GTFO, please

One month later you texted me and asked how I was. The messaged popped up and I stopped breathing. That’s just how I’ve reacted to your messages for the past couple times. But that last time we talked, that last time when I told you I didn’t want your friendship and you stopped, I really thought it was over. I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. Since then, life has been easier. I don’t think about you as often as I did back then. I don’t wake up and immediately want to cry because you weren’t there to love. Since then, I have stopped thinking about you.

But you obviously haven’t stopped thinking about me. I laugh and laugh and laugh some more. I laugh until I’m almost crying.

Then I focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. It would be SO fucking easy to just message you back and pretend like nothing happened. Like you didn’t tear my world apart. Like you didn’t break my heart into a million pieces. Like you didn’t leave me halfway on the bridge we were both on going towards love. Like you didn’t turn around and say “goodbye” and there I was, standing alone in the rain, alone- like always. It would be SO easy.

It would also mean I’d get to maybe hear your voice. Of course I think about you. Of course you pop up in my mind. But I can’t let it happen again. I won’t. I can’t allow you to weasel yourself back into my life. When it was over, I made a decision that it was over for good. A month later and I still feel the same. I don’t want you in my life. You don’t deserve to be in my life.

And I don’t owe you an explanation for why. It’s what I want. It’s what I decided and you won’t respect it.

So I’ll be on my way. And you should, too. Find yourself a good woman who wants to cook and clean and do everything for you like you want. Find yourself a woman who puts you ahead of herself, because that’s what you want. Find yourself a woman who will lose herself and her values for you, because that’s what you want. Find yourself a woman who sets aside her own dreams and aspirations for you, because that’s what you want. Find yourself that person.

And I’ll find myself a man who is strong enough to love me like you couldn’t.

You selfish, self-centered, son of a bitch. Leave me alone because I won’t stroke your ego like you want me to. You intolerable, mysogonist, dickwad. Go on somewhere and forget me. Try your best.

I’ve found drowning yourself in work helps a lot. Don’t lick your wounds for too long. Just get up and go. Even when your world is grey and dark and rainy. Even when it seems the pain will never end and it feels like I took all your happiness. Even when it feels like no one else will ever fill that void.

Please. Stop messaging me. I can’t do this. Please.

You Are Not Enough

I met you and it was so unexpected how close we became so quickly. You were so flirty and so nice and cute. I wasn’t looking for anything and yet I found you and it was like kissing my whole entire future in one man.

Maybe that’s where it went wrong.

Regardless, I would like to write you this because it’s only looking back at something when you can truly see it (quote by Taylor Swift).

For me it’s by writing it.

So we met and it was amazing. It was instant chemistry, instant attraction, it was lust to the most powerful degree you can imagine.

I was drawn to your charisma, your charm, your warmness. You liked my boldness, my intensity, my fire. I’m not a very hard person to get to know. I’m pretty friendly, but when it comes to closeness, well I’ve never been good at it.
We got to know each other and I found you were so interesting. You were much older than me, much older than I’ve ever dated before. You were patient and kind and loving. I was a storm like always. Dark and changing and intense. That’s who I am. That’s who I always will be no matter how hard I try not to be.

But you see, the thing is, I’m not only tumultuous and rainy and cold. I am also warm and kind and I love so fiercely that sometimes it scares me. Sometimes I feel like my body cannot handle how much I love I have for some people like my best friend or my family members. I don’t know how such a small fracture of self-esteem I have can manage to love someone as much as I usually do, but not be able to love myself with even a tiny bit of that love. I’m complicated. I’m broken and shattered. I have hurt for so long that I can’t even tell you what happiness is or if I’ve ever truly felt it. I’m brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I’m so talented at a lot of things and most people would say I’m intelligent and bright.

But you weren’t most people and you got to know me in a way not a lot of those people do. You had the privilege of loving me for a bit. You could only hold on for a tiny bit of time. You were only able to stand at the edge of the ocean that I am. You dipped one toe in and somehow it wasn’t what you expected, so you retracted and you turned around and hurried back to the safety of the shore. Back to stable ground where my waves could not crash on your unwavering structure of what you called a life. You stepped away from the intensity of my twists and turns and mysteries. You let go of the life-jacket you’d need to be able to handle the depths of the things my soul holds.

You were not enough for me.

But that doesn’t make this heartache any easier. It won’t. Ever. No matter how many times people or my therapist tell me how great or how awesome or whatever the fuck you want to say to me, it will never change the way I feel about myself. I don’t have any love left for myself, probably because I give it all away to undeserving people like you. I give it to people who have no business being anywhere near my ocean waves. I am vast, like the water, so blue and dark and sad. My feelings overpower almost every bit of logic, and it will always be this way for me.

I’m glad you got back to safety quickly. I really am. Although after you did reach the shore and you walked away, the clouds rained down and made the water a little higher. The saltiness added to the bitterness of the water. The rain mixed with all the water, and it made it impossible to even tell what was what anymore.

So you forgot you even tried, but you will never forget. My love is so intense, so unforgettable that you will always remember it until God knows when. And that I do know for sure because I have seen it over and over and over again. It’s not easy to forget that kind of feeling.

I hope you have a nice life. I’m sorry I couldn’t be your friend after this. The thing about friends is that friends is not something I take lightly.

You are not enough to be able to be called my friend. You thought you were hurting me, but you were just hurting the possibility of any type of friendship with me. So goodbye forever, and don’t ever forget that you were not able to hold this overflowing heart of mine. You were not able to, and that’s okay. Because maybe one day someone else will be. 

Playing the Piano!

I did it! I started piano lessons!
It was something I've always, always wanted to do. It's definitely been quite a journey. I am a complete beginner, having never even touched a piano and having to learn music for the first time. I was using children's books for pre-school age children! Haha :) 
But it was no problem for me. I love it so much. I even bought my own keyboard! I call it my "starter piano" because when I get good, I would like a full-size 88-key piano. (I already have one in mind- it's over a thousand dollars D: Help!)

So far I have learned my keys, basic note reading. I have been working on hand placement and posture and sight reading. 

I highly encourage you to go for it! It's never too late! I'm a 21 year old taking a class with 7,8 year olds and I'm proud. 

Cashier on Repeat.

You know how you can repeat a word so many times before it doesn't make sense anymore? I was at my cashier job last night, thinking about that. Thinking about how many times I repeat the same words and phrases everyday but yet they still never sound weird. Maybe it's because they're not one after the other? Either way, here are some of those:

"Hello!"

"Thank you!"

"Would you like your (water, milk, gallon of whatever, detergent, bleach, etc) in a bag?"

"Would you like to add an extended (1-3) service plan to your item for x amount of dollars?"

"Would you like to use this coupon?"

"Have a good (night, day, evening, weekend, holiday)."

"The bathroom is right next to customer service."

"Could I see your receipt, please?"

"The ice machine is next to customer service and there's another one next to the Vision Center."

"You can leave your watermelon in your shopping cart."

"Yes, I already scanned your drink."

"Would you like your (drink, candy bar, candy) left our or in a bag?"

"How many refills of water do you have?"

"How much money would you like to add to your card?"

"Could I see your I.D. please?"

"The pinpad is waiting for your signature whenever you are ready, ma'am/sir."

"Could I have a phone number, please?"

"Your total is .... even."

"Your change is ...."

"Your eggs are with your bread."

"There are (1-4) bags for you."

"There is one more bag over here."

Best Friends & Sisterhood

It's kind of crazy how one minute your life is fine and then all of a sudden your world is thrown off its axis. Yesterday afternoon I was watching a show on Netflix, scrolling through Pinterest, and drinking some iced tea when my phone rang. It was charging next to me so I reached over for it and saw my best friend's picture show up. I frowned because she usually never calls me on Mondays/Tuesday during the day because she's usually at school until late on both these days. I immediately answered, thinking something funny or exciting had happened, and of course just happy about hearing her voice.
The voice wasn't hers.
It was her classmate, telling me that Erika, my best friend for almost a decade, had a seizure at school during a break and they had to call 911 to take her to the hospital. We had met before, and knew we were close friends, so they wanted me to know.
I think I stopped breathing. I think the whole world stopped.
But it didn't. I thought "what a sick twisted joke!" I immediately called her brother, who confirmed the news and told me where to go. All I could (selfishly) think was that she was fine, maybe she had just fainted or something from lack of food, sleep, whatever. I kept saying she's fine, she's fine, because when the person who understands you like no one else on the planet is not okay, then it's suddenly a whole new level of anxiety and worry. I knew she hadn't been feeling the best lately, but it all seemed so unrelated I couldn't even think straight. I figured, it's my best friend- who cares about having to go to work! I would give everything to make sure she's ok.
The one and a half hour drive to Nashville seemed endless. Everyone was going super slow and I couldn't get there fast enough. When I did, and I saw her, laying there on the hospital bed- I saw my best memories- and they all included her and her laughter and her jokes. Her laughing at something stupid I did. Us laughing together at some joke we made. Us pretending to be soap opera stars or managers or shoe salesmen. If you know us, you know we are never quiet. We are always up to something.
To have to see your strong, beautiful, hilarious, full of life life partner on a bed with a ventilator is not something I wish upon my worst enemy.
And so at one point I was so upset I wanted to call her. I reached for my phone and dialed "baeita" because we made so much fun of the way people used "bae" that it became a habit for us to call each other that, too. In the same joke, we made fun of how Hispanic people always add "-ita" or "ito" to names (Example: brendita, erikita) so hence, baeita.
Erika would be so embarrassed I'm telling you this.
Anyway I almost pushed the green call button before I realized what I was doing. But I needed to her tell me a stupid joke. I needed her to laugh and to make fun of something with me. I wanted her to joke about the cute doctors and how messed up her hair was from the neuro tests. I wanted to tell her how utterly silly she looked with all those tubes coming in and out of her body. I wanted to tell her that every time the nurse tried to stick her, I wanted to stick the nurse with my fist. That I wanted them to stop hurting her. I wanted her to call me and answer with "Speak to me" and then I'd laugh and tell her to quit and she'd laugh too and then we'd have a 2 hour conversation before finally I'd say "so the reason why I called..." haha.

But of course I couldn't.
Please pray with me for my best friend

To All the People Who've Helped Me

Once again I'd like to write on a prevailing topic in my life. If you've kept up with my past posts you probably know the reason I started blogging at all was a way of recording my journey towards happiness. Or what I define happiness. 
If you don't know, let me recap:
I was diagnosed with reoccurring major depression with generalized anxiety disorder in September of the year 2015. I started Prozac that same month. It was a tough time in my life. I started psychotherapy in November that same year and stopped it in April 2016. I began meeting with a Christian counselor that same month. I started a combination of Prozac and Wellbutrin in March of 2016 and up until now, it has been my lifeline along with counseling and my close ones. 

Let me start off with saying that it's not until you're looking back at something in your life that you really see it. What I mean by that is that it took all this time for me to be able to look back on my depression and to see it what it really was. I feel like I look back and all I see is darkness. And it was- dark. It was absolutely horrible.
But now, over 8 months later, I was able to look back and see that while yes, it was dark and it was painful and overwhelming, not once did I stop fighting. 
And to me, to someone who is extremely hard on themselves, that is the most amazing thing about this whole process.

To my best friend: You have been there through everything. You have given me unconditional love, support, and an open ear to always listen. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't have gone to the doctor. I wouldn't have continued treatment. I wouldn't have woken up and fought everyday. You are the reason why I did all that, and you helped me when I couldn't help myself. I have no way of thanking you. I truly do not. Every time I look back to that time, all I see is you and you have stuck through literally EVERYTHING I have thrown at you. I truly do not deserve a friend like you. Thank you for sticking with me through the tears, through the days when I didn't call you back, when I didn't speak to you for days. You always called me back and you always listened and let me see Cat when I was feeling down. You got angry with me, rightfully so and you were never afraid to call me out on my behavior.
To my doctors/psychologists/nurses: Even though it's your job to deal with mental illness, I truly appreciate you being part of my journey because you made me feel welcomed and cared for. You listened and didn't undermine my symptoms. You told me there was hope and you cared about me and wanted to see me get better. You made me feel comfortable and open with you and I felt like you were truly rooting for me. You heard my complaints and you addressed them the minute they were spoken. You believed in my treatment, even when I didn't. You had hope where I didn't. And I'm thankful for the fact that you continued to push me in my treatment and to take my medicine and to be patient and to give it time. 
To my Grammie: Just like my best friend, you listened and helped me when this whole thing started. You encouraged me to get help and even offered to go with me. I think that was when I finally decided I needed to do something about it. Because I couldn't stand to see you be worried about me. Initially I told myself I'd do it for you, but then once I was there I realized I needed to do this thing for myself. I HAD to get better and be around for you, for Erika. Nothing else mattered except being the same person you had met and loved. I love you Grammie. 
To my counselor: I tell everyone I meet that they should do counseling and then I tell them that you are the best counselor for that job, haha. Seriously though. If I could have the attention of the whole entire world for fifteen seconds, I would tell them to try counseling with you. Because on that first day, when I spoke to you on the phone before our first session, I truly felt heard and understood like never before. Even though you might have never gone through what I was going through, you listened intently and you empathized. And for that, I will never be able to express how grateful I am. You give me the courage to want to be a better person and you make me believe in myself. You always greet me with a smile and have warmth and love and trust. I seriously could not have made it this far without you. I hope I can make the progress you want me to make and I hope I can try to be the best person I can be. 
To anyone I've forgotten: Somehow, somewhere, you helped. Even by doing something small. Even if it was just inviting me over to lunch- that helped, because there were times when I would have chosen to lie in the dark crying. Even if it was for talking on the phone. Or letting me take it easy at work because I was having a bad day. Or for covering for me at work to let me take a sick day and still allow my work to get somewhat complete. For telling it was going to be ok. For sharing your own stories of overcoming, and for sharing your tips and personal struggles. For encouraging me during those hard times. For making me smile when all I felt like doing was crying. 

There are too many of you. You'll always be a part of me, of my journey. Of my life. 

& She Lived Happily Ever After

When you are a little girl everything and everyone treats you like a princess. What do all princesses have? Not horses. Or castles. Or jewels.
They all have princes- and they live happily ever after.
It's not anything unusual for girls as young as 10 to be planning their wedding and dreaming about their dream boy. 
I was one of those girls. 
My first crush was an African American boy in my 2nd grade class. I was around 7 years old and I don't know why I liked him. I think he just stood out as being different and he was noticeable. 
Before long, I was 15 and having my first boyfriend. I know, I know. I was a late arriver to the dating scene. Had I known this would affect me much later as an adult, I would have embraced it wholeheartedly. 
But it did nothing but plunge my self-esteem into the dark depths of murky water below freezing temperatures. 
It's not that boys weren't interested in me, it's that it never went anywhere. 
The first boy who I went on a date with was a little older than me. Not by much, but he LOOKED older on the account that was almost 6' tall. I had to stand on chairs to be able to hug him. He was sweet. He liked me. He said nice things to me. I liked the attention. 
After him, the boys that wanted me were all pubescent, hormonal messes who I had no interest in. At around this point, I started to realize how uninterested I was in relationships. I didn't like having to always be thinking of someone in the back of my mind. How everything you did could affect them. I did like having someone there for me, and I liked the attention and love and affection and validation that I was loved. But the rest of it- it wasn't appealing to me. I started serial-dating as I liked to call it. I had flings. Those flings often became super serious. Like LOVE serious. Thinking about my first love still sends shivers down my spine. Of all the boys I could tell you about, there is just something in common with all of them: they were ALL short-lived. I didn't like to stick around for that long. Or maybe they didn't. Who knows. I've learned it takes 2 people to make a relationship work so I won't blame it all on them, but I also won't take 100% of the blame either. 
When I was 18, I fell in love. Deep, plunging, burning red, love. It was amazing. To this day I still consider this man to be the very first man who ever truly loved me and who I wholly and truly loved. It was short-lived of course- the romance. Because of a lot of reasons, but NOT because the love left. The friendship that was left continued on for several more years. It was great. Until it wasn't. I decided that I didn't like what he was giving me anymore. It wasn't enough for me, and I was brave enough to walk away. It was a hard decision- one that burnt my throat and left me empty and shattered. I needed to leave though, because staying would have been harder. 
After him, came another man. He was six years older than me. It was during this time that I made a choice. I would NOT base my worth or happiness on a man. I didn't NEED a man to complete me. Only I (and God) complete me. So really, if I do end up getting married, well then great! I hope it's to someone who makes me laugh and who loves and protects me and who encourages me to be nothing else but who I am. A man who will lift me up not just emotionally, but also spiritually. He will kiss my nose in the morning and he will call me cute names. His laugh will cure every piece of broken trust in my heart. His smile will alleviate the scars of all the shatters left behind by others who were not enough to love me. He will give me children, and he will never want to give up on our love. We might not like each other 24/7 but love will be around forever. We will work through everything together. 
I can't wait to meet you, future spouse. I can't wait to feel your warmth next to me as we sleep. I can't wait to kiss your lips on a 7am Sunday morning and watch the sunlight illuminate your hair against the pillow. I can't wait to be among our loved ones and glance over and catch your eye and have my heart skip a beat. I can't wait to see you at your highest, but also at your lowest. 

The thing is, I CAN wait. Until I'm ready. Until YOU'RE ready. Until God is ready for us to meet. 

If it doesn't happen, then that's okay too. I will live for myself and for no one else but my God. And that's perfectly fine. Until then, I'm with me. Whoever that is. :) 

On your 23rd birthday

I met you when you were 19 years old. I was 18 and not even close to grown up. 

I am now 21, almost 22, and today is your 23rd birthday. 
We stopped talking over a year ago. It was a mutual decision that brought forth not only sorrow and grief- but also joy and contentment and peace- something we had not had for a long time. 

When we met it was like magic. My life changed. You were like the sun- bright and shiny and warm. You brought laughter and you brought joy and you brought confidence. From the beginning you were so sure of yourself, and I absolutely loved that. I craved that kind of feeling in someone.
What we had was quick and intense. It was brief, but real. It was great, but sad. It was love, but it hurt.
I will never regret what we went through because I honestly believe to this day that we had something real. Life got in the way. You needed to finish school, you needed to focus on it.
There was too much in the way of what we had. Too many disappointments and tears and heartbreak. Too many broken promises and misspoken words and mismatched actions. 
We had so much and yet nothing at the same time. It was like a light went on, but another burnt out. 
It was an emotional roller coaster that we both needed to get off of. 
I will always love you. There is no doubt about that. Even though we have not exchanged words in over a year, there is not a day that goes by where you do not appear in my life. I might not think about you everyday, but you're everywhere I look. You're engraved in me forever because I gave you so much of myself when we were together that I don't ever think we'll be able to tear the pieces of each other out of ourselves. I think we will always be intertwined. And i'm okay with that. It took me a long time to come to terms, but I did and life went on for both of us. 
I want to wish you a happy birthday, dear friend, because I am completely and honestly happy for you. I wish you NOTHING but the best and I hope you are able to achieve all the goals you had for yourself and beyond. I hope you never forget who you are and what you mean to all the people who love you. I hope you know that I would give anything to be able to see you be happy. You were at one time one of the most important people in my life, and I will never forget you. You scarred me. You broke me down into a million pieces and then scattered the pieces over the world. You took me and you broke my soul. You broke my heart. You took a knife straight to my heart- time and time again.
You also loved me and lifted me up. You told me I was beautiful at 2am and you whispered that you loved me at 7am when the sun was rising and a new day was starting and you were there everyday. You looked at me with admiration and you listened to every hope and dream and fear I had. You held my hand and gave me strength when I had none left. You kissed the scars and you understood me more than I ever understood myself. You let me be me, and you laughed along with me when I messed up and you taught me things I will never forget. 
I love you. I always will. Happy 23rd birthday. I hope it's a great one.

Love, 
Brenda

On working, life, and growing up

I want to talk today about my experience as a non-traditional student and working gal! 
I graduated high school in May 2013 (that's 3 years ago!). While most of my fellow graduates went on to college, others got married and had children, and still others went on to move to other towns and pursue their hobbies, I merely stayed in my hometown and hung around. I couldn't afford to travel on a big, lavish trip like some of my friends. For me, the day after graduation was just another normal Saturday. I was pretty tired because I had stayed up pretty late that Friday. It was very normal. 
Starting in 8th grade, they drill into your brain that you MUST go to college. It's A NECESSITY. If you don't go to college you are a FAILURE. 
I do NOT agree with this.
I believe that it's a personal choice. Sure, there are statistics out there that say college graduates make 78% (I've made this number up) more money than non-graduates. But then again, look at people like college dropout Mark Zuckerburg- he's a billionaire. And yes, there's a one-in-a-gazillion chance that we'll too become billionaires, but if Zuckerburg's experiences tell us ANYTHING it's that if we pursue our true dreams, then we can achieve success by our own measures.
So yes, my take on the issue is: pursue your dreams. If that's college, sure, if it's taking 3 years off to go on a sabbatical in Thailand, go for it. Just be realistic. Because at the end of your life, I highly doubt anyone looks back and wishes they'd gotten a degree instead of starting a family. Or sat hours in a classroom when they could have been seeing the Grand Canyon.
Life is short, for goodness sake just do what you want!

Moving on, I want to talk about my own experiences growing up.
The night shift life was NOT fun. I'd be getting home by 5:30am and in bed by 6am. I'd get up around 1pm or 2pm to use the bathroom, then fall asleep again until around 5pm when I'd eat dinner and shower and start getting ready for work again. I'd leave home by 6:30 pm and get to the factory at 6:45ish. By the time I clocked in and made it to the back to my post, it'd be 7. We had a break around 9:15. Most of my coworkers smoked, so I'd just go back there with them and sit outside just to get out of the hot, paint fumes from the station next to us. 
We make our own way.

Soon after high school, I realized I needed to do something with myself. I'd had my break, now I was just laying around the house being unproductive. I knew I didn't want to go to college just yet, so I decided to get a job. I applied at a lot of retail facilities and even thought about doing CNA classes. 
Towards the middle of July, the only place who had called me back and offered me a job was an automotive factory. I accepted and started in a few days. I would be working the night shift- 7pm to 4am, sometimes 6am.
It was HORRIBLE.
The place was huge, hot, smelly, loud, and just generally depressing. My job wasn't too bad, just hanging parts on a rack for painting, then sorting the parts once they came back from Paint. It was a boring job, but an easy one for my very first job. I soon learned that this was not something I was interested in. After just a few hours of hanging L and R parts, I was overcome with this intense feeling that I'd rather be doing ANYTHING else other than this. My coworkers were super nice and helpful, the pay was awesome, and I got the weekends off, but the job itself was purely sad.
Lunch was at 11pm. The cafeteria had yummy food and I mostly ate burgers and one day they had breakfast for dinner. It was weird, eating at midnight. My body was super confused. We'd go back to work and had another break around 1am or so. This was my favorite time because we'd go outside and it was usually very cool. The stars were out and the world seemed dead- yet life went on for us in the factory. We were wide awake while everyone else was fast asleep. It was strange.
Work was over at 4am, unless we hadn't reached our goal that night and our team leader decided we needed to stay.
This happened almost every night, so I'd end up getting home by 6:30ish and asleep by 7am. 
About a week into my personal hell, a friend of mine told me about a job opening where she worked as a translator. I applied and was offered an interview.
I got the job! So just 2 months after getting out of school for 12 years straight, I was going right back to the school calendar/schedule. 
I love my job for the most part. This fall I will be starting my 4th year! It's truly been an amazing job where I have learned many new things and have grown as a person. 
So yeah, I didn't follow the path everyone else did. So what?
I'm fine with that.

Excuses, excuses, or maybe just how I live my life!

I am always late. 
Always. 
Without an ounce of doubt, whatever it is- my own funeral, my own wedding- you can count on me being late to it.
A lot of times I have tried to "justify" my lateness as a cultural thing. Being Hispanic, I'm sure you have heard of the lightness we put on the importance of being on time. But I can no longer justify it, seeing as how my best friend, who is also Mexican, is RARELY late. She is my clock and the reason why I am on time. If it wasn't for her constant "we need to go" then honestly, I'd never get to do much because when we plan to do stuff and she's involved in the timekeeping, it always comes out well.
Being on time is just NOT a skill I have. I have tried to work on it with no success. So what do I do? Beat myself up about it? Work on it harder? Start wearing a watch?
No. Instead I come up with excuses. Lately my tardiness has really been on my mind. Mostly due to the fact that I've been arriving later and later to work. 
In my own words, it's really hard to be at work at 7:30am when I leave the house at 7:31. 
But that's not all. It's hard to get to work at my night job by 4:30 when sometimes I'm leaving the house at 4:28 and it takes me five minutes to get there. Here are some of my most colorful excuses I've given my manager (so far):
*Note: My job allows us 14 minutes to be late, anything over and you will be talked to. But come on, we're adults, we should be on time. I admit that. 

• Sorry, I was eating pizza. 
• Oops, I was playing with my YoucamMakeup app.
• Traffic!
• I got pulled over.
• I had to stay over at my day job longer than usual.
• I couldn't find my vest/keys/name tag/pen
• Car wouldn't start
• I was talking on the phone with mah bestie
• I hadn't finished my popsicle
• I was sleeping
• I forgot something at home and had to go back to get it
• I was watching Hulu/Netflix
• I forgot I was scheduled today
• I thought today was my day off
• My alarm didn't go off 
• I was hungry so I decided to eat first
• I was in the bathroom
• I was running an errand
• I had to stop and get gas for my car
• Some guy took forever to turn and so I was stuck behind him
• I was dealing with a family crisis
• My niece needed a ride
• I had important things to do
• My street was blocked off

...honestly, I just didn't feel like coming in.

Obsessions

February seemed to have just flown by! It started off great, ended not-so great and now here we are in March! Time is flying by for sure.

My post today has to do with obsessions.

I happen to have a VERY obsessive personality. I didn’t notice this until my best friend Erika pointed it to me one day. She noticed how, when I started dating a guy, I’d become obsessed with whatever his interests happened to be. There was the one guy who was into baseball and guns and Christina Perri. So I started reading baseball fiction books (Mike Lupica is SUCH a great author!) and looking up info on stuff he’d mention and I started listening to Christina Perri a lot more than I had before. One guy was into this song about rain, and I hate to lie, but it was a GOOD song! Another guy was into drawing and computers and animation, so there I go looking into it. I know it’s cool when your partner tries to get into the stuff you like, but I just took it too far! Anyway, I wanted to write about the periods of times when I became obsessed with buying certain things. I go through these phases quite often where I just buy a bunch of one thing. Some of things have included:

Earrings
I got my ears pierced when I was 19 for the first time so I went way overboard buying earrings. I must have bought at LEAST 20 pairs, and I ended up only wearing maybe 5 or so pairs.

Lotions from Bath and Body
SO many. I ended up having to give some to my mom because I had a huge collection that I was NEVER going to finish. Plus after awhile I realized that the smells were so strong, they were ok for awhile but then they got on my nerves.

Pens
All sorts of pens. Especially colorful, girly, cute ones. I ended up not even using these and most of them dried out so it was really a waste. I can’t help it. I just love having tons of different colored pens.
 
Journals/notebooks/composition books
OMG I have like 70 unfinished journals! I try to reuse them, but it’s hard. And I always end up buying NEW ones when I start a new hobby.
 
Eyeliner
I went through this phase where I’d buy every eyeliner I’d see. Thankfully, I won’t run out for a few years!
 
Lipgloss
Same issue as the eyeliner. But I had to throw away a lot of it when I realized glitter got everywhere and annoyed me too much.
 
Stickers
Especially Barbie stickers! I still have some, but nowhere to put them.
 
Magazines
I have stopped this since then, but I once had a pretty amazing collection of magazines. My favorite was “m”, but it stopped printing back in the day. I loved it because it had quizzes and free posters!
 
Phone cases
I actually haven’t bought a phone case in a few months, unless you count me signing up to a subscription that sends you a case monthly!
 
That’s all I can think of at the moment! Oh wait… my biggest obsession:
 
BOOKS.
I have too many. I buy several every month. I have a problem.
 
No I don’t.

The best thing ever…

There are so many. My thoughts are all over the place, but I wanted to write some of it down before I forgot. I guess this particular post is about my personal experience with Prozac. I’ve been on it now for 154 days. That’s close to a little over five months or 22 weeks. Since I started, my life has weirdly changed a lot and yet stayed the same. I wish I could explain some of it, and I’m still not sure if I can attribute it to the medicine, but it’s quite a remarkable change. A lot of things HAVEN’T changed, and that can be seen as both negative and positive, depending on your view. For me, just the option of HAVING a view is a big thing. Before the medicine, I saw everything as bad. I couldn’t “look at the bright side”, because there was ONLY a dark side for me and anything else was absolutely impossible. I remember the first few weeks when I noticed something was off. When people think depression, they probably think people wearing black and crying and listening to emo music while hating the world and staring at their MCR poster. They might think cutting and/or any other type of self-harm. Perhaps they imagine suicide idealization or something.

For me, it was sleep.

The most innocent thing. But sleep was the first symptom. I can’t really remember much, and that’s hard to say because memory has always been one of my strongest suites.

I do however remember sleeping 12 or more hours a day. I’d wake up because I felt I HAD to or else I’d be wasting my days away. And I was. But I didn’t know that. Now you might be thinking, sleep is just sleep, everyone does it. What made it different for me was that I wasn’t just sleeping at night. I was sleeping ALL THE TIME. I would literally sleep 10 or more hours, then I’d eat breakfast and then take a 1, 2 hour nap and then go right back to sleep at night for another 10, 11 hours. This went on for a few weeks. The second thing was isolation. I wanted to do nothing but sit in my house and watch TV. I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want to talk. Everything took too much effort. I went into this deep hole of despair. It was so hard.

A few other things I experienced were irritability at the slightest thing, I lost interest in some of my favorite activities, and I generally lost my interest in life.

This was July of 2015. I didn’t go to the doctor until September. I was diagnosed with major depression on September 10^th and I started Prozac that same day- 20mg a day. I would eventually go up to 60mg, and I do think that is the right dose for me. However, a lot of things didn’t get better- for example my concentration issues. It wasn’t a miracle drug that immediately fixed everything. I think if anything, it allowed me to open up and see the world in a way I couldn’t before. It lifted me. The first few months were the hardest, sometimes I had these horrible thoughts like, what if I took all my pills at once? I remember telling my psych nurse this and her telling me it wouldn’t kill me, but it would probably make me wish it had with how bad it’d make me feel. I didn’t want to die- I wanted to stop feeling pain.
Emotional pain was the last thing I thought of when I thought of my mental illness. It’s kind of the thing at the bottom of the list for me. To be honest, I’d take the pain over the apathy, the hopelessness, the dullness of life. At least when I was in pain, I could FEEL something, and to me, that was the most valuable thing at the time.
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to NOT feel anything at all? That’s how it was. Like the world had been turned off. The colors were too dim, and the sounds were dull. Once the medicine started working, it was like someone had painted a new mural. The colors were sharp and contrasting- the sounds were loud and clear. It was like this cloud lifted off and the fog disappeared and everything was noticeable once again.

Let me be clear that there are still some days when I feel depressed. Prozac didn’t erase my depression, it merely helped me to try to get it under control. Some days are still the worst days ever. Some days I want to stop feeling.  But the difference is that now there’s a tiny shard of hope telling me that it won’t always feel this way. The difference is that I can now see that hey, wait a minute, it’s ONE bad day, there will be other good days.

That is what Prozac did for me.
But everyone’s different. Like I said, some days are still hard. I’ve come to learn that’s true even for people who don’t have depression. Having bad days really makes one appreciate the good ones.
So I didn’t turn into an optimist over night, but I did become someone who was able to see the other side. And that- to me- was the best thing ever.