I cannot save you; I can’t even save myself

So everyone’s heard that adage that I find a bit offensive, “the blind leading the blind,” right?  Well, what I’m looking for is a better way to say it than quoting Stabbing Westward, as I did in my title.  I need to figure out how to say it, because it’s how I feel right now. How can one mentally ill person help another in dealing with their struggles when I can’t even fully handle my own?

I was recently in a pretty heated argument via Snapchat messenger of all things with one of my best friends from college.  It didn’t start out that way; we were just exchanging snaps and chatting, but it took a turn when he commented about how miserable his relationship had become. Now I’m no source of relationship wisdom, as I’ve had my fair share of bad ones and poor relationship decisions, but I tried to assure said friend that he’s capable of functional relationships; he just sets up his own roadblocks. That turned into quite the heated debate over what kind of person he was, with him claiming he’s cold, self-centered, and selfish, basically him letting his depression speak for him. I claimed otherwise and threw back that he lets his own poor self-esteem grow to self-loathing, and he needed to get a handle on that. He threw back that I basically needed to abandon ship and forget about him, because I was too good a person to be pulled into his pit of misery. This is a friend I’ve had since 19, so there’s no way I’m giving up on this relationship.  I threatened to blow up his phone until he’d sit down and talk to me about what was going on, but after one voicemail, I paused and have paused for over a day. 

The reason for my pause: how can someone with bipolar that mostly manifests in depressive episodes help someone manage and react in spite of their depression? How can the broken fix the broken? How can I save someone when I can’t keep myself together day to day? 

I decided that all of the shiny happy “buck up, soldier” cheerleader talk might not be enough. I mean, he knows where I am and that I can’t always be counted on to give myself a pep-talk, why should he listen to me? Are the depressed able to be a cheerleader for others or are the mentally healthy people the only ones who can fill that role?

I guess that’s a question I’m looking for someone to answer. Do others with mental illnesses help you in dealing with your own? Do we trust the troubled to advise us?

I know I like commiserating with my peers whose brain chemistry runs a little off of the rails, but that’s me. 

How do other members of the community feel? 

Should I just keep cheering this friend of mine? Is there any chance that they’ll believe it, when I haven’t managed to get it to stick in the last 17 years?
Can I save someone else when I can’t even save myself?

“Teaching” Mental Illness

I’m going to cross post this (hopefully) as a submission to “The Mighty” (https://themighty.com/), and they recommended saving it in a safe place before submitting. What’s safer than my cobweb covered blog?

As I sat on my couch to do some school work at a time when I should not be, because I should be at school, I had a thought…Do I really “teach” mental illness?  Allow me to explain my question.

I am ridiculously open with my students about my mental health when I need to be.  If there is a student who is struggling emotionally and is diagnosed or is wondering if they should seek intervention, I will tell them that I have biploar disorder, that it’s really hard sometimes, but that there is also hope that it won’t “ruin” my life.  I think it’s good for them to know that you can have a mental health issue and still be a functioning member of society.

But then I really begin to wonder just what I’m teaching them in sharing this information.

I’m a pretty together person at school.  I’m teacher, mentor, coach, secondary school nurse (I hand out more band-aids than she ever does…and the occasional illegal cough drop!), unpaid athletic trainer (need KT taped? I’m your girl!), auntie, and Mom.  I have no children of my own, by choice, so my students are my kids, and I don’t really have an issue with filling these roles.  I come to work more than not; I usually only miss for school-related meetings, but today is my sixth sick day this year. Two of these days were for a surgery, a few for god awful vertigo, and today for a slight fever and flu-ish symptops of chills and bone-tired body aches.  I’m snuggled in a blanket next to a 90lb fuzzy water bottle…my beloved Mira-pup…and have been alternating an extra blanket and a sherpa fleece hoodie most of the day. But I wonder if sometimes I need to take a day to practice better self care and acknowledge my weaknesses as brought on due to my illness?

Do I create an unrealistic picture for my students by being super-teacher 95 or so percent of the time?  Is my high-functioning bipolar disorder a lie in a sense?

I usually don’t pull the “I have bipolar and today sucks!” card as openly as one might think for being comfortable with my disorder.  I’ve been excusing my current run of bad days with the “awful headache” reasoning, and while that is 100% true due to weaning of antidepressant two take two for antidepressant three, I don’t think it’s the sole cause of my misery.  While if anyone asks, I will acknowledge that the headaches are med related, I don’t acknowledge my bipolar as the root cause.  When my bones and joints ache or I’m just dead tired, I excuse it with the arthritis or my patellar-femoral syndrome or with lack of good sleep (often attributed to my bed-hogging, snoring boyfriend…and there is truth to that!), not symptoms of my current bipolar depressive episode.My current episode is a rough one.  I have the highest score on the rating scale that I have had since 2010 (months after Matt took his life when I was initially diagnosed), and more days than not it’s been this…

5:15 – alarm goes off
*ten minutes spent pondering if I can really get out of bed and be functional for the day*
5:25 – alarm two, with additional loud puppy barking from Gus, DRAG myself out of bed and make my way downstairs
5:26ish – 6:20ish – Let the pups out; give them food, water & dental biscuits; make the coffee; do random household chores like emptying the dishwasher; eat breakfast & go back upstairs
6:20ish – 6:55ish – “take the pills, Dave” (Jay & I’s play on “eat the sandwich, Dave” from a Wayne Brady and Dave Chapelle skit), shower, dress, text my “child” to make sure she’s awake and coming to school, put on enough make-up to look human, but not pretty…I teach teen boys
6:55ish-7:05ish – get the pup’s Kong filled, water filled, and pop her in the crate; give the dog a treat as she lounges on the couch; lock the back door that Jay leaves from; grab coffee (unless Jas & I are stopping at Dunkin, or I’m making coffee at school); grab all my school junk and head out the door
Once Jas & I get to school it’s usually coach/mom duty until the school day starts at 7:45 and then I’m running until 2:15.
2:15-5:00/5:30 – meetings or coach class & practice or just straight track practice
5:15/5:45ish – take two sibling pairs home from practice
6:00ish-9:30ish –  come home to pups and care for them, make dinner and do household chores (because I’m also a housewife!); fall onto couch exhausted & nap; get things ready for tomorrow; go to bed and dread starting all over tomorrow

What I really need in there is more me-time for self care & I just don’t take it.  Instead I run myself ragged and hope that the occasional online shopping binge, for clothes that are comfortable (and weight gain/loss flexible) and make me look like I care about dressing for work, will be enough to keep me going.  With that in mind, don’t judge my LuLaRoe collection.  Buying that is theoretically better than eating as much ice cream as I was just a few months ago…well, and yesterday when I downed a whole pint of Ben & Jerry’s with the cookie butter core.  I don’t have the energy to properly prep for my upcoming run events.  I don’t have the energy to grade during the week.  I don’t walk the pups or play with them enough and then I feel guilty. I don’t read as much as I’d like, unless it’s stories on “The Mighty” or things related to suicide (watch this if I’ve just freaked you out — https://www.facebook.com/MentalHealthOnTheMighty/videos/1869633273305382/?pnref=story).  I get up dreading the day and go to sleep dreading waking & the next one.

I think there were only two times when I have been wholly authentic about my disorder with my kids in the recent past.  They happened within two days of each other a three weeks ago.  On one of those days, I had a lunchtime heart-to-heart that ended up with both my sophomore male mentee and me in tears.  I pulled it together after that and made it through coach class and coaching.  The next day I fell apart 110%.  One of my seniors needed to do an interview for the school newspaper, apparently I’m the most popular teacher for teacher profiles, I swear, and in the midst of taking about that I fell apart.  He’s a big tough kid, football, basketball, lacrosse, and a hugger, so as it was not odd for me to hold on to his left arm, bury my face in his shoulder and just hide for a minute or two.  What was odd was that I then bawled until I just let go and sat on the floor in the hallway to cry. He sat with me, coworkers came out of classrooms to check on me, it was bad.  During coach class, I basically sat at my desk with my head down and let my awesome intern deal with the kiddos.  Luckily that day I had an appt scheduled with my psychiatrist, and I left at 3:00 to go to that.

My doc switched my meds, because I wasn’t about to stay on the current cocktail if it meant feeling like utter walking-death, and I walked out hoping for the best.  That night I hit the couch way earlier and did take-out for dinner.  My boyfriend understood (and I felt like shouting “FOR ONCE!”) and I went to bed early. From the next day, up until today, I’ve been struggling along with my false happy face at work (thank you gods of coffee!), walking the black dog of depression with me on a tether, and dealing with the withdrawal from one med and the new side effects from the other.  What I have not been struggling with is illuminating my struggles for everyone else; I’m too good at my high-functioning lie for all that.  After all, I have been doing it most of my life!

So, if I’m indeed “teaching” mental illness, what am I teaching?  That’s something I need to think about.  How real is too real?  Hope much hope is too much hope?  How can I support self-care if I don’t engage in self care?  Teaching is always more questions than answers, I tell my kids that all the time…maybe I shouldn’t expect to have them all.

As if you didn’t know this was coming…

So what do I do now when I am EXTREMELY stressed out and need to vent? No, not eat ice cream or drink, because if I need to vent and started talking to a bowl, glass or coffee cup (what? it’s an ideal size for a serving of ice cream…you can only cram so much in there, bowls hold WAY more; and please tell me you’ve never had boozy coffee…hmm, I may make some boozy coffee), they’d want to change my diagnosis and my meds.  Hell, they may put me on a 72 hour hold, because I’m the girl talking to kitchenware.  So, the answer is… BLOG!  I’m totally pulling my best Jenny Lawson and using this thing as my manner to cope, reach out to find people who are crazy like me, and to fill you all in on the joys of my crazy life. (And yes, crazy is a fine term…it’s like when the homosexual culture claimed queer…I claim crazy, I TOTALLY claim my crazy!)

So as I posted on Facebook this morning,

“I hate being a homeowner update:

Still waiting on dryer news, but I’ll call them this morning. I’m so tired of waiting; if I need to buy new appliances (the unit was combined), just tell me!

There are now water marks in the ceiling of the dining and living room (worse in the living room) on the side opposite all our water using things (bathroom, kitchen, & laundry all on the other side). I filed a claim w/ insurance this morning; I noticed it yesterday. I just want it fixed before it gets worse.

I’m a teacher for pete’s sake, with a boyfriend who’s going back to school to be one, the money is not rolling in like whoa. Anyone have any stock tips, lucky lottery numbers, or want to count cards for me at the casino?”

To take it back…the dryer caught on fire the Monday after we moved in.  It was less than a year old, so trying to see if we can get it replaced without buying a new one.  It’s a slow and arduous process.  I LOVE doing laundry; it’s actually a stress reliever, so this is killing me on many levels.

Yesterday, I noticed the water mark and this morning it was definitely worse.  So while it may not be a leaking pipe or anything in the house, and could possibly be related to the renovations next door, I need to get this checked out ASAP.  Especially because I go back to school for preservice on Wed and Jay goes back next week.  Oh & because I’ll already miss days since I have that impending surgery in September.  Luckily I was able to schedule Augusta’s spay on a day off (Thank you, Jewish holidays!) in October.

Right now I’m having the “I already spent enough money getting this house, getting into this house, and getting things for this house!” financial freak-out.  I may have to cut my plan of trying to pay extra on the mortgage to pay it off sooner if I have additional bills to take care of.  The most likely things that go out the window are racing and camp.  Pittsburgh may not happen this year, because I can do Frederick without a hotel stay on the same day.  Love Run may not happen, because there’s a 10 miler in Frederick the same day (and no hotel stay). Camp may go on the back burner AGAIN if I don’t have the funds.  And I still owe people cookies…Janice, Lex & Kay for being awesome…Karen & Linda for silent auction.

Combine that with the fact that I STILL need to do the touch up paint in the bedroom and have been putting it off, and you have house guilt/expense freaking out a-go-go.

I am seriously thinking about pawning my wedding band.  I don’t need that shit anymore and whatever I can get for it is better than it sitting in my ring box.  Despite the fact that my engagement ring would garner way more due to the stones, I am NOT getting rid of that!  It’s probably the one thing I feel like I earned in that old relationship.  Like this is the prize you get for the misery that came out of it.  I don’t doubt I have other jewelry that could go.  I don’t wear jewelry like that and am attached to very few pieces. My favorite jewelry pieces are for the most part inexpensive.  Hell, other than my facial piercings and my daith, on the regular I wear my 26.2 necklace from Andi (with the silver heart from the Alex & Ani string bracelet Jay bought me on threaded on that chain…I wore it all the time and that weakened the string, then Gus finished it off) and a pair of earrings I bought on Woot.  I have a fair bit of in-skin decoration; I think it works. Oh & those will also go on hold.  I have two tattoos I want, one more I’ll figure out once Jenny’s next book comes out, and none of them are coming any time soon unless my tattoo artists take pity on my misery and offer freebies (Adam & Tony, feel free!).

Side note: Luckily, I think my incisions for the wrist surgery will be above my tattoo.  *phew* No medically necessary slitting of the art I got to keep myself from slitting myself.

Side-side note: I wish I got paid for blogging…I would blog the shit out of things!

And all this crap makes me want to climb in bed, pull the covers over my face and say “I’m staying here under the BAB (big ass blanket…it’s a 1yd by 2yd fleece tie blanket I made myself when I made Aria’s, Peyton’s & Lori’s almost two years ago) until someone fixes all my shit and trains my puppy!

Additional side note: I need to check into getting Gus into the obedience classes Mira did when she was wee.  Start her off down the road to awesomeness like her sister (note in the side note: she will not be as awesome as Mira…I know this…no dog is every going to be that awesome, but I would like Gus to be more awesome than her current ornery puppy self…but she is freaking cute and she snuggles, and she does play fetch better than Mira, because she’ll actually give you back the toy 9x out of 10…with Mira, it’s like 3x out of 10, unless you tug it out of her face or say “drop it” about 22x, so she is valuable and we shall keep her despite accidents and that chewed Camelbak bladder).

Enough tangent…

But I cannot fall into depression, because I have too much to do. I actually contemplated forcing hypomania by not taking my stabilizer and still taking my anti-dep (and generous doses of caffeine).  If I’m hypo, I will sleep less and get a SHIT TON of stuff done.  It’s pretty much a win-win…especially if I could crash the Saturday before my Monday surgery and have like 3-4 days to be blarg before yanking myself out of the hole and getting back to some semblance of normal.  I don’t know why I said contemplat-ED, when I’m pretty much contemplat-ING.  I shouldn’t do it, but…shouldn’t and won’t are two different things, and I’m slightly irrational right now.  Reminder: Take your pills, Dave. (It’s a play on the “eat the sandwich, Dave” from the Chapelle show skit with Dave & Wayne Brady…Jay says it to me all the time.)

*PILL BREAK!*

Took the pills…all of them…all 300mg of the Lamictal and 450mg of the Wellbutrin.

Also in taking the dogs out post-pills, I talked to one of the contractors next door.  He’s just doing duct-work for the heating & ac, so he knows nothing about any pipe issues next door that may be leaking into my place.  I’m really wondering if that could even be it anyway…it doesn’t start right on the wall…I’m going to stop looking at it; it stresses me out.

So hopefully that’s an adequate brain dump for now.  If not, I may be back…maybe with boozy coffee…we’ll see.

Jenny Lawson is my hero

So I never really wanted to be a blogger, because bloggers are typically either hilarious and awesome or self-absorbed douche bags who think they are hilarious and awesome.  The first one is too hard to live up to and the second one would just make me want to stab myself right in the carpal tunnel.  But I do admire the hell out of one of the women who fits in category one and has expanded past blogging to books…that would be The Bloggess.  I found her when Hollie recommended I read “Furiously Happy,” and I’ve been hooked since.  Before this book, anytime I got into one of those “moods,” I would read Mary Forsberg Weiland’s “Fall to Pieces” and be all “sad face is sad” stay in bed with my dog.  Now I find myself turning to Rory the Raccoon for a little more “get your shit together!”  I mean, maybe I’m on the couch with the dog nearby, but that’s progress…right?  And where else would I have learned that kangaroos have three vaginas? AND that koala’s have chlamydia! Epic shit, friends, epic shit.

So, yeah…Jenny has a new book coming out that I’ll actually have to get in physical form…not that amorphous phone-ipad-computer app digital ghost follows you everywhere form…because it’s partially A COLORING BOOK! *squeeeee!* And then I will have to pick an image to have Adam tattoo on me.  I’m not sure if I need to ask for permission or something…I mean, I haven’t sought out permission for any of my other tattoo art, but this seems a little different.

Side note: that’s three tattoos I now need to get: my autism track tattoo, my Elie Weisel memorial tattoo and this tattoo…mother of god, tattoos and puppies are expensive habits.  Good thing I do not have 30+ puppies.

I also need to get a something to cure the intense itch of all the damn Zika bites I’m getting from spending too much time outside with puppies who take FOREVER to pee!  I try to tell Gus, “You’re exposing Mommy to Zika,” but she does not care.  She just wants to eat bugs…including bees…she will not listen when I tell her this is a poor idea.  Then I have to DRAG her away and she looks at me all “sad face is sad” (Like she was freaking reading Mary’s book!) until she gets inside when she can chew the F out of the baby gate.  (Thank you Amazon Prime…a new metal gate arrives tomorrow!!!!)  She has destroyed the baby gate I have had for years…since Mira was a puppy.  She is a ninja beaver devil puppy; Mira was never this destructive.  (Lies…Mira ate chair legs, and table legs, and the back of bookshelves, and tore up Berber carpet ALL OVER THE PLACE! But that was like YEARS ago, before she became trained CGC/TDI wonder ESA/PSD loved by ALL and shunned by few…#mymemoryisselective)

But the reason I mention Jenny is likely because I am in a slump and just finished re-reading “Furiously Happy.”  I swear, summer school drained the F out of me…but now NOTHING is still draining the F out of me.  And I have carpal tunnel…Life is a bitch…But at least I don’t have Zika…as far as I know.

Today, I am bipolar

So I have this habit of reading EVERYTHING I get my hands on. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. I read cereal boxes, instructions (even IKEA instructions), more Facebook posts and articles attached to them than most, basically any words that present themselves in front of my blue eyes. Today I finished reading a book that I started yesterday, All the Bright Places, and it hit me straight in the feels. 

In this book, we’re introduced to two suicidal young people, Finch and Violet, and taken on a journey, both real and metaphorical with them. While I wont spoil the book, it made me cry…it made me cry an ugly cry…because of the struggle of the clearly bipolar protagonist, though he was an antihero to an extent, Theodore Finch. Read the books, people; read the damn book. 

Finch is textbook Bipolar I, and manic as f*ck for the majority of the book. I have never been that far on the spectrum. I’m wholly a Bipolar II, with hypomania at best, but far more depressive episodes. I get wrapped up in the gloom, I push away the people I welcomed into my hypomanic life and try my best to convince myself that my meds make me even-keel, make me better, and that I wouldn’t trade the highs for the suicidal lows that have plagued me before meds. But sometimes, I wonder…

I wonder if I was better unmedicated. When I was the weepy drunk who felt all the things from a simple song…whether a Bluesuede Groove cover of “She talks to Angels” or whatever new original Timmy and Don had put together to pull my heart into my eyeballs. When I wanted everyone to like me, but threw people under the bus, repeating all sorts of rumors and unsubstantiated tales for attention. When I was far too promiscuous and fell in love with sickening ease, because I loved the reassurance that came with every new boy. When I could do everything nearly flawlessly, except hold my life together when the hypo stage left it bursting at the seams. 

Depression SUCKS. It sucks more than I can begin to explain to someone who has never sunk so low as to try to incorrectly slit their wrists (T, not the bullshit horizontal in the fold of the wrist right below the palm) or to down an unlucky 13 pills from a gifted bottle of excedrin migraine after a night of enough booze to down a 300lb man. I don’t know how to explain how it feels to be drifting away, listening to Tori Amos sing about the Northern Lad that may or may not have wronged me, thinking that if a friend’s suicide attempt that came from this boy attempting to “steal” his friend’s girl hurt him, a girl killing herself “over him” would be his undoing, but crawling out of bed to the bathroom to puke up blood and bits of her soul, because she couldn’t call her best friend and keep the pact to say “goodbye” before saying goodbye.  I don’t know how to make that make sense. I don’t know how to justify going back to that boy years later and seeing him in a different light, using him, but falling again…only to once more have him slip through my fingers. I don’t know how to make sense of not getting to that point when my best friend and at that time love of my life was gun in hand and there himself. Instead I crawled into a closet and cried, true to Finch, sadly and stunningly true to Finch, determined to live long enough to see that love pull himself out of the black hole enough to stay alive. 

I’ve wanted to die more times than I can count on two hands…and two feet. It ALWAYS sits at the rear of my brain, itching like a mosquito bite that won’t go away, that never heals. I don’t want to do it now… I haven’t even at the lowest lows…since my meds. They’re worth life, but are they worth feeling flat while living?

I read a lot. I troll The Mighty for things that make me feel less alone. I read every book on bipolar and depression that I can find. I reread a letter that pours out a wounded heart that only I could understand, that of one of my former students. I reread the comments on Facebook posts that buoy me up when I’m feeling dark. I read the posts on Matt’s page, on Ryan’s page, that prove people don’t forget you or the indelible mark you made one their lives, even if you take your own. I read and I write and I cry and I think. 

“She said that there will always be a soft spot in my cardiac arrest. And I will love you until I die from all of this. And something tells me I will die alone.” The Gaslight Anthem – Helter Skeleton 

I listen to a lot of music… Gaslight, The Script, Radiohead, sometimes Gaga if I want to remember the Appletini side of my Matt… I listen to Garth… I listen to the R+J soundtrack and remember poorly crafted poems, LJ & her Romeo, and Tarot card disasters. I listen to mix CDs and remember someone who shook his ass and unhooked your bra with wild drunken abandon or the man who couldn’t love me because I was a girl. I listen to my own mixes that remind me of the sociopath that didn’t take my life, but ruined it for far longer than he was “in” it. 

I’m lucky now in a lot of ways. 

http://youtu.be/jc_kQomZwmo Please excuse the bad Liz Taylor movie footage and listen to the song. 

I have a man in my life who understands my crazy, and loves me anyway. I have a dog who prevents me from any more than toying with the idea of an early check-out…and I have another wee fuzzy one coming in to help. I have friends who let me be a stupid recluse, but don’t stop trying and love me anyway. I have a job that allows me to crusade for students that like me skirt the boundaries of normal. 

But is losing the highs worth the even keel of a “healthy” and managed life with meds?

I may never know…

My walls…they are bare!

So I started organizing and packing for the move.  I now have bare walls and an ever growing stack of boxes.  I don’t know exactly how I feel about all of this… I mean, on one hand I am VERY excited to move into my very own house with Jay, Mira, & Gussie, and on the other hand I am LOATHING the act of moving AGAIN!  I have moved far too much in my life, or so I think.

98 – move to PSU
99 – moved from PSU to home, moved back to PSU
00 – moved from Atheron to Geary to Atherton
01 – moved from Atherton to Thompson to Atherton
02 – moved from Atherton to Simmons to Atherton
03 – moved from Atherton to home to Hagerstown
06 – moved to Baltimore w/ Sarah
07 – moved to my own place in Baltimore
08 – moved into the condo
14 – moved in with Lori

I AM SICK OF MOVING!  I don’t even like to pack for vacations!

Now I need to settle on a house, paint the bedroom, move all of my stuff and Jay’s stuff, and the dogs’ stuff…and the DOGS…to a new place.  Come back here and clean, spackle the nail holes, repaint the room to the original color (or close).  Settle all of the shared stuff and get new stuff as needed to make the house HOME and all of this while teaching summer school (now at Kenwood, not Randallstown — clutch change as far as driving distance), working on my dissertation (AGAIN), and training a puppy!

What am I getting myself into?

I mean, I know it’s all good in the long run, and I know that I unpack and settle in pretty fast, so within a week or two, the house will start to look like the combined Single-Burrell home.  I know that the pup will get trained, because Mira will help, and Mira will enjoy having a little sister to boss around.  I know having a guest room will mean visitors (and having to make a popcorn fleece blanket) and having my own place will mean that no one feels slightly awkward.  I know that it will mean no more chihuahua toe bites…though I’m sure Gussie, like any pup, will nibble on a lot by herself. (I will kinda miss Smithers, in all his trembling Kung Fu Chi glory, when he’s not being, as Lori says, “an asshole!”)  I don’t have to worry about being alone and existing solely through talking to my dog(s), because Jay will be there and will always take out the trash! (We have a deal…I’ll do the laundry!)  I’ll have reasons to buy house stuff, because I’ll have a house to fill with stuff.  Note, I already bought an avocado tool that peels, cores, and slices, because…well, Jay; I also bought a rolling pin, and a storage solution for my far too many tank tops.  I need to get everything in and see what I have before buying much else.  Though I know we need clothes organizing things, because of our basement clothes storage plan OF WONDER!  We also need a futon and rug for the basement, a dish drainer, two welcome mats (maybe three), a memory foam bath mat (because Jay wants one), clothes hampers, two new bedding sets, and new bedroom curtains.  We may need a crib mattress for a dog bed.  We shall see.

Anyways, just needed an AAAAAHHHHHH, I’M MOVING AGAIN! brain-dump to make myself feel better.  Time to go get another box!

 

It’s been a day…hell, it’s been a week, a month…

You all know what it’s like when you just have “one of those days,” right?  Today was one of those.  I did not feel at all like adulting and I had to adult.  I had to take my car in for maintenance, I had to vote, I had to take the dog to the vet, and I had to start the process of homebuying. Almost all of these require money.  Money makes me kind of ill when you start talking about amounts over about $1000. So while a happy car, healthy dog, and possible home are all good things…my nerves are kinda shot.  But today was not the only “day” in recent memory.

First of all, with pollen levels up around 5000 (per one of my running buddies), I want to scratch my eyeballs out & chop off my nose…and even sometimes my ears.  Sure, the daith piercing REALLY seems to be helping the migraines (only one since the piercing), but it does NOTHING for sinus headaches.  I have like four kinds of eye drops in rotation, am doubled up on my allergy meds, and am taking nightly benedryl.  Woo.  I usually go to bed with a cool wet cloth on my eyes.  Running outside has been hellacious; coaching outside has been hellacious.  The plants are thoroughly wrecking my chill…that I don’t even have…

I need new psych meds.  I have been thinking this for a while, but we played with dosing of my current ones first to see if that helped.  It has not.  I feel like my thoughts are dulled, like I’m not hearing things or remembering things properly, and that sometimes I’m talking in slow-mo.  For me, the talking part is especially alarming, since I usually talk REALLY fast.  Grading has become harder, not because the work is poor, but because my concentration is for shit.  Luckily, I see Dr. Lee on Thursday, so I can talk about this.  I am putting my foot down; we are trying something new.

Needing new psych meds is especially an issue with being in a definite down swing and possible depressive relapse.  I am not a happy camper.  April ALWAYS sucks…it’s the month Matt died and that just means pile of suck.  Jay dealt with his grandfather’s birthday without his grandfather, as he passed in June.  Those two dates were four days a part.  I have confirmation that my AP class is no longer mine next year, and while I have been offered a consolation prize that’s awesome, I’m still pissed. My track team has been in various shades of suck, with people quitting for various reasons, and this may be a year of no States.  Kiki “could” save us, but she almost walked away for good because she’s stressed about AP exams and college.  We’ll see how she does come Regionals.  (update: one kid is out for tomorrow’s meet…hurt his ankle playing basketball today) Doctorate is still in holding pattern.  Was supposed to meet with Ang & Mark last week, this did not happen.  Testing is wrecking my schedule and moving my classes around. And if this isn’t enough, I’ve been dealing with shit relating to the annulment Clark has filed for.  The way he addressed the situation in the initial documentation made me REALLY upset.  After thinking on it for a bit, I sent him an email.  Some excerpts…

Your martyr-esque near blamelessness was a bit of an overkill. However, I’m sure that’s how you needed to frame it to achieve your goals. I signed off in agreement with the process, not in agreement with your statement. I’ll be mailing the paperwork back this afternoon.
As it stands, your blatant lack of taking on any responsibility (as if I recall, you never raised the possibility of counseling until my May 2014 breakdown where I expressed I wanted a divorce and would not be dissuaded) is a punch in the gut and an obvious casting of blame on me alone. Funny how “in sickness and in health” must not have included mental illness….our friendship is irreparably broken. I have never been made to feel so guilty for being ill. Not even when you actively “struggled” (or in my eyes, avoided) trying to understand the difficulties of living with bipolar disorder. I have never felt so betrayed by a friend.

Needless to say, we have not spoken since.  I ignored the last round pf paperwork with the “possible reasons our marriage was not valid,” and I’m sitting on the piece where I have to decide my level of involvement with the tribunal.  As I told Jay, I’m bad with failure (hence the eternal lingering dissertation despite my rage toward ND of MD), so I was already a little shaken by the reminder of my failure that is the annulment process, and add to it a perception that it was ALL my fault, I’m a little done.  Hence the shakiness over top of the already present shakiness AND the need to blog…and switch meds…and drink…

I now feel terrible though, because he and his wife are going through a difficult period (if you’re his friend, you know) and I feel utterly TERRIBLE for Nicole.  It’s something I have dealt with (a long time ago) and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.  I’m still beyond hurt by him, but it doesn’t stop my sympathy for her and the situation.

I have tried to cope; I scheduled four runs in a one month period to keep me sane-ish, and while that’s keeping me from full-on loco, I need something more.  Andi can only deal with so much of my run bitchery!  I have tried forcing myself to go out (thanks, Popcorn!).  I’ve spent even more Jay time than usual.  I have played “My Boo” Running Man videos (7-11, YAASSS!) and even played the song to my track girls and had them break out in dance as expected.  I have spent time with my dog.  I have drank…I am drinking…right now…a tempranillo…  This weekend is home and Pittsburgh half, but now I have to worry about bumping into my ex-fiance…he emailed me asking if I was running.  I did not reply.  Ugh… And my tri training aside from running is for shit.  I’m wondering if I should do Augusta 70.3.  I know I still have plenty of time, but I’ve been putting too much before my training and it’s apparent that I need to start back into serious training mode.  I feel better when Sev and I are out on the road, but Sunday Runday and runs have kept me from Sunday riding with Princeton and track meets have kept me from RBR.

I’m a worried mess about my financial status in relationship to home-buying and my tri performance.  These are two big deals.  I’m even MORE worried about my mental state and my ability to stand being within 100m of my ex-husband (cry or punch, both should not occur in front of my athletes).  I’m worried that I’m going to drive my boyfriend nuts when he has enough on his own plate.  I worry that there is not enough wine in the world to make me okay…or that I’m going to become an alcoholic whilst (a kid used that in a recent summative assessment as opposed to while, so “whilst” it is) trying to find that wine.  I’m worried about the damn presidential election and Baltimore’s mayoral election.  Our country and my home city are both a mother-f*cking mess… I’m worried that I may begin to exist on ice-cream alone (Jay may also worry about this).

Despite all of this, I have people at CCG that are making me feel like a valuable contributor to the camp experience.  Janice has asked me to be on-call to help as needed, because we have a BIG group of new campers this year.  I’m well-aware that ALL Mira wants to do is hike and swim…she says f*ck all other things…so I’ll have the time to help.  That makes me happy.  I love camp; I love NY.  Part of me really wants to move there, but part of me knows I NEED to be in MD.  I need to be close to my family, especially my baby niece who is one of the brightest lights of my life, and I can’t uproot Jay from his family.  MD is really home now.  Maybe I’ll spend significant time in NY when I’m a roving gnome in a Winnebago after I retire.

I don’t know. I just needed a mental purge folks.  I have to eat, so this delicious wine does not hamper my ability to do my casenex HW for my behavior class.

Love you all for putting up with my bitchery…

Wino out…