Cruising Through Life Carrying Around Trash

I spy....Wait, why are there always pills everywhere?

What has my life become? Part of therapy last Friday was discussing how my lack of organization is actually causing more pain. I know already I don't sleep out of worry and anxiety. When I wake up I run around bat shit crazy in worry and anxiety. Friday I hit the wall and hard. Never has this ever occurred to me until just now whilst trying desperately to work on some therapy homework while I'm sick out of work. I couldn't find anything. It's maddening. I think the problem lies in the way I am so disorganized. My current lifestyle has me chucking it all in my purse on the go only to never fish it out again. I have this terrible don't give a fuck attitude about organizing. Usually that's a good outlook on life. Don't give a rats and you won't have to carry around the world on your shoulders. For me though, it's more of a I can't be bothered with that right now I barely have a grip on my sanity. Out of frustration and desperation (which is how I find myself doing everything) I shook my purse out onto the dining table.

Things the internet says I need to keep my purse organized given the current situation.

Receipt Wrangler- For those who have money to spend and receive loose papers.

Makeup tote of cupcake amazingness. Roman McCall Zips is a shop on Esty that has super cute purse accessories for organizing. This one for $9 is amazing and I'm in love love love with it. I'm also in love with the part I've just discovered Etsy and now I will never have to leave my house to go shopping again.

Also on Etsy which I am soon purchasing, are these more than fabulous pill cases which feature my favorite bitchy sarcastic pinup girls. Sweetheart Sinner Creations has captured my heart.

Medication is only a few days away for me so I need something fun and sarcastic to help make it sweeter since I absolutely hate this idea of having to take anti anxiety meds.

Everlasting Super Glue

What does it feel like to lose your virginity to someone you don't marry? That's something I've been battling with for a very long time. 10 years? yeah. That's a good number. It makes me angry when teenagers say oh hey he loves me like it matters now. What is love? Commitment. Christ. So much more than what I felt then. It makes me angry at myself when I hear myself saying that same phrase. What hurts more knowing you can't ever get that piece of yourself back? Knowing that the person you gave it to wasn't going to be worth the heartache?

You cross my mind often. It's mostly out of guilt and anger. I was such a child. We didn't know what we were doing when we started this international affair. There was so much I wanted to say but with media it was so simple for you to block me. Maybe you just wanted to ignore what happened. Don't feel as though I care for you now at all. There's more pain there than anything else. I'm not innocent now and I know the break shattered us both.

I heard a sermon the other day how intimacy with another person is like pressing your super glue onto their super glue and letting it get hard. The longer and more super glue you add the harder it is to pull apart. I've accidentally stuck my thumb to my finger before. I tried everything to pull it apart. I even stuck a needle through the glue and poked myself. I started bleeding even before I could be released. That's how it felt with you. Pressure, pain, the sting of your words. The skin peeled off and the super glue was still stuck to my finger.

I knew you weren't satisfied with what I had to offer. You must have been hungry and gave in to temptation. I forgave you for those moments. You misunderstood me though. I had a twisted sense of what it meant to show love to another person. I had thought that was how. My mind and I had a long conversation every time. " Yeah, he will definitely love me more".

We didn't know love. We knew addiction and you were a drug to me in my terror and insecurities. I'd like to think you never knew that I had a problem. If you treated me poorly out of ignorance. I traded my innocence for a chance at acceptance and comfort. I felt like being held under hot water to drown and burn and you were the way out.

Why did you say I was so ugly no wonder I was adopted my own mother didn't even want me?



I don't want you in my thoughts anymore. They won't leave me though. The super glue went everywhere you touched me.

It's Not Our Fault We Learned It From An Adult

Fa la la la la


More fabulous inspiration songs

Thunder Crying and Egg Face

Oh you know just a little cure for weakness

Therapy has been going well but I ended up pushing it too hard. I had it in my head that I'd hurry up and get all the bad out of me. I guess the hope was that once the bad was out I'd feel better. Turns out that hyper speeding through therapy is actually damaging. Who knew?

Friday I had therapy again. This was the first session I had that my body actually cried when I slumped onto the couch in exhaustion. I didn't think that hour would come the week before. There are moments where I feel like I won't make it. My trauma brain says I'll probably die. Friday comes and I don't die.

After therapy I came home and experienced the most raw intense cry I've ever had. It was slightly similar to The vicious circle of crying. The weight of this trauma was on me and I was so heavy. The moment I stopped to pick up Husby from the lacrosse field, I lost it. Right there in the car. I started pre-crying. That's when I turned on the worship music full blast. I sang that cry right back into me until home. I ran right through the house WITH MY SHOES ON. I ran past the living room, down the hallway, over to the bed, and I fell flat onto the bed. My soul opened up and the demon of cry came barreling out of me. I was like a child. Eyes shut, crocodile tears poored out of me, head back, mouth opened in contortion. All I could do was cry. Husby helped the best he could given the situation he had earlier in the week with root canals and infections. Usually I would stuff all this trauma back in me some how but not on Friday. Husby took my shoes off, got my socks off, helped me out of my clothes. All I could do was stand there lifting whatever body part needed to be clothed. He put me in his giant college sweatshirt and sweatpants. I needed juice. He put me on the couch and made fresh guava juice. All trauma wanted to tell me was that I didn't deserve his niceties. FUCK YOU TRAUMA. I cried harder.

Over the weekend I got the flu. Woke up today. Mondays. I hate 'em. Sunday night I started my relaxation rituals early. They usually start at 8pm and then sleep at 9. I started at 6. I don't know why but I couldn't stop the tension and ended up with a mini migraine. Trauma brain was in full force telling me all the horrible things about myself life how I'm fat, ugly, probably messed up at work on Thursday so I'll get yelled at first thing in the morning. I put my feet in a bucket of hot water and calming salts. Secretly put tequila in my tea. It's not until this coming Friday I get to try anxiety medications.
Sleep never goes well and this night was particularly awful. Awake at every hour. Woke up looked over 3am. slept. woke up. looked over... 4am. EVERY HOUR. The more I looked at the clock the more anxious I became worried I wouldn't sleep enough. I started mildly dreaming of not getting enough sleep and over sleeping. Woke up an hour and half later than I usually do for work. I put on wrinkled scrubs. For some reason I was covered in sweat. I thought it was my anxiety level. Got to work and took my temperature. 102. FUCK. Tylenol. Temperature again 4 hours later 99.6. Got sent home. I'm glad I pawned my old ex's jewelry for cold and flu medication.

Husby update: He woke up this morning when I was running out the door and says to me,

"baby...?? "Is it normal to have schewwling"

"Uh, no? let me see"

Husby comes through the light like a hunchback of Notre dam all ogre looking and slumpy. His eye, nose, and upper lip looked like someone put an egg in his face.

"Nope, not normal. I'm late. Call the Dr."

Psalm 107:9-21
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind.

Drug me up

I started painting again. It's sort of a slow expensive process. My therapist has been encouraging me and I know husby has been this whole time. I just couldn't get to my canvas. I was being held up by web episodes of Dr. Who and Grays anatomy. For Pete sake I would even watch re-run episodes of the Big Bang Theory instead of painting something new. I had a big wake up call over Sunday. What the heck am I doing not doing this? I love to paint. It's a place I go alone to be with my imagination and God. It is so life giving to me. When I finish one I don't care what the world sees all I know is I did it and enjoy it. My house is covered in my paintings. They offer me comfort and memory of the place I was at when I made them. People have asked me why don't I sell them? I'm so attached to all of them. If someone were to purchase one I'd feel as though part of my soul would be with them. I'm not freaky like Voldemort making myself into Horcruxes. I just get sad to think of them leaving.

This morning was hard to wake up. I wanted to paint all night but I got too tired. I probably would have fallen asleep on my work if I didn't stop. I'm still feeling dread anxiety every night before a work day. It's this pit deep inside of me that tells me I'll fail and the world will laugh at me. I fear of making a mistake and being punished. At work, when I make a new mistake for something I didn't already know about, they get very upset. I'm not in a place to handle criticism. I literally am sick to eat my banana oatmeal. In the morning I'm so nauseous to leave, I wait until the very last second to get dressed. The idea of being medicated was horrifying. What if I become a zombie? What if I can't do my job right? I already have some of those conditions in my daily life because of anxiety.

One Armed Black Opals and Old Neighbors

Ok so I gave the neighbors food a couple days ago. Then we went out to dinner. The neighbors were there. one of their kids was wearing a pink tutu which I couldn't stop staring at when I was two black opals deep. Which by the way a one armed man made. Best black opal of my life! I tried to update this all on my twitter and it kept telling me I suck and can't be allowed to twitter more than the allotted amount. This is why I must blog this. Also, today I found out I actually have twitter followers and blog followers because Husby said when he tries to log into Google all my new fangled shit is in his way. Also this is what i was doing when the neighbors daughter realized I was the lady that gave them lemon cake.

I embarrass myself.

The Ink Jacket Massacre

" Now can I drink heavily and cry myself to sleep?"

Truama brain I am thoroughly fed up. Why you gotta be so mean to me? Seriously thinking about removing you and the more I try to the harder you hold onto me.

Today was a great day. I had the morning off. I went to work. I did a great job at work staying connected. You did a good job at not making me panic and dissociated. I spent the day aware of myself in my enviroment. Congratulations us! So what did I do to celebrate? I got us Water For Elephants I heard it was great and sad needed some time for himself instead of spending all of our time with trauma. To make it even better the movie box had Horrible Bosses as well. Two movies in hand I drove us all home. It was laid on my heart while driving that we had 25lbs of turkey that I cooked over the weekend just sitting in the fridge. It also occured to me that we haven't yet met our neighbors. The Lord nudged me to go over there. I NEVER DO THIS. I WOULD NEVER DO THIS. Why would I ever in my trauma mind think of going to meet someone I've never met before, alone, at night, after work, in my scrubs, AT NIGHT. Gasp* I already said at night this was just to reiterate the fact that it is fucking DARK. I knocked, a 3 foot tall girl answered the door with a green lolly pop in her mouth. She was missing her front teeth. Harmless.

"Is mom or dad home?"

From the kitchen I hear,

"Dad's home who is it?"

I said,

"Um your neighbor to the left".

I kind of sort of chucked the hunk of turkey at him and said we have a lot and I thought we could share. Then, I sort of ran away. He hollered that maybe we should all get together for dinner. He had a black hoodie with soap and water on his hands from doing dishes. He was heavily tattooed from wrist to who knows where. I got inside the safety of my own home. Popped in Water For Elephants and low and behold it said, "NO DISC". I blew on it old school Nintendo 64 style. "NO DISC" ARGGG I tried and tried. Then, I picked up my phone to call my Husby who fixes things sometimes. I noticed a text message on my cell. It was from the Boss lady.

"Who used pink sticky notes today?"

I am one for telling the truth always even if it means I get in trouble. Why? Because God is watching us. I wrote back, "Me, What's up?"

Then, Trauma brain woke up. Panic. Chaos. Panic. The thoughts began. Trauma started slowly but violently.

"You stupid fuck you know they've had problems with items going through the wash"
No trauma I checked my pockets. "
Not good enough obviously you suck".
No I checked, besides the machine is still tore up because of the pen incident which wasn't my fault.
"Totally was your fault".
No it wasn't truama I didn't do the laundry that day.
"Yeah you put them in the dryer though".
So, that doesn't mean anything.
"Does to, you ruined everything."
How does this having anything to do with sticky notes?
"You must have done something horrible they are texting an hour after work"
Shit, where did I put them all? I threw that one away...um I left one for the other assistant...I swear I have a record of every last sticky note and where it ended up.
"You aren't good enough you can't remember"
Yes I can, I did put them on the table at the end of the day by the phone maybe they dislike them there?
"Maybe your sorry ass got confused and side tracked and you put them in the wash"
Fuck. Maybe I did. How am I supposed to know?
"They are taking their time texting you back because they are furious with you"

I got a reply text message after my trauma had stiffled my ability to figure out a way to watch this movie that was supposed to be a treat to myself for doing a good job today.

The text reads:

"pink sticky notes, two pens, and Rebecca's name tag were put into the laundry while ***** was literally completing the $300 ink repair on the dryer(including jacket orders)"

I wrote back some stupid response. One, because I'm functioning in trauma brain mode and this is all I could come up with through the tears.

"Seriously? Dang, I swore I checked. Thank goodness we didn't start the laundry without checking."

My sane mind is telling me that I made a mistake by putting my lab jacket in the hamper without checking my pockets. The second thing my sane mind is telling me, is the protocol is to check the pockets while you are putting them in the wash. When I do laundry, I pull all sorts of things out from pockets. I even pulled a pen from *gasp Dr's jackets before. Do I say anything, NO. HELL NO. I just make it right and wash the laundry. Dr. is angry because someone made a mistake and ended up with a big mess. #1 I know we didn't buy a new dryer. #2 we cleaned out the dryer. #3 we had someone related to the Dr. come in for FREE to open it up and fix it. During the fixing time there was a strange man in the break room. My trauma and I don't do well with a new strange men appearing suddenly blocking my path to do what I routinely do. My routine was busted up and I couldn't remember where I put my shit. Apparently I freaked out and tossed it all in the laundry. Low and behold NOW I'm getting ripped a new one via text message.

Truama brain says I'm going to get fired for damn sure. However, sane mind tells me that nothing bad happened and especially nothing will happen because we will all check our coats now. I can see why she is angry but there was a lot of angry there that shouldn't have been at me. Why are they doing laundry anyways? I thought that was below them? "That's an assistant's job" is usually said at these moments.

Anyways, my evening is fucked and I don't think I'll find sleep tonight. I'm feeling very drawn to drinking the rest of my Christmas vodka and taking a long bath of tears.

I sent one last text message:

"I'm sorry I was lax on my removing items. I know the damage and stress involved in the pen incident and don't mean to create more of that for you."

Sometimes I wish I wasn't okay to be in society and I did spend my life huddled up in a black hole of disrepair and self loathing. Drat. I'm still here. I still have a job, I still have a DVD player telling me I can't watch my treat. My Husby isn't here yet. These are not happy moments to be alone.

PS: I got written up official style and everyone in the office now has to have their very own sticky pad color. My pen now has a label maker name on it. The write up said "If it weren't for ____ standing at the washer you would have just thrown in your jacket with all these items in it." Right like you can predict the future!?

Insomniatic Stalker

This morning I have diagnosed myself an insomniac. While researching this horrible state of being I have to agree that these are really the 7 things I learned when I am in insomnia. Lately though, I've just been finding myself laying there angrier than all get out cursing my brain and pissing of Husby.

Husby: "How did you sleep last night?"

Me: "shitty..."

Husby: "yeah, I could tell"

Me: "Why didn't you do anything?"

Husby: "What am I supposed to do?"

Me: " I don't know...comfort me or something"

Husby: "When one person is being a complete asshole in bed and the other one is awake...It's everyone for themselves."

Me: Stunned silence.

Me: " So do I cry out or attack you? "

Husby: "...uh I usually try to ignore you and push you off the bed."

I can't sleep like a normal person. This is more like it.

Waste

Husby and I listened to this last night. This song makes me feel loved and lost. I've always enjoyed Foster the People. I related well with their lyrics. This one though just hit me in my soul. I laid on the floor wrapped up in a purple blankie. He sat behind me...rubbed my shoulders and we just listened until night came.

I'll hold your hand when you are feeling mad at me
When the monsters they wont go,
The windows, they wont close,
I'll pretend to see what you see

How long, I say how long, will you re-live the things that are gone?
The devil's on your back but I know you can shake him off

And every day that you want to waste, that you want to waste, you can
And every day that you want to wake up, that you want to wake, you can
And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah
I'll help you see it through because I just really want to be with you

You know its funny how freedom can make us feel contained
When the muscles in our legs aren't used to all the walking
I know if you could snap both your fingers than you'd escape with me

But in the meantime I'll just wait here and listen to you when you speak, or scream

And every day that you want to waste, that you want to waste, you can
And every day that you want to wake up, that you want to wake, you can
And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah
I'll help you see it through because I just really want to be with you

And every day that you want to waste, that you want to waste, you can
And every day that you want to wake up, that you want to wake, you can
And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah
I'll help you see it through because I just really want to be with you