As the Wheel turns, I fall off

The wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, ’round and ’round, ’round and round, the wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, all through the town.   There ya go ladies and gents, my life in a child’s song.

I’ve not been given an easy path in this life and many a day, well, it gets just too fucking much and I really just wanna give up…then I mind fuck myself into thinking there’s a grander purpose to my existence and really knowing there isn’t but living the illusion is all I can do because the alternative is would too hurtful to my family, because in some bizarre way they see something about me that I don’t…so for their sake I wake tomorrow and endure the torture until I don’t or can’t whatever comes first. I know it’s a bit dark but I’m tired and there haven’t many that have lived the life I have and review the memories I do on a repeat reel of “Barbi, this is your life”.

I stepped back from writing because I felt it only brought out the dark in my mind.  Maybe it does, maybe that’s all that is there.  I don’t know.  I don’t know much at all, but this life is tiring and my mind is hanging by a thread.  Fearful of a nights sleep, fearful of all the thoughts that can creep in and destroy any happy left.  This is my life.  It’s fucked.  Totally fucked.

When I wake tomorrow and shake the sleep from the brain, I’ll realize its just another day in a prison I can’t escape, never moving passed what I hoped I could.  Because there is something underlying in my psyche that is preventing me from moving forward.  What the hell it is, I have no idea, but I’m getting angry.  More than angry, just plain pissed off and would like to strangle the life out of my parents [they are dead, no worries] and ask them, “what the hell were you thinking???”  “You shouldn’t have been parents in any sense of the word”

Today, I’ve given up, and allowing whatever the Universe has planned for me, well, let’s do it.  Not gonna lie, I’m scared shitless.  I’ve been scared shitless since I took this new job, in this new field, in this unpolished skill that I’m quite sure that I may fail in…what the fuck was I thinking???  Thoughts of grandeur, thoughts of security, thoughts of paying off student loans that haven’t done shit in my life but grow double in size.  Yes, scared shitless, I am.

Having trust in moving forward is tough, here’s the deal.  I get paid when I work with clients.  I work within Autistic Services with Easterseals.  However, no clients, no $$$.  Leaving a reasonable steady job, taking the risk, throwing out stability.  Granted, I wasn’t making squat, but I at least I knew what tomorrow would be, at this moment, I’m in daze of unknown.  Again, what the fuck was I thinking????

I was thinking that I needed more in this life.  To do some good, to make a difference and to pay back my success of making it this far without completely fucking everything up.  So here I write to an abyss of names and faces that I’ll probably never meet in hopes that someone reading this will have a direct connection to the Universe transport my cries of help directly to it.

Being home and doing the grandma thing is awesome, but it doesn’t pay, and I need to work.  Yes, being employed is good mostly because I like to pay my bills and eat.  Weird concept, right?  Anyway, if we could make it, I would stay home, take care of the things that need done, watch the grandkids and just be me.  In reality, it’s who I am and pretty much the only thing I’m good at doing 100%

My plea to the Universe, please let my ‘happy’ shine, find the passion that is buried deep in my psyche remove the worry and fear of failing and allow it awaken and soar.  Help me be and do me for whatever I was intended to do in this life.  Living in this earthy purgatory has become overwhelming.  Lift the veil, I’m ready.

The struggle that never ends…

Hello world, how ya doing today?

Today boys and girls, since my absence to the blog world has been unintentional due to life being sooooo busy and I like only to write in private.  My husband has been home for days and his presence interferes into my writing mojo.  Anywho…today we talk about life and the software that shapes us as humans.

Getting right into it.  I was born fat, have always been fat.  I have been called every fat name in the book that anyone can thing of, and that was by my family.  So you’re looking at the pictures above, right? Well, that’s pretty much as fat as I ever got, exception of being pregnant of course and yet, never too fat by some standards that aren’t my own.

My weight has shaped my life.  Every decision, every thought [the first one each morning: have a lost any today?] Crazy right?  I wake up and measure my half and half in my coffee, I watch each carb, etc.  Oh yeah, I mention the carb thing.  I’ve been doing Keto for over a year and have lost about 30lbs in the year time.  However, in the past 2 weeks, I’ve gained 5lbs.  Not sure how and why.

I can’t tell you how this is shaping my self-confidence at the moment.  I can’t tell you how much this fucks with my head.  My weight SHOULD not fuck with me this much.  Yet, it does.  I run roughly 15 miles a week, do weights and yet, the fat in me survives.  What the fuck?

I literally can’t stand to look at myself.  Now the people around me, tell me all the positive stuff anyone would love to hear.  Nope, I don’t listen, not in the slightest.  In my head, I just repeat the mantra of whatever.  Do I stop eating, nope.  It’s not as if I like food either.  It’s a bittersweet relationship, I like it, but I don’t at the same time.  An enemy of sorts, that I need to maintain to stay alive.  It’s fucked.

So you are thinking, as I’ve heard from my mental husband, I have body dysmorphic issues.  Oh you’re probably right, but I think I’m in love with being mental.  Hello, one sick puppy here, with no cure.

From morning to night it is my focus.  What will I eat here or there?  Racing to the scale each morning after I pee, throwing off my clothes to see how much I’ve lost.  Or after pooping, I undress and weigh myself again, and call it a victory if a couple of ounces come off.

I’ve had every test run on my body.  No thyroid issues, no diabetes, nope nothing.  I purchased a body metric scale, a food scale, etc.  A Keto diet has been the only success story that hasn’t involved drugs [teenage years and speed, a whole other story] starving or intense exercise.  I feel great, yet my mind is still fucked up.

I’ve never written about these issues.  I really wish I could be like others and just accept myself for what I was planted and built to be, but I don’t seem to be able to get out of my own head to manage this feat.

I often wonder if I hadn’t taken care of myself like I’ve had for over 50 years, what would I have been like.  Would I have been one of those 600lb people or would my absence of thinking about my weight issue gained me a thin perspective on life [thank you family for my body awareness issues…oh gawwwdddd]

No idea, because my awareness of my body began as a 3-4 year old little girl sitting on the toilet looking into a mirror and counting my belly roll fat.  That’s an image I cannot forget, ever!  Since then, I hid my body, no skin ever, no swimsuits, no tank tops, as long as I couldn’t see the rolls they didn’t exist.

See the picture of me on the right.  It took a lot to get there, and it’s going to take much more to grow out of this mindset and software conditioning.  But first, those 5 pounds…I’m not lying, I have issues.

https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/related-illnesses/other-related-conditions/body-dysmorphic-disorder-bdd#

This is so much fun

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down ~Chumbawamba~

Pretty much what we all experience one or more times in our lives.  If you haven’t had hardship, well, I call bullshit.  Or your definition of hardship is well a lot different from mine or anyone else’s.  Whatever the case, there isn’t a doubt that even the most positive person has suffered life blows moments and had to stand up, brush off their tushy and move forward once again.

Life isn’t a series of just good things.  It’s a series of shit happens and it happens often.  Without all that shit, we wouldn’t appreciate the good stuff.  Even in my darkest moments, I can see the light.  Probably one of the factors built-in me of not doing myself in earlier.  Not that I haven’t tried, seems as if I have a guardian angel or something, if you believe in the horse snot, snatched me up at the last-minute.  Whoa, what the hell are you doing, I’d shout, let me die! Nope, I was forced to survive.

I’ve attempted suicide more than once, even simple as playing chicken with cars as a younger person.  Yep that was me heading for you, and you swerved, should have hit me, but the selfish person you are, you swerved and missed me, just so you wouldn’t get hurt.  Ha! See what I did there? Seriously though, life has its moments and surviving isn’t one to sneeze away.

You see, surviving doesn’t take much effort.  All you really need to do is not do anything.  Yep, pretty much.  Look at all that claim to fame you can have just for doing nothing.  I ‘survived’ cancer twice.  I didn’t fight, I didn’t do shit.  I just let them poke, cut, and radiate my body until it was done.  I wept in silence, because yeah, it did hurt.  I was lonely because people were worried that the chemicals from chemotherapy would leach from my body and poison them.  Even better, cancer is contagious.  Didn’t you know????

Anyway, I was left alone to survive.  There ya go.  Thank you to all and your bizarre reasoning to left me to be lonely while I ‘survived’ through cancer.  Guess you were doing me a favor.  Because I did absolutely nothing, and here I am, spoiler, I survived!

Now you see my reasoning behind not being a supporter of surviving.  I can remember comments like, “you got this, you’re a survivor, you’re a fighter”, um okay….What am I fighting and what am I surviving?  No, I’m a warrior you mother fucker.  I’ve been to war and back.  I did not fight cancer, it fought me.  It took my way of living and it fucked it all up.  I didn’t survive cancer, I ran the fuck away from it, placing obstacles in its way so it will never find me again [7-years out from BC, 5-years out OC]

I did absolutely nothing to survive a horrific childhood, poor decisions, etc.  I’m not a survivor, I’m a doer.  Surviving doesn’t take effort, its mediocrity at it’s best.  When people ask if I’m a survivor and then say ‘woo hoo’ , I look at them plainly and say, “ahem, what choice did I have?”  I either let it eat me alive or do nothing and let the doctors experiment on me.  Either way, it was a death sentence.  So I chose the lesser of two evils.

Ha! Yeah…evils.  Or are they? Someday, we’ll replace that word survivor with warrior, or maybe realize, it’s just life.  Simply as Chumbawamba states, “I get knocked down, and I get back up again.  A mentality that will never let you down.  I love Bozo!

.   

Even in my darkest hour, and lately it’s been pretty dark, I’ve picked my ass up and did nothing but move forward and will continue to fight the darkness, seeking light, happiness and joy and as any person with depression can only hope to do.  There is no cure for the darkness, embracing it seems to be the only option.  We need the dark to enjoy the light and vice versa, its seems cliché’ and I agree, I’d like to punch people in the face when they use those kind of metaphors on me.  Yet, deep inside, I know the truth, and each day the warrior in me will continue my journey, training, gaining skills and tools, honing the ability and strength to one day cross-over to the real battle, no longer just a survivor, but now, a badass warrior!

If I could lay my brains out on a table…

Maybe, just maybe someone could make sense of the nonsense I call a brain.  There isn’t any logical explanation why I continue to choose or do poorly.  My motivation to fail is outstanding.  It shines brighter than the moon.  When I need to succeed, well, fail stands right up and states, Fuck you, there is no way in your lifetime you will succeed.  Fail flashes me a peace sign and giggles, “bye, Felicia”.

Laying my brain out, unfolding the worm like tissues, untangling the meshuga that transmits thought and possibly putting it all back together then maybe, just maybe, I can after 54 years succeed at something else but failing.

I’m educated, street smart, but for the life of me, when I’m called upon to answer a question, this brain of mine goes completely dark.  Not just a little forgetful, no darker than dark like I never had the information in the first place.  Then suddenly, boom, it returns after I leave the building.  Then failure says, “there, there, you can always try again” with that laugh that you know is pure bullshit.

As I see it and probably appears to others, I am the epitome of fail, find the word ‘fail’ and you will see my face.  Or at very least my brain.  I’m sure its been hardwired to fail, I can’t imagine for any other reason or cause, the path to succeed escapes me completely.

Today, in my heart of hearts I wanted this job.  I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to move forward from the present employment of which is not doing any good for anyone.  I bombed it, brought in my self-destructive personality and bombed it.  The true me, the funny, smart and playful me, hid inside like a turtle, scared to death to show itself.  So today, I’m giving up.  For all I care a bus can hit me tomorrow and end this bullshit.  I’m so over being broke, tired and forgotten.  So over it.

It’s groundhog day everyday in my head.  A labyrinth of failing of which is my only success.  ‘If only’s’ are my only comfort.  Nonsense remarks from others, “oh you’ll do better next time”, “you’re being to hard on yourself”, etc, etc, you all have heard it before.

I write this in hopes that others can know they aren’t alone, not just a forum to bitch and complain, but to see the darkness lies in us all.  I hide it pretty well, which to many may seem that I’m not as unhappy as I state and maybe I’m just a whiny bitch.   People find it hard to believe when I confide in them about my forever state of unhappiness.  It’s not as if I don’t know happiness, I do know happiness and it is a fleeting moment, now and then, never staying for long, just long enough for me to have a taste of what it is like.  Then its gone as quickly as it arrives.

Those moments of giving birth, the giggle of my children.  The playfulness of a kitten or puppy.  The proud moment when your child is more than just a little awesome.  But never a moment where the internal happiness rises from my inner core and says, “hello” do I get to experience it.

I continue to write and allow the process maybe to find its way to happiness, thinking that possibly if I allow all the dark to spew from my brain and physical being so I can lock the door and it can’t return.  Allowing all the darkness to flow into the pages of the internet, trapping it forever, then maybe at some point, at any point, I can say, “bye Felicia”, just maybe.  There, at that moment, I can call a success and push failure to the curb.

 

 

False start, 1, 2, 3 and counting

I truly believe we all start something with the full intent of finishing.  NOT! I start, knowing very well that I won’t finish or at the very least I will fuck it all up.  Yep, pretty much, so when I do finish anything, oh shit-cow, I’m totally surprised.  Imagining myself running down the street naked screaming a declaration of completion with a side course of “really, I’m amazed too, quit looking a my nipples”.

Everyday brings about new prospects.  Prospects you say.  Yes, what omens/signs/nudges will the universe push me towards that will bring some success.  Because you all know it’s worked wonders thus far, right?  Yet, getting out of this mode of thinking is difficult if not downright impossible.

It’s an undeniable, insatiable ability to have faith in hope.  Kinda counter-intuitive to us less than intelligent type. Well, I need to work on that today.  Another piece of not-so-good news has landed before us again, financial of course, we take it up the ass.

Let me tell you a story of girl who has done nothing but make bad decisions from the moment of conception.

1. Choosing the wrong set of parents, they didn’t want me or love me and lied to me daily
2. Choosing the wrong body to be born into and endure the criticism of anyone who thought their 2 fucking cents mattered on the subject of my chubster rolls.
3. Being verbally, physically, emotionally abused for years that I’ve literally lost count.
4. Years of being on my own and attempting to survive, it hurts…
5. Choosing every abusive boyfriend, it was like I was a magnet.
6. Married Mr. Wrong, [caveat of this one, 2 wonderful child I do not regret]
7. Married again for the wrong reasons, but don’t regret it [caveat, I grew as a person]
8. Returning to college
9. Student Loans, don’t do it, it’s a real-time ghost that never goes away.
10. 2 weeks after graduation in 2010 with a master’s degree in science, Human Services, my youngest and only daughter gets married, leaves for North Carolina and I’m diagnosed with cancer.  Triple negative HER BC.
11. Nearly died from chemo, a little dramatic, but I’m damn sure death would have been less painful, ya think?
12. Radiation for 33 rounds, still paying for that physiologically
13. Could not find work because who wants to hire a bald person with cancer?
14. A year and half later I found cancer again, Lucy was hiding in my ovaries this time, bitch.
15. Chemo again, this time, I did die, inside many times, part of me has not been reborn, good parts died, wish I had.
16. Still no work in my field, now its been 3 years, student loans mounting
17. Employer doesn’t want to take another chance in my cancer returning, letting me go by setting me up [yes, I have proof, but no will to move forward]
18. Finally finding work in my field sort of, liking it but working with a bully who has chosen me to be their bitch.  For now…
19. I hate my job a regret it every day, but out of desperation for a paycheck, there’s no way out.
20. Applying for several jobs being turned down, again reinforcing my worthlessness
21. In severe financial distress due to student loans and wondering how are we going to survive any longer at this rate
22. Thankful I have a husband who understands and kinda likes my crazy, even though he’s super judgy.
23. Possible job opportunity ahead, so I spent money we don’t have on a class that could help me with the initial interview.
24. Feeling worthless and not wanting to go forward
25. I’m tired but writing helps
26. 54 and have really nothing to show but a long trail of shit and poor decisions, what a great asset to society I’ve become.

So there now, all that whining is out.  Now welcome to my dark world where with one positive thought, there are five to disprove and squash its benefit.

I do know that others have it worse, others are stronger than I.  I’ve struggled, no hand outs, no winning the damn lottery, no inheritance to fall back on, just surviving, it’s like treading water for indeterminate amount of time with no clear end in sight.

Einstein said, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results”.  Yeah, told ya, I’m not super intelligent, but yet, I have no fucking clue of what to do next.  Jung talked about a shadow…I think my shadow is now who I am, a very dark confused human who can fake life better than most, then walk away and hide.

So how is your day going?

Never leave the house without clean underwear on…

Oh the advice we received as young children, underwear, wear it and be sure its clean.  Socks, what if you lost your shoes?  My personal favorite, “be kind to people and they will be kind to you back”.  The Golden Rule, right…I’m beginning to think its bullshit, same with the underwear idea, clean, yes, on, who fuck cares.

Anyway,

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you

A command based on words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount: “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” The Mosaic law contains a parallel commandment: “Whatever is hurtful to you, do not do to any other person.”  [The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition Copyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.]

I’ve lived that rule, not sure who taught me, but I lived it.  I was pretty respectful to strangers and some people I liked, just kidding, I don’t make friends, friends suck and so does family sometimes.  Its not that I’m not likable, I’m very likable for about 30 seconds or whenever my usefulness runs out.  Yeah, I’m that person.

I’m the default program on your computer, I’m the one that is there when there is no one else, until someone else does come along, yeah back to default mode.  Its sucks, and you ask, “why do it?” Because most of the time, I care too much and I’ll weigh out the alternative.  Guess better to be needed part of the time, than none-of-the-time, and I know what that feels like too.

It’s sort of like this blogging, I don’t do it for likes or comments, I do it to get that ugly bullshit out of my system.  To shout without shouting, to tell someone, anyone my feelings without them landing in my lap the first argument that occurs.  Blogging is my default friend.  It’s always there to listen,  it never comments something back and it always forgets, unless I need the reminder and seek it out myself.

I know some people use it to advertise, or talk about political or societal issues.  Great for them.  Not me, because I can get around myself, I’m always in the way of me, just me…I’ll never move forward because I’m always in the way.  I can’t move past my own shit so to stand for someone else’s shit.  The world could be coming to an end and I’ll be sitting in the corner asking some imaginary listener, “who cares if the world comes to end, who cares if there are people dying,  who cares if I die tomorrow”.  Nobody, that’s who, but I don’t want to give anyone the pleasure of knowing that either.

It’s a strong fact and probably the only time I move around myself, because there are certain people in this world that I care about and will do anything for,  and most of the time it’s not reciprocated.  It’s a truth and I know this.  I’m boring, broke financially, and really no fun to be around, I’m funny but not funny enough to hang with, just convenient and here, always here.  I’m clean underwear and too many times I’m forgotten about, taken for granted, but damn relied on like crazy.

However, not the reason for the darkness today.  I woke up with my internal ‘pissed off switch’ on full blast.  I awoke hating the world, full on knowing that today was going to suck like rotten eggs can clear a room.  It was going to be bad.  My filter was on low and my temper on blast.  Worst part of it all, I had to work.  All I wanted to do was come home hide and write.

I’m a runner and most of the time I can cure these moments of darkness with a morning run.  Beat the fuck out of my body so I don’t have the energy to be pissed off.  It’s a sad case of depression or as I’d like to call it, Depission, it’s a joint venture of the two to really see who can drive me mad faster.  Neither of them win because at the end of the day, we all hurt inside and out.

Well now that I feel like a total pathetic asshole with no purpose with a side of being an idiot for allowing my life to be nothing more than ‘default’ mode, I’ll move on, shoving my piehole with bacon and frozen blueberries.  Go ahead and judge me, it’s better than being ignored completely.

Here’s an idea if you’ve been paying attention.  In our new world of technology its easier than ever to check up on people.  Text, message or do the unthinkable and call and just ask, “how are you?”  Is it that difficult?  I do my best and I do fail a lot, maybe its the reason why I am pushed aside for newer and better friends/people/animals/toys, etc.  You get the drift.

Today I hurt, tomorrow who knows.  Today I cried, tomorrow who knows.  Today, I hid, tomorrow who knows.  Will it ever end?

I see my crying face in the foggy mirrored life I call hell

Smelling my sadness and the dying inside as it swells

The darkness is real should I just give in and accept it all

Or keep fighting it, second, minute, hours, days until I fall

No I keep moving forward for no reason I can explain

Only the hurt as a reminder of the self inflicted disdain

I’m an awful creature, this must be true

For I’m tossed aside, no sooner than my empty worth shines through

Never leave the house without clean underwear on

You’ll never know when you’ll be called back and you’re work is done.

 

 

 

 

Life happens with the best of intentions* Deal with it.

I’m old, it’s a fact.  A 54-year-old woman, no longer in my party days or wish to be in.  Yet, let me take in less than 5 hours sleep and, Oh yeah, I have a hangover.  A crazy, “who in fuck spiked my drink?” hangover!  Disclosure: I’ve had my share of partying days.  Waking up in places I had no idea how or where I was, and pretty much, “what the hell happened last night?”, rolling around in my head.  Not to say, that wearing a smirk of well I’ve survived one more day, and wow, let’s do this again giggle.

I was pretty much a person who loved to laugh, play and have a good time.  Having parentals who had no involvement in the so-called ‘raising’ of me,  I was pretty much forced into being raised with the wolves of the party world.  Funny, isn’t much surprise that I’m now a dark person inside, sad and dark with thoughts of “how in the hell do I get out of here”.

I realized the other day, I don’t laugh much anymore, nothing is really amuses me anymore…its odd, yet normal.  Anyway, factor in the lack of sleep and you have this mess of garble that some call writing, or self-expression, or some kind of bullshit that isn’t relevant to anything in life.  Or is it?

Disclosure:  I’m a 2x survivor and its a great possibility that I’ll get sick again.  What they term is Triple Negative HER breast cancer, is code for, you suck and you will get it again because I like to roam around your body for a weak spot so that I can eat and screw you up all over again.  Yes, yes it did, in the form of ovarian cancer.  Five years ago now a survivor, a survivor to what?  It’s all bullshit.

I maintained life minimally, I barely did the function of surviving.  I truly wanted to die.  Chemo is just another form of torture.  We should use it as an interrogation tool, slowly dying from the inside out will surely get anyone to talk.  Pushing the poison through veins with the encouragement from others, “you’re so strong”, “I couldn’t do what you’re doing”.  What the fuck am I doing, it’s what is being done to me.  Geez, people are dumb.  How about this one, bald, looking like a man, once having gorgeous skin and hair and still light in my eyes [gone now] and people telling me, “you look great”.  I’m being injected with a poison that could kill, and I look great??  What the fuck, I’m not from the planet Krypton with some super human powers to ward off chemo.  If I had, then the cancer wouldn’t have invaded me in the first place.

I digress, sleep deprivation does this, I will long for my bed tonight after work, after an episode or two of my boys, Sam and Dean [Supernatural], if you haven’t watched it, well, you have 13 episodes to catch up on.  This is me and my husband’s quality time, and we enjoy it. Stop judging me asshole.

Speaking of that we don’t travel, we don’t go to the movies, we do life in our home.  Maybe because we are broke as all hell due to student loans sucking the holy fuck out us.  Yeah, another faction of what cancer does to the receiver.  It makes you broke as fuck.  Two weeks after my graduation with a masters, I was diagnosed the first time, it took me 4 years to find another job after the current employer *cough, cough* CVS decided to let me go because I was a risk, cancer does that after the second time.  They’ll deny the fact but I have it on great authority that I was let go due to cancer and they’d rather not take the 3rd chance on me taking time off to let me heal or die a little more.

The best and most lovingly sweet part of cancer, people ditching you because they feel that chemo is contagious, or was that cancer, or was that both.  Granted I was a walking talking nuclear plant, emitting radiation everywhere, right, isn’t that a fact?  Dumbasses, read a book about cancer and treatments, educate yourselves before rejecting people at their lowest point. Gahhhhhh

Anyway, as you see this post is everywhere, this is where my mind has become unfiltered and the damage is leaking through in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, gotta be a unicorn around here somewhere.  This is who’d I’d like to be, I enjoy being a little demented, but as life would have it, bits and pieces of me have fallen off because after years of, “act like a lady”, “that’s so inappropriate” and the sideways glances of those who are dream killers, and bullies because their lives are full of bullshit and fake flowers, doesn’t mean they need to take it out on me.

However, in some bizarre way, it affected me and I have been conditioned to a darker degree of cynicism.  I’ve lost the playful side, the drive to move forward, the trickster, the joker, the fun part of me died because I’ve had to alter in order to fit in.  Where the fuck did I get that idea?  And why the fuck did I go along with it?  The ‘back in the day’ Barbi would not have let it happen.  Was it the cancer?  Was it that I’m just fucking tired of fighting life and all its problems, especially the financial ones.  If anyone tells me one more time that money won’t make me happy, well bitch, give me your money and let me see it for myself.  I don’t mind being a test subject.  Another Gahhhh for the stupid things people say.

Its going to be a long day, and I know it.  No trying to be positive or upbeat about it, no attempting to self-talk some bullshit that really irrelevant to an unfiltered mind such as mine.  If anyone could hear the thoughts at any given time, you’d be amazed at my self-control.  I don’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings.  Truly, so I believe in keeping silent until the urge of wanting to take out my verbal stupid stick and beat the shit of idiot who really didn’t think before talking passes.  Self control at its best, right her folks.

We all have room to grow and I have plenty.  I feel sorry for my kids, I did so hard to maintain, but I know deep inside, they knew I was losing it each day.  Yet, despite my fucked up parenting skills, or possibly my husband being a better parent than I suspected [because of course, I knew everything, and controlled the universe, right?] and picked up the slack without saying a word, but in his own silent way was hating me to a degree of which was overflowing and sucking love out of the equation.

It wasn’t until the C-word occurred that I saw how damaged I was and my world became so much more clear and how he’d been covering for me for years.

With that, I end my rant due to sleep deprivation and unfiltered intents to mitigate  in the world of chaos with the lack of self-control.  Figure that one out.

*this post is unedited and unfiltered to some degree due to being drunk to to lack of sleep.

Check please! Where is the exit?

Week 2 has started on the Art and Soul Reloaded self-workshop created by Pam Grout and I’m already behind.  Time seems to slip from faster each day.  My energy is zapped and thoughts of just quitting life creeps up on me without worrying if I hear its footsteps or not.  Quitting is very attractive and luring,  it’s no longer coy about its intentions.

Starting a new journey isn’t easy.  Oh you know the whole every journey of a thousand steps starts with the first step which is the hardest, it goes something like that, I think.  Anyway, I not only started one, but I started two.  With great hopes this is the direction of which I should be taking in this life.  What is the second journey you ask?  Or did you, or was that my Cory stepping in again.  Well, let’s appease everyone.  I started a 40 training class for a possible job of which I have an interview for on the 17th.

It’s not as if I’m not educated and qualified, but even the most educated need some extra training right.  It only took me 4 days in which to decide whether or not to spend the $99.00 on the class.  Yep, that’s me, very very confused at the moment.

This is what the world of a depressed person deals with daily.  No one has a clue, I smile, seem self-confident, quite funny if I say so myself.  Yet, as each year goes by, I become quieter and quieter.  My energy, will, motivation, how ever you’d like to term it, is waning.  Maybe because I’m getting older and my ‘giving zero fuck’s’ list is growing more and more each day.  Who knows, but it’s getting darker in here and I’m beginning to like it.

In being confused when anyone attempts to discuss a situation or decision that has taken you a quite bit of time to be comfortable with, tries to discuss the positive or negative side of it, when you’re barely hanging on to the idea of the decision, well, it knocks you on your ass.  Yes, I have a decision bully around me all the time.  Not encouraging, unless this person believes it’s the best for me, or them, or somebody else who isn’t me and doesn’t have my issues.  When they start talking, I search for the exit, breathe deep and sigh as a hint to shut the fuck up and leave me alone or I just may jump into that nice warm comfy dark abyss inside my mind.

Challenging someone like me is like bleeding around a shark.  I will attack and I will flee after the attack.  You poked me, tempted me, now leave me the fuck or alone or I will eat you.  I forgive those who don’t know me, or if it’s in a work situation.  Yet, those who know me, well, you must be a glutton for punishment.  Or maybe, you just like being a decision bully, dream killer.  You may call it being a devil’s advocate, I call it being an asshole.

So today, I go forward, holding my head up high, trying to figure out where the next ‘step’ is going to be and how painful will it be when I take it.  I can tell you one of the steps is going to be in role-playing.  It’s not something I can do or want to do.  Ask me to pretend a grown-ass adult is a child…yeah, how is this even relevant and productive.  Its not, nor can it be and I believe a lot of good people may have been turned away due to a poor role-playing interviewing attempts.  Some people are just better at hands on operations, not fake playing.  If I could fake-play, I’d become an actor and laugh all the time.

Can I have the check now, and where is the exit? Thank you.

Week 1 Day 5 Reloaded

I’d like to believe that this 52 week course will reload my creativity to its full potential.  Maybe not, or maybe yes.  Whatever the case, I can tell you other areas of my life are expanding considerably.  Opportunity is occurring and whether or not it’s happening due to me opening up to accepting help, well, all I can say, I’m ready.

I’m supposed to come up with 3 ideas a day, well, it appears, its only occurring every other day.  Making time for just myself and my ideas is a tough one.  Yet, I try, and at least its every other day, rather than zero days, right?

1. Let’s make a ‘work’ culture where the employer appreciates their employees, where the atmosphere of a happy employee is a productive employee.  Does this even exist?
2. How about let’s take bullies and let them bully each other, especially work bullies, those who attempt to intimidate and have the ‘hall monitor’ attitude, where they feel the need to ‘nark’, ‘tattle-tale’ on everyone.
3. Let’s start paying people what they are worth, rather than paying them an assumed fair standard because their seniority in the position.  Because, I don’t know about you, but hell, I’m not sure how some people stay so long in a job and aren’t even doing the job?

So those are my bitchy suggestions for the day.  I do have a lot to say today, but its dark and disturbing, and I believe Cory [if you don’t know who Cory is, read my first blog] is really trying my patience right now.  My mind is all over the place, many decisions need to be made and really no one to discuss them with…anyone who doesn’t have a negative spin on it, I should say.

My depression is fighting me this week.  Think of it as treading water 24 hours straight, no break, no breather, just treading, in one place, knowing if you stop, you will drown into the darkness.  So today, 3 days into the darkness, I keep going, an no one has a clue.

Practice my dear friends and readers, practice.

The Darkness of Depression*

It’s real, not a phantom condition.  It hurts, it bites and it can destroy all that is good in a person.  It sneaks up in the most ridiculous time and place, in a fashion of which you can’t ignore.  It appears in the mirror it finds us no matter where you are or where you go.  There is no absolute way to ignore it.  You wear it like your favorite clothing, you allow it in and treat it as a friend.  Because most of your life you’ve not ever known a time that you have had not it snuggling with you by your side.

At times, its worth dying for so to stop the pain and tears from suddenly erupting for no reason.  It can create paranoia, it can create a dark, dark world that you want to escape, by any means, it doesn’t matter, just release me from its grip.  It may go away for a bit and you think what did I do differently?  You scour your brain, was it a vitamin, food, what the fuck did I do different, this feels so good.  Then without warning its back, without cause or reason, it’s here and its real.

Depression, is real.  It’s not caused by a zero bank account, of course, this doesn’t help.  Its not caused by a broken relationship, a dying parent or even poochy taking the downward slide to never-never land.  What causes depression?  Well, I could get all educated here, but it’s not the reason for me writing on it.  More, that it’s a realization that I’m tired of the fight,  it or should I say, I’m getting weary of fighting it.  Grasping for tools and the skill to fight back.  I wake up with positive thoughts, or attempt them anyway, and with no avail, it creeps in my brain like a dark fog and tells me that, “I’m the most fucked up person in the universe”.  Do I believe it, if I said no, would you believe me?  No and yes, I do, because the educated part of my brain knows what depression is and mostly why it exists in me.  The vulnerable abused, sad little human on the other side, embraces it because it’s validating what I really feel about myself.

At the age of 12, I attempted suicide.  Standing over the sink with a razor blade in hand, starting the first cut on my wrist, my sister walked in on me.  Shouting, what are you doing???  Normally, we didn’t walk in on each other in the bathroom, I guess by leaving the door unlocked, that small part of my brain, the super tiny insignificant part of my psyche of which I call hope, reached out for help.  It snuck past the dark fog of depression and hopelessness to shine a bit of, “I hope someone finds me before I go through with this” mojo.  She did and well, spoiler alert, I’m here aren’t I.

This was the first of several attempts to end my existence.  I think when I finally stopped searching for a creative way to end it all was when I met my first husband.  He gave me hope and two amazing kids.  My life changed after my first child.  For them I gave up much of my dreams, in return, they are the reason I got out of bed every morning, they are the sole cause for me in moving forward.

I wasn’t the best mom, I know that, and who says they are, well, you’re full of shit.  We manage, we adjust to the child’s personality, we draw the picture in which the child is the canvas.  We do our best with the tools and skills we’ve been given.  Stop judging, you aren’t any better, I’ve learned this and believe it.

Even though life has not been easy, it has been easier to fight the darkness.  It’s as if the educated part of my brain has been working out, all buffed out with muscles and such,  and now it can beat down the darkness, but it takes a bit of effort.

When I go quiet and disappear, call in sick, cancel appointments and hide.  It’s because my brain is having quite the battle.  It’s fighting and even the simple act of talking steals the momentum of fighting the dark.

It’s dark in here, in the mind of a depressed person, or as one therapist said, I was manically depressed.  I don’t believe I am manic, depressed yes, manic no.  If he had lived the life I was dumped into, he’d be depressed too.  I fight, every day, every moment every thought is a challenge.  I have no strength at times to follow any dream because the voice of worthlessness squelched the voice of passion and motivation a long time ago.  Zapping my strength in moving forward.  It steals every ounce of desire to be more than I am, it’s a wonder I’m still here.

So when a depressed person expresses their sadness, or attempts to share their darkness, keep in mind, they are screaming for help.  Please don’t assume you know the darkness if you’ve not experienced it.  Please don’t assume that we can control it, some of us are just better at hiding it.  I was the comedian, I made jokes, I teased, I thought laughter could cure my darkness.  It helps, true, but no, the battle continues.  Listen to them, watch for destructive dark clues, watch for that small glimmer of hope that they hope you can see and discover.

At the ripe age of 54, [I often said I would not live pass 34] I’ve fought battles that some were self-imposed and others, not so much.  I’ve fought battles with blood that was shed but invisible to others.  Think you can run from cancer and not be depressed, what fuck do think made it grow, happy thoughts? Nope, the darkness found a weakness and made a strong attempt to fulfill my wishes to die.  Another spoiler alert.  Sucks right?

This started way before I was born, my mother tried to abide by my wishes, coat hanger and all, another spoiler alert, I made it, again, again and again.  I’m like a bad penny always showing up, again, again, again.  My will and desire are adversaries to say the least, the hidden agenda to my existence is a cry for help not to die.  Dying is the reaction one is seeking to stop the pain.  Because really depression is very painful, for us and everyone around us.  It will stab and poke us until we eventually go mad.

Many think that my habitual ‘no filter’ is an act or possibly intentional.  Not really, more that when things do fly out of my mouth, it’s because there is a lack of control in keeping it in.  At at that moment, the fight is becoming brutal and bloody inside my head.  Not an excuse, a factoid to the Barbi-brain.

We all are different in how we deal.  I don’t believe in medication nor will I get to that point.  I believe there needs to be some sort of battle, eventually, it will end and if anyone else can gain from my experiences, well, it will be worth it.  How it ends, I have no fucking clue, but living through it, well, I’ve been doing that for a bit or two, so I must have some sort of clue.  Yet, I look into the mirror and all I see is this old person, and the sadness of knowing I never took the time to see the young person I used to be.

I’m not crying for help, mostly offering some insight to the depressed brain and to myself.  I get treated poorly at times because I become a ghost, even to myself in many situations.  I’d rather be alone, but want to know I matter as well.  Fucked up thinking right there.  I see people who don’t deserve the attention they get, while I sit here and wonder how much more can I give to get some appreciation.  Am I that much of an asshole that I deserve all this shade?

No, I’m not, this is on you.  Remember that.  The way I deal with other’s shittiness is my problem but if the shittiness didn’t exist, then coping with it would be much less of a problem.

In all, I care too much, too empathetic and some know that, and feed off it.  So be it.  Until the end, I will fight and these blog posts will offer some insight to the dysfunctional fucked up brain of a human named Barbi.  Onward I go and forward I will fall, again, again and again, until I learn to climb.  I’m Barbi, a study of one.

*the post is in its raw form, editing minimally so keep your judgements to yourself, I can fill in the blanks myself.