While You Weren't Sleeping

These past couple weeks, I haven't been sleeping properly. I've been suffering from anxiety attacks that keep me up at night, and nightmares what wake me up once I'm finally down. I got no sleep for so many days in a row that I couldn't remember my last good night's sleep. It was so brutal that one night, I had to get out of bed, and turn on the lights to fight off the anxiety, and then I was so frustrated and tired that I lay on my living room floor, sobbing.

When I first started not-sleeping I wished for a fast-foreward button. I just wanted to be a few years ahead of where I am now. I'm making progress towards what I want, but it's slow-going. I was miserable with everything. I started to write a blog post about it. About how I felt miserable even though my life is great, even though everything is going in my favor, about how confused I was about feeling so awful. Things for me a great, so why did I feel so down?

By the end of last week, I was so tried, and so miserable that I wanted to kill myself. It's been a while since I felt like that, and admitting it right now makes me really uncomfortable. I think it was just the lack-of-sleep. Right now, I don't want to die. Not at all. At the time, I just wanted the pain to stop, and sometimes I get caught thinking that's the only way to make it. Not usually, not often, but sometimes. Sometimes, when I'm emotionally drained and phsyically unwell, when the anxiety is too much, and the exhaustion is overwhelming, I think like that. I think it would be easier to just roll over and die. Just to make it stop.

And I think that's why I stopped blogging last year. And I think that's why I don't talk to my best friend anymore. Because when I feel like that, I know better than to share. If they believe me, they will be worried, scared. No matter how desperate I get, I wouldn't do it, because I couldn't do that to the people I love. Jeffrey, Amanda, Lauren, all of my friends, would be hurt. I couldn't hurt them like that, no matter how desperate I was. One person's pain is nothing compared to the pain of three, four, five or ten people.

So if my friends realized how serious I was, they would be concerned. And more likely, they would think I was just attention-whoring, and that would be even worse, I think.

I don't think like this very often. I need anyone who reads this to understand that. The big, the bad, the bold "I want to kill myself" is not an everyday occurrence, or even an every month, or every year thing. It just happens once in a while.What I'm really talking about is that miserable feelign that proceeds it. That "fast-foreward button" thinking that I do. That's why I stopped talking. That's why I shut down. That's why.

Sometimes I fall apart. And I'm okay. I will eventually be okay. I'm blogging right now, because holding myself accountable is something that will, I hope, help me be okay, and stay okay.

Even when I fall apart, it's not that bad. While I was drowning in exhaustion, I made a friend. I'm not good at making friends. I have friends in Massachusetts, and I have friendly acquaintances everywhere I look, but I don't really have any local friends, besides Jeffrey and his family. I am friends with my manager at work, but if she gets caught hanging out with me outside work, she'll be fired, so we don't very often. I don't want to. I don't want her to get in trouble, and I get nervous. I worry. I care. But now I finally have a friend who I wouldn't be afraid to call up and say "Let's go on an adventure, today." Of course, he's moving at the end of this month, so that sucks. I already have plenty of friends who I talk to online only. I want an adventure buddy while Jeffrey is at work! I want someone who I can invite to have dinner with Jeffrey and I!

And now I've totally changed topics, but I'm going to leave it, because I think it's also good to remind myself that there is hope. There are good things.

I Spoke Too Soon

I posted too early this morning. Maybe an hour after I posted that blog, my dad called. We talked about the normal stuff - his upcoming surgery (nothing major, just a revision for something that went wrong on his first knee surgery! No worries!) his job, my job, the weather, a sink I repaired last weekend (I was proud!), and my dad's siblings' various projects. All good stuff. My uncle Mark is building a porch, my aunt Lisa is opening a new gym (gymnastics) Ed's starting up some new company, and the rest of the family is doing all sorts of other things as well. Those were the highlights.

Then he says "So what's going on with your mom?"

Now, to you, that might not seem like much, but to me it meant everything. "What's going on" doesn't mean "how is she? What's see been up to lately, I haven't seen her in a while." No. That's not what he meant at all. If that's what he had meant, that's what he would have said. That's usually what he said.

"What's going on" means that something notable is going on, but he's not clear on the details. I explain to him that last weekend my mom was having heart palpitations (which, incidentally, might be due to a heritable disease. That's good news. I've been having serious and painful heart palpitations for years and no one knew what was wrong with me. Now, I might have the start of an answer. but that's beside the point!) My mom had gone to the hospital, they gave her some medication that was supposed to help her heart, and told her that they weren't sure what the aftereffects would be, and not to drive. I thought my father was talking about why my mom hadn't seen Amanda and Lauren last weekend.

And then he goes "What about the house?" House? What house? What about the house?

My father had been at my moms house the other day (my father's work trailer is still in her yard, and her garage is still my dad's storage unit) and the landlord had shown up. They got to chatting, and the landlord told my father that my mom is being evicted. She's supposed to be out on the 17th. The 17th. THE FREAKING SEVENTEENTH OF THIS MONTH! Today is the 10th (although apparently this conversation happened about 3 days ago, and the landlords had set the eviction ball rolling over a month ago). My mom has 10 days left to vacate the house. She hasn't said a word to me.

Now, my dad wasn't sure the landlord was telling the truth. He said "There's also a good change he just said that so I would get my stuff out of the yard" and then mentioned that he had some bead-board and other loose supplies and tools. Okay. Maybe the landlord was just trying to scare my dad. I can tolerate that. I can't tolerate my mother lying to me. Two weeks ago she was talking about re-decorating the kitchen. Now she might be moving? What?

While we were on the phone, my dad decided to poke around the house. He didnt have his key with him, and my mom wasn't home, so he just looked through the windows. Apparently, her couches are not in the living room. Where they were, I don't know, and she had stuff all over the back porch. However, the bedrooms, all of them, were still set up. Okay. Weird.

I don't know what's going on. Maybe I'll find out later, since I have to call my mom today anyways, and make sure she has a camera to video tape my sister's act in her school talent show. I cried when I found out she was in it and I couldn't be there. I really really have to make sure someone gets it on video for me. I need it.

And I need to know what the deal is with my mom, too.

H is for Home (or lack there of)

When I moved into my apartment last month, I was so excited. Glad to finally have my own space again, my own home. Somewhere that I simply loved, was proud of. The apartment is everything I wanted in on. Counter space in a kitchen (not even a kitchenette, but an actual kitchen), a good sized bedroom, and a bigger living room. The bathroom is pretty big, so far as bathrooms go. I have 4 closets.

But after living there for a month, unpacking, settling, it still doesn't feel like "home" to me. My apartment in Radford last year felt like home. I don't know what I'm doing differently. Is it because we aren't totally settled yet? Because our pictures aren't up on the walls? Is it because I haven't spent enough time there to really let it grow on me? Is it because when I am there, Jeffrey and I never sit down and do stuff together, it's always one of us or the other doing stuff? Is it because my upstairs neighbor is super-loud so I hear everything going on in their life, and it doesn't feel private, like my own corner?

I don't know what it is. I don't know why my home isn't... homey. I want it. I want to sit on my couch and feel totally at home there. Totally comfortable. I just don't. I wonder why, I think about how to fix it. We planned on living in this apartment for two years. It's the perfect location. 5 different school DISTRICTS within a one hour commute, for when Jeffrey gets his teachers certification, it's near-enough the highway that we can get on it easily, but far enough that we aren't listening to it. It's right near my college. Right near the mall. Right near several grocery stores. Everything is right there. It's perfect.... but it's not. And I don't know why. and it bothers me.

Apparently, this is about Harry Potter

Pride, Anger, and other emotions

Lately, I’ve been super-emotional, but I haven’t been able to figure out why. Today it hit me. I haven’t been sharing. Not only have I not been blogging, but I haven’t been talking about things either. There has been a LOT going on, but I just haven’t been willing to talk. I put myself under pressure, trying to keep it all to myself, trying to “be strong.”

I should know by now that “be strong” means “do what is necessary to take care of yourself.” It doesn’t mean hold all that emotion in. It doesn’t mean you can’t share.

It’s not all bad things. It’s just an overwhelming number of things. Just as a warning: this post is going to be really long, and really all over the place. It’s going to be a dump of everything I’ve been feeling for the past month. Get Ready or Stop Reading. There are no other options.

Virginia. I moved back down here, and I can’t help but feel a little ashamed. Everyone feels like I gave up, and it’s so easy for me to feel like I’ve done so too. I don’t like giving up. I know, in my head, that what I did was the right thing. I couldn’t, honestly was not capable of doing what it was I wanted. I couldn’t make money appear from thin air. I couldn’t make my mother stop drinking. And since I was unable to do those two things, I was slowly losing my sanity there. I was trying to make the impossible happen.

So why do I feel guilty? My mother wont talk to me about college. I’ve decided to go to Hollins University, instead. But every time that comes up in conversation with my mother, she gets really angry. Shut up. I gave up the college I wanted to, and in part, I did so because of you. If I had a place to stay up in Massachusetts, I still wouldn’t have been able to go that semester, but I could have gone the next semester, or maybe next fall. But I couldn’t stand living with you, Mom. You made me cry EVERY SINGLE FREAKING DAY! That’s just not healthy. I couldn’t do it. So why, why, WHY do you make me feel bad every time I mention college. Shouldn’t my not being happy at home be my punishment? Shouldn’t giving up something that I wanted so badly be enough? Why do you insist on telling me how much of a mistake I’m making?.... and why can’t I be honest with you, and tell you how angry I am?

And then there’s my sisters. I still don’t know what to do about them? They don’t want me to call DCF. They will be separated again, and they would rather stay together at my mothers house, than be separated in a happier place. I understand that so very much. But it tears me apart. They deserve to be together in a happy place. They deserve better than this. Do I give them what they want? Or what I think it healthier? But is being separated from the person they trust most (each other) really any healthier?

The only person who I would feel comfortable asking for advice is my aunt, but I know what she’d say. And I’m also afraid to call her, because I also know that she’ll be disappointed in me for giving up my dream school. My whole family is college-obsessed and it drives me crazy. I’m going to school. Maybe not the school I wanted to, but school just the same. Why does it matter to them what school I go to? If they weren’t so nutty about it, I would be much better off. But I’m afraid to talk to anyone about anything, because it always comes back to college, and no one is ever satisfied with what I do. I wish people could realize that, at least so far as school goes, my choices are necessities, rather than choices. My mental well being means more to me than whatever school my degree comes from. I wish I meant more to everyone else.

And my dad. Things are fine now, I talked to him 3 days ago. But before that, I hadn’t talked to him since the day I moved out. I kept calling him, kept emailing him, kept getting no response. And I know he was around. He was commenting on facebook about thing. But never to me. It hurt me so terribly. Apparently, he was just busy, he finally called me, but even still, it stings to know that the picture of my sister’s new hair cut was more important than a quick “hey how are you?” email to me.

I’m not really happy here, if I’m going to be totally honest, but all the reasons are stupid. I think it’s more that I’m unhappy because people expect me to be, because really, the things here are okay. Jeffrey’s grandma loves to take care of people. She loves feeding people, and she’s very get-things-done-ish. She once folded my laundry, because I left it in the drier for more than an hour, and seemed pretty thrilled when I thanked her. She’s such a sweet lady. I’ve never had anyone even offer to do so much for me, never mind actually going and doing it all. She’s wonderful. In fact, all my future in-laws are wonderful. I love Jeffrey’s parents too. I wish we got up to see them more (but they live about 2 hours away)

But she has some habits that drive me crazy. For example, she buys things that she doesn’t need, because they have a low price. They aren’t on sale, its not an unusually low price, but she’ll buy 8 loaves of bread because “it’s a good deal.” It is a good price, but it’s also their regular price. She goes to the grocery store every Tuesday. She really only needs one loaf of bread. If by next week she needs another, she can grab one for the same price, since she’ll be at the store anyways. And she puts it in the freezer, to keep it from going bad. But not just the 7 extra loaves of bread. She’ll freeze all 8 of them, and defrost a little if she wants it. It’s really irritating, when I’m hungry. You can’t defrost bread in the microwave; it’ll get soggy. So I have to wait several hours for the bread to come to room temperature. It’s not just bread that she does this with. It’s everything. I’ve never been in a house with so much delicious, but inedible food. I don’t plan my snacks in advance, and because of that, I no longer eat snacks all that often. And I feel so terribly guilty for being unhappy over something so silly. The phrase “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” comes back to me. But sometimes, I’m hungry and I don’t want to wait for bread to defrost, but I have no choice and it makes me cranky. I don’t like being hungry.

And the final bit, the thing that really kills me inside, is that yesterday was my sister’s 13th birthday, and she told me not to call her. I couldn’t even wish her a real happy birthday. It broke my heart. I don’t even know what to say about that. She wanted me to call in the evening, since she had plans in the day. I understand that. Makes perfect sense to me. I didn’t want to interrupt her plans. I texted her throughout the day a little, and wished her a few happy birthdays that way, but I was so eager to say it to her out-loud. I love birthdays. Anyone’s birthdays. They make me happy. So in the evening I texted her “Hey are you busy?” Her response was “No, but I don’t really want to talk. I’ll probably scream at the next person who tries”

“Are you okay? What happened?”
“Someone said something but I don’t want to talk about it.”

I sort of fell apart. First of all, who the hell pissed my sister off on her birthday? That’s not okay. I was totally ready to pummel whoever did that. And then I was hurt, because I wouldn’t get to say happy birthday to her. What kind of sister does call to say happy birthday? Ten years from now will she remember that I didn’t call her on her 13th birthday and be angry? I should have called, despite the threat of being yelled at. I mean, 13 is a big birthday. It’s when you turn into the dreaded teenager (which is a whole ‘nother emotional mess for me. I can clearly  remember the day Amanda was born. How on earth did that tiny baby turn into this teenager? And even moreso, how did it happen so fast?)

So yesterday I was dealing with that when someone posted a trailer for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I smiled. I really love when people post Harry Potter things. HP was more-or-less my entire life for a few years, and is still a very much loved part of it. I occasionally spend my free time browsing the Harry Potter Wiki. So about half a second after I smiled, I burst into tears. I wasn’t just teary-eyed. I was actually sobbing. This movie will be part-one of the very last Harry Potter book. I can’t believe its almost over. I cried when the book series ended, because it was the end. But I managed to remind myself that it wasn’t the end. There were still movies to wait for and look forward to. But that’s not going to last much longer. Since I was 9 years old, I haven’t stopped waiting, stopped anticipating Harry Potter something. First I was waiting for the 4th book. Then the first movie, then the 5th book, and so on. Now what? I have the last bits of movies, and the encyclopedia that JKR promised, and then what? That’s half my life that’s almost over. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t like endings, even when they make sense. Even when it’s time for something to end. I don’t like books to end. I don’t like series to end. I didn’t want high school to end. I don’t like when songs end. When I enjoy something, I want to continue to enjoy it.

Stubbornly, I’ve refused to watch any of the Deathly Hallows trailers. I don’t want to admit that it’s ending. But last night I remembered right before the third movie came out. I was with Chelsea, and we had been working on a school project. I was in 7th grade, and the project was to design a plant. Yes, a plant. We called it Chrelesanie, which is both of our names merged together. That night was the same day that the trailer for the third movie came out. So as we worked, we had the trailer loading on her computer. Occasionally we’d stop to see how far it had gotten. She had dial-up internet, and it took forever, but I still remember that night, and remember how important that trailer was. I remember when the cover art for the Half-Blood-Prince book came out. I remember one of my friends on the bus had internet access through her cell phone and we spent forever trying to bring up a picture that we could see on her tiny little screen. I remember how much I ENJOYED the anticipation and waiting for these movies and books. I counted down days, and even hours. I have been to midnight book releases, and a midnight movie premier. And I think I finally do have to let myself watch Deathly Hallows trailers. Putting off seeing them wont make the end not come, but it will stop me from enjoying my anticipation of this movie, the way I’ve enjoyed waiting for every other book and movie.

I can’t believe I wrote more about Harry Potter than anything else. I’m such a nerd.

Virginia

Everything blew up. I'm going back to VA.

It happened so fast, that I'm not sure I even know what happened. Jeffrey's job fell through. I found out that for-sure I can't go to my college this semester. I got angry with my mom.

I can't afford to support us on my own. Cost of living is too high. More than twice what I make, just for one person. Never-mind for two. We have no apartment anyways.

And we're leaving. Only, now I don't know what to do. I told my boss, but now what? I don't know how to tell my family and my friends. I'm a little ashamed of giving up. Of going back. So now the plan is, move in with his grandmother. Find jobs. Move out. I plan on applying to Hollins, which is right near there, and going there in the spring. At this point, it no longer matters to me where my degree is from, so long as I get it. I need to be able to survive, more than I need to go to Lesley. Maybe I'll go to Lesley for my masters. Right now though, I just need to get out of here, to a place that we can afford.

I feel guilty. I promised my sisters I wouldn't leave them. I promised my dad I'd be back in Massachusetts. I promised my aunt that she could visit my college with me. I'm breaking promises, and in my mind, that's the biggest show of disrespect there is.

But I think that this is what I need to do. I'm sad. I'm guilty. But I need to take care of myself. Every hour I change my mind. Some I want to cry, others I'm glad.

Right now, I'm neither sad, nor glad. I'm just contemplative..... and hungry.

My Apartment

Weekly Positives this week are canceled due to:
hardly any time to breath.

Tonight is my last night in this apartment. I still remember the first night. We got here really late, and didn't have anything but ourselves, some clothes, a sleeping bag and an inflatable twin-sized matress. We both squeezed into the sleeping bag on the twin-matress. When we woke up, I was on the floor with the sleeping bag, and he was still on the bed, with just the edge of the sleeping bag clutched in his hand. I was so happy.

Tonight I'm a little more melancholy. It's been a wonderful amazing year, and a part of me doesn't want to leave. I will love being near my sisters, but I'm not looking forward to my moms house. Too much bad stuff has happened there. Here though, in our cozy little apartment, things have been lovely.

This past year, I was living with the man I love. I was living with someone who was actually nice to me. I was able to do my own thing. I didn't get in trouble for doing things a different way than my mother does. I was living in a home that was small enough for me to take care of. I didn't have to deal with my family stress every moment of every day. School was good. Food was good. I got to cook. We decorated, its' a pretty little apartment.

Or at least, it was. Right now it's awful. Between boxes on the floor, and the disassembled parts of our futon, there is literally 3 feet of floor space outside of the bathroom. I'm sitting on a chair (dont like chairs. much prefer couch or floor..... or bed but if I sat on the bed right now I'd fall asleep) about two inches from Jeffreys shoulders. It's quiet. its comfortable. It's private and sweet.

I'll really miss this. All of this. It's become home to me. I'm tagging this as thankful, too, because I really am thankful for this past year.

One Week

Officially, there is one week left. We have to be out by the 25th. Meaning our last day must be the 24th.
Unofficially, we have less than that. We're just waiting on my Dad to come down with his truck and trailer.

This post is a lot about helping me keep track of things.  Feel free to skip it, if you don't feel like reading.

Somehow my dad insists that we don't have that much stuff and I'm scared he wont bring his trailer. He keeps insisting we only have furniture and 3 boxes worth of stuff. I don't know where he got that idea, but we definitely have more than three boxes of stuff. We have 5 boxes of just books. Plus another larger box and a half of miscellaneous stuff. I haven't even started packing the kitchen or bathroom yet. My desk had two very small boxes of stuff. We haven't packed any of the things on the book shelf in the living room yet (movies, spare paper, tools, ankle and hand weights, small electronics). I had to empty the contents of my filing cabinet into boxes, because the drawers aren't removable and the cabinet was unliftably heavy. We have another two cases of paper. Then of course, we have all our clothes and all our linens in the bedroom closet.

Methinks that a bit more than three boxes.

Yes, I have been dying to use "methinks" for a while now.

Today also marks day 7 of when our bathroom ceiling started leaking. It started with just a little drip, barely filled up an old paint tray in 24 hours. Now, we are emptying a 6-quart stock pot three times a day. (and yes, I did just look up the size of my pan. haha) We notified the owners when the leak started, and they told us that it would be a few days and they weren't sure when it'd be fixed. We reminded them today, and they said they thought it had been fixed. Nope. We've been dripping all weekend, and it's now coming down in two spots (however one of the leaks is directly over the toilet so we don't have to worry about putting a pot under that one. It does however, suck to pee because I can't help but get dripped on)

This is posing a problem. For one, its just annoying. More importantly, however, is that the bathroom now smells like mildew. I don't want to go in there. We're keeping the door to it closed. I have to clean in there before we move out. It's really hard to clean a room you don't even want to breathe in. Sucks.
Plus, how am I going to clean the floor if I can't get the floor to stay dry and clean? The water dripping from the ceiling is NOT clean water. It's sort of brownish-rust-colored. The water, even with the pot, splashes. We have towels down on the floor, but its going to be really hard to clean them.

But outside of that, everything is great. Things are getting packed up, the kitchen at least, is alright for cleaning, and the bedrooms. I have a giant cleaning to-do list before we move, which was given to us by the apartment management. A list of what they expect us to do, which is nice because it saves me the trouble of trying to figure out what they want from us. I'm packing up. I still don't know when my dad plans on getting here, but I'm waiting for him to call me back and let me know. Things are good.

Oh, and apparently, you're supposed to wear gloves when you use oven cleaner. I wish I had thought of that, or someone had told me. My fingers sorta sting a bit now, though not as much as they did an hour ago. The can at least, should have some sort of warning. If they have to put "WARNING: CONTAINS NUTS" on a can of peanuts, they ought to put "hey, you should probably wear rubber gloves" on a can of oven cleaner. Yay Harsh Chemicals (I guess I really should have thought of that. Looking back, it seems to be something common-sense-ish.)