"Yes, you do have a choice; you're just making the right one."

So, the past few days have basically been Hell-in-Em's-head. 


Friday started out shitty; I had to give a presentation on a study I did with one of my professors (Ellie); the last official thing I had to do for school. I know I've already graduated, but I agreed to this presentation when I signed up for the study back in May. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong that morning, did; from realizing that the pages were numbered incorrectly in my report, to the printer not being friendly, to wardrobe crisis, to not finding a parking spot (and thus having to park in a 15 minutes max slot, and pray that I wouldn't get busted by a lot attendant)... add on the fact that I was nervous as all hell. But to my immense surprise, once I got up to the podium and started presenting, it all went smooth. I just kept telling myself... you do NOT want to disappoint Ellie. That thought got me through it, and I did great; I actually amazed myself. I left the college feeling wonderful to finally be 100% finished, and to have rocked my presentation. I was happy, and felt a sense of relief.


Too bad it was so short lived.


Three hours later, I was at home, anticipating the little weekend getaway we had planned (Vuni's band playing out of town again), when the mail arrived: a single, fat envelope from Social Security. I hesitated, knowing very likely that their could be bad news in that envelope... and there was. A big, bold DENIED. My disability claim... denied. And even worse? My therapist never submitted her paperwork. I know she got it; I talked to her about it. So either she dropped the ball, or someone's lying about having not received it... which they could be. The letter also stated that they never received a report from my mom, however, she never got any paper work to fill out in the first place. Bottom line is, I'm for sure going to appeal it.


But in the mean time, this leaves me with more anxiety and desperation than ever. I was hoping, with school finally finished for me, that I could at least enjoy the weekend with Vuni... but fucking no. I get the denial letter in the mail. What the fuck? I spent Friday evening filling out two long ass online job applications (one for a school lunch lady... one for a dishwasher in a hospital cafeteria. Real glamourous; but shit, I'll take those over customer service any day). 


I decided not to tell my parents about the denial right away, because even though I already felt awful about it, I figured waiting and at least trying to semi-enjoy the weekend, with keeping the news to just Vuni and I, would help a little. 


Saturday night was Vuni's band's show. I really, REALLY wanted to drink. Or smoke. The denial letter was eating me away from the inside; I could have used going numb. But I can't be drinking. And as for smoking... well, I'm not worried about becoming addicted to it. I never have; the smell is too freaking nasty for me to tolerate. I smoke every now and then when I'm stressed, but it's never been an issue. I wanted a cigarette on Saturday night, before the show, when we were standing outside and everyone was smoking. HOWEVER- Vuni has been trying to quit. He's actually gone 3 weeks so far without one. Part of my mind (the bitchy part) was telling me, well, Vuni doesn't care about your drinking issues, he always drinks in front of you, so why should you be considerate to him? Because, if he were to smoke since I was doing it... I'd feel responsible. I'd feel like I was the one who threw him off of the wagon, regardless of reality. So no smoking. 


I plan on doing a separate post on our little trip, but I have to throw this in: not only was I wanting to numb by drinking... I was nervous as shit being in a bar, in a different city, not knowing anyone but the people on stage performing... I  felt extremely awkward and anxious. Some drunk asshole just had to come along and start hassling me. Awful. I'll elaborate on that in my trip post, but just know, he ruined the little bit of fun I was trying to have; I ended up "escaping" to the car.

The thought of cuddling with Vuni in the hotel room later was the only thing that kept me sane on Saturday night...


Clearly, this was not my weekend. I'm amazed that I didn't fall apart, or just snap... I honestly thought, when sending out all of my disability paperwork, that if I got a denial letter, I'd lose it. It would be THE END. I'm not sure what I thought I'd do, but I didn't think I'd just be able to...  cope with it.


But the worst was yet to come.


Since we were gone all weekend, Vuni and I decided to go to his parent's house yesterday evening to do some laundry. I always feel slightly awkward going to his parent's house. I don't feel like I am good enough for them, especially these days. They're almost too "perfect," and in very subtle ways, they make it clear that I'm not living up to their idea of perfection. I've ranted about it before. So why I was expecting things to go smoothly last night is beyond me.


Vuni's mom put me on one of the worst fucking guilt trips of my entire life...


Vun had already gone downstairs to watch TV, so I was alone with MIL in the kitchen, still trying to eat dinner and arguing with myself that it was okay to be eating... okay that I was getting seconds of salad and cooked spinach (aren't ED voices just a treat? FML). With feeling ultra imperfect and trying to be comfortable eating, plus the crappy events of the past few days, I was already in a very vulnerable spot. 


She began very slowly, by suggesting different things I should be doing. As in, trying to find a job type things. Suggesting I try this, suggesting I try that. Asking why I don't try to apply to Clear Channel, or one of the TV stations? Well, I've told her why before: most broadcasting companies, whether it's TV or radio, will not even consider you unless you've interned with them, or have years of experience. I know, because I've had classmates go into both. I re-explained this to her, to which she replied, "well, is it to late for you to do an internship?" I told her it most likely was, considering I've already graduated, and if I did by some chance get one, it'd be for little to no pay. "Well, why should that matter? You're not bringing in any money anyways, and you have the time to do it." She should have just slapped me; it would've been less painful.


It matters because I do not want to do either, so why the fuck should I waste my time?


"I know the economy's bad, but with you not having a job, it must just be so stressful for you guys," 


Okay, Captain Obvious, thanks. You know what? I know you guys don't exactly like me (right now at least); I realize I'm not good enough for your precious boy. I know that you want a perfect, preppy, athletic little white girl who just graduated from med school or something for your son. But you know what? For whatever reason, he wants ME. He loves ME. He sees beyond the mess and anxiety, and sees a person, a person that he obviously loves very, very much. Do you not think I feel guilty every single fucking day? Do you think I don't question, constantly, whether I really do deserve your son's love? And do you think that I'm totally unaware of what you guys think of me? I have an anxiety disorder; I'm not fucking stupid. I'm sorry I'm tainting your perfect lives; I'm sorry you don't think I'm good enough for your son. God fucking damn.


I suddenly couldn't finish eating. I dumped the rest of my food out, and tried to decide what to do. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to want to grab a knife from the drawer, lock myself in the bathroom, and start cutting. I wanted to HURT physically. I wanted to freaking peel my skin off; to scratch myself until I bled, couldn't feel any pain but burning. I thought about running away, but to where, I don't know. Going to Walmart and getting a giant bottle of Tylenol PM VERY briefly crossed my mind; I can't imagine my life without Vuni, but yet I hate myself for being such an apparent burden to him (at least that's what I'm getting from his mom). 


No, no, no. I have nowhere to run. If I were to cut myself, I'd merely be left with scars reminding me of how horrible I felt last night. And suicide... it's just never an option. NEVER. It may be tempting when everything feels so hopeless, but I've learned that hopelessness isn't forever; and I don't want to die, I want things to fucking change. So what did I do? I text my mom, asking her for a picture of Penny (my little fur sister). She sent one a few minutes later, and I replied with "Thanks, I needed that, I've just been put on the biggest guilt trip of my life." She asked by who...


So I walked out the back door, with Vuni completely oblivious, and called her. I started walking down the street, and told her what happened. The tears finally fell. I also admitted that my claim had been denied, to which she replied, "Wow. I'm so proud of you... I never would have known, you're handling it so well." I told her how tempted I was to drink, to smoke, to cut... anything for release, but I also said I know that it won't do anything but set me back. I told her I feel like I'm suffocating, because I so badly WANT to temporarily numb myself by some bad behavior, but I'm tortured by the thoughts of how much it'd hurt her, my dad, and Vuni if I did so... which keeps me from doing it. I told her, "It's so hard, to not do these things, to just keep getting bad news, to feel this way... and to stay strong. But I'm at the point where I don't have a choice; I don't have a choice but to be strong."


to which she replied, "Yes, you do have a choice; you're just making the right one."


Up until this point, I didn't think of it that way; I just keep telling myself, if I don't be strong, I'm going to lose it all. While that may be true, it's also true that I am very much making a choice- and it is the right one. Sure, I still fuck up, and OBVIOUSLY have a lot of major issues that I need to work through- and I'm more than likely ALWAYS going to deal with the anxiety... but I'm finally making right choices? And moreso, choices that not only I'm aware of, but someone else is too?


Maybe not everyone feels I'm good enough; maybe not everyone sees progress. But it's good to know that one of the most important people to me sees it; and that it's not all just in my head... it may be small, but I AM making progress. 


...maybe one day I'll be enough.


P.S. I know I sound extremely frustrated towards my (most-likely) in-laws; this does NOT mean that I do not love them, or appreciate anything they've done for me. I also realize I've made some fucked up mistakes in the past, and that they have a right to have been angry with me at those times; but my anxiety disorder isn't one of those things. It's not something I chose, it was something I was born with. Although I can understand being frustrated (because believe me, I'm fucking frustrated with my own disorder), I just wish that they could try to be more understanding/supportive... gah, nothing in life is ever simple, is it?

It's Not About "Will Power;" Anorexia = Irrational Thinking

So today I was lost in the world of internet, looking at different blogs, when I came across this young mother (19 or 20 I believe) of a 1 year old; she complains constantly about her post-baby body... to the point where one of her posts said something along the lines of "I wish I were anorexic so that I had more will-power." O_O


Excuse me?


You wish you were anorexic?


WHAT. THE. FUCK?


That was my initial reaction. I was furious, to say the least. Then... after I cooled down a little bit, I realized it was just more of an ignorant statement. I can't really be angry with her; sure, it wasn't a smart or considerate thing to say, but not everyone knows about/understands anorexia and other eating disorders. What makes it even worse? All of those fucking stupid "thinspiration" blogs. Seriously, "thinspo" blogs and websites have got to be one of my biggest pet peeves. Disgusting. Like why the hell would you encourage someone to be seriously so sick? I have been to the depths of hell in regards to an eating disorder; I would not wish it on anyone.


** And just my speculation... although I think people who run thinspo blogs obviously have some issues, I doubt the majority of them actually have EDs... I believe they have the "I want to lose weight/have an ED," hungry-for-attention, having an ED is "trendy" mindset. I just seriously can't imagine anyone who has truly dealt with this hell trying to encourage others to go through it.


These thinspo blogs talk about how it's about having control, being in control, will power, yadda yadda yadda. Sure. Maybe it's about "control" in a very surface way. You can resist the urge to eat and any cravings; but what is driving this "control?" Even if one has the best, healthy intentions in the beginning, it spirals out of control... the "control" that is spoken of is being driven by irrational fears. 


The "control" is irrational thinking. It's not about having the will power to resist that slice of pizza, it's not about the ability to outright ignore hunger pains. It's a crazy, blown-out-of proportion irrational fear of losing control of a variety of things- eating, gaining weight, not being able to maintain a specific weight, ect. The fear becomes so, so intense that eventually, the battle turns; you're too afraid to eat, so afraid... even when you know that it's killing you, the fear is so overwhelming, you just can't bring yourself to eat.


It's been compared to addiction for a reason. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know the excessive drinking/drug use (or even over-eating) is killing you. You feel like shit.  It's ruining your life. But you cannot stop. You tell yourself "today's the last day I ____ (drink/use/eat excessively)" only to find yourself saying the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next...


It's the same with anorexia/bulimia/eating disorder thoughts... only worse.


I can honestly say it's worse, because I've experience it. My anxiety has shrouded itself in several ways throughout my life; until age 14, I was an over-eater. Since then, the anxiety has manifested itself in anorexia, bulimia, and alcoholism. What has been the worst? What am I still dealing with? The eating disorder. 


** I am not trying to minimize anyone's problems... issues are issues, no matter what they are. I'm saying for me personally, and based on what my therapist told me (that insurance companies are reluctant to cover ED patient due to low recovery/high relapse rates) EDs seem to be the most difficult to recover from.


I know how difficult it is to be overweight. I was there; by age 13, I had officially crossed the line from "overweight" to "obese." I distinctly remember that Dr. appointment; Dr. went off on my mom, telling her that I desperately needed to lose weight, or I was going to start having some serious health problems. Hahaha... health problems? What about my emotional health? Because this is when the ED voice really started. I'd had these negative voices in my head for years, but after this appointment, they exploded. I'd stand in front of the mirror for hours, agonizing, wishing desperately that I could see bones... I remember "sucking in" my stomach, and I still could not see a single rib bone. I didn't really have a neck. I had a few specific brands of jeans that I would get, because they were the only ones that made a size large enough for me. And yet... I wasn't really doing anything about all of this (besides crying in front of the mirror). 


I remember wishing I had my mom's willpower; she ate healthy, exercised 4-5 times a week, and had a cute little figure as a result of this. So I had a good role model. I had every reason to start making changes. But I couldn't. Food was just too tempting. I would watch in awe as my mom would stop eating at 2 slices of pizza... while I was downing my 5th. I couldn't understand how my best friend could get the salad bar and a water, while I devoured a huge basket of fries, a sandwich, and a sugar-loaded bottle of juice. I desperately wanted to eat healthy... but I felt, just like I would 10-11 years later with alcohol, that I could not say "no."


Obviously, things changed.


Recently, after a family member inconsiderately and ignorantly commented on my weight and how I really need to start gaining, I told my mom, "You know what's weird? The prospect of gaining weight... the idea of eating enough to do so... it's scarier and would take so much more power than the idea of dieting and exercising to lose weight. As hard as that was, this is even more difficult."


She thought I was full of shit; she thinks it should be SO easy, that I can and should eat whatever the hell I want. That's okay; I can understand where she's coming from. But it doesn't change things for me. Comparing, side-by-side, what is harder for me... the willpower it took to start losing weight (which, I did in a healthy way, at first) or the power it takes to start eating and gaining weight, eating and gaining is hands down the harder of the two. 


When I was overweight, I knew I was overweight, and I needed to change. I had a healthy goal weight; I had something to change for. But now that I'm "underweight"... for starters, I don't desperately want to be at healthy weight, like I wanted to when I was overweight. I don't want to be at a healthy weight at all. So there's not a goal I desperately want to get to; instead, it's something that I already have, but want to cling onto. For another, my mind is constantly confused and playing tricks on me. The numbers/sizes and doctors say that I am "underweight," and even my rational side tells me this... but the irrational thoughts and the mirror continue to scream FAT ASS! at me repeatedly.


So I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm sick of the misconception that eating disorders (specifically anorexia/bulimia) are about "will power," and that it is something to desire, or that it's cool/trendy to have an eating disorder. If you want health problems galore, your relationships to go down the toilet, your social life ruined, little to no chance of succeeding in school/a career, the things you once loved (hobbies) to be distant memories, hours of agonizing in front of a mirror/the scale/at the gym/in the kitchen/bathroom/on the internet even, and a crazy, cruel, irrational voice constantly screaming at you and confusing you as to what is "best" for you, just so you can have the "will power" to lose the little bit of baby fat you gained... just, wow. Think before you speak/write, because eating disorders are not cool, trendy, a joke... and they're for sure not about having will power. 


If that were the case, everyone suffering from one would have the "will power" to recover; anorexia is compromised of irrational thinking. The "will power" is nothing but a memory.

The Good Girl F*cked Up Biggest

Yesterday was my graduation party :) It got off to a rough start, thanks to my mom stressing out big time (although grateful, I told her not to overdo it!). Anyhoo, it ended up being pretty darn awesome :) 


But as the party started to wind down, Vuni, my brother, Mick, and myself stood around munching the last remnants from the veggie tray and reminiscing about our teenage years, when I learned something that totally shook me up: my brother and his friends had done cocaine when they were younger.


This was over 5 (maybe even 6?) years ago; Mick has been clean & sober for years, and at almost 22, is a pretty damn successful merchandiser and journalism student. I'm so proud :)


I'm not at all mad at him for this discovery; it was so long ago, and he's left that life far behind, why should I be angry? I remember the time-frame when he was using drugs... it was really hard on my parents and I, but just assumed he was drinking and smoking weed. How naive am I?


The way this was reveled to me was even weirder; Vuni had recently told me about going to a party at Mick's friend Madi's house when he was younger (Mick, Vuni, and Madi all went to the same high school, Vuni a senior when they were freshmen). Vuni was only 17; Madi was 14, and she and her friends were doing cocaine at the party. While we were standing around yesterday, I told Vuni to tell Mick about this memory, since I was a little stunned to hear that Madi had done cocaine. Not only was my brother totally unfazed, but he revealed that he, himself, had at one time used it. I was utterly shocked.


"Did you know about this?!" I asked Vuni.


"Not exactly, but it doesn't surprise me,"


"So wait- out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who has never done cocaine? I'm the only who's never done anything worse than smoke weed?!"


**Note- Vuni tried cocaine once roughly 10 years ago; that one experience was enough to scare him away.


"Yup."


"But.. what... how is that?"


"Because you are a good girl," Mick said.


"But it doesn't make any sense. I have always been the 'good girl'; I've never done anything worse than smoke weed, so why I am the one who fucked up worse than both of you put together?"


A day later, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. Neither of them became addicted, over-dosed, or ended up in jail.  Currently, they're both successful, hard-working, rational adults. I, on the other hand, graduated 9th in my class, did not touch a hint of alcohol/smokes/drugs until a month before my 19th birthday, and was an all around goody two-shoes. I didn't go out. I didn't cause trouble. I didn't talk back or mouth off; I was sweet, quiet, self-motivated and respectful... essentially, I was a "perfect" teenage daughter, as my brother called me.


Flash forward 7 years, and I'm a big hot mess, minus the "hot." True, I've never ended up in jail. But I've overdosed and landed in the ICU twice. I became an addict, and probably came pretty damn close to losing my life. Seriously. It's been almost a year, and I still feel sick to my stomach think about all of the "what-ifs?"... someone once told me that they think I have a guardian angel or something. I must. Something. 


But regardless... my point is, they're successful. They're flourishing. I'm not. I often feel like one big fat fuck up. Jobless. Terrified of the world. Directionless. Attention span less than a 7-year-old who drank a can of caffeinated soda rather than take his ADHD pill. Always anxious...


Where did this good girl go wrong?


The anxiety.


It all goes back to the anxiety.  The overdose, the eating issues, the drinking, the panic attacks on-the-job, the agoraphobia becoming ever-worse... all of these things have kept me from being successful. All of these things are a result of my anxiety disorder. 


Because you know what? I am a good girl. I'm not perfect. I have moments when I can be lazy, bitchy, ungrateful... but by the end of the day, I've always been a good girl with heart-of-gold intentions. Anxiety really fucks things- and the sad thing is, it's so much harder to detect than you'd think.  It's always been "Em is just extremely shy, but sooo good," or "Em starves herself because she's in need of control," "Em overdosed because she didn't know how to deal with having her heart broken," "Em drinks to loosen herself up/help her sleep..."


NO. Em does all that shit because of her anxiety- to cope, escape, act on urges... whatever, it all goes back to the anxiety. 


So maybe I still have a LOT of work to do in regards to the anxiety- but you know what? I'm proud that I can identify all of this. I'm proud that I can separate myself from my anxiety, even with the irrational thoughts bombarding me- that I really do know that I am a "good girl." A year ago, I would have just thought of myself as one big fuck-up, no questions asked; I would see myself as a "bad" person, and therefor "punish" myself in some way or another. I'm not exactly proud of where I'm at in life... but! I have been sober for almost 10 months, I've just graduated from college... and I've been turning my life around. I've never given up, like I have so badly wanted to. 


So maybe I have fucked up; but I'm a good girl, and I'm doing what I can to fix it.

Catharsis: "Un-Friending" for My Sanity

Once upon a time, in land far far away in cyberspace called Facebook, I was adamant to send and receive as many friend requests as possible, change my status multiple times a day, and upload new pictures of myself frequently. Not anymore.


Why?


I absolutely despise what I believe Facebook has become: a place to be nosy as all hell. A place where you can pretend to care about someone because you're their "friend," but really, all you want is to dig up dirt on that person... you don't give a damn about them for real.


I've been guilty of doing that- I'm sure we all have- but it's been a long time.


At first, I was naive and thought it was a good thing, the way Facebook reconnects people and allows you to keep in touch with them. And yeah, it is a good thing- when it works out. For example- I have a friend whom I never really lost touch with, but we've grown apart. We've been friends since we were 8 years old, because our moms are extremely close. He and I are not close friends now, but I love him like a cousin, and I'm pretty sure he'll always be a part of my life... so he is my Facebook friend. We can check up on each other, because even though we're not super close, we genuinely care about each other, you know? 


But then, there's people from high school who have added me. High school might as well have been called "Hell School"; my agoraphobia and anxiety, plus the stupid stereotypes of popularity contests and such made my high school experience a miserable one. I actually liked the learning and studying part; it was the social aspect that made it awful. By my senior year, I was hiding out in the library during lunch and only had two friends that I regularly talked to. 


So at first, I thought it was kind of neat that people from high school would add me... and then I realized, they don't give a damn about me any more than they did in high school. They didn't want to "reconnect;" they wanted to stick their noses in my business and know if I'd gone the route of success, or was screwing up. I'm not saying I'm innocent as far as being mildly interested in what people are doing now... but I don't send them friend requests just so I can nose around their lives. Pathetic.


What breaks my heart is that I was close to a teacher in high school, Anna. When I graduated, she told me we couldn't stay in touch, at least initially, because of the weird conflict of interest thing. I thought that was a load of crap, but whatever. Earlier this year, nearly 7 years after I graduated HS, to my surprise, she sent me a friend request. I happily accepted. I sent her a message telling her how I was and asking her how she was, only to get a very vague response. Okkkay... so I sent her reply saying we should go get coffee and catch up. She agreed, but didn't give me a time as to when she was available, so I replied with "let me know when you have time." No response. I have heart surgery in June, and Vuni posted via my account to let everyone know that I'd come out from surgery ok. I get a message from Anna several days later, asking a bunch of questions about the surgery. WTF? I give a few vague answers, and once again, tell her that although I'm recovering and can't drive for awhile, my mom could pick me up and I could meet her for coffee to catch up. A week goes by. No response. Furious and hurt, I de-friended her. I couldn't believe it. This situation was absolute proof to me that she did not give a shit about me, but that all she wanted was to butt into my business. I was seriously so hurt.

Another thing that really, really bothers me is when I have been responsive to friends (commenting on their status or pictures) and they never extend the same courtesy. I realize (unlike MANY people) that FB is not a popularity contest, but when I interact with someone, I expect them to interact back with me at least every now and then. A perfect example is a kid named Rick that I went to school with. I loved the kid, thought he was funny and enjoyed commenting on his goofy statuses on FB... but I don't know that he EVER said anything to me on there. Finally, I decided I was sick of this one-sided "friendship" and since I was nearing my graduation and figured I wouldn't be seeing too much of him anymore, I unfriended him as well.


And then, there's friends like Jackie. Jackie was a lot like Rick; I felt as thought the friendship was pretty one sided, especially because Jackie lives half-way across the country, so our "friendship" was pretty much all in cyberspace. 


What bothered me about Jackie is... she's WAY too personal. Now, you're may be thinking, Em what the hell? You're spilling all of these crazy thoughts of yours and insane situations you've been in, and you're criticizing someone for being TOO personal? Yes, but let me explain.


My blog is my blog, and it is specifically to share my experiences and thoughts as I try to navigate through life, dealing with both a severe anxiety disorder and potentially life-endangering heart conditions (what a combination...). It's here for people to read, if they want to. If they search for my blog, and decide they want to read it.


That is precisely why I had to delete Jackie; seeing as that things were already rough, with her not contributing much to our "friendship," I just got sick and tired of reading and seeing everything she was posting. She's a health snob- to the max. And while not excessively wealthy, she sure as hell acted like she was made of gold. So part of this is my own jealousy, and I can admit that. But it's a little hard to log onto FB and see her specifically bashing people who drink coffee from 7-11, just because she can afford a $4 cup of "real" Chai tea from Peets every day. It hurts just a little bit when she specifically talks shit about processed foods, just because she can afford to shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes (while I shrink into the corner with my 18 cent cup of ramen...). And it makes me cringe in sadness and shame when she says that the only place she will buy her jeans at is Nordstroms. I bought a pair of jeans for the first time in months last week. Wanna know where I got them? From the thrift store. What set me over the edge is when she bashed aerobics videos... what the actual fuck? Good for you, that you're a stay at home mom, and can not only afford a membership to the poshest (her word, not mine) fitness club in your city, but that you have all the time in the world to go there and work out whenever, since they also have a super-amazing daycare. My mom, who works full time as 2nd grade teacher, and is involved with extracurricular stuff with the school, maintains quite a nice little body for being almost 50 years old and having a number of health problems... by getting up at 4:15 every morning and working out to various aerobics videos.


I'm not bashing Jackie for having certain opinions about things; what bothers me is that she is constantly sharing these opinions that are, quite frankly, offensive. They are to me (and I know I'm not the only one, as I have seen some people call her out on things here and there). It's not that I don't think people should share their opinions, but I think people need to think before they share their opinions because, let's face it, no matter what your privacy settings are, Facebook has become a pretty public "place." I actually had to delete one of my own cousins (this was several years ago) because she was shamelessly (and without thinking) posting stuff on political/social issues that I found EXTREMELY offensive. Even moreso, I was appalled that she'd just openly post this stuff on FB when she knows that a lot of our family doesn't share similar beliefs; to me, it was worse than if she were to stand on a crowded street corner with a sign and a megaphone.


So you see, I am not clogging up the NewsFeed of everyone who is on my Friends list with why my life is so much better than yours because I can afford everything to be all natural and top-notch (ha) or proclaiming that you are going to go to hell if you're sinning in ways a-b-c/x-y-z. 


And then... these friends are the kinds that not everyone has: the triggering ones. People with eating disorders, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you who don't, "triggering" is pretty much as it sounds, someone who, through words or actions (and sadly, appearance) makes the ED voices go off like crazy. Makes you feel fat, want to lose weight, want to not eat, yadda yadda. I haven't had too many of these friends, but thought I'd bring it up, especially because I just de-friended one. 


I was very torn about having to unfriend Stevie. I've known her for almost 5 years; we were in treatment together. She is a very sweet girl and a good person, but I've been driven to the edge. Again, part of it may be jealous or envy, but it blows my mind that she has been to some of the top treatment facilities in the country... and she makes no effort to get better. None. She constantly gushes about how she has the "best family in the world!," whom also happen to be very wealthy. She graduated from high school 3 years ago, but has only made it through 1.5 semesters of college. She has never had a job. So... I don't get it. Loving family, no financial worries, no job (so no job stress), and no school stress since her family is obviously (and rightly so) more concerned about her getting healthy before she continues her education. I obviously don't know the whole situation, but I know that I can't be the only one who would love to be in her position. How many people would love to be able to afford the best treatment? Would love to not have to worry about your job, or finances, and could just go and stay in treatment as long as it takes? Stevie spent almost 7 months at her most recent treatment center; a few months after her discharge, she looked as sickly and frail as she did pre-treatment facility. She's been to 5 different treatment facilities with multiple stints in 2 of them since I've known her.


It makes me so angry that Stevie has all of these great opportunities that so many people with eating/mental disorders could only dream of having, and she doesn't even make an effort. Doesn't give a damn, doesn't try. Well, I'm sick of it. It's frustrating as all hell, it's triggering to me, and I don't want to watch her kill herself; especially not when she has all of the money, tools, and support to get through this. So I de-friended her.


I don't know if all of this is a result of the agoraphobia/anxiety having worsening immensely over the past 1-1.5 years, or just the fact that it's the truth (ie, some "normal" people feel the same way). I've become very "quiet" on my FB, and don't post as much pictures as I use to, but regardlessly, I don't want looky-lous who don't give a damn about me nosing around my stuff. I'm sick of one-sided "friendships." I'm sick of FB being a world of too-much-info, where people blurt out random things without thinking about what they're saying and how it might affect their friends. And I for sure have no room for people in my life who are just going to trigger my ED thoughts. Seriously, Facebook seems like a big, online high school, full of drama, immaturity, and acting before thinking.


So why don't I just delete my account? Because... there are some people, specifically long distance, who I want to be FB friends with. I actually did voice my desire to possibly delete my account to one of these friends, but she convinced me otherwise.


I went on a massive deletion spree the other day; and I can say, with a MUCH shorter friend list... I'm feeling a hell of a lot better. Some people I didn't think twice about deleting. Others, like Jackie and Stevie, were much more painful. I actually questioned myself after the matter: did I do the right thing? In my heart, I know I did. Neither girl is a bad person by any means, but they're not good for me. When I get more frustration and anger out of a "friendship" than I do joy and there's no indication that things will improve... that's a sign it's time to go.

For anyone who uses Facebook for networking, I understand that :) For anyone who is the polar opposite of me (ie, not all uptight and paranoid) and doesn't mind casual FB friends, I give you kuddos. But that's not me. I have a hard enough time with people in real life; hiding behind my computer, I don't need crap in my online life. My FB friends don't need to be people I see often or am even very close to... but they have to be people I care about, and whom I know care about me too.

Spiral of Doom

What does it feel like to not worry constantly? To not feel an impending sense of doom, even during fleeting moments of happiness? What does it feel like to... feel relaxed? Anyone watch It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia? The first episode when Danny DeVito's character, Frank, joins- the gang is in the hospital, arguing, when Frank yells "SHUUUTTT UUUPPP! Don't yous ever quit arguing, and just shut the hell up?!" I want to scream that to my anxiety. It. Never. Shuts. UP.

And one of the hardest parts?


No one understands.


No one, except for other agoraphobics or people dealing with some form of a severe anxiety disorder. Okay, so that's not "no one", but I don't know of anyone personally (though I am starting to meet some amazing fellow sufferers via my tumblr).


Back to my point- no one in my immediate surroundings understands. My parents and Vuni are trying their best to; I can only imagine how foreign and difficult it is for them to try to imagine the irrational world that my mind is... maybe almost as hard as it is for me to imagine what it's like to not deal with the anxiety. I just don't know; how could I? Though there have been periods of my life where it definitely was less severe, I really don't know what it's like to not have anxiety. I just don't.


But what freaking sucks about no one understanding is it really causes a lot of problems... for instance, in relation to people not understanding why I'm waiting to be approved for disability/haven't been able to get a job. I feel like a broken record saying this, even here on my blog, but I feel I have to say it to validate myself: ever since leaving my last job, the only brief period (about 6 weeks) that I have not been actively looking for a job is right before and after my surgery back in June... which that should be a given as to why. I comb Craigslist, the local news paper, community websites, certain websites like the local school districts and hospitals frequently. I fill out applications and send in resumes and if needed write cover letters... to available positions that I think I can handle.


But I'm agoraphobic.


I'm terrified of people. I hate confrontation, arguing, and debate. My skin is tissue paper thin. I can't handle people being rude or inconsiderate, and I especially cannot handle them being rude to me for no reason or fault of my own. I'm terrified of people.


I absolutely, positively, 110% KNOW that I cannot work in customer service, retail, ect. Seeing as that until just a few weeks ago, I was a college student (now grad- hell to the yes!) most of my options of a job were customer service and retail: restaurants, the mall, grocery stores, call centers, ect.


But I just can't do it. The majority of my past jobs- 9 in all (yeah, 9 in 4.5 years), have been customer service or retail. Each experience has gotten progressively worse. Pessimist or just plain agoraphobe, it's not the routine or good experiences I remember from each... it's the bad ones. I remember the very first time I ever got cussed out by a customer at my very first job, at Cold Stone Creamery back in 2005. In that one instance, all my fears of getting a job came true: that the world was a scary place, that people could be and would be cruel for no reason, and that there was nothing I could do to defend myself.


Flash forward to my most recent job; I'm coming up to my one year anniversary of leaving there. Joann's, the craft store. My boss was a very kind, understanding man. He knew that I was a hard worker; because of this, he tried to accommodate me. He tried his hardest to not schedule me to work the cut table or cash registers, so that I was mostly store recovery, merchandising, receiving, ect. It didn't matter. I still had to deal with customers. Frequently. I began having panic attacks so severe, I was sent home on more than one occasion. I was using alcohol to deal with my anxiety, and it was becoming out of control. Finally, I had the option of quitting or being fired.


That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I knew I couldn't do something working closely with the public again.


The thought terrifies me so much... I wish I could better put this into words without sounding so dramatic, but I'd rather be dead than having to work so closely to people. I'm not lying... it seriously SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME. I'm pretty confident that if I were forced into/had absolutely NO choice but to... I'd probably be having suicidal thoughts. Because even thinking about it... makes me feel like I am suffocating... drowning... I can't fathom it.


Seeing these thoughts (as well as I can explain them) makes me see a little more clearly just how irrational they are... but it doesn't make them any less severe.


I had been contemplating looking into disability for awhile, but felt guilty; I'm smart, hard-working, and intuitive. It's not that I'm totally incapable. However- I am also physically limited, due to my heart condition. Taking in consideration the severity of my anxiety, with the combination of my most recent heart surgery and its complications, my GP suggested I apply for disability. So I have; but it involves a lot of waiting, and I have not stopped job hunting.


Recently, my mother-in-law (well, almost... that's practically what she is) has been texting me and making a lot of suggestions of different places that she sees that are hiring. I truly appreciate that she is being sweet enough to let me know, and I feel like an ungrateful bitch saying this... but in other ways, her suggestions frustrate the hell out of me.


She knows that I'm in the disability approval process. She knows why. But it doesn't stop her from suggesting I apply to places/positions that make my heart race just thinking about them. This sends my mind into a frenzy of thoughts... and I just don't know what's true and what makes sense. Does she not take my anxiety disorder seriously? Or does she just not understand the severity of it? Does she just think I'm lazy?


Trust me, I feel guilty as shit. If you asked her over 5 years ago (pre-Em days) about the kind of person she imagined her son falling in love with, she probably would not have said an anxious, irrational loser... which is probably what I look like to her. Fucking awful feeling. I would love to make her, and Vun's father, proud, to prove that I am worthy of their precious, talented boy... but I feel like all I keep doing is making myself look worse and worse. Like I will never be good enough for their son.


So my anxiety about finances and job hunting flow right into me feeling like I'm not good enough to be with the person I love more than anything else in the world. I'm in no way trying to blame my in-laws, but again, it does not ease the guilt I feel for not being the amazing person their son deserves. I know I shouldn't worry, because obviously, Vuni wants to be with me. He's told me this numerous times; and the fact that, if he really didn't want me, he'd leave. He loves me. I can't always figure out why... I find it extraordinary that Vuni can see the person past the anxiety, because to be honest, even I have trouble with the fact that I am not my anxiety... that I am a person, not a disorder. And that's what makes Vuni so much more awesome, what makes me love him that much more... he loves the person that I am. But I'm absolutely terrified at the thought that I just might not get the life that I dream of having with him... because what if he stops seeing the person and only sees the anxiety?


Moving on... let me talk finances. I've bitched about this before. But let me explain how this also contributes to my anxiety, aside from the fact that financial situations are shitty all the way around. Lack of money means I don't have money for therapy. I have a wonderful therapist; I've been seeing her off and on for over seven years. I haven't seen her too much recently, because I figure, if I can't afford to see her regularly, what's the point? If I absolutely need to talk to her, I call her up, and go in for an appointment... but I usually only do that if I feel like it's an emergency. She's always there for me, regardless of how much time has gone by since the last time I've talked to her. I guess that's the good thing.


Not only do finances limit me therapy wise, but... there are things that I would love to attempt to pursue, that I just don't have the money to. For example, photography is one of those things. I have some training; I was a photo/videographer for the campus online & print newspaper, and I've taken editing and design classes. So I've dipped my toes into this... but what I'd like to get into is nature photography. I'd need a halfway decent camera and more training, however. 


See why I feel like I'm caught in this spiral of doom? I don't have a job, so I can't afford therapy. I can't afford to pursue something that I just might be able to get good at and actually make a career out of, or at least earn a little bit of income. I can't imagine facing the world... so I need therapy. Without contributing, or at least having some talent to show for, I feel like a big, fat, worthless loser... oh wait, I didn't talk about that part? I talked about the loser part, but what I didn't talk about is how all of the anxiety and guilt relates directly to my body image. Not even joking; anyone who's had/has an eating disorder knows what I mean. Guilt, anxiety, any negative emotions make you feel fat. It's irrational as ALL hell. I'm trying to ignore the ED voices, and have been doing a better job at it than I have in the past... but they're still there. Telling me that I'm a fat, worthless loser. Ballooning me to a flabby, doughy fat ass when I look in the mirror... even though the way my clothes fit (and the size of them) tell a completely different story. Talk about confusing... when numbers (and people making comments) tell you that you're itty-bitty tiny, but seeing yourself as overweight? Crazy. And not fun.


So that's the spiral of doom. I'm probably leaving things out, but there's the gist of it. I feel like I'm stuck, stuck in a damn toilet bowl of anxiety and irrational thinking... and I don't know how (or when) I'm going to get out.

What I do know is that I'm not going to stop swimming against the current, and trying to find a way out...

Celebrating An Outstanding Man :)

Today was a bittersweet day that *should* have been just sweet. Today is my dad's birthday... last year of his 40s ;)


My dad was only 23 years old when I was born, and had been married for over 2 years. I'm trying to fathom that. I know that there are plenty of people that age and younger, getting married and having kids, but it's different when you're thinking about your parents I guess. It's hard to imagine my dad, younger than I am now, celebrating his 24th birthday with 2 month old me; I'd have a 16 month old right now, had I had a child at his age when I was born! Incredible!


I admire my dad so much... for both the person and father that he is. I couldn't imagine a better dad; he isn't perfect, of course, BUT- what's important is, he's loved myself, my brother, and my mom unconditionally, and that's a "perfect" father to me. He's sacrificed so much for us. He's put up with SO MUCH bullshit... and never given up on any of us. He never asks for much... a good part of why today was bittersweet. I couldn't afford to buy him a birthday present :( Vuni ordered him something, and I am grateful we will be able to give him a small present here in a few days, but...


...it makes me so sad that I couldn't spoil him and shower him in gifts, like I should have been able to. It reminds me even moreso of where I am in life. I feel broken. Unsuccessful. A major fuck-up. And it breaks me... because I'm one of the things that makes my dad happiest. I can't help but worry that I'm making him sad, however, because of how screwed up I am. He knows how hard I'm trying; and he's told me more than once that I'm one of the strongest people he's ever known, but what do I have to show for it? I still depend on him and my mom in so many ways: financially, emotionally, medically... and I shouldn't. I want to make him proud so badly, but more than just proud, I want him to be reassured. Reassured that I can and WILL make it. 


I suppose this is one of those things that is giving me strength right now. I keep telling Vuni, "one of these days, I'm going to crack; I can't take more bad news, I can't take more shit going wrong, if something doesn't change, I'm going to fucking snap and do something stupid."


But I haven't yet. Somehow, every single time I have a panic attack, every time I melt down and become hysterical, and get tempted to do something like punch the wall or self-harm, at the last minute, I stop and rationalize. It takes everything I have... and my dad is one of those things. He, my mom, Vuni, my brother, the pets... I think of them. How desperately I want to be strong for them; how much more I'd hate myself if I keep hurting them. THAT is what keeps me grounded... that's what gives me the power to keep going, even when I'm exhausted from fighting and want to give up. 


I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I will probably never be normal. I never have been, and I do not know what it's like to live without anxiety, so there will always be somewhat of a battle for me... but my dad deserves a little fighter, not someone who's going to give up or run away. He has never given up; that means that I have no excuse to. So I won't.


Even though he doesn't ask for much... I hope a fighting me is enough. I'm trying, Daddy... I promise.


Despite all of these thoughts swirling around my frazzled mind, and wishing things were different, I was happy to enjoy a lovely evening of good home made food, Penny cuddling, and poker with my 3 favorite people.

Dad & His Littlest, Miss Penny

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you <3

P.S.- Despite the lack of gift, I did happen to make and decorate this totally awesome carrot cake! :-)

Prisoner To Yourself...

For awhile now, I've been trying to pinpoint a certain time that I could say I became agoraphobic, but I haven't been able to.

The fact of the matter is, I've always been agoraphobic; it has affected me my whole life, sometimes being more severe, other times allowing me to be slightly more social and have more of a "normal" life. But it seems that, even at the best of times, I would find myself waging an internal battle: These people are good people; they're your "friends." They want to hang out with you; if you give them a chance, if you go have a good time with them, you'll start learning to trust them... No, no, you need to stay home, where it's safe. They don't really like you; they'll get to know you then stab you in the back. Getting closer to them isn't even worth trying.

It seems that when I first graduated from high school, I was bolder, and more willing to trust people. I was glad to leave the world of high school behind; to me, it was an experience worth forgetting as soon as possible. I felt invisible, trapped in a sea full of immature assholes who thought popularity meant royalty. Yeah right, jackasses; like something as being voted "Prettiest Eyes" or "Cutest Couple" is going to matter in the real world.

Turns out, I was the one who wasn't prepared for the real world.

It's funny, as a teenager I had desperately hoped that once I entered the "adult world," I'd discover that people are mature and respectable; I thought they'd be moral and ethical, honest, and generally try to do the right thing. I thought high school drama would be a thing of the past.

The older I get, the more disappointed I become; the more experiences I have, the more I want to hide in my house, safe and far away from the rest of the human race. The hard part is, this means I trust almost no one... which, while it's never made life easy, it's making life really difficult and frustrating right now.

I heavily rely on my parents and Vuni; they're the only people I call and text on a daily and regular basis. They're my three best friends, and it scares me because I really do not know what I'd do without them. As you can probably imagine, this poses a big problem when they're not available or accessible. Here's examples of, just in the past 24 hours, how that works:

Last night, Vuni had another gig at the fair, so I was home alone. I was having a pleasant enough evening... until I discovered cat pee, yet again. EmmaBear has been good all week about going in her box, so I was pretty distraught. I looked at the clock, wanting to call my mom and cry, but it was already around 10:30, so I knew she'd be asleep... and since I'd called her at work earlier that week, and my dad had scolded me for it not being an emergency (Yes it's a fucking emergency! I was about to punch a hole in the wall!) UGH. And I couldn't call Vuni, because even if he did check his phone in between songs, it wasn't like he could tell his band members and the crowd, "Sorry, gotta take ten, my girlfriend is on the phone having a nervous meltdown.

So here I was, in a "dangerous place," with no one to rescue me; no one to guide me out. It's times like these that controlling urges is the hardest. In the very early stages of my recovery from alcoholism, I never imagined that I would eventually get to a place where I didn't think about alcohol on a regular and daily basis... but I did. In general, I don't think about it, nor do I crave it. Last night, however, I wanted it. I wanted to feel my body heat up as the alcohol coursed through my veins, burning away the pain and erasing the anxiety.


I was also craving an Icee like nobody's business.


After clean up duty and locking EmmaBear in "timeout", I figured I'd go get my Icee then maybe try to find something interesting on Netflix. I hopped in my car, and started to drive to the convenience store down the street. On my way, I passed a liquor store... and thought about how wonderful it would be to stop in, buy a small bottle of vodka, and pour it into my Icee. Just a small one; just for tonight. Vuni wouldn't be home for another 1.5 to 2 hours; I'd be long passed out by then. The thoughts were so strong, I actually slowed down while passing the liquor store...


But no. I have worked so hard to stay sober. I've been sober for 9.5 months; I can't throw away almost a year of sobriety for one night of numbness. 


Plus... why would i want to ruin a perfectly good green apple Icee with something that tastes like poison? ;)

Obviously not green apple ;) This is a cherry one from a few nights ago.

I returned home, watched some Blue Planet (which I've lost count how many times I've seen at this point), spun my legs for a bit as I sipped my Icee, then retired to the couch and waited for Vuni to come home.


It scares me how close I came to slipping; it makes me angry that it takes so much work, so much internal battling, to keep myself from resorting to a negative coping method. It also sucks that everything seems likes an internal battle to me; if I want more friends, if I want to be closer to people, why the hell can I not just let go and make it happen? Instead of torturing myself, instead of coming close to slipping, why couldn't I have called someone up and vented, or begged them to ramble about something just to take my mind off of things?


Because as much as I hate to admit this, it's kind of stating the obvious anyway... my extreme dependency puts a lot of pressure on my parents and Vuni; this morning proved so. I desperately wanted to vent to my mom about what happened, but when I tried to call her, she didn't answer her phone. It took over an hour before she finally answered (no, I was not calling the whole time, just every now and then). By this time, I was grumpy. Angry about the previous night's events, angry that my mom was not around when I needed her. Yet when I got off the phone with her, I was sad. I can't stand to be mad at her, my dad, or Vuni; I can't stand when they're angry with me. Because then who do I turn to?


Agoraphobia and anxiety really do suck :( Not only do they keep you a prisoner in your own home... they keep you a prisoner to yourself. 

A Bittersweet End... WOOHOO!

HOLY SHIZ.


It's OFFICIAL. IT'S REAL.


On September 3, 2011, Miss Em Jay G. (ME!) received official conformation that she is a college graduate!


WOW.


I keep staring at this sheet of paper, thinking... 7 years of blood, sweat, tears and lots of $$$ went into this little piece of parchment. I did it. I graduated from college. I know it may not seem like that big of a deal; I know a lot of people graduate with a B.S. and higher every year, but I am damn proud of myself. 


Many, many times, I didn't think I'd ever get to see my diploma; it often seemed impossible. In the darkest of moments, I thought I'd probably end up dead before I would ever see it; a good majority of the time, I thought the anxiety would just be too much, and I'd give up and drop out of school. I was tempted to every. single. semester. But I didn't give up.


It's a very bittersweet feeling to be finished. Part of it still feels very unreal, though the fact that I am finished has sunk in now that I have proof. A part of me, in the back of my mind, is still a little sad, BUT- seeing my diploma, I feel so happy and so PROUD of myself, that I just want to be giddy and enjoy the moment... even if the future is uncertain.


Damn I'm feeling empowered; I'm dead serious when I say I thought earning this degree was impossible... yet I still trudged through. All I gotta say, people, is if you want something bad enough- NEVER GIVE UP.