Just Some Thoughts

I'll be honest; the last few weeks have been really emotional for me. I'm taking this medication that's supposed to be helping me with my depression but it's not. Also life isn't helping much either. There's been a lot of crying which I'm not used to. Anyway, I have had a lot of little thoughts lately, so I just put them all together here.


I've never been anything less than who I am. It might not be what you're looking for, but I was myself more with you than with anybody in my life. I don't regret it.

If I could give you anything, I would give you a mirror
To show you what I see
And though I’d love for you to see me too
It wouldn’t mean anything
If you couldn’t see what I see in you.

Though it feels like the best thing to happen to me in my life, I wonder if it's not meant for me.
Which doesn't make how it's impacted my life any less meaningful.
It means that the best thing to happen to my life is so great I can't even fathom it, and it'll be worth waiting for.

Soon I'll Be 25

I always thought about what I'd be like when I was 25, and in just a few days, I will be. I remember being about 19, working in Orlando, and a co-worker of mine was celebrating her 25th Birthday. I remember thinking, "Wow. 25 is so far away for me." And here it is, sneaking up on me. Here's an excerpt from a book I'm working on about my 5 year-old views on being 25.

Ever since I was five years old I’ve wanted only two things in life: 1) To be an actor (Well, at five years old, I specifically wanted to be the youngest actress to win an Oscar, but time crept up on me and I never made a movie. Damn you Tatum O’Neal for setting the bar so high!). 2) To be loved. One could argue that that two go hand in hand, being that performers thrive on love and attention from everyone, even a room full of strangers, but even at five years old I knew that having someone love you was a special thing. I was fortunate enough to grow up with parents who truly love each other. Everyday I saw what a marriage should look like, and it’s what I wanted. My parents married young, at twenty-three, and had three of their four kids before they were thirty. When that’s what you grow up with, you believe it’s the norm. I decided I would be married and start a family at twenty-five. Waiting until I was twenty-five would give me plenty of time to get my career started. Oh five year old me, if only you knew...

Making Fun of Fat Chicks.

I am a person not easily offended. One thing I cannot stand though, is when people make fun of fat people, girls in particular, because they think its funny. The only time this doesn’t bother me is when the person telling the joke is fat, or has made it known that they once were fat. I hate it when the butt of the joke is some fat girl. It’s schoolyard bullying all over again.  When a physically fit guy in his twenties is on a stage making fun of some fat chick he saw, it really angers me. He has no idea what her life is like. He has no idea that maybe she became overweight because people have said mean things to her all her life, and food is her comfort. All he’s doing is adding to her suffering. He’s kicking her when she’s already been down for so long. But to him, her size is a joke for him. Because she can’t hide it, he gets to laugh at it, and try to make a crowd laugh at her too.

When I make fun of a fat person, that person is myself. I make fun of my struggle with weight, because it’s universal. Everyone struggles with something. I make fun of it because I’m the one going through it, so who knows it better than me? I make fun of it because, every time someone laughs at the joke, it lets me know that I’m not alone in this (Also, it let’s me know that I’m really funny, but this isn’t about that)

I may not be the biggest person in the world, but I’ve been overweight about half my life. I didn’t choose this. Yes, I did it to myself, but I wouldn’t have chosen for all the mean comments, the rejections, the self-loathing, and the judgment. When I was in school, I was depressed a lot. Whatever was upsetting me came down to my weight. This boy didn’t like me- because I’m fat. My friends don’t want to go shopping with me- because I’m fat. I don’t know if those were the reasons, but I couldn’t see why it wouldn’t be because of my size. Food made me feel better. It tastes so good, and it’s something you could always have access to. One morning, I was feeling bad so I decided to get some ice cream. I was hating myself and my life and I just wanted to feel better. I didn’t care that it was the morning; I needed ice cream. My older brother caught me taking just a spoonful of ice cream from the carton, as that was all I wanted. He looked at me like he saw the most disgusting thing anyone had ever seen in the history of the world and said, “Ew, ice cream in the morning?!” I sheepishly finished the spoonful of non-judgmental cookie dough ice cream and went back to my room. I felt worse than before. It was as if my brother said what everyone was thinking. In those few seconds he confirmed my suspicions. I’m disgusting, and everyone can see it. I felt hopeless. I had no one to talk to about my problem. Was I supposed to confide in my size 4 friends? They wouldn’t understand my addiction. They would just tell me to go on a diet and exercise. That’s like telling a coke addict to just don’t do coke. It’s a mental issue. Our brain tells our bodies that we need these things. But what’s different with food, as opposed to drugs, is that you can get food everywhere. You need food to survive. No one will deny you from buying food. And food is cheap, especially unhealthy food. It was a vicious cycle I was in. I felt bad about my weight, so I ate, which caused me to gain more weight.

That’s just my story. That’s just how I became a 200 pound 24 year old. There are so many more people with stories about how they got to be where they are today. Some people may hide their problems, but fat people, we cannot. I have been wearing my problems for 12 years. So that fat girl you wanna make fun of might say she doesn’t mind, that she’s fine; but underneath all that fat is a sad story.

So why would you make fun of that?

I don’t make fun of your small dick for the similar reasons.

  

This is something I wrote in a comedy forum... I couldn't quite figure out how to fit it in with the above, so I just left it on its own...

Comedy is making fun of the tragedy in our lives. No one chooses to be fat, yes they're not born fat, but our environments, how we react to things that happen in our lives trigger something and instead of reaching for booze or a gun, I, like many people, reached for ice cream to soothe my pain. Here I am 60 pounds overweight and funny as shit because of people putting me down for it. So go ahead, make your lame fat girl comments, while I write jokes. :)

Diagnosed

When I was 7 years old, I really wanted glasses. I don't know why I wanted an accessory once associated with daily ass-kickings, but I wanted them; I wanted them badly. So I told my mom I was having trouble seeing the board in class and thought that glasses would help me. My mom made the appointment for the eye exam and I was very excited. I knew that I couldn't screw up this opportunity to attain my glorious frames I had longed for. The plan was simple. I knew I couldn't just fail the eye exam completely; then I'd be prescribed lenses that would make me blind. I had to miss just enough questions so I could get a mild prescription. How, at 7 years old, I knew to do that- I don't know. It's quite fascinating really. But I stuck to my plan and it worked beautifully. I got my glasses!

I want you to note that I finished that last paragraph at 10:21pm (according to the auto-draft save). I started this paragraph at 11:25pm (according to a clock). I left for an hour to find a photo of me with glasses. I know it exists, but I don't know where. So I just searched my parents computer. Instead of just admitting defeat in my search, I went through all the family photos and sent the ones I like to myself so I can add them on facebook. (I found the photo the next day- so there it is.)

Which brings me to my next point.

I saw a psychiatrist to evaluate me for ADHD.

Long story short- I have it AND Cyclothymia, which is a mild form of bi-polar.

I KNEW IT! Well not exactly, but I felt like I was off. If you read the last post then you're up to speed.

Part of me wondered if I went in prepared to give the doctor the answer I knew he'd need for the diagnosis I was anticipating, as I had done when I was a child. I mean, I started continuously rubbing my hands together during our first meeting. I guess psychologically, it was my way of acting on the thought of "Well if my answers aren't enough, he'll clearly notice this fidgeting as a symptom of ADHD." As the evaluations went on (over two sessions), I began to understand that I might have more issues than I thought. I never realized how reoccurring my depression was, or that I had episodes of elation.

I'm really taking this time in my life to take care of myself. I've had a really intense couple of years and I forgot to take care of myself in every way. I'm getting my weight and health to where it should be, I'm taking care of my mental well being, and I'm not worried about pleasing anyone else. It's refreshing to decide that it's going to be about me for a while.

Just Off

Do you ever feel like you're not like everyone else? That, whatever normal is, you are far from it? I've felt this way for as long as I can remember. I see how easy everyday activities are for everyone else and I just don't know why I can't be like that. Small talk. I've always hated small talk and even worse I hate faking my way through it. It's uncomfortable, unnatural to me. Small talk just someone vocalizing the obvious. The current weather. If a bus is late. If a line at the supermarket is outrageous. It's all completely obvious to those who are there experiencing it with you, why does it have to be said? Perhaps I over analyze the common conversation, and it hurts me socially; but I know no other way to be.

I just feel that there's something wrong with me. It doesn't make me a bad person, I'm just off.

Have you ever heard of this poem?

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

Well, now you have heard it. I was born on a Wednesday. I'm full of woe. It's the only negative day of the week! WTF! I was just an hour shy of being full of grace, but no, now I'm a sad klutz. But who's to say that this poem is even right? Though, I've always been a bit of a sad soul I suppose. I'm very sensitive and self-conscious, a lot more than I let on. I feel that I'm very aware and in tune with my feelings. I used to not know how to control my depression. When I was younger, about ten years ago or so, I would eat anything that made me feel better. And even while I was doing it I knew that it was wrong. I knew that it wasn't healthy, but I knew of no other way to be. It's like I've had 10+ years of practice with depression. Yes, I still get depressed, and I am at this moment, but I understand the signals and I try my best to not cave in to old destructive behaviors. I, for the most part, don't give into food- not nearly as much as I used to. The fact that I'm on day 15 of this diet certainly helps. I've been very motivated to see it through. The one thing that I'm having trouble getting over is being a recluse. I'm somewhat anti-social anyway, but when I get depressed, I don't leave the bedroom. I think that I should, and I feel that I should, but I just can't get myself to go. What would I do if I left the house? Who would hang out with me? I turn myself down before anyone else can. It's clearly a defense mechanism, but it's not defending me, it's actually hurting me.

It's hard to be funny when you're depressed. The funny comes after you're over it and you can reflect. I hate that I can't be funny right now. I'm trying to be. I'm trying to think of things to write, ways to be creative. I just don't have the energy for it. With the exception of a show I did Saturday night, I've been in my room since Friday (It's Monday as I write this). I've kept myself away from the world, even just the rest of the house for 4 days now. So why did I leave my room for a show? Well, I was already committed to doing the show. I don't like to cancel shows. Also, being on stage is the only time I feel right, which is weird to everyone else. Some people would rather die than be on stage and speak in front of people. For me, it's the only time I know I'll be happy. When I'm up there I am in control. I am the one who speaks and the audience has to listen to what I say. When I'm up there, in my head, I am the most amazing, beautiful, coolest, funniest person in the world. When I'm off stage, I don't have control. People don't have to listen to what I say. So all the built up confidence I have on stage, slowly goes away when I'm not on it. My challenge is trying to be who I am on stage, be the person I am off stage.

Hungover & Hungry: Misadventures at the Safeway Deli Counter

Not too long ago, on a night much like tonight, I drank almost the entire contents of a 1.5 Liter bottle of Merlot. I was with other people; it's not like it was a sad affair of me alone drinking a giant bottle of wine in my room until 2am. No. I was drinking with friends until 630am. I slept at my friend's place and I woke up just about noon and I had to leave. If I waited any longer traffic would have been hell. I got myself together in about a half hour and left. I felt fine (I puked at about 5am). It's about a 45 minute drive from my friend's place to mine and I felt alright considering all the wine that was working its way through my system. I hadn't eaten in many hours and it was making me feel sick. I decided to stop at the Safeway that was just the exit before my house. All I could think about was getting a sandwich from the deli counter and eating the fuck out of it.

I got to the deli counter after picking up some other essentials (A carton of ice cream and a small bag of Cheetos Puff) I waited behind two people to order my sandwich. As I waited in line it was at that moment that my body signals to me, "Hey... we're still drunk" Not super drunk, but that am I hungover or drunk? phase of the whole thing. I waited in line entirely too long. These were the slowest sandwich makers I had ever encountered. I've never seen anyone spread condiments slowly til that afternoon.

It was finally my turn and I was ready with my simple request. "I was roast beef, on the french bread, just mayo."

She responded cheerfully, "Would you like to make it a meal?"

"No."

"But you get chips and a drink for just two extra dollars."

Stone cold I replied, "I understand what the meal is, but I don't want chips and a drink, I just want the sandwich."

She makes the sandwich and asks me what cheese I'd like. I didn't want anything on my sandwich but meat and a condiment. Don't judge me; I don't like veggies and I don't like cheese with roast beef.

Anyway I said I didn't want cheese, "Just mayo. That's it."

She makes the sandwich, she's just about to cut it and she says, "Wouldn't you rather get the meat to make a sandwich, that would be cheaper."

I was appalled. She just made me the damn sandwich! And isn't she supposed to be upselling me like with the meal deal?

I said calmly, yet sternly, as if I was a serial killer ready to lose my shit, "Honestly, I drank a bottle of wine by myself last night and all I want is a sandwich with no effort on my part, so please just give me my sandwich."

She wrapped it up and I took it. I did self-check out and I left.

She really pissed me off. Just do as I ask! I really wanted to make a point. I really wanted to just drop my basket of unhealthy items and storm out. But then it would have taken me longer to get a sandwich that I so desperately wanted, and I wanted a sandwich just a little bit more than I wanted to make a point.

Breaking Down

I've been put through an emotional wringer the last 9 months, and I feel like I can't talk about it the way I want to talk about it. I feel like I'm not allowed to talk about it. I've experienced every type of emotion a person can experience in a short time frame and I've had to keep it all to myself. There have been secrets and private conversations. There are other people's privacy involved as well. I also just can't feel what I want to feel because I won't let myself do that. Even though I want to talk about it with friends, I don't, because I don't want them to see me cry, or break down. I used to be such a depressed person. I used to feel defeated and hopeless all the time. I don't want to be that person, and I haven't been that person in a very long time. The fact that I don't want to be that sad person anymore has made it so I don't allow myself to feel any unpleasant emotions and I won't express them. It's beginning to blow up in my face. I'm trying to find a balance to where I can be sad for the things I've been experiencing lately, but not lose myself into an episode of depression where I eat my feelings and listen to Dashboard Confessionals and cry my days away.

There are so many things I don't understand and I probably never will because I'm too afraid to get my answers. I'm too afraid to find out that no matter how great they may say I am, I'm not great enough. That there will always be someone better than me out there. That I'll never be anything more than someone's 2nd place. Because if that is the case, if that is the truth, then what's the point? Why should I keep putting myself out there when no one is going to care. Why should I put myself out there when all it's going to do is take me to finish line just to have someone else shove off the track before I can cross the finish line.

I'm not looking for love. I'm just looking to not get hurt. I didn't plan on the last year of my life to happen, but it did. I never wanted a guy to offer me everything I ever wanted only to ignore me for months at a time because he had other things to do than to not be with me. To tell me he wanted to be with me only to never follow through on his word.

I never wanted to make a connection with someone so deep, so real, just to sit around and wonder why he doesn't see me the same way I see him.

And there's so much more than that, but just too personal and dark to talk about in a public forum such as this. I've had to deal with it on my own as people make comments to me about what appears to be the truth when in reality if they knew what's been going on with me they wouldn't make any comments. They'd wonder how I'm able to function so well. I'm a girl that can keep her shit together for the sake of appearances. It's an Oscar worthy performance.

Nothing makes you feel more alone than feeling like you have to feel and process pain by yourself.

I'm writing this to express myself, not to get your pity. I'm writing this because I need to figure out how to deal with everything that has happened and the things that are currently happening in my life.


"Figure out what you want, and learn how to ask for it."

I've been trying to do that ever since I heard that line last December.