I Wish I Wasn’t Me

**(NOTE: This was written many years ago, maybe 15-20.)

I remember when I used to be much more ignorant about the world, yet I was a much happier person because of it. I used to think life was simple and easy going. I used to think that life was all about having a job, getting married, and having kids. I used to have such an innocent outlook on things. Since, I’ve learned differently and my soul has been tainted with the negative side of life… a side that has made me wish I were someone else.

If what I don’t know doesn’t hurt me, then I’d live a life of bliss. Unfortunately, I think that knowing too much has done more harm than good. If I weren’t so good at English, then I wouldn’t care to notice everyone else’s horrible grammar and spelling. If hadn’t chosen an artistic field, then I wouldn’t be scrutinizing every little detail about others, as artists tend to do. If I hadn’t been born with the innate tendency to pick up on people, then I’d have no reason to worry about being a private investigator. If I’d chosen to be a housewife instead of having a career, then I wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about everything else. If I’d chosen to stay in a bad relationship rather than be single, then why do I feel I’d be better off with someone who doesn’t love me than no one at all? Would I be one of those wives that turn the blind eye on a cheating husband, or would I be too stupid to know any better?

If I were a stupid person, I’d be happy as hell because I wouldn’t know any better. There are enough stupid people around so I’d at least fit in with their group. At least stupid people feel loved – even when they’re not.

I get told often that I’m “beautiful”, “gorgeous”, “sexy”, etc… but I don’t feel it. How can people who say these things turn right around and say things that are equally as insulting and degrading, and then expect me to believe it? Or these same people’s actions prove they’re just liars. How can someone who doesn’t feel loved feel any of those good things at all?

If I wasn’t me, then would I be happier?

Depression and B-12 Deficiency

The other day when I posted this blog about how horrible I was feeling, I felt slightly better after writing it. However, slightly isn’t enough to get out of a deep, dark funk. That same day, I had also taken my monthly B-12 shot, which usually helps with energy if nothing more, but it takes a good day or so to really be felt in my system.

It’s abnormal for me to walk around crying and unable to function or cope with everyday life, and it happens suddenly and spirals out of control. I am extremely self-aware of how my body feels and how my mind is affected. I feel dazed, unable to concentrate, extremely depressed and anxious, and extremely hopeless in a tunnel without any light. It’s a terrible way to feel. This is what depression feels like to me.

On August 26, I had my pre-op bloodwork done, and some things came back as “low”. I had to google the jargon to figure out what it meant, and it seems that both lack of iron (I have anemia) and B-12 are the culprits here. I am convinced that the lack of B-12 is why my depression gets really bad like it did the other day, because I can easily control the iron deficiency with a pill. These were my results:

After doing some research and also being extremely aware of my body and the things it does, I am convinced that much of my depression is due to a B-12 deficiency. Two days after taking my shot, I felt like a different person – like a cloud has lifted. Today, I feel even better. But this is only temporary, because my body tends to use the B-12 quickly.

Unfortunately, I am only prescribed one shot of B-12 a month, and even though I take oral B-12 as well, it’s not enough. I eat enough foods with B-12 also, so for whatever reason, my body just doesn’t keep this supplement. I contacted my doctor about the bloodwork and my concerns, but I have yet to hear back from her. It’s been 3 days, which I feel is too long to wait when I’m feeling helpless. The last time I told my doctor I think I need the shots more often, she said my bloodwork was fine. Well, duh, it’s fine right after I take the shot up until about 2-3 weeks later. By the third week, I’m low again, which is when they should be testing me. I mean, to me, it’s just common fucking sense!

The doctor also told me this – which I don’t believe, and think she confused B-12 with iron supplements – that too much B-12 isn’t good for me. Total b.s.! I have researched very reputable references that say the complete opposite. Yes, too much iron can harm you, but not B-12.

And here’s another issue – I email the doctor, because it’s usually easier to communicate, but it’s the nurse that generally answers. There have been times the nurse has confused communication to the point that I’ve given up going back and forth. Today I emailed again about my concern, since I hadn’t heard from my doctor. The nurse answers me and asks where I’m getting the B-12 injections, because my records are showing it’s a provider outside the VA healthcare system. WHAT!!!???!!!

OMFG, are you kidding me!! I do not have a provider outside the VA, because if I did, I wouldn’t be emailing about a fucking vitamin that I need to function; I’d be contacting a doctor that wouldn’t think twice about giving me a prescription for it. Jesus Christ! I’m not asking for pain medicine; I’m asking for a harmless supplement so I don’t kill myself! Is this why so many veterans don’t use their medical benefits, and is this why so many veterans are committing suicide? It’s simple shit like this that can drive a person absolutely batshit crazy.

This time I cannot give up. This is my mental health we’re talking about here, and if I need an extra shot a month, then I should get it. I see that I can get it online cheaper for a pet than for a human, even though it’s the same damn thing, and I can get it without a prescription. More total b.s., but I may have to do just that. It shouldn’t be this difficult to solve a simple solution!

About to Lose My Mind – Depression, Anxiety, and I hate everything

I’m about to lose my fucking mind. Not joking. The amount of stress I’m feeling today and prior to today is really wearing on me.

This morning I spent 3 1/2 hours trying to fix things that shouldn’t be broken, things that I didn’t break, instead of doing something that makes me feel better. And this is the type of shit I seem to be dealing with on a weekly basis, because no one seems to know how to do their jobs.

I had a counseling appointment scheduled for this afternoon at the VA, but I realized that I hadn’t received the ten reminders I normally get when I have an appointment. Good thing I checked this morning, because I would have driven the 30 miles one way to get there only to find out someone canceled ALL of my upcoming counseling appointments. This is AFTER waiting for 3 months to see my counselor, because she is so booked. Second motherfucking time this has happened, and for someone with anxiety, depression, and PTSD, this is NOT a good thing.

Not only did I have to wait nearly three months for this counseling appointment, I had to reschedule another very important appointment (they put at the exact same time) that I’ve been waiting 19 years for. Yes, you read that right. 19 years! I have been dicked around for more than 20 years with the VA, and they still can’t get it right.

I have surgery in 10 days. I’m not nervous about it; I just want it overwith so I can have my physical life back. And because of the surgery, it’s getting more difficult to reschedule all of the shit that someone else fucked up. I will be out of commission for two months, so not only am I currently broke, I am super stressed about how I’m going to make it after surgery. Maybe I will end up living in my car after all.

Yesterday was a bad day. I’ve been getting migraines (sinus? Who knows?) a lot lately. I’m getting one now. Yesterday I had a migraine. I decided maybe a walk on the beach would do me good. So I went and didn’t stay long. I didn’t realize the heat index was 106, so on top of being overly hot, it was crowded, and I didn’t feel like being around people. Then I went home and cried for the rest of the afternoon.

I don’t trust people, and I’m really beginning to hate people, and I’m becoming more and more introverted. I don’t normally feel hatred towards anyone, but for whatever reason, ever since dating Toe Ring and recently seeing OC around town, I’m feeling hatred towards people (including those two). I feel like the only way to get by in this world is to be a fucking asshole, and I hate fucking assholes. It seems like the only way to be successful is to be one. I hate this world.

I don’t fit in anywhere, and I realize I never have, so it’s hard to like anyone when I don’t trust them. I don’t even feel like I have real friends anymore. I have friends that are my friends when they are bored and no one else is there to entertain them, or they’re my friends when they need something. Other than that, I’m on my own.

I haven’t been leaving the house much unless I have to. For the most part, I haven’t felt like being around people, because they annoy the shit out of me and give me anxiety. I don’t want to be out in public. I haven’t been doing any of the normal things I usually do, because I haven’t felt like it. Maybe it’s the excruciating Florida heat. Maybe it’s the depression. And it seems when I do feel like doing anything, something comes along and fucks it all up, so why bother?

Being broke doesn’t help, because I need to save gas. I need my car fixed. I really need a chiropractor (probably why I have migraines). I am trying to decide to either get rid of internet or my phone so I have some grocery money, but I need to have both to get things done. It’s a no-win situation. Some of the jobs I’ve been doing are hit or miss, unpredictable, and often unreliable. I guess this is the way it is with jobs nowadays. It’s bullshit, if you ask me.

A few weeks ago, I had to put food back at the grocery store, because I needed maxi pads, because I wouldn’t stop bleeding. How unfair is it that women have to choose between food and pads, but men don’t? I hate being a woman. Men are clueless about the shit we have to deal with. It must be nice to be clueless. Maybe that’s the key to happiness.

Sometimes I feel like the Universe hates me. That I don’t belong here. That it’s trying to tell me to get the fuck out of it. That everything that sucks is a reminder that I’m just a middle-aged loser with nothing to look forward to… whose dreams are dead and bloated.

I fucking hate life right now.

Life After a Hysteroscopy

I haven’t been writing much. I’ve been thinking about writing a lot lately, but just haven’t gotten around to doing it. I really need to force myself to do it, since it’s basically a form of therapy and a release of toxins in my brain. But I did another brain dump in May and never bothered to type it up to post it. And here it is…

I’ve had a lot to think about lately. A LOT. Had the surgery. Hysteroscopy. Biopsy. NO CANCER! Yes! That was a relief. And for whatever reason, I’ve gotten my sex drive back. I suppose not being in constant pain helps that. But still, for four or five weeks I wasn’t allowed to go swimming, take baths, or put anything into my vagina. So you can imagine how happy I am that those times are over and I can at least use my vibrator again… which seems to be partly broken and eating batteries like crazy. Bummer.

All of that gave me a lot of downtime. And downtime means I’m thinking A LOT. Too much. I already tend to worry too much over shit that shouldn’t matter or hasn’t happened. Anxiety has taken over a bit, so I decided to really get back into some art and creative writing rather than journaling. Been keeping to myself a lot. That helps, but too much time alone indoors makes me batshit. Trying to spend “mental time” at the beach as often as I can, even if it’s only for an hour. Reading a lot of books, too. Maybe I’ll review a few.

I wished I liked those bubbly flavored spiked seltzers more, but I still prefer the flavor of beer. Maybe because it’s make with real shit, not some fake flavoring. Anyway, I’m gaining weight from it. I’m sure my hormonal changes aren’t helping. Besides feeling bloated and looking more my age, I almost don’t even care if I get fat. But then again, none of my clothes are fitting, so that is a problem.

And then I’ve been thinking very hard about the people I allow into my life. People often say that I’m hard to get to know. But if I don’t feel the need to get to know them, or for whatever reason don’t trust that person, they won’t have the chance to get to know me. I feel that people that truly want to get to know me will recognize who I am by my writing, art, and spending quality time with me. Time is very important to me. I prefer to use mine alone rather than someone I don’t want to be near.

With that being said, I realize the majority of men I’ve dated did not deserve my time and attention – because they didn’t take the time to get to know me; they were too busy trying to fuck me and/or play my emotions. It’s difficult even being friends with men if they act that way. And then I have the tendency to give second chances, try to work things out that never will, feel sorry for someone (usually why I stay in something longer than I should). Basically, I’ve been dating below me. As in – I have something to offer them, but they have nothing to offer me except issues. So why do I bother? Is it loneliness?

I have to keep occupied, away from fucktards, and find the person I lost long ago – Me.

Single White Female With PTSD (Lives With Cat)

After twenty-something years of b.s. with the Veteran’s Administration to get my medical benefits and counseling, I think I finally have it all straightened out. Two years ago I attempted to get counseling, because I had been through a divorce and numerous things that I could no longer deal with on my own, and then a close friend died suddenly. I knew that it was time to talk to a professional.

The VA finally scheduled me for my first counseling appointment, but I wasn’t aware it was at a different location than the normal one, so I was running a little late. I was there a good hour talking to an older woman that reeked of cigarette smoke, and the thing she seemed to only focus on was asking about my cats. I wasn’t there to talk about my freaking cats; I was there for real issues.

Anyway, the VA later canceled my future appointment, because the counselor would be out that day. Then suddenly, they canceled EVERY future appointment and had no record of me visiting the first time. NONE. Seriously. I was super pissed and explained who I saw and what happened with me being a few minutes late. They finally figured it out, but then they contacted me by letter to tell me I didn’t qualify for VA benefits (I did; they were wrong again). This happened to me twice in two years. Now, when someone needs counseling and isn’t getting it AND is told incorrect information AND someone is fucking around with medical benefits, it can make a person really lose it. I told them no wonder veterans are committing suicide every day, because this is the type of shit the VA puts them through. I probably cussed out the wrong people, but guess what? They fixed it. Finally.

So this year – two years later – I’m finally getting counseling. Except that they set me up with a male counselor that I could not open up to, because I have female issues that only a female can relate to. I had three appointments with a male counselor that I felt was focusing on things that I didn’t care to talk about. I had other things I needed to address. He also “related” to me by telling me things about himself, but he did this on all three occasions (repeated himself), and I was bored and shut down. I wasn’t there to listen to him talk about himself. I just sat there in his hot, stuffy office staring at his funny curly hair and thinking about how much I wanted to cut it. On the last session with him, he suggested I see a female counselor, so I put in my request.

In the meantime, I realized that my medical records – including the counselor’s notes – were available for me to read. Male counselor diagnosed me with chronic PTSD, anxiety, and depression. I knew about the last two, but I never thought of myself as having PTSD at this point in life. Another note he had written in my notes:

Living situation: Lives with cat

Seriously. I literally laughed out loud, thinking, really? Am I that woman? Crazy cat lady that lives with cat? I was still laughing at the irony of it, but I was also thinking how fucking sad is my future?

(**NOTE: First visit with the female counselor, I felt she was easy to talk to; it was easy for me to open up. AND she actually listened to me, didn’t relate to herself, asked the appropriate questions… AND we started talking about the things I went there for in the first place. AND here was no mention of cats.)