Notebook

Today I decided to carry a notebook with me.

I can't help but realize, when I get to therapy, that I don't have much to talk about except recent and upcoming social events that I'm freaking out about. I feel like he just tells me I'm being crazy (in the nicest way possible) and then I say "You're right." and we end up taking the whole time doing that. Well, not the whole time. He asks me about specific relationships sometimes and he just tells me what's normal and what's not.

But I can't help but think we're wasting time. And I think John feels the same way. I feel like the purpose of therapy is to undo my thought processes and downward-spiraling, circumlocutious reasoning. I feel like there are two brains in my head, a reasonable one, and a crazy, morbid, random, untrained one that I have to constantly keep in check. It's really frustrating and tiresome. I think John would like to help me with that or other deep-seated brain issues.

But I just can't get to that stuff. It's uncomfortable and, frankly, I don't know if he'd even be able to help that stuff. I'm sure he doesn't want to push, either. Another thing is that I think of all these issues or problems I have with interacting with people and I want to talk to John about them, but I forget them during the session or I get distracted.

So, I'm going to keep a notebook on me to write these things down on so I don't forget.

I don't know why it's worth writing about...I'm just excited about my brilliant idea.

I am just sad.

I need to complain. For the past while now things have been really hard. I was hoping against hope that the sadness would go away with medicine. I think I knew better deep down that a pill can't do that, but I was hoping. And, while paxil did work for my depression, I doubt it could help with the sadness.

What I suffer from the most is sadness. Life is not as good or as easy as everyone says it will be. It's not as good or as easy as everyone makes it out to be. It's painful. More than anything, it's painful, disappointing, and unfair. My life, despite all the people looking on the outside wishing they had it, has never stopped being hard. It's never stopped being painful. I thought the worst was over when I graduated high school. The only difference was that I had the delusion that whatever I had to go through would be my own fault and that I'd have ways to prevent it.

Now I've been hurt by complete strangers along with the person I was supposed to matter the most to in the whole world. Girls dream of weddings their whole lives and everyone tells them it's the most special day of their life...it was truly a nightmare for me. The whole thing. People who don't even know me did their very best to ruin it for me because they felt slighted in some way. I'll never get those moments back. I'll never have a Christmas where I don't think of everyone yelling at us and threatening not to come. I wish I never told anyone. Sex, something everyone regarded as sacred, special, amazing, and flawless was tarnished from the start for me. When I did give "my most precious gift" away, it was to someone who'd already been with so many people. And I thought at least when I gave it to him, it was special. But it wasn't. It was mere weeks after he'd cheated on me twice. He hid that from me until right before we were engaged and the person he did it with never actually confessed and certainly never apologized for it. In fact, she had everyone around her thinking I was the liar. It was so humiliating and degrading. Most of all, it was heartbreaking. I loved him and I was convinced he loved me...

Not only that, but no one ever tells you you might not be able to do it normally. I really don't know why I can't function properly. Whenever I bring it up, it gets ignored or blown off as Stephen not romancing me enough or whatever. I know it's not him! It's not anything we can control. I can't help wonder if it would be as painful if people, my whole life, didn't put so much importance on sex. I can't help but feel broken when NO ONE else I know suffers from this. Not that our sex isn't just as enjoyable as sex without functionality issues (I think), I just hate knowing that I can't do it the normal way. I can't help but compare myself to all the other girls my husband has been with.

And now I'm becoming someone I never wanted to be. I'm still suffering. And now I have this freak genetic disease that literally came from nowhere. I have no one to take advice from. I'm so isolated. No one wants to be around me and I don't know if I want to be around people.

I've felt more hopeless than I do now. I've certainly felt more despair. But I don't think I've ever felt this lonely in my entire life.

Dance?

So, I've tried basically everything I've ever been interested in. I've failed at half of them, excelled at a few of them, and decided the rest weren't for me. Hockey, lacrosse, bagpipes, viola, social work, nude model for art students, percussion, piano, sewing, javelin, sprinting, water polo...like...everything.

Except for one thing: Burlesque.

I've wanted to do burlesque for a few years now. Or pole dancing. Or bellydancing. Any of those, really. There's just something about expressing femininity and learning to be part of a fun group of gals that just draws me in. Not only that, but I can build confidence and some lean muscle while I'm at it. I just think it would be so fun and so healthy for me to be part of something that isn't just me all the time. I'd really love to do this.

So...I'm thinking of sneaking in some lessons since Steve is not ecstatic about the idea. I mean...obviously he likes the benefits he would get and that I would get, but I guess he doesn't want people oggling me. Whatever. I'm a freaking scorpio! I have all this sexual energy and femininity that I can't really express. Not through clothing (because I don't feel comfortable in fitted clothes), not through speech, and not through sex because my husband is "only one man" (or so he keeps saying).

I HAVE CURVES! I have awesome hips and NO one can see them! What a shame it is to let what good features I have waste away before anyone can admire them! It's like hiding a gift! Riiiiight?

Strange question.

I've been thinking about this on and off for a few days now. I was having dinner with my friends the other night and one mentioned that his sibling was diagnosed with something, but his parents won't tell him. Another friend's first instinct was to verbalize how unfair and unethical that was.

And maybe 2 years ago, I would've been with him. But I had to disagree this time.

It's no secret that I have PKD. I've finally gotten to the point where I'm not thinking about it all the time, but I've been permanently affected by it, I will always be affected by it, and I know it will get worse. It's not just a physical systemic disease, it's very mental. It's impossible to explain what it's like to know your body is being attacked by itself. Your body is killing you. You're trapped in that body. It's an indescribable horror. And it affects my outlook on life, my attitude about life, and my decisions.

Not even consiously. I keep planning my life around the fact that most people start experiencing real problems at age 30. Many retire at that age. My life expectancy is 53 years old. I keep...planning, I guess, to die then. I don't plan to ever see grandchildren, if we even have kids, and I don't plan to work for long.

Anyway, it's really affected my life in a way that I sometimes wish I never knew. I mean, I love knowing that my problems weren't all in my head. I'm happy I can plan, but the problem is that I don't know what to expect. I can't possibly prepare, all I can do is worry. Everyone is so different.

So I guess, if one of our kids had it, they'd at least have me to go off of, but that's the thing. I don't want them to know. I don't want them to worry about me or about themselves. I want them to have the oblivious childhood I had. But then, at some point, don't they have the right to know? At least for their own health? And how long can I keep my health a secret? I mean..."too numerous to count" cysts at my age isn't great.

It's weird...I never thought I'd have this question, but do you tell your kids they could have this life-threatening, systemic, progressive illness? Do you tell them you have it?

I really can't blame my friend's parents for their decision. Maybe it would help, but what if it doesn't? It's a strange question.

Girl Crushes

I'm not ashamed to say that I have girl crushes. In fact, I think more women have them than are willing to admit. Even if that's not the case, without further ado and in no specific order, here is my list:

#1: Nicki Minaj. I just want her body as my own. I envy her shape, as fake as it is. She has a versatile, exotic look and can pull off all sorts of hairstyles and colors. She's also an amazing -though probably too explicit - rapper. Lastly, I totally dig her crazy faces.

#2: Iggy Azalea. In my opinion, she's an even better rapper with such an amazingly extreme pear shape. Done. She's gorgeous all around.

#3: Aubrey Plaza. She's just cool, like some kind of comedic enigma. She's so weird, interesting, and awkward in real life...it's amazing. She's very pretty, but I mostly just like her mystique.

#4: Krysten Ritter. Oh my goodness. Krysten Ritter is just freaking beautiful. I wish I had her coloring and her skin and her face. Her face is just perfect. Oh my goodness.

#5: Jennifer Lawrence. Last, but certainly not least is JLaw herself. She is the most charming, quirky, entertaining, weird, strange, chill, incredible person. She's not only very funny, she's very talented.

Conflicted.

So I'm going to let you in on a little secret (maybe regrettably):

A few weeks ago, I dropped all my 2015 Spring semester classes and signed up for the EMT-B course, a math course (0950 obviously), and medical terminology.

"Why?" You may ask. You're so darn close to finally getting an AS in criminal justice! Why would you do that? Why?! WHY!? Or maybe that was just me.

It's because I thought I knew what I wanted!!! Firstly, I wanted to be done with school. I'm so tired of school. Second, I wanted to work as a coroner technician/medicolegal death investigator. I can get there through emergency medicine (though I'd have preferred mortuary science). Great! Less math, cooler, more useful learning outcomes, and I know how to save someone's life. Win-win. I affirmed this decision in my mind by thinking it could help at girl's camp (if you remember, my blessing says I'll "work with young women" and "share of my talents"). So I thought I was brilliant.

But then my Crime Scene Investigation Techniques class final happened. I loved that class (even though the other 4 students hated me), but the triangulation and sketching bit scared me to death. After all, I can't draw, I have no concept of space and distance, and I still don't quite grasp the intricacies of triangulation. I just know it has math involved. So, I was basically scared away from any notion of becoming a crime scene tech by the second day of class. And I'd wanted to do that for much longer.

But then my teacher appointed me the photographer for our final. That's the most important function in our class. At first I was a bit worried because I'd never done it before, but the teacher assured me I was making it harder than it was.

And BOY was he right! I haven't had that much fun in a long time. I just loved pretending it was real and going in and out of the crime scene tape to take photos! I loved adjusting the camera to get a good look. I tried to channel photos I'd seen in Forensic Files and I kept thinking: "could they use this in Forensic Files?" "If I was a juror, would I be able to get the right idea of the crime scene?". Yes, it's incredibly nerdy, but it was SO FUN! I especially liked not having to worry about measurements and triangulation.

So now I wonder if I should try to be a CSI tech again and switch back to my other classes. Grrr... And it's not like I wouldn't be happy either way!! I'd be happy! But I think I'll always wonder what could've been no matter what I do.

Vindication/Rant/IDK

From about the time I could figure it out, I was not like everyone else - at least in the sense that I was behind developmentally/academically. I distinctly remember my 5th grade report card showing my abysmal scores (way below what was expected) in every single catagory except for "listening", which was at 81% or so. They always seemed to say that I was very nice though. It was like: "She can't do anything, but at least she's very kind." And it's not like whatever perceived kindness got me anywhere. I was constantly bullied about my hair and I only had one friend.

In middle school, the bullying was virtually non-existant. I found a punkish clique to which I felt I belonged. They were fun! I kinda miss it sometimes. Though my social life improved, my academic persuits didn't. They even got worse. It was so bad that I had to give up electives to make up classes and participate in summer school math. I just remember thinking how easy things seemed for my peers and how mad at myself I was for not doing as well.

I don't even remember how it happened (seemingly overnight), but my social life took a nosedive. I just started to get really nervous around people. Like...I was always quite nervous, but it was very easy to get past that and be extraverted. I truly believe I was extraverted. But it was just getting harder and harder to get over the anxiety. I didn't want to see anyone, ever. It had gotten so bad by my first day of highschool that I threw right up. My grades were not going to improve anytime soon. In the end, I could only get As in English, orchestra (and other music-related classes), and french. I was lucky to pass most of my other classes and I was in summer school every summer, that I can recall. They even made up some math class that I could take to graduate. By then, I'd been on sertraline (zoloft) for awhile and, even though I'd get higher and higher doeses, it just didn't seem to help much.

Everyone would keep saying that it would get better. I failed algebra, but "most people who don't do well in algebra tend to like geometry". I failed both miserably. I barely graduated high school, but "most people who don't like high school do better in college". Save for English, criminal justice, and mortuary science, I've barely passed or failed all other classes. I don't know how much longer I should waste my time.

Throughout all of this, it seemed like everyone ignored my problems. My anxiety, my deepening depression. I'd sleep so much and I'd get yelled at for it. I was called lazy. I was told I was smart, so I just wasn't working hard enough. I began to take my frustration onto myself and cut myself up and it still didn't seem to stop everyone from wanting me to be like everyone else. I was being selfish, yet I was suffering so much inside, wondering how everyone could do everything so easily. What was their secret?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So, being diagnosed, finally, by someone who actually knew what they were doing was just pure vindication. Before, I hadn't even been diagnosed by a general practitioner who, like many others, just gave me whatever antidepressant came to mind. Now I've been prescribed an antidepressant that actually works as well as something for the anxiety - which turned out to be a problem in and of itself, rather than a secondary issue.

But now I have different struggles. I have to re-learn who I am, how to live in society, interact with people, and that going to school/out in public isn't scary (still draining though). The one struggle that stays the same, however, is academics. I'm still incredibly bad at math and it keeps me from doing things I really want to do. Namely, forensic science.

Then John suggested I get tested for a learning disability.

You know, that could be it. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. If it turned out that I do have a disability, I could get some help with that. They can even waiver future math courses for me if it was bad enough. What I really worry about is that it isn't. I worry it will turn out that I am just really bad at math and I'll have to just deal/avoid anything that has math involved.

No matter what happens though, I think I'm just done trying to be like everyone else around here!! The idea that I maybe couldn't earn a bachelors used to bother me so badly, but I think I'm over it now. Who cares? As long as I finsish something, anything, at this point, I'd be happy. It's not like I'll be able to work most of my life anyway, so WHO REALLY CARES?

My life is not about being successful, it's not about being educated, it's about service. Service. That doesn't require a degree/years of agony, it doesn't require an impressive mind, it requires love. Vastly underrated, but most important. It's time I realize that.

Learning.

I've been learning so much this week. It's been hard and I'm sick now, but it's worth it.

As much as I hate Facebook and have been happy to be without it, I find that I've missed my friends when I get back on. My close friends especially, but also my regular friends.

I still get annoyed/depressed with the people who complain all the time and self-diagnose and blather on about their self-diagnoses for attention, but I find that I can just cut them off entirely without hurting their feelings via the "unfollow" feature. Very nice. Has saved me a lot of grief.

There's also the people who keep posting stupid political things. Major sigh, but I'm not getting in anymore facebook fights. They're stupid, and it's not like anyone changes their minds anyway - even when you school them.

John says that I should consider getting tested for a learning disability. He says they might even be able to waiver some math courses. If they did that for me, I wonder if I could do a B.S. in Forensic Science. That would be awesome. The problem is, I don't think I'm bad enough to qualify for a disability, I just think I'm not good enough to get by. If that makes any sense...

I really hate colds. I don't get colds. If I get sick, it's a UTI or strep throat combined with pink eye. Always. I can't remember the last time I had a cold, but it really sucks. I've been coughing so hard I give myself headaches, my nose is stuffy, nausea, fever, the whole bit! It's awful.

I also have the best friends ever. Kaylee is always there for me. She has always been there for me, right when I need her. It's like she has some sixth sense. She's really awesome. And my guy friends? They were right behind me in case push came to shove on something. I never thought I would have/deserve friends like these. They're awesome.

My mother-in-law is much more human than I thought she was. It's nice. I love having a relationship with her. My father-in-law has always been supportive and loving toward me, but he's really been there for me this week. I wish I was more there for him though. I think he needed someone too.

Well, life goes on. It's been hard, but good.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of being misunderstood and mistreated.

I still don't know or understand why my husband's family gave us Hell - but will congratulate his brother - for the same deed, but I've been making such progress that I have a hard time focusing on that. Yes, it's ultimately why I didn't go to the wedding (and extremely heartbraking), but, per advice, I'm trying to let it go. I can't control other people, as much as I'd really love to at least influence them sometimes.

Something really amazing has come of all of this though. I'm really gaining a relationship with my mother-in-law. A real relationship. It's weird that, of all things, this type of event would cause that, but it's true. It was *surprisingly easy to let go of almost 2 years of hatred and resentment after she apologized. Not only did she genuinely apologize, she explained things. She didn't give excuses. She didn't lie. That was more than I ever could have hoped for from her, but all I ever wanted. She really isn't who I thought she was.

She's been through Hell, too. She has struggles and questions too. She fights her natural inclinations too. She understands things more and has much more compassion than I ever would've expected. It's just a side of her I never saw, or at least never let myself see. She really is easy to talk to because she has a lot to talk about. I hope I can converse as naturally as she does someday.

We literally talked for 4 and 1/2 hours last night (and we could've gone on, but I had to pick up Stephen). I got two really good hugs out of the situation. It was just much more than I ever expected. I never thought I'd step foot in that house again - so many bad memories and hurt etched in the walls - but she was worth it. She was there when I really just needed someone. She forgave me instantly for hurting her son's feelings and seemed to understand my reasons. If she didn't, she's a great actress.

Either way, it was really an event. 3 days ago, I would have laughed at this. But every cloud really does have a silver lining.

What a joke.

Well, all of this was for not. All the worrying, all the attempts to build a relationship. He's throwing it away becuase "if I can't get along with [his] wife, I can't get along with [him]". Which is silly and absolutely not true. My husband gets along with quite a few people who hate me - his family. Also, basically every other couple doesn't get along with another family member. It's not uncommon. He'll see.

It's weird. He said he loved me so many times, I believed him. This isn't love. In fact, very last-minute I decided I couldn't put up with everyone's bullying over this. I was so incredibly hurt and they do it on purpose. But I tried to tell him in a message I left in the gift I got him for this. And Stephen said he messaged him. But, I looked, and he said he didn't have time to read it.

That's how much he cares. He doesn't even want to know why I'm not coming. I've tried to tell him over and over that it was more complex than he knows and that I love him, but it just doesn't seem like he returns that sentiment.

What a chameleon. I really believed him. If he really cared so much, he wouldn't have tried to blackmail me and he definitely would've taken two seconds to read the damn message.

What a joke this has all been. But I'm hoping he'll find it in him to understand. I don't need forgiveness, but I would like him to understand, at least, and maybe we could move on. Though I don't know if it will ever be the same. I'm seeing just how conditional our relationship is.

On second thought..

I really don't know how to feel about being blackmailed.

I'm used to deception. I've lived with it all my life. It's managed to weave it's way into nearly every meaningful relationship I've had. Yet I still feel this way every time. Betrayed, I guess. Like my relationships are not unconditional.

I'm used to it, so I'm not upset exactly. I'm just...disappointed. That's the word.

He didn't understand. He still doesn't. My main reason for not going was my beef with his mom, but he's also had a hard time accepting that his fiance and I are different. Completely different people with completely different values and thresholds of acceptability. She's also loud, and I hate loudness. I'll go ahead and blame the hypervigilence for that.

Either way, I can accept different people. It's NOT that at all. If it was just that, I'd have been much more receptive to a relationship with her (and his relationship with her). The problems come from his own words. I was leery about his previous relationship because he was Hell-bent on coming home, baptizing her, and marrying her. That was weird. Maybe he gets that now but, when I told him I was worried, his gf had already broken off the relationship. You wouldn't have been able to tell. He was still sure there was a possibility of doing that. She broke up with him because he was too obsessive.

So what am I supposed to think when, the first time I see his new gf, they have damn rings on their fingers? We'd asked him the day before during casual conversation: "What if you break up with her?" And he said it's unlikely because she received revelation about it. We told him it could mean anything. Like...a church teacher of mine got a revelation of the same kind and proposed and she said no. He later met his eternal companion. It could mean anything. And he'd just gotten off his mission and he was saying that.

They don't seem happy together. I mean, she never seems happy, but he doesn't smile or laugh around her. He insists he is, but maybe I just don't know him enough to tell. And then he later told us that he'd been unsure of wether or not she was pressuring him into it or if he really wanted it. He didn't pray about it, he went to a therapist to tell him that. Not good. Red flag. If you can't even pray about it, you must be afraid of the truth. Meanwhile, she was buying him so many gifts. Like seducing him.

And it's all just moving way too fast. They've spent like...no time together. They're still in the new relationship phase, where everything is great. Everything is new and fun. And he won't talk about the relationship with anyone. He hides it. What am I supposed to think then?

But I received a similar revelation exactly 3 months in. It wasn't so direct, but I knew I would marry Stephen. So who am I to say hers didn't happen? Stephen and I spent every second together. He made me happy, and everyone could tell. We took pictures and wrote on eachother's walls. We told people we were engaged. It's just weird and sneaky to me and he hasn't been forthcoming about this whole thing. How can you expect someone with my personality and mental illnesses to react?

Naturally I was skeptical, scared, and upset. I didn't want him to get into something too deep and miss out on his real soulmate. I realize there is a lot I don't know about their relationship because of the secrecy. I just wish I could trust his judgement. I don't.

Anyway, those were my reservations. Because of those, I was not supportive of this relationship. He doesn't even realize. He probably thinks I'm petty and that's why he thought it was okay to blackmail me. Saying we weren't friends if I didn't go. What could I do then? I had to go.

But now I don't know if I even want to be friends with someone who would do that to me. If he didn't want to go to my wedding, I would've understood. Mostly because the majority of my guests also didn't want to be there and I really only cared about getting married to Stephen, not the show.

I'm just disappointed.

Well well..

So I just got done with a huge freaking text battle with my mother-in-law.

Turns out, I really just needed an explanation. As much as I wouldn't have believed it 10 minutes ago, I've actually forgiven her. Crazy. It really is astounding to me. And I would've made a huge mistake if I didn't go. She's just not nearly as evil as I thought she was. This whole time I figured she didn't care about this or that and, when actually talking to her (hindsight says that would've been preferable), I find she actually does care about a lot of things. She just doesn't vocalize her feelings. Something I'm pro at.

We're very different when it comes to a few big things, but the same when it comes to a lot of smaller things. I can live with that. Now I'm sorry and I have to eat crow (also something I'm pro at - maybe because of afformentioned pro at thing).

And I have to get my brother-in-law to talk to me. Share the good news? I still don't think it's that big of a deal that we go, but if it makes him happy, then I'm happy. A little sad/hurt about how my wedding went, but it's okay. Apparently everyone was mad at us. She made it so I could only tell a majority of people were mad at us. Pretty good, considering the hypervigilance, the fact that I don't trust anyone, and the fact that I am extremely wary of peoples' intentions. She's talented, that was never disputed.

I've been stupid. No one supported my decision to marry Stephen except Levi and our handful of friends. I should've returned the favor, even though I don't like his fiance. Though, maybe that can change too. I have to be more forgiving and give people a chance. Tommorrow will be eventful, that's for sure.

Done.

I am done with in-laws.

My. Goodness.

I tried. I honestly tried. From the beginning, I was (of course) extremely shy. I do have social phobia, after all. I really think that screwed the pooch because they probably thought I was secretive or something. While I tried to communicate as much as possible, I guess they weren't satisfied. I tried to go to every family event. My mother-in-law didn't like me. Or something. I still don't know quite what her problem was. She's said so many nonsensical things about it. But I really thought she was cool before she showed her true colors after Stephen and I were engaged.

She says she didn't feel included in our...wedding plans? Something? Maybe that was because I didn't get my dress with her. She didn't give any real details or explanations, but I think it may have been that. Of course I'd been trying to open communications with her via email from the beginning. I'm more comfortable with text than actual words. Something we don't have in common. She later claimed that they were "hurtful". Which is absolutely not true. She has a habit of lying.

Ugh. I don't even want to go into our actual wedding or her horrible passive-aggressiveness and manipulation.

And now my brother-in-law, someone I actually thought was my friend, is turning against me because I can't go to his wedding. I was never going to go. Since all the crap that happened at mine, I don't like weddings at all. I don't really go to any weddings. And this one? Are you kidding me? I can't forgive someone who isn't sorry. Not yet, anyway. It's all very hurtful for me, and he is truly just a victim. I know he knows that my indignation against his mom is more important to me than showing up to some show. A show they claim to care that I go to, but only told me about on Saturday. It's not like there isn't another one planned, so I don't see why this is so important. But I won't be going to either of them. I never want to see his mom again unless she can explain her actions and the actions of her family. Honestly, what the hell had I done to them (before I got married, at least. I've been extremely wrathful since)?

I wish I'd just not tried at this point. But I do want to be his friend...so maybe I'll have to go. I really don't want to though. It's the last place I want to be. Ah blackmail...very effective.

PKD?

You know how I used to be obsessed with it? How I'd spend hours looking for scientific articles to try and project my progress? I can't tell you how many calculations of growth I've made based on every hint of uniform progression rates (everyone progresses differently with PKD). How I constantly mulled over facts and researched any discrepancies? You get the idea.

Well, nowadays I forget that I even have it.

I can't remember the last time I looked up an article or had a question about it. When I get asked about it, people comment on how chill I am. Well...they've always done that, but I used to be like: "Really? Because I'm freaking out!" It's just not an issue I get reminded of. I've learned how to take extra care of myself to avoid UTIs. My body seems to hurt less lately. It's probably the gabapentin, now that I think of it.

Anyway, my point is that it's no longer on my mind all the time. When it does come to mind, I panic. It's an indescribable horror to know your body is designed to kill you. It's programmed to kill you. Luckily though, it's just not a big deal right now and I'm free to live it up until about age 30 or when I get pregnant.

I could be more grateful.

Challenge must have been accepted, because I am more grateful today than I was yesterday.

I'm a very grateful person. There are many times where I just sit silently in my apartment and think of all the blessings I have. Just having that apartment, a warm place to call home that I share with the my soulmate, is a gift. There is just TOO much to be grateful for to not notice. And I do realize there is much that I don't even notice. I am grateful for that too.

Anyway, my point is that I'm just so grateful for basically everything that it's a challenge to find something new to be grateful for. But it happened today.

I went to class because I managed to stay up long enough to get to it. If I'd gone to sleep, I would've been toast, and I've been toast for the past month. I got to class and felt surprisingly good. Like...comfortable. Like myself, but I've ranted about that before, so you get the picture. Until I realized we were doing another practical and that I had to work as a team with my class (a grand total of 4 other students). I heavily contemplated getting the EFF out of dodge, but I had to suck it up so I could talk to the teacher afterward and beg to get a passing grade.

I actually had nothing to be scared of. It was pretty easy, I could actually talk to people - a foreign experience, and I was able to be physically near people without a flinch (seriously, this stuff is a miracle-worker). I got to collect the evidence too, so that was fun!

So that finally ended and all had gone well. As we were wrapping up the crime scene sketch and report, I was having an internal battle in my brain. I didn't want to embarrass myself by telling my teacher about my problems. I didn't want to use it as an excuse. I'd probably cry. Maybe he'd let me get away with missing 4 of the 5 practicals??? I wussed out and decided to just not do anything. I was too scared.

But the teacher gestured to me as I was leaving the classroom. Dead meat. He waited unitl everyone was gone to tell me that, after all the graded assignments were put in, I'd not have enough points to pass the class. I'd resigned myself to that fate, so I wasn't too upset. He asked what I wanted him to do. I just told him I was sorry and that I should've done more and I'd been trying to fix it by seeing a therapist.

But then something weird happened. He seemed to really understand. I could see it in his eyes. He asked if I was taking my medication (something he completely guessed at). And I said I liked the gabapentin, but I wasn't taking the paxil. He shook his head, still with compassion in his eyes and said: "You need to take your medication. They prescribe it for a reason." He explained that he didn't like giving incomplete grades because the class is mostly practicals. Then he said he would make a deal that, if I turned in my assignments and participated in the final practical, he'd let me have a C.

That's about when the tears came. I told him it was more than I could've asked for. I can't believe how compassionate he was. And I was so embarrasssed. He went on to say he wished I'd been to class more because I "could've learned a lot" and that I "seemed to catch on to things quickly" (which, from him, was like getting a gold medal).

I always thought he was cool, he just seemed...military still. He was in the military CSI and he is just very analytical, practical, and sharp as a tac. He'd smoke while overseeing our practicals. Even close enough for me to get second-hand. I loved it! He just didn't strike me as the type who'd even believe in mental illness. But I guess that's stupid in hindsight, since he's worked so many crime scenes where mentally ill people are perpetrators or victims.

Anyway, this is such an incredible act of mercy. I couldn't be more grateful to him. I asked if I could give him a hug in the end and he said yes. It was awesome.

Hermit/update

Sometimes it dawns on me how much of a hermit I am.

And I'm perfectly fine with it.

I've deactivated my facebook account - basically my only connection to the outside world - and I feel much happier on average. I also have more time to do things that are more fun. Win-win! Usually I don't see or interact with anyone but Stephen and fastfood workers/waiters and I really like it that way. It makes the occasions where I see my handful of friends or family extra special.

Anyway, I've been having a crazy hard time getting a proper sleep schedule, so today I completely embarrassed myself when someone said hello to me and I replied by saying "Good morning." It was freaking 5:30pm. Most people got up about 12 hours ago. It's not morning.

My anxiety, as you may remember, has improved tremendously. However, I'm realizing it's still not where I want it to be. I get really anxious if someone compliments me. I still get irritated/freaked at semi-loud noises. I'm still avoiding church and other activities where I'll be exposed to people for prolonged periods. I'm not sure if that's anxiety or just normal. It's hard to guage what's normal when you don't know what normal is.

I've also had vast improvement in my IBS-C, which leads me to think a lot of that was from anxiety because this medicine is supposed to worsen that issue, but it's not so in my case. I'm so grateful.

I just wish I could find a similarly miracle-working drug for the depression. I never realized how debilitating it was. I just blamed everything on the anxiety. I just don't want to do anything. I'm so incredibly fatigued - though that is a symptom of depression, anxiety, and PKD. I don't find much enjoyment in anything. I worry what kind of useless life I'll live if I don't get this fixed.

Despite all that, things have really been improving for me and I couldn't be more grateful.

P word results

It was too good to be true.

While it did bring my depression (reportedly severe) to a level field on day 1, which is amazing, it just stayed there. I couldn't "be happy" and laugh. It was zombifying. Which would've been okay since it's better than feeling horrendous all the time. But it didn't help with motivation and it only helped the fatigue slightly.

It's better than nothing though, and I was willing to give it an honest go. At least (TMI alert) until I realized what it did to my female organs. My libido is crazy high, and I'm alright in the arousal area, but "getting the rains down in Africa" and "finishing the race" have always been troublesome for me. Like, insane difficult. It's a very hurtful, depressing, and sensitive subject for me. Though paxil made it rain big time, the race could only be finished after at least twice as long as it usually takes with twice as much work and with much less reward than usual. On the first day!

I'd read some reviews and studies saying it really affected that area of someone's life, but I didn't believe them and I figured it could have the opposite effect for me since I was getting more serotonin. Didn't happen that way. And, while the relief paxil gives is amazing, I just can't let that area of my life get worse. I can't. Also I enjoy laughing and having a personality, as crappy as it may be.

However, I'd highly recommend this to people who are not sexually active and can handle being a little...tranquil.

The P word.

So, at John's advice, I contacted Dr.K and told her I was not taking the paxil. She asked why and I told her that I was too scared of the side-effects. She asked which ones and I instantly listed the sexual dysfunction, the insane weight gain, and the constipation. I have enough of those three things already, and they're just now improving with the gabapentin. No thanks.

She continued to say that it's scary for everyone to start and that not everyone has bad side-effects (though I'm convinced otherwise). She said that I am, of course, free to do what I want, but that she strongly encourages that I take it.

How could I say no to her? She knows what she's doing and I see her in 2 weeks. I can try it for 2 weeks. So I took one just a few hours ago.

It's actually really nice! I don't know if it's the placebo effect (because SSRI's aren't supposed to really kick in for a month plus) or what, but I feel way less depressed already. Motivation hasn't seemed to be affected, but the feeling of absolute misery has turned to like...levelness.

Maybe I'm crazy. It's already making me really tired/stretchy/yawny though and I'm still really worried about the side-effects, but I am willing to give Paxil a real shot.

No one understands.

At least that's how it feels. Even people who claim to have depression (a "cool" thing to have, it seems) don't really seem to get it and it certainly doesn't help that they post anything mentioning it to Facebook for attention - generally more opinions about depression from people who aren't depressed.

I'm here to tell you, it's not as simple as altitude or oxygen. It's not as simple as divorced parents or "a hard childhood". It's just not. With those reasons, even though some of them are applicable to most people with depression, it just minimalizes depression. Everytime someone blames one thing or another, it's just minimalizing. Depression is as complex as it is mysterious. It's truly disabling the deeper it gets. I'm just frustrated with fighting for the legitimacy of this illness when so many people don't understand it.

It's worse than PKD. At least with that, no one knows enough about it to judge the people who have it. But depression? Too many people claim to have it and then go on to complain about every small thing, beg for attention for it, and spread their opinions and misinformation. It really makes us look bad.

I'm not ungrateful. I'm not a pessimist. Most of my days aren't "bad" despite my problems. I try to always have a good attitude (it helps that I'm home 99% of the time). My point is that we're not all like the stereotype. In fact, the people I know (who probably have a deeper depression than me because they've attempted suicide) look happy. They don't bully anyone and they don't complain. Ever. Which is better than me.

I don't know. I feel like I'm patronizing everyone's struggles right now. I'm not trying to do that, I just mean to illustrate that no one understands. Despite the fact that it's absolutely sabotaging my life and the lives of others, some people don't even believe in depression and that people can just "pull themselves out of it". For this, I totally blame people who use self-diagnosed depression as a tool for attention.

Medication Update

I don't know what to do. My cognition, once again, is diminishing with the anticonvulsant. I had hope that this would be different because gabapentin is not a controlled substance.

Alas, my cognition is leaving me and I think it's progressing. I forget words much more easily and I'm starting to make pauses again (though, not as badly). I get dizzy after standing for so long and I'm definitely not as alert when I'm driving. I think that's just because of the lack of anxiety though.

Speaking of which, I'm still really happy with the anti-anxiety benefits. I'm free to be a loving person! There was a couple in the laundry room and we went in soon after them (something that would've caused me some issues before) and, when they left, they said goodbye. I not only said goodbye back without being completely awkward, I also added: "Have a good night!". I feel like a real person now, though I'm still learning to adjust to me minus anxiety.

So that's AWESOME! The depression, however, remains unhelped. I'm too scared. But I'm so incredibly miserable that I have no motivation or energy to do anything.

I was talking with John the other day and he suggested I disclose my issues to my teachers in an attempt to plead for mercy to save my grades. He said he'd be willing to write a letter for me because my psych test scores were "significant". I feel like my depression is significant, but I'm so embarrassed about it. I literally can't even imagine disclosing it, especially because it would seem like an excuse (and I'm NOT into that). I'm  also worried I'll cry and that's...terrible. Cop teachers, remember?

I will see John and Dr.K again in the beginning of December, but I'm thinking I should try to get a different AntiD prescription before I see her again, or at least inform her that I'm not taking the Paxil.

Facebook

I don't know why I've come back. I guess I just wanted people to see the real me. Me minus major depression and social phobia.

So far, it's just been disappointing. Besides the constant misinterpretation of my complex feelings and ideas, I don't think I like hearing what people have to say about some things. I wish (and thought) I was adult enough to get over it, but I can't handle it when someone is uninformed about something and yet they have very firm opinions based in that ignorance. Not that I can blame them. As open-minded as I am (or thought I was), I still came to my beliefs through experience and knowledge, just as they have. Their opinions are just as valid to them as mine are to me. My point is that I feel like every single thing I post is something someone has a problem with. And I guess the solution to that is to never post controversial things or things that are important to me, but where else can I do that? What is Facebook for, if not posting things that are important to you or that you like? And it's not even like anyone cares what I think or like anyway.

And then there is the fact that, now that my anxiety is gone and my depression is in full bloom, I don't really understand who I am. Sometimes I feel like "Wow, I'm actually pretty cool." and then other times I feel like "Wow, I'm super boring and much more irritable than I thought. Total package." Anxiety has just been such a huge part of me and it had affected so much that I'm just lost now. It's difficult to find yourself after that and I worry a lot that I just won't like me.

I worry no one likes me sometimes. Not that that's essential for my life goals, but it would be nice to feel like I mean something to someone. I want to mean something to myself, most of all, but that can only happen after I become much more patient, much more open, loving, charitable, and much less depressed. Good freaking luck.

In summation: Facebook sucks. I should probably delete it again.

It's been a week.

You know how it's been. Pretty good! I feel like I can actually talk to people and that I can do things. The biggest challenge has been the depression. I have yet to take another paxil, I'm just too dang scared. And not just because of the weight anymore.

I've been getting...other benefits. Not to get too graphic, but my bedroom physiology is thriving a ltitle better now. A little, but that in itself is reason enough to continue! I also feel like my IBS-C has improved greatly. I'm "going" every single day (minus yesterday, but that's probably because of what I ate). Can you believe it??? I feel like it's too good to be true myself, because I have no idea why it'd have that effect. In fact, it reportedly has the opposite effect, but I'm not complaining!

ANYWAY, it's been great so far for anxiety and other things. Now my biggest deamon is depression. It is debilitating. It is monstrous. I don't know how anyone who has it worse than me can keep living, let alone do everyday things. It really is just...ugh. I feel like I've accomplished something big when I get out of bed. Nothing matters, everything is just hard, you're absolutely exhausted, fed-up, and miserable through no choice of your own.

And it doesn't help to know people might make assumptions about you. Like, I just got a talk handed to me and it's title has something to do with gratitude. It's not that I'm ungrateful. I really am grateful for everything. And I'm not a black sheep. I'm not lazy. I'm not a hateful person. I'm terrified of people. It's something I can't control. I love people. I love social science. My life calling is to help people. So, trust me, I wish I could change this about myself, but it's not going anywhere. I'm depressed. I have a lack of energy and of motivation. It's not like I love having a messy car or dishes piled in the sink. It's not like I think clothes look good on the floor. It's not like I like having no job and wasting my days.

But I feel better when I do get around to doing the things I should. Accomplishments! Like today, I decorated for Christmas and I got rid of some recycling and I cleaned the car. I'm going to school, which is something a lot of us apparently can't do. Not that I'm doing well, but I'm trying! I was visited yesterday by a stake leader and he is a psychiatric pharmacist! So he knew a lot about my illnesses and medicines. It was cool.

Anyway, now I'm rambling. Things are good! The end.

Lesson learned?

Last night I was experiencing some anxiety and restlessness. I did not want to be anxious and the anxiety exacerbated itself because I do not want this to stop working. I worried it was getting less effective as I got used to it.

SO, in a moment of brilliance, I took twice my regular dose. Needless to say, I woke up later and my head was spinning. I've never been so miserably dizzy in my entire life. Maybe because of that dizziness, I was a sliver away from throwing up. Stephen's voice was intolerable as I couldn't process one more sensation without added misery. I suddenly felt hot and took the blanket off. That's when I noticed my entire body was wet with cold sweat. Like..ice cold sweat. I've never experienced that before.

It was horrendous, but I think I've learned my lesson.

Medicine day 3/4

Well, there is some good news and some bad news.

I don't really get headaches anymore. I love that! I'm extremely pleased with the gabapentin for anxiety. I'm still very sensitive/distraught about the bowel issues. I'm seriously considering getting a J pouch or something because I know I'm not going to get help for that. I'm absolutely fed up with doctors not listening to me.

So the anxiety is astoundingly close to nil. I finally feel like a real person. I'm feeling much weaker though, but that's not a huge deal. I almost never feel hungry! That might be the bowel issues, but it's nice to not crave food 24/7.

The most inexplicable thing, though, is my absolute nightmarish depression. I had no idea it was this bad. I thought my anxiety was keeping me from doing everything, but now that it's gone I realize that I just don't want to do anything. I have no motivation to leave my bed, let alone go out and eat food (one of my favorite hobbies). It seems like a big chore now. I have no motivation whatsoever and I'm on the verge of tears at all times. It's unexpected. I guess I'm mild to moderately suicidal. I just worry I'll mess up and become disabled or something and I'll miss Stephen, but that's it. I'm so miserable, I don't think God would punish me for it.

And it's not like I have much to live for. How could I raise a child like this? I don't even know if I'm healthy enough to have one. How can I graduate college with this level of utter indifference? And I'm only going to get sicker. I'm just a waste of resources, really. And I don't want to be alive if I can't contribute anything positive to this world.

But then I remember that some things get better with time. If I had ended my life say...5 years ago. I would never have met the love of my life! I would not know how awesome college could be. I would never have met my friends. Likewise, a lot of the bad things that have happened to me wouldn't have happened, but I feel like I get stronger with every challenge (and then more pile on).

Anyway, I'm extremely depressed and I can hardly stand it. While I'm pretty sure it's just unmasking what anxiety was hiding, it could be a side effect of gabapentin. It says it can cause depression, so it could just be worsening my MDD. But I feel like I'm thinking rather clearly and rationally so...I don't know. I'm going to talk with John (the therapist) about it this Friday.

Freaked Out

I'm extremely freaked out. I know I'm supposed to take the medicine and deal, but I can't possibly deal with weight gain. I can't. I'm desperate to enjoy the body I have now before it gets gross. I can't deal with weight gain.

But Paxil is the most potent SSRI, so it's the best they can offer as far as that class goes, but it is also the most infamous for causing weight gain. I can't deal with that! I don't know if I can keep taking those.

On another note, I'm basically loving the Gabbapentin for anxiety! It works pretty quickly. The first pill felt like the top of my head was blocked off and replaced with heavy books which were tied to threads pulling my lower jaw. It was weird. I still get jaw tightness on and off, but it's pretty much worth it. I've been getting what feels like mini headaches or pre-headaches where the books were, but that might just be my brain getting used to things.

I also worry it's affected my digestion. As bad as it is already, it seems as though the pill has blocked off nerves in my bowels. Or maybe muscles? I don't know. It just seems like things I used to be able to push with are no longer under my control.

That's probably TMI. Anyway, I'm okay with the results so far. I wish the bad side effects didn't exist or I'd love the results, but you get what you get.

Getting Help

You may have noticed that I've not been writing at all lately. It's because I couldn't handle myself anymore! I tried cutting everything out of my life (especially social media and blogging) to take a minute and figure out what my problem was.

As you may or may not know, I've had an interesting and unsuccessful battle with mental illness. All this time I figured general anxiety disorder was the main problem and depression was secondary to that. I tried a few treatments and nothing worked (without serious side effects anyway), so I figured I'd just deal with it on my own.

That obviously wasn't working. After losing my job and doing poorly yet again in school (with no good excuse this time), I sucked it up and sought help. I'm glad I did. My problem was not generalized anxiety disorder, it was social anxiety disorder (with hypervigilance) and major depressive disorder. I've been diagnosed by an actual mental health professional now.

I then saw a psychiatric nurse practitioner who has started me on medication. She wants to see how this goes and then decide on new medication or changing doses. I've done some very cursory research into these medications and what I like the most is that neither of them is a controlled substance. One is classified as an analgesic, so that's odd, but I'm grateful for the pain relief and social anxiety benefits. It's apparently useful for people like me. It's probably why she prescribed it. Smart lady! Also, I've been prescribed Paxil for the depression and anxiety. It's good for "drug-resistant mood and anxiety disorders" as well as PTSD and OCD. So that's also appreciated.

I'd be surprised if this wasn't just the beginning of a long search for the right medication and doses, but I'm feeling good about this. It seems as though she really knew her stuff and I love that I'm getting help for my real problems and not just some pussy antidepressant that doesn't work.

Everyone has been really supportive. I'm not that surprised as I have many friends who also battle with chronic illnesses and depression. I'm still a little embarrassed. I know of too many people who look down on those with depression. And how could I be depressed with everything I have? But I know it's not under anyone's control. It's a medical issue just as much as a mental one.

Anyway, I'm hoping to feel better soon and start to really live. That would be nice.

We're probably annoying.

I was reading my husband's email (a bad habit formed because of a bad experience) recently. There is usually nothing new in there and, if I'm okay with the title and who it's from, I don't read it anyway. This occasion was no exception to the routine.

However, I was bored and I noticed he still had our chats saved, so I took a looksie. After reading only a few conversations, it dawned on me that we're probably one of those really annoying couples. Every other sentence was "I love you SOOO much!" or "I miss you SOOO much!" or some other variation. There were a few "I'm sorry"s because Stephen apologizes needlessly for small mishaps and mine are because I get stern at him sometimes for no reasonable reason.

I thought of how nearly all of my profile pictures on Facebook were of us. It's been that way since...our second month of dating? I was just dead in love with Stephen, and I still am. I still miss him intensely, even when he's only gone for an hour or so. I can't stay mad at him for long - and I'm a pro at that. There isn't much I'd like to "fix" or change about him. I want to have physical contact all the time. I still like to take G-rated showers together when it's possible. I'm just still very much in love.

And I'm thinking that could be really annoying. We've been together for almost 3 years now. I was told I'd eventually "get over" that phase. I see it happening with my friends. Not to assume they're not in love or even just as much in love, they're just not annoying about it. They have their own personalities, their own space, and they have their own Facebook pictures of themselves or friends and family. They can handle being by themselves for 5 seconds. They're adults.

Even though I realize my bond to Stephen may be unhealthily attached or otherwise clingy, I don't want it to change. I love knowing I can count on him for anything. I hope I can give him the supreme joy that he gives so freely to me. I love Stephen to the most obnoxious level ever!

Happily Exhausted

I woke up at about 3am today. This was after sleeping for 12 hours. Before then, I'd been obsessing over some stupid event coming up (maybe, I still have hope that it won't happen). To give some context, I have an irrational fear about everything. It's kinda the point of my mental illness. It usually only goes to the extent of not being able to sleep because I have something scheduled the next day (be it work, school, whatever), I'll occasionally get nightmares, and we can't forget about my signature avoidance.

Today, this event was the only thing on my mind. I'd had a nightmare about it. When I slept again I had nightmares about it. I could hardly sit still and I was ready to throw up. Actually throw up. This is the most severe reaction I remember having (at least when no one was around).

Anyway, when I woke up, I found that I was exhausted...And I love it!

I am just too exhausted to worry about anything, let alone this disastrous event coming up. And now I'm just thinking I'd be a lot less miserable if I didn't care as much about people. Don't get me wrong, you can never care too much about people. But the care I'm talking about is less Mother Theresa and more...I don't even know. I want to know everything about everyone I meet. I want to know their likes, dislikes, dreams, strengths, weaknesses, whatever. I can't stand it when people aren't open to me. It's like rejection. And, even when they are open, I'm not satisfied. I still want to know more. I also hate it when someone lets me in (or is in the process of it) and they just "leave me". Be it geographically, socially, or otherwise, it's also like rejection. To exacerbate this, I don't trust anyone anyway.

And the worst part is that I KNOW that's nuts! I KNOW that's unhealthy and stupid and irrational. Yet I can't stop myself from feeling that way. I just think I'd be happier if I wasn't crazy.

Not the life for me.

As I become even more secluded from society, I think I'm beginning to realize that I'm not happy with the American dream "norm". Most people, it seems, grow up, go to college, work, have/raise kids, and die. Those kids grow up, go to college, work, have/raise kids, and die. And on and on it goes.

It's not a bad life, but sometimes I feel like that's not for me. I've come up with some crazy ideas that might just work for me someday.

Nudist colony: I love being naked! I would like to not have to put clothes on. I just feel sorry for the people who'll have to see me without my clothes on. And I wouldn't want to see most other naked people, but it you can't say it wouldn't be a liberating experience!

Canada: When I didn't realize I had a chronic physical illness, I was upset that this country doesn't have a lot of medical resources for the mentally ill. I have suffered from it since I was about 14 years old. I occasionally thought of moving to Canada and gaining dual residency or something similar. Now that I know I'm ill and this country will continue to fight for whatever nonsense we've had, I like socialized medicine more and more. I'd like to not have to pay more just because of the genes I was born with. *Rant: And goodness, what if I was single? How could I afford my medical bills later when it gets worse and I can't work? That doesn't even make any sense!!! Insurance is only affordable for the people who don't need it. This isn't working.

Back to the Homeland: I've probably gone on and on about my Scottish heritage at one point, but I identify more with my German ancestry from my dad's side. I'm 85% sure I'm at least a quarter German. Either one of these countries could do. I hear people work less in those countries and there is more recycling and they're beautiful anyway.

Anyway, I just think there is more to life than the endless cycle of nonsense. Maybe there is a place where I don't have to feel as out of place.

Update

I'd like to say things have gotten better, but they haven't. Not that they've gotten so much worse, but I feel like I'm decaying. All the blessings I need, I have. I am not going hungry, I'm clothed, I have access to running water and a warm home. It's also been raining, which is amazing.

Despite all these abundant blessings, I feel angry. For some reason, I'm angry and getting more and more depressed and anxious as time goes on. I don't even like to leave the house for fries anymore. I don't want to leave the house, let alone my bed. I can hardly keep the dang house in proper condition. Like, I'm a credit card away from having a hoarder house. I don't go to church because I don't want to see anyone. I don't have a job and I barely make it to my classes (reluctantly, but I have a good time). My personality is changing for the worse and I fear it will be permanent.

I don't mean to complain, but how can I look forward to life when I know what's to come? I have no more direction because I'm terrified I won't be able to work (or at this point, that I'll even want to work anymore). I'm terrified I'll have no choice but to be a stay-at-home-mom or a pain housewife. And what kind of mom could I possibly be with my back? I worry a lot I won't even be able to carry our child. I'm weak, I have no stamina, and my back is...just going to get worse, I suppose.

I'm really miserable, and I feel like I'm going it alone. Like no one I know understands. Yet I'm still expected to do everything a normal person does. Just pretend what is happening to me isn't. I sometimes feel like everyone could care less, which I understand, but it just furthers the isolation. Or maybe they do care, but they know there is nothing they can do so they just ignore it. Or am I becoming hypersensitive?

Anyway, I'm hoping to see a counselor soon, possibly a therapist. Maybe I could get a friend (emotional support animal). I feel like I could really use one of those. I could also use a lifelong vacation to a beach somewhere.

I've done something terrible.

Well, there goes another job. I guess I can try to beef up my arms to sell plasma. Heck, I'd probably earn more that way on average anyway, but I liked that job.

Yes, I quit today. We got a new system - something I'd begged for when I first began at PJ's. It has a really cool biometric fingerprint scanner! Very cool biometric scanner. And the system seems much simpler. However, the callers had no idea we were doing something new, so while I was fumbling around I heard one customer mutter (maybe to a friend) "It's not that difficult...I don't know why it's taking so long." So I said "Sorry, we just got a new system and I'm having a hard time." She said "Oh that's okay!! You're fine!"

Mhm.

I mean, I'm glad she was cool with it because I was taking a long time, but frustrated at myself for pissing off a customer. So I needed help getting used to the system. I actually had no idea we were getting one. Well, the only person who I could get help from was one of my managers. She's a grade A piece of work. She's in her teens, very skilled with pleasing angry customers (so I hear), and she's a smarmy jerk most of the time. At least to people she doesn't like.

Unfortunately, I was one of those. I don't know if it's because I was friends with the guy she dated at work who got fired for it and whom she shortly-afterward dumped (cold). I don't know if it's because I don't like her chronic lying problem or attention-seeking personality, and I just let it show, but she didn't like me. She'd always pick on me. Nobody in the store likes to get the phone or till so, if no one is getting it after a ring or two, she'll tell me to get it. Every. Dang. Time. No matter what I was doing. I honestly tried to be nice to her. I know she has a kidney disease too, so we bonded that way. I bought her painkillers once when I went to pick up Stephen because there wasn't any in the store. Usually I cut people out if I don't like them and that's that. But I felt like I had to get along with her to keep my job.

And I did most of the time. But sometimes I'd talk back to her. Usually after something stupid/mean she'd say to the new people or after one of her frequent, condescending comments. One time, I was being a buttface first, and I'll admit to it. I apologized to her and I thought we were cool.

Anyway, she's the main reason I quit. The straw that broke this cammel's back was that I was having a hard time with the new system. Apparently, on the board all week there was a note telling us to do the training module on the computer. Well, guess who only worked on Monday and Tuesday? Me. Guess who didn't look at the numbers that managers send to other managers, usually? Me. I wasn't aware we were supposed to look at those. I feel like they could've done a WAY better job of getting the word out. Especially since I wasn't the only one.

Well, after helping me a couple of times, my manager (or shift leader?) walked back to the makeline and started bitching to the other two workers (one of whom is also a manager - and a much better one in my opinion) about how it's so weird that "people" are asking her questions about the system when it's been up on the numbers whatever for a whole week. She always does that, too. Talks about workers behind their backs. That's the second time she's done it to me where it's loud enough for me to hear. Maybe I should report that? I dunno. But I told her to knock it off and that I knew it was directed at me and, of course, she said "actually, it wasn't". I don't know who thought an 18 year old manager was a good idea, but it's not. For this very reason.

There were other minor problems though. One is the small issue of all the new people treating me like I'm new. I get it. There are a TON of new people at the store, but I'm clearly not one of them. Especially on the makeline. You can see that I know what I'm doing, so don't tell me what to do when you can't even remember pepperonis on a Supreme!

Another thing was school. I need to do well in school or I'm toast. School is important to me and, lately, my transcript is looking abysmal. I need to focus. I know other people can do both (Heck, my husband is doing both right now, he's my hero!), but I worry I probably can't. And it's not just the time commitment - which actually isn't that much thanks to the flexible scheduling - but I can't sleep knowing I have something to do the next day, even when it's at 5pm. If I do get to sleep, it's light and I have nightmares. Every time.

So yeah, I guess it was bound to happen, but I wish I'd given two weeks notice. I wish I could've done it for just one more month. Heck, 4 more months would've been a year! That would look great on my resume. As of now I'm just panicked that I won't have enough money for the months to come. I hope I can get a job that relates to my career options. I'd like to work at UVU if possible.

Well, cheers.

New school, old major

Life is good again. At least, I feel like my blood is pumping again. I went to my first class at UVU today. My teacher is still in the force and even told us about an arrest he's going to do tonight if everything goes well. That just makes me feel alive. I'm being taught by these people. I'm learning from them about cool stuff!

Like most criminal justices classes, this one is taught by a police officer so it's pretty laid back. It's my type of learning. Concept, discussion, stories. Concept, discussion, stories. Real stories from the field. What better teacher than experience? I love it.

And I think he likes me. I can't keep my trap shut if the teacher asks a question about something I know and no one answers. Since we're a bit shy right now, my mouth is open a lot saying what I think about things. I think that's what he likes about me. Anyway, I came up to him at the end of class doing a really hard job of articulating that I have to ask him to add me to the class. But I finally got the words out and he said: "Oh, absolutely." He seemed happy to add me, which just makes me feel like I belong. Heck, he even made me want to be a cop! He talks to us like we're already in the field. And I guess a lot of the students are. There are a lot of military men in there.

There are 5 girls total. Surprisingly to me, and this might sound bad, but I was one of the less feminine ones! Those were girly girls. Nothing wrong with that, but it's not what I expected at all. One of them doesn't seem that serious about it -texted all during class and left early, so we'll see.

The best part is that Police Field Ops is just one of the classes I'm taking. I'm also in Criminal Profiling - taught by an ex-FBI agent, so that will be super exciting. I'm also taking Crime Scene Investigation Techniques which is different from Intro to forensic science, so that will also be awesome!

I'm so excited. I feel like I'm alive again. Never thought I'd say this, but I'm so happy to be in school!

Update

This sums it up pretty well. It's been hard lately.

http://vpkd.blogspot.com/2014/09/change.html

What you can't see

I'm not sure where to start with this one. Most people with humanity in them would be as heartbroken as I am. I guess I should say there are things I'm glad people don't see.

It started when I was about 16 years old. I wanted to be a crime scene investigator or something along that line. I knew real cops and related professionals had to be tough. I knew what they saw on a frequent basis, but I wanted to see it myself. I wanted to toughen myself up, so I'd look at surgeries. Soon, I graduated to crime scene photos and suicides. After awhile, I felt like it wasn't enough, so I stumbled upon this site that has all kinds of horrific footage.

I honestly don't know how they find these videos/photos, but I guarantee they're real. Again, I started small, with suicides. It's surprising how many jumps and hangings are filmed. I can't describe what I felt. I felt shame and some shock that I was watching someone's last moments of life. I felt a great deal of helplessness.  I was disappointed they had to resort to death. I was angry at the website author's absolute irreverence toward death and his clear hatred toward anyone who isn't "aware" of the world around them. That's when I saw my first murder. These boys taped themselves murdering a homeless man. I not only saw everything, I heard everything. It was horrific, and I never visited that site again.

Until today.
It was a dramatic descent from harmless Youtube videos, to highway accidents, to elevator incidences, to that site - from a comment saying there could be an uncensored version of a horrific elevator accident in which a woman tries to escape from a stuck elevator. I'm completely ashamed, but my curiosity got the best of me and I went to the site, not realizing I had visited before.

That video was not there, but I spent a great deal of time watching other videos. They were mostly suicides by train, jumping, and firearms. It was sad to watch, wishing someone would just do something. Sometimes they tried, and they got to the victim too late. On a few occasions, the people did nothing. One that sticks out was a girl who jumped from an overpass in front of traffic. The traffic just went around her. As the car with the camera passed, you could see that she was still alive. The fall must not have been high enough. I don't even know how to feel anymore. That level of inhumanity used to make my blood boil, but I don't have the energy. It's disappointing to say the least, and it's very sad. Why don't they feel responsible for her? Or at least move her out of the road. Call the police, maybe?

I ventured into the murder section, figuring I was ready. I didn't get far. On the first page, my attention went to a video of the attack on Gaza. I remember complaining about this in an earlier post, so I figured it would be relevant to watch. This person was there right after the missiles hit. There were halves of bodies lying around. Clearly dead people, even kids, and my mind went right back to that stupid post on Facebook. It must be very easy for us to have opinions about these things when we aren't actually there.

That was enough for me. It's hard to know that I'm sitting here on my cushy bed while people are suffering. How many people will commit suicide today? What could have prevented that? How many people will be killed today for no reason? I can't handle people bickering about stupid politics and whining about meaningless nonsense knowing worse things are happening under our noses. However, at the same time, I'm glad some people can live in ignorance and not focus on the bad things. Maybe that's the point in fighting crime - to protect people from the harshness.

Anyway, let your loved ones know you love them and never forget to say it.

PKD Complaints vol.100034

*Another PKD post.

Stop me if I've said this before. This morning, when I had five seconds to think of nothing, my brain decided on PKD. It just started making calculations for kidney growth. 5% every year. People generally get them out when they reach 32cm (maybe more, maybe less).

I have about 25 years, barring earlier kidney failure, a ruptured brain aneurysm, or heart failure (no idea, apx 10% chance, and 50% chance respectively).

At that point, unless something drastic happens, I'm planning to let nature take it's course.

As you can imagine, this doesn't sit well, but not for the reasons you think. The truth is, I'm relieved I can have some idea of how I'll die. Anything could happen, but in case it doesn't, I generally know what to expect. However, planning my life has proven difficult. I always make plans. They almost never come through, but it doesn't stop me. I'm learning to let go. It's hard to decide whether or not to have kids. I know Steve wants them, but I only have until 30, and I may not be ready before then.

I'm not sure how I'll feel about passing PKD on. I don't know how big of a deal it is yet. I don't know what I'll have to say when my kid(s) will pressure me to get help. They'll say I'm giving up if I don't seek a transplant or dialysis. I don't want that. I don't even want them to know I have it. I don't want to make them worry. I guess that's one thing I know. I never want them to find out I have it. Maybe I could ask them some vague hypothetical question about "a friend" who is wondering whether or not to tell her kids...

But what if I die before I plan to? How could I leave Stephen with a kid to raise? He/she might be in her late teens or early 20's by the time my kidneys fail. Or what if I have a heart attack at 40, like my dream shaman woman said? How could I do that to Stephen?

It's almost certain I'll get pre-eclampsia with my child(ren). It's deadly, but many women come back from it fine. But with PKD, it's almost certain the high blood pressure will stay. High blood pressure = faster kidney failure. I'll miss Stephen. So I should die sooner so I can leave him with a child to raise? A child who could grow up to hate me for having him/her? I've seen it in the support groups. I don't want that.

I really don't want to be a homemaker, but many of us have to retire in our 30's. How could I work on dialysis? I want to work...or at least volunteer a lot. What kind of life can I have with that? Lugging a machine around, or having to go to the hospital multiple times a week if not multiple times a day??? I don't want that. I doubt I'd even be eligible since my veins are so small.

But then there is the pressure to be an inspiration story. It sounds stupid, but you almost have to do it. "Healthy" people can just die and be fine, but you have an ailment. You have to do a lot of things or you're letting your illness control your life/beat you. Like...I feel obligated to donate my body to science now.

Anyway...this has been another ramble from yours truly.

Career Crossroads

Here I am yet again, hopefully for the last time. I've decided Weber's CJ/Forensic science program is a no-go due to Steve's schooling and SLCC is a no-go because I can't handle the commute. My only option is to attend UVU with Stephen.

I've found that this isn't such a bad option, as the forensic science courses are more comprehensive here. There are more of them that I have to take, but the general eds are looser and the classes are more worthwhile. However, crime scene technician, as a career, has one major and one minor flaw: testifying in court and measuring. You have to measure everything. Blood patterns have so many trigonometric formulas...I know I'd probably have a hard time with that. You have to sketch the scene, but I have no spacial reasoning. As for the testifying...it's not only pubic speaking (something I'm deathly afraid of), but you have to prove something and look competent. They'll attack everything they can about you, your school history, and even your character. As my life is a very imperfect, open book, I believe this would be torture. It would be a frequent torture.

Luckily, I've found another possible major of interest: Emergency Management. While the courses aren't nearly as exciting, it would allow me to do everything I've always wanted to do. I can work with FEMA and other disaster response organizations. I can learn EMT skills and save a life. I can join search and rescue or underwater body recovery. I can help after mass/natural disasters. I have the opportunity to work regular hours, I can see my husband, and I can work for the state. I can be a pretty useful person to be around in case of emergencies. There's also that phrase from my special parchment saying I'll find joy in helping others. What better way to help others? Despite all of this, I'm absolutely terrified I'll miss out. Criminal justice and forensic science are my loves in life!

Anyway, for now I'll just finish my general education. Hopefully I'll have made a decision by then.

De-clawing Cats

Every educated animal-lover knows de-clawing is a horrible, horrible process done mainly to keep cats from damaging furniture. That reason sucks, but I'm sure there are worse ones out there. Until just now, however, I personally thought the only damage done was that the cat can't defend itself in the wild, and that it gets sore paws.

It's much worse. The paws aren't only sore, they're agonizing because the bone is growing back in shards! It cripples the cat and, to compensate, the cat will put it's weight on the wrists to avoid pressure on the paws. That causes arthritis in the wrist, arms, and shoulders. The bones growing in cause injury and, by extension, pus. That pus gets into the bloodstream and causes kidney failure and liver damage.

It's terrible, and I really hate that this procedure is legal.

No voice.

I'm still reeling from a blind-sided quote I heard today. I was watching a show about animal hoarders when a sufferer explained why she began collecting animals. It started when she was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 38. The chemo made her infertile, and she said: "Well, the baby machine is broken, what's the point of being a woman?"

Oh. Good. Grief. 

I guess I can cut her some slack because she was one of those gals who grew up thinking her only purpose in life was to be a mother. Then again, she was freaking 38...how long did you think you had if you didn't have cancer? Eggs and fertility don't last forever. 

Anyway, I was just filing the irritation away in my brain when it suddenly dawned on me what life is about. It may very well be why I've been going through a rough patch and maybe why I can't stand being around people in the first place: pressure. 

It seems like, from the second you're born, people have ideas for you. If you're a girl, you're gonna have babies unless you absolutely can't. Your parents want you to be just like them when you grow up. American society has ideas of it's own. My religion, as great as it is, is probably the biggest beast when it comes to pressure. 

I'm not talking about the pressure to be good so you can avoid Hell. That's not a valid reason to be good anyway, and it's not relevant. I'm talking about women are supposed to be this way and men are supposed to be this way. I'm not a perfect follower in any sense of the term, so excuse my delusions, but I feel in my heart of hearts, that it isn't so black and white. I KNOW I'm not a female for the purpose of having babies. Vanessa is a female. I just am, that's my spirit. I can't handle having "my highest calling" shoved down my throat every dang Sunday. If I'm having a baby, it's because it's in my plan, not the plan for females. Not all women can have children, so shove off!

Aside from that mountain of unpleasantness, there is American society. Why do I have to be outgoing? Why do I have to say: "How are you?" and not actually mean it? Why are women supposed to be one way or another? Why do we have to have exciting lives to be worth conversing with? Why is it weird to be candid? Why can't we just let each other be? 

And if that wasn't enough, everyone you know has an opinion about how you should live your life. Friends and especially family will tell you what you should do to be happy. "Get a transplant". "Have babies". "Be positive". "You're just giving up if you don't blahblahblah." Those are just a few things people have said to my face. People who don't know what it's like 1: to be me 2: to be chronically ill 3: to be a female 4: to be a chronically ill female. If someone would just be educated about my illnesses before telling me what to do or how to act, that would be nice. For once. 

You know, that part of me just messed everything up. As far away as I was from being understood before, it's just even further away now. Hardly any doctors know of PKD and virtually NO ONE ELSE knows anything about it. So thanks a lot, body.

I just wish people would let me be. Just let me do my own thing. But there is no way that's going to happen. Everyone will have their opinions about my life and my choices. They're gonna be vocal about it sometimes. I'd like to say I can just let it roll off my back, but I've never been that kind of gal. I'm a fighter, but I just think I'm done fighting. 

Anyway, I hope that made some sense. Maybe I'm just cranky... but I think I might have a point. I'd see a therapist and get some meds if I could afford it, but for now I have this stupid blog. 

Suicide

I found out today that, after a long battle with severe depression, a beloved celebrity ended his own life. These are my thoughts:

Suicide is strange to talk about. I've had a weird relationship with the enigma my entire life. I think everyone thinks about suicide at least once in their life, and yet it's rarely spoken of, and even more misunderstood. As someone who deals with depression on a regular basis, I completely understand his wish. I wouldn't consider mine as ever being severe, and I often find myself in and endless circle of misery. So I can't imagine what he felt, but I know it was bad.

Many people claim those who end their lives are cowards, but it couldn't be further from the truth. It takes a lot of guts to harm yourself. Even when your only wish is to die, it's painful. It's frightening to think of what will happen. It's not selfish, either. When everything around you is wrong, and you only wish you wouldn't wake up after you fall asleep, your judgement is cloudy. It may not feel like it, but it is. It's not about the people you leave behind, all you can think about is ending your own suffering. It may even feel justified, as if everyone else would be better off without you. Everyone else seems happy, why can't you be? Something is wrong with you, right?

Though I've found myself in this place more often than I'd like to admit, I could never ever get myself to even attempt to do it. And I believe it's because I had something these poor souls must not have had. That thing is hope. For some reason, no matter how miserable it is to wake up, I feel like things could get better, and I want to be around for that. You know, my life usually gets worse every year.

I dropped out of Weber State because I was cutting myself and I wasn't thriving. At the time, it really seemed hopeless to me. I was failing half of my classes (though I still got excellent grades in the classes I did pass). I was getting UTIs all the time. I had no friends and, even though I was happy about that, I felt bad for not wanting more. For not being "normal". I was on clonazepam, and I felt like my anxiety was better, so why was I not "normal"?

My health started deteriorating. Later that year into the next, it just kept getting worse. Everything below my bellybutton wasn't working properly. I was truly miserable. I found out about my husband's much earlier "infidelity" (we were dating, and hadn't done anything yet). It crushed me, but I went through with my engagement and marriage. My wedding was a complete nightmare, and it destroyed whatever hope I had of getting along with my new family. I lost my best friend because of who I was marrying. My health problems persisted and worsened. I went to a few doctors multiple times. I got a colonoscopy with normal results, but I'm skeptical, because the doctor was young and seemed extremely uncaring in my follow-up appointments. I finally got a doctor to take me seriously (after I lost 50+ pounds for no reason) and order a CT scan. I thought they'd find out what was wrong (surely, it had something to do with my stomach or bowels, or maybe my uterus was tilted and squishing my other organs), they'd fix it, and I'd be happy again.

Turns out I have this freak incurable, progressive, genetic, systemic, life-threatening illness. It wasn't going away, and it almost certainly has nothing to do with the majority of my complaints. It answered a few things I didn't care about - why I bruised easily, why I'm exhausted all the time, why my urination habits were going haywire, why my back and stomach hurt so much, and why I got those UTIs all the time.

As for my bowel problems, they tested me for a few more things, got me the highest dose of Amitiza, and sent me on my way. They never looked into my sexual dysfunction, assuming my husband must not know how to please me or that I can't relax enough. Doctors just generally don't care, I find. My school performance has only gotten worse. From near straight A's, to near straight F's. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even still in school.

My point is that everything has gotten worse over time. I would think that, if I had problems before, I would be done by now. But the funny thing is that I still have hope things will get better. Every time something bad happens, I feel like I get more resilient. Like it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm more grateful for the small things, and it's all because of hope. I just wish more people had hope. I especially wish that for the victims of suicide. It's tragic, and I wish they could've been helped, but you ultimately have to help yourself, and some people just aren't equipped for that.

Rest in peace.

My old friend.

Ah, depression/GAD. Just when you think you're out, it pulls you right back in. Since meeting Stephen, I just haven't had to be on antidepressants/anticonvulsants save for once. I do a lot of self-medicating anyway, but there are times where my life is in danger and my judgement is clouded enough to warrant help.

I think I need help again. I think I may need the big guns again. Clonazepam; my mortal frienemy. I love how it works. It actually helps, which is new. But, on the other hand, it caused weird side-effects. My eyes would flitter about, my head would occasionally twitch, and I had a hard time remembering things. All of these were worth the results I was getting until I developed an additional symptom that is still something of an issue for me. I can only describe it as cognitive impairment. I'd forget words completely, even simple words. I'd frequently stop mid-sentence to try to concoct the rest of the sentence. Normally, I can make a sentence in my mind and say it rather quickly, but even if I had the sentence in my mind, I would need to pause before saying the rest.

So I gave it up. That, and I had a human replacement for them. However, I'm beginning to notice that I worry too dang much about stupid things. It keeps me up at night. In fact, I'm still awake now. I worry about every. little. thing. It's a nightmare, but if I don't worry about it and hash out a plan about it every 45 seconds, it'll literally begin giving me physical symptoms like restless legs and even a racey heart sometimes. It's utterly ridiculous, and it's really disturbing my quality of life. Even though I could be doing worse, I feel like I'm not doing anything I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not doing anything right. I feel like a waste of space and like I don't know how to connect with people - even my friends.

It's very tempting right now, that's all I'm saying.

People are dumb.

So I just read an article about a 9 year old boy who has died after being stabbed by a 12 year old on a local playground. If I was still friends with the idiot I was arguing with a month or so ago, I'd rub it in his face. As someone who has studied criminal justice (both formally and informally) for a long time, I know what's up. I know how the world works, and it's just not as safe as one might think.

He'd shared this article about a woman who'd been arrested for leaving her child at a local park for hours on end, unattended. This guy and all his friends and some of his family all agreed it was outrageous, disparaging "helicopter parents" in the process. After placing a few facts in front of them about child abductions, they became belligerent; looking at my facebook and finding things to personally attack (to no avail). And here is a sliver of proof that, if I'd decided to go that route, honestly would've done nothing but make them mad (but it should make them change their minds). They just don't know what goes on. They don't know how easy and common it is for someone they trust even, to do something horrible.

Another thing I saw that angered me was a teaparty post that was liked by a friend or relative of mine (can't remember). It read: "Israel has a right to defend it's boarders. Like if you agree." *Facepalm*. I'd just gotten finished seeing all these photos of innocent citizens in Gaza, carrying their dead relatives (presumably to a mass grave). I saw that Israel had bombed a United Nations-run school, where people had fled for safety. Yes, from my understanding, Gaza began the attacks, killing 59 (probably-innocent) people. But Israel replied by killing 1,423 (probably innocent) Gazans. First of all, how is that fair? When does it turn from defending your boarders into attacking another country? And why kill innocent people? People in refuge at the school? What were they going to do? How is it defense if you're killing the defenseless?

I mean...do people just not think of things before they say/stand behind them? It just doesn't compute for me. This relative or friend of mine was, most likely, of my religious faith. We pride ourselves on our knowledge of our lineage. We "love one another", yet this is okay to them? That doesn't make sense to me. And the first guy is a relative of my husband, who I no longer have ties to. Maybe I'd be happier if I didn't have ties to anyone. I'm tired of everyone blaming everyone else for everything. We all need to start working on ourselves and not make judgments about people we know nothing about. No more racism. No more sexism. No more wars. I'm starting to sound like a hippy, but you get the point.

Bangs.

I've had bangs for much of my life. Voluntarily gave myself some at 12, probably had it quite a bit before, and I know I had some for years later. However, I finally grew tired of them growing out into my face in college, when I began to grow them out permanently from 2013. I really liked no more bangs. It made my face look longer, since you could see my short forehead. My skin was clearer from not having hair oil on my face. It was much easier to style - not that I did much of that, but there was a small variety of things I could easily do.

Well, I just cut them about an hour ago on a whim. See...Stephen had mentioned earlier that I looked so pretty (I was wearing clothes actual people wear). He continued: "But I think I've decided that I like you with bangs better." Now, he's not being a jerk. I ask him on occasion about what he thinks of whatever. He hasn't really had an opinion up until now, which is helpful to me. I want to be attractive to him!

The problem is, I no longer like bangs. It's not like I hate them, but I think I look better without. He's been doing that lately. He used to not like my tummy. I hate it, personally. He'd always say, when asked, that he likes everything about my body but, if he could change one thing, it would be my tummy. Now? Now he raves about it. He loves it and even says I could stand to gain more weight. I felt the best when I was 154 pounds. Even then, I still wanted to lose about 15-20 pounds. Do you see the issue?

I can see how this may have begun. When I first met Stephen, I was relatively physically healthy (or so I thought) and pretty overweight at 210 pounds. All that weight was basically on my stomach. Then I started getting very sick. By December that year, I was able to fit comfortably into a size 10 wedding dress (my usual size was 18/XXL). When I was weighed for my CT scan the following Fall, I was at my recorded lowest weight at 154 pounds. I've now gained (what feels like) a lot of weight back.

My point is that he's seen my body in almost every weight on the scale of possibilities. He's seen my hair red, black, natural-ish, and even bleached blonde. It's been many lengths with different styles, I think he's just finally got an idea of what he likes. Unfortunately, it's way different from what I like, but that's okay for now.

In-laws.

Who needs 'em? I certainly don't. It's probably the worst part about getting married. Especially if you had a wedding turn out the way mine did. In my case, a handful of them are really awesome, but most of them are not worth the grief they cause.

It's hard enough with all the normal things that happen when joining a family. Holidays are not days to relax anymore, it's just a game of pleasing people. Pick each celebration carefully, or you'll hurt someone's feelings. If you help or don't help, it can cause issues. You're a new person - even a new woman - in the family and, if they think one way and you think another, it's gonna cause problems. They may not be the welcoming type.

Or you could have the monstrous BS that's not even worth describing anymore. That's what I had, and I won't have it anymore. I'm officially not part of that family - as declared by me, since late June - and I'm the happiest I've been since December 2012. At least when it comes to that nonsense. Sure, I still don't have answers explaining their unfathomable behavior toward me, but I don't need one anymore.

I can now spend the holidays in one place (instead of splitting them, because I didn't want to leave anyone out), and it's with people who actually give a flip about me. I'm not an intruder anymore. I'll be much happier this way. I have been, so far.