Insta-Happy

Today was my first visit to a mental health specialist.

The first hour was spent answering all sorts of uncomfortable questions that are being asked by a very large man with tight clothes and a soft spoken, sexy whisper voice. I hate the fact that there are several Kleenex boxes on the desk, indicating you will have no choice in the matter when it comes to crying while opening your thoughts to someone. You can go in there planning to be the toughest lil cookie, and once you see the tissues on the table your morale drops and you realize you're someone else's punk for the next hour.

After making sure you've cried and made your face look like you got punched by a depressed kangaroo, they scoot you back into the excessively packed waiting area while the doctor analyzes your file and gets ready to meet with you. Great. I sit out there are red from crying and clutching my tissues for dear life; of course, it's awkward and quiet. I tweeted my thoughts on the 'tests' I took. My initial analysis was that, as suspected, I am insane. Smart, yes, but still insane.

Long story short. I'm on antidepressants, anti-anxiety pills and sleeping pills. He told me a few ideas of what might be wrong with me. Now I'm even more depressed.

Looks like I paid $30.00 to feel a bit worse.

A Penny For My Thoughts? I'll Tell You For Free

Hi, there.

I haven't slept yet, and I'm going loopy.

Last night I went to Zumba class, and shook my stuff as much as I could without looking like Elaine's dance from Seinfield. Once class was done, I walked to my car with my friend Shanidy and I wasn't feeling well. I didn't tell her because, well she has enough stuff going on. But I sort of waved good-bye and immediately regretted not telling her I needed someone with me asap, because I knew what was coming. My breathing got faster and my vision sort of blurred, my head spinning as I struggled to open my car door. I flung myself on the seat and turned on the AC quickly to feel the air on my face, no help whatsoever. I sat without moving for about 5 minutes, looking at the sun set out on the west side of town. I knew what I had to do, and I had to hurry before I was rendered unable to talk. I called home, and calmly explained I wasn't feeling to well after class and would be late to dinner. I hung up and immediately grabbed my chest, which was hurting so intensely and leaving me out of breath. For a second I thought that working out had provoked a heart attack (fat people + gyms don't mix), but when I felt the hiccup sob burst through my lips, it all became evident.

I was having a full blown breakdown in the middle of the parking lot for our community college. I cried, like one cries when someone dies. Desolate, loudly, muffled screaming while covering your mouth. I could not stop. I felt so ridiculous and stupid for giving in and not being able to control myself. I doubled over and leaned my forehead on the steering wheel to stop the spinning. It took me about 30 minutes to regain enough strength to even slide the key in the ignition. I called Jeff on the way home, which helped beyond words. He didn't ask the inane 'what's wrong, wanna talk about it' questions. I can't talk about it, I wouldn't know where to begin nor do I have the energy for it. He simply asked how was class and if I shook what my momma gave me. We spoke of baseball and being sore losers. I breathed easier and found my way home, ate my dinner and spent the night watching romantic comedies on Netflix. Har. Har.

I have my psychiatrist appointment tomorrow at 12:15, and I don't have the $30.00 copay I need to pay for it. I'm holding off on cancelling it to see if I can pawn off some jewelry or something for it. I've never been this desperate to make myself well again. I need to sleep, I need to talk and I probably need a beer.

I look like hell.

Insomaniac...

The lack of sleep is getting to me, again.

Ever since I was 14, I have the same sleep pattern. I will sleep 2-4 hours a night (I'm being generous) for 2 to 3 weeks, then on a Friday or Saturday night I will crash. I sleep about 14 hours and start the insomnia all over again. Some nights I'll sleep the 2 - 4 hours uninterrupted, while others I will toss and turn - managing a whopping 30 minutes of deep sleep.

When I don't sleep at all, or only have nightmares if I do...I start losing myself. This past Friday night was scheduled to be my 'crash night'. My body ached, my mind didn't even care to have thoughts anymore and I was beyond emotionally drained. However, when I laid my head down and got ready to be dead to the world, nothing happened. The hours crept by, like a caravan of legless sloths drifting through a quickly drying cement slab. That's pretty slow.

I finally closed my eyes at 6:45 a.m., only to fall of the side of the bed when my 'on-call' work phone rang at 8:16 a.m. On a Saturday. Don't get me started. After that, I received 4 more calls up until 10 a.m. At which point I was an angered sleepless soul on the verge of tears, and I reluctantly decided to just forget sleep altogether and face the day. After much running around, and dealing with that ever persistent empty ache in my chest, I stopped by the liquor store on the way home and stocked up. I was going to sleep one way or the other. Don't judge me, I don't judge you.

I drank and watched New Moon. The drinks were nice, the movie reminded me of how horribly depressed I had been when I read the book in November of 2008. That seems so long ago, and it seems like only last month. Eventually everyone went to sleep, and I laid down half buzzed...hoping for darkness and quiet. I was restless, I got up and walked around the house...even the dog was snoring. I sat on the couch amidst the 2 a.m. darkness, but I didn't want to watch t.v. so I just stared at the shadows the street lights made on the living room floor. I felt sick to my stomach, and the buzz was wearing off...so I grabbed the wine bottle and a few more beers and sat outside on the back porch drinking. It was cold and windy, but the wind chimes and bells hanging from my mom's trees made delicate music. It gave the night a touch of magic in an otherwise dead hour.

At some point the booze was gone, and I was laying on the cool grass. I wasn't drunk, so it made my behavior all the more bizarre. I think I hummed for a while, talked to myself out loud for a bit and thought entirely too much about things that didn't merit it. I saw the sky lightening up, and bursts of orange creeping up on me. No sleep. It was Sunday morning. I reluctantly dragged my bottom inside and laid in bed, to pretend I had slept the whole night and seem normal.

Last night, I got 3 hours of sleep. Yay. I completely bypassed my 'crash' night and started the pattern all over. I'll have to wait to this coming Friday night to see if I get lucky then. Heh. Get lucky. I remember when that used to mean something sexy. Now it's just wishing for sleep.

It took 2 layers of concealer to cover the dark bruises under my eyes this morning. I mean, I like raccoons...but I am not ready to raid trashcans and eat out of them just yet.

I'm losing my mind.

3...2...1

She rolled out of bed,

Her first morning rant.

Rubbing her stubbed toe,

She reached for her pants.

While wrestling a shirt

A fingernail broke,

She thought with a smirk

“This day is a joke”.

Cereal with no taste,

Make up with no flair.

Driving blindly, no haste-

Did she brush her hair?

It sure was, you see,

An endless routine-

Of her feigning glee,

With sadness unseen.

All laughs and advice,

The quiet best friend.

A “pal” would suffice,

A call now and then.

Every breath measured…

And she grew tired of writing.

I Do What I Have To Do

What ravages of spirit
conjured this temptuous rage,
created you a monster,
broken by the rule of love?
And fate has led you through it.
You do what you have to do.
And fate has led you through it.
You do what you have to do.

And I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go.

Every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul.
I'm ever swiftly moving,
trying to escape this desire,
the yearning to be near you.
I do what I have to do.
The yearning to be near you.
I do what I have to do.

AND I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go.
I don't know how to let you go.

A glowing ember, burning hot,
AND burning slow.
Deep within, I'm shaken by the violence
of existing for only you.

I know I can't be with you.
I do what I have to do.
I know I can't be with you.
I do what I have to do.

And I have THE sense to recognize
But I don't know how to let you go.
I don't know how to let you go.

Black Hair, Heart Dare

'...and I wonder if I ever cross your mind, to me it happens all the time.'

The heart is a treacherous thing. It doesn't care for the plans you have set forth for the day, or your whole life. It ignores sanity, reason and the logical answer to the things that cross your path.

My head told me not to trust it, to not forget all the lessons learned with heartache in the past. But I got caught up in the words, the promises and the dreams I had put to sleep years ago, that you managed to bring back to life. You turned out to be a snake, a lying snake that was good for nothing more than putting doubt in my heart. Ruining my peace, what little bit I had left. For teaching me, once and for all, that I need to never open up again. To anyone.

I never wish ill upon any person, not even someone who has wronged me in the foulest of ways. My only wish for you, is that you find someone that will treat you with the kindness you treated me. Someone with the exact same cold, calculated, pre-planned plot you had in store for me. I want you to fall, and fall hard. To dream. Finally, I don't have to wish you end up with a dagger in your heart...like I did. Because, with the way you are and treat people, I don't have to wish for an end like that for you. It is a certainty. You WILL hurt. I will be gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now then!

I dyed my hair black, as you can see below:

Nothing to write home about, but I like it a bit better than the reddish brown I had.

I will now go to the store, and fend off the masses in a quick grocery shopping excursion.

I feel nauseous and God knows what else. I keep being told it gets better, easier, what have ya. But I don't see it happening any time soon. Meanwhile I'll use this to vent, because it's cheaper than a shrink and medication. Part of me wants a Dr. Who/Firefly/Star Trek/Futurama/Primeval/IT Crowd/Torchwood marathon that never ends. But that part of me also wants things that are unattainable.

I feel like lighting my books and my guitars on fire, watching them burn until the end and burying myself under 6 feet of wet sand. I miss my music player, which took a dump on me.

I miss so much, but why bother. Nothing misses me.

Rebuttal

My friends and I have been having a long standing debate about the existence of true love/soul mates.

Cathy embraces the thought, whole-hearted, of a fairytale love. Unconditional love. Earth-shattering, uplifting, fill your life until the end of time 'love'.

Molly, well I haven't talked to her recently, but it seems she's closer to my side of seeing things. Skeptical, dry, cold. I don't mean any of those in a negative light. It's more of a 'this is what life has taught me so far' way, when it comes to that touchy romance/love subject.

You will notice I didn't use the word jaded up until this point. I have reserved that one for my use. I'm sort of selfish that way. I, without any hesitation in saying this, AM jaded. I've been called such many times before, and I absolutely admit it. 100%.

I could sit here and tell you that, deep down, I will always be an hopeless fool. That I once believed in a soul mate, or just ONE right person for everyone for the rest of your life. The thought is nice, though. To meet someone that makes your world stand still and from that second forward you both live happily ever after. I can continue by saying that there are songs I hear and/or write, which I would love to play for someone I adore, softly whispering the lyrics in his ear; or poems I've read/written that I would recite into the darkness of a cold bedroom, as we lay in each others arms. He would simply look in my eyes and shoot me a breathtaking smile, as I'd strum his favorite song or simply hold me closer to him as I'd whisper Bronte or Neruda into the night.

See? I'm not against love. I had dreams, just everyone else. I tried my best to not lose faith in love, despite every negative experience I've been through. Yes. I've fallen in and out of love several times. Sometimes, I fell out of it rather quick and by my own accord. Other times the decision was made for me, and I never fell out of it.

I tried every approach. The trustful one, where I try my best to let him be the one to make all the choices and have all the space he needs. I tried the 'normal' approach, where I am a girl about it and act like a dumb 15 year old being dramatic (I HATE this one, it's not me). I even tried the one where you change who you are, in order to be what you think he wants. I wouldn't recommend this either. Lastly, I was just me. I'm a balance between tomboyish likes/actions and a hopeless romantic fool. I'm feisty when I feel like it, and shy the rest of the time. I carry my feelings for someone on the tip of my tongue, ready to pour them out as soon as they let me...but most of the time end up failing miserably with my words and swallowing them back.

So this is my rebuttal to life being anything like those stories we grew up believing in. For *me*, Yari, it hasn't been anything like that. It's been lesson after lesson, sometimes learned...most times the lessons are no more than resentful memories. Do I believe love doesn't exist? No, I'm not that far gone yet. What I do know is that it changes, evolving from time to time. It is never the same love you had in the beginning for someone. You grow, and realize a lot of the things you looked for have faded with time. Sometimes they seem like a complete stranger, and you have to WORK to make the relationship work. What defines if it's true love or not is an answer to a simple question: "Is it worth the work?"

Me? I want the poetry, the quiet moments. I want the picking at each others nerdy habits, the encouragement from each of us to be what we've always been, and not pretend for any of our sake. I want long SyFy marathons on the couch, and a night of discussing David Wong in a pub. I want him to have his nights out, his space...and his friends. I want all three of those for me. Not to go out with 'my girls', but sometimes I just want to go sit by myself and think. I don't do clingy, but I do like the cuddling.

My answer is: love exists, in it's own twisted ways. Just not for all of us. Sorry, but when you realize everyone around has it and you don't (as superficial as it sounds), it's a hard pill to swallow.

Mississippi Dreamin'

Short and sweet. Right.

We drove to Madison, WI yesterday after class. It was an hour and 20 minute drive through back county roads and dense fog. It was worse on the way back after the mall. The mall. I cannot even begin to believe that out in the middle of NOWHERE, there would be a decent size mall with a full blown Apple store, Coach store, Sephora and pretty decent food court. Very high end mall. In the middle of nothing.

This irks me. I have to drive 5 hours in any direction back home in Odessa, TX to reach anything that isn't limited to mexican food, stingray skin boots, mechanical bulls and sand. How can these folks have such awesome things, and we don't? Puh. Maybe even a 'Meh'.

I went to a few stores and drooled over things I couldn't have at the moment, followed by a random stop at a Build-A-Bear Workshop. Obviously, spending $30 on a stuffed, gender bending plush bunny is better than buying something I really needed. Let's face it, I'm a goober. I'm all about picking out a floppy eared bunny and dressing it with a Brewer's baseball shirt, denim skirt and pink Hello Kitty panties. She's a girl, but she likes baseball. She will not wear pink, dammit. At least not anywhere visible. Let's not forget the whole protocol for stuffing the silly thing, I have to pick a tiny heart and rub it in my hands for warmth. Then rub it on my forehead to give it "the smarts" (insert questionable joke here), followed by rubbing it on my stomach so it's always full (I have enough chunkies to share, so I didn't mind) and finishing by kissing it as I make a wish. Yes. I made a total fool out of myself, loving every second of it.

The way back was full of nervous giggling when the visibility got to about 10 ft ahead of us, with some outbursts of loud singing (Smokey Robinson, Michael Buble, Foo Fighters) when the fog lifted.

The hotel room was dark, quiet and cold. The lightning was lighting it up in an eerie way, and the thunder was making me fidget, then curl up in fetal position in the middle of the giant bed. I think I fell asleep watching Star Trek (Picard, not Kirk...that should explain it) and my head made the best of my easy sleep, taking the opportunity to flood me with nightmares. There were too many horrible things to recount in detail, but it all revolved around the darkness of night, snow, things chasing and hurting me, voices saying things I wish I could forget and the ever present empty feeling in my chest. I reached for someone who wasn't there or never exited. Weird.

But yes, I awoke and had bacon. So all is well in the world. Dreams are just dreams. It's still cold and rainy...and it's not Baltimore.

The trouble doll, is not moving mountains

But digging the ground that you're on

If it's true that good fortune gives no change

We got just what it takes...

~ Jakob Dylan

Story Of My Life

Don't be sad, I'm here to make your problems go away.

Look what I can do! Did that make you smile? Good!

Of course we're the best of friends.

You know I'm always here when you need me and

I will work my magic to make you smile.

We have the greatest of times when we're together.

I'm glad I can be of help to you.

You know, I was feeling glum before you called.

You see...

What? Oh, you have to go?

But, I can change the subject if you want.

Really, I won't unload my stuff on you. Is my clown make-up wearing off?

If you wait here I can reapp...

Right. You don't have time.

Ok, yea, we can hang out again sometime.

I'll even do cartwheels for you next time.

No? But everyone loves a clown!

Heh....Your friends are afraid of clowns?

Yea, you wouldn't want to be seen with a freak.

-------

Hey, long time! Guess what? No clown make-up!

Yes, this is really me.

No I have not changed.

What's the matter? What awkward silence?

Oh that's right, your friends. Well...Good to see you again.

--------

What was I thinking taking off my clown mask?

The paint cleverly hides my frown with that over sized smile.

This is who I really am.

The freak that makes you laugh and cry with joy.

The clown that trips over the obstacle so you don't have to.

The circus is leaving town, time to please the next crowd.

I-O-W-A...oh my

Hello, my dear readers (all 12 of you):

Once again I find myself taking a business trip to the wonderful armpit of Iowa. Dubuque. Ok, so it's not that bad. It's not Solon, IA (Google that crap, it's scary). This time around, however, I find myself in good company. Nothing like getting lost, and now having someone in the car giggling to ease the nerves. My co-worker/friend Shanidy joined me on this training session, and here is a quick rundown of what has transpired so far.

We took off from our lovely little butt of Texas town at 7 a.m. This doesn't sound too bad, I suppose, if we would've been in a normal sized plane. Alas, we were packed into a shoebox and shipped to Iowa, via Dallas/Fort Worth. If none of you have been lucky enough to experience the DFW airport in the flesh, let me give you a small insight on what to expect. The departing gate numbers change about as often as you breathe. That's right. You go in to pee, and walk out and your gate number has changed to the other end of the terminal. Once you walk there, it's been changed back to where you were. When you get back, it's moved two gates down...you get it.

Upon arrival at the Cedar Rapids field/airport/manicure/gas station, we contemplated what was some white stuff on the ground everywhere. Nice. Half-frozen, we huddled inside our Sebring like good little executives and turned on the radio. The first words we hear, while stranded in the middle of snow, were: 'I got my toes in the water, ass on the sand...'. This was enough to turn the radio back off, and look for my GPS. We needed out of there.

After yelling at my Garmin, and her yelling back...we decided to simply use our BlackBerries to find the directions to Williamsburg, IA. There we had an afternoon of serious shopping, and a delicious chocolate covered apple. What's not to like? These outlets were oddly close to an Amish colony. Which brings me to my next theory. When I lived in Pennsylvania, the Tanger outlets were located in Amish country (Lancaster, PA). I've come to find that most of the outlets are located near these people. So, that being said, it is my professional and irrelevant opinion that the Amish own outlets. There. Now I have a stereotype for Amish people. OUTLET OWNERS!

We found Dubuque, eventually, while driving through some intense fog. The hotel was nice, the food at the hotel was adequate and we got lost several times. You see a trend here.

I finally gave in, against my better judgement, and decided to message some Twitter person from town I had been following. There is NO way to explain how this came about without sounding like a creepy stalker, then again, isn't that what Twitter is all about? I digress. After a few messages and slight persuasion, Shanidy and I met up some local Twitter folk at The Busted Lift. Hands down one of the best/most authentic Irish pubs I've been in. Drinks were good, company was awesome. As many of you know by now, I have a love/hate relationship with meeting new people. I like the idea of it, but the thought (and past experiences) of people being disappointed once they meet me was taking a toll when we walked in the pub. Shanidy dragged me in, quite literally, and plopped me down on a stool like a nice lad. I couldn't even really eat dinner, since I was very nervous, Shanidy yelled at me for being silly. Eventually everything turned out okay. So...yay? Yes, yay.

We'll see what the rest of week brings, hopefully more quiet/bar-like environment hanging out is in store. I certainly wouldn't mind. True story.

Oh...and I'm Moss.

P.S.S.: I. FOUND. WONKA. BARS.