Wednesday, September 29, 2021

 I'm on call for one more hour, but the one arrival pending for tonight has already been intaked (intook?) and I did all my census and admin stuff while it was slow in the afternoon, so I'm writing on here while I sit at my desk! It's nice to be able to work from home in the evenings. I like the balance of being able to take care of my in-person work in the office, and then coming back to my apartment to finish up my shift in my underwear LOL. I don't like the three 12-hour shifts I have to do back-to-back each week, but I also prefer to do it myself instead of having to work with someone else. My coworker and I are both Capricorns to the extreme and we work amazingly well together, but now she's out for six months with her new baby, so I have free reign now, and I like it, because I'm not trying to do College Group Project Part 2: The Healthcare Boogaloo. It does mean that I have very little time to myself now, though.

K and I went to see a show this weekend! It was my first big one since El Pando, and being around so many people just breathed life into my soul. I felt like I was being moisturized. Also, little 14-year-old emo me would think I'm the coolest motherfucker around, so I'm pleased. This is the inner child work, bitch!! K is amazing. I love her with my entire heart. On Saturday night, we just sat around in my bedroom smoking and doing art (after I clocked out, since I did have to work a 12 that day). We also listened to emo music (and the odd metal song I added when they got stuck in my head). We have really similar taste in music, although she tends more towards folk and dark cabaret for her "guilty" pleasures and I spin towards dad rock and bro metal. We both really like industrial, hardcore, etc. though, and we're both very opinionated about music, so discussions are fun. I love having a music buddy; I never really have before. Then again, I forced myself to not really listen to any music that I enjoyed for many years, so I didn't have a lot of passion. Now it's one of my main coping mechanisms and joys in life once again (last time was fully in high school I think), and coincidentally, my mental health is so much better. It's really about finding what I like and allowing myself (or being allowed) to enjoy it. Death metal makes me happy, and I like being happy, and it's kind of dumb to censor myself just because it's not a common interest for a slice of the population (it's not even uncommon either though, but whatever). I like getting ASMR from songs (I recently learned that's what it is), and as embarrassing as it is, I do like getting obsessed with albums. Now, if I'm having a bad day, I can feel better after it just by playing my music loud as hell and singing along as I drive home. Much better than substance abuse and self-harm!

Ah I just googled my symptoms and it seems I'm experiencing a tension headache. Big surprise there !! It takes me ages to relax enough to sleep at night, and I don't realize it until it becomes annoying, but I do carry around a lot of stress throughout the day (and evening now). Hopefully this doesn't become a problem. But at least I have health insurance now.

Wait food is good actually. I forget a lot. I never have time to cook anymore, and it's kind of sad to just cook for me, so I eat like a quirky main character in the Netflix adaptation of a YA novel (this is not even factoring in the poverty and the anorexia). I also get randomly obsessed with foods for a little while and don't want to eat anything else. Right now, it's cup noodles, if that gives any indication of how low the bar is. It's not that I can't cook, because I can, and I'm actually very good at planning and prepping and all that as well, but I feel like I just don't get the chance to flex. Right now, most of my life is work.

Wait if I broke it down, hmm. I go to bed (read: get in bed) at around 11 (or try to) and get up at 6 (or 6:30 if I'm tired, which is always), so that's about 6 hours of sleep if we're being extremely generous. I leave for work by 6:50, clock in by 7:50, clock out at around 9 (I work through my lunch because there's only one of me and I don't want to step away for an hour and come back to five million emails and three AMAs and it all works out anyway since I do have to take an hour to drive home). So basically, the only time I'm not working is when I'm driving, from 9 - 11 PM, and whenever I have free time between work tasks (and a lot of that free time I use for household planning, chores, budget, etc., and catching up on my socials and answering some of my snaps and messages). I can do like one thing on weekends now, because otherwise I'll have a panic attack on Facetime with Emily, crying about how overwhelmed I am, so I have a ton of dates and pending plans in my social queue, and a lot of friends whom I never get to see. Goddamn. No wonder I feel like I've had strychnine poisoning all the time.

Oh yay it's 8:45! Time to type up my final reports and send them off! And then you fucking know I'm gonna get so so high.

Saturday, August 7, 2021

 I slept in until 10 this morning (I woke up earlier, but I stayed in bed and lazed around trying to go back to sleep) (but I think I'm losing the ability to sleep a lot), drank coffee, showered, and then facetimed with Emily, then went grocery shopping, and then came back, made lunch and downed more cold brew, vaped, and cleaned my house. It took awhile, because I've been so tired that I have a lot of stuff to do now. But I did it! Now all I have to do tomorrow is clean my fridge, get gas, and do laundry. I feel so much better, because all the housework I have building up has been hanging over my head. Now I'm drinking more coffee and waiting for K to get here (she's sleeping over and we were going to go to the beach with the others tomorrow, but that trip has been postponed). It's going to be so nice. I haven't hung out with my friends for too long; the last time was N's party last week, but I barely stayed three hours, and I was a bit of a zombie. However, I'm done with my period now, and I've been doing better in general, so I have a lot more energy (hence me being able to do several weeks' worth of cleaning all at once). So it's going to be nice to see K! I wish we could see the others as well, but it's always nice to have one-on-one time. I have to remember that, and not be afraid of the intimacy. 

I'm going to start working more hours on some evenings, but that's good, because it will force me to do stuff and multitask instead of just flopping on my bed. I'm still adjusting to living a normal life, but now that I'm not using all my energy just to stay alive, it's a lot easier to get everything done.

Yay K is here!!

Saturday, July 31, 2021

 I think I'm annoyed because I don't like it when people don't take me seriously, even though it's something that's happened all my life, regardless of where I am, and even though I can be used to it, I can also be bothered by it. It's especially annoying because it's nothing I can even control. People see what I look like and they decide that I'm some dumb blonde valley girl and only care about my clothes and Snapchat streaks, and that's not untrue, strictly speaking, but I'm more than that too, and in a professional context, I work hard to make sure the job gets done efficiently with minimal drama, and I feel like that's something people should recognize too, even as they laugh at me for being ditzy or whatever. I know it's on them, and I know it does make my life easier in a certain way if no one sees me as a threat, but it sucks. I hide my natural accent and try to speak in Mid-Atlantic office tones, and I try to hide my body with layers and professional clothes, and I never wear falsies or contour or lipstick or anything besides eyeliner and mascara on the job. I don't even talk to my coworkers about personal things. Most of them know nothing about me. Why should they? They're not my friends. They don't care. And honestly, I don't want them to. I'm not into work like that.

I think I also feel isolated and like many of the people in my personal life don't see or hear me for who I am. I feel like some kind of fictional character that exists in everyone's perception, but slightly wrong for a different reason each time. And no one seems to care to know more, because it doesn't fit what they've decided. And that frustrates me, particularly because I like to know more about people, and it feels unfair that they'll accept my friendship and the benefits it offers, but not make an effort to extend the same for me. I constantly feel used for my appearance and my social skills, and as flattering as that might sound, I'm so fucking lonely lmao

Friday, July 23, 2021

 I've been so fucking tired all day, and I don't even get a reprieve until next Saturday, because I have to work this weekend again. It's not so bad, don't get me wrong, and I'm not saying I want to go back to 12-hour shifts at the warehouse or anything, but this is my personal blog, and I can say that I'm cranky and exhausted without someone guilting me about it. Yes, I like my job. Yes, I like where I'm at in life. No, I'm not going to magically feel happy all the time, because I'm a human, and I act like one, and I have a wide range of emotions, all of which take their turn in the sun.

It sucks though. I've been way too tired and drained to do any kind of housekeeping when I get home, so the vast majority of my cooking, cleaning, shopping, organizing, laundry, etc. happens on weekends. I have two days of dishes in my sink currently, and I hate that I do, but I simply cannot do them right now. I also have a huge list of chores to do, because I keep putting them off. I enjoy living alone especially because I can keep my house to my standards, but when I fall short, I feel disappointed in myself, and that's not really helpful or reasonable even, because most adults have someone else living with them to pick up the slack, and since E isn't here yet, it's all on me, and it's okay and understandable that I'm not cleaning the kitchen every day or whatever. Every week is fine.

I also need to keep looking at my priorities. I have to remember that I only have 24 hours in the day, and I have to sleep for 8 of them or I'll feel shitty. And given that I'm at work for 10 more (including commute and lunch), and have to take care of responsibilities for another two or so, I really only have about four hours to do what I want and fully enjoy life. Plus weekends. So it's not a lot, and I also need to remember that it does no good to stress about things that have either been taken care of or will be taken care of. If I have it done or set to be done, there's literally no reason to stress about it. I think growing up in the way I did, where it was seen as really bad to have any fun or freedom, that's something I need to let go of, and I don't need anyone's permission to be who I want or to be healthy. I want to be my best self for me, no one else, and no one else gets input as to what that best self is. Sure, I'll listen to people if it's something that affects them, but me, who I am, that's none of their business, and I don't have to accede to any kind of shaming or demands. I am my own advocate, first and foremost, and I'm allowed to be confrontational and assertive and even aggressive, and I'm allowed to remove people from my circles if I want to. And honestly, it's a rough world out there, and yes, I act like everything is a joke, but I'm not naive, and I know what's what, and it's important for me to take care of myself. Other people matter, and I love people above all, but I have to love myself before that.

Sunday, July 18, 2021

 I have to work on this knee-jerk assumption that people don’t actually like me whenever I run into the slightest inconvenience. Is it more likely that no one wants to hang out with me and are just accepting all my invitations with excitement for the sake of formality, or that I’ve fallen into the role of organizer, and no one else is as scientific and aggressive about it as I am, so it doesn’t happen unless I make it happen?

I also think I figured out what exactly I’m good at. To expand, I’ve wondered since childhood what my role in the family is, what my specialty is, what exactly I’m good for. It’s on this blog, even. My siblings have their specialties, and I was always the dumb, pretty one. Which is, of course, demoralizing. But I wonder if it took some pressure off, too. I didn’t have as many notions set on me as my siblings did, because I’m not that good at academic pursuits (humanities excluded), and I’m not good at sports or anything physical. And frankly, I’m kind of a pain in the ass when I’m mad. Anything my family tried just made me dig my heels in more, so that by the time I decided to leave the entire fucking country for my gay lover, there was nothing they could do. But I got off-topic. What I’m good for, my specialization, my purpose in the family? Talking to people.

That’s it. I have people skills and a high EQ and a friendly, extroverted personality. And I have a lot of friends. I can always find someone to help me if I have a problem, because they know I’d do the same for them. And for a long time, I didn’t see this as a talent because it was looked on in our family as a flaw. How many times did I hear to stop texting, or to work harder on my grades instead of my social life, or to be serious for once, or to stop fucking talking all the time? How many times was I mocked for being a Barbie?

It got me where I wanted, though. Minus Emily being with my physically, I’m on the road to everything I’ve been working for. A hot fiancée, a gorgeous apartment in my favorite city, an ethical and decent-paying job, a car that’s fun to drive, a large and loving social circle, hobbies that I’m genuinely working on, Spotify Premium, and honestly, a nice appearance. It’s what I want right now, and the wonderful thing is that even though others might think it’s shallow, it’s not, not to me. I know who I am now. And I’m never going to stop growing, and I won’t allow myself to be derailed anymore. I have to continue to heal and grow and work for this dream-turned-reality that I’ve made. 

Thursday, July 15, 2021

tw ana

 I’m so fucking haunted by Eugenia Cooney (twitch streamer) because that could literally be me. We have the same eating disorder, the same love for emo and weeb stuff, we’re the same age (I think she’s a year ish older than me), similar shitty family situation, same coping mechanisms, she even looks probably how I would if I were white and half a foot taller with my natural hair color and money to buy the clothes and makeup I want. Probably my small height is why I haven’t fully turned into a skeleton like her, but I could see it happening, and it’s so scary, but also weirdly motivates me to try and eat and get better even if it’s slow and hard to do. We live in the same city (although I guess she moved back with her mom now), and it’s possible we were even inpatient at the same place. I can’t stop thinking about her, and she makes me so sad. She’s so pretty, even now, and she seems sweet, and I really think she could have had a shot at modeling or acting before all of this, but now I think it’s too late. She’s dying, and we’re all watching it happen, and I know what she must be feeling, and I know that if I were in her place, I would die for sure, because I would be unable to give up the spotlight long enough to recover. And I can hope and pray and send all the good vibes into the universe, but she seems just like me, only with no support system outside of millions of screaming internet users, and her mom is way worse than mine, and I really do think she’s doomed. And I can’t stop thinking about her.

It’s terrifying, you know? I’m back in the double digits with my own weight, and sure, that’s less bad because I’m 5’1” and not naturally very curvy, but I don’t think a grown adult should weigh like a child. Or at least, logically I think this. In my emotions, though, it’s so easy to admire my flat figure and bony wrists and put shimmer on my collarbones to make them stand out even more and body-check in every single reflective surface I pass. And I keep fantasizing over how much lower I can “safely” go, and again logically I know the answer is “there is no safe way to go lower” and that I actually should gain some weight to keep my health, but how do I throw this out when it’s all I’ve known for so many years? Management bought lunch for the facility today, and one of the case managers told me, and I pretended to be excited, and then immediately booked it out of the clinic to sit in the hospital courtyard and eat a packet of nuts by myself. Because apparently we’re not even using poverty as an excuse anymore. 

It’s bad. My mental health is so much better now that it doesn’t even compare; I feel like an entirely different person than I was even a few months ago. But this part hasn’t been updated with the rest. And I’m still dying, just more slowly, and in a more glamorous and aesthetically pleasing way (to the outside world, at least). And I feel it now again, I feel the brain fog and the dissociation and the constant fucking exhaustion and the physical pain from not having enough body mass to keep my bones from hurting, and all the irritation and aggression, all the misplaced rage, all the fear and guilt and judgement. Sometimes my chest will hurt or my heart will do a weird thing, and I’ll know exactly what’s happening and why, but there’s a weird and perverse sense of excitement overlaying all of it, and I know full well that the illness is so entrenched that it’s making me romanticize my own destruction. It’s a weird place to be in, knowing what’s going on, and yet not being powerful enough to make myself stop it. If I did, I would. My progress has shown that. I can do almost anything if I decide I want to and buckle down and work for it, but I can’t seem to make myself want this, or at least not enough.

My benefits kick in on August 1, so I’ll definitely be using my shiny new health insurance to find a therapist, but man. This is just so unnecessarily hard, and I can’t seem to make myself take care of myself. 

Eugenia, I’ll do it for you, then. 

One of us has to make it.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021

 If it's true that I've really gotten this job, then everything is changing in the best possible way, and I can't be more excited. I knew I'd absolutely aced the interview, and when she showed me around and introduced me to the staff, I was as optimistic as one can be while still being wary of everything and everyone, as is everyone in the job market nowadays, and she told me that I'd receive word on a specific day (today), and I could barely think of anything else until I got the call, ten minutes before I was about to sign my contract for another company. And I accepted of course, and now I have a time-frame to look at before I start work, and I need to find an apartment and probably get some better work clothes. And I need to save like crazy so E and I can finally be together and get married. Thank God for the IRS, because I finally got my stimuluses (stimuli?) and tax return (my fault for filing so late), and that plus the amount I found stashed away from high school in an old bank account are enough to set me up. And while we're thanking God for things, thank God for salary. And for opinionated directors who don't mind hiring opinionated people with few professional qualifications. And for my personality, difficult and stubborn though it is, because I'm so glad I didn't settle for something less than this. I just can't believe it's real, not really, but it also sort of feels right, like all the important things in life do, somehow. Things happen how they're supposed to, and I have to remember that. Maybe that's as close to spirituality as I'll ever get. I guess I don't mind. If I'm important to anyone, a version of me will be in their afterlives anyway. 

Maybe I'm high, but Proust was right.

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

 Maybe I should rebrand and make this blog more like it was meant to be, which is just a dump for my thoughts.

So what's up with the fascists these days, right? Omg literally my brother thinks you can be a Republican and a good person at the same time, like honey, in this day and age? However, the state of the world is such that I now hate liberals too, so I suppose from a reductionist, inflammatory, uninformed, grossly-calculated-and-undervaluing-of-human-life point of view, it sort of makes sense.

Well, I guess that's why.

Renting in LA is such a procedure, like you have to go on a fuckin quest to collect the bones of four martyred saints and ask the Virgin Mary for a reference, and then the rent is 2000 per month and you live in a cardboard box outside the Wilshire/Western metro, and parking isn't even included. I feel like more people should be radicalized by the time they meet their first landlord, but that may be unrealistic. Surely after you meet your first landlord, though, you should be able to get it together. They're like vampires, but not sexy, and if they kill you, it's absolutely not worth it. However, they can also be gotten rid of with a stake through the heart, if you choose to go that route (*not recommended for people of color). Why do you need my credit history, bro? Just trust me! I do have to say, though, that I would rather starve to death in my own place than live rent-free here. I don't care if that makes me a total Marius (I mean I kinda do), like bro I gotta live my own life even if it kills me!! It might, but then at least I will die before the planet explodes, so swings and roundabouts, innit.

Also, I think more people should want to hire me. I'm superb. I'm exquisite. I have fat tits. Literally, what else could you ask for? Employers simply do not know the blessing among them, and that's the sad fact. It's why they're hiring on Indeed. It's true, I am also on Indeed, but I have a lot more sex appeal than they do, so I feel like it all comes out in the wash. Hopefully one of the interviews I have this week will pan out. I am SO FUCKING SICK of just being at home all day. I want to wear cute professional outfits and gossip around the water cooler with my normcore colleagues </3 What's a guy gotta do to get boomer-level job security around here??

Maybe I'll have to be an assassin. I don't want to, but I've always sort of been convinced that I would eventually be obliged to take up the gun, or at least I have been since I listened to Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge in my young and formative years. After that, I felt, it was just a matter of when before I was inevitably thrust upon the murder scene. I don't even think I would be good at it, really. I'm not what one might call tough. That means I might have the element of surprise on my side, though, because just as no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, no one (outside of a small society of anime nerds) expects the little 100-lb blonde girl to start swinging. Maybe I can hide arson materials in my pigtails like LynZ did when she auditioned for Mindless Self Indulgence. Oh, and you know I need a Ferrari and lots of couture clothes and shoes as well. I'll be like Catwoman!

Tuesday, February 16, 2021

 I'm trying to figure out why I feel so bad. Everything should suggest that things are going well. I have a job, a good job, and it's remote for now, so I'm even saving money. I guess the thing is that I need to finish the licensing course before I can sign a contract and be paid, so nothing is official. 

Do I need validation and approval that badly? Why does it matter if my mom doesn't think what I do is acceptable? I'm a grown woman, and I don't need to please her, or anyone else, for that matter. All I need to worry about is pleasing my damn self. It's so hard. Why is it so hard? I'm living in a near-relentless storm of negativity, doubt, and disapproval, and a severely emotionally unhealthy parent who is trying to have a codependent relationship with me. I know she's all kinds of messed up, and it all says much more about her than me. But it's hard to live here. I'm doubting my sanity, doubting my reality, struggling to keep my head up when it feels like I'm being slapped in the face every few minutes or so. Heaven help me, I've started to freeze up every time I hear the shuffling of slippers.

I never really got help. And I don't think it's quite fair for my parents to blame me for things that they directly caused. I'm not blaming everything on poor parenting; that's ridiculous. I've done my fair share of stupid shit all on my own volition. But I never even had a chance. Jesus, I mean no one even taught me my times tables or told me not to talk to strangers. I was a little gremlin child living out of a near-literal gutter with no support or guidance or positive reinforcement in any way. All I had was what I decided to be. It kind of worked, I guess; my younger siblings are fairly normal, character-wise, and have good social circles and gainful employment, so at least I didn't fuck them up, too. And my character is on the road to being what I want, and I've always been mostly authentic to myself, so that's a good thing. What if I'd had literally anything to help me, though? Imagine what I could have been if I'd been assessed for ADHD or anything besides being dumb/bad at studying? It's not that I was totally without help. I always asked my teachers for help and came in during office hours or lunch, and they knew I was doing my best, so they were patient with me, even though I'm sure I was annoyingly inept and dense. And everyone knew it was just math. I was so good at everything else. I'm pretty sure at least some people knew what was happening at home, too, but no one really did anything beyond being supportive and giving me embarrassing private pep-talks. I remember my gym teacher (whom I disliked because he made me run the mile) took me aside one day and asked about the scars on my arm that I hadn't been able to hide under the black tourniquet I wore every day (very obvious in retrospect, but I thought I was so sneaky and counter-cultural because I told people it was a symbol of rebellion against the man or something along those lines) because it's hard to wear that sort of thing in PE clothes or in the pool, which is where I think it happened. 

My family has always been very "do the bare minimum and call it fine," and that works for some things, but it didn't work for my mental health, because the bare minimum is just keeping me alive, and in fairness, that did happen, but there's so much more to life than just not dying, and I wish someone had realized that and helped me, because I was so lost that I didn't know which way was up, and I could help myself as easily as I could climb Mt. Everest. Eventually, I did gather what I needed, but it was so much harder than it had to be, and it took so much longer. Actually, all of this could have been avoided with some preventative care, but that ship has sailed. 

Monday, January 4, 2021

 Happy New Year! 2021!

It's not going well.

I really wish I didn't remember hurting like this. Always so familiar, and you can't even laugh because you can barely move. There's a disconnect; you want to do something, anything sometimes, but your body won't obey you. You'll sit in one place for hours if you can get away with it, but of course you can't, because you have no privacy. Everything about you is public property. 

I need to get out of here.