struggling.

Blogging is weird. It’s Live Journal* for the masses but it can also be used to sell us stuff, teach us how to bake, knit, weld, whatever you want to learn, and show us the world. Is this an ad for blogging? This sounds like an ad for blogging. The title says “struggling.”, let’s get to the point.

I’m struggling right now.*** I have been diagnosed many times in my life with various illnesses. Being told you have something wrong with you doesn’t get easier. It’s not a round of golf that you can practice. Although, if you go into an anxiety-induced thought spiral, you can practice feeling shame and dread over and over again in your head. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? My mental 200 yard swing is looking pretty good these days. Don’t hit the golf ball cart, they don’t like that.

It’s hard to write those words. I’m struggling. When I spoke those words to certain people in my past, I’d be met with some sort of invalidation. I’m too sensitive. If I had just started sooner, I wouldn’t feel this way. I let it get to this point so deal with it. Get a thicker skin. Come out of my shell. Say how I feel, but not like that. Take a break, alone. Sit over there. Get used to it. I’m ugly when I cry. Why am I like this?**

I was apprehensive about being assessed for ADHD. I would usually go into detail about the process and how I felt throughout but I’m not going to do that in this post. I’m tired of doing that right now. I will though because my experience is valid and people have asked me to share it.

Anyways, I was apprehensive about having to convince multiple medical professionals that I did indeed have ADHD. Here are the facts, over and over again. Please believe me. They did. I found the pros that listened and cared and was able to get diagnosed fairly quickly because I was able to pay $300 to get assessed. Is this blog post trying to sell you an ADHD assessment? NO. It’s a comment on private healthcare. You figure out the comment. I’m feeling rather sarcastic today.

There’s dealing with the diagnosis itself and then there’s dealing with the reactions to the diagnosis. Who do I tell? I’ve already told the internet so who is left? Should I even write this post? What is my blog about? What do you, dear reader, even want to read? I’m off-topic again. See? struggling. I have ADHD but it does not define me. I need to take the time to forgive my past self for not knowing any better and to show her grace and respect for dealing with it all. She gave herself bangs so many times and still didn’t learn how to make them look good. Poor thing.

*LiveJournal is Russian owned? WHAT?

**Yes, these things were said to me. No, not by everyone in my life.

*** I will be okay. I have a support system that loves and respects me. I have a health system that is looking out for my needs. I will be okay.

that wasn’t a fart.

Okay, listen.

I’m very good at embarrassing myself. Olympic level good. I’ve learned to laugh at myself because the shame was getting to be too much for my level of expertise. Can’t be normal? Laugh at yourself. I’m really funny, guys.

Back at the beginning of 2018, my life essentially fell apart. It just crumbled right before my eyes. My grandma died two days before my birthday. My cat started getting sicker and sicker. My upstairs neighbours were getting louder and louder. School became a burden overnight, out of nowhere. My anxiety was at an all-time high. It was shit.

Speaking of shit, I got some sort of flu in the middle of all of this. My poor boss was just like “Are you okay?” and I said I was but that I had to call the vet about my cat.

I walked into the warehouse and hid between a stack of pallets. I called the vet and she told me that Bella, my cat, was slowly dying and that there wasn’t much they could do aside from cutting her lower jaw off. I had cried so much at this point that I didn’t really cry when she said this. Instead, I farted. I thought it was a fart, at least. But no. It was a shart. I shit my pants at work while hiding in the warehouse.

I ran to the bathroom, took off my thong, washed it in the sink, decided that a wet thong is worse than going commando, and threw out my underwear. I sat down at my desk, now commando and wondering what else was gonna come out of my butt. I left twenty minutes later.

The moral of this story is thongs can keep in a shart but using these is much better.

*This blog post contains affiliate links to products on Amazon. When you click on the link and buy through it, I may make the tiniest amount of affiliate commission from your purchase at no extra cost to you.

Sad songs for sad hearts

CW: mention of sexual abuse, PTSD

Hello there,

It’s been a while. It’s nice to see you again.

The saying goes:

Don’t listen to your favourite music when you’re sad. It will ruin it forever.”

~ Someone important

Your body remembers how you felt and will always remind you of it when you listen to it again.

I did this to Dan Mangan.

He got me through so many tough times with his albums. I cried so many tears listening to Postcards & Daydreaming while figuring out if I could ever love myself after certain mistakes I made. I did eventually love myself again. Thanks, Dan.

There is one song of his that is really really good. I can’t listen to it anymore.

Troubled Mind was playing just before a man I didn’t know too well stole my sense of security, my self-love. He didn’t listen, he didn’t realize. He apologized after, it felt sincere. I’m over it but I still can’t listen to Troubled Mind. I’m sorry, Dan.

I’m not going to go into the details because the details are for me to smooth out and be okay with. I’ve put them away in a jar in the garden and they will stay there along with his memory. I’ve changed the locks on the door.

Listen to Troubled Mind for me, will you?

What should I name my anxiety gremlin?

I’m writing hangry except I’m not angry. Okay, so I’m just hungry. Anyways, I’m writing. That’s what I said I was going to do. I’ve stared at many blank pages over my lifetime. Some pages were for writing, some were for marketing campaigns, and others for art. The marketing campaign pages don’t stay blank for long. The writing pages, however. Those pages tend to induce a daydream or a zone out on an entirely different topic than the one that needs to be written. This particular blank page that is no longer blank had me stumped. The old anxiety gremlin crawled on my back and whispered falsehoods into my ear.

No one wants to hear what you have to say.

That’s simply not true, anxiety gremlin, I want to hear what I have to say.

I’m going to leave this here as a reminder to myself to keep writing, even if it is short and about gremlins.