I don't ever wanna let anyone down...

Today has been a really hard day.

No particular reason. Woke up, and within seconds could just tell that it was going to be a struggle just to make it through. One of those dark cloud, black hole, cannot find the light no matter how hard you look kind of days. The kind where it feels like apathy swallowed your heart and you couldn't bring yourself to care if your life depended on it. The kind filled with the confusion of somehow being numb and in pain all at the same time.

Ya, one of those days.

It started with me in tears on the kitchen floor because the jam I tried to make for my sister didn't turn out. This tiny mistake brought on a wash of failure shame that I am still struggling to make it out of 10 hours later.

I don't want to let anyone down.

I can't let anyone know how poorly I'm doing, I don't want to let them down.

A very wise online sister, and an incredibly smart close friend have repeatedly told me that I am too hard on myself. I guess I am. I don't know how to be anything else.

I feel like I am letting down my daughters by not being the healthy vibrant mother they deserve. I feel like I am letting down my parents for not succeeding and thriving as an adult after all the promise I showed as a child. I feel like I'm letting my sister down because I have not been able to reach out in kindness to her since a ridiculous meaningless fight almost 3 years ago. I feel like I am letting society down by being a drain instead of an asset. I feel like I have let down countless friends, family members, and partners in the last 20 years just by being unable to be consistent, reliable, and supportive. And I feel like I am letting myself down. By still being sick. Still being weak and unable to fight. Still being stuck, and lost, and hopeless. By not doing more, not being more.

The truth is I let myself down every day. It's rather easy, because if I am honest I don't feel that I deserve any better. It's hard to fight for someone that you don't feel is worthy of fighting for. It's hard to get better when deep down you're pretty sure pain is all you deserve.

I don't like myself. I don't. I haven't in a really, really long time.

So I overcompensate. I try to be pretty so that people won't catch on that I'm sick. I try to be thin, because how can you be sad when you're skinny? I spoil my daughters to alleviate some of the guilt of being a sick, semi-absent mother. I buy really nice gifts for my family, because in my deluded mind this will make them believe that I am doing well so that they never catch on to how badly I am struggling.

I don't want to let them down.

I don't want to spend 2 weeks in Saskatchewan at my parents' house over Christmas. It is hard on me mentally, emotionally, and physically. My daughters want that, my parents want that, so I do it anyway.

I don't want to let them down.

Mine has become a life of smoke and mirrors. If I distract everyone with a pretty shiny outside, and throw on a fake smile no one will ever realize how broken and pathetic I am.

It hurts. It hurts all the time.

But I don't want to let them down.

Because I told myself I would....

This morning I told myself that I wanted to write today. Since I am trying to stop breaking promises to myself, and follow through with plans/goals, however small, I am now sitting down to write.

I had a fleeting thought last night while trying to fall asleep that is the inspiration for this post. "Just how much time have I really wasted?"

Yesterday I was feeling very inspired after a fabulous day at TEDx Vancouver, but did not seem to be able to translate any of this new found mental energy into physical action. This is pretty much the story of the last ten years of my life. Periods of extreme hopeless depression, followed by wacky crazy hypomania, interspersed with time in "the middle". During these "middle ground" times I was often inspired, hopeful, or even gung-ho, but it never ever translated into action.

So this morning I woke up with the nagging question, "ok so how much time DID I really waste?"

Being the uber-nerd that I am I set out to quantify it. The numbers are both good and bad, but I think that the good outweigh the bad. Providing, that is, that I turn things around and start taking action.



So here it is:

312,974.   The number of hours I have been alive as of this moment.

388,320.   The number of hours I have left in my life if I die at the age of 80.

The good news is that my life is not even half over. It's not too late.


87,658.   The number of hours I have been away from full time work and fighting this illness.

The bad news is that that is a LOT of seemingly wasted hours as I am not much better off.


56,978.   The number of hours, up until this posting, since my brother-in-law and then Drs pulled me back from the brink after my near fatal suicide attempt. I call these, and any after, my bonus hours as it really is miraculous that I am even here. And yet I continue to waste bonus hour after bonus hour.

The good news is that I was given these bonus hours. Something in the universe worked to keep me here and give me another chance. More good news is that this number will only continue to grow.



Alright, so now what?

Most people would look at these numbers and be motivated to get moving, to make a decision, to make a start. I spent all day in my apartment suffering from what I have aptly heard called "decision paralysis", and self doubt.

I know I need to move. Somewhere. Anywhere. Unfortunately, I do not trust myself to choose the right direction or path. Most would argue that any path would be better than standing in one spot, and they would be correct. However, my issues are so ingrained that I am still unable to choose any of the 50 paths flying around in my brain. I am unable to take even one small step.

"Every journey, no matter how long, begins with a single step."

"You don't have to see the entire staircase, you just have to see the first step."

I know these things. I believe these things. And yet it still feels as if I am standing here wearing cement boots.



Now what?

I don't know.

Can changing a Twitter handle change your life???

Earlier this week, out of nowhere I had an idea that prompted 2 thoughts. One: I spend way too much time on Twitter. But more importantly, two: how can I ever escape the trap this illness has locked me in if even I define myself first and most importantly as bipolar. Forget my name, my likes and dislikes, education, occupation, any of my personality traits, the biggest and most important label that I put on myself basically tells the world that I'm female and I'm crazy. Now, you may be thinking it's just a Twitter handle who cares? That would be the case if I had invented some weird meaningless pseudonym containing a clever pun or inside joke, but I didn't. I chose a handle that explicitly explains the label that I sometimes feel is tattooed across my forehead. I chose it for two reasons; first: when I originally joined twitter it was simply to connect with other people living with mental illness so that I would have someone to talk, second: it is what I see when I look in the mirror, what I think of first when describing myself, and what I'm afraid I project to the rest of the world. 


This second reason is that part that is currently troubling me. When I look in the mirror I don't see a cute blonde woman with nice eyes and a good smile. I don't see a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend. I don't see an intelligent, funny, strong, determined soul. I see crazy plain and simple. I put the label on myself before anyone else could and I am afraid that I have let it blossom from just a simple description of my illness to a jail of my own making, filled with fear, anger, resentment, regret, pain, frustration, guilt, shame, self-loathing and self-doubt. 


"Well, I would go back to school but I failed before because I'm crazy so I better not even bother trying again."


"Wow, I would really like to ask that guy out but I'm crazy so I'm sure he'll say no."


"I had a fantastic job before, but I screwed it up because I'm crazy so I might as well not even try to work at all."


"I'd love to start working out again, but I'm crazy so why bother when I'll just quit eventually and start bingeing on junk food again."


"I am lonely sometimes and would like to make new friends, but crazy people make horrible friends so I better just keep sitting here alone."


"Every one I pass on the street must know that I'm crazy, insecure, and fat so I'll just stop going outside all together."


These are some of the common rationales that play in my brain which have allowed me to sit back, hide, and miss out on life for most of the last 10 years. 10 years! A decade. An entire decade wasted in my self-made jail. As I wrote those, well basically excuses, it occurred to me that I have made an interesting connection in my own mind. Crazy=Failure. In my mind failure sucks, and is embarrassing, and results in judgment so why bother. I have set myself up for failure for the last decade and have succeeded brilliantly at fulfilling that prophecy. 


Where am I going with all of this??? I have no clue. Not yet anyway. Can changing a Twitter handle really change the way you see yourself and in doing so change your life? I don't know. I'll keep you posted, I'm off to think up a clever pun or inside joke.

a little bit lost and a lotta bit stuck (a rambling, babbling teary-eyed post)

I feel like am supposed to be so much more than what I am right now. Like I should be doing something real, and meaningful, and important. Like there is so much in me that just needs to come out, and be fantastic, and take on the world. I just don't know what. Or how. Or where to start..... When I was a kid it was so easy. I wanted to be a gymnast, and go to the Olympics, then be a Dr and a lawyer and a singer all in one. Well I didn't do any of that. And now that I'm older a horrible mix of fear, illness, bad luck, circumstance, past experience, bad decisions, broken hearts, and bogus expectations is keeping me from even being able to sit down and figure out what it is that I truly want now. I want to be happy - ok fine, just be happy I want to be successful, and busy, and inspirational - at what and for what???? no idea I want more time with my girls - I'm doing all I can, but illness, geography and finances make it a constant struggle and it's never enough I want to love myself so that someone else can love me and I won't die alone - don't even know where to start I want to be secure and safe and taken care of - again, no clue how I want to feel important, and worthy, and useful - but I don't. deep down I really truly don't. and until I do, nothing else is possible 18 years of Dr's and meds and therapy and treatment and I'm no better off, no closer to an answer. I'm really tired of being stuck. I'm really tired of not having any of the answers. And I'm really truly so damn tired of hating the person that I spend all my time with; the fat, useless, lazy, pathetic mess that stares back at me from the mirror every day and taunts me with glimmers of hope but delivers nothing. I wanna fight. I'm just so damn tired. And so damn lost. And so damn stuck. And I really truly honestly have no idea where to even begin. "you don't have to see the whole staircase, just the first step" - well it feels like I am in a hole, inside a well, 10 feet away from the first step with no ladder, no rope, and no flashlight. What now? No seriously, what now? Gratitude..... ok I am grateful for my daughters, for my sister, for my family, for a roof over my head, and a warm bed to sleep in. I am grateful that I have food to eat (even though eating brings more shame and self-hate). I am grateful for a safe country, and basic human rights. I am grateful I'm not dead yet (most days). I am grateful that I have it better than a lot of people. Gratitude exercises are great, until they make you feel like a whiny, even more useless, waste of space than you did before you started them. I know it takes work. I'm willing to work. If I could find some actual direction, purpose or anything to work toward. I don't like or trust myself enough to even know what is that I want. What it is I should be doing. And I don't know how to start. Overcoming that much self-doubt, distrust, and loathing is something I long for so badly, but don't even know how to begin to tackle. What now? Seriously, what now???

What did you just say to me???

I told myself I was going to write more often, but I have been struggling with that. It seems I am only inspired to write when I truly have something to say. Well tonight is one of those times. I truly have something to say....

If you as a parent and you teach your children only one thing, let it be this: you are not better than anyone else on the planet, just different than and you do not have the right to be mean, cruel, judgmental, or rude to anyone ever just because you feel like it.

I was bullied horribly in high school. By a jealous "friend", by her new "friends", by a lot of people. In grade 10 I gained 10 pounds after quitting competitive gymnastics. I went from a 2 to a 6. At a party a guy actually made pig noises at me. At 5'3 and 125 pounds someone oinked at me and people laughed. Then they joined in. That is when my disordered relationship with food, and absolute hatred of my body began.

Now at 35 it is happening again. I gained some weight after moving to Vancouver for various reasons including loneliness, laziness, and age. At 5'3 and 120 pounds I was again called fat. And laughed at. And told "ya you're way too big for me". I have been fighting my ED for 20 years and had recently reached a point where I honestly felt like I could say I was in recovery. Until tonight......


Is this person important? No.

Will I ever see him or any of his jerk friends again? Probably not.

Are they worth my anxiety, anger, and time? Not in the least.


And yet here I sit. Alone. Wounded. And crying. Because once again I am the 15 year old at the party getting oinked at. I ran home and cried, vowing to never eat or leave my house again just like I did 20 years ago. I have gained a lot of strength in those 20 years but deep down I'm worried I will always be that lonely wounded little girl at the party. Who, for the first time in her life, thought "I'm not good enough" and has been fighting that feeling ever since.

How dare you? What ever made you think that you have the right to say anything like that to anyone ever? You disgust me.

And yet your words tore me down, ripped me to shreds, and hurt me more than you'll ever know,

I'm 35 years old, I had hoped the bullying had ended a very long time ago. I guess I was wrong.

Sadly, I was very very wrong.

A lesson from Seinfeld........

They say the definition of insanity is to keep doing what you have always done expecting different results. In the spirit of that, I took a lesson from Seinfeld this morning and made an "Opposite George" inspired decision. As expected, it turned out brilliantly.

Normally on Sundays (when I don't have one of my daughters) I clean, or avoid cleaning by sleeping, watching tv, or going for boring walks by myself. This morning 2 dear friends invited me to go snowboarding with them up at Cypress, and me being my ever anti-social lazy self was himming and hawing about why I didn't really feel up to it and probably wasn't going to go. It was at that moment, as I was about to tell them to head out without me, that I remember the opposite George episode and thought "screw it, go anyway even if you don't want to right now". So I did. And it was FANTASTIC! i have never before been skiing or boarding that was literally t-shirt weather, but that's what today was and it was glorious. The sun was gorgeous, the snow was decent, the company was fabulous, and even though this is only my 3rd time ever snowboarding I did pretty darn well. I could feel my improvement and I LOVE THAT!

"I used to sit here and do nothing and regret it for the rest of the day, so now I will do the opposite and I will do something."

I did. And I am so thankful that I ignored my normal instinct.

"If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right."

Well I don't know if every instinct that I have is wrong, but a lot of them (especially those influenced by my illness) are certainly not advisable. My life is not where I want it to be right now. I am not where I want to be in life right now. The only person that can do anything to change that is me. Maybe by consciously doing the opposite of my first instinct sometimes. The only way to change who I am and where I am is to start doing things differently. It was a small step today, but a step nonetheless. I take that as a damn good day.

And although I doubt I'll be telling off Aquilini or Gillis anytime soon, I do want to make a change. One small step and one damn good day at a time. (Although a job with the Canucks would be pretty sweet........)

A lesson in gratitude....

While waiting for the bus on W Broadway today I was reminded of something that I too easily forget. Even with all my struggles and problems, I've got it pretty darn good.....

Behind me was an older woman. She was sitting at one of the outdoor tables mumbling to herself and occasionally yelling out random obscenities mixed with gibberish. She was clearly, to me at least, schizophrenic or severely manic and in some sort of dissociative state. Those sitting near her and those walking past glared, whispered, passed judgment, and looked down their noses at this poor woman who was resting her feet, completely oblivious to the fact that she was out of place or bothering anyone. I, however, looked at her with concern, pity, understanding, and an extreme thankfulness that I was not in her same situation. I do not pretend that this makes me any better, kinder, or more informed than the other passersby. I feel so differently than them because deep down I am much more similar to the mumbling old lady than the offended onlookers.

I wonder where she has come from. What she's done earlier today that's brought her to the McDonald's patio at 4:30 on a Saturday. And where will she go when she leaves here. Does she have a home, a place to stay, a warm bed to crawl into tonight and forget her troubles for a few short hours? She is shabbily dressed, not exactly clean, and carrying a back pack so it is impossible to tell where she might have been, or where she is headed. I feel a deep sense of gratitude and a feeling of luck wash over me as I realize that but for a couple twists of fate I could be that woman. I want to help her but I don't know how. A couple dollars or a sandwich is merely a "band-aid" solution that does nothing to truly address her problems or help her in the long-term. She has clearly been let down by the health care system and is either unmedicated or self medicating as the drugs to treat schizophrenia or extreme mania are more expensive than even I can afford. While pondering what possibly I could do to help this woman or people like her the bus arrives and my thoughts turn to my own situation...

I am sick, but not as sick as this woman. I have had wild manic bursts but nothing to the point that would have me mumbling on the street corner or yelling at strangers. I have been unable to work for quite some time now, but by some glorious twist of fate I landed a government job a year before my illness totally took over my life and incapacitated me so I receive disability that makes it possible for me to live a semi-normal life. I can pay the rent in my very nice apartment, in a safe, quiet, secure neighbourhood. I can pay my utility bills, cel bill, and there is always food in my cupboards. I won't be taking any tropical vacations this year, or buying any of the designer shoes and clothes I love, but I've got it pretty darn good considering. I spend my short bus ride being ridiculously thankful for that glorious twist of fate and the things I do have, for if it weren't for the disability I receive I would be either homeless or living on a farm outside Podunk Saskatchewan with my parents. Neither of which sounds like a very great situation compared to where I am.

I spend so much time being mad at the fact that I have this illness, and longing for the me that was before it took over. I dwell on what could of been, what should've been, and all the potential that will never be realized. I forget too easily to just sit back, breathe, and be thankful for what is. For what still could be. And for not having worse than I do. I may never fully get over the pain. I may never escape the darkness and hurt and self-doubt that consumes me, but I hope that I never forget the light that I do have. The luck that has brought me a safe place to keep my things, and a warm bed every night to escape, even for a few hours, the craziness that is my life.

(I have yet to come up with any ideas of how to help in any way the woman I saw or people like her. It seems almost futile and pointless as the problem is soooo big and so complex. This makes me sad. I wish somehow, someway, there was something I could do to pay my luck and gratitude forward...........)

You know who you are.....

You know who you are.

You thought the Charlie Sheen debacle last year was funny not sad. You ridicule and judge the homeless person downtown who mumbles to himself or shouts at strangers. And you think that I am crazy, unstable, needy, and merely trying to get attention because I have bipolar.

You don't realize that Charlie Sheen has a mental illness. Either one that has been around most of his life that he is trying to self-medicate, or one brought on by heavy drug use that is now out of control. Regardless it is an illness. No more his fault than someone who gets cancer, either because of genetics or because they smoked a pack a day for 20 years. You see his breakdown as a comedy not a tragedy, Nd you are wrong.

You don't realize that the homeless man downtown didn't choose to be homeless. He is schizophrenic or severely bipolar and was forced onto the streets when the government closed the city's only residential mental health hospital and gave him nowhere else to go. You blame him for his situation and wash your hands of him just like the government, and you are wrong.

You don't realize that I am a brilliant, creative, wounded soul who would not choose this life for anything. I was abused as a six year old, bullied as a teenager, and hospitalized for the first time at 17. I have spent the last 17 years on a hellish rollercoaster. Fighting just to survive, trying to build something of a life for myself, being beat up by an illness that many people blame me for and think is funny. You decide that I am a lazy, out of control attention whore who doesn't deserve your respect, and you are wrong.

Mental health bullying is wrong. Judging us for having an illness that is out of our control is the same as bullying someone for the colour of their skin, the amount of money their parents make, or their sexual orientation. The tragic suicides of gay youth in the latter part of 2011 brought bullying into the limelight. Good. People need to talk about it, they need to know that it is wrong, and gay youth need to be supported and given hope. It's time we call out the bullies and those ignorant of what we really go through, and tell them it is wrong, and give mentally ill youth hope. I know at 17 I could have used it. I survived, barely. I knew young people that didn't.

You know who you are.

And you are wrong.

And you need to stop.

Now.

Just call me Ms Dragon

This past New Year's I did what millions of other people did, I made a resolution. I resolved to get out of bed and stop hiding, stop bingeing on junk food, watch less tv, exercise even a little bit every week, and make something of my sad hopeless life. The only part I've managed to keep is the junk food part, for the most part I've been eating healthy reasonably sized meals. Otherwise I've completely failed.

Now I realize that setting goals and making changes based on the rolling over of the calendar is a purely psychological trigger, but I tend to be a black-and-white-thinking fatalist and had settled into the belief that since the first 21 days of 2012 were a depressing failure the rest of the year was a hopeless write-off so why bother. I understand this is a gross overreaction, but it was what my serotonin starved, bedridden brain had decided. Until I read an article this morning on the Chinese New Year and the year of the dragon. It dawned on me that I have another shot at "new year new me" and it gave me hope on this dreary morning. And as I've stated before, hope is a rare commodity in my life so I try to embrace anything that triggers it. So instead of a fabulous me in 2012 I am now going to work on a fantastic me in the year of the dragon. Completely arbitrary, totally psychological as it doesn't actually take a new year to start making a new you, but like I said anything that triggers hope in my dark world gets my attention.

Now i am not at all spiritual or superstitious, in fact I think astrology is ridiculous hokum, so colour me a hypocrite and let's continue. For it wasn't just the fact that tomorrow is the start of a new lunar year, but what I read about the year of the dragon that inspired me. The dragon is considered to be the most powerful of all the Chinese zodiac symbols, and is associated with high energy, prosperity, and superior control. When I read this I realized that that was basically what I was shooting for with my original resolutions. The dragon is seen as a good symbol that brings with it a change from bad to good. How perfect? That's exactly what I need. I further discovered that this past year was the year of the rabbit, a symbol associated with instability, and unstable is a very apt description of this past year. I took this as a sign that I need to try again, and take advantage of "the change from bad to good" whether I'm superstitious or not.

I also learned that when creating the dragon totem ancient Chinese tribes combined totems of the Phoenix, tiger, lion, and scorpion so the dragon is considered to be "everything". If you're a dragon you're everything. And that is what I want, to be everything I've ever dreamed of. Strong, courageous, successful, innovative, hard working, and happy. It seems like I've been side tracked forever because of this illness, but this is the year of the water dragon. A year that only comes around once every sixty. So maybe this my year, my rare unique year to finally conquer. To make a change and succeed instead of fail.

It's completely superstitious and ridiculous, but so what? Nothing else has worked so why not give it a try? It has given me hope that maybe this year will not be a total write off so I'm gonna run with it. First step, actually get out of bed tomorrow and accomplish something other than 10 hours of tv watching and a nap. Wish me luck.

Call me Ms Dragon. I am everything.

Why would I help someone I hate?

I can't seem to get inspired to write. To be honest, I can't seem to get inspired to do much of anything. I know that it's wrong and unhealthy to use the word "useless" in reference to myself but that is how I truly feel. I have zero energy and no amount of sleep, healthy food, or stimulants seems to change that. I have zero motivation, no resilience, no resolve. I have turned into a sedentary, lazy, do nothing lump. I know what needs to be done and what I should be doing, but I am physically and mentally unable to do anything other than sit or lay here and manage to breathe. I walk past my dirty kitchen, think about cleaning it, start to cry, then lay back down and turn on the tv. I sit in bed for hours on end thinking "wow I am so bored I wish I could be doing...." but I don't move, I don't change, I don't do anything. I feel hopeless, frustrated, scared, and alone. Fear has paralyzed me to the point that I have just stopped trying. I don't think I even know how to try anymore. I have given up so much that the only thing I am capable of right now is sitting here and not dying. I can manage to keep myself alive, but that's about it. I don't trust myself, I don't believe in myself, and I don't love myself. And when that is the case what's the point of even trying? I feel like such a failure and I hate myself for it. And why would I ever help someone I hate???

its been a long time

I haven't written anything in a really long time. It shouldn't really matter if anyone reads my words, the point of this whole exercise was to help myself. Something I am not very good at doing. I would love it if I had someone to talk to, but my main focus should be myself.

I HAVE been focusing on myself a lot lately, unfortunately i've been focusing on (obsessing on) the wrong things. My weight, my looks, my weight, my failures, my weight, my past, my weight, my regrets, and my weight. Not good. A major MAJOR life change is barely more than a month away and all i seem to care about is whether I'm under 110 pounds or not. I currently live in a house that I own in a very small town. My mortgage and taxes are INSANELY cheap and in addition to that the house is almost paid off. I also live in one of the cheapest parts of Canada when it comes to living expenses. My huge epiphany at the beginning of the year, which I'm now convinced was merely an extended hypomanic episode, resulted in me putting my house up for sale. When I started to come back down I realized I may have made a mistake, but didn't get too worried because there hadn't been any interest in my house at that point. About a week later a couple looked at my house. A week after that they made an offer. During this process I found out that there is a problem with my basement. This problem will be time consuming and expensive to fix. I don't have the time, money, or desire to fix this problem. The people who made the offer on my house do. They were also willing to pay very near my asking price in spite of the basement problem. Even though I had the feeling I was making a mistake I accepted the offer. In 5 weeks I have to be out of my house and I have no idea where I am going to go. I am about to be homeless and broke and screwed. I am supposed to be moving to a very expensive city and I have no real job skills. On top of that I have trouble holding a job for more than 3 months because I fall apart and stop being able to show up.

I have failed too many times. I have let myself down too many times. I have been let down too many times. I have been hurt too many times. I now expect it every time. I expect to fail, I expect to get let down, I expect to get hurt. I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself. I have lost faith in everyone, especially myself. I have stopped dreaming. I have stopped planning. I have stopped hoping. There doesn't seem to be any point when you've seen the worst outcome so many times and now that's all you expect. The problem is that because I expect the worst outcome so vehemently I actually bring it about on purpose before anything has a chance to play itself out on its own. That way I can blame it on my illness or actions as opposed to a legitimate failure or someone else really hurting, failing, or not liking me.

Sometimes self discovery is good. Sometimes it just makes you cry for an hour and a half.....

oh this again

i have insomnia. i have insomnia and bipolar. i have insomnia bipolar and bulimia. great combination. makes for a fun night. no puking. a lot of bingeing. a lot of pills. over exercising. laxatives. starving. bingeing. starving. pills. bingeing. food is the enemy. and my friend. but it makes me fat and fat is ugly. and i am ugly. oh the mind reels at 3 am......

sleep keeps you stable. so much for stable......

so i sit here all night watching entire seasons of project runway. i'm tired and i look like hell but i still can't sleep. silly me i'm more worried about the look like hell part ha ha. oh god i'm messed up.

for a whole month i thought i had turned a corner. for a whole month i thought things were headed in a whole new direction. that i had changed. that i was me again. that there was hope. that i was healing. that i could believe. HA!!! i had a few others fooled too! i did a few good things. i'm getting rid of my house to pay off a few stupid debts that are haunting me and make a smart investment for my future. i'm moving out of a boring small town that i hate and have hated for a long time. i am working for the first time in a long time. i no longer sleep all day long. i no longer hide out in my house most days.

BUT......

i still procrastinate. i still waste time and money. i still lie to myself and others. i still binge and purge. i still say i'm goin to do things and don't. still tell myself i'm not goin to do things and then do them. i break promises to myself. i break promises to Kayli. i am still afraid to fail. i am still afraid to succeed. i still don't believe in myself. i still doubt everything i do and say. i have no confidence at all. and i'm still worried all of this was more motivated by a guy than me. i'm still going even though the guy is gone and i can't have him and all that shit, but.... will i ever do anything really just for me??? i still don't really know who i am and what I/ME REALLY TRULY love and enjoy and want.

i am still lost. i still have no path. no real course or direction. i think i know what i want to do but i am sooooo scared to try because i am convinced that i will suck and that if i tell anyone what it is they will laugh at me. i'm doomed. i am lonely and don't have anyone left to talk to about this shit and i am typing to myself at 3:30 in the morning for fuck's sake. i have reached way beyond pathetic.

my absent-mindedness has now also reached epic, scary, and dangerous levels. almost totalled the car and possibly injured myself this morning. left the ticket in the mall pay parking thing again. walked to car. realized couldn't find ticket. went searching through purse for it. while searching through purse managed to take foot off brake not remembering that i had put car into drive - car went half way across underground parking without me realizing it was moving - while i rummaged through my purse. somehow by luck or fate i looked up and freaked out in time to slam on brakes and stop car so it stopped about 2 feet before slamming into cement pillar. how it missed the 2 i had gone by i have no idea. luckily it was in morning and lot was almost empty. luckily no one had been driving other way. when i stopped 3 people were staring at me in horror. i think they thought i had had a heart attack or fainted or something. i still had to get out and go back to the damn machine and get my ticket to get out of the damn parkade. something is wrong with my brain beyond the serotonin imbalances. scary shit wrong with it. i'm never lucky. that was fuckin lucky.