The Big Little Mermaid

When I was a kid my Dad would take us on fancy ass vacations to make up for all the time he never spent with us. We didn't know they were fucking fancy vacations because we grew up like that. We had no concept of money. We just knew the nannies travelled with us and we went to all sorts of badass places.

One particular Summer trip our family went to Destin, FL....I think. Maybe it was Miami. I can't remember. I was 11 years old, chubby as hell, weird gangly, jacked up teeth, big ass Coke bottom glasses....I looked a hot mess. I was totally interested in boys but they were not interested in me. And I understood. Didn't even really blame them because, well, I wouldn't wanna kiss 11 year old me either.

But this one particular vacation, I met a boy. Elliott. There were several pools in the resort we were staying at but I had a favorite. It was the night time pool area, the one where you have a couple pools indoors that are heated + a hot tub....that was my SPOT. All the hot chicks were all sunburned and inside or out at a bar or something so I had it all to myself.

The night before my family was set to leave, I was taking my nightly swim. Then this boy came up to me while I was still in the pool. He asked if I minded if he went swimming in the pool too. He looked to be probably my age and he looked nerdy as fuck. Which meant kissable in my eyes. (heh...still does) So Elliott hops in the water and starts swimming around, introducing himself, talking about school, etc. His parents have stationed themselves at the far end of the swimming pool, so we had privacy.

He asks me about my school, and I explain about my former science teacher, Mrs. Dishman. We picked on her at school because she wasn't a traditionally beautiful woman. And she was kind of mean. But it was probably because the students hated her. We would call her 'Mrs. Dish Pan Booger Flicker', and looking back on it, we could have done better. We could have been more creative.

Anyway, I tell Elliott about the nickname and the kid laughs so hard he starts sucking water into his throat and lungs, choking like hell. I laughed, I thought he was playing.

He was not.

Elliott choked so hard on the water from my simple story that his parents had to dive into the pool, drag his now limp body to the cement and commence CPR. After about a minute he rolled over and puked into the pool. He had eaten shrimp, obviously. He was completely white and had blue lips and black hair and I thought, "I can't believe I would have kissed that guy. He just puked everywhere. Gross."

I had no concern for his well being, just that he had barfed and it was disgusting.

This is why I worry about my child growing up.

This. Is. Why. I. Worry.

So, there's this girl....

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

I feel like if I say it enough times it might not be an actual word that actually applies to me.

Except it does. 

For the people that know me IRL, I know you're looking all weird right now, faces all screwed up like "Dafuq is she even talking about?" But it's true. It's horribly true. Except maybe it isn't.

I don't have a legitimate fear of leaving my home. At all. As long as I have someone with me. I do not like to leave my home alone, not even to put gas i am n my car. I will often wait for my Peanut to get off the bus to go out and handle stupid little tasks like that because I won't have to be by myself. 

I'm not afraid to be alone. In fact, I spend the majority of my time quite alone. Except when I'm working, which is kind of always....but you know how you can still be very alone, even in a room full of people? Yeah. I do that. 

I don't have panic attacks over leaving my house. I have some basic anxiety but it's pretty mild. I just find myself unable to just get out. 

The therapist -- who is awesome, may I just say -- says it may be agoraphobia. I don't totally get it. I mean, yes, I don't like to leave my home alone. Some of the best times in my life have been had while riding in cars with other people. One of my most favorite activities is a lazy Sunday drive to nowhere with loud music and windows down. (yes, I am a basic bitch. Thank you for noticing)

I'm just not uber-positive I have a full blown case of agoraphobia. Maybe it's just laziness, or depression. It could be both. 

I have been super fucking proactive about my mental state lately though. I went on a bender one night after my birthday and got just white girl wasted, and while I'm not proud of it, I feel it is necessary to bring it up and keep bringing it up so as to serve as a reminder to not be that douchecanoe. I am taking my medication every day. I am scheduling biweekly appointments with a therapist. I think that I am prepared to learn some new methods of dealing with being a bipolar person.  And PTSD. Because that shit is strong, ya'll. I seriously don't know how I functioned for so long in such a crazy and emotionally and physically painful marriage and survive. But I did and I came out of it kind of fucked up. And now I'm doing something about it. 

I'm scared, though. I'm afraid it isn't quite enough. I'm afraid of walking down this road and not gaining any useful insight, or not learning anything. I am terrified of people judging me, which is exactly why I just make all my blog posts public. No need or ability to lie about where I am in life, who I am, what's going on with me. No hiding. This is kind of a part of my own personal therapy plan. If it's entertaining, well, fuck yeah. That rocks. I fucking hope it is, I've got some damn funny stories. 

There's some really sad shit too, though. I'll address it all. But for the most part, this is like.....and version of eJournal. One that my therapist can access because I suck at taking notes on myself, so, yeah. Here ya go miss Therapist Lady. You're fucking welcome.

My Cat Only Loves Me When I Have Crackers

Anyone who knows me -- at least lately -- knows I have adopted the cutest little Siamese kitten, Suki. Suki is a great companion.....except for her farts. And her poops.

This cat is fucking adorable. But allllll that cute just melts away with one whiff in the wrong direction. I still love her though.

The problem is, Suki really only truly shows her love when I'm eating. I can be eating absolutely anything and she wants it. She will BEG for it like a dog. This CAT has straight up ripped fettucine Alfredo FROM MY MOUTH and eaten it. Then she licked the bowl clean. (no need for a dishwasher, amiright?)

Anyone else experience their cat only wanting to eat human food?

Circadian Rhythms WAT?

Let's talk about how fucked up my sleep cycle is. I have horrible insomnia. And before you go telling I need Melatonin, Ambien, Lunesta, warm milk, chamomile tea....I've already tried it. All of it. Every single thing probably ever invented in the whole wide world for insomnia -- I've tried it. In fact, I took some Melatonin about three hours ago. I'm wide awake, obviously.

I'm allergic to Ambien. Not the 'Oh I'm still awake so I'm having hallucinations' type of fake allergic that Adderall fueled sorority girls talk about over their Starbucks frappes and skinny jeans. Hahah....I WISH A BITCH WOULD HALLUCINATE. Instead, I get these disgusting hives all over my body. Everywhere. And I faint. I straight up pass the fuck out. It was super fun finding this out, too.

I was in the hospital for your everyday, routine mental health checkup. (Doth thou detect sarcasm?) I couldn't sleep. At the time, Ambien was still relatively new, so the doctor prescribed it -- along with what seemed like a thousand other things -- and, duh, I took it. I didn't sleep. I didn't hallucinate. I stayed up all night watching VHS copies of The Big Lebowski and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
(They allowed my mom to bring my VHS collection of movies to me....I complained that I couldn't sleep and watching these movies that were so familiar to me might give me some comfort....heh) The next morning I was on probably the most uncomfortable couch type apparatus I've ever been on, watching The Big Lebowski, when the nurse called me to take my morning medication. I had been on that couch all night long, watching movies. She looked at me and immediately sucked her breath in through her teeth and came out from behind the plexiglass window used to issue meds. (Apparently I was in the looney bin with some folks who had been in jail?) She put her arm around me and steered me towards my room carefully. Thankfully I was pretty bitchy so I got the pleasure of a private room. She directed me to the bathroom and instructed me to remove my shirt. Immediately I was alarmed, because why is this fucking stranger trying to look at my tits? So I resisted a little but eventually I stripped my shirt. While I was at it I took off my pants too....what's the point in just being topless? Again, she sucked her breath in through her teeth and then spun me around to face the mirror. I had these awful, giant red blisters all over my body. My forehead to the tips of my toes were covered in red, splotchy patches. They didn't hurt, they didn't itch, but they sure as fuck didn't look very cute. Ambien was the only thing added to my prescription diet, so it was the variable.

So yeah. Very, very allergic to the Ambien. Melatonin and I have a love/hate relationship. Sometimes it really works for me, sometimes it makes me want to vomit, and sometimes it makes me hyper. I have ADHD and I don't take medication for it. When I did, I actually slept quite regularly. I would pass right out the minute the medication wore off and wake up almost exactly 7.5 hours later. I should probably look into taking that stuff again...except it makes me kind of pissy. I don't want to be pissy.

Chamomile tea is for pussies. I said it. Come at me bro. I'll fall asleep after three pots of coffee faster than I will a cup of stupid flower tea.

Lunesta really doesn't work for me. At all. None. The last time I took Lunesta, it was two Christmases ago. I was fighting with Boyfriend and we had broken up, so my heart was shredded -- as was his, because we're still together -- and I couldn't sleep after all the shock of everything. So I took a Lunesta and went to bed with a movie. Sounds like a reasonable request to want to sleep for a little while after a life-altering event like that, right? My body wasn't ready. I took the Lunesta around 8 p.m. At 12 midnight I was still wide awake, crying, staring at my ceiling fan, thinking about everything that had happened, what I did wrong, what could I do to make it better in the future, why my ass had gotten so fat, would it continue to get so fat, what about those plans I had for my life, why doesn't anyone love me, I am a horrible person, horrible mother, horrible sister, horrible daughter, I need a cat, I miss my dog...the usual cycle I go through at night. I decided I would take some Melatonin -- along with my regular meds, including Klonopin -- and take my ass to sleep. Three hours later I was STILL wide awake, contemplating all my horrible life decisions. So I packed a bag or two, wrote a note for my mom, wrote a letter for my Peanut, and hopped in my car and drove to my family in Nashville.

I drove five hours to Nashville after consuming Lunesta, Melatonin, AND Klonopin. Sleep meds DO NOT FUCKING WORK on me.

You know what does? Snoring. Specifically, Boyfriend's snoring. Something about his snoring puts me right to sleep. Sometimes he doesn't even need to be snoring, he just needs to be in the general proximity and I am immediately calmer. It's so strange, I've never experienced anything like it before. Nobody has ever been able to make me feel calm just by knowing they are near me. Not my Mom, not my ex-husband (BWAHHAHA -- nobody ever felt calm around that mother fucker, trust.)...nobody. And we don't live together. We haven't gotten to that part yet. So the night's he is with me, I sleep so well. And the nights he isn't...well, I don't. It's not his fault, so don't go reading this thinking I'm blaming someone else for my problem that I've had since I was twelve. Nope. I just think it's kind of nice that there is a person out there in the world that can make me feel calm enough to just fall asleep. And I think I do that to him too, because we sure do sleep a lot. Since my work schedule is kind of insane and sometimes I work at midnight and and sometimes I work at 8 a.m. I have the most fucked up sleep schedule ever. I will get the best sleep ever from about 5 - 9 p.m., stay up until 3 a.m., wake up at 6 a.m., and GO GO GO GO GO from 6 am to 5 pm when I pass out again. Or should I say when I WANT to pass out again. More often than not I am working during these hours, or doing homework with my Peanut, cooking, grocery shopping, etc, and can't sleep....which sucks balls. I think my Circadian rhythm is mad at me.

Now....if you have any tips or tricks that don't involve meditation -- I am FAR TOO ADHD FOR THAT -- or any of the aforementioned remedies, I would LOVE to hear them. I am always open for ideas.

Sweet dreams, ya'll.

K

Sometimes You Know, Sometimes You Don't

Sometimes you don't know where to start. Other times you don't know when to stop. Sometimes you're forced to stop doing something you love in order to save yourself.

I have been to school at JSU, Auburn, and a host of community colleges in between. Got a few degrees under my belt....fat load of good it's doing me. All I ever seriously wanted was to do hair. Well, do hair, be a lawyer, a doctor, a bartender....I'm wandering off here. Shit. Sorry. I have ADHD that is completely unmedicated.

I've wanted to be a cosmetologist since I was sixteen years old. That's all. I found a serious passion and I just knew it was for me. I let my parents, my ex husband, my friends, all of the people in my life EXCEPT ME tell me what to do. And it certainly wasn't 'Hey, girl, go do hair! You go be Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias and WERK HUNTY'. No. They did NOT say that. They said it wasn't a real career. I needed to study business. I needed to study politics. 'You're so good at arguing, you'd make a perfect defense attorney...' 'You need to study marketing. Look at me, I make a hapgiliionn dollars a year and my life is a mess but outwardly I'm HAPPYYYYYYY [but I'm dying inside from all the cheeseburgers and nights alone] and it's a great life!'

They all told me no. And I listened. Until one day I didn't anymore. I was divorced a little over a year and had come to the realization that studying for my master's degree wasn't gonna cut it for me. I was really sick of academia. I wanted to study what the fuck I wanted. Dammit. So I did. I had ONE place in mind. The IVY LEAGUE OF BEAUTY SCHOOLS -- Aveda. One day I woke up, drove my ass up to Birmingham, and applied. I begged the application money from my folks (I think) and I got in. My friends helped me make a kick ass dress out of smashed beer bottle caps and I won a scholarship. I was PUMPED.

My journey began. God I was so happy. I had to be in Birmingham three and four days a week, 18 hour days -- counting my trip -- and I was deliriously happy. I missed my kid. I missed my boyfriend. But I was doing really fucking well and I was loving what I was doing and feeling challenged and good.

Then I crashed. Figuratively. The TN started to seriously flare up from the stress, and from all the chemicals and improper ventilation. I lost my place to stay in town so I was commuting over 60 miles one way. I nearly missed my daughter's entire soccer season, and I had no time in the summer with her. I was losing myself to this horrible disease and to Aveda. And I backslid. I had to stay home. And as a student with special needs, they had to accommodate me, right? But they didn't. They tried to keep me at a remedial level until I gave up. That was the option I was given. To give up. And I did. I had to. I could no longer afford the price of my dream of graduation from Aveda. It wasn't worth any more missed soccer games or bedtime stories or any of that. It wasn't worth my sanity. I was in so much pain, physically and emotionally, that I had to let go.

And I did. I'm still getting over it. I let my entire life, my entire sense of worth and well-being, ride on a variable of a place, of a dream, that existed wherever I made it exist. It wasn't contained in the walls of Aveda. I just figured that out today. I still cry. I still haven't been able to go back to visit friends or get that free blow-out that I don't need but want anyway because I know it will feel good. It makes me sad to think about even walking back through those doors because I feel like I failed. I feel like I failed my daughter, my family, my boyfriend, my friends, and myself. Mostly myself. I have impulse control issues, and I think Aveda may have been one of those impulses to change my life that I could have stepped back from a little bit. But it was soooo easy....so....right there...I wanted to rocket myself into the life I wanted, the life I've been chasing. I knew I was smart enough, I knew I was talented enough. I didn't realize how much it would cost emotionally. I slept my first week off. Just slept.

I still cry. I still cry over knowing I will never graduate with my class on June 13.

I've found my calling a little closer to home. While it's not Aveda, it's still damn good. And I'm damn good, and I'm going to be damn good at it.

Sometimes I think it's okay to give up if it means you gain something better in the end.

The Price of Admission

I have medical issues. Kind of a lot. They keep me home a good bit. I feel cooped up most of the time. I think that's essentially why I started this project. I don't reach out to many people, and the few I do reach out to are awesome, amazing people who help in any way they can. Unfortunately, there isn't much anyone without a prescription pad, pen, or a long career in neurosurgery can do.

I have Trigeminal Neuralgia. I've mentioned it a couple times, I'm sure. It's nicknamed the suicide disease because people kill themselves from lack of relief. It has been said that it's the worst pain known to humans. I don't know if that's true but it does fucking hurt.

As I write this and my face is KILLING me, I just hear rain start to fall. Thank God. Much like arthritis, my face hurts worse when it's about to rain. It's like...being electrocuted in one side of your face, and that side of your face happens to contain eight teeth that are in serious need of a root canal. Add in a healthy dose of burning in your gums, twitching eyes, and topical facial numbness for good measure. That's the best I can describe it. It fucking hurts. Always. Sometimes it hurts worse than others. As I get older it's becoming less manageable. I don't qualify for insurance OR medicaid so I've filed for disability. If that's how I can get treated and get better, fuck it. That's what it's for.

I also suffer from PTSD. My ex husband beat the shit out of me. It is what it is.

I have severe panic attacks, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Bipolar disorder. I take Zoloft. I recently started taking it again after about a four year break. I'm glad I did. I feel like I was able to realize when I started to kind of spiral out of my normal "crazy" and fall into real "crazy" and catch myself in time. Thankfully I hoard medication so I had plenty of Zoloft lying around. If I had to wait for my doctor to prescribe it again it would have been at least a month before I could get access to any. I might not have made it that long. I was at the point where I felt useless. That might not sound like much, but it's a big fucking deal to me. I'm still struggling, but every day is getting a little easier. I wake up happy and looking forward to waking up like 40% of the time, which is great. I was at about 10%. So that's improvement.

I miss little things about being able to do life. Like being a waitress or bartender. I love that job. It might sound stupid, and that's ok. I was really good at it and I loved doing it. I had to call in sick so much from the pain from the TN that it made me basically unemployable. I get it. It sucks. I had to start working for myself. Making my own hours, etc. It works better for me, but it's still hard.

I'm lucky. I have family, and although we don't really get along, they help me when I cannot help myself. My Peanut is amazing and makes me eggs when my face hurts and I can't really chew. Boyfriend sometimes brings me soup and will sit with me and hold my hand when I can't take it. I have these amazing friends that understand when I cancel plans at the last minute....I'm not being flaky. I'm just in pain.

I've never been shy about the TN, or the panic attacks. But I've told very few people about the depression. But it's very real, and if you are suffering, think you might be suffering, or know someone who is, fucking reach out. Please. Just do that for me. Fuck...I'll talk to you man. May be just some internet talk but that's fine. Reach out. It's gonna be okay.

Comfort Food

This is my 'I just had a fucked up nightmare and will only sleep and hour plus I'm starting a ketogenic diet tomorrow' comfort food. A fat ass Philly Cheesesteak. Yassss.

Also Suki wants to stab me and steal my food. 

Sweet dreams Princesses.