So Stephen has a great job. They give him free food, free drinks, and free shirts on the regular. They went a little beyond recently, when they bought every employee (+1) tickets to the new Star Trek movie.
Wow! We were pretty stoked. We had a couple of weeks to look forward to the movie. Stephen got half the day off, I dressed, he got a haircut, and off we were.
As fate (or dumb gps) would have it, we were a few minutes late. Less than five. Nothing was amiss as we strolled into the dark theatre. We grabbed some complementary popcorn, and headed to our seats.
Ascending the stairs, a dormant feeling yawned and rubbed it's sleepy eyes. Fear. It distinguishes itself from the normal discomfort of being in public. It's SO dark. I can only see tiny LED lights on the sides of the rows of seats. Row A, B, C... we're in row J? As we climb higher and higher, the room seems darker and darker. The fear stirs and stretches it's limber arms, but it goes ignored.
Finally, the letter 'J' peered through the darkness like a beacon. I look up from the ground. Our seats are in the middle of the row - the row filled with people who just got comfy, who want to watch the movie that JUST started. I guess previews are a thing of the past? Fear slowly slides the covers off. "It's fine," I lie. "We're just gonna have to be annoying for a couple of seconds as we find our seats. Not a big deal." I don't look forward to navigating legs and purses in the pitch black, but I push myself...right up to the first pair of legs.
Suddenly, fear has me by the throat, and I can only feel panic. Oh my gosh, I can't breathe! Someone has pushed all the air from my lungs. I need to get out of here! I turn around, and carefully fly down the barely-lit stairs. Tears well up in my eyes, but I can't tell if it's from fear, embarrassment, disappointment, or all three.
I manage to find a bench in the hallway, where I breathe as deeply as possible without drawing attention. I try to stifle my tears, and vigorously wipe away the ones I can't. My head hangs in shame and disappointment and fear slowly, reluctantly releases it's grip.
Stephen eventually realizes I haven't gone for drinks. He materializes, sympathy in his eyes. "What happened?" he asks. I managed to blubber out that I was sorry and that, fear's red finger marks still hot on my neck, I didn't want to go back in there. He consoled me for 20 or 30 minutes as we went back and forth on what to do next. I just wanted to retreat home. He wanted to see the movie, but not without me.
It was around this time that I was hit with an unexpected thought, a message in a bottle that had been sloshing around in the subconscious sea of my brain. "God didn't curse me with this so I'd be unhappy and crumble beneath it's weight."
Of course, I'd been connecting this one incident to every incident in my life and just general, overall reclusive state. How miserable it is. How I just wish I could be free - to be myself, have a job I'd love, to go out to movies or church and just have some control. This message pertained to everything.
I wasn't going to crumble. Fear won't have this victory. Not entirely. I agreed to go back in the theatre, but only if we found seats on the end of the row. Stephen found some in the perfect place, we got some soda, and we enjoyed the remainder of the film.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Friday, July 22, 2016
Grateful (a blah blah blah post)
I don't know why (sometimes I wonder if I'm actually bipolar II), but I felt good today. I did some dishes, made dinner, and cleaned half the stove! For some reason, I'm thinking of going back to college, too. I guess possibility is inspiring.
Recently, I took two personality assessments. The Ipip-Neo, and a holland career quiz thingy by Truity. The Ipip-Neo is a professional test to measure neuroticism. I got the HIGHEST SCORE POSSIBLE (99, and then almost perfect 99s in every subcategory)! That was *shocking* to me. I thought I'd get average, tops.
Then, the holland career test. The highest score was "Thinker" type, with "Helper" and "Creator" also high. The others ("Builder", "Organizer", and "Persuader") were scored as low.
Well...the only things of interest that matched my categories were psychologist, sociologist, social worker, and epidemiologist. Interestingly, EMT, Surgical Technician, and Massage Therapist include "Builder" (along with at least one category I scored high in), and funeral service worker included "Organizer" AND "Persuader". It makes me wonder if I haven't had success because I've been chasing jobs that aren't cut out for me. Not to mention "Helper" jobs are iffy with my social phobia - they like to help people.
I know I've considered it before, but I think I'd LOVE to be an epidemiologist. And social work is awesome.
Ugh! I don't know!!! But I'm excited for possibility again. I'm ready to try again.
Recently, I took two personality assessments. The Ipip-Neo, and a holland career quiz thingy by Truity. The Ipip-Neo is a professional test to measure neuroticism. I got the HIGHEST SCORE POSSIBLE (99, and then almost perfect 99s in every subcategory)! That was *shocking* to me. I thought I'd get average, tops.
Then, the holland career test. The highest score was "Thinker" type, with "Helper" and "Creator" also high. The others ("Builder", "Organizer", and "Persuader") were scored as low.
Well...the only things of interest that matched my categories were psychologist, sociologist, social worker, and epidemiologist. Interestingly, EMT, Surgical Technician, and Massage Therapist include "Builder" (along with at least one category I scored high in), and funeral service worker included "Organizer" AND "Persuader". It makes me wonder if I haven't had success because I've been chasing jobs that aren't cut out for me. Not to mention "Helper" jobs are iffy with my social phobia - they like to help people.
I know I've considered it before, but I think I'd LOVE to be an epidemiologist. And social work is awesome.
Ugh! I don't know!!! But I'm excited for possibility again. I'm ready to try again.
Taste this bitter fruit
Guys. Life is good.
It's hard most of the time. It's exciting, unpredictable, and full of absolute bullsh*t. A trainwreck. And then, there are those few moments, days, or weeks between, when the storm finally pauses and time stands still. You get a moment to breathe, and realize that you have so much to take in and give back.
Thank goodness change is constant.
Nothing wretches your soul forever. The good times don't last, so we make them memories. Hope is a state of mind, not a result of situation. Life is bitter so we can become better, and warriors are baptized by fire.
It's hard most of the time. It's exciting, unpredictable, and full of absolute bullsh*t. A trainwreck. And then, there are those few moments, days, or weeks between, when the storm finally pauses and time stands still. You get a moment to breathe, and realize that you have so much to take in and give back.
Thank goodness change is constant.
Nothing wretches your soul forever. The good times don't last, so we make them memories. Hope is a state of mind, not a result of situation. Life is bitter so we can become better, and warriors are baptized by fire.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
If I didn't have a mental illness.
I was diagnosed in 2014, by a professional, with social phobia and major depressive disorder (with some hypervigilance). Later, a separate professional said I also have agoraphobia. He's a therapist, so I'm not sure he can diagnose.
Anyway, recently there was a huge fight that involved several members of my family. I heard something they've never mentioned before. They said I use my illnesses as a crutch. Later, one said I didn't even have one at all.
I'm not sure how to feel. I'm sad, of course, but they don't really know what it's like. They don't know what I go through, so they don't understand what they're saying. It also has occured to me that there's always been some level of jealousy there. They must think others are more patient with me or have sympathy for me. No. I don't use it as an excuse for anything, and no one feels bad for me or cuts me a break. People are happy for me when I do hard things - Like everyone else. Just turns out most everything is harder.
I digress. It got me thinking what my life would be like without mental illness. As a caveat, this is the first time I've ever done this (because it's just not helpful), but I have some things in mind.
On the most basic level, I'd have much more energy. Both of my illnesses cause fatigue. As you can imagine, constant physical tension from the phobia combined with the absolutely draining drag of depression PLUS my PKD is just a lot to work against. I knew I was tired, but I didn't realize how truly exhausted I was until the depression let up 9 months ago. Honestly, I didn't know people could feel that good. It was no wonder to me how people could look down on those with depression. They just have NO idea.
I'd have more motivation. It's hard to express how unmotivated a depressed person is. When mine was at it's worst, I didn't even care about criminal justice anymore - and that is my LIFE! I was sitting in the last criminal justice class I'd have to take for an associate's, and I just couldn't care less. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to die. Life is so incredibly colorless, dull, hard, predictable, and meaningless. All you'd ever feel was just...nothing. Nothing made you happy, or even anything. You just feel absolutely nothing - all the time.
It started my second year in middle school. The first year, I blossomed. This was my prime. I was overly outgoing, loud, happy, friendly. I got student of the week (or whatever) award from my P.E. teacher. P.E teacher!!! - so you know I I was doing something right. I enjoyed this year. I made so many friends and no bullies.
This, apparently, is normal. I crashed the second year. For some reason, I began to feel a strain when I spoke to others. I care so much about other people, but I began getting overly- concerned. I'd analyze every interaction: did I say this right? Did I give the wrong impression? Are they sad now?. I began feeling like I was in charge of everyone else. Like I had to make them happy. I started to feel like a failure if I wasn't being funny enough. I started to get paranoid. Everything I did began to feel awkward. It was getting harder and harder to be carefree. Because of these changes, I started wondering who I was. I started to be very hard on myself (what my therapist calls: self -flagillating). I had to balance who I thought I was with these new, unwelcome feelings. It only got worse from there.
I barely got through highschool. I remember throwing up my breakfast as we arrived on the first day of sophomore year. I frequently ditched class. I just didn't care about much. I felt so uncomfortable all the time.
Because of this, my grades were bad. Because my grades were bad, I couldn't be a volunteer at the space center - something I'd always wanted to do. Something I loved. My only sanctuary at the time. This was the first thing my illnesses denied me. I was unable to use my AP Music class as college credit because my OTHER grades were bad. I wanted to have an internship in the geology section of a nearby museum. I couldn't do that, either. Because I changed so much, I must've seemed fake. I tried very hard to pretend to be who I thought I was, and that was stressful. I lost a lot of friends, and had a hard time relating to anyone.
I was on clonazepam and zoloft when I went to Snow. I still struggled a lot, but somehow made great friends. I even made friends with the kitchen staff at the school. I had awesome grades. I was seeing the therapist in charge the school's mental health program. Then things got bad again.
I lost my first job after only a month. I learned what a real panic attack was. I had two. Turns out, waitressing is considered the #1 worst job for someone like me. I was devastated and embarrassed as I sobbed, gasped, and shook in the kitchen, everyone staring, wondering what was wrong.
It wasn't long afterward that I had to drop out of school. I didn't attend my day classes enough to get good grades. I needed more sleep than others because I was so exhausted. I had no friends. Maybe the pills weren't doing enough?
The unchecked disappointment for these failures made me cut myself for the first time - with hair thinning shears.
I took a break and dated and married Stephen. I was naively happy, so I stopped taking the pills. The next year was hell on Earth as I struggled every day not to kill myself. I managed to get another job at Maverik that lasted 2 months. I cried in the back room when no one was there. I tried so many new pills. I found out I have PKD - another thing that alienated me from others.
I tried CNA school in Fall 2013. I was very keen on the book material, but it was hard for me to even speak, let alone get 100 vitals. I pushed myself very hard, and made it to clinicals. Here, I'd truly fail. I ran away in tears - off the premesis - because I lost sight of my partner. I was terrified of being alone there. I somehow made it through my second clinical, but never made up for the first. Emptying a colostomy bag was the easier than speaking.
I was getting tired of being a slacktivist, so I took a volunteer course for a local shelter. I struggled there, too. We were in a small room, and there were always personal questions, but it was a great program. I was proud of myself for taking it. They even had too many volunteers, but they picked ME! I was so happy.
But I was also scared. Our last day was at the shelter. I was so worried I'd sleep through an alarm that I just couldn't sleep at all. Literally. So I got to the location, and barely stayed awake through the 8 hour training. I was home free until the end, when they decided to play trust/group games. I truly suffered through the first 2, but the last one, 10 minutes before the training was supposed to end, I lost my cool.
I broke away from the group, consoling myself and telling myself it wasn't a big deal and NO ONE cares, but I couldn't keep the embarrassed tears back. It was too late. I slinked to the bathroom and blotted away, it was embarrassing. I was mad at myself for crying, and for "giving up". "Now I can't volunteer. You were so close! Why did you let this happen? "
My tears turned into a full-on breakdown as I slipped out of the bathroom and gathered my things to make a quick escape. The director approached me and I tried to explain my "situation" through inconsolable blubbering. "Can I still volunteer?" I managed to eek out. She said "of course." and opened the gate so I could leave. She contacted me a few months later to see if I still wanted to volunteer, but I told her I couldn't because I would'nt have been a good role model at the time (I had fresh cuts on my arm).
Later that year, I was doing very poorly in school. I was seeing a school counselor who offered to write notes for my teachers. I was seeing the school psychiatrist too, and she was worried. We tried a ton of pills. I failed basically all my classes and got C's in criminal justice!!!
I dropped out again at my therapist's advice. Is this the third time? I don't know. I go to therapy once a week for over a year, and I kinda felt ready to try again. I got a temporary job for Valentine's day that went well. I quit a puppy delivery job within a month of having it. I got another, perfect job (working with almost all solely Spanish speakers) that I quit within a month because I was getting huge mouth ulcers and falling way behind in school. School that I was later technically dismissed from due to not being able to "easily work with strangers". This hurts a lot, because I tried very hard to hide my discomfort.
People don't realize how deeply this affects us. My throat closes up to the point that I can hardly speak. When unmedicated, I'd blush and shake. I was mostly worried about others seeing how uncomfortable I was and then they'd be uncomfortable. You hate this part of yourself SO much, you want to do these simple things (like just talking and being yourself), but your body won't let you - even it your mind wants it. You feel so stupid.
My wedding was a nightmare, because I stood in front of people the whole time.
Obviously, I'd have better relationships with everyone, especially my friends and in-laws. I'd have saved a lot of stress and heartache for me and others if I wasn't so afraid/uncomfortable. I never see my girl friends. Never. And I love them so much.
Nobody understands me, and I'm not saying that like a preteen girl, nobody truly understands me, or how my brain works, or why I do anything I do, or say anything I say. I get accused of a lot of things, and I get vilified for a LOT by others (especially my in-laws) and it's because they don't understand me. Thanks to work on their behalf, things have gotten better between us, but it wouldn't have happened in the first place if I wasn't who I am.
So, long story short, I would be able to hold a steady job, I'd probably have been sealed to Stephen by now, I'd have a CNA certification and volunteer at a domestic violence shelter. I may have been a forensic nurse by now. I may have had a bachelors in social work or criminal justice by now. I'd certainly be a licensed EMT. My relationship with my in-laws wouldn't be strained from complete misunderstanding and hurt. My wedding probably wouldn't have sucked as much. I know I'd be much happier, healthier (hello sexual dysfunction!), richer, and much more fulfilled in life.
But why not just have a crutch? I need people to feel bad for me! Gimme the crutch. I'll take it.
*sarcasm
Anyway, recently there was a huge fight that involved several members of my family. I heard something they've never mentioned before. They said I use my illnesses as a crutch. Later, one said I didn't even have one at all.
I'm not sure how to feel. I'm sad, of course, but they don't really know what it's like. They don't know what I go through, so they don't understand what they're saying. It also has occured to me that there's always been some level of jealousy there. They must think others are more patient with me or have sympathy for me. No. I don't use it as an excuse for anything, and no one feels bad for me or cuts me a break. People are happy for me when I do hard things - Like everyone else. Just turns out most everything is harder.
I digress. It got me thinking what my life would be like without mental illness. As a caveat, this is the first time I've ever done this (because it's just not helpful), but I have some things in mind.
On the most basic level, I'd have much more energy. Both of my illnesses cause fatigue. As you can imagine, constant physical tension from the phobia combined with the absolutely draining drag of depression PLUS my PKD is just a lot to work against. I knew I was tired, but I didn't realize how truly exhausted I was until the depression let up 9 months ago. Honestly, I didn't know people could feel that good. It was no wonder to me how people could look down on those with depression. They just have NO idea.
I'd have more motivation. It's hard to express how unmotivated a depressed person is. When mine was at it's worst, I didn't even care about criminal justice anymore - and that is my LIFE! I was sitting in the last criminal justice class I'd have to take for an associate's, and I just couldn't care less. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to die. Life is so incredibly colorless, dull, hard, predictable, and meaningless. All you'd ever feel was just...nothing. Nothing made you happy, or even anything. You just feel absolutely nothing - all the time.
It started my second year in middle school. The first year, I blossomed. This was my prime. I was overly outgoing, loud, happy, friendly. I got student of the week (or whatever) award from my P.E. teacher. P.E teacher!!! - so you know I I was doing something right. I enjoyed this year. I made so many friends and no bullies.
This, apparently, is normal. I crashed the second year. For some reason, I began to feel a strain when I spoke to others. I care so much about other people, but I began getting overly- concerned. I'd analyze every interaction: did I say this right? Did I give the wrong impression? Are they sad now?. I began feeling like I was in charge of everyone else. Like I had to make them happy. I started to feel like a failure if I wasn't being funny enough. I started to get paranoid. Everything I did began to feel awkward. It was getting harder and harder to be carefree. Because of these changes, I started wondering who I was. I started to be very hard on myself (what my therapist calls: self -flagillating). I had to balance who I thought I was with these new, unwelcome feelings. It only got worse from there.
I barely got through highschool. I remember throwing up my breakfast as we arrived on the first day of sophomore year. I frequently ditched class. I just didn't care about much. I felt so uncomfortable all the time.
Because of this, my grades were bad. Because my grades were bad, I couldn't be a volunteer at the space center - something I'd always wanted to do. Something I loved. My only sanctuary at the time. This was the first thing my illnesses denied me. I was unable to use my AP Music class as college credit because my OTHER grades were bad. I wanted to have an internship in the geology section of a nearby museum. I couldn't do that, either. Because I changed so much, I must've seemed fake. I tried very hard to pretend to be who I thought I was, and that was stressful. I lost a lot of friends, and had a hard time relating to anyone.
I was on clonazepam and zoloft when I went to Snow. I still struggled a lot, but somehow made great friends. I even made friends with the kitchen staff at the school. I had awesome grades. I was seeing the therapist in charge the school's mental health program. Then things got bad again.
I lost my first job after only a month. I learned what a real panic attack was. I had two. Turns out, waitressing is considered the #1 worst job for someone like me. I was devastated and embarrassed as I sobbed, gasped, and shook in the kitchen, everyone staring, wondering what was wrong.
It wasn't long afterward that I had to drop out of school. I didn't attend my day classes enough to get good grades. I needed more sleep than others because I was so exhausted. I had no friends. Maybe the pills weren't doing enough?
The unchecked disappointment for these failures made me cut myself for the first time - with hair thinning shears.
I took a break and dated and married Stephen. I was naively happy, so I stopped taking the pills. The next year was hell on Earth as I struggled every day not to kill myself. I managed to get another job at Maverik that lasted 2 months. I cried in the back room when no one was there. I tried so many new pills. I found out I have PKD - another thing that alienated me from others.
I tried CNA school in Fall 2013. I was very keen on the book material, but it was hard for me to even speak, let alone get 100 vitals. I pushed myself very hard, and made it to clinicals. Here, I'd truly fail. I ran away in tears - off the premesis - because I lost sight of my partner. I was terrified of being alone there. I somehow made it through my second clinical, but never made up for the first. Emptying a colostomy bag was the easier than speaking.
I was getting tired of being a slacktivist, so I took a volunteer course for a local shelter. I struggled there, too. We were in a small room, and there were always personal questions, but it was a great program. I was proud of myself for taking it. They even had too many volunteers, but they picked ME! I was so happy.
But I was also scared. Our last day was at the shelter. I was so worried I'd sleep through an alarm that I just couldn't sleep at all. Literally. So I got to the location, and barely stayed awake through the 8 hour training. I was home free until the end, when they decided to play trust/group games. I truly suffered through the first 2, but the last one, 10 minutes before the training was supposed to end, I lost my cool.
I broke away from the group, consoling myself and telling myself it wasn't a big deal and NO ONE cares, but I couldn't keep the embarrassed tears back. It was too late. I slinked to the bathroom and blotted away, it was embarrassing. I was mad at myself for crying, and for "giving up". "Now I can't volunteer. You were so close! Why did you let this happen? "
My tears turned into a full-on breakdown as I slipped out of the bathroom and gathered my things to make a quick escape. The director approached me and I tried to explain my "situation" through inconsolable blubbering. "Can I still volunteer?" I managed to eek out. She said "of course." and opened the gate so I could leave. She contacted me a few months later to see if I still wanted to volunteer, but I told her I couldn't because I would'nt have been a good role model at the time (I had fresh cuts on my arm).
Later that year, I was doing very poorly in school. I was seeing a school counselor who offered to write notes for my teachers. I was seeing the school psychiatrist too, and she was worried. We tried a ton of pills. I failed basically all my classes and got C's in criminal justice!!!
I dropped out again at my therapist's advice. Is this the third time? I don't know. I go to therapy once a week for over a year, and I kinda felt ready to try again. I got a temporary job for Valentine's day that went well. I quit a puppy delivery job within a month of having it. I got another, perfect job (working with almost all solely Spanish speakers) that I quit within a month because I was getting huge mouth ulcers and falling way behind in school. School that I was later technically dismissed from due to not being able to "easily work with strangers". This hurts a lot, because I tried very hard to hide my discomfort.
People don't realize how deeply this affects us. My throat closes up to the point that I can hardly speak. When unmedicated, I'd blush and shake. I was mostly worried about others seeing how uncomfortable I was and then they'd be uncomfortable. You hate this part of yourself SO much, you want to do these simple things (like just talking and being yourself), but your body won't let you - even it your mind wants it. You feel so stupid.
My wedding was a nightmare, because I stood in front of people the whole time.
Obviously, I'd have better relationships with everyone, especially my friends and in-laws. I'd have saved a lot of stress and heartache for me and others if I wasn't so afraid/uncomfortable. I never see my girl friends. Never. And I love them so much.
Nobody understands me, and I'm not saying that like a preteen girl, nobody truly understands me, or how my brain works, or why I do anything I do, or say anything I say. I get accused of a lot of things, and I get vilified for a LOT by others (especially my in-laws) and it's because they don't understand me. Thanks to work on their behalf, things have gotten better between us, but it wouldn't have happened in the first place if I wasn't who I am.
So, long story short, I would be able to hold a steady job, I'd probably have been sealed to Stephen by now, I'd have a CNA certification and volunteer at a domestic violence shelter. I may have been a forensic nurse by now. I may have had a bachelors in social work or criminal justice by now. I'd certainly be a licensed EMT. My relationship with my in-laws wouldn't be strained from complete misunderstanding and hurt. My wedding probably wouldn't have sucked as much. I know I'd be much happier, healthier (hello sexual dysfunction!), richer, and much more fulfilled in life.
But why not just have a crutch? I need people to feel bad for me! Gimme the crutch. I'll take it.
*sarcasm
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Been awhile
Things have been going on. Not great, but not necessarily bad.
The symptoms are coming back. Tim said it would happen. He said I'd have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I'm learning to be okay with my limitations.
#1: I don't have the energy, nor the patience, to get myself through math 1010. I tried watching some videos and stuff, it doesn't make any sense. I need a lot of extra time to work through my slow cognitive processing speed, and teachers don't teach. They just assume you were lazy, but smart enough to pick up on this stuff. Seems to be a common theme, but sometimes people are just slow. And mentally ill.
#2: So maybe I can't even get an associate's degree. That was my goal- just an AS or AAS. Emergency service, mortuary School, or nursing school (SANE or FNDI)...might just not happen anymore.
#3: Can't work typical 40 hour weeks. I tried it. I had a great job that was easy, mindless, and my co-workers spoke Spanish almost exclusively. It was a perfect job (other than not being that meaningful to me), and I STILL got mouth ulcers. 3 if them! In less than a month! It's too much for little 'ol me, I guess. Which sucks. I'll never make a lot of money.
#4: So what do I do? First, I want to see if I can handle EMT stuff with people. I loved it, but I want to see if I can handle the patients. Second, massage therapy would be fun. It's one thing I've always considered, but never tried. I at least want to do it as a hobby. Heck, I've even considered getting better at viola and teaching or recording. I don't know! All I do know is that I'm not like other people, and success isn't this cookie-cutter "bachelor's and babies" idea that's been pedaled all my life.
I could still try to get into the medicolegal field and follow my dreams by getting a tutor for math too. There are always options.
EDIT: maybe I even want to push hard for social work again (BSW). I loved that, but was too scared. Am I still too scared? I don't know. It's hard to try to figure myself out. Still. At age 24.
#5: It's okay to be different. It's also inconvenient and sometimes lonely to be different, but it's not inherently bad.
The symptoms are coming back. Tim said it would happen. He said I'd have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I'm learning to be okay with my limitations.
#1: I don't have the energy, nor the patience, to get myself through math 1010. I tried watching some videos and stuff, it doesn't make any sense. I need a lot of extra time to work through my slow cognitive processing speed, and teachers don't teach. They just assume you were lazy, but smart enough to pick up on this stuff. Seems to be a common theme, but sometimes people are just slow. And mentally ill.
#2: So maybe I can't even get an associate's degree. That was my goal- just an AS or AAS. Emergency service, mortuary School, or nursing school (SANE or FNDI)...might just not happen anymore.
#3: Can't work typical 40 hour weeks. I tried it. I had a great job that was easy, mindless, and my co-workers spoke Spanish almost exclusively. It was a perfect job (other than not being that meaningful to me), and I STILL got mouth ulcers. 3 if them! In less than a month! It's too much for little 'ol me, I guess. Which sucks. I'll never make a lot of money.
#4: So what do I do? First, I want to see if I can handle EMT stuff with people. I loved it, but I want to see if I can handle the patients. Second, massage therapy would be fun. It's one thing I've always considered, but never tried. I at least want to do it as a hobby. Heck, I've even considered getting better at viola and teaching or recording. I don't know! All I do know is that I'm not like other people, and success isn't this cookie-cutter "bachelor's and babies" idea that's been pedaled all my life.
I could still try to get into the medicolegal field and follow my dreams by getting a tutor for math too. There are always options.
EDIT: maybe I even want to push hard for social work again (BSW). I loved that, but was too scared. Am I still too scared? I don't know. It's hard to try to figure myself out. Still. At age 24.
#5: It's okay to be different. It's also inconvenient and sometimes lonely to be different, but it's not inherently bad.
Friday, April 29, 2016
My heart is in pieces. Just shredded. I'm not sure why, but the physical symptoms of depression are leaking back in. The thoughts are coming back. Nightmares. I don't know what to do other than recognize it and talk about it so it doesn't consume me again.
I wonder a lot if God just wants this. Like the plan was for me to cut this short.
I wonder a lot if God just wants this. Like the plan was for me to cut this short.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Others? *Ranty
Sometimes I wonder if I have such a hard time around others because of them. My natural reaction is to blame myself for most things. So, for the decade plus that I've been suffering this affliction called social phobia, I've blamed myself.
For years, it was: "Why am I so stupid?" "What's wrong with me?" "Why am I letting myself get scared?" "I'm such a loser, only losers would let this run their lives." After months of therapy and hard work, it changed to: "No one is out to hurt me." "I'm safe. I'm fine." "Calm down." While it barely helps, it was the best I could do, because most people think social phobia is just worrying what others think too much. While that is the most common cause, there is a small percentage where the cause is physiological. This has to be me, because everyone calls me weird, and I'm okay with that. I think a lot more people would like me if I could be myself - I'm not worried about their opinion of me, I worry they think I'm what my anxiety makes me present: quiet, nervous, and hypervigilant. The physical reaction happens long before there are thoughts, before I have a chance to intervene.
Anyway, that was my conclusion, though my therapist contested that there was always a thought first. I guess it's a divisive theory. There was just no way. I care a lot how people feel in general, but not what they think of me. Again, I think people would like me!
So that was where we left it. We couldn't agree on the underlying cause, so it was impossible to work on. Maybe he just thought I was in such denial, that I wasn't ready. He asked once if someone had rejected me and said I was weird when I was young. Yes! Everyone! Always! I still think about it and there isn't a time that particularly sticks out to me. I was bullied ruthlessly about my hair and pigeon toes, but I'm largely unaffected by that now (my hair still sucks, and I do have pigeon toes!).
Sorry about the rant. My point is that I was always "weird". When I was little, nice "popular" girls included me. Even through highschool (at the height of unattractiveness), I was included in pretty much every group.
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However, I did remember people treating me differently. Just people. It's difficult to explain, but I remember a specific time when I went to a football game by myself. I was early (always ruefully early), so no one was there. I sat in a great place. People filed in, and the benches filled. I notice people start to look around with slight desperation for any space. That's when I looked around and noticed no one sitting around me. Not a soul. There was literally an empty moat going 3 feet out around me. Of course I moved, and it filled.
This happened a lot in college. The seats near me would always fill last. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was putting out a bad vibe or I smelled bad. Maybe no one wanted to be seen by me.
People just ignore me in situations where, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. They look at me weird, they treat me weird...not even meaning to, I imagine. They react more slowly to things I say. I say things other people say, and they just react as if I said something awkward.
Maybe it's not me, maybe it's other people. Maybe the reason people make me so uncomfortable is because I just feel like I can't do anything right by them. People always "read" me and my intentions wrong, especially when they're trying. This is especially annoying because I'm so open about every aspect of my life.
Or maybe that's just part of it. Maybe they sense my physiological discomfort and it makes them act differently toward me. That makes sense.
So this will never go away, but practice and exposure helps me tolerate the discomfort better. It always hurts to be ignored, but it happens all the time. I should be used to it. There is so much that makes me different (not special, just different) from others, I should just get used to the odd treatment.
For years, it was: "Why am I so stupid?" "What's wrong with me?" "Why am I letting myself get scared?" "I'm such a loser, only losers would let this run their lives." After months of therapy and hard work, it changed to: "No one is out to hurt me." "I'm safe. I'm fine." "Calm down." While it barely helps, it was the best I could do, because most people think social phobia is just worrying what others think too much. While that is the most common cause, there is a small percentage where the cause is physiological. This has to be me, because everyone calls me weird, and I'm okay with that. I think a lot more people would like me if I could be myself - I'm not worried about their opinion of me, I worry they think I'm what my anxiety makes me present: quiet, nervous, and hypervigilant. The physical reaction happens long before there are thoughts, before I have a chance to intervene.
Anyway, that was my conclusion, though my therapist contested that there was always a thought first. I guess it's a divisive theory. There was just no way. I care a lot how people feel in general, but not what they think of me. Again, I think people would like me!
So that was where we left it. We couldn't agree on the underlying cause, so it was impossible to work on. Maybe he just thought I was in such denial, that I wasn't ready. He asked once if someone had rejected me and said I was weird when I was young. Yes! Everyone! Always! I still think about it and there isn't a time that particularly sticks out to me. I was bullied ruthlessly about my hair and pigeon toes, but I'm largely unaffected by that now (my hair still sucks, and I do have pigeon toes!).
Sorry about the rant. My point is that I was always "weird". When I was little, nice "popular" girls included me. Even through highschool (at the height of unattractiveness), I was included in pretty much every group.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
However, I did remember people treating me differently. Just people. It's difficult to explain, but I remember a specific time when I went to a football game by myself. I was early (always ruefully early), so no one was there. I sat in a great place. People filed in, and the benches filled. I notice people start to look around with slight desperation for any space. That's when I looked around and noticed no one sitting around me. Not a soul. There was literally an empty moat going 3 feet out around me. Of course I moved, and it filled.
This happened a lot in college. The seats near me would always fill last. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was putting out a bad vibe or I smelled bad. Maybe no one wanted to be seen by me.
People just ignore me in situations where, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. They look at me weird, they treat me weird...not even meaning to, I imagine. They react more slowly to things I say. I say things other people say, and they just react as if I said something awkward.
Maybe it's not me, maybe it's other people. Maybe the reason people make me so uncomfortable is because I just feel like I can't do anything right by them. People always "read" me and my intentions wrong, especially when they're trying. This is especially annoying because I'm so open about every aspect of my life.
Or maybe that's just part of it. Maybe they sense my physiological discomfort and it makes them act differently toward me. That makes sense.
So this will never go away, but practice and exposure helps me tolerate the discomfort better. It always hurts to be ignored, but it happens all the time. I should be used to it. There is so much that makes me different (not special, just different) from others, I should just get used to the odd treatment.
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