I’ve been trying to get into the Holiday spirt. It’s not working.
Here’s some photos of me faking it. LOL.
I’ve been trying to get into the Holiday spirt. It’s not working.
Here’s some photos of me faking it. LOL.
I had that bitch head locked for about 3 years. I pinned her to a wall and was in control for a while.
You know what happens when you shove something intelligent in a box? It evolves to release it self. Don’t ever underestimate how intelligent PTSD is.
I lost grip of her several months back. Ok, over 6 months back.
I knew it was happening; My plants were dying. My house wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t clean. I was working harder and sleeping less. I was taking on more and juggling it all to fill the spaces PTSD wanted to occupy. I was forcing interaction. But my PLANTS. lol. I usually live in a forest. They are all just about dead.
Now I’m strategically avoiding all unnecessary interaction without a thought. I realized today just how bad it was.
PTSD, or Pansy, for those who have been with me for a while has evolved. While she is not as aggressively loud and obnoxious in random intervals as she used to be, she is constant now, albeit a dull roar. I’m actually not even sure which is worse.
I worked 16 day straight just to shut her the fuck up. And now because I’m a good lead, I gave away a day of my overtime (today) for one of my dispatchers who needed it. So, first day off in 16 days and I’m sitting here alone in my house staring at my responsibilities. They are staring back.
I just want to build a cabin in the middle of the woods and lose my mind in peace. However, I can’t keep track of my family that way so, here we have the problem. lol. I’m fully aware that the Universe built my kid to be the anchor that keeps me in check. Backfired though. Because, the thing that would be released should my kid be removed from this world would be unimaginable.
I’m supposed to be flying into town in the beginning of September to help my brother with our Mom and I don’t even know how to fake being put together at the moment. I am just hoping they will both be too occupied with the fact that Mom is actually dying from Cancer now to notice my undoing. I don’t even have my ticket yet, that’s how much of a grip I have. Well, to be fair it was so fucking expensive that I almost fell out of my chair when I went to book it. I was hoping the closer I get it would go down in price. I was also hoping the sky would fall and I wouldn’t be able to go – how fuck up is that? Yeah. I know.
The check engine light was late and I knew it.
Trigger Warning – all the suicide
A few months ago I was excited-mortified to find that Open Diary had been resurrected like a pet long buried in the yard of your childhood apartment complex . Like, do we even know that’s our pet? Everyone buried their pets there, you know? Fluffy? FLUFFY IS THAT YOU? I’m tired can you tell?
I had been writing in Open Diary since middle school. No joke. I wrote very day. Even if it was just tell tell the world to fuck off. I used it as an outlet for my anger. When my first wife started to go into leftfield I used it heavily to keep my head on straight. And then when she spiraled and I followed her down the rabbit hole, well, I used it to keep record of things because my brain was melting from the stress. In 2014 Open Diary shut down much to my disappointment, it was the only constant thing in my life. LOL. I downloaded my entries and put them away. My wife went on to kill herself, twice. I went on to completely lose my face (before, during and long after). After was all said and done I was completed messed up, lol, as we all know (if you don’t just take a look around, you will get the idea). I shoved anything that could remind me, hurt me, bring me back to that time right into the trash. I abandoned e-mails, sites, life.
Time went on and to my own surprise my brain started to heal. It only took 4 fucking years. Prior to then, I couldn’t allow my brain to even peek at that area of my brain without all hell breaking lose for unpredictable amounts of time. As time has gone on I have slowly, very very slowly, doubled back to some things. But, when I read the Open Diary was back online AND had preserved all old account entries – I was a deer in headlights.
About a week later I yelled at myself and made myself go try to reclaim the account. I was relieved when it wouldn’t let me in. LOL. I threw my hands up and forgot about it. I didn’t forget, my brain was cowering in the corner. About 2 months later I scolded myself enough to slink back over to the site and read up on reclaiming accounts. It basically said if you didn’t know the password or still have the E-mail you were shit out of luck as they needed poof of ownership. I didn’t have either of those things. But, I thought “Oh, I can prove who I am. Most of my entries were private and I did not hold back.” So I emailed them with some things I just knew would identify me. I think this is the only time being twisted worked to my advantage. HAHAHAHA. I didn’t get a response. So I thought: “Ok. Then maybe I just shouldn’t revisit all that” and I moved on satisfied that I tried.
But you KNOW that’s not where it ends because that’s not how the Universe does things when it comes to me. LOL. Fast forward about a month or so, I’m on vacation bangin’ through the woods having a great ol’ time when my phone alerts me to an E-mail. Guess who? Open Diary wanted to let me know they verified the information I provided and I now had full access to my old account. Great timing Universe, as per usual. LMAO. I took a mental note that that would be a bad idea, and forgot about it until just now; I was fucking around the house ignoring the chores I need to do when I remember that I was able to log in. So, I while I wait for the bread to bake (Have you ever made Peasant Bread??? It’s FUCKING AMAZING), I signed in and gave it permission to upload 15 years worth of my brain from the server. Just Now as I write this it finished uploading everything in the new interface. Oh man, this was my last entry:
“Fuck it, here it is.
The situation that I was talking about was this:
She got smashed and attacked me. Punching, BITING, attacked me. I had to fucking hold her down. She was trying to torture me but was too drunk to pull it completely off.
For those of you who don’t already know, I’m a little over 100lb and 5’4. She’s 5’6 about 166lb..seeing the point here?
The thing is, I’ve seen her drink waaaaaay more than she did that night (several times) and never be like this. It was fucking crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep. Then two days later, even AFTER I showed her the videos (oh yes I took videos, so she couldn’t tell me I was lying) she was drinking again. She’s made a rule that no more than 6 beers can/will be in the house at a time but COME THE FUCK ON. YOU ATTACK ME, THEN JUST KEEP ON DRINKIN’? YEAH FUCK RIGHT OFF.”
That was June 30th 2012.
I didn’t even remember this until now. I guess that must have been around the time I shut down completely because I didn’t write again until they announced in 2014 the site was going down and only then I just simply wrote my E-mail address for my readers to find me.
Well I think Imma eat this bread and be done with the internet for a while. LOL.
Anyone else use Open Diary back in the day?
Disclaimer for those who have not been with me though all of this: My first wife had a very serious mental illness. One that we and her Doctors were trying to identify for a very long time, years. Things had spiraled out long before this. I was well versed in all that entailed being main caregiver to someone who was literally coming undone. It wasn’t her fault, for the most part. I was just tired, angry, and losing hope.
…….I watch a lot of tiktok. …….eeekkkk I know. I know. LOL
But I do. I’m a people watcher, we know this. Tiktok is useful to a point for people watching. And ART. oh the Art. These are two of my favorite things: Art and people watching. I mean really people are Art. Really fucked up Art for the most part. But. Art.
Really what interests me are people’s stories, so when I can’t sleep or when my PTSD rears it’s really fucked up head I run away to other people’s thoughts. Also – Did you know Lindsey Stirling does lives and plays on request on Tiktok? She’s playing live right now and I cannot get enough.
On tiktok there are so many people finding out through 23andme that the parents they grew up with aren’t their biological parents. Some of these stories are heartbreaking. Most of these stories are heartbreaking. You know, stories of people finding out they were switched at birth, finding out their dad wasn’t their dad or their mom wasn’t their mom, and how horribly awful it made everyone involved feel. Annnnnnnd all I can think is: Damnit, I took that damn test so that it would show me that I was switched at birth and my birth parents weren’t my birth parents, why couldn’t this happen to me. lol. I know that’s nuts, but my parents spent the time they had with me showing me, for the most part, that they didn’t want me. I am pretty sure I was the black sheep as a baby. lol.
23andme didn’t show I had been switched at birth, by the way. lol. I mean, really, it didn’t show me anything. Apparently both sides of my biological family don’t use 23andme Hahaha.
I think even if my biological parents turned out to be cereal killers I would have been ok with that. My mom wanted a baby, I was just the wrong baby. My dad wanted a son, but never the responsibility. Turns out I’m not a boy. Maybe this is where I grew the black wool?
I guess I need to do laundry and clean up the bubble mess I definitely didn’t make in the kitchen by using the wrong automatic dishwasher detergent. bahahah
I’ve hit a wall.
I am a firm believer that when you or your family hit a wall you move the wall. Break it, blow that shit up, you do whatever you need to. Hitting a wall is just a pause or a warning. You reevaluate. You move the wall.
I’m burned out. I pushed hard when we got hit with Covid. I pushed harder than I have ever pushed to make sure I could take care of my family. People were losing jobs, told to go home all over the world. I was not going to be one of them. People were losing their homes or living on borrowed time because they couldn’t pay their rent. It was only a matter of time for them. Healthcare professionals were being sent home in droves, or sent into forced early retirement. It was bonkers. That was not going to happen to us. I pushed. I moved up twice. I took on Covid from the beginning even when we didn’t know what we were working with because my coworkers were just kids. Scared kids. I headed the covid “Team” because I wasn’t scared (not in the way everyone else was). I knew scared people make mistakes. All it would have taken was one scared kid making a mistake and taking out the entire team. In in beginning, even highly trained professionals were breaking under pressure, so it had to be me. So, I did it. Every day until I couldn’t. For over a year I was one of two that responded to EVERY Covid patient. I was the one that directed how we handled things. It was the only thing I could do to help. I ended up with my own team, and then my own shift. I moved the wall more times than I can explain to you. I’m tired now. I’m a workaholic and for the first time in my life I need a break. Even when I’m sick I don’t sit down. I need to sit the fuck down. (Click here if you are new here – might help. lol)
I just explained it to my other half like this: “My check engine light is on. You know the one that comes on even when everything seems fine, but you know that it’s only a matter of time before everything comes to a full stop? Yeah. That. My check engine light is on.”
I have to change courses and slow down. Maybe the new trash human taking over as Supervisor is the Universe intervening. Horrible timing tho, wtf Universe. Braces and college, hello?
So, back to the drawing board. Working on some passive income so I can slow down at work. Or, you know, if that fails I will be that 40 year old on the pole at your local dance club. Hahahahah.
Off to ignore the laundry on my bed.
Grief is a weird thing. It looks different on everyone.
Recently, I lost a friend from work. She was an amazing human. Always had an answer and a smile. She was always helpful. Even when the pandemic made it hard to be.
I took it pretty hard. My better half must have known. Came home with a pretty blue bag filled with “The stages of grief”. It was literally a bag of pastries. Each one names after a stage. I laughed so hard.
I ate “Anger” for dinner that night, funny enough.
“Depression” was amazing. But, “Bargaining” , “Bargaining” couldn’t have been any better.
I guess what I am trying to say is get yourself a partner that will bring you a little blue bag of feelings when you’re sad. Hahahah.
I’m killing time at Whole Foods. Spoiler Alert: I do not look like I belong here. lol
I have to go to the pet store annnnnnd it doesn’t open until 9am. My Poptart needs worms.
I am trying to be good and didn’t get coffee. I grabbed some Peach Ginger Pear Tea Weirdness and am sitting here trying to be patient. BUT MY TEA IS PISSING ME OFF. The bags have these cute little leafs instead of squares. BUT THEY ARE DRIPPING.
MY FUCKING LEAFS ARE DRIPPPPPPINGGGGGGG.
My stars, that picture is huge. Eh Screw it.
I guess I am off to get worms.
Holy shit. It’s Friday. I’m wrapped in a burrito blanket (like for real, a burrito blanket. I have two and refuse to sleep without at least one) drinking wine. This week has been fucking brutal. Half my team….. Sigh….nevermind; You’d would have no idea what I was talking about as I haven’t filled you all in on my life.
I’ve been getting a lot of questions about my life and my son since I’ve been gone, since the pandemic. So let’s start here: I work in one of the largest hospitals in the area. The pandemic and I reported for duty the same month. Lmao. I took the job as a side job to the job I already had and to test my brain. If you have been with me over the last 10 years, hospitals used to set off my PTSD. I figured I’d either crumple like a Kmart lawn chair, or stomp my ass forward.
I did both. Crumpled during training. Oh. It was bad. I fell on my face. My body and mind rebelled. I took a week off. I yelled at myself and went back. Then I was good. I was good. Yeah, I was good till I had to report to a trauma room in the ED (ER). Did you know they use the same wooden cabinets in most trauma ED rooms? Yeah, I didn’t either. I looked over at those cabinets and I swear to the stars they looked back. Like they were saying “hey bitch, remember me?”. Oh. I remembered them. I did. I remembered. Good thing Adrenaline kicked in to save me from PTSD so I could focus on the patient in front of me. You know, Trauma room. Ha. And that’s how I powered through every day. PTSD creeping up until Adrenaline focused my attention…. Until I started reporting to ICU. ICU. Sigh. Just arriving on the unit caused PTSD to stand up and get ready to fuck shit up. The first several patients I took care of had her face. They really did. They had her face until one of them coded on me. Then I could see the patient’s face clearly. Turns out, I still perform well under pressure. (Pretty sure this is the only thing I’m good at. Have I every told you guys the story of how my new born tried to die on me while I was bleaching my sister’s hair and I managed to keep him alive and pull the chemicals out of her hair so it didn’t literally burn her hair and scalp off? Lol). A week later a guy coded in my arms. I remember his face clearly.
They stopped having her face after that.
And then, then Covid-19 descended upon us and I couldnt look away. I was in constant high alert. PTSD didn’t even have a chance, Adrenaline took over as soon as I stepped foot into the building. I headed the Covid-19 team for my department and that’s all I did. All day.
About a month into the Pandemic I took advantage and weened myself off the PTSD meds, all of them. While PTSD was pinned to a wall by Adrenaline I figured then was my only chance. It was risky, I had no idea what I was doing but I had this urge that felt like my chest would explode if I didn’t try. . Looking back, ohhhhhh mannnnnn that could have gone sideways in so many ways. Haha. I’m so glad I did it. I’ve been med free since then after more years than I can count.
I ran straight into the center of Covid, I did overtime on top of overtime. At one point, I was the only one left standing when covid took out every single person on my team. I kept on trucking. I volunteered everyday to work with covid patients. I swear I lived at that hospital. Within three months I made permanent (unheard of at the time for my department) within 6 months I was training our new hires to help our Trainer. Shortly after, I became the Trainer for my entire department. Now, I’m a Lead, the Trainer, and the Safety Coach for my department.
I guess what I’m getting at is I’ve worked through COVID-19 since the beginning. I’ve seen some shit. I’ve seen shit go sideways and then do the Morbid Macarena. And this week, this week has been the worst. I’ve never seen so many positive Covid-19 patients. It’s a sea of Red Precautions in our ED (Red airborne signs in the ED). Basically I’ve lived in my Capr; Shit show for sure. Half my team is down due to COVID-19, again. This week has been fucking brutal. So, back to being wrapped up in a burrito drinking wine.
WARNING: Covid-19 Karen behavior will absolutely not be tolerated. I swear to the stars if I get any comments: “Covid-19 isn’t real, it’s a scam, blah blah” or whatever uneducated keyboard warrior bullshit people are spewing I will delete you so fast it will make your head spin to Mars. Then, I won’t think about you again until im calling a code on your infected ass.
Stay safe guys. Wash your hands. Don’t lick any toilet bowls. You know, behave.
Hi. OH. Are you wondering what I meant by my title? Yeah, me too. LOL. My brain has the tenancy to just populate random sentences. Half the time it even surprises me.
life is funny, you know? In the blink of an eye everything changes. I swear I blinked and my smiley, giggly toddler grew up to be a smiley teenager. TEENAGER. I own one of those? CRAP. I own one of those. I should be terrified. I should be, but I’m not. Denial? Maybe. Maybe I have faith that him and I can work through anything. Yeah. That is what it is.
I’ve been walking a lot. I know, you are all Surprised.
Walking around here is always fascinating. You go from Cow Town, knee deep in grass, horses giving you the hairy eye-ball..from all directions..to suddenly… a huge town as far as the eye can see. I love how quite it is here.
Night time is one of my favorite times to walk.
There is only one street light for a while.
The sky is my favorite possession. Even when it’s grey, or completely dark, it’s beauty shines through.
HOLY CRAP – My Facebook just alerted me to THIS:
OK internet. I am DONE for the day. Damn.
Take care guys!
So, I’m in the car, right, and I’m talking and blah blah blah, and alllll of a sudden I have the urge to look down. So, I do (duh). What do I see? A weird ass grease spot looking at me.
The HellllllLLLL is THAT? I wasn’t eating, we had been in the car for about an hour. No drinks, nothing leaked. Nothing. Where the hell this thing came from, I have no idea.
So I named it “Amy”.
Amy didn’t appreciate how long we were in the car. She didn’t like the lack of coffee that was going on. She had a real issue with little guys in big trucks with ball sacks hanging off the back. She had a lotttttt to say about those… She was super mouthy. Like, for real. She was a real thorn in the driver’s side. She had this accent that no one could figure out, and she swore like a trucker.
It got to the point that I had to ask her to leave. She refused. I threatened. I tried to physically remove Amy, but my attempts were thwarted.
Finally, I stuck an oversided Bambi sticker over her face (regrettablely, I didn’t get a photo) and we went about our day. Worked like a charm! Remind me to get more of those.
I’d forgotten all about her until later when I went to do the laundry. There she was, glaring at me, the Bitch. So I shoved her ass into the washer (not before assaulting her with some heavy duty Amy Remover), annnnd I haven’t heard from her since. Now granted, I’ve been too lazy to go back into the laundry room… Bitch better be gone by the time I walk back in there!
In an unrelated note: guacamole chips (auto correct wanted me to say “Guacamole Cops“, the helllll is THAT?), are addicting and I’m currently looking for a support group. Anyone have any suggestions?