Oy, I know it’s been a little while since I’ve written. I’ve been distracted by a slew of marital issues and such, and so I’ve sort of dropped the ball in trying to keep sane and my head above water in all of this. I will not delve too deep into the martial issues, as there are some things that don’t belong on my blog. But, there have been things and events that I’ve had to deal with.

I love fall. I love parts of it, I love fall when it’s warm and pretty when the sun wraps its wisps of rays around the Iowa area as it slips away into winter. I love it when it’s cooler than 110 in the shade. I don’t really love it when it’s unshakeably cloudy and rainy. This fall, I really feel like we got kicked in the head with “HEY, IT’S AUTUMN! “. The weather is cooler, the clouds are oppressive, and the sense of impending doom and hopelessness is creeping in. After a very slow start to the summer, and then a rocky summer, I’m not exactly ready for this already. But it is what it is, and I can no more stop that than I can stop the wind from blowing. So, I try to just make the best of every day and go from there.

I’ve found myself in a horrid juxtaposition between things in life. I feel like I’m clinging to a spiked wall that’s above a lava pit, and that although I’m stabilizing, the lava is getting awfully hot. I’m going to have to work on things and do things that I don’t really want to do. This is why some people avoid therapy. It’s hard. It really forces one to sit down and assess what they are doing and where they are going in life, and the main lesson that I have learned is: “Everything you know is wrong.” Whew, that one is a hard pill to swallow. I’ve made some great progress, but sheesh! IT. DOESN’T. END. Sometimes, I just want to take the whole bottle of whatever it is that I can find to go to sleep and forget about it all.

Now, for those that know me personally, and for those who don’t, the subject I am about to broach next is a bit on the tricky side. It’s kind of sticky, but it’s something that also must be talked about. It is a piece of the mental health puzzle. It’s a matter of being comfortable with who I am, what I’m doing, and where I’m going in life.

I am bisexual.

I’ve already dodged all of the rotten tomatoes, so thank you. You can just put them in the trash, thankyouverymuch.

There is a huge stigma attached to “The B Word”. It comes from both sides of the spectrum, and this stigma is what sort of sent me back into the closet. It’s a comfort thing. If people ask me point-blank, I’ll tell them. Or, if I’m *REALLY* comfortable with the person, I’ll come out. I don’t openly wear my rainbow (or purple triangles) on my sleeve, but it’s there. No, I’m not going to make out with you because you’re a girl. No, I’m not going to hit on you. No, I’m not going to have a threesome for your boyfriend. No, I haven’t had 100 partners. I’m not promiscuous. I’m not a freak. At the risk of being disowned by certain parts of my family, I am attracted to women. Not all women. Just like I’m not attracted to all men. I’m not going to explain myself. I’m not going to apologize for myself.

I am what I am. I am who I am. I’m not ashamed of it. I am still the same person I was ten minutes ago before you clicked open my blog and I came out to the internet. Sexuality is something that is complicated and fluid. It happens. Unfortunately, I do anticipate a few “Un-Friends” on Facebook. I should hope that anybody that I talk to, associate with, and/or am FB friends with won’t get freaked out by my admission to bisexuality and decide that I’m not worthy of associating with. If anybody DOES really and legitimately feel that they SIMPLY CANNOT TALK TO A WOMAN THAT HAPPENS TO LIKE SOME OTHER WOMEN (OMG! SCREAM! The Horror!) and decides that THAT will be the one and only deciding factor in whether or not to take me off their “Friend” list, then by all means, DON’T LET THE DOOR HIT YOUR ASS ON THE WAY OUT!!!

ALL of that being said, sexuality is situationally complex. So, I really don’t like it when I have crushes on females. Why? As nice as it is, it’s fucking complicated. Why? Because the vast majority of females are NOT bisexual or lesbian, and there really IS NO WAY TO TELL. We don’t all have pink patches to wear on our clothes to say “Hey, You’re on my Gay-Dar! NEAT!”

AND MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M GOING TO BLOG ABOUT THIS!!! HOLY HELL, I’M GOING TO BLOG ABOUT IT. OMG.

So there was a girl. I’d always sorta seen her “around”. I didn’t have a whole lot of contact with her. I still don’t. Somehow, though, she caught my eye. I will refer to her as “Mystery Girl”, how I referred to her before I learned her name. I don’t know if she cast a spell on me or what, but after awhile, I feel head-over-heels for this insanely attractive and elusive mystery.

I try not to let myself fall for girls, simply because of the complexity of the situation. This one, though. This one has a special place in my heart. I simply have not been able to rationalize the situation and get her the hell out of my head, though. Realistically, I’m thinking: “Not a shot in hell!” I know this with my head. My heart, however, is split in two. She’s elusive as the wind, blowing and and blowing out at a moment’s notice. As she gets closer to graduation, the busier she becomes. One day, I actually scraped enough will to go over and have a conversation with her. I was very comfortable with her, and beyond that one in-depth conversation, it was all over. I spent the next month with nothing but her on my mind. So much so that I’ve had to tell myself several times: “OKAY, GET A FUCKING GRIP! NOT COOL!” But, my heart won’t listen. I hate infatuation. I like to remain in control of my emotions and infatuations/love… It makes life easier that way.

There is something so amazing about this girl, though. She’s mysterious. Smart. Talented. Sweet, nice, and everything else lovely in the world.

And she doesn’t know that I exist. She also doesn’t know that I feel this way about her. She may, I doubt it. But, I may have scared her away (my biggest fear, of course). I’ve done my best to keep my distance, because I know that once this happens, I’ve got a tendency to be a bit obsessive (positive obsession or negative obsession, still an obsession). I’ve been “shooed away” once or twice by guys that I got gooey and giggly over. I’ve purposefully kept my conversation on the internet limited. I have not seen her now for quite awhile since the semester has been in full swing. But, my biggest fear would be that I freaked the hell out of her, she thinks I’m a creep, and really never wants to be around me or see me again.

So, Mystery Girl is as much a mystery to me as she was when I first found myself captivated by her beauty. My guess is that she, like most of the rest of my friends, is buried beneath a mountain of midterms at this point, and is most likely so focused on her homework that she can’t have a social life. That’s the rational look at things. My heart, however, is irritatingly irrational, and is telling me that I spammed her inbox, or cell phone, and that she thinks I’m fucking weird and really wants me to stay the hell away.

I’m stuck between my heart and my head. My head does a lot better at life than my heart, so my head is going into overdrive trying to get that ache out of the rest of my body. Rationally, she’s *JUST* a girl. Likely, she’s a STRAIGHT girl. A very, very busy girl. Emotionally, I’m stuck on her. And that sucks. Oy.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to do that. She’s a girl. I’m a girl. NOT cool. I’m ESPECIALLY not supposed to take it THIS far. I usually try to cut those off early so that when stuff like this happens, it’s not that big of a deal. But I fell hard for this one. Damn. So, I’m stuck. A rock and a hard place, just trying to get that deep ache out of myself.

When I was younger, a teenager, I remember saying very adamantly: “I’m straight as an arrow, but sure as hell NOT narrow!” I openly accepted the idea of the GLBT movement, despite my severely homophobic best friend. The main subject of her conversation was about gay people, and how bad it was to be gay. That’s the bulk of what I remember about this girl. In fact, her conversation was so heavily laden with homophobia that I discussed this with ANOTHER friend, and we both wondered if this original friend was indeed, a lesbian. The original friend was SO FREAKED OUT by our open lesbian gym teacher. I thought it was ridiculous. I had NO problem with it. I didn’t actually know anybody that was openly gay at that point, but I seriously could have given less than a shit.

What I IGNORED was my own discomfort with women. Especially women of alternative sexuality. I could not openly figure out why, for the life of me, WHY WHY WHY when I heard of an internet friend being bisexual and making out with a girl, that it made me SO DAMN UNCOMFORTABLE? I had to literally convince myself several times over “Okay, that GUY is REALLY HOT! LOOK AT THAT GUY” I would spend a lot of time avoiding looking at women because I was straight. Why was I looking at this woman? And why did she look so… luscious? There was that one girl in my freshman Spanish class that I felt REALLY weird when I found out that I’d been eyeing her, and she was, indeed a girl. (My defense to myself was: “She LOOKS like a cute boy! Dammit! a BOY! EMPHASIS ON THE BOY!!”)

I remember a cool fall or winter night when I was a teenager. I was sitting by the piano watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation with my dad. I looked at Dana Troy (Miranda Sirtis), and I had to look away because there was something captivating about her… She made me tingle. I spent the rest of the episode desperately looking at all of the male characters because I was straight, there was no reason why I should have felt that twinge. I just about had a panic attack that night. When I was alone, I looked out the living room window and started crying. I cried myself to sleep that night. That wasn’t the only time. It’s not something that happened frequently, just enough for me to lose my footing.

I had markers. Flags. Clues as to what was happening. But, I never actually openly addressed this ever-so-private THING. ESPECIALLY NOT in middle or high school. I would have been chewed up and spit out. I was barely outwardly comfortable around guys (I’m still kinda awkward on this one…). Let alone girls. So, I maintained that I was, indeed, straight. I liked guys, I was pretty open about liking boys, and all was cool. All was right with the world. What wasn’t cool was these “abnormal” twinges I felt occasionally when I met or saw particular girls. “DO *NOT* GO TO PHASE 2! I REPEAT! DO *NOT* GO TO PHASE 2!!! DON’T YOU DARE! THIS IS NOT COOL! DON’T DO IT!!!”

Later on, the summer after I graduated high school, I figured it out. Or, I finally found myself comfortable enough to address the issue in my head, at the very least. One late summer night when my parents were off doing their own thing (I remember it was summer, nighttime, and I think my parents were out.) I watched a movie that night. It was the thing to do when it’s quiet, boring, and you’ve got unlimited access to cable. I was flipping channels, and I stumbled upon something that appeared to be interesting, so I gave it a go. It was decent, and I have always enjoyed well-crafted movies. They are thought-provoking and creatively inspiring to me. This movie was a “Coming-of-Age” tale (Re: addressing homosexuality, at least in the lost language of 2001), and the subject matter was a high school boy, his cute and awkward sexual chemistry between another boy, and how they fell for one another. If I tell any more, I’ll ruin the movie. It was called “Get Real.” WATCH THIS MOVIE! Just, watch it.

Usually when I see a story that is well-written and thought-provoking, it will loll around in my head for several days thereafter. I consider this my gage as to whether a movie was worth my time or not. This one rolled around in there for a little while. When the movie finished, I’d gotten to thinking about things, and I made a connection. Cause. Then Effect. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. I figured out (officially) WHY I was so damn uncomfortable around certain women. Or looking at certain women.

I liked them. And I’d been uncomfortable because I liked them. “I like women. Holy shit. Women are attractive to me.”

Then I had to take a long, hard look at myself and figure out exactly HOW much I liked women, and I briefly wondered whether or not I was a lesbian. (boo, hiss. Egads.) I quickly figured out that, according to the intensity of the crushes on boys I’d had over the years, this was an impossibility. Where did that leave me? Uh… The “B Word” that nobody likes to use.

But, it hit me. And holy shit, it hit me. The feelings and emotions that the characters were going through in that movie, I WAS FEELING TOO! The deep-seeded inner conflict that I hadn’t EVER openly acknowledged, EVEN TO MYSELF, I was feeling it too. I had been for a very long time, but tamped it down and denied the hell out of it until that moment.

I realized that I was BIIIIIIIIIIIIII-sexual… A lightning bolt in my brain. An epiphany, and the floodgate opened. The dam released, and the pressure was off. It was a huge weight off of my shoulders (as ANY epiphany is to me!), and I was okay with that. I was no longer in denial. No more crying myself to sleep at night every now and again.

Clearly, the years of deep denial had worked well. When I came out of the closet, the general reaction was “Duh…”

I felt a freedom about myself and my sexuality that I’d never felt before. And it felt good. I wanted to scream to the world “HEY, I’M BISEXUAL! HAH!” I was giddy as a schoolgirl at this epiphany, and more comfortable than I had been… ever… So, I opened up. The more I opened up, the better I felt.

My first semester of college, I stayed pretty open. It’s cool to be “Out and Proud”, but I found that sometimes, even in a liberal bubble, discretion must be used. Over the years, I learned that keeping quiet about that in the workplace definitely worked to my benefit. And that if I let people get to know me first, then it wasn’t such a big deal. Still, though, that dreaded “B – Word” doesn’t come without consequence. I’ve heard many, many times: “Well, WHO do you marry? A man or a woman?” “Cool! Will you do a threesome!?” …etc… “You’re NOT straight! EW!” “You’re NOT a lesbian! EW!” It can be very difficult to be squashed in the middle. Eventually, that squeeze between stereotypes, assumptions, and being tired of answering the same questions over and over again sent me halfway back into the closet. Actually, still into the closet, but with the door cracked open.

I have found that I am still there to a degree. I’m not secretive about it. I don’t wear my purple triangles on my sleeve, but as I get to know people, they find out. It’s definitely not one of the first things I open up about. In fact, it’s one of the last. I think that it is because there ARE still so many stereotypes, barriers, and misinformation out there that it can be difficult to gauge whether or not it is appropriate to step out of that door. I have also found that a lot of my bisexual and lesbian friends are the same way. It doesn’t come out right away, and usually I have to mention it before I find out for sure. In fact, I had NO IDEA that two of my best friends were lesbians until I’d actually really gotten to know them! Which is beyond awesome, yes, but it sometimes presents a problem when I’m stuck between two hard places by falling OVER MY BUTT for a girl. Attraction is one thing, yes. Trying to make a move on that attraction, well, I’m stuck. With guys, it’s usually a pretty safe bet that most of them out there are straight or bi, and that’s a really easy conversation to have. With girls, I kind of get stuck. Hence, my dilemma with Mystery Girl.

I saw her the other night for the first time in five weeks. I’d finally cooled my jets about the issue, and I’m glad. I can focus on more important things now, like blogging and working. That’s not to say that she isn’t STILL singlehandedly the most beautiful and luscious thing I have EVER seen in my life, but I managed to break through the “Loop:Repeat” in my brain about her.

The interesting thing about Mystery Girl is that I still firmly swear and believe that SHE STARTED IT! However, with her very busy schedule going opposite of mine, I’m positive that NOTHING will ever come of this! Crushes are fun, yes, but it’s handy to keep the emotions in perspective, and how they affect a situation – either positively or negatively.

What I’ve taken from ALL of this is that emotions are irritatingly complex. The human ritual is an element that has so many complex, subtle nuances that can be easily mistaken, misdirected, or misunderstood. Especially if one is unexpectedly sideswiped by a sudden, huge Twinge. The attraction and excitement can leave a person breathless by mere eye contact, and can easily suck somebody in to something that they weren’t expecting.

In all of this, I am slowly teasing apart what’s emotional vs. what’s logical and rational. I believe that this is just part of growing up, and it’s part of straightening myself out (ha!) so that I can live the happy, productive life that I want to live. Shoveling away a lot of the emotional clutter has been tantamount to my recovery process. This whole experience with Mystery Girl, the insane attraction to her, and then getting a grip on things and RECOGNIZING how the emotional element has affected my life for so long has been another piece of the puzzle that I’m putting together in my life.

I’m getting there. It’s tough learning to accept and love yourself, and every aspect about yourself. I’m (still) okay that I’m attracted to women. I use discretion when creeping out of the closet these days, and it’s been to my benefit. Yes, it could be fairly obvious. Especially when I suddenly am unable to speak or drop whatever I’m carrying because Mystery Girl walks in, but people generally don’t know for sure. I’m okay with this slight anonymity, because it’s my business. People don’t need to know EVERYTHING about me right off the bat. That’s overwhelming. I don’t know everything about me yet! It’s been quite the process to even get THIS far. I’m glad I’ve made it.

There’s farther to go, but another piece is in place. For Mystery Girl: You are STILL every bit as a mystery as when I first met you! Then fell for you. But, a little bit of mystique and mystery in life is okay. It keeps life interesting.

I’ve been taking it easy, trying to slow down, relax, and figure out what makes me tick, vs. what turns me into a bomb.

Right now, I am positively bored out of my skull and my brain is actively gnawing on itself to keep occupied. This is an odd sensation, but one that I must confront and deal with, because life isn’t all about “The Next Thing.” It’s about living now. If I spend the rest of my life shooting for these goals of making X dollars per year, buying a house, having 2.3 children and a white picket fence, sure, that’s grand and all, but it’s not going to make me happy in the long run. Why am I so pessimistic on this one? I am 1.5 years post-grad in a college town that’s saturated with BA’s, and though I work damn near a 40 hour work week, it’s not in my career field, and, and, and, I guess that I just assumed when I got out of college, life would be better. I would make more money being a degreed individual, and I would make ends meet on a regular basis.

Hello, Reality.

Reality is something different. It’s been something that I’ve had to come face-to-face with over this past year and a half, and I’ve narrowed things down to a few basic ideas: Living for the future is great, but now is what’s important. It’s okay to have goals and strive for them, but losing myself in the process deflates these highs of achievement pretty quickly. I’ll achieve a large goal, say finish college or get promoted, and once the high of getting what I shot for wears off, I’m left with a gnawing, empty void. A gnawing, empty void that I’ve filled desperately in the past with 100 extracurricular activities, all in the name of “When I get X, I’ll have life on Easy Street, and I’ll be able to relax and have fun!” The truth of the matter is, I don’t relax. I haven’t “just relaxed” for awhile, unless my brain has forced me to do so in the form of a screaming, crying mess. I don’t know how to just relax, and the sad part is that I don’t know how to “just relax” and be happy while doing so. Hell, I don’t even know how to be happy at this point, but I sure as hell am trying!

I’ve really had to force my efforts inward, and what I’ve found is kind of disturbing. I’ve had to deal with these issues, behaviors, thoughts, and patterns and face them head-on. I am trying to figure out how to manage my illnesses and come out on top. I am taking an active stand against these crappy patterns and behaviors, and standing up for my right to be a happy, healthy, and functional individual.

Last night, I had to physically force my obsessions out of my head. I imagined a bulldozer clearing away the imaginary dirt, germs, bugs, and cat hair in order to give my brain a clean slate to work with. It took quite a bit of physical and mental effort to do this. But y’know what? It’s me taking a stand against these relentless obsessions and negativity in my life in the name of something better. It is a Herculean battle that I wage, but I’m stepping it up. I’m winning.

Part of winning is recognizing how bored my brain actually gets, and what the hell to do about it. What I’m going to do about it is something that I’m actively working on, day in and day out. I’m really trying to find the balance of what’s too much activity and what’s not enough. Obviously, I can’t constantly be burning the candle on both ends. That never works, and it always leads to a breakdown. I’m pretty well working full-time at the coffee shop, and that suits me just fine for the moment. I would prefer a little more income, but using that as my overriding motivation for EVERYTHING doesn’t really work, either.

When I do finally find the balance of mental health and wellness, I’ll be sure to let the world know. That will be the day that David kicks the shit out of Goliath.

I’ve been on a mini-hiatus as I endured a 5-day stint of anxiety-driven insomnia. I was able to sleep maybe 1-2 hours at a crack, and I had to work my full-time job while attempting to remain stable.

I succeeded.

To give a little background on my sleeping habits: Insomnia for more than one day is completely new to me. I am normally an olympian sleeper. If there were Olympics for sleeping, I would win the gold medal. I’m not narcoleptic, but I do enjoy my nine hours of sleep per day/night. I’ve occasionally in my life had 1 day bouts of being unable to sleep, usually because I’m excited for some reason or another (Christmas when I was young, etc), and any longer than that, I *will* make up for it the next day by “Power Napping” (A 5-hour “Nap”, which, I know, is more of a Sleep, but oh well!). I have had periods where I will sleep too much and just still be tired. That is because I would rather sleep sometimes than deal with everyday life.

Let’s rewind to last Saturday. I’d sort of effed-up. I’d had two days off, and I stayed up much later than I should have playing video games (not that my husband complained in the LEAST!!!). I went to work at 8:00 AM. My god, the possibilities!! I stayed up until 4:00AM. Whoa!, and that shift was anxious all-around. I was working with people that aren’t slackers, but they’re just plain not quick, and when there is a huge line of guests going out the door, speed and efficiency is key! But, I figured that I would either take a nap or go to bed early within the next day or so. No big deal.

I didn’t sleep terribly well that night, and when I did, I had a terrible, vivid dream about cockroaches coming to invade my domain, and when I found them, I sprayed stuff on them, but there was a little orange kitten in the way that got sprayed by the insecticide and got really sick. I was ashamed of myself for not checking more thoroughly for any other kitties that might have been in the vents (in the back play room of the house I grew up in). And then the cockroaches were super-cockroaches so I had to upgrade the spray, but I had to take care of the kitty-cat that I’d just gassed, and it was horrible! I woke up that day very anxious, and I had to concentrate on keeping medicated. I could feel the blackness welling up on me and getting ready to suck me in. I had that panicky, heart-thumping, shaky feeling I can only describe as headed downhill into a serious anxiety attack.

So the next night, I wasn’t really able to sleep either. By Sunday, it still wasn’t really that big of a deal. I was tired, but hey, I’ve gone through worse. I just figured that I’d sleep later that day or that night. I got home from work, relaxed awhile, and then tried to lay down and take a nap. I wasn’t able to do it. I laid in bed for two hours. I might have slept very, very lightly, but not enough. My mind was racing, and it kept going back to weird Obsessive-Compulsive La-La Land. I think I forgot my meds that day. I can usually feel it when I forget them, and I definitely felt that I was hanging on by a thread, and that that thread was fraying. I didn’t have a mental meltdown by any means, but I still felt dark, panicky, and anxious.

I should mention the experiment that I’ve been performing on myself. I have been looking to see exactly what it’s like when I’m focusing on nothing but one job, and I don’t have fifty other extracurriculars going on. For a long time, I used all of these extra activities to run away from my disease. It is much more comforting for me to be WAY TOO BUSY, because then I don’t have time to deal with all of this painful stuff that I’ve been going through lately and writing about. This has been part of it: to slow the hell down and figure out what makes me happy vs. what doesn’t make me happy.

I can say that this experiment has definitely proven to me that I do indeed have a *very* active mind! My brain moves through so much information on any given day that it’s ridiculous. So remaining completely unoccupied outside of my one job is probably not going to be the most beneficial for me. That is why I’ve decided to take on a few activities, like reading, writing, and drawing, to sort of get what’s going on in my brain out.

So basically, to continue the story about my week: I progressed further and further without sleep. I would lay down for a nap or to sleep for the night, and I was UNABLE TO DO IT. This went on for several days. Five, to be exact, and I knew it was dangerous territory. My sole mission for this week was to avoid a meltdown. My hand still kind of hurts from the last one. I also knew that the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll as I was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I started with that terrible cockroach dream. This was not the first dream that I’ve had of cockroaches lately, and I’ve noticed that it’s been a recurring theme. Combine that with a lack of sleep, a lack of meds, and this panicky anxiety, and I realized that I was diving headfirst into my next obsessive-compulsive manifestation. They change over time, really. But, to this day, I have a hard time really being outside in the wilderness, which is something that I love, and the last time I went camping, I basically had to drink myself into laying face-down drunk in the grass to make it through the night. So, this new obsessive-compulsive thing IS NOT COOL. I found myself contemplating whether or not I should inspect every nook, cranny, and crevice for potential entrance points and basically dust my kitchen with Boric Acid.

This is not a good idea for three reasons:

#1, Boric Acid must be used carefully, it’s NOT good for pets, and although relatively benign for humans, it’s only *relatively* benign. There is still a danger involved. Its a poison.
#2, I realized that if I started there, where would it end? My experience in dealing with obsessive-compulsive disorder for ten years is that once I start acting on those compulsions, it is merely a temporary solution for anxiety relief. The thought will repeat itself, and I will have to repeat the cycle.
#3, While handy to at least give a visual look-over for cockroach evidence, the time involved in dealing with an obsession and then compulsion is utterly ridiculous.

Still, though, my thoughts kept straying back to the little asshats. And back to them. And again.

Finally, I had to sit myself down and tell myself:

“Hey, there is ABSOLUTELY NO RATIONAL REASON FOR THIS!!! I haven’t seen any cockroaches at work for several months now, due to persistent visits from “The Man”, and although I live in an apartment complex, I am WELL familiar with what they look like and what evidence they leave in their wake, and I have literally SEEN NOTHING whatsoever to indicate that they have taken up residence in my apartment. Yes, there are a few stray crumbs, but I have cleaned them up, and there is just no plausible, rational reason for this!!! WHAT THE FUCK GIVES?!?!!!!”

I figured it out. I know what gives. It’s me diving headfirst into obsessive-compulsive la-la land. This is a familiar pattern. I dealt with this ten years ago when I first dove into the OCD deep-end with the head lice issue. Once I realized this, I decided right then and there that I am NOT doing this. There is no rational, logical reason behind it, and I am NOT going down this road again. I am making an active decision to separate myself from my disorder, realize that it’s my disorder talking, and move on. Once I spiral out of control into this OCD nightmare, it’s hella difficult to bring me back. What I *can* control is my med levels, and knowing that I am headed into mental WELLNESS, NOT more mental illness. And I REFUSE, REFUSE, REFUSE to fall prey to my disease again. I am exuding EVERY bit of effort that I’ve got toward living a life that is not chained down by the wholly fear and dread in my brain.

So I made that decision, I regulated my meds, and I feel a whole lot better. It still took me two or three days to accomplish all of this, and I was only finally able to sleep once I took care of one of my friends. That was a weird experience. But the important thing is that I took a STAND against my problem, and I FUCKING WON!!!

Once I realized what I’d actually accomplished, I also realized something else: I kick some SERIOUS ass! In a hardcore way. I took my problem, recognized it, and then beat the shit out of it by using rational thought and recognition.

I also realized that this is definitely something that I should feel really, really good about. I’m winning. I’m winning the battle. And I am one seriously determined woman. The sights have been set. I am going to beat this. All-around, I am going to win. Hardcore.

I’m still here, I am still writing, and I am still living, breathing, and being human. My god! What?! Moi!? HUMAN?!

Last week was kind of tough, but I made it through that one. I think that I used to think that once I’d make it through a breakdown, I’d be stronger and that I’d never have a breakdown again. I’d never cut myself again. I’d always make a vow that I would do it better next time, and that I wouldn’t crumble under the load again. This is in my nature. The whole denial of reality thing is in my nature as well. Plausible denial. But, as life goes, something would happen, and I would crumble again under the pressure, and keep going up and down, down and up, around and abound, until I found myself completely and utterly lost over a year ago.

I had no goals, aside from finding a full-time permanent job. So, I made “mini” goals, like becoming a trainer for my home-party business company. Once I did that, I thought, I would be all set! I’d have tons of parties, make tons of money, and then everything would be alright. That worked very well. . . For about two months. I also had set another goal of moving up at the coffee shop to become a shift supervisor. It sounded neat, and it would be something to do. So I chased after these things in earnest, as I’d chased after many things in my life. My life has always been about “Reaching that Next Goal And then I Will Be Happy.” I will be a part of “The Big Life”, as Rachel Simon put it. That all-elusive big and happy life with a house, a yard, a white picket fence, 2.3 kids, and just plain being happy. But, to do so, I’d need money. And to make money, I worked as a home-party small business owner. I also worked at the coffee shop. And I also simultaneously worked as a freelance designer. All in the name of scoring up with “The Big Life” of not having to live paycheck-to-paycheck and worrying if this gas tank was going to deplete me at the end of this two weeks and dreaming of a bigger, better life.

Hello, Reality.

I was burning the candle at both ends. And in doing so, I could distract myself from a lot of these issues until they would all blow up in my face with the force of ten A-Bombs on a moderately regular basis. Then the issues would all come out to play, I’d go into an anxious furry, crying, hysterical, and just plain crazy. Yep, I said it. Crazy. Then I’d spend several days recovering, and then hit the ground running again, because at this point, I was behind in my work. I’ve always felt that feeling of being two steps behind everything and everybody. It’s something that has taken a long time for me to shake. Even though I know rationally that competing with the world is pointless, there was a part of me that still thought I had to match up to everybody and everything around me, and that I wasn’t cutting it. Because I wasn’t cutting it, that automatically turned me into an idiot, and there was no way possible I could even match up to Idiot Numero Uno in the world (some mythical definition of “Idiot”), and that I was just destined to be a quasi-functional member of society whose place was behind a grill, flipping burgers. Or, in my case, putting burgers on an automatic grill at BK.

After weaving in and out of the local restaurant/retail job market, I finally found one that was worth sticking to. That was the coffee shop. There was something about it that was fun, and I stuck to it for almost an entire year. My four years at Burger King were on and off, in that high school / early-college phase. But, the coffee shop was something a little different, and quite enjoyable. I enjoyed the people, and I enjoyed my coworkers. And my boss was pretty kick-ass. So I stuck around. Then I graduated college, and had to plan a wedding. And I needed more money, so I took a temp job working in a windowless, concrete void of a file room at a hospital.

The hospital job was so exciting that once I learned what I was supposed to do, I couldn’t stay awake. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t stay awake, I just knew that I couldn’t. I’d get the job done, and done well, but I didn’t really want to put film away (long story), so my eyes would droop, my head would bob, and the next thing I know, I’ve been on the desk for two hours, and I’m all refreshed and feeling GREAT! That worked great. Especially when The Boss Lady had heard about my sleep-capades and caught me in the act. I was asked to leave that day, and with my wedding coming up the next week, I didn’t really mind. This was a job that wasn’t working for me. So I had my wedding, a wonderful wedding, despite THE MOUNTAIN OF STRESS they put on people, and then asked for my job at the coffee shop back.

My boss was more than happy to oblige, only this time, I’d be in the mornings instead of nights. This was something that was mutually beneficial for both parties, as a lot of morning people were leaving. I could work, get done with my day by noon, and then have the rest of my day to work on web design and/or mess around. I found that this didn’t work so well with my home party business, as most of those were held in the evenings, and I’d usually get lucky and be scheduled at an ungodly hour in the morning the next morning for it. This worked for a little while, but I had to call it quits.

I decided something this past spring. I decided that the most important thing was for me to focus on my mental health. And the home party business was trapping me in mounds of paperwork that I hadn’t minded doing for three years, but I was just DONE with it, and I couldn’t get myself to do even a small amount of paperwork for it. I realized that I hate paperwork, and that’s okay. I liked the parties, and I liked earning the money, but all of the work outside of the parties that was involved in, I just wasn’t interested in anymore. That was taking a toll on my mental health, so I decided that I would take a break, and if at the end of that break I felt that it wasn’t worth beating my head on a wall with, I would quit.

I did quit, and I amped-up the focus on the graphic design thing, as this was my graduated field. Graphic design is tough. Everybody’s a critic, and it seems like no matter how much I learn, I’m always missing out on something and building a website can take FOR-EVER. I enjoy the work, to a point. I enjoy being creative and putting my intellectual talents to the test. However, I realized too, that I would need a break from this. It took me WAY TOO LONG to build a particular website, due to uncontrollable forces on both ends. While I was building said particular website, I broke down several times under the pressure, and although I kept going back to it, I never felt that it was good enough to move on. There was always something else. I suppose that this is the nature of the freelance biz, and one day, I’ll have the strength to put my foot down and say “NO, DAMMIT! THIS is what we agreed to!”

So, I’ve taken a rest from that, too. All of my intellectual and emotional energy right now is going toward fixing myself. Fixing my brain, so that it can cope with life in general, I can work a moderate load consistently, instead of ALL or NOTHING. I know that part of these behaviors are learned, part of them are just plain genetically ingrained, and it’s going to take a lot of work to bring myself to a happy, functional state.

I learned in that home party business that making it to “The Next Step” is something to shoot for, but once I get there, there’s not much for me. I’ll figure it out, but my happiness is not reliant on being on that next rung of life. I’m not making a whole lot of money at the coffee shop right now, but for now, it’s enough. It’s enough to basically cover the bills, and cover a little bit of the food. Of course, living in excess of paycheck-to-paycheck will be nice, but that, too, is not the sole indicator of what will make me happy. Learning “The Next Thing” in web design under the gun is kind of fun, until I realize that once I learn that one thing, I’ve got to learn another immediately. It’s kind of grueling.

This is all stuff I figured out after about a year in therapy. Once, of course, I realized that I’m not actually stupid or lazy. For a long time, I just got to the point that I assumed that I was. I’d failed college a few times. Sure, I got my degree, but it was like the next GED. Useless. I ran my own business for three years very successfully, but then I didn’t ever make it to the jackpot at the end of the rainbow. It carried me through financially, but there was a lot of work to it, and I was always drained from having to build my inventory, pay for gas, and pay the bills. After awhile of working like a maniac, and getting fired several times for either tardiness, or just plain leaving because I couldn’t stomach another day, I just assumed it was a character flaw, and that I was destined to live at the bottom of the ladder. That’s where I was evidently the most comfortable, moving from job to job, from activity to activity, never actually following through with much.

I recognized the pattern very early on in life. Especially when I took up track. Every time I would go to run a mile, or two miles, I’d have a very enthusiastic start to it with the best of intentions to run a 7 minute mile (ok, so I’m slow. I just run because I enjoy it, NOT for speed. obviously), after 200 meters or so, I’d get a little winded, and my enthusiastic start would have to slow down to a pace that I could manage. Obviously, a lot slower than originally intended. I wouldn’t ever stop running, but I would go a lot slower and sort of hang out until I was on the last lap, or last few laps. Then, I would pick up the pace until the last 100-200 meters, where I’d *really* pick up the pace and sprint toward the finish.

This is a pattern that I have recognized for a long time, and although my fitness level and/or relative athletic state (I was never a born athlete) was to blame for the running, I didn’t really have anyone or anything to put my finger on as to WHY I was like this. I’d always have a great start, falter in the middle somewhere, and then race pell-mell toward the finish. This was especially prevalent in school. After awhile, I just assumed that I wasn’t cut out for it, and I was just kind of stupid to begin with. I was able, but not that bright. This pattern dates back to elementary school, when I started having projects and such. I would start enthusiastically, and then fall apart in the middle until the deadline, where a panicked frenzy would put out a half-assed product that didn’t get me the grade that I initially wanted, but I’d have to accept, because I eventually learned that I wasn’t nearly as bright as I’d first found myself to be. And that everybody catches up, and I get left behind in the mix. Because I can’t finish it completely.

This line of thinking plagued me through middle school, high school, college, and beyond. And after awhile, I truly believed that I was stupid. I was stupid for taking on too much at once, and I was stupid for not finishing it, like my peers. I was stupid because I couldn’t function as a waitress, and I was stupid because I kept having accidents as a bus driver. That became my catch-all: I’m stupid. That led to being ugly as well, inside and out. Stupid, ugly, lazy, and worthless. Smart people could drive a bus. Smarter people could do a job like waiting tables. Smart people could do a job like working at Burger King and not get written up for slicing their finger open and getting stitches. Smart people could keep their stuff cleaned up in their apartment.

I spent several years in pursuit of “the next step”, and failing, because I was stupid. That, to me, is a recipe for disaster. At least, from this vantage point. I would have flurries of great ideas and intelligence, but I’d lose steam, and once I’d lost steam, I’d be done. At least, for my own projects. I dreamed one day of writing a book, but lost that dream after awhile because every time I started, I’d get a page or two in, and then I’d lose it.

College really forced me to learn how to do things a little at a time. Even though I still followed the same general pattern of Great Start, Lousy Finish, the extremes in activity lessened. My personal cosine wave was a little closer to the middle, instead of starting at the top of a tower, and then falling to the bottom of a pit, and then working like hell to catch up. I still did this, but I did it to a lesser degree. I learned to work steadily on a project, even if my brain wouldn’t cooperate. Especially near the end, I worked much more steadily than I had previous years. I had one goal in mind: FINISH COLLEGE BEFORE MY YOUNGER BROTHER. That was the driving force behind me finishing college. I knew that there would be hell to pay if my younger brother beat me to it, and that I would never, EVER hear the end of it. Not from him, not from ANY of my relatives. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, I would forever be The Older Sibling That Didn’t Finish First. I would be cast out, another check-mark on the list of why I am a black sheep.

So, college was my priority. I worked like hell to finish it, and I did. I did under great pressure for a long time. I did it with not only finishing before my brother, but I did it with the fact in mind that once I finished college, I would be able to find a “Real” job, and start earning “Real” money, and I would never have to live at 2/3 of the poverty line again. Because I was educated, and I could put my degree to use! I was maybe not so bright, but I at least had that Piece of Paper Proclaiming My Completion of X Number of Credit Hours. I also had to work a job or three while in college, so my grades weren’t the best, contributing to my “I must be stupid” line of thought, but that line of thinking didn’t really come into play until after I graduated, and after I got married last year.

Hello again, Reality.

Just because I got the degree did not automatically equate to The Big Life. In fact, quite the contrary. Now, there’s a lot less to do. Without something very concrete to shoot for, I’ve been lost. I’ve spend the past year and half gathering myself up, making some mistakes, and regrouping.

I’ve hit some dark and choppy waters in that year and a half. Just as dark, if not darker, than some of the clouds that I hit while in college, dealing with not only college, but a job, and a hell of a lot of mental illness. I’ve had to sit back, and really learn about myself. I’ve worked very, very hard on myself to get myself to where I am today. I’ve learned a lot, but there is more to learn. With less outside forces to focus on, I’ve really had to dig deep and figure out why I am the way I am. I’d really rather be insanely busy with 1400 different projects and jobs than deal with what I’ve dealt with. That’s what that was all about. It was a game of avoidance. A tricky cat and mouse game that my brain was playing on me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with all of the really painful stuff. The stuff that I would catch glimpses of as I was flying off the handle, screaming at my husband at the top of my lungs. The stuff that would suck me in if I was a teeny bit less vigilant and I would then be in a nice, padded room wearing a jacket.

But, I’ve never been known to take the easy route. What I’ve realized in my plight is something that I never took very seriously. It’s a full-time job in and of itself dealing with illness sometimes. Especially this tricky mental illness. Over the past year, I’ve learned a lot. Number one, first and foremost, I’m not NEARLY as stupid as I thought I was. I am one really smart, resilient individual. It took a long time to discover that. Number two, a lot of my patterns are attributable to ADD. I’m definitely not using it as a catch-all for what’s wrong with me, but I’ve done a lot of introspection and self-examination and a lot of what I’ve experienced is a lack of focus. When I read Sari Solden’s book

Women with Attention Deficit Disorder

, I found a lot of myself in there. And while reading it, I thought “My god, there IS a VALID, bona fide REASON behind why I do the things that I do! I just never knew it!” If you’re a woman and you suspect you have ADD, go read that book. If you’re anybody and you can read what I’m writing right now, GO AND READ THAT BOOK. It changed my life.

It’s been an incredibly tough journey, to even get this far. But, I’m inching forward. Now that I’ve got a name for what I do, it’s helpful. Even though getting the ADD diagnosis wasn’t the end of it, it’s made my life a lot easier to deal with in some respects. When I got promoted to shift supervisor, I still had a rosy view of what it would be like, and I was moderately disappointed when I had the nervous breakdown last week, because I felt that it was a key to my sanity. In a way, it is, because it gives me more intellectual challenge to play with, but I was still disappointed that I’d fallen apart, if only for a little while. The fall-aparts will happen. They’re bound to. It’s how I deal with them is what will make the difference. I’m building a mental toolbox of many things, so that I can be happy and healthy in life. It’s taking awhile. It’s taking a whole lot of work. It’s more work than I ever could have imagined, but I’m here to stick to it. My fundamental goal in life right now is stability. Stability and health for myself, and stability and health for my family. I’m getting there, a little at a time. I am in search of that all-elusive thing called “Happiness”, but I see it. It’s there. It will be within my reach someday.

I have been so amazingly relaxed today. Just, chill. And I’m enjoying it. I did, in fact, sleep like a baby last night. I slept wonderfully, even if for only five or six hours. I woke up feeling relaxed, but awake. With it, and not overwhelmed by the Anxious Monster. I took my shift by my bare hands and twirled it around my head.

*THIS* is the balance and harmony that I was trying so desperately to restore. I was losing it, I really was. My sense of humor has returned, and I just feel like an all-around nice person to be existing in this world today. I think that a part of me knew that that was still there, but I was having a hell of a time trying to find it. Depression, mental illness and disease are all fucking brutal. (Yes, the f-word is ABSOLUTELY necessary on that one!) They will suck you back in at a moment’s notice. Too many times, I’ve been caught unaware, usually by fluctuating hormones. This past time, it was the hormonal imbalance as well as too much damn stress all at once.

I tried my damndest to bring myself out of it as quickly as possible, because I don’t want to live like this. I’m *not* destined for a dark, miserable, solitary confinement the rest of my life. I know this, but damn, it’s hard to break! And I can’t do it by myself. I’d rather rip my own teeth out by tying a string to them and putting the other end to a car than to admit that, but that’s what I realized one long year ago when I finally decided that I needed to go back into therapy. I’ve discovered a lot of things about myself since then, and that’s what’s making it better as I go. Those things were literally ALL I had to hold onto this past week. I fought it, though. I fought the urges, I fought the depression. I knew it wasn’t right, and I knew that there was some part of me that wanted back to the light.

My entire essence has been yearning for the slivers of sunlight that I’ve had in my life, and during this past breakdown, I recognized that, and reached for it as far as I could possibly reach.

And now I’m back.

And life is good. Finally, balance has been restored, and I cannot express how thankful I am for the people in my life that have been with me through this ride. Their strength, and unwavering support for me has carried me through, even when I’ve been ready to give up on myself. This past week, I wasn’t ready to give up on myself, but I saw that I could very easily be.

My husband drives a bus in a college town with a hospital. He told me of an incident yesterday about a man that checked himself into the hospital for depression. This person left for lunch and never returned. They found him later mangled over a bicycle rack from hurling himself over the parking ramp. My heart pours out to him. I feel so bad for him, and his family, the ones that he left in his wake. Perhaps he thought that by checking himself into the hospital, that that was failure. It’s tragic, because that could very well have been the step to bring him back to the light. I don’t know anything about him, not even his name, but that event had an impact on me.

When my husband told me about this poor soul, my first thought was:

“My god, that could have been me. That could have been ME that checked myself in, and couldn’t go on any longer. I would have left my husband without a wife. My parents without a daughter. And I would have left many, many people with a hole that couldn’t be filled.”

I can’t do that.

I know what it’s like to be driven to the edge. I know what it’s like to be at the absolute end of the line, no more rope. I know what staring into the endless void is like, ready to just end it. End all of the suffering, finally and forever. No turning back, just please, oh god, end it now. I can’t escape these things. I’ve got to fix it, and the only way is to just down the bottle of Lexapro. Or Asprin. Or Ibuprofen. Or all of it.

I’ve only really experienced the suicidal thoughts, I’ve never actually acted on the urge, namely because I’ve been in treatment for this sort of thing for a decade. I will say, though, that were it not for an extremely loving and supporting family that got me help when this first started, I would not be here today. And that would be absolute travesty.

It would be tragic because I’ve still got a lot to do in the world. I’ve worked very, very hard to discover several truths about myself over the past year that I had lost in the process of living, and suffocating in my illness. I knew that those truths were there, I had just lost them for awhile. I’d lost them for so long, that truth became story, story became myth, and myth became Forgotten. But I found them, and I’ve worked hard to do so.

That made all the difference.

Since my most recent breakdown last week that involved smashing my own hand several times with a blunt (and not-so-heavy) object, I’ve been fighting to get back to a normal train of thought and existence. I’ve been fighting it, and I’m exhausted. The black vortex has been trying to suck me in to the bad, nasty thought patterns that are so common and prevalent with depression. I’ve been working double-triple-quadruple-overtime to get my brain back on track. I’ve been talking myself up: “Hey, I love myself! There’s NO reason WHATSOEVER to be feeling this way! Enjoy the sunshine! Enjoy life!” …Only to be met by the darkening cloud coming in to suck my soul away.

I’ve been trying to just relax, do fun things, watch my weekly rounds of internet TV, hang out on Facebook, read a book (though I read it already. Now that I’ve got regular access to my memory, this can be compared to keeping a cat entertained: “But I already saw this one two weeks ago and I flung it under the refrigerator! You’ve GOT to be kidding me! How about the little red bug? I never seem to catch that thing!”), write in my journal, distract myself from thinking these thoughts, or just try to get them to go away in general in a vain attempt to actually FEEL GOOD. Because now I know what it’s like, and like the cracked-out addict in the corner, I want more. I want more happiness. I want more love. I want more function. I want to be healthy. I want to be creative and productive.

…Since last week’s freak-out (nervous breakdown), I’ve been trying to recover and restore myself to a healthy balance. I’m working on it, but it’s slooooow going, and after still feeling the black void sucking me in today, I’m thinking “Geez! How much longer?” I’ve been eating lighter to counteract my non-activity over the weekend. I’ve been trying to eat healthy. Fruits, veggies, vitamins, etc. I increased my meds, I added Lexapro back into the mix. Although it turned down the intensity of the void, and I could feel the blackness shaking, I’ve had a HELL of a time trying to release it completely! I’ve been fighting it all weekend, and quite frankly, I’m exhausted. The internal banter is relentless. It’s two epic, HUGE, LOUD opposing forces in my brain, each screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, hoping that one will scream louder than the other and get the other to just shut the fuck up. …Not that I’m actually hearing them, it’s the feeling of wanting to be well, happy, and healthy vs. this black vortex trying to suck me in.

I sometimes feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. My husband says this, but he’s not me. Not that his plight isn’t valid, but I’m the epicenter of all the chaos. Anditblows. It blows fainting pygmy goats. I’ve had this “losing battle” feeling all weekend, and today, perhaps it’s a little bit of sleep deprivation with a teeny bit of stress creeping back in, but I’m going “Really?! For real? STILL!?!!?!!! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!!”

Before therapy today, I’d been trying to wrap my head around intellectually WHY I’m feeling this way. Because that’s what I do. I find comfort in looking for the reason “why”. Usually, if I find a concrete reason to go with, I feel better. So, I’ve been asking: Are my meds off? Well, I’m better medicated, and if I up the dosage any more, it will be akin to taking a blunderbuss to a grapefruit and ALL thought will be wiped off the face of Vixen’s brain… I ran yesterday to get the endorphines pumping and flowing to just feel good. I felt okay for awhile, but it was temporary. I’ve felt sort of wobbly, sick, and that “I’m going to vomit” feeling from just being nervous, anxious, and miserable.

I’ve been forced to cling onto the few things that I’ve earned and worked VERY, VERY HARD FOR over the past year in therapy. I’ve had to sit myself down and realize, at least intellectually, that I *AM* smart, funny, caring, loving, etc. …Even though there’s that tiny little critter in the back of my brain saying “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING?! YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY USELESS! WHY GO ON?!” That little critter that’s been lying in wait, waiting for a moment of vulnerability to come out to play again and grab hold of my soul in icy blackness. I say “NO.” I’ve been saying “NO!” all weekend, but it’s been starting to border on just plain irritating. I’ve been wondering why I can’t shake this, I’ve been going into anxiety overload because of it. It sucks.

It’s been wearing on me. It’s intrusive. I came up with a theory that it could be something to do with the OCD. There are obsessions about unwanted or intrusive thoughts creeping in the ol’e noggin. I’ve certainly had my share of those. They should have dissipated with the up in meds, though, not just merely dampened.

I’ve been desperately trying to analyze WHY I’m doing this. Intellectually, I *know* shouldn’t be doing this. It’s the height of summer, the weather’s beautiful, I’m not doing anything in particular but working and (supposedly) “enjoying” life, WHY AM I FEELING THIS WAY, DAMMIT!? I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET BETTER! WHY AM I DOING THIS?!?!?!!!

I like to analyze and assess why I do things. I’ve really spent over a year doing this intensively, and I’ve worked very hard for the small semblance of sanity that I’ve found, even if it’s fleeting. It’s still oscillating, and it’s oscillating in my direction more and more. I want to hang on to that, so when my analysis of why I’m doing this vortex thing wasn’t going anywhere, I get effing frustrated.

My (brilliant) therapist pointed out today something very important. She gave me another piece of the puzzle by mentioning when I told her about ALL of this that: In essence, my emotions are also NOT me. Sometimes they will get unruly, but they do NOT define me as a person. Just as my mental illness does NOT define me.

…And that made all the difference. Being able to draw the line in the sand and differentiate between myself and these unruly emotions was the most enormously helpful thing ANYBODY could have helped me do today. And it helped me let go. My anxiety level dropped, I relaxed, and the skies parted and I was wrapped in a feeling of serene relaxation.

This thing had really been bugging me. So much so, in fact, that I was on a hair-trigger for *anything* today, and I really feel that I was going to be a walking Anxiety Attack. “Hi, I’m Anxiety. That annoying guy at the party that WON’T SHUT UP.” My heart was buzzing out of my chest with every phone call I received, every wayward glance, and it was starting to really stress me out. And I couldn’t get rid of the dark and evil because I was *too fixated* on getting rid of it (sounds a wee bit familiar… scratchy-scratch the head lice, anyone?).

But once my therapist pointed out that key differentiation between myself and my emotions, my whole body relaxed. I really thought I was GOING CRAZY FOR FINALLY AND FOREVER. And that I wouldn’t be able to fight this much longer, and that eventually, I’d have to be locked up in the padded room, in a straight jacket because I wouldn’t be able to function without injury. Yet, intellectually, I knew I had *something* to hang on to. I can’t let my poor brain and my talents go to waste! I SPENT A YEAR LOOKING FOR THEM! That is what kept me hanging on, by the barest, thinnest thread. I know that I’ve got intelligence, talent, and a lot on my side, instead of nothing. That’s why I couldn’t fall into the abyss. It was stressful. And tiring.

I’m *so* glad that she pointed that key bit for me today.

I’ve had a WONDERFUL day since then. It’s been relaxed, fun, and just general thought going on in the back of my brain since that conversation. I feel human. I feel like a real, live human being functioning on earth. I DON’T feel like I’m going to be sucked into this black, dark void that’s creeping in like fog. I feel pretty good. I feel stable. THIS is what I’ve been working on all week(end).

I’ll bet I sleep like a baby tonight.

Bit by bit, I’m picking up the pieces from last week’s meltdown. It was too much stress and not enough medication. I’m trying to work through the gnawing anxiety that I’m feeling, and it’s difficult. I’m fighting it, I’m fighting the intrusive thoughts. Some times, I feel like I’m winning. Others, I feel like I’m totally losing the battle.

I just want to feel good. I just want to be happy with myself and my life, and I just want to be peaceful.

I feel like I’m hanging on the edge, sometimes, and with each meltdown, I’m getting closer and closer to having to either amp-up my treatment, or lose it completely and go get hospitalized. It’s a scary place to be. But, I think I’m putting things in place so that I won’t have to do that. I think I’m gaining ground on this. In fact, I don’t *think* I’m gaining ground, I *know* I’m gaining ground.

I’m doing my best to remain stable, hopeful, and positive. It’s quite difficult, doing this. It’s kind of a gnawing, exhausting fight from one end of my brain to the other. But, y’know? Life is hard. Mental illness makes it harder. But, the disease does not have to be the defining factor in who I am.

Just WHO am I, exactly? Well, I’m working on that. I know I’m talented, smart, and creative. My likes include reading, writing, drawing, and most anything hands-on. My dislikes? Stats and long strings of numbers to stare at and focus on. I am a human being (most days), and I’m getting there!

Heather had a particularly wonderful post today. It was heartfelt, poignant, and brilliant. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

I’ve had a particularly rough week, starting last Saturday in my new solo Supervisory role.

Quick recap:

1 – Car broken into. Not worth anything, nothing stolen, still unnerving.
2 – 1st day as Supervisor: scheduled to work with MAJOR pain in the butt. Don’t know what I did to her in a past life. Maybe I stole her car? Did everything I possibly could to be nice, only to get no eye contact. No contact, period, actually.
Period *really* started. After four days of spotting. I was ten days late to begin with when spotting started. Suspected pregnancy. Took pregnancy test, came out faintly positive. Took one yesterday, as bleeding was ending, no longer positive.
3 – 2nd day: Pain in the butt coworker again.
4 – Monday: not normal “restart” b/c of working on weekend. Tired. Took 1.5 hours to count the drawer.
5 – Tuesday: Blur. Don’t remember much.
6 – Wednesday: Actually had a decent day at work, was happy about this. I “felt” a little off, though.

And then that brings us to yesterday night. Already, the load is intense. I’m trying to juggle the new responsibilities of Supervisor, learning new things (two things that I *LOVE* to do!), but I had to deal with a whole bunch of other bullshit at the exact same moment in time. Had I had one or two less things going on, I think I would have been okay.

Sometime, over the past two days, I missed my medication. And then I fell apart under the pressure and all hell broke loose. I love my husband dearly. I love him more than life itself. He has been here for me in the good times, the bad times, and the really ugly times. My problems are rough on him. Mental illness sucks for everybody involved, and I would not be surprised one day that if, like Jon Armstrong, my husband will end up in therapy for PTSD from having to deal with me.

I knew it was going to be a rough week, so I was doing everything in my power to prevent last night’s breakdown. I still managed to head off some of the worst of it, and recognize that I was cracking under the pressure, and that all things irrational flooding into my brain were a result of the stress and lack of medication, NOT a flaw in my character. . . Though my brain would have had you think that I’m seriously fucked up. Oops. Well, yeah, maybe, but it’s my crappy brain chemistry, NOT me. Now that I’ve been able to differentiate the two, it’s making these breakdowns a lot easier to deal with. The duration is shorter, though still intense, and the recovery is much quicker. It is still not without some huge, glaring problems, but I am making improvements. I know what the problem is, and I know what to do to correct the problem, and work on it better next time.

ALL of that being said, it still sucked. I completely, totally, and utterly lost it. I’d been trying to prevent it, and as soon as I started feeling it, I started yelling at myself: “No, no, nonononononono, nOOOOOO! DON’T DO THIS!!!” But then, being unmedicated, my brain went tumbling off of a cliff. In a matter of an hour, my brain went flying off into left field about:
“how useless, stupid, and insane I am, and why should I really exist because of this bullshit? I’m just a burden to myself, J, and society. I shouldn’t be allowed to breed anyway. They gave me the promotion because they were desperate, how could they do it because of any skill? I’m just an idiot.”

Yeah, that was fun. NOT.

I did my best to contain the explosion zone, and if I am going to find ANYTHING positive about this most recent freak-out, it’s that I succeeded, for the most part, in keeping this contained. I managed to keep it together so as not to physically lash out at my husband, or any objects around me. Yes, I lashed out, or in, physically, and I’m paying for it today. But, what I’m keeping in mind is that IT COULD HAVE BEEN MUCH, MUCH WORSE. My recovery has been a lot quicker this time than times past, mainly because I’ve got knowledge on my side for this one. I’ve done this so often and learned so much, that I know what to do to lessen the impact of it. My goal is to avoid these completely one day by STAYING medicated, REMEMBERING TO STAY MEDICATED, and generally taking good care of myself when I find that there’s a lot going on and I’m VERY stressed out. I *almost* made it this time. Almost, not quite, but almost. It’s two steps forward, one step back. It’s still progress.

I am ever-thankful and appreciative of a husband that has stuck by me, through thick and thin, for the past 8 years.
I declare my undying love and gratitude for his patience with me through the bad times. I love him, even those times when I want nothing more than to smash him in the nose, I love him so much it hurts. I would say that I can’t imagine the impact I have on him, or the toll that I’m taking, but I’ve got a feeling that I know. I’m trying to save a little love for myself. Some days, it’s easier than others, though.

It’s a lot of work trying to manage mental illness. It’s a lot of work trying to keep it all together. There are blocks in the way, but I always managed jump over them, or crawl around them. I’m still here. I’m still writing. I’m working through these deep-rooted behavior patterns and I am more determined now than ever to BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF MY ISSUES! Figuratively, of course. I’ve done enough of the mental (and physical) boxing ring. These have been happening more frequently lately, but the difference is that I’ve been allowing them to happen by slowing my busy life down for a second. This means that although they are more frequent, they are less severe. I’m allowing myself to feel these things, instead of avoiding them like the plague until they are “RIGHT HERE, OH MY GOD, HERE ARE MY ISSUES AND I’M GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW!!!” I’m not working three jobs anymore, just one. Just one so I can take the time to focus on getting better, and getting healthy. I want to live my life. I want to love my life. I want to feel the love in my life. It’s been awfully hard, but even though I’m having these bouts of mental breakdown, there are also bouts of happiness that are in between. Not just mere function, then breakdown. There *is* light, and it’s undulating with more regularity and it’s brighter.

It’s an event. Nothing more. I’m not giving up. I *WILL* win my war. There’s still work to do, but I’m getting there. Inch by inch. Bit by excruciating bit. I pick myself up again, brush myself off, and keep moving forward.

It should come as no surprise by now that I like words, language, and vocabulary. I enjoy bending literary function to my will on my whim. It is something that I have done for a long time, and I have practiced carefully at. I have written in private journals since I was twelve years old, but my love for language and vocabulary started at a much earlier age. When I was a wee little young ‘un in 1st-6th grade, we would have writing assignments that I always loved. The journaling was fun, and I enjoyed feedback from my teachers. I wrote and published my first poem at 11 years old. It is in a literary anthology of young writers. I will have to track it down.

There’s something about seeing your name, in print, on a page out there that is very mystical, exciting, and empowering. This would make sense, coming from me, because I love to read. I have always loved reading, and I suppose that it makes logical sense that I love to write. I enjoy altering my writing in different styles to suit my mood. I am a very wordy, very visual individual. Words are where I excel. Math, I can do. I’m competent at it, but I’m much better with formulas (that have, you know, letters to follow?) than a long string of numbers to keep track of and follow.

My plan, that I am putting out on the internet right now, is to actually write a book. I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time, and it was almost something that didn’t get done because I totally lost confidence in myself and my abilities. But, after a very long while in therapy, and a long and steady break from the rat race, I’ve figured out that this is something that I would really like to do, and I need to do it. I don’t need to publish 100 books. I’ll start with one, then maybe I’ll branch out from there.

More after the jump

The problem has been, for a very long time, that although I like to write, I was under the assumption that every letter I wrote was crap. I was just doing it to vent and pass the time, and who would really want to read what I wrote anyway? I was just another dumb twenty-something that couldn’t hack it in the real world, so I spent a long time getting through college, and I figured I’d just be degreed and dangerous at McD’s for the rest of my life. I just wrote to get things off of my chest, and like I said, it’s not as though anybody out there would want to read this crap!

Apparently, at this point in time, twelve of you do. As of today, I’ve got twelve whole blog views. I think that that’s the most blog views I’ve had since I started, when I was dealing with the pain of a miscarriage. I’m not sure how many page views I got then, but today, I’ve got twelve. That’s six more than yesterday. My point? I’m gaining momentum. And you guys are inspiring me. You guys, gals, gentle blog readers, are the mortar to my bricks. I’ve had this huge pile of bricks for awhile. But it was a just a disorganized chaotic mess. Now that there are people reading what I have to say, I am laying those bricks in line, one by one. I am encouraged to keep going. Write some more. Enjoy myself some more. Feel what it’s like to have more than absolutely zero self-esteem. I’ve got twelve views worth of self-esteem today. Between that, and having a few REALLY SMART moments at work, I’m feeling pretty good. It’s been awhile, but I’m feeling pretty good today. Steady. Stable. Able. Capable.

Even though I’ve got focus issues, once I set a HUGE goal (like finishing college, for instance), I will do *EVERYTHING* in my power to achieve it. It will take a lot more work, but that’s what these goal things are about: work. And working steadily toward a greater good. So, I’ve set out to write a book. About my experiences with mental illness and what I’ve learned along the way. I’ve got things started. My creative process starts with a wisp of an idea that I roll around in my head for awhile. Once I roll it around, I take a look at it, churn it slowly in my brain until I can get it out of my brain onto my medium of choice. Usually, the finished product looks absolutely nothing like what is in my mind’s eye, but the point is that it gets out.

Right now, I’m really focusing on having patience with myself and NOT giving up because it’s not done already.

What, exactly, did I go to college for? Not writing, that’s for sure. I went with something much more practical – Art. Well, graphic design, because graphic design is a marketable skill set to have out there in the big, bad world. And, it was getting late and I had to pick a damn major anyway if I was going to graduate college ahead of my brother. I never would have heard the end of it, had I not graduated first. Me, the elder child. Had I not graduated first, I would have heard about it either directly, or indirectly, for the rest of my life. I was supposed to make it out of college in 4 years, not 6.5. But, the point right now is that I made it. Ahead of my brother. Ha!

So yes, I like words. I like a good deal of them. This is obvious by now. A new word that I learned today: anthropomorphic. I had a hell of a time trying to remember how to pronounce it earlier in the day, but I think I’ve got it. I suppose that my writing and thoughts are very anthropomorphic. Like, for example, “The weather in Iowa is very schizophrenic!” (If you don’t like the weather in Iowa, wait an hour, it will change).

There are a couple of words, however, that go into the Hall of Infamy, that I don’t like. And do my best not to use. I won’t actually type a good deal of them here, but they lend discussion anyway. No, they aren’t George Carlin’s “Swear List”. In fact, my language is very colorful, and includes most of the late Mr. Carlin’s list on a regular basis.

The first word that comes to mind starts with “C”, and rhymes with “punt”. I just don’t like it. I think of tonsil stones (those gross and disgusting little white things that will hang out in your tonsils until they work themselves out. They smell horrid), and I just plain think of a lot of awful, rotted, derogatory things when I think of this word. I reserve this particular insult for only my deepest thoughts. I have used this word once out loud. In fact, that’s what spurred this post. And now the word is having trouble exiting my head. I don’t like saying it. I don’t like thinking it. But, it is what it is. It’s Number One in Vixen’s Hall of Vocabulary Infamy.

The second word that comes to mind has two variations. It begins with “F”, and variation number one, with three letters, rhymes with “hag”. Variation number two rhymes with “maggot”. This seems to be the yang version of the C-word above. It is also very derogatory (here in the US), typically reserved for gay men. Unfortunately, most slang words for men and women seem to degrade women in some form or another, see the next word.

“C*cksucker” is one that I will type with parts bleeped out, but I won’t typically say it. It implies that people who partake in this particular activity are lowly individuals, namely women, because women typically s–k on c–ks. So, to imply that a male individual will be a “C*cksucker”, is to imply that he is of the inferior sex, the female sex.

The N-word is one that I won’t use. I refuse to use a such a word, and it definitely belongs to Vixen’s Hall of Vocabulary Infamy. It’s derogatory, and I could get into deep shit for using it on or around a black person*.

The R-Word. Ah, yes. This one is a particularly sticky one for me. Unfortunately, this word is wily, and quite pervasive in our cultural vocabulary. “Retarded” implies a person of lower intelligence, or their mental development has been retarded (slowed down) by any one of a multitude of factors. It’s only slightly less offensive than the epithets above, but it sneaks its way into most people’s conversation – at least around these parts, anyway. I have been doing my best to banish this particular one from my vocabulary, but I do have an occasional verbal slip-up. Usually, it’s a self-depreciating remark meant for humor, but as an Honorary Member of Vixen’s List of Vocabulary Infamy, it’s still bad. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t use it, or any of its variations. It slips in, but I’m doing my best to make it slip out of mind. It’s a sneaky one, though, and unfortunately very pervasive and widely accepted in our culture.

There are other words and epithets that I really try to keep out of my vocabulary, but these are really the ones that I make a concentrated effort at NOT using! Under (almost) any circumstance!! When I’m un-medicated and my best alternative is a straight jacket in a padded room, all bets are off. But, while sane and thoughtful, I do my best to keep these words away from my mouth. If I find myself thinking them, ESPECIALLY the C-word at the top, I have the urge to eat an entire bar of Zest. These words are The Worst of the Worst. The Best and Brightest of the Bottom of the Barrel of Words. But, I think out of all of them, the C-word is The Worst of the Worst of the Worst. Followed closely by the two-variation F-word.

Now, does this mean that I never swear? Absolutely not! I swear and curse quite frequently! In fact, I use the supposed “Holy Mother of Swear Words”, or the four-letter F-bomb quite frequently. It’s a large part of my vocabulary and I find it quite versatile. Yes, it’s something about carnal knowledge, etc, but it’s not nearly as bad as those listed above. I generally try to use it with caution nowadays, because I *do* have encyclopedias of words in my brain at my disposal, but sometimes we just need a good old-fashioned curse word to emphasize our point! That’s okay!

The words listed above, definitely not okay.

I got this neat little promotion at my job at the coffee shop recently. I’m ECSTATIC about it, it is a promotion that I have been seeking for a year now, and I am happy that they’ve got the confidence in me to step up to the plate. Of course, I had a few hiccups along the way of getting here. Namely in the fact that it took me an entire year to adjust from being a night owl to waking up WAY TOO EARLY in the morning for my own damn good, but I’ve made the adjustment.

Painstakingly, I have quelled the urge to rip my eyeballs out every morning when the alarm goes off at 4:30AM. I have excruciatingly and achingly scraped myself out of bed every single morning for at least five days a week for an entire year. I have actually, physically used a life-sized barbed spatula to SCRAPE my tired, bleary, and heavily unwilling ass to work every day. Once I’m at work, I’m fine, but it’s waking up and getting out of bed when my body is going: “Just five more minutes… or, y’know, you *can* just skip work today. Sure, you’ll be out of a job, but hey, you’ll be well-rested and out of the job.” With the other side saying: “YOU IDIOT! DON’T LISTEN TO THAT! GET YOUR HAPPITY-ASS MOOOOOVING! NOW! SERIOUSLY! GO! YOU’LL BE LATE!” and then side one replies: “No, if you won’t stay in bed for the day, just stay 2 minutes longer. You’ll make it.” “NO! GO NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!!! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE! THERE’S A FIRE! IT’S YOUR ASS! RUUUUUN! GO GO GO GO!!!”

The fight each and every day to wake up, get up and get moving is epic. It is a full-orchestra operatic Lord of the Rings battle Epic. It is two violent forces, each with equal strength, locked in a high-school wrestling match stranglehold for the winner. Every single day. Somehow, rational thinking always wins out on this one, and I roll out of bed, already exhausted from the fight, pull some pants on, scramble around for my work t-shirt, if I’m lucky, brush my hair, and then I am off on my bleary way to walk to work. For the longest time, I was only 1-2 minutes late. If you’d like to know the value of 1 minute, ask the person who has a spotless record other than that one minute every single day and can’t get promoted. And no matter what, it seems like they WON’T promote that person until they move over that one minute hump. I’ve worked my ASS of to move over that 1-minute hump. My ass has worked it’s ass off to move over the 1-minute hump. Some days I’ve got it, some days not. The thing is, my brain is highly disagreeable when it thinks that it’s being underutilized. It is unruly, and won’t listen to me. It will twiddle its thumbs until I’ve got 30 seconds to make an hour drive, and then it races pell-mell-oh-my-god-the-state-of-Iowa-is-on-fire to get there!! I’ve always wondered WHY I’ve got this issue. I can’t ever seem to get motivated to get moving just a LITTLE TINY BIT EARLIER. Well, I’m one of those tricky individuals that flourishes with extra responsibilities and pressure, and *WILL* get that ass into gear ONLY when I’ve got the extra challenge of working a l’il harder. In other words, I do really well when I’m in a “learning” state, but as soon as I’ve learned it, if I don’t keep my mind active with new and creative challenges, I get bored. My brain will distract itself into stimulation (being late).

How does this work with the real world? It doesn’t. The real world doesn’t like the person that’s one minute late. It’s as though your entire value as an employee, no matter how awesome you are in every single other respect, that one minute will crush you down like a tamper in a portafilter. I know this. I’ve known this intellectually for a very, VERY long time. Yet, it took me an entire year to get over that one-minute hump.

But, I did it. I’ve done enough morning fighting, begging, pleading, cajoling with my body to make it at the very least on time, most of the time. Even though when I was the underling, I could usually jam out the opening responsibilities in a quick 20 minutes. So, the evil half of my brain knew that the store would open on time, and the world would keep turning. It didn’t actually matter if I was on time, because I knew that I would haul ass once I got there and I would be ready in more than enough time. So it didn’t matter if I was on time or not (to my brain). That was irrelevant. Until I wanted a promotion. And I couldn’t get a promotion. And I wanted that promotion more than anything in the world. I knew that that promotion would be the key to my sanity. I knew that with the added challenge and responsibilities, my brain would enjoy and relish the extra work. But I couldn’t get myself to win that Daily Epic Battle of Self.

But then I did. I won. I won the battle. Somehow, I got over the hump. Everything clicked, and I was on time once. And then I made it early another time. Bit by bit, centimeter by centimeter, I crawled toward that “On Time” mark. I knew I wanted the promotion. I knew that it would be the key out of disillusionment and discontent. I was bored! But I plowed through the boredom and repetition, second by second. Instead of being 1-5 minutes late to every shift during the week, I whittled it down to 1-3 minutes. Then 1-2. Then I was on time. 0-2. That was the little tiny bit that prevented the promotion, but I knew that once promoted, I wouldn’t have a problem being on time. Because, for some reason, that higher step enables my brain to function more appropriately when it comes to this ADD mental time-warp.

Then I got promoted.

HELL YEAH, BITCHES! I GOT A PROMOTION! MY FIRST REAL, LIVE, HUGE PROMOTION PROMOTION!

I am the one in charge! I choose what happens when. According to my brain, I am DEFINITELY getting out of bed earlier because it is my responsibility, and now that I am operating on a higher level, I must be on time. I am borderline paranoid about being late now, even though I know that I’m the one with The One Key To Rule Them All, but I’ve got to be on time. The World Will End If I Am Not On Time!! Even By 30 Seconds, The World Will Come Crashing Down. My brain is enjoying the new challenge. WHY it couldn’t have hopped to it earlier and done this BEFORE the promotion, I dunno. Oh yeah. It’s called ADD.

Now, being Ultimate Supremo Newly Promoted, I’m left scratching my head, trying to figure out how to be the one in charge, and how to choose appropriately what happens when.

This is really the first time I’ve ever had this responsibility… And this power… I don’t want to abuse it, for sure. But there is a definite trick to it, and I’m figuring it out, slowly but surely. I’m finding my rhythm, and I’m enjoying the process of trying to figure it out. I would have liked for my first solo shift to have been yesterday (Monday), but there was a scheduling glitch – as in, EVERYBODY and their brother HAD to go to the music festival this weekend. Which, since our staff is mainly comprised of musicians, most everybody was gone.
Everybody and their brother, leaving me to deal with ALL-TIME NUMBER ONE DIFFICULT PAIN IN THE BUTT COWORKER THAT I CANNOT GET ALONG WITH NO MATTER WHAT. No matter how I try, she will not give me the time of day. I’ve tried being nice to her for far longer than I should have, and she’s done nothing but take advantage of it and treat me like utter shit, under every single circumstance. And after awhile, I can only take so much.

She’s an insecure, miserable control freak of a person, and I do very sincerely hope that she finds her way in life. And stops making people her enemies that aren’t actually her enemies. There’s no reason to be combative, especially with me. I’ve gone to GREAT lengths to be nice and just generally agreeable. Even though I would rather rip my own eyeballs out than be nice, and I would rather punch her in the face, I have still given a HUGE effort. – For FAR LONGER THAN NECESSARY! I save combative for OUTSIDE of the workplace. Why? Because the words “immature” and “unprofessional” come to mind. ! I did NOT enjoy this weekend-trying to figure the supervisor thing out while under an oppressive cloud of something unpleasant that I can’t quite identify, but really feels like “I HATE YOU!!!” …Verified by the utter lack of eye contact. Or contact in general, unless absolutely necessary. I’ve tried REALLY, REALLY hard to get along with this coworker. I still gritted my teeth and tried REALLY, REALLY hard to strike up conversation. “Hi. How are you?” Only to be met with a disapproving glance down and silence. Great. Thanks.

Seriously, trying to talk to her would have been more productive if I had talked through a brick wall underwater without vocal chords or lungs. I think it actually physically hurt for her to talk DIRECTLY to me and give me eye contact. What the hell her problem is, I will never know. For some reason, she hates me. Or, that’s what her actions tell me. I really try not to be hate-able. I don’t have to be everybody’s BFF, but I really do go to great lengths to be a hard worker and generally easy-going. Why? Because it makes everything easier to deal with. I’ve done absolutely everything in my power to treat her with kindness, decency, and respect. Even when I got NOTHING in return but a steaming pile of poop for an attitude.

But, I generally don’t have to deal with this pain of a coworker. This weekend was an exception to the rule, and if that’s the way somebody wants to be, I’ve got no control over it. I really do wish I could say that she’s a nice person, and that I could get along with her. I say this with honesty and sincerity. But she has taken every single inkling of kindness and decency that I have given her and spit on it. Especially this past weekend. I am fed up with this, and as I’ve stated several times, I have endured her attitude problem for far longer than 99.9% of the population would have.

ALL of that being said, I still wish I could be sad that she put in her two weeks notice on Sunday. I really do, but I just can’t bring it out of myself. She’s taken every ounce of kind-hearted energy that I’ve got and sucked up, spit it out, and then stomped on me with it. Okay, dear. You can be an angry bi-atch. I really don’t care. I was just trying to be professional and civil, at the very, very least. Have a nice life.

Noticing that my post is already 1,660 words long, I’m trying to get to the original point, I swear. I guess I’m a writer and storyteller at heart.

There are challenges to be met as a Supervisor. At first, especially over the weekend, I had started to wonder if this is really what I’d wanted for so long? And I realized the old adage: “The grass is always greener”. If I’m not the supervisor, it’s what I want. If I am the supervisor, it’s nice having less things to worry about.

But, I know that deep down, I definitely enjoy the challenge, and the creative problem-solving that’s involved.

One of my challenges has been counting money. For some reason, when counting and calculating large quantities of cash, I’m kind of an idiot. I’ll have to go back and count things four or five times to make sure that it’s right, and then it’s not right until the fourth AND fifth time that I’ve counted it. I lose track of what I’m counting in long strings of numbers. $2.35 in nickels is a hard thing to remember when I’ve got to keep track of the $.38 in pennies, $4.60 in dimes, and $12.75 in quarters. It’s easier when I’ve got a visual – so I had tried writing things down and going from there, and that proved to be difficult because of the screw-ups in calculation. There’s a cloud of “I can’t count to more than 15 while keeping track of 4 other quantities of change”. Yes, that’s what the calculator is there for, but how am I supposed to keep track of the dimes when I’m on to quarters, nickels, and then pennies? It’s difficult for me. I realized that I had two choices: #1, I could call myself a “tard” (yes, derogatory, awful. DON’T USE THAT WORD), and get really upset that I’m just miserable and stupid, and that that’s the reason why they waited so long to promote me anyway, and they just did it this time because they were in desperate need of getting me to push pennies in the office for two hours every day. Or, #2: I could recognize that that’s part of the attention-deficit disorder problem, it is a focus issue, and that I lose focus on long strings of things and that’s what’s snarfing down my time while I count, and that there MUST be a way to solve the problem.

I went with #2 this time. I saw that I do well when I’ve got a visual grouping, so I can have little piles of money and count things at a glance. 5 piles of 4 quarters = $5.00. And the like. It still took some time to arrange all of my change into stacks, so I opted for something different. I decided that I would create a spreadsheet that would keep track of how much of each category of money that I had, and then add it all up so I had the total amount, and what amount of money for what category all at a glance. ($240 in 20’s, $45 in 5’s, etc). So, if I found that I was, say, .25 off, I could check the quarters again, instead of checking the ENTIRE DRAWER.

Since I started counting drawers over a week ago, it has taken me 1.5-2 hours to do it each and every time. That makes for a LONG fucking day when I am starting at 5:00 in the morning. It has taken me too long to count the drawers and cash box for verification in the morning, which led to me getting out on the floor late, which led to being late on getting all of the baked goodies out. And, the problem is that I take a LONG FUCKING TIME TO COUNT A DAMN DRAWER!! So, I created my l’il spreadsheet today during my break, made a few tweaks while I was counting the drawer and cash box…

And…

I was completely done with EVERYTHING: ALL of the math, ALL of the crappy adding up that’s been a huge challenge for me, ALL of the writing down, recording, and depositing in LESS THAN AN HOUR.

Sheer ingenuity. I am pleased as a goddamn pickle. In fact, I’m more pleased than a pickle. I couldn’t be more pleased if the pickle got tickled next Tuesday, I recognized the problem, AND FOUND A SOLUTION THAT WORKS FOR ME!!!

This is something new to me. And I am going to toot my own damn horn about it. I figured out how to solve the problem, and how to solve it with flying colors. I ROCK!!! AND ROLL!!! Knowledge really *is* half the battle, isn’t it? If I didn’t know that the focus was the issue, then I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a work-around. I would just assume that I was stupid and get angrier and angrier about it until I would explode in a nervous breakdown about my idiocy.

But I’m not an idiot. I’m smart. I’m smarter than I ever dreamed. But it took me a long time before I could even THINK that, let alone say it. I’m smart, resilient, and just generally on top of it. THAT’S the value of finding a worthy therapist AND a valid diagnosis.

EPIC WIN!!!