Titles are lame. -shrug-

Hey guys, sorry for the long lapse. T hasn't really felt like updating, for a wide variety of reasons, so I've decided to take it upon myself to give the readers what they want. i.e, an update. (What the hell does 'i.e.' stand for, anyway? Some Latin crap would be my guess, but I never exactly payed attention when we took Latin classes. What's the point in learning a useless, outdated language?)

My name is Claire, and you may call me The Awesome One. Muahaha. No, but seriously, I'm basically the person who does the most and is out most and rocks the world the most beside T. Chances are, if you've known us for any period of time really, you've met me at least once. People at work have, Shannon has, family has many many times, random people at the grocery store or on the street. Others vied for the position of First Alter To Post but in the end all agreed (even if grudgingly) that I had the right to it. So nyah!

So basically here's what's been happening over the last couple of weeks.

We went to the women's health center and got the titties ultrasound-ed only to be told that everything is fine and we should drink less caffeine. I guess technically we don't drink as much as most people since we hate those freaking energy drink things, but we drink soda like it's heroin. (You know, if you drank heroin.) We really haven't cut back much but we've been trying to limit soda to when we're at work, and it seems to be helping. Still, it could also just be the time of month, though, since the lumps fluctuate with our cycle.

I don't think she mentioned this before but we also had this nasty mole that was supposed to get removed like a year ago and we finally went to a dermatologist and got it biopsied. They didn't really remove it, I guess, but they still sliced it off over the top for the biopsy and so you basically can't see it anymore. The doctor said it'll probably grow back after a while, though. Anyway, the biopsy came back negative, so it doesn't really matter one way or another. Yay.

Our birthday itself passed pretty quietly. God knows T's not exactly a big party animal, right? We drove up to Boulder for the day with Crystal and Shannon, who flew all the way from Maryland to the freakish boredom of Colorado just for her stupid birthday. Awwwwwwww. Boulder was all right I guess, but it was a bunch of lame-ass hippies. So in other words, Shannon and T had a fabulous time while I basically retched all day because hippies are so stupidly annoying. Seriously, hippies are all full of sh-t.

Mostly though in the last few weeks we've just been working for way, way, way too many hours and too little pay. Several people in the bakery have either been fired or voluntarily quit or transferred from the bakery to other parts of the restaurant and so they've been working the rest of us into the ground. On the plus side, the paychecks are big.

OH YEAH. I completely forgot to discuss the therapist sitch. Essentially, she sucks. I mean, she's really nice and I'm sure she's good in her own way and within her own realms of expertise. Problem of course being that she has absolutely no effing clue what to do with a crazy multiple with some eating disorders, some self-mutilation issues, some OCD, some of a little of a lot of things. In discussing her views on treatment goals she danced around it to try to appease us but couldn't fool me with how she was just trying to hide that she feels integration is the only ultimate treatment goal. I seriously about lost it on her withered old british ass.

T called and cancelled with her tomorrow but just did so with an excuse instead of calling the whole thing off. She's all upset because every one of the four different people she's seen in Colorado have had no clue what to do with us, said they'd help us, and ultimately sent us on to another worthless person. I mean seriously, they just keep shuttling us around, insisting that they're "helping" us and that they just want to send us to somebody more equipped to deal with us but they really just send us to someone else who has no effing clue. Maybe we'd have better luck just opening the phone book and pointing at random. Ann though thinks we should contact Doc M, our last therapist, and ask if she knows of anyone in Colorado and that's probably the best idea. Ann basically isn't good for much more than clever and practical ideas like that. :-P

Oh, so last thing before I go, because I fail at remembering important things to report on... Frank Warren contacted us a couple weeks ago to let us know that a reporter for the Boston Globe was interested in interviewing T about the Novare Project thing and we basically said hells yes, so tomorrow we're doing a phone interview with them tomorrow! T will probably make sure to let you know all the random glitzy details about which I really don't much give a sh-t.

Also, her parents sent her a digital camera for her birthday, so picture posts should be coming again soon. There are a couple from when Shannon was here, a few of the freaking kittens, and I know she wants to take pictures of her thread crochet stuff so she can sell them so we're not always so damn poor. I don't think we're used to having a camera yet, so there aren't many pictures because we keep not remembering to take any.

Well, I guess that's about all there is to say for now. We've got a stomach flu thing so we've been not moving all day and plan on doing so again tomorrow so we can feel better. Talk about putting a kink in the whole recovery thing... Effing stomach flus.

I'm sure you'll hear from me again before too long. Ciao kids.

--*---Claire---*--

Not much of an entry, but something

pWhat to write? Today, any update feels like an obligatory post more than an enjoyment. Not sure why...

In the past week, I have been to get my titties ultrasound-ed, the dermatologist to get a mole biopsied, and the new therapist for an intake. Item one went fine, item two was probably fine but am still waiting to hear back, and item three was also fine. I wasn't particularly impressed with this therapist, but neither did I have anything negative to say, really. It was an intake anyway so it was more me talking and answering standard questions than anything. I'll go back for another appointment and see how it goes from there.

On a side note, it's cold and grey and drizzly, Tallulah is draped across my lap/forearms, and Frankie is curled up next to me. Both of them are warm, furry, and purring, and precious. I don't know how I have survived depression without kittens for so long.

I'm starting to feel the effexor a smidge. Although my writing is stilted and sucky today, I'm sure it's not the fault of the medication... I'm sleepy and lazy and don't feel like writing is all. The effexor is contributing to life by making me feel a little more human and a little less hysterical on an average daily basis. It's pretty cool, actually. Scratch that: thank god for medication. I've needed it so badly for so long. I'm still getting to a maintenance dosage on it, and as such haven't started the Wellbutrin yet... Probably next week for that one. I do have both prescriptions filled, just haven't started taking them both.

Really, all that's been going on lately has been work. One person in the bakery transferred out to a different work station and another was fired last week, so we've got a lot of holes to fill. This actually works out well for me, as it's the slowest time of the year serving-wise (much better to be paid by the hour and have lots of hours, even if they're boring) and in addition to that, Crystal and I came upon an unexpected $800 bill. It is throwing quite a kink into an already struggling machine. We've gone from chicken, rice and the occasional salad to easy mac and peanut butter and jelly. It especially sucks that this should come right when it did... Just before my birthday and our three year anniversary. ::wibble:: What little I'd saved for the occasions now has to go to this damned bill. Well, not all... I'm still going to make sure something nice happens for each. Just, it won't be as nice.

Le sigh. At this point, I've actually got to be headed back in to work... I've got a server shift from 11:30 to 3ish, then have to be back at 7 to close the bakery. Lame!

Status overview

Well, at long last, we have internet in the apartment. Hooray! Commence celebrating!

Essentially what happened is that the modem arrived Monday but, when we tried to set it up, it quickly became apparent that the little plastic bundle of wires and microchips was completely worthless. (When all lights stand solid red it's never a good sign.) I called Qwest and scheduled for a technician to come over today, on the first day off I've had in a week. Quickly, painlessly, in the course of half an hour, a new modem was slipped in and set up and now all is well.

Otherwise, there's little to report from Colorado. I've been working close to constantly and fighting off a cold/sinus infection/thing with about as much of a respite. Today being the first day I've had off since last Saturday, I plan on parking my ass on the couch with South Park, movies, what-have-you, trying to find something to eat in the bare-bones kitchen, and otherwise resting and allowing my respiratory system to heal. Ideally I should be picking up shifts and trying to bulk up my hours and income, but at the moment I think healing needs to take priority to allow for the rest.

Money, money, money. Cursed money. It feels as though we live in a perpetually broke state of existence though, in reality, it's probably not as bad as it seems. Granted, things are tight. Nevertheless, we are meeting our bills, paying for our groceries, and even affording some nice perk now and then (see also: internet access). Funds will undoubtedly be getting tighter as we come upon the hurdles of Crystal's books for the semester and the newly acquired doctor's bills...

I saw a doctor last week and now have prescriptions for both Effexor and Welbutrin. Started on the Effexor starter pack several days ago - as such, have yet to see any effects or benefits, really. Plan on starting the Wellbutrin after reaching a maintenance dosage for the Effexor so as to pre-empt any conflict between the two while upping the levels. I figure that if there will be negative side effects from one or both, it'd be best to watch them one at a time so I know which medication is causing the detriment.

In addition to the prescriptions, I got a couple of referrals. I suppose I'll be honest about what the one is for: my breasts have lumps.

Dr. Schimke gave me a referral for a women's health clinic to do an ultrasound... There's a large one in the left breast which I noticed about a month ago, and a smaller one in the right, about the size of a marble. They vary in size depending on the day (and, I'm guessing, my cycle) and are also very tender - the doctor thinks they are cystic. Still, though, she's referred me out to a specialist to have them checked out and make sure there's nothing seriously wrong. I'm trying not to grow alarmed. As she said, I'm twenty years old, relatively healthy, there's not a history of breast cancer in my family... Everything ought to be fine... The appointment is September 4th, and I'll let you know as soon as I know anything else.

I'll also update you on the therapist situation as soon as I've met with her... When I called Aurora Mental Health, they told me it would likely be forty-five to sixty days before I received a call back to schedule an intake. Instead, they called me two days later. I've got an intake scheduled on September 5th. I'm rather apprehensive about it, as the therapist they've got me slated to see doesn't have the specialties I'm looking for, exactly. She's experienced in trauma and dissociative disorders but not eating disorders... Still, though, she's been in practice for many many years so I'm sure she's come across them before. Her main areas of expertise are couples counseling and drug/alcohol addiction - I'm really not sure how d.ds and trauma counseling fit in there. We'll see.

With that little overview complete, I'm off to rest more and read more. I finally finished Atlas Shrugged last week and started on Les Miserables. I'm already three hundred pages in to the unabridged version, surprising no one more than myself. Who would have thought I'd charge through Les Mis with such voracity? It's comforting at least to read great works when I'm out of school... I feel less lazy and ignorant.

I wish all of you the best as you start back in to school for the fall. Remember to take care of yourselves in the midst of the chaos.

Still alive and still kicking that dead horse

Jesus H. Is this REALLY the FIRST chance I've had to update my blog since returning from MD on the 2nd? Answer: Yes. Yes it is. Suck.

Our piggy-backed internet officially decided to give us the boot at home, so that greatly limits my ability to update. Then too, working 40+ hours since the first morning I was back doesn't help at all in the free time department... I've been making a lot of money, but, god am I tired.

Today would have been my fifth double shift in a row but for the fact that a friend offered to pick up the AM shift so that I don't have to be in until 5:45 tonight, allowing me time to settle my ass at It's A Grind (BEST COFFEE SHOP EVER), with an iced chai (I've recently become a fan: finally, I'm a true lesbian!), a checkbook to be ballanced (hooray internet banking; I don't want to begin to think about how snarled it is), a blog to be updated (at this point I feel the need for a parenthesis after each statement), and a doctor to be found (I suppose I'm trusting to fate and location since I know no one here). (Parentheses: the new black. Or comma.) Damn but that was the longest sentence ever.

Oh yeah! And also, I have a birthday party to plan if I have time! Old as I may feel, I still am only partially legal. Isn't that lame? It's not even as though I drink, but the mere fact that I can buy and own a car, rent an apartment, join the military, what-the-f-ever, but not get a glass of wine at a restaurant pisses me off. All this will change on September 16th when my last Big Birthday for twenty years will occur. It's weird, planning my twenty-first... Honestly, I've felt so old for so long that it seems trite.

...Wow. What do I have to say? This is nothing but a tangle of rambles, all frustrated before the point of meaning. This is actually how I've been feeling lately about my life in general, though whether or not the two are in any way connected is debatable.

Lately, waitressing has felt even more thankless and dead-end than it already has... Though I'm still bringing in a fair amount, enough at least to pay the bills, I get off a shift feeling more as though I've been begging for change or turning tricks than legitimately being paid for a job well done. Every 5$ tip on a 90$ check (see also: last night) makes perfectly executed service feel like a joke. If the person will pretty much tip what they're going to tip regardless of the service I give or the check they run, why bother? I ruin myself every night trying to make sure each table receives exemplary service but whether or not I'll be paid for that effort is a crap shoot.

My shoulder has been bothering me again, too, increasing with the hours I work. Hell, it's only been about eight months since my surgery and I'm back to double shifts pretty much every day I work... At this pace, the healthy, whole parts of my body won't stay such for long. People don't realize that waitressing takes an incredible toll on your body. Although I've been eating more I can't gain any weight or keep on what I've got because of waitressing so much... I may be eating Cheesecake Factory food every day, but the calories are all offset by the loaded plates I cart all over the restaurant, the trays of drinks, and constant speed-walking. I'm solid muscle, knots, and strains.

Yucky part is, I've got no clue where I'd rather work or what I'd rather do. What job can I get with a year's worth of college that has adequate pay, benefits, and satisfaction? That I'd enjoy? I have no clue. Especially with working in a mall, it seems that everyone here is older than I and stuck working too many hours in a dead end job because it's the best option they got. So many people here in Colorado are working to pay for the homes, cars, and KIDS on minimum wage, yet I'm making at least twice that and complaining about it. Why does it feel like that makes me a terrible person? I don't think it does...

Last night I was mourning my complete lack of connections here. I didn't exactly have the most outrageous network in DC, but I still new enough people that I could know where to go if I had a question about something, needed help. I had a Pulitzer prize winning author, senior literary professor at George Washington U offering to mentor me and help me become a better writer. I had opportunities. Now that I'm half a country away perhaps I'm not completely cut off from any way to improve but I certainly feel the disconnect. I don't know where to go or who to talk to. I've got no school, no professors, no friends outside my dead-end job. The only way up at Cheesecake is to step into management and I'll be damned before I become THAT much of a corporate whore.

...Of course, then I look at complete complete train wreck entries like this one and think that I ought to have learned better by now than to still have literary aspirations. I can't even keep a blog in one piece.

Well, my thought are trickling out at this point and I'm having a hard time sifting through the silt that remains. I'm going to now return to my doctor search... I've finally got health insurance now through Cheesecake, meaning that I can at long last find a therapist to stick with, a psychiatrist, and get back on some medication. With any luck, maybe my thoughts will be a little more cohesive and I'll have a better time trying to plan and think and do anything with some cocktail to temper my crazy thoughts. It's about time, I can tell you that much. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep at night with absolutely no provocation.

Idle hands...

It's odd how days off actually seem to be what kill me a little.

Working thirty-five to forty hours a week exhausts me on every level, but conversely it gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, shower, dress nicely, and generally pull myself together. I've lately had a bad habit (tongue in cheek on that 'habit' part) of dissociating somewhat throughout the work day... I'm the dead-end job zombie on so many levels. Is it better to go through a series of depersonalized days, but to get through them nonetheless, or to be like I was in DC and fall apart all the time at work? I'm starting to think the reason I never was promoted to a trainer position was that they couldn't trust my emotional stability... God knows how many times they had to send me home because I couldn't stop sobbing.

When I've got a day off, though, it tends to be bad news. Work keeps me busy, work keeps me distracted. More importantly perhaps, it keeps me talking to people and smiling a lot (even if the smiles are fake - fake it 'til you make it?). Days like today, I'm bogged down with household chores and domestic errands, like three hours at the DMV and hundred-dollar grocery trips. By the end of a 'day off' I'm more tired and emotional than a work day. More prone to sobbing and manic cleaning sprees as a method to hopefully ward off self-injury.

I play with my keettens and try to channel the emotional tension/energy into art projects, but more often than not I get frustrated with the whole affair and stare hopelessly at a blank page for hours. I try to read, but internal chaos can be unbelievably distracting. It's like being on a poorly fitting medication; the words jump on the page, lines blur and buzz, my eyes read and reread and generally can't stay focused for sh-t.

Being alone while Crystal's at work is especially bad. I talk to myself, I talk to myselves, I talk to the kittens, I talk to the walls. I fall silent when I feel especially crazy. The silence hems me in and makes me feel crazier. I turn on the TV for company and get angry at the characters for always saying the same things, never varying, never wavering or blinking if I scream at them. (Film characters are quite pretentious that way, it seems. Worst of all, if you watch the same movie twice, you'll notice no one ever does anything new, not so much as a sigh or a sneeze. ) So I turn off the TV and am again stuck with that god-awful silence....

Come August first my new insurance kicks in. God help the man who stands in the way of me and a psychiatrist... First thing I'm going to do is get on some meds.

Don't get me wrong, I still think medication tends to be overprescribed. From what I've seen, too many people are on it who don't need it, and the stigma surrounding medication because of that means that too many people who legitimately need it are afraid to take it. Our system is completely f-kd up. I want to slap every media guru who's referenced happy pills and made derogatory comments about crazy people, therapists, Freudian psychology, psych meds, and on and on and on. All this stigma and negative stereotyping doesn't make our lives any easier. It's hard enough to get onto medication because of personal fears; external derision helps nothing.

....Can you tell I'm a little out of focus tonight?

That's why I need medication... To calm the racing thoughts just a little, temper the moods, ease the rumination, soothe the reason-less hurt. Medication really does exist for a REASON. It really is meant to help, not stupefy or control or drug you happy. It doesn't work that way, for one thing. Medication isn't going to cure me in the slightest. It's just going to help calm me enough that I'll be able to get a more solid start on recovery.

Huh? Whazzat?

God, has it been a week already? I'm such a neglectful blog-mommy.

It's been quite the busy week. I've not put a pen to paper beyond shopping lists or taking orders at work... Forget journalling, writing, or any other form of creative expression. The art supplies remain packed. The shirt that needs to be shipped still has yet to be painted. I've been reading a good bit but that's about all the self-nurturing/development I've been up to.

It seems like I'm in one of those rough points in my life where I'm too busy scratching a living to get to enjoy it. Basically, this sucks. Waitressing really doesn't offer much by way of satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment at the end of a twelve hour double shift (re: today). I'm tired, drained, and brain-dead, but have nothing to show for all my work but swollen feet and a wad of ones and fives. No provocative writing or pleasing artwork. Hell, not even a clean house.

I'm too emotional to write well about anything related to mental illness. I'm too tired to research something to write a stimulating entry. Underweight girls, depressed, cringeing girls, girls with scars on their knuckles made me cry today. The weight of the world feels so, so heavy right now...

This entry is making no sense...

In other news... TOMORROW WE'RE GETTING KITTENSES.

Sleep?Yeah... Sleep good... Tina go sleep now...

Still alive? Yep, yep, appears so.

So here I am, newly apartmented, at long last with a day off to do all those things I neglect all week long. I finally have time set aside to pay the bills, read a book (my mind feels like it's been melting), update my blog so you know I'm still alive, and get my hair cut. Seriously, I look like some shaggy ninety's reject. Or like I'm wearing a bad wig/toupee. I've been told it doesn't look as bad as all that....but since when has my self-image ever been healthy?

Over the past week, I was a scheduled double Friday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I made a lot of money, true, but damned if I'm not exhausted. By the end of last night's shift (ten hours all told yesterday) my feet were dragging. The pain and cramps in my legs kept me awake for a good while, which sucked. OH. Another reason for the tiredness: Crystal has been going through training class this week, meaning she has to be at the restaurant at 7:45 each morning. In order for me to get there for my shifts at 11:30 it meant I've either had to drive her and stay at the restaurant even longer or, as I've been doing, drive her there, drop her off, go back home and sleep for two hours, then go back to work. Uuuugh.

All the physical strain of working has really sucked... I'm all bones again. It's been getting really frustrating and hard to force-feed myself several times a day, every day, when my appetite has been so down. Even when I am hungry eating feels like such a chore - necessary perhaps, but loathsome.

The problem with the lingering anorectic mindset is that eating doesn't feel important to that part of my mind. Optional at best, pointless at worst. The logic says why bother eating if I'm only going to have to do it again in a few hours? (Interestingly enough, when I attempt to apply this to other bodily needs, like peeing or sleeping or getting a drink, it doesn't work. In fact it seems more than a little silly. However, as it goes with eating, it seems perfectly like a perfectly natural train of reasoning... Hmm.)

I'm trying to figure out how to continue to get myself to eat despite all the disinterest and undesirability. It also doesn't help having my own place now, knowing that whatever food I want to eat I must first buy... My fridge is evidence of hoarding habits trying to reinstate themselves. No no no! I can't eat that! If I eat that I won't have it later, and there might be some reason I might need it! What if I'm really hungry later? Can't can't can't!!! To this end I'm trying to avoid pastas and canned foods which will last forever in the event of hoarding... Fresh foods can't be ignored or they'll go bad. Still, though, the fridge and freezer tend to be full while my belly is not.

Shelly and I had our last session last Thursday. She gave me the number for another therapist, who I've still not called... It's hard not to look at our few weeks coming to an end as a way to stop therapy (again) and save money. I guess I've got my dad to thank for the fact that finances worry me more than anything else in the world. Finances make me scared to eat (it feels like I'm eating dollar bills), scared to do anything fun and romantic with my girlfriend, scared to pursue any hobbies, scared to spend a little frivolous cash to make life bearable, scared to pursue therapy because of all the bills. Which is easier to handle in the long run, though: weekly therapy and medication or hospitalizations and the cost of being out of work?

Got to spend money to make money, I guess is how the saying goes.

Shoutouts:
---Shannon, I swear to god I will call you. Today.
---Siri, thank you so much for your comment, honey. I've been thinking about you a lot and plan on writing as soon as I can.
---BECKY!!! HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! EVERYBODY TELL MY SISTER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! SHE'S EIGHTEEN TODAAAAAY!!!!

That is all. ^.^

The search for a cure

My fingers can barely lift themselves from one key to the next tonight. Washing my hair seemed like too much effort, with all the lifting of the arms and the scrubbing of the fingers. My entire body is dead weight.

After a couple phone calls from the new therapist, Patti, last week, I've begun again the search for a new therapist. She felt that it would be good for me to look more for someone who could provide better continuity of care since the CU Denver counselling center takes frequent, long breaks during the semester periods, as well as the fact that since the therapists there are interns they switch out regularly.

Another factor is that they ARE interns there... To be honest, I got the feeling that she was a bit overwhelmed by my needy crazyness (as therapists so often have been when dealing with me). She mentioned that it'd probably be best to find someone more experienced. To me, this means, "Holy hell, kid. You're a nutjob. Go find someone with a doctorate and roughly twenty-five years dealing with clinical crazies and maybe they can handle you." I'm sure that's not the exact translation, but it's close.

All that said, yesterday was intake number one of god knows how many. I really liked this therapist, though I don't think she's the right one, either, unfortunately. Her name is Shelley, she's an LCSW (licensed clinical social worker), been in practice since 1989.

That last bit is a big plus for her - many of the docs I've seen in the past haven't been in practice all that long. I like that she's experienced. On the other hand, though, (and this is a big reason I think it may not be the right fit) her experience does not lie where I need it to. I forgot to ask exactly what her areas of expertise are, but I gathered enough to know that she has not dealt much at all with dissociative disorders and has only had a couple of cases of eating disorders. Both these are rather major issues. In the case of eating disorders, the clients she did have were both well in to their recovery stages. While I think I'm well on my way, Crystal isn't so sure - and I've learned that she frequently has better judgment about my mental status than I do. Particularly lately it's been rather clear that I'm not as recovered as I seem to think I am, as I've been losing weight and eating less and caring less about the fact that I'm eating less.

Really, as much as I liked her as a person, appreciated her method and felt comfortable with her, she did not have enough qualifications treatment-wise, I think. The biggest positive things about meeting with her were things like feeling comfortable talking to her, not feeling threatened by her or condescended to, feeling like I was truly listened to and taken seriously. These indicate that she's definitely a good therapist but don't necessarily say anything about whether she's the right therapist. Follow?

She, like every other brain doctor who spends five minutes talking to me, seemed deeply concerned and quite adamant that I get back on meds as soon as humanly possible. Ironically enough, only when I'm having a saner day can I see the logic behind this. I still struggle with the concept of medication. It feels like a crutch, a fake cure, a symptoms-masking treatment that does nothing to actually cure. It feels somehow, in some not-easily-explained fashion, like the easy way out when I should be able to work my way out. Do not pass Go! Do not collect that two hundred dollars, hippie! You march your ass through each of those spaces and figure it out the HARD way. ....Aand the reasoning itself makes only about as much sense as that poorly planned metaphor.

There's an organization called Aurora Mental Health which I've thought about trying and which Shelley strongly recommends. She used to be on the board there and says they could find a way to help hook me up with medication until my insurance coverage resumes in August. Additionally, they've got a broad base of experience and knowledge for all things crazy, so chances are good that they could match me up with the right doc. So they're my next stop on the mental health errands...

Haha, don't you love how my coherence dissipates the longer I write and the tireder I get? Yes, tireder, you heard me punks. I've got to be at work again in less than twelve hours now. Perhaps next entry will come sooner than the ridiculous break this last has been... Sorry, readers.

This is Frasier Crane, wishing you all a good day and good mental health.

Confrontational feeding

It's always hard to tell where you draw the line between wanting sensitivity and understanding from others and trying to recognize where you yourself are perhaps being too touchy. All through childhood my dad was quite insistent that I took myself 'way too seriously' and needed to learn to laugh at myself... Personally, I often felt that was a bit of a harsh judgment, but that's neither here nor there.

In any case, on this particular occasion, I've got little to no doubt that the comment in question was out of line.

I've been through more than a couple managerial transitions in my time spent working the restaurant industry. I've had maybeee....two? general managers that I've liked. Yes, two, that's the right number. I like this particular, current general manager least of all so far. He's very heavy with the sarcasm when displeased, and not afraid to bitch people out publicly either. He's a good six foot something, all football player looking, a bit snaggle-toothed and overall quite intimidating. Quite the asshole.

On Sunday mornings he gets extremely stressed out. He always locks himself in as the expediter to make sure ticket times aren't running too long and the foods all get out correctly and whatnot, since Sunday brunch has a slightly different menu and can be stressful for the kitchen. Because of this, Sunday mornings he institutes a unique rule which I have the most impossible time remembering: employees may not make any modifications to their meals.

As I, granted, frequently do, I forgot about this rule yesterday when ringing in my food before going on break. I remembered almost immediately after sending in the order....but unfortunately, once done is done.

When I went to get my food from the line and take it to the back for my break, the GM was up in his usual spot and decided to make a scene, or maybe just an example, of it. As mentioned before he's a big man and has a big voice to go with it, so when he raises his voice at all it's definitely audible.

"Tina. Hey, Tina? Next time would you do me a favor and just not eat?"

...

That very morning over coffee with Crystal I talked about the fact that I've been really struggling with body image the last couple weeks. (Wow, I forgot to write this anecdote... When I went to the doctor last Saturday I realized quickly the part I'd forgotten to put in my medical istory: anorexia. The reason I realized this was that when they took me into the back the first thing they did was to put me on a scale. Fully clothed and facing forward. At this point, I realized that, fully clothed, wearing shoes, and having just eaten, I was a good ten pounds less than I was when last weighed, without all those other factors. Unfortunately, to the eating disordered mind there is nothing like finding you weigh less than you thought to trigger the desire to lose more.)

The whole affair triggered a panic attack and rid me of any desire to eat. I guess it was evidence of how far I've come, though, that I still did eat my lunch.

Kicking it into high gear

--Hi everybody. This is Crystal, and once again I'm taking over because Taylor's being wayyy too modest. She finally has been permanently linked on the Postsecret website and has received about one hundred and fifty emails (in 12 hours) about her shirts, and sold out in a really short time. You should all take the time to congratulate her on her victory!

Also, go check things out on the Post Secret website.

That is all! Now, to let her continue with her entry.--

Wowie zowie. First off, a big thank you to all the different e-mail-ers! Also, a big apology to all those who want shirts and found they were sold out... I'm placing an order tonight and provided shipping isn't too ridiculous will try to get it here two-day shipping.

I plan on replying to as many e-mails as I possibly can, but am not going to start tackling it tonight. I worked a double shift today and am just beat. (Plus, though I'll spare you gross girly details for once, I'm cramping like a...painful, painful, cramping thing...and just don't feel well.) The tiredness and not-feeling-well-ness are melding together into one of those super-storms that overwhelm ships and result in crappy blockbuster movies and...metaphor derailed... Haha, and the whole point of it was to say that I'm too tired to write coherently.

So. I'm going to go paint shirts until bedtime, then work another six hours or so, maybe cut my hair, then come home and do it aaaall over again! (And maybe get to some of those e-mails tomorrow night, too.)

Peace and love and monkey grease. Mwah. Kisses. Nigh' night.

Musings, sundry and disconnected

SIIIIIIIiiiiiigggghhhhh. If I never have to shop for a car again I think I'll be happy. (Except, that's totally a lie. Whichever car we end up finding will no doubt be so gnarly that I'll want a new(er) one as soon as can possibly be afforded.) I hate car shopping. Really, really hate it.

This rapid-cycling depression and hypomania is making life completely impossible and incomprehensibly exhausting. I'm either too hyper and unab le to focus to get anything done or too lethargic and unable to lift my head off the pillow to do anything. The past week or more I've been doing well to make it to work and last my shift without a breakdown, let alone contemplate updates.

Speaking of, I was thinking about this yesterday: DC Cheesecake Factory was remarkably patient with me. I never got fired, never even got a write up, yet I was probably right up there for the Most Unstable Employee award. I suppose consistent competence was my greatest selling point or something, whothehell knows.

Sunday morning I nearly didn't make my bus because dragging myself out of bed and into my work clothes was such a completely overwhelming task. Eventually I'd pulled on my uniform and just sat on the edge of the bed crying, staring at my untied shoes, thinking simultaneously how impossibly difficult and pointless it would be to tie them. But, somehow, I still managed. (And literally all day long almost every friend I have there found some way to tell me I "look[ed] like sh*t", which made me feel a whole lot better.) I still got to work on time and made it through the shift intact without screwing anything up severely.

This anecdote actually brings up two points: first, I'm actually quite a bit more stable than I used to be, despite the fact that it feels quite the contrary. Secondarily, it's evidence to the whole DC-was-more-tolerant point... There were several times at that restaurant where I had to call out because of severe depression/anxiety/whatever, faking the physical only to a small extent since I was so depressed I truly felt sick. Beyond that, however, they had to deal with me disappearing mid-shift now and then, emerging from the coat closet or walk-in freezer after a while, all tear-stained, for no discernible reason. A couple times I came in for my shift begging everyone in sight to pick up for me so that I could go home because either I couldn't stop crying or just couldn't stand the thought of six, seven, eight hours with a plastered fake smile, ingratiating myself to people for their money.

And, of course, there were the couple of shifts that I simply could not go onto the floor because I could not stop sobbing. Including one memorable night that they were already short people and refused to send me home, instead telling me to go to the bathroom and try to pull myself together. I called Crystal, panicking and completely distraught for (as is my bent) no discernible reason, who dropped what she was doing and came running to work as quickly as she could. I'm sure I was completely pissing the managers off since I was...wow, how to describe it? totally unhinged? and they couldn't understand why. All they wanted was a reason but no one had died, I hadn't broken up with my girlfriend, wasn't getting kicked out of school, nothing. I think the explanation I gave was a nothing-everything-I DON'T KNOOOW!!! sort of thing, which didn't seem to cut it.

In the end they really had no choice but to send me home. (I think they gave me like two hours to try to pull it together, though, but it was no use.)

And yet, they didn't fire me. If anything, they undeniably handled me with kid gloves for a few weeks after that; they immediately cut back my hours, no further questions asked, and did all they could to help me through it.

I really don't think this location would be so understanding.

Although, an interesting thought connects to all this: had they fired me for an emotional breakdown, could I have sued? :-P I wonder where psychiatric illness falls on the legal end of things...

...arright, I'm all written out, I think. Don't you just love how my entries sort of fizzle instead of conclude these days? Le sigh.

...Okay, actually, I have NO CLUE how to end this. So I'm just going to let it drop... Crystal suggests saying

THE END

T'shirt update

I'm working on setting up a shop --- FINALLY.

I'm sorry this has taken so long... For those who've been following my blog for a while, you'll know that I've had some crazy insanity going on as regards my housing situation. It's been difficult to keep stability in my online life when there's none in the 'real' world and unfortunately the latter has to take priority when there are things to be done.

Also, I don't even have the shirts right now. They're at my parents' house in storage because they didn't pass the cut for Really Vital Things Which Must Be Packed when I flew out to CO. I'm going to ask my parents to ship them and the supplies ASAP (Mommy? Daddy?) but until then the shop will stay closed... I don't want to list something for sale that I don't have!

Hope that clears things up a little. If you're wanting a shirt do let me know and I will write your name down but I can't give you a guess as to when I'll be able to start shipping them out again.

A departure into the semi-philosophical

I'm not sure what to do with my life. As of your Sophomore year of college you're supposed to havea pretty good idea where you're going in your studies and career pursuits, which I thought I did. Then the gods and godesses or perhaps just the Nameless Malicious Forces That Be decided once more to give me special attention and mess with me just for the hell of it. Now that I'm in recovery mode, I'm not so sure I want to try to get back on and continue in the direction I was headed.

I hate college. Really, I do. Classes almost invariably feel like a waste of time as dozens of braindead students lock themselves before the flapping mouths of their professors, ingesting the material only to spit it back out on command. There is one acceptable way to learn, one acceptable truth to memorize. College does not accomodate diversionary thinking. Hell, learning is its own flunking religion in this way: one path, one way to believe, blind memorization and acceptance of pre-established theories. The only difference is whether one accepts reason or spirituality as the ultimate guiding force.

The worst part of college study is the grading system. That's what locks students into the right way, wrong way thinking, since if you don't answer with the material desired or the manner proscribed, it's unacceptable. You're forced to abandon independent thought for the sake of impressive grades.

It's a big part of why I was such an awful student, to be honest... I'm afraid I'm rather an impossible person if you want to force me to conform. Damn the chains of religion and the educational system! I shall break them with my wildly rebellious, nonconformist self! (Haha.) I got into more than one quite literal verbal battle with my teachers, even in the midst of their lectures. (Anyone remember my child psychology professor? Or the time we had a guest speaker in my Deprivation of Liberty course?) If I disagreed with the material and the answer I was supposed to supply on the test, I would put my own answer. Sometimes even a snarky comment about how the right answer would be x but here's why I think it's incorrect or incomplete.

Don't get me wrong, though. I adore studying. It's the college system that I reject. For the reason of curriculum I loved studying at a university! It provided me with the resources, direction, and motivation to keep learning. I do a lot of this on my own, true, but not as intensively. I flourished in the college environment and delighted in the abundant resources. I loved being able to approach certain teachers outside the class environment with my thoughts, opinions, questions, conflicts. (Notable awesomes: Professor Reichler, to whom I'll forever be indebted, Professor Mastrangelo, Professor Middents, and Dr Gillespie who actually managed to get me to appreciate the value of literary interpretation as well as authorship.) If I could stay in that scholarly environment forever, all expenses paid, I'd probably do it.

....Where am I going. Jeez. Okay.

I love learning, education, scholarly pursuit. I hate college for its pointless busy work (COUGH, PROFESSOR FREAKING THOMAS, COUGH) and narrow-mindedness (GOD I HATE YOU PROFESSOR THOMAS. I don't know what I want to do with my life.

I'm actually happier right now in my menial job as a cashier and baker at the Cheesecake Factory than I was pursuing a career in psychology. I like a job which doesn't over-tax me and allows me time to think, write, read, and pursue learning on my own. I like to have a job in which I have fun. I seriously don't think I'd be happy as something important, a psychologist or doctor or researcher.

Then the problem comes in. Do I seriously want to keep working these unimportant, going nowhere jobs just because I enjoy them? Do I want to let myself be a nobody forever?

Or... Will keeping these pay-the-bills jobs give me time to become someone on my own? Will I have the dilligence and talent it takes to make it out there, do something, go somewhere without the rigidity of college?

I know that I want to write. Every experience feels like, and is, just a new way to gather material. But am I ever going to USE it? The only thing I ever write is this damn blog. I don't have a growing collection of MS Word documents, unfinished or even barely begun novels, nothing to show for all the things I say I mean to write. For that matter, I can't even think up any plot ideas. The only crap I can think to write about is my own life. Blah blah blah, whine whine whine.

SIGH. So that's my dilemma. College, grad school, doctorate and career or random jobs and endless blog entries?

The sleepy, confusing thoughts of an overworked chica

God, it's going to be hard to think of something to write tonight... I woke, dressed, went to work... worked... and now, thirteen hours later, am back in bed where I started the day. >.< Eeeew. It feels like I've been awake quite a bit longer than I have - in actuality, it's just that I worked ten of the past thirteen hours and therefore am completely exhausted. Blah blah workedy work.

The only thing I can really say about today that has a vague sort of merit is that it often strikes me, working in the bakery of a Cheesecake Factory, both how far I've come and how ironic my choice of work is. (Most awkwardly worded sentence ever. I'm too tired to fix it.)

It's sickening how many total strangers harrass me about my weight on any given shift. I'll never get used to it. The strange, somewhat comforting thing is that finally, at least a little, it's starting to become a galling irritation instead of a starve-me-purge-me-something-anything trigger. I can't deny that it still hurts and pokes every time someone cracks a joke about how impossible it must be for me to work where I do and stay skinny (on my bitterest days I have been known to shoot back a rude, anorexic remark, but I'd not recommend that course of action to anyone). It still makes me bone check and run for a mirror when overweight, middle-aged individuals tell me that haha, enjoy it while you can, you won't be skinny for very long!

...My mind is rabbit trailing tonight. All my life I've heard comments like that: enjoy it while it lasts. I was a wiry newborn and I stayed that way whether starving or not. It's how my body is built, I guess. I've got a small, long frame and a high metabolism. And yet relatives, friends, total strangers have always felt it their duty to inform me that if I don't shape up my eating habits I will wake up one morning to find I've ballooned. Working where I do, I eat like crap. I had nibbles of pizza, cheesecake, fries, and a sandwich today. And I'm terrified that I'll wake up to find that obese young woman all my friends and coworkers warn me of.

In the end, what does it matter??? Why is it such a big deal if I'm skinny or average or overweight? Perfect doesn't exist; I'll always be off by a pound or a pants size should I be fifty pounds or five hundred. If I've gotten anything from therapy it's that I need to learn to be content with myself as I am, right now, as I was made to be. Why can't others be content with me as I am? That's the strange thing.

God, I'm making absolutely no sense. I'm falling asleep on the keyboard, here, and I'm afraid to say a whole lot since it takes a little consciousness to censor highly triggering material. Thoughts in the raw should remain where they are. ...That doesn't make sense either...

I'm opening cashier tomorrow, so I'm going to end this and go to sleep. Maybe someone can glean a coherent thought from this. :-P

Peace to you all. Mmmwah!

Boring life update

Jesu Christo, won't it be nice when the wireless internet is finally set up at the house and I can have consistent access to this beast?

And Lordy, but I've only got another fourteen minutes remaining before the durnded library internet evicts me, so this must be brief. Cat darling, I'll get to replying to that e-mail as soon as I can. Or, more likely, I may try to write a paper version for want of interneting... Can you e-mail me your address (yet again)? <3

Having a job again is helping the depression immensely. Last week I put in about thirty-five hours and this week(end) is shaping up similarly, so one my paycheck comes Tuesday-or-therabouts it'll be quite the happy celebration. What I really want to do is go skiing with Crystal and her mom. <333333 Not sure how the prices'll look on that one, though... May have to set some funds aside and wait for the next check to cap it off.

If nothing else, work is helping to fill the empty, lonely hours and thereby keep my mind from having too many silent moments on which to brood. The snow continues to come down every few days and from my perch behind a bakery cash register I have a good view out the front windows and can watch the prettiness without worrying about its consequences... Always fun. (Perhaps, eventually, I shall afford a car. In the meantime...yay public transport.) AI! Nine minutes!

Okay. Soooo I'm making some friends at work, which also helps. All the bakery staff seem to be quite the tight-knit group but they are welcoming me in as one of their own. Daniel and Marque are my two homies so far... We've determined that with the three of us working there is too much gay in the bakery for our own good. Hehe. Daniel is the sweetest teddy bear you will ever meet and Marque, though frequently bitchy, is certainly no match for my own vinegar so we get on fine. It's quite bizarre trying to force myself to soften since even the sharpest of Coloradans tend not to meet the average Washingtonian temperament. Another wonderful help is that nearly everyone drives and many of them live naught five minutes from the house, meaning plenty of offers of rides.

Okys, and we're down to five minutes so I'll jot an end. ...Um, lacking a good conclusion... I guess that's about all. Siri, I got your letter the other day!!! I'm working on a reply. Anyone else... Um.... Loves!

Um... [Title]

Just a quick post to say that I HAVE A JOB!!!!!!!!

I have to catch the 3:30 bus to the Light Rail so we can go and actually see my workplace before I start working there... <333 I hope to start Wednesday, but I don't know when they'll actually put me on the schedule. YAYAYAY!

Well, actually, it's not all that exciting. I mean, I'm gonna be cashiering at the freaking Cheesecake Factory so it's not as though a whole lot has changed. There will be nothing novel aside from new people and slightly different environment. However, there WILL be $12 an hour plus a small amount of tips on the side. (Cashiers sorta get tips, but it's more like maybe $20 or 30 in a shift instead of 80+.)

Aaand have to go. Sorry. May update later, but if not, hi, I'm alive, how are you?

Meh. The depression ogre says, "Why post?"

There is really very little of interest going on here lately. I feel like a puppy, left home alone all day while the owners go to work and school. :-P Crystal's gone most of the day, most days, Jody and Amber are gone, the cars are gone... Just me, the pets, and the TV.

The good news is that I've set up and interview at the Park Meadows Cheesecake Factory on Sunday!!! YAY!!! Heh, when I called the GM was very confused as to why I want to cashier if I'm trained as a server (less money, longer hours, pain-in-the-ass duties). However, all of course becomes clear when I'm like, "Well... I can't really use my right arm for anything involving carrying things over, say, two pounds. Yay shoulder surgery." I want to start freaking MONDAY. I need something to DO.

If this entry seems strained, it's because I'm working hard to force myself to update. Despite being bored, I also have no energy. I sleep ten to twelve hours a night and am still exhausted and listless all day. I don't feel like doing anything at all.

The one silver lining is that I've managed some art projects, including a few ink drawings that I'm actually kinda proud of. Rather surrealist and Philip Guston esque. I half-joked with Crystal last night that I should list some of my work on Ebay and see if anyone would want it. :-P This led to the question of how do artists actually start selling their stuff in the first place? I still lack an answer. (I also lack a scanner, or I'd be more inclined to upload the images.)

One final note would be that I have changed my e-mail address. Please take note! fadedamaranth@yahoo.com = bye-bye. novareproject@gmail.com = CONTACT. Believe it or not, the main reason I've switched is the ads. Since Christmas, yahoo mail has been rife with weight loss ads and with the state I've been in the last thing I need is to be told every five minutes that I need to lose weight.

The part of me that says I absolutely DO need it is why this e-mail switch has taken close to three weeks. I want to be told I'm a fatass. I want incentive to hate myself more. If there's one thing I've taken away from therapy, it's that I am the biggest cause of my own depression. Or, at the least, I'm the reason I continue to be depressed. I set myself up for it and lock myself in to the cycle. Changing my e-mail is a little step to try and loosen the hold.

So... That's about it. Again, please try to forgive my terseness. It's nothing against you, I swear.