inside out

I have got to be the oddest combination of a personality.... I'm a hippie-redneck-city girl. I am that girl who wears a ball gown with a thigh holster for her pistol while rocking red lips. And the next day I'm the girl who wears no makeup, a bandana, and MIGHTY holey jeans for long rides down dirt roads, swilling whiskey.

I feel like I got boxed in the past couple years. I think I was trying to hard to fit into a crowd that a) gave zero fucks about me on a personal level and b) I would never really fit into anyway. I have gotten back to my roots, my basics. My basic, simple, country life. And I love it. I love waking up in the morning. Yep. The am. I said it. Morning. I love going to bed by ten pm. Love it.

I suffered from terrible insomnia for so long, y'all... And it was because I was LAZY and DEPRESSED. I didn't want to get out of need.... So I didn't, and I couldn't sleep. Now, I sleep. Hard. Because I'm physically tired at the end of the day.

I feel much more like myself. I have started to accept myself for exactly who I am, and not making apologies for what I like and what I don't.

I am not hard core into video games. I FUCKING HATE WORLD OF WARCRAFT. I like MKII and Tetris and GOT. That's about it. I like to paint and draw. I like to make things. I love love LOVE doing hair and makeup. Making people feel good about themselves is the best thing ever. I love going camping, getting dirty, and feeling the sun shine on my face. I love loud music and I still hate shitty country. I like good country....but that's far and few between. I love blues music and roots music. I love funk and jazz and house and downtempo music. I love good old fashioned rock. I love wading in a newly discovered creek with my Peanut. I love finding pretty flowers and taking them home.

I'm pretty pissed off at myself for trying to mold myself into what I thought other people wanted me to be. It didn't make them like me and it made me fucking sad. Fuck that.

I love that I finally love myself again.

Failure to Launch

I once was in a relationship with a man who had what I call Failure to Launch syndrome. So many times in his life he had tried to 'make it', only to fail and return to his family home, basically miserable and alone. He was super up front about his life and his so-called failures when we met. After knowing him for awhile, I realized what the 'failure' stemmed from: Fear. Unbridled fear. Not in the sense of "ZOHMYGAWD LOOKADAT SPIDER!!" but more of a generalized fear... Of failure.

The fear in him was nearly paralytic. It caused him to second, third, fourth, and fifth guess every decision. And when he made the wrong choices he would immediately get "Do-Gooder" syndrome (you know, the thing that happens when you fuck up and get called out on it so you're on your best behavior for a limited time?) to make up for having made a bad decision.

The fear he had inside him ruled his life. And it's something I've never understood. I am terrified of failure. But I'm not so afraid to fail that I end up not doing anything at all.

The way I see it, I'm human. I am imperfect. I don't know everything. But if I try something and fail, I've learned a whole lot more about the process, about what worked and what didn't, and about myself as a person.

Does it feel good to fail? No. Hell no. If it did it wouldn't be such a dirty word. But it doesn't always have to earn such a negative connotation.

I view each failure in my life as a learning opportunity... And as you know, tuition can be fucking pricey. For as many things, ideas, jobs, creative endeavors, relationships, and even a marriage, that I have royally fuckered all up and failed at, I learned A LOT. That's worth the world to me.

I hope Failure to Launch eventually finds a way out of the fear. The Great Unknown can be pretty damn spectacular.

ISO Preparation H...

You ever fucked up your life so bad you think you'll need the fire marshal to come help put out all the fires you created? Yeah. Me too.

I screwed over -- royally -- one of the kindest and gentlest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Why? Because I'm a dumbass. Because I am horrible at communication. Because I am terrible at life. So not winning in that department.

I feel really bad about what I did. I want to apologize. Not because I feel like I need forgiveness... No....I don't think I deserve that. I want to apologize because I think they deserve it. I made some bad choices. I hurt people. People I care about. It doesn't make me feel good to know how I made these people feel. It just reinforces this self destructive carousel ride that is my life. All custom built by hand, mind you. My hands. I did it. My screwed up life is my own fault, and nobody else should have to suffer because of it. Unfortunately, I cannot live in a bubble and I must interact with other humans in order to live a productive life. So now I'm back on deep therapy sessions weekly. I am taking my medications. And I am considering my actions and choices as carefully as I can. I'm not fully equipped to adult yet, but I'm working on it.

I do hope one day I get the chance to tell everyone I've ever screwed over that I'm sorry. Maybe I will. Who knows?

There will be more to come. I just.... I had to get this out right this moment or I was going to explode. Sigh. Currently thinking that combusting might have been an easier option.

K

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