Invitation...

I finally got some answers yesterday.

Yes, alllll of this. All of this petty nonsense began with a stupid invitation. Really. I didn't believe it, but it's true. Apparently that's perfectly fine because Stephen's grandma was "hurt" by it. First of all, she was invited, just not personally. Second, do they even know who Stephen is? Of course he'd not do that. Get OVER yourselves! Third, why did I get dragged into it? Why was I even involved in that? Fourth, WHY did that HURT her? Really?!?!?

If I even believe that...her life must have been very easy to get so "hurt" over something so incredibly minor. And now look where it's gotten us. Congratulations, I hope your indignation was worth it!

I've come to realize that they're both just extremely fragile people. So fragile that they build up this "emotionless", "tough" exterior to potect themselves. I had a hunch when Steve's mom made a point of telling me she "doesn't care what people think". I'm not sure why people tell me that, but she's not the only one. I do know that people who say that, however, are usually the ones who care the most.

So...an invitation. They lashed out at BOTH of us for not inviting his grandma personally. It's petty and shocking. I really thought it must have been something else because that is just truly shocking. Maybe that's why I'm still blathering on about it.

Moving on.

Her argument to me was that yes, she used to talk to everyone about me and now she doesn't, so I have no right to be mad. She even admits she was wrong and apologized, yet still defends herself and tells me how "hurt" she is that I've been "broadcasting our troubles to the world".

First of all, Facebook is not the world. Certainly not my friends. I have 104 friends. 70% of them are family, I'm sure. My family doesn't give a lick. And my friends wouldn't judge her for what I said. They're not that shallow. Though, that is what she seems to have cared about the most. Just clearing her name. I mean, she apologized for talking bad about me, I don't think I believe it though, because she then tells me that I have no right to do the same because she hasn't done it in awhile.

Anyway, apparently lots of people know about what Stephen did. That is beyond me. She claims to not like hearing about it, yet she'll tell everyone else about it. As if she and her other son are perfect (though she kept saying over and over that she's just a person doing her best and failing. Is this really her best? I don't believe it. She's more capable than this). And with them, she criticized me for staying with her son and how I "blamed the woman". So funny....I don't remember that ever being the case. Ever. It's not her business anyway! Which she admitted to, and apologized for. I just don't want to accept that one. It may be genuine...I'm not sure...but that is pretty unforgivable. It's just very slimy and low.

She said she misses me at her family get-togethers and says: "You don't think that hurts me? You don't think I think about how I can ever make it up to you?" No, I actually don't think it bothers her at all, for the record. I told her I didn't want to see her family again. I don't want to be around people who've treated me so poorly. Not interested. And then she asked: "What about me?"

And I just really couldn't think of a good answer. There's a lot that would go into that. I'd have to be willing to take the high risk of something coming to light again. I know she was unsympathetic because she kept saying that I bring things up over and over (which I do because she NEVER puts it to rest. There is always something she hides, and it always gets back to me). Yet I, for some reason, believe her when she says she hasn't gossiped about me since December. Then again, she just wants me to forget everything and "forgive" her.

I cannot and will not forget any of the bullshit they've put me through.

Over a stupid invitation.

To a rediculously stupid wedding.

That I didn't even WANT!

In sum: she has yet to apologize for them ruining my already-sham of a wedding because her mother was "hurt". She believes they were all justified. She apologized for talking to "many people", "the majority of whom [I'd] never meet" about Stephen's infidelity and criticizing me for staying with him.  She "had her reasons to", but is nonetheless "sorry". It's...iffy. Then she admitted to defending Karyn when we asked her not to be friends with her on Facebook anymore. Come on, that should be easy if she has no connection to her. Yet she fought it. Which she said it "wasn't her best judgement". I'll take as an apology. If what she said about it was true, it probably looked like I was making a big deal of nothing.

But, to me, Stephen told her about the infidelity, she remarked that "maybe [Karyn]'s repented of it by now." NOTHING like "sorry, Vanessa, that my son would do that" (she actually does feel really bad about what he'd done, but she didn't say so until yesterday). She later told me she was thinking about going to Karyn's wedding. I asked her to please not and assumed/hoped she didn't (she says she didn't). And then here she was with her as a friend on Facebook. And THEN she resisted unfriending her! What would that look like to you? It was a misunderstanding wrought with bad decisions and poor judgement. Anyway, we finally got somewhere.

Then something happened. She has always denied talking poorly about me behind my back. Every time. Last December (when we reconciled), she inched toward the truth: "If I ever did talk about you, it was to try to get to know you."

She claims now that she was never trying to hide anything and that she wasn't so dumb as to not know all of this would get back to me. Which is strange...because why would she say those things if she knew they'd get back to me? Did she want an argument? Don't think so. Unless she wanted me to leave Stephen, it doesn't make any sense. "And", to quote judge Judy: "if it doesn't make sense, it's not true." Very shady. Yet she insisted.

Anyway, somehow the conversation got to that point. Her saying she never intended to hide anything, and me quoting her from December as proof to the contrary. Then she had the AUDACITY to say: ""If" was not a denial."
"Give me a break." I replied. As in surely you're taking a piss.
"If" is a qualifier. I used it correctly."

Welp. That did it. Can't anyone from that family be honest about anything? Either way, how does gossiping help you know me better?

I said: "No wonder your kids were such assholes." And she replied with her classic: "I'm sorry you feel that way." Which she can SHOVE as far as I'm concerned. Deflection. "No you're not. Shut up.", "Stop lying to me. I never want to see you again.", "I'll be blocking you now."

All I want from her and the rest of them is an honest apology. One that has no caveats, just a genuine apology. None of this should have happened at all. I'd also just like more honesty, period. I do NOT like liars. In any shape or form. What the actual f**k made them mad at me? Still don't know. I'll probably never know. I asked, but it was glossed over, as usual.

One thing that really bugged me though, was that she kept insinuating that I think she's so horrible and that I don't realize she isn't perfect. She got very offended when I called her mean (mean. Come on. We've both called eachother worse).

First of all, she has been mean to me. She's admitted to it, so I don't understand why that would bother her. Second, there is only one person in this world who I think is irredeemably horrible. It ain't her. Third, most importantly, I would NEVER use the word "perfect" to describe her. Never. So why does she feel the need to tell me she isn't? Of course I don't think she is! I said she was mean!!! Does mean coincide with perfection now?

Good grief. She kept turning things in on herself like I was attacking her.

I don't do this often, it's kind of an invasion of privacy, but I don't think she'd mind this portion.

If I wanted to attack her, she'd know it. That was my point. Like...she doesn't even know enough about me to know what I think of her! That's how little she knows me.

Everyone who knows me knows I don't think anyone is perfect. Hardly anyone is even tolerable to me. I just want honest people I can trust in my life. It shouldn't be hard! Maybe she is telling the truth about being sorry. How should I know? That's the problem with being shady.

And why does Stephen's family think I'm so judgemental (childish, and self-absorbed)? It's beyond irritating. No one is perfect (not even me *gasp*), but imperfection does not justify these kinds of actions. It just doesn't. She can't keep saying stuff like that to get off the hook.

Anyway, it was nice in some ways, irritating and bad in others, but enlightening in all.

My grandpa

I've been to a number of funerals in my life. Two of them died way too young (one of an accident - apx. 5 yrs old, and one of a homicide - 46). but most of them were old people I never really knew.

Unfortunately, the next forseeable funeral I'll be attending is that of my grandpa. It's only natural, he's getting old, and that's what old people do. But his funeral will be hard, because I actually have a bond with him.

He used to scare me when I was little. Mostly because we'd risk getting spanked if we did something bad. But, as I grew older, I started listening to what he had to say. That side of my family doesn't seem smart at first glance, but they are actually very intelligent. At least about things that truly matter.

Sure, most of the time he only had "advice" for me. Dating advice, especially. He'd told me to date someone until I find something about them that I cannot live with, then move on. When I find a man who has shown me nothing I cannot live with, then I marry him.

That advice was not true for me. Stephen used to do a lot of things I would not have accepted now. But that's how things are. We changed. He is a much better person now, and I am a much more careful, discriminating person.

Anyway, my grandpa would also give me advice about what to wear. Mostly just not to wear pajama pants. He'd always get on my case and say I'd never find a guy wearing those. Not in a mean way, he was just trying to help me out.

Low and behold, my pajamas are what attracted Stephen to me. He likes me being comfortable. It's strange, but good, because I like being comfortable too!

Anyway, then my life started making a turn for the worst. Very early in 2012, I first began cutting. I think it was because of something Stephen did, or a combination of something he did and me just failing my life. I'd lost my job to a second panic attack months earlier. My grades were tanking. I was very worried about my life and very angry that I wasn't doing better.

So I took some thinning shears and raked them accross the outside of my forearm. I soon realized I didn't have enough money to stay in school (in hindsight, I must have just not accepted my financial aid), so I began the process of withdrawing and moving.

It was then that I finally asked for a blessing from my grandpa. It was so embarrassing, and I felt very guilty for putting my problems in his life, but he was more than happy to help. We met on a highway exit near Lagoon theme park. The skies were gray, it was somewhat cold, and it had been raining heavily.

He met me in the mitsubishi outlander my parents had loaned me. He was pretty excited to help me out. He asked: "What can I do for ya?" I told him I just needed a blessing from him. Naturally, he inquired as to what the problem was. I simply pulled back my sleeve and showed him the healing wounds. A look of disappointment or sadness (maybe both) crossed his face, and he became solemn. That's when I got one of the most meaningful blessings in my life.

A few months later, we were together again for the baptism of my niece. I'd just been told by Stephen that he had some level of misconduct with his ex while I was at work. I later learned that this wasn't even close to the whole story, but even just that moderate level of misconduct he admitted to was enough to wreck me for a few days. I was so miserable and sellf-conscious.

By then, it seems nearly everyone had heard. My two cousins were telling me to leave him. They were making some fun of the fact that I was still with him, but I knew to some level they were serious and concerned. My grandpa heard. As I was leaving to go be with Stephen (my favorite thing to do at that point in my life), my grandpa stopped me and asked a slew of questions about the situation and about Stephen. He basically told me to kick his ass to the curb.

I wasn't strong enough to do that at the time, but I appreciated his concern. Luckily, he was also confused as to who I was talking about because he was happy to see Stephen the next time they saw eachother. I think everyone in that family was happy that I was so happy.

And I really, really was.

Anyway, my grandpa was always there for me. He even took me on a "date" to see the play Brigadoon. It was awesome. Of course I felt awkward at the time because I was deeply shy anyway and what do I have in common with someone 40+ years older than me? Well, we had my grandma in common. She had been dead for a few years, I think. He just shared his feelings about how he basically is excited to see her and how eternal families are great and life after death.

Pretty interesting stuff.

I'm sure I got his stubbornness, and I'm sure I've gotten his distrust of the medical field. Along with 25% of his genes. He's just a fun person. I'll really miss him, but he's lived a long life and he has a great family here and on the other side.

Middle School

A lot of people say that middle school is the worst part of their education. It's that awkward stage where you're not quite sure who you are yet, and you're meeting a ton of new influences and friends. You can start being part of clubs and really figuring out who you are.

I guess that's a bad thing to some people. I guess I agree that the awkwardness is not fun. It's a little strange to realize just how much you've learned about proper grooming and makeup applying...

But, oh man, those were the days. 

I was constantly relentlessly bullied in elementary school. It was almost always about my hair - something I didn't understand how to control. My hair was SO extremely curly, but I brushed it every day, because that's what you do. That's what I was taught. By people with straight hair.

On top of that, I was not only shy, but an extreme pushover. I was overly nice to everyone, even to people who didn't deserve it. I remember a specific occasion where I'd just been bullied (yet again) by a group of girls. As if they didn't have anything better to do, like always. I'd usually cry and go to my teachers who'd have me stay in the classroom. It was embarrassing. Mostly just the fact that I'd cry in public. 

Anyway, as we were all shuffling in from recess, my bullies approached me. Their demeanor had changed. They were repentant and kind - a facade. They pleaded with me not to tell the teacher about their misconduct. I don't think it had even crossed my mind. I didn't like crying to my teachers. And, maybe because I wanted to be friends and stop being a target, I agreed. 

I was that pathetic. I wanted everyone to be my friend. 

Then, liberation happened. I remember being in 6th grade and just bursting with excitement over getting a locker. I was excited I could get a new start and meet new people. People who weren't mean and didn't know how vulnerable and fragile I was.

I blossomed in middle school. Sure, I was still awkward looking. I had quite thick, triangular hair, but I'd started straightening it every morning. I'd dye it all shades of red, I put blonde streaks in (once resulting in and orangey blonde gradient splotch right on the top of my head, giving me the nickname "Pumpkin"). 

I made friends. I only really had Elissa as a friend in elementary school. I also had another friend in 6th grade (the one who helped me discover the viola, for which I will always be grateful), but she moved. I had a group of friends. I made a few different groups of friends!

I don't know how, but I was also much more extraverted. Too extraverted in hindsight. Everyone knew me. I was pretty comfortable with who I was, I loved getting my own style (mostly hoodies, dress shirts, and Glo jeans), and I loved being in orchestra, Hope Squad, and some other club that met after school and focused on creativity. 

I was able to start making my own choices about what lunch I ate and how to spend my time. I was able to take a couple of elective classes (until I had to give them up to make up math classes), I met some guys I fancied. Really fancied. And I even met my husband!!!

As an adult, I sometimes wish I was still that person. She was fearless. Or at least much more fearless than I am now. She was confident enough. She enjoyed her new freedom. The world of possibilities was ahead of her. Her grades were still rotten, but she had so much fun and just ruled the world. 

I loved it. I've dramatically wasted away since that time. I'm the shell of that girl, and I even miss her sometimes, but I've kept a lot of good things from her. I just wish I also had the confidence, energy, and extraversion. Middle school was awesome!

Severing Ties

Well, it's like...the 3rd or 4th day I haven't been on Facebook - my only tie to socialization.

And I feel AWESOME!!

I mean, I never feel awesome, but just have much more peace. I used to think all growing up that I wanted to know everything there is to know about everything. I'm learning that that's not quite true. For instance, there are some things I've learned of in my life that, if I hadn't, I'd be much happier. Much more ignorant (and that scares me for some reason), but happier.

And I think life is trying to teach me that lesson. Although I once loathed the saying, ignorance truly is bliss sometimes.

I do miss getting updates from all the organizations I'm tied to. I miss being filled in on the latest and greatest. Learning new things all the time. However, with my new library card, I'm kind of making up for that. I also still have Yahoo. So I get some news and I still have email.

It's just SO much less of a drag when I'm not surrounded by people who have loud, cruel, thoughtless, baseless opinions being shoved into everyones' faces. I'm so annoying that I'd entertain them and argue and prove them wrong. Nearly every single time (I have some restraint). It gets tiring!

And it's not like I really have over 100 friends. Not even. I doubt most of those people would care much if I was killed tomorrow. I mean, they would, but most of them wouldn't come to the service even. I have a handful of quality friends. I don't need more than 10. And most of my family doesn't post much anyway. Unless it's political or religious things that always seem to put me in some catagory of lesser-thans.

Enough catagorizing and bad-mouthing people! Enough unfounded hatred and willful ignorance. It hurts my poor little heart. It makes me very sad. And I know I'm beginning to look like a crusader for the defenseless. That was never my intention. I'm not that pretentious.

There was just a lot of contention as well and, by trying to stop it, I added to it. A lot.

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

There's also the fact that it's my tie to everyone. I almost never know where my phone is, so it served as my social circle. Not hearing from anyone, unfortunately, has been peaceful. I worry it will make things worse mentally, and it's one step closer to hermitude (something my therapist has been very wary of). I hear a lot of times that mental health is dependent on others. I'm really not seeing that. I think mine is dependent on the absence of others. Or maybe I'm just a much bigger wuss than I thought. 

Being around people just hurts. I really hate that I can't be comfortable. I can't be my own self, no matter how hard I try. I'm a pretty rad person...kinda. This is such a stupid issue! No, I don't think people are judging me, I am judging me!!! My body betrays me and starts shutting down just because I'm around people? Do you understand how frustrating that is!? I can't take it anymore! If I had a gun, I'd shoot myself today. I don't know how I can make this a non-issue because I can't change how my body reacts!

Yesterday, I only spoke to like...5 people total. Stephen, my academic advisor, some guy at the computer lab, and a worker at Bajio, and some other worker at the Chocolate Factory. 

I only said one sentence to the guy in the lab and I almost cried afterward. It was so humiliating and frustrating. How am I supposed to fix this???? Ever?? 

I thought I loved people. I think I still do. They are very hurtful and untrustworthy, but I love them. My life purpose is to aid them in any way I can. How can I do that like this?!!

Ugh. Anyway. I meet with my therapist today. Maybe. I really don't want to go because I'm having a pretty rough-ish day so far. But maybe that is the best time to meet him. 

Delusional?

Okay, I'm not delusional.

It might sound like it, but stay with me, okay?


So, I've noticed all my life that people kind of avoid me. I'm not sure in which ways I'm off-putting. I realize I'm not super attractive, nor do I exude any sort of extraversion, but there is more. There has to be. It happens so often, it's hard to recall specific instances, but I remember an obvious one when I was in highschool.

I went to a football game. Believe it. It was the first and only highschool football game I'd been to. I was, of course, early (I'm almost always early, even though I try to be exactly on time). There were plenty of seating options available to me. Not knowing a single thing about football, I decidedly sat in the middle of the middle bench.

Slowly, people filed in. As the start of the game drew closer, there were fewer and fewer available spots to sit. It got very crowded. People were gawking around, looking for seats. I felt bad and looked around for any available seats. I found some. I was surrounded by them.

I kid you not, I was encircled by empty spots. No one sat by me at all.

Needless to say, I moved and eventually found a better spot by the band members. At least I knew some of them. And the music is the best part of football games anyway, right?

There were many mirrored experiences. When the orchestra bus filled up for tour, no one sat by me (then Stephen came in, that was great!). Even sitting at desks without assigned seating, it was rare for someone to sit by me until all other seats were taken.

As I get older, I notice now that, whenever I say something online to strangers, they stop speaking. It's weird. It's happened 3 times that I've noticed in the last month! It's not like I'm keeping track.

Anyway, I'm subscribed to the ward relief society page. When girls need help or they need to borrow or get rid of things, that's the place to go. The girls are always cheerful and friendly. A few of them are pretty blunt, but still cheery and friendly.

So one girl asked if anyone else had been seeing spiders in their appartment. A couple of comments concurred or denied, but then I put in my two cents that I had indeed been visited by these nasties and that they're gross. Nobody commented after that. No one. Nothing.

Then, someone wanted to borrow a plunger. Since no one was offering, I said they could borrow ours and that we also "had a toilet snake thingy if it's needed". Or something similar. Absolutely no response. At all. Usually there is at least a "Oh, I already got one from so-and-so, but thanks!". There was nothing.

Another time, a girl inquired as to a size 4-6 wedding dress that a friend could have. A couple of girls chimed in and offered some advice and help. Then I said "If you get desperate and can pin it or afford to size it down, I have a size 10 wedding dress she could have." Again...nothing. Absolutely nothing happened after I commented.

I seriously don't get it.

There is also the fact that a lot of my extended family on my mom's side (the ones I really care about) just stay away from me. Many of them are friends with my sisters, but not me. I know because I've seen their pages. And I just don't get why me? What did I do? I default to thinking it's my left-wing ways (as they are a VERY right-wing family), but that can't be it. Though they hate left-wing thinking, but they're not shallow. They'd look past that.

I don't know. It hurts sometimes. And as unrelated as it may be, when I was diagnosed with PKD, I felt even further removed from them. It was just one more thing that made me different. Not that I was removed from them. For the most part, they did everything they could to support me.

But when my cousin was diagnosed with deep (at least I imagine) depression, everyone made sure he knew he was loved. They all gathered around him. I have severe depression too. And social phobia. Possibly even agoraphobia (without panic disorder - I took the questionnaire and that was my result). And I just feel like no one cares. I'm suicidal too. I deduce that the diagnosis is just more weirdness on my part and it's sad on him. It doesn't suit him. He shines when he's happy. He's worth supporting, because this makes a difference. And there is a huge difference. I'm happy for him and his progress. I guess I just also envy him in a weird way. Like why does every new difference push me further away, and it brought people to him?

Maybe I am delusional.

Transracial Adoption

Just to get a little business out of the way, I haven't posted in forever. I know. I've been getting mental help and growing and working on things and trying to get better. Very busy. And, while blogging helps (and vlogging. I sometimes make 3 hour long videos!), I always look back and regret it. It's no different now. I've been a wreck. However, I'm getting slowly better. Getting some helpful tools in therapy, and we're currently trying to figure out exactly what's wrong before we continue. I'm also going to try antipsychotics, I think. Both my therapist and psychiatrist recommend it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Anyway, as you may or may not know, I have a blood clotting disorder. I am 7x more likely than a normal person to "throw a clot" in my legs and lungs. It also increases the risk of miscarriage. That is a problem when you want to get pregnant. Not to mention being pregnant. I'm at an increased risk to develop severe pre-eclampsia (according to some studies. I recently found one with contrary results). For this, the best thing to do is give yourself two shots a day of heparin (an anti-coagulant). 

I don't look forward to that. In fact, I'm REALLY not excited. I'm not even sure I could do it. Especially because I'll be off my mental medication. And I don't especially love needles. Then my PKD exacerbates things. I am even MORE likely to experience pre-eclampsia. With PKD, the high blood pressure is likely to continue on after giving birth. And, after I have one child, the high blood pressure would put me at an even more increased risk for pre-eclampsia and other complications with my second. It's more dangerous that way. 

In short, it's kind of a deadly risk to get pregnant.

Lucky for me, I grew up wanting to adopt. And not just any child (though my mind has changed), but black babies. I'm not racist, and I'm not into the celebrity trend, I just like them. They're cute! And it's just a bonus if I adopt ones from Africa because I can save them from a 3rd world life. 

Anyway, I'm now open to any possibility. Asian, Indian, native american, black, and even white. Though, for some reason, I have a drive to adopt children from races that aren't white like me. I kind of want a transracial family. If I'm going to have one, anyway. 

Stephen is not stoked about the idea of adopting, but maybe if I have a health scare with our first (which I fully expect), he'll come around.

Update July 13

It's been awhile.

Things have changed. Medication wise and otherwise. 

I had a recent experience that seems to have changed me in some way. There's no telling if it's permanent. I kind of take things day by day, but it's interesting. Three days ago, I got my Bupropion doubled to 300mg. I was pretty excited, because I'd had a really rough week before that. I'd gotten my biggest cut (by accident, really) because I was feeling really horrible. On top of the usual emptiness and despair, a major ruling came out about gay marriage. And, because of my religion and the fact that I supported gay marriage, I was bullied. Not specifically me, but people who believed what I did and people who were in my exact position. For some reason, we came under fire. We weren't good enough mormons, we didn't listen to the prophets, we were damaging the church's image, we didn't understand the gospel, and we were even satan-whisperers, who didn't support the members of our church struggling with same sex attraction. And maybe the fact that I was about to have my period really didn't help. In fact, it's proven that depression often gets worse before a period. 

The cherry on top was the fact that I was home alone. It was a recipe for self-harm. 

I was so forlorn. I could only think of how I wished I didn't have to be in this position. How I wished people in the church would stop being so divisive. I was one of them, I thought. I thought what united us was out faith in our savior and our faith in the gospel. Why would this be a good way to separate the good from the best? 

I'm never good enough for this church. I'm never good enough for anything. 

But, as I took the knife from my bathroom closet, this pervasive thought entered into my mind. Why am I hurting me? What did I do? I don't deserve this. 

I ignored it. I convinced myself that it was just to get my feelings out and that I not only deserved it, but there was no other way to show that I was hurting. I sat in the tub, with the knife in my right hand and just quickly sliced down - as I usually did. 

The problem is that I usually also had a dull blade. So, what would've been a manageable and satisfying cut turned into a gaping wound. For a moment, I could see a tiny vein-like thing and some purple meat with white over it before it filled with blood. It didn't bleed too much considering the wound. 

I held my arm close to my shirt and drove myself to the hospital where I got treated, and my wound was glued. It could've been stapled, but I didn't want to watch that! Ew! 

However, after that embarrassing experience, I was miserable. The next few days, I just wished I'd pushed a little harder or went "the right way" so I could bleed out. Which is actually hard to do. I'd heavily considered checking myself into a psychiatric hospital for the next few days. 

Then I met with my psychiatrist. Long story short, she was scared. She was disappointed too, I'm sure. She didn't really know how to proceed as I was hesitant about opiate-blockers and anti-psychotics. I just asked for her to double the dose of my antidepressant (which had helped, but not enough). 

I took it for the first time three days ago. Nothing happened. The next day, I took it again and it was bad. I started seeing spiders everywhere. I was touchy, moody, and angry. I literally cried almost all of the day, and i hadn't had days like that since months ago. I was "having a bad day" and it just got worse. I just couldn't wait for it to be over. It was just horrible.

Yesterday, I felt better. Back to "normal", at least. Then today, I woke up feeling very good. Not good enough to leave the couch or do anything remotely productive, but I feel...better than I've felt in a long time. I haven't spoken to anyone today except for Stephen, so that helps, but I feel almost peaceful. Which is weird, because I've been overthinking a bunch of career things lately. Ever since my test results came back. They were not as helpful, either way, as I was hoping.

The plan was that, if I had dyscalculia (and could, therefore, get math waived), I would finish my associates in criminal justice, and maybe even my bachelors, and then go to mortuary school. Thus, making me the perfect candidate for most of the jobs I want. If I didn't have dyscalculia, and couldn't get the math waived, I'd just go to mortuary school because the math here is too hard. 

Well, I don't have it. But I also should, supposedly, be very good at math. Better than 81% of people my age. I didn't believe it. Maybe he got the tests mixed up? How? HOW?! I couldn't even pass 0950. Most kids come in at 1010 or 1050. How is this even possible? I was sure, although it was very unlikely, that I had it. And now, not only do I not have it, I have potential to be very good at it.

That's a bit of a sidetrack, but it's been causing me stress. And then I think of how my kidney disease will progress and maybe moving bodies wouldn't be such a great idea. The next best option, however, is emergency medicine. Which I think would be fantastic, except for the constant contact with people. Even possibly angry people. I shudder to think of it. 

I just feel broken sometimes. Anyway, the test hasn't helped and I was stressed, but today, I'm not for some reason. Maybe I'm just having a good day? Whatever the case, I wish it would last. Or even get better. 

That's my dish for today. I've been doing video blogs for my medicine, so I haven't been around. My apologies. I don't think either of them really helps in the long run, but it's nice to pretend to have a therapist every day.