tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22902813783828073722024-02-07T22:37:30.499-05:00Just Because I CanA personal blog exploring living with Bipoloar Disorder Type 2 through writing and creative outlets.Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-68244921499347051322021-01-15T16:48:00.006-05:002021-01-15T16:48:47.523-05:00Job Hunting, 9 months now<p> I’ve been unemployed so long that I now have anxiety about going back to work. *potentially*</p><p>I think I interviewed well for this web designer job, they asked for my references, my portfolio and writing samples. </p><p>Then came back and asked for some marketing copy samples. Like everything I gave you and you still need more? </p><p>Marketing copy takes me sooo long to write. Who knew 1-2 sentences were so hard? </p><p>Anyway, I was like “uh let me see if I have some examples I can show you” and never sent any. 😅 (I don’t want to send my ads I’m currently running cause they’re actually not converting at all. Hard to sell your CRO skills when it’s 0%.) </p><p>So two days pass and the CEO adds me on LinkedIn- I think so he could also check out my stuff that wasn’t listed on my resume.</p><p>And now, they want another interview on Monday. </p><p>My classes start on Tuesday (online this semester) and this job is WFH until they decide to get a new office building/COVID is over/etc, so it’s not like I’ll be running all over OKC trying to fit this into my life. Oh and I’m trying to build my Etsy business again. </p><p>Just going back to being an accountable, responsible adult seems sooo ugh. I don’t have the job yet, but it’s still making me all wiggle brained. I want the income. I want the challenge of designing websites for clients again. I want to finish my degree. I want to interact with people other than the lady at the Chinese restaurant. I’ve been designing websites since MySpace. I can do this. Imposter syndrome also plays a part in this as well. </p><p>I’m going to put on some pants, maybe brush my hair, and see where this goes.</p><p>*Update: I sent some marketing samples from my Etsy store from email campaigns, facebook, instagram, and pinterest. They thought they were so *fun*. They should see the crap I post on TikTok for my Esty. HAHA! So moral of the story is: Anxiety sucks and uh interview Monday with HR and the main partner of this agency! I should probably review the code base and CRM tools they use before then. </p><p>Still don't feel like brushing my hair.</p>Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-40406542425182551932020-03-16T00:16:00.004-04:002020-03-16T00:16:48.867-04:00My ChildrenToday is my favorite niece's sixth birthday.<br />
<br />
While I can't be in person to celebrate with her, I did mail a present for her to enjoy.<br />
<br />
Thinking of the plethora of nieces and nephews, make me think of my own lost opportunities to have children.<br />
<br />
I think what if my babies has lived thoughts. How would my life be different? I very rarely think on the three lives that could have been - the three new people that could've been.<br />
<br />
My children would have been 13, 11, and 7. If that doesn't make me sad and old at the same time, I don't know what else could. In my mind, they were all boys. I would've had a house full of boys, complete with superheroes and gifts of earthworms and frogs. My little Michael, Zed, and Alex. I heard each of their heartbeats. I held them within my body. I spent months with Michael and Zed. I only knew of Alex for a few short hours. Each one of them changed me. I processed their end and I grieved them at the time. I grieve them still. While miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies only effect 1 in 4 pregnancies, why was I cursed with having all of my pregnancies end this way? <br />
<br />
The first, I was 19 years old. I was still a child. I was heartbroken, but knew I could try again.<br />
<br />
The second, I bonded with the little grape. I was almost past the first trimester. That hurt my heart like a bitch. But, finally, I had answers. My next would survive because my doctors had found the reason my body kept murdering my babies. We could try again.<br />
<br />
And then the third pregnancy happened and it ended within the same day of me finding out. I was 7 weeks along. No amount of pleading the doctor to "just move the baby to where it was supposed to be" would change what was medically possible. The ultrasound nurse showed me the zygote, and I could hear his heartbeat. And then it had to end. I could rupture at anytime. It was amazing I hadn't already with the amount of bleeding I was having. They ended my pregnancy, taking my Fallopian tube and decommissioning an ovary all in the space of a few hours. That was my only surgery ever, and I woke up, alone, and in pain. In pain physically and in my heart. <br />
<br />
And 8 years later, that one still hurts the most. <br />
<br />
In 2016, I found out I have fibroid tumors and they're blocking my remaining Fallopian tube. I never had insurance long enough to have anything done about them. I currently live in a state of absolute awful pain every month. In the 8 years since my last pregnancy, my husband I have never used contraceptives and we haven't conceived - not even a scare.<br />
<br />
It's not a thing that's going to happen for me.<br />
<br />
At 28 when I found out, it sucked, but we hoped maybe something would change and we'd revisit the idea of children later, in 10 years.<br />
<br />
At 32, I occasionally hear my bio clock ticking. I'll have those urges for children. Then I remember the three I lost, and I'm not strong enough to lose a fourth.<br />
<br />
I have to settle for being an aunt to some amazing niblings. I'll watch them grow up on via Facebook, and mail presents for birthdays and holidays. I'm the aunt that lives far away now.Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-90239544388601603522020-03-15T23:28:00.001-04:002020-03-15T23:28:44.611-04:00Social DistancingIt's me, your neighborly depressed chick!<br />
<br />
Today, I'd like to talk to you all about Social Distancing.<br />
<br />
No, I'm not talking about caronavirus or COVID-19.<br />
<br />
I'm talking about all those relationships that make up our lives. The important people, the unimportant people, the ones we love, the ones we hate.<br />
<br />
I've come to the realization that I don't mean shit to many people. And I don't care for a lot of others either. <br />
<br />
I say this as I realized today, I have not had a conversation with my sisters in years. Not even meaningless inconsequential small talk. <br />
<br />
I talk to my friends and family as much now as I did a year a ago. Moving 1,000 miles away hasn't lessened or increased the frequency of when I talk to my family. My mother and two of my brothers are the only ones who check in. One brother to share pictures of his baby, and my mother to complain about the sister that has moved home. <br />
<br />
One day, I'd like someone to text me or call me and ask me how I'm doing. Just once. I'd like someone to genuinely have a conversation with me about me and what's going on.<br />
<br />
I'm constantly shoved inside of who I am. Who fucking know me? Can anyone even name my favorite color, or my favorite song?<br />
<br />
Can I name anyone in my social circle's favorite color or song?<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
What's the point?<br />
<br />
<br />Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-53568239214454883602020-01-21T22:30:00.001-05:002020-01-21T22:30:20.843-05:00Little MicoLittle Mico, Little Mico<br />
Why so weepy?<br />
Little Mico is sleepy.<br />
<br />
Little Mico, Little Mico<br />
Your pillow is a sock.<br />
You cannot sleep on a rock.<br />
I think not. I think not.<br />
<br />
I'm a little sushi roll.<br />
I will sleep in this hole.<br />
<br />
Little Mico, Little Mico<br />
A bear is not a blanket.<br />
Your napping place is unfit.<br />
I think not. I think not.Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-646473208164570202019-11-17T15:22:00.000-05:002019-11-17T15:22:00.814-05:00Me Again, Still in OklahomaIt's months later, and I am still here, still here in Oklahoma.<br />
<br />
This time I can say, that one thing has improved. I now have a career of my own. I was working part time at a bank, while applying to web dev jobs.<br />
<br />
I didn't exactly land a web dev job, but I got close. I'm now an Event Marketing Manager. Yea. Fancy title right? Also fancy paycheck. It's pretty much a perfect fit job. I plan, marketing, time, and execute race and endurance events. My clients pay me to create create websites for their events, an online registration process, and produce live online race timing results in person. I get to be techy, an event planner, a marketer, outside, and a little bit of traveling too. I've been with this new company for over a month now, and I feel like this may be the place for me here in Oklahoma. I miss park work, and being outside all the time. But, let's be realistic, without a college degree, that career path wasn't happening. Now my skills are being narrowed in a certain industry niche, so in the long run, I'll be able to demand a higher price tag, not that what I'm making right now isn't nice.<br />
<br />
Also, let me be real about my new salary. This is the most money I've ever been paid in my life. I do not know what to do with myself or how I should act. We have struggled for so long with being poor, that like what the hell do I do with this money? At first, there's things we have to buy and spend money on, just because now we're playing catch up. Like finally seeing a dentist to fix my tooth, or finally getting new clothes. I bought a pack of underwear guiltfree this week. Like, WHAT THE HELL? So for the first few months, all this money we're now making will go to catch up, like pay off old debts, and new clothes, shoes without holes in them, a bed that's not on the floor, SOME MUTHAFUCKING POTS AND PANS, curtains - things that we have just gone without.<br />
But in six months? At this point, we're kinda afraid to spend our salary. I keep wanting to hoard it in savings. What if it goes away? What if my new awesome company decides that hate me suddenly. Just kidding, we don't want you.<br />
<br />
So now, I've gained some of my self worth back with making money, I'm still depressed as hell. Miss home, and wonder what the am I doing in my marriage.<br />
<br />
Here's the problem. I don't have an outside perspective or anyone to talk to about my marriage. I'm not allowed to. Any martial problems have to be discussed with my husband, and never with anyone else. I've always felt that was wrong, and a few times I have talked to others, I get yelled at and told our problems are not their business. I often wonder why we've lasted this long. I also wonder if I'm being mentally abused. But, without anyone to talk to about it, I think I'm just being dramatic and making shit up. Lately, I feel really uncomfortable with who I am married to. It's things that are red flags. Things I read about other women have went through and call their exes abusers. But, mine doesn't view what he is doing as wrong. he feels that he is normal and that I am the crazy one. like right now, I feel that that everything I've written so far needs to be deleted and my questions hid from the world. I know that if hubs read this, I'd be in for a good verbal shake down. He's never been physically abusive, and I think this is where it's all messed up in my head. Lately, he's been very insistent that I get "healthy". I feel that every food choice I make is wrong. Because I'm not eating healthy. I'm chunky. I don't want to get up at 6am and do yoga. He's lost 100lbs. I'm proud of him. But it's become unbearable. I'm not physically good enough for him. His favorite phrase is "I'm attracted to femininity". I'm not a feminine woman. Never never have been. I'm not going to where dresses and tights and dress up for his fantasies. We already only have sex once a month, and it's on his terms. It's my fault we don't have more sex because I "don't take care of myself" and I'm not feminine.<br />
<br />
Even though both of us now make similar amounts of money. We both work full time, it's still my job to keep the house. He thinks that he does dishes once a week and that he cooks his meals He doesn't have to do anything else. We both work full time, yet after dinner and until bed time, he's watching youtube, and I'm cleaning. I do the laundry. I vacuum. I have just as much free time as he does, yet he can't be bothered to help more than the one day that I work and he doesn't? That's not really am I abused issues. That's more of a learning to live together thing, though.<br />
<br />
I can't decide if I'm crazy or not.Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-61633249652355313312019-09-09T20:48:00.000-04:002019-09-09T20:48:35.115-04:00I did a thing. A 1,000 mile thing.The rumors and social media are true. I moved my ass halfway across the country this year! I went from living in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains, to living a a city with 1.4 million people right smack dab in the middle of the country, with not a damn mountain in sight.<br />
<br />
So at last check in, I was working an off season job at the mall and my husband was once again unemployed.<br />
<br />
Well, for some reason or other, he finally, after years and years, got his head out of his ass and decided he was tired of living life we were. He went out, got a good paying job that he was good at. He took that job, while also applying and interviewing with for his dream job. So he busted ass for 3 months, saved every penny. And I went back to school and learned more about computer coding. He landed his dream job, and my husband moved across the country on his own, with no furniture, no car and no me. We lived 1,000 miles apart for two months. I finished up the first half my certificate program, dropped out, and I also had to sign over my thriving nonprofit I created last year, and I turned down my dream job of park director for my previous year's park, and I moved in with him in May.<br />
<br />
So now, we're 1,000 miles away from my family, all my networking contacts, all my friends, my business. Everything. I hate it. I love that my husband has finally landed his dream job. I'm thrilled he's finally making good money. I love that we have our own place again, even if we are lacking some furniture, and are in desperate need of pots and pans. I love that I finally have some distance from my family's drama. What I hate is that I'm so isolated from everyone and everything I love, besides him. I hate that I'm missing important events in my sibling's lives. I miss the birth of my baby brother's daughter. My grandmother is still deathly sick. I am the one that's not a part of these things anymore.<br />
<br />
I'm depressed as hell. I used to think that all our problems and my depression would be solved if we were no longer poor and were no longer living in the spare bedroom of my in-laws' house. Apparently, I'm never satisfied. We may be lacking essential furniture, but now we're making decent money, and are saving and are bettering our lives. My husband has health insurance and a retirement. Our bills are paid on time and in full. We're actively saving. So money didn't solve my mental health issues.<br />
<br />
Those have morphed into a different type of depression. I now have the depression where I'll hide in my closet and cry after my husband's asleep. When he's not home and I am, I just sit on the couch and cry. I don't call my family as much as I should. Hell, I'm balling just typing about how much this sucks. I'm lonely. I'm homesick.<br />
<br />
I often wonder if I'm one of those brainwashed mentally abused wives, and I'm too stupid to realize it.Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-42564542105720235012018-11-09T05:23:00.001-05:002018-11-09T05:23:46.464-05:00Let's Recap 2018<p dir="ltr">2018 has been a good year to me mental health wise. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It started off a bit rocky, with a horribly long commute to what turned out to be a a horrible job that was severely underpaid. The first 3 months of this year sucked. I was in a supervisory role and worked under the most bitter angry person I've ever had the pleasure to be employed by. My final straw was me having a complete meltdown and anxiety attack over how this person was going to react to a fuckup while following their direct instructions, ignoring my own expertise with the subject. Dammit, I was right and they were wrong and the results were awful, like I knew they would be, but I still would get the blame for their awfulness. This person kept a journal of all the things I did wrong and they disliked about me. They straight up accused me of "fraternizing" with one of my teenage coworkers. Yeah, I had enough of that bullshit and left that job without notice as soon as I had another job lined up.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Turned out to be the best decision I made all year long. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have spent the last 9 months working at yet another different park. And it was great. I enjoyed going to work, even working overtime. I enjoyed my coworkers and my boss. It truly has been one of the best places I've worked at. While they could not keep me past the end of the season, I left with a bid for a permanent position on file for when they start hiring in January. And an invitation to return to work in March in the same position if the bid doesn't work out. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm currently working a holiday job to make ends meet, but that's okay, it's just temporary. Plus, it's in a bookstore. So I think I'll be alright.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So job wise, all's been good mental health wise after I left a toxic environment.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Relationship wise, it's been kind of iffy. I am crazy in love with my husband, but I have been fighting doubts about our future for a few months. I'm not sure if I'm imagining things, making up problems where none exist, generally unhappy, if it's just stress, or if our relationship really does have my imagined problems. I don't have anyone to talk to about my worries, and no one I know even has a clue what a healthy relationship is. I fear bringing up my worries to my husband for fear of hurting his feelings and hurting his own insecure self image. But, at the same time, I kinda feel that I need to be (in)validated as well. I also fear that he won't truly listen and will be defensive. I mean, I do want to talk to him about things, and I know I should so they don't fester, and I don't want him to feel like I'm attacking him. He's a super smart dude, so even using "I statements" or "it makes me feel like x when you do y" statements isn't going to cut it. The psycho bullshit will be called out and the conversation escalated. I don't want to give the wrong impression to the internet, we do have a good solid marriage and 95% of the time, it is rainbows and unicorns. Except like lately, when I'm in a down cycle of my bipolar, he's unemployed, and holiday stress is getting ready to kick in.</p>
Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-81238420613561325052018-08-28T19:26:00.001-04:002018-08-28T19:53:54.676-04:00Let's talk about Bi-Erasure<p dir="ltr">I recently learned, today in fact, that there is a term for some of the frustrations I have with my life.</p>
<p dir="ltr">That term is bierasure.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So if you dont know what that is, here's Google's answer: "Bisexual erasure or bisexual invisibility is the tendency to ignore, remove, falsify, or reexplain evidence of bisexuality in history, academia, the news media, and other primary sources. In its most extreme form, bisexual erasure can include the denial that bisexuality exists."</p>
<p dir="ltr">But boil that down to what it means to my life, it means erasing part of who I am as a person, just for the sake of convenience and society pressure.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a bi woman married to a straight man. Yes, I can enjoy all the privledges that straight white couples do. Yes, I enjoy my husband and we could theoretically reproduce. I am in no way ashamed of being married to my husband. I could theoretically live the rest my life having sex with the same male person. </p>
<p dir="ltr">BUT. These things do not negate who I am. If you've read my blog going all the way back to 2002/2003, you know I spent most of my teenage years dating a girl and a good portion of that time coming to terms with being a lesbian or possibly trans. I spent almost two years living as Jai. Teenage years are hard. And then when that relationship failed, I began dating this guy, and I had a bigger freak out about dating this guy in terms of who I am and my sexuality than I did when I started dating my ex-girlfriend. Finding who you are is tough. It was tough in the 2000s when the LGBT movement was first gaining ground and public awareness. And it's tough now as a 30s adult. <br>
I feel like I worked hard at becoming who I am, accepting who I am, and having gone through the process of coming out as a teenager (who was lucky with loving parents), I don't think I should have to hide who I am. <br>
My experiences and preferences should not be belittled because now I am married to a man. Yet, most everyone in the know even my ex-girlfriend considers it a phase or "it didn't count cause we were teenage girls".<br>
I hate to break it to ya, but I still tickle the little man in the boat to girls. My eyes still follow those hot runner chicks at the park. I still, even as a married woman, develop crushes on other females. Just because I am in a monogamous relationship, does not negate who I find sexually attractive. It does, however, mean I will not step outside my marriage to fulfill those attractions. <br>
</p>
Michelle Taborhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15609048357098248449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-12834913519596155422017-12-09T01:49:00.001-05:002017-12-09T01:49:15.557-05:00Just a Little Help<p dir="ltr">Here's where I am in life right now.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Job accepted at a bigger park. 1.5 hour communte, like 60 miles away. $10 an hour. I did the math, and at this point, after all the deductions, I'll be bringing home (to pay bills with) $30 more week than what I currently do on unemployment. Job Before, no benefits, no deductions, seasonal only. Bring home pay around $340 a week. Now, bring home pay about $250 a week. insurance, retirement, full time. year round. Beggars can't be chosers, and some work is better than no work. Fine, I'll do it. Get 1st paycheck in a month.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hubs is now in the process of getting his teaching license. Has job offer substituting. $90 licensing fees. Will be called at 5am for assignments to any school within our county. Can't start working until those are paid.</p>
<p dir="ltr">fine. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Now, big problem. 1 car. Car that is not up to such a long commute everyday for me due to age, and the snow where I'll be working. Big mountains to cross. Tiny car. And it's my 30th birthday, which means my drivers license is expired.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Ugh.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Financial situation. Storage is about to be auctioned off. (that's where I keep all our stuff since we live with his parents ) Cell Phones are disconnected. My school bill is a month past due. His bills are 2 months past due. Car tire bill is 3 months past. Total moneys needed to bring all current. $900.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Need second car. <br>
Need to keep these jobs.<br>
Need to not lose everything we own.<br>
Need not to be kicked out (which I get the feeling we are close to being)</p>
<p dir="ltr">If we can make it through the next few months, we will be on a path to better things, like stability. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Getting through will probably be one of the biggest hurdles we've ever faced. Cause there's hope at the end. When we became homeless before, we had no hope. Now we can see the path. and all these hurdles seem so much higher to jump.</p>
<p dir="ltr">How do people make it with no outside help? It's fucking hard. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm looking at using the bus to get to work so hubs can use the car for his job. I'm looking at a 3 hour commute in the mornings and no return trip. (busses stop at 7, and I'll be getting off work at 7:30-8) <br>
</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-13078180926411375162017-07-31T13:21:00.003-04:002017-07-31T13:21:50.505-04:00Dealing with DeathDealing with death or impending death of a loved one while also dealing with your own mind can be it's own special kind of torment. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I've been in the downward spiral of my cycle for a few weeks now, and on top of that my grandmother has been very very ill. I have also been very sick this month (hello 5 different infections in 3 weeks. Finally kicked it's ass, btw.)<br />
<br />
But, my grandmother has been experience a decline of health for a year now. When one gets older and has had a lifetime of diabetes, one's kidneys start to lose function. My grandmother is in no way an old frail lady, or she wasn't until a year ago when said kidneys started to fail. She's 69 years young, walked daily, avid yard sale hunter, and can turn out about a dozen quilts a year. In my younger years, she spent 9 years being my #1 fan on the softball field - every practice and every game (and I wasn't that good at it.)<br />
<br />
While, we have seen and witnessed her decline of health and her increased need for care, it's human nature to think she will recover and everything will be rainbows and unicorns. Maybe it's my messed up brain, maybe it's logic, but she will die, maybe not today, maybe not next week, but it is the only outcome. Doesn't mean it hurts less, or that there isn't going to be a huge hole where the matriarch of our family was.<br />
<br />
I may come across as calloused and uncaring, I assure you, it's the exact opposite -fighting tears in Wendy's drive-thru just thinking about it yesterday and today while writing this post.<br />
<br />
There's this thing in our culture that when a person is sick and is approaching death, we hover. We want to be close to them, get in our last moments, it may be our last chance. Maybe it's where I avoid confrontation and avoid adulting, but I can't do that. I've spent the last month being lectured by my father to see her (understandably, I've been fighting my own 5 infections, and they haven't pushed so much.) It may be just me, but I don't want to have my memory of her be her confined to a bed, barely able to talk or lift her head. I know her. She is embarrassed from being in that position. She feels like she's a burden to us, that she's only a shadow of what she once was, that she is a problem. I know where I get my stubborn pride from, and she doesn't want us to view her this way. <br />
<br />
It's saddens me to say, that I believe she has lost the will to live. She is fully coherent and cognizant. She is aware of what's happening; she's a retired nurse, so she knows what her body is doing, how unlikely treatment will be effective, and her realistic chances of being able to return to a self sufficiency. She told my father she has "made her peace with God." and has refused dialysis treatment for two weeks. She knows uremia will end her. She's tired of fighting. <br />
<br />
So here is where the moral dilemma can arise. Is she considered suicidal? Or is this "nature's way"? As someone who has struggled with suicidal thoughts and have attempted it on occasion, I am empathetic to her. Doesn't she have the right to choose to not seek treatment and to die on her terms? It's not outright suicide; it's not euthanasia; is it neglect on her caretakers' part? Can we force her to have medical procedures done, when she retains her full medical power of attorney? No, she is an adult and she is making her choices. We may not like them, but we are to respect them. Or should we throw respect and personal wishes aside, and seek a judge to declare her incapable and assume power over her medical decisions? I kinda think that's a dirty thing to do. I should also mention just to be relevant, that my grandmother is the kind of woman to have her ducks in a row. She planned and paid for her own funeral at the beginning of her illness. She wrote her own eulogy for the newspaper. She filed her final wishes at the courthouse. She made it clear what she wanted when this all began a year ago.<br />
<br />
So that's where I am right now. That is how I deal with approaching loss. I write my way through it. I look at it from her perspective, I think on options and morality, I ask questions. Putting my thoughts down and out of my head helps keep my crazy away. I can then proceed forward and be there for my family.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-6305446377971065342017-04-18T09:17:00.001-04:002017-06-28T19:17:38.517-04:00Silence<div dir="ltr">
I've struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts (and sometimes actions) for 16 years now. It's not a widely known issue for me. I tend to keep all this bottled up and then sometimes posted on this blog, never on my social media accounts. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Part of the BP2 diagnosis is the cycles of hypomania and depression and it's something I try very hard to manage without medication. The no medication thing isn't due to some type of personal philosophy, it's due to economics. When I was in therapy, I was prescribed lamictal, and it balanced me. But, when I am only employed half the year, it's hard to maintain health inaurance. (Read between the lines here, I get a medical card when I am unemployed, and no insurance when I do work.) So being on a medicine routine that requires a build up and maintainence is nearly impossible. Why put myself through a sudden drop of a neurological medicine? Been there, done that. It sucks. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
I feel that somewhere in the last year or two, I have developed some crazy anxiety to go with this. It makes me fearful and doubtful of my interactions with others. The thought of answering a phone just turns me completely off and I'm unable to deal. Voicemails? Forget that shit. I'll sit with a full inbox. Doubting everything I ever said to anyone and fear speaking about anything other than small talk to anyone? check. The thought of making responsible decisions to shape my life? Not happening. The thought of possibly opening up and being honest about my issues with my loved ones? Weak. Admitting that I don't have my shit together and don't know how to fix it? Irresponsible and weak. Knowing how to fix my shit? Incomprehensible! Attention seeking!</div>
<div dir="ltr">
So onto the suicidal part. Yea that happens, like on a weekly basis. It escapism. It's fantasy where I don't have to be me, don't have to deal with my responsibilities, or my life. Who the fuck wants to be a seasonally employed college drop out with no real marketable skills other than food service who has lived with their mentally deficient in-laws for the last 4 years, with no friends, no money, and lives in a town where the entire culture is the opposite of what I believe in? You wouldn't want to be here either. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I get so sick and tired of these "awareness" campaigns preaching that people like me "are not alone", "help is out there" "blah blah blah". It creates a false sense of hope. Where the fuck is my support group? I'll tell you where he is. He is my lonely fucking husband who has to deal with all my bullshit, who is down here in the trenches dealing with the same bullshit that I am, but he can still feel positive and hopeful that there's a way out , loving me unconditionally, even when I'm biting his head off for stupid shit and then detailing to him various suicide scenarios ranging from starvation to car crashes. He has his damn plate full with his own ADHD and anxiety. Like I should be piling on that his wife if left alone will fantasize about hurting him further.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
So where the fuck are these "other people" that want people like me to get better, to be functioning members of society? In fucking internet marketing scams. Oh yea, they'll help you with a $60 monthly "donation" to their cause or a $406 hourly therapist rate. When most of my depression issues stem from being fucking poor, you think I can and will fork out money to help me? You think that I, who hasn't been grocery shopping in over 3 years, I who has no clue when I'll eat again, who scrounges from $2 cracker boxes, can afford the "help" myself? I, who owes fucking taxes, cause I won't bring a child into this world for the EIC and government benefits, or can't afford health isurance cause there's only a 30 day window to get it when you start working again and your employer withhold your first check for a month? Yea, more important bills that are now 7 months behind that must be paid for other than stupid government shitty health insurance with a $3k deductible (which won't be met in the 6 months I have it, so why waste the fucking money on something I won't use, cause I can't afford to use it, when that $90 a month can go towards important things like a dunno food and the $400 monthly electric bill?) </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Tell me again about this wonderful American dream? It's a fucking unachievable fantasy.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-59783511682320878332017-01-29T00:15:00.002-05:002017-06-28T19:17:59.615-04:00The Misadventures of Going Into Business with Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvqLCahZLtV5fd4k-87l6vmKceIHab3l2fGywBBr_uV-M2eYTxR1uXkuVR5IoffhJDN2dDqYKDOkSJXGQK224cF6rA8QAZJz-r8jhSyaf1eCmN_dp5Qu8cEomIA0XjhcbMElttA4d8kzI/s1600/BUSINESS+WITH+FAMILY.png" imageanchor="1"><img alt="" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvqLCahZLtV5fd4k-87l6vmKceIHab3l2fGywBBr_uV-M2eYTxR1uXkuVR5IoffhJDN2dDqYKDOkSJXGQK224cF6rA8QAZJz-r8jhSyaf1eCmN_dp5Qu8cEomIA0XjhcbMElttA4d8kzI/s400/BUSINESS+WITH+FAMILY.png" title="The Misadventures of Business with Family" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
One big life goal of mine is to own my own business. A legit brick and mortar shop shop.<br />
<br />
Mission accomplished. I went into business with my mother and opened a local home decor shop. And it's been one big horrible mistake.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
So a fews things others can learn from my mistakes:<br />
<br />
Don't JUST DO IT. This is some sound advice for those, like me, that have Bipolar 2. I was so amped up, so excited, that I was going to have something of my very own, that I did not plan to fail, to succeed, to stay treading water. I had no plan on how to continue to keep my business afloat, how to live in the meantime until it was profitable. I was unprepared totally. And I'm talking just financially. There should have been way more steps involved. The financial barriers to open were crossed with a small family loan. I have never asked my family for that amount money ever. I did not even know they had access to enough to get me started. I say me, I mean my mother. My step-father footed the bill, 75%, the rest was from my own personal savings. This was mistake #2 and #3, being accepting the money and the legal responsibility, and doing this with my mother.<br />
<br />
I recommend never ever ever going into business with your parent, unless you are taking over their business for them to retire. It may not be all parents. I'm sure there are reasonable and rational parents out there. For me, my mother will never see me as a capable adult. <br />
She has continuously, since we began this misadventure treated me as an inexperienced child and employee. When you form a business partnership, like we did, there should be equal say or in some legal cases, say being relative to the initial capital investment. If we went by relativity, my stepfather would own 75% of the business. Anyway, off point. I should have known better. It is not helpful at all to my mental well being to be treated as a second rate employee. I am not he employee. I am an owner. <br />
<br />
Well, it has gotten to the point where she is amounting more debt to stay afloat without my consent. We have a signed and filed legally binding partnership agreement, that clearly state that neither have the sole ability to accrue debt or make large purchases without the consent of the other. She has broken this rule repeatedly. She has no respect for my intelligence, my experience, my person, nor for the legal contract that we signed. <br />
<br />
This pattern of disrespect and lack of common business decency has pushed my BP2 from manageable to downright suicidal (as probably noticed in my last post). She calls me over a dozen times a day. She is rarely actually at our store working. When she is, she acts likes she is the district manager and I'm her wayward employee. She starts drama with our neighboring businesses and community churches and with customers. She is constantly changing our pricing. She will take inventory from the shop, and sell it out of her home, and then keep the money. She does not want to file our taxes, pay the taxes, or report our bookkeeping accurately. I am a creature of honesty and transparency. Cooking our books will do nothing but land us with fees and possibly jail for tax fraud. I am not okay with that. And if the books are wrong, how they hell do we know the truth of the financial situation of our business? So, this causes me stress and anxiety daily, hourly even. I have suffered from one full blown panic attack, and two meltdowns, and one seriously scary suicidal evening. I have never had a panic attack before. That sucked. I have not contemplated offing myself in over a year and a half. I was doing well. I have been managing my ups and my downs. I've been level, normal even. My BP cycles have been long and not as intense. And in just 4 short months, my mother has managed to send me to one of the lowest quality mental states I have been in since I was 14 and did attempt suicide. <br />
<br />
I have recognized the awfulness of all this, and now I seeking a way out. I can't just quit and walk away and call this one big bad adventure. I'm legally bound to pay the debt she accrued. And I do not want to ruin a relationship, as toxic as it is. <br />
<br />
So advice?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-8386321591338791472017-01-23T19:19:00.000-05:002017-01-28T23:15:26.863-05:00It's been a bad dayI have never wanted to drive headfirst into a telephone pole more in my life than I want to today. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-87982610596476549462016-12-16T23:18:00.000-05:002016-12-18T23:38:48.569-05:00The Itch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9luZG1wB6JKNM2x9G8kDDE0oUK7dAqASZBbhx54pe8_fnvVgeilVCNk8FV-eLTUPO5-YADjn6WDqxYVd95oDpAdGWmUxpiqGzyi1iYphv9g9hN9OuiVMfCUKFBLCorSFmVzH-WwU_Sdtj/s1600/CAMPING+WALKTHROUGHS+NO.+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9luZG1wB6JKNM2x9G8kDDE0oUK7dAqASZBbhx54pe8_fnvVgeilVCNk8FV-eLTUPO5-YADjn6WDqxYVd95oDpAdGWmUxpiqGzyi1iYphv9g9hN9OuiVMfCUKFBLCorSFmVzH-WwU_Sdtj/s1600/CAMPING+WALKTHROUGHS+NO.+6.png" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have this itch in my brain or under my skin. It's hard to place. It's unsettling. I've felt it before, usually when I'm about to do something stupid, make a poor decision, or in general do something I know will hurt my life goals. This itch, it's like a thought, or a feeling. It always is whispering to me. Its not very nice. It makes me question what I want in life. It makes me ask myself, am I happy? do I enjoy where my life is? Do I enjoy the people in my life? This itch, it's an evil thing. It comes about every so often. It forces me to change jobs, question my marriage, and distance myself from my family. I fight it. I hate it. This thing that tells me that I'm better off alone. I'm better off if I leave it all behind. It tells me to run. to get into my car and never come back. This itch, it fights against what my life is. It tells me things can be better. That I can go where I want, and do what I want, be what I want. It tells me these lies. and I hate it. for giving me false hope, for making me question, for making uncomfortable. I wish it would go away. This itch always feel like If I just scratch it, I'll have an epiphany, It'll be better. It's a lie. Scratching the itch always makes life worse. It means going days without eating. It means fighting with my love. It means uncertainty. Scratching is the worse thing I could do. I know it is. I've fought this evil thing. It's a war I'm waging. I've lost battles here and there, I'll admit. I think, just a little scratch and it'll go away. No, it doesn't work like that. This war that I fight against the itch. It's taking its toll on me. I'm so very tired of it whispers. So very tired of the circular thinking. So very tired of trying. So tired in fact, that I don't have the will to fight it or to not fight it. I'll just let it buzz under my skin, ignoring it. Repress. Repress, repress. It's the only way to not upset the stalemate it and I have. I'll let it whisper. I'll let it spin it's web of glittery lies. It can speak, but I don't have to listen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<i>If you enjoyed this ramblefest, subscribe to my blog and receive my ramblings straight in your inbox.</i><br />
<div><form action="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify" method="post" onsubmit="window.open('http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=blogspot/jhRIy', 'popupwindow', 'scrollbars=yes,width=550,height=520');return true" target="popupwindow"><input class="email" id="blogspot/jhRIy_Subscriber_email" name="from" onblur="if(this.value=='')this.value=this.defaultValue;" onfocus="if(this.value==this.defaultValue)this.value='';" type="text" value="Enter Email Address" /><input class="button" type="submit" value="I AM IN !" /><br />
<br />
</form></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comWest Hamlin, WV, USA38.2856444 -82.195697838.260714400000005 -82.2360383 38.3105744 -82.1553573tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-41400837110738155852016-09-08T14:17:00.002-04:002017-06-28T19:18:27.829-04:00End of Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQNa-gtQVFRHS-fEGPN7sgdTGOyPi6cfZrvk3CDEdhUdYQQ9fc1308w-pbvVrMwa-CumuBS5spEZjCFLHl82PaiOewC6ELKlLn6vDjxgpXq4NZH0CLWTFDmSi2VhRYmrZqIHHzRbpIp4i/s1600/End+of+Summer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQNa-gtQVFRHS-fEGPN7sgdTGOyPi6cfZrvk3CDEdhUdYQQ9fc1308w-pbvVrMwa-CumuBS5spEZjCFLHl82PaiOewC6ELKlLn6vDjxgpXq4NZH0CLWTFDmSi2VhRYmrZqIHHzRbpIp4i/s1600/End+of+Summer.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It is that time of year again, the end of the summer.<br />
<br />
My summer was actually good. I enjoyed another season working for the park. The job itsself wasn't as fun as last year, because I was in the office this year. I missed the sunshine and I missed being able to roam about the park. But, overall it was swell. I am being kept beyond Labor Day, which is a good thing, I'll take part time work over no work. What made the summer better was that my husband was also hired at the park as the naturalist. He was the guy entertaining the thousands of guests we have <br />
<a name='more'></a>each year. He did guided hikes and kayak tours, and playing in the woods. I sometimes stayed to participate and help him out. He did such a good job and he made such a great impression on the guests and the people in charge, that he now has a permanent position with the park. He was told in training, by one of the higher ups, that if he stays within the parks system, he could have his own park in a few years, and this was by a lady who had known him for only a few days. So, he is good. That has become his new goal in life. He told me that he could do this work for the rest of his life and would be happy. I have never heard those words come out of his mouth about anything or anyone, other than his love for me. I am happy, genuinely happy that he has finally found his passion in life.<br />
<br />
I, on the otherhand, am just as lost career wise as I have ever been. I don't want to return to food service. I have been applying since June for various office/accounting jobs. No real luck so far. Running a successful business for years, doesn't quite qualify me to do an individual part of that job, I suppose. Who knows. I can just keep trying. I might get lucky, or I might not. I do have an interview at an accounting temp agency next week. Maybe since they are a temp service, they will overlook my lack of a college degree, and will see my experience and competence instead. And the temp work will give credibility to my accounting skills.<br />
<br />
Some other things I feel I should explore though writing, my feelings on my BD2. Since, leaving my manager job, my insurance was terminated, and my mood leveling pills are too expensive to pay for out of pocket. So, I had to go through sudden withdraws of a drug that took months to build up in my system. Talk about some crazy mood swings. I spent most of the summer in a downward spiral of the depression part of my disorder, with the exception of two weeks of mania in July. I was fully aware of what was going on in my brain and thankfully, some of the coping aids my therapist taught me were helpful in restraining some of the worst of it. I have been fighting against another cycle for a few weeks now. I am stressed about losing my job and finding another. I have been paranoid and self conscious about my interactions with my co-workers, my bosses, my family. A lot of second guessing and creating made up bad scenarios. Its hard to explain the thought process of why I completely freak out about simple things, I have just been talking my self down. You know that's a weird conversation to have with yourself. me1: we just screwed up. oh god, we didn't fill out that papaer correctly, or we didn't do something thing. me 2: you did it right, and if you didn't theyll tell you and it won't be a big deal. that thing isn't even your responsibility to take care of. me1: but they're not telling us cause their mad and they don't want to deal with me. me2; stop it. you're just being crazy.<br />
<br />
Yea, that happens a lot. Anxiety, paranoia, depression. It's something. But thankfully me2 is usually correct and if I calm down enough to pay attention to myself, I am usually fine.<br />
<br />
On to other things, My sister was having a hard time with some depression issues. I tried to be supportive and what not. I wrote her a big letter telling her how much she means to me and how I wanted us to be sisters again,( as we have grown apart as we've gotten older) and how I missed her. I tried to relate some of the things a learned through my own therapy to help her through a rough time. I tried to open up to her. I shared some deeply covered feelings and truths about my own illness with her. I was hoping she would feel the love I am have for her, and would take some solace in the fact that she isn't alone. There are people out there that love her and will help her.<br />
<br />
She never acknowledged it, just informed me she had started smoking pot and all her issues went away.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comWest Hamlin, WV, USA38.2856444 -82.195697838.260714400000005 -82.2360383 38.3105744 -82.1553573tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-26538862193371209122016-05-04T20:54:00.000-04:002017-06-28T19:18:40.155-04:00Broken Uterus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebNdr8PxDOeesVJk4kcYPn7LoZ1EY_SBa3x7sLkNsxZbN-3SHfBVP7KeiCYrfjtUKozO5pgbJkoiLtkOJHqBj7IiNw9af2cGo4namMw_qCQslIFTe8_nh7OSxPnPYiP9l33Y1DF3gSOI6/s1600/Uterus+%25281%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebNdr8PxDOeesVJk4kcYPn7LoZ1EY_SBa3x7sLkNsxZbN-3SHfBVP7KeiCYrfjtUKozO5pgbJkoiLtkOJHqBj7IiNw9af2cGo4namMw_qCQslIFTe8_nh7OSxPnPYiP9l33Y1DF3gSOI6/s1600/Uterus+%25281%2529.png" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
I left my position of manager and returned to working for the State Parks, in an office position this time. I was super excited for it. I loved my job there last year, and I am/was looking forward to another season of travelers, wanderers, and wildlife. The idea of going back for another season was one I had been playing with for a few months. I know I don't enjoy managing. I didn't enjoy a 50 hour a week job, and I knew I could only do it for so long.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
The big push came to switch jobs was in March. In March, I visited my OBGYN because I have been having extreme pains right after ovulation for two years now. I mean, knock me on my ass pain. He discovered that I have a tumor on my uterus. Right now, it is not of a huge concern. It is small and not likely to be cancerous. The issue with this thing is its potential to royally screw up my reproductive system. It's on the topmost part of my uterus where my Fallopian tube connects with my uterus. Given time, this thing could grown enough that I would require surgery to remove it. The newest surgery they can do for it, is to remove part of the wall. That weakens my already weak chance of ever having children. Reproducing is such a touchy subject with me. Having lost 3 kids already, I am not prepared to lose a 4th. I am not even ready to try again and its been 3 years since the last one. But, we were going to try to conceive anyway. After some freaking out, my husband and I have just decided to just not have children yet. We have decided together that we do want children eventually, I'm like 10 years, but we are not going to add more stress and potentially ruin me to do it. When the time is right, we will foster or adopt or use a surrogate. It was a tough pull to swallow, but ultimately, this is probably the most responsible way to handle the situation.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comSalt Rock, WV, USA38.3231877 -82.2207705999999838.2733612 -82.301451599999979 38.3730142 -82.140089599999982tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-57207659701756146292016-04-08T05:48:00.001-04:002016-12-18T21:06:33.674-05:00Restless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02oZxusJ71VXesVls1lBn6uFphsyfpW1dH7dupwEr6x-fOQiaEZKMY5Maw_4qhiJCFnWzux6agSTe20aQFYMCqHlVniR3drhc5tsV14ohROhCDqWN7wYtATirYm4L1yTmks2FhbhEIuZA/s1600/RESTLESS.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02oZxusJ71VXesVls1lBn6uFphsyfpW1dH7dupwEr6x-fOQiaEZKMY5Maw_4qhiJCFnWzux6agSTe20aQFYMCqHlVniR3drhc5tsV14ohROhCDqWN7wYtATirYm4L1yTmks2FhbhEIuZA/s1600/RESTLESS.png" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Ever get this feeling of just restlessness in your life? Nothing is good. Nothing makes you happy. You can't make even simple decisions? Where you <i>want</i> so much more, but are just stuck? Unhappy with most aspects of your life? Feel like nothing you do will make a difference in your life? Feel like you are working so hard for nothing? Feel like you can't meaningfully connect with the people you are supposed to be the closest with? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Me neither.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
It's time to up my meds again, I think. Drug myself out so much that I don't care anymore, again. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comWest Hamlin, WV, USA38.2856444 -82.195697838.2856444 -82.1956978 38.2856444 -82.1956978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-47202037883487167602016-01-14T22:57:00.001-05:002017-06-28T19:19:08.685-04:00Adulting sucks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuYolmzDC9n_MOfd0zZW6uIkzqhJewuFj_PeJzNkHUU0_7Ae2wyyY3agpoASK37o2axGrGR-8hiJh36HxtFYY3gEtoiujHrGNHp58wY0cQyaC4-w-sHNmTTfm-Mtsmy-M2EimktX77OpL/s1600/Adulting.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuYolmzDC9n_MOfd0zZW6uIkzqhJewuFj_PeJzNkHUU0_7Ae2wyyY3agpoASK37o2axGrGR-8hiJh36HxtFYY3gEtoiujHrGNHp58wY0cQyaC4-w-sHNmTTfm-Mtsmy-M2EimktX77OpL/s1600/Adulting.png" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
So I dropped out of college. I worked so hard to get back in, to pay off my debt, and to work my way out of probation, and I quit. I keep telling myself there wasn't any other option. I had to. I am the sole financial support of my family and we were on the verge of losing what little we had to lose.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Well, we lost it anyway. I went back to work as a manager. And my husband quit his job. I'm putting 50 plus hours in during a week. I justified quitting school and going back to work as there were no other financial options. I was skipping school as it was because I didn't have money to eat on or the gas to get there. I keep telling myself that I was wasting $20k a year on a degree I can go out and get a job for without. I was a management major, and I am a manager. Of a Subway. Not my ultimate career goals when I went into the management field. I was think more along the lines of in an office or a department or a large company. Not running a restaurant for someone else, that after taxes and health insurance, my checks are equal to what my full time minimum wage employees make. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Yes, I finally got my bills paid up, but as I said, I already had my car repossessed. I don't own anything else, except a 15 year old cavalier and a $50 cell phone. I live with my in-laws and all my personal possessions are in and have been in a storage locker that has been on the verge of being sold several times in the last year.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
So I'm really bummed out right now with the lack of spousal support I'm receiving as well. Tomorrow is the last day to register for classes. I was prepared to take part time online classes and pay out of pocket, on a payment plan. I make the money now to where splitting 1k over 3 months won't hurt too bad, just cuts a lot of pointless spending out. But I was told I was jumping into it again, that I wasn't ready to do one class and a full time job, and that it wasn't a smart thing to do. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
At this point, I'll never finish the degree that I've wanted for 10 years. I'm gonna keep tolling away at overworked and underpaid positions for eternity.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comWest Hamlin, WV, USA38.2856444 -82.195697838.2856444 -82.1956978 38.2856444 -82.1956978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-62008450532650207052015-09-30T23:56:00.000-04:002017-06-28T19:19:23.782-04:00Sun and Corn<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr56u5pExQvlYenZEB1hVOXkoSMQ2EWnrDk98Jbwn_hDqq2hdhbRoczWTsV556CnqWLkA5VOzaumyUh5VYHlVQ6iuCEhG7nhUfINe0k1-IekIrmuj3xfGzVBQ4w_4fgdIqrK1d2IpPrRh/s1600/Sun+%2526+Corn.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr56u5pExQvlYenZEB1hVOXkoSMQ2EWnrDk98Jbwn_hDqq2hdhbRoczWTsV556CnqWLkA5VOzaumyUh5VYHlVQ6iuCEhG7nhUfINe0k1-IekIrmuj3xfGzVBQ4w_4fgdIqrK1d2IpPrRh/s1600/Sun+%2526+Corn.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Taking some advice from my therapist about all the time I
spend with my husband, she claims we spend an abnormal amount of time together
for a married couple, as in every single minute of the day when I am not at
school and he’s not at work, while not necessarily bad in and of itself, just
that we don’t do anything other than sit in a 10 by 12 room with each other. So,
may have taken my therapist’s advice too literally, and am currently on a six
day trip not with Brian. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So today s day one on my vacation
from my life. I’m kind of viewing it
that way. Running from my life fixes
none of its problems and is a totally unhealthy way to deal. Yes, I know. I just don’t care. It’s either
this crazy spontaneous trip across the country or go a little more crazy each
day until I finally jump off the deep end into full on crazy. SO here’s to me,
getting out of my comfort zone, finally standing up to my husband, doing
something without a plan, and shedding a little bit of my personal armor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
I have no delusions that I will
“find myself” among the corn in the Midwest. I do hope to find peace of mind,
and a little perspective on my sheltered life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the furthest I’ve been
from home since I was a child. It’s
daunting and a little surreal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I left home at 2pm today, and I am
already halfway across the country, well to me. Home being West Virginia and halfway
across the country being Missouri. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We traveled a lot when I was a
child, and now as an adult, I am amazed at how small this country is. As an
adult, traveling anywhere seems a daunting task, one I want to hold onto and experience
fully. I am amazed that with a tank of
gas, and a cooler full of snacks and pop how easy it is to be away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Traveling down the interstate in
the dead of night, after chasing the sunset for an hour more as we moved west,
I am presented with my own thoughts and reflections. That’s what this trip is
about mostly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
That sunset though, no different
than any other Wednesday sunset to the drowsy residents of western Illinois,
seemed to stretch on forever. The sky so large, the sun a brilliant orange,
playing with the clouds, caressing the edges with its heavenly glory. Being
from the mountains, seeing so much sky, so much flat earth. The endless expanse
of cornfields, seeing columbines raising dust off into the distance. I see it
in a different light than the residents. I can see all the potential and all
the hopes that many who have traveled west have had. Maybe it’ll be better
here. Maybe we can go just a little further.
The orange sun, so far away, making promises that if you come a little
closer, it will help you bare our soul.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere, is truly in the middle of nowhere,
not like the middle of nowhere of home, safely comforted by the hills and
trees, sheltering you from the outside world... Here you’re open, nothing is
untouched but the sun. Secrets have no place here. Here is freedom. Here is
where America come from, our ideologies. The simpleness of living, with the
expectations of a better day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So, freeing and all at once I am
missing my husband. I won’t be able to
instantly fall asleep next to his sweltering heat. I won’t have the comfort of
our dog cuddled between us. Tonight will be the first night of our eight year
marriage that I have not shared a bed with my husband. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doing things are scary, sleeping alone
is scary. I’m outside of my element. Even without my cuddly security blanket, I
am at peace. My skin feels like my own. I am comfortable. I want to feel guilty
about that, I want to feel guilty that I am nor pining for him. The little
voice in my head is saying, “You should have stayed home” and I am squashing it
deep down, drowning it, hoping that with enough willpower and glorious corn, I
will beat the creature that is a codependent mess. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comKnoxville, IL, USA40.9083715 -90.28484759999997840.860368 -90.365528599999976 40.956375 -90.204166599999979tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-37332369602823031702015-09-16T18:14:00.000-04:002017-06-28T19:19:34.827-04:00Wringer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UNZeZxx72ZVqQ8R1bd3kUCpkttEw_OFJZrvZWs-6b9gkMNUhmSnE2WZhs_8XLFmLYISVAV5bkleebv3B_gCn15t4B5v9QHDQuM7MreFQYy14aDp6XOT1DrwQLtU0ENgUlRuES16-dciU/s1600/WRINGER.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UNZeZxx72ZVqQ8R1bd3kUCpkttEw_OFJZrvZWs-6b9gkMNUhmSnE2WZhs_8XLFmLYISVAV5bkleebv3B_gCn15t4B5v9QHDQuM7MreFQYy14aDp6XOT1DrwQLtU0ENgUlRuES16-dciU/s1600/WRINGER.png" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Today was my second session with my new therapist, and I kind of feel like a failure. I am not sure what I expected therapy for my Biopolar Disorder to be like, and how to proceed with it all. She asked about my goals and what I'd like to work on to help with coping mechanisms and what not. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Needless to say, a lot of my answers were "I don't know" and "I'm not sure". I know I want to move forward, and I know I don't want to feel like I have felt for the last few years. Am I expected to just pick out parts of my life that just suck? And what the hell am I supposed to do about it? I know my living situation sucks; I know that my financial situation sucks; I know that my social abilities suck. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Okay, I've identified what sucks, so tell me how my own poor self-image and inability to "cope with stress" is supposed to make these things magically better if I know coping mechanisms? Seriously? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
The formula is simple. Make enough money, and then we can move out, and then I can have my own space. The bill collectors won't be calling cause I've made enough to pay them. I won't be living with my in-laws cause I'll have the money to pay rent. I'll pick up hobbies, because I can afford that $2 special needle I need for the sewing project. Then I'll have the money to go out with friends. So simple, it all comes down to money. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Truly, that's what most of my issues come down to. Being poor sucks. You know what? It's a really shitty situation, and we live in a really shitty class system. I wasn't born poor. My family may not have been rich, but we had everything we needed. Not every family can get all 8 of their kids their own vehicles when they turn 16, but mine did, albeit, they were used cars, but does a 16 year old need a new car? I was set up pretty nicely when I graduated high school. I had a full ride scholarship, because I am just that damn smart. I was working during school, paying my own way, and was doing generally really well for an 18 year old out in the world. And then I jumped from the family ship. Met a guy, moved in, and thought I was all grown up. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Somewhere along the line, I developed this complex about asking for help. My parents have and will always be there for me, and my dad has been amazing, helping every time I needed help, and he continues to be my rock. But, I only call when I need something, and then I spend a good hour psyching myself up for the phone call, and then halfway through or when I get off the phone, I break down crying because I HATE having to use my father like that. I am a grown up for god's sake. I feel that at my age, I shouldn't have to be calling my parents for money for food. And that makes it worse. If for say, it was for help co-signing a loan to buy a car or one of my student loans, I wouldn't be as torn up about it. That's what my grandparents did for my parents to help them get started, and that would be an okay reason for asking. But having to call to ask to borrow money because I'm hungry and we only have flour and maybe some jelly in the fridge is a completely different matter. It sucks and it really eats at you after 10 years. Because truly, after 10 years you'd think I would get it together. That I'd be moving forward. That I wouldn't need them anymore. It's one thing to get through a rough patch or when you're just getting started, but every week for 10 years. Truly, it sucks. It drags you down and I'm in this hole and finding the way out is just so hard. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
I have a damn good work ethic. I love working. I have worked my ass off since I was 15, rarely being unemployed for more than a few months. I had my own restaurant for Pete's sake, at 24. I think that was a damn good achievement. And I ran it well. I made my company some nice money, and in turn had a nice salary with benefits. Even then, the working, the money just wasn't enough to pull us out of this hole. Part of this isn't all my fault, and I'm not blaming it all on my husband either. I am just stating facts. It takes two to make it in this world. Two hard working, dedicated people with a joint goal in life, and the desire to get there. I've been married for eight years, and I have always been the one supporting us. My husband didn't work, and now he only works part time. I'm grateful that he is working his crummy job for now until I can find my own steady work. I don't regret putting him through college. I don't regret those years that I worked 70 hours a week and barely saw him so he could get his degree. Having an education is important, and he is just made for academia. I'm glad he has found his calling and hopefully one day he'll be a professor. It's a long hard road, and he's done well at it. But, at the same time, I am resentful that he was able to focus solely on his school work without having to also hold down a job.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Now, It's my turn, and I feel I am not getting the same treatment. I'm not saying I want to not work, but I would like that option. I would like to have a partner in this that is willing to be give me the same support I gave him. The fact that he is willing doesn't mean as much as if he was doing it. I know it seems petty, but hey it's my feelings. But this isn't just about that. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
This is about me identifying parts of myself I want to work on with my therapist. So maybe, I want to learn how to say no. No to things I don't want to do. No to things that do not fit into what I want my life to be. No to bad influences. No to bad decisions. No to that sale on something I don't need. Maybe, I want to learn how to deal with interpersonal conflict. I want to be able to disagree and still keep my dignity and my friends. I want to be able to tell someone they are wrong and not feel like a jackass about it. Maybe, I want to learn how to make lasting friendships. I want to learn how to make friends. I want to be able to make friends and keep them securely in the friendzone. Maybe, I want to learn how to express my interest and enjoyment of something, instead of hiding it away like the precious. I want to not be embarrassed about what I like, and I want to to learn how to share these likes with others.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comHuntington, WV, USA38.4192496 -82.44515438.4192496 -82.445154 38.4192496 -82.445154tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-17433987629540006902015-09-05T12:20:00.000-04:002015-09-05T12:20:29.416-04:00GoalsFive short terms goals for myself:<br />
<br />
1. Move out<br />
2. Go out on a friend date<br />
3. Win an argument with my husband<br />
4. Go to bed at a decent hour, continuously<br />
5. Quit smoking again<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-55853350967520488902015-09-04T23:18:00.000-04:002017-02-15T23:14:22.230-05:00Diagnosis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd1a6e6urq-2er0iR70vJl5KxK8MqgDHeY8wmQVywh4lnoFMoOdAMQi1kbw8OxS_0X-l0-n9zt45eecf7Ak27MgV1wTEsapoew4ljON9NkjpJjeNBGjTCviz0VzT472UNjRMz2FnkHCyI/s1600/DIAGNOSIS.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd1a6e6urq-2er0iR70vJl5KxK8MqgDHeY8wmQVywh4lnoFMoOdAMQi1kbw8OxS_0X-l0-n9zt45eecf7Ak27MgV1wTEsapoew4ljON9NkjpJjeNBGjTCviz0VzT472UNjRMz2FnkHCyI/s640/DIAGNOSIS.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
First off, a couple of months ago, I made an appointment to be screened for depression. Well, I kinda already knew the outcome. I know I suffer from depression. Not so surprisingly, after the first appointment yesterday, the psychologist diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder, Type II. And I've agreed to weekly sessions with her to find coping mechanisms for the next three months. And she recommended I go see the psychiatrist to explore medications, but that appointment isn't for another 6 weeks. So there's that.<br />
<br />
In other medical drama in the life of Mico, I finally received the results from the biopsies done on my leg back in May. The area isn't cancerous. That's good. But due to the unusual nature of the cells, my dermatologist decided it would best to remove my birthmark. So I have been referred to a plastic surgeon later in this month. The spot is too large and too deep for my dermatologist to remove, plus I believe the surgeon will try to minimize the scarring on my fine ass leg.<br />
<br />
More exciting news, I bought a car. It's a 02 Cavalier like my old one, and I'm quite happy with the old thing. It's black and it feels like coming home again. Except this time it's a manual, and I didn't know how to drive stick when I bought it. So, I've been forced to learn. It's been frustrating, but now that I am getting the hang of it, I kinda enjoy it. I haven't name my car yet. It's definitely not Darla.<br />
<br />
Jobs News. I was told a couple of weeks ago that work would be keeping my past the season to help out in the fall. They did say it would be reduced hours, to 4 days a week or 32 hours. Now, they're having budget problems. Meaning, now it's an "as needed" position, but I should "keep my weekends clear". That's really freaking annoying. I let my second job go so I could continue to work for the park. Now, I have to start all over in my job search, and it's really unfair to me and to a potential employer to expect me to keep my weekends clear just in case they need me at the park.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-68128795456472641052015-08-29T00:55:00.001-04:002015-08-29T00:55:30.513-04:00Kisses<p dir="ltr">I get annoyed that my husband only kisses me deeply and with an open mouth when it's time for sex. And sometimes not even then. I like kisses for the sake of kisses.</p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-79952267333176198152015-08-02T23:19:00.000-04:002015-08-02T23:19:26.942-04:00I am a Liar.I lie. I lie about unimportant things. I don't know why I do this. I even catch myself as I am doing it, and I ask myself why I just lied about that. For example, I once told my sister-in-law that I wore one size larger in bras than I really do. Why is that important that she think I have a bigger rack than I obviously posses? It's things that don't even matter. No one is going to judge me if I say I only had 2 pieces of the pizza instead of three. No one really cares that my car get 3 less mpg than what I tell them. My family isn't going to think differently about my husband that he starts work this week rather than last. I don't know why I do these simple small lies and it's difficult to keep up with the ones I do tell and to whom. Maybe it's an underlying fear of not being good enough or wanting to present a better face than I have. What difference does it make that I have been married only 8 years versus the ten I tell people. Or how about I'm 27 and not 30. I have two years left in college and not 1.5. Seriously, wtf, brain? Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2290281378382807372.post-48973617365520067952015-07-29T19:20:00.001-04:002015-07-29T22:43:50.673-04:00Social MediaWith it being so easy to be everywhere on the internet these days, I find myself sharing only parts of myself on certain platforms. I am very aware of what I post and where. Let me give you a breakdown of my social platforms and how I approach them,<br />
<br />
Let's start with the biggest and easiest: Facebook. Everyone has one, so do I. I spend a lot of time constantly refreshing my news feed hoping to find something interesting. I'm not a friend whore. I carefully select who I am friends with on Facebook, which is why I have a grand total of 80+ friends, 75 of which I could still care less about. Facebook is my main face to the world and my friends and family. I never post anything negative there. I rarely post anything personal. I never comment on anything. I life people's family pictures, and pictures of their accomplishments because people need validation and I am happy to give it to them in the form of a like. Unfortunately, my parents and my siblings are the one I interact with the most of Facebook. My mother has a negative comment for everything. She doesn't realize that she never says anything nice. It's just her way. I have all her posts blocked from my feed; I figured if I want to have a relationship with my mother, her rantings on political issues, and everyone's general stupidity, would best be something that I don't want to see. Considering we have opposing political beliefs, this is easier than fighting. My husband actually hates facebook, but he does have notifications turned on so he is notified every time I post anything. It's a little unnerving knowing he will read everything. It's like I am seeking his approval for my posts. There have been several instances where I have deleted posts, pictures, and comments because he did not approve of them. I'd like to say I delete them out of respect for him and his opinions, which is only half true, but mostly I fear I resent him for it. I feel that I have to ask permission to post things, so mostly I don't bother unless it's something I believe he won't take issue with. Between those two, facebook is just a list of pretty pictures from my job at the park and the random tag from family members when they post funnies to my page. <br />
<br />
Onto my next biggest social platform: Pinterest. It's my safety. I feel it's where I can hide safely behind my boards. I post freely on Pinterest. I am safe from anyone I actually know, with the exception of one of my sisters. If my media accounts were reflective of who I am, I would say Pinterest is the most accurate reflection of what I think, do, and like. I share my humor in my funnies. I share my love of television and it's characters without feeling stupid. I share deep emotional thoughts through quotes. I share my love of exercise and physical activities. I don't have to use words. I don't have to talk to anyone. The pictures do all the work for me.<br />
<br />
Another: Twitter. Twitter's nice. I used to rant and rave and go on about how stupid things are there. I use it to share little day-to-day updates that I refuse or am not allowed to share on Facebook. Like that I am happy when my husband gets a call for a job interview, or I feel particularly strong about an episode of one of my shows, or how I feel about a particular part of a book. I all surface level bullshit to be honest. I mainly use it to stalk celebrities.<br />
<br />
And then I have an Instagram. I have one, I only use it rarely, but mostly it's so I can share pictures from my job across all of my platforms at once. I also use it to post random, non-facebook worthy pictures, such as the inside of a ferries wheel or an interesting cloud formation. I'm not very active there.<br />
<br />
I view my social media accounts as possibly the beginnings of multiple personality disorder. Each one has it's purpose and it's own face of who I am. Honestly though, they are only parts of me and only parts of me that I am willing to share. I still keep a lot of who I am off social media. I don't want to go to a job interview one day, and the interviewer looked up my facebook or twitter and found that I was arguing with my mother or that I don't hold conventionally accepted religious beliefs. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com