I just got back from a little Christmas vacation. I stayed at my parents' house for a week before Christmas, and then Andrew came over Christmas eve. I think it's pretty funny that just a week or two before I went home for Christmas, I was blubbering about how much I loved my family and missed them and regret not spending time with them. By the end of that week at home, though, I was so bored out of my mind that I can do without them for a good few months. I think I'm old enough now that I don't want them telling me what I can or can't/should or shouldn't do with my life anymore (....but I still need their money).
The day after Christmas, Andrew and I met his parents in Savannah. It was a fun trip, but I couldn't make it a whole trip without getting bent out of shape about something. I was mad at Andrew for something or another for an entire morning, but after a few diet cokes and some lunch, I eventually had to let go of it. It was stupid anyway, and not worth ruining anymore time. My parents came up Monday to have lunch with us, so the parents met! Yikes! I was kind of dreading it, but ended up getting pretty drunk so I don't even remember it much. I often drink to ease my anxiety. That doesn't make me an alcoholic, right?
Oh geez - this whole bike present idea for Andrew was killer! Now that we both have bikes, he wants to ride all the time. Tuesday we went on our first ride together and he took me through some woods trail. We had to jump over all these roots and go over little wooden bridges. I was scared to death. So then Wednesday he wanted to go twice the distance through woodsy trails. I said "can we just stay on pavement? I thought we were going to start out slow on paved trails." He hmmed and hawwed for a while and said we should just continue the trail we were on the day before until it ends. Okkkkk. So we got going again through the woods. I have never biked off road before, so I quickly got all out of control. The path started getting more and more complicated with like whole trees down across it that we are supposed to jump over or something. I kept getting off and walking over all these obstacles, but then we started going downhill and had to make a sharp turn with rocks bordering one side of the trail, and bushes on the other. Of course, I didn't make the turn fast enough, flew off my bike, and landed on my ass. I was secretly praying that my chain was broken or something so that I wouldn't have to continue. Andrew was ahead of me, so it took him a few minutes to realize I wasn't behind him anymore. He turned around and I was still on the ground, stunned. He came back and I stood up, trying not to cry. He said we could head back, and I couldn't help but say "I told you. I told you I wasn't ready for this. I wanted to stay on pavement." He apologized, and tried to explain some of the technique of mountain biking. I never knew there was so much shit. I just thought you got on and rode around. Apparently you have to change gears a million times and stand up the whole time and shift your weight back and forward and use rear brakes and... do wheelies... and all kinds of stuff. So anyway, on our way back, he started trying to explain some of these things to me (thanks for waiting until AFTER I fall to teach me) and we got to a tree that went across the trail that we had to jump over. I got scared as I got closer and closer to it, and at the last second I tried to stop and get off my bike. Well, you can't do that ("commit or quit!" as stated by debbie on some mountain biking instructional website). So I fell again! Splat into a pile of leaves - which actually turned out a lot better than the first fall onto rocks and dirt. We took it slow the rest of the way back and he gave me more guidance. It turns out, it's a lot easier if you use technique. In fact, it's a lot like skiing if you ask me: it takes a lot more work to be out of control than to do it right, and you can only be out of control for so long before you wipe out. So, that was my second mountain biking experience. I'm praying for rain tonight so we can take a break - my ass is so sore!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
YAY CHRISTMAS BREAK!!
So I fancied up my blog a bit. I'm so proud of myself for being tech savvy. The picture at the top of the page is my pup Luce (more on that later). I've been uber productive on this break from school. So far in addition to fixing up my blog, I have knitted a bandanna for Luce that has a paw print on it that looks more like a blotch of blue yarn and a ribbed hat that fits my head circumference but is more like a yamacah length wise. Maybe it will fit my future baby girl (I'm not pregnant, but one day...?). I have also watched half of the DVD's I own, ate enough food for at least three people everyday, and went out with a friend twice. I spent a lot of time getting drunk, too. I've watched about 23 episodes of Law and Order, and I've cleaned my house once. And that's about it.
It was nice to be on break for the first few days, but all that time alone while Andrew was working started getting to me. Just knitting was enough productivity to make me feel better. It's pretty satisfying to create something even if it is ugly and doesn't fit anyone. I started knitting when I got out of the inpatient facility because I needed something to do those first couple months when all I was doing was watching TV all day everyday. That, I have learned, is a sure fire way to keeping yourself depressed. At least knitting made me get out of that zoned out state. The book Stitch N Bitch has some pretty good instructions, although I do find the attempt at humor fairly annoying. It's knitting instructions, not a novel.
So the deal about my pup: I got out of the crisis center for my May attempt at the end of May 2007. I was home for my 21st birthday in June. Right after that - maybe the first of July - my mom took our golden retriever to the groomer. The guy came out with a little puppy in his arms and said she needed a good home. She was an accident - his prize winning standard poodle escaped the pin and made his way into the prize winning pug's pen (who was in heat). A few months later they had three little mistakes. They were all black with a little white patch on their chests, bad underbites, and a mix of wiry long but not curly hair. Their tails curled up once instead of the many curls of a pug, and their noses were only a little squished. At the time, we (and the vet) had no idea how big or small they'd turn out. My mom immediately melted at the site of a puppy and said she'd take it. She was so excited and came to get me so we could bring the tiny little pup home. We put her in a laundry basket with a blanket and she just slept for days and days. My dad came home that first day and walked right past her at first. We were like "didn't you notice anything in that basket?" and he looked down and said "oh shit." He was not happy about our new addition, and said we could keep her but he was not going to take care of her or like her. Yeah right. A couple days later, my mom and I went to Chicago to visit my brother where he was stationed at that time. My dad was forced to take care of her but my mom and I were worried he might get rid of her while we were gone. By the time we got back, he was falling in love with the little runt. She was (and is) the sweetest thing. She has so much love in her little heart. She was born on May 16, 2007. I attempted on May 15, 2007, and was found early morning on May 16 and revived. I like to imagine that she was born just for me. She immediately had some unexplainable bond to me, like dogs usually have with a specific owner. She gave me something to live for. In late July, I returned to the crisis center because I was having trouble. From there I went straight to the inpatient facility where I stayed for almost four months. My parents would bring her down to visit me every couple weeks, and she remembered me everytime. She would be so excited to see me that she would pee everywhere (which she does for anyone new now, but at first it was just me). She was my light and joy, which is why I named her Luce (the Italian word for light). I love that little girl. She's the ugliest thing, and she's incredibly mischeivous and hyper. For the longest time, Andrew was like my dad saying he couldn't like her. Now he gets excited to see her and misses her when I take her to Jacksonville with me. He pays more attention to her than me half the time, and always gets her to sleep on his side of the bed. He loves her.
Oh duh, so I gave Andrew his Christmas present yesterday! What a great day that was. I went to the bike store to pick up the bike, but the bike rack wouldn't go on my car. I was going to have him come get it himself since the rack would go on his car or at least the bike would go IN his car. I didn't want to tell him to meet me there though, because it would be so anti-climactic. Instead, I told him to meet me at this park right down the road from the store. I guess he thought I was just going to rent a tandem bike because we had joked about it before. So I picked up the bike, walked it to the park, and waited for him. I stood kinda far from it so that when he walked up he wouldn't know. I was like "surprise! I'm your present!" and he was confused, but then I said that the real present was over there and pointed to the bike. He was quiet, so I explained that if he didn't like it he could return it and get a better one or whatever. Slowly, he became really excited and jumped on and road around me in circles. Unfortunately, my bike was at my parents house still so I couldn't ride with him. We took it home and went to a nice restaurant for a Christmas date. The food was not worth the price, but it was a perfect night anyway. He later told me that was the best gift he ever got because it was perfect and thoughtful without him even having to ask for it. He immediately started making plans and looking up bike trails in the area. He wants to take a 30 mile trail ride! I don't know if I can handle all that. It should be fun, though, to start this hobby together. What a perfect night!
It was nice to be on break for the first few days, but all that time alone while Andrew was working started getting to me. Just knitting was enough productivity to make me feel better. It's pretty satisfying to create something even if it is ugly and doesn't fit anyone. I started knitting when I got out of the inpatient facility because I needed something to do those first couple months when all I was doing was watching TV all day everyday. That, I have learned, is a sure fire way to keeping yourself depressed. At least knitting made me get out of that zoned out state. The book Stitch N Bitch has some pretty good instructions, although I do find the attempt at humor fairly annoying. It's knitting instructions, not a novel.
So the deal about my pup: I got out of the crisis center for my May attempt at the end of May 2007. I was home for my 21st birthday in June. Right after that - maybe the first of July - my mom took our golden retriever to the groomer. The guy came out with a little puppy in his arms and said she needed a good home. She was an accident - his prize winning standard poodle escaped the pin and made his way into the prize winning pug's pen (who was in heat). A few months later they had three little mistakes. They were all black with a little white patch on their chests, bad underbites, and a mix of wiry long but not curly hair. Their tails curled up once instead of the many curls of a pug, and their noses were only a little squished. At the time, we (and the vet) had no idea how big or small they'd turn out. My mom immediately melted at the site of a puppy and said she'd take it. She was so excited and came to get me so we could bring the tiny little pup home. We put her in a laundry basket with a blanket and she just slept for days and days. My dad came home that first day and walked right past her at first. We were like "didn't you notice anything in that basket?" and he looked down and said "oh shit." He was not happy about our new addition, and said we could keep her but he was not going to take care of her or like her. Yeah right. A couple days later, my mom and I went to Chicago to visit my brother where he was stationed at that time. My dad was forced to take care of her but my mom and I were worried he might get rid of her while we were gone. By the time we got back, he was falling in love with the little runt. She was (and is) the sweetest thing. She has so much love in her little heart. She was born on May 16, 2007. I attempted on May 15, 2007, and was found early morning on May 16 and revived. I like to imagine that she was born just for me. She immediately had some unexplainable bond to me, like dogs usually have with a specific owner. She gave me something to live for. In late July, I returned to the crisis center because I was having trouble. From there I went straight to the inpatient facility where I stayed for almost four months. My parents would bring her down to visit me every couple weeks, and she remembered me everytime. She would be so excited to see me that she would pee everywhere (which she does for anyone new now, but at first it was just me). She was my light and joy, which is why I named her Luce (the Italian word for light). I love that little girl. She's the ugliest thing, and she's incredibly mischeivous and hyper. For the longest time, Andrew was like my dad saying he couldn't like her. Now he gets excited to see her and misses her when I take her to Jacksonville with me. He pays more attention to her than me half the time, and always gets her to sleep on his side of the bed. He loves her.
Oh duh, so I gave Andrew his Christmas present yesterday! What a great day that was. I went to the bike store to pick up the bike, but the bike rack wouldn't go on my car. I was going to have him come get it himself since the rack would go on his car or at least the bike would go IN his car. I didn't want to tell him to meet me there though, because it would be so anti-climactic. Instead, I told him to meet me at this park right down the road from the store. I guess he thought I was just going to rent a tandem bike because we had joked about it before. So I picked up the bike, walked it to the park, and waited for him. I stood kinda far from it so that when he walked up he wouldn't know. I was like "surprise! I'm your present!" and he was confused, but then I said that the real present was over there and pointed to the bike. He was quiet, so I explained that if he didn't like it he could return it and get a better one or whatever. Slowly, he became really excited and jumped on and road around me in circles. Unfortunately, my bike was at my parents house still so I couldn't ride with him. We took it home and went to a nice restaurant for a Christmas date. The food was not worth the price, but it was a perfect night anyway. He later told me that was the best gift he ever got because it was perfect and thoughtful without him even having to ask for it. He immediately started making plans and looking up bike trails in the area. He wants to take a 30 mile trail ride! I don't know if I can handle all that. It should be fun, though, to start this hobby together. What a perfect night!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Breakdown, and Build Back Up
Saturday I had to go home for my grandma's birthday. My oldest brother and parents and I went to Ruth's Chris and ate a delicious dinner. The whole time, my grandmother was complaining about the enormous amounts of food we were ordering. That's what my family does: judges each other for eating too much and being piggly wigglies, and then secretely stuffs down all the delicious food in enormous quantities when no one is looking. It's not really a secret, though, because people notice when half the leftovers are missing the next morning; plus, we are all fat. Anywho, we dropped grandma off at the assisted living facility after dinner and went home to watch a movie. We didn't really do much, and the next morning I left pretty early. For some reason, it just seemed like a really nice time to me though. So Sunday morning when I ran off with barely a goodbye, I started feeling really guilty about it. I had to leave early because Andrew's work had a Christmas party that afternoon, and he kept telling me not to be late. Once I got on the road, he informed me that the party was at 2:00, not 1:00 like we thought. I was really upset because I had run off in such a hurry and I felt like he had sort of tricked me into getting back early because he didn't trust me to be there on time. He later explained that he really thought the party was at 1:00, but by then I had already gotten myself worked up.
When I was driving back that morning, I was listening to DMB's "Dreaming Tree" and started balling. I kept thinking about how much my family has done for me. They have always given me everything I could ever want or need. They sent me to good schools, bought me great presents, raised me with morals and values, and loved me unconditionally. Even when I was at my worst, when no one could figure out what was wrong with me and I just wanted to die everyday, they stuck with me. They dragged me out of the darkness by making me go to therapy and eventually even going to the inpatient facility. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for my parents seeing me like that. And, on top of that, they would drive 2 hours down to the facility to visit me at least once a week while I was there (and I was there for almost 4 months!). I am extremely lucky to have the support of my family, and was blessed by the fact they could afford the best treatment for me because my dad worked hard and they managed their money well. Most people in my shoes would not have the support I did, I'm sure. My parents never abused me. They weren't alcoholics or druggies. They did everything they knew to do. I sometimes regret the fact that they didn't realize how bad the problem was until it was too late, but now we all know. It won't ever have to get that bad again.
By the time I got back and Andrew came over, I was a mess. He walked in and I said I didn't want to go to his party and just started crying again. I don't know where this came from. He just held me for a little while and tried to figure out what was wrong. It was weird, there was no reason for it really, but it didn't take much for me to relax back to normal. Just having him hold me and love me and care meant so much. Then, he did what he knew would make me feel better. There's something about knowing someone loves every part of you. It can solve all your problems at once. Later, he told me about some difficulties he had in the past to explain that I'm not alone. It meant the world to me.
I ended up going to the party. I knew I was going to be nervous and shy and quiet, and my face always turns so fucking red when I talk to people I don't know. I hate that. My therapist said it's because I am assuming other people are thinking bad things about me, but it happens so fast I don't even realize these are just my thoughts. In just fractions of a second, those thoughts fire and I feel my face burn. Now I just have to learn how to stop it. Well, anyway, all that happened at the party: I was shy and quiet and my face turned red. Luckily, I had plenty to drink and followed Andrew around like a puppy. It actually ended up being really fun. I took part in the White Elephant gift exchange, and got some Jimmy Johns gift cards, which is great because we love J.J.'s and we have no money! Andrew's boss looks just like the blonde version of my therapist - and acts like her and sounds like her too. Of course, I love my therapist because she saved my life and is basically my idol. She has her good job and cute little family. She shops at Banana Republic (I used to work there because I loved it so much). She just has a really good grasp of life and what's important. Plus, she's self-confident and fun. That's what I want in life. I feel like I am heading that way. I found a future that really interests me, something I could do forever. I am usually confident and happy. I have some qualms about myself, but everyone does I think. I can't wait to keep my life moving.
When I was driving back that morning, I was listening to DMB's "Dreaming Tree" and started balling. I kept thinking about how much my family has done for me. They have always given me everything I could ever want or need. They sent me to good schools, bought me great presents, raised me with morals and values, and loved me unconditionally. Even when I was at my worst, when no one could figure out what was wrong with me and I just wanted to die everyday, they stuck with me. They dragged me out of the darkness by making me go to therapy and eventually even going to the inpatient facility. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for my parents seeing me like that. And, on top of that, they would drive 2 hours down to the facility to visit me at least once a week while I was there (and I was there for almost 4 months!). I am extremely lucky to have the support of my family, and was blessed by the fact they could afford the best treatment for me because my dad worked hard and they managed their money well. Most people in my shoes would not have the support I did, I'm sure. My parents never abused me. They weren't alcoholics or druggies. They did everything they knew to do. I sometimes regret the fact that they didn't realize how bad the problem was until it was too late, but now we all know. It won't ever have to get that bad again.
By the time I got back and Andrew came over, I was a mess. He walked in and I said I didn't want to go to his party and just started crying again. I don't know where this came from. He just held me for a little while and tried to figure out what was wrong. It was weird, there was no reason for it really, but it didn't take much for me to relax back to normal. Just having him hold me and love me and care meant so much. Then, he did what he knew would make me feel better. There's something about knowing someone loves every part of you. It can solve all your problems at once. Later, he told me about some difficulties he had in the past to explain that I'm not alone. It meant the world to me.
I ended up going to the party. I knew I was going to be nervous and shy and quiet, and my face always turns so fucking red when I talk to people I don't know. I hate that. My therapist said it's because I am assuming other people are thinking bad things about me, but it happens so fast I don't even realize these are just my thoughts. In just fractions of a second, those thoughts fire and I feel my face burn. Now I just have to learn how to stop it. Well, anyway, all that happened at the party: I was shy and quiet and my face turned red. Luckily, I had plenty to drink and followed Andrew around like a puppy. It actually ended up being really fun. I took part in the White Elephant gift exchange, and got some Jimmy Johns gift cards, which is great because we love J.J.'s and we have no money! Andrew's boss looks just like the blonde version of my therapist - and acts like her and sounds like her too. Of course, I love my therapist because she saved my life and is basically my idol. She has her good job and cute little family. She shops at Banana Republic (I used to work there because I loved it so much). She just has a really good grasp of life and what's important. Plus, she's self-confident and fun. That's what I want in life. I feel like I am heading that way. I found a future that really interests me, something I could do forever. I am usually confident and happy. I have some qualms about myself, but everyone does I think. I can't wait to keep my life moving.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
This is me.
Just finished up exams. School is out for christmas break, and I'm hoping for straight A's.
Andrew and I had a relationship changing event last week. He was getting ready to go to work and went through my drawers looking for his toothbrush. What he found was a little bit different: a razor blade. I used to buy them in packs of ten from CVS, and I had some left over that I never got rid of. I stashed them all over my room back when I was cutting. When you use them to cut as often as I did, they dull out fairly quickly so I would throw them away as they got dull. I forgot all about the one he found, but I had two others stashed away that I couldn't bring myself to get rid of. I hadn't used them in like seven months or so, and they were pretty dull already. It just made me feel safe to know that if I wanted them I could use them. Ugh, it was so awkward. He was standing there brushing his teeth while I was still in bed. He said he found "something" and I immediately knew what it was. I felt my heart skip a beat, and then he held it up. God.
When I was in the clinic, I came home for a weekend pass once. As soon as I got home, I went right up to my room to find my stash of razors. I had hidden them all in the pocket of my bathrobe, thinking no one would ever look there. But there was nothing there. I panicked, looking everywhere for them. Somehow I gathered the courage to ask my mom if she had found them, and she was horrified. Apparently, she had washed that bathrobe so that when I came home I would have it all nice and clean. While it was in the dryer, the razors came out of the pocket and she found them while she was taking out the load. When she was telling me this, she said I could've ruined her clothes. I knew that wasn't really why she was upset. She was upset because it freaked her out to actually see the razor blades. I think seeing them just makes the whole thing so real that it's impossible to deny. On top of that, I had been lying to them, telling them I had stopped for... well... for years. I was like a fucking druggie. I would've lied, cheated, and stolen for anything to self-injure. Even in the clinic, I couldn't get ahold of straight-edge blades so I used whatever I could. I used safety pins and staples and coke cans I had crushed and torn and even a piece of broken plastic that happened to have a sharp edge. I had to dig into my skin just to get a little blood, but I had to do it. And after I convinced them for at least a month that I wasn't doing it, I got razor priveleges (to shave my legs). I asked for a disposable razor, pulled it apart, and cut on every surface that was covered by clothes. Unfortunately, (actually, it was pretty fortunate), they were doing random body searches for the "cutters", and they made you strip to your underwear and examined you for fresh or somewhat new wounds. It didn't take long before I was caught.
It's weird that I still get urges sometimes. I mean, like I said, I haven't done it in months. Last time I quit, I made it nine months without any cuts. I did, however, OBSESS about calorie counting. My therapist thought that I just replaced the behavior. Anxious people have to do something to lower their anxiety (even people in the healthy-anxious range). It can be healthy and proactive, or it can be destructive. I was obese, so counting calories was a great way to channel my anxiety and keep from cutting for a long time (not to mention lose some weight). Of course, I got carried away with it and would limit myself to under 300 calories a day for days at a time. I never kept it up long enough to have an eating disorder, but it was definitely beyond the point of healthy anxiety channeling. I quit counting calories in December last year, and started cutting again. It was very sparse though - like once a month or so. I was spending more time doing healthy things like hanging out with friends and taking care of my dog. Things have gotten even better since then, so I haven't even wanted to. I just couldn't get rid of the razors. It doesn't really matter. If I really really really wanted to do it, I could just buy more. I usually wanted to do it at night, though, so if I didn't have them available I wouldn't be able to go buy them right away. Then, by the time I could go get them, the feeling usually passed and I was fine again. I guess that's why I wanted to keep some handy, but it's much better not to have them. This way, if I do get the urge to do it again, hopefully by the time I get a chance to go get the blades and everything, it will have passed and I won't need to.
By the way, I took the liberty of getting rid of all my blades when he found that one.
It really is such a weird disease. I guess that's why I was never tempted to do drugs. I was already addicted to something that was essentially just as harmful. Even writing about it now gives me the urge to do it, even though I know how not to now. Andrew was extremely cool about it. He just reminded me that if I did want to cut, I have plenty of people to talk to instead of doing it - him, my parents, my therapist. I know that. I mean, I've always had people I could talk to about it. The problem is that it's a secretive thing: you don't want to tell anyone about it because it's a secret and it's all yours. It's almost comforting that it's something you have just for you and no one else knows or tells you when or how to do it. It's crazy looking back on it, seeing how I used to be so fixed on it. I don't want to go down that road anymore. It's such a disturbing thing, and I want the life I have now, not the life I had then. It doesn't have to be that bad. I like not having to wear long sleeves all the time, or constantly worry about having a jacket to go over anything short sleeved. I like being able to lie there naked with my boyfriend. I like not having to be ashamed. I have the scars; I don't want more. It's like wearing a big sign saying "I used to be fucked up". People never really know exactly what happened or why, and they never know if you're really over it. I hate having my past written on my arm, but I'm not ashamed anymore. I'm not hiding. This is me.
Andrew and I had a relationship changing event last week. He was getting ready to go to work and went through my drawers looking for his toothbrush. What he found was a little bit different: a razor blade. I used to buy them in packs of ten from CVS, and I had some left over that I never got rid of. I stashed them all over my room back when I was cutting. When you use them to cut as often as I did, they dull out fairly quickly so I would throw them away as they got dull. I forgot all about the one he found, but I had two others stashed away that I couldn't bring myself to get rid of. I hadn't used them in like seven months or so, and they were pretty dull already. It just made me feel safe to know that if I wanted them I could use them. Ugh, it was so awkward. He was standing there brushing his teeth while I was still in bed. He said he found "something" and I immediately knew what it was. I felt my heart skip a beat, and then he held it up. God.
When I was in the clinic, I came home for a weekend pass once. As soon as I got home, I went right up to my room to find my stash of razors. I had hidden them all in the pocket of my bathrobe, thinking no one would ever look there. But there was nothing there. I panicked, looking everywhere for them. Somehow I gathered the courage to ask my mom if she had found them, and she was horrified. Apparently, she had washed that bathrobe so that when I came home I would have it all nice and clean. While it was in the dryer, the razors came out of the pocket and she found them while she was taking out the load. When she was telling me this, she said I could've ruined her clothes. I knew that wasn't really why she was upset. She was upset because it freaked her out to actually see the razor blades. I think seeing them just makes the whole thing so real that it's impossible to deny. On top of that, I had been lying to them, telling them I had stopped for... well... for years. I was like a fucking druggie. I would've lied, cheated, and stolen for anything to self-injure. Even in the clinic, I couldn't get ahold of straight-edge blades so I used whatever I could. I used safety pins and staples and coke cans I had crushed and torn and even a piece of broken plastic that happened to have a sharp edge. I had to dig into my skin just to get a little blood, but I had to do it. And after I convinced them for at least a month that I wasn't doing it, I got razor priveleges (to shave my legs). I asked for a disposable razor, pulled it apart, and cut on every surface that was covered by clothes. Unfortunately, (actually, it was pretty fortunate), they were doing random body searches for the "cutters", and they made you strip to your underwear and examined you for fresh or somewhat new wounds. It didn't take long before I was caught.
It's weird that I still get urges sometimes. I mean, like I said, I haven't done it in months. Last time I quit, I made it nine months without any cuts. I did, however, OBSESS about calorie counting. My therapist thought that I just replaced the behavior. Anxious people have to do something to lower their anxiety (even people in the healthy-anxious range). It can be healthy and proactive, or it can be destructive. I was obese, so counting calories was a great way to channel my anxiety and keep from cutting for a long time (not to mention lose some weight). Of course, I got carried away with it and would limit myself to under 300 calories a day for days at a time. I never kept it up long enough to have an eating disorder, but it was definitely beyond the point of healthy anxiety channeling. I quit counting calories in December last year, and started cutting again. It was very sparse though - like once a month or so. I was spending more time doing healthy things like hanging out with friends and taking care of my dog. Things have gotten even better since then, so I haven't even wanted to. I just couldn't get rid of the razors. It doesn't really matter. If I really really really wanted to do it, I could just buy more. I usually wanted to do it at night, though, so if I didn't have them available I wouldn't be able to go buy them right away. Then, by the time I could go get them, the feeling usually passed and I was fine again. I guess that's why I wanted to keep some handy, but it's much better not to have them. This way, if I do get the urge to do it again, hopefully by the time I get a chance to go get the blades and everything, it will have passed and I won't need to.
By the way, I took the liberty of getting rid of all my blades when he found that one.
It really is such a weird disease. I guess that's why I was never tempted to do drugs. I was already addicted to something that was essentially just as harmful. Even writing about it now gives me the urge to do it, even though I know how not to now. Andrew was extremely cool about it. He just reminded me that if I did want to cut, I have plenty of people to talk to instead of doing it - him, my parents, my therapist. I know that. I mean, I've always had people I could talk to about it. The problem is that it's a secretive thing: you don't want to tell anyone about it because it's a secret and it's all yours. It's almost comforting that it's something you have just for you and no one else knows or tells you when or how to do it. It's crazy looking back on it, seeing how I used to be so fixed on it. I don't want to go down that road anymore. It's such a disturbing thing, and I want the life I have now, not the life I had then. It doesn't have to be that bad. I like not having to wear long sleeves all the time, or constantly worry about having a jacket to go over anything short sleeved. I like being able to lie there naked with my boyfriend. I like not having to be ashamed. I have the scars; I don't want more. It's like wearing a big sign saying "I used to be fucked up". People never really know exactly what happened or why, and they never know if you're really over it. I hate having my past written on my arm, but I'm not ashamed anymore. I'm not hiding. This is me.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Good Days Ahead!
So just for the record, I did fine Tuesday. I was totally bummed and hating the world. I got to Andrew's and he was playing xbox, so I almost crawled into a hole and sulked. A few minutes after I came in though, he successfully cheered me up looking at funny pictures online. Oh, and the fact that I got into a DIS (research group) for next semester really helped. I had an interview for this research group Monday morning and I thought it didn't go very well. Tuesday evening I got the email saying I was great for the position, which is AMAZING. I would love love love to work under this same professor in grad school. He studies depression, eating disorders, and suicide (all of which are of major interest to me... not sure why....?) Well, the point is, even when I started getting all those overwhelming "fuck the world" feelings, all it took was someone to hold my hand and say he loved me. I easily remembered that not talking to anyone in a class does not mean I have no one to talk to EVER. It does not mean that I am alone. It just means I haven't made an effort to get to know anyone in that group. Before I go off the deep end in depressing emotions, I need to step back and look at reality.
Really, the rest of the week revolved around studying for a test in that dreaded class. Remember how I was afraid I was doing awful because I wasn't going to that class anymore? Well I studied for the test and read the book and got a 93%. Just more wasted anxiety!
OHHH, Friday and Saturday I did my Christmas shopping. I am SOOO excited about my present for Andrew. He probably won't love it because it's not the best of the best, but it was the best I could afford. I've been researching and looking for the perfect thing for like two weeks. I read all these articles on how to pick it and where to find it. I read tons of reviews on brands, and I drove all over town looking for the best one for the most reasonable price. I never put this much effort into presents because I hate the pressure. I feel like you spend all this time looking for the perfect thing, and if the person doesn't like it, they have to keep it just because you tried so hard. I figure it's easier to just pick something easy they'll probably like and tell them to go ahead and return it for something better if they don't like it. I just hate feeling like they are disappointed in what you picked because it's not quite right, and same for when I am the receiver. I hate when I get something that's almost what I wanted but not quite, but I have to keep it because they tried. I know it's like anti-holiday or whatever, but I really wish we could forget about forced presents and just have a second Thanksgiving. To me, Christmas is about the family and the food and the traditions that go with the season, not the presents. I would rather get the money, as tacky and greedy as that sounds. If I found a perfect gift for someone some time during the year, I could give it to them then, not because it's Christmas and you have to find gifts to give. I don't know... just some thoughts. But I am excited that I had such a great idea for Andrew's present. I just hope he doesn't feel awkward about returning it if he doesn't quite like it. I would rather be a little disappointed when he returns it than a lot disappointed when his hatred for it slowly comes out over the next few years. Eh, we'll see how it goes.
Anywaaaaaay, I'm not sure how I got on that tangent. I guess I was just trying to explain that I got myself busy really quickly so that the little upset on Tuesday didn't turn into anything more than just that. I did have a little scare with some body functioning and gorged myself on chocolate in nervousness. It cleared up pretty quickly and then I was just sick and sorry about the chocolate eating.
Andrew and I are at my parent's house tonight. Once again, I'm in this golden content place. It's weird to think that we are actually at my house because I have an appointment with my psychologist. I feel so complete right now. We had a great evening out to eat with my parents and drinks and a movie afterward. I tucked him into bed in the guest room (my parents don't approve of premarital sex or pre-marital bed-sharing... or premarital seeing each other in our p.j.'s....). I've got my puppy by my side, and I just feel so complete. I can't help thinking about marrying this guy. We are such a good balance for each other. I know he is a little scared about my past, and that he wouldn't be able to handle my problems if they happened again - at least not as bad as they were. I understand that fully. I can't say I would be comfortable being with someone who went through what I did. I would worry that the person would fall deep again, and I wouldn't be strong enough to keep them happy and healthy. I also understand because I worry about his past sometimes. He did some stupid immature boy things. This was years ago now, but I sometimes catch myself wondering if he has really changed. We tell each other we are different, and remind each other how much people can change. I guess that's what love is: trust and faith in each other. You don't know what the future will hold, but if you are smart and watch each other with honest feelings (not lust), you might just be able to find someone that will make it through with you. My parents have been married for 34 years, some years happier than others; but, they are still in love. I don't want to settle for anything less in my life, and I can only hope that I will be blessed with that true, deep, enduring love.
Really, the rest of the week revolved around studying for a test in that dreaded class. Remember how I was afraid I was doing awful because I wasn't going to that class anymore? Well I studied for the test and read the book and got a 93%. Just more wasted anxiety!
OHHH, Friday and Saturday I did my Christmas shopping. I am SOOO excited about my present for Andrew. He probably won't love it because it's not the best of the best, but it was the best I could afford. I've been researching and looking for the perfect thing for like two weeks. I read all these articles on how to pick it and where to find it. I read tons of reviews on brands, and I drove all over town looking for the best one for the most reasonable price. I never put this much effort into presents because I hate the pressure. I feel like you spend all this time looking for the perfect thing, and if the person doesn't like it, they have to keep it just because you tried so hard. I figure it's easier to just pick something easy they'll probably like and tell them to go ahead and return it for something better if they don't like it. I just hate feeling like they are disappointed in what you picked because it's not quite right, and same for when I am the receiver. I hate when I get something that's almost what I wanted but not quite, but I have to keep it because they tried. I know it's like anti-holiday or whatever, but I really wish we could forget about forced presents and just have a second Thanksgiving. To me, Christmas is about the family and the food and the traditions that go with the season, not the presents. I would rather get the money, as tacky and greedy as that sounds. If I found a perfect gift for someone some time during the year, I could give it to them then, not because it's Christmas and you have to find gifts to give. I don't know... just some thoughts. But I am excited that I had such a great idea for Andrew's present. I just hope he doesn't feel awkward about returning it if he doesn't quite like it. I would rather be a little disappointed when he returns it than a lot disappointed when his hatred for it slowly comes out over the next few years. Eh, we'll see how it goes.
Anywaaaaaay, I'm not sure how I got on that tangent. I guess I was just trying to explain that I got myself busy really quickly so that the little upset on Tuesday didn't turn into anything more than just that. I did have a little scare with some body functioning and gorged myself on chocolate in nervousness. It cleared up pretty quickly and then I was just sick and sorry about the chocolate eating.
Andrew and I are at my parent's house tonight. Once again, I'm in this golden content place. It's weird to think that we are actually at my house because I have an appointment with my psychologist. I feel so complete right now. We had a great evening out to eat with my parents and drinks and a movie afterward. I tucked him into bed in the guest room (my parents don't approve of premarital sex or pre-marital bed-sharing... or premarital seeing each other in our p.j.'s....). I've got my puppy by my side, and I just feel so complete. I can't help thinking about marrying this guy. We are such a good balance for each other. I know he is a little scared about my past, and that he wouldn't be able to handle my problems if they happened again - at least not as bad as they were. I understand that fully. I can't say I would be comfortable being with someone who went through what I did. I would worry that the person would fall deep again, and I wouldn't be strong enough to keep them happy and healthy. I also understand because I worry about his past sometimes. He did some stupid immature boy things. This was years ago now, but I sometimes catch myself wondering if he has really changed. We tell each other we are different, and remind each other how much people can change. I guess that's what love is: trust and faith in each other. You don't know what the future will hold, but if you are smart and watch each other with honest feelings (not lust), you might just be able to find someone that will make it through with you. My parents have been married for 34 years, some years happier than others; but, they are still in love. I don't want to settle for anything less in my life, and I can only hope that I will be blessed with that true, deep, enduring love.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Holy Jesus.
I am in such a weird place right now. I always am when I have to come to this class. It reminds me of the shit times when I was sick. I come to this class where I don't know anyone. Everyone talks and laughs while I sit in the corner of the back row by myself. I don't like the teacher because he embarassed me by saying I was sleeping during class (which I wasn't) and everyone laughed. On top of that, I stopped coming to this class because it is boring and makes me anxious and depressed and lonely. Now, when I actually do come, I am overcome with nervousness and stress because I have no idea what is going on and I am afraid I am going to fail. I'm having flashbacks to my sick times at college up north. I started skipping classes when I had mono. Skipping was easier than going and realizing that I was too lost to get help and that I had no friends to help me anyways. Skipping was easier than going to class by myself and trying not to cry. Skipping was easier than facing real life. So that's what I did until I was failing. I really only missed a few classes, but a few classes of Cell and Molecular Biology or Organic Chemistry or Calculus 2 is all it takes to start failing. And that's how I got into that suicide pattern.
That's not entirely accurate. My memory of the "sick" years is all muddled. I guess when your brain is so devoted to just trying to function, it doesn't have much energy left to create and keep memories. It's kind of ironic that the class I'm in right now that's giving me so many problems is actually on memory.
Jesus. I guess the semester I had mono, I got passing withdraws because of the mono. Then, it was the next semester that I overdosed. I couldn't figure out how I would get through without failing. Unfortunately, my only solution was death. I couldn't see how I would make it through the end of the semester. I couldn't face the thought of failing. On top of that, I couldn't face the fact that my old roommate (who was abroad) would be back in January. My new roommate (and best friend ever) had taken her place. Everyone told me the old one was bad for me and I should stop talking to her, so I did. Except that I didn't tell her why. She emailed me and called me from fucking Spain, and I just ignored it. I can't imagine how I would feel if my best friend just started ignoring me from half way around the world. There wasn't even anything she could do about it because she was so far away. She even still sent me a present from abroad. She was bad for me, though. She was incredibly strong and controlling, and, especially when I was sick, I became her little pet. I asked her for permission to hang out with others, I couldn't eat without her or go out without her or even be in any activities without her. She would sulk and tell me how terrible everyone else was if I tried to do anything without her. I don't know if it was just because I was so weak or if she would be that way with anyone. I don't know if I would have gotten so sick if I hadn't been randomly selected as her roommate. I guess there's always what ifs though. There were about a thousand things that contributed to it. I'm just glad I made it through.
I feel like my insides are oozing out. Maybe I'll feel better when I'm back in my safety zone with Andrew. Or, maybe I'll be writing in an hour about how ookie I still feel. I guess we'll wait and see.
That's not entirely accurate. My memory of the "sick" years is all muddled. I guess when your brain is so devoted to just trying to function, it doesn't have much energy left to create and keep memories. It's kind of ironic that the class I'm in right now that's giving me so many problems is actually on memory.
Jesus. I guess the semester I had mono, I got passing withdraws because of the mono. Then, it was the next semester that I overdosed. I couldn't figure out how I would get through without failing. Unfortunately, my only solution was death. I couldn't see how I would make it through the end of the semester. I couldn't face the thought of failing. On top of that, I couldn't face the fact that my old roommate (who was abroad) would be back in January. My new roommate (and best friend ever) had taken her place. Everyone told me the old one was bad for me and I should stop talking to her, so I did. Except that I didn't tell her why. She emailed me and called me from fucking Spain, and I just ignored it. I can't imagine how I would feel if my best friend just started ignoring me from half way around the world. There wasn't even anything she could do about it because she was so far away. She even still sent me a present from abroad. She was bad for me, though. She was incredibly strong and controlling, and, especially when I was sick, I became her little pet. I asked her for permission to hang out with others, I couldn't eat without her or go out without her or even be in any activities without her. She would sulk and tell me how terrible everyone else was if I tried to do anything without her. I don't know if it was just because I was so weak or if she would be that way with anyone. I don't know if I would have gotten so sick if I hadn't been randomly selected as her roommate. I guess there's always what ifs though. There were about a thousand things that contributed to it. I'm just glad I made it through.
I feel like my insides are oozing out. Maybe I'll feel better when I'm back in my safety zone with Andrew. Or, maybe I'll be writing in an hour about how ookie I still feel. I guess we'll wait and see.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thanksgiving Trip... That wasn't so bad.
Last night, we got back from NY. It ended up being really fun - not scary like I thought. After all this time, you would think I would realize my anxieties are all in my head. It seems to take facing my fears to get over it every time. As I said in the last post, I wanted to vomit before we left. When my boy and I went to the airport Tuesday night, I was sweating uncontrollably. I couldn't cool off or relax. We had a drink in the airport bar before our flight, and some other patron at the bar asked us how long we had been dating and how often we had sex. My face turned beet red, of course. We said we wouldn't answer, but he kept prodding. Andrew said we were waiting for marriage and the guy just laughed... and then made fun of my red face some more. He said something about my embarassment not being a good sign for meeting the future in-laws. That didn't help at all. Finally we finished our drinks and left the bar to get on our flight. After the $8 drink on the plane, I finally calmed down. We got to NY around 12:00 P.M., and Andrew's dad and his sister's boyfriend picked us up. We drove the twenty minutes to their house, but it was dark so I didn't see much; and it was late, so we didn't say very much. When we got to the house, we had a glass of wine and chatted a little before hitting the hay.
Wednesday, we started the morning with champagne. Of course, when I woke up I showered, fixed my hair, and put on make-up before leaving the bedroom. I knew I would feel more comfortable if I looked decent, even though Andrew said everyone would get dressed later. He and I took a little drive around the villages in the area. It was so upstate New York: beautiful greenery even though the trees were all bare; and cute New-England-style panel siding houses. There weren't any big department stores or six lane roads in that area, which kept the small town feeling. They live on the outskirts of the village, which I guess is a suburb of Syracuse. It was almost country, which felt so relaxing and quaint for the holiday. Unfortunately, there was no snow yet, but it was pretty cold. Anyways, Andrew's mother was working, so the rest of us met her for lunch. So far, so good. We went to an Italian restaurant (duh) for lunch and had three appetizers, two bottles of wine, six meals, and sambuca. I ordered baked ziti because I don't really like tomato sauce and I figured that would have enough cheese to make it tolerable. Andrew made merciless fun of me, but it turned out pretty good. Oh - and the appetizers were delicious.
After lunch, we went home for a nap. Around dinner time, everyone slowly re-congregated in the living room to watch a movie, have drinks, and eat real NY pizza. Yum! Their family plays cards, and wanted to play after the movie. I was dreading this, and fortunately it was late enough that everyone was okay with going to bed when the movie ended. I had a gross cold, so I just wanted to lie down and rest. Andrew took good care of me, bringing me cold medicine and water and tissues when I went to bed.
Thursday (Thanksgiving!!!) started the same way. I showered and dressed before emerging from the room so that I didn't feel groggy and gross. They are all up by 7:30 or 8:00, and I am NOT a morning person. I had to drag myself out of bed every morning, but going to bed at 9 helped. Anyways, so Thursday morning we ate thick, Amish bacon and drank champagne before heading to the grandma's house. Andrew's parents grew up in the same neighborhood and have been together since middle school, which is too cute. They are always calling each other names and making fun of each other, but it's all joking. I guess you just have to not take anything personally in their family. Andrew's dad's two sisters and their families all came for the feast. It was the same thing: everyone telling each other they were ugly and stupid and what not. It was all in good fun though. I feel like that might be how my family turns out if we ever get married and have kids and stuff. My brothers' families and my family would all come to my parents' house and make fun of each other but it would be fun and jovial. It makes me realize what happened to my parents' relationship with my dad's family, though. My mom always said they were mean, but they are Italian and I wonder if she just took all the jokes personally. It seems to me that it would be hard to meld into that without getting your feelings hurt, especially if your family isn't that way. If we make fun of my mom, she gets really mad. I think it's because if her family did that, they meant it; now she can't not take it personally.
Back to Thanksgiving. The dinner was turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, mashed sweet potatoes with orange juice in them, mushy, sticky stuffing, cranberry sauce, dinner rolls, and artichokes in marinera(!). Apparently, the artichokes are a family tradition, but Andrew's sister's boyfriend and I didn't know what they were or how to eat them. I tried cutting it - that didn't work. I was like "how am I supposed to eat this thing?" and they told me to pull off the leaves and "suck off the goodness". Andrew's sister's boyfriend tried to eat the leaf and ended up chewing it for a half hour before spitting it out. I "sucked off the goodness" for like three leaves before I got tired of sauce dripping down my arms for a little taste of artichoke. One of the cousins had a tower of artichoke leaves (is that what they're called?) on his plate. I'm thinking all he ate was artichokes. For dessert, they had ice cream pie (YUM!), pumpkin pie, apple pie, and Andrew's beloved cheesecake. (Just for clarification, my family eats fried turkey, cornbread and sausage dressing, green beans, biscuits, arugula salad, and sweet potatoes with brown sugar crust for dinner and pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and poundcake for dessert. North vs. south, I guess.) One of the aunts was really nice. She kept checking on me to make sure I had what I needed, yelled at Andrew for sitting down when I had to stand, and clued me in to the jokes and stories when I didn't know what they were talking about. I definitely liked her. That's another different thing, though: they always take care of themselves before guests. I don't know if it's a northern thing or an italian thing, but my mom talked about how my dad's family does it, too. They serve themselves, sit down first, etc. when there are guests. We were always taught that guests come first. If you run out of food or chairs or whatever it may be, the guest gets it and you go without. I guess it's just a difference in culture. Andrew's sister and her boyfriend left to go visit his family further north. Andrew's parents, he, and I went home around 3 or 4 and took another nap. I kept getting light headed, probably from the stress of being around all the new people and being kind of sick. The nap helped, though. When we woke up, they wanted to play cards. It ended up being Andrew's dad and me against Andrew and his mom. I was kind of nervous about fucking up and getting made fun when I made his dad and I lose. After a rule refresher and a bottle of champagne, though, it ended up being really fun. That's what happened the last time I played cards with Andrew, his sister, and her boyfriend, too. I was dreading and dreading it because I hate games, but it ended up being really fun. I think that's just one of those things that I have to force myself to do without getting hung up on what could happen (like losing). I mean really, what's the worst that could happen? It's a game!
So cards ended up being fun, and we went to bed after a few games. It was only like 9:30, but I guess when you get up at 7 you have to go to bed earlier. Again, Andrew loaded me up with plenty of water, tissues, and cold meds before we tucked into bed. In the morning, we woke up to fresh snow! It was the first snow of the season, and it was gorgeous. It was so romantic to wake up and look out at the crisp white world. I finally was comfortable enough to go to the kitchen in my pj's, sans shower and make-up. Andrew poured me some champagne, but all the cold medicine and alcohol was taking a toll on me and every sip made me feel more and more light-headed and dizzy. Andrew's dad made eggs with ham and swiss and more thick fatty bacon. After breakfast, we got dressed and Andrew took me to see the windmills. He said he usually drives to them by looking for them and driving in that direction, but it was so cloudy that we couldn't see them at all. We drove around for like an hour before he finally google-mapped it on his phone. We followed the directions, but we still couldn't see them when they were only like 100 feet away from us. There was a little exhibit-type-thing in front of one, so we parked and tried to walk to it. There was only a couple inches of snow, but that was enough to make the ground patchy in snow and puddles. It was still raining/snowing at this point. Unfortunately, my winter shoes in Florida are not really winter shoes up North. I couldn't walk through the snow to get to the windmill, so Andrew piggy-backed me. I am not tiny, so having him carry me was really romantic. We stood as close to under it as we could, and still barely could see the top through the clouds. It was freezing in the rain/snow so we ran back to the car after just a few minutes. My shoes soaked through, and we cranked up the heat in the car to warm up. We drove home, got our suitcases, and headed for the airport. On the way, we stopped for lunch and his parents ordered fried zucchini. Andrew got frustrated trying to eat them and threw his back on the plate. He's so funny - he get's so upset over things like that. I still didn't feel very good, and was happy to be heading home when we got to the airport.
All in all, the trip was really fun. His family is so different than mine, but they are both fun. Our holidays are just my siblings, parents, and sometimes my grandma. We drink a couple drinks and fight as much as we laugh. It should be interesting having Andrew at my house for Christmas. I think he's going to be disappointed. This year, it will probably only be one brother, my parents, and my grandma, so it will be pretty boring. I guess it's all up to Andrew and I took make it a party. Again, I am glad I didn't let my nervousness get in the way. His parents were very welcoming, so it was easy to be comfortable around them. But I also think I did a good job of doing what I needed to in order to let myself relax. Of course the constant drinking helped. I think this was another step in the right direction: I am becoming a happy, healthy adult with a great boyfriend at my side. Every day and every experience makes me a little stronger.
Wednesday, we started the morning with champagne. Of course, when I woke up I showered, fixed my hair, and put on make-up before leaving the bedroom. I knew I would feel more comfortable if I looked decent, even though Andrew said everyone would get dressed later. He and I took a little drive around the villages in the area. It was so upstate New York: beautiful greenery even though the trees were all bare; and cute New-England-style panel siding houses. There weren't any big department stores or six lane roads in that area, which kept the small town feeling. They live on the outskirts of the village, which I guess is a suburb of Syracuse. It was almost country, which felt so relaxing and quaint for the holiday. Unfortunately, there was no snow yet, but it was pretty cold. Anyways, Andrew's mother was working, so the rest of us met her for lunch. So far, so good. We went to an Italian restaurant (duh) for lunch and had three appetizers, two bottles of wine, six meals, and sambuca. I ordered baked ziti because I don't really like tomato sauce and I figured that would have enough cheese to make it tolerable. Andrew made merciless fun of me, but it turned out pretty good. Oh - and the appetizers were delicious.
After lunch, we went home for a nap. Around dinner time, everyone slowly re-congregated in the living room to watch a movie, have drinks, and eat real NY pizza. Yum! Their family plays cards, and wanted to play after the movie. I was dreading this, and fortunately it was late enough that everyone was okay with going to bed when the movie ended. I had a gross cold, so I just wanted to lie down and rest. Andrew took good care of me, bringing me cold medicine and water and tissues when I went to bed.
Thursday (Thanksgiving!!!) started the same way. I showered and dressed before emerging from the room so that I didn't feel groggy and gross. They are all up by 7:30 or 8:00, and I am NOT a morning person. I had to drag myself out of bed every morning, but going to bed at 9 helped. Anyways, so Thursday morning we ate thick, Amish bacon and drank champagne before heading to the grandma's house. Andrew's parents grew up in the same neighborhood and have been together since middle school, which is too cute. They are always calling each other names and making fun of each other, but it's all joking. I guess you just have to not take anything personally in their family. Andrew's dad's two sisters and their families all came for the feast. It was the same thing: everyone telling each other they were ugly and stupid and what not. It was all in good fun though. I feel like that might be how my family turns out if we ever get married and have kids and stuff. My brothers' families and my family would all come to my parents' house and make fun of each other but it would be fun and jovial. It makes me realize what happened to my parents' relationship with my dad's family, though. My mom always said they were mean, but they are Italian and I wonder if she just took all the jokes personally. It seems to me that it would be hard to meld into that without getting your feelings hurt, especially if your family isn't that way. If we make fun of my mom, she gets really mad. I think it's because if her family did that, they meant it; now she can't not take it personally.
Back to Thanksgiving. The dinner was turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, mashed sweet potatoes with orange juice in them, mushy, sticky stuffing, cranberry sauce, dinner rolls, and artichokes in marinera(!). Apparently, the artichokes are a family tradition, but Andrew's sister's boyfriend and I didn't know what they were or how to eat them. I tried cutting it - that didn't work. I was like "how am I supposed to eat this thing?" and they told me to pull off the leaves and "suck off the goodness". Andrew's sister's boyfriend tried to eat the leaf and ended up chewing it for a half hour before spitting it out. I "sucked off the goodness" for like three leaves before I got tired of sauce dripping down my arms for a little taste of artichoke. One of the cousins had a tower of artichoke leaves (is that what they're called?) on his plate. I'm thinking all he ate was artichokes. For dessert, they had ice cream pie (YUM!), pumpkin pie, apple pie, and Andrew's beloved cheesecake. (Just for clarification, my family eats fried turkey, cornbread and sausage dressing, green beans, biscuits, arugula salad, and sweet potatoes with brown sugar crust for dinner and pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and poundcake for dessert. North vs. south, I guess.) One of the aunts was really nice. She kept checking on me to make sure I had what I needed, yelled at Andrew for sitting down when I had to stand, and clued me in to the jokes and stories when I didn't know what they were talking about. I definitely liked her. That's another different thing, though: they always take care of themselves before guests. I don't know if it's a northern thing or an italian thing, but my mom talked about how my dad's family does it, too. They serve themselves, sit down first, etc. when there are guests. We were always taught that guests come first. If you run out of food or chairs or whatever it may be, the guest gets it and you go without. I guess it's just a difference in culture. Andrew's sister and her boyfriend left to go visit his family further north. Andrew's parents, he, and I went home around 3 or 4 and took another nap. I kept getting light headed, probably from the stress of being around all the new people and being kind of sick. The nap helped, though. When we woke up, they wanted to play cards. It ended up being Andrew's dad and me against Andrew and his mom. I was kind of nervous about fucking up and getting made fun when I made his dad and I lose. After a rule refresher and a bottle of champagne, though, it ended up being really fun. That's what happened the last time I played cards with Andrew, his sister, and her boyfriend, too. I was dreading and dreading it because I hate games, but it ended up being really fun. I think that's just one of those things that I have to force myself to do without getting hung up on what could happen (like losing). I mean really, what's the worst that could happen? It's a game!
So cards ended up being fun, and we went to bed after a few games. It was only like 9:30, but I guess when you get up at 7 you have to go to bed earlier. Again, Andrew loaded me up with plenty of water, tissues, and cold meds before we tucked into bed. In the morning, we woke up to fresh snow! It was the first snow of the season, and it was gorgeous. It was so romantic to wake up and look out at the crisp white world. I finally was comfortable enough to go to the kitchen in my pj's, sans shower and make-up. Andrew poured me some champagne, but all the cold medicine and alcohol was taking a toll on me and every sip made me feel more and more light-headed and dizzy. Andrew's dad made eggs with ham and swiss and more thick fatty bacon. After breakfast, we got dressed and Andrew took me to see the windmills. He said he usually drives to them by looking for them and driving in that direction, but it was so cloudy that we couldn't see them at all. We drove around for like an hour before he finally google-mapped it on his phone. We followed the directions, but we still couldn't see them when they were only like 100 feet away from us. There was a little exhibit-type-thing in front of one, so we parked and tried to walk to it. There was only a couple inches of snow, but that was enough to make the ground patchy in snow and puddles. It was still raining/snowing at this point. Unfortunately, my winter shoes in Florida are not really winter shoes up North. I couldn't walk through the snow to get to the windmill, so Andrew piggy-backed me. I am not tiny, so having him carry me was really romantic. We stood as close to under it as we could, and still barely could see the top through the clouds. It was freezing in the rain/snow so we ran back to the car after just a few minutes. My shoes soaked through, and we cranked up the heat in the car to warm up. We drove home, got our suitcases, and headed for the airport. On the way, we stopped for lunch and his parents ordered fried zucchini. Andrew got frustrated trying to eat them and threw his back on the plate. He's so funny - he get's so upset over things like that. I still didn't feel very good, and was happy to be heading home when we got to the airport.
All in all, the trip was really fun. His family is so different than mine, but they are both fun. Our holidays are just my siblings, parents, and sometimes my grandma. We drink a couple drinks and fight as much as we laugh. It should be interesting having Andrew at my house for Christmas. I think he's going to be disappointed. This year, it will probably only be one brother, my parents, and my grandma, so it will be pretty boring. I guess it's all up to Andrew and I took make it a party. Again, I am glad I didn't let my nervousness get in the way. His parents were very welcoming, so it was easy to be comfortable around them. But I also think I did a good job of doing what I needed to in order to let myself relax. Of course the constant drinking helped. I think this was another step in the right direction: I am becoming a happy, healthy adult with a great boyfriend at my side. Every day and every experience makes me a little stronger.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving is Cooommmmming!!
I want to marry this boy. I am so in love right now, I can barely stand it! I'm about to go up to New York to meet his family. This sort of makes me want to vomit because I am incredibly shy, but I know I can do it. Really, I'm just worried that I won't be myself. I'll be super quiet and when we leave they are going to say "I guess she's nice. She never actually talked, so it's hard to say if we liked her or not." I want to be normal and fun and witty. Hopefully I will be calm enough and tipsy enough to let loose. I've been taking pictures of myself in the mirror in my outfits and emailing them to my mom so she can tell me if they look good. I think she's the only one who will tell me honestly, but she's two hours away. Thank god for the internet! What I have learned through all this is that if I feel confident I am much more likely to let loose and be myself. In order to feel confident, I need to feel like I look my best. It also always helps to have a supportive friend/boyfriend at my side. I think I have both of these things now: boyfriend to hold my hand and encourage me; and good outfits, makeup, and hair so that I feel my best.
When I was depressed, I had a huge self-esteem issue. As I said before, I was obese because my depression made me eat more (I think they call that atypical depression symptoms) and I was on medicine that had weight gain side effects. I regret ever taking that medicine. All it did was make me more tired than I was before, more lazy than I was before, and fatter than I was before. Let's get one thing straight, my whole life I was a little overweight - "chunky" you might say. It runs in my family. We like food. So when I got sick, I stopped trying to keep my weight down. Eating made me feel better. The depression was sucking up any energy I had, so carbs and sugar spurred some activity and made me feel a little better. Then I was put on a medication that either changed my metabolism or created more cravings. I'm not sure exactly how it worked, but I gained 20 pounds in the three months I was on it. Later, when I was at the clinic, some of the other patients were put on it and they would spend all their free time in the snack room scrounging for food. Just hours after dinner I watched them scarfing down chips and cookies and Ramen noodles like they had never eaten before. I thanked god that I wasn't on it anymore and refused to ever try it again.
My point, I guess, is that being that overweight just made my depression and self-esteem worse. Not only did I think I was a waste of life, but now I felt like a disgusting, ugly, fat-ass on top of it. Gosh, I can't believe how much I hated myself.
Even now, I am not skinny, but I feel beautiful 90% of the time. Like most women, I would love to be like 15 or 20 pounds skinnier, but if I never get it off, I can be happy where I am. I have learned to love my body and myself. Of course, it helps that my boy tells me how beautiful I am and that he loves my body. It's hard to feel fat when the person you love tells you you're perfect just the way you are. Hence why I love him. (Well, there are some other reasons too).
I feel really good about this holiday. I have never spent a Thanksgiving or Christmas without my family, but I think it's going to go well. My parents aren't doing anything anyway because one of my brothers is going to his friends' thanksgiving, and the other is out at sea with the Navy. That leaves my sister, but she doesn't have a car and can't drive home. So basically, I'm not missing out on anything. It will be weird to eat northern Thanksgiving instead of the southern staples, though. I guess that's going to come up when dating a northern boy; I should get used to it. I can't wait to write about that whole thing! New York-Italian family celebrating a holiday. It should be fun... slash funny. Wish me luck!
When I was depressed, I had a huge self-esteem issue. As I said before, I was obese because my depression made me eat more (I think they call that atypical depression symptoms) and I was on medicine that had weight gain side effects. I regret ever taking that medicine. All it did was make me more tired than I was before, more lazy than I was before, and fatter than I was before. Let's get one thing straight, my whole life I was a little overweight - "chunky" you might say. It runs in my family. We like food. So when I got sick, I stopped trying to keep my weight down. Eating made me feel better. The depression was sucking up any energy I had, so carbs and sugar spurred some activity and made me feel a little better. Then I was put on a medication that either changed my metabolism or created more cravings. I'm not sure exactly how it worked, but I gained 20 pounds in the three months I was on it. Later, when I was at the clinic, some of the other patients were put on it and they would spend all their free time in the snack room scrounging for food. Just hours after dinner I watched them scarfing down chips and cookies and Ramen noodles like they had never eaten before. I thanked god that I wasn't on it anymore and refused to ever try it again.
My point, I guess, is that being that overweight just made my depression and self-esteem worse. Not only did I think I was a waste of life, but now I felt like a disgusting, ugly, fat-ass on top of it. Gosh, I can't believe how much I hated myself.
Even now, I am not skinny, but I feel beautiful 90% of the time. Like most women, I would love to be like 15 or 20 pounds skinnier, but if I never get it off, I can be happy where I am. I have learned to love my body and myself. Of course, it helps that my boy tells me how beautiful I am and that he loves my body. It's hard to feel fat when the person you love tells you you're perfect just the way you are. Hence why I love him. (Well, there are some other reasons too).
I feel really good about this holiday. I have never spent a Thanksgiving or Christmas without my family, but I think it's going to go well. My parents aren't doing anything anyway because one of my brothers is going to his friends' thanksgiving, and the other is out at sea with the Navy. That leaves my sister, but she doesn't have a car and can't drive home. So basically, I'm not missing out on anything. It will be weird to eat northern Thanksgiving instead of the southern staples, though. I guess that's going to come up when dating a northern boy; I should get used to it. I can't wait to write about that whole thing! New York-Italian family celebrating a holiday. It should be fun... slash funny. Wish me luck!
Research Experience
I am currently a psychology major doing research in a university psychology lab. Our current study has to do with rejection and pain. Basically, there are two theories about the effects of social rejection. The one we are studying focuses on the body's physical reaction. When the body is hurt (a cut, for example), it produces extra neurotransmitters to numb the injured area so that it can heal. Well, this theory says that the same affects happen when a person encounters emotional pain. Things like social rejection or just deep emotional pain are thought to induce the same numbness. We are "rejecting" people and testing their physiological responses to loud noise. My lab instructor believes that after feeling rejected they will have little or no response to a frightening noise. I will have to post when we have some data, but of course this is just one experiment in the works to learn more about it.
Anyways, I think this is incredibly interesting because when I was in deep emotional pain during my depression, I was cutting myself often. I didn't feel the pain like I would now. It was weird. I did it because it gave me a rush of good feeling (that would be the neurotransmitters released to protect the wound), but it never really hurt like a normal cut does now. I can't wait to see the results of this study. It should be really interesting and I wonder if they have applied it to self-injury and depression's emotional pain. I think I will look into this more and report if I find anything.
Anyways, I think this is incredibly interesting because when I was in deep emotional pain during my depression, I was cutting myself often. I didn't feel the pain like I would now. It was weird. I did it because it gave me a rush of good feeling (that would be the neurotransmitters released to protect the wound), but it never really hurt like a normal cut does now. I can't wait to see the results of this study. It should be really interesting and I wonder if they have applied it to self-injury and depression's emotional pain. I think I will look into this more and report if I find anything.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Yipes!
Wow! Tomorrow I am going to New York with my boyfriend for Thanksgiving. We have been dating for about five months now, and its going fantastically. We actually met on Match.com. I am sort of embarrassed to admit that, but it doesn't seem like such a big deal in this day and age. I was really reluctant to go on, but was also desparate for a decent relationship. Because of my depression, I didn't date at all from the time I graduated high school (2004) until I came to back to college (2008). While I was depressed, I gained a ton of weight, so when I started getting better I started losing it. Over one year (starting the day I was weighed in at the inpatient clinic) I lost 70 pounds. All of a sudden, when I went out, guys looked at me and paid attention to me and bought me drinks. It could have been because I was skinny, or it could have been because my confidence was sky-rocketing. It's hard to separate but the bottom line is that I was happy and I was getting male attention. Unfortunatetly, these still weren't the guys I wanted.
I went on a couple dates with a guy I met at a bar. It ended up being a bust. He was a total pothead and I'm pretty sure he was snorting coke in the bathroom while we were out. I don't do drugs, and I never have, soooo that didn't work out so well.
After reading that, you probably wouldn't expect the relationship that came next. Maybe I can explain it. My friend and I went to Key West for Christmas break last year. While there, I was given some pretty direct attention from guys. It made me feel like I was finally where I wanted to be my whole life as far as being skinny and fun. I got back to school in January (we're in 2009 now) and started on the prowl. Within two weeks I found a boyfriend, but again, it was at a bar. Big mistake.
He was 29, and hanging at a college bar. That should have raised questions, but I wanted someone so bad. Immediately I knew there was something bizarre. He lived with his parents; and about two weeks after we started dating he quit his job for no real reason. He didn't sleep at night and said he took Xanax for his terrible anxiety. Bull shit. I've been prescribed xanax, and when I was in the clinic they told me no one prescribes that anymore because it is too addictive to actually help the problems. Still, I let things slide. Slowly but surely the proof started piling up. He was a fucking drug addict, so his sister and I forced him (literally, like dragged him by his boot strings) to rehab. He stayed 18 days out of the 21 MINIMUM, 28 recommended. Why did I give him another chance? I don't know, maybe because I invested so much in trying to fix him. Long story short, the day after he got out of rehab, we went to a movie and he left me in the theater to go get high. Yeah. So that was that. I think I broke up with him every other day the entire four months we were dating. Ridiculous.
Luckily, after that fiasco and the wasted tears, I realized that I was way better than that. I wanted someone real and sweet and responsible. I wanted someone who would treat me like a princess. This is where match.com comes in. So my sister (yikes that's a whole other story) was staying with me while I'm getting through this break up. I changed my phone number and everything to get away from the creepster, but somehow kept talking to him. He pissed me off more and more until I start thinking it may not even be worth it to look for someone again. I mean by the time you find out what the person is really like (aka if they do drugs or beat women or... love men...) you've already invested all that time and all your heart. I thought there had to be a better way. My sister said it would be fun to go on match.com and look at the "losers' profiles". Well I started looking and was like "these aren't really losers. I could definitely date these people." So I signed up. Of course, my profile page said "I DONT do drugs" or something along those lines. I felt it was necessary to get that out there. I answered a lot of emails on there, but only followed through with a few dates. It didn't take much to know what clicked.
I went on a couple dates with a guy I met at a bar. It ended up being a bust. He was a total pothead and I'm pretty sure he was snorting coke in the bathroom while we were out. I don't do drugs, and I never have, soooo that didn't work out so well.
After reading that, you probably wouldn't expect the relationship that came next. Maybe I can explain it. My friend and I went to Key West for Christmas break last year. While there, I was given some pretty direct attention from guys. It made me feel like I was finally where I wanted to be my whole life as far as being skinny and fun. I got back to school in January (we're in 2009 now) and started on the prowl. Within two weeks I found a boyfriend, but again, it was at a bar. Big mistake.
He was 29, and hanging at a college bar. That should have raised questions, but I wanted someone so bad. Immediately I knew there was something bizarre. He lived with his parents; and about two weeks after we started dating he quit his job for no real reason. He didn't sleep at night and said he took Xanax for his terrible anxiety. Bull shit. I've been prescribed xanax, and when I was in the clinic they told me no one prescribes that anymore because it is too addictive to actually help the problems. Still, I let things slide. Slowly but surely the proof started piling up. He was a fucking drug addict, so his sister and I forced him (literally, like dragged him by his boot strings) to rehab. He stayed 18 days out of the 21 MINIMUM, 28 recommended. Why did I give him another chance? I don't know, maybe because I invested so much in trying to fix him. Long story short, the day after he got out of rehab, we went to a movie and he left me in the theater to go get high. Yeah. So that was that. I think I broke up with him every other day the entire four months we were dating. Ridiculous.
Luckily, after that fiasco and the wasted tears, I realized that I was way better than that. I wanted someone real and sweet and responsible. I wanted someone who would treat me like a princess. This is where match.com comes in. So my sister (yikes that's a whole other story) was staying with me while I'm getting through this break up. I changed my phone number and everything to get away from the creepster, but somehow kept talking to him. He pissed me off more and more until I start thinking it may not even be worth it to look for someone again. I mean by the time you find out what the person is really like (aka if they do drugs or beat women or... love men...) you've already invested all that time and all your heart. I thought there had to be a better way. My sister said it would be fun to go on match.com and look at the "losers' profiles". Well I started looking and was like "these aren't really losers. I could definitely date these people." So I signed up. Of course, my profile page said "I DONT do drugs" or something along those lines. I felt it was necessary to get that out there. I answered a lot of emails on there, but only followed through with a few dates. It didn't take much to know what clicked.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Symptom Checker
I saw a commercial for WebMD this morning. They have a symptom checker for depression. I went on and tried it out, and it looks decent. It asked more true/false questions about the facts of depression than my actual symptoms, but that was because I don't have many anymore. I took it again reporting the symptoms I used to have, and it gave me a lot of good information. I think it's a helpful tool for anyone wanting to know more about their sickness and when to get help.
http://www.webmd.com/depression/depression-health-check/default.htm?promo=1
http://www.webmd.com/depression/depression-health-check/default.htm?promo=1
Let's get this started!
I think this is going to be a long post since I have to start by explaining everything. I've never written a blog before, and I'm not sure that anyone will even read it. I just thought I'd give this a try because I know when I was sick I searched all over the internet for help and understanding. I hope this helps someone somewhere.
So, I'm figuring that I will give a brief overview in this first post and address the details of my story as life happens.
I am a 23 year-old college student in Florida. I was born and raised in the same town with the same people. When I was 18, I went to college 900 miles away where I knew NO ONE. At the same time, my parents moved 5 hours from the town I grew up in to a city I had never even been to. Apparently, these changes were a little too much for me.
Over the first 2 1/2 years of college, I slowly sunk into a deep depression. As with most depression, it was only worsened by growing anxiety. By the end of my freshman year, I was routinely slicing up my arms. Eventually I was put on a variety of medications that were only making my symptoms worse. In December of 2006, I overdosed on medication.
That first attempt was not handled well, and only made me more resolved to kill myself. I left school and moved into my parents' house, but was still extremely sick. The following May (2007), I attempted suicide again. This attempt was much worse. It sparked a flurry of responses from my parents and doctors to finally get me good, real help. I was placed in a crisis center for two weeks, and then moved directly into an inpatient rehab type facility for three and a half months. When I finally left, I started seeing an AMAZING therapist who did everything under the sun to help me. She forced me to get a job, volunteer, take tennis lessons, and start running all in the same month. These were integral steps towards my recovery.
In August 2008, I was able to go back to college. Of course, this time I stayed in my home state and went somewhere fairly close to my parents. They were nervous about this transition after my history. The first few months away were very difficult. I had been in therapy for almost three years, and when I went back to college it stopped abruptly. My therapist from home encouraged me to call her everytime I needed support, but it was still hard. All in all, the first few months did not go well. I had several breakdowns, started starving and bingeing and purging, and eventually overdosed again. I was put back in a crisis center for three days and it was then that I realized I did not want to do this anymore. I was done with being depressed and anxious and sick. I wanted to be normal again.
So, I'm figuring that I will give a brief overview in this first post and address the details of my story as life happens.
I am a 23 year-old college student in Florida. I was born and raised in the same town with the same people. When I was 18, I went to college 900 miles away where I knew NO ONE. At the same time, my parents moved 5 hours from the town I grew up in to a city I had never even been to. Apparently, these changes were a little too much for me.
Over the first 2 1/2 years of college, I slowly sunk into a deep depression. As with most depression, it was only worsened by growing anxiety. By the end of my freshman year, I was routinely slicing up my arms. Eventually I was put on a variety of medications that were only making my symptoms worse. In December of 2006, I overdosed on medication.
That first attempt was not handled well, and only made me more resolved to kill myself. I left school and moved into my parents' house, but was still extremely sick. The following May (2007), I attempted suicide again. This attempt was much worse. It sparked a flurry of responses from my parents and doctors to finally get me good, real help. I was placed in a crisis center for two weeks, and then moved directly into an inpatient rehab type facility for three and a half months. When I finally left, I started seeing an AMAZING therapist who did everything under the sun to help me. She forced me to get a job, volunteer, take tennis lessons, and start running all in the same month. These were integral steps towards my recovery.
In August 2008, I was able to go back to college. Of course, this time I stayed in my home state and went somewhere fairly close to my parents. They were nervous about this transition after my history. The first few months away were very difficult. I had been in therapy for almost three years, and when I went back to college it stopped abruptly. My therapist from home encouraged me to call her everytime I needed support, but it was still hard. All in all, the first few months did not go well. I had several breakdowns, started starving and bingeing and purging, and eventually overdosed again. I was put back in a crisis center for three days and it was then that I realized I did not want to do this anymore. I was done with being depressed and anxious and sick. I wanted to be normal again.
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