Tag Archives: life

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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I’m fine, I’d just like to slam my head into a wall repeatedly

I feel as though saying that is more socially acceptable then saying I’d like to stab someone.  Because that, my friends, is a felony.  And, I’m not even particularly interested in stabbing one person.  It’s more like I’m cranky as fuck right now and the internet is being so goddamn slow that I want to throw my computer.

I should not be cranky right now.  I just got back from a weekend in cape town.  It was wonderful.  You should go. Totally worth it.

But I am cranky.  My eyeballs feel like someone has been scraping them with a lemon peeler and I just want to binge watch something awful all day and crawl into a tiny, well-air conditioned cave and hide until I feel less like a rage-y asshole.

AND IT’S OK THAT I’M CRANKY AND IRRITABLE BECAUSE I AM A HUMAN BEING AND I AM ALLOWED TO HAVE MY FEELINGS AS LONG AS I DON’T ACT LIKE A FLOPPY CUNT TO EVERYONE. I had to write that in caps for reasons I cannot explain.  Imagine me saying is slowly (and actually enunciating).  I wasn’t yelling.  I haven’t exactly succeeded in not being a floppy cunt, but I feel as though I’m making a valiant effort to be a not-shitty person.

I think this is happening for the following reasons:

1. I had a full weekend of activity
2. I haven’t been alone since Friday
3. Pretty sure my uterus is going to subvert me in the next ten days so I feel violently unattractive in addition to being cranky (along with all the other really pleasant feelings that come with it like changing my clothes eight times because nothing feels good).

(side note: Moxy is on the floor curled up like a baby in the fetal position which is possibly the cutest thing besides that baby goat the other day).  Can I get a photo?

Sorry, guys, I tried but she moved.)

There wasn’t a point here other than to vent out some of the pent up anger.

If you got this far, you’re a champ.

 

An open letter to a person who feels too much

Hello, you.

I know you thought I couldn’t see you back there hiding, but I see you shining like the sun on a cloudless day.
You are not invisible.  You may wish to be.  You may hope to skate by blending in with that wallflower pattern on the fly.
I see you.
I see you when your emotions flood your brain.
I see the lies those fickle demons tell you.
I see all the good you do and hope no one says anything.

I know you think that you are too much.
You feel too much.
You want too much.
You say too much.
You are not.  You are.
You are here.

You love people with the force of a goddamn waterfall.
You hurt like a baseball bat to the mouth.
And on those special days when you let yourself be free, you are Apollo.
Daring to fly close to the Sun.
Taking that orb in your sweet hands and firing the flame that is your soul.

I wish you freedom from your brain, from people, and from expectation.
I wish you freedom to just be.
I wish you adventure in the face of utter terror.

I wish you hope and dreams that are never afraid to say “I want this.”
I wish you the courage to say “no,” instead of making some cock-eyed notion of self is presented to you. You don’t need to be anyone else, anymore.
I wish you a steady hand to drive your fears back to the farm.
And, I wish you matches and lighter fluid to all those nightmares that made you believe you are too much. All those voices in your mind and surrounding you that ask for more than their worth.

I wish you destruction for rebirth.

Because I see you.
You are here.
You are everything you need to be.
No more and no less.

You.

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.

Sometimes Depression is Annoying as Fuck.

I feel like no one talks about how annoying depression can be as the person experiencing it.  More often we talk about how we don’t want to be treated during a depressive episode.  Or, how people can be shitty during a depressive episode.

But, I just want to put out there that my depression annoys the shit out of me 90% of the time.  I want to hit Depressed Lindsay with a tire iron.

Ok, so that was violent and uncalled for. Good job, self.

These feelings just pop the fuck up like I don’t already have stuff to do and inconvenience the shit out of me.  Like a bunch of paper-cuts on my brain.  And, I currently have a paper-cut under my thumbnail so I feel like I’m an expert in this field.

If people think it’s confusing because you are randomly leaking from your eyeballs – imagine how I feel.  I don’t even know why I am crying right now.  I CAN’T EVEN LOGICALLY EXPLAIN THIS TO MYSELF – HOW CAN I EXPRESS MY FEELINGS TO ANOTHER LIVING HUMAN?

And then, you have to expend all this extra effort to get out of bed, shower, and leave the house – because apparently being a hermit is not socially acceptable. I’ve been aware of this “hey, lets just melt into a puddle of violent self loathing and sadness,” for about 5 years.

It’s like going to a really terrible state fair – all the rides are the same and literally everything is gray. Sad Ferris wheel. Sad tea cup ride. Uber jolt-y kid roller coaster. Moist funnel cake, with a side of shit lemonade.  I expend all this energy trying to leave this awful fair, but it takes FOR FUCKING EVER because all the exits are blocked.  So, I ride these rides and go through the motions until I can get out.

It sucks. And, I’m annoyed by it. The end.

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.

Representation Matters

TW: body image

No doubt, you have seen many of these posts and you are rolling your eyes right now. It’s ok. I get it. You can leave.

For those of you staying… *ahem*

Caveat 1: I have a lot of privilege and I have no idea how it feels to wake up every day and be told my skin color is wrong or that my gender identity is offensive or that my desire to represent myself according to my beliefs means people have the right to treat me badly. There are so many people out there suffering because society hates who they are. My self image issues are small in comparison.

As you may have previously read, I am on the fatter side of things. I also have problems with anxiety and depression and sometimes these diseases manifest themselves in a particular hyper-fixation on my body and how it looks. Or how much I weigh. Or if my lower belly pooch looks particularly large today. Or if my dress is too obscene because i have beast (from Beauty and the Beast) legs. Why is it that if I wear a dress and heels I feel particularly scandalous?? Is my face getting fatter? Do my arms look too much like sausages? Am I gaining weight? Did I really need to eat that bag of m&ms? Did I walk or run for one hour today? Are people noticing that I eat a lot? Are people noticing that I eat really fast and clear my plate? Are my shorts too tight? Can I feel my pelvis bones when I lay down or is it layered with fat?

That’s about 50% of the things that I think. I am 20 pounds heavier than I was 4 years ago. At the end of 2012, I was massively depressed and suffering from PTSD. And while I relished the one time the scale said 129, it wasn’t healthy.

Circa 2013

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This was at (almost) my lowest weight. At the time, I thought I looked awful and bigger. I probably only gained 3-5 pounds. I used to weigh myself every day and feel bad all day if I weighed more. I wasn’t starving myself, but I would torture myself.

Fast forward to five years later and 20 pounds more (approximately because I don’t weigh myself right now).

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Note: Not actually that tall. Heels.

Note 2: I know I used a wedding picture. We are making progress but I’m not at full fledged bad picture level of sharing.

So, here I am. Five years later. Still working on accepting myself and trying to be healthy. I’m a lot stronger now which I remind myself is important. I try to eat right even though I get pickle cravings. Intense pickle cravings. But I also try not to restrict myself from good food that I want to eat.  Which brings me to my point as to why representation matters.

I shop online and I look at social media. I see all the fabulous people with their beautiful bodies and both admire them and look at myself like I’m disgusting. Which brings me to my point:

Being able to see different bodies, races, sexes, beliefs is so important to being able to figure out self-love. There is nothing that makes me feel better than to see someone feeling beautiful being who they are and rocking it.

Nothing makes me feel worse than to see those same people being told they don’t deserve to feel good about themselves because they don’t fit a mold.

I love going onto websites and seeing different models rocking clothes. I love seeing people walking down the street with all kinds of swag and rocking their bodies.

I hate when the general public sees someone in wearing clothes and being happy and tells that person they can’t/shouldn’t feel good in their bodies.

So if no one tells you today, I want to tell you this:

1. You are worthy.

2. Your body is beautiful and it is like no one else.

3. I hope if you try a new style or wear something you were afraid to wear out in public that you think of me cheering you on.

4. Your body deserves to grow, exist, and change.

5. Please don’t torture yourself to look a certain way.

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.

Summer Blues

Last week, I had a melt down at work. The reason for the meltdown isn’t really the point – but I was reminded that people don’t really care all that much about anything outside of themselves (case-in-point I am writing about myself). Because of the type of job I have, I give too much when I shouldn’t. Part of it is guilt and, I guess, the other part just wants to make things work. I want to do a good job, but I do a good job at the expense of myself, sometimes. For example: We needed pizza for an event. My car was getting worked on that day. Instead of getting a ride, I walked to the pizza place (which was closed FOR NO REASON ON A MONDAY) and then walked to the location of the event (probably 2 miles from work). Ordered pizza online and it was delivered in the nic of time. However, why didn’t I just get a ride? Or have someone else order the pizza? Why did I feel the need to make it so hard on myself? Sure, its funny because its so insane. But, its not a good pattern.

It happens like once a month. Maybe, it’s because I find it difficult to ask for help.

I have found over the last year or so that sometimes things, places, people, organizations are just broken. This proverbial jenga tower cannot be rebuilt. Or at least, I am not the person to do it. Or maybe my jenga tower is broken. It’s funny despite everything that has happened over the last 6 years, I still haven’t figured out to how to let go or give less of myself. And, it tears me up because I feel too much, too strongly, too often. I am literally feeling down because of two fictional characters right now. I am literally anxious about trying to move in with my husband and encountering people at his work. It’s not for a month.

At the end of the day, the world goes on with or without me. Work will go on. People will go on. I am not a necessity. I’m not sure why I find this such a hard concept to understand. I am not the life-saving screw. I am just one piece.

I just want to turn off my feelings for a few weeks and catch up on sleep.

In other news, there are some photos that came out nice.

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