It's a damn shame I probably won't be able to breastfeed, because I would LOVE it. Too much. I'd whip those suckers out there and bare! I love being naked. I don't always love all the parts of my body, but I just love being naked. The air on my skin and the just..naturalness?
Anyway.
No, I probably can't do that. I'd be on blood thinners so I don't throw an embolism and die. I'd probably get straight back onto my antidepressants and antianxiety medications. Maybe something else if I develop hypertension - which is 80% likely.
No, I can't do that. But, if I could, I'd LOVE it.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Monday, May 25, 2015
My Crew
You know I have my friends (most of them being guys) and I love them to death, but they're not the same thing as a crew. A crew is a group of people you could take the world on with. And I think I've developed my crew.
It's a small crew of course. You ready?
Lil' Sweet, Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Daymon Patterson.
That's it. But that's all I need.
It's a small crew of course. You ready?
Lil' Sweet, Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Daymon Patterson.
That's it. But that's all I need.
Major influence
As many problems as I have with communication (i.e.: only conversation with a person other than Stephen today ending in tears because of pure awkwardness and frustration as a result of said awkwardness), I just seem to make things worse.
As a student in college, the only extensive knowledge I can bank on is my major. Sure, we all have interests and know many things about them, but majors are different, and we know this. College is surprisingly thorough - at least it has been in my experience. And, since I have almost nothing else to draw upon - like many of my peers - my major is what I am able to speak about.
As a criminal justice major, it's been annoying to interact with people. It's like I'm majoring in nothing because everyone thinks they know more than me about police, law, and social issues relating to such. Granted, I am "just a college student" at this point (and it seems I will be forever), but I actually know a lot. I've learned a lot over the...10 years I've been a fan. I know things - frivolous and essential - about this field and forensic science. For someone to tell me how things are is irritating.
A couple that seem to come back to me a lot are "mean world syndrome" and "actually, did you know violent crime is going down?". Did you know that we can't really pin a time of death? Did you know that luminol is carcinogenic and we don't actually use it much anymore? Did you know that the reason cops pull people over for dumb things is so they can try to use "plain view"? We use superglue to get latent prints. Stippling (or lack there of) helps us figure out how far away a shooter was or if the person may have shot him/herself. Domestic violence calls are the most deadly for police. It's blood spatter. Oh yeah, and the sky is blue. These are BASIC babytown frolics things you should know as a student. Heck, they're things every layman should know! This was all CJ1010 stuff. So don't talk to me about "mean world syndrome" or the crime rate going down, because it's insulting to both of us. And especially irritating for me.
My short, semester-long, illegitimate stint as a social work major was interesting at least. That is, if I could tell anyone about it. Adults and peers alike would ask what I'm majoring in. "Social work." I'd say, with a childlike gleam in my eyes. "Oh." They'd say before turning to my husband. "And what are you majoring in?" Okay, so it sounds lame at first. Like psychology or sociology or something uninteresting and womanly. But it's not. Social work is like...THE major to go into if you want to make a real difference. You learn about what causes the problems in society and social groups, and then you learn how to help people fix them. So you hold therapy sessions for drug abusers. You help get abused kids out of abusive homes. You watch child molesters and other convicts to make sure they're behaving. Heck, my teacher was a guy who'd go catch the guys who escaped from prison. You do some really cool stuff, but no one cared.
Next was my slightly longer legitimate (aka: declared) stint as a mortuary science major. That was somehow worse than both of the previous majors. First of all, when I'd say what my major was, it was interesting. Way interesting and cool, even. Well, it royally sucked to have everyone telling me how interesting it was, yet no one wanted to hear me actually talk about what I was learning. I can't talk about it at dinner, I can't talk about it at social gatherings, so even though it was supposedly so interesting, I still couldn't talk about it.
Okay, I guess I can understand that (I guess), but what else can I talk about then? My other interests are viola - not many people even know what it is, criminal justice - not interested in arguing police issues with you or getting told what I know, geology - which no one cares about, and forensic science - which most people don't want to hear about.
I know this is all over the place, but my point was supposed to be that majors influence what you talk about. Most people will major in something they like. But can I talk about anything I like? I LOVE talking about what I'm passionate about. I just finished a book written by a medical examiner. There was obviously some really cool stuff in there. Can I talk about that? No. I can't talk about my interests because no one knows anything about them or they don't want to hear about it.
But I'm happy to say I'm going back to mortuary science. It may not be this upcoming semester (maybe I'll finally finish my associates in CJ), but it will happen. And, while I'm excited for people to not argue with or belittle me, I'm not excited to know and learn all this cool stuff and then not be able to talk about it again. Maybe this is why people choose to gossip. Their jobs are either too boring or too taboo to have conversations over.
As a student in college, the only extensive knowledge I can bank on is my major. Sure, we all have interests and know many things about them, but majors are different, and we know this. College is surprisingly thorough - at least it has been in my experience. And, since I have almost nothing else to draw upon - like many of my peers - my major is what I am able to speak about.
As a criminal justice major, it's been annoying to interact with people. It's like I'm majoring in nothing because everyone thinks they know more than me about police, law, and social issues relating to such. Granted, I am "just a college student" at this point (and it seems I will be forever), but I actually know a lot. I've learned a lot over the...10 years I've been a fan. I know things - frivolous and essential - about this field and forensic science. For someone to tell me how things are is irritating.
A couple that seem to come back to me a lot are "mean world syndrome" and "actually, did you know violent crime is going down?". Did you know that we can't really pin a time of death? Did you know that luminol is carcinogenic and we don't actually use it much anymore? Did you know that the reason cops pull people over for dumb things is so they can try to use "plain view"? We use superglue to get latent prints. Stippling (or lack there of) helps us figure out how far away a shooter was or if the person may have shot him/herself. Domestic violence calls are the most deadly for police. It's blood spatter. Oh yeah, and the sky is blue. These are BASIC babytown frolics things you should know as a student. Heck, they're things every layman should know! This was all CJ1010 stuff. So don't talk to me about "mean world syndrome" or the crime rate going down, because it's insulting to both of us. And especially irritating for me.
My short, semester-long, illegitimate stint as a social work major was interesting at least. That is, if I could tell anyone about it. Adults and peers alike would ask what I'm majoring in. "Social work." I'd say, with a childlike gleam in my eyes. "Oh." They'd say before turning to my husband. "And what are you majoring in?" Okay, so it sounds lame at first. Like psychology or sociology or something uninteresting and womanly. But it's not. Social work is like...THE major to go into if you want to make a real difference. You learn about what causes the problems in society and social groups, and then you learn how to help people fix them. So you hold therapy sessions for drug abusers. You help get abused kids out of abusive homes. You watch child molesters and other convicts to make sure they're behaving. Heck, my teacher was a guy who'd go catch the guys who escaped from prison. You do some really cool stuff, but no one cared.
Next was my slightly longer legitimate (aka: declared) stint as a mortuary science major. That was somehow worse than both of the previous majors. First of all, when I'd say what my major was, it was interesting. Way interesting and cool, even. Well, it royally sucked to have everyone telling me how interesting it was, yet no one wanted to hear me actually talk about what I was learning. I can't talk about it at dinner, I can't talk about it at social gatherings, so even though it was supposedly so interesting, I still couldn't talk about it.
Okay, I guess I can understand that (I guess), but what else can I talk about then? My other interests are viola - not many people even know what it is, criminal justice - not interested in arguing police issues with you or getting told what I know, geology - which no one cares about, and forensic science - which most people don't want to hear about.
I know this is all over the place, but my point was supposed to be that majors influence what you talk about. Most people will major in something they like. But can I talk about anything I like? I LOVE talking about what I'm passionate about. I just finished a book written by a medical examiner. There was obviously some really cool stuff in there. Can I talk about that? No. I can't talk about my interests because no one knows anything about them or they don't want to hear about it.
But I'm happy to say I'm going back to mortuary science. It may not be this upcoming semester (maybe I'll finally finish my associates in CJ), but it will happen. And, while I'm excited for people to not argue with or belittle me, I'm not excited to know and learn all this cool stuff and then not be able to talk about it again. Maybe this is why people choose to gossip. Their jobs are either too boring or too taboo to have conversations over.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Update
I'm still scared when the phone rings. I don't like answering the door - and I oftentimes don't.
I'm still trying to figure out why. If I knew why, I could fix it.
There are plenty of websites out there saying that we're afraid of what people think of us, but it's just not true. I couldn't care less. I know I think worse of myself than anyone else could. There is zero worry about that.
Being afraid of embarrassment is also common, and a little more accurate. I hate embarrassing myself. I think everyone is. But I don't get embarrassed easily. This is why I thought it was just physical for the longest time. When a teacher calls on me, I just blush. And I think: "Why in the good got dang am I blushing right now? This is so stupid!" My throat closes up, and the pitch of my voice goes up with it. I HATE that! I just want to speak with my manish tone consistently.
That embarrasses me. The fact that I have no control over my body just...mortifies me.
But I care more about how people feel rather than what they think. And it's not just physical. My gabapentin (which I should raise the dose of again) does a bang up job of keeping the physical symptoms down. My voice still gets high sometimes, but it's pretty stable. I don't blush as often, but it happens. However, the anxiety is still there. Or something is. I still strongly prefer being in my apartment. I hate the doorbell and I hate my phone. I only leave the house for food, therapy, or to pick Stephen up.
I'm getting better. I feel better. It's not even possible for me to get as sad as I used to. Sometimes that is frustrating because something upsets or disappoints me and I just can't...feel sad anymore. Just kind of nothing. I also still feel exhausted, unmotivated, and hopeless, but not broken. I'm not sure how to explain, but things are getting better.
I'd talked myself into "trying". I put pills in my mouth, and water, and I didn't care if I died or didn't. I remember deciding that I didn't care if anyone thought I was selfish. I didn't care if anyone got sad. I was way more sad then they'd ever be. I decided that Stephen would be happier, that Joanna would be given to a better mom. I didn't care what happened to me.
Now I don't even feel the need to cut myself. I think: "Why should I hurt myself? I don't deserve that!" Also, I'm losing some weight. Just 3 pounds so far, but I've eaten a lot of junk. And eating doesn't control me. I eat when I want to. I eat when I'm hungry. It's not a tool to feel better anymore.
Things are better, they're just not where I want them to be yet. I want to be happy, not blank. I often worry that I'll relapse. How many times do I have to raise the dosage of my medicine? What will happen when I get pregnant and can't take them anymore?
I'm still trying to figure out why. If I knew why, I could fix it.
There are plenty of websites out there saying that we're afraid of what people think of us, but it's just not true. I couldn't care less. I know I think worse of myself than anyone else could. There is zero worry about that.
Being afraid of embarrassment is also common, and a little more accurate. I hate embarrassing myself. I think everyone is. But I don't get embarrassed easily. This is why I thought it was just physical for the longest time. When a teacher calls on me, I just blush. And I think: "Why in the good got dang am I blushing right now? This is so stupid!" My throat closes up, and the pitch of my voice goes up with it. I HATE that! I just want to speak with my manish tone consistently.
That embarrasses me. The fact that I have no control over my body just...mortifies me.
But I care more about how people feel rather than what they think. And it's not just physical. My gabapentin (which I should raise the dose of again) does a bang up job of keeping the physical symptoms down. My voice still gets high sometimes, but it's pretty stable. I don't blush as often, but it happens. However, the anxiety is still there. Or something is. I still strongly prefer being in my apartment. I hate the doorbell and I hate my phone. I only leave the house for food, therapy, or to pick Stephen up.
I'm getting better. I feel better. It's not even possible for me to get as sad as I used to. Sometimes that is frustrating because something upsets or disappoints me and I just can't...feel sad anymore. Just kind of nothing. I also still feel exhausted, unmotivated, and hopeless, but not broken. I'm not sure how to explain, but things are getting better.
I'd talked myself into "trying". I put pills in my mouth, and water, and I didn't care if I died or didn't. I remember deciding that I didn't care if anyone thought I was selfish. I didn't care if anyone got sad. I was way more sad then they'd ever be. I decided that Stephen would be happier, that Joanna would be given to a better mom. I didn't care what happened to me.
Now I don't even feel the need to cut myself. I think: "Why should I hurt myself? I don't deserve that!" Also, I'm losing some weight. Just 3 pounds so far, but I've eaten a lot of junk. And eating doesn't control me. I eat when I want to. I eat when I'm hungry. It's not a tool to feel better anymore.
Things are better, they're just not where I want them to be yet. I want to be happy, not blank. I often worry that I'll relapse. How many times do I have to raise the dosage of my medicine? What will happen when I get pregnant and can't take them anymore?
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Deepest Thoughts
My sister recently shared a link to me describing the different Hells for all the Meyers-Briggs types. It may or may not be obvious, but I'm an INFP. To the max.
My Hell was described as: "Your deepest thoughts and feelings are exposed to a large audience and everyone thinks that you’re pathetic and unoriginal."
At first, I thought: "I am original, so...this isn't applicable." But then I thought: "I actually am pretty pathetic though."
Part of why I don't like being around people is because society is in disharmony with how I naturally want to behave. This isn't a whine about society. I mean that, for instance, I always want to hug people. I want to have physical contact more often than I'd like to admit. Also, much less talking. When most people talk, they're not saying what's really on their mind anyway. It's at least a modified version of what they really think. There are unwritten "rules" about what to say when and how to react. You have to be polite and, especially as a female, meek. Or, especially as a female, gossip. Which I hate.
That's weird, right? Right. Pathetic, right? I think so. How needy is that? Am I needy? Must be. Or am I even pathetic?
There are no secrets with me. Not that I can't keep someone else's, but I don't have them for myself. I don't like them. My life is an open book. My deepest thoughts are here for you to read. They're afraid of the future, regretful of the past, sad, hurt, suicidal (but getting better), and oftentimes vengeful. Not that I'm proud of any of that.
And those aren't inherently pathetic feelings. Especially having gone through what I have. But again, society deems those as weakness. And weakness is pathetic. I didn't write those rules, mind you.
I submit that, if you go around pretending not to care what anyone thinks (people who say that are the ones who care the most), being a jerk, and being proud of yourself for not crying or getting angry, then you're weak. Weak people are afraid to be vulnerable. Weak people can't apologize when they've done something wrong. Weak people are so scared to be judged that they just don't put anything out there. They try to be a slate.
But a lot of people think that is strength. Again, I didn't write the rules.
So...I'd say, no, I'm not pathetic. However, by the standards of general society, I am very pathetic. And I'm okay with that.
My Hell was described as: "Your deepest thoughts and feelings are exposed to a large audience and everyone thinks that you’re pathetic and unoriginal."
At first, I thought: "I am original, so...this isn't applicable." But then I thought: "I actually am pretty pathetic though."
Part of why I don't like being around people is because society is in disharmony with how I naturally want to behave. This isn't a whine about society. I mean that, for instance, I always want to hug people. I want to have physical contact more often than I'd like to admit. Also, much less talking. When most people talk, they're not saying what's really on their mind anyway. It's at least a modified version of what they really think. There are unwritten "rules" about what to say when and how to react. You have to be polite and, especially as a female, meek. Or, especially as a female, gossip. Which I hate.
That's weird, right? Right. Pathetic, right? I think so. How needy is that? Am I needy? Must be. Or am I even pathetic?
There are no secrets with me. Not that I can't keep someone else's, but I don't have them for myself. I don't like them. My life is an open book. My deepest thoughts are here for you to read. They're afraid of the future, regretful of the past, sad, hurt, suicidal (but getting better), and oftentimes vengeful. Not that I'm proud of any of that.
And those aren't inherently pathetic feelings. Especially having gone through what I have. But again, society deems those as weakness. And weakness is pathetic. I didn't write those rules, mind you.
I submit that, if you go around pretending not to care what anyone thinks (people who say that are the ones who care the most), being a jerk, and being proud of yourself for not crying or getting angry, then you're weak. Weak people are afraid to be vulnerable. Weak people can't apologize when they've done something wrong. Weak people are so scared to be judged that they just don't put anything out there. They try to be a slate.
But a lot of people think that is strength. Again, I didn't write the rules.
So...I'd say, no, I'm not pathetic. However, by the standards of general society, I am very pathetic. And I'm okay with that.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
I'll be honest...
I can hardly get myself to take a shower. I get scared just thinking about maybe getting a job. My apartment is a bit unkempt, there are constantly dishes in the sink, and the only way you'd know I was LDS is if I told you I was. Most people in my ward would probably think I was new.
But it's better than hardly getting out of bed. It's better than not even considering a job. Thinking I'd never be able to ever have a job. My apartment is less cluttered than usual. I get some dishes done sometimes. I'm considering attending church and facing all the inexplicably cheery people there.
So...I guess I'm doing better.
I still consider ending it all. Not as heavily, but I think of how much it would take to overdose on X pill, or getting into a car accident, or purchasing a gun and getting it done. No one would sell a gun to me and, knowing me, I'd mess it up somehow and just make things worse.
It's still so hard. I don't have the will - or the energy - to do anything. I feel like a complete loser. I feel like I'm stuck and just...wasting my life. I'm literally just a parasite. I don't do anything for anyone. I'm just...like a useless zombie.
A lot of people have been telling me I seem better. My therapist confided that he was worried about me before (to the point he felt he might have to call the paramedics), and now he isn't worried at all. That seems like a big change to me! But yeah, I give the credit to therapy and bupropion. As powerful as it seems to be, it clearly doesn't help everything. Some of the worst symptoms remain and side effects abound. The worst is my short term memory and recall. Noticeably, it's getting much worse.
Anyway, I'm rambling. Things are apparently better, but I still feel like total detritus.
But it's better than hardly getting out of bed. It's better than not even considering a job. Thinking I'd never be able to ever have a job. My apartment is less cluttered than usual. I get some dishes done sometimes. I'm considering attending church and facing all the inexplicably cheery people there.
So...I guess I'm doing better.
I still consider ending it all. Not as heavily, but I think of how much it would take to overdose on X pill, or getting into a car accident, or purchasing a gun and getting it done. No one would sell a gun to me and, knowing me, I'd mess it up somehow and just make things worse.
It's still so hard. I don't have the will - or the energy - to do anything. I feel like a complete loser. I feel like I'm stuck and just...wasting my life. I'm literally just a parasite. I don't do anything for anyone. I'm just...like a useless zombie.
A lot of people have been telling me I seem better. My therapist confided that he was worried about me before (to the point he felt he might have to call the paramedics), and now he isn't worried at all. That seems like a big change to me! But yeah, I give the credit to therapy and bupropion. As powerful as it seems to be, it clearly doesn't help everything. Some of the worst symptoms remain and side effects abound. The worst is my short term memory and recall. Noticeably, it's getting much worse.
Anyway, I'm rambling. Things are apparently better, but I still feel like total detritus.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Calling It
I'm calling something right now. Actually, I called it a few days ago.
But I can't say what it is yet.
I just want a record of me calling it before it happens.
You'll know soon.
EDIT:
Well, I'm completely surprised, but I was wrong. I told my husband to call his mom last week to set up a time to have dinner with her for Mother's Day. I thought it would be a nice idea. He said: "Sure. I don't feel like calling right now though." So I asked when he planned on calling her. He said he didn't know.
That's when I said, knowing my husband, that if he didn't call her now, he'd certainly forget and it will just be a lame Mother's Day. He said he'd call her another time.
He didn't, but he got the perfect opportunity the day before to ask her as he used her credit card for a tooth extraction. She'd offered to pay for it and given that we have to pay $20,000+ for his teeth, we couldn't quite afford to turn her down.
So...he probably wouldn't have done it had this opportunity not arrived, and he did it the day before, but whatever. I'm becoming more apathetic about his family and the way he deals with them. It's annoying. Their whole dynamic is annoying, but it works for them, so it's none of my business.
I was wrong! I didn't call it.
But I can't say what it is yet.
I just want a record of me calling it before it happens.
You'll know soon.
EDIT:
Well, I'm completely surprised, but I was wrong. I told my husband to call his mom last week to set up a time to have dinner with her for Mother's Day. I thought it would be a nice idea. He said: "Sure. I don't feel like calling right now though." So I asked when he planned on calling her. He said he didn't know.
That's when I said, knowing my husband, that if he didn't call her now, he'd certainly forget and it will just be a lame Mother's Day. He said he'd call her another time.
He didn't, but he got the perfect opportunity the day before to ask her as he used her credit card for a tooth extraction. She'd offered to pay for it and given that we have to pay $20,000+ for his teeth, we couldn't quite afford to turn her down.
So...he probably wouldn't have done it had this opportunity not arrived, and he did it the day before, but whatever. I'm becoming more apathetic about his family and the way he deals with them. It's annoying. Their whole dynamic is annoying, but it works for them, so it's none of my business.
I was wrong! I didn't call it.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Swings/Bupropion Day ??
These are new.
Lately I've realized that I go through swings. Maybe a couple of days out of the week, I feel...better? Before, I was just monstrously depressed every second of every day. It was even getting worse. Now, sometimes I feel like I could maybe even try looking for a job. I'm still too scared at that point, but I feel like I could do it with more therapy someday. I love the good in the world, I have the potential to live a meaningful life, and I can even get some dishes done!
The rest of the time I realize just how hopeless my case is. I don't want to be alive, I resent being alive, I'm disappointed and scared with the world and future, and I'm hoping for the opportunity to die sooner. It dawns on me that I'll probably never hold a job. I'll never do something meaningful, because I can't be around people. I can't even be a good mother because I have no energy, no stamina, and hardly any patience. I really can't do anything. Not even things I want to do.
I think...maybe the medication is working? I hope. Maybe. I'm worried because my short term memory, recall, and ability to find correct words are all getting worse. Much worse. I really hate it. I'm eating much less food, yet my weight still fluctuates. I still don't have any energy and I get headaches more frequently. I'm nauseated and my stomach gets upset more often.
Stephen says it has helped in the bedroom, so that's awesome. Maybe it's been helping me feel better? Maybe that's just the therapy... I'm not sure. I don't crave food as much. I have some semblance of control when it comes to food. My digestion is getting back to horrible rather than near-useless, so that's good. There are some good things.
I'm still not sure how I feel about this medication, and I have a psychiatrist appointment soon.
Lately I've realized that I go through swings. Maybe a couple of days out of the week, I feel...better? Before, I was just monstrously depressed every second of every day. It was even getting worse. Now, sometimes I feel like I could maybe even try looking for a job. I'm still too scared at that point, but I feel like I could do it with more therapy someday. I love the good in the world, I have the potential to live a meaningful life, and I can even get some dishes done!
The rest of the time I realize just how hopeless my case is. I don't want to be alive, I resent being alive, I'm disappointed and scared with the world and future, and I'm hoping for the opportunity to die sooner. It dawns on me that I'll probably never hold a job. I'll never do something meaningful, because I can't be around people. I can't even be a good mother because I have no energy, no stamina, and hardly any patience. I really can't do anything. Not even things I want to do.
I think...maybe the medication is working? I hope. Maybe. I'm worried because my short term memory, recall, and ability to find correct words are all getting worse. Much worse. I really hate it. I'm eating much less food, yet my weight still fluctuates. I still don't have any energy and I get headaches more frequently. I'm nauseated and my stomach gets upset more often.
Stephen says it has helped in the bedroom, so that's awesome. Maybe it's been helping me feel better? Maybe that's just the therapy... I'm not sure. I don't crave food as much. I have some semblance of control when it comes to food. My digestion is getting back to horrible rather than near-useless, so that's good. There are some good things.
I'm still not sure how I feel about this medication, and I have a psychiatrist appointment soon.
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