Driving the Point Home

A question was posed in my Psychopharmacology class that I felt merited some consideration on my part.  

We were talking about why someone might fail to take their medication, or continue to say they're having significant problems when they aren’t.  
The question was “What is the gain from remaining sick?”  
This can obviously be answered in many ways, depending on the circumstance.

I began to think about this in terms of my own life and my own struggles with my fears and with a failure to drive. 

 If I don't try, I can't fail, right? 

This logic never worked in any other area of my life, so I'm not sure why I thought it would with driving, other than the fact that I did mostly have other ways around. 

Let's face it. 

I don't leave my home very often, and would generally prefer to be some kind of happy recluse, but I understand that this isn't a reasonable possibility. 

I also feel guilty now that I don't live by a bus line and occasionally need to carpool or outright ask people for rides, as I can't currently afford to take cabs everywhere while in the unpaid internship... 

Externship... 

Whateverthefuckship. 

In any case, I've been attempting and mostly failing to prioritize my health, and instead I've been obsessing over something that is generally not seen as a big deal. 

More than that, it is generally seen as a wonderful thing. 

For me personally, passing the test means that I now don't have to retake the permit test, which would have been embarrassing. 

I don't have to have the strange looks when I have a non-driver ID instead. 

I don't have to have anyone questioning how I function in life, just because they are too unimaginative to think of living without a car in my situation. 

I wanted to be proud of myself too, but I'm having trouble with that. 

I think the issue is that I really had no desire to do it at all, so rather than feeling accomplished, I just feel like I gave in. 

I did this thing that I had no desire to do, just because someone else told me to do it. 

Christ. 

How much of my life has been like that? 

 

Still, having passed is great, if only for the wait for the next one to now be gone forever. 

The pressure each time was slowly killing me. 

It became everything. 

It took over every aspect of my life with the sheer power of not-want. 

I just don't want to think about it anymore. 

Passing means I don't have to worry about the test, but now I have the car I can't afford, the insurance, the upkeep, the responsibility, and the assumption that I will drive. 

Now, it has become an issue if I do have the audacity to ask for help. 

After all, I can drive. 

Everyone involved seems to think passing the test has immediately cured me of my not-want. 

It did not, just as doing any other terrible thing forever doesn't automatically make people Stockholm-syndrome themselves into loving the thing. 

Now, I just have more questions, more pressure, and I fear that I'll wind up on the side of the road sobbing and hysterical, missing my appointments that were otherwise never an issue to get to on time. 

I guess any lingering depression winds up more apparent when it's on me, rather than being able to say, "Well, better get going so my ride doesn't get upset."  

 

I feel like I'm constantly letting everyone down either way, or that there is something significant wrong with me, beyond all the things that have actually made my life harder. 

It's frustrating to note that the things I actually want to work on and struggle with are somehow not good enough to those around me. 

I fully realize that I am not those people, but some solidarity would be nice. 

I have found myself falling from pushing on and through and up, to just wanting to be left alone to rot. 

Of course, my Knight in Pinstripes and my very good friends ARE supportive and would never let me do that to myself, as much as I may try. 

Still, this is upsetting because I understand that it has all been hinged on this idea of having a car and driving and freedom in this lonely, expensive, wasteful death machine. 

Again, Rob is all for carpooling and is steady in his belief that I should not have to drive if I do not want to. 

He generally believes I shouldn't do ANYTHING that I don't want to do, but again, that means I would do... pretty much nothing. 

Ever.  

Sometimes, I pretend that I want to drive. 

Sometimes, I pretend that I am already someone who drives. 

It is a fun fantasy, but ultimately leaves me feeling empty, realizing I am lying to myself because I feel like I am worth less than I would be as a driver. 

I feel like while I've been told I am not, I must certainly be a burden, and something to be ashamed of. 

Otherwise, why would any of this have come up at all? I wind up wallowing in everything else I've been trying to fix, just to have this barrier of, “No, look. I'm too sick. I can't drive because I'm too sick.” 

I've been self sabotaging and ruining so much of my health, both physical and mental, in an effort to convince those around me that I am sick enough to not do this one thing that I have never done before anyway. 

 

All that having been said, I did face my fears. 

And now, I have it, whether I ever use it or not. 

These are things I CAN be proud of, because they were important to my growth as a person. 

That is the most important part.

And... I actually do like the car.  Well, when it starts up, anyway.  

I call it The Grey Ghost, and I understand that my aversion to driving is not the car's fault. 

...My tendency to personify objects a bit probably doesn't help the guilt though. 

Just sayin'.

Pulling Through

Instinct Vs. Logic: A Never Ending Battle

Before moving across the country, I couldn't handle cold very well.  I was more than pleased to be boiling hot instead.  Since getting back, any temperature extreme seems to suck.  

Our apartment is wired like a monkey just shat out the plans for the building and then left someone else to figure it out.  

In fact, that is probably what happened.

One outlet in the kitchen, one in the office, and one in the livingroom each have their own circuit breakers.  EVERYTHING ELSE shares ONE.  

This means that we can't have the air conditioning on  in more than two rooms at once, nor can we have any of them on while using the microwave or running the dishwasher, or else the electricity will go out.  

As a result, I am typically either melting:

or freezing: 

 

This has led me to feeling sort of panicky for no reason or just ill.  This is unfortunate because... Well...  
You know those lizards that shoot blood out of their eyes when threatened?  (Yeah, it's a thing.  Look it up.)

 I've always kind of been like one of those.  If I'm too stressed mentally or physically, I will get my period even if I just had it.  

Now, before this past year of fear and flipping out over foods and such, I never really noticed any extreme hormonal changes during my period.  This may have been because I had trained myself to care WAY too much about the welfare of others: 

While pretty much ignoring my own needs, no matter how uncomfortable I could get.  

 

Of course, something should be said for the fact that I often couldn't tell if I was really sick or just, you know, how I normally felt all the time anyway.  

 

This led to some problems in cases like The Birthday Bashing.  So, after I came home and started feeling everything, this meant that I was hyper aware of my hormonal state too.   

Rob figured the best way to see if I was legitimately upset or just hormonal was to have me look at cute things. 

Loaf animals are the best for this.  A loaf animal is when a rabbit or a cat winds up looking more like a guinea pig:  

 I actually have another story involving guinea pigs and meatloaf, but that can be for another post. 

 Cartoons also helped my hormonal state, as well as when I've been freaking out and going into existential panics over my career choice, what I'm going to school for, and what I really would rather be doing but don't think I could make a living doing. 

Enter our apartment-mate and My Little Ponies: 

 Sometimes he dresses like Deadpool. 


Rob does his best to fix ALL PROBLEMS EVER even before they are fully explained.  This is appreciated to a point.  The only issue here is that he is significantly more lovey dovey and romantic than I'm good at used to.  

 This hypersensitivity and panic has left me irritable and I worry about putting too much pressure on him.  He is possibly in denial, lying to make me feel better, or he honestly just doesn't see me as the flailing weirdo I've become over the past two years.  Either way, I need work and he seems to be more than happy to just stand there being overly peppy by my side.  

The over sensitive thing goes way beyond just emotional and sometimes physical into simple daily things.  My sleep has always been strange due to nightmares, but now the sun is a problem.

One option is to let the black out curtain drop enough that the sunbeam doesn't blind me in the morning: 

But, of course, there is always a catch.  Putting it down at night in order for it to be there in the morning means that I'm in pitch black darkness.  If I go to the bathroom in this, my brain assumes monsters will come climbing out of the mirrors to eat my feet.  

 Do other adults have cripplingly overactive imaginations or is this some other part of a larger disorder? 

*sigh*



Last on this list explains why there have been so many posts about sewing and dresses lately.  I've gotten excited because during my latest existential crisis, I remembered that I can sew.  Designing costumes came in handy in high school and has helped me in character design.  Sculpting with fabric to make stuffed creations has also been a treat.  Putting the two together to make wearable things that aren't just altered from previous articles of clothing is terrifying and exciting for me. 

Am I going to magically get a job as a fashion designer or seamstress?  Could that then launch my painting and cartooning career?

No.

Probably not.

However, I have a bazillion projects I'm working on, both personal and not, and some are drawing based while others involve sewing.

I'm keeping myself busy this Summer before school starts again in September much like some adults start obsessing over sports and fancy cars to avoid thinking about their soul sucking jobs.

For the record, what I'm going to school for will not be boring.  It is something I am genuinely interested in, even when I feel like an idiot.  I learn things every day and that is thrilling.  I have a chance to help others, and that is wonderful.

Unfortunately, my last year of classes before internship comes at a time when I am finally willing to think about myself and be selfish.  This is something other people get to do when they are younger, and I was always too afraid to go after what I really wanted.  Now I want to... And I feel like it's too late.  I'm already on another just as good path and I don't want to start all over again.

...I already have a BA in Art, so it wouldn't really be starting all over...
I worry more about time.

I worry about putting too much time and effort and energy into one side of this coin and having the odds always be on that side.  I worry that I'll lose the other or just stretch myself too thin.

Both take effort and energy and I'm not a terribly energetic person.

If I could only choose one, I'd choose Art...

...But that isn't logical.  It'll be harder to break into that.  Logically, I should do what I am doing and continue Art on the side, hoping that something will magically fall into my lap. 
...But that feels like I'm betraying someone important.

And that someone might actually be myself.

So, for now, it's cartoons, loaf animals, sewing like crazy, and trying to figure out what brought me here to begin with.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Lately…
Maybe not just lately.
Maybe it has been forever.



I've been feeling like The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Only, mine is not the story of Jekyll finding freedom in Hyde
so much as Hyde desperately putting on Jekyll's old suit
and finding that it no longer fits.
My Hyde wanders around uncomfortably in Jekyll's clothes,
trying to save face to save himself.

Jekyll is often nowhere to be found, but none of his companions notice.
They all believe Hyde.
When Jekyll finally does take his own skin again, he is tired.
Briefly excited, he finds excuses to keep going.

Jekyll can make a living, and it is an honorable one.
He knows deep down that he is helping others
and that his own desires and needs must never come first.
His happiness has meant so little for so long that he is afraid to find any for himself,
lest it be a distraction
or just something good to lose.
Falling from grace would be quite the distraction.

Hyde just runs rampant, chaotic but happy.
Hyde does not care for the needs of those around him.
They are little more than stepping stones.
But Hyde is new.
Hyde is young and reckless.
He has all the passion in the world,
but lacks the drive to succeed at anything meaningful.

Jekyll is just the opposite. 

Hyde needs Jekyll in order to remain so content and free and blameless.
Jekyll needs Hyde in order to release his demons
and prevent them from choking him in his sleep.
Jekyll gives Hyde some sense of structure and purpose…




But Hyde has dreams of his own.

Dreams that may conflict with Jekyll's entire way of life. 


So...





Who do I root for now?

Time Travel As Therapy

I'm not talking in the hitch a ride on the Tardis or a hop in a Delorean and zoom off way, but in a reviewing, analyzing, and actually participating in my own life way.

I do a lot of analyzing with no purpose.  I run circles around and around to no end.  Hell, most of this blog is just that.

I never come to any new conclusion, nor do I find a new possibility for letting it all go.

Clearly, that shit ain't working.

So instead, I'm rewriting my history.

I noticed I was doing this by accident, subconsciously. 

I was proud of myself for reconnecting with people I had pushed away, but there was more to it than what I'd thought.  Beyond a sense of "Oh good, they are still here," there was a comfort that I hadn't expected.

A man I knew mostly in high school, a man I knew mostly at the art school, and a man I dated after my life was over the first time should not instantly make me more comfortable that some of my new very close friends, but they were.

I understand that my new friends are still the people to go to, but I needed to understand why talking to these old friends had the effect on me that it did.  I think I get it now.

 EDIT: On why I draw my problems as little blobs with staring eyes and sometimes tiny mouths...  It's because that is exactly what they are.  My problems just sit there and stare.  They just sit and make me feel uncomfortable with looks that say they want me to do something for them, but they never open their stupid little mouths to tell me what they want.  They just gawk and criticize silently.  They wobble slightly and are at times even silly enough to be funny... but they bother me just the same.  And in large amounts?  When they gather up and become a crowd?  There is hardly room to breathe. 

I looked around recently and noticed that I'm most comfortable sitting where the computer is in the dining room of my parent's house, rather than eating in the kitchen.  It dawned on me…
The kitchen has been completely redone in recent years.  It is no longer the kitchen from the last time I lived here…
Which was six or seven years ago, after art school.

It was a time before my Psychology courses, which I have yet to pick up again.

It was a time when I felt my life was ending and that I was helpless… 

Which I've picked up again.

I'm searching for nostalgia and comfort to be sure, but also a sense of going back in time to fix what can still be fixed.  Not everything has been an issue, and already I've fixed some of the bigger problems.

For example, my fingers and my wrists have haunted me since art school.  I've been afraid to really do the work I'm capable of because I'm afraid of the pain and the failure I may have to endure yet again.

But now, I have these fancy new braces on my ring fingers that look like Elvish jewelry and actually help minimize the discomfort.  I also know how to pace myself more than I did back then, and I've been to a doctor who could confirm what I thought about my bones.  They probably aren't going to get any worse.  They just are what they are.
More than that, it could have been MUCH worse, but it isn't.

And now, that burden is lifted.  Now I can relax enough to apply for art jobs and feel like I'm going somewhere.  I still plan on finishing the MA in Psychology, but for now, I need more things like this.

I need to weed out the ones I can take care of, and then I can accept and let go of the things I can't change.  This seems entirely logical in theory.  

...In theory.

Obviously, some things are just plain done and over.  
Some things can not ever find a proper ending, and so I'll never really have my closure.

So for the first time, it is actually convenient that I've lumped all my problems together. 

It makes things overlap and count as other things from before.

I can't get my year at art school back.  I can't make my medical leave matter or feel like I achieved anything from it. 

But I left on medical leave from my most recent graduate school, and it was going about the same way.  No one cared.  The fact that I had a doctor give a note and everything didn't matter at all. 

But it's supposed to.

And it will.

My parents and I wanted to just forget the whole thing, but that won't help.  I'll just go the rest of my life adding this to the list of shit where I had no control and my life was meaningless, terrified that it will happen a third time because I'm too disabled to live a normal life, but not disabled enough to get any real help.  Only pity.

No.

I'm going to fight.

I'm going to write letters and make phone calls, and this time, my parents will help me do that.

I'm going to make someone listen to me, even if it doesn't change anything.  The point will be that this time I actually TRIED instead of just crying and walking away. 

This will be my closure for both schools, knowing I did wind up getting that art degree. 
Maybe now, that art degree can mean something to me. 

If my brain is going to decide that they are the same school and the same situation, I may as well make use of that.  I'll trick myself into finally letting them both go at once.  
Let them drift off on the wind.

They won't matter anymore because I will say they don't matter, not because anyone else says so.

For other things, I need to go backwards before I can go forwards.

For the eating issue, I need to remember what I ate and how I enjoyed it and who I ate these things with, and I need to just do it as though I am that person still.  I need to make it habit and a want again.  I need to become who I was in my mind, until I can act and feel like that person again.

THEN I can grow and move forward and be even stronger and better than I ever was.

This time, I'll fix my past and grow up to be a person who wants to drive.

I'll change my perception and how I reacted to things.

"I got into a terrible car accident!  I could have died," will become "I survived even this terrible car accident!  I'm invincible." 

Instead of thinking of how many times I was accidentally "poisoned" by people who didn't care or realize how scary an allergy is, I'll acknowledge that I ate walnuts accidentally, took some Benadryl and YES it was scary, but NO I didn't die or even need to go to the hospital.  I was fine.
Same thing happened years before with hazelnuts. 
And, yes, I did get in trouble and swelled up with hives and vomit and shitting myself for three days because of a small bite of a macadamia nut cookie when a "friend" said there were no nuts in it...  I even asked twice.

Okay, I always ask twice.  Now I know to ask three times.

And I could have used my fucking epi-pen.  I didn't.  I could have, but I didn't.  I don't know if I'm afraid of it, or what...  But either way, the fact that I still freaking SURVIVED WITHOUT using it and I didn't go to the hospital EVEN THEN should say something.  I should feel like I'm a fucking superhero.

Moving on, my throat got hurt, but obviously it then got better.  If it happens again, I know to go to a doctor who isn't an idiot. If I get told it's acid reflux, I'll know that person is wrong, and I'll move on. 

Looking at the posts I wrote at the time, I didn't have any idea what the Hell was going on anyway, and I'm sure that was a big component of it all.  It's weird, but you can actually watch my transition from all the Fishbone bullshits all the way to Of Strength, Luck, and Crashing Down.  It's an interesting change. 

My faith in the world got rocked so far that I couldn't even fathom living in it anymore. 
Yes.  
I get that.  
So, maybe I'll be more cynical than before.  
Maybe I won't be such a pushover.

This doesn't mean I have to be mean or a quiet ball of anger like I was as a kid, but I should take everything with a grain of salt and regrow my instincts.


I used to have very good instincts, as I recall.


Guh.

I'm freaking awesome, damn it.  Time that I remembered and understood that. 

I never believed it, but if I can convince myself that somewhere in my mind, deep down, I knew it, then I can assume that it was always there.  I can "remember" it.

My memories are so muddled anyway, and I have such trouble remembering the good things, I may as well start making shit up.

I won't lie or completely fabricate nonsense, but I can pretend that I felt differently about certain situations.  
I can pretend that I let things go and simply learned from them in order to better myself.  
Maybe I can teach others and I can avoid the same mistakes again.

Fear solves nothing.

Fear will kill me and I would much rather live.

I have a lot left to do if I'm going to make this stupid world any smarter.

I can notice different parts of the scenes playing before me as I go back in time, and I can choose to pick out different parts to keep with me.  
I'll find the most helpful parts this time. 

Simply...

It is time for a rewrite. 

I have friends who can help me edit.  I'm not in this alone.

I'll look at this post and this Winter is Coming to remind me of that. 

And already, I have rekindled some friendships I had missed.  
It may have been for odd reasons, but they were people I valued and people I felt I wasn't good enough to keep. 

I am good enough.

I am fucking awesome,
and I WILL survive this.

This is my life.

This is MY story.

I will decide how the next chapter goes.

Winter is Coming

And I don't have a dragon.

So, something I've been neglecting in my “I have time to get better, and I'm getting there...” is that Winter is coming. I live in an area where when Winter hits, it HITS HARD.

This is a problem for a few reasons.

One:

Winter = cold and cold = pain for me. I have a harder time drawing and painting when it's cold, and those are the things currently keeping me sort of okay. I also avoid going outside when it's cold, so the fact that I just started wanting to actually DO things with my friends is ...Well it's bad timing, really.

Two:

I certainly get my own milder style of seasonal depression. It never gets as bad as some people have it. Still, I already have this anxious, crippling, whatever-the-fuck funk cloud constantly above my head. What the Hell is this going to turn into? Or will I not even notice?

Three:

As sad as it is, I typically have a somebody around in the Winter. This is either a boyfriend or a good friend that I can cuddle up to for warmth and talk to when things are down in order to pretend it is not a season of never ending frozen night.

Well, I've got some friends for that, both new and old. This is good because I'm currently single (the longest I've been so in a long time) and my traditional cuddle buddy is on the other side of the country.  

I've even rekindled a friendship or two out of my realizing what I really wanted and missed in my life. 

My weeding out of some of the awful influences made a nice gap for the people I was too shy about to come back.

...So it's unfortunate that I'm still a loon.

I'm lonely and I want physical affection as well as time spent with people I care about... but I'm still just as freaked out about people touching me or breathing on me as I am about eating most foods, regardless of who or what is involved.

There are very few circumstances where I'll suck it up or even relax enough to forget. I'll still panic before and after, but these calm moments of not giving a shit are precious to me these days.

And then my self esteem comes in to fuck up my day.

I wonder why anyone would want to spend time with me until I convince myself that no one really does, despite the HUGE AMOUNT OF EVIDENCE to the contrary. 

 ...Even you, Sign-Pointing-Guy.  You are so not into this. 

So I picture myself as this burden, and I either shut up, afraid to say anything, or I over-share, afraid that I'll be misunderstood.

Normally, my best buddy would be getting all this crap. To a certain extent, she still does, but she is busy being an adult type person and I don't want to bother her with my insane-child shit.

...See? See, it's that logic again. The fuck.

Instead, I've been not so silently putting it on an old companion who I've dragged rather forcibly back into my life, fully aware that I'm about fifty cards short of a deck.

I find him comforting and supportive, and I know I can be the same for him.  He reminds me of who I was years ago, and also who I was in the time when he barely even knew me anymore.  

...And then I just feel guilty that he should have to put up with me at all.

Below is my depiction of the whole thing. Feel free to click on it to enlarge it in order to read my lunatic rantings.

...Right.

The man is not so much of a pushover that he couldn't just ignore me and walk the fuck away if he wanted to. None of my friends are. These are all people who actually *gasp* care about me.

Why would they?

It doesn't matter.

I should just be thankful and move on.

Mind you, in my case with him specifically, we have basically abandoned each other before on some level, though even then, it was with good intentions.  As odd as it sounds, we were trying to avoid hurting each other.  We just did it... wrong. 

Still, I now know that one phone call would have fixed it. 

I chose to assume he wanted nothing to do with me, just as he chose to assume I wouldn't miss him.  

We are the same kind of stupid.  You would think this would mean we'd each give each other the benefit of a doubt as friends.  

...

We don't. 

But, it's nice when we are just relaxed and together.  We have a history and we know each other pretty well, but we also were apart long enough that there are still things to learn.  I have other friends who would fall into this category, and they wouldn't necessarily have the added complication of my physical attraction, but on some level, I suppose I'm just thankful that I'm still capable of having said attraction to someone.  Even if it doesn't amount to anything, it's comforting to have. 

 

No expectations, just honesty and friendship, knowing we care about each other.  That's pretty freaking cool, and something I've been needing.  Being someone I've had a relationship with in the past, we also avoid that nagging "I wonder" feeling on many levels.  We already know to a certain extent, even if it didn't last very long.  There are still "what ifs" but not enough that it would hurt anything.  

This is all pretty damn cool.  

...Until I over-think it. 

...

Shit.