This is a moment of pure pissiness!
I got a letter from Jefferson Community College where I have been enrolled since 2004. The letter stated that I had so many days to go online to mapping-your-future.org and submit an online counseling session proving that I understand the terms of my student loans. Now, I understand if the college is worried about their new students getting it together, and not defaulting on their borrowed money, but HOLY SHIT, for those of us who have got it together in that department this web site was a complete joke! The questions they asked preceded a long ass page full of information that any dick could get off the street if he really wanted to. They prettied it up like it was information they alone possessed, and to make it worse it was all scrunched together and looked worse than a text book page.
Once I completed the pointless questions -which by the way were laid out just a like an exam- my reword was filling out a blank form that asked for my SSN and License number, not to mention the addresses and phone numbers of about seventy five people I knew. This is obviously in an effort to make sure that if at some point in my future life, when I succeed at becoming desperate and dumb like their hoping I will - if I get the bright idea to change my name or personal information without letting them know, their be able to harass my family members until the debt is paid to their satisfaction! What bull shit!
Not only did this piss me off, it sent me on a crusade inside the marvelous world of "Customer Service Live Chat." These corporate versions of AIM or MSN Messenger allow you to actually talk with a Customer Service Rep live like you were talking with your best friend. Basically all they do is sit there, type what you want to hear, maintain the company policies and procedures, Ctrl-C Ctrl-V every bit of information into the message editor, and send you countless apologies for how they aren't able to give you the information you requested but are just trying to "do their job." Fuck that!
Not only did I tell the guy what kind of Diamond Dick he could use to Fuck himself, I told him where he could stick it. Tomorrow, JCC is getting a piece of my mind about this pathetic waist of energy and time. Whatever they hoped to accomplish by forcing their students to succumb to over zealous information hungry greed mongers, it's not working for this one! If a company can't do their visitors the courtesy of providing some kind of 800 number so we can at least scream at a live person, they have no place asking for my SSN over the net!
...more to come...for sure!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
The Longest Confession partII
Growing up in hospitals, I learned how to be strong for other people. Strong for them, because when they looked at me I could tell they felt sorry for me, and the last thing I wanted was pity. Being their celebrity gave me a sense of purpose, and hope, so I didn't feel the need to ever think my allergies were a mistake. Living like that made me a catalyst; it also taught me how to hide my fear. When other people - i.e. your family - pray, hope, and are desperate for your survival, you don’t' let on that your scared shitless. I have some theories about what may have triggered this, but the point is I am bipolar, and have been for many years. To even say that out loud is a huge relief but also breaks my heart. I never thought I would be this weak; I never thought I could be this broken or messed up. The symptoms can masquerade as other disorders, so I became a hypochondriac of sorts to mask the fact that I have been living in fear and shame for as long as I can remember.
There is never a convenient time to deal with it, never a moment of purpose set aside specifically to deal with such a disorder. However, there is always an endless supply of excuses. Being too stressed to deal, too broken to feel anything, being too busy to stop and think, being too drugged to care, and being too hurt to face anything else. Mom's favorite was, "It's past 9pm and we don't talk about deep stuff after nine." Dad, having a personality like my own felt the pain, knew the struggle; saw the need, but not knowing how to take care of himself couldn't do anything for me. When my brother was younger he would resort to trying to cheer me up. Sneak attack hugs from behind, and playing with my face while I was playing a video game; calling my cheeks "Softies," right before leaving his big fat lip print right onto one of them. Looking at me like a piece of meat came after, and I'm not sure how or where it was inspired; only that it killed me to loose my best friend and gain an enemy. I blame myself more then anyone else.
For weeks now I've been replaying different memories in my head over and over to find the answers; trying to figure out when I decided that it was all too much, when I saw it was time to give up. In another day or so something will spark me back into fight mode and I'll want to take this bitch head on; but who knows when the beast will rear its ugly head again - I can never tell. I kept thinking for years that it was something spiritual, like a demon or spirit sent to torment me for some reason. For a long while I was self-righteous in my believing that I'm some kind of special saint that God has chosen to do some work so sacrificial the enemy gets sacred just looking at me. Since I am mortal and don't realize I am truly significant, he beats me up every chance he gets to prove that I'll never amount to anything more then what I am - a feeble worm.
The battle in me rages something awful because I can never except what lies I'm fed - just like in the hospital when Doctors would stand by my door and tell my mother I might not make it through the night; or when they would put a death sentence on me like I had only two years to live; even then I fought back with everything in me to prove them wrong. But that is all it's ever been, a quest to be proven right and remain alive and well against all certain odds. And here I am again, looking at the one enemy I've never been able to beat.
Death wasn't the worst, living dead is the worst. Knowing that my life could be so much richer, so much more beautiful and so much more free then it is now; and not having the will to get myself there is killing me - but knowing I wont die from it is hell to live with. This is like a reaction I had years ago, where I ate something I wasn't supposed to and went into shock. The shock kept getting stronger but it wouldn't get strong enough to knock me out; it was a tease and disappointment. The same is true now - the disease is still there but it wont kill me, yet medication can't cure it, talking won't heal it, and prayer helps until I have another "bad day," and people around me loose faith or think I'm cured. I'm at a loss as to what I'm supposed to do anymore.
Any time I've hinted at having bipolar I've been met with two kinds of reactions: one, people cling to me like their life depended on it because they themselves were so desperate to find someone who knew their situation. Two, they refer me to something, someone, or someplace else so they don't have to actually deal with me and my pathetic problems that they feel could be taken care of by simply choosing to let them go. The worst is when I meet the rare third part of people; these mother fuckers think it's all about spirituality, and have convinced themselves that if someone struggles with bipolar and meds and talk therapy fail to work, then that person just doesn't have enough faith in the power of God. Talk about psycho. So I am back at the beginning. I am bipolar, that is what is wrong with me, and big pat on my back for finally being honest - even if no one is ever going to read this.
There is never a convenient time to deal with it, never a moment of purpose set aside specifically to deal with such a disorder. However, there is always an endless supply of excuses. Being too stressed to deal, too broken to feel anything, being too busy to stop and think, being too drugged to care, and being too hurt to face anything else. Mom's favorite was, "It's past 9pm and we don't talk about deep stuff after nine." Dad, having a personality like my own felt the pain, knew the struggle; saw the need, but not knowing how to take care of himself couldn't do anything for me. When my brother was younger he would resort to trying to cheer me up. Sneak attack hugs from behind, and playing with my face while I was playing a video game; calling my cheeks "Softies," right before leaving his big fat lip print right onto one of them. Looking at me like a piece of meat came after, and I'm not sure how or where it was inspired; only that it killed me to loose my best friend and gain an enemy. I blame myself more then anyone else.
For weeks now I've been replaying different memories in my head over and over to find the answers; trying to figure out when I decided that it was all too much, when I saw it was time to give up. In another day or so something will spark me back into fight mode and I'll want to take this bitch head on; but who knows when the beast will rear its ugly head again - I can never tell. I kept thinking for years that it was something spiritual, like a demon or spirit sent to torment me for some reason. For a long while I was self-righteous in my believing that I'm some kind of special saint that God has chosen to do some work so sacrificial the enemy gets sacred just looking at me. Since I am mortal and don't realize I am truly significant, he beats me up every chance he gets to prove that I'll never amount to anything more then what I am - a feeble worm.
The battle in me rages something awful because I can never except what lies I'm fed - just like in the hospital when Doctors would stand by my door and tell my mother I might not make it through the night; or when they would put a death sentence on me like I had only two years to live; even then I fought back with everything in me to prove them wrong. But that is all it's ever been, a quest to be proven right and remain alive and well against all certain odds. And here I am again, looking at the one enemy I've never been able to beat.
Death wasn't the worst, living dead is the worst. Knowing that my life could be so much richer, so much more beautiful and so much more free then it is now; and not having the will to get myself there is killing me - but knowing I wont die from it is hell to live with. This is like a reaction I had years ago, where I ate something I wasn't supposed to and went into shock. The shock kept getting stronger but it wouldn't get strong enough to knock me out; it was a tease and disappointment. The same is true now - the disease is still there but it wont kill me, yet medication can't cure it, talking won't heal it, and prayer helps until I have another "bad day," and people around me loose faith or think I'm cured. I'm at a loss as to what I'm supposed to do anymore.
Any time I've hinted at having bipolar I've been met with two kinds of reactions: one, people cling to me like their life depended on it because they themselves were so desperate to find someone who knew their situation. Two, they refer me to something, someone, or someplace else so they don't have to actually deal with me and my pathetic problems that they feel could be taken care of by simply choosing to let them go. The worst is when I meet the rare third part of people; these mother fuckers think it's all about spirituality, and have convinced themselves that if someone struggles with bipolar and meds and talk therapy fail to work, then that person just doesn't have enough faith in the power of God. Talk about psycho. So I am back at the beginning. I am bipolar, that is what is wrong with me, and big pat on my back for finally being honest - even if no one is ever going to read this.
Biting the Hand
I slept till almost 2pm this afternoon, mostly because I was up till 4am waiting for my heart to stop braking. It's been a month since I've had a bad episode and it felt really good to seem normal for once. The last three days have been mental hell. Right now, I feel exhausted and I can't stop shaking - its from the meds I took for my asthma. My chest gets tight whenever I get stressed out, or there is a spiritual problem in my life. I've been able to narrow it down to certain triggers, none of which I ever have control over.My email box is full again, with messages from an unknown. I've been here before, wanted to reach out, wanted to step outside of all this mess...this time is different. This time the wounds go deeper and the pain is more in control then ever; hiding it is only effective at work; I don't have to try so hard at home, the denial my family adores takes care of it for me.
There is a woman who wants me to be her best friend; she posted her number on my blog last night in hopes I might call her. The last time we spoke I felt nothing but sick after I hung up the phone. I'm tired of being put under other peoples expectations, and feeling like I'm worthless. what I hate the most about today, is knowing that whatever I feel, think, do, or say can't be trusted...in 48 hours or less it might all change and I'll feel like taking on the world. I've been trying to monitor what changes, when and how it changes...it's so sporadic i can't keep good records - blogs are my only way to keep track; I guess that is why I have so many of them. One for every mood, and one more for hiding them.
I wanted to take drugs today, i haven't desired them in years now - this will be my sixth year being sober. I took my vitamins D last night - I take it to keep my nails and hair strong - mentally I wanted to pretend it was something stronger. I started drinking heavy amounts of caffeine, it makes me sleepy if I drink too much; the right amount helps me concentrate. That mixed with the insomnia and I've been able to keep myself pretty docile. Tomorrow I have to work, so I'll have to shape up for two days so no body sends me to the ward again. That place was awful...I thought for sure the guy in B6 was going to come into my room and rape me. I refused to take a shower for that reason.
I don't know wether to be broken, or try to keep pushing forword. I'm lost.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
It's About Time I Got Laid
Well, I went into a relapse today. I wasn't expecting it. Fortunately I was able to stay away from the good stuff. The depression was strong, and it's still hitting me. Tomorrow is my second day off and I'm glad because I feel like sleeping. Honestly, I would love to get out of the house and just chill with somebody, but I have no one to call. Time to get a life I suspect.
I wrote in my journal and am still considering whether or not to post it. The guilt is so overwhelming lately I can't get rid of it. I keep trying not to use the work 'I' too much because supposedly it's a bad thing...well fuck you all for telling me that, because I can't think of anyone else to write about at the moment! I'm pissed off at the world, and mad at myself. I fucked myself two nights ago for no reason other then I had an insatiable sex drive and it wouldn't quit. Having no man at my disposal left me in a predicament, and it sucked. So I took care of it myself, and I'm sick of feeling like it's a sin! Holy Shit! I figured out today, that I do think I'm bad, I really believe it. I see myself as dirty and nothing more then a piece of ass. No man has ever wanted me for anything else, so I figured that is all there is of me. It's getting in the way of too much in my life - I feel like putting an add out there for the wealth of men available in the world saying, "Harlot Retired. Needs strong male libido. Must provide own Ring and income."
Most of my girlfriends all have no problem being with guys, or if they do hide it extremely well. I on the other hand, had to be the victim of every drive by fucking in creation. Not to mention it happened so often I got used to it and even started liking it. Hell don't judge me, if the only attention you ever get is the back of a hand, or the tip of a dick, you learn to take what you can get! No therapist gets that, they all expect me to be some innocently driven, grace motivated, sweetly dispositional young lady. Well sorry to disappoint. When I get married the only time I want to hear my husband tell me he wants to make love to me, is after he's fucked me so hard it'll hurt if he's not gentle the fourth time around. I need a man who can handle all my shit, who doesn't mind sharing his, and who isn't afraid of a little drama now and then - but doesn't act like an ass when it comes. I'm not asking for perfection, if I were I'd be asking myself first; and trust me I do. But with him, I'd let him walk all over me before I stood up for myself, so he's got to be the right thing going in, or it'll all go to hell.
...more to come
I wrote in my journal and am still considering whether or not to post it. The guilt is so overwhelming lately I can't get rid of it. I keep trying not to use the work 'I' too much because supposedly it's a bad thing...well fuck you all for telling me that, because I can't think of anyone else to write about at the moment! I'm pissed off at the world, and mad at myself. I fucked myself two nights ago for no reason other then I had an insatiable sex drive and it wouldn't quit. Having no man at my disposal left me in a predicament, and it sucked. So I took care of it myself, and I'm sick of feeling like it's a sin! Holy Shit! I figured out today, that I do think I'm bad, I really believe it. I see myself as dirty and nothing more then a piece of ass. No man has ever wanted me for anything else, so I figured that is all there is of me. It's getting in the way of too much in my life - I feel like putting an add out there for the wealth of men available in the world saying, "Harlot Retired. Needs strong male libido. Must provide own Ring and income."
Most of my girlfriends all have no problem being with guys, or if they do hide it extremely well. I on the other hand, had to be the victim of every drive by fucking in creation. Not to mention it happened so often I got used to it and even started liking it. Hell don't judge me, if the only attention you ever get is the back of a hand, or the tip of a dick, you learn to take what you can get! No therapist gets that, they all expect me to be some innocently driven, grace motivated, sweetly dispositional young lady. Well sorry to disappoint. When I get married the only time I want to hear my husband tell me he wants to make love to me, is after he's fucked me so hard it'll hurt if he's not gentle the fourth time around. I need a man who can handle all my shit, who doesn't mind sharing his, and who isn't afraid of a little drama now and then - but doesn't act like an ass when it comes. I'm not asking for perfection, if I were I'd be asking myself first; and trust me I do. But with him, I'd let him walk all over me before I stood up for myself, so he's got to be the right thing going in, or it'll all go to hell.
...more to come
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
How long is enough?
For some reason last night I got the itch, and it wouldn't go away.
I badly wanted to be in my husbands arms being kissed all over, and for lack of a better term - just plain fucked. However I was very much alone and very much in distress.
So the question continues to rise in my head, "how can I justify self induced orgasm?"
No matter what anyone has told me, my gut refuses to believe that pleasuring myself is in anyway right; yet for some reason there is a mistakable code I'm forced to ponder; honestly, it's becoming exhausting.
So I laid there pondering, trying to think of anything else, and nothing...
I've learned that cold showers fail to reduce the emotions of the mind, and only leave you feeling worse then you did to begin with. Water fills your tummy and makes you sick, but your thoughts don't leave you. The only answer that truly works for me is prayer; however politically incorrect that might be. Last night however, nothing was going to penetrate desire.
For whatever reason there is a pattern I seem to follow that begins with thought, continues in action, and ends in guilt and shame. Some days my actions end in blissful contentment’s, but I know that is just me choosing denial. So I never gave in, I fought it till I was dead asleep waiting for the morning to come. The first time in an awhile I slept through the night without waking once (that I can recall. This morning waking I found the thoughts still there, the emotions running deeper then ever, and feeling helpless to control them.
This is the first time I've gone a whole night and had the desire bite my ass in the morning. I wore sunglasses on my way to school, and let’s just say it wasn't only because the sun was in my eyes.
I badly wanted to be in my husbands arms being kissed all over, and for lack of a better term - just plain fucked. However I was very much alone and very much in distress.
So the question continues to rise in my head, "how can I justify self induced orgasm?"
No matter what anyone has told me, my gut refuses to believe that pleasuring myself is in anyway right; yet for some reason there is a mistakable code I'm forced to ponder; honestly, it's becoming exhausting.
So I laid there pondering, trying to think of anything else, and nothing...
I've learned that cold showers fail to reduce the emotions of the mind, and only leave you feeling worse then you did to begin with. Water fills your tummy and makes you sick, but your thoughts don't leave you. The only answer that truly works for me is prayer; however politically incorrect that might be. Last night however, nothing was going to penetrate desire.
For whatever reason there is a pattern I seem to follow that begins with thought, continues in action, and ends in guilt and shame. Some days my actions end in blissful contentment’s, but I know that is just me choosing denial. So I never gave in, I fought it till I was dead asleep waiting for the morning to come. The first time in an awhile I slept through the night without waking once (that I can recall. This morning waking I found the thoughts still there, the emotions running deeper then ever, and feeling helpless to control them.
This is the first time I've gone a whole night and had the desire bite my ass in the morning. I wore sunglasses on my way to school, and let’s just say it wasn't only because the sun was in my eyes.
Monday, October 16, 2006
So Unprepared
I'm pissed off as my professor. She talks our ears off in class about mindless crap, and then comes up with "challenging" tests for us to take, having nothing to do with what we have gone over. HOLY SHNIKIES! And there is no way around it!
I want to be a mom...
I want to be a mom...
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
all is wrong in the world
Something has to give, and if it has to be me I'm willing.
I made a mistake by watching a movie that was more real to life then I can tolerate.
For the last two days I haven't been right. I can't stop thinking about it, and I don’t want to.
I want answers! I want to know how real this is, and how close we really are to letting it happen again. I want to know why I'm so prone to feel more then most, and why those feelings seem to come true when I least expect them? Is God really going to stand by and watch me mull over these fears as long as I want to, or will He snap me out of this?
Normally watching tv of any kind is a release for me to unwind and passively move through the day. It's very helpful on days I can't get it all together. But on days when the remote magically turns to a station where movies such as: The Constant Gardner and Munich are starring me in the face, it's quite obvious that I am too sensitive to the pains of others. Why couldn't I just be an optimist and believe that none of history is actually true, and nothing bad is happening now? And why can't I see people for being all good and no bad, and all kind and no evil? I can't because I am a speaker of truth and very much a realist. No matter how much I fight or hide or run, it haunts me and tares me to bits without cause or mercy. And I am fragile in its wake because of my lack of spine.
I made a mistake by watching a movie that was more real to life then I can tolerate.
For the last two days I haven't been right. I can't stop thinking about it, and I don’t want to.
I want answers! I want to know how real this is, and how close we really are to letting it happen again. I want to know why I'm so prone to feel more then most, and why those feelings seem to come true when I least expect them? Is God really going to stand by and watch me mull over these fears as long as I want to, or will He snap me out of this?
Normally watching tv of any kind is a release for me to unwind and passively move through the day. It's very helpful on days I can't get it all together. But on days when the remote magically turns to a station where movies such as: The Constant Gardner and Munich are starring me in the face, it's quite obvious that I am too sensitive to the pains of others. Why couldn't I just be an optimist and believe that none of history is actually true, and nothing bad is happening now? And why can't I see people for being all good and no bad, and all kind and no evil? I can't because I am a speaker of truth and very much a realist. No matter how much I fight or hide or run, it haunts me and tares me to bits without cause or mercy. And I am fragile in its wake because of my lack of spine.
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