Posted in My Life Now, New Year's Resolution Progress, Texas- Living with Parents

New Year’s Resolutions for 2020 – Progress as of February 4th

Yes, I know it’s February. Just go with me on this! I usually don’t set New Year’s Resolutions. Don’t get me wrong. It’s my favorite holiday! I love the attitude and the positive hope that surrounds the celebration of another year of life completed and the next to come.

The thing is, I am one of those people who believe it’s always time to seek self improvement. And somehow, most of the times I’ve started a lofty goal it’s been at random times during the year (I learned to paint in spring, make balloon animals in summer, and started a weight loss regime in the fall). Hardly ever have I done anything productive right at the start of a new year. I’ve actually made bigger changes after Halloween and before Thanksgiving, like the time I became vegetarian! Yep! Right before Thanksgiving. That was an interesting holiday season, haha.

Continue reading “New Year’s Resolutions for 2020 – Progress as of February 4th”

Posted in Thoughts and the Past

The Internet is NOT a Replacement for my Profession!

I’m sick of people judging me and my profession. There is no such thing as the food police. You ignorant   You unknowing judgmental people. Do you know how annoying it is to hear the same boring, (insulting even!) stupid joke every time I tell someone what it is I majored in?

Ignoramus:

Oh, so what are you studying?

Me (already knowing what is coming):

………..uhh…….. (trying to decide if I want to answer or change the topic of conversation)

………(deciding this person might be different. Telling myself I shouldn’t be ashamed to admit what I’m pursuing)

Nutrition….

Ignoramus:

OoOoH! DoN’t LoOk aT Me! YoU GoNnA PuT mE oN A dIeT??? UhhhHhhHhFbnZS: VBHI

(sorry, got a little frustrated there.)

Continue reading “The Internet is NOT a Replacement for my Profession!”

Posted in Thoughts and the Past

Life is but a Story

Recently I’ve found myself wondering why I tend to say yes to crazy or ill thought out ideas. I was a boring teenager. Extremely so. I hardly ever left my house if it wasn’t for school or volunteer events. ….Or, I’ll admit, math team competitions. I remember joining the six or seven clubs I was in simply to fill my non-existent resume. Then I remember participating in activities or volunteer opportunities just to have an answer to “what did you do this weekend”.

 

My Ex Told me that Life is a Story

Without knowing it, I did things out of my norm to have a story to tell. It’s not anything new. However, when my ex-boyfriend put it into words for me by quoting his favorite show, Dr. Who, it was like I was learning this for the first time. He said, “‘We are all stories in the end….'” Of all the ways he impacted my life, this is one of the most memorable. He wasn’t the first to tell me something along these lines, but he was the first to tell me at a time I could finally understand it.

Continue reading “Life is but a Story”

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I Am Miserable- three months after moving back home with my parents

It’s extremely depressing to realize you currently have nothing to live for. My mood is a fucking roller coaster. It is exhausting and always refreshingly strong in its mania and depression.

 

Be Careful What You Wish For…

So, I realized why I’m so miserable since I came home from my year-long internship in Puerto Rico. (Believe me, I was miserable there too, but in a different way.) I have nothing to live for. I don’t have anything going for me in my life. I thought this is what I wanted. I thought I could use several months to reset and improve my life. To focus on myself and in a sense set myself up for success when I ultimately begin my career. Nope. That did not work.

I’ve been back at my parent’s home since July. It’s been three months. Feels like so much longer. I hate the emptiness. I thought I wanted to be free of school and work stress. I dread getting a job, because people stress me out. I can’t live without anything at stake though. I’ve gone from one extreme to the next and every day I feel like I’m worse off. I had the opportunity to move to West Texas with a friend and I decided against that because my father in a heartfelt moment told me “you’ve suffered so much already”. He pretty much told me to take a long deserved break. That got to me.

 

Another Flashback to my Less than Perfect Childhood. Boo Hoo. Feel Free to Skip; You’ve Read This All Before.

Thinking back, my life has been as easy as an unfortunate life can be. By age ten I was used to the idea that I had to look after myself. Moreover, I felt responsibility for my family (my mother, brother, and father). By 14 and for the entirety of my high school years, I felt little to nothing. I was practically a kid. My mind was older, sage and self sacrificing and my body was grossly overweight like a middle aged woman, but my age was young. Too young for how I went about life and how it treated me.

I felt almost nothing those years. I remember admitting aloud that I did not feel love from my parents nor did I have feelings of love for them, but from my behavior you would not have been able to tell. They were my obligation. Fact, not feeling. I helped in anyway I could. Ways that shouldn’t have been asked of me and, to be fair, ways that were not asked of me.

 

Why I’m Obsessed with Achievements and Why I am a Masochist

But that is who I was. Who I still am, if these last three months mean anything. I tried to keep them happy. As happy as they could be, given the circumstances. I felt like their protector. I felt strong and learned to enjoy that spark of a high. If nothing else made me feel anything, being responsible for my family made me feel accomplished. Well, not that I could really feel that then. That may be why it did something for me. I didn’t have to feel it. It was evident. On paper and not in my heart, it was clear my playing the part of comedian, translator, perfect daughter, etc. was an accomplishment.

That’s how I learned the intoxicating power of selflessness. Of putting myself last. Of suffering for the health of others. And liking it. So, yes, to all of my friends who have come to know me personally and have asked me why I put so much on my plate or why I’m such a masochist. I finally have an answer for you. Selflessness meant something to me when nothing else did. So, in a sense, it wasn’t true selflessness, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time.

It gave me a purpose. School also gave me a purpose. My parents were preoccupied with other much more important things than me. I understood that and accepted it. I still do as much as it still hurts. I wasn’t about to stress them out more by being a mediocre student. So, I had a goal of high grades and going off to university to escape my home.  As paradoxical as it sounds (and get used to that, because it’s the essence of my being), I strived for new academic heights as a way to please my parents, (well, not even that, just to not stress them) and I also did this for my own personal gain- escape.

 

But It Was Not Enough To Make Me Happy

I, understandably, was miserable. I grew up being told I was melodramatic. I believed it. I thought I should have been happy. My parents weren’t divorced, I had an older brother, had good grades, and a couple of friends plus those everyday things sometimes taken for granted like clothes, clean water, electricity, etc. and I was capable in many areas as my never ending new hobbies proved. I felt I should have been happy, but I knew I wasn’t. So I left.

Without more than enough money awarded to me by my high school to pay for the dorm fee and without the support of my father (to move several hours away) I left for university where my purpose was free from my need to please them. I learned my own values and began therapy. I learned to feel. I was finally happy. I was free. I was me. Then I, confused and without anyone knowledgeable to ask, I picked my major. Then changed it the next semester. (As always here is the link to that story.)

 

And I Set Myself Up For a Life of Self-Loathing

I feel as if I tried to fail out of that major throughout most of my time completing it. I almost did, in fact. An internship is mandatory in my career. I almost did not get matched….but I did. If you’ve read my blog during the last year, you’ll know how that went. (Hint: I say this in the truest sense of the word- I am traumatized.) Now I have to take an exam. That’s it. I’ve tried so hard to sabotage myself and this could be it.

I went through the education to become a pharmacy technician and simply did not take that exam. That sent my life in a completely different direction. I ended up doing hospitality/customer service work (more trauma there) instead of a much higher paying job in the field I originally sought to pursue. (Link to that story here.) This lead to my first choice of major (hospitality) and ultimately my degree (nutrition and dietetics).

 

I Believe I Could Be Happy if I Chose to Be… But Will I?

I think I could be happy in this career, but I spent so long fighting it, I don’t know with certainty anymore. I should feel blessed. I am grateful. I understand a bachelor’s degree is an accomplishment. But it doesn’t feel like anything to me. I feel like a failure. I am very disappointed in myself and my life choices. Half the time, I fully hate myself. After five years of working for this wretched career, I’m at a critical point of make or break. I have no doubt in my ability to pass the exam. I have the capacity to learn. I just have to convince myself it’s something I want to do.

That’s terrifying. I still don’t have an exam date. I haven’t registered. (I don’t have the money for it, plus I’m just putting it off.) I also don’t doubt the possibility that I simply will not take it. That I will have suffered though that despicable internship for nothing. I’m in limbo. If that’s the only thing I have to work towards, if that’s the only guiding light in my life right now, it’s no wonder I feel dead inside. I don’t have anything to life for. Worse yet, the only thing looming in front of me is a career that so far has brought me more pain than joy (and not the good type of pain!).

 

WOO HOO! Summary Time Finally!

That was to be my first point in this rambling: the biggest thing I have to work towards at the moment is something I’m almost convinced I dislike. Obviously, I’m resistant. Obviously, this makes me unhappy. My second point is that, being back in this household, I’ve lost the sense of myself I’d gained during the last five years on my own. I’m not the perfect daughter or sister, but I still have strong urges to help my family before myself.

With how depressed I’ve been, that has proven difficult, but when it comes down to it they are a higher priority to me than myself. That isn’t healthy. My third point, and one for a separate post because that’s a much longer complaint, is that triathlon training is slow. My faulty coping mechanism of emotional eating was never resolved during my years away from home, but it was improved, for sure. Nope. Now I hear my parent’s voices sometimes and instinctively reach for chocolate.

So yeah, TLDR: I’m miserable. I’m all kinds of messed up and I recently realized I currently have no pleasurable purpose in life.

SO… life sucks. Try to have a decent day, but if you can’t, I don’t blame you.

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The Happiest I’ve Ever Been

I have four unfinished drafts. I haven’t written in four weeks… or more. I get four new ideas every sleepless night. There’s too much and not enough going on in my life. And I can’t take it anymore. I’m writing at 3 am and decided to publish whatever word vomit I create. A friend of mine once suggested (likely out of pity) that my readers must like the honesty that these sad writing sessions are born from. He said this after I expressed confusion that one such word vomit post did infinitely better, views-wise, than a post I spent upwards of eight hours on.

 

Audio of this post:

 

The Best Four Months of My Life

 

Living on my own, therapy, love, and more…

I want to write. I do. I used to fight for myself. I did very well- surprisingly well- the first semester I moved into an apartment on campus by myself. Sure I had apartment-mates, but I saw them each no more than three times that whole school year (they were worse recluses than me!). It took until finals time to falter. That semester in group therapy I gave more advice than sought it. My life was great and I ran with that. Literally. That was when I started running. I wanted to do a 5K. About two months in I was pushing myself and that was the only area in my life I would not be satisfied with. I wanted to continuously improve and did.

I loved my life that year. It was the best semester of my life. Best three or four months of my life. I did things because I wanted to and that was that. I tried the whole vegetarian thing. I was looking into studying abroad. It was glorious. And, of course, I was in love. My first boyfriend. That’s pure. Completely the wrong person for me and that became blatantly apparent in the next few months, but for that brief beginning… it was glorious. I didn’t know I could be so happy.

 

Friendship, Healthier Coping, and Constant Support

That was the semester I began a friendship with one of the most caring people I’ve ever met- Mariah. I’d never had such a close friendship with someone before. It’s incredible she’s still my friend. That was also the semester we both turned 21. Every other weekend we’d get together, just the two of us (well with her boyfriend playing video games on a nearby couch), at her apartment to hang out and try different types of alcohol. Not the wildest college drinking stories. Not even close. But the best I could have asked for.

I’ve had issues with emotional overeating since I was about 10 years old. That semester? Not until finals time. It was like I imagine nicotine cravings are. Awful. Constant. And gnawing. Obviously, it wasn’t without a couple slip ups, but until I gave up during finals week… it was amazing. I sang so much that semester. Constant music. That’s what they always say. Therapists and other positive role models I’ve had: replace negative behaviors with positive ones. It’s so difficult. Sounds simple, but a song isn’t as effective as a donut for me. Not at first. That’s the semester I learned to be okay with crying. I’d been told crying isn’t shameful since I’d started therapy two years prior to that semester, but on my then boyfriend’s shoulder I accepted it.

It was my first semester as manager at a little food shop on campus. I met my coworkers I’d be friends with for the remainder of my university career. I was so nervous about my first leadership role. The boyfriend was constant support through anything and everything that semester. I’d never had that. With him, my therapists, my friends, and a pinch of belief in myself I learned I could be happy. I didn’t have to keep punishing myself for something I felt I deserved.

 

Beginning to Like Myself and Learning to Enjoy Life

I can’t underestimate this next part. I’ve hated the way I look, especially my weight, over any horrible thought I’ve ever had about my intelligence or other abilities. I never in a million years thought I’d look at myself with anything but disgust and shame. That semester, sometimes I’d wish I looked like someone’s reflection or shadow I’d catch at the corner of my eye then I’d realize that reflection or shadow had been mine. It was extremely confusing and alien at first. I began wearing tank tops for Pete’s sake! I liked how they looked… I almost can’t believe I got to that point. I was by no means skinny. I’ve dreamt of being skinny for more than a decade at this point. I didn’t weigh myself that whole semester. Maybe once for a class, but I think I refused to look at the time. Yet, I’ve never been happier with my body. Sometimes I would look in a mirror (I hate mirrors) and like how I looked! Actually looked at myself and felt good- confident even!

Unbelievable! That whole semester… And I enjoyed the heck out of it. As I experienced it I knew it likely would end. I was terrified. Like an unsavory indigestion I kept swallowing down. Yet, I pushed it aside and had the best three or four months of my life. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re used to wallowing in sadness sure that that’s all you’re worth- pain and disappointment- four months is infinity. I regret nothing. I lived. I loved. And I sure as hell made the best of it.

 

Where Am I Now?

Wow. That was certainly not the direction I expected this to go. Usually when my mind wanders it reminds me how unhappy I currently am. Getting creative, Brain. You jerk. Well, since I doubt I’ll finish up those other four drafts anytime soon, here’s the summary.

  1. I used to publish just whenever I was inspired on my old blog which was about once a month. I’m done making promises I won’t keep. Not to be rude, but I can’t keep disappointing myself. I’ll publish when I publish. Sorry.
  2. I hate living at home. My friend offered to let me move in with her, but she lives in West Texas about six hours away from where I currently live. I said no. I regret that at least five times a day. Okay, maybe only three times a day.
  3. I’m codependent without anyone to be codependent with. That’s what those four drafts said in a nutshell.
  4. The fourth kind of overlaps with the friend offering her home thing. It was a pros and cons list of moving out or living at home with my parents.

 

I hate my life right now. I have plans to make it better. I hope I follow through with them. It’s kind of difficult at the moment to find motivation. But what choice do I have? It’s fight for myself or be miserable. I know I’ve written something like this at least five times before, but that’s what I’ve found life to be: a repetitive pep talk where I have to convince myself I’m the most qualified person to care and put in the work to make my life enjoyable. I don’t know what else I can do.

I’ve given up on people before and I will never forgive myself for it. I’m terrified of what will happen if I give up on myself completely. I’ve seriously let myself go, but I know there’s some line I’ve never crossed. I know I haven’t reached rock bottom. Things can be worse. And I’m afraid. I don’t want to get there. I won’t get there. Stupid pep talk after stupid pep talk- I won’t let myself get there. Thanks, Fear. Thanks, Unhappiness. I will only let my life get better because of you.

Posted in Uncategorized

Clingy Ex and a Cool New Song

Loved You Once by Clara Mae (lyrics by AirwaveMusicTV)

We don’t need to be best friends
We don’t need to hang again
But tell me why we have to be strangers?
‘Cause I loved you once

Surprise! As I was making the current playlist post before this one I found this song by an artist I like. I can tell upon first listen that it’s going to make its way to my playlist immediately. Especially as at the moment of writing this my ex keeps texting me and apologizing for how he treated me when we were dating and not appreciating me. That’s the gist of it at least. He’s sent me two or three of those texts in just the past three weeks now that I’m back in town. Our relationship only lasted for nine months and was mostly long distance. We broke up in summer of 2017. It’s summer of 2019 as I publish this. -___-

I can’t be nice anymore. It isn’t working. I could be his friend because I now know and firmly believe what everyone told me when he and I were together: that I can do way better than him. It sounds harsh, but it’s true. I don’t want him back and there is nothing he could say or do to change my mind. I’m not that naive and desperate as I was when we got together; nor will I ever be again. That being said, as Ariana Grande put it and I’ve been telling him over a year before the song got released: Thank You, Next. I could be his friend, because I feel this way.

But I don’t believe he can. Unfortunately I’ve dealt with clingy people like him before and any form of niceness just encourages them. Asking to hang out like friends (when our “dates” were us watching movies or shows at his house anyway) that would just not be a good idea. I am not about to even imply to his delusional mind that I want anything more than a friendship which is how he’d interpret my friendship, I’m sure because it has happened before.

It’s been two years and he says he can’t let it go. Two years is long enough. If you can’t move on J, at least leave me alone.

 

Note: Picture from Pexel’s Free Photo Library
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The Gift of Gab, no! The Wit of Writing!

Writing is such an eclectic thing. You know how some people have the gift of gab? I most definitely do not have that. I do, however, have something much less useful in this world of short attention spans: the wit of writing? I guess??? I can write. On and on and on. Yet, I don’t like to. I have no direction. That’s what my fourth grade teacher said. (She was right and I’ll never forget it as long as it’s true.) And without that direction, I can go anywhere and jump from one topic to any other. In writing.

It doesn’t connect to conversations. You would think that it would because it’s my same brain and my same knowledge and thought processes, but no. A rotund no. With people, they have to say something to me first. Otherwise I won’t talk to you unless it’s absolutely necessary. Then I’ll respond to your queries. If you have no queries…. I go silent. I wasn’t always like this. In fact. I was quite the opposite. The silence used to make me nervous and I’d purposefully and awkwardly fill in all the gaps with nonsense babble. Until a friend straight up told me it wasn’t necessary and that silence was okay. I took the idea and ran.

Dammit Jane. (My sophomore year roommate. XD)

On paper (or screen too, I guess) it’s different. I can write and write and write. About something as well as nothing. I will sit and stare at the screen not feeling in the mood to write often or not wanting to make the effort to fully develop an idea that I care about. Is it strange or self absorbed to say I value my ideas that much? But I do! I don’t want to just spew trash to you guys! That’s why I find it so difficult to actually write. This that I’m doing now is easy. It’s that thing I least enjoyed analysing in English class: stream of consciousness. Writing anything and everything that comes to mind. In other words… word vomit.

That’s easy. But to take one (just one!) idea from all of the shining beams of thought shooting around my mind and tend to it, clothe it, feed it, and nurture it into a fully developed adult. Eh, I’ll settle for adolescent. That’s difficult.

So, what did we learn today? I’m a lazy piece of shit that simultaneously thinks too highly of her ideas yet too lowly of herself to formulate them into something sensible and meaningful. We also learned that, yes, I’m committed to publishing Friday Thoughts and Pasts posts again. I’m sorry. XD

 

Help me out for next week, will ya?

 

 

Note: Picture from Pexel’s Free Photo Library

 

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Should I Write About More Risqué Happenings in my Life?: A Personal Word on Explicit Topics

Original Strategy: Censor Everything

My strategy since I started using social media was to be completely censored. No swear words, no inappropriate photos (pretty much no photos of myself, even) and, of course, no sexual talk. Honestly it wasn’t a problem at first since I didn’t swear, hated getting photos taken of myself, and didn’t have a romantic life, much less a sexual one. With the passing years, each of these things have become a part of my life and I’ve adapted to that. I’ve eased up on it for my blog because my blog is small and feels like my little safe corner of the internet.

However, maybe one day it won’t be so small, or maybe it will, but a future employer, family member, or acquaintance will find it which will result in unfair judgement. After all, people get to know each other slowly. It’s usually not an open manuscript like on my blog. While I do have a lot of sensitive material on here (personal stories and insecurities), I have not broached the sexuality thing.

 

Current Censorship Thoughts on Swear Words, Pictures, and Sexuality

Swear words are fine. (Until the internet forces me to censor it.) Sorry if you have a problem with that. You have been warned. I have included a couple of pictures of myself on this blog. It’s still not something I feel comfortable doing all the time, but it’s not off the table. More risqué photos, well, we’re not like that, fam. Unless I get super fit and proud of my body, there’s no reason for it to happen anyway. But sexuality…

It’s definitely a new area in my life. I thought I would need to be super fit and proud of my body for that to even be a thing, but apparently not. And there’s nothing wrong with it! I don’t want to just censor everything that happens. It’s part of my life and it’s a fun topic. UGHHH. Really. It’s my family reading this stuff that worries me more than random strangers/employers awkwardly bringing anything “inappropriate” I write up in conversation.

 

My Main Concerns: My Parents and Internet Backlash

Not even most of my family. It’s my parents. I’d hate for them to find out about something I haven’t told them. Ever since my first (also my only) boyfriend I refuse to talk about romantic or sexual topics with them, so it’d be pretty much any story within these topics. UGHHHHH. But I don’t want to live in fear of what they will think or say. I’ve lived that to an extreme most of my life. It’s why I didn’t take a chance on my first real crush. That could have been beautiful and I do regret it.

No! But what’s the limit? After all, my blog is still a brand. What type of stories do I want to be known for? I firmly believe that one should not be afraid to be completely honest. If you wouldn’t want other people to find out about something, you likely shouldn’t do it in the first place. BUT! The internet is a topsy turvy place and people are all sensitive nowadays. BUT! I’m never going to make everyone happy nor do I want to waste the time or energy to try to do that. This is my blog. This is me. I’m going to be honest.

Yet! Not everything needs to be shared. I don’t tell y’all everytime I go to the bathroom or smile at a pigeon while walking down the street. If it seems like a fun story, I’ll share it. Otherwise, what’s the point? It’s not different than any other topic. I don’t believe in unnecessary censoring. (Watch the episode in season 4 of Black Mirror titled Arkangel for a much more eloquent argument about that.)

 

 

Speaking of well worded arguments against censoring, here’s a quote from an article I read recently on the topic.

Do not write for other people, second-guessing what “they” will like. That’s a sure path to mediocrity. If you’re going to fail, fail spectacularly. Jump off the building, not the stoop.

Johnny Shaw for Writer’s Digest “Why You Shouldn’t Censor Yourself When Writing

 

Embracing the Potential Consequences

Welp, I won’t say I’m not scared about the potential consequences/backlash, but I’m a masochist and I believe pain and controversy is necessary to learn and grow, so I’m going to do it! I’m going to talk to you guys about sexy times! XD It’s somewhat ridiculous that I had to give myself a pep talk to feel ready to do that. X) But really, life is short. How many slutty days do I have left? No one knows! Might as well get all that out of my system and into written word. The extra entertainment factor for y’all is just a plus!

 

The Saucier Side of My Most Romantic Date with Chance

Soooo, look forward to some saucier stories??? Haha, let’s see which one I want to tell first. Ah. I know how to start. Remember that post about the most romantic date I’d ever been on (my first date with Chance)? Specifically part 2? (Link here) Yeah, well when we had our first kiss, it did turn into multiple kisses. Not a ton of tongue, but definitely making out. And Chance wasn’t just holding my waist like an old fashioned sweetheart. No, his hand slid down a bit to fondle my ass. And I let him.

When we sat on the stairs, he pulled me into his lap and we continued making out as he continued to caress my behind and eventually found the hem of my shirt. I was a bit disconcerted, but I allowed it. When his big hands found my breast (woo!) did I start breathing a little heavier. That night wasn’t just shy and sweet and intellectual and personal. It was HOT. I’m sorry for censoring that part out. It’s part of my story and it adds something to it. Maybe I’ll write a post just adding in the sexy bits I’ve been erm… avoiding up until now. Or I’ll just not avoid them from now on. Not sure yet. I have a lot of stuff going on at the moment.

If you are wondering how the whole fondling moment ended that night, well, his other hand reached to go under my shirt. Maybe he was just trying to give my other breast some love, but I freaked thinking he was trying to pull up my shirt and I put my hand over his to get him to stop. He got the message and we continued kissing for a while before separating and him suggesting we get out of the stairwell before we went any further or did something we might regret. Something along those lines.

I just hoped for a kiss on the first date, but I have to say what actually happened was a pleasant surprise. WOO! This being honest thing is going to be fun! Also maybe hurtful depending on the reaction, but no matter!!!!

 

Comment Below!

Let me know your thoughts on this topic. Do you guys think it’s okay to swear, write about sexual activity, or other explicit topics? Would you/ do you write about these things in your own personal blog?

Also, did you guys expect the stuff with Chance on our first date? Or did y’all think it just ended with a couple kisses and some cuddles? X) Again, this is going to be fun! Welp, please comment below and look forward to the next post! 😀

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Health Doesn’t Just Come From Your Doctor: The Importance of a Team Approach to Health.

I’m easily triggered. Just because someone isn’t diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling. Do you know how many people have medical diagnoses that either aren’t discovered until years after the onset or at all? It’s not uncommon. And often times medical diagnoses have physical symptoms. Can you imagine how difficult it is to go about life with constant or extreme pain, inflammation, fever, cough, whatever it may be, and all the doctors, specialists, and medical professionals tell you nothing is wrong, when you clearly know it is? How can everyone- professionals especially- doubt what you feel so strongly every day?!

Now imagine that same negation, doubt, and being brushed off but no physical symptoms. Or the ones you do have aren’t even considered. I’m talking about undiagnosed mental disorders. I’ve gone to the doctor. Other than being overweight and having a twinge of high LDL cholesterol, I’m fine. You know, the last time I went to the doctor, the nurse asked about any signs of depression or anxiety. It’s a complicated, but simple question. I mean, the whole concept of mental illnesses are things most lay people (in my experience at least) don’t seem to understand. It was nice to be asked. I replied, “yeah, some anxiety”. I was too anxious to mention my depressive tendencies.

 My Experiences at the Doctor’s

I’ve been going to therapists/ support groups on and off for the last four years now and I can say that it’s really helped me. However, all of that was when I was in university. It was either free or really cheap, super close to where I lived, and on my own account. I remember the doctor I went to a couple years ago didn’t say a word to me about mental illness. But she sure did waive the mood screening she supposedly did. Just because I wasn’t bawling my eyes out or trembling as I spoke, I’m ruled out for anxiety and depression, not to mention all the other known disorders? I didn’t know the DSM had changed their criteria!

Mental health isn’t that easy. You can’t just look at someone and know they are mentally okay. Sometimes you can. I would argue that when I went to the doctor this winter, I was a stereotypical depressed person. I looked tired even through most of what I did during the day was sleep, I hadn’t showered in several days. I know the doctor and everyone else could tell by my greasy hair that fell slick over one side of my face. Maybe I looked better than I remember feeling, but the not having showered thing was evident.

Despite that and the fact that the nurse seemed to have written down something about my anxiety comment, the doctor didn’t mention a word about mental health. I understand doctors are much more physiologically inclined, but health is multifaceted! You couldn’t run a hospital with just cardiologists. What would people with diabetes do? Or burn patients? How about a hospital filled with dentists? No! Each medical professional has a role.

Collaborating with other Medical Professionals as a Dietetic Intern

As you guys may know if you read my weekly blogs, I am doing a nutrition internship at the moment with the end goal to become a licensed dietitian. My first rotations were mostly clinical which meant I was evaluating patients at hospitals. One thing that I got harped at for? Not referring patients to other medical professionals. At first, I assumed, well they called a nutrition specialist so I should focus on the nutrition aspect. Makes sense, right?

Yeah, well it isn’t that simple. Some patients were sedated, others had a tube down their throat, and yet others just didn’t understand their disease. I couldn’t just waltz into their hospital rooms and focus solely on nutrition. Everything was entwined. From the patient’s medical diagnosis (doctor), their ability to move (physical and/or occupational therapists), ability to swallow (speech pathologist), will to live and eat (psychologists), any damage/ deformity that could alter nutrition intake or absorption (surgeons), to when blood sugar was checked (nurses) and how much family support/ financial stability they had (social workers), it is all intertwined. If I had a patient who was hungry but was in too much pain to eat, I couldn’t do my job. Or, more like, it wouldn’t matter if I did my job because the patient still wouldn’t eat. That was doctor territory. I wasn’t about to tell a doctor what to do.

The Intertwined World of Medicine

Health is a complicated thing. It even goes beyond medical professions to each individual. It includes, yeah, any diseases, dental caries, and so on, but also diet, physical activity, sleep, stress management, and emotional balance. I knew that when I was doing nutrition evaluations at hospitals, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. I didn’t want to boss around professionals with more studies than me. But that wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. This is what I mean when I say health is simple and complex.

I don’t have to know all the inner workings of the body or mind or even that patient’s life. All I have to know is that if I see something not quite right, it’s okay to consult someone. It’s okay to take a couple minutes of someone’s time if I believe it would help. I am not a dentist, but if I have a patient who can’t eat because their dentures don’t fit right, it is my responsibility to call one. Otherwise, I’m being negligent. It’s wrong to recognize a problem (worse if you also recognize a solution and even worse if it’s a relatively simple solution) and then do nothing about it.

A medical professional shouldn’t leave a patient to figure things out if they have already figured it out. The least they can do is mention the observed problem to a patient and suggest they seek help from a specialist. Better yet would be to call in a referral. That being said, it is all health care worker’s responsibilities to be observant and help where they can. I know every profession is busy with their own work, but if you see something that’s not quite right, no matter your line of work, say something!

If Only my Doctors Read my Blog…

I’m getting better at it. I wish my doctors were better at it. I know I need some sort of mental health specialist to get out of this rut I’m falling into again. I’ve never experienced such extreme symptoms as I am right now. Yet, my doctor didn’t mention a word about mental health. She asked if I’d gone to the dentist though, so I guess that’s some positive points there.

I don’t know if I am certifiably insane. I don’t blame my doctors for the fact that I haven’t gotten up the courage to set up an appointment with a psychologist. I’m not saying people’s health is solely a doctor’s responsibility. In the end, you are in responsible for your health. What I’m saying is doctors are the gatekeepers that connect most other health professionals and a quick referral can change someone’s life for the better in a matter of weeks versus the months or years it may take that person to figure it out on their own or, as is my case, build up the courage to do something for themselves.

Oh, well, I guess that’s what natural selection is about, right? Hooray for not knowing what, if anything, is wrong with my mind!! Maybe I’ll feel like making an appointment with a psychologist next year…

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Do Anything

Note: Let’s try something, every time my mind yells a swear word I’ll write “frick” and every time I zone out I’ll mention it, both in italics. Other stuff in italics will be inner thoughts. Prepare to enter my mind. Sorry.

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Do anything. When I’m feeling extremely unmotivated, this is my only plea. Do anything. I’ve had days where I am so zoned out, it’s difficult to type “written by: Laura”. (That happened a week ago…) Frick. I’m zoning out now. I don’t know why other people annoy me so much. Zone out I feel inadequate. In comparison, I feel inadequate. Yeah, yeah, don’t compare. Moreover, my flaws are another’s dreams. Yeah! Well, same here! I don’t like me. What I do like, I feel like I can’t mention, because then people make faces and say I have a big ego. What I don’t like I can’t mention either, because then I’m told I’m exaggerating. That I don’t appreciate what I have. Frick.

When I’m in a bad place. Let’s say in a funk. (I don’t want to say depressed, because some people get uppity about the use of that word. Plus, I haven’t been to a psychologist since about half a year, so I don’t have a professional to confirm that.) Anyway, when I’m in a funk, Zone out, frick I –my mind zones out a lot and also does some not so nice things. The first is that it curses. I curse? In my head? I don’t know.

Example, Zone out if I zone out, the moment I realize I was doing something and zoned out, I’ll hear “F**K!” in my head. I don’t tell people about this or the other thing my brain does. So, often, people will think I’m exaggerating when I say I’m down, can’t concentrate, or anything negative. They’ll quote how smart I am or some accomplishment of mine. It could be grades, or how organized I seem, something along those lines

What they don’t understand, is that I have to be that “great”. I have to be super organized and a try-hard when I can, because I know how horrifying it is to sit in front of a blank computer screen with my mind just as blank. Frick *Remembering the last time this happened* I know how bad it gets, so when I am okay, I need to be better! To make up for what I know will come. Because my funks are a cycle. Zone out Or a roller coaster. Who knows?

Zone out Ummmmm But most people only see the “good” parts of me. They see when Zone out I work on assignments or give presentations (for context, I just graduated university in May and now I’m in an internship that also has a ton of assignments and grades). They don’t see when I get home from a business trip out of town and flee to the bathroom to quietly sob before wiping my eyes and pretending nothing happened.

They see me watching YouTube on the couch all afternoon for days in a row and call me lazy. They don’t know that it’s either that or stare into space. Sometimes I believe them. I think, why am I so lazy and unmotivated? Why don’t I just work on what I should? I tried this last week. In my defense, it does work sometimes. Sometimes, I don’t want to get to work on homework, but once I start, it’s okay. I get into a rhythm and I’m fine. Last week, I just succeed in getting progressively more self-loathing and blaming myself for not starting. Think: staring at a blank computer screen.

Do anything. That’s what I tell myself in those moments. Even if I should be working on an essay or a case study (*cough cough* me right now…), I allow myself to work on whatever I want or am motivated to. Doing anything, even if that anything is making a faux Christmas tree out of tissue paper (featured picture) or writing this blog post, is a million times better than last week when I started “working” at 3pm, and “worked” until 12pm because it took me that long to type up four paragraphs on lactation. Frick.

Blah. This building I’m in doesn’t have working air conditioning. An— Frick!! I was looking up the temperature where I am, but got distracted by my friend texting me. Twice. Frick. Frick! Stop it brain! Umm, so yes. It’s about 84 degrees outside, and hotter inside this non-air-conditioned building. And I’m cold.

You think my normal posts are long and rambly? Yeah, well, my mind is worse. What was I going to say? What am I doing? Yeah, do anything. That’s it. Zone out. Man! Um, so yes, do anything, guys. Doing something is better than nothing. Unless it’s harmful. Then try not to do that.

Thus, the second thing my mind does: it flashes scenes of me hurting myself. After seeing a flash like that usually I get uneasy. Other times, I feel desire. For the more gruesome ones, I tend to feel scared that one day my body will actually go through with something I’ll regret.

A common one is smashing my hand against a wall. I don’t know why. I know I’m not in the best place, but I don’t want to hurt myself. Well, maybe I do want to do that. <— Example of an intrusive thought that just popped into my head uninvited. Fine, yeah, I don’t love myself and I do want to hurt myself, but not severely! Not noticeably! That’s a good topic for other post: what I feel I deserve and how I punish myself.

I don’t want to publish this. Zone out. Zone out again. I’m afraid of getting put in an asylum for the mentally ill if I were to admit self-harm desires/behaviors. Frick. Plus, it seems personal. I’m sleepy. Don’t want to be awake. Video idea! You know how some people talk about all those things they do to stay positive and happy? How they say things like I get up and stretch, open the blinds, and feel the sun on my skin and appreciate the universe? Or some crap like that? (No hate. In my better days, it’s those hokey pokey things that really do help.) Well, what if someone made a video/tip sheet of the habits of sad people? My first one is: Daily morning ritual, wake up, realize you are now conscious, grumble, curse the world, declare you don’t want to be awake, and throw the covers over your head before falling asleep again. Do not wake before 1pm, if it can be avoided.

This post is getting out of hand. Bye.

 

Note: It’s a couple of days later and while I’m still terrified of posting this for the darker involuntary desires I mentioned, but I figure I don’t have enough people who read this blog for it to be a problem. I hope. I’m fine, guys. I don’t self harm or anything like that. I’m open to professional help. Not to being committed to a mental hospital. Got that? ‘Kay, now bye.