First blog post

Well, here goes.

I am terrible at communicating verbally. I have all of these thoughts and ideas and sometimes I will get a dialogue going in my head and sometimes that dialogue will come out of my mouth. More times than not, though, that dialogue gets lost in transition. This, apparently, is a thing that’s fairly common among the neuro-divergent.

Speaking of neuro-divergent.

Over the past few years, I have been diagnosed with extreme anxiety, social anxiety, depression, panic disorder, and PTSD.

Over the past few months, after talking with a few people that I am very close to, I have self-diagnosed as autistic. I don’t know yet if I want a formal diagnosis.

At the time of writing this, I am almost 30 years old. I have two children, a thirteen year old daughter and a daughter that will be five in less than a month. I am just over a month into my third marriage and I have this weird feeling in my gut that if any marriage of mine is going to work, it’s going to be this one (I’ll rant about that later, I’m sure).

For the past nine months, my (now) husband and I have been working on a series of novels. I have just recently sat down to start writing after months of plot work (there are still years of plot work ahead of us, I’m sure).

I want this space that I have created to be my outlet. My way of communicating all of the thoughts and ideas and all the darkness in my mind without having to worry too much about whether or not I can find the right words to push out of my mouth.

Sometimes, I’ll jump on here to update about the novels my husband and I are working on.

Sometimes, I’ll post about my struggles with coming to grips with my self-diagnosis.

Sometimes, I’ll post about the absolutely horrible day I am having.

Hopefully, I’ll post about good days, too.

This is my space. I struggle to find my own space in the living, meat world. But here on the internet, I can have my space.

To anyone that stumbles across this, I hope that my space can bring a sense of solace, solidarity, comfort, or even (maybe) a giggle occasionally (lord knows I don’t have a sense of humor).

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Quitting

As of this writing (5:45PM EST, 15 August 2017), I am on day 3 of being sick (hacking, wheezing, coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose, being miserable), I am on day 2 of my period (which was three days late!), and it has been 27 hours since I smoked my last cigarette.

Y’all. Life fucking sucks right now. I want a cigarette so bad.

Yesterday, I had an acupuncture appointment. My first every acupuncture appointment. I had heard from several people that they were successful with smoking cessation because of acupuncture, so I decided to give it a shot.

I am not a fan of being a pin cushion. I never thought that I would be able to empathize with my sewing equipment.

However, I haven’t lit a cigarette since my appointment. Is it psychosomatic? Is there something in acupuncture that actually works? I don’t know. I’m not sure I care. I haven’t had a cigarette in over a full day. There is a mostly full pack of cigarettes in my car. I keep them there as a safety net. At this point, they have most certainly gone stale from being in my car with the windows down and the sun shining down on them. It doesn’t matter. They are there if I need them, but I don’t think (at least I hope) I will need them. But they are there just in case.

Anyway. It’s 27 hours down. I hear the first 72 hours are the worst. I’m a third of the way there.

Broken

My husband and I have been working on a series of books since November (2016). I was on a roll for about two weeks and managed to get almost 25,000 words down. I was MOVING.

I haven’t written in a week. I have hit a wall. A block. I WANT to write, and when I am busy doing something that prohibits me from writing (like driving) THAT’S when I most want to sit down and write. Yes, I’ve thought about opening up a voice recorder and going from there, but I am very bad at dictation. I cannot verbalize the same way I can type/scribble onto a screen or paper.

I’ve even had trouble coming to the computer to blog. And I have a list of things I’d like to discuss on these pages. I keep a note on my phone about all the topics I come across that I want to rant about. I haven’t even been able to come and do that.

I’ve felt broken lately. Broken and worthless and just…nothing. I feel like nothing. It’s not a nice feeling, but it’s a feeling I am familiar with. It’s a feeling that I know will pass, but when I feel this way, it’s so hard to even grasp at the idea that this is just a temporary thing. It feels permanent.  The rest of my life is going to be spent like this. I’m going to be a burden to my family for the rest of my pathetic, failure of a life.

Please note, I KNOW these things aren’t true, but good lord, it feels like it right now.

I try my best to keep it from showing, too. I’m homeschooling my thirteen year old, my four year old just started kindergarten. I have to help them both with their school work after going to work and dealing with my overbearing boss who changes her mind every two freaking minutes about what she wants done and how she wants it done. I have to deal with people from my past that can go piss themselves and jump off a fucking cliff. I have to come home to a house that is a wreck and I don’t have the gumption or the energy (or, as I explain it to my husband, the mana) to clean, so my mood just spirals because the house needs to be cleaned and dinner needs to be cooked and even though my husband picks up the slack, I feel like shit because he’s picking up the slack.

I know that a lot of this has to do with the heat. It is summer in southern Georgia. It is fucking hot and when it gets hot, I get more and more depressed. It’s probably S.A.D. I’ve done research. There’s a chemical/protein (I can’t remember which one because I can’t remember what it is called) that builds up in the body the hotter the body is (and I have a hard time sustaining a proper body temperature) and it blocks the happy chemicals in the brain. So, the hotter it gets outside, the hotter I get, the more of this thing that I produce, and the fewer happy chemicals I get. It’s a nightmare.

There’s more I want to write. I can’t think of any of it.

I think I’m going to get a drink.

I might come back later.

Once More… With Feeling.

It feels like my past is trying to catch up with me. Is this karma that I am having to pay off? Is this some cosmic lesson that I need to learn? Whatever it is, it can fucking stop.

Y’all. I am petty as shit. I don’t necessarily (always) go out of my way to start shit, but when I do start shit, the other party sure as hell isn’t innocent either, and I have been slighted or wronged.

Even if I’m not being petty, if there is a problem, or something I don’t understand, I try to figure it out. Usually by talking (or sending a message, whatever).

Well, ANOTHER person from my past has gotten a hold of my shop’s Facebook page. This time, she is wondering about applying for one of the positions we will be hiring for.

I have worked with this woman before. I worked with her for seven years in an industrial area. I was friends with her for awhile. She called me her best friend (I called her my best friend for lack of other friends…okay, if I’m being honest, I probably DID consider her my best friend for awhile, but I am having a seriously hard time right now pinpointing when that might have been).

Regardless, we had a serious falling out.

Best part? She is one of Psycho’s girlfriends. She and Psycho are both married to other people and they are both in open relationships (good for them, I can’t fault them for that IF all parties involved are on the same page). I can fault her for breaking the rules they had set up in their relationship (multiple times with the same person) and LYING about breaking the rules. It’s not my relationship, not my life, I get it. But it still pisses me off.

She also sat down with one of my best friends (my now husband, but we were only best friends at the time) and asked him not to talk to me about THEIR sexual escapades, because she didn’t want me to think that she was going around and sleeping with all of my friends (which is exactly what she was doing).

Whatever. That’s all in the past. Or so I fucking thought.

She messages the shop. I respond. I am professional. I am tactful. I tell her to come in and fill out an application and we can’t wait to see her.

What do I want to do?

I want to send her a message from my personal page and ask her, “What the fuck?” Why does she want to work in a shop that she HAS to know I work at? Did Psycho put her up to this? How is she going to work an angle where, when she is NOT hired, that it is discrimination against her? Really, what the fuck is going on?

Trouble is, I CAN’T send that message, because it would be UNPROFESSIONAL.

God, if this keeps up I’m going to have a serious mental break. This is not okay. It is not okay when I cannot get information that will help me protect myself when I have to interact with people who have, and probably will again, try to tear me down.

Is this a lesson in, “hold your tongue, there’s nothing you can do so sit back?” I hope not, because I do NOT abide by the nothing you can do way of thinking. There is ALWAYS something you can do. It might be unsavory, but there are always options and choices. Is this a lesson in not being petty? I don’t think I’m being petty in this situation. Petty right now would be messaging her and telling her that I’m not going to hire her, so she might as well not waste her time or mine. No, all I want to do is figure out what the fuck is going on in her head.

I really, really, just want to go to the owner, hand over my keys, and tell her I quit.

Coffee…

I love coffee.

Thanks to a series of medical issues that I don’t feel like getting into right now, I have to abstain from caffeine. It has been several years (a little more than four) since I gave up caffeine, with the exception of the small amounts in the occasional chocolate (I’m not a big fan of sweets) and the caffeine that is still found in decaf coffee.

Oh, the blasphemy of decaf coffee.

Talk to a coffee lover and they will tell you there is a time and a place for decaf coffee: never, and in the trash.

I used to be the same way. I can’t be that way anymore, because the only way I can enjoy my coffee is if it has none of that highly sought after, energy inducing drug in it.

I was talking to my husband earlier in the car, while we were on our way to Dunkin Donuts for a cup of joe. I can make coffee at home, but it is never the same. Unfortunately, I like what I like and I don’t like deviating from what I like. I’ve been this way for a very long time. I was thinking about this during the drive (while sort of trying to pay attention to what he was saying about Pokemon Go).

When I was younger, it was soda. I went through my phases. My phases consisted of one type of soda and nothing else. First it was Coke, then it was Dr. Pepper, then (for only one year in high school) it was Root Beer (I hate Root Beer. I hated it before that one year and I hated it after that one year, but for that one year, it was all I would drink), after Root Beer it was back to Dr. Pepper, after Dr. Pepper it was Pepsi. Pepsi lasted for a very long time, then I would jump every six months or so between Pepsi and Coke. If it was a fountain drink? Pepsi all the way.  I was the same with candy. I have a point.

When I find something I like, I don’t like trying other things. Another example: there is a restaurant in town that focuses on Mexican foods. I will only order two things: chips and queso, and spinach enchiladas. I went to different restaurant and discovered that they also had spinach enchiladas on the menu. I ordered it. I hated it. They were not the same spinach enchiladas I get at the other place and so they were wrong and horrible and I couldn’t even finish them.

I’m the same way with non-food items, too. If I find a song/band I like I will listen to it until everyone else had gotten tired of it. Then I will listen to it some more. And then, maybe, I’ll think about throwing a new song into my playlist, just to change it up a little. I’ll think about doing that, but I probably won’t. If I find a show or a movie I like? On repeat. I finish the series and start all over again. Let the gods bless my husband, because Netflix took six seasons of Futurama away and now I’m watching the last four seasons every night when I go to bed. There’s a good chance he’ll hear Leela say, “hyyyyyah!” one night, and he’ll snap, and murder me in my sleep. But it is what it is.

Back to coffee.

I have found the perfect coffee at Dunkin Donuts. I order it the same way every time: hot, no cream, no sugar, caramel swirl. I cannot duplicate this coffee at home. I try to drink coffee at home, but it is always sad and disappointing. I can count on the way my coffee from DD tastes. Pretty much the same every time (allowances for how long it’s been since the pot was brewed, of course). If I go in there to order and they’re out of caramel swirl? My whole day is fucking ruined, y’all. I hate vanilla. I’m not a fan of hazelnut unless it’s those awesome little chocolates that come wrapped in golden crinkly wrapper that I can’t remember the name of. I can’t have artificial sugars, so their flavor shots are completely not an option.

But, to my point. I was thinking about why it is that I love my coffee so much. And I think it’s because it’s something that I can both depend on and look forward to. I don’t have a lot of good days, I have even fewer great days. Most of my days are ‘meh,’ borderline bad. I certainly have far more horrible days than I do have great days. So, being able to have something that I know I’ll enjoy? I cling on to that like nobody’s business.

There aren’t a whole lot of things that I really, really enjoy right now. I’m keeping my coffee.

Psycho Cunt from the Past

Well, today was shit. And it continued to get worse.

It didn’t start off terrible. A bit rushed, but not terrible. Just that horrible feeling of burnout.

After being at work for about half an hour I got a call from my daughter to tell me that the power went out. Great. So, I drive home to pick up both kids and take them back to the shop until the power gets turned on because summers in the south SUCK.

On the drive back to the shop, I find a thread of comments on the shop’s Facebook page under the help wanted ad we posted a short while ago. Thread is between my ex and a guy that has graphically threatened to kill me. It stands to be stated that my ex KNOWS there are issues between me and they psycho and he TAGGED the psycho in this post. It went like this:

Psycho: I don’t want to work with [my legal name].

Ex: How Rude (a gif of Stephanie Tanner from Full House)

Psycho: What?

Psycho: I’m not picky when it comes to working, but I won’t put myself in a guaranteed toxic environment.

Ex: Nah y’all just don’t get along and you’re right it wouldn’t work. Best to just keep the peace.

Ex: (Grinning Sticker) (Peace Sign Sticker)

Psycho: Yurp

Psycho: Because unlike some people, I try to act like the adult I am.

Ex: (Sticker of a tennis ball ROFL)

 

And here I am. Store manager of the shop in question. I had a million replies I WANTED to make. But refrained. Because I have to be a professional. Because what I post (especially on the shop page) reflects on the business. Because I am ACTUALLY an adult.

A little background:

The psycho and I have never gotten along. Not since I made it abundantly clear I had zero desire to fuck him. A whole lot of drama ensued of the course of months until I decided that I am done with him, his wife, his girlfriends, his boyfriends. All of them. I was done with his temper tantrums, his holier-than-thou, his “I’ve only been doing this for about five years, I’m practically a decade younger than you, but I know EVERYTHING about this subject and your knowledge is worth shit” attitude.

So, I make a post on Facebook. I didn’t call anyone out by name. But, if you knew the situations, you knew who I was talking about. If you didn’t know the situations and saw yourself in the post, well, if the shoe fits, right? This is the comment thread that happened:

Psycho: Oh get off your high horse, you egotistical passive aggressive piece of trash. You want to think I’m such a bad person and ignore that I have never been anything but tolerant of your stupid bull shit. Your the shitty friend, you live in squalor, are a… [I lost the rest in the screenshot]

Me: I see you found yourself in what I wrote.

Psycho: XD

Psycho: Maybe next time I’ll put a gun in your mouth and pull the trigger instead of my own.

 

Again, I didn’t call him out by name in my post. Clearly, I didn’t have to.

There have been so many things that I have wanted to say. “We wouldn’t fucking hire you, anyway.” “This is acting like an adult, blowing up a comment thread on a business  page you aren’t a patron of?” “Since I’m the STORE MANAGER, you wouldn’t be working WITH me, you’d be working FOR me.” “Any place is a toxic environment when you’re around because you are nothing but negativity. Also, kindly go throw yourself off a cliff. I wish you HAD pulled the trigger when you put the gun in your mouth last year.”

I can’t block any of these people on Facebook, because I have to interact with them on the business page. If I didn’t work at the store, I could just cut every single one of the cunts out of my life. But, thanks to being the store manager at one of the shops my ex frequents, I can’t.

I honestly don’t know how much more of it I can take. My mental health is deteriorating. I am not doing well.

Fuck everyone in this county. For real.

Biting Off More Than I Can Chew

The past few days I’ve been in a fog. I’ve been unable to focus on pretty much anything. I’m better in the mornings, about an hour or so after I wake up, but as the day progresses, my cognitive abilities diminish quickly.

Despite the fog, there’s always something I have to accomplish. I’ve slacked off on so much. Housework? Out the window. As far as I’m concerned, burn the place down and let’s start from scratch. Personal hygeine? I’ll shower when my skin just gets to the point that it is so gross I can’t stand it anymore, but not a day before (it takes a while for that to happen…not that I don’t feel gross after a few days, but I don’t have the gumption to care). The one thing I can’t ignore is the stuff I get paid to do. How I wish I could ignore that.

I often bite off more than I can chew. It’s something that I’ve always done. I’ll get an idea and open my mouth to express the idea without really thinking it through. Or, alternatively, someone will ask if I can do something and I’ll say, “sure, of course I can,” without stopping to consider if I really can or not.

The most recent example comes from work.

Back in March I was hired to work at a small, local shop that I absolutely adore. This is a new age, metaphysical shop. Right up my alley (I’ve been pagan for about two decades now). I was ecstatic to be hired.

About a month after I was hired, the owner told me she wanted me to be her store manager. I’m not sure what prompted this, but hey, who am I to argue? I’ve got management experience, and more than that, I have knowledge of the product that she sells.

Anyway, fast forward to now.

We are less than a week from the next Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year (more on that in a later post, I’m sure). A week, maybe two weeks, ago, the owner came to me and said she wanted to do something for the Sabbats. The owner is not pagan, so she defers to me on things that have to do with paganism. That’s fine. I have no problem sharing my knowledge, and even less of a problem admitting when I don’t know something about it. Her first thought was to do a sale. Her second thought was to do grab boxes. I liked the idea of grab boxes, so I jumped on it.

When I say I jumped on it, I mean that I grabbed the idea, ran, and didn’t really stop running.

“What if, instead of grab boxes, we do GIFT boxes? A small collection of things directly associated with the Sabbats. Oh! We can do so many cool things about the Sabbats!” And I came up with lists. I can write a small history/description of the Sabbats. Oh! This one is a harvest celebration! We can do bread mixes! Corn dollies! Don’t forget the candles, incense, crystals! Everything a practitioner would need for a small ritual or celebration of the season!

So, how have I spent the past few days?

I’ve been painting small crates. I’ve been weaving/gluing ribbon on said crates. I’ve sewn linings for the crates and glued the linings in (they don’t look great, but I’ve been rushed). With the help of my wonderful husband, I’ve put together bread mixes. I’ve dried fruits. I’ve baked said bread to make sure it’s a good recipe. I made my first corn dolly to make sure the instructions were easy to follow.

Holy cow, guys. I’m done. I mean, I’m not done with this project, but good lord, I’m done.

For the next Sabbat (which is in September)… Well, I plan on starting this one earlier. Like. As soon as this Sabbat is done, I’m going to be getting everything ready for the next one.

This is on top of having to hire one to two people for the holiday season. This is in addition to the charity work that the owner likes to have us do. This is alongside having to set up for the city’s scarecrow walk (we still haven’t decided how we want to decorate our scarecrows). This is with being the store manager, but because we are understaffed, also being a customer service assistant, and a cashier.

Y’all. I bit off more than I can chew.

Thank the gods I have my husband. Every hour or so he asks me what he can do to help and if I don’t have an answer for him (I usually don’t), he finds some way to help me.

I really need to learn to stop saying I can do something when it takes personal time from me. Work time is work time. Personal time is supposed to be personal time. Maybe one day I’ll learn.