Don’t Panic!

My hours at work have been cut. By a lot. I’ve been trying not to panic over it and to focus on what I can do, which has been focus on one phrase, Don’t Panic. I have read the whole hitchhiker guide to the galaxy, this is one of those things that have stuck with me. So I have been trying to remind myself every chance I get, don’t panic.

I panic a lot. I have panic attacks, so much so that now I walk around with pills in my purse to counter act them. I’ve hit a point where I can talk myself down from some of them. I can talk myself out of having panics attack. It is a talent I never wanted to have.

By having this time off work, isn’t just about losing out on cash. It gives me time to panic.  To think about my triggers and I have to busy myself in order to keep the bad crap away. Even though I’m on meds, the triggers still affect me, and my brain is still very active. The meds don’t work like magic, taking away all feelings, but it is part of the way things go. It’s hard to turn it off sometimes. It hard to keep things pushed down and locked away. While this may not be healthy at all, it is a way to cope for now.

The truth is that I’m learning to be healthy. It something to work toward, and I honesty am not sure if I will ever be that. Or if I have ever been.

My mom saw I had issues when I was young. I don’t know what started this or why she decided I needed help. The first person that I remember talking  to was Brother B. The first clear memory of him that I have is sitting in a white wall, what I assume was an office, making clay people. I don’t clearly remember what I was talking about, but I’m pretty sure that it was my family, but I’m not sure why I was there, it is too far off. This started my life of living in offices.

In high school/middle school, I grew to kinda hate therapy. I had moved on from brother B, who I was bonded with, as we had moved across country. I was on to a new therapist, who wasn’t bad but not someone I felt that I could trust. Which caused me to start lying to her. I knew what to say to make it seem like I was okay. That I was okay. I started to believe it myself. That I didn’t have to open up,  I was okay.

I wonder how much different my life would have been if I had tried at this point in time. If I had found a therapist that I had clicked with. Someone I would have been honest with and gotten the help that I needed.

But that is in the past now, and I have to move forward.

-Skadi

I thought this fit. Don't ask why.

Pride-“ When you look back at your wasted life, and you don’t see me.”

I have had an Esty shop for a while now, and have been starting to fill it with items. I have always been pretty creative, but this is the first time I am really trying to make something out of it.

It’s weird in the sense that I am taking pride in something. Surprising, possible something that people around me, is that I don’t have much pride in myself. It is something that I felt has always been an issue, since childhood, but there seems to be no way to fix it. After all, there isn’t a magic spell that just gives you pride, or a workshop that the end that just gives you the feeling that you need.

On some level, I have always felt kinda worthless. I think this really stems from the fact for most of my childhood, I bounced from a loving home to an abusive one. This seemed to have colored my whole life. My mom and Step-Dad B, have always been there for me, being the best parents to me as they could, and really worked on giving me a happy life. Then there is the other side of my life. My stepmother, the woman my mom and I would end up calling the witch with a b, was awful to me.  I don’t know what I did to make it start. When she was dating my father, things were great. My step-sister A and I were friends before they dated, and we enjoyed the idea of being sisters. It started out as something great and wonderful. But after they got married, something changed. I was an outsider. I was a spot of dirt on her clean floor. It felt that the very air I was breathing was somehow offensive to her. It was hard walking into that war zone every week. And most of the anger I have over this is too my father. The fact that he never protected me, isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do? Protect their child from thing that are trying to hurt them? Was I not worth protecting? My father never protected me from the abuse. There was a moment that he watched her shove food in my mouth and threaten to beat the shit out of me if I tried to spit it out. She held my mouth close, and let’s get one thing straight. I could have choked. She could have caused me to choke in front of my father. She told me my mother didn’t love me. One mother’s day I had gotten her and my mom the same card. I wrote mom on the one to my mom and step mom on the one to her because I had wrote them both personal notes in them and the witch with a b got upset. She wanted me to call her mom. But she wasn’t my mom. Remember asking if my mom was okay with me calling her mom, because I didn’t know what to do. She acting like I was a sexual rival for my father’s attention.

 And he let it happen. He never stood up for me. I was worthless to him too. He never stood up for me.

I would come home to my mom’s house so angry. I felt I deserved at least some of my father’s love but I was always in the back seat of his mind. I think he had the motto when it came to me, that someone else would take care of Skadi. That I wasn’t worth his time, and this shows in the fact that by the time I was ten, he had stopped paying his child support. I guess he didn’t see it worth it to make sure I had a roof over my head and food in my mouth, because my mom and my Step-dad, B, were picking up his slack. C, my Fiancé said it best, B is my dad in every damn way that counts. That brings me to my quote in the title, I think it sums up my relationship with my father completely.

And that is one of the things on my mind right now. How can I have pride in myself, when my own father doesn’t think that I’m worth it.

-Skadi

Dog pee

Right now, we are having work men rebuilding our deck. (It really need it, my mom fell through it) They are using the dog run to get things into the back yard. So the puppy can't just go outside when she needs too go. So we give her a short walk before we leave the house. Well, I went to go and lease her and she rolled on her back, and managed to pee on my face. This is what I have to deal with. Dog pee on the face.

At least she is one cute bitch.

Reality- Stewing in my own shit.

I’ve been gone a while. And there is a reason for that I will get to in a second.

I’ve been trying to get out more, and get more, into life I guess. And truthfully, it’s fucking hard. Like everything, some days are better than others, but sometimes I feel like in a fog.

Recovery is hard. I feel peeled already, and having to dig into the wounds that have shaped me today to gain a beter understanding of myself and my disorder is fucking hard.

While I’ve been gone, things have been looking up.

·         I got a job. It took a while, and I felt a lot of rejection, but I’m in  job now.

·         I’m half way through my last semester. Two degrees at the end of May, which is a scary thought.

·         I’m trying to live more, which involves getting out more and not living in my room or on the couch more.

·         Been crafting a lot and clearing out my room. That has been one of the most freeing stuff going on in my life. I love it.

My therapist is the one who gave the quote for the title today. I do a lot of stewing in my own shit. She says it’s an AA phrase and my god is it a good one.

I want to come clean. I stopped writing on this blog for two reason:

·         The Alphabet thing was annoying me (Have no fucking clue what I was thinking.

·         And the most important. I felt it was fake.

I do no one any good acting fake, even when I wasn’t setting out to do that. I’m gonna be real from now on.

I don’t know when updates will come, what they will be about, but I want to give a view into my life.

So it will be here, the good, the bad, the ugly.

-Depressive Gal