Diagnosis

Among each disorder is the basis of Anxiety. First, you have the realization that the disorder is attacking at that moment so you put the pressure on yourself to not fall apart in it. I don’t know about other people but It’s unbearable how much pressure I put on myself. I feel like I’m chasing that train steaming ahead for the life I’m missing. Only to get hit by the train this time, putzing along behind to remind me I’ll never be good enough. Anxiety is when there’s too many people in a waiting room. Or at a fair, or a concert, or even driving on the road. Anxiety is the crowded elevator. Everyone’s eyes are on me right? I’m the elephant in the room no one wants to talk about. Anxiety is bold and triumphant in all it does. The sweaty palms, hell, the hot flashes it feels like. The shortening of breath. The hand shakiness, dry mouth, mind racing, will do anything too be heard…anxiety.

My ADD is something you’d recognize when you really get to know me. But all in all, it’s the damn truth that I have it. With ADD you go from one subject to the next within a metaphorical minute. One minute I want to work out in the gym, then drop that just as fast, then I want a different job, then a different arraignment for my room. And let’s say that happens every day. Cleaning the house I’ll mush up all the cleaning chores instead of doing one, then the next and finishing each, I do some of one, then some of two and so on and so forth. ADD is about distracting the mind because it can only have a certain amount of time in an attention span’s mirth. I see it as a blessing and a curse. If I get down about something then I could be distracted so easily and quickly I’m off to the next subject. The curse however, is when it works backwards from being in a good mood switched to a bad one. Some days I’m in limbo all day long, I just hide at home. Moreover, I just try to sleep all day.


Now OCD is the leading disorder of all that practices it’s malpractice in me. It never sticks to the “rules” you read about, or moreover, the symptoms labeled in it’s diagnosis. It loves chaos in the fact that it will go beyond the borders of even Dr.’s opinions of how it’s depth can be, to let you know always, whose in control. OCD wants every strategic move planted in a physical sense within rituals throughout the day, throughout the night, throughout the worst of the worst times. And when you actually have better times, you think it’s because you ritualized correctly that day. As is when you have a bad day, you think it’s because you didn’t ritualize enough, or ritualize correctly. Even when someone in your life passes away, you might think it’s because you didn’t touch the light switch the day before enough times. Sound crazy? Crazy is in the eye of the beholders, thinking OCD isn’t true, because I assure you my friends, it sure the hell is.

With the insomnia I fight, nighttime is the perfect time to sit with music and write. I get called a night owl but let’s be real about it…in my situation, this owl is exhausted! It shouldn’t take at LEAST three hours to fall asleep each night, that is if I can fall asleep at all. I’ve been known to be up for a four night stint on more than one occasion. And it’s hard getting through the day seeing spots, let me tell you, it’s not cool. Medication helps so much with my sleep. I’d count sheep and buy the time I got to 800, I was too bored at imagining them I finally would quit. What wasn’t a good thing though? Realizing at too early of an age what helps you sleep….drinking too much. Even when I took my first sip of alcohol. I told myself, “That shouldn’t have felt that good.” And little did I realize, it really shouldn’t have. But the nights would be sleepless without it, becoming a never ending cycle of yet another bad decision.

My Name Is…

My name is Andrea and this is my attempt at finding some solace in my life because therapy’s been, well, a joke to be quite honest. So, I’m trying to therapitize myself with writing it all out. In the hopes it won’t come back again, but if it does at least there’s more paper to write along with it. People say that words lose power, when you talk about things so here goes…my attempt at my OWN therapy. So, “HA,” bad therapists. If I ever get better I want my money back.

Eminem says to “Lose Yourself,” but when you’re lost all you can think of is how desperately you need to be found. I am lost within myself, outside of myself and everything in between. And I’ve walked the 8 mile up the road and don’t like what I have to see. Where did it all the time go? And how in a world where everyday is so long did I get through so many of the years? I still feel like a teenager. All of the sudden I begin questioning everything I learned in school wondering if there should’ve been life lessons taught as part of the curriculum. We learned addition but all that I use that for is to add up all of these bad days…..multiplied by my negative feelings equals out to be the probability of a girl in the danger zone all of the time. My brains on combustion mode in each of the thousands of thoughts that come through with death underlying in each. I don’t think I want to die but I sure as shit don’t want to live. Not like this. Not in the grips of a life I can’t seem to understand. It feels like everyone else knows the secret. Like there was a turn in the 8 mile that I missed when I went the other way. Then something distracts me enough to not focus on it too badly. At least for now.

Unborn

49

At first it was the nightmares that would come because dreams were something only a positive world could bring. I never thought I’d get a visit. A little boy would stand staring at me with those big brown eyes longing for something. I assume now what it was but I could just be adding to my selfish layer that it could be me. The way he stared so intently like he was waiting for someone or something to come get him. Then he reached his hand out to me squinting his eyes to get a closer look. I awoke right after. Crying to realize my baby would have been born this month, I chalk it up to being just another dream. Like the recurring one I have about my ex husband standing me up at the alter. It wasn’t until a year later would I stop thinking it was just another dream because it happened again. Only this time he was a little older. Still he reached out. Still those brown eyes I knew it was the same little boy. You wonder where we manifest our dreams from. Whether we manifest our thoughts in transformation or our thoughts are manifested by ourselves transforming. I never knew a dream like this and when it happened for a third year he, again looking just a bit older. I’d weep.

People don’t tell you that abortions are painful. You think there might be some emotional trauma expected but even that they don’t prepare you for. I never knew an aftermath more deadly than that of the world of death I then created. This whole time I’d felt such a weird connection with the child I’d never know that I also never realized how much I’d miss it. Miss being pregnant and miss the possibilities of the world that could ensue. I didn’t feel okay with bringing a child into a world where the world was something I could not give. To this day I haven’t forgiven myself. I can’t believe what a stupid decision I made. It’s aftermath was unforseen, forlorn and so unforgotten. I also didn’t want to pass down who I was because I hated myself so much. So in all the pain inflicted it would never compare to the pain I’d inflict now. I was determined to punish myself but instead I just punished an innocent child. For doing nothing but come to visit even after I took away all visiting rights. Today I doubt I’ll have children. Because nothing could compare to the little boy who reached out to me those three nights in a world unknown.  I need to be with my child and not have my child come back to be with me. All in the matter of more than a daydream. In a world I’d never know. Where manifestations grow.

Doses

42

I started out with seven diagnosis….MDD, ADD, OCD, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, BPD. Im now down to two…MDD and PTSD. But going through seven made me think I was down for the count every singe day. Today I actually have energy. And today like all of my days are full of more life than I ever thought I could see from the dark ones. Today I was supposed to be dead. And looking back I realize I was. At least for all of my yesterdays I was. And all of my days were filled with animosity. Animosity from me, from all of the bad things and from all of the good that I saw, as the bad. It’s like I couldn’t live in the moments because living IN the moment meant living IN the pain. And they can’t prescribe a pill for this pain. Holy crap they tried. Alas, I’d have to wait it out in the timeliest fashion like watching paint dry. The days just got to be so long. I’m almost at the point where I might consider a day to go by fast but not quite yet.

“Well, they make a new medication now that could really help with your symptoms,” doctors would tell me. And I was always the first to know about new meds being tried, something new to prescribe in place of the one that didn’t work or a new one to add on to the other I was already taking because it was supposed to really “be effective.” You’d think they would’ve stopped around seven or so but doctors don’t keep track of how many medications you take. At least mine never did. Even when I’d say 13 was too many…it’s not like anyone was going to listen to the suicidal girl with tons of diagnosis. “Be proactive,” that’s what we get told. But be proactive to who? I’d take anyone that would listen. But no one did. Even after I’d stop taking them and then try to take my life. They just thought it was another reason to add another pill or replace one. I was on upwards of 15 at one point. I’d had about just as many suicide attempts.

Then we have my back. The meds I spoke of before where only my psych meds. I haven’t yet told you about the Percocet I was prescribed for my back problems. As far as I knew it was a herniated disc. That brought on the kind of pain that makes your back feel like it’s breaking in half every day. It was preventing me from doing everything. And I never knew herniations could hurt so badly. So when I took the Percocet too quickly and was quite harshly judged by the first doctor, who was filling in for my regular doctor too. But my regular doctor decided to prescribe me fentanyl. Which I had no idea about at the time. The opiod crisis wasn’t in survival mode quite yet. And it wasn’t that she prescribed me fentanyl, and the strongest dose that they made, it was the doctor after that who prescribed me Vicodin along with it. Even with the fentanyl I would get cramping in my back but it was hardly anjything to scoff at and I just thought the more pills would make it all go away. “That’s the point,” he said.

Showing Signs

40

Getting an abortion was never something I planned on doing. It’s not like you live your life with that kind of thing on your bucket list. But I did get pregnant, I was 19 and I was scared to death.

I’m such a lover of kids you’d think it natural when I would eventually get pregnant, I’d be so excited and not be able to wait to have a baby. And yes, albeit babies are adorable, you don’t really look that deep into the picture beyond the cuteness until you really get pregnant. In staring at those lines that appeared on the pregnancy test, I remember staring at it for so long you would of thought I was trying some sort of magical mind trick or something. Hell, maybe I was. Maybe in staring at it longer I thought that faded second line would disappear just as fast, or slowly, as it appeared in the first place. What am I going to do? All of the sudden I’m thinking about how much money it’s going to cost, how much time I’d be able to spend with it being I’d have to get another job, and how much would I really be able to give to a child at the age that I’m at. All of the sudden at 19, I felt so aged.

The morning I of the Doctor’s appointment, I went to throw something away in my garbage and noticed it had been rustled through. “Oh, shit,” I thought. What now? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever want to rustle through garbage. Geez, I was feeling so low that if anyone needed garbage in their life they could just come and talk to me. In being pregnant I knew I needed to have the abortion early, if I was going to have it. Not that it makes it any better or easier I just couldn’t imagine doing it later in the term. I still can’t believe these words that I write knowing what I was about to do. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, it’s what I thought I was put on this Earth to do. What WAS I put on this Earth to do? Man, I have no idea why anymore. I thought there would be no evidence that I was pregnant to anyone. I thought that it would be my story to tell, if I ever chose to tell it. Well, I wasn’t off to a very good start. For instance, leaving the pregnancy test in the garbage probably wasn’t a good idea if I didn’t want to get caught. But like I said, who rustles through garbage anyway? It turns out, I’d started giving my mom evidence of her own. The reason I thought I might be pregnant was when I lit up a smoke one day. I wasn’t a consistent smoker but liked them from time to time, and all of the sudden when I went to inhale I felt so nauseated I couldn’t believe it. “This isn’t right,” I’d tell myself. “I’m not even feeling sick.” I thought about it for a minute and realized It’d be perfect timing for me to be pregnant. But that was also a distant thought at best. Then I became nauseated all of the time, and my boobs got really sensitive. I never knew what women meant when they’d say they’re boobs got sensitive until mine did. It was like my awful aha moment. Then I was constantly on the verge of puking. And thinking my mother would just think I was sick, was never a second thought. But I didn’t realize she’d put two and two together when I was craving a pickle one day and was vocal about it. You think you have cravings, then realize you never had a craving until you crave something while pregnant. I had to have that pickle, the thoughts of it were all consuming. I never thought she’d put those moments together. To think women before me had been showing these signs all along! Geez, I really didn’t get it. Of course, I was too young to.

Hi, My Name Is…

3

My name is Andrea and this is my attempt at finding some solace in my life because therapy’s been, well, a joke to be quite honest. So, I’m trying to therapitize myself with writing it all out. In the hopes it won’t come back again, but if it does at least there’s more paper to write along with it. People say that words lose power, when you talk about things so here goes…my attempt at my OWN therapy. So, “HA,” bad therapists. If I ever get better I want my money back.

Eminem says to “Lose Yourself,” but when you’re lost all you can think of is how desperately you need to be found. I am lost within myself, outside of myself and everything in between. And I’ve walked the 8 mile up the road and don’t like what I have to see. Where did it all the time go? And how in a world where everyday is so long did I get through so many of the years? I still feel like a teenager. All of the sudden I begin questioning everything I learned in school wondering if there should’ve been life lessons taught as part of the curriculum. We learned addition but all that I use that for is to add up all of these bad days…..multiplied by my negative feelings equals out to be the probability of a girl in the danger zone all of the time. My ADD is something you’d recognize when you really get to know me. But all in all, it’s the damn truth that I have it. With ADD you go from one subject to the next within a metaphorical minute. One minute I want to work out in the gym, then drop that just as fast, then I want a different job, then a different arraignment for my room. And let’s say that happens every day. Cleaning the house I’ll mush up all the cleaning chores instead of doing one, then the next and finishing each, I do some of one, then some of two and so on and so forth. ADD is about distracting the mind because it can only have a certain amount of time in an attention span’s mirth. I see it as a blessing and a curse. If I get down about something then I could be distracted so easily and quickly I’m off to the next subject. The curse however, is when it works backwards from being in a good mood switched to a bad one. Some days I’m in limbo all day long, I just hide at home. Moreover, I just try to sleep all day. My brains on combustion mode in each of the thousands of thought that come through with death underlying in each. I don’t think I want to die but I sure as shit don’t want to live. Not like this. Not in the grips of a life I can’t seem to understand. It feels like everyone else knows the secret. Like there was a turn in the 8 mile that I missed when I went the other way. Then something distracts me enough to not focus on it too badly. At least for now.

Diagnosis

7

Among each disorder is the basis of Anxiety. First, you have the realization that the disorder is attacking at that moment so you put the pressure on yourself to not fall apart in it. I don’t know about other people but It’s unbearable how much pressure I put on myself. I feel like I’m chasing that train steaming ahead for the life I’m missing. Only to get hit by the train this time, putzing along behind to remind me I’ll never be good enough. Anxiety is when there’s too many people in a waiting room. Or at a fair, or a concert, or even driving on the road. Anxiety is the crowded elevator. Everyone’s eyes are on me right? I’m the elephant in the room no one wants to talk about. Anxiety is bold and triumphant in all it does. The sweaty palms, hell, the hot flashes it feels like. The shortening of breath. The hand shakiness, dry mouth, mind racing, will do anything too be heard…anxiety.
Now OCD is the leading disorder of all that practices it’s malpractice in me. It never sticks to the “rules” you read about, or moreover, the symptoms labeled in it’s diagnosis. It loves chaos in the fact that it will go beyond the borders of even Dr.’s opinions of how it’s depth can be, to let you know always, whose in control. OCD wants every strategic move planted in a physical sense within rituals throughout the day, throughout the night, throughout the worst of the worst times. And when you actually have better times, you think it’s because you ritualized correctly that day. As is when you have a bad day, you think it’s because you didn’t ritualize enough, or ritualize correctly. Even when someone in your life passes away, you might think it’s because you didn’t touch the light switch the day before enough times. Sound crazy? Crazy is in the eye of the beholders thinking OCD isn’t true, because I assure you my friends, it sure the hell is.

My rituals take mere seconds to complete. But when you add up all the seconds, it adds up to hours. It began happening with every place I’d look, even. When I’d look at letters I’d have to look in the center of them. And something I don’t think people understand, is that yes, it’s a compulsion to do these things. I don’t stop until it “feels” like I did it perfectly. Compulsions are like the “musts” of the brain. You literally feel like you have to do it. Otherwise I ritualize the same thing over and over again until I get it right. I touched a light switch for ten minutes straight once, over and over again until I could get a set of the number “four,” correctly. I’d touch it four times, always directly in the center, then if it didn’t feel right, I’d do it again…and again…and again. When I was a little girl, my best friend Tegan and I were coming in from playing basketball at her house when I needed to hit the garage button to close it. Well, I couldn’t just do it once all of the sudden. I HAD to touch it again, and I HAD to touch it just in the right spot to feel like it was ok to move on with the day. I’d done it before around her but luckily I always waited until someone was out of the room or do the ritual casually enough that no one would notice….at least I don’t think they did. At least not until that day. “Andrea, why are you touching it so many times?” My face still gets red with the embarrassment and shame left over from that moment. You see, I always knew it wasn’t something the other kids did. I didn’t know how I knew it because I’d think about how they’d probably do it in private as I would, but it just felt wrong every time I did it. “No!” I stated back. “Why would I be doing that?” I saw her look over to my hand. Then, as she turned around, she sweetly just said, “um, never mind.” We were so young. I remember doing this when I was around six years old. I was aghast to think she didn’t make fun of me. That instant confused me so much, until we got older and I knew everything she was about even into adulthood. It was never about putting people down. She’s a Psychologist today. Hell, she was a Psychologist when we were kids too. I so wanted to talk to her about it, just be able to get it out there that I was really suffering in this weird way and in this weird silence. It was the first secret I kept from Tegan. I hated it. But if I didn’t ritualize, I’d worry about things like people getting hurt, or screwing up their and my day, or I’d even worry that someone might die if I didn’t do it. And if I talked about it, what if people tried to get me to stop and it was the only way I could control any of the things that were happening to me and to others? I couldn’t do that. Plus, whatever it was I was doing was wrong, very wrong, I’d tell myself. OCD was like living a lie. People still don’t know the depths that I go to to ritualize without being seen. It’s almost a lie to myself by my denial of it for so long too. I didn’t know I could be so mean to myself at six years old. I hated OCD and began to hate myself as well. I’m the one who brought it on, so I’d be the one to have to deal with it. Little did I know, I’d carry that theory out beyond any grasp I could’ve held. I’m 36 as of last week and it’s still there, all that hate. I still have trouble with ritualizing to this day. I’ve just cut a lot of it out however, within this last year. There’s certain things I haven’t been able to kick yet, but the battle of doing the rituals vs the battle of not doing them became so great that I was willing to keep trying as I’ve done my whole life to kick it. It’s best on the days my mind gives me some time off. Off of the morbidity, the hell. The peek and tease of happiness I still get sometimes. But I never really got a peek until these past couple of years. That’s when I decided to try again. Oh hell, I’m always trying. It still carries such shame with it. If I drink out of my water bottle and look someone in the eyes at the same time, I get so scared that something may happen to them. I’ve even done it when I shouldn’t have cared about what happened to them because they were an asshole, but nevertheless, I didn’t want that on my plate. A big one for me is that I have a terrible time sleeping at night, and I would think it was because I wasn’t ritualizing correctly. Low and behold, I have insomnia. But don’t tell the OCD that, it won’t believe you.

Anyhow, usually, it’s within touch, cleanliness and putting things in a certain arrangement. For me, I had to touch things in sets of four. Four equaled an even lined square so not one part had more or less than the other. I was always looking for things to “even out.” And usually OCD sufferer’s use four or five as their number. People might argue to me that a triangle has equal sides as well, but for me, four is an even number, so that’s why I chose it, three is an odd number and I can’t handle the odds. Geez, I can’t handle the odds of anything. Two’s an even number but wouldn’t be able to make the lines form an equilateral shape if I had to draw it. I work very visually in everything I do. Especially when I try to explain things and I remember at a young age trying to think of how I would explain it if I ever had to. It’s so illogical and the craze one feels in their mind from such a disorder is just plain mean. This “thing” is making me want to keep doing it and doing it thinking it actually keeps the structure of a day going. I can’t explain how draining it is on the brain. Relaxation is out because wherever you are, you’re wondering if you’re touching things correctly, or needing to ritualize in some way. I waited tables in my 20’s and my good friend at the time would make fun of me because I’d do this weird thing with my hands when I’d walk. I’d always make a first, then rub my thumb on my first finger. He thought it was so weird and it was, I guess. But I was silently protecting myself from touching anything when I’d walk because I couldn’t afford to have one of my co-workers see me stop and ritualize. The saddest part is that I’d go along with him and make fun of it too. But it was the opposite of funny, it was awful. Feeling like you’re crazy, thinking so illogically. I never told anyone about it until my parents two years ago. But OCD is so hard to understand, even from the ones who suffer from it. Even harder to understand, well anything, is when people tell us of something we ourselves haven’t experienced. So no, I didn’t get a lot out of telling my parents. It’s really something, I should even still, get therapy for. But my past therapy experiences haven’t been that great either. Such is why I don’t jump at the chance. All we know is that we do it, and that it’s usually about trying to find control in a world where we need it. Mine started at a time when I needed it badly. I know it was right around the time of my mom’s affair, but that talk is for another night. We OCDers are good at hiding. We do things so inconspicuously you’d never know. But when we’re in private, we usually become more lax about it. And there’s the thing. The only time we become more lax about anything is when we’re alone, in private, where we can hide our shameful selves and take it out by ritualizing. Only to hate ourselves even more, every time we do it.

With the insomnia I fight, nighttime is the perfect time to sit with music and write. I get called a night owl but let’s be real about it…in my situation, this owl is exhausted! It shouldn’t take at LEAST three hours to fall asleep each night, that is if I can fall asleep at all. I’ve been known to be up for a four night stint on more than one occasion. And it’s hard getting through the day seeing spots, let me tell you, it’s not cool. Medication helps so much with my sleep. I’d count sheep and buy the time I got to 800, I was too bored at imagining them I finally would quit. What wasn’t a good thing though? Realizing at too early of an age what helps you sleep….drinking too much. Even when I took my first sip of alcohol. I told myself, “That shouldn’t have felt that good.” And little did I realize, it really shouldn’t have. But the nights would be sleepless without it, becoming a never ending cycle of yet another bad decision.

My diagnosis go on with PTSD from my marriage, but no one ever really believes that PTSD is true or fair to diagnose unless you’ve been in the military it seems like. People always brush off that diagnosis like they’re ignoring it, kind of like I’m going to do here because I don’t feel like writing about it. But coming from an abusive marriage, and all of these other things I’ve gone through. I can’t help the fact that I suffer from what I suffer from. I don’t like to define myself by my diagnosis, but I also don’t like my diagnosis to define me and with each day it’s seeming to be more true with every symptom I possess. 

No House Calls

10

I’ve been in his office for only five minutes before I can tell it’s on it’s way. The flash flood. “How do I sum up what’s going on into words?” I thought. “How’s he going to help the way I’ve been thinking?” It’s so deep now. I want to find the soul of everything all of a sudden. I just look more deeply into things. And, I always have but, now I find symbolism all over. You name it I can see the windows eyes within the souls. His nurse walks in. “Hello, Andrea.” I pleasantly responded back, “Hi” so shy this time. I wasn’t ready to expose what I’d been hiding from my family and all of my friends. I’d been going to this doctor for years, so this felt weird because usually I’m so happy. But, that “Hi,” epitomized everything about me lately. Something was changing and within it I couldn’t keep up. It was all I could muster out. I was already choking back the tears. “I just can’t stop,” I said, crying terribly. Before I’d thought she had kind of a gruff attitude. She was stern in her body language. But as she looked at me that day there was something so soft about her. You could tell she really cared. She stood so close to me I thought she was going to give me a hug, but there she stood and simply said, “I’m going to ask you something.” “You know how in every day it comes down to seconds, not minutes?” “Yes,” I said.

And mind you, I’m a really easy-going polite mild-tempered girl. That has never changed and some people wonder why I’d have the energy to be like that, while still going through this. And I’m telling you it’s because it’s all I have left to offer is who I am. I won’t change my genuine personality for anyone, or for misery either.

“Those are the moments that each life comes down to. So, instead of asking yourself if you can tolerate the rest of the day or hour, ask yourself if you can handle this one moment. Then try to get through the next and the next.” This sole piece of advice altered the way I thought in so many ways. And to this day, it’s the best piece of advice I’ve ever received and been able to wrap around my thought process, especially when I get suicidal. That’s when I ask myself if I can handle the moment in front of me, instead of looking forward to a week of anything. She was so kind. And I’d come to later realize was the best therapist I’d see. But she wasn’t a therapist. She was my doctor’s medical assistant. I’ve told my story before almost looking for that piece of magical advice that doesn’t exist, but hoped that it did. My hope was the one thing that would get me to many places over the years because it was all I’d have left, and after this day she was able to even increase it a little. But as time would fade, so would the hope and the feeling that I could make it through even mere seconds. And I’d remind myself of her and what she’d said, and it always did help. Sometimes help it where you’ll least expect it I guess. I told the doctor she needed a raise. 

ESP or EPT?

16

“Can you come in here a minute?” I shouted to my brother eating dinner with my folks. I just stand in the bathroom in disbelief. I’d waited the three minutes it told me to wait and there was nothing. But, something inside told me to wait just like something inside knew I was pregnant.

The weeks following I’d just felt different in a way I can’t explain. And what they say is definitely correct. You’re breasts get tender. I didn’t know what “tender” would feel like until they finally were and I got it. I got nauseous one day after I’d had something to eat also. And man could I eat all of the sudden. I’d always had an appetite being I was a swimmer but I literally felt like I was eating for two people, and as it turned out, I was.

“I have to be,” I thought. And there it was, light pink at first and faint to both my brother and I as my pregnancy test deepened in color.”Wait, what?! What are you going to do Andrea?” He asked. “I have no idea,” I said. Suddenly my mind traveled back to when my best friend gave me a ride home. “Someone once told me that when you know you just know,” after I told her my period was late. “What do you honestly think, Andrea?” She asked. “I think that I am,” I said, terrified. I couldn’t believe that I just became a statistic. A number on a sheet like the census of fuck-ups or something.

“Do you want to keep it?” my brother asked, “It seems like you want to.” Of course I wanted to. I loved kids more than I loved myself even back then. At my last job I started babysitting for a family just because I got along so well with their son and they were regulars at work. I didn’t have any purpose in life after the depression started. But the one I had before was that I thought I was put on this Earth to have children. I really couldn’t see straight anymore and things were coming at me too fast. My fault or not, I had the biggest decision of my life to make and the saddest part was that it made me want to take my life even more in a way, and then gave me a reason to live in another way.

Blank Space

22

I hate that something happened when I outlasted the good parts of life into the bad. I can’t stand that I’ll even have good days but I’ll look back later and think that they were awful. That’s all that I remember anymore. The awfulness takes the fun out of each memory and I wonder where to. Is there a mental dump somewhere that my mind loads up and takes out every Wednesday? I just don’t get it. Most of this blog is about the trials of life with mental illness but there’s a lot that I still don’t understand. Like days when the pressure gets really bad I can’t stand that one either. And people realize how bad your OCD can get when the pressure is on for you to be at your best. Oh, who am I kidding, the pressure is just natural from having to act like a normal human being. I must smile as if I enjoy everyday, instead of looking like I feel. If I had physical symptoms of all my mental problems, I’d be in a coma by now. At least I’d be left alone finally. And every time I put pressure on myself I wouldn’t have to look at the center of everything. People think I’m just staring at something but the reality is that I have to look at something four times or in the exact center of it. Phew, what a process. It takes so much time! And it makes me so mad because the medications I take make me gain weight too. And that shouldn’t be the most awful thing today because people could just think, oh well, at least you’re on your way to being happy. But the truth is A) you don’t know that this will work and B) I’d never realized how mean people could be. I’ve been called fat by at least 5 strangers. One of which I punched in the face. He made such a rude comment about my weight that I just wham! punched him in the face/nose. I’m so sick of people being judgmental! I’m a human being for crying out loud. Don’t call me things when you have know idea what it’s like. To all the skinny people out there, I’m jealous of you. Not only is it sooo hard for me to lose weight, it’s so easy for me to pack it on! Be aware of serequil for one people. That is a medication used for so many things including anxiety but it makes you super hungry and makes you gain weight starting yesterday. Oh, how I hate having this.

I am a human being. A fair minded, light hearted, clumsy, yes, easy going kind of chick. I walk at 5’6″ and my rule of thumb every since I can remember is to “walk tall.” I’m the most self conscious person I’ve ever met. I’ll wear sweatshirts in the summertime in 199 degree weather, inside of work, sweat dripping down my forehead, kind of conscious. DO people think I’m weird? Probably. But that could also be because I am a little weird and do weird things. I’m for the most part just curious Andrea just a little less curious with every inquisition. I mean if you’re going to sit on a bench and french kiss your bf, I take things like that as an invitation to come and snuggle in as well. I mean geez, how can you not?! I just sit, extra, extra close to one of them and maybe give a little back rub, you know? No harm done. And maybe next time they’ll get a room. Or the woman who, with her kids, threw an empty water bottle underneath a car to get rid of it when there was a trash can right there. I quickly goes under the car to retrieve it. “Ma’am, I think you lost this.” As I caught up to her. “What?! No that’s not mine.” She exclaimed. “Well, I distinctly remember watching you throw it underneath that car and if you want to throw it somewhere it should be in the garbage.” I giggle running off like a little kid. When you let your arms flail about and you can just let them loose. It’s the only time running can be fun.