Let's have a rant-tastic time

Today's subject: Who I hate
(And when I say 'hate' I mean hate versus abhor, abominate, loathe, detest and despise)

I hate:
-my father for being lazy, selfish, impatient and (in general) a completely nosy bastard
-my sister for being the most self-obsessed person in the world who think she is better than everyone else. Also for alienating everyone in my family to the point where they hate her, therefore somehow confirming in her head that she is better than everyone.
-most of my high school friends for not caring what has been going on in my life, or not caring to know.
-those people who show up class completely prepared and who ask the DUMBEST questions about every little detail of an assignment.
-people who ask hypothetical questions in a history class.
-my close cousin/semi-mother Sarah for being completely spineless when it comes to her manipulative and increasingly crazy sister.
-most people for breathing the same air as me.
-and...well, everyone!

There! I have done my bit of ranting for the day. I feel slightly better, but not really since I still have a massive sinus infection, JRA and depression.

Don't let me get me

I'm my own worst enemy

Once more November has rolled around I feel beyond exhausted; time is never enough, the sun sets too fast, sleep does not restore or refresh.
I'm falling behind in my schoolwork and it seems as if I'll never catch up again. Miss a class here and there - the van wouldn't start, appointment with a rheumatologist I've been waiting seven months for - and I somehow missed it all. What the hell has happened to me?

Standing Still: Irony of All Ironies

This is my life, good to the last drop...

Today in my Western Civilization class, I was lectured on the formation of towns and the weakening of the feudal system in Europe. Total deja vu!
I opened my old Michigan folder on my computer...(much to my regret)
EXACTLY one year ago, in my Medieval Europe class I was taking note on this SAME EXACT TOPIC!

HOLY SHIT! I'm am literally EXACTLY where I was last year!!! (Academically speaking)
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I want shoes... and B-Den

And my favorite TV show is...

Gabe Saporta and Ryan Ross...
Perfection!

Like Jared Leto said "this is the story of my life"

I know, it's been a while since I've blogged...
Yesterday I was thinking about my search for a adequate counselor/psychiatrist and how much time has been wasted going over the same things with people who claim a different approach but really do the same things everyone else in their field does. It is ironic and completely lame. I have filled out worksheet after worksheet asking about my family history, hobbies/habits, and reasons for seeking mental help... Of course every damn time I go in for a session I have "walk through" the worksheet with the counselor. AHHH!
Yes, I have a family history of mental issues.
No, I am not in a relationship and I am not sexually active. (Not by choice...)
Yes, I get along with my mum just fine.
Yes, I am fine just having a superficial relationship with my father.
No, my sister and I haven't always gotten along. We are in the process of fixing that.
Yes, I have hurt myself. I am a cutter. What are you going to do about it? Nothing? I thought so...
YES I've thought about suicide. Unfortunately my plan was thwarted when all the "fun" prescriptions were thrown out.
NO I don't think my current medication is working all that well.
NO I am not dealing with my deteriorating health...at all.

Usually by the time we get through the worksheet my hour is up and I have already decided to never see that particular asshat ever again. Thanks for wasting my time.
I suppose the thing I liked about Alice, my counselor from the University of Michigan, was that we started with the present. I described my current feelings and situation and we worked backwards a little for context. No going through some worksheet line by line (even though I filled one out in the waiting room). It's a little hard to discuss the past when you can't get beyond the present. It seems to me that I might have a better initial attitude if the session didn't begin with a review of my medical/mental/family history; I'd be willing to wait an extra 10 minutes if it meant someone could go through my file BEFORE my session began.
That, however, would be too logical. Too perfect.

Pssssh...and I'm supposed to be the crazy one.

Here I am once more...

... in the wee hours of the morn at a new emotional low.
In less than 10 hours my mum and dad are leaving once more for Seattle so he can receive his stem cell transplant. Whenever the subject of leaving comes up, my mum's eyes tear up and she says in an unconvincingly brave voice that she "won't cry." I finally asked her what exactly she was so worried about; Seattle is only on the other side of the state, and it's not like the move is permanent. Her reply came down to this: she is scared to leave me here alone. She wishes I had someone here with me, she wishes our relatives would for once be as dependable as she has always been for them. I somehow think she knows that despite seeing a counselor and being on meds I really am not making progress towards mental stability. She's been dealing with depression for most of her life, so she'd know.
This is worse than cutting. This is worse than anything I've ever done.
My father is on the brink of a potentially fatal procedure but it is me who is the object of angst.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Session With Dr. P (Take I)

How did my session with a new psychiatrist go? Interesting...
This particular doctor--from here on to be known as "Dr. Prattle"--is thorough. Very thorough. Dr. Prattle is the type who analyzes every word coming out of a patients mouth. After extensive exploration into my past/present/future, my awkward ability to survey a room and maintain eye contact simultaneously, and (of course) choice of words when answering one of the thousand questions he advanced, he ended our inaugural session with a lengthy summation of what could possibly be my problem and how to advance with medication and counseling.
I've only spent two hours with the man and I hate him already.
Mid-session he proposed that I go off effexor xr and start prozac. NOT happening. Prozac is for housewives, cubical workers and hypochondriacs NOT people like me with drug-resistant depression AND anxiety. I think someone needs to reread his medication literature.
As for my sudden and extreme drop in mood over the past six weeks... It turns out my sleeping pills (prescribed by my not-so-enthusiastic GP) can make depression worse. Worse. Make that two someones who need to reread their medication literature. ACK!
At least I now know I am not as crazy as I thought. (That last sentence was awkward).

For The Concerned Masses......or maybe just for the three or four people actually reading this blog.

Here is an update on my status since my...uh, foray into self-harm.
I am fine. Really. All of this will be sorted out very soon. I see a new psychiatrist on Wednesday and he'll find me proper treatment.

As for my arm...

Moment of Truth

Even though it happened six months ago, I still think about it and felt like sharing.
My sister, Faith, and I have never really had a "great" relationship. Once she hit junior high we went our separate ways. Even now our relationship wouldn't fall under any usual category of sibling relations. We have a lot in common--more than either of us realize at times, I believe--but we are still almost polar opposites. Anyways... Most of the time my sister (unintentionally) rubs me the wrong way once we are together for more than a day or two, so I naturally at times do not look forward to visiting with her.
Last Thanksgiving when I was at the University of Michigan, I flew to DC to spend the holiday with her since it was MUCH cheaper and faster than going home to see the parental units. I was sick the entire week prior to my visit (and still was extremely ill when I went) and I stepped off the plane not really glad to have to spend three days in a strange city with my semi-annoying sister. Then I saw her in the crowd gathered at the security exit with her pea coat and little scarfy and I felt this completely random smile form on my face and, for the first time ever, I was relieved to see my sister.
So despite my mixed feelings toward her, I really do love her.
This revelation to most seems elementary: you have a sibling, you love them. For me, this was something I long awaited.

God, The Devil...and Bob

Okay, so there really is no "bob" in this scenario. I just wanted the title to sound like that short-lived cartoon from back in the day (which was a Wednesday. Ask Dane Cook).

So I have been struggling with an urge to cut myself, but my sense of reason (and a little bit of fear) has allowed me to win the struggle.
Tonight, as I was watching South Park on my computer something totally random just hit me. I got up and took a needle from my mum's all-purpose sewing kit and started looking for some sort of topical numbing agent. I ended up only finding Neosporen plus pain relief and Cortizone10 (used for itch relief). I put both creams on and started to poke away with the needle. Fortunately I am too much of a wimp to repeatedly stab myself. The wrist has too many tendons for this method to work without massive pain.
This was God's grace. His grace that my mum has insisted on keeping dull knives in our kitchen (and that she took the one sharp knife with her to Seattle). It was his grace that I could not find the adequate materials for self-mutilation. Thank you God!
But then the devil put in his two cents. The other day when I was looking for the insurance card and current registration for our van, I noticed a razor blade in the change tray. Pretty odd, right? The devil reminded me of this and without even thinking I went out and retrieved it. My sense of reason, it seems, took a smoke break. I sterilized the blade with Purell (Go OCD!) and started cutting.

So there it is, I am a cutter.



How the hell did I ever get to this point?



I am a cutter.

The Supernatural

Even though my mum thinks the CW television show "Supernatural" is sheer evil, I have watched it and am now addicted. She doesn't know this of course. Granted, the show is about evil spirits, ghosts, demons, etc. but at the core is the struggle of two brothers against the natural (and unnatural) world.
Since my sister and even my friends really aren't all that close to me, I needed to find a different outlet for my confusing/scary emotions. I have chosen this television show. I feel a connection to the character Sam Winchester because he is an intelligent person trying his hardest to fight the evil inside him; I may not be one of the yellow-eyed demon's chosen, but I lead a battle against my OCD, depression and anxiety (example: my last entry). I know this seems entirely irrational to someone outside my situation, but I sometimes watch the episodes and believe that if Sam can keep his moral center against the agents of the devil then I can hold off my self-destruction.

Let's take a moment to survey all of this: What sort of world do we live in when the depressed youth find more comfort in the fictitious realm than in reality? One of the first steps in the treatment of any mental illness is seek help, talk it out with someone. But where has everyone gone?

Am I really crazy?

I've basically accepted the fact that I'm different from most everyone else. My mind rarely settles in one place for long, I am a thinker, an observer, a dreamer. I suppose I could say that I believe a person is only limited by their imagination. I imagine the practical and the impractical on equal terms.
My high school friend Kelsey once said I am probably the most sane person on earth and it is everyone else who dwells in the insane. Sometimes I still believe that. When I think about all the problems in society today it seriously makes me wonder why EVERYONE isn't affected by anxiety or depression. Honestly, theses are bleak times: war, terrorism, uncertainty, the increasing threat of a biological pandemic. If Americans were really paying attention to things, they'd be lining up at the nearest pyschiatrist's office.
In the past month or so, I've had the growing suspicion that I am bi-polar. Sometimes I am perfectly okay, I try my best to handle everything thrown at me and I actually feel like a normal 20-year old. Other times (like right now) I have this strange vibe come over me. Lately I wake up and one of the first things on my mind is self-mutilation. Should I use a knife? One of my mum's rotary cutters?
I've had thoughts like these in the past, but I easily shook them off as completely irrational. Now it seems like no amount of reason can stop them. They lurk at the back of my mind, surfacing whenever I try to settle down.
I am scared. My anti-depressant/anxiety medication is failing me. How long can I hold my thoughts at bay? Even as I type this I consider crossing the living room and getting a knife from the kitchen. What the hell is wrong with me?

The Backstory

I basically have to get all this crap out there just so certain things in future post will (hopefully) make more sense.

On Halloween last year I was officially diagnosed with severe depression (most likely bipolar disorder), social anxiety disorder and OCD. I'm a mess, I know. This was a major contributing factor in my decision to withdraw from the University of Michigan and move back home.
Skipping forward to around New Year's: My dad breaks his arm at work. Doesn't sound too out of the ordinary; my dad works in a pretty hazardous place so things like this happen from time to time. The X-Ray and oodles of tests show that the arm break was a consequence of multiple myleloma. Even since then I have been helping my mum as best I can to care for him.
The thing to pay attention to in the link is the part where it gives an average lifespan of 2 years and only 3% survive past 10 years. My dad will be going to the Fred Hutchinson Center with my mum to receive a stem cell transplant which will hopefully give him 5 years. Beyond that the doctors are hoping the mighty FDA moves their bureaucratic ass fast enough to approve a few drugs that may give my dad life past year 5. This is a long shot.
It took two months for me to figure out that my dad will never be cured. When you're told a loved one has cancer, there is always the reassurance of a cure in your mind, but in this case we were told point-blank that a cure was completely beyond modern medicine.
So my dad might be dead in 5 years. That gives me enough time to graduate from college and perhaps get into grad school. Will I get married in 5 years? Will I even find Mr. Right? I've never been close to my dad, but I've always taken for granted the fact that he would be there to walk me down the aisle, spoil my children and forever treat me like I'm 10 years old.
Quite a backstory, right?

My New Motivator

What has happened to me? In most ways I am still the same person I was a year ago, but now my actions in public are somehow even more self-conscious than before and my actions in private and around family are tinged with apathy, regret and bitterness.
I made two major choices regarding my future and they blew up in my face; neither Pacific University nor the University of Michigan was compatible with me. Instead of recovering from the fall by facing the world again I am taking the easier route by staying close to home. My future it seems is now being determined by fear.
I am used to succeeding at whatever I set out to do, at least that is how things worked in high school. At Pacific I succeeded in classes with only giving a modicum of effort; as far as classes went, that was all I gave at Michigan and I had reasonable academic success. But now fear is telling me to hold back, stay in my comfort zone and wait for things to happen naturally. Somewhere in my heart, I know this feeling will permanently damage my career plans, but my fear has overridden sensibility.
A song by Rooney—“That Girl Has Love’—stirred these feelings to the surface. As I recall, this is song number two which feels strangely familiar to me:
“I don’t know a lot about her
But she, she knew a lot about me
The family seemed to love her, if what they say is true
The friends all shared the good times
Man, that girl has love
That girl has…

I, I didn’t have a clue then
That a kiss would change my whole life again
She walked into my room when I was all alone
She told I would date her from September ‘til December

Chorus: She doesn’t know, things will never be the same again
She’ll always be seventeen
That girl has love

She kept all her pain inside
Now she has got nothing to hide
At such a young age she took her own life
Now she’s seeing things that come in our dreams at night
She’s a dreamer

Chorus

That was too real to ever be fake
That was too strong to ever be forgotten
That girl has love”


Am I a sap or what?