Suicide: From an Attemptee's Perspective, and Why It's Never Worth It

How true this meme is...


Let me start by clarifying, I'm NOT suicidal... but sadly, I've been there before.


It's the absolute worst place to be. I've never felt so hopeless, so consumed by overwhelming thoughts and pain.


It wasn't that I wanted to die. It wasn't that I wanted to hurt anyone who loved me. Quite the opposite.


I just didn't see a light at the end of the tunnel; I didn't see anything but endless pain. I didn't think my life would ever be happy and whole.


It's been over 5.5 years now, and thinking about the suicide attempt still makes me feel completely sick, in more ways than one. It's awful to think I actually did it; it's equally awful remembering what I was going through at the time.


Here's what happened in a nutshell:


It was Spring of 2006. I was living alone, a 2.5 hour drive away from home. I was 19 years old, going to school full time, and working almost full time, at a job I absolutely hated. I had one person who was a true friend... and another. An ex boyfriend. In all honesty... I had followed him.


The previous August, he and I were together. I found out he was moving away less than 3 weeks before he actually left. Our relationship (if you could call it that) was very rocky; K didn't treat me well at all, but didn't seem willing to just break up with me. I'm assuming his solution was to move away and wait until the last possible minute to tell me; I didn't even find out he was moving from him. One of his friends let it slip. K told me he didn't think he could make a long-distance relationship work, so we "separated on good terms." Being the idiot that I was, I applied to the same school, and in January, I moved up there, assuming he'd take me back. The next few months were absolute hell; I was lonely, anxious, and depressed, I was falling further and further into my eating disorder, and he was leading me on. I called K out on it once; I told him that if he was going to be playing games with me, we might as well cease contact with one another. He promised to shape up, but said he still wanted his "freedom" and didn't want to get back together "yet". Being the naive, innocent person that I was, I didn't see this as a glaring red flag.


In late April, I took a handful of Tylenol PM. I was mostly hoping it'd knock me out for a few hours, and I figured, if it did worse, then it did worse. I woke up the next day in the ICU. After all was said and done, I convinced everyone it was stupid mistake, I promised to do better, I looked into therapists and support groups, and I signed up for summer classes.


Exactly one month later, K and I were out to lunch, when he received a phone call. Whoever was on the other side, he was being very flirty with them. When he hung up, he seemed nervous, and said, "I have something to tell you..." He then proceeded to tell me that was this girl he'd been dating for the past few weeks.


I didn't feel like I could handle this. I ran, on foot. He tried to follow me, but couldn't keep up (he was wearing flip flops). After wandering around the streets for about an hour, I returned to the restaurant. He was gone, but he kept trying to call me. I kept ignoring him. I drove to a grocery store that had a Starbucks in it, purchased the largest bottle of Tylenol PM that they had, and an iced black tea. K was still trying to get ahold of me. I stopped at another store, and got a bottle of Advil PM. K was still calling. I took almost all of the pills. Finally, I answered his call; he begged me to go to his house. I don't know what made me go, but I did.


When I got there, he started crying, and saying that he was a flaky person who shouldn't be with anyone. He confessed to cheating on me (something I'd figured anyways) and was basically flipping out. He then begged me to stay at his house that night; he was going to work for the evening, and in the morning, we'd take care of things, whatever that meant. As he was leaving (I was really feeling the meds by this time), I followed him out to his car. I said, "I did something bad." He began to panic, remembering what had happened only a month ago; he grabbed me by my shoulders, and asked, "What did you do?! Tell me, what did you do?!" I stumbled over to my car, and handed him the keys. He opened it, searched frantically inside (I was really messed up by this point) and found the bottles. He pulled me into his car, and drove me to the emergency room. I spent the next three days in the ICU, the next five in a locked ward, and the day I got out... K and I talked for the last time. We agreed to cut off all contact one another. My parents brought me home that day; we returned a few days later, packed up my stuff, and I was home for good.


It's so difficult to explain everything that was going through my mind at the time. A lot of conflicting thoughts.


Bottom line was, I didn't want to die; I just had overwhelming, excruciating emotional pain that I didn't know how to deal with, and I wanted it to end.


I felt like I was failing my attempt at becoming an adult. I was torn, because for some reason I still don't understand, I was infatuated with this guy who obviously wanted nothing to do with me; he'd cheated and been emotionally abusive. The only reason he did what he did the day of the suicide attempt was out of guilt, fear, and pity. I hated how much of a fuck up I felt like, and I thought that if I no longer existed, I would be doing everyone a favor. It might be painful at first, but I figured that the "benefits" of me being gone would far outweigh this; I wouldn't be wasting anyone's money, and I'd never cause anyone pain again. But namely... I wouldn't have to deal with such feelings of being rejected, unwanted, and not enough. It was an EXTREMELY selfish thing to do... but at the time, I thought that if I was successful, it'd be better for everyone.


I also still don't know what made me follow K out to his car, and more or less confess to what I had done. The only thing I can think of is that the tiny sane part of me, deep inside, knew that I didn't want to die. Was it a desperate cry for attention? It looks that way, and maybe on some sub-conscience level, it was. At the time, up until I did "confess" to K about taking the pills, I seriously just wanted to escape from the pain I was feeling, in whatever way that may be. Perhaps because I was feeling so fucked up by that point, I realized the true seriousness of what I'd done; I knew that if K left, there would be no going back. I was losing it as it was. If he left, I would've passed out... and not woken up. 


So why am I bringing all of this up now?


Well, recently, I've been dealing with some pretty damn fucked up feelings. And a lot of pain. I feel like a worthless failure, a waste of space/air/money, a total fuck up. My anxiety gets so overwhelming, and I often feel so hopeless, I wonder if things will ever be okay. I hate dealing with this; the anxiety, the pain and guilt it brings... I feel like I am suffocating, trapped in my body. 


But I know suicide isn't the answer. I know hurting myself isn't the answer.


Even though I may often feel lonely, and trapped, I know that I have some insanely awesome people who love me, and they obviously love me for a reason. They've never given up on me; they believe in me, when I don't always believe in myself. I think I said it in my last post: I live for curling up in bed next Vuni. I know that no matter how shitty the day is- if I've had panic attacks, heard bad news, been put on a guilt trip, gotten in a fight with the mirror, felt utterly hopeless and useless... at the end of the day, I will be snuggled up, nice and warm, to the most amazing person I could ever imagine. I know that, while I am cuddled up to this utterly stunning human being, there are two people several miles away, who brought me into this world, are proud of me regardless of my fucked up past, and loved me with all of their hearts. I have a brother who has looked up to me his whole life. I have a professor who NEVER gave up on me. I have friends and family who truly care about me, even if I am flightly and strange. All of these people believe in me... even when I don't.


There's obviously a reason I'm worth caring about and believing in... even when I don't see it.


Do I have to see everything to believe in it? I wish I could- but I know I don't. At the time of my suicide attempt, I never saw myself being happy again. Low and behold, despite some of the shit I've since been through, I've also had the best times. Vuni has loved me like I never thought possible. Last year, consumed by alcoholism, I never imagined that I could go more than a day without several shots of vodka. To my immense shock, I haven't had a single drop of alcohol pass through my lips in the past 10.5 months. This summer, although I didn't show it, I often felt paralyzed with fear at the thought of another heart surgery... but I had to believe that it would be okay, and despite some complications, it was. 


This has been one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn: sometimes, life really sucks, and it doesn't look like it's ever going to get better... but I HAVE to believe that it will. Because it does. It may be slow and gradual. There may be bumps and set backs and more pain and bullshit along the way... but eventually, it does get better.

"When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on,"  Thomas Jefferson.

I read this quote a long time ago; I feel this is what I've been living every day recently. I keep thinking that I can't take anymore bad news, any more anxiety or pain or guilt... but I refuse to losen my grip. I can't let go; I won't give up.


So for those of you, like me, who feel trapped, lost, out-of-touch, overwhelmed, riddled with shame and guilt, and just aren't seeing a light at the end of the tunnel... well, remember, just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Think about it- are you breathing right now? We don't see the very thing that is crucial to our existence, that courses through our bodies every second of every day of our lives. But it's there, just like the light at the end of the tunnel.


I've said it a gazillion times before: I have a long way to go. I have a lot of work to do. But in the mean time, I have to keep believing. I've tied a knot, and I am NOT letting go. 






Note- if you are feeling suicidal, please, please get help:

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

"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?

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. 

You Fight Through That Shit ( I Heart Pulp Fiction, a moment of clarity)

Man oh man, did I have a roller-coaster Tower-of-Doom Sunday/Monday. The whole weekend was kinda crappy; if you read my previous post, you know it started out with Vuni and I not doing so hot. After we talked, kissed, and made up, I figured the rest of the weekend should go decent... I'd already dealt with my fair share of crap, right?


WRONG.


Not long after Mr. V and I make up, we smell something disgustingly familiar in our living room: cat piss. Immediately I begin to panic; I already know it's from EmmaBear, our 8-year-old Ragdoll. She's done this in the past; it's something that cats sometimes do when they're upset (we ruled out illness, and since we keep the THREE litter boxes immaculate, we know it's not a dirty littler box issue). For anyone who doesn't know this, cat pee not only stinks like hell, but it's a total B to try to clean the surface where the pee is and takes forever to remove the stench... and that's if you're lucky. When EmmaBear did this back at my parents' house, it took weeks before we could get the smell out of the carpet.


I cleaned the carpet as well as I could, sprinkled the area with baking soda, and crossed my finger it would be a one-time deal. This was Saturday night.


Sunday evening, we come home from being gone all day (doing laundry, oh joy), and right in the middle of the baking-soda covered carpet is a yellow patch. Furious, I grabbed EmmaBear, took her over to the pee spot, said "NO!" and began carrying her to the stairs so I could take her down to the litter boxes. I flicked on the light leading down to the basement, and what is sitting on the top stair?


A HUGE f*cking spider :(


I began screaming at the top of my lungs without even thinking; Emma clawed her way out of my grip, leaving stinging talon marks on my face, chest, and arms, and Vuni came to my rescue, slightly panicking in fear of my screams. 


So I'm shaken up from the cat pee and the spider. We decide to calm down by taking a shower. Vuni heads into the bathroom to start it, only no water comes out. He tried the sink, then the kitchen sink. No water. Vuni called his sister Krisi to see if the water was working at his parents' house. Yup, it worked fine there. Great. Is this a nightmare? I'm hot, itchy, and I just feel dirty after cleaning up pee.


We called the water company; a water mane (main?) was busted down the street, but they were sending someone out to work on it. It's like, 9:30 at night. And no water. Fantastic.


I stayed up until 2:00 AM worrying about Emma and the water, getting up to test the faucet every 30 minutes or so. Once the water came spurting out of the faucet shortly after 2, I stayed up another hour, still worrying about Emma. A cat peeing outside of her litter box may or may not be a big deal to you, but any cat lover knows just how big of a dilemma this is. Not to mention, I was feeling like a horrible mother; Emma was stressed out, that's why she was doing this.


After very little, off-and-on sleep, I rolled out of bed on Monday morning right as Vuni was leaving for work (already a bad start to my day, as I don't like getting up late). Immediately walking into the living room, I knew it smelled off. I go over to The Spot (which, we had moved a chair over it, both to keep Emma off and let the carpet/new layer of baking soda dry), and find not one, but TWO new reeking wet spots. Furious and exasperated (and desperately wanting to hit something in frustration), I called my mom (at work), absolutely hysterical. She did her best to calm me down, and suggested I stick Emma in the bathroom with one of the litter boxes. I did so, had a brief text message conversation with Vuni ("Why does life just seem to keep getting worse? I fucking hate myself right now!" <--Me "Well, I love you very much right now. We are going to be okay."), and then paused to evaluate the situation. 


In all honesty, I was feeling SO OVERWHELMED... there are no words to really describe how bad it was. I could easily compare it to the time I attempted suicide. I want to save the suicide story for another time, but basically... I was feeling so hopeless and overwhelmed, I did not know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts nor did I want to, so in a desperate attempt to not feel... I downed a bottle of pills. At the time, I didn't think I could handle life getting any worse, but I didn't see how it could get any better. I didn't want to die, but I was terrified and really couldn't imagine things would improve and that I could one day be happy again. 


Standing there evaluating, I was desperately wanting to do something to deal with the pain. I feel like I have been working so hard to turn my life around, as I've stressed in previous posts, yet things slowly only get worse. Health problems and illness. Being denied food assistance, despite relying on our parents to feed us,like, 50% of the time. Waiting to be approved for disability. Obvious money problems. Relationship issues (though, thankfully, those always seem to work out). Constant, overwhelming anxiety. Now, worrying about my beloved cat. Worrying that I'm a bad mom, worrying that if she doesn't start behaving... I might have to ask my brother to take her, at least for awhile...?  Unimagineable. I wanted to do something, anything; binge and purge, exercise until I passed out, down some vodka, smoke... even cutting crossed my mind. Cutting, which I hate admitting I ever did; it's embarrassing (even moreso since it seemed to be a trendy emo thing for a minute, and it is NOT trendy). I have only cut once since my teenage years (and that was while I was one drink shy of being blackout drunk), but I have never forgotten the disgusting "high" it gave me.


Now why do I love Pulp Fiction (which I only just happened to see)? Other than Quentin Tarantino's non-linear storyline style being reminding me of my often non-linear style of writing (which always seems to come together in the end), I feel like I can really relate to Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in a way. The hardcore, badass, fearless gangster has a single "moment of clarity" that makes him want to abandon his life of crime. 

"Yeah, I was sitting here, eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity."

I don't think I've had one single moment of clarity in my life; I've had times and experiences of clarity that are leading me to become a stronger, better person.

Yesterday was one of those times. I wanted to take the easy way out; I wanted to numb myself and not have to think. That is how I've always been; I run when it comes to dealing with unpleasant thoughts and feelings. Run, or numb myself. I may never be able to escape the anxiety, but just like Jules knows he doesn't have to stay stuck in a life of crime, I know that I don't have to spend myself running and using negative methods to cope... which brings me to another Pulp Fiction quote:

The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts. It never helps. You fight through that shit.

Pride isn't my problem; but pride can be addictive and very negative, much like my vices. The irrational thoughts (of which pride can be an irrational thought), fuck with me. They never help me. And I have to FIGHT THROUGH THAT SHIT.

So I allowed myself to stand there and fume, cry, and irrationalize for a few minutes. I fantasized about drinking, cutting, smoking, ect. All of the things that would never help me. All of the things that would only hurt me. And then- I fought through that shit. I remembered all of the horrible things that I have experienced in the past, thanks to negative "coping" methods. I convinced myself that if I were to drink or whatever, it would only be a repeat of the past. I thought of how someone once told me they thought I must have a guardian angel; I've had a couple of close life-and-death calls (I'm truly convinced that surviving my suicide attempt was a miracle), so I thought of how lucky I am to still be here. Not only am I still here, but I have a wonderful loving boyfriend, amazing parents, two ornery but very sweet kitty cats, an outstanding brother, a roof over my head, all of the basic comforts in life, and a small network of people who truly care about me. I have a lot; a lot to fight for. 

So despite the shitty events of the weekend, and the cloud of uncertainty that has been hanging over my head, I decided that being strong and rational was the way to go. I drank a big glass of water, had a berry smoothie, got ready, and went about my day.

I was going to blog about all of this last night... but after the crazy events and lack of sleep over the past few days, I fell asleep while Vuni and I were watching Pulp Fiction; I dozed off maybe half an hour into it. Today, I understand why; I needed to watch the rest of the movie. I was born an artist, and appreciate all kinds of art, from music to painting to film. I love it when I can relate to art, hence my excitement over Pulp Fiction. Who'da thunk? This timid little ball of anxiety relating to a graphic gangsta film. Strange, but true. I honestly love how Jules has such a realization; how he saw a accidental stroke of sheer luck as a miracle, and it impacted him enough to make him want to change. I don't mean to get all philosophical/spiritual, but that makes me think of all of the little miracles that happen in life; all that have happened in my life, from meeting Vuni by random chance, to realizing I'm strong enough to deal with emotions that I, at one time, would rather harm myself than feel. 


Life may suck sometimes, and it may feel like I've been stuck in a rut for awhile without seeing any way out, but the miracles and moments of clarity... they make it worth fighting though all of that shit.

Love: It Ain't Easy (b*tching, reflecting, and pondering)

The best things in life may be "free," but they are only free in a monetary sense; the "best things" come at a much higher cost, in my opinion.


I'm specifically thinking about love/relationships.


Is this why so many marriages end in divorce? Because people rush into things without thinking about just how much effort truly needs to go into making a relationship work?


Forgive me for saying this, it truly is just my opinion, but I think people who simply believe their love is strong enough to get them through anything are full of shit- unless they're referring to the fact that love makes you a stronger, more selfless, more understanding, more-willing to compromise and sacrifice and deal with some really unpleasant emotions. I'm thinking of the people who assume that love is a faerie tale; that, because they're in so love, no problems will come their way, and if any do happen to, they can just magically get through that problem together, unscathed. 


I'm one of those people who, at one time, believed that; it sounds really sappy, and I knew from the get-go that no relationship is perfect... I also know that my boyfriend and I are both very sweet and compassionate people, who despise drama and debate. With this thought in mind, I naively assumed that we wouldn't have too difficult of a time; that, even when problems came our way, our love itself would be strong enough to pull us through it. 


The truth is, love, and a good, lasting relationship, is hard as hell. It's a lot of f*cking work. There are times it's going to be extremely painful. There are times when you'll question do I really belong with this person? Is it worth the effort? all while not being able to imagine life without them. I honestly believe this is why people fall apart. I mean, obviously, if two people don't work out, then the relationship does need to end... but when you are truly in love, and want things to work out, it's a whole different ball game. Somehow, I believe we are made to believe that love means things are easy; effortless (cough cough- Twilight Saga!). If you love each other, things will work out... yes and no.


There's so much compromise and sacrifice, so much thought and emotion, so much that needs to be understood, and taken into account. Love's not a simple thing by any means; it's complex, and my own relationship with Vuni is fool-proof evidence of that.


I'm a big-hearted, thoughtful romantic. Sweet, sentimental cards for the holidays (and sometimes just because), little surprises here and there, "I love you, my handsome!" and other adoring random text messages, babying when sick or after a hard day... just to name a few. Vuni... he's a sweetheart, but... not like that. I've finally learned to not expect much on Valentine's Day (no elaborately planned-out surprise dates, no flower and/or balloon deliveries, ect.) because he's just not into it (in fact, our first Vday together was quite painful; he did NOT enjoy my very sweet surprise to him, which I thought had been an awesome idea).


I am very high-strung (duh... anxiety); Vuni, on the other hand, is extremely mellow and go-with-the-flow. He adapts easily to change, and doesn't mind last minute, half-developed plans. As for myself? I'm neurotic about planning; a total control freak. I want to know when and where something is happening as soon as we know it's happening. I want to know all of the details as soon as possible; Vuni's okay with just knowing the date, and as the date approaches, the location. This type of thing is really important to us because of Vuni being a musician; his calendar is often filled up with gigs. Now, while the mellow/anxious polar oppositeness has caused friction, I should note that it has also been good for the relationship in some ways...


His mellow nature has taught me to loosen up somewhat; loosen up, because it's necessary. In the beginning of our relationship, I was a totally controlling bitch. If he wasn't with me, or at work or school, I wanted to know where he was, who he was with, how long he was going to be there... ect. That sounds so awful when reading it, but believe me when I say, a large part of that control-freakishness was/is due to the anxiety (though I realize that does NOT justify my behavior). I was worried about him, and a tiny part of me was worried about him cheating. I was horrible, however. Sometimes when he'd be out with friends, I'd call him and keep him on the phone for a really long time, preventing him from enjoying his time out. Now, five years in, I've learned to be so much better about things. I obviously still like to know where he's going to be and (if it's something like a gig) for how long, but I don't nag him constantly; all I ask is that, in order to keep my anxious imagination from running haywire, he check in with me to let me know he's doing okay. (When I say I worry about him, I'm serious- I worry about everything under the sun, from car wrecks to drunks to him getting drunk... all stuff I really should not be worrying about).


***Disclaimer: things are about to get very raw & honest. No sugar-coating from this usually sweet little anxiety girl!


So this brings me to why I'm writing this post; we got in another "argument," though it wasn't really an argument at all. He had a gig last night; I debated going to it, but decided against it. His ska band was playing at the fair, and yesterday was opening day. Opening day at the fair = lots of people. Lots of drinking. Lots of drunk people. Not my cup of tea on a normal day, but as it was, I was having a really hard time, depressed about our/my current situation and anxiously anticipating an important medical evaluation (which took place this morning).


They were going to play from 8-11, so I assumed he'd be home around midnight, maybe 12:30. As he was getting ready, he asked me what he should wear, because he needed to "look cool." I responded teasingly with, "it doesn't matter, you're always cool... and who do you need to impress anyways?" When he left around 6, I reminded him, as I always do when he goes out at night without me, "keep in touch with me please!" He knew I was not doing too well; sad, stressed, and anxious... that today's med eval was a HUGE deal... anyone would be anxious about it.


If the tables were turned, and he were spending the evening alone, sad, stressed, and anxious, he'd be on my mind, no matter what I was doing. I'd want to check in with him, make sure he was doing okay, ect. I wouldn't want my worrying of him to put a damper on my evening (though it probably would, but that's just because I'm me and I worry too much), but I'd want to make sure he was doing alright, all things considered. And I'd just want to hear his voice...


I guess I assumed that, despite him being so cool with his band and shit (yes! I am being a bitter bitch!), he'd still find the time to engage in a text conversation or maybe even call me (just once!) to hear my voice and make sure I was having a decent evening. In the 7+ hours he was gone, he text me twice on his own; a total of four or five all together, with his responses to my texts. (TMI- I was trying to engage him in a little bit of sexting before they started... and only got quick, seemingly bored responses... after I was such a good, loving girlfriend to him, despite being sad/anxious which initially meant I was not "in the mood", earlier in the evening before he left me all alone for the night). Forget being on the back burner; I probably wasn't even on the stove. He was too busy in his Elite Super Cool Musician Club, entertaining his adoring fans and getting his much needed attention. He text me once before they started, and once during a break, to check on me.


I was hurt and exhausted by 11:15; I figured any time after this, he'd text or call me. Eleven-thirty rolls around. Do I call/text him? No... the fair is bustling and chaotic, I'll let him contact me; he will once things settle down, even though he should've by now. It was about 11:45 when I last glanced at my phone before dozing off on the couch (I mean, come on, my appointment was at 8:30 this morning- I needed to sleep, especially since I hadn't really the night before).


I woke up very suddenly to a dead quiet house, and the first thing I realized was that Vuni was home; his gear was right in front of me (he was in the bathroom). I glance at my phone- 1:30. No calls. No texts. I felt a rush of intense pain and sadness was over me like a giant wave, pulling me under the waters of swirling thoughts:


Why is he home so late? Why didn't he contact me? Was he having so much fun that I didn't matter? That he didn't even think of me? Or is it that, when he's with The Super Elite Musicians Club, I'm too below him? Is a couple of minutes out of 7+ hours he was gone really too much to spare, and am I not worth them? Doesn't he think of me at all? Especially knowing the state I was in... Did I do something wrong? Am I physically/sexually unsatisfying? Not satisfying enough? I told him I wanted him to hold me and cuddle me when I got home... that's obviously not a motivation for him to get home soon. Was he avoiding that? Was he avoiding it because he didn't want to just cuddle, or was he worried that I was going to start whining? Were there prettier/talented/smarter/BETTER girls there, fawning over him? Am I just not worth giving a damn about?


When he came out of the bathroom, I asked him why he didn't contact me and why he was home so late. "We hung out for a bit..." was all he could say. He came over to the couch to sit by me after a few minutes, but I wasn't having it; I marched off to our guest bedroom, and laid down. After about five minutes, I heard him get up to see where I'd gone; my back was turned to the door, so I assume he saw me and either just didn't want to talk about it, or wanted to let me sleep. Ha... ha... ha... it took a long time to fall back asleep. I had really weird dreams and woke up about every 45 minutes, staying awake maybe 10-15 minutes, then falling back asleep until I got up shortly after 6:00.


Before going to my appointment, I left a text message on his phone: I hope at least a part of you realizes just how much I'm hurting, even if you're too busy "being cool" to care.


Several hours later, I got an apology text. About an hour after that, I got an apology phone call. Very bland, basic, quiet apologies. No volunteering more information on the situation. No explaining why. No, how did your appointment go? or any other concern for my well being other that asking me "how're you doing?" during the phone call. Okay, I take part of this back; he said "I feel like shit" (referring to last night's events), and I replied with, "yeah, well, so do I," to which he had nothing to say.


I was suppose to go with Vuni to the two gigs he had today; one at this cute hippie festival, the other this evening at a steakhouse. Hell, I skipped out on a chance to see one of my best friends, AJ (my "adopted brother" who I don't get to see too often), because of my full schedule. I was so hurt and angry, I haven't gone to either gigs- and instead have been moping, cleaning, and blogging. 


Vuni returned from the hippie fest gig earlier with a beautiful gift for me; when I opened the bag, part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and forget what's happened... but I've done that too often in the past. This is by far not the first time he's been inconsiderate of my anxiety and emotions in this way; in the past, he's tried to smooth things over with small gifts or treats, or by saying something sweet (like how pretty I look...), or by showing me a cute video on his phone... anything along those lines. Anything to distract from the problem. I love the beautiful clothes he brought me, and I appreciate that he realizes that I am upset... but that doesn't make up for talking about what happened. As I've said in a previous post, I want him to start taking more accountability. Am I ungrateful for not being content with "I'm sorry,"? At this point, after five years, I don't think so... I want him to talk to me about what happened, and I shouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation. 


As I type this he is at his steakhouse gig. I hope he talks to me when he gets home... I've been feeling really shitty and hurt over all of this, and as much as I appreciate his apologetic token of love, what I want most is an explanation.


So this situation is a prime example of why love is such hard work. I'm hurting and upset because I feel like I wasn't important enough or worth a few minutes of his time, and that I am just too easily forgettable; now I'm waiting for his side of the story. I know I'm too anxious, and I'm probably too damn sensitive... but I also feel like I have been a "good girlfriend," in that I was not nagging or asking for too much. I wanted him to enjoy his evening, without me there ruining it with my anxiety or distaste for all of the drunks (and I'd probably want to leave as soon as they finished playing); I didn't feel like I was asking for much in return, and I didn't even get that... so I think I deserve to know why. Also... although I've been sullen and quiet towards Vuni all day, (and maybe a little bitchy in this post), I have not exploded at him or anything.


Love really is hard work... it's a good thing that, in this case, it always seems to be worth it. Here's to hoping for tonight (*

Empty, Lost, and Uncertain... When Do I Get to Stop Worrying?

**Disclaimer- this is a depressing, whiny post. I really needed to get some of this out though, so I apologize in advice for the gloom.


I kind of feel right now like I'm just existing. Existing because I have to... because I'm here and alive.


The Twilight Saga is one of my guilty pleasures... I actually am angry with myself for liking those books, because personally, I think they're sappy and I really don't like the message they send to young women, but whatever. I kind of feel like Bella did in New Moon though... not that bad, because it's not that there's no happiness or that I'm totally depressed, but...


...things are just so strange now. Surreal. Not really in a good way; they are what they are, but they could be a hell of a lot better.


It has finally hit me that I am officially finished with school. I've graduated. Have my degree. School started this week... and I'm not there. I turn on the radio, and listen to the student radio station I use to work at (for credit, not cash ;), and hear former classmates... and it's so weird that I'm not there. It's not that I'm not happy to be finished... believe me, a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into my degree, and I'm happy to have it, however... I've been in school since I was 4. That means I've spent the past 5/6 years of my life in school. I really don't know what it's like to not be a student. Being a student has consumed the majority of my life. If you're doing the math- yes, I graduated from high school in 2004. Yes, my 4-year plan became a 7-year plan; it was a combination of changing my major several times (and still having no idea how I ended up with a degree in Macom... trying to figure that one out for myself) and having to take a semester or two off due to health reasons. But those times, I was on a hiatus; this time, I'm actually finished. It's an extremely bittersweet sensation. Happy to be finished, sad that it's over.


I also feel lost... because I have no idea what the future has in store for me. I know what I want, and although I think about it all the time, it's almost as though I put it in a box high up on a shelf in the corner of my mind, because it is so unattainable right now. I can look at it, and it's sort of nice to think about, but I don't know how realistic I'm being. In all fairness... Vuni is right. I'm placing a lot of pressure on him; my dreams rely heavily on him. Also, however... I don't see much in store for the immediate future besides somehow generating income and saving, and the immediate future beyond that... more squeaking by, because Vuni wants to go to graduate school, and possibly get his doctorate's degree as well. This means I'm going to have to be patient for a few more years, at least. And that's if things go well. Dammit Em, you pessimist... MAKE THEM go well ;) But seriously, I don't mean to be a pessimist; I'm just very skeptical, because I thought that by the time I reached my mid-twenties... I'd be, you know, further along in life. Part of me thought I'd be successful at something; the other part was terrified, wondering how in the hell I could possibly survive in the adult world. (<--- wow, totally screwed up sentence, and I really don't care).


I'm terrified of the unknown, and I despise feeling so uncertain. All of these feelings, plus trying to suppress the other demons (the ED voice, the substance desires) are pushing me to my limit... but that's where the numbness comes in. I cannot hurt myself. I cannot just give up. Over 5 years ago, on a desperate whim to escape feelings I did not think I could cope with, I attempted suicide, and I KNOW that it is NEVER the answer. I also know that giving in to alcohol cravings, starving myself and over-exercising and binging and purging, and self-harming will not only NOT solve anything, but will just make things worse and set me back further. I have no choice but to realize that life just isn't where I want it to be right now, and yeah... it kinda sucks :( It sucks, because I am always worried. Well, okay, so duh, I deal with extreme anxiety and I am worried a lot because of it, but there have been periods of my life when it was less. It didn't seem to constantly consume me. It was worrying about far lesser things. Because if there's two things I hate worrying about, it's finances and the future. 


I feel like I'm caught in a never-ending spiral. I realize that money does not solve all problems, but lack of it sure causes a lot. Tight funds mean no money for desperately needed therapy. It means no money to be able to do things; one of my favorite things to do, ever since I was a little girl, has been shopping. A shopping spree is a fantasy; being able to afford something inexpensive is a once-in-a-blue-moon treat. "Window shopping," is fun every now and then with my mom, because I get to do a rare bit of going out-and-about, but on the flip side, it gets depressing fast because then I want stuff, and obviously can't have it. So this just makes me want to stay home, further contributing to my agoraphobia. Also, I was bitching to Vuni tonight; even when I do start getting income (whether it be finally landing a job I can handle, or being approved for disability), it's not gonna go to things I want. It's going to rent, to credit card bills (which, to most people, aren't THAT much, but seem like a shitload to me), and to at least paying my parents back some money for all that they've leant me (because I know that, medical wise, I've been pretty expensive too :( Yeesh). 


I hate to be sounding so negative right now :( I did promise, however, that I would be honest and not sugar coat things; that would defeat the purpose of this blog. It sucks admitting this stuff, but I doubt that I'm the only person going through this. Remember (if you've read other posts) how I said that I like to read pregnancy/new mom blogs? Weirdo! One that I check regularly, because I just adore the blogger (Tyler) and fell in love with her story, is called The Tiny Bubble. She wrote a post awhile back about how new moms should stop pretending that being a new mom is always peachy, or pretending that they are perfect at it, when in fact, being a new mom is extremely difficult and can make you want to run away sometimes; it's not only okay, it's normal, and moms should band together and share their feelings rather than act like it's taboo to get frustrated and such. Well, guess what? I know can't be the only person who deals with extreme anxiety, has made some dumb financial mistakes (cough cough... credit cards!), and, indeed, just some ignorant choices in general... and is now paying the consequences, which suck. Bottling all of this up is only making me feel like my head is going to explode; I'm not proud of what's going on, but I'd rather talk about it then hold it inside and let it consume me, pushing me to unhealthy coping mechanisms.


So if you deal with any type of anxiety, if you're struggling with finances, if you're worried about the future, if you're feeling empty, lost, and/or uncertain... you're not alone. We can be strong; even if it means being numb. It's taken me years to learn this lesson, but sometimes, you just have to keep trudging along, head down, straight into the wind blowing against you. That's how I see myself right now. I'm not giving up, because even though it's hard to imagine that things actually will get better, I haven't and won't stopped hoping.


I have one more thing to complain about tonight... totally pointless, but it's freaking me out and let's face it, whining and getting it off of the chest (no pun intended, given what I'm about to say) will make me feel a little better. The right portion of my most recent surgery scar has been itching horribly. I was scratching it tonight (though trying not to), but when I looked down, it was dark and bleeding. I went into the bathroom to look in the mirror for better/further inspection... it looks like a blood blister or something has formed there? Now it no longer itches, but hurts. I'm crossing my fingers this isn't something bad... and yet another thing to really be worrying about.