I really don't wanna be here

"Here" being my mental state.

I find that the happier I am, the more I listen to music, sing spontaneously, and generally play with my silly accents.

I've done very little of those things lately.

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I honestly don't know how to express how much of a wreck I am. Imagine a semi speeding down a hill, and the brakes are gone. Everything is not okay. Things are not in control. Things I don't like to think about and am afraid to admit to come out. I'm lost.

Ever since I started school for what I do I've felt like I'm not smart enough. Yes, I passed the tests, and yes, I found a job, but the whole time I felt like I was fooling everyone else. Didn't they see that I had no idea what was going on? I have no idea how I passed the tests. Lucky, I guess.

I wish I was still at home. And maybe that I was in elementary school again. And forever. But things can't just stay simple, can they?

Ugh this is stupid. What an awful post. But I'll admit something here.

I scare myself, sometimes.

So yeah.

I am what's called a "Bzz Agent". If you've never heard of this, let me shed some light on it. What you do, is take some surveys, and they send you free products to try. It sounds a little funky and shady, I know. But it's completely legitimate. What they get in return is consumer information about the products, and you get to try some stuff for free or for some serious discounts. It rocks.

Recently I took part in the Maybelline Lots of Lashes and Baby Lips campaign. Here's my thoughts: Decent products for what they are. The mascara really makes your lashes look long, but it's sort of cheap mascara, so it flakes easily and I ended up with some "raccoon eyes". Also, the wand is a little odd and takes some getting used it. I would recommend it to a friend if they were just looking for something cheap.

The Baby Lips... now, I liked that. I wasn't a fan of the name (BABY LIPS. REALLY.) or the color of the pink, but I love love love the mint flavor. It's great. So, here we go.

some tales and the longest entry ever

I feel as though I should talk about my depression and anxiety. Talking about it helps me understand it more myself, and it feels good to talk about something that is less of a battle for me now. Don't get me wrong, I am still an anxious person. But not like I was.

Lets go back to college. I was terrified to go. Home was two and a half hours away, and I'm pretty sure I spent every night that first week sobbing in my dorm, getting little to no sleep. It's worth mentioning that I had what was called a "quad", meaning that we had three rooms: a common room, and two bedrooms, shared among four people. Being the only freshman in my quad (I went in blind and ended up with three sophomores, but they don't factor into this much), I was by myself for the entire first week orientation of school. Being in a room like that alone with literally no other people was terrible. I think it wouldn't be great for anyone. I also have a fear of fire drills (long story) that has lessened somewhat these days, but in that time I was terrified that one would happen at night. That first week was very difficult for me.

College gradually got easier. That's what I tell anyone who is homesick... it gets easier. The longer you stay away, the more friends you make... it gets better. Sophomore year, my best friend Steve from high school chose WMU as his university, and I was ecstatic. It was great, having him with me at school. I still miss those days. I can't recall any ridiculous anxiety episodes from that year.

Junior year, I think it all started to go down the tubes. I began taking birth control pills for medical reasons, and anyone who has been on BC knows that it might take a few different levels of chemicals to get it right for you. Well, my first one was a disaster. I recall talking to Steve online and freaking the hell out. I didn't know what what going on, but I was uncontrollably sobbing, and everything was awful. He convinced me to come to his dorm and I spent most of the night there on his futon trying to chill out. Finally, I recall him saying something along the lines of "Hey, don't birth control pills cause mood swings sometimes?" ding ding ding! Steve wins. I changed BC, and everything was okay.

I still had episodes. I didn't like to take the train, because I would have to stand up and have my bag ready to go a good 10 minutes before we got to our stop, so nervous that I would miss it. Going to class meant that I was the first one there every day, because I arrived 30 minutes early at least. I didn't go out to party on the weekends, because the crowds made me nervous, and I was underage anyway, which meant doing something that I could get caught doing. Still, it was okay. I could deal with that. I was quirky.

Senior year I had two distinct episodes. I was living with Steve at the time and two others. In the fall of that year I don't recall much about it, except that I had apparently said something to my mom that worried her so much that that weekend she decided to come visit for the day just to see how things were going. That helped, and it settled down. Sometime in my last semester, things got a little nuts. Nuts enough that I can't even remember the details, such as what month it was or how long it lasted, or even if I went to class. I can remember being awake at four in the morning and going outside and standing in a snowdrift for some time in only pajamas (no socks, mind you) because I could not get enough air. And I also remember being sent home from class by my other roomie, Shannon, because I looked like hell ran over me. I laid in my bed for a long time that day, and listened to Steve and our friend Molly have fun in the kitchen, totally unaware that I was in my room sobbing quietly. Eventually I think they heard me or something, because Steve came in to find out what was going on. I basically told him nothing and I'm sure I freaked him out a little.

I think the scariest night for me was the night that I completely lost control of my own mind and really thought about suicide. It's a tough thing for me to admit. I decided to go into the counseling center and seek help. I did end up going to counseling, but shortly before my appointments started, my terrible time stopped. I don't remember if it was gradual or sudden, but it ended. I almost didn't go through with the counseling, but I'm glad I did. My doctor prescribed me a low dose of a benzodiazapene to take during panic attacks, but I declined any sort of anti depressant. After all, I didn't feel that way all the time, right?

Fast forward now. Grad school. Very stressful. Bad grades sent me spiraling down when they happened. I was fairly lonely even though I was living at home. Finally, in my last semester, Cari, my wealth of insight and knowledge, and basically my go-to support told me that she really thought that medication could help me. So the next time I went to the doctor I told her about how I was feeling, and I got Zoloft. It changed my life. I didn't feel sick all the time anymore. I could sleep at night. I was rested, I was happy, I was balanced. It helped that I had started to eat right at the same time, so there was just happiness.

I still need my benzo when I have my occasional attacks. This summer right after I moved to Florida I was having a few bad nights, but I made it through. Lately this job that I am not enjoying as much as I thought I would is causing a lot of stress and anxiety. But I am making it through.

Overall, I just like to let people know that it's okay to talk about your "crazies", as I like to call them. We all have them. Some people can easily manage them, and then some of us need a little help. But I am not embarrassed about mine, nor do I think I should be. I like to share my story, and it helped me to see a counselor when I felt like I was going to be swallowed up by all my anxieties. For me, taking an SSRI has saved me.

This is also the longest entry ever.

it's only penny and me

I've neglected to tell all my readers (lol) about my puppy!

Ready?

AW SHE'S SO CUTE. That's from hen I first got her, and she was 12 weeks. Now she's like 15 ish weeks, and has lost a tiny bit of the puppy look, but she's still completely adorable.

Also right when I got her she needed a bath. BADLY.

I think it goes without saying that Penny did not appreciate her bath.

it's official.

It's official. I'm too fat for life.

Flying to Michigan lately made me come to terms with how my weight has influenced even the smallest choices I make. For instance, I like to sit at the window or aisle seat on a plane, not because I don't like sitting between two strangers, but because I like to cross my legs in order to make the area that my ass takes up as small as possible. But this time flying, even though I had a child next to me, and on the return flight had no one in my row (that part was pretty awesome, I'll admit), I realized: I am too fat to fly without embarrassing myself. In April, when I flew, I don't recall having any particular issues, except for the ugh these seats are so small I hate flying issues. Normal, I think. This time around, the seat belts barely fit. Did they shrink? I can tell you right now that I am not fatter than I was then. What happened? It was just very unfortunate to be me.

Another decision that is influenced by my weight is even the activities I chose to do. In high school I pretended that I was too shy to swim with my friends, and that I didn't feel like swimming, because I didn't want them to see me in a bathing suit, when in reality there is nothing that I enjoy more than swimming. I absolutely love water. I also have issues when sitting in small boats, wanting to travel, and basically self confidence in general. I have dreams of climbing trees, flying in small planes, bungee jumping, running around and just playing with the children in my family. But all of these things are restricted because of my weight. It's terrible. Other things like squeezing an extra person into the car are uncomfortable for me, because I know it would be easier if I weren't there. Sharing a bed with another person makes me unhappy. Hugging even makes me slightly anxious. This weekend, we walked about a half mile to a bar in between the wedding and the reception, and I was coatless. It was Grand Rapids MI. It was cold. And I was offerred a coat. But how shameful, if the coat didn't fit. I would laugh it off, but inside a little part of me would die just a little bit. Not to mention that the walk to super uncomfortable because hey, my legs rub together. Awesome, right?

Is the misery of being fat really it? I'm not sure what's more difficult: the emotional turmoil that is being fat, or the road to being skinny.

this thing with the food? not good.

Since it's September still, and I've only written one post, I figured I should do another, and here it goes.

You may be familiar with my never ending struggle with food. I love it. I hate it. It loves me. It hates me. It's a problem, basically. I used to have this idea that if I ate one giant meal at the end of the day, it was okay, because since I hadn't eaten anything for the rest of the day, this would make up for it. This is not the case, friends. And then I said to myself, self, it's time to make a change.

And then I ate crackers and carrots for a whole day and nearly died trying to walk up some stairs. Friends, this is not the way to do it either. Unless you have super powers, saltines and carrots will not give you the power to survive.

During the week, I don't really have time to think about food. I wake up, I run to work (no breakfast, I'm super healthy), I see group after group of children with speech and language problems, I maybe have a meeting or two in there. Sometime around 11 I manage to shove some amalgamation of food in my mouth that I packed hurriedly (spell check doesn't think that's a word. Is it?) that morning, then more groups, and then I am off to a daycare, or to my office to see more kids. Around 6 or 6:30 I arrive at home, too tired to truly put effort into dinner, and I end up eat chips, or a can of soup. And then I am trying to go to bed. On the weekends, this is when I start to think about food, and I start to dislike it. Food makes me unhappy, because really, my relationship with food feels like the root of my problems. I am fat because I eat too much. I eat too much because I am unhappy. Eating doesn't make me feel good, so why do I eat when I am unhappy? Occasionally, of course, it swings the other way, and I am so unhappy that I never want to eat, and I decide that I will survive on lettuce and Chobani.

And this is where we get into the part where food hates me. If I eat anything that has too much fat, I may have a galbladder attack (which means no creamy pasta, which is the love of my life). If I eat too much food, I will inevitably feel sick and/or have a galbladder attack. If I eat too late, I will work myself up into feeling anxious and possibly either make myself sick or I will actually be sick. It's a fine line I walk.

I know, intellectually, that the way to eat healthy involves eating smaller meals, and eating snacks during the day. Eating plenty of protein, little fat, and moderate carbohydrates. I know these things. These are not things I need to be told (again).

Sometimes I think that I would do well on one of those diets where they say "here, eat this meal, and then no more for you until your next meal."It's unfortunate that they cost something like $300 a month.

I'm not sure where this post was meant to go. Probably it doesn't have any deeper meaning, but maybe it lets you know more about the me that I don't like to tell people about.

x-posted to Kirsten and Cari Lose It.