My mental state: a confessional?

I had deja vu today. I thought to myself “I really hate it when I am this anxious, I wish I could just go back to being depressed, at least then I could get some sleep.” and then I realized that a mere few weeks ago when I was feeling particularly depressed I thought “I wish I could just go back to being anxious, at least with anxiety I don’t feel dead inside.”

I can’t go through another 5 year bout of this. I don’t have the energy.

With that said, I don’t want to post this shit on a Facebook status update because honestly, there is less of a chance that anyone is gonna click the link to come here versus seeing it in a status update. I know it isn’t anonymous and that someone will see this, but I can’t afford a doctor and I need to get this shit out of me. It is poison. The problem is, people ask me to talk to them about it and I clam up. I can’t verbalize it right now because it is raw. Maybe when it is over and I’ve begun to heal a little, I can go back and reminisce about this awful feeling, but now, I can’t.

A few family members might come around the blog to see what’s going on. A couple friends might. If anyone does, though, they chose to read it, it isn’t like I made them listen to the incoherent ramblings of an over (or under, for that matter) stimulated brain, just spewing out emotion vomit. I know I am a burden when I am like this, but at least here, the people reading it chose to read it. At least here I can “say” what I need to say and cry about it without feeling like I am wasting anyone’s time, without feeling weak. I know I am weak. I dont think I can handle starting this conversation and watching the other person’s eyes glaze over, or the person listening perhaps checking their phone while I fall apart in front of them. Here I can get this rot out of me uninterrupted.

I don’t know why I am still justifying to myself why I am writing this. Oh well, fuck it.

So, here I am.

Anxiety makes me shake. I have nightmares. My guts are upset, I jump out of my skin at the slightest sound. My heart rate is irregular. My mouth is dry. My skin feels like I have bugs crawling all over me. I cant make a decision. I am confused by regular every day things. I have no desire to be out of my house, yet I feel guilty if I don’t participate in life. I am easily enraged by simple things. My feelings get hurt easily. I overreact to the slightest things. My senses are heightened to the point where a running fan is deafening and the sun is blinding. I can “feel” germs on me when I touch anything in public. I can almost “see” them. I feel nauseated. My breathing is strained, my chest hurts, my muscles are tense. My mind is throwing a million thoughts at me incoherently. I am remembering stupid things from ten years ago and feeling guilt, anger, and sadness that should have long since gone away. I am uncomfortable in my skin, I dread getting in my car tomorrow to drive to work. I am convinced I am losing my mind but at this point, it would be relief if it just shut itself the fuck off. I want to channel these feelings in to artwork but I am too raw emotionally to do so, and when I avoid getting this out of me I feel guilt that I am not creating. I know I am off of my “path” in life and that scares me like a horror movie scares a normal person. I am literally scared witless that I am not fulfilling some purpose that I am not even aware of. It is like failing a goal I was never told I had, just that I had to achieve it. I get the urge to pick at my skin, sometimes my brain tells me to cut myself, like a good bloodletting will release some of these demons. I am flailing my arms and legs on the inside while trying to maintain the appearance of steadiness on the outside, and, frankly, I am fucking exhausted. I wear my masks proudly, cracked, rotted, and decayed as they are, they still cover my rawness.

That’s where I am. Who knows how long I will be here, but that is where I am.

I had the urge to work on some photos today. I had the urge to make a painting. Neither of those things happened because the thought was overstimulating.

So, it’s out there, the darkness has lifted from my soul, only to be replaced with electricity. I go from nothingness to everything all at once. It is overwhelming.

To anyone who has read this far, I hope this helps to explain some of the things I may have said or did, or what something I might do or say in the future. In the meantime, I will continue to try to find this elusive path I’m supposed to be walking.

Peace and love, friends.

Hello again, you anxiety bastard.

When I finally started telling people just how bad off my brain had become, I told myself that I would share my story proudly, because if you fully love me, then you must also love my panic attacks, my anger, and my depression,  because they have helped shape me into this person. This blog was born of my intention to share with people, not only so they would know that they are not suffering alone, but also for those who are not affected directly with mental disorders, so that they might start to have a better understanding of what it is like. I have always been very candid in my approach to this, though I have never shared 100% of the details. I feel as though releasing the deepest demons might wreak havoc on those around me, because honestly, if I have lived this long with them and am still terrified of them, how would they make my mom feel?

So, here we are again. Back on the blog. I guess you might’ve guessed that I am back because the anxiety is back. Ding, ding, ding you win the game!

A little back story, I had been going through a 5 year anxiety/depression cycle when I decided to share this blog. One morning, I woke up and decided to make some changes in my life, so I did. I changed jobs, I learned some new skills, and I started to get better. In fact, I started working out with a trainer, I was sleeping better, eating better, lost a grand total of 60 pounds from my heaviest weight during the depression cycle, and things were looking good. I made a whole new set of friends, I was less anxious when I was around new people, and I even started taking little photo adventures. This happy cycle lasted almost 2 years, anxiety and depression free for the most part. I saw deaths in the family, I saw new babies, too. I saw sickness, I was forced to confront my own mortality as a result, but I wasn’t afraid.

A few weeks ago, I snapped a pencil in half because I broke the tip. I threw a marker across the room because someone had placed it on the keyboard and I kept hitting it with my fingers while I was trying to type. I tore a tee shirt in half because the ink bled. I threw away an entire meal because it touched the counter. I self harmed for the first time in years because my computer frustrated me.

The rage cycle.

I know it all too well. My temper is out of control. Not to worry, phukers, I never harm anyone but myself when the rage hits, but it is embarrassing. Me, the girl who carries flies outside so they won’t die. Me, the vegetarian. Me, the girl who saved a huge ugly spider from a swimming pool like David Hasselhoff. I am not allowed to have rage. I am the free spirited one. I am the one who can center herself with yoga and deep breathing. Yes, these are the lies I told myself while I was fine. Truth is, I am that person, when I am happy Mel. Any other point in the cycle, and I am a mess. There was talk once upon a time while I was still concerned with diagnosing this thing (so I had a name to call it) that perhaps I am bipolar. I think that is inaccurate. Of course, how the hell would I know?

So, here we are again. The anger cycle. I know what is next. Anxiety. People have asked me what the worst part about each cycle is. Happy cycle Mel knows that the other three Mels are not too far behind. Anger Mel is embarrassing. Extremely embarrassing. Anxiety Mel has nightmares about harming herself and the ones she loves, so much so and so realistically that I have to check my mother’s bedroom or the cat perch, etc. to make sure I didn’t do what I dreamed I did. Depression Mel loves to think about how lovely it would be to be dead. The worst part is that I can’t control any of it. It just appears and leaves me to deal with it. It is like a bad guy who ties a damsel to the railroad tracks and bolts. I am left to get her off the tracks and to deal with the aftermath if I can’t. This is where I say “so long” to creating any new artwork. Some artists pull from their emotions to make great art. I just shut down. This is where I say “good bye” to being able to accept a party invitation and actually attending. This is where I start to want death to take me so I wouldn’t have to live another minute like this, but remembering that happy Mel will someday return. This is when people say things like “but you were fine yesterday.” This is the well intentioned say “please come talk to me if you are feeling bad” and when you try to they change the subject, because as much as they want to, they don’t understand you. This is when you just … Exist. The horrible part is the transition. Happy Mel wants to throw a welcome home party for the panicked Mel. She needs some love.

This is when you see who your friends are. This is when you find out who will be with you in your darkness as well as in your light. This is when you see the strength that you are capable of. This is when you watch yourself do the impossible. This is when you show people who may be afflicted as you are that you are here, you are neurotic, and you are here to help. This is where you find community amongst the damned. This is where you see a smile from a loved one and truly appreciate it for the beauty it holds. This is where you watch children run and play and remember that the world spins on, with or without you, and you can either fight to dance along or you can chose to be left behind, either way, that choice is yours and you know you will make the right one because damn it there are people who love you despite your ugliness and they are worth the fight, even when you think you aren’t.

I will fight it. I will fight the darkness. I learned so much from my 5 years in the depths of hell and I know it can’t take me. I have a family and friends who love me. I have neurotics to help in fighting their own demons. I have a happy Mel to get back to. She may be outnumbered by the horrible Mels, but she is strong and she is mighty and she is worth the wait through the muck.

Thank you for reading. This is always an adventure, but this time, unlike last time, I am prepared for the journey. I have gained knowledge and I have already started the process of getting back to my therapist. This won’t get me. My best friend is somewhere in this typhoon in my skull and I have to help her get back out.

I hope this blog reaches someone who needs it, whether that be a neurotic or a normal. Either way, I will try to help where I can.

XOXO

Anchors Aweigh, Uncle Al.

Uncle Al with daughter Keli

My uncle Al passed away on February 14th.  He had been sick with lung cancer for a couple years, he fought HARD until the end, and as a result of this, I have been asking myself questions.  I am not religious, but I so hope that the end isn’t the hard truth that science gives us.  This has been a time of reflection, not only on his life, but on my own beliefs.  I’ve stalled on my gym attendance and my social outings, as a low-grade depression has come over me.  I know my mind is searching for answers to the questions I have always had about death and dying, and the motivation will return to me when I figure something out, or at least find a temporarily satisfying explanation until I begin to question things again.  This will be a long post, but I hope you will read it all and give your opinions in the comments.

I learned some things about uncle Al that I didn’t know about him while he was alive, like that he was born premature and the doctors didn’t think he would make it.  I learned that he broke his leg pretty badly, and once again, doctors didn’t think he would survive it.  His father went out on a fishing trip that uncle Al REALLY wanted to join him on, and his father drowned on that trip.  Uncle Al probably would have, too, had he been there.  So, to say that the man really wanted to stay here with us is an understatement.  Now, I will share with you what I DID know about him.

Uncle Al owned a doughnut shop in Pennsylvania.  I went there as a child, probably a few times, but I only remember once.  I don’t know how old I was, but I was pretty young, and I remember running past a mixer and being completely fascinated by it.  Not sure why, apparently I am easily fascinated, but that’s what I remember.  I remember the smell of the shop.  I don’t eat a lot of doughnuts these days (yeah, I am trying to live cleaner), but I know that any time I step foot in a doughnut shop, he will be the first person I think of.  He had quit smoking some time ago, but I will always remember the smell of pipe smoke around him.  I was at the funeral service thinking to myself, “uncle Al, if you ever want to get a hold of me, send me some pipe smoke.”

If uncle Al had a beverage in his hand, it was hot tea or a rum and Coke.  I haven’t been out to a bar since the funeral, but when I do, my first drink will be a rum and Coke.  I mixed him one once at a family Christmas party and he said he liked the way I mixed them because I made ’em strong.  I laughed.  I have no idea if he was serious or if he was just politely telling me that I needed to tone down the alcohol, but either way, his laugh was infectious and I will miss it dearly.

Uncle Al never missed a family function.  Family was his biggest priority, and honestly, he is an inspiration to me in that

Uncle Al and Aunt Dee, best buds

respect.  Everyone is always so busy with their things and their whatnots, and we often find ourselves sitting at funerals thinking “if only I had visited more”, or “if only I had called them to chat more”.  I am so glad that I was able to go visit him the Thursday before he passed.  I am glad that he knew that I was there for him, I am glad that I saw him once more.  My aunt Donna and I went to visit him while he was in rehabilitation after he had a trache put in, we played cards with him, his two daughters, sons in law, and his granddaughter and her fiance.  Bob cheated, Evan tried to cheat, too, I had not idea how to play and winged it for most of the game (still won, though), and we had such a fun time.  I don’t want to remember him sick, but I will still cherish that memory.  I am glad to know that he knew that I was there.  Is it sick that I wish that I had taken photos of him that night?  I mean, I’m sure he would have protested anyway, but I think if I had taken a few photos of him, I could look back on those photos and remind myself of his strength, still laughing and yucking it up while he was on oxygen.  Every ounce of his being wanting to kick that cancer and get back to life.  I know I would gain strength from that, because he just resonated with it.  Of course I would prefer to remember him not sick, but thinking of the opportunities to capture his love of life and family, right up until the end, that is the kind of soul that every photographer wants to capture in their work.

Darts

Uncle Al was an avid fisherman and hunter.  He loved the outdoors.  I wish I had the patience it takes to do either of those activities (not that I would do either, but I would love to have that amount of patience).  He had always been an all around patient guy.  I don’t think I have ever seen him get angry or frustrated.  He took the world in stride.  Me?  Not even close.  I get into a screaming fit every time someone cuts me off on the highway.  If I can take a lesson from his demeanor, I need to take that lesson.  He was always gentle and kind, never had a bad word to say about anyone, and was always willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

I wanted to leave a small bottle of rum and a Coke in his casket.  I’m sure no one would have minded, but something held me back.  Something always holds me back. Yet another lesson to be learned from uncle Al.  He never held anything back.  If he wanted to tell you something, it came out.  No holds barred.  One of his best qualities, arguably, was his ability to tell you that you messed up in the most patient, tactful, and FUNNY way possible.  The man was HILARIOUS.  He could have the whole crowd laughing in a matter of minutes.

Uncle Al was a charmer.  Every wedding we had, he would be surrounded with ladies.  He just had a way about him.  He was

Uncle Al, wedding professional

also the garter belt magnet.  I am pretty sure I have never attended a wedding in which he didn’t catch the garter belt.  I’m fairly certain he strategically planned these things! Nothing will ever be the same without him there, without his laugh, without his wit, but I will especially miss him at weddings.  He was a pro at weddings! He had the kindest eyes, eyes that told you stories.  He was one of those people that hung on your every word until you were finished talking.  You could always tell, too, because he had this funny way of mouthing the words you were saying while you were saying them.  I always wanted to ask him why he did that, or better yet, HOW he did that… it was almost as though he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.  Probably because he paid so much attention to you, that he probably DID know you better than you thought he did, hell, probably better than you knew yourself sometimes.  Someday I will find out why he mouthed along with you, but for now, that is one of those traits about him that always secretly fascinated me.

He lived with my grandparents for a long time, helping to care for my grandma as she slipped further and further into dementia.  He would help my pappaps care for her, and they would talk, and I am sure they shared moments together while my pappaps struggled to understand what was happening to his wife.  They became closer and closer, best friends.  Watching my pappaps cry for his friend when we went to visit Al that Thursday before he died was one of the hardest things I have ever seen.  All I could do was hold my pappaps while he cried.  My dad told me that was all he needed me to do, but I wish there was anything I could have done or said to change it, to have uncle Al here with us, to make both of their pains go away.  I’m sure that is a completely normal reaction to seeing two of the strongest men you know, both in such weak and vulnerable states.  It tore me apart to see Al sick and pappaps so upset.  All I can do is wish things, but I wish my grandma had been cognizant enough to say good bye to him.  I wish she hadn’t gotten sick.  I wish he hadn’t gotten sick.  I wish we were all younger and things were the way they were when I was a teenager and I thought everyone in my life was invincible.  Sadly, life is more fragile than we give credit for when we are young.

As I said, I wanted to leave a rum and coke for him, but I didn’t.  I was sitting at the funeral service, hearing all the wonderful stories about him, and I kept my gaze on the balled up tissue in my hand.  I had been staring at that tissue for the bulk of the service when it suddenly dawned on me that I had to put a little piece of me in the casket with him.  I had worn my PuraVida

Anchors Aweigh

anchor bracelet that day, my favorite bracelet.  As I stared at the tissue, the bracelet suddenly came into my view like a shining star and I thought, “well, hell.  Why don’t I leave him my bracelet?” it is the perfect bracelet for a fisherman like him, with the golden anchor and rope.  I figured, I would just go home and order another one, that way we could both have one.  Hell, just a week after the service I got an email that PuraVida had put my bracelet on sale for half off!  What are the odds, right?  Well, I got that order out right away and I expect my new bracelet in a few days!  I hadn’t even had the thing for very long, but it was my favorite little trinket, and I knew, had he seen it, he would have mentioned the anchor.  I mean, he loved fishing, he loved the water.  Furthermore, at least for me, the anchor meant a lot more than just fishing symbolism, it meant safety, it meant steadiness. I don’t have religion, I don’t know what I believe happens once we die, I know what I HOPE happens.  I know what I don’t believe happens.  I hope we reincarnate into another life somewhere and our souls just keep on going.  I hope this isn’t the last time my soul will walk the earth, even if it is in a different vessel.  I hope that someday I will meet Uncle Al again, though I don’t believe in a heaven or a hell, I hope someday when I am an old lady, I will see a young man in a store or on the sidewalk, and I will smile at him and say hello, and he will laugh an infectious laugh and it will be him, in another vessel.  We probably wouldn’t recognize each other, and that’s fine.  But our souls met again and everything was good.

Anchors Aweigh means that the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and the ship is officially underway.  It seemed fitting to me to bid uncle Al anchors aweigh versus “good bye”, as I do hope that his soul was set free to a new adventure, that his anchor, the only thing holding him here, his body, is clear of this Earth and his soul is officially underway.  I would like to hope that he gave me this revelation.  I would love to think that he was sitting there with me, checking out the turnout for his memorial service, laughing along with the stories being told about him and the memories shared, and his soul whispered to me, “hey Melissa, this isn’t goodbye.  You will see me again, in a healthy body, cancer and pain free.  So, this is anchors aweigh, never goodbye.”

Uncle Al and Uncle Sam

Anchors Aweigh, Uncle Al.  Until we meet again…

Happy New Year, happy new Mel.

That photo was the 2002 me, in my screen reclaiming safety gear. High fashion, dahling, high fashion. But enough workplace reminiscing.

Happy New Year, Phuktophiles! Phuktomaniacs! Guess what? 2014 isn’t gonna beat me up. I took a new full-time position with an awesome screen printing company. I start tomorrow. I am beyond excited to have a career, and not a job. I can’t wait! It is currently 12:35 pm and I just put down my first layer of acrylic on canvas for 2014.

So, what have I been writing in my therapy journals for the last … 7 years? “_______________ is always making me feel victimized. Why does she do that to me?”, “_____________ has stopped talking to me. What did I do to him? Has he forgotten about me?”, “I don’t feel comfortable in my skin.”, “Why is it always so easy for people to use me and then DROP me?”, “I need to be more creative and make more art.”

2014. You will be the year I solve all of these problems that I have complained about since I started keeping track of my rogue thoughts.

So here is the thing, Phuktomaniacs, I will shrink, and I will grow this year. I will shrink the thoughts that I am no good. I will shrink the feelings of abandonment. I will shrink the negativity that I feel. I will shrink my body by taking better care of myself. I will grow the idea that I am worth more than what I have gotten or have given myself. I will grow a foundation of artistic skills so that I can create more art and feel more confident. I will grow my feelings of self worth by not allowing people to take advantage of me. I will grow my self worth by involving myself in more charitable functions. I will grow my brain by learning new skills, by gaining new knowledge.

I will be KIND to myself.
I will be AWESOME.
I will KICK ASS.

I think I owe it to myself. Don’t you?

I quit smoking just over 900 days ago. It was pretty tough, and I still want to smoke once in a while. I made that change. I mastered those feelings. I can do this, too, right?

BANG!

Happy 2014, Phuktophiles! Drink, write, party, sleep, dance, love, kiss, make art, LIVE, all with gusto!

Charles Bukowski said: You have to die a few times before you can really live.

Well, I think I’ve died enough times. Let’s live.

Some of them want to be used by you…

Ah, Marilyn Manson. What a great title.

I would have had a 16 month old on christmas eve. Time sure flies by, huh? It hurts like it was yesterday, and the traumatic experience that I went through, not only when I lost the baby, but lost the “friend” along the way … it still tears at my heart. The old me would be crying my eyes out just thinking about it. The new me is thankful that I learned something from it. I now know when someone is probably just trying to use me, and I can stop it before it happens. Cautiousness. Hey, universe, you could have gone with something less dramatic/traumatic. Hell, maybe I needed the drama/trauma. Regardless, I learned to not be used again, and that is what is important.

Self-respect. I learned that anyone who would use me doesn’t respect me, and if I allow them to use me, I have no respect for myself.

Life is beautiful. It is messed up and sad, unfair at times, completely taken for granted by many, totally chaotic, but it is beautiful. I now find it hard to admit that there have been a few times that I would have elected to leave this life behind because I failed to see the beauty. Depression and anxiety are bitches. 

Well, Phuktophiles, it has been a while. A situation with family has had me hating life again. I find it hard to love someone so much and have them not respect me or my feelings. It has taken a while for me to come to terms with it, but I find that I can explain it no other way. The events that caused me such pain got me thinking about the years I have spent with her, the things that have happened between us, and I have no other explanation. As much as I hate this and I hate not having a relationship with this person, I am glad that I learned something. Sometimes it is the ones closest to you that will hurt you the most. Perhaps, though, it only hurts because you feel like they shouldn’t treat you the way they are because you would never do that to them, you know? My standards of caring for this person are maybe higher than their standards of caring for me. I guess I will never know. But I do know this: I learned that I need only give my loyalty to those who will give theirs to me. I have always just given loyalty as though it did not need to be earned. I learned that it does.

I learned that making one simple misjudgement can ruin your life.

I learned that I am a person who will never feel whole unless I am loving the absolute shit out of everyone important to me, even if I don’t get it in return. But I must draw a line. I can never again be a door mat. Being a door mat will kill me. Scratch that. I will kill myself if I allow myself to be a door mat. Physically, figuratively, that I can’t answer, but I can’t exist that way anymore.

I learned that no matter what, I have to stop putting other people before myself all the time. I also learned that I am “other people” to other people,  and I don’t always get what I want out of them, so why should they always get what they want out of me? No more pretending to be something I am not just to appease someone else. If you dont like me, oh well. Get away from me.

I learned that some people just need to be surrounded in drama. I don’t need to be around them.

No more will I fight with every fiber to keep someone in my life who clearly doesn’t want to be kept. If I cut you off, you probably gave me the knife. Most likely, you yanked it out of my back.

But you know what I learned that is most important of all?

Be fuckin’ happy.

I went on an interview for a new printing company, and they are writing me an offer letter. They want me. I want them. I want a career with them. They want me to have a career with them. The day following my second interview, the one in which they told me that they are interested, I had a few friends out for my early birthday celebration. For the first time in years, I felt joy. I was driving home the morning after, and I was thinking about what had gone on the night before and I noticed something. My smile. For the entire party, my smile was genuine. There was no “I’m having fun” mask. I was actually happy. I realized … it had been so long since I felt that. The years I have wasted not being genuinely happy … that’s painful. My youth, like everyone’s, is short-lived. Soon, I will have wrinkles. Soon, society will dictate that I can’t wear shimmery eyeshadow, I won’t be able to dye my hair crazy colors. I won’t be allowed to dress up in rockabilly clothes without people shaking their heads saying “she’s too old for that”, and here I am wasting that time on depression. Does that mean I will medicate? Hell no. But I will think longer and harder about what this life is for and hopefully I will be able to convince myself of what I have always failed to in the past: this is it, babycakes. You only get one go-around. Make the best of it. If it doesnt make you happy, get rid of it. If someone doesn’t respect you, cut ’em off. Give love where love is given, give loyalty where loyalty is given. You don’t owe anyone shit, especially not the right to walk all over you because you’re kind enough to let them. Fuck that. Be the best you that you can be. Most importantly, you’re never too old for rockabilly.

Don’t even bother reading this. Seriously. Don’t bother.

Phuktophiles. I need to level with you. I feel like I can because neither of the two people I will talk about here today actually read this blog, so whatever. I don’t care. I’m sure they have shared their sides of these stories with anyone who actually does read this (which is few, I admit).

You may have noticed that I didn’t finish my September challenge. Well, that isn’t all true. I worked on stuff and neglected to post a bunch of them, figuring I would do that eventually, but then I hit a brick wall. A 4’9” brick wall, and I am devastated.

The brick wall is my sister.

Let me go back and give you the back story.

A guy I trusted and really liked as a person got me pregnant and left me to miscarry alone, terrified, and most of all feeling the worst depression I have ever felt in my life. I became suicidal, well, more like I became obsessed with suicide (which I am still). I didn’t attempt to take my life like I so wanted to do on that occasion and many occasions before it when a man made me feel like a worthless piece of garbage. My sister remained friends with this man on Facebook, and it really bothered me that she would do that. It was as though she was saying to him, “sure, you devastated my sister and she feels like the most worthless piece of slime she has ever felt like in the past, but I am okay with that, and I will continue to be your pal.” I didn’t really mention it to her, outside of “why are you still talking to that asshole?” but she said she wanted to keep tabs on him. I let it slide as her thinking she was helping me, though it completely crushed me inside that she would even want to associate with this person, let alone that he was probably thinking “well, if her sister doesn’t hate me, then I must not have done anything so wrong…”

Enter the next brick wall. A 5’2” brick wall. My other sister.

She owed me money. Yes, I said some shit out of anger that got back to her (the 4’9” brick wall relayed that information back to her). I owed her a wedding album that I had every intention of getting to her, but I hit a few financial pitfalls due to panic attacks that took me to ER, having to wear a heart monitor to figure out what was making my heart beat erratically, and, well, just about every other financial pitfall a person with questionable health, credit card debt, and a car can face followed that up. I killed my credit in the process, I have a garnishment of my wages as a result of all of this, so I hit some very hard times and I have yet to recover. It’s been a very “spiral out of control” last few years for me. So, anyway, I owed her a wedding album and I hated myself more and more every day that I couldn’t deliver it to her. I come to find out that someone in my family has been telling other people in my family all about my financial issues, because I know I haven’t told anyone (too embarrassed) and somehow the 5’2” brick wall had all these stories about me and my money that I don’t know how or why they were being shared amongst my family. Either way, she accused me of trying to steal money from her, to which I say, I wouldn’t even steal GUM from her, but whatever. She has owed me money for years and I never said a word, not wanting that to be the ruin of our relationship. I just assumed she would pay me in time. Well, I came to a point where I NEEDED the money she owed, so I asked for it. I was then accused of being an extortionist. A knife in my back. I would never assume the worst of either of these brick walls, Phuktophiles, so for them to do these things to me was like acid in my face. Yes, I am aware that it was a business transaction and I failed miserably at holding up my end of the wedding album business transaction. I am completely aware of that, and that is why I have since decided to close up shop on MSJ Photography. I failed in business. I don’t blame her for being angry with me, but to call me an extortionist when she didn’t know exactly what I was going through … as a sister, it hurt. A lot. There was no, let me just call her and see why this is taking so long. There was only call on Christmas day, scream at Melissa, don’t let Melissa get a word in edgewise, and assume the worst of Melissa.

Enter again the 4’9” brick wall.

A person whom I thought was my friend (I’ve known him for about half of my life) was flirty with me, told me how much he liked me, told me he had liked me for a while, but I wasn’t in a place to partake after the miscarriage, so I never acted on it. Eventually, I got myself a boyfriend that wasn’t him, but this person continued to tell me how much he liked me, even so far as to tell me this at my boyfriend’s birthday party. Lo and behold, after he must have realized that I wasn’t interested in leaving my boyfriend for him, suddenly he starts showing interest in my little sister. He said to her on her Facebook page that he is “curious about her.” What a slimeball, right? Had he not led me to believe that he actually gave a shit about me, only for me to find out that he really didn’t, I wouldn’t care about all this. So, after all I have been through and these trust issues I now have with men who would try to lead me to believe that they like me only to find that they really probably don’t, I was heartbroken to find out that my 4’9” brick wall is now bebopping around town with this person. She wants to be friends with him, despite that he made me feel worthless, despite that he was supposed to be a friend of mine who suddenly doesn’t want to talk to me anymore because he found a new “target”. I am completely devastated. So I explained how I felt to my sister, thinking that she would certainly respect my feelings enough to say, “okay, well if it bothers you that much, then I will just stay away from him,” but nope. Being his friend is far more important to her than the heartbreak that I am currently suffering. Hell, I hope I am wrong. I hope that perhaps I misread the situation with this guy and he just hasn’t cleared the air with me, but for right now, all I have to go on is that he talked a lot of talk to try to get me closer to him, and then he pulled away when he found a new target, thus, I meant exactly nothing to him at all. Another warm hole. Another worthless piece of garbage. I find that I can’t even think about my sister and this dude running around town and having fun together without starting to cry. Why? Because this feels like a knife in my back. I don’t ask for much. I ask for my family … not even my entire family … but my sisters to support me. To sacrifice for me once in a while. To answer my text messages when I tell you that I feel like my life is falling apart. To listen to me when I am telling you about how I want to die, without you changing the subject to what stupid thing your mother in law did. To choose me over the asshole guy who, just a few months ago, only knew you existed because of the stories I would tell about you and how much I love and respect you … but nope.

I know that my hatred for men right now is somewhat irrational. I am aware that someday all of this might change. But for now, this is where I am in my life and I hoped that at least my own sisters would be able to support me. But nope. I supported the 4’9” brick wall when she wanted to move in with her last boyfriend even though I knew better and I desperately didn’t want her to do so. I began editing my opinions and points of view on things that she was doing in her life because she doesn’t like my blunt and honest personality. I supported the 5’2” brick wall through her ugly divorce, her new wedding, her starting to develop panic attacks, something I am all too familiar with … the list of things I have been there for them through is just as countless as their lists are for me … and I would continue to go to the ends of the Earth to support either one of them. I would de-friend someone who didn’t treat them with 100% respect and dignity, hell, I have. No question, no skin off my back. I would loan either one of them every dime I own, if I owned any dimes. Hell, screw loans, I would GIVE them money, which is what I had figured I would do this time around until I absolutely had no other choice but to try to collect … All three of us have done questionable things in our lives, I’ve supported them both through the questionable shit, and then I supported them both when the shit hit the fan. I was a shoulder to cry on. I put myself in harm’s way for them. I would STILL TO THIS DAY surrogate for my older sister if she finds that she and her husband can’t conceive. I would do anything, go anywhere, die for, take a bullet for, go to jail for, these two women … and they find me, or at least my feelings, worthless. My older sister hasn’t even spoken to me since all this happened. Everyone says it’s because I haven’t spoken to her … I was accused of being an extortionist … why am I the one who ALWAYS puts out the olive branch? Someone, please, come to me once in a while and make me feel like you WANT me in your life! I am sick of always being the one to come forward first to make things right. No more. Just for once, can someone at least, for my sake, pretend that I am important enough to them to make a sacrifice? Because right now I am feeling like the lowest piece of dirt and I have more strangers reaching out to me than I have family!

Another worthless piece of garbage.

So, that being said, hello deity up in the sky that I don’t believe in, I am ready to go now, but I can’t bring myself to put my family and friends through what my suicide would do to them, so feel free to take me of natural causes at any time … because I can’t live like this anymore.

Yours,
The Completely Unsupported.

If you know either of these two people, do me a favor and don’t tell them this is up here. I really just needed to get my side of the story out of me because, well, it appears that I really don’t have anyone left in my life to talk to about it. I don’t want them reading this and getting more angry, or worse yet, pitying me. I don’t need pity. I know that I messed up by trusting these slimeball men around me and I know I messed up my dream of being a photographer by being this anxious, depressed piece of shit. This is all partially my fault, and I know that. Honestly, I’m sure I will regret this post as soon as I post it and will likely take it down. I don’t care. I will feel better if even one person reads it and knows what I have been feeling on the subject, since I haven’t spoken to anyone else about either, and most likely will never.

And with that said, I am done with this emo bullshit. I owe the good people at the Clinic more money than I make in a month, hell, more than I make in two months, but I will make the first available appointment that I can to get in to my new doctor and get on meds. It is sad that I am addicted to a drug that I don’t even yet take on the promise that it might make these feelings of worthlessness go away, or at least subside a little. Not even on ’em and I already need them too much. That’s sad. That’s exactly the reason I never started taking them. I didn’t want to need them. I didn’t anticipate that I would get addicted before I even gave them a chance.

Failing at life always.

Fucking kill me, please.

ThirtyThirty CraftyNine Days Nine and Ten

Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive that is youer than you. Dr Seuss

Day nine brings us to one of my favorite quotes of all time, by one of my favorite people, in one of my favorite fonts, Calvin and Hobbes.

What did I do on day nine? I painted my creepy doll! Well, I started to. Apparently the old bird is gonna need a few base coats to cover up her flesh color. Booooo.

Terrifying, isn’t she? She is gonna need some work, though, for sure. I have a long way to go, but I have a plan for her… An even bigger plan than I originally planned!

You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own and you know what you know, and you are the one who’ll decide where to go. Dr Seuss

Day Ten was a lazy day, Phuktophiles. Work was grueling, people are down right mean, and I didn’t have an ounce of shits to give yesterday. I managed to take a look back at some of my own older work, which is always good for me. It reminds me of a happier time in my life. I also *think* I have figured out what is wrong with my video editing software that is causing my system to crash mid-vid. I really hope I figured it out because I want to try my hand. I’ve put together video slideshows before on different software, this software is kicking my butt, though. But if I figured it out and I manage to create a slideshow this weekend, I plan on using it to create a project this month. Keep your fingers crossed, Phuktophiles.

Now I want to say that since I am writing this post on September 11, I still remember (as I am sure everyone does) what they were doing when tragedy struck. I still get goosebumps when I see the images, I still get choked up. I am proud of my country, regardless of her flaws or, rather, the flaws of those who live here.

The images, though graphic and difficult to look at, remind me, too, of why I love image making and why it is such an important thing. Moments are not guaranteed, and are easily lost.

Hug your loved ones extra tight tonight, Phuktophiles, and remember to never forget.

ThirtyThirty CraftyNine — Day Eight

Why fit in when you were born to stand out? –Dr Seuss

Oh, so I should warn you, Phuktophiles, that I dedicated this week to Dr Seuss for the quotes. He … Well, let’s just call him my green eggs and husband because I love him.

What, what, what did I do creatively yesterday on day 8, you ask? Well, Phuktophiles, I contemplated.

I have been writing a novel for … Well, since the womb it feels like … And I get about four chapters in and I start not loving what I wrote. I know, I know, rough drafts are rarely pretty and they need polish, but I just can’t seem to communicate what I want to communicate. I decided that part of this might be the lack of formal structure.

I know. We hate structure. But I don’t hate it. Actually, I have structural ADD or something. I love structure and discipline in my work, and I am an OCD nightmare when it comes to cataloging my negatives and photo discs, my bedroom looks like a tornado ran through it, my car rarely has less than a month’s worth of paper trash floating around … Actually, I’ve been good with the truck. No photo gear storage in the backseat because there is no back seat … So let’s just say I love structure sometimes and other times it just doesn’t fit in to my schedule.

Anyway, I spent some quality time with my novel characters yesterday. We know Caeleb is (like me) dark and brooding, but why? What caused him to be this way? Lauren’s mother has been friends with Megan and Stephanie’s mom since the girls were born. How did they meet? Caeleb is covered in ink, but does Lauren have any tattoos? Why or why not? Frank sells tractors. How did he get in to that? Was his father a tractor salesman?  Imogen Cunningham is (mine and) Caeleb’s favorite photographer. Why? What draws him to Imogen enough that he named his daughter after her?

So, yeah. I got to know the pretend people in my head.

To anyone who doesn’t write or read books, that might sound odd. Honestly, I have been getting to know these “people” for years, but I will be honest here, their story? Kinda boring. That’s why I keep losing interest. So I spent time trying to make them more interesting. It appears that this book is going to be one of those ones where you adore the main character (because Caeleb is adorable) and you read all the way to the end to see what becomes of him and it turns out … Nothing. Because his life is kinda boring. For now.

So no pictures on day 8, but I will show you what is coming up next:

Why? Well, because I saw it in the store and in all honesty, it freaked me out a little. I’m gonna make something out of her head.

Again, odd. But whatever. I am me. Odd.

Oh, I didn’t end up at my dad’s house Sunday. He reads this, so he might question what I am about to say, but I am scared of telling him the real shit that goes on inside my head. There is a whole pride thing, and a scaredy cat thing, and in all honesty, I don’t want to upset him. So, I panicked about it instead and I played Plants vs Zombies, sang the theme song to Harvey Birdman in my head on repeat, and did all those stupid rituals that I do to calm myself down that don’t work. I will go. I have to go. He deserves to know why he sat up all night every night in the ER with me when I was a kid. But I need to prepare myself more, I think. I hate that he will read this and see that I was too scared to talk to him. I’m not scared of him, I’m scared of me. So I will paint a mask on a scary doll head and try to make myself feel normal.

Whew. That got a little honest. Slightly dark. I think I should call it day 8 and start working on day 9, scary doll face.

XOXO

ThirtyThirty CraftyNine — Day Seven

Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing the lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain. — Jack Kerouac

Phuktophiles. I am going to level with you today, as I have a tiny hangover and I am feeling honest. I spent the majority of my day yesterday slacking. Yes, I purposely didn’t work on the project I had decided on for yesterday. Here’s the reason:

I was invited to a party where I had the possibility of running in to an ex boyfriend, an ex boyfriend who talked a lot of good things and made me feel really good at a time when I felt so, so, so, so, so bad. See, the last person I had been with before him was the guy who got me pregnant and left me in the ER alone and terrified while I miscarried the baby. This person who treated me like garbage, he had been a friend of mine. He had been someone that I trusted, someone I told secrets to. It had been over a year since he had left me in that ER and I didn’t want to be with another man. Men would hit on me and I wouldn’t feel flattered, I would feel disgusted. My skin would crawl. I was traumatized to say the least by this incident. I am a woman who had always really enjoyed sex, that is, until I realized that I used it to make myself feel good about myself. I had zero self esteem, and as long as someone wanted to be with me, I felt all right about myself. Well, then I saw that just wanting to have sex with me didn’t mean that any of these men respected me, or even wanted to be around me for that matter, they just wanted sex. I was too blind by my own low self esteem to be aware of it.

So, when this ex came along and told me how much he cared for me and how long he had been wanting to ask me out, he made me feel good about myself for the first time in a LONG time. He said everything right and in the end of the relationship, he did everything he could do to make me feel like garbage. So, needless to say, the odd chance that he might show up to this party last night both terrified me and made me want to vomit. A few weeks ago, I even went to the extent of trying to make sense of what had happened between us so I could be completely over the situation and NOT feel this anxiety anymore. Well, he didn’t help with that closure, and as a matter of fact left me more angry than I had started off.

He was there last night. Of course. Because as we have all come to find through this blog, absolutely ANYTHING that CAN go wrong for me, most likely will.

I didn’t work on my project because I was too terrified to think about it. I played Plants vs Zombies and put off getting ready until the last minute. I tried on six different outfits and decided that I looked like shit in all of them and I decided I wasn’t going to go. Then I got a text message from the person who invited me. I’ve been friends with her boyfriend since I was thirteen years old, and they are best friends with the ex. I was terrified that I would lose them when the ex and I broke up. That is, honestly, the only reason I stayed with the ex for as long as I did. I was too scared to lose them.

After I got that text message, I decided to go anyway. Not going gives him the power, and I don’t think he deserves to have it. So I went.

And I had an amazing good time.

There was slight drama, of course, but I don’t care. I am not going to lose my friends whom I love dearly, as a matter of fact, both of them asked why we don’t hang out more often. I would LOVE to hang out with them more often!

If I had let anxiety win, I wouldn’t have known that they wanted to hang out with me more often. I wouldn’t have had fun. I would have sat here and stared at Plants vs Zombies all night.

Am I cured of anxiety? Hahahahaha! No. As I sit here, I am bouncing my legs and shaking. Why? I haven’t a clue. It’s just that underlying anxiety that I deal with every day.

I despise anxiety. I hate it. It has ruined or attempted to ruin everything in my life. But I will be honest, sitting here and contemplating what I would do or how I would react if I saw the ex there prepared me for him showing up, and I have to say I was happy to have anxiety yesterday, but I am also glad that I am finally taking strides to shut it up.

Next panic inducing activity: meeting with and talking to my dad about my panic disorder. I feel like this could either clear up some things or it might end in him putting me in a looney bin. If I don’t post for a mandatory, involuntary 72 hours, I think you will figure out why.

I promise, once my meeting is over, I will work on the projects that I had planned for yesterday and today. I will post either later or tomorrow.

Cheers!