Tag Archives: adulting

Yes, I’m crying and I’m proud

Recently, I have taken up crying in random public places. Work, the mall, parties, the metro station, at the gym, etc. Tomorrow I plan to cry at lunch (because the tears will appropriately salt my food).

If you’ve seen my beautiful rosy, red face covered in salt water and snot, I know you might think I’m a bit crazy. Or, at least, really sad. I want you to know that I’m learning not to be ashamed of my tears by performing this exhibition art.

Ok, so it’s really not planned or exhibitionism. I really am sad as fuck. But, the uber cool thing about crying EVERY FUCKING PLACE IN JOHANNESBURG is that I give no fucks what you think and I know you really don’t care. And, its ok to be sad.

Just in case you feel insane guilt over crying, I’ll say it again.

Let those tears make purple rain across your beautiful face. Purple rain. Purple rain.

Life is hard as those tootsie rolls that are really too old to give out as halloween candy, but some asshole decided it was a good idea to give to you as reward for your fancy ass costume. I just want you to know that I wouldn’t do that to you. But, the point remains. Shit be hard. And, you are allowed to be upset about it.

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Fuck me, I need therapy

Again.

If you are anything like me, I know you’ve had that thought. Your perfectly respectable (also perfectly fucking annoying) mental illness is acting up again and you get to a point, after you’ve cried 12 times in one day, had vicious mood swings, and have the anxiety shits for three days, where you are contemplating handing over $175 for 50 minutes to someone you love but can’t afford.

I’m sitting here with her email address up, wondering if I should take the plunge. Deep down I know what she will say. In fact, I can name them:

1. You’ve gotten married, moved, and basically have no job. That’s a lot of personal stress.

2. Do you have a routine? (In case you are wondering, no I don’t because I’m a fucking child and I’m floundering in some level of personal crisis.

3. Are you taking your meds appropriately? No, because once again clearly I can’t be trusted with my own well being.

4. Are you eating? Yes, I’d like to eat a gallon of ruffles chips right now, but this motherfucker resisted.

5. Are you pregnant? No. Not unless my unborn child is a ninja. (No, really. I checked because I’ve been convinced I’m losing my fragile little mind. Yes, my ass actually took a test out of sheer desperate in a weird parking lot bathroom).

6. This is a lot of transition and change for you to deal with. Do you have a support system? I can’t really bring my anxiety and depression with me to dinner. Unless they were wine bottles named anxiety and depression, then I could do that. I’m trying with people. I generally kind of suck at peopling. I’m trying with people. I generally kind of suck at the social scene. If I’m trashed, I’m wonderful but I don’t think that’s a great way to handle things that make my brain shake.

7. Are you going outside? Yes. I have to walk everywhere. Yayyyyy, physical activity.

8. What’s acting up? Well, I’ve had five anxiety attacks in four weeks (did you know there is a differenxe between an anxiety attack and a panic attack? I did not. I’ve been using the wrong vocab all this time). Then the depression sucks the air out of this windbag and promotes pathetic amounts of slouching.

9. Do you think this has anything to do with returning to a similiar country as the one you were physically attacked in 2012? Probably, but I wish it were more obvious. I try not to let it stop me from doing stuff. Then this guy touched me unnecessarily last week (because stroking my side is a great way to flirt with a random pedestrian) and I just turned around and walked back home. We got stopped by the police and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. So, maybe its acting up more than I’d like to admit to myself. I don’t want it to act up. That’s the thing about someone using a metal pole to hit a home run with your head, it doesn’t really matter if you want it to act up or not. It just does. The other night I was at a function and it was outside so it was pretty dark. The shadows reminded me of people running across the highway in Nigeria and for some reason I couldn’t handle them.

10. How’s this effecting your marriage? It makes me hard to deal with. It’s exhausting. I feel guilty. I’m trying to bury it in the backyard but then the bitch floods.

That’s probably covers a lot of questions she would ask. She’d probably tell me to not be so hard on myself which is generally not my greatest talent.

I guess the thing that makes it worse is feeling like I need to pretend to be ok. Generally, people want to hear that you’re good and life is instagram level fun and move on. I understand that. But, life is messy, people are complex, and joining yourself with another human is an ongoing series of unfortunate events with little peaks of nice-nice.

I guess I don’t have to pretend, but at the same time no one wants to be the debbie downer in a conversation. I mean, I don’t even want to feel like this so no one wants to hear my shit.

Also, I’m pretty sure there is no Wi-Fi on this flight which will severly impact the next ten hours of my life.

Update: I survived.

Wake up

Tw: suicide

If you’ll do me the honor of putting on Wake up by NF while you read this, it’ll set the mood.

I’m sitting at the feet of the Nelson Mandela statue right now listening to this song on repeat.

Someone good committed suicide recently. Someone so kind. Someone too fucking good for this world. And I’m so goddamn torn up about it, that I can’t even form sentences.

She was one of many who were plagued by monsters. The kind that attack your mind and make everything so dark that you can’t find your way out. She fought them to death.

It’s so easy to write off suicide as weak. It’s so easy to say “they should of decided to live.” It’s so easy to shame those who suffer from mental illness. It’s so easy to forget the people who are different than us. It’s so easy to judge another’s suffering by ambiguous standards. It’s so easy to write a shitty blog post about suicide.

I’m so tired of being embarrassed and ashamed that sometimes I can’t keep my depression and anxiety locked away. I’m so tired of running away when the panic sets in. I’m so tired of hearing the excuses about mental illness. I’m so tired of hating myself. I’m tired of fighting.

I want people to wake up. I want communities to stop pretending they don’t play a part in suicide. I want people to not give up on us. I want you to stop excluding someone your friends call weird. I want people to stop walking away when they don’t understand a panic attack. I want you to go after the kid crying at work. I want you to ask how are you and not be afraid of the answer. I want you to reach out to someone you know and ask if they are ok. I WANT YOU TO ASK HOW TO HELP SOMEONE SUFFERING.

All it takes is one action. One moment. To change a person’s life.

I know what you are thinking. Families feel the strain of mental illness. Husbands and wives watch the person they love become a shell and they don’t know what to do. Sisters and brothers get tired of checking on their sibling. Friends are tired of the person turning down their invites. Sometimes they just want this disease to go away.

I get it. We get it. We need to stand up with our pain. We need to scream “here it fucking is. I carry this monster with me and I am not ashamed.” We need to ask for help. We need to get help. We need weapons to keep fighting. We need to get up when a hole in the ground seems like a great idea. We need to stop believing we are worthless because it’s not true. We

I want you to know what ever monsters that you carry with you, they are not bigger than you. You keep on fighting. This world is not better without you. Put down that knife and back away from the fucking ledge because we need you here. We need you.

So many of us have felt that temptation. So many of us planned it. So many of us almost did. So many of us tried.

I’ve been on that bridge, friend. I’ve wanted to watch all my pain fall with me. It takes everything to pull yourself back from the edge. Don’t let those monsters take you. They don’t deserve your life.

The Spin Instructor

I’ve recently decided to go to spin classes as an alternate form of exercise and except for causing a sore vag from the seat – I have to admit that its pretty ok. (I’m not sorry for admitting that. My vagina is a tender beast)

Last night, I have to admit I developed a mild crush on my instructor for to reasons:

1. His playlist was fire (delicious South African beats, Lady Gaga, Whitney, a remake of “You don’t own me” and ABBA).

2. He vogued and made us boogie on our bikes. He probably could have said “TWERK BITCH,” and I would have tried.

The majority of the class did not have as much fun as I did. I will cop to getting down on my bike and singing really, really loudly. Also, sweating like it was my damn job.

I have pretty intense anxiety sometimes and doing things with my body publicly is more likely to send me spiraling into panic than be fun. However, this time around I felt good and for one hour I stopped caring so much.

I almost asked for his playlist, but that was a bridge too far last night. All in all it was a great 60 minutes.

Until I got home and realized that I left the hose on refilling the pool and almost flooded the yard a smidge. Oops.

Am I sitting in a recliner on my husband’s patio?

Yes.

Was the recliner always there? No, I just moved it because patio chairs are universally uncomfortable and I want to be comfy as fuck right now.

Am I wearing storm trooper socks? Yes. They are at target in case anyone is interested.

This is heavenly.

Today is Friday and I am in South Africa with my dogs and hot husband. Well, he’s at work. In any other time and place during my adult life, I would have been working. I’m actually mildly petrified about not working. Not working leaves a whole lot of time for me to think, which means I am really good at it in the worst way possible.

You may be asking yourself, “Well, why don’t you work?” The answer, as with all things in my life, is complicated. I am taking some extended leave and going back to my other job every sixty days. Teleworking wasn’t an option and being apart from hot husband was probably going to give one of us a nervous breakdown (by one of us, I think we can all agree, I mean me). I love working, but I wasn’t happy and we are financially stable enough to afford this situation temporarily.

I am probably on the cusp of taking a two year leave of absence because hoorah, marine corps. Part of me has a sinking feeling about this, but the other part thinks that maybe it’s time for some changes. Or something different. Maybe its time to do the things I want to do. All those things I put off or didn’t do because I was focused on work.

So, I made a list and I’m going to do the things I want to do. Except go shopping because let’s face it I have a minor obsession with clothes and shoes. And stuff.

Sometimes it’s not even big stuff. It’s just putting the recliner on the patio because I can. Or insert any other thing you want to do here. Write. Photograph. Go see things. Eat good food. Have fun.

I know this is coming from a place of privilege. I know many people do not have this option. I am lucky. I also need some time to figure out who I want to be when I grow up separate from the ideas of others.

#yolo

I tried to cure my perpetual anxiety with hot yoga and I almost died

Also, I know that anxiety isn’t particularly curable, but let’s just pretend.

If you have ever woken up with an invisible body sitting on your chest, then you know that you will spend an innumerable amount of time TRYING TO GET THAT FUCKER OFF YOU.

So, I decided to go to hot yoga for the first time since 2013. I remember the heat being great for pretending that I was sweating out my feelings and stuff.

And breathing. Zen. All that good shit, right? I went to the class in shorts surrounded by posh yoginis and their obligatory yoga gear. I took off my shirt because I didnt want to spend the class fighting with it falling over my head because it was too big and I suck at being prepared.

Everything started out fine. I couldn’t really breathe. My chest hurt. But it was fine.

Then I started sweating like I was in the goddamn desert in a parka. I had to go to the bathroom to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. I had no grip on my mat BECAUSE WHY WOULDN’T I REMEMBER TO BRING A TOWEL SO THAT I WOULDN’T SWIMMING THROUGH A POOL OF SWEAT. That’s right. I was swimming in sweat. The teacher had to get me a towel because I was fucking up her class with my ineptitude.

Then when I finally could grip my mat. I couldn’t see straight anymore and was pretty close to vomiting. You know that feeling when you haven’t had caffeine and your body is raging against you because HELLO ADDICTION. No? Well, ok. My stomach was violently close to expelling acid because I didn’t eat.

So. I walked out 50 minutes in to a 90 minute class. I left my mat (I am sorry I knoe its bad form) and walked to the grocery store to get something to stop me from fainting. And, I am ok with that.

There was a time I would have kept going and made myself sick, but you know what? It’s not worth it.

Sometimes quitting is ok. It’s really not necessary to go full excorist vomit in a yoga class I paid for.

I spent the rest of the day with the heaviness in my chest until I started arguing about current events with hot husband. Go figure.

Two Truths and a Lie

It seems like an ongoing theme in my life that the truth isn’t really that important to other people. But, it’s important to me.

Some of the most shitty parts of my life vice getting slapped in the head with a metal pole and the violent depression that followed revolves around lies.

I’m not sure what it is about the difference between honesty and dishonesty that makes me feel unhinged but there’s nothing like a well timed lie and the eventual discovery to break my sanity into a million pieces.

I go through the seven stages of grief every single time like it won’t happen again.

And spoiler alert, it always happens again. I’m not sure why I never see it coming because its like a bullet train that’s about to hit me in the face.

Good therapy will tell you that people don’t change and the only person you can control is yourself. But, people don’t change, right? So, what the shit am I supposed to do when faced with this existential crisis again?

If I’m honest, this has been a problem with all the guys I dated except one. That one, to my knowledge, was unfledgingly honest and at that particular age I was too clingy.

A few years ago, I thought I worked really hard not to be clingy and insecure but then I found out about internet sexting and how that can ruin ones self esteem. I won’t tell you all is well and that it never creeps up on me like my period exploding at 4 am. It does and it hurts almost as much as the first time I was cheated on physically.

It must be me, right? I’m hard to be honest with. I don’t have good reactions to the truth. As another former lover would say “you didn’t want me to do xyz anyway so I didn’t tell you the truth.” This person was right. I didn’t want xyz to happen. And then it did. Over and over again.

Does anyone ever check up on old lies like they are friends? Is that just me? If we are trying to delve deep in my psyche, I guess I like hurting myself. I try not to sit around and do this because its bad for my mental health and the words obsessive and “stalker” get thrown around but I’m tired of hiding the fact that this hurts. And, lets be honest. Y’all do it too.

So, it hurts. It makes me feel unhinged. It may be dramatic and seem petty, but you know what?

I have a lot of fucking feelings and a lot of faults. And the shit that hurts the most is never going away, so all that’s left is to put my brain back together and keep trucking.

Because there is one thing I know for a fact. My life isn’t ever going to get easier. I just have to deal with the hard punches as they come and keep getting up. Eventually, I will get stronger or I will die.

There are some feelings that only trudging 9 miles can solve

I’ve been running into a lot of life’s little (shitty) roadblocks lately.

And it makes me want to punch walls.

1. A crappy hotel that I paid far too much money for.

2. The inability to get a changed paasport through my husband’s job (its a long story that’s too complicated to explain).

3. $2000 in vet bills so that I can take my dogs to south africa. Plus $4700 to move the dogs. (Yes, I know I made the choice to go to South Africa in the name of love and family but I can still internally freak out about the cost).

4. The lab estimating the amount of blood they needed wrong after I left Virginia to come to North Carolina. So I had to call several vets to see who could do this barrage of tests only to be met with confusion.

4. Continued uncertainty about life after next May.

This makes me, clearly, miserable to be around.

As such, I went for a walk this evening and ended up trudging nine miles to work myself out.

Unfortunately, now I’m still awake at midnight. But at least I’m less angry.

Cheers to all the people out there trying to work shit out when life sledgehammers your plans into a billion pieces.

Sometimes the hill just sucks

Today, I ran a 10k. I wasn’t incredibly fast today, but I had those semi-philosophical thoughts that occur when running up A BIG FUCKING HILL IN THE SUN WHEN ITS 90 DEGREES.

1. Sometimes, in life, we go through periods where it’s just an obscenely large hill that doesn’t seem to end. This hill sucks. However, you have to climb the hill. You don’t have to like the hill. You can be angry at the hill. You can tell to go fuck itself, but really at the end that hill has to be dealt with.

2. It does not matter how fast you climb the hill. It does not matter how fast others climb the hill. This hill is your hill. No other hills will be like your hill. Get up your hill and stop worrying about everyone else’s.

3. The hill sucks but given that you’ll be spending massive amounts of quality time with the hill. You might as well enjoy the scenery. You’ll never be on this particular hill again.

4. Its hot as hades out so you need to ask yourself if you really care if your jiggly bits are out or if you want to overheat. Might as well be comfortable. Take your shirt off and keep going.

5. It doesn’t matter how fast you go, only that you go. It doesn’t matter how fast you were five years ago. You are not the same person anymore.

6. Your hill is unique. It is not comparable to other hills. So stop beating yourself up.

7. At some point you will be alone. You will look behind you and ahead of you and no one will be there. That’s ok. As much as we may be social creatures, at the end of the day, you are alone.

8. There will be some hills that teach you nothing.

9. Life is full of hills. They do not always disappear with your accomplishments. New ones pop up and old ones rise again. Conquering a hill and saying “now I will be happy” is counter intuitive. Be happy in spite of the hills.

10. Rushing up the hills is not going to make the other hills vanish. Might as well enjoy the walk.