I can't wait for summer. Have I said that yet? You could probably guess.
WELL I AM.
It's been warm the past few days. The sun does miraculous things for my mood, sometimes. It would have more of an impact if I weren't still stuck under the cloud of work I have to do before the term is over. The cloud of procrastination and possible failure.
Even now, I don't really have anything to say. I would just rather write a bunch of bullshit here, than write any of a number of papers I have due.
So here we go, no shame in my game:
I love the summertime. It's become associated with some of my best memories, my best days. I'm so happy in the summer. I'm so much more of who I feel I am. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's that I'm not in school. Maybe it's a combination of those things. I don't know.
I think I'm going to have to finish up some of my incompletes this summer though, so I won't be entirely free. But maybe it'll give me at least some structure so I won't become bored and restless. Even with the sun out, I have to have some sort of purpose.
Either way, Robert and I have been looking for a puppy I can train as my emotional support animal. So a little baby dog will give me purpose this summer. I want to make sure I train the puppy well when it's young so it can do the job. I'm so excited to have another source of support, an animal that's trained to be just mine. Dogs are capable of doing so much, I can train the pup to:
-be a physical barrier in social situations that give me anxiety
-wake me up in the morning
-be aware of my moods and comfort me during panic attacks
Hell, I could train a dog to go fetch my meds and glass of water. Dogs are so smart and capable of all sorts of things. I know I'm going to have do a lot of work to take care of myself and a dog isn't a cure-all, but it might surprise me the impact it could have on my mental health and well-being.
I need to stay in the present. I need to focus on schoolwork and getting through the week and a half I have left of the term. But all I can think about is summer, change and possibility.
Anyone want to write a paper for me? Bueller?
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Monday, May 30, 2016
Ravings of a Madwoman
It's after 4am and I haven't fallen asleep yet. Something tells me I won't. I've been reading through old posts, something I do from time to time. It still surprises me how much I can learn about myself by looking back. I have no way of knowing whether or not my blog has impacted anyone else. Especially considering that no one seems to be interested in talking about anything I write here, with me. But it's probably most important that it has given some meaning to my life. If I have ever considered the possibility that I'm not actually bipolar, this blog is a hard slap to my face. The cyclical nature of my illness is undeniable in my writing. Almost all of the time I'm fluctuating between extremes. Days of euphoria and productivity, followed by dread, grief and self-loathing. I don't know if I've made any progress in managing these episodes but I'm learning. Maybe that's my purpose for now, to put pieces together, store information for later. Maybe these insights will prove to be helpful when I most need them. Who knows.
Lately I've been thinking I would really like to make writing my life. I don't know yet in what capacity and it may be most realistic to believe that my writing will be confined to this blog. But I would really love to do it. To make something of it, and beautiful things with it. I could do that, right? I think part of this sudden urge is because I've been feeling really hopeless about school. I mean, I've felt this way about school many times before. I've even considered that maybe school just isn't for me, that it's not in my life path. But I think the desire to center my life around writing is based in a passion for self-expression, a sense of urgency to decrease stigma and to tirelessly advocate for others who experience mental illness. This, at the core of my being, is what I believe I'm here to do. And I think I should be able to do that, to focus on that. But I'll probably need to work in a capacity that society deems acceptable. Because otherwise, my crazy ass is worth nothing.
This is probably entirely unintelligible and the ranting of manic zombie but I thought I'd say something before I plunge back into studying and the final countdown. Stick around, good stuff is on the way. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
BBL
Lately I've been thinking I would really like to make writing my life. I don't know yet in what capacity and it may be most realistic to believe that my writing will be confined to this blog. But I would really love to do it. To make something of it, and beautiful things with it. I could do that, right? I think part of this sudden urge is because I've been feeling really hopeless about school. I mean, I've felt this way about school many times before. I've even considered that maybe school just isn't for me, that it's not in my life path. But I think the desire to center my life around writing is based in a passion for self-expression, a sense of urgency to decrease stigma and to tirelessly advocate for others who experience mental illness. This, at the core of my being, is what I believe I'm here to do. And I think I should be able to do that, to focus on that. But I'll probably need to work in a capacity that society deems acceptable. Because otherwise, my crazy ass is worth nothing.
This is probably entirely unintelligible and the ranting of manic zombie but I thought I'd say something before I plunge back into studying and the final countdown. Stick around, good stuff is on the way. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
BBL
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Locked in
The beast has got me locked in a grip so unbelievably tight
I can't seem to shake him off.
In truth, he's been latched on for months and
I just haven't wanted to admit it to myself.
Or maybe I didn't see him
for what he was,
is.
And then I started seeing my psychiatrist
again.
She added a little dose of lithium to my psychopharmaceutical medley
and I had a renewed sense of hope.
A good few days where I thought I had found a door,
the beast's weak spot,
a way out.
But now I'm here
and it's hard to put words together
Nothing feels real
and I'm living for everyone else
but myself.
I'm trying to do everything
they all want me to
but it's hard
and it's still not enough
to release me from the beast's
cold
hard
claws.
It feels like there's nothing left
for me to be.
This is all I am. Just this.
I can't seem to shake him off.
In truth, he's been latched on for months and
I just haven't wanted to admit it to myself.
Or maybe I didn't see him
for what he was,
is.
And then I started seeing my psychiatrist
again.
She added a little dose of lithium to my psychopharmaceutical medley
and I had a renewed sense of hope.
A good few days where I thought I had found a door,
the beast's weak spot,
a way out.
But now I'm here
and it's hard to put words together
Nothing feels real
and I'm living for everyone else
but myself.
I'm trying to do everything
they all want me to
but it's hard
and it's still not enough
to release me from the beast's
cold
hard
claws.
It feels like there's nothing left
for me to be.
This is all I am. Just this.
Friday, May 20, 2016
25
The universe and I aren't on speaking terms right now.
She's keeping me here without any explanation or without the tools to figure it out myself.
I guess I'm really angry and don't want to be here.
My twenty-fifth birthday was incredibly emotional. I've put off writing about it for a while now, probably because I wanted to chalk it up to social anxiety and one too many mimosas.
Turns out it was a "gift" from the universe, although she arrived unannounced and without an invitation.
I organized brunch to celebrate my birthday because I wanted an opportunity to see a lot of my friends without having a party at my house that I'd have to clean up afterward or at some cringey bar that would cost me money to drink alcohol that I didn't really like, for a hangover I certainly would regret. Even though I was unable to make a majority of the phone calls to places around town, with the help of Katie and my mom I found a cafe that was nice enough to seat a 15+ group of people on a Sunday morning during their peak business hours. The guys at the cafe were wonderful and when I think about how much work they did to make my birthday great, I still feel a tenderness. They even asked my mom if there was music I would like to listen to and they put it on the system so that we could hear it from the patio. She chose a band that I grew up listening to and in many ways kept me alive. There was one song in particular by this band, that resonated with me and was the cry for help I was unable to articulate.
The baristas, in cahoots with the universe, put that song on blast. I recognized it immediately and gave my mom a look I hoped she would understand. She did and I began to cry.
This song I listened to everyday and was the first song I asked to listen to in the car when I was discharged from the hospital. I still remember sitting in the car with the song ringing in my ears and pounding in my chest. It sounded like freedom and life renewed.
Now over ten years later, among friends and breakfast bagels, I cried for that 14 year-old girl. That young girl who never would have guessed, hell was CONVINCED that she wouldn't be around that long. There were days that girl didn't want to live to see that day, because everyday was filled with pain. Every new day was another twenty-four hours of suffering.
And I cried later when we came back to the house and had mimosas.
And I cried next to the fire, singing to my anthem.
And I cried in private. Then I slept.
I'm still unsure of what do now, or where to go from here. The universe has given me more time, more than I know what to do with or even want. I guess if there were a time to "seize the day", it would be now and for however many days she keeps me here. I'm supposed to be grateful or something, right? Now I have to "live life to the fullest" and make something of myself. She's forced my fucking hand.
So yeah, you could say she and I aren't getting along.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I'm supposed to feel better
this nightmare is supposed to end
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on
She's keeping me here without any explanation or without the tools to figure it out myself.
I guess I'm really angry and don't want to be here.
My twenty-fifth birthday was incredibly emotional. I've put off writing about it for a while now, probably because I wanted to chalk it up to social anxiety and one too many mimosas.
Turns out it was a "gift" from the universe, although she arrived unannounced and without an invitation.
I organized brunch to celebrate my birthday because I wanted an opportunity to see a lot of my friends without having a party at my house that I'd have to clean up afterward or at some cringey bar that would cost me money to drink alcohol that I didn't really like, for a hangover I certainly would regret. Even though I was unable to make a majority of the phone calls to places around town, with the help of Katie and my mom I found a cafe that was nice enough to seat a 15+ group of people on a Sunday morning during their peak business hours. The guys at the cafe were wonderful and when I think about how much work they did to make my birthday great, I still feel a tenderness. They even asked my mom if there was music I would like to listen to and they put it on the system so that we could hear it from the patio. She chose a band that I grew up listening to and in many ways kept me alive. There was one song in particular by this band, that resonated with me and was the cry for help I was unable to articulate.
The baristas, in cahoots with the universe, put that song on blast. I recognized it immediately and gave my mom a look I hoped she would understand. She did and I began to cry.
This song I listened to everyday and was the first song I asked to listen to in the car when I was discharged from the hospital. I still remember sitting in the car with the song ringing in my ears and pounding in my chest. It sounded like freedom and life renewed.
Now over ten years later, among friends and breakfast bagels, I cried for that 14 year-old girl. That young girl who never would have guessed, hell was CONVINCED that she wouldn't be around that long. There were days that girl didn't want to live to see that day, because everyday was filled with pain. Every new day was another twenty-four hours of suffering.
And I cried later when we came back to the house and had mimosas.
And I cried next to the fire, singing to my anthem.
And I cried in private. Then I slept.
I'm still unsure of what do now, or where to go from here. The universe has given me more time, more than I know what to do with or even want. I guess if there were a time to "seize the day", it would be now and for however many days she keeps me here. I'm supposed to be grateful or something, right? Now I have to "live life to the fullest" and make something of myself. She's forced my fucking hand.
So yeah, you could say she and I aren't getting along.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I'm supposed to feel better
this nightmare is supposed to end
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on,
I am holding on
Saturday, April 30, 2016
One, Two, Three
I'm awake
I'm showered
I'm drinking coffee
Just this, is hard.
Just these three things, took hours.
I'm sitting in my backyard, the sun is out. I can feel the breeze, so I must be alive, right?
I just saw a butterfly, so I have to be real, yeah?
This isn't life, what I'm doing. This isn't living.
This is barely surviving.
I'm not even doing this shit on purpose, it's just happening to me.
I'm putting in zero percent at this point, and yet I've been waking up everyday.
I'm not fighting or struggling, but for whatever reason my beast won't fucking just take me already. Maybe it's just not fun for him this way, no challenge. But I'm giving in, I'm doing what he has wanted all along.
I'm here, I'm ready.
Take me, please take me.
I sound like the whiniest shit bag of a human but I don't fucking care.
I'm showered
I'm drinking coffee
Just this, is hard.
Just these three things, took hours.
I'm sitting in my backyard, the sun is out. I can feel the breeze, so I must be alive, right?
I just saw a butterfly, so I have to be real, yeah?
This isn't life, what I'm doing. This isn't living.
This is barely surviving.
I'm not even doing this shit on purpose, it's just happening to me.
I'm putting in zero percent at this point, and yet I've been waking up everyday.
I'm not fighting or struggling, but for whatever reason my beast won't fucking just take me already. Maybe it's just not fun for him this way, no challenge. But I'm giving in, I'm doing what he has wanted all along.
I'm here, I'm ready.
Take me, please take me.
I sound like the whiniest shit bag of a human but I don't fucking care.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Ready to Call it
I've been avoiding you again, I'm sorry.
The anxiety hasn't stopped and I'm avoiding everything. I feel like I'm borderline existing, although I've been trying to avoid that as well.
Sleep has been difficult; I'm awake until my body can no longer function, then I sleep. I often wake up late in the afternoon and fall asleep again shortly after.
So I guess those are my two states of being currently: anxious and asleep.
For two hours yesterday I felt connected to my body and able to form coherent words. I gave a presentation with a partner that neither of us had prepared for. We managed to engage the class in discussion for much longer than expected, the professor eventually gave us full reign for the entire class period. I was offering insight, I was making jokes, smiling and laughing.
My first class of the day was cancelled so I spent about an hour of the time I would normally be in that first class, studying for my upcoming class. So I guess I had three hours of productivity.
After that I spent my evening with two ladies that make me want to do better, be better. It was really nice to spend time with friends that allow me to be just as I am. There was a shadow of self-hate and shame that cast itself over the evening though. I didn't get any studying done, which had been the plan for our time together.
So far today I've:
Missed a therapy appointment that was desperately needed
Slept late, to wake up and fall back asleep again
Fucked around on my computer in this cafe for the last forty-five minutes
At what point can I just call it? When is it a good time to give up? This is it, this is all I will ever have.
Someone end this, end me. Because I'm too cowardly to do it myself.
I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to have lasted this long.
Yeah, I'm angry. Yeah I'm pissed that I'm still here, still doing this.
Why have you all let me drag this out? Why hasn't anyone given me a reality check, "Isabel what purpose do you have here, exactly? How much space are you taking up?"
Do me a favor. Please.
The anxiety hasn't stopped and I'm avoiding everything. I feel like I'm borderline existing, although I've been trying to avoid that as well.
Sleep has been difficult; I'm awake until my body can no longer function, then I sleep. I often wake up late in the afternoon and fall asleep again shortly after.
So I guess those are my two states of being currently: anxious and asleep.
For two hours yesterday I felt connected to my body and able to form coherent words. I gave a presentation with a partner that neither of us had prepared for. We managed to engage the class in discussion for much longer than expected, the professor eventually gave us full reign for the entire class period. I was offering insight, I was making jokes, smiling and laughing.
My first class of the day was cancelled so I spent about an hour of the time I would normally be in that first class, studying for my upcoming class. So I guess I had three hours of productivity.
After that I spent my evening with two ladies that make me want to do better, be better. It was really nice to spend time with friends that allow me to be just as I am. There was a shadow of self-hate and shame that cast itself over the evening though. I didn't get any studying done, which had been the plan for our time together.
So far today I've:
Missed a therapy appointment that was desperately needed
Slept late, to wake up and fall back asleep again
Fucked around on my computer in this cafe for the last forty-five minutes
At what point can I just call it? When is it a good time to give up? This is it, this is all I will ever have.
Someone end this, end me. Because I'm too cowardly to do it myself.
I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to have lasted this long.
Yeah, I'm angry. Yeah I'm pissed that I'm still here, still doing this.
Why have you all let me drag this out? Why hasn't anyone given me a reality check, "Isabel what purpose do you have here, exactly? How much space are you taking up?"
Do me a favor. Please.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Hey blog, long time no see. I'm sorry I haven't been around more. Turns out I'm a shitty friend.
I don't know what to say for myself that doesn't sound like an excuse. "I'm sorry, I've just been going through really rough time/
I think I'm depressed/
I've been too anxious to leave my house/
due to disability related issues I won't make it to class today."
"." That's the only part that matters. The period, the end of excuses. I'm starting to do all of the things I begin to do halfway through the term and I'm wondering yet again, if I'm just too lazy or disinterested in school. Or maybe I get bored easily, or I'm a quitter.
I'm not trying hard enough.
I'm not trying.
Today I woke up and I was overwhelmed by anxiety. And you know what I've realized? Anxiety doesn't always come quickly, cutting air from my lungs to the point of suffocation. Sometimes it's a heavy feeling in my throat that makes it difficult to swallow. An invisible weight on my shoulders that I'm unable to shake off. Or uncontrollably staring into space so that I might forget that time is passing, that time is running out.
It's longer than a panic attack, it lingers and is sometimes unshakeable for an entire day. It started this morning and is still happening. I've sent emails to my professors and that's only made me more anxious. I don't want to check my email but all I can think about is their faces as they read the messages: disbelieving, maybe even disgusted
I don't know. I don't. I have no idea.
Do you?
P.S. I turned 25 a while ago and I have a lot of feelings about it and I'll probably write about it soon. Maybe.
I don't know what to say for myself that doesn't sound like an excuse. "I'm sorry, I've just been going through really rough time/
I think I'm depressed/
I've been too anxious to leave my house/
due to disability related issues I won't make it to class today."
"." That's the only part that matters. The period, the end of excuses. I'm starting to do all of the things I begin to do halfway through the term and I'm wondering yet again, if I'm just too lazy or disinterested in school. Or maybe I get bored easily, or I'm a quitter.
I'm not trying hard enough.
I'm not trying.
Today I woke up and I was overwhelmed by anxiety. And you know what I've realized? Anxiety doesn't always come quickly, cutting air from my lungs to the point of suffocation. Sometimes it's a heavy feeling in my throat that makes it difficult to swallow. An invisible weight on my shoulders that I'm unable to shake off. Or uncontrollably staring into space so that I might forget that time is passing, that time is running out.
It's longer than a panic attack, it lingers and is sometimes unshakeable for an entire day. It started this morning and is still happening. I've sent emails to my professors and that's only made me more anxious. I don't want to check my email but all I can think about is their faces as they read the messages: disbelieving, maybe even disgusted
I don't know. I don't. I have no idea.
Do you?
P.S. I turned 25 a while ago and I have a lot of feelings about it and I'll probably write about it soon. Maybe.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Promises
I was really agitated all day yesterday. I didn't notice it until last night, after picking a fight with Robert. Oops.
I wanted so badly to leave my house, to get out and do something.
I was bored and tired of sitting in my house watching the same bad TV shows on Netflix (Cheers as of late, don't judge me).
I wanted to do something fun, something interesting.
I wanted to get out of my head and spend time with someone else. I was tired of having my beast as my only company.
It was Robert's first day off and he wanted to do whatever he wanted, which happened to be nothing. After a few minutes of rethinking, I was able to get past that and decided that his plans weren't going to hold me back. I reached out to a few people, my mom included. She agreed to pick me up on her way home from work. I was glad to be getting out of the house and to spend some time with her, because as of late the majority of our communication has been over the phone. She works a lot and I haven't been leaving my house. But then my relief ended quickly, when we got to her house and everyone was doing what they each wanted to do, nothing. I was in the same place, just different. I was having a hard time sitting still and started pacing back and forth.
I was hungrier than ever and so impatient. And then the fighting.
It wasn't the worst one Robert and I have had. It doesn't even make it on the list of bad fights we've had. It was just stupid and unnecessary. Robert saw that from the beginning but I went all in.
And of course I lost, we both did. Because no one ever really wins a fight.
I'm really caught up in it, aren't I?
Day before yesterday I was talking to my mom about the option to be hospitalized. There are benefits to that choice; I would have access to immediate care, my meds could be adjusted and I'd have a psychiatrist and therapist to see. But I really don't want to do that.
I don't want to let fourteen year-old Isabel down. Teenage Isabel that coming out of the psych ward after hurting herself, promised that she would never go back there. Ever.
Adult Isabel knows better, that choosing to receive medical attention isn't a sign of failure and if needed could be the best thing I do for my whole self. I don't think it's come to the point that I need hospitalization, but I have to keep it in mind for now. I have to keep it on the table as long as I'm caught up in this.
A promise is a promise, though. And it is one I'd like to keep, if I can.
But I've also promised to tell my mom when I'm feeling unsafe. If I've made a plan to harm myself, to whatever severity or end, I have to let her know. So far, I've kept that one too.
Sometimes it feels like I can only choose one of these. Like I can only keep a promise to my mom or to myself. Who would I choose, if faced with that decision? I honestly don't know.
I wanted so badly to leave my house, to get out and do something.
I was bored and tired of sitting in my house watching the same bad TV shows on Netflix (Cheers as of late, don't judge me).
I wanted to do something fun, something interesting.
I wanted to get out of my head and spend time with someone else. I was tired of having my beast as my only company.
It was Robert's first day off and he wanted to do whatever he wanted, which happened to be nothing. After a few minutes of rethinking, I was able to get past that and decided that his plans weren't going to hold me back. I reached out to a few people, my mom included. She agreed to pick me up on her way home from work. I was glad to be getting out of the house and to spend some time with her, because as of late the majority of our communication has been over the phone. She works a lot and I haven't been leaving my house. But then my relief ended quickly, when we got to her house and everyone was doing what they each wanted to do, nothing. I was in the same place, just different. I was having a hard time sitting still and started pacing back and forth.
I was hungrier than ever and so impatient. And then the fighting.
It wasn't the worst one Robert and I have had. It doesn't even make it on the list of bad fights we've had. It was just stupid and unnecessary. Robert saw that from the beginning but I went all in.
And of course I lost, we both did. Because no one ever really wins a fight.
I'm really caught up in it, aren't I?
Day before yesterday I was talking to my mom about the option to be hospitalized. There are benefits to that choice; I would have access to immediate care, my meds could be adjusted and I'd have a psychiatrist and therapist to see. But I really don't want to do that.
I don't want to let fourteen year-old Isabel down. Teenage Isabel that coming out of the psych ward after hurting herself, promised that she would never go back there. Ever.
Adult Isabel knows better, that choosing to receive medical attention isn't a sign of failure and if needed could be the best thing I do for my whole self. I don't think it's come to the point that I need hospitalization, but I have to keep it in mind for now. I have to keep it on the table as long as I'm caught up in this.
A promise is a promise, though. And it is one I'd like to keep, if I can.
But I've also promised to tell my mom when I'm feeling unsafe. If I've made a plan to harm myself, to whatever severity or end, I have to let her know. So far, I've kept that one too.
Sometimes it feels like I can only choose one of these. Like I can only keep a promise to my mom or to myself. Who would I choose, if faced with that decision? I honestly don't know.
Monday, February 15, 2016
I'm withdrawing from all of my classes. I'm walking away from everything I've been doing, hoping to do better for myself. I'm starting at square one, from the beginning, all over again.
You'd think I would know how to do this. But I feel just as clueless as the first time.
There are some good things, about starting again. Right?
Right.
Cross your fingers for me.
You'd think I would know how to do this. But I feel just as clueless as the first time.
There are some good things, about starting again. Right?
Right.
Cross your fingers for me.
Friday, February 12, 2016
I've changed all of my classes from grading A-F to pass/no pass. This should take some of the pressure off because I won't be worried about the percentages or grades on assignments and as long as I pass, I'll receive credit without it affecting my GPA. But even after doing that, I need to write emails to my professors and I've been putting it off for the last two days. Email is usually a relatively safe way for me to communicate with people, because I don't have to face them in person and I don't have to hear their voices over the phone. Right now though, I feel as anxious about pressing send as I would if I were standing right in front of them. I'm so prepared for rejection, anytime I ask anything from my professors, even though I have a pretty good track record. I don't know what's going to happen here, I don't know what I'm so scared about. Usually when I send an email I'm making a specific request: an extension, an excused absence, the submission of a late assignment etc. I think maybe I'm so nervous because this time I have nothing specific I want to ask for. I just want to talk to each of them about how the rest of this term is going to look, how I'm going to make it through and pass. That's a big question and I know they most likely don't feel like that's their responsibility. And there's some truth to that, I'm an adult, it's my education etc. etc. etc. But they're teachers, right? They want their students to learn and succeed? I know not all of them do, or at least deep down are apathetic. I'm just hoping the ones I have this term are invested in me as a student.
Here goes nothin'.
UPDATE: I sent the emails. I'm holding my breath.
Here goes nothin'.
UPDATE: I sent the emails. I'm holding my breath.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
I woke up late. Usually I don't wake up at all, so I guess that's a point in the right direction. But I'm sitting showered and ready to go on my couch, going nowhere.
I'm stuck.
All I keep thinking about is arriving late to class, trying to find a seat in the back as to remain unnoticed but the seats are all full and then everyone turns around because I'm making noise and they're staring
staring
staring
staring.
They all know.
They haven't seen me in a while. They wonder where I've been, "what other life does this girl live?"
They think I don't care about school or that I'm stupid and that's why I'm falling behind.
I can't do it. I can't walk in there. I just can't.
So I'm still sitting on the couch, having missed the late, late, late bus.
Maybe if I can get there on time to sit in the back of the huge lecture hall my next class is in, I can make that one.
Maybe.
I'm such a baby.
The truth is I just don't want to.
I don't feel like it.
I don't like school.
I'm too lazy.
Right? That has to be it.
That's got to be the reason I'm stuck to this couch.
I'm stuck.
All I keep thinking about is arriving late to class, trying to find a seat in the back as to remain unnoticed but the seats are all full and then everyone turns around because I'm making noise and they're staring
staring
staring
staring.
They all know.
They haven't seen me in a while. They wonder where I've been, "what other life does this girl live?"
They think I don't care about school or that I'm stupid and that's why I'm falling behind.
I can't do it. I can't walk in there. I just can't.
So I'm still sitting on the couch, having missed the late, late, late bus.
Maybe if I can get there on time to sit in the back of the huge lecture hall my next class is in, I can make that one.
Maybe.
I'm such a baby.
The truth is I just don't want to.
I don't feel like it.
I don't like school.
I'm too lazy.
Right? That has to be it.
That's got to be the reason I'm stuck to this couch.
Monday, February 8, 2016
I don't know what I'm doing.
Or what I could be doing differently.
Or if, ultimately, it would matter.
I feel so small.
So light that I can be thrown around, lifted up to be thrown down again.
I don't know what to do.
I know the world won't end, but it still feels like it will.
It's beautiful outside but I haven't left my house, like really left my house, for four days and counting.
Nobody can help me and I certainly can't help myself.
I don't know what I'm doing...did I say that already?
Because I don't. I really don't.
Or what I could be doing differently.
Or if, ultimately, it would matter.
I feel so small.
So light that I can be thrown around, lifted up to be thrown down again.
I don't know what to do.
I know the world won't end, but it still feels like it will.
It's beautiful outside but I haven't left my house, like really left my house, for four days and counting.
Nobody can help me and I certainly can't help myself.
I don't know what I'm doing...did I say that already?
Because I don't. I really don't.
Saturday, February 6, 2016
As it turns out, I've got nothing to prove
It's difficult after I have a few good days, to dip so low again. Those good days are misleading and I think I will always be disappointed when they don't last. It's impossible sometimes to not be disappointed in myself, even when I haven't done anything different, even when it's completely out of my control.
I had a few good ones. I accomplished some things, finished some assignments just in time. But now I'm here, again. And there's a whole new week, with a whole new set of assignments I have yet to do.
Today I've had a few people in my life reach out and that always means so much to me. Especially when they know and understand. A friend of mine, that I haven't seen in years, asked me today how I am and when I said "Not good" she only had to ask "The beast?". That is incredibly validating and I'm so fortunate to have people like that in my life.
I know they would never want to be the cause of any of my pain, but it's still hard for me to avoid feeling like I've disappointed them. My dear friends want to know that I'm doing well and when I can't tell them what they so badly want to hear, it's hard not to feel the weight of that. It's hard not to feel like I should be doing better, not only for me, but for those that I care about.
I can't help feeling like I've brought this on myself. I don't know why I thought I should take 22 credits this term or why I thought two less credits would make any difference. I don't know why I feel like I have something to prove. And maybe to some people, I do. But if I'm honest with myself, I'm in the game to prove to myself, that I'm capable. I don't know why the past 24 years of life, of survival aren't enough proof of my strength and resilience. I'm not sure why I feel the need to put myself into the most challenging situations, situations that would be hard for anyone mental illness or no.
I'm sure I've come to a point similar to this before, but I realize now that I need to do some things in order to improve the quality of my life. I can't but also don't want to live this way.
I want to be able to get up in the morning.
I want to be able to leave my house.
I want to be able to enter into social situations, new ones, but any at all really.
I want to be able to sleep better at night.
I want to feel less like I want to die.
So I guess my work, beyond school, is cut out for me. It's a lot but I know what I need to do and I know of ways that I can do it.
I need to find a new psychiatrist, one that I feel is genuinely invested in my mental health.
I need to start seeing a therapist again, one that will help me to continue developing skills.
I need to adjust my meds so they can do their job.
I've also been thinking about the benefits of an emotional support animal. I've been doing some research and I think having a dog that has been trained to help me get out of bed in the morning, ride with me on the bus and minimize my anxiety might really help.
For those who have met my dog Penelope, she is great. The best little dog I could ever ask for. She is family and isn't going anywhere. But she doesn't have the training to fill this purpose.
Does anybody have information/resources for finding an emotional support animal? Anyone have experience with finding one/having one? Benefits/drawbacks? I could really use advice and guidance.
I need to stop working so hard to prove my worth and move forward as if I am the most worthy of stability, heath and well-being. This has got to be the beginning of something different.
I had a few good ones. I accomplished some things, finished some assignments just in time. But now I'm here, again. And there's a whole new week, with a whole new set of assignments I have yet to do.
Today I've had a few people in my life reach out and that always means so much to me. Especially when they know and understand. A friend of mine, that I haven't seen in years, asked me today how I am and when I said "Not good" she only had to ask "The beast?". That is incredibly validating and I'm so fortunate to have people like that in my life.
I know they would never want to be the cause of any of my pain, but it's still hard for me to avoid feeling like I've disappointed them. My dear friends want to know that I'm doing well and when I can't tell them what they so badly want to hear, it's hard not to feel the weight of that. It's hard not to feel like I should be doing better, not only for me, but for those that I care about.
I can't help feeling like I've brought this on myself. I don't know why I thought I should take 22 credits this term or why I thought two less credits would make any difference. I don't know why I feel like I have something to prove. And maybe to some people, I do. But if I'm honest with myself, I'm in the game to prove to myself, that I'm capable. I don't know why the past 24 years of life, of survival aren't enough proof of my strength and resilience. I'm not sure why I feel the need to put myself into the most challenging situations, situations that would be hard for anyone mental illness or no.
I'm sure I've come to a point similar to this before, but I realize now that I need to do some things in order to improve the quality of my life. I can't but also don't want to live this way.
I want to be able to get up in the morning.
I want to be able to leave my house.
I want to be able to enter into social situations, new ones, but any at all really.
I want to be able to sleep better at night.
I want to feel less like I want to die.
So I guess my work, beyond school, is cut out for me. It's a lot but I know what I need to do and I know of ways that I can do it.
I need to find a new psychiatrist, one that I feel is genuinely invested in my mental health.
I need to start seeing a therapist again, one that will help me to continue developing skills.
I need to adjust my meds so they can do their job.
I've also been thinking about the benefits of an emotional support animal. I've been doing some research and I think having a dog that has been trained to help me get out of bed in the morning, ride with me on the bus and minimize my anxiety might really help.
For those who have met my dog Penelope, she is great. The best little dog I could ever ask for. She is family and isn't going anywhere. But she doesn't have the training to fill this purpose.
Does anybody have information/resources for finding an emotional support animal? Anyone have experience with finding one/having one? Benefits/drawbacks? I could really use advice and guidance.
I need to stop working so hard to prove my worth and move forward as if I am the most worthy of stability, heath and well-being. This has got to be the beginning of something different.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Monday, February 1, 2016
Crash n' Burn
I don't know how I'm going to get myself out of this. I feel like I'm drowning in my own disappointment. I don't want this to be happening and yet I am so sure there is nothing I can do about it. I thought after making the progress I did yesterday, that it would be easier today. But every obstacle possible is present.
Time is passing so quickly and it's terrifying. I'm sick so my body keeps trying to shut itself down. I couldn't figure out the internet in this cafe for thirty fucking minutes.
I have so much to do. I have three papers and a midterm on Thursday and countless articles to read.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
Somebody stop me because I'm a fucking fiery meteor destroying everything in my path, crashing farther and faster than should be humanly possible.
And even now, I'm having a hard time thinking of something to write that I haven't written so many times before.
Are you tired of reading this yet? Because I'm fucking exhausted.
Time is passing so quickly and it's terrifying. I'm sick so my body keeps trying to shut itself down. I couldn't figure out the internet in this cafe for thirty fucking minutes.
I have so much to do. I have three papers and a midterm on Thursday and countless articles to read.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
Somebody stop me because I'm a fucking fiery meteor destroying everything in my path, crashing farther and faster than should be humanly possible.
And even now, I'm having a hard time thinking of something to write that I haven't written so many times before.
Are you tired of reading this yet? Because I'm fucking exhausted.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Where I'm at
While I was awake last night, I was watching video after video on youtube (some less embarrassing than others) I felt incredibly guilty. A lot of them were about rare health conditions and physical (dis)abilities that people around the world are not only living with but making the best of. So many individuals that live as much more than their circumstances. It threw me into a shame spiral. I am so fortunate to have, at least most of the time, my health. I'm lucky to be able to move through the world with few physical obstacles. I was lying in bed, having made little use of my body that day, while there are others that live for using their bodies in any way they can. Sometimes I sleep all day while others experience each day as a gift, another day to be alive.
I know this is what I was talking about last night, which I guess is evidence that it isn't simple. It's not a competition and I am trying my best. Here I am internalizing the societal erasure of my lived experiences. So often I find myself believing the very things that perpetuate my struggle. Why is it important that I compare my suffering to others? Why do I use that as a way to invalidate my challenges and diagnosis?
I find so many ways to hate myself.
I was awake at first light,
but exhausted from the unrelenting thoughts
of endings and nonexistence
My brain and beast held me prisoner,
as long as I was awake I could be chained to my own self loathing
I waited for permission
my mom told me I could sleep
I closed my eyes
weighed down by disappointment of all the days
I had merely taken up space
There wasn't enough room
in my bed for the two of us
But he still found his way there, tangled up
in my blankets and deep breathing
When I woke again
he was there
Staring at me, with eyes that were my own
I showered today, but it wasn't enough to wash me clean.
I'm covered in filth, the dust of my cowardice
from all of the times I've run away
afraid of failure and loneliness
He has returned, although I hate myself enough for both of us.
Here I am again, complaining. When I only have myself to blame.
I know this is what I was talking about last night, which I guess is evidence that it isn't simple. It's not a competition and I am trying my best. Here I am internalizing the societal erasure of my lived experiences. So often I find myself believing the very things that perpetuate my struggle. Why is it important that I compare my suffering to others? Why do I use that as a way to invalidate my challenges and diagnosis?
I find so many ways to hate myself.
I was awake at first light,
but exhausted from the unrelenting thoughts
of endings and nonexistence
My brain and beast held me prisoner,
as long as I was awake I could be chained to my own self loathing
I waited for permission
my mom told me I could sleep
I closed my eyes
weighed down by disappointment of all the days
I had merely taken up space
There wasn't enough room
in my bed for the two of us
But he still found his way there, tangled up
in my blankets and deep breathing
When I woke again
he was there
Staring at me, with eyes that were my own
I showered today, but it wasn't enough to wash me clean.
I'm covered in filth, the dust of my cowardice
from all of the times I've run away
afraid of failure and loneliness
He has returned, although I hate myself enough for both of us.
Here I am again, complaining. When I only have myself to blame.
Friday, January 29, 2016
I was supposed to have studied today. But instead I watched the day pass without emotion or a sense of urgency. And here I am, yet again. In this place.
I hate so much that I am this way. I'm tired of asking "why" and also feel like as an adult that it's no longer an appropriate question. It doesn't matter at all why because I need to be something different. I need to get over these hang ups and do what needs to be done. The "why" of it isn't going to get me there. I don't know what will.
I don't know where the end will be. But I need it to be soon. Please, let it be soon.
When I think about living the rest of my life this way, I don't want to live it at all. This is an excuse for an existence. This is nothing, I am nothing.
I'm still so tempted to ask why. But instead, I'll ask "what".
What is it going to take for me to stop this self-destructive behavior?
What is it that I need to get through my head?
What about myself do I hate so much that motivates me to punish myself like this?
What am I doing here, if I'm not capable of anything?
School may kill me. Send help.
I hate so much that I am this way. I'm tired of asking "why" and also feel like as an adult that it's no longer an appropriate question. It doesn't matter at all why because I need to be something different. I need to get over these hang ups and do what needs to be done. The "why" of it isn't going to get me there. I don't know what will.
I don't know where the end will be. But I need it to be soon. Please, let it be soon.
When I think about living the rest of my life this way, I don't want to live it at all. This is an excuse for an existence. This is nothing, I am nothing.
I'm still so tempted to ask why. But instead, I'll ask "what".
What is it going to take for me to stop this self-destructive behavior?
What is it that I need to get through my head?
What about myself do I hate so much that motivates me to punish myself like this?
What am I doing here, if I'm not capable of anything?
School may kill me. Send help.
Tell me again: Who's sick? Who's broken? Who needs a cure?
I'm going to take a really complex issue and pretend that it's really simple for a minute. I'm prefacing with this, so be patient.
I'm gonna break a few things down for you, right now.
FACT: There are groups of people within our society that are oppressed.
Oppression: The domination, dehumization, acts of violence, expoitation of people based on one or more aspects of their identity.
Examples of these identities are: people of color, women, LGBTQIA (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, Asexual) people, the poor, people with dis/abilities, people with mental illness---there are many more.
These groups that experience oppression, experience it in very identity-specific ways. We are all complex individuals with multiple identities. This means that many people experience oppression as a member of one or more of these groups.
There is no such thing reverse anything. Let's be clear. No reverse racism, sexism etc. etc. etc. I'm not even gonna play with this shit, because NO.
Even though people experience multiple identities (we call this intersectionality, or the ways our different identities intersect and overlap), we are constantly choosing a primary identity depending on where we are or who we're with.
Each of these oppressed groups are working for their rights, they want liberation. It's not a game or competition but because we are so often forced to choose only ONE of our groups, we sometimes have to neglect the others. We are forced to pass the buck, put the shit we're being given onto someone else.
Something I've noticed lately is that no one wants to claim that they're sick or that they need a cure. And duh, who would want to?
Trans activists are saying "Don't tell us that our experiences with gender are a mental disorder or disease. We aren't looking for a cure. We aren't sick". THIS IS TRUE
(Dis)ability activists (I highlight the dis- part because many people find that offensive) are saying "Don't medicalize or try to police our bodies. There is nothing wrong with the way we are, we don't need a cure because we're not broken". THIS IS ALSO TRUE
I'm saying right now, as a person with a mental illness:
I'm not sick
I don't need a cure, not like there is one anyway
I'm not broken
And these other groups, rightly, don't want to be grouped in with us. We're trying to draw attention to the very specific ways we each are oppressed and the realities of our individual experiences.
With that said: In your own struggles, don't leave me with the rest. You're not sick, nothing is wrong with you. But my mental illness doesn't make me sick either. Don't throw me to the wolves, be careful when you're telling the world you don't want to be/aren't anything like me.
I understand the temptation to do this. When I first had to register with the Disability Resource Center in order to receive accommodations in my classes, like deadline extensions and excused absences, I was angry. I don't have a disability, that's not my struggle. I'm still angry because I feel like I've been tossed in with a group that experiences oppression in very different ways than I do, rendering me invisible.
I'm very conscious now though, that being angry doesn't mean that I'm insulted that people might consider my mental illness a disability. I'm angry because my struggles aren't being addressed. I'm not getting the support I need. And when people do talk about my mental illness, they're calling it an invisible disability. That's not what it is, that's not what this is for me. It's MADE to be invisible, because people don't know what to do about me. And as soon as you can call it invisible, you can tell me it's not real. That I'm not authentic or real. And what's left for me then?
And even more I'm angry that because the Disability Resource Center doesn't know what to do for me, my professors do NOTHING at all. They can't see what I'm struggling with, they assume that I'm cheating the system somehow, they skirt around the rules. I spend more time each term keeping my professors in check than I do studying. And you bet I'm fucking angry about it.
This is obviously complicated and I was unable to even make it as simple as I had originally hoped because it isn't. It can't be made so. This is the best I can do.
Now to study, I guess.
I'm gonna break a few things down for you, right now.
FACT: There are groups of people within our society that are oppressed.
Oppression: The domination, dehumization, acts of violence, expoitation of people based on one or more aspects of their identity.
Examples of these identities are: people of color, women, LGBTQIA (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, Asexual) people, the poor, people with dis/abilities, people with mental illness---there are many more.
These groups that experience oppression, experience it in very identity-specific ways. We are all complex individuals with multiple identities. This means that many people experience oppression as a member of one or more of these groups.
There is no such thing reverse anything. Let's be clear. No reverse racism, sexism etc. etc. etc. I'm not even gonna play with this shit, because NO.
Even though people experience multiple identities (we call this intersectionality, or the ways our different identities intersect and overlap), we are constantly choosing a primary identity depending on where we are or who we're with.
Each of these oppressed groups are working for their rights, they want liberation. It's not a game or competition but because we are so often forced to choose only ONE of our groups, we sometimes have to neglect the others. We are forced to pass the buck, put the shit we're being given onto someone else.
Something I've noticed lately is that no one wants to claim that they're sick or that they need a cure. And duh, who would want to?
Trans activists are saying "Don't tell us that our experiences with gender are a mental disorder or disease. We aren't looking for a cure. We aren't sick". THIS IS TRUE
(Dis)ability activists (I highlight the dis- part because many people find that offensive) are saying "Don't medicalize or try to police our bodies. There is nothing wrong with the way we are, we don't need a cure because we're not broken". THIS IS ALSO TRUE
I'm saying right now, as a person with a mental illness:
I'm not sick
I don't need a cure, not like there is one anyway
I'm not broken
And these other groups, rightly, don't want to be grouped in with us. We're trying to draw attention to the very specific ways we each are oppressed and the realities of our individual experiences.
With that said: In your own struggles, don't leave me with the rest. You're not sick, nothing is wrong with you. But my mental illness doesn't make me sick either. Don't throw me to the wolves, be careful when you're telling the world you don't want to be/aren't anything like me.
I understand the temptation to do this. When I first had to register with the Disability Resource Center in order to receive accommodations in my classes, like deadline extensions and excused absences, I was angry. I don't have a disability, that's not my struggle. I'm still angry because I feel like I've been tossed in with a group that experiences oppression in very different ways than I do, rendering me invisible.
I'm very conscious now though, that being angry doesn't mean that I'm insulted that people might consider my mental illness a disability. I'm angry because my struggles aren't being addressed. I'm not getting the support I need. And when people do talk about my mental illness, they're calling it an invisible disability. That's not what it is, that's not what this is for me. It's MADE to be invisible, because people don't know what to do about me. And as soon as you can call it invisible, you can tell me it's not real. That I'm not authentic or real. And what's left for me then?
And even more I'm angry that because the Disability Resource Center doesn't know what to do for me, my professors do NOTHING at all. They can't see what I'm struggling with, they assume that I'm cheating the system somehow, they skirt around the rules. I spend more time each term keeping my professors in check than I do studying. And you bet I'm fucking angry about it.
This is obviously complicated and I was unable to even make it as simple as I had originally hoped because it isn't. It can't be made so. This is the best I can do.
Now to study, I guess.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Do You Believe in Magic?
It's strange how sometimes I forget that my experience is unique. I don't mean in the way that everyone's lives are unique; some will never know mania or depression. These are emotional states that many can't begin to fathom. How can you understand or relate to something that you'll likely never know? I don't blame them, of course, how are they supposed to really and truly get it? And it's not like I've found a way so far to translate or make it comprehensible. Not that it's my job to do that anyway.
Sometimes I feel like a tragic unicorn. Bear with me for a moment, okay? There's some magic to it, right? I have an understanding and experience of emotion that is not widely understood. I experience emotion within a spectrum, a continuum that I have yet to find the boundaries of. I have a foot in the door of different emotions all at once. Time passes and sometimes I have forgotten the day or the month and the only way I can figure it out is to work my way backward through a cycle. What day was it that I stopped sleeping? How many days has it been since I left my house? These are questions I ask myself all of the time. It's hard to know what's me and what's my illness, as I think my beast illustrates. But I hold onto the belief that I wouldn't be as self-aware or emotionally intuitive without it.
Last night I went to class, shaking uncontrollably and overwhelmed by the people I found myself surrounded by. It always feels like everyone knows. I'm harmfully aware of my speech, body movements and all of the other parts of interaction. I become so afraid that I'll give myself away; am I talking too much? Is this the fourth of fifth time I've moved in my seat? This goes on for a while.
Today, I've done exactly what I told myself I wouldn't. I'm at home when I should be in class. To miss class won't ultimately harm my grade, I'm still within the allotted absences for all of my classes. But it's another time I've broken a promise, one more time that I'm giving myself less of a chance.
I miss the days that I wrote poetry, here. I haven't done that in a while. And I still haven't found a way to encourage people to talk to me about this. Ask me questions, tell me stories--I want to hear them. I want to know that I'm not alone.
Sometimes I feel like a tragic unicorn. Bear with me for a moment, okay? There's some magic to it, right? I have an understanding and experience of emotion that is not widely understood. I experience emotion within a spectrum, a continuum that I have yet to find the boundaries of. I have a foot in the door of different emotions all at once. Time passes and sometimes I have forgotten the day or the month and the only way I can figure it out is to work my way backward through a cycle. What day was it that I stopped sleeping? How many days has it been since I left my house? These are questions I ask myself all of the time. It's hard to know what's me and what's my illness, as I think my beast illustrates. But I hold onto the belief that I wouldn't be as self-aware or emotionally intuitive without it.
Last night I went to class, shaking uncontrollably and overwhelmed by the people I found myself surrounded by. It always feels like everyone knows. I'm harmfully aware of my speech, body movements and all of the other parts of interaction. I become so afraid that I'll give myself away; am I talking too much? Is this the fourth of fifth time I've moved in my seat? This goes on for a while.
Today, I've done exactly what I told myself I wouldn't. I'm at home when I should be in class. To miss class won't ultimately harm my grade, I'm still within the allotted absences for all of my classes. But it's another time I've broken a promise, one more time that I'm giving myself less of a chance.
I miss the days that I wrote poetry, here. I haven't done that in a while. And I still haven't found a way to encourage people to talk to me about this. Ask me questions, tell me stories--I want to hear them. I want to know that I'm not alone.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
When Doing Everything Right Isn't Enough
I don't want to go back to school tomorrow. I live for the weekends lately, even though my weekends usually consist of sleeping as much as possible, drinking way too much coffee and beating myself up for not studying as much as I had told myself I would. Here I am, another Sunday night and I can say the only way I have deviated from my usual weekend routine is by not drinking as much coffee. And the only reason for that is the lack of coffee my house currently has.
This is the first weekend, however, where I have done no studying whatsoever. Throwing caution to the wind I guess. Week four out of ten and I'm already saying fuck it. I guess that shouldn't really come as a surprise though, because if I'm honest with myself, this is the way I encounter every midterm. Every week four or five as long as I can remember. I lose my discipline, stop studying religiously, start sleeping all hours of the day (I woke up this morning and went back to sleep less than an hour later) and use my first (of many) absences.
It's actually become a bit of a game, really. How fast can Isabel bounce back? How quickly can she get her shit together again, before anyone notices? I guess I've already lost some points, because I've sent my first "extension proposal" to a professor, which just means I've already had to resort to begging.
The commitment I've made to myself this time around is to go to class regardless. Whether or not I get my work done, or if my professor gives me the extension. I'm not going to get anything done during the time I'm supposed to be in class, because I'll be so overwhelmed with guilt and shame, so I've learned. And wouldn't it be great, even if I have to ask for an extension, if I went to class everyday this term?
I was manic last night, I think. Usually I'm sure, but this was so subtle. It's hard to tell sometimes. I can't constantly question my state of emotions, like when I feel good about myself is not the time to wonder "Am I confident or just crazy?". Anyway, this morning when I woke up, I was sure. I had come down over night, which is sometimes how it happens. I've slept all day and I hate myself again, which apparently is my baseline. So I'm okay folks, don't worry. I'm not manic I just am disgusted with myself.
I was telling Katie that the most frustrating thing right now is that I had been doing everything right. Last week I ran out of my meds for a few days because the pharmacy made an error, but even in those few days without and then the day I had them back in my system, there had been no interruptions.
And now, I've been taking my meds and sleeping and eating but I'm here. In this place. Again.
So yeah, there are things I can do to take care of myself and limit my cycling. But there are also times when my beast is going to fuck with me, just cause he can. Even if I'm doing everything right.
You know what that makes me want to do? Nothing at all.
Why should I put in all of this work? What does it actually get me?
This is the first weekend, however, where I have done no studying whatsoever. Throwing caution to the wind I guess. Week four out of ten and I'm already saying fuck it. I guess that shouldn't really come as a surprise though, because if I'm honest with myself, this is the way I encounter every midterm. Every week four or five as long as I can remember. I lose my discipline, stop studying religiously, start sleeping all hours of the day (I woke up this morning and went back to sleep less than an hour later) and use my first (of many) absences.
It's actually become a bit of a game, really. How fast can Isabel bounce back? How quickly can she get her shit together again, before anyone notices? I guess I've already lost some points, because I've sent my first "extension proposal" to a professor, which just means I've already had to resort to begging.
The commitment I've made to myself this time around is to go to class regardless. Whether or not I get my work done, or if my professor gives me the extension. I'm not going to get anything done during the time I'm supposed to be in class, because I'll be so overwhelmed with guilt and shame, so I've learned. And wouldn't it be great, even if I have to ask for an extension, if I went to class everyday this term?
I was manic last night, I think. Usually I'm sure, but this was so subtle. It's hard to tell sometimes. I can't constantly question my state of emotions, like when I feel good about myself is not the time to wonder "Am I confident or just crazy?". Anyway, this morning when I woke up, I was sure. I had come down over night, which is sometimes how it happens. I've slept all day and I hate myself again, which apparently is my baseline. So I'm okay folks, don't worry. I'm not manic I just am disgusted with myself.
I was telling Katie that the most frustrating thing right now is that I had been doing everything right. Last week I ran out of my meds for a few days because the pharmacy made an error, but even in those few days without and then the day I had them back in my system, there had been no interruptions.
And now, I've been taking my meds and sleeping and eating but I'm here. In this place. Again.
So yeah, there are things I can do to take care of myself and limit my cycling. But there are also times when my beast is going to fuck with me, just cause he can. Even if I'm doing everything right.
You know what that makes me want to do? Nothing at all.
Why should I put in all of this work? What does it actually get me?
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
"What in the actual fuck is happening."
That right there folks is the only line of a draft I started on my last attempt at writing here.
I don't have any idea what I was talking about. But I do know that it's applicable to my life most of the time. It's not like it was an epiphany or realization that would have been helpful to have remembered.
So no real loss, I guess.
It's relevant today, as ever.
Winter term was supposed to start, I had two classes I was supposed to go to. But snow, ice and the hysteria that surrounds a snow storm in Portland, meant that the whole campus was shut down.
I'm hoping it'll be reopened tomorrow because I have another four more that I'm waiting to start.
I was kind of disappointed at first, because I had psyched myself up for it. And the beginning of the term is the easiest so I'm looking forward to getting a better idea of what my classes are going to be like.
But after grocery shopping today and trying my best not to fall on my ass carrying them into the house, the one thing I don't want to do tomorrow is go back out there.
I don't want studying and work and getting up early.
I don't want pressure and I don't want failure.
I crammed over the weekend to finish a bunch of work I was missing from one of my classes I took last term, so I could get a grade for the class. It was due today, at the start of this term and I, of course, had put it off until the last minute.
But I felt so relieved to send all of it off to my professor last night, because I had been carrying that weight over the entirety of my winter break.
And then when I woke up this morning and I figured out that I didn't have class, I realized this was the first day of my break (and it wasn't even supposed to be my last) that I was legitimately free from obligation.
So that fucking blows.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now it's today, the day after I started writing this, the first day of actual classes.
But I started my period last night and my cramps are so bad they make me nauseated and I've been throwing up all morning.
So no class for me.
I'm missing the very first ones. And I have four classes today.
I feel like I'm being stabbed in the gut. I'm so nauseated that water won't even hold in my stomach and I can't move.
And if that wasn't miserable enough, I'm so incredibly anxious about missing my classes today. What if they give someone else my spot? What if I miss so much that I fall behind? What if this reflects on me as a student to my professors?
I know it's not my fault and it's out of my control and blah blah blah.
But it feels so much like something else, so much like all of the other times I just didn't go that I can't help hating myself a little bit.
So, here I am.
That right there folks is the only line of a draft I started on my last attempt at writing here.
I don't have any idea what I was talking about. But I do know that it's applicable to my life most of the time. It's not like it was an epiphany or realization that would have been helpful to have remembered.
So no real loss, I guess.
It's relevant today, as ever.
Winter term was supposed to start, I had two classes I was supposed to go to. But snow, ice and the hysteria that surrounds a snow storm in Portland, meant that the whole campus was shut down.
I'm hoping it'll be reopened tomorrow because I have another four more that I'm waiting to start.
I was kind of disappointed at first, because I had psyched myself up for it. And the beginning of the term is the easiest so I'm looking forward to getting a better idea of what my classes are going to be like.
But after grocery shopping today and trying my best not to fall on my ass carrying them into the house, the one thing I don't want to do tomorrow is go back out there.
I don't want studying and work and getting up early.
I don't want pressure and I don't want failure.
I crammed over the weekend to finish a bunch of work I was missing from one of my classes I took last term, so I could get a grade for the class. It was due today, at the start of this term and I, of course, had put it off until the last minute.
But I felt so relieved to send all of it off to my professor last night, because I had been carrying that weight over the entirety of my winter break.
And then when I woke up this morning and I figured out that I didn't have class, I realized this was the first day of my break (and it wasn't even supposed to be my last) that I was legitimately free from obligation.
So that fucking blows.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now it's today, the day after I started writing this, the first day of actual classes.
But I started my period last night and my cramps are so bad they make me nauseated and I've been throwing up all morning.
So no class for me.
I'm missing the very first ones. And I have four classes today.
I feel like I'm being stabbed in the gut. I'm so nauseated that water won't even hold in my stomach and I can't move.
And if that wasn't miserable enough, I'm so incredibly anxious about missing my classes today. What if they give someone else my spot? What if I miss so much that I fall behind? What if this reflects on me as a student to my professors?
I know it's not my fault and it's out of my control and blah blah blah.
But it feels so much like something else, so much like all of the other times I just didn't go that I can't help hating myself a little bit.
So, here I am.
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