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After crying for about two and a half hours this morning (starting at 7) I signed onto Facebook for the first time in about two weeks and messaged my aunt, Charan.
I’m also going to be trying to get on some antidepressants/anti-anxiety medication sooner than sometime in June (which isn’t even promised). As Stephanie had mentioned in a comment somewhere, I may even be able to receive some sort of… Well, I don’t remember what she’d said, but I only remembered this because Aunt Charan brought up how me being diagnosed with these things might allow me to qualify for some insurances and some benefit program/thing since I’m unemployed and have a diagnosis [for all of this crap].
She was extremely comforting, and she even asked me if she could talk to Grandmama (her mom; my grandmother; dad’s side of the family) about [not all, but] some of the things that I told her and that are going on with me right now. It meant a lot that she asked; she is the first person who has asked.
To be honest, I always feel like people expect me to be perfect and in different ways. On my mom’s side1, it’s all about the money and materialistic things and doing things for YOU and blah, blah, blah. On my dad’s side2, it’s all about being happy and successful, but I also thought it was also about having zero flaws and/or following everyone’s “perfect plan”. It’s not like that at all. She told me that it’s okay to cry; that it’s okay that I can’t control my emotions; that it’s okay that I’m so exhausted and weak and so on.
It’s just been really hard. I didn’t ask for them to tell me, “Hey, you are doing ____ because you have ______. You can’t control it, but treatment can help,” BUT THEN, “We can’t get you in until June. Sorry.”
- He is supposedly a great doctor.
- He is always busy.
- He is known as extremely uptight and/or lacking patience.
- If you happen to be slightly late (exactly on time is considered late), you are required to pay a $60 fee (or higher… $60…$90… the room was loud), and he won’t see you again. Actually, no one at said doctor’s office will see you.
And I’m just supposed to be okay and act like I’m fine that I have all of these problems – that everything can “go back to normal”. I told the psychiatrist a while back that I had a support system at home. I lied. I just wanted to believe it, ya know?
I may go stay with Grandmama for a while in the Garland/Richardson area. There’s not going to be any rushing because it’s also not expected that I’ll go from “fine” or “okay” to “great” and “awesome” overnight. The neighborhood is in the city (ahh), but it’s a quiet, peaceful and personal neighborhood where everyone keeps their houses looking nice (on the outside, at least) and does their own thing.
I’m going to apologize for ranting to you all about my problems and whatnot on my blogs. I did it because I thought I didn’t have anyone to turn to for hope and who would listen to me without judging me and/or lecturing me afterward. I just needed someone to listen – to be there for me – and I felt as though writing about it simply forced some people to have to “listen” even if they didn’t want to.
I’m not on medication yet, but I will be soon. Later this year I will have an MRI thing (because of my memory problems and the fact that my head was hit about three to four years back against the back of a seat during a wreck3 – which could cause my memory problems, apparently). It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, though, because how are they supposed to know about your memory from an MRI? Unless we have a particular section in our brains for memory.
I really hope that those who were involved can (and will) forgive me for anything offensive/rude I said, and possibly whatever could have embarrassed me.
Anyway, I’m sorry you saw me in some of my worst moments. I’m just in a situation where people are pushing me to do things, and it’s causing my PTSD to go all over the place (with my mom and them shooting their damn guns and all; I keep picturing my head as the target4. …I need to not remember this.
I came up with something. I don’t know if it really qualifies for a quote or not, but after talking to my Aunt Charan, all I could think of was a dark tunnel and its sides being the people – and the people being the hope. I figured it fit me well because my parents are divorced, therefore my “one, big, happy family” is split. I’ve always held in my feelings and everything else. I didn’t know how to find hope or how to get it, or even where to look.
At the end of every dark tunnel is an opening, but inside of every dark tunnel are sides of hope. You just have to reach out and touch the right side in the right place. It’ll take a lot of trial and error, but once you find that hope, that’s the side you need to spend more time on; that’s the side hope is on.
Perhaps conversations won’t revolve around how I am “making everything worse”, am “not normal and need to quit acting sad”, “need to be happy”, “need to be more affectionate”, “need to find a job to be ‘normal'” and/or “use more ‘regular’ words”…
…which reminds me: Do you guys use any of these? If not, what’s wrong with them?View Spoiler » « Hide Spoiler
- Indeed not
- Anon (means ‘later’)
- Fie (means ‘a curse’)
I don’t know when it will be. We’re still talking about it.
- My mom; 3 sibs: Isaac, Pat, Carrie; step dad Lard, Mimi, Bebe, Shane, etc. ↩
- My dad; 2 sibs: Ruby and my unborn baby BROTHER (YES, it’s a BOY); step mom Kim; Grandmama; Aunt Charan; cousin Bri (BriAnn); others that may or may not be mentioned later on. ↩
- Texting whilst driving a kid named G.B. was; I was in the backseat. ↩
- Wouldn’t be the first time. ↩