Cogito ergo sum

Yep, it's that time of year again...the time to look back at everything you did (or didn't do) over the past 365.25/366 days and take stock of your life.

I hate that bullshit.

To me, the past is the past. There's no changing it, so don't fret about it. The future is totally unpredictable, so don't stress about it. All we truly have is the present. So you should make it count. And shit.

I've been in a substantially better mood lately. The new meds help. Ritalin, ironically. No, I wasn't diagnosed with some latent ADHD or anything, the psychiatrist in his infinite wisdom thought a small dose of a stimulant might help me out a bit. It does.

But that gives me pause. I take pills to make me a reasonably happy person. Is that right? Am I really that much of a dysfunctional "Debby downer" that I have to take highly regulated and tightly controlled medication to make myself tolerable to myself? Or is life really so craptastic that I need something, a chemical something, to make it livable? Either way, not a good outlook for the longevity of my liver.

The Christmas retail season at the store where I work was crazy and relatively profitable for myself. Some weeks I got very close to working 40 hours. That's when it really pays to be an hourly employee, even if you only make shit-fifty an hour. Kept me outta trouble and my mind off my worries. The Ritalin definitely helped me keep up with the frenetic pace, late nights, early mornings, and the inescapable "Christmas creeps" who crawl out of the woodwork to make the season merry and bright. 

But now things are going to slow waaaaaaaaay down. Like I'll be lucky to pull in 10 hours on the clock per week slow. It's probably time to start looking for a second job. I like the craft store just fine, but when they only schedule you two days per week, then call and tell you not to show up for one shift and that the other one's hours have been slashed in half, you start to really feel the sting and burn of perpetual brokedom. Last year in January and February, I had a couple of paychecks that were $64 and $48 after taxes. Mind you, I only get paid every two weeks. Yeah, feel the burn of perpetual poverty. 

So, on the hunt for a second job I go. 

The old romantic life is highly unsatisfactory still. I think I could come out of my armor-plating a bit and go on a date or two, but I don't seem to have any interested men in my vicinity. The last time I gave out my number (albeit, with bitchy intent), I got put in my place pretty good, so I'm not apt to try that one any time soon. I'm also not going to join any dating web sites. The last time I was on one of those, I had endless declarations of undying love from a bunch of men older than my father, which I find repulsive and creepy. So, yeah, that ain't happenin' either. So, in other words...

I'm not only hunting for a second job, I need to collect some more cats while I'm at it.

Wish me good luck, godspeed, and a free truckload of kitty litter!

If you can't beat them, join them?

I'll just come out and say it:

Everyone's been in a crapass mood lately. 

Even me. 

It's hard to go to work and have everyone--everyone--in a snipey, ornery vibe. Everywhere I go, people seem to be wearing their crabby pants, too.

Me? I've just been suffering with a general ennui. And anhedonia. 

I'm going to the doctor to have my meds reevaluated, to see if that could be the problem, but some of it is the people around me. 

I'm too sensitive to others' moods, vibes, auras, whatever you want to call them to not be brought down by all this negativity. It's like it's bombarding me from every angle. 

It also doesn't help that I've gradually lost the joie de vivre that I took in so many simple pleasures. 

Perhaps it's the waning bits of sunlight that are hitting this half of the world this time of the year. The days are getting shorter, you know. 

I normally love autumn, with its fresh, crisp air and multihued, crunchy leaves, but right now, I'm just not feeling it. 

I'm not feeling a lot of things right now. And that's troubling.

I hope I'm not starting into a downward cycle. Those are the worst, and so hard to come out of.

But right now, it feels that life is merely a chore, a set of motions you go through on a daily basis with little end result until you die. 

I want my joy back.

I'm done...

I'm done. 

With dating, that is.

No, this isn't going to be some happily ever after-type post in which I tell the world that I'm finally involved with the man of my dreams. 

It's quite the opposite, really.

I'm done with dating. 

I don't want to date anyone else, at least not for a long time. A very long time.

I've been burned too many times.

I'm tired. Sick and tired. Sick and tired of being lied to, led on, manipulated, cheated on, hit, and left for other women. All. The. Time.

I wish I had some happy dating stories, but I don't. 

I'm 31 years old, and I've never been in a serious relationship. 

I frequently find out I'm the other woman in many of my dating relationships (if you could call them that). My moral standards require me to terminate the relationship at that point. I've never regretted that part of those situations. I'm no homewrecker.  

I also frequently get left for/compared to other women. I frequently get blown off as soon as something--someone--comes along that is, in ways unknowable to me, somehow better. 

It hurts. 

It hurts when even guys who are well-known for being generally good souls treat me like dirt, like a tissue meant to be used temporarily and disposed of just as quickly.

It hurts when a guy that you didn't want to be anything other than friends with says, "I don't want anything serious with you because my head and my heart are still with my ex." I didn't want anything other than friendship, and now you tell me I'll perpetually be in second place. Thanks, I needed that. Like I don't already have enough issues with my self-esteem.

That's why I prefer to be ignored by men. It hurts like hell to be perpetually lonely, but it hurts worse to be hurt. It doesn't even matter if you do get the rare apology later for the dickish behavior, the pain is still there, gnawing at your psyche and soul.

That's why I'm so standoffish and bitter. I'll never be good enough, so why bother? 

It's easier to be alone. 

It's easier to be the crazy crocheting cat lady who stays at home on Valentine's Day with her 30 cats and latest crafting project. 

I don't want that fate, but the alternative is much, much worse.

So, I'm just going to stay in my corner, all alone (except for my cat), and do what it is that I do best:  make other people happy. 

Happy crafting, everyone.    

Esty site up and running again...

BiteCat Jewelry

Go. Visit. Shop. Now. 'Merica. (Or something.)

Lather

Dear A--,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you felt there was no other way, that life would never get better than the daily hell you went through for the last five years.

I'm sorry you were a suicide.

I'm sorry you were sent off to an unnecessary, unwinable war on a pure lie and that it left your body scarred and your mind in tatters.

I'm sorry that your psychic wounds were so crippling. I know that those were even more painful than the loss of your legs.

I'm sorry that the only way you could get the chaotic, terrifying cacophony out of your head was to turn to the bottle and the silver spoon.

I'm so sorry that after a while, even drugs and alcohol couldn't silence your inner screams and caused you to lose what you felt were the only things you could live for--your wife, your children, your family, your job, and your home.

I'm sorry my most vivid memory of you now is not of you as you were--handsome, confident, funny, kind, intelligent, the brother I never had--but of you as the gaunt, sallow corpse in the coffin at the funeral home that the priest who christened you said those compassionate, comforting words over.

I'm sorry that your father has aged at least fifty years overnight and no longer has that gentle, compassionate kindness in his eyes--the same benevolence I always saw in your eyes--any more.

I'm sorry--so very sorry--that you were in so much emotional turmoil and pain.

I'm sorry that you felt that no one would or could comprehend how truly wounded you were.

I'm sorry I never told you of my own personal struggles with mental illness and substance abuse. Perhaps if I had, maybe you would've felt that you had someone who you could've turned to who would've truly understood how much psychic pain you were in.

I'm so very sorry that my shame and my pride hid from you someone you could've seen as an ally, someone who had been to the abyss and back and is doing much better now. I wish I could've shown you that there is a good side to life on the other side of the darkness, that recovery is possible.

I'm so very sorry that you were so blinded by your own pain that you couldn't see how much pain you would put all of the rest of us in by taking your own life.

But, my dear one, know that I still love you so very much and that I'm not judging you or your actions. I've been there, multiple times. I can't even say with any certainty that I won't someday be there again.

I'm not angry with you. I am so deeply hurt by your actions, but I do understand. Life got to be too much for you. God--if there is one--gave you more than you could handle and you understandably broke.

I remember the last time I saw you alive:  December 15, 2012. I remember driving in a snowstorm all night to meet you outside of the seedy flop house you were staying at in one of the scariest neighborhoods in Detroit. I remember how I had packed a backpack full of granola bars, trail mix, homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, gatorade, and a blanket because I wanted you to have something to eat and something to help you fight off the bitter chill of a Michigan winter.

When we finally met up, I remember how truly glad you seemed to be to see me. You hugged me so tightly and with such warmth of feeling and wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. I remember taking out a sandwich and forcing you to eat the whole thing--crusts and all--in front of me because you were so scarily skeletal from malnutrition. I even gave you my last five dollars, even though I knew you would just shoot it into your veins, because I wanted you to know that I still cared, that not everyone in the family had written you off.

We talked and laughed for almost an hour about all sorts of things, the same way we used to as kids. I remember wishing you a Merry Christmas as we were saying our goodbyes. You held me so tightly again, and it astonished me that someone so rail thin could still be so strong.

You didn't see it, but once I turned the corner as I made my way back to where my car was parked, I fell to my knees and wept violently because I knew I'd never see you alive again.

I just hope that you did have a Merry Christmas that year because I wanted to do so much more for you and give you so much more than just some broke-ass college student staples and pocket change, but I couldn't.

I hope you felt loved and cared for that Christmas because you were and still are so much.

I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you from yourself.

I'm so sorry that you didn't feel you could've turned to me when I would've moved heaven and earth for you had I just known one iota about the depths of your despair.

So just know, my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle buddy, my partner in crime, my hero, my friend, that I still love you and always will.

If you want my forgiveness, I will more than give it to you, even though I don't feel that you did anything wrong. If you want it, it's yours.

I hope with all of my being that you have found the peace you needed in life now that you've crossed over into death.

I hope that one day I'll see you again.

See you on the other side, Slimer.

Love Always,

Cousin Meelee

The glass is half full

So, yesterday was the big day.

Yes, the big day of my friend's charity fundraiser.

And I showed up with my game face on. (See above.)

Surprisingly, it went fairly well, in spite of the doom and gloom I was anticipating.

Unfortunately, I didn't sell many items. The event was ill attended due to the fact that it was just a rainy crappy day. (The event had always been scheduled to be indoors, but the torrential downpour that went on for the majority of the day was unpleasant to get out in.)

However, despite the fact that I didn't rake in the cash, I came away with two things that are way more important than money:  knowledge and confidence.

Since it was such a slow day for all of the vendors at the event, we all started chatting with one another. When the other vendors found out that this was my first event of any sort, they were amazingly nice. They all pretty much spent the whole day teaching me lessons about how to improve your sales at similar events. They also gave me some great contact information for networking purposes. I even have a lead on another, bigger event in my area that I'm going to try to get involved with.

I also came away with a huge confidence boost at the end of the day. Where I was afraid that my stuff would get some sort of horrible, disdainful reaction from the patrons and other vendors at the event, I was pleasantly amazed at the amount of positive feedback I received from everyone. Not one person who came to my table said anything negative about my jewelry. In fact, they all said things like "wow," "beautiful," "amazing," "so talented," "lovely," and "gorgeous." I even had several people take my information in order to contact me for custom work. That made me feel great.

People like my stuff.

People like my stuff!

It's so thrilling as a creative person to have just one other person admire what you've created and validate your spending your time and energy making/doing whatever it is that you do, but when a lot of people like your objects d'art, it's exciting. I swore to myself that I wouldn't make another piece of jewelry for a really long time after this event because I was feeling burned out, but no more. Now I want to create more and better.

Validation by the world of what it is that I do. It's strangely beautiful.  

Not my smoothest move

So, I ran into the gas station yesterday before work.

I had gone in merely to buy a pop because I spend the vast majority of my work shifts in constant prattle with customers and my mouth gets really dry. 

I had not gone into the gas station to confront Mr. Clerk about his lack of calling, etc. 

And guess who is behind the register when I check out.

I hadn't intended on talking to Mr. Clerk any more than necessary to complete the purchase of my pop, but he cut straight to the chase.

He told me he hadn't called because he's moving out of the area. It was even done in a sort of apologetic way, even though I never spoke about or implied that I wanted some sort of apology or explanation for his behavior. 

Though it was disappointing news to hear on my end, it was the most decent goddamned thing any man who is not related to me has ever done for me. 

All those times I got "ghosted" in the past, that was all I wanted:  just a simple explanation. Some final lines in the final act of the saga. A cue to know it was time to roll the credits. A swan song.

I don't even care if what Mr. Clerk told me was a complete and total lie. It was a beautiful, benevolent lie (if it was one) because it was done with the intention of sparing me the pain caused by uncertainty and ambivalence.

And now I feel like a complete fucking bitch. I deliberately gave him my number/contact information as a way to force his hand in one direction or another, to either get him to an awkward place in which he would force himself to ignore me or get some sort of additional contact with him. (I really, in all honesty, had no idea what I would've done had he called me because I was so sure he wouldn't call that I never bothered to plot out a Plan B.) In an earlier post on this page, I flippantly dared him not to call. 

And now I know that were circumstances different in his life, he would've called because he's a decent human being who doesn't jerk people around. Or I can at least pretend that if he just blew me a bunch of smoke about why he hasn't called. 

I can believe for at least one fleeting moment that maybe, just maybe, there are some people out there who are honest and don't play games and think of others before themselves and consider that maybe it's wrong to be deliberately hurtful to another person. 

It's a beautiful belief, whether or not it's based in any sort of reality. And I'm ashamed that I was so selfish and callous in the face of it.

So, Mr. Clerk, if you're reading this, just know that I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was a bitch. You're a good guy, and you'll make some fortunate girl very happy some day. 

And I'm sorry that it was my own jaded stupidity that kept me blind to that fact. You deserve better:  go out there and get it.

All the best,

Thursday    

Panic! at the Craft Store

Glitter is the herpes of crafts. --Demetri Martin

So what's been keeping me so busy lately?

One word:  Crafting.

Or at least something like it.

I have a good friend who is a local zumba instructor, and she is having a charity zumbathon to help raise funds and collect food items for one of the largest local food pantries. She saw the jewelry stuff I'd basically been doing for shits and giggles on my Facebook page and was so impressed that she asked me to sell my jewelry at said charity zumbathon.

Since she is such a good friend, and as I was feeling very flattered that she actually thinks I have some sort of talent in this department, I accepted.

But now I'm really starting to regret my "yes" answer to her "will you please" question.

See, the zumbathon is May 30. Not too far away. It's a little late to back out now.

And I am suffering from some serious self-doubt. Like I feel like a total fraud/phony/talentless asshat right about now. I don't feel like people will take me seriously as a professional in terms of my jewelry.

Basically, my initial flattered excitement has been replaced by absolute abject panic and terror. I've actually been in tears a few times about this issue lately. Never when anyone is around, but the tears and sobs were still there.

This is basically the most professional and adult and serious thing I have done in my whole entire 31 years on this planet, and I'm absolutely terrified that I'm going to seriously fuck it up.

And I'm actually going to end this post now because I'm starting to become overwhelmed with emotion and panic and terror and dread again to the point where writing about it is not helping.

Please God, don't let me fuck this up.

A new low?

So it's been a while since I last posted. Been busy and in a funk all at the same time. But now that I've got a moment and I'm no longer feeling apathetic, I'll write.

There's a gas station I stop at almost every day that I work for my essential intake of caffeine, nicotine, and gasoline for my truck. There's a guy clerk there who likes to flirt with me. I'll admit I enjoy the attention somewhat, so I often flirt back.

But no more.

See, I'm a "cut to the chase" kind of girl. I don't like pussyfooting around when it comes to matters of the heart. So I decided to end the perpetual moony-eyed nonsense that was going on between me and the clerk and slipped him my number.

I seriously doubt he'll call. That is always my luck. 

And now, my total lack of good fortune in the romance department isn't phasing me. 

Seriously. It's not.

I could honestly not care if he doesn't call. Or if he does. It would be nice if he called, but if not, no big deal. I'm 31 fucking years old and I ain't got time to worry about ambivalent bullshit energy from menfolk.

If he doesn't call, it's his loss. I'm a pretty decent person, and I have lots of friends and family who love and care about me, so I'm good in the social relationships department.  

But it's not just my total lack of any feeling, positive or negative, on this subject that has shocked me. It's my audacious attitude behind the reason I gave Mr. Clerk my number. 

You see, given all of my past experiences with this maneuver, especially since it always results in a big goose egg, I'm basically daring him to call me. 

That's right. I'm so convinced that he's not going to call that it's almost like I said,  "Go ahead! I don't think you've got spleen enough to even attempt to call me! I double dog dare you to call me!" when I handed him that little slip of paper with my name and number on it. 

So, yeah. I think I've struck a new low in my dating life:  Malicious number giving. 

And it doesn't bother me a bit. 

Ball's in your court, clerky boy.   

It's official!

I've opened my shop on etsy!

BiteCat Jewelry

Go. Visit. Shop. Now.

A new annual tradition!

I'm starting a new bad annual tradition here. It's like that fruitcake you always get at Christmas, but one better because it celebrates the arrival of spring. So here it is, without further ado, the new annual tradition, simply titled "I'm in a Spica Splint--Again!":

I'm hoping to, once again, avoid surgery with the combination of this spiffy spica splint and a big nasty steroid shot in my right wrist. The doctor says that if I don't feel any relief from the pain I've been suffering with in four weeks, then I'll most likely have to have surgery. However, I'm feeling quite good right now, so I'm hoping to get by with just wearing the splint for a long time. Regardless, the splint stays on for six weeks. And since I'm staggeringly right-handed, life is quite interesting since I now cannot use my right hand for much of anything while the splint is on. (I am allowed to take the splint off to bathe and wash my hands. But that's it.)

As spiffy as spica splints are, I'll be glad to have this one off! (However, it is pretty cool that I now have a matching pair...)

When life gives you lemons...

Well, the latest in a seemingly endless series of doctor visits has resulted in a crimp in my plans:  possible surgery! (Again!)

For those of you who have been reading this blog for a while now, you'll recall that about this time last year, I had to go to see a hand surgeon because I had a fractured bone in my left wrist.

Well, guess what? This year, I'm seeing the same surgeon next week for about the same problem in my right hand!

:D !!!

Not really.

Basically, what's going on with my right wrist/hand/arm is that I have an avulsion fracture to the tip of my radius (arm bone below the wrist on the thumb side) that is of "indeterminant" (sp?) age.

No, I do not know when I did this to my arm. I haven't fallen or anything specific like that. I know about how old the fracture is, though. (I think.) My arm/wrist/thumb started really hurting in late October of last year, about the time it got really cold in the area where I live. I put off dealing with the problem until now because I have never lost use of my thumb and it (the pain) seemed to be resolving on its own--that is, until it started hurting like a real motherfucker again. That's when I finally broke down and went and got the x-ray and CT the doctor requested.

This time, because of the way the bone is broken (yes, it is actually broken, there's a bone chip and everything floating around in my wrist's synovial fluid), I don't get a spiffy spica splint. Major sad face. :(

However, surgery will be interesting given how staggeringly right-handed I am. I'm just wondering how this will affect my work as a fabric cutter/cashier at the craft store and my ability to go back to school, especially since I'm poised to start practical (hands-on) classes in just a few months.

I'll keep you posted, but in the meantime, don't expect a whole lot on here because it does hurt to type.

And pray that you don't have weak wrist bones like me! This going to the hand surgeon stuff really sucks!

A good word or two

I know I usually kinda whine and complain on this page. That is, in part, why I created it.

But I'm not always a whiner. 

Some really good things have been happening to me lately, so I'll share.

First, there's the job at the craft store. Not only have they cross-trained me to run the cash registers, but now they are starting to schedule me for early morning stocking/merchandising duties. It's nice to know that they think I'm capable and trustworthy enough to perform such duties. Both the store manager and the merchandising/assistant store manager are very demanding, exacting ladies (which is not a bad thing because it allows the store to run well), so I know they don't assign these duties to just anyone. 

Another good thing that has happened to me has been my jewelry making. I've been making a lot of jewelry lately and posting pictures of it on my Facebook page, and the response from my friends and relatives has been overwhelmingly positive. My friends and family have been pushing me to start a site of my own to sell my stuff on etsy.com, which I am planning to do some time in the near future. (I'll post a link to my etsy page here, so stay tuned.) 

I am also going to be making a public debut as a jewelry designer at a good friend's zumbathon on May 30. My friend saw my jewelry pictures on my Facebook page and liked them so much that she asked me to be a vendor at the event, which is also a charity fundraiser for the local food pantry. I'm excited about this event, but nervous too, like really nervous. My friend just sent me the vendor contract for the zumbathon, which I have to sign and return, but it said that the local news media outlets will be present, which really makes the scale of this event hit home. This ain't some little extra-large exercise class, this is the real deal. I still have a lot to do between now and then, so wish me luck in the mean time!

And somehow, I have to fit in going back to nursing school into all this...

Oy vey. I hope I'm not biting off more than I can chew!  

Long time, no read

Well, well, well...it's certainly been a while. 

But don't fret, I'm still alive.

And well.

I've just been very busy.

I got a job at a craft store as a fabric cutter in mid-November and I put in some pretty mad hours in order to make some money.

And the boss noticed.

So I was hired on to be a permanent employee! Joy of joys! 

I haven't had a steady job since 2008. Being mostly unemployed (I've worked retail almost every winter holiday season since 2008) has taught me gratitude for the opportunity I currently have at this position, however humble it may be. (I'm only making $0.15 above federal minimum wage and I'm only given part-time hours.) Some of it may also be the fact that I'm almost 31, too, and I'm a little more mature and balanced than I was in my 20s. Some of it is also the fact that I'm finally on a medication regimen that is truly effective at keeping my bipolar disorder in check.

But I don't take anything at this job for granted. I show up on time, if not early, for my shifts. I do what I'm told when I'm told to do it, and I do it to the best of my ability. I redo the task without complaint if I do it incorrectly the first time. I don't gossip amongst my fellow employees. I treat everyone with respect. I am patient with even the most difficult/demanding customers and co-workers.

Sometimes it's not easy to do those things, but I really think being in a good frame of mind and body really helps. Bipolar disorder is, if not anything, as much a physical disorder as a mental one. People don't understand how hard it is to show up for work routinely and not be an emotional wreck when your bipolar disorder is affecting you. How hard it is to get along with the people you interact with and follow orders, either because you're too emotional to properly follow instructions or your mind is too clouded by fatigue and chaos to understand the instructions.

But I can truly say I'm better now. I'm not cured, I know that. There is no cure for bipolar disorder, only management, sort of like diabetes. My life will be a regimen of pills until I take my final breath, but I'm o.k. with that. To be calm and rational and genuinely happy is worth it. 

And now that I'm in a better frame of mind and body, my life is truly starting to make a turn around for the better. I had a successful semester at college last year at this time and graduated with my AA in Social Sciences. I even graduated with honors. I'm planning to go back and get my RN, hopefully this spring if the financial aid gods decide to smile upon me. But I'll definitely be back in school by this fall.

It's nice to have my life falling into place, to be able to see and plan for a bright, positive future.

People who don't have mental illnesses don't understand how gravely it affects your life. How it makes you literally unable to see the forest for the trees. Like I said, bipolar disorder is like diabetes:  once you're diagnosed, you're never the same. You must carefully plan and monitor yourself and turn to effective professionals at the first sign of trouble. It's odious and frightening, but the only mature solution to the problem is to embrace the diagnosis and work to manage it. 

And though I would never wish mental illness on anyone, I do not regret that I have bipolar disorder. It has taught me many things about myself and humanity:  some good, some not so good. But the most important thing it has taught me is that I have bipolar disorder, but I am not bipolar disorder. I am so many things above and beyond that.

And I'm ready, willing, and able to have a life above and beyond my diagnosis.

Watch out world, I'm coming.