Luck

I was reading this article this afternoon (actually, I'm not finished with it while I write these words, but I needed to express my feelings), and it struck me how very, deeply lucky I have been.

The article, in case you don't feel like reading it, is about poverty, and why poor people tend to stay poor. And I remembered several things suddenly, like when the student loan lady told me that if my income was below 150% of the poverty line, I could take some time off from paying back my loan (which I was having trouble doing), and how I laughed when I found out what the poverty line was, and how far below it I was. It wasn't funny, of course.

It was the closest to independent I ever have been or probably will be. My parents weren't paying for my housing, like in college. I wasn't living with a man that I was dating, who took care of most of the bills because he made more money than me, like just after college. I was living in a two-bedroom apartment with a friend, rent and utilities split 50/50, each of us buying our own food. I was working part-time at a grocery store, and had no insurance.

What I did have--and this, plus luck, is what kept my head above water--was two dear friends (H&B), who helped me out immeasurably. Later, they helped me get an appointment at a free clinic, which is the first time I ever had treatment for my depression. They also helped me get a counselor at Vocational Rehabilitation, which didn't end up doing anything for me but get me the official diagnoses of Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety (NOS)*, and a score in the 99th percentile of a test designed for people who work with computers to test if I have an aptitude for working with computers (answer: YES).

And those I got from my Psych Eval (necessary to determine if I qualified for state help), and my Voc Eval (to see what I was good at (nearly everything) and what I had an aptitude for), not from Voc Rehab itself. I'm sure it's a fine program for most people, but it just didn't do much for me.

Anyway, H&B also got me on food stamps, and helped me legally change my name without paying the courts an obscene amount of money.

I was also dating a gentleman who would sometimes buy me groceries or give me twenty bucks. It helped me float.

Moving on.

I was working minimum wage, part time. I was barely making it. I did not have the physical or mental strength when I got home to try to find a second job, or even a replacement job that I might not hate so much.

It got better when I got food stamps (with the help of H&B**), but please try to understand how it felt when my good friend at work, who had gotten me the job, rang up my groceries one day and realized that I was paying with food stamps. Her face completely changed and she stopped her friendly banter, and just finished ringing me up very quietly. There's nothing like needing food stamps when you work at a grocery store.

Luck: I never got badly ill, or injured. Except for the depression treatment which I wasn't getting, I never needed any kind of expensive medical care. I never needed any kind of meds I couldn't get over the counter (until they stopped making albuterol inhalers available OTC, but by then I had a doctor at a free clinic, and if they weren't able to get it for me for free, then they were able to get it for me very cheaply).

Luck: I did not get fired from my job, despite being late a lot due to sleep issues and generally hating my job and thus not being motivated to try harder--which I recognize is one of those things that people think about poor people, but I didn't just like to complain about my job. Most people tend to treat baggers as furniture, which is marginally preferable to getting yelled at for not being a mind-reader. There were some people who were decent, and even a few who tried to tip me, which was against store policy, but I took the tips anyway, because I was broke as hell, but the majority of the time, I was so miserable that later, when I had a psychiatrist, she actually told me to quit my job because it was making my depression worse. By then I could, so I did. It took over a year to recover.***

Luck: I always had a place to live. For a while, that was with my parents, in a different county from all my friends and everywhere I wanted to be, but still. For about three months, it was with a friend who didn't ask for rent money, because I had just moved back to Salt Lake from my parents' house, and I didn't have a job yet. Then I moved in with my friend, who needed a new roommate, and I was something approaching independent for a while.

I miss that. I don't miss the job that drove me crazy, or the stressing about money, or the ever-present feeling that although I had my own room and was paying my half of the rent, I was merely squatting at that apartment, because my friend-turned-roommate had just lived there for so long that I could never make it feel like home. I don't miss having no energy to do anything I wanted to do, partially from the job, partially from depression, partially from health issues that I've only begun to address ...

But I do miss feeling independent.

Because here's the biggest luck of all: I began dating, and then married, a gentleman who had a decent paycheck, insurance, etc. That wasn't, of course, the reason for our relationship. But looking back ... I know that if I had remained single after breaking up with the guy who occasionally bought me groceries, instead of jumping almost immediately into another relationship ... I have no idea where I would be. Still treading water, maybe, if my luck had continued. Or maybe I'd be drowning, because no one's luck lasts forever.  

But I would not be where I am now: dancing, writing, sewing things for people, with a job that I can actually stand (which I couldn't have if I was on my own, because I don't get nearly enough hours, which is why I have time and energy to make costumes for my burlesque sisters and write stories and try to get them published), and actually pretty happy.  And that is mostly just luck (and some very dear friends).  

***

* Not Otherwise Specified, meaning just general anxiety that can't be categorized as anything specific, which I think is incorrect. My anxiety is mostly a social anxiety, brought on by stressful social interactions, like large crowds of people, authority figures exerting authority over me, realizing I've made another person angry, hurt or upset, talking on telephones, etc.

** There was so much that was, at the time, impossible for me to do on my own.  Going to Workforce Services to try to get food stamps was impossible, because of the mental energy required, the getting there (on the bus), the talking to strangers, and the sense of shame I got from asking the government for a handout.  I couldn't talk on the phone (I ducked calls from unknown numbers for years, because I couldn't deal with telling the student loan people--who were all very nice and very helpful--that I couldn't pay them).  H&B offered support, permission, a ride, and made it possible for me to do things I would otherwise have been unable to do.  

*** I quit in August 2013. I wasn't able to start working again until June 2014, and now, at the beginning of 2015, my doctor and my psychiatrist agree that I can start trying to wean off my anti-depressants. I've lowered my dosage of one of my meds, and hopefully, by the end of the year, I'll be off them both and doing fine.   

To be nobody but yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.  -- e. e. cummings

A thing happened today.  Though it inspired me to sit down and write this blog post, this post isn't about the thing that happened, which was frankly triggering for me.  Instead I want to talk about what this thing triggered, why it's a trigger for me, and then probably my general thoughts for a bit.  

From probably the day I was born, I have felt as though who I am, who I want to be, and what I want have been never enough, unacceptable, and/or not real.  I have been told that what I suffer isn't real; I have been treated as though I am worth less than people who made different choices than I did, or who were physically different* from me; I have been ignored; my voice has been overridden or trampled over; I have been ridiculed and abused because of my gender; my wants and desires have been ignored, or twisted for someone else's purpose, or used against me; I have been called disgusting, whore, bitch, merely for being true to who I am.  

I have been searching my entire life for who I am and where I belong, and it shows in my writings and the stories I tell myself**.  

I have fought all my life to be myself and nobody else.  It has been the biggest struggle of my life, and so when the choice is to be myself or to please someone else, my answer, every time, needs to be: be myself.  (It isn't always, of course, old habits being hard to break--but it needs to be.)  For my own sake, but also for the people around me: being happy makes it easier to make others happy, and I am never so miserable as when I'm repressing parts of who I am.  

That is what goes through my head anytime I see something that from the outside looks like someone repressing parts of themselves to make others happy.  Of course, it's likely more complex than that (I understand conflicting desires), but this is still my immediate reaction.  

---

* Mostly, they had penises.

** I'm a changeling, stolen from my home, taken to Faerie, then left in some other human family after the Fae got bored with me.

Suddenly depressed.

If I fail to write in my journal, or to update my blog, for a sufficiently long period of time, I start to avoid it, because I feel embarrassed about leaving it alone for so long. Or I feel overwhelmed by all the things I haven't written about, or I just feel like I can't think of anything to say. This, of course, compounds the issue.
Earlier today I decided to write in my blog, but I think trying to figure out how to start pushed me in the direction of being overwhelmed, because I suddenly felt depressed. (That and Dylan calling to say that he was having fun and hanging out with people and eating, so I guess that means I have to figure out dinner by myself, and get to sit here by myself until he gets home. I'm even in a somewhat social mood, having spent an hour or so hanging out with a few pagans--and in conversation with one I'd just met for a good deal of that time. Me being actively social happens so rarely ... )
Anyway, I almost left the blog post alone. We're singing in the morning, and Dylan and I are part of the contingent that will be spending the first part of the morning at San Esteban's, doing some kind of an outreach or interfaith community sort of thing: our church (the UU church) and theirs (an Hispanic Presbyterian church? don't remember) are doing community stuff, and that includes our choirs singing together. Anyway, it's way west and a fair bit south, so we'll have to leave even earlier than we normally would on a Sunday morning, and that have been as good excuse as any to go to bed without writing anything.

Now I'm just not sure what to say. I can think of things, but I'd like to save most of them for their own topics. So I guess I'll sign off, eat some dinner, and sleep. And tomorrow I'll wake up, sing, and probably go straight to work for eight-and-a-half hours. Yay ...
Not for the first time, I wish I had internet access at work.

New developments

Um, I guess.
Some things are working out, some, not so much. My glasses are finally being shipped out. They may appear today, when the shipment arrives; possibly tomorrow. I just want them before the weekend: UU choir is doing two Requiem performances, one on Saturday at 4522 S 1300 E (it's a retirement home, but I don't remember what it's called) at 3pm, and one on Sunday at the First Unitarian Church (600 S 1300 E) at 9am and 11am.
Feel free to come.
And then I'm seeing a play (Persian Quarter at SLAC) with DP and our friends H&B. So I really want my eyes to not hurt for all that ...

Anyway, I've also started taking an SSRI, with mixed results: side effects I've noticed include yawning and nausea. The pharmacist told me I might get headaches while the serotonin levels were building up, so I don't know if my frequent/constant headaches currently are due to that or the eye strain, or the volume of my audiobooks, which doesn't seem to be louder than the music, but I seem to miss more sounds while "reading" ... Also, the constant fatigue may or may not be due to the SSRI, rather than being the same constant fatigue I've been feeling for years ...

On another note: my tattoo appointment fell through. Etc. I've talked about this on Facebook, so I'll probably skip the boring details, plus I'm depressed, which makes me less eager to share things with the internet ... (I've only been taking the SSRI for one week, and the pharmacist told me it would take up t three weeks for the "optimal" levels of serotonin to build up ... so I'm still depressed.)

I haven't been writing. I've been sleeping and "reading" and watching House.

anxiety

Feeling depressed, anxious. I'm thinking about quitting my life (except for work) for one week. That way, I would always know where I was supposed to be and what was expected of me (except for work). I would quite possibly refuse to talk to anyone except my roommate and my boyfriend (and work). I wouldn't go online, I'd just read and sleep and write and drink tea and listen to music. Maybe I'd watch movies and The Guild and other things that are on the internet. But I wouldn't check my email or anything. I wouldn't attend any social activities (though Tuesday night gaming that takes place at my house might be difficult to avoid; I'd have to visit my boyfriend, I guess).
I really feel like that would lower my anxiety levels considerably.

I'm eating chocolate pudding and drinking sleepy tea. Gaming is over, DP was at work until midnight, and I work tomorrow at eleven. I'm feeling really anxious. And depressed.

Bad Day

Today has been a bad day.
Getting home and seeing my cat (I have a cat) and talking to my roommate helped dispel it somewhat; just enough that I can no longer so readily find the words to describe it. But I'm going to try.

The world feels unreal.
I walk through the world and nothing can touch me.
Nothing can touch me.
I am a ghost.
I'm surrounded by ghosts.
I walk, I breathe, I talk, I even smile, but I am just a dead body, walking around and talking.
Nothing is real.
I am breaking down.

Last night, for the first time in years, I had suicidal thoughts. Last night, twice, I wanted it to all end, right now, just end. I couldn't think of anything that would be fast enough for me. The fastest thing I could think of was getting a kitchen knife and opening my veins, but I couldn't think that far. Specifically, I couldn't imagine the critical part where I am holding the knife and the knife is slicing my flesh. And if I can't imagine it, I don't think I can do it.

Anyway. I have a cat. Her name is Tokyo, and she's adorable. I love her dearly. More info and maybe even pictures of her later ...

Dysthymia?

The other day, a new friend of mine from a new site that I've started frequenting (it's a "social network" like Facebook, but it's called A Place for the Mentally Interesting, and it's basically a place to talk about mental health issues) called my blog "aces" and said I was a good writer, which made me really happy.

But it got me to thinking about the way "crazy people" aren't given much credibility; I haven't yet had to deal with this, but I also haven't been diagnosed by an actual doctor. And I haven't been on any meds. (EA says something about "the outrageous discrimination towards anyone who has ever taken Zoloft" here.)

Blah. I don't know. I had a huge a idea about a post a few days ago, when I got the comment about my blog being aces, but I also think I'm sliding into depression, slowly but surely. I'm definitely less motivated, and this awesome idea I had a few days ago seems kinda impossible, and also not really worth it, like who would ever want to read what I have to say?

So, to remind myself, my blog is aces, and I'm a good writer. Please remember that, Rowan, darling.

Love.

Home

I've been home for all of ten seconds, and already I'm depressed.
I get to sleep on the couch because "I don't know where else to put her" (and I quote). I get to find my own pillows and blankets (and the house is freezing, as always), and there's no blinds on the HUGE window in the family room, so it's a good thing I remembered my eye mask thing. And of course my brother's going to want to watch TV at like 7 in the morning ...

Blah. I'm depressed. If it weren't for the fact that my aunts and uncle were coming in on Saturday, I would absolutely say right now that I'm leaving ASAP, which would be Friday. But they are, so I'm only seriously considering it, instead of deciding.

I'm so fucking tired of this shit.

But I love you all ...

hey, it's a holiday ...

First, important news flash: I was NOT depressed yesterday! Yay!

But it's Thanksgiving, which is a "family" holiday, and it's the first Thanksgiving EVER where I'm not spending it with some version of family (the best was probably when I was with Nick, and I spent it with HIS family, because I actually liked his family).
That's the thing. I'd be depressed if I was spending the day with my family (or worse, if I was spending the weekend with my family) because they'd manage to make known to me all the ways in which I am a disappointment--or they would ignore me, either way.

But the only plan I have for Thanksgiving is something later tonight where I'm likely to know one person, and meanwhile all of my friends are off frolicking with their families, and I'm effing depressed.

I fucking hate holidays. Or at least Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year's ... it's the time of year I am most forcibly reminded that, for the most part, no one really sees me ...

Still Somewhat Depressed

But not so lonely. That's fine. Depressed is pretty much par for the course, for me. So I'm all good, there.
I'm also at the place that I predicted in my last update: my story is done, and my words have not yet run out. I mean, it's not done-done, there's wrapping up stuff to accomplish, but I can't write that right now.
On the plus side, I seem to averaging about 3,000 words a day, for the past little while, which means I don't have to push myself too hard to get to 50,000 by Sunday, or even Saturday. (Saturday is preferable, because that means I can play on Sunday.)
I'm running low on inspiration, though. I dunno, I've been like that all month; NaNoWriMo predicts certain times of elation and certain times of frustration and dragging feet (Week One is awesome, Week Two is hard, etc.). But I've had an awful slog the whole month, except for the 15th, on which I wrote 6.5K in one day. That was cool. Lots of shit happened.

Anyway. Still depressed, like I said. So this will be short, and I'll try to force myself to write some more. My goal for the day was to hit 40,000, which is about 6,700 words, but if I write just a little more, I can get 4,000 words today, which would be decent.

Sorry I'm so focused on my novel. Next month, I swear, I'll talk about something else.
I love you all.

Snow Feels Like Hope

I'm slightly depressed.
My lover (the relationship that wasn't going anywhere) ended it Friday. I know I was saying that it was an unhealthy relationship and needed to be over and all that, but it really caught me off-guard. We'd been having a good conversation, and I felt really close to him, and suddenly he was talking about ending it, and I was really surprised.
The depression has been pretty decent for my creating, though. Last night I took pictures for the first time in forever (besides taking picture of my hair). So that was good. (Winter Lights on dA)

Friday evening, I got out of his car, crying, and it was raining, like the sky was crying, and I got onto the train and opened my book and didn't look up until I was at my stop. So I was surprised when I got out to find that it was snowing. Big fluffy white flakes drifting softly, and it felt like hope.
So it hasn't stopped snowing for long since then, and while I know I'll get tired of the snow, I can't help but to feel slightly more hopeful every time I see the snow falling.

So, I'm going to try my celibacy thing again. (I never did find a term I was satisfied with.)

Meh. I'm getting more depressed. I also need to read my cards for the day. And then start doing mundane things like eating and showering.

No fucking clue

More on a similar topic (similar to my last post).
I've had lots of thoughts swirling around in my head, and I'm not sure they're ready for culmination and expulsion yet.
But here goes:
The tea shop at which I work (that is not yet open) is owned by an older British couple, Robin and Elizabeth. They are somewhat conservative. Elizabeth has this very solid idea in her mind of what she wants the girls serving the customers to look like, complete with lacy aprons that are a story all their own.
She has told two of the three girls working on the counter (immediately upon meeting them) how cute they would look in the lacy aprons. Guess who the third girl is?
Nathaniel (a coworker) told me the other day (while trying on the aforementioned aprons) that it was the first time I'd looked like a girl.
I saw a girl today walking on the arm of a man; her hair was shaved off, shorter than mine is now, possibly shorter than mine has ever been, and I thought of that horrible email my "friend" sent me. What she said about my hair, and I quote: "i don't know why you shaved your head, but it looks horrible. i thought i could stand it until it grew back in, but then when it started to get long again, you shaved it! I had gotten my hopes up that it would get long and normal…oh well." And she said other nasty things about me "pretending to be sexy", etc. And I thought about someone whose opinion matters very much to me who said he liked my hair better when it was longer and more growed out.
And I thought, Do I care about being physically attractive?
I still don't have an answer.

I shaved my hair to redefine (for myself) physical beauty, because I have gone through major love/hate relationships with my appearance. I shaved my hair as part of my descent, as in "the Goddess rebirths, cuts her hair and goes under to tend the sleeping souls". I shaved my hair because I am interested in a warrior's path, on which I might learn about strength, and honor, and dealing with pain, and in my mind, I had two options: growing my hair long and putting it in either dreads or braids, decorated with beads and feathers, like warriors of lots of ancient cultures; or shaving my hair, like warriors of my culture. I chose the latter because of Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta, and also because I don't think long hair looks very good on me.
And when I shaved my hair, my descent was much clearer and sharper for me, and my roommate suggested that it was a symbolic beheading, and I was very comfortable with death and decay.

And now I am looking at older pictures of myself, and thinking of all the things people have said to and about me (that I know of), and thinking maybe I should grow my hair out again. It looked really cute that time when I cut it myself.

And I have no fucking clue.

Train Wreck

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
Alanis Morissette, So Unsexy

I do. I dunno, maybe I'm depressed. I feel . . . plain. Unbeautiful.
I shaved my hair to create my own kind of beautiful, being tired of and annoyed by our culture's version of beautiful, which involves long, thick hair. My hair is very fine, and falls limp if it's too long.
But I am not conventionally beautiful. My features are strong and . . . unusual. My hair is thin, with no body, and doesn't look as good long. I feel awkward, too tall, clumsy.
I dunno. My two younger sisters are both better-looking than I am. In high school, when my sister started, people from my grade, whom I'd known for years but never been friends with, would come up to me and tell me, "Hey, your sister's really hot."
Gee thanks. I really needed that.
A friend of mine I kinda like said the same thing.

I mean, sometimes I feel attractive. And there are people (most notably my boyfriends) who find me attractive.
I just don't feel attractive tonight.

Anyway.

Would your love in all its finery
tear at the darkness all around me
until I can feel again
until I can breathe again

Cause I'm a train wreck waiting to happen
waiting for someone to come pick me up off the tracks
a wild fire born of frustration
born of the one love that gets me so high
I've no fear at all

Would your eyes like midnight fireflies
light up the trenches where my heart lies
until I can see again
to find my way back again

Chorus

To fall so deep into you
lose myself completely
in your sweet embrace
all my pains erased

From your mouth its all that I wish
the mercy of your lips just one kiss
until I can breathe again
so that I can sing again

Chorus
Train Wreck, Sarah McLachlan