well THAT makes sense

hey y'all.

 

it's been a minute. a lot has changed but nothing has changed but everything has changed.

 

if you came to visit me, most everything would look the same. some of the furniture has been rearranged, the mullet is magnificent.

what you might not notice right away is the lack of doom piles, the dishes being actually done, the floors vacuumed, laundry kept up. a creative space cleaned and organized and used.

around thanksgiving sometime things started to slowly shift. first- i jumped on tiktok. i know. an old person on a young app. 

 

HOWEVER. it is amazing. in small doses. the small doses is the key. i went to hard and burned out in three months.

 

HOWEVER, PART II, it did teach me things.

 

first, it taught me to just put videos out there, who cares. like a visual twitter. that was cool. a nice barrier breaker for me.

 

THEN. holy shit then. then therapy tiktok, mental health tiktok, adhd tiktok and autism tiktok hit me like a tidal wave, throw in some deconstructing around evangelicals and purity culture and it was like a slow motion machine finally putting all the pieces together.

 

i raised an ADHD and an autism. two boys. because only boys have autism and ahdh, right?

 

FUNNY THING ABOUT THAT.

 

now that doctors are starting to actually care a tiny bit about women and actually consider we might have something more than the vapors, guess what?

 

what are the adhd symptoms in girls?  chatty, day dreamer, withdrawn, hyper focus, sounds exactly like every single report card all through school.

 

what are the autism signs in a girl? difficulty with social interaction, eye contact, stimming, passionate about restricted interests.

it was like watching my whole childhood click into place. thrown in a few comorbidity like ARFID and RSD sprinkle across some extremely toxic purity culture, some extreme evangelical beliefs.

WHEW.

the hardest part of my childhood was never understanding why.

WHY am i so difficult? why am i so bad? why am i so broken?

 

my whole childhood- too sensitive, cries too much, never paying attention, talking too much, doing other kids school work so they could be done and play, being a picky eater, being TERRIFIED of teachers, principals, authority. problems with bosses, friends, coworkers, partners. 

 

it just all lit up across the board.

 

and it solved the WHY.

 

because that's the way i am. that's who i am.

 

i'm not too sensitive. i have sensory issues.

i'm not a picky eater. i have a food sensitivity.

i'm not too difficult about clothes. materials and cuts drive me insane.

i'm not too weird. my brain literally functions differently.

 

i'm not the weird girl. i'm the girl with autism and adhd who literally thinks, functions, EXISTS differently than others.

 

waking up is different for me. thinking is different for me (doesn't everyone have an internal voice (or many) narrating everything all the time?). food is different for me. ONE, just ONE yuk feeling and i'm done. sorry. my body goes into hard reset mode. one piece of chicken vein? one bad bite of steak? one wilted piece of lettuce? just one weird thing and i'm DONE. that's why eating out is such a pain in the ass. that's why travel is so terrifying. and food is SO IMPORTANT in other cultures and i could exist on pasta with butter and parmesan cheese. i'm not going to go somewhere and either a) starve, b) insult everyone, c) BOTH.

 

probably C.

 

it makes me annoyed that i raised one of each. i went to doctors and therapists and specialists for YEARS. we did every therapy and behavioral modification and no one thought to check the source??

i spent YEARS. absolutely YEARS just gutting myself, sick beyond sick that i somehow caused my son's autism. the mmr vaccine. stress during pregnancy. stress during breast feeding. domestic violence home. i spent YEARS sick and just absolutely gutted that i had somehow unintentionally made my son's life so much more difficult.

 

well, i did. but not by anything i did.

irony is a funny bitch.

like learning how when people try to offend me or backhandedly insult me and i take that as a compliment (because autism) and then they think i'm some kind of cold hard badass.

 

no, i just literally didn't understand that you were trying to insult me.

you said it was "interesting" and i like interesting things.

 

i never understood why everyone thought i was such a badass. of all the things i overthought in conversations over the years, those never occurred to me.

 

fucking irony.

SO WHAT?

WHO CARES?

YOU OBVIOUSLY MADE IT THIS FAR, HOW BAD CAN IT BE?

 

first of all, fuck all the way off.

 

try that again with a little grace and kindness:

 

what impact does that make going forward? who does care? you made it this far...what worked and didn't work or could work better?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

so what? knowing is half the battle. GI Joe taught me that. knowing means YOU KNOW. you can drive the car down the street with a rattle forever or you could figure out what the rattle is. can it be fixed? parts of it. some can be made to work better. some can be worked around. some parts you don't even need and you can just let them make noise and not worry about it.

 

now i have another filter to run things through: did they really mean that? or autism? did they really ignore you? or object impermanence. is that a trauma bomb story? are you really mad? or are you reacting to the last time this happened and you're worried about the outcome?

so what, is that i've been able to sit and meditate and review memories and my childhood and friendships and understand SO MUCH of my life.

 

i wasn't a difficult child. i wasn't stubborn. i wasn't being intentionally annoying when it took FOREVER to shop for school clothes. i wasn't being rude when i spoke my mind. i went back over all the hurtful language, all the insults, all the bullying and harassment. does it make it hurt less? in a way. i was different. teenagers are assholes. we didn't even have names for that type of different back then. it makes sense which makes it hurt less. i was different. i am different. i can't be mad at people for not knowing what i didn't even know. i can be mad at them for being jerks and picking on kids that are different. but i also know that i choose different people now for a reason. i know what to look for. i know what terrible people act like. i know the things they say. i know to avoid them. people have been telling on themselves for a LONG, LONG times. makes it much easier to weed through the noise.

so. i guess thanks? keep being awful? it lets me know i want absolutely nothing the fuck to do with you? thanks for saving me time? i do appreciate efficiency.

but throw a kid obsessed with honesty and transparency and logic and research and facts into an evangelical world? no wonder i "rebelled" against church. organized religion is illogical to me. there were too many questions that couldn't (or wouldn't) be answered.

 

and then i was a baby raising a baby. order and logic and control were mine to create and maintain. and i did that. then i had an autism kiddo. and even more order and logic were needed. DONE AND DONE.

 

then one kid left, then the other. then people went away. then work went away.

there's still a LOT of work i have to do around parenting and ADHD/autism. what can i give myself more grace for, what makes more sense now looking back, how can i use the knowledge to rebuild and repair going forward?

but when you're alone, with no structure, no one else to maintain any semblance of "acceptable" for...things start to look a little different.

when you don't realize half the reason the order and logic and control worked was because YOU NEED THEM AS WELL.

 

doing things for my kids for so many years kept me going.

now i need to learn to do that for me. I HAVE THE TOOLS. good lord do i have the tools.

 

so what, is i have is a new understanding of how to move in the world. what i need. what structure and interaction and understanding works best for me. now i understand why some jobs barely last a few months and others can straggle along a little longer.

 

a regular schedule of tasks to keep me organized and structured? forms due specific days? specific check in times? specific goals and expectations? YES PLEASE. subterfuge, double talk, obfuscation, illogical/repetitive/duplicate (ie: multiple data systems) tasks, vague deadlines (when you get to it)? i'll go insane.

 

people who say what they mean, what they need, in a respectful and intellectual manner? WE'RE GOING TO GET ALONG FINE.

toxic masculinity? backhanded compliments? nuance? condescension? micro aggression? WE GONNA BEEF.

so who cares?

 

that's exactly right. WHO. CARES? who are the people who will understand without demanding diagnosis, a through inspection and debate of my symptoms? who will believe me and provide accommodation and understanding without being forced to? who will accept these pieces of me as just that, pieces of me instead of as things to "tolerate" or "deal with" or be forced to endure as the cost of me. who is willing to understand that it affects the way i communicate, the way i travel, the way i interact, the type of events i enjoy, why i'll be so "stubborn" on some items. who is willing to understand the ways it helps make me work better and celebrate that?

 

it's the same as mental health. who won't roll their eyes when you say things like ADHD and autism? who won't sigh when you say mental health, self care, self awareness. who will support you when you say SENSORY OVERLOAD and not tell you to just get over it. who won't take a vulnerable moment and abuse you with it?

 

who cares is VERY important.

 

you made it this far...

 

see above. i raised it. i know it. i had a system in place. that system fell apart. now i'm NOT doing great. i'm a month away from losing my apartment. i'm unemployed. i'm single.

 

I'M NOT MANAGING THINGS WELL CURRENTLY THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

 

all the structure- get up, go to work, take care of the kids, make dinner, bed time, weekend chores, weeknight practices, rinse and repeat.

 

that worked GREAT.

 

it was stressful. money was always tight. kids were always kids. but i had STRUCTURE.

 

probably not surprising to anyone else, but it turns out imposed structure is very good for me.

 

i've been trying since october to set a routine for myself at home: get up at 7. make coffee and breakfast. shower. meditation, yoga, chores...

and then i realize it doesn't matter and there's no REASON to do any of that and there's no AFTER that and there's nothing next...and it just...

well, it's after noon, i made a cup of coffee, put on a bra, and started writing this. none of the other stuff.

 

when you're home alone during a pandemic, going out could literally kill you, IF you had the money to go out. when you have ONE small space, no outside space, no reason to leave even if you wanted to or had the money to...

 

shit gets weird yo.

 

you think you can tiktok.

 

you can't.

but i know, going forward, i need people, i need structure, i need routine and predictability. i need to be aware that i'm going to have VERY strong preferences on things for probably very logical reasons but i have to understand compromise. i need to be aware that people do communicate differently and not everyone has the same thought processes and conclusions i do.

i need a job that provides creativity, structure, and someone else to be the responsible one (schedule setter). i need coworkers and managers and bosses that clearly and honestly communicate. i need space and ability to be my creative whirlwind self with someone to reign me in and keep me in check.

like therapy- my therapists always commented that i had everything figured out. cool thanks. i've been thinking on loop about it for the last 900 hours. BUT. am i on the right track? am i coming to the healthiest and best conclusions? are there perspectives or reasons i'm not taking into consideration? before i wander 900 hours down this track, i want to make sure i didn't take a fork off into NOPE, THAT'S NOT THE BEST WAY.

i don't want to be the boss. i'm not a boss bitch. i don't want to file the forms and the taxes and the licensing and the responsible. i WILL organize the shit out of everything, keep everything up to date, come up with a million ideas and suggestions and ways to get things done in the best and most logical manner. wind me up and let me go. but keep checking the fence lines while i wander please.

i think i'm learning that life doesn't come with a user manual, but we CAN collect ones we find along the way. we can collect the tools and the suggested repairs and the maintenance tips and the annual service reminders and collect them all into our own reference guide.

mine is a tattered community cookbook looking thing with coffee stains, post it flags, notes written in the margins, paragraphs scratched out, loosely bound together with a spiral that's been a little stretched out over the years. it's been carried around in many a satchel and tossed in the back seat and forgotten in unpacked boxes.

the first time i was raped

 so, if the title wasn't clear enough, this will be about rape.

if you have experienced rape, please be cautious reading this post, please protect yourself and your mental health. some of this things may be triggering or cause flashbacks if you've been through a similar experience.

your safety is the most important.

i've never told this whole story to anyone before. i've told parts of it. but stories deserve to be told in their whole. you can't acknowledge the truth without acknowledging the WHOLE truth. when you leave out or dismiss parts, say they're not as important, it makes that part stay there and hold on still waiting to be seen and heard.

so. here it is. in the whole.

the first time i was raped i was 18 or 19. i don't remember exactly when, i already had my son, but hadn't moved for college yet. it must have been late 1999, early 2000.

my brother had graduated from community college and taken a job as a sheriff deputy a few hours away from where we grew up.

one weekend he invited me to come stay with him and his roommate. a rare weekend away for me, the closest thing to a vacation a single teen mom could get.

the night i stayed, my brother ended up getting called into work, so he got his roommate to agree to take me to dinner so i wouldn't be stuck just sitting in their apartment with nothing to do.

the roommate and i drove and hour over the 4th of july pass for dinner. it was a fairly nice restaurant. i remember it was all wood walls, like, logs of wood, and maroon table cloths. any place with a table cloth was fancy to me.

i had never met my brother's roommate before this. he was a regular dude, early 20's. nothing particularly stood out about him, i don't even remember his name. his dad was the sheriff so that's how he had met my brother and they ended up roommates i guess? never really new how that happened.

the guy was super intense right from the beginning. during dinner the conversation somehow turned to his plans for marriage and how he wanted to get married and settle down right away. it was a LOT. i remember my antennae perking up and being annoyed right away. being a teen mom, i had very quickly come to recognize what i called "white knight syndrome" where guys would try to "save" me or "rescue" me from my perilous plight. it was incredibly insulting. i was in college, had my own apartment, i was raising my son. i didn't need RESCUED. i didn't need SAVED. i wasn't baby daddy hunting to get some guy to take care of me, I WAS TAKING CARE OF ME. 

it had happened a few times before and i already knew very well how angry guys could get when you have to break the news to them that you're not a damsel in distress and you're not particularly interested.

this time was just a little more tricky since we still had to drive an hour back to their apartment FOR THE WEEKEND

i knew how to be polite but not answer questions, change the subject, try to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation of "no, thank you."

by the time we got in the car to head back over the pass, the guy was saying that i was the perfect woman and i was a perfect mother and would make the perfect wife. it was so incredibly uncomfortable. i had known this guy for 2 hours: one driving, one dinner. and he was telling me i would make his perfect wife??

i was creeped the fuck out. i was so uncomfortable but had no other way to get back to my brother's apartment and no way to get home and no way to...anything. i don't even know if i had a cell phone then. or maybe did but it wouldn't have had much reception. there was no uber, no lyft, i had to ride back with this guy so i just tried to keep as quiet as possible.

on the drive back the guy "suddenly remembered" that he had promised friends that were out of town he would feed their dogs for the weekend, it was on the way.

i don't know where we were. we turned off the highway and he drove 20 minutes up a dirt road into the mountains to a cabin.

any alarm bells that had started to go off were quieted when we got to a really nice big cabin/house. lights were on, inside was very nice. very country cabin, big kitchen leading to a great room with a nice couch in front of the fireplace to the left, and a kitchen table/chairs to the right. he went right in, all the alarm bells went away, this was ok. it was a real house. these were real dogs. it was ok.

 i sat down on the couch while he fed the 2 huge dogs, shepards i think, and he offered to pour me a soda (i wasn't 21 yet). it tasted weird to me, but it was a ginger ale and i didn't like the taste anyway.

but it turned. something started to seem odd. he was too familiar with the house, moved around like he was comfortable in it. it was a regular country house. i had several friends that had grown up dirt roads in beautiful cabin homes. i was a city girl through and through. but country homes were always so beautiful and elegant to me. but he was too comfortable...it felt like...like he had home court advantage.

things get hazy from there. i remember starting to feel not right. there was a bedroom to the right of the couch and there was a bed straight ahead as you walked into the room.

i did NOT want to have sex with this guy.

i had *just* had a baby. sex was traumatic and scary and life changing for me. i did NOT want to get pregnant again. i was also still very religious and conservative back then. i was not into casual sex with someone i had JUST met.

also, i didn't like the guy. i had no plans on ever seeing him again, ever. i just wanted to get back to hanging out with my brother for the weekend then home to my baby and work and school.

it didn't go that way though.

i told him no so many times.

i remember "just the tip" and "just a little more" and not much else.

i don't remember leaving that cabin.

i don't remember going back to my brother's apartment.

i don't remember much else of that weekend.

there was a cave in at the mine where the roommate worked and he was stuck underground the whole day, keeping me safe away from him until i left to go home.

i tried to tell my brother.

he assured me his roommate would never do that.

i somehow reasoned that the roommate breaking his leg and being stuck in a landslide was enough of a swift karmic punishment that i should just stuff it down and pretend it never happened.

because i thought i deserved it.

i mean, i was a teen mom. i was damaged goods. i had baggage. i was trash. i had sex outside of marriage before, obviously it meant i was "that way." i was LUCKY someone like him would even take me out to dinner. i was LUCKY someone "didn't mind" that i had a kid already, i was LUCKY someone didn't care that i was damaged goods.

these are the things that lived in my head. these were thing things people whispered that they thought i didn't hear. these are the things the ladies in the church said to try to be reassuring. this is the way my mom treated me. hell, my own brother didn't even believe me. he believed some roommate he'd had for a few months over me, his sister.

i was LUCKY any man was willing to sweep in and rescue me and that very thing infuriated me more than anything.

i've spent a LOT of years with those voices in my head. i was admittedly a bit quick on the eject button any time a date talked about taking care of me. being fiercely independent and PROVING i didn't need someone to take care of me became my main focus.

hell, it still is.

i've been trying to prove to everyone for 20 years that i don't need someone to take care of me. ESPECIALLY with someone who would treat me like that guy did.

well, i did not see that coming.

there's an old writing legend of the story taking a turn even the writer didn't see coming.

what do you know, that's a real thing.

i'm really struggling with control right now. it's been a month of unemployment and i've been on a few interviews but have yet to land anything.

i'm scared. i'm fucking terrified.

and i'm going to have to ask for help.

i'm going to have to say i can't do it on my own.

i knew that was going to be hard because i don't like to give up control, who does?

but it's been more than that. there's a looming sense of failure. there's a fear of needing rescued.

this feeling that saying i need help now somehow means i deserved to be raped then.

whew. that's a hefty one to unpack.

that's what happens when you stuff trauma down for 20 years. i doesn't go away. it just hangs out waiting for you.

i've been carrying that around for 20 years. that feeling of: if i fail it means i deserved it. i should have been grateful. i did need a white knight. i should have been glad someone was willing to tolerate my damaged, less than self.

whew.

but here's the thing.

it doesn't matter how "damaged" i was. it doesn't matter how much "baggage" i came with. it doesn't matter ANY of it. it doesn't matter how lucky some people thought i should feel.

I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE RAPED.

full stop.

i said no. i did NOT want to have sex.

end of discussion.

anything happening NOW, twenty years later, does not change that.

needing help now, in the middle of a global pandemic and record unemployment and record deaths and political and social unrest and unexpected unemployment does not mean i deserved to be raped then.

needing help anywhere between then and now would not have meant i deserved it.

time to let that one go.

mental health care

a little over a year ago i signed a contract with my therapist that i would not end my life or self harm before my next session.

it wasn't a REAL contract. there was no double signature, stamped and notarized agreement.

it was a hastily written agreement on a yellow sheet of legal paper with her signature and mine.

to me, it's a real contract. i still think about it every day.

self harm has never been my thing. suicide has never been my thing.

pervasive thoughts of death and how little i care about staying alive from day to day? that's my thing.

"i've had a good run" is something i say all the time, half joking (because it hasn't been good), half resigning or almost welcoming the thought of things being over.

it's not great.

today i had a call with HR about some concerns i've raised at work and some problems that have developed in my department.

today is not a good brain day for me. yesterday was a TERRIBLE work day, i was still reeling from that, while dreading the resulting call with HR (it's like being called into the principal's office no matter how old you are).

today started out rough.

the first thing anyone asks you in any meeting is "Hi, how are you?"

i should say, the first thing anyone who DOESN'T KNOW ME asks is...

i don't bullshit. i gave that up a long time ago.

with the guidance and honest feedback from friends i've learned to be a little more...tactful when i answer (thanks to a good friend who chewed my ass for being too blunt to a poor drive thru worker on my way to my dad's funeral), but i will always answer honestly.

today i had to remember that my honest answers can be terrifying, even when tactful.

if you ask me "are you ok," and i'm NOT ok, that's the anwer you'll get.

when you're talking to HR, that takes on a different life.

today they both asked me at the start of the call if i was ok and i answered honestly NOPE.

they were both concerned by my reply, and thankfully so. i do appreciate they HEARD my answer instead of just brushing it off as part of introductory conversation or an employee with a greivance.

i then followed up and explained: NO, i'm not ok. BUT, i own and control that answer. no, i am not at risk for self harm. no, you do not need to be concerned. i am not ok, but i have the tools, the practice, and the self awareness to know it's an issue i'm working on.

my mental health, my response to my mental health, my behavior around my mental health is MY work to do. it is MINE to own and be responsible for.

i thankfully have had access to enough therapy at different times to know that answering honestly is what works best for me. you can't fight something you can't face. i know my demons by name. i am very open talking about my specific struggles because when you SAY it it takes away some of the power, some of the fear. it gives you a specific thing to work on.

i know mental health care is still a devise topic. so many people are still ashamed. so many people still think it's imaginary or "that time of the month" or someone being difficult. so many people have been straight up abused or tortured for their mental health issues (so thankful i'm not a kennedy).

and here comes the soap box:

MENTAL HEALTH IS NO DIFFERENT THAN ANY OTHER KIND OF HEALTH ISSUE.

you heart can have electrical wiring issues and doctors will give you a medication for that.

you pancreas can have a chemical imbalance and doctors will give you a medication for that.

your reflexes and response times can be slow and doctors will treat that.

your muscles can be damaged and injured and doctors will treat that.

WHY IS IT ANY DIFFERENT FOR THE BRAIN?

if you tear a hamstring you will have medical help, therapy, a treatment plan that is openly discussed and adjusted to achieve the peak recovery.

why not make that available for a traumatic brain injury?

NEEDING MENTAL HEALTH CARE IS NOT A

marie kondo-ing the emotional closet

I feel like I've been spending the last long time, really long time, just, struggling through all this stuff and all my posts have been really melancholy.

Then I had a realization this morning: GIRL, you’ve been Marie- Kondoing your emotional closet. I have all this STUFF that I just walked away from. Forever. And I've never dealt with it. You just stick it in a little box and stuff it away in the closet. And of course it's going to be gross when you finally get around to dealing with all that. But you have to get rid of all that junk so you can make room for good new stuff. And I've been doing that. Going through that process. I did my entire house, I did my actual closet, i did my career. Now it's time to Marie Kondo my emotional closet!

And it is ugly. And it is...it's so hard. It is a Debbie Downer. It is...fuck, it's so emotionally draining and it's so hard going back and dealing with all that stuff that you just shoved in your emotional closet for the last 15, 20, 30...however many years. It's just been sitting there waiting. It doesn't go anywhere. It's kind of an asshole like that. Emotions and memories and bullshit. But I feel like I'm getting to the other side. And I feel like I've done a lot of good processing. This week I even tackled domestic violence. Sorted through a lot of my issues with that going back to...16 years ago. And I never dealt with it. Just had to stick it in the closet and keep going. And I've just been dealing with some of the really old horrible stuff that's just been sitting there. Taking up space. Taking up emotional energy. You keep checking to make sure it's still stuck in that little box somewhere, you just don't want to deal with it.

So I'm really excited that I feel like I'm coming out the other side of this. And I'm ready for good things and good experiences. I have all that bullshit gone. I got my emotional closet Marie Kondo CLEAN. And I feel like...I'm ready to just have space for good things. For good people. Positive things. Creative things. Good people and good emotions.

And now that I've...I can't even tell you how the other night going through all that domestic violence stuff...no joke, when they say it feels like a weight had lifted off you. Because GOOD. LAWD. I processed through all of that stuff and just TOOK A BREATH. I don't have to let that be part of my narrative anymore. I don't have to let that be my reaction going forward. And I don't have to have that box there sitting in the closet. I can let go of that and get rid of it. It's not used or useful. It doesn't bring me joy. GONE. It doesn't need to be a part of my life anymore. And that was...after 16 years...that was a pretty good moment.

So, I'm excited. This isn't going to be all sadsies and crying and drama.

But the first part will be. I'm sure I'm not quite done yet. I'm sure there's a few more boxes in the back of the closet that I haven't looked at yet. But I'm getting there. I'm able to get to those boxes now. The closet isn't stuffed full and overflowing and threatening to take over the entire house anymore. It's getting better. But if any of you have ever watched Marie Kondo, or cleaned, or purged or watched hoarders, you know sometimes it gets worse before it gets better. You gotta drag all that stuff out in the light and look at it first. And oof...it gets ugly. Really ugly. You don't realize how much is shoved in there til it's all sprawled out in front of you. And then you just go through it one by one.

And I'm almost there. I feel like I'm getting there. I feel like I've touched on a lot of the things that I've held onto for so long. And because I'm processing them now and actually acknowledging them and recognizing the good and the bad that they brought to my life and why I held onto them for this long? That's important- it is. And now I've been able to deal with that and now I can move on.

So, that's very exciting looking forward. It gives me good energy to keep up this project. I want it to be a good project. I want it to be an exciting 52 weeks. I want it to be fun things. I want it to be real things. Growing things. Learning things. I don't want it to be, like here's another week of me crying about something horrible that happened 20 years ago. And I feel like I don't have to do that any more. I got that all out of the way. So here's to moving forward on beautiful bright Saturday morning. Stella still has been sleeping in the sunshine all morning.

I'm slowly getting ready for the day. It's gorgeous out. And it's...things feel good. It's been a while. It's lovely to be able to say, especially in winter time. It's good. It means I've been working hard. And that means I've been making sure to fight the seasonal depression. And do the things I need to do to take care of myself. And I appreciate that effort me. Well done, high five to myself.

If you miss a high five to yourself it's a particularly embarrassing moment in your own life. Just so you know: WATCH THE ELBOW. If you watch the elbow you'll never miss a high five.

part b

so, that last post i've been sitting on since october. i didn't want to hit the "publish" button. there's so much that goes on in my head about how other people are going to read it. what they're going to say. the criticism. the ways it will get twisted and used against me.

it's terrifying to be honest. it's terrifying to say the ugly stuff. i've seen what happens. i know how people attack. i've been attacked. i know exactly what it's like to have my own words twisted and warped and used against me.

well hell, probably any person that's helped raise a teenager knows what that's like.


but if you don't say it, then someone else out there who feels the same way doesn't have something to look at and know they're not alone.

and fuck if that isn't everything.

if someone else knows they're not alone.

if something i say touches someone.

a very good friend left a comment like that for me a few weeks ago: how my writing has helped her look at some things in life a little differently.

i can't even say how much that means to me.

a few days later another dear friend bequeathed me her favorite pencil to encourage me to write more.

she is an amazingly skilled artist and creator and she's encouraging me to create more.

that's, just, fuck man. i'd be an asshole not to.

for new years this year i did a meditation ceremony. i sat in the middle of my gorgeous little living room with sage, salt, fire, water, air. i sat and cleared my mind and asked. i don't know who i asked. i don't know what i believe in right now. but i asked. the universe? some version of a greater being? myself? all the above?

i asked what my intention is for 2020. what is my focus. what do i need to learn? where is my path leading me?

i was given the word LISTEN.

i need to listen to people more. people who love me and support me. people who compliment me. friends who tell me they love when i write. friends that encourage me to create. friends that encourage me to be myself. friends that tell me...anything. i have brilliant friends. they are thoughtful, intentional, rational, logical, empathetic, educated by life, educated by experience, educated by books. they are bold and creative and goal driven. i have these AMAZING friends i trust. i respect. so why wouldn't i listen to them?

i need to listen to myself. trust my gut. i have strong instincts. i know things. i'm smart. i'm careful. i'm logical. i make list and check lists and i think through EVERYTHING. i need to learn to listen to myself and trust myself.

listen to people when they tell you who they are. people tell you who they are but you want to make excuses for them. you want to make reasons for them. explain things for them. but listen when they tell you who they are. don't ignore it because what they say doesn't fit what you want them to be or because you have a different idea of what you think they should be.

i had never sat and focused my energy like that before. i've made resolutions. eat less. work out more. be more organized. REALLY use a daily planner this year. but i've never sat and focused my enegy. cleared my mind, just sat and welcomed the new year and asked what it has in store for me.

so. listen.

what means trusting myself when i believe that what i have to say matters. listening to my friends and writing more. listening to my therapist and being more open and honest and real and exposed and all the terrifying things. not comparing my self to others. not worrying about what other people think all the time.

fuck. listening is fucking hard. because if you really listen you HEAR things. really hear them. and if you ignore them after that, well, then you're just an asshole (its me, hi) and don't get to bitch about shit anymore.

so, following up on the last post:

i LOVE my new job ya'll.

i have health insurance again and BACK. IN. THERAPY. that's right i'll fucking yell it. therapy is fucking amazing. i will bang that drum LOUD. AND. PROUD.

THERAPY. IS. AMAZING.

things aren't perfect.

the suicidal thoughts have tapered off. i've progressed from being "meh" about staying alive to thinking it would kinda be a bummer if i weren't. not thinking about dying, but not particularly excited about living. 

it's better though. i'll take it and i'll keep working at it.

i have some really tough decisions to figure out in a hurry up and wait fashion. i'm being sued for child support. the hearing was on the 29th with results to follow in 21 days. that determination will alter my budget again by a significant amount. i'm still adjusting to the pay cut of the new job. my apartment lease is up at the end of february and rent is going up. i have to decide to either sign another year lease and risk not being able to afford it depending on the child support results which i won't know for a few more weeks. and if i can't afford to stay here then i have to find some place cheaper to live, extremely fast, which, spolier alert, doesn't exist in spokane. so that means risking being roommates with one of my closest friends. roommates hasn't ever gone well for me before. 

last week one of the temp agencies i used to work with while job hunting called me on wednesday, mid morning. they had an interview for me. a job that would be $3/hour more than my new job, full time permanent, with medical fully covered by the company. it would be enough money to cover the highest amount of child support. it would be FULLY. COVERED. medical. the only interview available was at 3:50 on friday. they needed to know by 4:00 that afternoon.

i scheduled the interview.

how could i not?

then i came home and sat with it for about 6 hours. and by sat with it i mean researched the fuck out of the company, the executive board. snap chatted and slacked and texted friends discussing it. raged and cried and argued and went back and forth a million times.

the company was a family owned mid-sized industrial office administrator position. switch back to office work in the industrial field. what i've been doing for 21 years. what i know. what i'm good at. what i've always. done.

but i've done mid-sized industrial family owned businesses. that has not worked out well for me in the past. my last two jobs really took a tole on my mental health. 

and i've done administrative work. i LOATHE doing taxes. ive felt for a few years that it was time to make a change and try something new. it honestly didn't occur to me until after a few weeks at my new job that i have CHANGED. CAREERS. i'm not a secretary any more. i'm not in charge of ALL the things. we have DEPARTMENTS. i can ask other people for help. other people that know their part better. and i can know my part better. and we can work together. AND IT'S AMAZING. 

and i LOVE my office. i love my team. i have a manager that comes around every morning and asks if we need any help. is there anything he can do. is there a job/client/project we're stuck on. we all work together. we ask each other questions. we share the work. we encourage each other. my department hit our goals and so the manager took us on a work field trip to an arcade with pizza for lunch. 

i love the culture and work environment. people wear whatever they want, any color of hair or piercing or (hey, hi, it's me) tattoos. people are allowed to be WHO THEY ARE. full stop. they find ways to help make you successful.

true story: during my first week, my training week, my fourth day on the job, i had a full on melt down anxiety attack. they told us we were "going live" with calls.

I'M SORRY.

WHAT NOW?

i wasn't 100% clear about my job when i was hired, but i DID NOT, i in no way shape or form had any inkling of a call center job. i would have NEVER taken a $3/hour pay cut for a job where i'm on the phone all day every day talking to strangers about bills.

NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. oh fuck. what did i do. i just blew my life up for this. holy fuck. oh god. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE.

and i tried to talk to the gal in HR, my hiring manager. and she told me i could quit on the spot and be "non-hirable" in the future or i could give my two weeks notice but since it was only my 4th day and i was still in training they would probably just let me go.

OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE.

i need this job. i just quit my jobs. 

but neither of my jobs had replaced me...i could go back...maybe...but i need health insurance..

i am FULL ON MELT DOWN. 

and one of the training gals sat with me in a conference room while i tried to get my shit together and figure out what the fuck i was going to do. i CAN'T i CAN'T talk to strangers all day on the phone. my anxiety...i couldn't there's no way. what the fuck am i going to do? and this gal was just...nice. no judgment. not one hint of anything catty or mean or annoyed or put out. just listened and was like-  oh yeah. i get it. man. yeah. that's a tough spot.

and then they found my new manager and he was like- no. that's not what you'll be doing. our department is just small with no specific corporate training so i just had them put you in the basic training. forget that. he brought in one of the other new hires in the department and she was so nice and kind and was able to explain what we do and was just kind and amazing. and it could have gone SO BAD. so bad. a full on SOBBING anxiety attack on my 4th day? other places i've worked? other experiences friends have had? there's no coming back from something like that. you're the problem FOREVER.if they even let you stay. and people whisper about you every time you walk past. and don't even think about a promotion ever. you're weak. emotional. unstable.

but here? it was a bad day. and i went back the next day and started in my new position.

and that's really what it came down to. I LIKE WHERE I WORK. my mental health is more important than financial stability right now. i'll work side hustle. i'll sell plasma. i'll drive grub hub. i'll cancel internet. i'll move into an apartment that shares a bathroom.

fuck. i might have to move into an apartment that shares a bathroom. i'm almost 40 ya'll. i like having my own bathroom.

but i'll do it. mental health is more important than money. and i LOVE where i work.

and. remember that interview appointment? the only one they had? it was at 3:50.

therapy was scheduled for friday.

from 3:00-4:00.

i was literally choosing between my mental health and financial stability.

that's a fucking clear as anyone can make a decision.

YOUR THERAPY. the thing you did all this for. your mental health. 

or

a job. money. the work you've done forever. but the work environment that has destroyed you.



and i LISTENED to myself.

see that? full circle moment.

i listened to myself: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING GIRL?? YOU HAVE BEEN PREACHING MENTAL HEALTH FROM THE RAFTERS. you go on and on about therapy. about protecting yourself. rebuilding. making better. getting healthy.

WHY WOULD YOU EVEN RISK THAT??

so.

i declined the interview.

i don't know what i'll do if i have to pay the full amount of child support. i don't know if i'll sign another year lease at my apartment. i don't know if more changes are coming. 

things are rough.

but they're good.

i'm on a good path. i can feel it. i trust it.

i'm going to listen.

i'm getting better.

i believe that. 

real talk

ok. fine. i’ll talk about it.

this post has been wandering around my head for WEEKS but i’ve been too terrified to actually write it down. i keep SAYING don’t be afraid to talk about it. don’t be afraid to tell people. being afraid of it makes it worse. makes it stronger. so take that power back. get rid of that energy drain. don’t be afraid to reach out. don’t be afraid to be honest. don’t be afraid to talk about it. DON’T. BE. AFRAID.

and then the bloggess posted an article about talking about it (if you don’t know the bloggess, go find her). and there’s been some not so subtle signs from several corners of the universe kicking me, ever so gently with a steel toed boot, to write about it. talk about it. get the poison out. 

so. here we go.

trigger warning: this post is going to talk about suicide. REALLY. REALLY. talk about suicide. it’s ugly and real and honest. there’s no sugar coating, no tip-toeing, no delicately talking around the issue. it’s blunt. it’s me. the only way i know how to be. 

a few weeks ago i had a really shitty week at work. a really, really, incredibly shitty week at work. a week that made me feel like i am TERRIBLE at my job. and i’m not terrible at my job. i’m very very good at my job(s). it all ended up working out, mostly, but it was a BAD week. between a terrible client, being on hold for SEVEN hours with quickbooks- it was bad. it was absolutely, totally  wrecked, bad.

now, i’ve had bad work weeks before. i’m not perfect at my job, but after 20 damn years i’m pretty fucking good at it. then that week hit. and my work was the ONE THING i felt like i’ve been holding together the last year.

parenting: terrible

finances: terrible

friendships: terrible

relationships: terrible

but work. WORK. the one thing i’m good at. i’m fucking good at my job. the one piece i could hold together.

and that last little tiny toe hold felt like it was falling out from under me. the last piece of my maslow’s hierarchy was crumbling.

it was a bad week. a really bad week.

and i started making a plan. not the good kind. the kind that, looking back, makes me want to hug myself.

i started to make a plan to end my life.

i have to move in april, right? so what if instead of getting ready to move, i just get everything ready for...

i could have everything ready for my dad’s birthday. one last steak and whisky then...

fuck that’s scary to write. and it’s scary to feel.

so. that’s where i was. it was bad. it was ugly. it was dark. it hurt. it scared me. and i didn’t like it. i don’t like it.

i made it through the weekend, made it to the next week and then had another bump in the road when my teenager texted me for the first time since october. great? right? no. it was a huge long attack accusing me of abuse, again, telling me how horrible i am, again, and telling me he hoped i was sitting at home alone and miserable (and i was doing exactly that. ouch.). it was ugly. it hurt. it was completely out of the blue and unexpected. it made me realize that...it made me really realize how long that road is going to be. if he’s even open to getting help, if he is able to GET good help, i’m still not sure...

that’s a really long road. 

and i started thinking about suicide and my plan again. like. really thinking about it.

SO. OK. SELF. LET’S REALLY THINK ABOUT IT.

you think cleaning up your apartment, getting everything in order, having instructions, a plan...think that will all make it better?

survey says fuck off. steve did that. how well did that work out? did all his organizing and getting things lined up make it any better on the back end? did it make losing a brother hurt any less? or did it BREAK. YOUR. HEART. that no one saw it? that you didn’t see it? make you so angry that you didn’t talk to him more? that you didn’t know?

you’ve been in that exact spot. how did it feel? do you want someone else to know that feeling?

his apartment was nice and clean. cool. did that make emptying it out any less traumatic? do you remember how fucking endlessly long that day was? driving back and forth with dad for HOURS to find steve’s car in an impound lot? watching steve’s mother pack up things that belong to a son she’ll never see again? did it hurt any less to have to pack up all your brothers nicely organized things, but not knowing what to do with them? pieces of him- what do you do with it? why would you want to put your friends through that? or the apartment manger. or whomever gets stuck dealing with it. you know your brother wouldn’t have a clue. you couldn’t do that to someone. you couldn’t intentionally leave a shit storm behind. even a well organized one.

so. that bullshit part of the plan is out. what’s next?

oh, think how much good could come from your life insurance policy. yeah. because we all know my friends are the type to think some sort of payout is better than a friendship? you know your people better than that. they would literally practical magic your ass back to this realm just to kick it for even thinking that. nice try. next.

ok. how about: “you’re not supposed to worry about what other people think. you’re not supposed to base your decisions on the impact it will have on others. just worry about yourself first.” ok. let’s rip that thought apart: a) that’s not you. you know that. you think about other people. always have. probably too much. how things will affect them. will it hurt them? you need balance in that department. you’re working on that. be nice to yourself. but it will always be there. not caring at all is not the balance to always caring. find a middle ground. 2) you can’t intentionally inflict pain. you can’t passively inflict pain. it isn’t in you. maybe it’s narcissistic to think people would be sad if i was gone. they would be hurting. BUT I STILL THINK IT. and i don’t want to...i can’t knowingly be the reason people are sad. i don’t want to be the reason people hurt.

so that part is out.

so. how would you do it? seems stupid to not be an organ donor. you’re healthy. or at least have a majority good parts. pretty sure there’s not a way to make both happen. NO. FOR FUCKS SAKE. DON’T GOOGLE THAT.

so. you don’t even know that part.

so what part DO you know? you know you’re sad. you’re hurting. you’ve been through a major, unexpected, traumatic life change. and now your brain isn’t being friendly. ok. let’s work on that.

#1 call your therapist. DONE. back to weekly appointments.

#2 ok brain. we’re going to fucking figure this out. let’s get some mental health going. let’s get a plan together. a mental health care plan.

OH. SNAP.

replace the word mental with...heart. or kidney. or pancreas.

you make comprehensive health care plans for the rest of your body. parts that can heal themselves, maybe be replaced, maybe managed.

if your heart is an asshole they can do surgery or stints or bypasses or other things i’ve heard on greys anatomy but can’t remember. they’ll give you medication or treatment. they’ll 3d print you a new one. i saw it on tv. it must be real. 

if your kidney craps out they can transplant a new one. or medicate the crappy one.

low blood pressure? high blood pressure? diabetes? infection? break? sprain? medication. meditation. injections. cast. physical therapy. 

we do it for all other parts of the body and we’re not terribly embarrassed.

so why can’t we talk about the brain that way? why are we so embarrassed that brains might need help the same as a  kidney might? because we’re still scared of it? because we still don’t understand it? because there’s more questions than answers? it’s the most delicate, most important part of the whole meat factory. it’s the part that makes the rest work. it’s the breathing and the memories and the personality. its understanding. emotion. logic. it’s feeling and facts smashed together in one bone cage. we use a small percentage of its overall power and barely understand even that. it’s mysterious and unexplained. and yes, sometimes parts of it don’t work right. like any other part.

ok. so. let’s make a plan. and for fucks sake, can we please admit how serious this is and stick to a plan this time? this is more than just a bad day. a little bit of pms maybe. stop downplaying it and dismissing it as being dramatic or over reacting. this is literally a matter of life and death. you’re in a fight for your life right now. so time to get back on the right path. time to fight. ok? so what does that look like?

back to basics: vitamins, water, real meals, sleep. brain and body need good fuel to operate. it’s not that hard. just take the damn vitamins. it takes 2.3 seconds. drink the water. no, coffee doesn’t count. EAT. more than bread and hummus. real meals. protein. fats. carbs. vegetables. fruits. all that crap. pyramids and portions and whatever. all those pinterest recipes? that fancy new instapot? MAKE IT WORK. sleep? make it happen. turn off the tv. put down the damn phone. use essential oils. sleep sounds on alexa. smoke yourself to sleep. just SLEEP. have a bed time. stick to it. 

people: you need people. that means leaving your house. so make a schedule. no. a schedule isn’t dumb. it’s practical. people have entire meetings for schedules. tuesday, thursday and sunday can be gym day. yes, the gym is damn near the worst place on earth but it’s $10 a month. it’s out of the house. and it’s healthy or whatever. go walk on a damn treadmill for an hour and listen to music. or podcasts. for fucks sake, you can even watch netflix on your phone on the treadmill. no excuses now. whisky wednesday. do that. you love your bar. you love the people there. you’re comfortable there. go there. friday nights and monday nights you can clean and get all the chores done. yes 2 days for cleaning is plenty. quit being so picky. sheesh. saturday’s GO OUT. find a book reading. a concert. anything. a comedy show. a movie. OUT. get out. netflix will still be there when you get home.

ok. what about *actual* people. like, ones you actually talk to. you can ask them to help without making them responsible for you. simple things. it’s not their job to keep you healthy. it is your job to reach out. they can say no if they’re overwhelmed or uncomfortable and that’s ok.

ok. so you need to TALK. find one person and ask them to check in every few days. have conversations. talk about things. talk through things. talk about nothing. just. talk.

ok. so you need to be real and work on that balance of not worrying what people think. practice being REAL. ok. sounds stupid. but ask one friend to hold your toes to the fire to post REAL, unfiltered snapchat pictures. walking stella on a saturday in mismatched jammies with no bra on, glasses, retainer, no make up and bundled up for winter. it’s real. so show it. to more than your neighbors. be a real person. no one has run away screaming yet. BE. REAL.

ok. so, the gym. fuck i hate the gym. but ask someone that goes ALL THE TIME to bug you if you haven’t mentioned it in a few days. you can check in from the treadmill and so can they.

and remember, this is not THEIR responsibility. it’s YOURS. you take the vitamins. you do the work. you reach out. this is YOUR mental health care plan.

and i’ve been doing it. it’s been a few weeks. it’s hard. as. fuck. but i’m worth it. that’s a big statement for me. i’m worth it. i can say that now and mostly believe it. that’s progress. i’ve been doing the things i need to do. ive been holding myself accountable. i’ve been kind when i’ve missed one bit. i’ve allowed room for imperfection without abandoning the whole plan. that’s progress. that’s huge progress.

suicide is scary y’all. it’s not the first time it’s wandered across my brain but  it is the first time it tried to really settle in and make itself at home in my thoughts. and i’ll tell you what. i did not care for that one bit.

so i’m working on changing it friends. i’m finding ways to make sure those thoughts know they’re not welcome. making sure they don’t get comfortable hanging out. i’m working on changing the negative thought patterns. i’m working on building safety checks. i’m working on LIKING myself. i have 38 years of really, really hating myself to learn to undo. it may be a pendulum effect, please bear with me if i become an egotistical asshole for a minute. i’ll find the balance. i have to find the balance.

i’ll get there. that was a shitty week. wasn’t my first, and i know it won’t be my last. i’m making sure of it. i’m here to fight. i’m in this for the long haul. good bad, bumps and bruises, i’m sticking around. 

and that starts with not being afraid. being able to talk. not being ashamed. not hiding. not giving myself another reason to hate myself. 

if you need help, it is scary. i won’t lie. but there’s help out there. there people and resources. REACH. OUT. just beyond that dark shadow there’s help. whatever you’re going through, it’s a shitty week. sometimes that shitty week feels 20 years long. sometimes it’s one really bad day. and i don’t know if it gets better. i decided to make a change and fight for myself but that doesn’t mean i suddenly woke up to woodland creatures cleaning my house and rainbows shooting out my ass. i’m sure it will get better, and even if that takes a while, i’m tough. i’ve seen some shit y’all. i’ve been through some pretty hard moments. and i’m still here. so i got this. if i made it through 2009 and 2010 i can make it through 2019. 

if you need help, REACH. OUT.

find a friend. find a neighbor. most jobs have an employee assistance program. if you’re too scared to talk to a friend, if you’re struggling with embarrassment, TALK TO A STRANGER. there’s a reason “the comfort of a stranger” is a real thing. so make a call. 

call: 1-800-273-8255 24 hours a day. literally ANY. TIME. there’s someone there to talk to. there’s someone there in spanish. there’s someone there for hard of hearing. there’s someone there on text if talking saying the words out loud is too hard today (text 741741). because that’s a real thing too and it’s ok. 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SUICIDAL TO CALL FOR HELP. bad day and just need someone to talk to? they’re there. have a friend that you want to help? they can help you find ways to gently help.

it’s not weak. it’s not failure. it’s HARD. AS. FUCK. to ask for help. it’s hard as fuck to say some of the painful stuff your brain thinks up. it’s hard as fuck to choose not to believe the negative. it’s hard as fuck to fight to make things better. it’s not weakness. it’s not failure. EVERYONE. and i do mean EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. ON. EARTH. has bad days. don’t believe the social media hi-light reels. EVERYONE. EVERYONE has bad days. and no two bad days are the same.

suicide isn’t the answer. it really, really isn’t. my brother took his own life. he planned, arranged, tried to make it ok. i can tell you there’s no “good” way to leave people behind. there is nothing ok about being on the other side. i know it didn’t solve a single damn one of the problems he was fighting. suicide likes to pretend it’s a good solution. it like to slide up next to you and lie it’s face off about how much better it will make thing. THAT’S A LIE. it doesn’t make anything better. it’s just- stops everything. your life is your story. want it to have a good ending? maybe even a happy ending? maybe even a fairytale ending? then you can’t stop it right in the middle of the bad part. sleeping beauty would have been a shit story if it was just like- oh. she’s sleeping. the end. harry potter would have been terrible if he had just been like- I DON’T KNOW. confession: i never read the books. but i’m 100% sure based on the movies if he’d been like- oh. this teacher is mean and quit it would have been a shitty, shitty story.

i’m going to make my story good. i’m going to try my damndest to give it a good ending, in 60 or so years. that’s a lot of pages left to write. this is just a dark chapter in the middle. this is just a storyline arc, not the denouement.