November Fifth Two Thousand Eighteen
Yesterday was not a good day for writing. I kept getting distracted. and today does not seem to be any easier. I am tired, and that is entirely due to the weather being cold, wet, and dreary. it is the kind of cold that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave. the worst possible kind.
I do not want to write much today, but I know I probably should. But I know if I force myself to write, then I will not want to write any more at all. So I may just leave this at that.In fact, I think I will. Unless I can think of more I want to talk about tonight.
Monday, November 5, 2018
NaNoWriMo 2018 Day 4 (Meant to post on the 4th, but forgot)
November Fourth, Two Thousand Eighteen
Today is a Sunday. This means that tomorrow, I will have the house to myself for the most part. My parents work during the week, so the house is quiet during the daytime. Well, except for the normal sounds of the daytime world.
I prefer the quiet of the night, because nobody is awake to bother me, nobody is awake to judge me for being awake, and I can focus on things that make me happy. I get to read stories, I can write if I want, I can work on dolls, I can work on my costumes, that sort of thing. Some nights, the anxiety tries to rear its ugly head, but for the most part, my brain has a hard time finding things to worry needlessly about.
Once in a while, if the anxiety is starting to act up, I will get up and just wander around the main part of the basement. Sometimes, this gives me ideas for things I want to write or draw, sometimes, it just quiets the anxiety down to levels where I can sit still and focus on whatever I am working on or watching, if I am watching television.
Some of the channels that I will frequent are Science Channel, Food Network, Travel Channel (only on Friday nights and Saturday nights), and Velocity. I like to learn about space and the world around me, I enjoy cooking, I love to see pretty cars be built or shown off, and on Friday and Saturday nights, I get to watch paranormal investigations. I find all of those topics really fascinating, so getting to see shows about the topics makes me very happy.
I also like to talk to people about my various hobbies, and I happen to be a member of a couple of discord servers. One is related to my job as an avatar forum item design artist, one is for Role Playing Games, and one is a safe space for female fans of Transformers.
I have found so many new friends through these servers, and I have actually met some of the people on the Transformers server in real life at a convention.
Today is a Sunday. This means that tomorrow, I will have the house to myself for the most part. My parents work during the week, so the house is quiet during the daytime. Well, except for the normal sounds of the daytime world.
I prefer the quiet of the night, because nobody is awake to bother me, nobody is awake to judge me for being awake, and I can focus on things that make me happy. I get to read stories, I can write if I want, I can work on dolls, I can work on my costumes, that sort of thing. Some nights, the anxiety tries to rear its ugly head, but for the most part, my brain has a hard time finding things to worry needlessly about.
Once in a while, if the anxiety is starting to act up, I will get up and just wander around the main part of the basement. Sometimes, this gives me ideas for things I want to write or draw, sometimes, it just quiets the anxiety down to levels where I can sit still and focus on whatever I am working on or watching, if I am watching television.
Some of the channels that I will frequent are Science Channel, Food Network, Travel Channel (only on Friday nights and Saturday nights), and Velocity. I like to learn about space and the world around me, I enjoy cooking, I love to see pretty cars be built or shown off, and on Friday and Saturday nights, I get to watch paranormal investigations. I find all of those topics really fascinating, so getting to see shows about the topics makes me very happy.
I also like to talk to people about my various hobbies, and I happen to be a member of a couple of discord servers. One is related to my job as an avatar forum item design artist, one is for Role Playing Games, and one is a safe space for female fans of Transformers.
I have found so many new friends through these servers, and I have actually met some of the people on the Transformers server in real life at a convention.
Saturday, November 3, 2018
NaNoWriMo 2018 Day 3
November Third Two Thousand Eighteen
In January of two thousand sixteen, my health problems began. Unbeknownst to me, a couple of uterine polyps had developed, which caused me to have prolonged period bleeding. By March, I was looking sickly and pale, and was having the occasional moment of weakness. By June, it had progressed to the point that even washing my hair, normally a low-impact activity for me, had become exhausting. I applied for Medicaid then, because I was frustrated by that point.
I was approved for Medicaid, and was able to get a doctor's appointment. All the while, I was getting steadily weaker and more weary. Finally, on September twenty eighth, two thousand sixteen, I went to my appointment with my primary care physician. I was diagnosed with severe anemia, and iron levels around four. Normal iron levels for adult females is around twelve to fourteen. I could barely stand upright for more than ten to twenty minutes, I was getting winded just climbing one set of stairs between floors, and I was so pale that it was obvious I was anemic as hell. I was allowed to get an overnight bag from home, and then I was admitted to the hospital for an infusion of three units of blood. I was also put on birth control, in the hopes that it would help stop the bleeding for the time being.
That night was the longest night I can remember experiencing, even with some of the conventions I have been to in the past. I would get woken up every so often to have my vitals checked, or I would get up every hour to use the bathroom, and it was generally unrestful. The IV line was in my right arm, because I had a vein that is close to the surface. To this day, I can still see the vein going through my arm, but I cannot find the spot where the IV went in. I think that is a bit odd, because I tend to scar very easily. Makes me a good candidate to get tattoos, because my skin holds onto pigment easily, too.
September twenty ninth, two thousand sixteen, I had an ultrasound to see if there were any cysts or other things that might have been causing my bleeding, but nothing was found. I was dismissed around one in the afternoon, and went home, with a birth control prescription, and an iron supplement. I spent the rest of the day resting and recovering, because I had an appointment the very next day with the gynecologist.
September thirtieth, two thousand sixteen, my mom drove me down to Shenandoah, Iowa, to my gynecologist appointment, then we went to Walmart and after Walmart, we went to eat at a Mexican restaurant. At the appointment, I had the standard "Well Woman" checks, and a pap smear. The gynecologist went over what the possibilities for what the cause of the abnormal bleeding (also called "menorrhagia") could be, as well. I was scheduled for an appointment the following month, to see how I was doing on the birth control dose.
That day was also my thirtieth birthday. I was a bit disappointed that my family did not make a big deal of it, because I had been looking forward to turning thirty on the thirtieth since I was a young child. I had cheesecake as my birthday dessert, but that was about it for celebration.
October came and went without much fuss, physically. Emotionally, however, I was starting to really slide into a depression spiral. I do not know if it was triggered by the weather changing, the fact that I was starting to have prolonged bleeding again, or both. All I know is that I was starting to have thoughts of killing myself. I even had a plan: to take a bunch of ibuprofen or acetaminophen and go lay down in my room. Even knowing I would likely hurt people if I tried or succeeded was starting to not be a deterrent for me.
November eleventh, two thousand sixteen, I had another gynecologist appointment. I was asked how I felt my birth control was working, and everything came out. All my frustration, all my upsetness, all my sadness, the fact that I wanted to kill myself, all of it. My gynecologist was not equipped to handle that, but she was able to get me in touch with people who were. I ended up going to a Crisis Stabilization Center a couple towns over from where I lived. I stayed over the weekend, getting a new, higher dose of birth control, and an antidepressant. I also went through a couple group therapy sessions, and by the end of the weekend, I was feeling better.
I went to my first therapy session a couple weeks later, and started making my way on the road to a better overall mental health status.
Thanksgiving came, and I drove to meet my boyfriend at the house his father owns. I asked him to come talk to me in private about something, and I explained what I had gone through weeks prior. To my amazement and joy, my boyfriend was understanding and incredibly supportive. I think having a clear idea of what was going on helped him better know what to do and gave him insight on why I might have been distant or unresponsive at times.
Having an answer to what was going on, and having it be something that is treatable and manageable through medication and therapy, as well as things like learning to identify my symptoms and when I might be starting to spiral have gone a very long way in helping me feel more like myself. I know I will still have bad days, but now, they are not as bad as they could have been.
Part of why I am writing about my mental health experiences this year for National Novel Writer's Month is because it will help not only myself, I will hopefully be able to help someone else who may be struggling. I may be able to convince someone who may be dealing with mental health issues to get help. I might be able to help save a life.
It may be a little selfish of me to admit that, but honestly, I no longer give a fuck. I want to help save people, even if it is just for my own self satisfaction. I would probably not brag about it, to be perfectly honest, but I would still feel really good about saving the life of another person.
As I have written about my past up to two years ago, I have had a few moments where I have broken down into tears, because some of those things were extremely painful or just so powerful for me to re-experience. I have always felt things very deeply. I guess that explains why I react so strongly to memories. Or at least part of why.
In May of two thousand seventeen, I had my antidepressant changed, and also got some advice about an upcoming trip. Instead of being on the generic for Prozac, I was put on the generic of Lexapro, and showed improvement in my overall energy levels. I still had strange hours, but I was not feeling the need to just sleep and nap as much.
I do still enjoy sleep. Especially as the weather gets colder, because it means that I can layer blankets on my bed and I can wear my favorite pajamas to bed as well. Right now, I have a winter sleeping bag on my bed, with a cotton flat sheet inside for a little extra comfort. It is very comfortable in the middle of the night, once it has warmed up with my body heat. I love how cozy I feel, though I do wish I was laying on a full sized or larger mattress, so I could build a proper blanket and pillow nest for myself.
With the blankets, there is something very comforting for me in having a steady weight on top of me. A gentle, consistent pressure and weight comforts and relaxes me. I think it may have something to do with me being Autistic or it may just be due to my anxiety. Either way, I enjoy heavy blankets on top of me. To that effect, I have many blankets that I have bought myself over the years, and once winter has officially taken hold of my area, I will likely be either piling them on top of the winter bag, or I will bring some of them into the bag with me.
I also have to have a plushie to tuck between my arms and my torso, otherwise I have a hard time getting to sleep. I have a plushie rottweiler and a plushie giant squid. The rottie is Doggy-Ironhide, and the giant squid is Sir Archibald The Second, Also Known As Archie Junior. Doggy-Ironhide was a gift from a friend, and Archie Junior was an Amazon purchase last Christmas. I got into a fight with my mother about having dolls and plushies at my age, and I told her to stuff her opinion. They make me feel safe and comforted, and they are not things that would hurt others or myself by me having them.
That is something I will never understand. Why people feel the need to try and shame people like me, who enjoy toys and such. There are way too many worse things we could be spending our time on, as well as our money. We are not harming ourselves by having toys and plushies, we are not harming others by having toys and plushies, and we are able to find others who share our interests in toys and plushies, so we are able to find ways to socialize. Just because the things people like me enjoy are not what "normal" society deems "appropriate", "normal" society thinks it is acceptable to mock us and try and shame us out of the hobbies and interests.
That sort of nonsense is irritating to me. We are not hurting ourselves or others, we are not participating in illegal activities, and we are happy and able to socialize when we feel like doing so. Society needs to stop seeing us as targets for bullying.
In January of two thousand sixteen, my health problems began. Unbeknownst to me, a couple of uterine polyps had developed, which caused me to have prolonged period bleeding. By March, I was looking sickly and pale, and was having the occasional moment of weakness. By June, it had progressed to the point that even washing my hair, normally a low-impact activity for me, had become exhausting. I applied for Medicaid then, because I was frustrated by that point.
I was approved for Medicaid, and was able to get a doctor's appointment. All the while, I was getting steadily weaker and more weary. Finally, on September twenty eighth, two thousand sixteen, I went to my appointment with my primary care physician. I was diagnosed with severe anemia, and iron levels around four. Normal iron levels for adult females is around twelve to fourteen. I could barely stand upright for more than ten to twenty minutes, I was getting winded just climbing one set of stairs between floors, and I was so pale that it was obvious I was anemic as hell. I was allowed to get an overnight bag from home, and then I was admitted to the hospital for an infusion of three units of blood. I was also put on birth control, in the hopes that it would help stop the bleeding for the time being.
That night was the longest night I can remember experiencing, even with some of the conventions I have been to in the past. I would get woken up every so often to have my vitals checked, or I would get up every hour to use the bathroom, and it was generally unrestful. The IV line was in my right arm, because I had a vein that is close to the surface. To this day, I can still see the vein going through my arm, but I cannot find the spot where the IV went in. I think that is a bit odd, because I tend to scar very easily. Makes me a good candidate to get tattoos, because my skin holds onto pigment easily, too.
September twenty ninth, two thousand sixteen, I had an ultrasound to see if there were any cysts or other things that might have been causing my bleeding, but nothing was found. I was dismissed around one in the afternoon, and went home, with a birth control prescription, and an iron supplement. I spent the rest of the day resting and recovering, because I had an appointment the very next day with the gynecologist.
September thirtieth, two thousand sixteen, my mom drove me down to Shenandoah, Iowa, to my gynecologist appointment, then we went to Walmart and after Walmart, we went to eat at a Mexican restaurant. At the appointment, I had the standard "Well Woman" checks, and a pap smear. The gynecologist went over what the possibilities for what the cause of the abnormal bleeding (also called "menorrhagia") could be, as well. I was scheduled for an appointment the following month, to see how I was doing on the birth control dose.
That day was also my thirtieth birthday. I was a bit disappointed that my family did not make a big deal of it, because I had been looking forward to turning thirty on the thirtieth since I was a young child. I had cheesecake as my birthday dessert, but that was about it for celebration.
October came and went without much fuss, physically. Emotionally, however, I was starting to really slide into a depression spiral. I do not know if it was triggered by the weather changing, the fact that I was starting to have prolonged bleeding again, or both. All I know is that I was starting to have thoughts of killing myself. I even had a plan: to take a bunch of ibuprofen or acetaminophen and go lay down in my room. Even knowing I would likely hurt people if I tried or succeeded was starting to not be a deterrent for me.
November eleventh, two thousand sixteen, I had another gynecologist appointment. I was asked how I felt my birth control was working, and everything came out. All my frustration, all my upsetness, all my sadness, the fact that I wanted to kill myself, all of it. My gynecologist was not equipped to handle that, but she was able to get me in touch with people who were. I ended up going to a Crisis Stabilization Center a couple towns over from where I lived. I stayed over the weekend, getting a new, higher dose of birth control, and an antidepressant. I also went through a couple group therapy sessions, and by the end of the weekend, I was feeling better.
I went to my first therapy session a couple weeks later, and started making my way on the road to a better overall mental health status.
Thanksgiving came, and I drove to meet my boyfriend at the house his father owns. I asked him to come talk to me in private about something, and I explained what I had gone through weeks prior. To my amazement and joy, my boyfriend was understanding and incredibly supportive. I think having a clear idea of what was going on helped him better know what to do and gave him insight on why I might have been distant or unresponsive at times.
Having an answer to what was going on, and having it be something that is treatable and manageable through medication and therapy, as well as things like learning to identify my symptoms and when I might be starting to spiral have gone a very long way in helping me feel more like myself. I know I will still have bad days, but now, they are not as bad as they could have been.
Part of why I am writing about my mental health experiences this year for National Novel Writer's Month is because it will help not only myself, I will hopefully be able to help someone else who may be struggling. I may be able to convince someone who may be dealing with mental health issues to get help. I might be able to help save a life.
It may be a little selfish of me to admit that, but honestly, I no longer give a fuck. I want to help save people, even if it is just for my own self satisfaction. I would probably not brag about it, to be perfectly honest, but I would still feel really good about saving the life of another person.
As I have written about my past up to two years ago, I have had a few moments where I have broken down into tears, because some of those things were extremely painful or just so powerful for me to re-experience. I have always felt things very deeply. I guess that explains why I react so strongly to memories. Or at least part of why.
In May of two thousand seventeen, I had my antidepressant changed, and also got some advice about an upcoming trip. Instead of being on the generic for Prozac, I was put on the generic of Lexapro, and showed improvement in my overall energy levels. I still had strange hours, but I was not feeling the need to just sleep and nap as much.
I do still enjoy sleep. Especially as the weather gets colder, because it means that I can layer blankets on my bed and I can wear my favorite pajamas to bed as well. Right now, I have a winter sleeping bag on my bed, with a cotton flat sheet inside for a little extra comfort. It is very comfortable in the middle of the night, once it has warmed up with my body heat. I love how cozy I feel, though I do wish I was laying on a full sized or larger mattress, so I could build a proper blanket and pillow nest for myself.
With the blankets, there is something very comforting for me in having a steady weight on top of me. A gentle, consistent pressure and weight comforts and relaxes me. I think it may have something to do with me being Autistic or it may just be due to my anxiety. Either way, I enjoy heavy blankets on top of me. To that effect, I have many blankets that I have bought myself over the years, and once winter has officially taken hold of my area, I will likely be either piling them on top of the winter bag, or I will bring some of them into the bag with me.
I also have to have a plushie to tuck between my arms and my torso, otherwise I have a hard time getting to sleep. I have a plushie rottweiler and a plushie giant squid. The rottie is Doggy-Ironhide, and the giant squid is Sir Archibald The Second, Also Known As Archie Junior. Doggy-Ironhide was a gift from a friend, and Archie Junior was an Amazon purchase last Christmas. I got into a fight with my mother about having dolls and plushies at my age, and I told her to stuff her opinion. They make me feel safe and comforted, and they are not things that would hurt others or myself by me having them.
That is something I will never understand. Why people feel the need to try and shame people like me, who enjoy toys and such. There are way too many worse things we could be spending our time on, as well as our money. We are not harming ourselves by having toys and plushies, we are not harming others by having toys and plushies, and we are able to find others who share our interests in toys and plushies, so we are able to find ways to socialize. Just because the things people like me enjoy are not what "normal" society deems "appropriate", "normal" society thinks it is acceptable to mock us and try and shame us out of the hobbies and interests.
That sort of nonsense is irritating to me. We are not hurting ourselves or others, we are not participating in illegal activities, and we are happy and able to socialize when we feel like doing so. Society needs to stop seeing us as targets for bullying.
Friday, November 2, 2018
NaNoWriMo 2018 Day 2
November Second, Two Thousand Eighteen
In two thousand thirteen, I had my next big encounter with depression and anxiety. I had started working at Bank of the West, in their collections department. I was stressed out, and it was the holiday season, so things were chaotic around me. I recognized that I needed help, but I did not take advantage of services through my insurance at the time. And at that time, I was not nearly as bad as I got a few years later. Toward the end of that year, my electricity got turned off, and it took me a couple weeks to get the money together to get my power restored.
I was incredibly pissed off, because I had planned on cooking a Christmas Turkey, and because the power had been turned off, I had a fridge full of food that got ruined. I was lucky enough to have friends who had a spare room in their apartment that they allowed me to stay in while my power was out. At the start of the new year, I stayed in my apartment, because I was stubborn. A few months later, I was evicted, due to rent not being paid, and I ended up staying with another friend for a few months.
In July of two thousand fourteen, I drove down to Kansas City, and the Overland Park area. I spent July to January two thousand fifteen sleeping in the back of my car and working wherever I could find work. I was hired by Express Scripts through West, just before West became Alorica, and for almost half a year in two thousand fifteen, I had a steady job. In July of two thousand fifteen, my part of the Express Scripts line group was moved to being handled solely by Express Scripts, effectively making my job obsolete.
By then, I had moved back in with my parents, because I needed a "safe" place to stay. There were many instances of conflict between my mother and myself during that time, and several points of contention between my dad and myself. I became involved in a long-term relationship with the very awesome and understanding man who is now my boyfriend, and the younger sibling got married in August of that year.
I still do not get along with the younger sibling, and his wife is similarly headstrong and a bit toxic in behavior. I do not like the holiday season because there is at least one holiday where I have to spend some time with the younger sibling and his wife, and they both bully me, whether they seem to realize it or not.
The year I met the extended family of my boyfriend, the younger sibling decided to restrict my wifi access unless I could "prove" I was not just dicking around on the internet. I ended up reacting very negatively, cursing at him and actually raising my voice, in front of our parents, no less. It was not that he restricted my ability to effectively job search, he cut me off from my support network of online friends.
Ever since that holiday season, I have gone out of my way to actively avoid the younger sibling. As a result, I get whined at that I do not spend time with him and his wife, but he fails to acknowledge or even admit that his behavior is why I choose to minimize my contact with him. I get villianized, and the toxic behavior is not addressed. The younger sibling is the favorite child in the family, because he is neurotypical, and has been "successful" in the eyes of our parents.
I am ostracized, and I deal with emotional abuse and the occasional verbal abuse. When I was younger and more fearful of my parents, I was on the receiving end of physical abuse as well. When I was about 17 or so, the younger sibling and I were fighting and I was the one who got physically punished. Dad came roaring down the basement stairs and grabbed me by the ribs hard enough to leave bruises. The next day, he acted as though he had not done anything wrong or hurtful to me. Another time, Mom was angry with me for something (I do not remember now what it was, or whether it was something I did or did not do), and ground her knuckles into my scalp while rapping them on my head.
I now have to mentally psyche myself up to get my hair cut, because hands near my face will send me into a panic if I am not expecting them. I also get panicky if people are yelling at each other in anger. Because of my dad having a nasty temper and tending to yell when he is upset, I do not like to be around people yelling at each other in anger. I will literally start panicking and crying, if I do not just flee outright. I also find myself apologizing profusely if someone seems to be angry with me, and I cannot handle being yelled at. I will break down into tears and full blown panic. I cannot help the reaction.
I have become very good at identifying my triggers. I have already stated the major ones, but I also react to being stuck in very large crowds, especially very noisy ones. I also dislike having people standing on the edges of my peripheral field of vision. It makes me uneasy because of past abuse.
I know what I went through was not how normal families interact with one another, but I also know that my family members do not see anything wrong with how they behaved in the past or how they continue to behave. If I could understand the "why" behind their behaviors, I would still likely be upset with them, but I would know why they chose to behave so cruelly toward me. I think it is simply a desire to understand things, but I know that it is not likely that I will ever get a satisfactory answer to why my family members treated me like shit and continue to be somewhat shitty to me. I simply try to be a decent human being, and I try not to continue fueling the cycle of abuse.
I will never be a parent. I know that my mental state would deteriorate rapidly if I were to become a mother, from the sheer stress. I also know that my parents and the younger sibling would do their damnedest to sabotage my attempts to raise a child to be a decent human being and not an entitled piece of dumpster fire.
I try to not be an entitled piece of dumpster fire, but I know that I am only human, and that I will mess up sometimes. I accept this, and I try to make amends and do better if I unintentionally hurt someone, but I have a hard time knowing if I have done so if I am not told outright that I have hurt someone, and what it is that I did or said that is hurtful. Thankfully, my friends understand and are quick to tell me when I mess up, so I know what I did, and I can apologize and work on doing better next time.
I suppose all I can do is try my hardest to be a good person. I can only hope for fellow good people to find me or for me to find them. So far, I think I have been succeeding in finding good people. I try hard to be kind, to be fair, and to not let people take advantage of my kindness. I do tend to find the occasional bad apple disguised as a good one, and I have trouble with letting them go if they are not inherently bad, but they choose to side with people who hate others for being not white, not male, not heterosexual, not cisgender, not Christian, and other ways of discrimination.
Part of me wants to try and convince them that they are wrong and to help them do better, but part of me knows that they have decided that they are unable to change their ways of thinking. And knowing that they basically hate a fundamental part of who I am is quite upsetting. So for now, I try and work up the courage to break off ties with them, and I do not talk to them as often as I used to. I do not like having to cut ties to people who have been a part of my life for a while. I have a hard time with friendship, despite trying my best to be a good friend.
For some reason, I have had a couple of friendships with people who
ended up being toxic and bad for my mental health. The first one ended because the other person had been raised in a household where she was constantly blamed for everything, so that was how she learned to interact with others, and we had a fight because she was trying to tell me how to spend money I had earned. She refused to acknowledge that we were both responsible for the fight and I later learned she would actively try to talk shit about me to other people who were not having any of her nonsense.
The next is the person I mentioned before the prior paragraph. I found out that they are not "comfortable" with the "idea" of people like me, who are not heterosexual or heteroromantic, who do not identify as strictly male or strictly female, who are Muslim, or who are not Christian like them. I am having a very hard time cutting ties with them because they have been there for me when I have
been at my lowest, and we have a lot of shared interests, but they are convinced that because they are older than me, they are pretty stuck in their ways.
I know people are more than capable of change, if they are willing. It is upsetting to me when people are not willing to change, even though I understand how completely and utterly terrifying facing change can be. I have been through quite a lot of change since I first went to college back in two thousand and five. My world view has changed and expanded, and I have memories that I would never trade for anything, including a stable job and a "normal" life.
In two thousand thirteen, I had my next big encounter with depression and anxiety. I had started working at Bank of the West, in their collections department. I was stressed out, and it was the holiday season, so things were chaotic around me. I recognized that I needed help, but I did not take advantage of services through my insurance at the time. And at that time, I was not nearly as bad as I got a few years later. Toward the end of that year, my electricity got turned off, and it took me a couple weeks to get the money together to get my power restored.
I was incredibly pissed off, because I had planned on cooking a Christmas Turkey, and because the power had been turned off, I had a fridge full of food that got ruined. I was lucky enough to have friends who had a spare room in their apartment that they allowed me to stay in while my power was out. At the start of the new year, I stayed in my apartment, because I was stubborn. A few months later, I was evicted, due to rent not being paid, and I ended up staying with another friend for a few months.
In July of two thousand fourteen, I drove down to Kansas City, and the Overland Park area. I spent July to January two thousand fifteen sleeping in the back of my car and working wherever I could find work. I was hired by Express Scripts through West, just before West became Alorica, and for almost half a year in two thousand fifteen, I had a steady job. In July of two thousand fifteen, my part of the Express Scripts line group was moved to being handled solely by Express Scripts, effectively making my job obsolete.
By then, I had moved back in with my parents, because I needed a "safe" place to stay. There were many instances of conflict between my mother and myself during that time, and several points of contention between my dad and myself. I became involved in a long-term relationship with the very awesome and understanding man who is now my boyfriend, and the younger sibling got married in August of that year.
I still do not get along with the younger sibling, and his wife is similarly headstrong and a bit toxic in behavior. I do not like the holiday season because there is at least one holiday where I have to spend some time with the younger sibling and his wife, and they both bully me, whether they seem to realize it or not.
The year I met the extended family of my boyfriend, the younger sibling decided to restrict my wifi access unless I could "prove" I was not just dicking around on the internet. I ended up reacting very negatively, cursing at him and actually raising my voice, in front of our parents, no less. It was not that he restricted my ability to effectively job search, he cut me off from my support network of online friends.
Ever since that holiday season, I have gone out of my way to actively avoid the younger sibling. As a result, I get whined at that I do not spend time with him and his wife, but he fails to acknowledge or even admit that his behavior is why I choose to minimize my contact with him. I get villianized, and the toxic behavior is not addressed. The younger sibling is the favorite child in the family, because he is neurotypical, and has been "successful" in the eyes of our parents.
I am ostracized, and I deal with emotional abuse and the occasional verbal abuse. When I was younger and more fearful of my parents, I was on the receiving end of physical abuse as well. When I was about 17 or so, the younger sibling and I were fighting and I was the one who got physically punished. Dad came roaring down the basement stairs and grabbed me by the ribs hard enough to leave bruises. The next day, he acted as though he had not done anything wrong or hurtful to me. Another time, Mom was angry with me for something (I do not remember now what it was, or whether it was something I did or did not do), and ground her knuckles into my scalp while rapping them on my head.
I now have to mentally psyche myself up to get my hair cut, because hands near my face will send me into a panic if I am not expecting them. I also get panicky if people are yelling at each other in anger. Because of my dad having a nasty temper and tending to yell when he is upset, I do not like to be around people yelling at each other in anger. I will literally start panicking and crying, if I do not just flee outright. I also find myself apologizing profusely if someone seems to be angry with me, and I cannot handle being yelled at. I will break down into tears and full blown panic. I cannot help the reaction.
I have become very good at identifying my triggers. I have already stated the major ones, but I also react to being stuck in very large crowds, especially very noisy ones. I also dislike having people standing on the edges of my peripheral field of vision. It makes me uneasy because of past abuse.
I know what I went through was not how normal families interact with one another, but I also know that my family members do not see anything wrong with how they behaved in the past or how they continue to behave. If I could understand the "why" behind their behaviors, I would still likely be upset with them, but I would know why they chose to behave so cruelly toward me. I think it is simply a desire to understand things, but I know that it is not likely that I will ever get a satisfactory answer to why my family members treated me like shit and continue to be somewhat shitty to me. I simply try to be a decent human being, and I try not to continue fueling the cycle of abuse.
I will never be a parent. I know that my mental state would deteriorate rapidly if I were to become a mother, from the sheer stress. I also know that my parents and the younger sibling would do their damnedest to sabotage my attempts to raise a child to be a decent human being and not an entitled piece of dumpster fire.
I try to not be an entitled piece of dumpster fire, but I know that I am only human, and that I will mess up sometimes. I accept this, and I try to make amends and do better if I unintentionally hurt someone, but I have a hard time knowing if I have done so if I am not told outright that I have hurt someone, and what it is that I did or said that is hurtful. Thankfully, my friends understand and are quick to tell me when I mess up, so I know what I did, and I can apologize and work on doing better next time.
I suppose all I can do is try my hardest to be a good person. I can only hope for fellow good people to find me or for me to find them. So far, I think I have been succeeding in finding good people. I try hard to be kind, to be fair, and to not let people take advantage of my kindness. I do tend to find the occasional bad apple disguised as a good one, and I have trouble with letting them go if they are not inherently bad, but they choose to side with people who hate others for being not white, not male, not heterosexual, not cisgender, not Christian, and other ways of discrimination.
Part of me wants to try and convince them that they are wrong and to help them do better, but part of me knows that they have decided that they are unable to change their ways of thinking. And knowing that they basically hate a fundamental part of who I am is quite upsetting. So for now, I try and work up the courage to break off ties with them, and I do not talk to them as often as I used to. I do not like having to cut ties to people who have been a part of my life for a while. I have a hard time with friendship, despite trying my best to be a good friend.
For some reason, I have had a couple of friendships with people who
ended up being toxic and bad for my mental health. The first one ended because the other person had been raised in a household where she was constantly blamed for everything, so that was how she learned to interact with others, and we had a fight because she was trying to tell me how to spend money I had earned. She refused to acknowledge that we were both responsible for the fight and I later learned she would actively try to talk shit about me to other people who were not having any of her nonsense.
The next is the person I mentioned before the prior paragraph. I found out that they are not "comfortable" with the "idea" of people like me, who are not heterosexual or heteroromantic, who do not identify as strictly male or strictly female, who are Muslim, or who are not Christian like them. I am having a very hard time cutting ties with them because they have been there for me when I have
been at my lowest, and we have a lot of shared interests, but they are convinced that because they are older than me, they are pretty stuck in their ways.
I know people are more than capable of change, if they are willing. It is upsetting to me when people are not willing to change, even though I understand how completely and utterly terrifying facing change can be. I have been through quite a lot of change since I first went to college back in two thousand and five. My world view has changed and expanded, and I have memories that I would never trade for anything, including a stable job and a "normal" life.
Thursday, November 1, 2018
NaNoWriMo 2018 Day 1
November first, two thousand eighteen
November is an interesting month for many. For most people in the United States, it is a time of preparing for Thanksgiving and family coming to visit. For some, it is a time of sadness, where they remember loved ones who have passed away in the past year. For me, it is the anniversary month of when I finally got help for my depression and anxiety issues. For me, it is the month when my life was saved.
I first had an encounter with depression and suicidal ideations when I was eleven. I was an early bloomer, and was amongst the first of the girls to get my period. I was also being bullied, because I was "weird" and tended to over react to things. I did not know it at the time, because I was misdiagnosed or maybe partially misdiagnosed, with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder - Inattentive Type. I do not remember exactly when I first felt like I wanted to die, but I know it was when I was eleven.
That year, I had to stand outside the trailer that was my fifth grade classroom each day before the teacher arrived, because I had had a negative reaction to a classmate standing directly behind me. I was the one punished, not the classmate. The reason I reacted badly was because my younger sibling liked to hit me when he would stand directly behind me, and I panicked when my classmate stood behind me, because I was afraid of being hit again. My parents agreed with the teacher deciding that I was in the wrong, and saw no problems with me standing outside the classroom, even in the middle of winter in the Midwest, when the weather was blisteringly cold.
It may seem like I am just making this up. I really wish I had imagined it. Sadly, I did not imagine it. It was not uncommon for me to be punished for my reactions to how my classmates treated me, with them not being punished at all. The only time I did not have that happen was with my art teacher in high school, but I will get to that eventually. Basically, I was treated like the problem when it was my classmates who acted like utter assholes, and most of the adults who were supposed to be advocates refused to be an advocate for me.
My next experiences with depression and anxiety were in high school, but I did not recognize them for what they were at the time, because I was so stressed dealing with schoolwork, and asshole bullies who would throw pens and pencils at me when I was sitting out of the way by my locker. The school staff would not do anything about it besides victim blame me, which really pissed me the fuck off, especially because I was being physically, emotionally, and verbally abused by my younger sibling. One of the worst times was when he punched me as hard as he could on my upper left arm, where I had previously broken the bone. That resulted in a massive bruise that appeared in minutes. I chose to write a letter to one of the guidance counselors, who happened to be the boss of my mother. I requested information on how to become an emancipated minor, because I was sick of dealing with all the abusive bullshit. It was enough to get the attention of my mother, who only agreed to bring the sibling in for a talk because it would have made her look bad to have a child who became an emancipated minor.
The one adult who really acted as an advocate for me was the art teacher at high school, Mr. Martinez. He recognized that I was not actually the problem student, and he would let me draw or make whatever I wanted, because I would sit quietly and work on my projects. I would irritate the hell out of my classmates because I would be sitting there drawing artistic nudes without getting into trouble. It was literally because I would sit quietly and not cause a ruckous that I was allowed to draw potentially questionable artwork. I loved being in art classes, because it was an outlet for me, and I genuinely enjoy creating artwork.
High school basically sucked balls for me, but being able to create made it suck slightly less. Art has always been an outlet for me. I genuinely enjoy making artwork and costumes and doll stuff. I love the creative process and the fact that I have something neat to show for my hard work. Especially when what I am making is incredibly detailed and complex.
I enjoy making Transformers costumes and fanart, because it is fun. I love showing off what I have made. Especially the costumes. I love running around in costume at conventions, even if it leaves me exhausted at the end of the day. I enjoy seeing the reactions to all my hard work. I can also combat my anxiety because I am able to slip into "Character Mode", where when I am in costume, I AM the character I am dressed up as. I am not Denver, the slightly socially awkward person who tries to not be annoying as fuck, I am Ravage, or I am Heatwave, or I am MegaEmpress. I literally BECOME the character.
I think part of that is because I am Autistic. I observe how others behave, and I study how characters behave, and because I have spent so much time observing, I am able to imitate very effectively. I am able to interact in society because I have observed so much as to how people interact and what is and what is not okay to say or do. I know there is a stereotype of Autism Spectrum Disorder and general assholery, but because I have been through so much poor treatment from people who were supposed to be my peers and advocates, I do my best to not be an asshole intentionally. I always worry that I've somehow pissed someone off because I did or said something that they did not find to be acceptable. So I tend to obsess over that, and worry about whether or not I am making someone upset.
That worry is part of the anxiety I deal with. I need a lot of reassurance from those close to me that I am not pissing them off, and I appreciate it when people tell me outright what they are and are not alright with being said or done. I do not do well with ambiguity. I do not do well with vagueness in spoken or written word. And part of the anxiety is worrying about if I am being annoying when I ask for clarification on things. I need things spelled out clearly, in simple language. Not because I do not understand big words, but because the simpler and more straightforward something is worded, the easier I understand it.
I know this is definitely due to being on the Autism spectrum. I have a difficult time with sarcasm as well, which can be trying because my boyfriend is fluent in sarcasm, to the point that it could be considered a second language for him. I can snark, and I am capable of being sarcastic, but I have trouble recognizing it from others. Also, my sense of humor is strange, and largely based in wordplay and puns. I appreciate a good twist on words and love puns, because I actually have a very sizeable vocabulary, despite all the swearing and obscenities I use on a regular basis.
I enjoy reading, though I do not get to do it as often as I would like, because of the fact that I live with animals and have to take one of them out to piss and shit on a regular basis. Said animal is also clingy as fuck, and will climb up to lay on my lap given half a chance. Maxwell is a smart dog, but I cannot turn my attention to anything but him if he jumps up onto my lap, because he will stick his nose in my face. I cannot even check my phone, because of that.
I long for the day when I can just sit down in a chair, read, and not be interrupted for several hours. I love having time where I am not doing anything too terribly taxing, and am just focusing on one task that I find enjoyable. This is why I enjoy taking long walks where it is just me walking around town, listening to my favorite podcast and music. I can walk for very long distances, despite being slow as hell. I am also capable of carrying a lot of stuff on my back. I am built not for speed, I am built for endurance.
I always was slow in gym class. I could never actually run a mile, but I can walk one easily, and can keep going. I have a feeling that I would be able to do long term costume wear in a full body Transformers costume at a convention. I would need a way to keep hydrated, and would need breaks for food and to stretch my back a bit, but I think I could do all day events. I know I would need good shoes, or at least a lot of padding in the feet.
One thing I notice, I tend to ramble and go off topic. I have a lot of things that are going through my head at any one moment. It is difficult for me to get things to stay stringed together in a coherent way sometimes. It gets worse when I get excited, because I have a hard time not just rambling and going on and on, speaking rapidly about a topic. It is hard to get things to come out in a way that does not just sound like nonsense.
November is an interesting month for many. For most people in the United States, it is a time of preparing for Thanksgiving and family coming to visit. For some, it is a time of sadness, where they remember loved ones who have passed away in the past year. For me, it is the anniversary month of when I finally got help for my depression and anxiety issues. For me, it is the month when my life was saved.
I first had an encounter with depression and suicidal ideations when I was eleven. I was an early bloomer, and was amongst the first of the girls to get my period. I was also being bullied, because I was "weird" and tended to over react to things. I did not know it at the time, because I was misdiagnosed or maybe partially misdiagnosed, with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder - Inattentive Type. I do not remember exactly when I first felt like I wanted to die, but I know it was when I was eleven.
That year, I had to stand outside the trailer that was my fifth grade classroom each day before the teacher arrived, because I had had a negative reaction to a classmate standing directly behind me. I was the one punished, not the classmate. The reason I reacted badly was because my younger sibling liked to hit me when he would stand directly behind me, and I panicked when my classmate stood behind me, because I was afraid of being hit again. My parents agreed with the teacher deciding that I was in the wrong, and saw no problems with me standing outside the classroom, even in the middle of winter in the Midwest, when the weather was blisteringly cold.
It may seem like I am just making this up. I really wish I had imagined it. Sadly, I did not imagine it. It was not uncommon for me to be punished for my reactions to how my classmates treated me, with them not being punished at all. The only time I did not have that happen was with my art teacher in high school, but I will get to that eventually. Basically, I was treated like the problem when it was my classmates who acted like utter assholes, and most of the adults who were supposed to be advocates refused to be an advocate for me.
My next experiences with depression and anxiety were in high school, but I did not recognize them for what they were at the time, because I was so stressed dealing with schoolwork, and asshole bullies who would throw pens and pencils at me when I was sitting out of the way by my locker. The school staff would not do anything about it besides victim blame me, which really pissed me the fuck off, especially because I was being physically, emotionally, and verbally abused by my younger sibling. One of the worst times was when he punched me as hard as he could on my upper left arm, where I had previously broken the bone. That resulted in a massive bruise that appeared in minutes. I chose to write a letter to one of the guidance counselors, who happened to be the boss of my mother. I requested information on how to become an emancipated minor, because I was sick of dealing with all the abusive bullshit. It was enough to get the attention of my mother, who only agreed to bring the sibling in for a talk because it would have made her look bad to have a child who became an emancipated minor.
The one adult who really acted as an advocate for me was the art teacher at high school, Mr. Martinez. He recognized that I was not actually the problem student, and he would let me draw or make whatever I wanted, because I would sit quietly and work on my projects. I would irritate the hell out of my classmates because I would be sitting there drawing artistic nudes without getting into trouble. It was literally because I would sit quietly and not cause a ruckous that I was allowed to draw potentially questionable artwork. I loved being in art classes, because it was an outlet for me, and I genuinely enjoy creating artwork.
High school basically sucked balls for me, but being able to create made it suck slightly less. Art has always been an outlet for me. I genuinely enjoy making artwork and costumes and doll stuff. I love the creative process and the fact that I have something neat to show for my hard work. Especially when what I am making is incredibly detailed and complex.
I enjoy making Transformers costumes and fanart, because it is fun. I love showing off what I have made. Especially the costumes. I love running around in costume at conventions, even if it leaves me exhausted at the end of the day. I enjoy seeing the reactions to all my hard work. I can also combat my anxiety because I am able to slip into "Character Mode", where when I am in costume, I AM the character I am dressed up as. I am not Denver, the slightly socially awkward person who tries to not be annoying as fuck, I am Ravage, or I am Heatwave, or I am MegaEmpress. I literally BECOME the character.
I think part of that is because I am Autistic. I observe how others behave, and I study how characters behave, and because I have spent so much time observing, I am able to imitate very effectively. I am able to interact in society because I have observed so much as to how people interact and what is and what is not okay to say or do. I know there is a stereotype of Autism Spectrum Disorder and general assholery, but because I have been through so much poor treatment from people who were supposed to be my peers and advocates, I do my best to not be an asshole intentionally. I always worry that I've somehow pissed someone off because I did or said something that they did not find to be acceptable. So I tend to obsess over that, and worry about whether or not I am making someone upset.
That worry is part of the anxiety I deal with. I need a lot of reassurance from those close to me that I am not pissing them off, and I appreciate it when people tell me outright what they are and are not alright with being said or done. I do not do well with ambiguity. I do not do well with vagueness in spoken or written word. And part of the anxiety is worrying about if I am being annoying when I ask for clarification on things. I need things spelled out clearly, in simple language. Not because I do not understand big words, but because the simpler and more straightforward something is worded, the easier I understand it.
I know this is definitely due to being on the Autism spectrum. I have a difficult time with sarcasm as well, which can be trying because my boyfriend is fluent in sarcasm, to the point that it could be considered a second language for him. I can snark, and I am capable of being sarcastic, but I have trouble recognizing it from others. Also, my sense of humor is strange, and largely based in wordplay and puns. I appreciate a good twist on words and love puns, because I actually have a very sizeable vocabulary, despite all the swearing and obscenities I use on a regular basis.
I enjoy reading, though I do not get to do it as often as I would like, because of the fact that I live with animals and have to take one of them out to piss and shit on a regular basis. Said animal is also clingy as fuck, and will climb up to lay on my lap given half a chance. Maxwell is a smart dog, but I cannot turn my attention to anything but him if he jumps up onto my lap, because he will stick his nose in my face. I cannot even check my phone, because of that.
I long for the day when I can just sit down in a chair, read, and not be interrupted for several hours. I love having time where I am not doing anything too terribly taxing, and am just focusing on one task that I find enjoyable. This is why I enjoy taking long walks where it is just me walking around town, listening to my favorite podcast and music. I can walk for very long distances, despite being slow as hell. I am also capable of carrying a lot of stuff on my back. I am built not for speed, I am built for endurance.
I always was slow in gym class. I could never actually run a mile, but I can walk one easily, and can keep going. I have a feeling that I would be able to do long term costume wear in a full body Transformers costume at a convention. I would need a way to keep hydrated, and would need breaks for food and to stretch my back a bit, but I think I could do all day events. I know I would need good shoes, or at least a lot of padding in the feet.
One thing I notice, I tend to ramble and go off topic. I have a lot of things that are going through my head at any one moment. It is difficult for me to get things to stay stringed together in a coherent way sometimes. It gets worse when I get excited, because I have a hard time not just rambling and going on and on, speaking rapidly about a topic. It is hard to get things to come out in a way that does not just sound like nonsense.
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