Trash Only. No Recycling.

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There is a realization for myself that I have been avoiding, yet expressed for years all at the same time.

Music is vital for my sanity. It is well known that I never, ever, go anywhere without my high quality headphones. Music fuels my emotions, and brings perspective to my surroundings. It translates my pain, my hopes, and my dreams into something that does require a shared language.

And precisely because of that… communicating my language is so hard. You feel isolated. I try sharing my music.

This means something to me.

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  “But,ย I cannot understand what they are saying.”

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  “I can’t really sing along to this.”

When I share music – I am sharing myself. Offering a deep emotion that I feel I cannot express in words otherwise. It has been a running joke for quite some time on,”Lara Language”. Since, communication is such a trial for me. My vocabulary is vast, and I have to constantly adjust in the moment, so others can understand the terminology and context I use. I learned to communicate in a short hand due to this. Either via gesticulations, music, or images in hopes that by removing the challenge of my words – one can understand my meanings universally.

Yet, this never seems to happen.

One of the worst feelings in the world is the thatย of oppressed silence. An empty room where the vibrations bounce off the walls to echo for an audience of none.

Listen to me.

I have something to say.

Will you please listen?

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  My composition professor today, after class, sympathized saying it must be difficult being the smartest person in the class. ย It is, and it is not limited to the classroom. With which an astounding intellect that seems to be inversely proportional to the rich social interactions that are possible. Add in a (very misunderstood and difficult) personality disorder… It is difficult. You spend a lot of your time feeling lonely, and yet there is a dichotomy of preferring the solitude over the lackluster interactions you would have to face otherwise.

I am a very articulate and intelligent person. So, why is it that I am so often misunderstood?

Or is it no one wants to understand.

Check, please.

 

Rapid Cycling

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My Agoraphobia has reached an all time high.

I rarely leave the house. It takes an internal pep talk for the courage to go outside and feed my two cats.

Sometimes, I manage to go the Publix or the feed store to purchase hay for Miss Lola (who is doing great by the way). Straight there and back. I only learned a week ago that a Starbucks and Chipolte had popped up just on the other side of Publix and has been there for months.

I had not a single clue.

Lately thoughts are of dreaming of being stable and normal. Really. That isy big dream. To have a stable job and income that I enjoy. Enrolled in a nice university working on a Master’s degree. Not rapid cycling between hope, anger, despair and happiness.

Manic one day, literally – one day and the next is filled with suicidal ideation.

My sister attacked not only myself but my mother, my older brother and my father over my mental illness.

“She’s a mooch.”

“Right now she’s a waste of space piece of s***.”

“I’m only saying this out of love.”

The attack against me was from this direct quote of a text message excluding her name.

“We need to have a talk and some clarification.”

I sent this text after hearing about what she said to my mother. Normally, I am a send them to the burn unit, and give them the grand jury after kind of gal.

The rare ment where I am calm, cool and collected in initiating what I was hoping to be an educational conversation that would lend some perspective.

After her six page text of venom I only said two words, “good bye.”

My sister has always been verbally and emotionally abusive. But she had those teeny tiny moments when she was my best friend. I could go to her and she would hug me and make everything better.

While they were rare, they are very important to me.

However, the irnoy is – I am who I am because of her, today. She was the one who raised me until we moved to where we are now 17 years ago.

Fear of an opinion. Fear of weakness. Fear of love and affection. Because showing any of these things made me a target. Not my brothers, but me.

I did not have a favorite color until this time last year.

I did not understand how someone had a “favorite color” until after my miscarriage.

I remember sitting on the bus to school, trying to figure out what a favorite color was and how one chose their favorite color.

Was it pink?

No, everyone is made fun of for liking anything pink.

Was it green? Like my brother’s?

Nope, not that either. Not being original sets her off as well.

What about blue?

I don’t think so. Soany people say blue but like every other choice – they were just colors to me. Not a part of a personality or identity.

So, if I was scared and confused at the simple idea of owning to the notion of liking so much to call it your favorite color – imagine every other item, person, place or thing people expected you to have alignment with.

I don’t expect to speak to sister for a long time, if ever again.

I am doing everything I am capable of right now to be better.

There are so many times when like headlights the distance, see something is coming up that I need to recognize and work with but my brain cannot seem to connect how.

BIGBANG

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LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A
์†”์งํžˆ ์„ธ์ƒ๊ณผ ๋‚œ ์–ด์šธ๋ฆฐ ์  ์—†์–ด
ํ™€๋กœ์˜€๋˜ ๋‚ด๊ฒ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ ๋”ฐ์œˆ ๋ฒŒ์จ
์žŠํ˜€ ์ง„์ง€ ์˜ค๋ž˜ ์ € ์‹œ๊ฐ„ ์†์—
๋” ์ด์ƒ์€ ๋ชป ๋“ฃ๊ฒ ์–ด
ํฌ๋ง์ฐฌ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ ๋…ธ๋ž˜
๋„ˆ๋‚˜ ๋‚˜๋‚˜ ๊ทธ์ € ๊ธธ๋“ค์—ฌ์ง„ ๋Œ€๋กœ
๊ฐ๋ณธ ์†์— ๋†€์•„๋‚˜๋Š” ์Šฌํ”ˆ ์‚์—๋กœ
๋‚œ ๋ฉ€๋ฆฌ ์™€๋ฒ„๋ ธ์–ด
Iโ€™M COMING HOME
์ด์ œ ๋‹ค์‹œ ๋Œ์•„๊ฐˆ๋ž˜
์–ด๋ฆด ์  ์ œ์ž๋ฆฌ๋กœ
์–ธ์ œ๋ถ€ํ„ด๊ฐ€ ๋‚œ Yeah
ํ•˜๋Š˜ ๋ณด๋‹ค ๋•…์„ ๋” ๋ฐ”๋ผ๋ณด๊ฒŒ ๋ผ
์ˆจ์‰ฌ๊ธฐ์กฐ์ฐจ ํž˜๊ฒจ์›Œ
์†์„ ๋ป—์ง€๋งŒ ๊ทธ ๋ˆ„๊ตฌ๋„
๋‚  ์žก์•„ ์ฃผ์งˆ ์•Š๋„ค Iโ€™M A
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A
๋ฐ˜๋ณต๋˜๋Š” ์—ฌ์ž๋“ค๊ณผ์˜ ๋‚ด ์‹ค์ˆ˜
ํ•˜๋ฃป๋ฐค์„ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ํ•˜๊ณ  ํ•ด ๋œจ๋ฉด ์‹ซ์ฆ
์ฑ…์ž„์ง€์ง€ ๋ชป ํ• 
๋‚˜์˜ ์ด๊ธฐ์ ์ธ ๊ธฐ์จ
ํ•˜๋‚˜ ๋•œ์— ๋ชจ๋“  ๊ฒƒ์ด
๋ง๊ฐ€์ ธ๋ฒ„๋ฆฐ ์ง€๊ธˆ
๋ฉˆ์ถœ ์ค„ ๋ชจ๋ฅด๋˜ ๋‚˜์˜ ์œ„ํ—˜ํ•œ ์งˆ์ฃผ
์ด์   ์•„๋ฌด๋Ÿฐ ๊ฐํฅ๋„
์žฌ๋ฏธ๋„ ์—†๋Š” ๊ธฐ๋ถ„
๋‚˜ ๋ฒผ๋ž‘ ๋์— ํ˜ผ์ž ์žˆ๋„ค
Iโ€™M GOING HOME
๋‚˜ ๋‹ค์‹œ ๋Œ์•„๊ฐˆ๋ž˜
์˜ˆ์ „์˜ ์ œ์ž๋ฆฌ๋กœ
์–ธ์ œ๋ถ€ํ„ด๊ฐ€ ๋‚œ Yeah
์‚ฌ๋žŒ๋“ค์˜ ์‹œ์„ ์„ ๋‘๋ ค์›Œ๋งŒ ํ•ด
์šฐ๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์กฐ์ฐจ ์ง€๊ฒจ์›Œ
์›ƒ์–ด๋ณด์ง€๋งŒ ๊ทธ ์•„๋ฌด๋„
๋‚  ์•Œ์•„์ฃผ์งˆ ์•Š๋„ค Iโ€™M A
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ
ํŒŒ๋ž€ ์ € ํ•˜๋Š˜์„ ์›๋งํ•˜์ง€ ๋‚œ
๊ฐ€๋” ๋‚ด๋ ค๋†“๊ณ  ์‹ถ์–ด์ ธ
I WANT TO SAY GOOD BYE
์ด ๊ธธ์˜ ๋์— ๋ฐฉํ™ฉ์ด ๋๋‚˜๋ฉด
๋ถ€๋”” ํ›„ํšŒ ์—†๋Š” ์ฑ„๋กœ
๋‘ ๋ˆˆ ๊ฐ์„ ์ˆ˜ ์žˆ๊ธธ
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A
LOSER
Iโ€™M A LOSER
Iโ€™M A LOSER
Iโ€™M A LOSER

As He said…

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“Babe, you’ve been doing so good lately.”

He never calls me babe, but that isn’t what is important.

I had another breakdown today.

There was a tiny glimmer at the end of the tunnel. The guidelines for what I had to do were being laid down. I was given hope that one day soon I would be able to try to work again, move out and be stable.

I had forgotten that as long as I am in this house – I will never be stable. Never be healthy.

Because I can never make my mother stable or healthy.

I had begun to become so excited that Sassy will be here Friday. Three weeks away from this hell and in a happy place with my best friend. Where I would be able to pretend I am normal and healthy. That I am not psychotic or suicidal 80% of them time. Where I am not giving myself a time line that ends in me giving up.

Where my thoughts aren’t constantly attacking myself. Reminding me I am a waste, fat, or useless. Damaging everyone around me and just never stop at making things worse.

Day in and out, I feel like a parasite. Slowly draining the bodies I rely on for food, emotion and money. Parasites should be killed. I offer nothing to those I suck the life force from.

Robbie’s last words to me before he died were screamed, “you are just an ungrateful little bitch. Grow the hell up.”

Because Mom was in another mood and I am always the one to set them off.

I am always dizzy, and in pain. I am always shaking and falling over. But no one ever believes me. They say it is in my head.

I will be driving and not remember where I was or how I got there. I don’t vary from my route but I won’t remember parts of it.

I am terrified of being locked up. Put away.

Once you are in – you don’t come out in my family. And even if you did, that secret would eat me alive. The Stigma destroys you all on its own.

So will the stigma destroy the parasite or will something else?

I keep telling myself to keep it in or on the paper.

I try so hard to stop constantly going to Mike or Sassy about this. Talking to them doesn’t help because there is no way to help. So, they just become understandably frustrated and hurt when it doesn’t work.

People don’t like sad people. They drag them down. People leave sad people.

I guess that is why everyone leaves.

This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.

Everything, Yet Nothing

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A lot has happened and yet nothing has happened since my last post.

I did call the line at Cigna and ask for help. While I had expected to just talk to someone on the phone, they instead made an appointment for me with a therapist near by as it wouldn’t cost anything as part of the EAP program.

I believe it was a Friday when I called and the following Monday was the appointment. Her office was only eight minutes away. When you have to drive at least fifteen minutes to get to the closest gas station, that was mind boggling. Her office is actually a little shed, nice, with a wooden structure and windows. Oh, and A/C. That is very important. It is next to a set of stables that house two horses she uses as part of her practice.

We have met up for four appointments so far, once a week. And I really like her so far. There hasn’t been any hard hitting or focused plan but just discussing and learning about my illnesses.

I don’t really know what else to say. Things are stressful and keep being stressful. I’m waking up in the middle of panic attacks in my sleep. Crying every day.

When things change… I’ll let you know.

This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.

It is an emergency

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I stabbed myself with a pencil today.

Not deep but.

I called the emergency line from my insurance.

I am spiraling out of control. Doing horrible things.

I only hurt and destroy everyone and everything I come in contact with.

They’re going to call me back with an appointment with someone, some where.

My mom isn’t answering her phone.

I’m in a dangerous place.

Someone posted to Instagram “a woman with a beautiful body is good for a night. A woman with a beautiful mind is good for a lifetime.”

What if you have neither? Not to even get started on my physical flaws, but my mind is rotted and disfigured.

I’m good for nothing.

This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.

A lot of everything and a lot of nothing

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I am on very little sleep, a lot of physical and emotional stress. Basically, I have been in this state since my last post at the near end of January.

Since then my boyfriend had come and gone for a visit. I almost finished a dress. There were multiple mental breakdowns. I got a new phone as well a little over a week ago.

I was going to post about my latest project in next post but there isn’t much for me to say since I didn’t fully finish it. I need to only hem it and I do not know when I will be able to get to that. The main problem is for me that when I hem it the back when worn is actually two inches higher than the front thanks to my proportions and I do not know how to mark it for hemming by myself since when I lie it flat I do not know how to place it as the front needs approximately four inches off the front while the back needs only two inches.

I did fix those droopy pockets by hand sewing in three snaps inside the band area of each pocket. So, I am very happy about that.

Now, as for my mental health. It is up and down, up and down. So much rapid cycling. It can almost be guaranteed that I will get a very happy high and then within two hours I am crying and in pieces. It has been like this for maybe about a month a half?

My biggest breakdown was last Wednesday night after leaving the house for the first time in a long time and getting some much needed necessities. And free truffles! Ever since I came home from Atlantic City in November, I have been sleeping on my mattress on my floor.

I decided that night as the next day my new phone would be delivered, I needed to get my bed off the ground and move in a night stand that has been in the corner of the living room for ages.

The metal frame for bed was leaning against my wall all these months just waiting for when I could get a box spring to put my bed on. For some reason I thought I wouldn’t need a box spring! I could just place my mattress directly on the frame and it would be dandy! So, I spent over an hour cleaning and moving in the night stand (which is solid wood. I think Oak) and then piecing the two metal pieces for the frame together. I wrestle the bed even with my very weak stature as I hadn’t eaten yet that entire day besides one of the free truffles and manage to place the mattress on the frame.  Where I quickly remembered you in fact do need a box spring otherwise your beg just sags to the floor as nothing supports the middle or sides of the bed.

I went to my father to ask for help carrying in the box spring I thought was just chilling in the back yard. I didn’t care if maybe it wasn’t exactly perfectly clean. I was on a high and was going to fix at least of my problems myself and get my bed off the floor dang it!

One problem. There was no box spring. Mom had already burned it a while back. It was pitch black at the time so I couldn’t exactly look out and see the lack of box spring presence.

That’s when I broke down. Sobbing and hyper ventilating.

I felt like I was failing at everything. I couldn’t solve a single problem on my own. Not even getting my bed off the floor. My boyfriend saved me by buying me a phone the day my phone went black and refused to turn on besides “Samsung” and black again. I was depending and begging my parents for food, tampons and anything. Sometimes going for days just eating sunflower seeds and drinking water because I was too prideful and/or ashamed of asking yet again for something.

Here I am at 23, living at home with no move out date in sight. Still not in school and cannot even hold a part time job. Can barely leave my house for goodness sake without shaking and panic attacks and imagining every horrible thing possible would happen while I was out. At home while I was away and happening wherever I was going.

Dad knocks on my door and tries giving me his bed set up which just set me off even harder. I could only say no over and over again. “I won’t take your bed. I won’t!” And rushing back to my room.

Eventually I found 2x4s and I cut them to size with my hand saw fitting them to the length of the frame. Then using duct tape to create support between the  cuts. Here is a very crude doodle of what I managed.

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I do my best to hide my breakdowns from Mike. I don’t usually succeed as he is very intuitive.  Though he has an easy cheat code. If he texts or says “Muah” and I cannot say it in return he knows something is up. For some reason whenever I am upset, “muah” will send me bawling. So I just sit there, swallowing and straining to not let the quiver free in my voice.

Then the last couple of weeks another one of our pack is reaching the end of her days. She had developed a rather nasty hip injury in her second and last litter approximately nine years ago. And now it has progressed to just too much for her to handle at almost fifteen years old. She cannot control her legs and cannot sit up or walk.

Now, I spend my days doing best to force myself to sleep as much as possible so I don’t have to go out when I am the only one in the house and find her passed away. I am a coward and I know it. About three or four years ago, when Angel’s mother, Matrix, passed away I was the only one home. I had to keep sending away the other dogs whom kept trying to get to her and sniff her and look at her.

It traumatized me. I do not handle death well. Add in the fact I can cry at anything at the drop of a hat…

Yeah.

And now I  at the point where I cannot sleep. Too stressed, anxious and scared that she is dead, or alive. It has been very cat in a box. She is dead and alive whenever I am not next to her. Watching her to see her breathe or twitch her ears.

As well last night a tom cat, HUGE, tom cat came after my cats in yard last night sometime around ten o’clock. So from now on we are going to keep the cats in the screen to connected to the car port at night. Where the heir food with be protected from raccoons, armadillos and apparently a ballsy tom cat. He gave no cares when I came flying out of the house. Just saunters right past me. Oh, yeah I chased and yelled at him.

“Out of my yard! Out! Out!  Away from my cats! Who the hell are you?! Out!!”

I am very light headed, shaky and spacy. I desperately need some portein.

Pho was on the schedule but as Mom and I were almost positive Angel would have slipped away by morning as she was not wanting to be inside. She would cry and cry if we tried carrying her.  And if we ignored them and carried her anyways,  she would start dragging her way back outside.

She was shivering so hard this morning.  Before she was refusing any blankets or towels we would drape over her and tuck her in. But this morning she was too cold to argue. I lightly warmed towels in the dryer and just kept rubbing her through a blanket til I could tuck the warm towel under the blanket.

While I was crouched next to her tucking her in, my phone fell out of my hoodie pocket. Maybe eight inches on the concrete and two corners Andre damaged now. On side is barely a scrape but the bottom right looks like someone took a light bite on a wooden pencil.

When Mike ordered the phone he also ordered one of those flip cases as well that snap onto the back. I have a Galaxy S4 by the way. And let me tell you, it did nothing. Just popped off and open so it landed on its face.

Grrrr.

Nine days! Nine days! The one time I get distracted and not hyper aware and bam. It could have been so, much worse but still. It really bums me out.

I am getting an OtterBox Defender case ASAP.

I hope I can get sleep sometime soon.

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This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.