How I Got So Far in Life is Beyond Me

Soooo...today I learned that I have been using tampons incorrectly for the past ten years.

Incorrectly, you say? How does one use them "incorrectly?"

Well.

An important thing to note before I get into this hilariously improbable story is that I was raised in a school district with abstinence-only education. You know, the kind that tells you that women are 90% emotional, 10% sexual, and men are 90% sexual, 10% emotional, and that married couples (who have the best sex, fyi) complete each other 100% (because 100% plus 100% equals...100%?), and that women who have sex before marriage are like used lollipops (or toothbrushes, depending on which teacher you had), and EW, who would want to use something that's already been all mucked up by someone else's germs!

But, I digress.

For the past three weeks, I have been taking antibiotics for a sinus infection. The first week, I was on regular amoxicillin, but when that failed to take away sinus pressure, my doctor put me on fancypants amoxicillin, which seemed, for the most part, to take the headaches away. At least the worst of them. Unbeknownst to me, antibiotics can kill not only the bacteria or whatever in your face, but in your vagina as well--good bacteria that keeps the yeast at bay. Or something. Long story short, I woke up one day with vag fire. Don't think that's a thing? Try being on antibiotics for three weeks and then ignoring the initial symptoms of a yeast infection because you weren't really aware that was a thing and then realize that your hoo-ha is on FUCKING DEATH FIRE. It is unpleasant as shit.

After using the necessary and awkward medication suppository-thingmajig, I felt pretty icky, and also the vag fire wasn't completely put out, so I had to call off work. I told my boss that I had a negative reaction to a medication (which is totes true) and that I was pretty sure I'd need to go to the ER (which I THOUGHT was true because I was convinced that I was going to die). Luckily, I realized that I would rather die than pay $100 to sit in an ER for three hours, so I opted to drug the shit out of myself and sleep on the couch all day. Yaaaaaay Valium.

That morning, I asked my mother, a nurse, when it would be okay for me to pee. To which she was all, o.O face? And then proceeded to tell me that I knew that your pee hole and vag hole are two separate things, right?

To which I was all, O_O ?!?!?!

And then she was like lollollollollolsrsly? wtf are they teaching you in school?

And then I was like...lollipop, grumble, going back to bed. But not before I pee out of a hole I was previously unaware that existed.

So I sleep all day, as previously stated, and then texted my friend Sarah about the magical pee hole discovery. I'm not sure how we got on the topic, but I mentioned that with this anti fungal stuff, you can't use a tampon, which I thought was kinda weird since the medicine gets put all the way UP there.

And that's when I started to wonder: why, if you could use pads to make sure the medicine doesn't fuck up your cute and expensive underwear, why couldn't you use a tampon? It's not like a tampon goes UP, it just kinda hangs out in between your lips, so to speak.

God. Damn. It.

So I asked Sarah: have I been using tampons wrong for the past like, ten years?

Sarah: *Confused on how you would use something like tampons incorrectly*

Me: They don't go, like, ALL THE WAY up, do they?

Sarah: *facepalm*

Sarah was like, WTF, dude, they come with directions! And I was like, no stupid, I just checked my box and they do NOT.

Then I checked a different box. One that I apparently had NOT thrown the directions away.

Turns out, she was right. They DO go all the way up. And you CAN pee with tampons in.

I'd always kind of wondered why some women I knew bitched about cardboard applicators. Now I know.

ruh-roh

some bad news:

I am pretty sure I have a brain tumor, and probably also face cancer.

Don't think that's a thing?

Look it up.

**EDIT: DO NOT LOOK UP FACE CANCER, SOME THINGS CANNOT BE UNGOOGLED

Okay so anyway, furreal, I have had a chronic eyebrow headache for about a month. Sinus headache, you say?

No.

That is not a thing.

...shut up.

Anyway.

I have never been particularly good at accurately gauging time lapses, but I'm fairly certain that these headaches coincide with the death of my grandmother. My gram and I were very close--she and my grandfather helped to raise me in my formative years, and I made a habit of calling her at least once every other week to see how she was doing. As of late (and by late, I mean like ten years--see, timesense is not a thing I possess), she's not been doing well--had not been doing well, rather--and pretty much everyone was like, okay, she's probs gonna die soonish, guess we'll make the most of our time and whatnot. But since my life was a giant sadface for the past three months or so (and by three months I mean chronic depression-y since fetushood), I had avoided contact for the most part because I didn't want her to know how sad I was.

Apparently that's a thing I've been doing since I was little. My childhood psychologist told me that I had told him I didn't want to talk about my dad with my mother because I didn't want to hurt her. The FUCK a six-year-old thinks that kind of shit.


**EDIT: The problem with taking a brief hiatus to eat a popsicle and snuggle your cat is that you COMPLETELY lose your trail of thought. Orrrr it kinda makes you realize you didn't really have one in the first place and maybe you should just GTFOff the computer and watch Arnold Schwarzenegger be pregnant in a movie (seriously, I don't understand why Junior was never Oscar-nominated). But I digress...

So I guess what I was trying to say back there is that for the past weekish or so, I have been having dizzy spells, headaches, nausea, the shakes (is there a real-life word for that? I'd use trembling but that sounds kinda...inappropriate-y), forgetfulness and weird limb sensations which means I am PROBABLY dying. Except that I'm probably NOT dying, I'm just sad and overdramatic and fifty-milligrams of Adderall paranoid when I haven't even been TAKING my Adderall BECAUSE it makes me so goddamn paranoid.

Grumble grumble.

I feel very stuck, and I'm not quite sure how to get unstuck. Empirically, I know I am intellectually gifted, creative, amusing and hard-working, but I have so much of the anxieties that usually I just sit on the couch being sad for extended periods of time.

Mas electroshock, por favor.

It's Not Your Lungs This Time, It's Your Heart That Holds Your Fate

Sometimes I stop and wonder how I get to these low, low points in my life and then realize they happen like they've always happened: gradually, then suddenly.

It's not that I don't realize I have so much to live for.

My life is filled with laughter, love, family, friends, fluffy kittens and My Drunk Kitchen. At the same time, though, it's filled with psychological turmoil, lonliness, anxiety, helplessness, lack of affordable healthcare and grapefruit.

I have a four year degree from a prestigious college, and after two months of unemployment, I now stand and scrub parts in a shop for eight hours a day. (Though on the bright side, I did just get a kind-of promotion, so I get to sit down and draw faces in epoxy glue all day--woo!)

It's not that I don't mind paying my dues--having a college degree isn't the same as it was twenty years ago, and most people don't land their dream jobs straightaway. Especially in this economy, and especially in Erie, where the unemployment rate is thirty percent.

I knew I wanted to take a year off before school because I wanted to be more psychologically well for graduate school, and I wasn't ready to be away from home so permanently yet. But being here feels like I'm drowning, like my brain slowly atrophies with every passing smiley or frowny face I draw in epoxy. I've told people that the reason I'm not taking a job with some non-profit in D.C. was because of healthcare reasons (read: lose healthcare benefits and DIE), but the truth is, I am just so overwhelmingly terrified of change that I can't ever see myself being successful in life.

And part (even most) of that is because of the PTSD.

But you know what? The real world doesn't give a fuck if I had a traumatic upbringing. My private loan companies don't give two shits that my anxiety gets so out of control sometimes that I down twenty milligrams of Valium just to make it through the day. When all is said and done, my past doesn't make any difference to anyone else but me--just my current actions matter.

Growing up is fucking hard and also stupid, but I've finally, FINALLY contacted a therapist that was recommended to me by my childhood psychologist, and I'm looking into treatment facilities for PTSD and hoping against all the hopes that my insurance will cover something like that.

I've come to realize that I can't hide behind the past, that I have to move on and become the person I'm going to be, because I think she's going to be pretty great. I just need some help to get by, and I need to learn how to ask for it when I need it.

I need to start being me again. Or finally.

She is Perfect in That Fucked-Up Way

That title's been derived from Everclear's "Amphetamine," a song I listen to roughly seven times a day.

It's about a girl. (Which, incidentally, is the title of my Women's Studies comp!)
She tried to escape her former life; she "came out West to break away clean from her family and her friends and her little girl's dreams."

"She is, according to Everclear's singer/songwriter, "the saddest girl that I have ever known."

She came out west to escape the pressures of her current life, to explore a different mode of being, to break away from all the horrible that caused her to turn to substances like amphetamine.

Results: unstable. Even moreso than before.

See, I've tried running away. I've tried removing myself from undesirable situations both literally and figuratively--I went three thousand miles across the ocean, for Chrissakes.

It.
Don't.
Work.

There's an annoying self-help book gatheing dust on a bookshelf upstairs entitled "Wherever You Go, There You Are."

Girl, you can go to California.
You can go to Bumfucknowhere, England.
You can go to Boston.
Illinois.
Florida.
Georgia.
Any place not in the tri-state area.

Wherever you go, there you are. Sure, maybe you have less environmental, social or economic stressors (or perhaps even more, if you are hella unlucky). When it comes down to it, you are you.

See that?
It's important.

You.
Are.
You.

Whatever circumstances brought you to this moment, whatever violence or pain or misery or disaster brought you here, to this place you can escape from, are going to be carried within yourself so long as you keep them buried there.

I guess what I'm trying to say in my Ambien-induced nostalgia/wisdomfest is that the past will always be with you no matter where you go.

Should you choose to ignore it?
Accept it?
Embrace it?

I am caught in a liminal space between acceptance and embrace[ment?].

On the one hand, I feel my crazypants makes me an incredibly unique individual.
My sense of humor is off-beat and quirky, sometimes a bit macabre, but it helps me to deal on some level with painful memories that my brain has declared off-limits.

I want to run.
I want to go to DC and be successful.
I want to rabble-rouse and set shit on fire.
I want to be a thorn in the ass of patriarchy.

...if only I could convince myself that it's worth waking up in the morning.

I'm perfect, I've decided.
Perfect in that fucked-up way.
Maybe it isn't the healthiest thing in the world.
Maybe I should buckle down and get long-term PTSD treatment in a facility.
Maybe I could go under hypnosis and find out what REALLY happened to me.
But you know what?
Fucked up as I am, I LIKE me.
Of course, me being the way I am does not make it easy to attract a potential mate.
I need someone who is the opposite of me stability-wise so that we don't implode on ourselves when shit hits the fan.
This post ended up in a really different place than it started.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

okay
I'll be honest
I just drank a whole thing of wahn with a straw
A bottle
Heh
Um
but my friend helped me a little
so I thave this new job
menial, to say the least
mostly I scrub shit all day
it's a parts shob
which is good
cuz it's 40 hours a week
with the possiblity of ovetime
ha
spelled that wrong
do I care?
YES
but carry on
fuuuuuuuuuuuuck I missed Kansas at Celebrate Erie
but anyway
I have this post I wanna do about domestic violence
and the language surroudning it
cuz I work with mostly non-native English speakers
aka
Everyone is Russian as fuck
And they're like
RUSSIAN RUSSIAN RUSSIAN
and I'm like
Does not speak Russian...?
O.o
kay so
Everntually
I will update
When I do not drinkt and entire bottle of wine with my friend
Who, to be fair, chugged quite a bit
UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
he's talkin bout cars
I would talk about cats personally
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
DRUUUUUUUUUUUUNK
I may regret this post
BUT
it is part of who I am
which is kinda proound if you thing about it
so DO IT
LIVE YOUR DREAMS
MAJOR IN ENGLISH
AND WOMEN'S STUDIES
AND THEN WORK AS A TEMP I NA PARTS SHOP
CUZ SHIT GETS REAL
CUZ YOU HAVE FIBRONMYAGLIA MAYBE
AND YOU BRUISE EASILY
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

kbai
<333

OH SNAP MOAR ADDERALL

It seems I will never learn
Because no matter how many times I have insomniatic freak-outs
Or embark upon Ambien-induced hallucinatory adventures
I KEEP TAKING ADDERALL AT INAPPROPRIATE TIMES
AND THEN I CAN'T SLEEP
AND THEN I GET PHILOSOPHICAL
AND BY PHILOSOPHICAL I MEAN I CLOG EVERYONE'S NEWS FEED WITH CAT PICTURES ON MY WALL

UGH

So anyways
Graduated college about a month ago
Barely
And now everyone is like WHACHU DOIN WID YO LYF
And I'm all
D% face
My friends are getting real person jobs, moving into apartments, progenerating, getting married
And I sit at home all day
In bed
With Hot Pockets
Watching 90s X-Men cartoon reruns
Pantsless

And I want so badly to get a job
To move to a city sans "REPEAL OBAMACARE SICKLE&HAMMERFACE :D" on the highway
To strike out
Make my way
Go the distance
Etc etc
But I have this thing that makes me crazypants
As all living fuck
And on any given day
Doctors think I have:
FIBROMYALGIA
ASPERGER'S
BIPOLAR
ADD
REGULAR DEPRESSION
ATYPICAL DEPRESSION
PTSD
ANXIETY
And I'm all
Seriously?
You can't pick just one?
This isn't fucking Jelly Belly
Where you can pick and choose different flavors of shit
(sidenote: some things should not exist in bean form, POPCORN AND JELLY ARE NONMIXEY THINGS)
I am one person
There can only be SO MANY things wrong
You know, I got really distracted by the Jelly Belly thing
I'm not sure why I included that
It struck me as funny
Though in retrospect it's probably not going to be
BUT CARRY ON

I am just not sure where I'm going
Or who I am sometimes
Cuz I was lookin' through old posts
And I was all
Shiiiiiiiiit
SELF, Y U SO CONTRADICTORY
Which I guess is a common thing for twenty-somethings
Though most probably don't think in meme form
LAMESAUCE
But it seems a hell of a lot of the twenty-somethings I know have moderately got their shit together
Living at home, probably, but more out of economic necessity than constant need to be around their nanimals
I am actually pretty sure I will never succeed in life because it would require me to be away from my cats for more than a week at a time
And if you're thinking to yourself
Well, maybe bring your cats with you?
I say
HERP A DERP
THEY ARE OLD
THEY CAN'T COPE WITH CHANGE
OR CAR RIDES

Dammit
I keep getting really sidetracked
I was going to write something meaningful
And instead I talked about Jelly Belly and cats
PER USUAL

I just wish I could get a job
Where the most important skill
Would be the ability to be socially awkward
Because let me tell you friends
I would
TAKE
THE
CAKE
And I would talk about nothing but cats, sandwiches, and loathing Nickelback ALL THE LIVELONG DAY
And probably Rick Astley too
Because WHY NOT

But until then
I will continue to write nonsensical posts
Because that seems to be the one thing I am good at in my life
Other than pantsless Hot Pocket eating
And badminton
So until then
CHEERIO

DOOOOOON'T STOP. BELIEEEEEVAAAN.

The good news is I'm probably graduating.
WOO.
Bad news is I don't have a future for the next year.
OH CRACKERS.
Am goin home for to regain the sanity before I keep on keepin with school.
But like.
I am ALL the not sanity pants.
Have been lookin at long-term treatment facilies for PTSD, and insurance and parental unit willing, am gonna try and go to one.
THING IS
How to 'splain that to everyone who's going to be like, wtf, why did you up and leave home for like a month and disappear of the face of the Facebook earth, y u no post all the cat pictures and women's rights stuffs?
Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
And I have ALL the loans.
And ALL the illness.
And NONE of the financial resources.
Is a not good thing to be in the socioeconomic pits and ill.
Sometimes I worry that I will be homeless, which is the main reason I want to has treatment center NAU instead of living in a shopping cart with a tin foil hat LATER.
So I think as long as I can has treatment, den I can has wellness later on in life.
And I think that might just be a little naive, but right now, it's the thing that is getting me through most of my days.
When I go back to school, I set fire to all the structural violence.
For now, I just try and take care of me.