My Number One Fear


Some people live a life full of completely rational fears. They jump at the site of insects and rodents, they scream when they are near a snake, I don’t even blame the ones that shudder at the site of clowns. When it comes to me, I live in constant, all-consuming terror of being kidnapped, kept in someone’s basement or dirty spare room, and tortured in unfathomable ways for years and years while family and friends alike just accept that most likely I am rotting in the ground. Giving up the search, moving on while I am raped daily and time slowly passes me in my own personal hell.
I have been burdened with this fear since news broke on the case about Ariel Castro, the most evil man I could have never imagined before I opened up my laptop that fateful day when I was twenty-one. I couldn’t get enough of the story. I read as much as I could, becoming obsessed, buying the survivors books and diving into the mind of tragedy and hopelessness. The fear grew.
They knew this man, they were friends of his daughter. He tricked them into his house. He violated their minds and bodies. He treated them as less than people. For over ten years, he kept them hidden, fathering a child to one while constantly forcing abortions on another. He took their dignity, their humanity as if it was his to take. Monster.

I was in too deep. My fear had overcome me. There had to be more monsters… and there was. Josef Fritzl kept his own daughter locked up in an underground bunker he built himself for twenty-four years, fathering seven children with her, all by rape. He lied to everyone, saying she ran away, even taking some of the children upstairs in the house saying she has left them on the doorstep for them to deal with. Finally he was caught when one of the children became deathly ill and needed hospital. Twenty-four years.
Jacyee Dugard was kidnapped for eighteen years by Phillip Garrido and his wife. Tazed on the way to the bus stop at eleven years old. He kept her in his backyard and raped her repeatedly. Fathering two children with her. He would do drugs and rape her for hours and hours at a time without a break. She was thirteen when she first got pregnant. Police were supposed to keep an eye on Garrido since he was on parole for another rape and kidnapping. They never took a close enough look to see Jaycee. She was finally discovered after a slip up on Garrido’s part but after EIGHTEEN years.


I could keep going. There will always be the infamous cases like Elizabeth Smart and Shawn Hornbeck but there are so, so many that disappear. Some die and some live a lost life, years stolen by selfish people. My biggest fear will always haunt me, I will always double check the locks on the doors, I will always decline rides from anyone (even people I may know), and I will always look over my shoulder. But will it save me from the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Selfless VS. Selfish

With my wedding just around the corner, a new job having started, my great grandma dying yesterday, and just a million small things to stress about I am just stressed. What's new. I am always stressed unless I am doing everything perfect and I am organized and blah blah blah. No matter how well I am doing, I am never doing well enough. This is such a repetitive thing on this blog I can imagine you are all sick of hearing about it but this is my obsession.
I need to be the best fiance/ future wife.
I need to be the best supporter.
I need to be the best employee.
I need to be the best kickboxer.
ETC.
When I'm not, I hate myself.

I pride myself on being a selfless, independent person. If I ever say anything selfish or act selfish I feel horrible. Like, I hate buying things for myself even when I need to. I feel happy and then I feel gross. I feel them simultaneously. I know I need to do things for me and take care of me but everything ELSE isn't perfect yet. Maybe I am just MASSIVELY delusional.

Who knows.

I have plenty, plenty to be happy about right now. I really need to just let go and do my thing to make me happy. Fucking neurotic me ruining my own shit.

I'll list happy things so I can remind myself and also so I just don't seem like a whiny turd.

1. Almost all the wedding stuff is taken care of
2. Muay Thai feels great and I'm so happy I am doing it
3. My new job is SO NICE TO ME and that feels amazing
4. My apartment is really awesome and I continue to make it even awesomer
5. My fiance and I have continued to keep up with our podcast and it makes me so happy
6. I am on the right track
7. I wrote today for the first time in awhile and drew! I should keep doing that.
8. I've had some great happy moments even though I've had stressful and sad moments.
9. I've had some really amazing conversations with one of my besties lately that has made me feel good <3

Always find the positive even in the swamp of shit.

Turning

Shit is real y'all.

I think my wheel is finally turning.




I have just accepted a way better job literally a DAY after being laid off. I am basically getting a two week vacation because of it. I am sticking to my guns in keeping my toxic family out of my business. Wedding planning is going great. Muay Thai is going great. My fiance's and my podcast is going great. I am feeling positive about the future and positive about the PRESENT.

I still feel like it isn't ENOUGH. Not like that I'm not getting enough good things, I'm not being greedy here, I am BEYOND grateful for what I am getting. I just feel like I am not doing enough. I am never enough. But this is something I need to work on for myself because everyone around me always says that I am beyond doing enough. I just always feel like I have the be the best for myself and for my loved ones. Be perfect. Make everyone so proud their heads explode. I don't know. Mayne this makes no sense. Maybe this is incredibly relatable.

I just am so happy that things are turning around.

Muay Thai, Podcasting, and Eating Lunch

I'm sorry it's been a month since I wrote here but I have honestly been either so busy I want to fall over or I have been so depressed I want to fall over. I want to try and keep up with everything. While discussing my plans with my friend last night she said "How do you have time for anything?" and I laughed. BECAUSE I DON'T. And I still get frustrated that I can't do more. I wish I didn't need as much sleep as I did so I could stay up later to do MORE things.
This month I started a Science Fiction podcast with my fiance because we both love Sci-fi and podcasts. I made up our website, coded things, submitted us everywhere, we have been recording, researching, releasing, promoting, and I am so in love with it! These are the kinds of things I wish could just be my work full-time. If you have any interest in this please check us out! www.scifidoublefeaturedrivein.com
Also this month, I have started training in Muay Thai. I am going full force with it, starting at 4 days a week, if not more. I am also so in love with this! My therapist said I needed stress relief and I found it. I also have always wanted to get into a physical, competitive sport and I'm glad I found this. Every day I am sore but I feel great. The gym I go to is supportive and full of great people. I can't wait to become better and to one day fight in the ring!
To continue improving my health I am now eating 3 meals a day (holy shit, right?) I have always been busy and with my social anxiety I hate eating at work in front of people so I just.... wouldn't. But now I am forcing myself to. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. Everyday. Full of fruit, vegetables, proteins, and all good stuff.
My therapist said I should write when I am feeling good so when I get depressed I can read back and feel better. This blog is definitely that place for me. I have already written so many positive things here and I need to keep at it! Even if it adds to my schedule that grows longer and longer every day.
But a busy mind for me is a happy mind as I am sure a lot of you can relate!

The Blob


Deep, vicious depression is one of the most impossible things to try an explain to people who do not feel it. I have read plenty of articles, posts by friends and acquaintances from support groups I am a part of on Facebook all explaining the pain they are going through. But none that I feel really gets to the heart of how incredibly devastating it is. I feel like I could type for hours and all that will come out is a jumbled mush of words that will still not come across in a way that would properly describe the complete loneliness, hopelessness, desperation, and pain of depression. I know many people suffer differently. Not every mental illness is the same and thats why every treatment and pill is different. The human brain is difficult to treat. You can not examine it the way you can a broken bone or a regular disease. When going to the psychiatrist for my bipolar disorder it's like having a handful of meds being thrown at me and seeing which ones maybe stick just enough to bring me some form of peace. In no way am I cured. The medicine just helps to settle things to where I can feel some kind of "normal". I still get depressed. I still get manic. Just much less so.
Right now my life's circumstances have left me in a very severe depression. There are days where the anxiety from it leaves me in physical pain because my chest and throat feel so tight, it hurts to swallow.
My family says "Just think of the things you have to be GRATEFUL for,"
I know what I have that is great. I am very grateful for my wonderful fiance, the apartment I love, my dog... but that doesn't change my depression. That doesn't make it go away.
I feel overwhelmed by the bad. Sometimes as small as the bad may be at one time. To me it feels so large that like The Blob it spreads over all the happy things and consumes them. I have many things I would love to do to bring me happiness but my motivation is stunted. I feel like moving and doing anything is nearly impossible. I can't even bring myself to shower most days. I wish more than anything I could do these things and be better. I dream about it. I wish people could understand what it feels like to just feel like you CAN'T. To sometimes lie there and not even want to breathe because of the effort. To have no recent pictures with a genuine smile because what reason do I have to smile?
I keep myself awake at night daydreaming so vividly of better things. Of my job changing, of me being able to get up and do the things I love, of the conversations I want to have, the places I want to go, the way I want to look. But I pop some klonopin to quiet my brain so I can sleep. I cry silently in bed. I am a failure in my eyes. I will never get past this. I will always be in pain.
I wish I had encouraging words at the end of this but I don't.
All I can say is if you have a loved one with mental illness please make sure they don't feel alone. Lay next to them and hold them. Tell them they matter. They are wonderful and special and beautiful. That you love them. Help them get out of painful situations that are hurting them. You being there for them and supporting them means more to them than you understand.

My Dreams

I have been pretty much on my own since I turned eighteen. Bouncing from apartment to apartment, job to job to try and make ends meet. I never had the money or means to go to college beyond a few community college classes and honestly between working full-time and all my mental health issues I really didn't have the time or energy anyway. I have had my struggles and I have worked really hard to get where I am in my field to be able to support myself. I make decent money and live.
I was talking to my therapist this week and she asked me about my dreams. I told her "I don't have the luxury of dreams."

This doesn't mean I don't have them. What I meant is I don't have the luxury of even entertaining the idea that any of them are a reality. I have no support to quit my job and pursue them, I have no time in my busy life to truly work on them (I barely have time to write here), I can't go to school, I just... can't. I am very hopeful. I try to do the things I love in my limited spare time but most of the time they fall to the wayside. Most people just say I am not trying hard enough. I could if I wanted to. This makes me roll my eyes. Sure, tell me I can go back to college if I just saved enough when I live paycheck to paycheck to just keep the nice little life that keeps me together every day. Sure, tell me I can just make time if I was dedicated enough. You have no idea what it's like to be so emotionally exhausted at the end of the day that you literally fall asleep at 9:30 PM while just looking at your phone. I don't know if you know what it's like to cry every night and morning because you are so depressed that your life is not what you want it to be. That you will just have to work a job you have no love for till you die. And this is your life. And you do dream, you dream of wonderful, beautiful things but you know that you are trapped.
I know that there are others who have sacrificed. I know my situation isn't special. I know this pain is felt by plenty who sacrificed happiness for being able to survive.To you, I feel your pain. I feel your sorrow. I wish we could all be happy because we only get these one lives and the fact that we have to live them so trapped in misery is a crime. So tied to survival.
I hope one day I can find a way. I hope we all can.
Until then I try to find the small ways to make this better. It's hard, the depression and anxiety is literally physically painful most days. Hours shouldn't be counted down but savored. Dreams shouldn't be a luxury.

The John Goodman Project: Barton Fink

I know it's been a hot minute guys, but let's take a break from the sadness going on and dive into one of my absolute FAVORITE John Goodman films of all time, Barton Fink.
This movie is every writer's nightmare. Excluding just the fact that the John Goodman element is EVERYONES' nightmare. Barton Fink is hailed as a genius stage writer in New York that is offered a job to write for the "moving pictures" in the golden land of Hollywood. He is hesitant because he thinks that it will tarnish his ability to be a "writer for the common man" but he goes because money, right? Everyone loves money. When he gets there he insists that he stay in a dirty hole of a place because he is ONE WITH THE COMMON MAN. He wants to live in squalor and filth. He looks at the money, and sure he takes it but he doesn't want to compromise his art. Did I mention the guy who works at the hotel is Chet! played by Steve Buscemi? Because it is and it's delightful. So he is given a project, a wrestling movie, and he goes on to try and write it which he just is having so much trouble with. He's got that writer's block. Also, he keeps looking at this damn beach painting.
Enter John Goodman. He is crying in the room next door. Weird, right? Why is he crying? Barton Fink complains to Chet! and then in comes our lovable goof. He is nice. He is SO nice that it feels... weird. Something feels just... off about him. Barton Fink doesn't seem to notice. He just keeps going on and on about his problems. Always talking over his new companion.
While stuck in his writers block Barton meets another writer who never stops drinking or beating his wife or yelling. This guy completely bashes in the image that Barton had of his beloved hero who for some reason is this jackass. He stole his wife's work and is just a total asshole. Oh, and he doesn't solve Barton's writer's block. Instead of doing any writing he sleeps with the guys wife and then wakes up next to her murdered corpse. DON'T WORRY, John Goodman is super nice and gets rid of that corpse for him, NO PROBLEM.
BIG PROBLEM, JOHN GOODMAN IS A SERIAL KILLER DEVIL.
Anyway, you should be watching the movie by now because this is all way better than me typing it out. This creepy, smiling motherfucker ALWAYS GETS ME. He leaves Barton with a box before he bounces after murdering the lady IN BARTON'S BED. What is in the box? WHAT IS IN THE BOX????
Also John Goodman murders his whole family and lays some SERIOUS truth on him about what it is to be a REAL common man and how Barton Fink is full of shit.
THEN THAT BAD ASS WALKS INTO FIRE AND WHERE DID HE GO.
After John Goodman leaves the film Barton Fink pretty much loses his dream and takes that creepy box to the beach and finds that weird beach picture in real life that he was obsessed with.

Thanks Coen brothers for always fucking blowing my mind.