden. Now, the “part-time” job I did have was baby-sitting, but that doesn’t count for anything in the real work world. I would baby-sit and make in two nights what some of my friends made in a week. If I needed something major my parents would get it for me. If I got all A’s my parents would reward me with cash or clothes that I needed. It was an exchange/deal that we had. Had I known at the time that my lack of real work experience would be a major issue I probably would have gotten some crappy high school job like the rest of my friends, but at the time I didn’t need to and it didn’t occur to me.
I should have gone away to college. Obviously my choices of schools were dependent on income. How much I could afford and how much I could get in student loans. At the time I had a crappy part time job and didn’t feel like paying thousands of dollars more for a name school that had manicured lawns and looked pretty (as Bestie 2 likes). No, I went to a local junior college and then transferred to Big Kid College. I applied and was accepted to other schools, but when I looked at the tuition/ room and board costs I quickly decided on Big Kid College. It was not in my budget to pay an absurd amount of money for a degree that may not get me anything (foreshadowing, maybe). I do not regret this decision, I learned a lot there. One of my fav old man prof’s (a retired big-wig from a StL engineering firm) , who was a floating prof from Uni to Uni, said he liked our school out of all the ones he went to because we didn’t act entitled and actually came to learn.
Anyway, I’m half and half on this one. I feel I learned a lot form the classes that I took (except prof crazy raccoon guy and some Bestie 2 moments) and I liked my school. I am bummed that I can’t find a job – shit happens. BUT, if I would have had the money I would have went far far away. AND, even if I would have went away and got away from these peeps there is no guarantee that I wouldn’t have ended up right back from where I started.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Eastwick
I loooove that show and hope it sticks around. It reminds me of my besties. I was watching it tonight and thinking how we, my besties and I, fit in our group.
Bestie 1, who I have known since I was little, is a brunette. She is a sassy, fabulous, and overworked single mom who can out dress anyone. She can be so sweet and nice and then turn into this ballsy bitch in a hot minute if you cross her, her kid, or a friend.
Bestie 2, who I met in 8th grade, is a blonde. She is very prim and proper at first glance – pearls and all. Bestie 2 is by no means shy or awkward (that’s more my personality) but, she is more outgoing like Bestie 1 and a big flirt. She is driven and has big goals. She is lucky in love too; this girl has had the best boyfriends anyone could dream up.
I haven’t told them that I’m depressed or crazy or whatever I am.
First, they have their own stuff to deal with. My little drama is the last thing I want to add to their pile, and even if I did I don’t feel like hearing “the speech”. The whole you’re not a looser your life doesn’t suck speech because, like a bad haircut, best friends have to lie and say everything looks good even when it’s not. Second, I probably wouldn’t be able to get it out without bursting into tears and that’s all I need right now. Third, even if I tried explaining how I feel and what I’m all down about seems so lame when I say it out loud.
The fourth and final major thing is: would they even care? Lately shit has been off. They accuse me of not sharing, but I am the last to know anything about what’s going on with them. If they don’t care to tell me shit then why should I tell them? Ugh, I sound so high school. I mean, this is understandable in a group of three, but don’t shift the blame to me. It takes two to tango, or in our case three.
Bestie 1, who I have known since I was little, is a brunette. She is a sassy, fabulous, and overworked single mom who can out dress anyone. She can be so sweet and nice and then turn into this ballsy bitch in a hot minute if you cross her, her kid, or a friend.
Bestie 2, who I met in 8th grade, is a blonde. She is very prim and proper at first glance – pearls and all. Bestie 2 is by no means shy or awkward (that’s more my personality) but, she is more outgoing like Bestie 1 and a big flirt. She is driven and has big goals. She is lucky in love too; this girl has had the best boyfriends anyone could dream up.
I haven’t told them that I’m depressed or crazy or whatever I am.
First, they have their own stuff to deal with. My little drama is the last thing I want to add to their pile, and even if I did I don’t feel like hearing “the speech”. The whole you’re not a looser your life doesn’t suck speech because, like a bad haircut, best friends have to lie and say everything looks good even when it’s not. Second, I probably wouldn’t be able to get it out without bursting into tears and that’s all I need right now. Third, even if I tried explaining how I feel and what I’m all down about seems so lame when I say it out loud.
The fourth and final major thing is: would they even care? Lately shit has been off. They accuse me of not sharing, but I am the last to know anything about what’s going on with them. If they don’t care to tell me shit then why should I tell them? Ugh, I sound so high school. I mean, this is understandable in a group of three, but don’t shift the blame to me. It takes two to tango, or in our case three.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Today,
was a good day.
In an attempt to sleep, I have started taking off brand Tylenol pm. Totally not working! Last night I tossed and turned tossed and turned, which was ok since I didn’t really feel crappy today.
I paid Sister 2 to take me to Target where I got a pair of cute ass black and white sparkly zebra print flats for only $14. I went shopping in an attempt to get some cute ass clothes for fall, but that was an epic fail. I’m just a weird size and shape –nothing fits me right.
Came home and heated my diet dinner up. I have lost a total of 5lbs so far – that could be due to a good bowel movement tho (just sayin’). No, I have noticed my jeans fit a little looser which is good. My goal is to be down to 120 by X-mas. If I am going to be poor, unemployed, uninsured and down trodden I am at least going to look good.
Mommy Dearest came home in a tizzy. I wish she would just not come home if she is going to be an uber bitch and take it out on everyone. No, she just comes in and yells and slings shit around like a two year old having a tantrum. Hey, if it works for a two year old….oh, wait.
Wow, typing all this out and going back over it, it does not sound like it was a good day. Maybe I’m still riding my Hank Moody sun night high, or am pumped because a new Flipping Out with Jeff Lewis is on. It must be that; that and the new cute flats.
In an attempt to sleep, I have started taking off brand Tylenol pm. Totally not working! Last night I tossed and turned tossed and turned, which was ok since I didn’t really feel crappy today.
I paid Sister 2 to take me to Target where I got a pair of cute ass black and white sparkly zebra print flats for only $14. I went shopping in an attempt to get some cute ass clothes for fall, but that was an epic fail. I’m just a weird size and shape –nothing fits me right.
Came home and heated my diet dinner up. I have lost a total of 5lbs so far – that could be due to a good bowel movement tho (just sayin’). No, I have noticed my jeans fit a little looser which is good. My goal is to be down to 120 by X-mas. If I am going to be poor, unemployed, uninsured and down trodden I am at least going to look good.
Mommy Dearest came home in a tizzy. I wish she would just not come home if she is going to be an uber bitch and take it out on everyone. No, she just comes in and yells and slings shit around like a two year old having a tantrum. Hey, if it works for a two year old….oh, wait.
Wow, typing all this out and going back over it, it does not sound like it was a good day. Maybe I’m still riding my Hank Moody sun night high, or am pumped because a new Flipping Out with Jeff Lewis is on. It must be that; that and the new cute flats.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Possible Careers:
1. Write a book full of natural cures that they don’t want you to know about (and do not work), diet cures that they don’t want you to know about (and do not work), and debt and recession cures that they don’t want you to know about (that also do not work) – just like Kevin Trudeau, and let the money roll in.
2. Form a church and become the figurehead/preacher – overall Joyce Meyer like figure and let the money roll in.
3. Start a cult and become the leader – see #2
4. Sell all non-vital organs and my eggs. Okay, so maybe I don’t have that many non-vital organs to sell – sell whatever I can to still live.
5. Start a sex phone hotline.
6. Be a call girl.
7. Become a reality show contestant. This will be moved towards the bottom of the list since a) I can’t even land a regular day job so how would I land a roll, and b) I would have to win to get any $$$.
8. A professional yard sale flipper. I will go from yard sale to yard sale and buy things, fix then up, and then flip them for a profit. The catch is I have to know how to fix things…..
9. Sell all of my belongings on ebay. This is looking more and more like my only option.
10. I could paint portraits for a living but it’s a recession and no one really has the money for such frivolities; that, and my style of painting isn’t exactly, uh good. I am superb at pet paintings tho.
2. Form a church and become the figurehead/preacher – overall Joyce Meyer like figure and let the money roll in.
3. Start a cult and become the leader – see #2
4. Sell all non-vital organs and my eggs. Okay, so maybe I don’t have that many non-vital organs to sell – sell whatever I can to still live.
5. Start a sex phone hotline.
6. Be a call girl.
7. Become a reality show contestant. This will be moved towards the bottom of the list since a) I can’t even land a regular day job so how would I land a roll, and b) I would have to win to get any $$$.
8. A professional yard sale flipper. I will go from yard sale to yard sale and buy things, fix then up, and then flip them for a profit. The catch is I have to know how to fix things…..
9. Sell all of my belongings on ebay. This is looking more and more like my only option.
10. I could paint portraits for a living but it’s a recession and no one really has the money for such frivolities; that, and my style of painting isn’t exactly, uh good. I am superb at pet paintings tho.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Conversations: Different People
On the way home I told Mommy Dearest ty for re-upping another three months of bare minimum insurance. Bare minimum insurance costing hundreds of dollars for only three months coverage, mind you. This led to us talking about me being crazy again and how my bare minimum insurance will not cover a Dr visit in order for me to get the mood balancing meds that I clearly need.
I told her I came to the realization that these “episodes” always occur after I have run out of things to focus on. It’s like my mind has to be constantly occupied or I will flip out. I knew I was getting ready to graduate so I focused more on painting and other projects for friends and swaps, then boom – school ended and I lost the motivation to do anything. I mean I could think things up to do, but it was like I just ran out of gas. I reminded her of the hysterical breakdowns I had when I was little over homework having to be perfect. I broke down the evolution of my, well I don’t really know what to call it.
Me: “It started when I was little and I would pull out my eyelashes, then it turned into scraping myself, then after therapy I started using one of those pedicure skin shaver things on my feet, but not like a normal pedicure. I would shave off the skin down until it bled. It became too painful to walk in shoes and noticeable in the summer so I stopped that. Yesterday, I caught myself chewing on my lip. Not normal chapped lip conditions here. I purposefully peel off the skin. This is not normal behavior at all”
Mommy Dearest: “…….”
I brought up my first time going crazy and how I realize offering up my g-pa story was just a convenient excuse to stop because I had thought I moved on and that was the reason for all the bad.
Mommy Dearest: “You don’t understand, as young as you were saying that and not knowing, its no wonder you feel guilt.”
Me: “But, then why don’t Sister 1&2 have these issues, I’m not buying it.”
Mommy Dearest: “They are different people, and there has to be something else that happened when you were little.”
Different people. Why did I get the short end of the stick? I told her sometimes my mind gets so anxious and I do not like the way I feel so I imagine a bullet ripping through my brain; just tearing through it. I imagine the feeling of a gun on my forehead and the explosion through my skull and tearing of the tissue/thoughts within. I am not suicidal and have no intention of killing myself; that image just helps to calm my mind.
Me:” I am 24; I have no career, I live at home, I have no license, no money and no car. I am in debt over a degree in business that no one will hire me for. I am tired of being a looser.”
Mommy Dearest: “You just need to get out in the sun; it’s not healthy to be indoors all the time.”
Me: “Sister1&2 never see the light of day and they don’t have my problems.”
Mommy Dearest: “They are just different people. You have always been a perfectionist, even when you were little. You are not a looser.”
Very convincing.
I told her I came to the realization that these “episodes” always occur after I have run out of things to focus on. It’s like my mind has to be constantly occupied or I will flip out. I knew I was getting ready to graduate so I focused more on painting and other projects for friends and swaps, then boom – school ended and I lost the motivation to do anything. I mean I could think things up to do, but it was like I just ran out of gas. I reminded her of the hysterical breakdowns I had when I was little over homework having to be perfect. I broke down the evolution of my, well I don’t really know what to call it.
Me: “It started when I was little and I would pull out my eyelashes, then it turned into scraping myself, then after therapy I started using one of those pedicure skin shaver things on my feet, but not like a normal pedicure. I would shave off the skin down until it bled. It became too painful to walk in shoes and noticeable in the summer so I stopped that. Yesterday, I caught myself chewing on my lip. Not normal chapped lip conditions here. I purposefully peel off the skin. This is not normal behavior at all”
Mommy Dearest: “…….”
I brought up my first time going crazy and how I realize offering up my g-pa story was just a convenient excuse to stop because I had thought I moved on and that was the reason for all the bad.
Mommy Dearest: “You don’t understand, as young as you were saying that and not knowing, its no wonder you feel guilt.”
Me: “But, then why don’t Sister 1&2 have these issues, I’m not buying it.”
Mommy Dearest: “They are different people, and there has to be something else that happened when you were little.”
Different people. Why did I get the short end of the stick? I told her sometimes my mind gets so anxious and I do not like the way I feel so I imagine a bullet ripping through my brain; just tearing through it. I imagine the feeling of a gun on my forehead and the explosion through my skull and tearing of the tissue/thoughts within. I am not suicidal and have no intention of killing myself; that image just helps to calm my mind.
Me:” I am 24; I have no career, I live at home, I have no license, no money and no car. I am in debt over a degree in business that no one will hire me for. I am tired of being a looser.”
Mommy Dearest: “You just need to get out in the sun; it’s not healthy to be indoors all the time.”
Me: “Sister1&2 never see the light of day and they don’t have my problems.”
Mommy Dearest: “They are just different people. You have always been a perfectionist, even when you were little. You are not a looser.”
Very convincing.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The First Time I Went Crazy. Pt3
My parents and I have always fought and it’s a 50/50 divide on who is responsible (I am a little shit). At the time, I remember every fight was focused on me and therapy and how I was crazy. That was thrown in my face a lot by Daddy Dearest. It seems like I didn’t go by two days without hearing that $80 a week was spent on me for therapy (which I believe cut into his beer/bowling/golf allowance). I was crazy at the time and accept full responsibility for all the fights I started and the evil things I said.
It was like a verbal fighting war zone here. I let nothing go by un-argued. Many many hurtful things were said by all of those involved and it was like hell around here. I have since apologized for my behavior, especially to my sisters when I was in therapy. I just saw it as I was being shit on by those bigger than me so I, in turn, would take everything out on those younger than me. I was mean, really mean, and they, especially sister 1, she holds it against me still (which is why we do not a have a relationship).
Since I was not patient with how long therapy was taking, I volunteered my own theory for why I was depressed/ anxious/ down on myself. When we were little kids, Daddy Dearest’s dad, my g-pa, babysat us one night. We were little and wanted to play with the neighbor kids; he wouldn’t let us so my sisters and I, being very angry and not understanding at all why he would deny us our right to play outside, wished him dead. All three of us; we were in grade school at the time and were just learning how words could hurt.
He didn’t know we wished him dead and until therapy no one else knew. The point is, that night he came into my room and asked me to come sit out in the living room with him, he was having chest pains, I refused. The next day he died. For years, until therapy, I was convinced it was my fault, and maybe in some karma got ya way it was. Its funny because sisters 1 & 2 and I never talked about it until maybe two years ago – long after I told my parents about it in therapy.
Me: “Hey, remember that time g-pa wouldn’t let us go outside and play so then we wished him de-“
Sister2: “-and he died!”
Me: “-ad?”
I was convinced that the guilt from that is why I went crazy and was depressed. I realize now that it wasn’t. Every continuing week of therapy the bitching by Daddy Dearest would continue. I still had my teenage attitude and he didn’t see how his $80 a week was paying off. He would even use things said in therapy against me, you know the whole killing g-pa thing. I ended it. I talked myself into thinking I was better, but I realize now all I was doing was avoiding figuring out what my fucking deal was/is. Since then I have been the master of distraction; well, until now that is.
So, here I am back at the beginning feeling the same way and in no better shape than I was then. It is my fault really - I tricked/distracted myself long enough.
It was like a verbal fighting war zone here. I let nothing go by un-argued. Many many hurtful things were said by all of those involved and it was like hell around here. I have since apologized for my behavior, especially to my sisters when I was in therapy. I just saw it as I was being shit on by those bigger than me so I, in turn, would take everything out on those younger than me. I was mean, really mean, and they, especially sister 1, she holds it against me still (which is why we do not a have a relationship).
Since I was not patient with how long therapy was taking, I volunteered my own theory for why I was depressed/ anxious/ down on myself. When we were little kids, Daddy Dearest’s dad, my g-pa, babysat us one night. We were little and wanted to play with the neighbor kids; he wouldn’t let us so my sisters and I, being very angry and not understanding at all why he would deny us our right to play outside, wished him dead. All three of us; we were in grade school at the time and were just learning how words could hurt.
He didn’t know we wished him dead and until therapy no one else knew. The point is, that night he came into my room and asked me to come sit out in the living room with him, he was having chest pains, I refused. The next day he died. For years, until therapy, I was convinced it was my fault, and maybe in some karma got ya way it was. Its funny because sisters 1 & 2 and I never talked about it until maybe two years ago – long after I told my parents about it in therapy.
Me: “Hey, remember that time g-pa wouldn’t let us go outside and play so then we wished him de-“
Sister2: “-and he died!”
Me: “-ad?”
I was convinced that the guilt from that is why I went crazy and was depressed. I realize now that it wasn’t. Every continuing week of therapy the bitching by Daddy Dearest would continue. I still had my teenage attitude and he didn’t see how his $80 a week was paying off. He would even use things said in therapy against me, you know the whole killing g-pa thing. I ended it. I talked myself into thinking I was better, but I realize now all I was doing was avoiding figuring out what my fucking deal was/is. Since then I have been the master of distraction; well, until now that is.
So, here I am back at the beginning feeling the same way and in no better shape than I was then. It is my fault really - I tricked/distracted myself long enough.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The First Time I Went Crazy. Pt2
When I told my best friends I was crazy, I was not prepared for the flipping of the script fiasco that followed. My definition of a flipping of the script moment is as follows: for example, you break up with a boy because he cheated but he flips the script on you and makes it your fault he cheated for some stupid reason he thinks is your fault and you end up believing it. My flipping of the script moment happened with my best friend1. I have known this girl literally for over a decade, almost two now, and when it went down I just took it. It wasn’t until years later when I was discussing that time with best friend 2 that I even remembered fully what actually happened. I mean best friend 2 had to tell me everything that happened because I had just chosen to gloss over it.
When I told best friend 1 that I was crazy, she flipped the script and made it out to be like I went crazy because of her, that I was blaming all my problems on her. I remember her shutting me out then and not talking to me because she was so pissed I would blame her for me being crazy; which was not the case. I remember trying to explain to her over and over that it wasn’t about her, that it was about me and my inability to handle my shit.
It wasn’t until best friend 2 brought it up, that I remembered how fucked up it was. When bf2 was telling me she was pissed at how it went down, I started to remember more hurt feelings at the way it happened. Bf 1 and I had several classes together that year and I remember she totally ignored me after that until I fully explained myself to her and that it wasn’t her fault. Bf2 told me that it upset her seeing it happen that way - which made me respect bf 2 more because at the time we were more of acquaintances, but it was high school, and no one is at their best in high school and every one is stressed out.
So, I started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist. Therapist I saw every week and my parents paid her $80 an hour to spill my guts too. Psychiatrist lady, I only remember seeing, at the most, 5 times. Those five times I saw her, I only spent maybe fifteen to thirty minutes with her then she would prescribe me or up my meds: Zoloft to balance my moods and Trazodone to help me sleep.
The medication helped at first. I was only supposed to take one Trazodone to help me sleep but my body would fight it and I would just end up laying there awake all night. So, that and Zoloft would be upped by the psychiatrist. Talking to the therapist was a relief at first, but I felt the process was taking to long. I got restless and anxious because I was ready to feel better and it was taking too damn long, and my parents were ready for me to stop being a moody teenage bitch and it was taking too long.
When I told best friend 1 that I was crazy, she flipped the script and made it out to be like I went crazy because of her, that I was blaming all my problems on her. I remember her shutting me out then and not talking to me because she was so pissed I would blame her for me being crazy; which was not the case. I remember trying to explain to her over and over that it wasn’t about her, that it was about me and my inability to handle my shit.
It wasn’t until best friend 2 brought it up, that I remembered how fucked up it was. When bf2 was telling me she was pissed at how it went down, I started to remember more hurt feelings at the way it happened. Bf 1 and I had several classes together that year and I remember she totally ignored me after that until I fully explained myself to her and that it wasn’t her fault. Bf2 told me that it upset her seeing it happen that way - which made me respect bf 2 more because at the time we were more of acquaintances, but it was high school, and no one is at their best in high school and every one is stressed out.
So, I started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist. Therapist I saw every week and my parents paid her $80 an hour to spill my guts too. Psychiatrist lady, I only remember seeing, at the most, 5 times. Those five times I saw her, I only spent maybe fifteen to thirty minutes with her then she would prescribe me or up my meds: Zoloft to balance my moods and Trazodone to help me sleep.
The medication helped at first. I was only supposed to take one Trazodone to help me sleep but my body would fight it and I would just end up laying there awake all night. So, that and Zoloft would be upped by the psychiatrist. Talking to the therapist was a relief at first, but I felt the process was taking to long. I got restless and anxious because I was ready to feel better and it was taking too damn long, and my parents were ready for me to stop being a moody teenage bitch and it was taking too long.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The First Time I Went Crazy. Pt 1
Speaking of Girl, Interrupted, the first time I went crazy was in high school. Now, before the collective groan of another stereotypical crazy emo high school story, let me just say I was always crazy and that it just became too hard to ignore then.
It happened sophomore year. I avoid difficult things at all costs; if I can’t figure it out on my own I don’t acknowledge it because I do not like to fail. I distract myself to no end just so I do not have to deal with the difficult things that I cannot fix myself or find the answers for. I remember freaking out because I had run out of things to do/distract myself. I ran out of crafts to do, movies to watch, and books to read. The last book I read was Girl, Interrupted and in it the author described her experience in the loony bin and the loonys she was with. I knew that I didn’t want to go to one, and so I told Mommy Dearest I needed help. It was more of a hysterical breakdown with me crying and pleading to her that I needed something to do/that I had ran out of things to do to distract myself – she brushed it off as me being spoiled and wanting something.
My theory of high school was that it was like a full time job, and with full time jobs comes vacation days. Each semester we had five excused days, so when we were given a school planner at the beginning of every year I would go through mine and circle my 5 days per semester, or as I liked to call them – my vacation days. I was taking one of my vacation days when a friend of mine turned my name into the counselor’s office. She was worried I wasn’t at school and knew I was having some - issues. The next day I came back, I was called up there and was met by my parents and the counselor in her office. The counselor asked if I needed help. Uh, duh. The ‘rents broke down and agreed to get me help.
At the time I was also scraping (I call it scraping, not cutting) myself. I remember I would get into these moods or something would just trigger me and I would scrape myself with any tool I could fashion. One time I was sitting in the middle of science and used the wire spiral from a notebook to scrape my arm. I used knives, cuticle cutters, a razor, and any other objects with sharp edges that could scrape. I remember the sting and how it wasn’t a bad feeling sting but a good feeling. Crazy, no?
I didn’t tell my friends at first,they had their own problems, but I told when I was found out. I was in the bathroom one day, in a stall, re-doing the ace bandage around my scraped up arm (the Neosporin combination with the cloth made it difficult for a tight wrap) when a friend barged in for some lip gloss - a very 90210 moment I remember. This girl was a blabber, so I knew I had to tell before she did or who knows what all details she would have added.
It happened sophomore year. I avoid difficult things at all costs; if I can’t figure it out on my own I don’t acknowledge it because I do not like to fail. I distract myself to no end just so I do not have to deal with the difficult things that I cannot fix myself or find the answers for. I remember freaking out because I had run out of things to do/distract myself. I ran out of crafts to do, movies to watch, and books to read. The last book I read was Girl, Interrupted and in it the author described her experience in the loony bin and the loonys she was with. I knew that I didn’t want to go to one, and so I told Mommy Dearest I needed help. It was more of a hysterical breakdown with me crying and pleading to her that I needed something to do/that I had ran out of things to do to distract myself – she brushed it off as me being spoiled and wanting something.
My theory of high school was that it was like a full time job, and with full time jobs comes vacation days. Each semester we had five excused days, so when we were given a school planner at the beginning of every year I would go through mine and circle my 5 days per semester, or as I liked to call them – my vacation days. I was taking one of my vacation days when a friend of mine turned my name into the counselor’s office. She was worried I wasn’t at school and knew I was having some - issues. The next day I came back, I was called up there and was met by my parents and the counselor in her office. The counselor asked if I needed help. Uh, duh. The ‘rents broke down and agreed to get me help.
At the time I was also scraping (I call it scraping, not cutting) myself. I remember I would get into these moods or something would just trigger me and I would scrape myself with any tool I could fashion. One time I was sitting in the middle of science and used the wire spiral from a notebook to scrape my arm. I used knives, cuticle cutters, a razor, and any other objects with sharp edges that could scrape. I remember the sting and how it wasn’t a bad feeling sting but a good feeling. Crazy, no?
I didn’t tell my friends at first,they had their own problems, but I told when I was found out. I was in the bathroom one day, in a stall, re-doing the ace bandage around my scraped up arm (the Neosporin combination with the cloth made it difficult for a tight wrap) when a friend barged in for some lip gloss - a very 90210 moment I remember. This girl was a blabber, so I knew I had to tell before she did or who knows what all details she would have added.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The other me(s)
I have friended the other me(s) on facebook just to see what kind of me they are and how I compare. I have found three other me(s): two are also redheads/gingers, one is a blonde, two are conservative, they are all younger than me, one rides horses, two are in college (one is still in hs), one (a redhead) is the oldest of three girls (like me) and one of her sisters has the same name as my sister1, they are all beautiful happy skinny versions of me.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Kinda Fat Girl, Interrupted
I have two best friends. The greatest best friends any girl in the world could have. They are freakishly beautiful and skinny. Now, that being said, I am not. It is hard having supermodel equivalents as best friends, especially in high school. They have never intentionally or knowingly made me feel bad about myself for not being freakishly beautiful or skinny, but there have been moments when they have said something as a criticism to others or a joke made that really struck me to the core. It was innocent and unintentional; I just took it the way I did.
Inevitably anytime we get together there is always talk on improving the way we look. My issue is my weight; I would like to loose a couple pounds, who wouldn’t. Standing next to them, looking at pictures taken of us, I look like a freckled whale. The minute I say something about weight they climb on board the band wagon and claim they are sooooo fat and disgusting.
Bitches, please! Can I at least get my fat friend moment all to myself?
So, on top of going insane I am currently on a diet. Ill timed? Yes. Necessary? Maybe. With everything else that is falling apart, not coming together, or not happening for me, at least I can control/accomplish this.
Inevitably anytime we get together there is always talk on improving the way we look. My issue is my weight; I would like to loose a couple pounds, who wouldn’t. Standing next to them, looking at pictures taken of us, I look like a freckled whale. The minute I say something about weight they climb on board the band wagon and claim they are sooooo fat and disgusting.
Bitches, please! Can I at least get my fat friend moment all to myself?
So, on top of going insane I am currently on a diet. Ill timed? Yes. Necessary? Maybe. With everything else that is falling apart, not coming together, or not happening for me, at least I can control/accomplish this.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Telling…….
I was afraid of the in person conversation, so I took the easy way out and did it over email instead. Since I am uninsured, Mommy Dearest graciously bought me one of those three month insurance plans after I graduated. That three month time slot has come and gone and she has graciously bought me another one. I received an email receipt of it, so I forwarded it to her with this note:
Me: does this mean that I have insurance? what all does it cover? i need some happy pills before i go off the deep end and slit my wrists. if it doesnt cover it, you will need to go and act crazy and get happy pills and give them to me. i have gone insane again and need help. pronto.
She responded:
Mommy Dearest: Well it has a $l,000 deductible and I think will only cover psych if you are hospitalized. Now if you think you need happy pills maybe call Dr’s office, just tell them you don’t have any insurance and see if the doctor can prescribe you something.
Me: is he qualified to prescribe those. I assumed only psychologists could since he would have to evaluate me.
MD: I am not sure, there is a female doctor there on Fridays, call and talk to the office manager.
Me: i mean what should i say. im depressed i need some type of mood balancing medication. im afraid they'll just tell me to see a psych. which i do not have the insurance to see.
MD: Yes, tell them you are depressed, lethargic, just want to sleep all the time, when they ask why tell them, I don’t have insurance I don’t have a job and I am too nervous to drive. Just see what they say. (My life boiled down to I don’t have a job and I’m too nervous to drive).
Me: lol did you rread what you just typed. they are obviously going to tell me i need psych help.
MD: I love you and want you to be the thriving beautiful person you really are. Driving working out among people. People add so much to your life experience, they are not your enemy, your room is your cocoon, come out of it and spread your beautiful butterfly wings. Wake Uncle D up and the two of you get out in the sun, drive around or whatever.
I spent the majority of today trying not to think, then thinking and crying my eyes out, and then trying not to think again. I call G-Ma Nancy every day at 8 in the morn then again at noon; I forgot to call her today. She called me while I was busy not thinking and asked why I didn’t call and what I had been doing. I told her I was just busy. She asked busy with what, and I told her busy doing nothing. I couldn’t think to answer because then I would just end up evaluating everything so, I started to cry again. She didn’t know. I just changed the subject and asked what she had been doing then got off the phone. This is so pathetic and ridiculous.
Me: does this mean that I have insurance? what all does it cover? i need some happy pills before i go off the deep end and slit my wrists. if it doesnt cover it, you will need to go and act crazy and get happy pills and give them to me. i have gone insane again and need help. pronto.
She responded:
Mommy Dearest: Well it has a $l,000 deductible and I think will only cover psych if you are hospitalized. Now if you think you need happy pills maybe call Dr’s office, just tell them you don’t have any insurance and see if the doctor can prescribe you something.
Me: is he qualified to prescribe those. I assumed only psychologists could since he would have to evaluate me.
MD: I am not sure, there is a female doctor there on Fridays, call and talk to the office manager.
Me: i mean what should i say. im depressed i need some type of mood balancing medication. im afraid they'll just tell me to see a psych. which i do not have the insurance to see.
MD: Yes, tell them you are depressed, lethargic, just want to sleep all the time, when they ask why tell them, I don’t have insurance I don’t have a job and I am too nervous to drive. Just see what they say. (My life boiled down to I don’t have a job and I’m too nervous to drive).
Me: lol did you rread what you just typed. they are obviously going to tell me i need psych help.
MD: I love you and want you to be the thriving beautiful person you really are. Driving working out among people. People add so much to your life experience, they are not your enemy, your room is your cocoon, come out of it and spread your beautiful butterfly wings. Wake Uncle D up and the two of you get out in the sun, drive around or whatever.
I spent the majority of today trying not to think, then thinking and crying my eyes out, and then trying not to think again. I call G-Ma Nancy every day at 8 in the morn then again at noon; I forgot to call her today. She called me while I was busy not thinking and asked why I didn’t call and what I had been doing. I told her I was just busy. She asked busy with what, and I told her busy doing nothing. I couldn’t think to answer because then I would just end up evaluating everything so, I started to cry again. She didn’t know. I just changed the subject and asked what she had been doing then got off the phone. This is so pathetic and ridiculous.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Conversations
Literally ten minutes after I finished the entry yesterday.
Mommy Dearest: "Well, I guess Uncle D can take you since he doesn't have a job and Sister 1 can just pick you up."
Me: (staring in disbelief at her insensitivity) "Thank you for that." as I walk out of the kitchen.
MD: trailing out behind me "You get worked up over every little thing; you're not normal."
Me: "I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU THAT FOR MONTHS NOW!!!!!!!!!"
The month before I had asked Sister1 to take me to the mall (in exchange for me filling her tank) so I could get something to wear to my besty's b-day. The agreement was that I would fill her tank and we would go early in order to be back in time for her to go out with her friends that afternoon. I woke up early and tried to get her up. She wouldn't get up; even after I reminded her that she had plans and agreed to take me. She finally got up an hour later and sent a text to me: This shit is getting old. The bitch needs to get her license etc. etc. I text her back that she clearly sent this to the wrong person. Five minutes later Mommy Dearest called and asked me what was wrong and what had I done. Yes, what had I done to S1.
I was upset the rest of the day. Crying, bawling, blubbering all day - on the way to mall in the passenger seat with my sister, on the way home from the mall, and outside the tattoo parlor where my sister was talking shit with her besty about me. Am I pathetic? Yes, I have never claimed not to be. So, from that point on I would never ask for S1 to take me anywhere, ever.
Mommy Dearest: "Well, I guess Uncle D can take you since he doesn't have a job and Sister 1 can just pick you up."
Me: (staring in disbelief at her insensitivity) "Thank you for that." as I walk out of the kitchen.
MD: trailing out behind me "You get worked up over every little thing; you're not normal."
Me: "I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU THAT FOR MONTHS NOW!!!!!!!!!"
The month before I had asked Sister1 to take me to the mall (in exchange for me filling her tank) so I could get something to wear to my besty's b-day. The agreement was that I would fill her tank and we would go early in order to be back in time for her to go out with her friends that afternoon. I woke up early and tried to get her up. She wouldn't get up; even after I reminded her that she had plans and agreed to take me. She finally got up an hour later and sent a text to me: This shit is getting old. The bitch needs to get her license etc. etc. I text her back that she clearly sent this to the wrong person. Five minutes later Mommy Dearest called and asked me what was wrong and what had I done. Yes, what had I done to S1.
I was upset the rest of the day. Crying, bawling, blubbering all day - on the way to mall in the passenger seat with my sister, on the way home from the mall, and outside the tattoo parlor where my sister was talking shit with her besty about me. Am I pathetic? Yes, I have never claimed not to be. So, from that point on I would never ask for S1 to take me anywhere, ever.
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