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.