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.