For those of you who are considering an upper (cartilage) ear piercing have them use the hoop, not the stud. There's a little disk on the back of the stud, it's not a ball on either side and it makes it hard to clean well. With my first upper ear piercing I had the hoop and didn't have any problems with it. This second one was with a stud and I just got back from a doctors appointment where I got a Rx for both a topical antibiotic and an oral antibiotic. Fun times.
Nothing to do with my blog really, just thought I'd share *shrug*
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Mumford & Sons, After the Storm
Oh my gosh I love it! From 'Sigh No More', I can't say it's my favorite but only because I just love the whole album!!
To Come
You know what I'm trying to do? I'm trying to figure out a life, make a whole (functioning) person out of a bunch of pieces; only none of them match. They all belong to different puzzles; there's no continuity. Now how the hell am I supposed to do that, I'd like to know? Different puzzle pieces. Different people, yet one person. *shakes head* For the love of all that is good, why?
And all the time plagued by the desire, not to die, just not to be alive.
New therapist.
And oh my lord, my weight! Don't even get me started (actually you'd maybe prefer not to on this matter?). Let me tell you, eating disorders are not one of the most fun disorders a person can have, lol
Good things to come, my friends (all four of you, lol). I hope anyway. You know how I write. In fits and starts. Go me!
And all the time plagued by the desire, not to die, just not to be alive.
New therapist.
And oh my lord, my weight! Don't even get me started (actually you'd maybe prefer not to on this matter?). Let me tell you, eating disorders are not one of the most fun disorders a person can have, lol
Good things to come, my friends (all four of you, lol). I hope anyway. You know how I write. In fits and starts. Go me!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Implicitly
Probably the biggest difference was the fact that he actually cared. Not only did he care but it was an implicit sort of caring; a caring that was evident from the start and did not need to be put in to words. If you want my opinion (and you're going to get it anyway, lol) if you feel you need to actually tell a person that you care... you probably don't. At least, not in the way most valuable.
Funny it was also sort of a sticking point for me, at times. More than once I wanted to look at him, sigh in exasperation (mixed with a bit of perplexity, I must admit) and say 'Oh, R-, why do you even care so much?'. Of course I never asked because I figured I already knew the answer, at least in part. Because if I were him (he? it's a good thing no one reads this the spelling errors, typos, and incorrect English would be enough to cause many to tear their hair out by the roots, lol) I would first ask whether or not the questioner would care were our situations reversed. My answer (the real me, not the 'role reversal me') would be that of course I would care... but it's different. Really it would be a long conversation and I would be left simply with, 'Yes, but, it's different...', knowing that it really is not.
Actually, that's the biggest reason this is so hard. Because he cared, without having to assure me of that fact.
So, if you should ever read this, thank you for caring.
Implicitly.
Funny it was also sort of a sticking point for me, at times. More than once I wanted to look at him, sigh in exasperation (mixed with a bit of perplexity, I must admit) and say 'Oh, R-, why do you even care so much?'. Of course I never asked because I figured I already knew the answer, at least in part. Because if I were him (he? it's a good thing no one reads this the spelling errors, typos, and incorrect English would be enough to cause many to tear their hair out by the roots, lol) I would first ask whether or not the questioner would care were our situations reversed. My answer (the real me, not the 'role reversal me') would be that of course I would care... but it's different. Really it would be a long conversation and I would be left simply with, 'Yes, but, it's different...', knowing that it really is not.
Actually, that's the biggest reason this is so hard. Because he cared, without having to assure me of that fact.
So, if you should ever read this, thank you for caring.
Implicitly.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Harder I'll Fall
I need to head over the mountains this week. I've made promises that I really should keep. I've told several people I am coming. My only hope is the weather and frankly it doesn't look promising.
So I will put it off. I will fight against this feeling, this need to fall. I feel it coming. The Fall. (Not to be confused with The Fall, as in Adam and Eve) I feel it's imminent. I've fought against it before and each time it gets closer and closer. And now I feel that if I fight it too much more, if I resist any longer...
The Fall will be that much harder.
So I will put it off. I will fight against this feeling, this need to fall. I feel it coming. The Fall. (Not to be confused with The Fall, as in Adam and Eve) I feel it's imminent. I've fought against it before and each time it gets closer and closer. And now I feel that if I fight it too much more, if I resist any longer...
The Fall will be that much harder.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Stuck
Apparently next time I am supposed to expound on 'stuck' (don't you love how I just jump in with out telling you what 'next time' is? You're welcome ;) ). There is just one problem though... I'm no sure there's much more to say about 'stuck'.
When you're emotional you let your guard down. It's a hazard, if you ask me. When you're emotional and your guard is down you say things such as 'Yes but Lot was stuck in a city he didn't want to be in; I am stuck in a life I don't want to be in.' I'm just glad I didn't come off suicidal or I might not have been writing this for another 72 hours or so. I exploded (for me anyway) with the information that I have, on several occasions, asked God to erase me. He won't. I cannot take care of the problem (the problem being my continued existence) myself; I still care about how my killing myself would effect those I care about and who care about me. Since I cannot at this time off myself and God will not take pity on me here in my misery by erasing me from existence, from time and memory, I am stuck. Simple as that.
Actually the first time this really became a problem I phrased it 'done but stuck'. Simple enough: I was done with life but for one reason or another was stuck and, as my therapist at the time put it, either 'unable or unwilling' to kill myself. And here I find myself again (no surprise there; I seem to be headed down the same path I was on my last year of school). I'm done. I'm so freaking tired of all this. I do not want to live the next 40, 50 (heck with my grandparents and great grandma counted in here I could very well live another 60 years, God forbid *shudders *) feeling this way. Most nights it's bad enough knowing I have to wake up in the morning. I'm just done.
Part of my problem, I think, is Before. Not before the depression (which has been a problem for something like half my life, give or take). Not before the eating disorder (which first made it's presence quietly known during my first two quarters of University -I was 19-). Not even necessarily before the cutting (this little 'habit' which would grow from 'just' cutting and self injury -making a distinction between 'self injury' and 'self harm'- to include burning bruising, and in some ways some of the ED behaviors as well and so go from 'just' self injury to self harm). It is the memory of Before. Before I broke. Before I became this full fledged mess that I am today. Before, when people could still count on me. Before, when I had dreams and believed that I could attain them. Before, when I had hope and a future. Before, when I was beat up, scratched up, and bruised, but still whole.
Before.
Now, now I am stuck. Stuck with the thoughts in my head. Thoughts that torture me. Ideas that haunt me. Stuck with the knowledge that I am not who they think I am, not even close. Stuck living some other persons life. It is not mine. I don't even know who I really am (one more bit of torture, something else to drive me toward the bottom of the Pit) so how could it be my life? I suppose, if this is the case then I do? Who would want to live that way?
Not this girl.
I cried last night. I cried as I apologized to God for giving in (and so bringing much of this on myself). I cried as I apologized for losing hope. I cried as I apologized for allowing myself to slip so far that I do not want even to live any more and for not wanting to get back to the place where I do.
I am tired. I am done. But damn it...
I am stuck.
(had to stop this one, it's starting to ramble... my head isn't quite right for writing at the moment, sorry folks. I know you were holding your breath from some class 'A' writing ';))
When you're emotional you let your guard down. It's a hazard, if you ask me. When you're emotional and your guard is down you say things such as 'Yes but Lot was stuck in a city he didn't want to be in; I am stuck in a life I don't want to be in.' I'm just glad I didn't come off suicidal or I might not have been writing this for another 72 hours or so. I exploded (for me anyway) with the information that I have, on several occasions, asked God to erase me. He won't. I cannot take care of the problem (the problem being my continued existence) myself; I still care about how my killing myself would effect those I care about and who care about me. Since I cannot at this time off myself and God will not take pity on me here in my misery by erasing me from existence, from time and memory, I am stuck. Simple as that.
Actually the first time this really became a problem I phrased it 'done but stuck'. Simple enough: I was done with life but for one reason or another was stuck and, as my therapist at the time put it, either 'unable or unwilling' to kill myself. And here I find myself again (no surprise there; I seem to be headed down the same path I was on my last year of school). I'm done. I'm so freaking tired of all this. I do not want to live the next 40, 50 (heck with my grandparents and great grandma counted in here I could very well live another 60 years, God forbid *shudders *) feeling this way. Most nights it's bad enough knowing I have to wake up in the morning. I'm just done.
Part of my problem, I think, is Before. Not before the depression (which has been a problem for something like half my life, give or take). Not before the eating disorder (which first made it's presence quietly known during my first two quarters of University -I was 19-). Not even necessarily before the cutting (this little 'habit' which would grow from 'just' cutting and self injury -making a distinction between 'self injury' and 'self harm'- to include burning bruising, and in some ways some of the ED behaviors as well and so go from 'just' self injury to self harm). It is the memory of Before. Before I broke. Before I became this full fledged mess that I am today. Before, when people could still count on me. Before, when I had dreams and believed that I could attain them. Before, when I had hope and a future. Before, when I was beat up, scratched up, and bruised, but still whole.
Before.
Now, now I am stuck. Stuck with the thoughts in my head. Thoughts that torture me. Ideas that haunt me. Stuck with the knowledge that I am not who they think I am, not even close. Stuck living some other persons life. It is not mine. I don't even know who I really am (one more bit of torture, something else to drive me toward the bottom of the Pit) so how could it be my life? I suppose, if this is the case then I do? Who would want to live that way?
Not this girl.
I cried last night. I cried as I apologized to God for giving in (and so bringing much of this on myself). I cried as I apologized for losing hope. I cried as I apologized for allowing myself to slip so far that I do not want even to live any more and for not wanting to get back to the place where I do.
I am tired. I am done. But damn it...
I am stuck.
(had to stop this one, it's starting to ramble... my head isn't quite right for writing at the moment, sorry folks. I know you were holding your breath from some class 'A' writing ';))
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Oh Dear Lord
I'm going to attempt to just rant. Most of the time that probably isn't a good idea; who wants to read that, right? But for now I'm jut trying to get some things out. So many thoughts swirling around in my head, most not completely formed but still they seem to have the power to drive me mad.
Heh, already I can't do it. I write, I rarely rant or ramble. Damn.
Just now a lot of it had to do with my weight, I think. Folks, especially family, telling me to not lose any more. Excuse me, there's still WAY too much fat on this body. Just because all (OK most, seriously, there's one or two adults in the family who are not overweight and many of those who are would be considered obese; I was, once) of you are fat doesn't mean I have to be any longer. I was once before; that doesn't mean I cannot be thin. There is no rule that states that once you have been fat you must stay that way to some degree. I want to be thin, that's all. OK so I know that a person needs some fat on their body and that's fine; they do not need the pockets of fat that I still have, the fat that I still want to be rid of. A lot of healthy people in this world do not have fat like I do. Ugh when I was home for Christmas my mom actually said something to me about it. She wouldn't have, had never before, if it were not for my stupid sister who was really not so much worried about my weight loss (I had not lost an unreasonable amount between Christmas and the last time I had seen her) as the fact that she is falling further and further behind; I am getting thinner (BMI wise I am no longer considered overweight even) and she is still fat. One cousin (whom I hadn't seen since the beginning of the summer) asked me if I was starving myself *rolls eyes*. There was no logical basis for that question. For all they should guess I'm losing it in a healthy way (we know that I am not but there is no reason for them to suspect otherwise). Even my step mom said something, though not to me directly, she said something to my brother. What the hell is wrong with you people? I've got the document on my computer to prove that there should be no reason for your suspicions! The fact that you're all more or less correct doesn't matter, you've got no reason to be guessing it to begin with!
Huh. Once I get going I guess it is not so impossible for me to rant. Good to know.
What else? This is where the thoughts become less completely formed and more just vague ideas and torturous feeling. Lord I'm going nuts.I feel awful. I'm very easily brought to tears (not that I give in most of the time but they are there). I feel really really really lousy. I'm so tired of this all, I don't want to do it any more. I feel hopeless, like I will always be stuck here. Like life will just be one long roller coaster; sometimes I'll be better than others but there will always be another plunge ahead, back to the Pit. I don't want to do that for the rest of my life! *tear* It struck me just recently too that part of why there may be no real hope is that it has been too long. Too long that I have been allowed to go with little to no treatment, and none of it adequate, none of it what it should be for someone such as myself. And I wonder if there isn't some sort of correlation between length of time before appropriate treatment and chance of recovery? I mean I know that personality disorders... you don't actually recover from them. But you can learn to live with them, deal with them, have a life in spite of them. But I wonder if at some point a person doesn't just get used to being &#$%ed up. What is it, a negative correlation?, where one thing goes one way and the other goes, well, the other way. So as length of time between onset and appropriate treatment becomes increases the probability of successful treatment decreases..? *@#%ing hell *sob*
Oh, somebody read this... somebody help...
Heh, already I can't do it. I write, I rarely rant or ramble. Damn.
Just now a lot of it had to do with my weight, I think. Folks, especially family, telling me to not lose any more. Excuse me, there's still WAY too much fat on this body. Just because all (OK most, seriously, there's one or two adults in the family who are not overweight and many of those who are would be considered obese; I was, once) of you are fat doesn't mean I have to be any longer. I was once before; that doesn't mean I cannot be thin. There is no rule that states that once you have been fat you must stay that way to some degree. I want to be thin, that's all. OK so I know that a person needs some fat on their body and that's fine; they do not need the pockets of fat that I still have, the fat that I still want to be rid of. A lot of healthy people in this world do not have fat like I do. Ugh when I was home for Christmas my mom actually said something to me about it. She wouldn't have, had never before, if it were not for my stupid sister who was really not so much worried about my weight loss (I had not lost an unreasonable amount between Christmas and the last time I had seen her) as the fact that she is falling further and further behind; I am getting thinner (BMI wise I am no longer considered overweight even) and she is still fat. One cousin (whom I hadn't seen since the beginning of the summer) asked me if I was starving myself *rolls eyes*. There was no logical basis for that question. For all they should guess I'm losing it in a healthy way (we know that I am not but there is no reason for them to suspect otherwise). Even my step mom said something, though not to me directly, she said something to my brother. What the hell is wrong with you people? I've got the document on my computer to prove that there should be no reason for your suspicions! The fact that you're all more or less correct doesn't matter, you've got no reason to be guessing it to begin with!
Huh. Once I get going I guess it is not so impossible for me to rant. Good to know.
What else? This is where the thoughts become less completely formed and more just vague ideas and torturous feeling. Lord I'm going nuts.I feel awful. I'm very easily brought to tears (not that I give in most of the time but they are there). I feel really really really lousy. I'm so tired of this all, I don't want to do it any more. I feel hopeless, like I will always be stuck here. Like life will just be one long roller coaster; sometimes I'll be better than others but there will always be another plunge ahead, back to the Pit. I don't want to do that for the rest of my life! *tear* It struck me just recently too that part of why there may be no real hope is that it has been too long. Too long that I have been allowed to go with little to no treatment, and none of it adequate, none of it what it should be for someone such as myself. And I wonder if there isn't some sort of correlation between length of time before appropriate treatment and chance of recovery? I mean I know that personality disorders... you don't actually recover from them. But you can learn to live with them, deal with them, have a life in spite of them. But I wonder if at some point a person doesn't just get used to being &#$%ed up. What is it, a negative correlation?, where one thing goes one way and the other goes, well, the other way. So as length of time between onset and appropriate treatment becomes increases the probability of successful treatment decreases..? *@#%ing hell *sob*
Oh, somebody read this... somebody help...
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