Working Through Grief After Being Ghosted

First, I want to say that I am tired (and I know my friends are, too) of talking about this person, and I want it out of my brain once and for all. I wish I could say this is my last time talking about it, but I’m not sure I can say everything in one sitting.

If anyone could flip a switch to turn off anxiety, depression, or symptoms of grief or trauma, you bet your ass they would! So when someone says to “get over it,” they are clueless as to what you’re going through. There have been times when I don’t even understand why I feel the way I do, so I don’t expect others to be helpful, but insensitive comments are not appreciated.

Grief is a peculiar thing, and the five stages don’t always go in order. I am just now discovering this about OC, the guy that ghosted me two and a half years ago. About six months ago, I became angry about the situation. I am not a hateful person, and I cannot remember the last time I felt hate towards anyone, so why would these feelings suddenly emerge?

In case you’re not a regular follower, here’s a recap: We met on a dating app, dated intensely for 3 months (together 4-5 nights a week and weekends), fell head over heels for him, met some of his family, led me to believe we’d be together in the future (he spoke of plans for months ahead), said things to me like “it would take a lot to leave you.” I went to visit my family for a week, I even invited him to come along, he said he missed me, then he became uncommunicative (around this time my gut cringed), then he sent me a confusing text three days later telling me he had to take care of some work and financial stuff and that he didn’t mean to hurt me. He never actually said he didn’t want to see me anymore; I thought at the very least we’d remain friends. Then he never spoke to me or texted me again and blocked me from social media. We ran into each other all of the time, but he refused to look at me or speak to me, and at times he’d either hide or leave the place we were at. However, six months later, he unblocked me from Instagram and started liking my posts. I sent him several messages (usually after drinking, oops!), asking him why he did what he did and that I deserved an explanation, then eventually I told him how much he’d hurt me. He would read all of my messages yet fail to answer. About three months after that (this would be nearly a year since I’d met him), he matched with me again on a dating site… but never said a word. One of his family members was also following me on Instagram and liking my posts but would not allow me to follow his private account but would speak to me in public, another family member told me OC said that I was a “cool chick.” Total mindfuck! So, you can see how this would drive anyone batshit crazy that was still going through the stages of grief from this horrible un-breakup. It would have been easier and more forgivable to deal with an actual death.

Viewing the stages of grief this morning, I think the first stage I experienced was denial. I thought something happened and he was just dealing with it in his own way and I’d hear from him eventually. I mean, no one that spends so much time together and appears to be so close and honest just ups and leaves, right? Wrong! Plus, we’re in our 40s and he was so sweet to me, so there’s no way a man this age would do that, right? Wrong! I remember hearing a truck down my street thinking it was him coming over to talk to me. Wrong! (It was my neighbor’s truck.)

First, I think I was in the bargaining stage. I asked myself what happened? What did I do wrong? I blamed myself for doing something that I wasn’t aware that I did. It took me a long time to realize I did nothing wrong at all. I had just dated a cowardly asshole that couldn’t face the truth.

Depression was the stage that hit me immediately and didn’t go away for nearly two years. (I had been depressed about other things, but specifically this situation was different.) Again, I blamed myself. I didn’t eat for four months. I didn’t lose weight, either, because I did plenty of drinking during that time. Every time I saw him, I felt anxious to the point of a near-panic attack, then depressed, almost obsessive about it. I wanted nothing more than for him to speak to me, because I felt horrible. It didn’t help that he was liking my shit on social media, which I did eventually block him at some point.

Then came the anger. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be as angry as I’ve been for as long as I’ve been. (Perhaps middle age has something to do with it?) When I get mad about something, I stay mad for a bit, and then I’m over it. Maybe after having dates with multiple douchebags triggered something? Or maybe it’s just the stage I need to be in so that I can continue to heal?

One last incident: On New Year’s Eve, I went out with a friend to watch a band play. OC was there. The place wasn’t that crowded, and my friend and I both noticed him walking the long way around so that he passed by our table. Twice. He could have gone a shorter way away from us, but he didn’t. I’m so glad that my friend was there as a witness, because people think I make this shit up. She asked if he was trying to antagonize me. I replied, “I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s weird!” Was he trying to get me to notice him? Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve it. The entire night I pretended I didn’t see him and kept a far distance, kept my back at him, even went to the opposite end of the bar to order drinks. And that’s when I realized I can do so much better than him.

Tomorrow I will write about the other stage of grief – acceptance.

Things that make me Batshit Crazy

A person can only take so much shit before they lose it. I discovered this about myself the other night when I lost my shit in public. I’m not proud of it, but I’m also not sorry for it at all – and the reason is this: Those people were not my friends; they are merely gossip bottom feeders and shit starters that rely on fake friendships to feel better about themselves. At the very least, I hope I acted crazy enough so that they never fuck with me again.

In order to make myself feel better, I rely on nature and quiet times. When I moved to my house five years ago, it was a fairly quiet neighborhood. There was a tree line behind the house that I wasn’t aware until last year that blocked most of the traffic noise. Then someone built a house. It’s amazing how much trees can absorb noise. Unfortunately, overdevelopment has increased the amount of noise, as well as those stupid ass leaf blowers that never seem to turn the fuck off all over the neighborhood all days of the week, all hours of the day. And don’t get me started about the shitty dog owners that allow their big dogs to bark all day long. Too much “city life” type of living gives me anxiety, which is why I live where I do. But when I can’t even enjoy the place I live (and also work from home most of the time), I feel like it may be time to move on.

Some people think working from home means you don’t have a job, you’re available 24/7, and you will do things for them for free. I used to do things for free, but not anymore. When I see these same cheap asses shell out $300 for a name brand purse or some other sweatshop overpriced designer bullshit, then they can come up with the money for what I offer that I don’t sell out to children in a third world country. When they tell me they can get it cheaper elsewhere, go for it! You get what you pay for… and I have no desire to do anything for people that don’t value my work.

Something that not only feels like a waste of my time and my life, but also that I should never have to do, is someone else’s job. I am constantly finding myself doing the job of whomever at the VA or VA claims that can’t seem to find my paperwork or medical records. I’m at the point of about to hire an attorney, because I have literally spent HOURS of my life to get absolutely nowhere – for twenty years!

If I’m in a conversation with someone that is constantly checking or answering their phone, forget it. I give up. I have also been on (horrible) dates that have done this. Grow the fuck up and show some respect or get the fuck out. I actually have stopped mid-sentence and stopped talking altogether, because obviously what I have to say isn’t that important, so why waste my breath? It’s so inconsiderate to do that to anyone.

So imagine someone with depression, anxiety, and PTSD (during the holidays) being approached with all of the above in the same week or two… total recipe for batshit crazy.

Enough said.

Living Without a Purpose

It’s days like today I wish I’d been an abortion and wonder why in the hell I’m even on this planet. It’s also days like today that remind me of why I refuse to own a gun or glad I don’t have a gas oven. Oftentimes, it’s the people that you love the most that remind you that your purpose in life is unclear and nothing you do is important or good enough, no matter how good your intentions are, especially when already deeply depressed.

I realize that it’s been a long time since I felt I had a sense of purpose. How long? I cannot even remember, but maybe ten years or more. That was a time when I was married and had my home business. I would get up every morning and write or do other work, take care of household chores and pets, and deal with a teenager. I suppose having a relationship (that helped with financial stability) and a child at home helped me to feel a sense of purpose as well, made me feel like I mattered to someone, even if it was only for cooking and cleaning and being there when someone needed me. Plus, I was happy with the work I was doing. It was the time when I wrote my first book, wrote screenplays, and had articles and photography published in various places. I often feel like that was the shining moment in my life, and I won’t get it back or see it again. Although I would love for it to happen again, I also feel that I would be chasing unicorn dreams instead of facing reality.

Another time I felt a sense of purpose was about 19 years ago. Since I was a child, I wanted to be just like the teachers that I looked up to, so I became a teacher. I started out truly enjoying what I did, even though it was stressful. I quickly realized I was not going to make the cut of one of those “great teachers,” because I had too many personal responsibilities that wouldn’t allow me to focus solely on my career. Then things changed dramatically in our flawed American public education system, and teaching was no longer rewarding. I went to work every day feeling dread, came home feeling unappreciated and overworked. Health issues started when I was at my last teaching job; the amount of stress put me in the hospital, which of course caused more financial stress. I realized that I had to move on to another field if I wanted to keep my sanity and health.

Shortly after my divorce, I found a job working for a new company that seemed promising, so I thought maybe this is where I’m needed in life, and just maybe I could build from there. The starting pay was terrible, however, the hours were what I wanted, and I was told things would change financially within a few months. The only thing that changed was financially worse and discovering I was working for people running a scam, and their business (not surprisingly) went under.

A couple of years ago, even though the pay was pathetic and nearly minimum wage, I became a home health aide, thinking that maybe it would be rewarding, because I’d be helping someone in need. Anyone that has worked in this field quickly finds out that family members of the people you take care of and spend hours and hours with don’t always appreciate the work you do, even when you do extra things not required. In fact, they start expecting more, and no matter what, you don’t get paid more. The only thing it did was make me more depressed than I already was, because not only did clients pass away, I was sitting around in someone else’s house all day and/or cleaning it and taking care of the family’s large, annoying dogs that were another job in itself.

There are many days I wake up eager for night to fall again just so that I can go back to sleep. I don’t want to look at or speak to anyone or leave the house. When I’m not feeling well physically, like I have been lately, it exacerbates the depression. I do my best to force myself to either write or do artwork or at least clean the house or a closet or something to get myself moving. It’s a daily struggle, and it has been for years, and no one that hasn’t been through it will ever understand what it’s like to wake up every single day without a purpose or feeling that you matter in the world.

PTSD Triggers and Losing My Sh*t

I have never been kicked out of a place before, but  that changed the other night, and I am not the type of person to lose my shit like that. I will leave a place before I lose my cool, so I am surprised at myself, actually. It wasn’t expected, but there were three things going on all at once that triggered PTSD.

Here’s a little backstory on something that happened recently: I had seen OC out a couple of times with the woman he’s dating. I didn’t think it bothered me; perhaps I suppressed my feelings, but my feelings weren’t towards them. My feelings were about how I felt when he ghosted me, and for whatever reason, those feelings came back in full force, as if it had happened all over again. I didn’t eat or sleep well for about a week, and I had that same knot like I’d been kicked in the stomach that I had two and a half years ago. I don’t understand why I had these feelings except maybe the stress and depression around the holidays also triggered something else that I have yet to deal with.

OC’s girlfriend happens to be a bartender at a place I sometimes go. I think she’s a nice person, and I never have problems with anyone. I happened to be there when she was working, and there were cute puppy videos on the tv we were watching. She then showed me a pic of her dog and said something about her boyfriend of six months (surprised he lasted that long with anyone). Then we got onto the subject of the boyfriend (OC). I told her I had dated him, wish I’d never met him, said I think he’s sneaky and a liar and filled her in on my side of the story. I don’t think she knew he and I dated. I told her I hope she breaks his heart. I wish nothing bad on her whatsoever, but perhaps she is also avoiding the red flags and warning signs that I had.

In the meantime, someone else walked into that bar that I hadn’t seen in quite some time, and it set off another trigger. I don’t know what happened, but my mind just shut down at some point. I was still talking to the bartender when someone else that knows nothing about me piped in and started talking shit to me about me. First of all, I’m not going to let anyone talk shit to me, especially when they don’t even know me enough to attend my funeral. This is a person that has zero room to talk, but I suspect she gets her information about me from a frenemy, so that’s when I lost my shit. I told her to fuck off, told her to shut the fuck up, called her a stupid fucking cunt, and at some point I don’t remember what else I said. I must have been blackout angry by that point. Actually, I was yelling, which is something I never do unless I have just had enough. It’s been a long time since I’ve yelled at anyone. Maybe it’s what I needed before I exploded inside.

Between PTSD triggers, anger, and alcohol, that was it for me. I was told to leave the bar, which I was attempting to do at that point anyway, and I was getting up to leave and gathering my things. I think they thought I was going to physically attack her (I’m not a fighter), so I was grabbed and pushed out. Not a loss, actually, because it’s the place that I feel a lot of the douchebags I’ve written about here hang out; I just like the music there.

I have never dealt with certain things that have happened to me, because I find it difficult to talk about and blame myself for a lot of it. Now that I’ve identified a trigger or three, maybe I can begin to work with it in my next counseling session.

End of Year Brain Dump 2019

I’ve been struggling a lot emotionally lately. I don’t know if it’s the holidays or a combination of things that have kicked in, things that have triggered PTSD, anxiety, and depression back full force, causing me to lose sleep and lose my appetite again. I seemed to have been doing fine up until about a month ago. I need to get back to counseling, but I don’t have my next appointment until the end of January.

What changed? Some of my habits changed. Since the holidays are here, I’ve been going out more, which means drinking more, which has brought up some suppressed feelings about things I wasn’t ready to deal with before. Suddenly, I’m aware of things that I don’t want to think about, but I’m unsure what to do with these feelings.

Major anxiety and depression has my mind going back and forth, creating stories that don’t exist (this is where I need to put them into a fiction story just to get it out), and I can’t focus on anything. I haven’t been this bad in two years. My appetite has changed. I don’t have much of one, and I don’t know if it’s due to stress (I tend to not eat when I’m stressed) or other things that I’m allowing to bother me. Perhaps it’s hormonal, but I don’t think this is.

Holidays. Parts of my family do not get along or speak to each other anymore, which makes it difficult on everyone trying to get together. It also makes it sad for the rest of us. Being single once again during the holidays is also taxing, kicking in reminders of how our society views women as failures for being single at all.

All of this reminds me of when I was a senior in high school when my first boyfriend cheated on me and dumped me without telling me. I was devastated. I have that same gut anxiety feeling right now. I remember then that I couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep, but I rode my bike a lot just to let out some physical angst. The only thing different is that I’m in my 40s, haven’t been working out, and I have more life experience. So why is this awful feeling coming back? Triggers.

I suppose I need to learn to recognize what really triggers all of this, but I’m thinking it probably has a lot to do with abandonment issues and feelings of lack of love and trust from people that I’ve loved and I thought loved me, too. At this point, do I even know what love is, because what I thought was love apparently was not. Hmmm….

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.