Lost

The more I contemplate my life, the more lost I am.

Why did these things happen to me? How am I supposed to fix them without resources or help? Am I just going to fall through the cracks? How can I take back control of my life when I am too sick to even be self-sufficient?

Everything I have attempted in life to improve my circumstances has failed. I went to school. Twice. Graduated from one, and they lost my records in a move (incredulously), so there is no proof that I even graduated except for the one slip of paper from the school that announced where the graduation ceremony was to be held. And that doesn't even hold up if you really think about it. Not to mention that school wasn't even accredited, which I had no idea of at the time, and no one cared enough about me to check it out either (like my fucking mother, who should've been looking out for things like this- you know, shit that parents are SUPPOSED TO DO?).

I've worked many jobs- some I wasn't cut out to do (through no fault of my own- I tried and my illnesses made it impossible), and some I absolutely was born to do, but of COURSE, they were yanked out from under me (like the book store I loved working at, that went out of business and left me jobless). My family all deserted me a long time ago, no help there. My "friends" all fucked off, too. People accuse me of "pushing them away", well, hell yes, I'm going to push you out of my life if you are bringing negativity to it!!! You can't keep screwing me over time and time again and then cry and resent me when I finally cut you out! You don't get to be the victim there!!

Then I get sick. Really sick. On top of the illnesses I already had. Fibromyalgia is an ass-kicker, and there's no cure. You can learn to live with it and manage it as best you can, but make no mistake- this illness is CHRONIC and it does what it wants. You may be well enough to go out one day, but then fibro will make you pay for it for the rest of the week. You're its bitch, for sure. And the real kicker? It's invisible and can't be proven with any medical tests, so basically you're walking around in pain all the time but have no way to show people you're legitimately sick and not just lazy or overreacting. So sure, go ahead, fibro, add insult to injury.

The worst part of all of this is that I feel it is making me lose my faith. I'm a Christian, I follow the teachings of Christ (not necessarily the Bible) and I do my best to live in accordance to that. But the shitshow that has been my entire life has caused me to wonder if there even is a point to any of it. Why should I keep praying and being a good person? Who is it helping? Not me, that's for sure. Why should I keep believing, when I am seemingly forgotten by God?

I am so fucking lost.

Solitude

It's 2 o'clock on Thanksgiving Day, and I am alone.

The sky outside my window is oyster gray, and the autumn leaves are pops of orange, gold, and red against it. It is quiet because I have no tv or music playing. It is warm because the oven was used for baking a vanilla creme cake earlier, which sets on my kitchen table now, cooling and waiting for the creme and the chocolate glaze. There is a vegan turkey roasting in the oven now, and when that is done, in will go a sweet potato and an apple- both rubbed in coconut oil and sprinkled with cinnamon. I will then saute some julienne sliced green beans in butter and garlic. This will be my meal on the day of thanks.

I am thankful for quiet, solitary moments like this, when I can relax and be my whole self because no one is watching, no one is judging. No one will comment on my plain black clothing, or my messy hair, or my face that is bare without makeup. No one is here to criticize my cooking or judge me silently when I lounge on the couch reading The Bell Jar with freshly painted toe nails.

I am alone. And when I am alone, I am free.

Back From Hiatus

It's been a while since I blogged. Well, it happens. Sometimes I'll not be in the mood for like 6 months.

I feel darker in mood lately, so the goth side of me is emerging again. Which means naturally, the makeup gets darker, more dramatic, and the clothes are all black. Not everyone agrees that this is a "good look" for me. Do I give a shit? Nope. This is MY life, and I am living it for me. There is very little in my life that I can control right now, but how I dress is one of them, and I am taking full advantage of that. Don't like it? Don't look at me.

My meds haven't done me any favors, so I'm slowly tapering myself off of them. The therapy is shit. I only go because I have to, as per my lawyer. So right now, any "help" I get is inside myself. Which ain't shit. I'm just done with pretending that everything is okay. NOTHING is okay. I'M not okay. It's all FUCKED.

I voted early. It was a fucking madhouse and showed me that my social anxiety has worsened greatly. I could barely breathe, all I wanted to do was RUN out of there. But I made myself do it. For God and Country, as they say. Here's to hoping the country doesn't go to shit after election day.

HATE

I fucking hate myself.

I hate how I look, obviously. Anyone who knows me knows that. I'm too tall for a girl, too fat, and my fat doesn't even go to the right places. You know what places I speak of. My face is asymmetrical, my voice is croaky, I have too much fucking DARK body/facial hair, my head hair is frizzy and falls out like a Golden Retriever's. There is literally nothing I like about my appearance.

Then there is the stuff I've been told about myself over the years by various people, the non-physical stuff: I need to "grow a brain", I'm lazy, I'm stupid, I am boring, too deep, too sensitive, I talk too fucking much, I'm too moody, I have too many issues, I'm overwhelming to be with, I'm too caught up in idealism and dreams, and I am judgmental.

And the stuff I have noticed about myself that no one else has pointed out yet: I feel insecure about blondes and natural redheads. I feel insecure and even somewhat jealous of women who are confident enough to show off their bodies or be flirtatious. I'm staying in a relationship with a man who deserves better than me, therefore ruining his life while he doesn't even realize it. I am a hypocrite about my depression- I advise depressed people about their lives and their illness while I am unable to talk my own self out of my depression. I am a hypocrite when it comes to charity work- I want to help, but because of how much it hurts my heart to see people/animals suffer, I choose not to.

I hate myself. Why does a person who has all the aforementioned issues deserve to live?

Well Screw You Too, Endocrine System.

Only yours truly can bust her butt doing cardio (walking on an incline) and not only NOT lose weight, but instead, end up GAINING 3 pounds!

I'm not giving up. I like exercising, and it makes me feel better, even if it does nothing for my appearance. I like the walks because the scenery is pretty, the street smells like pine and honeysuckle, and I can be alone with my thoughts. I will keep walking, further and further, and I will get my body into the best shape possible. Even if it means I'll stay fat (this part is just really unfortunate).

Am I A Creep Magnet????

What is it with me??? Why do I always seem to attract creeps of the highest order?

What is it about me that seems to draw the most creepy, dangerous, angry, leechy, and perverted of society? The users, the abusers, the mama's boys, the liars, the cheaters, the narcissists? I swear to GOD I don't understand it.

I try to be a good person. Is that it? Is that what says to these creeps "Hey! Over here! Someone you can exploit and abuse!" Or is it my obvious low self esteem? Are these guys predators that can smell an insecure person from a mile away? Is that why they choose me?

It could be that it's because I'm an empath. I found this article about empaths and abusers: http://www.sheknows.com/love-and-sex/articles/1096279/traits-that-make-you-susceptible-to-a-psychopath

It certainly makes sense that creeps would be attracted to empaths for those reasons. Now I just need to learn how to spot a creep BEFORE I become trapped in his orbit.

I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why I can't just have one normal part of my life. Just one.

Toxicity

I have a lot of guilt about not being closer to my family.

I've been distant from them since after high school, and we haven't bridged the gap yet. Honestly, we probably never will. They don't make me feel wanted or loved. They don't support me in any way. They are all incredibly self-absorbed and they basically just do their own thing. So why shouldn't I just do my own thing??

My past with my family has not been a happy one. Sure, there were happy moments. But on the whole...my childhood was a rough one and none of the people in charge of making me feel safe ever did so. I grew up walking on egg shells, afraid to show any emotion or tell anyone anything that could possibly be used against me in the future. I had zero trust in my parents. I was downright afraid of my mother and her temper, and I felt more like a parent to my dad when he would start drinking and become a crying suicidal mess.

So why do I feel so obligated to be involved with them? All they do is bring me down and make me feel stressed, used, put down, and guilty. Is it my responsibility to put up with this behavior grudgingly "because they're family"? Or do I owe it to myself to set boundaries and cease contact with anyone who treats me so badly?

The struggle is real.

Blah.

Major depression again.

I've cut myself off from everyone. Not that I have people beating down my door, trying to be in my life. Dad called yesterday and I didn't answer. Mom hasn't been texting much and I'm relieved. My two former best friends don't want to talk to me. My only other online friend and I argue too much for me to really feel comfortable opening up to him.

I feel like what I need and deserve is to be alone, on some island somewhere, with only animals as company. I can't keep accepting friendships with people. It's not fair to them to have to put up with my issues, and it's too heartbreaking to me when they inevitably leave.

One former best friend keeps suggesting that it's somehow MY fault that I am in the depressive state I'm in. He seems to think that it's because I'm not "trying hard enough" to be happy or content with my life as it is. I think this is bullshit. I have bipolar disorder- my brain is wired this way, and nothing except for medication is going to change that. I take my meds as directed, but nothing seems to stop these major depressions from hitting. They really feel like hurricanes- washing over me, drowning me, ruining everything I was just beginning to build for myself, and leaving me with nothing but debris and damage.

I do as I'm told. I do the breathing exercises, the visualizations, the journaling, the meds. But the missing element (and probably the most important one) is people. I need people in my life who actually care about me and want to know what's going on. People who will ask about my progress, work on it with me, and support me emotionally all the way. I have yet to find anyone who will stay. Oh, they all say they will stick around. But 100% of them have left. They say I am "overwhelming" to be around.

Yeah? Well you should try living my life. You don't know what overwhelmed is.

RANT!!

Fibromyalgia affects my life in so many tiny ways that people just don't understand. 

I can't go to movies because I can't stand to sit that long in one place anymore. I can't even play online games with friends anymore, for the same reason. My thinking is always foggy now, so when I do watch something, I have to rewind and pause frequently, to "register" what I just saw or heard. People can't stand that. Yet, when I turn down their offers to watch together, they get offended.

I can't shower every day anymore, only every other day, because I need a day to rest. Forget shaving my legs- that happens only before doctor appointments now. I can't run to the grocery store when I need something- getting ready hurts and exhausts me. I need time to mentally and physically prepare for outings, even simple grocery store trips. I can't cook every day, and I can no longer host big holiday dinners (because I usually get left in the kitchen, doing everything myself).

I can't clean the entire house in one go, like I used to. I do two or three tasks and have to stop or take a nap. I need help with almost everything that I used to be able to do by myself. Making a bed, stripping a bed, cooking, cleaning, organizing, etc. I'm always exhausted yet at night, I can't sleep, even though my eyes are red, sore, and watery from lack of sleep. I can no longer eat my favorite spicy foods (ulcer) or cheesy foods (lactose intolerant) or lovely bread (gluten allergy). With fibro came a ton of digestive issues.

I'm just feeling really down today because my "friends" just don't understand how difficult my life has become since I got sick. All because I don't LOOK sick. It'd be very different if I was laid up in a hospital bed without hair and with huge black circles under my eyes, or if I was in a wheelchair. Then they'd get it. Then they'd be happy to help.

Maybe I'm a little bitter, but this disease has ruined my life.

Why I Decided Against Ever Again Being In A Poly Relationship

(Disclaimer: This list is based on my own personal experiences, and is not reflective of all polyamorous or polygamous relationships)



1. There is less privacy when you add more people to an existing two-party relationship.

     No matter what you two do, or where you go, or what goes on between you, there is always a third party to be considered and informed. No more impromptu day trips to the mountains! You have to let partner #3 know about it and make sure she's going to feel loved and included, even if she won't be there with you.
     To me it feels a lot like what it must feel like to be on a romantic date with your new gf, who has to leave the table every 10 minutes to call the babysitter and check on her child, and when she comes back to the table, all she can talk about is her child. Everything reminds her of her child, and before you take her home, she insists on shopping for a little something to bring home for her child. You get the idea- the third partner isn't always with you...but in a way, she totally is.

2. If the new partner isn't into both of you equally, trouble will arise.

     When you add a new partner to an existing couple, you'd better make sure the new partner is romantically interested in BOTH of you, equally. If not, there's going to be imbalanced affections and unfair time management, and there will always be a drop of vinegar in the milk, so to speak.
     When meeting new people to possibly add to your relationship, it's important for both of you to spend time with her individually, to ensure that there is romantic chemistry between all of you. If you're lucky enough to meet someone who clicks with you both, congrats! If not... best keep looking.

3. The logistics just complicate everything.

Let's face it- in any situation, if you're trying to build something, the more people you add, the more complicated it's going to be, and the more difficult it will be to manage the entire project. It's no different when it comes to relationships. If it's just you and your sweetheart, things can still be difficult at times, but it's a lot faster to resolve conflict because it's just the two of you. Add another partner or two, and conflict becomes a boardroom situation that can take ages to resolve. Also, the more people involved, the higher the potential for there to be all-out war, with multiple partners siding together against another, etc. It's never pretty.

4. If you value intimacy, poly can feel like a nightmare.

    In a poly relationship, getting intimate time is sometimes difficult, especially if you're like me and need intimate time with just one of your partners at a time. If you're afraid of storms and just want your boyfriend to spend the night holding your hand, he may not be available because he might be out dancing with partner #3.
     This was my least favorite part of poly, and probably the biggest reason why I don't want to try it again. I want a partner who isn't juggling multiple partners, but is available for me when he isn't busy. (This also ties in with reason number one, above- less intimacy between partners)

5. If you're an introvert, poly can feel like a party you can't shut down.

     Obviously. More people = more conversation, movement, and physical interaction. Even when all you want is a quiet night at home with a book. This tends to be more of a problem if the partners share a residence, but even in the case that they don't, getting peace and quiet can pose a problem if all of the partners are in the same place at the same time.
     I'm very introverted and I like to spend time at home. If I want to cook a meal, share it with my partners, and then settle down to watch a serious movie with them, I have to be open to the possibility that one or more of my partners will be in a very different (extroverted) mood. Perhaps they want to chat about their day instead of watching the film, or they don't want to sit at home, they want to go see a movie at the theater. You can't just do what's "comfortable" in a poly relationship- you have to adapt to what the group is feeling, and sometimes that means being in a loud active environment when all you want is quiet introspection.

Those are the 5 main reasons I will never attempt poly again. Some people are very good at poly relationships. Some people can manage them, can handle the pressures, the conflicts, and the multiple partners. Some people are made for the "group mentality" that poly often requires. Some people build beautiful poly lives with their partners, and are genuinely happy. I'm not saying it's impossible. I'm just saying it's not the life I want.
     The ending of my last (poly) relationship was meant to be, and I am thankful for the learning experience it provided.

Backed Into A Corner

I've reached a point where I can no longer live the way I have been living for 5 years now.

I have written about my disabilities before (fibromyalgia, bipolar disorder, CFS) and how they affect my daily life. I am unable to work, and I have to ration my energy like it's valuable gold that will not be replenished. So I have been staying with my best friend for 5 years, while in the process of applying for disability income.

Yes, you read that correctly. FIVE YEARS I have been waiting. I had a lawyer from the very start, because I read that having a lawyer speeds the process along. What a joke. Here I am, 5 years later, having exhausted all resources, my friends and family's patience for me having worn thin, and with no hope for any positive news regarding my case any time soon. So what do I do now?

I go back to work.

I really don't know what else there is to do. Is my body able? No. But do I have a choice? No. I am backed into the proverbial corner, and it's time I made my move. I have no support, no one in my circle. I am the only one who can get myself out of this. So I guess that's what I will have to do.

More news as it happens, will keep this blog updated as long as I have internet access. (And I am not sure how much longer that will be.)

The End

Well, it's done.

My relationship I mean. My long-distance relationship of nearly 6 years is finished.

I'm not as broken up about it as one would expect, because I think I felt like it was over months ago. It was only made official last night, but for me, it's been over for a long time. I learned a lot from him. I learned to set boundaries with people who used to run me over. I learned to trust someone completely; something I had never previously been able to do. I learned to allow others to be themselves, and to accept them that way. I learned to value my modesty and my body, and share it only with those who truly deserve it.

I also learned that I can never again open myself completely to someone. When I do so, I overwhelm them and swallow them whole with my looming depression and insecurity. People cannot handle me at 100 proof. I must always be diluted.

"Always."

I recently learned that J.K. Rowling suffers from depression. This information blew my mind, yet, in a way, I should have realized.

Re-reading The Prisoner of Azkaban, I noticed how precisely Azkaban resembled the "prison" of depression I live in every day, and how the Dementors so closely resemble the "demons" I wrestle with when my worst days come. 

"They don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most go mad within weeks." - Remus Lupin on Azkaban

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

—Description of Dementors

This is exactly how depression feels, and I knew when I read PoA that Rowling had to know it personally. Sirius Black is the only person to have escaped Azkaban with his wits, because he turned himself into a dog when the dementors were around. This is meaningful to me too, considering the dog is my favorite animal, and in the world of animals, the most loyal to man and the most likely to love unconditionally. The fact that the dementors left Sirius alone while he was in this form is touching. Perhaps these things are why PoA is my favorite book in the Harry Potter series. 

I am in a major HP obsession phase right now, and someone recently had the gall to jokingly quip, "You're obsessed...15 years after the fact." 

My response?

Another Adventure

Reading is one of the only forms of escape I still have left.

Anyone who knows me, knows of my love for books, and anyone who has known me for a long time, knows that I rarely go anywhere without a book or a Kindle or at the very least, a magazine. I had a rough childhood and reading was one way I could bury myself in another person's world, forgetting my own problems that at the time, were inescapable. Once again, in my current time of inescapable crisis- books are my savior.

I'm re-visiting the Harry Potter series. Currently on the third book, 'Prisoner of Azkaban'. Reading the HP novels is something I do enjoy, although I think I came along too early to really enjoy them the way a child could (I was already 17 when the first book was released). Still, they're fun and creative and my favorite part of each book is the lesson within. Well done, Rowling.

Despair

Been in this same old hopeless mindset for months. It's getting worse. I'm out of options if this one last attempt to get help is denied.

There are a million questions revolving in my mind. Am I doing a bad thing? Am I deserving of this help? Am I over-blowing my situation or is it really as bad as I think it is? Do people realize the situation I am in, or do they just not care? Am I being a crybaby? How strong am I supposed to be and how weak am I allowed to be? Who is on my side? Who can I really trust? Where do I go from here?

I am so exhausted from trying to keep it together. I am ready to let go in all ways. I don't know how much longer I can live a life like this.

Stuck

Do you ever just feel stuck?

Lately I feel like a rat stuck to those sticky traps. Still alive, but stuck in one place waiting to die. I have an intense burning need to be real on my social media sites. I don't mean real as in "stop pretending to be someone I'm not"- I'm very open about myself online. I share my real photos, my real name (on Facebook anyway), and I talk about the daily events of my actual life. When I say I want to be real...it means I want to give full disclosure about what I go through, what I feel, what I think, what I hope for, and what I really fear.

The reason I haven't done so before is simple, really. I don't want to show people a side of me that will look like an attention whore. I will be the first to tell you I am needy. I am somewhat high-maintenance in the emotional/mental departments. I need almost constant reassurance. And more reassurance on top of that. I don't like to be alone, yet being with people is the worst hell I can imagine. I want to be able to open my home to strangers or friends (if I had any), yet I am terrified of someone coming into my personal space. I feel so passionately for animals and I would love to volunteer at a rescue shelter, yet my absolute fear of interacting with humans prevents me from doing so. I am developing my faith and deciding on my religion, yet I have not visited a church because of the fear of standing out, being asked questions about who I am, and most of all, doing something wrong. I worry about my appearance. I think others look at me and think I am disgusting. I worry about my health. Every time some new symptom pops up, I wonder if I am dying. I worry about my dyslexia- counting out money, telling time, giving directions, following instructions- it's all very hard for me and makes me look stupid. I worry about my lack of life experience, job experience, and education. I worry about people judging me based on ALL of what I just mentioned.

This is the face of social anxiety. Fear, from the second you wake up til the second you sleep again. And if I expressed my fears and feelings each time I felt them, to others it would look like a desperate need for attention. That's the last thing I want. I fear being in the spotlight. I'm the girl who doesn't volunteer to get on stage at a magic show, and I'm the girl who sticks close to the wall and in the darkest corner at parties (if you can even get me to attend one, that is). I'm the girl who can't even walk into a small venue, because I don't like when everyone turns around to see who just walked in. I don't want attention. Yet, someone once told me that I am "conceited" because I "assume that everyone is paying attention to me" (even though the attention in question is negative).

So do you see my dilemma? If I stay quiet about my anxiety, people think I am closed off and snobbish. If I open up and talk about my anxiety, people think I am seeking attention and making everything about me.

So I'm stuck. Not moving, not speaking, and completely alone. My head is full of thoughts I can't express and can't understand. Some days I honestly just want to die, to stop feeling anything at all. I'm not afraid of death in theory- it happens to us all eventually, and hey, there have been some pretty amazing people who have gone before me. So what is there to fear? If there's an afterlife, I'm good, I'm pretty sure I'll go to a good place. If there's nothing, well then it won't even matter because I won't feel or see or exist anyway. The only thing that stops me when I feel suicidal is the fear of surviving and ending up in a state of mind or body that requires someone else to care for me until I die. And then of course, there's the embarrassment of failure. What do people say about those who failed suicide? Here's what I have heard them say: "She just wanted attention. If she really wanted to kill herself, there are fail-proof ways."

I have a friend who consistently tells me how "normal" I am. I know he means it in a positive way. He's trying to make me feel like less of an outsider. But the truth is that I am not normal. I'm not. It doesn't mean I'm special! It means I am atypical and misunderstood. I am not above anyone. If anything, I am below them. My instincts seem to be vastly different from those of my peers. My thoughts are different, my responses and reactions are so often different. I see things differently. I don't know why.

I am an INFJ on the Myers-Briggs scale. This is the most rare type.

"INFJs have a talent for warm, sensitive language, speaking in human terms, rather than with pure logic and fact. It makes sense that their friends and colleagues will come to think of them as quiet Extroverted types, but they would all do well to remember that INFJs need time alone to decompress and recharge, and to not become too alarmed when they suddenly withdraw. INFJs take great care of other’s feelings, and they expect the favor to be returned – sometimes that means giving them the space they need for a few days. INFJs are:

• Sensitive – When someone challenges or criticizes INFJs’ principles or values, they are likely to receive an alarmingly strong response. People with the INFJ personality type are highly vulnerable to criticism and conflict, and questioning their motives is the quickest way to their bad side.
• Extremely Private – INFJs tend to present themselves as the culmination of an idea. This is partly because they believe in this idea, but also because INFJs are extremely private when it comes to their personal lives, using this image to keep themselves from having to truly open up, even to close friends. Trusting a new friend can be even more challenging for INFJs.
• Perfectionistic – INFJs are all but defined by their pursuit of ideals. While this is a wonderful quality in many ways, an ideal situation is not always possible – in politics, in business, in romance – and INFJs too often drop or ignore healthy and productive situations and relationships, always believing there might be a better option down the road.
• Always Need to Have a Cause – INFJs get so caught up in the passion of their pursuits that any of the cumbersome administrative or maintenance work that comes between them and the ideal they see on the horizon is deeply unwelcome. INFJs like to know that they are taking concrete steps towards their goals, and if routine tasks feel like they are getting in the way, or worse yet, there is no goal at all, they will feel restless and disappointed.
• Can Burn Out Easily – Their passion, poor patience for routine maintenance, tendency to present themselves as an ideal, and extreme privacy tend to leave INFJs with few options for letting off steam. People with this personality type are likely to exhaust themselves in short order if they don’t find a way to balance their ideals with the realities of day-to-day living."

I am an empath. I feel what others feel, to such an extent that being around a group of people overwhelms me with emotion. I can read energies in people, and I can always sense how others feel about me, or about anyone. It's painful to watch people pretend to feel one way, when I know that in reality, they feel another way. It's confusing and frustrating.

I have SPD (Sensory Perception Disorder), which makes everything I hear, see, smell, taste, or feel amplified to the point of making me disoriented and afraid. If I have a slight stomach ache, it's like a gnawing set of jaws in my belly. If I have a slight headache, it's like someone is crushing my brain in a vice. If there are fireworks somewhere in the distance, it sounds to me like a gun is being fired right next to my head. When I wear clothes or cover up with a blanket, it feels like there is sandpaper against my skin. If there is a cleaning chemical on the floor, to me it's like my nose and throat are being burned by the smell. This is a real disorder, and one that is very hard to live with. I spend most of my days alone in a quiet house as a result.

I am an introvert- being around people drains me. I feel a constant need to be "on", to entertain, to play hostess, to join in to the conversations. This is easy and natural for some. Not for me.

I am a sensitive- I sense things around me that others do not, often making me seem distracted or disinterested in the people or perceivable events around me. This sensitivity even extends to paranormal or supernatual events and entities. Another aspect of me that makes people think I'm some crazy New Age nutjob.

I am sick. I have several chronic physical and mental illnesses, and a new symptom every day. When I talk about it, I get shushed by my family and even a couple of "friends", who compare me to "those old ladies who are always complaining about their aches and pains".

I have PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). I have years of abuse under my belt (physical, sexual, verbal, emotional), and even though I am 35 years old, all of it still affects me every day. I have deep trust issues that make it very difficult (and sometimes impossible) to open up to someone and enjoy their company.

I have BDD (Body Dysmorphic Disorder) and truly see an ugly, hideous monster when I see myself in photos or in the mirror. It is hard for me to believe people who tell me I look like any other person, because that is not what I see.

So with all of this...is it at least a little understandable that I feel the way I do? Hopeless, alone, and
                             STUCK????

My First Love (or, Reading)

Let's talk about my first love: Reading.

I started reading when I was 3 years old (according to my parents), and I never looked back. My very first book was 'The Hungry Caterpillar'. Then 'Bambi'. Then countless 'Rainbow Brite' and fairy tale books.

                 My dad holding me when I was about 4. Notice the storybook beneath my arm.

My favorites were Little Red Riding Hood, The Pied Piper, and Hansel and Gretel. You know why I loved those? They all contain an element of horror. Now, most fairly tales are rooted in ancient lore, which is usually horrifying anyway. But these fairly tales are the ones that never got watered down by Disney and parents who didn't want to give their children nightmares. The villains didn't disappear. They weren't turned into goofy, easily defeated fools. The wolf didn't become a funny dog. The Pied Piper didn't become some silly jester. The witch in the candy house didn't become some harmless old lady. These characters remain scary, dangerous, and a real threat to little children who don't obey their parents. (Except in the case of The Pied Piper, when it's actually the townspeople who disobeyed, not the children.)

I have always loved and been drawn to horror stories. The first serious horror novel I ever read was Pet Sematary by Stephen King. I was 8 years old. I couldn't put it down, and when I finished it, I would beg my dad to buy me more King novels. He did. As long as I was reading and happy, he supplied the books, no matter what the material. From there, I expanded my horizons to more horror authors like R.L. Stine, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, Christopher Pike, Clive Barker, V.C Andrews, Caroline B. Cooney, Poppy Z. Brite, H.P. Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury, Neil Gaiman, Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, and countless others who weren't as famous or well-known.

Young adult novels or adult ones- didn't matter to me. I'd read anything that would scare me. I especially loved collected stories about true accounts of hauntings and supernatural phenomena. I think I get this from my dad- an avid reader himself, who also happens to favor the scary stuff.

My first love was reading these delightful dreadful stories. Holed up in my room, under blanket forts, outside under trees, lying in our old hammock, riding the school bus, in school while I was supposed to be studying- I'd read anywhere and everywhere. It's a love I will have until I am too old to see or hear. And by then, I will have enough stories in my brain and heart, that I won't even need to read. I will have them all inside, waiting to be relived.