On the Upswing

Hey Guys, I feel I've been a little MIA from blogging and commenting lately. As many of you know I have some depression and anxiety issues, and I take medication. A few months ago, I kind of started to lapse on my medication. Once you take something so long, sometimes it becomes easy to forget. Sometimes when I'm feeling good (on medication), I start to question the severity of my depression. I start thinking I might be over dramatic, maybe my depression issues aren't so bad. And then a few weeks ago, depression knocked me over the head with a two by four.

I would definitely say my anxiety issues are worse than my depression issues. Anxiety definitely makes it hard for me to get out and do things, but when I'm not depressed, I have the strength to solider on. But depression robs me of all motivation and tenacity. Recently, I haven't wanted to do much of anything. My motivation has been zapped, my body aches all over, and just the thought of leaving the house sounds exhausting. School has been killing me, everything makes me cry, and I'm irritable with everyone. There have been lots of, "Honey, What is Wrong" moments. But I've restarted my medication this week, and today is the first day I'm starting to feel like me again.

In high school, before I started attending therapy, I never wanted to do much of anything. I didn't have many hobbies, didn't like to go out all the much, and just didn't have much of a life. I didn't know at the time that the tiredness and lack of motivation were my main symptoms of depression. Once I started medication, I started to love to hang out with friends and do creative projects. I became a new person. And it is the happy Brittany who loves to blog, design, scrapbook, and be goofy.  And even though I will never like the idea that I will probably always have to be on medication, I accept the fact that my happiness should be the most important thing in my life.

Thick-Skinned

I love my job, I really do. I love the children I get to work with, and as cheesy as it sounds, I live for the moments when something I've been teaching a child finally clicks. In those moments, they just look so proud of themselves. Also, I usually really enjoy getting to know the families of the children as well. One of the last families I worked with before going on break started out as one of my most positive experiences to date. I was working with a brother and sister who were great, and I quickly bonded with the family. After a few sessions, the family started inviting me to stay for dinner. So I did once or twice. Their father is a slightly immature man, and a bit of a tease and a prankster. And in the last few weeks, he started to make some jokes towards me that could definitely have been perceived as fat jokes.

The first two times he said something, I was working with the kids, so I was able to kind of just pretend that I didn't hear it. But the more it happened the harder it was to keep ignoring him. It really wasn't anything major. Just some little digs here or there. For example, once he had asked me if I felt the earthquake that day, and I said "No," and he replied, "I meant the one when you came up the stairs." And in our very last session, they asked to take a picture of me, and while he was snapping the picture he said, "I don't know if my camera can take a big enough picture to fit you in it." Another time his brother just happened to stop by, and he turned to him and said, "Oh you haven't seen my wife in a long time have you?" (points to me) "She sure has gained a whole lot of weight hasn't she?” All of this bothered me of course, but not for the reasons you might assume.

It didn't bother me so much that he was making fun of my weight, I am fat, I'm aware I'm fat. I've been fat since I was 8 years old; I mean the jig is up. But yes, the fat jokes did make me want to cry, and I may have cried a few times. But mainly it bothered me because I wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation. Do I say something? Do I pretend I didn't hear? Do I just laugh it off? Mostly I was just mortified that people were around hearing these jokes. I wonder if they felt just as awkward as I did, because they never said anything. And here is the slightly ironic part, they baked me a cake to take home during our last session. You have to laugh at that.

I know when I say this I’m going to sound slightly naive, but you have to know this man to understand. I don't feel like he was saying these things to hurt my feelings. By all indications, he really liked me. I just feel that he was so clueless and so immature that he just didn't get it. And the saddest fact of all is as much as I love the children, I won't be working with them next year, because I started to dread going over to their house. It was making me so anxious that sometimes I felt like I was going to have a panic attack before I went to work. Part of me just wishes I had said something, but I'm just not that kind of person. But at the same time, maybe if he knew how much I have struggled he wouldn't have said it all.

I have had problems with food since middle school, and no I'm not bulimic nor anorexic. But I have a disorder that hasn't yet been classified by itself in the DSM-IV yet, I am a non-purging bulimic (or a binge eater). It all started when the first break with my father occurred, and when my relationship with my stepfather had deteriorated so much, that we were living in the same household and were literally never talking to each other (something that continued until after I left for college). I had always been slightly pudgy, but at that point I really started emotional eating. I ate when I was upset, I ate when I was mad, I ate when I was bored, and I just ate so I didn't have to sit around and think about things. I ate until I got to the point that I thought I would puke, but then would continue eating.

And it wasn't just that I was eating a lot, I was secretive about it. I would do things like ordering pizzas and chicken wings in the afternoon while my mother was working, eat all of it, and then hide the boxes under my bed. Once my mother went to sleep, I would throw the boxes in construction dumpsters around the neighborhood. I would eat cartoons of ice cream, and bake myself a cake that I would eat in a half hour. I kept records of what fast food restaurants I went to and on what dates, so I wasn't going to the same places so often that the person might notice. I was binging at least 3 times a week, and my whole life was centered on food. Thinking of what I would eat and when I would get to eat, etc. I would try to eat modestly in front of family and friends, although sometimes I would feel like I failed and would feel mortified. This would lead to another binging cycle after I got home. For a few years, I even skipped lunch at school, because I didn't want to be seen eating in front of my friends.

Binging only felt good when I was eating, but when I was done I was awash in guilt and shame. And the shame only made me want to eat more. It was the most powerless I've ever felt in my life. But I really didn't know how to articulate to anyone what was going on. I didn't have an eating disorder that I knew of. I wasn't throwing up, although to be honest sometimes I tried. I definitely wasn't starving myself. I just thought if I had enough willpower it would all just go away.

I know more now than I understood then. The binge eating was fueled by my anxiety, and my unhappiness with my life. Of course I wasn't happy, you don't get to that weight when you are happy. I couldn't gain any self-confidence because I was devoting so much of my life to trying to gain my dad and his family's approval. An impossible task, because they lack the ability to ever be happy for me. Secondly, the more weight I gained, the worse I felt about myself, keeping me in a cycle of shame. Also because of my issues with men in my life, I struggled to trust men. I still struggle to trust men, they still make me nervous at first, but I've come a long way (heck I made my first male friend this year, other than my husband of course). So I think the weight gain served as an effective barrier between me and men.

My problems first started to lift after I begun therapy. Binge eating was not even something I talked about in therapy really. Because like I said before, I didn't consider myself as having an eating disorder. But as I learned about myself and my anxiety lifted, I was able to control my problems a little more. However, the biggest change occurred after I got married, and I had the final fallout with my dad. For so many months after everything happened (read about that here and here), I thought I would never get passed it. I was so devastated about my father, so hurt, and I was having so many panic attacks. But then something amazing happened, members of my dad's family tried to contact me and were pretending nothing happen. And I finally got to say my peace and get in the last word. I finally feel like I get to move ahead. Somehow one of the worst things that has ever happened to me turned into one of the best.

The peace and happiness I've experienced in the last few months is amazing. I'm so in love with my husband that sometimes it physically hurts. I don't have the life I imagined, but my life has turned out so much better than I could have ever dreamed. I've finally started to get some control over my emotions and my eating habits. Do I still struggle? Of course I do. I still binge occasionally, but I try not to beat myself up over it. And I've worked/and am working to not do things in secret. And in the last year and a half I've shed a total of 47lbs so I must be doing something right.

One of my new favorite songs is, "King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles. In it she sings, "All my life I’ve tried to make everybody happy/While I just hurt and hide/Waiting for someone to tell me it’s my turn to decide/ Who cares if you disagree?/You are not me/Who made you king of anything?" And that is exactly how I feel about my life. I am now focusing on what is good for me, irregardless of what others think. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that it doesn't matter what some immature guy said to me at work. I know who I am, where I've been, and how much stronger I am now than I once was. And I want to celebrate that.

Black Holes and Revelations

The benefit of having over 8 years of your life documented on a old live journal, is that whenever you feel the need to relive your past you can. Every angst-filled, toe-cringing, my god-was-I-really-that-ridiculous moment is there in black and white (and the occasional pink sparkly text). So a few days ago, I combed through the archives looking for some old entry on a old vacation I took and stumbled across the entries following my break-up with my high school boyfriend. A year of heart break spilled over entry after entry. Part of it was slightly amusing, I mean the melodrama of it all! Part of it reminded me just how little perspective you really have as a teenage girl. But most of all, I just ached for my 18 year old self, because I remember exactly what if felt like to be the girl who once wrote, "I am positive I will never ever find anyone else to love again."

I can't tell you exactly what it was about him that made me want to be with him, but I can tell you he really made me laugh at a time in my life when I walking around with a fake smile everyday. At 14, everything was so incredibly hard. I was living in a house where I literally never spoke to my stepfather, my father was treating me horridly, and my anxiety and depression felt incredibly isolating. But once I met him, I felt less alone. Soon we were staying up every night talking till the sun rose, and on my bad days I would just call him and cry for hours without fearing judgment. And after I talked to him, I always felt better. We soon spoke of getting married in the future, and what we would name our kids (and I realize that was a little silly for our ages). And on the eve before Thanksgiving in 2002, I lost my virginity to him in my bedroom at my grandmother's house. Although I had always promised myself I would wait, we really loved each other and even after we broke up, I have never regretted it.

After we had dated 4 years, the dynamic of our relationship started to shift. I was not the same wounded girl that he had met years earlier. I was no longer depressed, no longer needy. He had always been my protector, my shoulder to cry on. He could no longer fill that role, and we started to lose who we were as a couple. Plus, he was in college, had new friends, and had less time to devote to me. At first, I really didn't mind, but as time went on, he really began neglecting me. Eventually I got tired of arguing with him, and just decided I would just take any time he was willing to give me. But once I realized I was just settling I knew it was time to move on.

So on a quiet, summer morning I broke up with him. I cried, he cried, but we both agreed it was for the best. And for the first few days I was fine, and then it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I changed my mind. But he was standing firm, and insisted we needed to not talk to each other for a while, to be able to move on. But that was hard for me. So I would promise him I wouldn't cry, if he would just call me, so he would call, and the minute I heard his voice, I would fall apart. I still had his email password, so I was obsessively reading his sent email, and he had told someone he was kind of "relieved" about the whole thing. I was devastated, but now I understand that was only male bravado.

For six months, I could not stop crying or spewing melancholy over my blog. And it probably took a year and a half before I had fully recovered. And I strongly believed I had missed my chance at lasting love, but ironies of ironies I had already met the man who would be my husband. And when Adam came into focus, he filled a niche that wasn't based on loneliness or neediness. Things just flowed so easily for us from day one. Pure and simple.

I know I get really schmoopy on here a lot when I talk about my husband. But I just love him so unabashedly. And sometimes in the really quiet moments, like when we are cuddling on the couch or just driving down the road, I feel so overwhelmed by how much I love this man. Adam has given me something I have never had my entire life-stability. And he has taught me what I never really believed, "Growing up in a broken family doesn't necessarily mean you won't have a good marriage.” I don't know what I did to deserve this kind of love, but I know how blessed I am.

A big part of me really wants to go back in time and tell my younger self that it will be ok. That her life will be so much different and brilliant than she could ever imagine But I know myself, and my younger self would never believe my older self.

About a month ago, I put together a little mini-video chronicling 2009. I did it so I would never forget what a wonderful adventure my life has turn out to be. The song is Crash Into Me by The Dave Matthews Band, and I apolgize for the picture at 3:10 (it was a big part of my year!)

Milestones

So before the start of the New Year, I laid out ten goals I hoped to accomplish by the end of the year. Number 5 on that list was to drive on a L.A. freeway. In my mind, there are few things more terrifying than the freeway. I'm a nervous wreck, even when others drive on it due to my anxiety problems. So when Adam would chose to TORTURE me by taking the freeway, I would cover my eyes until he had merged, and then periodically scream "watch out!" I really am a joy, aren't I?

I originally planned to complete this goal by using the behavioral therapy technique of systematic desensitization. (I'm typing this post while I watch a show on the history channel about Prostitution in Pompeii, so I had accidentally written "the behavioral therapy technique of PROSTITUTION" at first LOL). If you don't know about systemic desensitization, it is taking little steps to expose yourself to your fear, before taking the plunge.

So I planned to spend several months staring at the freeway from a far, and that is where my plan stopped. Truth be told, I threw that goal out the window two weeks after I made it. It was going to be IMPOSSIBLE. But I hadn't started school yet at the time, and I didn't know the house I was working at and my campus would be 23 miles apart. It takes me an hour and a half every Thursday to get to class, just taking the side roads. It is miserable. But I've been doing that drive for months. Last Thursday, I was walking to my car after work, thinking about the long commute ahead of me, and a small thought creeped into my head, "The freeway is faster."

My first reaction was, "Girl, You are CRAZY that is you biggest fear!" But what is weird is that the thought didn't totally terrify me (This is probably due to my recent prescription for medicine that makes me less crazy). So I decided to lift the freeway ban off of my GPS, and just do it. Merging onto a freeway is a bit like playing a game of Frogger, and I was never very good at Frogger. The whole time I was driving up the on ramp, I was praying for my life. And luckily, God saw fit to spare me. I merged! And then I thought, "Holy Hades, I am driving on the Freeway!" Y'all it wasn't so bad, and I felt like I was flying. But then the GPS told me I would have to merge onto the 405N, and I thought about abandoning my whole plan. But I wasn't going to blow this chance, and I stuck with it and successfully merged a second time .

It took me 25 minutes to get to class, as opposed to an hour and a half! Then I took the freeway home that night, and got home in ten minutes. This has revolutionized the way I go to class. I probably won't be using the freeway to go everywhere, and I will never love the freeway. But at least now I know I can use it, if I need too. Fear rules so much of my life, so it feels good when I can conquer it.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I loved college. The excitement of being hundreds of miles away from anyone or anything I had ever known. I lived for the all-nighters, the $5 dollar pitchers at Tampico Bay, and the novelty of having all your best friends living on the same floor as you (Kincannon 5th floor Misfits Unite)! I finally had the freedom to go anywhere at anytime without ever having to ask my mother for permission. Although many times after those late night rendezvous, my mother would see a time stamp on my bank account, and tell me that all the murderers and kidnappers in Mississippi were out at 3 AM in the morning! Didn't I know better? My reasoning "Fat People are Harder to Kidnap” could not spare me from her lectures.

I learned a lot in the classroom and had some wonderful psychology professors. Like Dear. Dr. Roth, who tried to explain the way our brain categorizes objects by saying, "Some Fruits are Fruiter Fruits than other Fruits." Amen Dr. Roth! That makes perfect sense to me. But I also learned several things out of the classroom: donuts taste better at 2 a.m., I'm fly paper for freaks, Dolly Parton's boobs are real, and you must say you are going to bed two hours before you actually want to go to sleep. Most importantly, I discovered you can share who you really are and people will love you anyway.

As much as I loved college, when I graduated a year ago I was more than ready to get out of there. I got my diploma, loaded up my Honda, and Adam and I headed off to the West Coast. I thought it would be easy to find a job. I was a college graduate! I was moving to the big city! I had work experience! I clean up pretty nice! Oh I wish I could go back in time and slap that naive girl around just a little bit. I graduated at the beginning of the recession, and it took me five months to find a job. Those months were really hard, and I felt extremely pathetic almost all the time. I wondered if my four years of hard work were absolutely meaningless. I finally have a job that I love now, even if I don't always get the hours I need. Still it is not my dream job.

I started counseling as a young teenager, and my therapist changed my life for the better. She is a big reason why I'm sitting here today. And since that time I have dreamed of becoming a counselor myself. Maybe it is cheesy, but I really want to change someone's life too. I kind of lost sight of my goal in the last few years, because I was so burnt out on school. But the main reason I put my dream on the back burner was because I was afraid. I was afraid to take the GRE, afraid of the acceptance process, and afraid I wouldn't be able to handle the work load. Mostly I was just scared to really want something, because what if I fail? But I’m so sick & tired of fear controlling every aspect of my life. I'm at a point where I'm just having to accept that my anxieties are always going to be with me, but I can't let it stop me from doing the things I want to do. Otherwise my whole life will be full of regrets.

So I did something about it, and tomorrow afternoon I'm meeting with a representative at a University out here, so I can look into getting my Masters of Science in their Counseling/Marriage, Family, and Child Therapy program. I am completely freaking out, and extremely excited at the same time. Adam is taking a few hours off work to go with me & support me. If you had told me a year ago I would be headed back to school, I would have called the little men in white to haul you off to the mental asylum. Oh what a difference a year can make.

365 days ago (give or take):

They gave me my food for free. How completely awesome is that? My life is complete, I can die now

I still believe that this is the meaning of life.

Blue Skies Fade into Grey

My beautiful, wonderful, fabulous, everything I wanted it to be wedding had me on cloud 9 for a week or two, but now I feel as if I have finally crashed and burned. My old pal depression has snuck up on me, and now I'm floundering. I think one of the hardest things to deal with is how everyone keeps commenting on what a happy time this must be for me (since I'm a newlywed). And I am happy & content with Adam and my marriage, but everything else in my life seems so lackluster. I tell everyone that everything is peachy keen, because that is the easiest and only acceptable answer. I feel if I tell them what is really going on they couldn't possibly understand, which I know is really irrational. But I'm not extremely clearheaded these days. The one person I could talk to about it without judgment is my mother, but I feel like it's too hard of a conversation to have over the phone in the few minutes I talk to her while she is at work.

Most mornings I wake-up just as tired as I was when I laid down to go to bed. It doesn't matter if I sleep 2 hours or 12 it all feels the same. I step out of bed, and start counting down the hours until I can go back to sleep. Little tasks like taking Sarah around the block for her morning walk are equivalent to pushing a boulder up a hill. I think this is what I hate most about being depressed; it has robbed me of my motivation. I'm the type of person who usually loves to clean, work, read, write, and take photos. But now I could spend the whole day zoned out in front of the TV if I let myself. As it stands I have to give myself one task I must accomplish each day (clean the bathroom, fold the laundry) just so I can feel like a functioning member of society.

I usually have more patience than Mother Theresa. But now I find myself getting irritable if something takes two more seconds than it should. I am sometimes so needlessly snappy with Adam, just because he is the only one here. I always apologize immediately afterwards, and he always forgives me. However I still feel guilty about it for hours, and the guilt plummets me into a crying jag. And then my wonderful husband, who I have just been so terrible to, rubs my back and lets me cry it out. I don't know if I deserve his kindness.

I feel like I’m losing myself.

I can see the finish line now. I finally have health insurance, so I'm just waiting for the cards to come in the mail. Then I will find the energy to go to the doctor, and muster up the courage to say, “I’m not OK."

365 days ago (give or take):

Are these your underwear on the floor? Of course not, they are Norma’s. Don’t forget to shave! Don’t worry; I’ll do it at Norma’s. But my favorite has to be, where would you be without me? I’d be with Norma….

I have a run in with a girl who had a crush on Adam. It's BRITTANY bitch.

One Fine Wire

I first wrote this post on Saturday, when I was having a particularly "bad day". Then I chose to pull it down when I was feeling better, because in a small way I found it embarrassing. The last semester of my senior year in college I voluntarily took myself off my anti-depressants/anti-anxiety medication because I was feeling great, and was overwhelmed with the thought of having to take a pill everyday for the rest of my life. I understand now how ridiculous that is, I mean what if I had some life threatening condition-I still might begrudge taking a pill, but I wouldn't stop.

By the time I realized how much I needed back on my medication, my anxiety was so intense I couldn't make myself go see a doctor about it. And after I graduated I no longer had health insurance, so I couldn't afford it. But I will have health insurance after the wedding. The thing is I have really wonderful days, and I also have really horrendous days that are soul-crushing. But I'm putting this entry back up, because I'm not going to let myself be ashamed by something that affects so many.

Some days I wake up rested and kiss Adam goodbye and give Sarah big hugs. Some days I have just enough cash to walk to the Chinese restaurant across the street and get lunch to go, and I eat it while watching good shows that I DVRed the night before. Some days I'm excited to go to work, and the commute isn't so bad, and the kids have fun, and I feel like I'm great at what I do. Some nights I come home, and Adam and I play games, or watch TV, and we laugh till it hurts.

Some days I wake up not only on the wrong side of the bed, but on the wrong side of the world. And I don't even know how I will find the energy to get out of bed. Some days I'm broke and I’m so tired of ramen noodles or lean cuisine that I could puke. Some days I start crying in the morning, and astound myself with my ability to cry for hours on end. Some days I feel like a car is parked on my lungs, and I'm so anxious I can't even breathe. Some days the commute drags on forever, and the kids just aren't in the mood to work, and I can't seem to motivate them. Some days I can't wait to get home, only to find I'm just as miserable there. Some nights even the valium my mom gave me to help with my anxiety attacks doesn't help, and I still can't sleep & I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin. Sometimes I can't imagine living one more minute, one more day like this.

Some days I realize that things will be fine after the wedding, when I have health insurance & can finally see a doctor & I get back on medication. Most of the time I understand that I have no reason to believe the meds won't fix me when they always have before. But when I feel really bad, I can’t imagine that I will ever feel like myself again. But most of all I feel guilty, I should be so grateful for the fabulous life I have now. Be happy to just have a job, when so many of my friends have been laid off. I should feel blessed to be living in California, with the most amazing man I've ever known. I just feel like I'm so unappreciative of my life on bad days, and what kind of girl am I if I can’t act thankful for all I have?

365 days ago (give or take):

When we started to Taxi out of Atlanta, the pilot came over the intercom and announced we would be returning due to a passenger incident. Two men were making jokes they found funny about being terrorists and bombing the plane.

I talk about really stupid people on my long flight to Tel Aviv.

Counting My Blessings

"There will always be something to ruin our lives. It all depends on what or which finds us first. You're always ripe and ready to be taken." Charles Bukowski
The first time I ever heard that quote I was smack dab in my teenage years, pretty miserable, and I thought it was the most honest quote that had ever been uttered. One of my biggest faults is a tendency towards self-pity, when anything truly bad happens all I can really feel is that it just isn't fair. And I can run down the list of all the things that just haven't been fair: problems with my dad and his family, a tense relationship with my stepfather that I literally lived in a house with but we only spoke 1-2 words to eachother yearly, a drug addicted brother who I have watched systematically shatter my mother's heart, and not to mention that nasty predisposition to anxiety.

The truth is things have only gotten worse since last week, my brother is on yet another bender, and now my sister-in-law is pregnant, just as we were on the way to getting my nieces out of the house, and figuring out ways to make things better. It would be really easy for me to fall into deep worry, and wonder why these things keep happening to me & my family. But I won't, because I finally realized this is not my battle. I can be there for my nieces, and I can love my family, but my worrying & fretting won't change anything at all.

And it is even more important for me to remember that even with all the heartache I've had in my life, I’ve been given even more blessings. I have a wonderful, amazing, strong mother who is also my best friend. I am marrying a man, the only man in my life that I have ever fully trusted, and who I never have to hide anything from. Not even those tears, fears, or thoughts that are messy & ugly. Adam and I aren't rich, but we have enough to support ourselves and can treat ourselves every once in a while. I am the heroine of a plump, loveable Goldie who never fails to make me smile every single day. I've earned my college degree. I've gotten once in a lifetime opportunities to travel; I've stood in the castles of England, rode a Gondola in Venice, and walked the same streets as Jesus in Israel. I have friends all over this nation-St.Louis, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, and now California, and that isn't even counting the wonderful people I've gotten to know through blogging.

"There will always be something to ruin our lives. It all depends on what or which finds us first. You're always ripe and ready to be taken." I still think this is a really honest quote, but what the quote doesn't say is that it can only ruin your life if you let it.

The Dark & The Dawn

My new job, tutoring, is going really well. I'm shocked by how much I enjoy it. Right now I'm working with two little girls both 6 years old. They are both super sweet and eager learners. In both families only the children speak English, and I have to communicate through them to kids to talk to the parents. But the other day one girl handed me a note she had written down from her mother that said, “Thanks for all the Kind Attention”. That made my day.

But I did slightly embarrass myself recently. When I walked into my student’s apartment for the first time, I noticed all of the shoes were piled at the door. I assumed this was because they did not allow people to walk in their shoes around the apartment (it was pristine). So to be respectful, I took mine off too. I continued to do this every time I came. Now that the girl I’m working with is not so shy, she asked me, “Do you always walk into houses with your feet?” (Meaning do I always take my shoes off first, cute phrasing through). These people must have thought I was insane, or they explained it away as, “She really is a Southerner.” Yes I was just represented the homeland. I wanted to say, “Yes I typically go places with my feet, unless they will just get in the way.” But I didn’t, that might have flown over her head.

The truth is that while I had been over the moon happy to be living with Adam, having moments so perfect that I knew this was where I was supposed to be, the never-ending job search broke me. Never having had a lot of confidence in myself anyway, it made me feel worthless and hopeless. And every week when Sunday rolled around I would be beside myself. I couldn't imagine another week of job searching, and I would spend several hours uncontrollably sobbing. At first crying about being jobless, and then for how stupid it was that I was even crying. I just felt like I was being so gosh darn dramatic. I had sunk into a mini-depression, not bad enough to contemplate hurting myself like in the past, but bad enough that I had no energy or want to even get out of bed.

Friends & family would ask me if I was happy here, and I would say, "Of course." Because to explain how I felt would be too hard and too complicated. How can you put into words that you are completely happy and miserable at the same time? If I let one thing slip out about how I was really feeling, the entire glass facade would shatter, and I would be a hopeless mess. But now that I feel better I’m enjoying my days, even if I don’t do much but clean the house. I’m watching tons of documentaries from netflix: Queen Elizabeth, Titanic, and Jack the Ripper (you name it, I’m watching). I’m just all around happy, and it’s nice to be happy. Truly honestly, not just faking it happy.

The Definition of Better

My mother has obsessive compulsive disorder along with anxiety, something she didn't fully understand until she was forty years old. From an early age, she always felt she was different. By the time she was six, my mother was already an obsessive list maker, could not function unless she performed certain tasks, and would tell her friends that if they were not going to help her clean up after playing, they could not touch her toys. For years I observed my mother’s struggles with everyday life, her inability to cope, and how she tried to live up to the unrealistic expectations she had for herself.

Because of the immense pressure my mother placed on herself, she also had high expectations for my brother and me. Cleanliness was next to Godliness for my mother, and her brand of cleanliness has always been higher than everyone else’s. Little messes were gigantic in her eyes. And somewhere along the way her style of cleanliness became mine, and now I always have to pick up my entire bedroom before I go to sleep. Because if I don't I know the dust bunnies may form an army and revolt.

For us, therapy was a family affair, and my mother and I started getting help at the same time. The changes in my mother have been staggering. It has made her a happier, more relaxed woman, who even has a few piles of clutter in her home. Clutter! You have no idea how mind-blowing that is. I admire my mother for so many reasons. She found the strength to get out of an abusive marriage, had the patience to deal with a drug addicted son, and admitted that she couldn’t handle her disease on her own.

While I did inherit my anxiety from my mother, I don't have OCD. But on occasion when I'm experiencing a period of high stress, I do develop obsessions. In 6th grade, when I moved to Alabama and left my friends behind, I began counting syllables. I would mentally tally the syllables of every single sentence I said or thought. If the count didn't add up to an interval of five, I had to rework the entire sentence before I could relax. Later when I moved to college, I started obsessively tweezing my face after the discovery of ONE black hair. Whenever I was at home I had to be tweezing, and I was always thinking about going home so I could tweeze.

To this day, every so often something minuscule will grab my attention to the point that I can't get it out of my head. Tonight after Adam went to bed, I noticed that he had accidentally dropped ketchup in the sink, and it had become dried, crusty, and disgusting. I immediately felt like retching, but it was too gross for me to bring myself to clean it up. I was dreading the night ahead of me, knowing it would worry me all night long. So I sat in the living room for over an hour, being systematically tortured by the ketchup (I'm not even kidding).

I finally decided I was being ridiculous, so I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, told it I was the one in charge here, and scrubbed it away. Sixty milligrams of Lexapro and two years of therapy will give you the strength to conquer the ketchup. And that is my definition of better.

And I Didn't Even Poop My Pants

I finally took the time to go get a haircut and an eyebrow waxing the other day. And God Almighty did I ever need it. The last time I went to a salon was all the way back in March. Lately my hair had become completely rebellious, and my eyebrows were planning a traitorous takeover of my entire face. Back when I lived at home with my mom, I always had my haircut every six weeks. It’s amazing how fast haircuts get dropped when you no longer have time or money. My latest and now former hair dresser kept going on and on about how many split ends I had, how my highlights were falling out, and those eyebrows are so thick. OK, I Get It. I'm Already Ashamed. TOTALLY NOTED.

But the big deal about me going to the salon is that I went by myself. A huge part of my anxiety is concentrated on driving. I'm really not a bad driver, and I was basically ok with driving when I lived in the South (but I did take out a few armadillos-nature’s speed bumps). But I did go out of my way to avoid particular things that bothered me about driving, and this made me worry that I was going to single handily deplete our planet's natural resources. Luckily I had my ever faithful, non-gas guzzling Homer the Honda Civic. But L.A. is not Alabama, and it is like nothing I've ever experienced before (driving wise).

I rarely drive places by myself anymore, and I have become the biggest turd of a passenger when Adam is driving (which is ALWAYS). I predict our imminent death, flinch, cover my eyes, and sometimes find myself tapping the invisible eject button beneath my feet. When we make it home in one piece, I get out of the car and immediately fall on my knees and kiss the ground beneath me (Am I exaggerating? You decide). I find myself thinking that if I were the one in the relationship with me, I would drop myself like a hot potato. But I think Adam is a prince that hopefully sees this as one of my many cute idiosyncrasies (ha).

Adam is not ready to play the part of the old man, sporting the comb over, wearing overalls, and pretending to be interested in what the old betties are gossiping about, so I went to the salon all alone. On the way home, I was face with a choice. I needed to turn left at an extremely busy intersection during rush hour. I understand the mechanics of getting out in the middle of the intersection, and turning left as the light changes to red. I do it all the time. But this was rush hour, and everyone was running red lights & ignoring traffic rules.

I knew I would get stuck in the middle of the intersection for a few extra seconds, momentarily pissing off about 15 lanes of traffic, and risking fatal harm. And to be honest I’ve always wanted to die with a bottle of whiskey in my right hand, and my middle finger extended on my left. So I decided just to wait a few extra seconds for the left hand turn signal instead. No one behind me would be able to turn any sooner even if I had chosen not to wait, I was holding up no one but me!

But the person behind me was not going to stand for this, and started to honk at me. Usually if someone honks at me, I totally poop my pants. But I knew that I had made the right choice, and I decided to not acknowledge this person. I would not look, I would not flinch, and I would make them think that I just had no clue that they were honking at me. In the 15 seconds it took for the green arrow to flash, the person had worked themselves into a frenzy, honking non stop. They couldn't stand the fact that I didn't know they were honking at me. I realized that they were honking at me because they believed me to be an idiot, but actually they were making themselves look like the biggest idiot of all

The entire time I was grinning ear to ear, because in this moment I had all the power. And it felt so very good.

Getting Over it

I don't know when it started, or if there was a starting point at all. As far back as I can remember, anxiety and panic attacks have been my constant companion. As a child, when my mother was a minute late coming home from work, I couldn't breath. I knew she was dead. I was scared to be the last person awake in the house. Convinced that when I watched Unsolved Mysteries the murderers & kidnappers were watching me watch the show, and as soon as I went to bed they would snatch me. I slept on my mother's floor till I was eleven years old. I was scared to answer the phone, because I was so socially anxious. And when my babysitter asked me to wake up my best friend Amanda in the mornings, I worried that my babysitter would hate me, if I couldn't complete the task. There was nothing in this world that I didn't worry about.

I joke a lot about my anxiety, and there are times I do find it funny. I can do this because there is that voice in my head that tells me what I'm worrying about is irrational. But then I worry about worrying about irrational things. It is a never ending cycle. I can find the humor in almost anything, and if you don’t laugh about what ails you, you’ll cry. But just because I do laugh at myself, it doesn't mean that things aren't overwhelming to me sometimes. Things that don't even register to most people are uphill battles for me.

I used to spend a lot of time trying to hide my anxiety from people. It was so hard, and really that was anxiety inducing in itself. Now that I am in a better place, I can say to friends and family, “You know I don’t know why this worries me, but it does.”

I was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder when I was sixteen. This was after I had developed a crippling addiction to Tylenol PM. I could never sleep, because my thoughts were always racing. I would go days with only 1-2 hours of sleep every night, if I even got that. People will tell you that it is impossible to stay awake that long, but they are wrong. And when you never sleep, you feel like you are slowly losing your mind. Tylenol PM was the only thing that allowed me to sleep. Soon I was taking 8 every night, and then 8 during the day to take naps. I never wanted to be awake, it was too hard.
My diagnosis also came after I had stopped attending school, because I was too nervous to face the outside world. I mainly didn't go to school because I worried about doing something stupid at school, or in front my friends. I also was afraid a teacher would call on me in class and I wouldn't know the answer. Ironically, that was actually a self-fulfilling prophecy because I wasn't attending class, so I never had any clue what was going on in class. I technically failed that school year even though my grades were good. My attendance was so poor that I couldn't pass.
When I found out that I failed, I was so exhausted and tired of life. At sixteen, I knew I had nothing left to live for. I took a shower, did my hair, and swallowed over 100 capsules of Tylenol. Luckily, I had a change of heart pretty quickly. One of the most embarrassing moments in my entire life was lying on a hospital bed, having charcoal pumped into my stomach, and vomiting all over myself in front of so many people. It may sound weird to say but trying to kill myself was probably one of the better things I've done in my life. For two main reasons: I realized I did want to live, and I finally got help.

I began therapy soon after that, and started on a medicine that would drastically change my quality of life. The diagnosis was such a relief, I finally knew I wasn't alone or losing my mind. By the way, after my therapist talked to my school, I was able to gain all my credits back, and I graduated on time. Then I went on to graduate college, with only a few bumps along the way.

I am more equipped to deal with my anxiety now, but it is always there. Tonight I got lost trying to pick Adam up from work (I've never done that before), and I ended up on the freeway, surrounded by 18 wheelers, and driving over bridges. I don’t like driving in general, and I’m terrified of bridges, freeways, and 18 wheelers. But I always do what I have to do. I ended up on the side of the road, having one of the worst panic attacks I’ve had in years. I was sobbing, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was trembling.

However unlike in the past, I was eventually able to calm myself down, take many deep breathes, send up a prayer, and figure out what I needed to do. And I did it. I stared down those 18 wheelers, went over those bridges, and finally found Adam. I had faced my worst case scenario fear about driving in L.A., and I had gotten through it.

There is something liberating about knowing that the girl who was once too scared to step out her front door, may still panic and freak out, but when everything goes wrong, she can pull it together and GET OVER IT.

WorryWarter

To celebrate my new job Adam took me out to eat at Famous Dave's in downtown Long Beach last Thursday. Which by the way I highly recommend, the food was really good and I finally got my beloved sweet tea. While there my boss called to tell me the things I would need to bring to orientation: a copy of my license, proof of car insurance, and my social security card. The first two I knew I had, because I live in chronic fear of being pulled over and not being able to locate these things. Mainly because the first time I ever got pulled over, I handed over my health insurance card instead of my car insurance and felt totally moronic. Although Adam once got pulled over and handed the man his debit card so I guess he finishes first in the feeling idiotic race with that one. So even though I knew where the first two items were, I didn't think I could locate my SS card since the move.

I immediately went into panic mood, because I find it impossible to keep my shit together like ever. When we got home I ripped through the house like a tornado. Flying through papers, files, and documents screeching, "They are going to FIRE ME" and "They are going to think I'm FLAKY!" I had Adam call my mother, to find out if she had even given me my social security card. Which she had, and I knew she had and I later found out that he had whispered to her in a conspiratorial tones, "What should I do? She is totally freaking out...." She should have just said, "That is just the way of the E**** women..." She knows I didn't learn to jump to end of the world scenarios on my own. Oh no it was after years of intense study and mother mimicry.

I figured they needed my SS card to prove citizenship. So I decided the only thing I could do was take my birth certificate and tax return, and hope that would be enough. But that didn't stop me from having butterflies in my stomach for over 24 hours. I felt like a kid who was going to school without my homework. And I never went to school without my homework.

When I finally got to orientation and explained the situation, my boss just shrugged and said, "Just get it to me when you can." And it was over just like that, they didn't even give it a second thought. I had spent so much time worrying, and they really didn't care. It's funny, I almost felt gypped. Didn't all my worrying deserve a bigger response? So I guess for me it was a lose-lose situation. Sure I didn’t get in trouble, but I didn’t get that payoff from worrying either that tells me, “See girlfriend your craziness was so justified!"

Reflections

I have spent so much of my time this weekend watching Law & Order, that I might as well call it the lost weekend. Do I regret it? Not Really. Chris Noth and Vincent D'Onofrio are both two men that I wouldn’t mind spending the night with. *Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge* But I can’t decide if watching Law & Order has convinced me that I could never, ever get away with a crime, or that I now know all the secrets of the cops and I totally could.

Other than watching too much TV, Saturday Adam and I got Pucked at Fudpuckers, and picked up our very own air-conditioning unit at Target, to help stifle the heat wave. I do miss the central air I so took forgranted in Alabama. Which reminds me, I’ve been in Callyfornya for 38 days now. That is 38 days without sweet tea, fried okra, or the sight of an outhouse. And although I have had severe sweet tea withdrawals, I still feel like I made the right choice.

I love Adam, and I love the conversations we have. I love the time we spend together and he makes me laugh until my sides split. I love our new house, our new bed, and our new life. I’m starting a job that I’m hopeful about on Friday. And I have every reason to be over the moon happy, and I am. But there is a but, isn’t there always a but? I miss my girlfriends. I not only missed them, I ache for them. Boys are all well and good, but it’s not the same as a night out with the girls. While I’ve never been a social butterfly, I have always had my groups of really close girlfriends. I’ve had my St.Louis childhood friends, my high school posse, and my MUW girls. The type of friends that will tell you, “Yes that shirt makes you look like a bloated hippopotamus and if you go on a date with that guy I will tell everyone you’ve lost your mind.”

And my anxiety rules me in the way that I am extremely phone phobic. So I only get the courage to call my best friend once a week, buts it’s not the same. And I’m so shy I don’t even know how to go about making friends out here. I know things will eventually fall into place, and understand I’ve only been here 38 days and these things take time. But I think I just wanted to vent a little. Have any of you gone through this before?

Passion Smashion

When Adam and I moved into the cottage we decided that our basic cable days were behind us. We were tired of having only a few channels, especially since half of them were in Spanish. So I've been watching a lot of TV lately, catching up on shows I had fallen behind on. I’ve mostly been watching the channel Bravo, since they have been playing non-stop marathons lately. Today I was watching Top Chief, and it occurred to me how very passionate these people are about cooking. And it is like that on most reality shows. Like them or not, you have to admit these people really know what they want. They know what they love, and are trying to make it to top anyway they can. And I can truly admire that.

So as my butt was forming to the couch in a potato like fashion, it occurred to me that I don’t have a passion. And this thought made me sad. I do have a few hobbies. I like photography, but I'm an amateur, and I don't want to make it a career. And other than blogging, watching bad TV, and playing The Sims 2, I don't have many other interests that I take seriously. Most of my friends know what they want in life. They want to be teachers, nurses, and screenwriters. And I hate it when people ask me what I want to do with my life, because I honestly don't know. And they give me that look, which says, “She went to college, and she still doesn’t know?” And I know that look well, because it is the same one I give myself in the mirror sometimes.

How do you find your passion? Do you wake up one day and just know what it is you want to do? Do you get out into the work field and then find that you either love or hate your job, and then it just clicks? I have never had any lofty career ambitions, except when I wanted to be a zoo keeper and a garbage man as a child. I like psychology but I don't want to be counselor. I love history but have no interest in being a teacher. And sometimes I wonder how am I supposed to find the perfect job, if I don't really have an idea of what I want in life?

After I graduated from high school, I went to college because that was just the thing to do. It was expected of me, and I do not regret going to college. I see education as important, and it gave me four years to put off making any important life choices. But now I'm here in the real world, and I would be lying to say I'm not terrified. What if I never find anything I am truly passionate about?

I often wonder if it is my anxiety that is really what is holding me back. I'm so afraid of failing or looking foolish, that a lot of times I don't even try. I'm terrified to really want something, because if I don't achieve it what will everyone think of me? I don’t want to disappoint anyone. And what if in pursuit of an goal, I realize that I'm actually just inadequate. This is really my biggest fear of all.

So I pose this question to you, my friends, what are you passionate about and how did you figure that out?
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With 22 Candles On My Cake

Since I got into Californiaon Wednesday, I have been doing several "grown up" things. I don't know why I use the term grown up. Its not like I'm not an adult, but I guess I'm just now starting to feel like one. So when I do things that are adult like I feel like I should be running around with a diaper on my head singing, "I'm a big kid now!" These new responsibilites are liberating and terrifying.

Yesterday we went to tour that cottage, the one we had loved so much. We had thought the lady had turned us down because she stopped contacting us. We were disappointed, but we moved on. We just knew we would find the right place. And then out of the blue, she called Adam and asked if we were still interested. Are we still INTERESTED? Is the pope Catholic?

We went and checked the place out. It is in a nice neighborhood with the local grocery store only a block away. It is the perfect size for us. Plus it comes with a stove, fridge, washer, and a dryer. And after having to walk to the laundry room, in blaring heat, just to have to pay a $1.00 to wash and even more to dry, having our own washer and dryer is akin to Nirvana! I want this place so bad, I can taste it.

It would be $1100.00 a month for rent with an $1100.00 deposit. To an Alabama girl, this seems completely outrageous. And I know that is just how property is out here. But the nervous side of me keeps reminding myself that I don’t have a job yet. Adam CAN float us for a few months, but that won’t last forever. I'm so afraid that I will not be able to find any job at all. Even with my open-ended college degree. I know this is probably an ill-founded fear, but if I think about it too long I seriously cannot breathe. But I keep telling myself that even if I don’t find a job in my field, I can work any job for the time being. This is the worst case scenario, and I know that really isn’t that bad.

In addition, I got a rejection from the boys & girls club. I felt like I had a good chance getting this job, I have volunteered with the boys & girls club for years. And I guess it would have stung less, if they had just ignored my application rather than rejecting it. But I'm just sensitive and shy, and I need to grow a tougher skin to wade through this.

I'm happy with things right now. I really am. I like taking turns washing dishes and having someone to unwind with at the end of the day. I look forward to Fridays when I can cook a spaghetti dinner and know it is delicious just by the look on Adam's face. I love when he cooks for me and he kicks my ass in every video game known to man. But it can't stay this way, and I really wouldn't want it to. I want to work. I want a place with air conditioning and a little yard so I can get my little dog.

I just don't know where to start, or what exactly I'm supposed to be doing. I like plans, facts, and figures. I'm not good with the unknown. The unknown scares me. And maybe it helps just to say it outloud. I'm just a girl, who just turned 22, who is shaking in her boots.

Pomp and Circumstance

Four years ago this May, I was on top of the world. It was two weeks and a half before my 18th birthday, and three weeks before my high school graduation. I mentioned earlier that this was such a big accomplishment for me. Incapacitated by anxiety I missed half of my sophomore year. Though my grades were high this lead me to officially flunk the tenth grade. Soon after this time period I started medication and talk therapy. With the fight my mentor Mr. Jones put up for me and a note from my therapist, I was able to regain my credits. I went on to miss only one day my junior year, and only three days my senior year (one being a senior skip day).

I had gotten early admission to the only college I applied to and wanted to attend The W. The world was my oyster (my god I hate that saying). There was never anyone as happy to put on that unflattering cap and gown.

I had had a rocky relationship with my father and his family for years. When I was 12, I had stood up for myself and refused to no longer take the abuse from my father. We had all called an uneasy truce a few years later, but they never treated me the same after. They always gave my cousins more, where they got birthday gifts I got a phone call. I was never jealous and always happy to just accept less. I just wanted their attention.

When my 18th birthday rolled around, I hadn’t heard anything from any of them. But I let it go, and I just hoped beyond hope that my graduation wouldn’t go ignored. But that day rolled around and I hadn’t heard from them. Not a card, not a call, not a peep. It was supposed to be one of the best days of my life, and it was. But I was brought so down by their lack of caring. And the best night of my life was also one of the worst.

Soon after I cut all ties with them, I just couldn’t try anymore. It hurt so much. When I told them all this, they all ran out and bought me gifts. It bothered me so much that to them it was all about gifts. They thought I was just greedy and selfish. It was never that. And I didn’t see anyone again till this Christmas.

I was filling out graduation invitations this weekend with my mom. And I made the choice not to send them one. I felt that if they sent me gifts it would be because they felt they had too. And if they didn’t send me anything I would be crushed. This is a total lose/lose situation for me.

This graduation is in my hands. I did this on my own, and I don’t need nor want their approval. They have no power to make or break that day anymore. And that is a good feeling. It took me a long time to realize that while I love them, but they cannot love me like I wish for them too. And maybe, just maybe that is ok.