Vacuum


I feel like my living room is closing in around me. My chest feels like someone is sitting on top of me and I can feel the weight of the walls and the room above me closing in, yet I can see that the walls are stable.

I can rationally tell myself that these are just the bad brain thoughts, or feelings, but that is as far as I have ever been able to figure out how to control these moments. I don’t know what exactly causes them, but I do know that before they start I often feel as if my life is in a vacuum, with no air and no motion. Just stuck in nothingness. There is not an option for getting out because there is no way to move. I feel more than trapped. I feel immobile in both my life and in my actions. No right choice to make, because in these moments there are no choices, except the one I am making right now, and that is to write about how it feels.

I’m not sure how this feeling would be diagnosed, but it is probably treated with either anti-psychotic medication or anti-depressants, either way those meds don’t work for me. They make my heart race, increase my anxiety, make me manic, or completely suicidal. I don’t know how to properly explain this feeling to anyone. I have tried before, and people always give me a look that is supposed to be comforting, but shows in its depths that they don’t understand and that I am probably deeply disturbed.

I might be deeply disturbed, I mean, how could I not when I am sitting here, typing on my laptop, and I feel as if I’m in a pile of rubble, and I’m trapped and unable to move away to get a breath of fresh air. Yet I can see that the walls are still standing, and I can hear that regular life goes on regardless of how I feel right now.

This makes me then feel as if what happens to me is in a bubble and doesn’t affect anyone else. I feel as if what I do affect is negative and then I wonder why I bother to force the air in and out of my lungs. This is not a feeling that I interpret as a desire for death, but as a desire for change. The problem is that every time I try to make changes in my life, old pieces come in to drag me back to the place that I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to feel useless or unwanted, but I often do. I feel like an unimportant piece in a machine. The part that you can take out and it still works. A program on a computer that when removed, causes the machine to run faster, and with great accuracy.

I’m sure this is all part of some depression, but it is how I feel right this moment. It may pass, and it may not. I will continue though because I haven’t got a choice in that. I just keep breathing, and hoping eventually it becomes easier. But if it doesn’t then, I will pretend because nobody ever wants to know when you feel like this. It’s too much to handle, because they don’t have the answers either. Then my mental health become a burden for others, and I never want that. I just want to feel better.

This is the crazy I don’t want to embrace, because it scares me.

The Tits and Giggles


So this is a Post I did with my best friend and Music writing partner. I hope this doesn’t offend anyone, it is meant as a joke, but if you are offended you might be a Tits and Giggles yourself.
Sit back, laugh at the joke and Embrace the crazy, Tits and Giggles need love too.

The Mighty Mites

We’ve all seen them. We have all encountered them at a work event, a high school football game, and most often the bars and clubs where we go to have a good time.

Then there they are. As normal girls we resent them, not out of jealousy or malice, but because we want them to shut the hell up.

These girls are fairly easy to spot, and once you see them, you can’t ignore them. They are raging Barbie wannabes of estrogen. They stick out their chest, regardless of their cup size, and they giggle, and whoop and holler as if everything is hysterical and they do this as if it is going to be the last chance they have to laugh again.

They are the girls who get the attention of every potential male in the room. They have no regard for the relationship status of a man, they…

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Mental Health Awareness


May is mental health awareness month, and it has taken me this long in the month to do a post about it for several reasons.

  1. Every year when I hear that it is mental health awareness month, I suddenly become overly aware of my own mental health.  I begin to take stalk of if I am in fact still crazy.  I wonder if I still have anxiety, over and over to the point that I give myself anxiety.  So towards the end of the month I realize that my diagnoses is still true.   I am still the wonderful bearer of and Axis 1 Anxiety Disorder, with Obsessive Compulsive Personality Traits. (that is mainly my circular thoughts that drive me and everyone around me nuts)
  2. This year I have started a new relationship with a boy.  While we have only known each other for one week, officially today.  We have been spending a lot of time together, which I actually enjoy.  He makes me laugh and I am able to relax around him.  Although, when I come home, like tonight, I am suddenly filled with free roaming anxiety, which in turn causes me to question everything about myself and why I like this person.  I am sure there is something deeply wrong with him, because he just seems too good for me.  Don’t misunderstand, this is part of my crazy.  I am hopeful I am wrong, but I never expect to be, which might be a major contributing factor to my eternally single state.
  3. I have been really sick.  I have gastro paresis and this month I have been having a flare up.  Which basically means my stomach refuses to digest food as it should, and I have to go to the doctor for never ending tests, which I can’t finish because I keep throwing up.  I have missed a lot of work, which really sucks, and I am scared to eat at all most days.  This causes a never ending cycle of me being starving, and me getting even more sick because I feel better and then over eat.  However, I think that this flare is coming to an end, just in time to coincide with my monthly round of female hormones which make me angry and anxious for a whole different set of reasons.

However, it is May still, and that means that it is the time of year when we are all supposed to be aware of mental health. I think that should be every day and not just an allotment of 30 some odd days at the end of the school year. We should always care about our friends, family, and strangers who suffer from mental health disorders.

So because it’s May, we should embrace the crazy in public. Have an outburst at work, you’re crazy right, then explain that you are protesting the fact that craziness is not accepted in our society. Well, maybe that’s not the best way to go about things. However, I do encourage you to start conversations with people about the importance of mental health acceptance, and what we can do to change the stigma about those of us who live we these problems every day of our lives, for the rest of our lives.

Also, embrace, and I do mean hug, the crazy. It’s mental health awareness in its kindest and most in your personal space kind of way. Hugs for crazy people, especially the ones who need drugs so they don’t punch you for the hug.

Insomnia and Anxiety create a Mix of Regret


I can’t sleep, though I am tired. I can’t focus on anything, because I’ve got free floating anxiety. I don’t know why I’m writing right now, except that I’m hoping that it will make me feel better when nothing else has today.

It is after midnight so it is mother’s day. I’m not feeling excited about celebrating motherhood. I don’t know why. I think maybe it’s because I don’t get to spend as much time with my son as I feel that I should. I try to do the best I can for him, and right now that means that he goes to school where someone can be home for him when he gets off the bus. I can’t. I have to work, and I don’t make enough for after school child care, and that’s not what I want for him anyway. This however, isn’t what I want either.

I want to see the things he does every day. I want to hear him laugh, watch him grow, and help him with his homework. I want to be the person the school calls when he needs to go home sick, and I want to be the one who tucks him in at night, and teaches him his nightly prayers. I want to read his bedtime story and sing him his song. I want to hold him and cuddle him and show him how much I love him every day.

For the first part of his life I wasn’t capable of feeling these things. It got easier for me to let him be with family that could give him the love he deserved. That’s the problem with post partum depression. You can’t feel what you want to toward your child, and you hate yourself for it. I tried medication, and therapy, but nothing helped. Now I lost the chance to create the bond with him that I should have had.

There is no way to change the past. And while I can try to forgive myself for things which were out of my control, I don’t think I have the right. Not yet. Not until I again have the chance to be a family, be his mother.

I don’t deserve a happy mother’s day, because I haven’t been a happy mother. I’ve hardly been a mother. Others stepped in to fill that role, and I feel that now it is too late. I will never have my baby back, and I will never get to know what it’s like to hold my new born child with awe and wonder at the beauty that he is. I might not deserve it, but I wish I had it.

So now I’m exhausted, sad, anxious, and lost. I feel alone all the time, and I don’t see things getting better in that department. I have let down the one person I should never have let down. I’m not a terrible person, and I hope that I’m not a terrible mother. I’m just not mother of the year.

I want to grow, and watch my son grow. I want to love, and be loved. I don’t want to be alone, but I want my time with myself. I want more time with my son, because he is the world. The most special and spectacular thing I will ever create. No piece of art, music, or writing will ever compare to what my son is.

I’m not sure this is the type of crazy to embrace. So instead I say embrace the love. If you are angry with your mothers, or you children for not being able to be the best versions of themselves, especially if it is due to mental illness, please take today to forgive. Maybe if we all forgive each other, it will become easier to forgive ourselves.

The Significant Insignificance of My Curtian


I used to have red curtains. Well they weren’t red per say, more maroon, but more red than brown. To most people they would just be red, and that’s what I considered them to be, even if red wasn’t exactly their true color. They weren’t the color of blood, or crimson. They didn’t represent a secret that I had hidden from myself, like that I had lost a serious love, was raped, or perhaps dead. They didn’t even do a good job of keeping out light, but that was because they were more lace than anything, not really lacy, but still lace.

They didn’t represent my anger at being a woman, the love of my all powerful vagina, or the pain I had suffered at the hands of my drunken lover. They cast a red glow on my living room, which did not represent that I looked at life through rose tinted glass, or that blood had been spilled, was being spilled, or was going to be spilled. They didn’t show anyone that I was anxious, I can do that just fine without symbolic curtains. They did show my OCD, they matched the couches.

Now I have only one lonely curtain in my apartment, and though I am lonely, my curtain doesn’t represent that. It hangs alone in a room, which is used in much the same way as the room where this curtain first lived. That was 8 years ago, before I had a kid, before I cared if people thought I was crazy, just before. Now the curtain hangs, haphazardly from the window frame, not covering the window at all, it’s more like a cape draped over the shoulder of the window. It doesn’t mean I’m trying to hide something without anyone knowing, that I’m secretly count Dracula, or that I might be a magician. I am pretty sure that it does not mean that I’m cold, like to carry a jacket, or that I’m am sloppy about protecting myself from anything in any form.

I think I bought the curtain, but I honestly don’t remember. It may have been my old roommate who was the purchaser of this curtain. She is the one who hung the thing in its first home. I do know I didn’t hang it in its current home, which doesn’t mean that I let others run my life for me. If anything it means I don’t really give a crap about curtains.

The sheer black fabric with its black velvet circles of varying sizes don’t show that I’m willing to expose only pieces of who I am and even then only to certain people at special times under the right moon phases. The curtain just exists in the same space that I inhabit. I don’t know where it came from, why it remains, or what will become of it.

It doesn’t show that I love things that are black, and dark, and depressing. It doesn’t mean that I am a vampire hunter, a zombie slayer, or werewolf destroyer, my curtain doesn’t say that.

It doesn’t mean I am depressed. Despite the fact that it came into my life just before things got complex and difficult, it doesn’t mean it caused anything good or bad to happen. It is not a plot point, or a theme in the story I am living. It doesn’t mirror my life.

It doesn’t mirror my life….

Crap…

Maybe I should get rid of the curtain.

Embrace the Crazy!

Wow, 45 minutes of Datng Hell


So tonight I went on a date with a guy I met online. After a week of being sick he wanted to take me somewhere for relaxed conversation, but I had no intention of an evening coffee date. We decided on going bowling, which had been the plan we had made on the date I had to back out of. So I picked a bowling alley on my side of the city and we met at 9:30. What I thought to be a decent time for a bowling date.

We met and got our lane and he decided right away that two games was enough. Now if you have gone bowling before, two games with only two people, goes very quickly. In fact the entire date lasted about 30 minutes.

We got our shoes on, and he immediately set himself up to go first. Now I don’t care who goes first, but isn’t the saying ladies first. Shouldn’t you try to make an effort to not look like a chauvinist on a first date? Maybe I’m living in the past, so I went with it. Honestly I don’t care who goes first, but later on I realized that this small thing was a huge sign of this person’s personality.

We started our game, and he was surprised that I used the same size ball he did. Alright, I can give him that, I guess. I am tiny, like not even fully five feet tall, but I’m not weak. I have a kid that I pick up, and he weighs more than 12 lbs, so I think I can handle an 11 lb ball. I have been using one that is 11 lbs since I was in highschool, no big deal. So then he was impatient and had to have two balls, we can’t possibly wait for our first ball to come back, that would take up too much precious time. He actually asked if I wanted him to get me a second ball, which is how he discovered the size ball I was using.

So during the first game he would roll a strike and then walk up to the lane and drop the ball and not try. That annoys me, I can tell if you know how to bowl, or play pool, so don’t play down because I’m a girl. If you give me a good reason to beat you, I will, but if you don’t try, I’m not going to either. That way, we both prove nothing.

During this game he talked about how much he loves being single. Now I might be wrong here, but why ask someone out on a date, if you love being single? I was confused from there on out. He moved the conversation to sports, which the only one we both like is soccer. Then he should me pictures of his friend’s melon hooka, which he thought was hilarious. I just thought it was kinda neat.

Every time he said anything to me, he would lean in really close and breathe heavily on me and his breathe was unpleasant at best. I just kept thinking, that at least I will have something to write about tonight. And the night went on.

During the second game, he won the first, he stopped trying completely. Well until the last frame. Then he decided to try to beat me. We had started a conversation about pool at this time. I am a pool player, and have been for many years, though I have taken the last year off. He told me most girls can’t play pool. And not only that but that they couldn’t play because they had trouble with the stick! That was the end of it all.

So when I beat him in the second game, I very quickly put back on my boots, and returns my bowling shoes to the counter. I said good-bye and left. Now I am posting this because y brain needs to let it go into the universe.