AND Daniel's back in them. Or at least the one I had last night.
So, in this one, I was at this guy's house for some exclusive dinner party. Well, apparently the whole thing was a ruse to try to rape, murder, and marry me (though not in that order). I, of course, did not approve, and managed to escape. Don't ask me how, I don't remember.
Daniel had been invited too (I'm not sure why, but I think the evil guy wanted to rub it in his face if he had managed to succeed), and he and I ended up going to counselling together. It didn't really end up being about what happened in the crazy dude's house, though. It was more about us and our relationship and all that.
In the dream, I was trying to explain to the therapist that while I have nothing AGAINST Daniel and in fact wanted to be friends with him, I didn't have any other sort of emotional connection to him. Apparently this made the fact that he and I were holding hands and being all sorts of couple-y even during the counselling sessions a little weird.
Which I suppose makes sense. If there's no emotional connection, why WOULD I want to do any of that? I think the answer is that he and I were so comfortable with each other - the physical connection just felt natural, and NOT being that way feels UN-natural. At least, that's how I feel. No word on how dream Daniel thinks about the topic.
That's about where the dream ended, except for Daniel declaring that he would always have feelings for me and why can't people just accept that? Both the therapist and I agreed that while that may be the case, that doesn't mean that those feelings should be acted on. Not that my opinion mattered much, because I was still sitting there holding his hand.
Anyway, yeah. A little weird. Which isn't surprising, because it's me. Plus I was on meds last night because I had this monster migraine. The meds didn't really help with the migraine, but they DID put me to sleep, which has made it so that today, at least, it's not excruciating.
I also had a weird golden glow whilst at the counselling session. If that means anything.
Good God, I would kill to run in Tough Mudder, or Iron Warrior Dash, or any other intense obstacle course race.
I bring this up, because a quasi-friend at the bowling alley (he's a league bowler, as is his son, so I see him about twice a week) is participating in Tough Mudder this June. His team is down a runner; his father-in-law can no longer run, so they have an open slot. TECHNICALLY the Tough Mudder organization does not transfer registration. Sipos (that's his last name) is going to try his utmost to convince them to make an exception.
If he can't, he has this plan to take me there anyway, and hope that they don't check IDs (which they will. They always do). It won't work at all, but it's nice of him to be so determined.
Now, I'm sure a lot of you think I'm absolutely bonkers for wanting to do an obstacle course race where electrocution is a main event and you have to sign a death waiver. My parents certainly think I am. Although my mother usually just shakes her head and blames it all on inheriting adrenaline-junkie genes from my biological father.
I have always, ALWAYS, loved obstacle courses. As a kid, I would use the playground as one and come up with ways to race around and through it. I'd make the other children participate, because what fun is a race if you don't have anyone running in it? I don't recall ever losing, probably because obstacles give me more energy instead of sucking it away, which is not something most people experience.
When I was younger, I liked to say that I would join the military just so I could run obstacle courses. It's still an intriguing idea, but the fact that that's not all you do sort of dissuades me from that course of action.
Warrior Dash has just made me more and more excited to do these things. The main problem is that they're not cheap; longer races are upwards of $100, and it's rare to find any that are less than $50.
I JUST REALLY WANT TO DO THESE, GUYS. THIS IS WHY I NEED A SUGARDADDY. HE COULD PAY FOR ALL OF THEM.
My last blog post has gotten quite a bit of activity. In the vein that four people have +1'd it, and it has loads more views than my other stuff.
I guess some of you people agreed with me, or at least thought I had some sort of insight on it. I knew there'd be at least ONE +1, given that someone who visits my blog ALWAYS does it and I have no way of seeing who it is that's doing it.
Onto other news, though.
Daniel and I got into a fight. I apologized, and he did not (and has not) responded in any way. While I'm a little miffed that he'd just throw my attempts at friendship and civilized interaction away, I know that he doesn't owe me anything, even when he says he wants to be friends. So I've pretty much gotten over THAT, and don't plan on interacting with him again. If it ends up happening by chance, whatevs. If it doesn't, whatevs.
More exciting news: I'M MOVING.
My parents and I have to hammer out the details, but I am definitely not living at home when I go to CNU this fall. I shall be living with a girl named Chelsea, in an apartment about a mile from the campus. The chance to decorate a bedroom again fills me with giddiness, and I seriously want it to be July NOW so that I can start.
You see, I plan on starting my very first storyboard. It'll be a magnificent (probably expensive) creation full of cork boards and dry erase boards. It has to be enormous, because I plan on putting several stories at once on it. There is a good chance it will take up an entire wall, and I'll look like either a serial killer or a detective when people come to visit.
I think the only thing I'm not looking forward to is leaving behind my kitten. He's 16, almost 17 years old, and I hate the thought of leaving him here and only seeing him occasionally. The longest we've been apart is two weeks, and that was pretty rough on him. I'm especially worried that due to his old age, the stress of my abandonment will end up making him sick or something.
Guys, if my cat dies while I'm away (or ever), you do not even understand how upset I will be.
All the angst that's come from this whole Daniel debacle doesn't even come close to how distraught and devastated I'd be. It doesn't even graze the surface. I would not be surprised if I ended up catatonic.
And I very well can't take him with me, because the stress of moving him and having to keep him indoors would probably be even worse. Plus, Chelsea has a cat of her own, and Flounder hates other cats only slightly more than he hates people. He would not be happy, not one bit.
But let's get back to happy news, because this is making me sad, and that makes Twirting difficult (that's the word I made up for flirting on Twitter).
I also already have a job lined up for when I move. I'll be working full-time at Chick-fil-A, and for more than minimum wage. That is better than both my current jobs combined, and I am excited to be rolling in da moolah.
That's all I can think of right now. I've been exhausted all day and now I'm not tired but I really AM tired because it's like 1 in the morning. So I'm going to try to go to bed. Or I'll just look up how far away my apartment will be from the gym.
Now we're going to talk about depression and relationships. Or rather, why you cannot be in a relationship (of the romantic persuasion) with someone who is depressed, suicidal, or self-harming.
First, I think it should be established that while someone who is suicidal is more than likely depressed, self-harm is not necessarily bred of depression. Some people are just so terrible at coping with strong, negative emotions that they self-harm simply because they are upset in some way. It very often is linked with depression, but is not exclusive to it.
Back to the topic at hand.
Why can't you be in a romantic relationship with someone who is depressed or self-harming? The answer is pretty simple: they're not stable enough for it. Relationships are hard enough when both people are 100% mentally and emotionally healthy. If one of them isn't, things only degenerate faster.
Let's create a fictional couple, Victor and Millicent. Victor is the "normal" one - he's happy with his life and his choices, when he's upset he recovers quickly, etc. Millicent, however, suffers from depression, and not only has suicidal thoughts but also self-harms. While in many cases you may not know the other is suffering, in this one, let's say that Victor knows about this before he gets into a relationship with her.
When they get into the relationship, Victor is head-over-heels for Millicent. He knows that she's hurting, and he wants to be there for her in every way possible. He thinks being in a relationship could help with her depression; she knows his feelings are genuine, and he'll be able to help her cope with everything she's going through.
Millicent thinks the same thing. How could she possibly stay depressed when she has Vincent? She wants to be with him, he wants to be with her, and now that she has this love in her life, she'll be happy again.
Neither of them realizes that depression is so much BIGGER than they are. It isn't something you can rationalize away. It isn't something that you can convince yourself out of. Clinical depression requires medication. Plain old depression requires therapy.
The first time Millicent regresses, let's say it isn't anything to do with Vincent. They didn't get into a fight, they're doing just dandy; but still she falls back into depression and self-harming and wishing she were dead. Because she doesn't want to worry Vincent, she puts up a façade of happiness, and maybe she's good enough at it that he doesn't notice.
Then he walks in on her self-harming. He's upset, because he feels like he should have realized something was wrong. She's upset, because she couldn't be "good enough" for him. She couldn't be "happy enough". Now she's hurt him because of it, and that only intensifies her feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing. Vincent thinks he's failed her, and he redoubles his efforts to make her happy again.
Things improve a little. Millicent levels out again, although she occasionally returns to that dark place, though never for long. But nothing lasts forever, and they have their first real fight. Maybe it's over something stupid. Maybe it's not. It doesn't matter.
Now when she returns to depression and hurting herself, Vincent thinks it's HIS fault. He shouldn't have gotten upset with her. He should have let her have her way. If he had just been better, if he had just gotten over it, she would be fine.
Millicent feels doubly upset - not only is she hurting because of what happened with Vincent, but now she feels like maybe Vincent CAN'T help her. And part of her hates him for that, and really hates herself for not being able to love him enough to stop.
What neither of them realize is that it has nothing to do with Vincent. It has nothing to do with their relationship. Millicent has to stop because SHE wants to. She has to do it for her. Not for him. And as long as they're together while she's depressed, it's going to be a vicious cycle of anger and disappointment and hurt. It won't be fair to either of them.
This may seem... over-the-top to some of you. Like I don't understand you or your relationship with that person and hey married people get through this shit ALL THE TIME.
Here's the thing though: they don't. And even if they do, they more than likely were married before the onset of depression, so they have some semblance of normalcy to hold to in their relationship. When you enter a relationship with someone who's depressed or self-harming, there IS no normal beyond self-loathing, crushing apathy, and near-constant physical and/or mental pain.
A person with this sort of suffering simply cannot handle a relationship. Once they're better, and I mean gone to therapy, gotten medication, whatever it is that they need to come back to a plane of existence where everything isn't worldsuck, have the relationship of your lives. Until then, though, you have to back off. You can be there for them as a friend, but nothing more.
It sucks, I know. But it is so much better to wait until they're emotionally stable enough for a relationship, so that if God forbid something happens, you don't spend your life racked with guilt. Furthermore, if you're in love with this person, you shouldn't live with them or do anything else that makes it so that you're on a more intimate level. The same dangers apply.
All in all, if you get nothing else out of this post, just remember:
Even if you don't fully believe me, or think that your relationship will be different...
If you love that other person, don't take that chance.
Wait until he/she is better. It will give you a better chance at a lasting relationship.
First, go here. If you don't know who Allie Brosh is, or have never been to Hyperbole and a Half, I understand if you stay on her blog for days. She is an amazing storyteller, and is hilarious to boot.
Welcome back. What you just read is the most accurate description of depression I've ever seen.
I suffered from depression for... a long time. I can remember being really young, maybe six or seven, and wishing that I didn't exist. That I'd never been born. That something awful would happen to me and I would die. I'd cover myself in blankets and hope that they would smother me. I'd put plastic bags around my head and try to suffocate myself. This wasn't a daily thing, or even weekly or monthly. But something would trigger an attack of self-loathing, and I'd spiral out of control.
Obviously, my will to live stopped any of my early attempts from coming even close to working.
When I got older and entered middle school... things got worse. Middle school sucks for everyone. The way they depict high school in movies... that's really middle school. It's awful and cliquey and just the absolute worst three years of your life.
Sixth grade, I held it together pretty well until around Christmastime. That's when my momma had a massive heart attack and almost died. On top of that, my stepbrother at the time decided that since we now weren't going to Disney World, he didn't want to be around us. That was the first time I ever cursed at anyone.
For the next two years, I spiralled out of control. Screaming and crying happened all the time in my house. I pretended everything was fine at school, but the second I'd get home, things devolved.
During that time, I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of. I know I said truly awful things to my parents. I self-harmed in some unusual ways, too.
Because of my reactive hypoglycaemia, I couldn't have a lot of sugar. Well, I would hoard it, then gorge on it as much as possible. I hoped that my blood sugar would spike, then plummet - which it did - to the point where I'd pass out and die - which it didn't, thank God.
Sometimes, I would slam my head against the wall until I couldn't see straight.
Other times, I would scratch or bite myself until I bled. Although, I never could bring myself to cut, though I did try multiple times with both razors and exactoknives.
Eventually, I did attempt suicide. I'm a lightweight when it comes to drugs - ibuprofen puts me to sleep, even in low doses. So, one night before bed, I took a bottle of it, of which only two pills total had been used, and downed the whole thing. Needless to say, it didn't work, but I slept for several days straight, waking up only when forced so that I could go to the bathroom and eat. My parents didn't know at the time that's what it was. They thought I was just sick.
Things got better for me the summer before tenth grade. I went on youth retreats a lot, and I went to this one called Kairos. It's a week-long event, where you bond with your small group really well by the end of it. That year was the first time I really opened up, and that small group will forever be what I consider my saving grace.
I think it's mostly because of Travis, really. He went to my church, and in sixth grade we had been really close. Then his cousin, Alec, moved here and started attending church as well. He wasn't fond of me, and turned Travis against me. By eighth grade, they were tormenting me even during church. It hurt a lot, and contributed to my depression, especially because I had been so close with Travis.
Well, he was in my small group that fateful year, and at first, we were still at each other's throats. Then, the second day, we finally realized that we didn't have to any more. He accepted me back. I will never forget standing in the middle of the prayer maze, all of us in a giant hug, and Travis being the one holding me. They were the first people I ever told about my suicide attempts and depression, and they didn't run away.
Since then, I've gotten much better. I haven't had a relapse in over two years. I still have a hard time trusting people, and that's putting it mildly, and when I do put my trust in someone and they break it, I get worse. Especially with men.
It's really late, so I'm going to end this here. But I will post some more stuff about depression and suicide, because I think it's an important topic for people to try to understand. Sorry for the lack of funny.
Krystal and I got to Norfolk with time to spare, so we went to Jimmy John's and grabbed some dinner. When we got back to Night of the Iguana, it was almost impossible to find a parking space, but finally we did. Then it was time to stand in line, because the doors opened at 5:00, and it was about 4:50.
Well now. Long story short, the doors didn't open until maybe 5:50. And in that hour time frame, it rained. And rained. And rained. Everyone in line ended up becoming pretty good friends as we huddled together. Although I'm not going to lie, I was really happy about the rain, at least until the wind kicked in and it got cold.
While we waited, some people from 96X, the radio stations hosting the concert, gave out Monster energy drinks. Not a good idea for me, in the slightest. I'm hyper enough as it is. Give me caffeine and BAM. I am gone.
When we finally got in, Krystal and I headed for the bathroom to throw away our cans and make sure our make-up hadn't run. There, every girl was telling each other that they looked fantastic, and rain really was their style, and it was all very chummy and nice.
Then, it was time to wait for the band to come onto the stage. Krystal and I stood in front of the stage, stage right. We were right by two speakers and we had no plans to ever hear again. When the band came on, the guitarist stood directly in front of us, so close I could have touched him.
They thanked everyone for being so patient in the rain, and made a few jokes about being wet. And then: it began.
Honestly, they are one of the best bands I've seen perform. The guitarist had a broken pinky, and he still played perfectly. Their keyboardist is blind. It was just... awe-inspiring.
After the concert, a couple girls we had stood behind in line and next to by the stage snagged a couple of the drumsticks the lead singer had used. I saw the ones the drummer had been using, and was tempted to climb onto the stage to grab them. Before I could, though, he came back onto the stage and was picking up his tambourine. I got his attention and asked for a drumstick. He laughed, said yes, and handed it to me. Krystal got him to grab her the last one.
The whole band signed my drumstick, and also the little sheet of paper that had their album cover on it. They were such gentlemen off stage (because on stage they were sex machines, no lie). When complimented, they sounded so sincere with their thanks.
GET USED TO ALL THESE CAPS BECAUSE THAT IS ALL YOU ARE GETTING TOMORROW, SIRS AND MADAMS.
I'm seeing the XAmabassadors tomorrow night. Originally, I thought the concert was Thursday, but I was wrong thanks to my being overexcited when Lee told me the details. So, instead of going to volleyball and jumping around a gym, I'm going to be going to some club in Norfolk and jumping around to some rad music.
It should be awesome. They played the whole EP on 96X (from whom I won the tickets), and it's ah-mazing. Like, one of the most fantastic EPs I've ever heard, and I have quite a few favourites.
Krystal's going with me, and we're going to dance and sing and have a good old time. She's also going to be my wingman, and I've been practicing my Burton Guster pick-up lines. So, have you heard about Pluto?
As to how long this concert will be: NO CLUE. Hopefully forever. More than likely not that, though. Hm. Unless I become a groupie. Is that still a life choice people make? Guess we'll find out tomorrow night.
Because apparently I can't have a life that doesn't want to destroy my euphoria.
First, though, let's talk some more good news: I won tickets to see one of my new favourite bands next week! That's definitely most exciting, as I never win anything, but I did this time and it was STELLAR. I did curse on live radio though, but who cares I won.
In case you're just dying with curiosity, the band is the X Ambassadors.
Anyway. To the not good news!
I went to the Iron Man 3 premier last night. That in itself wasn't bad. It was an excellent movie and SPOILER ALERT Robert Downey Jr. was just as hot as usual.
The bad part: Daniel was there, as Patrick had invited him and Olivia before he knew that I would be in attendance as well. So yeah. Not just Daniel. Also Olivia.
When they walked in, the first thing I noticed: she was dressed... barely. Even though it was barely 50 degrees outside, she had on short shorts and a tank top. I was chilly in my jeans and a tee shirt, so I knew that she had to be freezing. She also had on a metric ton of eye shadow.
Now, I resolved not to give any snap judgements, but GOODNESS she was making it hard. I was perfectly nice though, and witty, and charming, just as usual because that's what I do.
Of course, it got really hard not to give over to the nausea when I saw them interacting and it became obvious that they have feelings for each other, or at the very least wanted to bone. When we got into the theatre, and they decided not to sit with our group, I ended up having to leave for a second and went into the bathroom to dry heave and give myself a pep talk.
Luckily, the movie was awesome enough that I could focus on that and not on the overwhelming sadness that made my stomach twist for the entire duration. Afterwards, I didn't have to talk to them again. Their car was in the opposite direction of mine, so we went out separate ways. Daniel did turn to wave, but I whipped around without acknowledging him because I just couldn't right then.
The worse news:
Today, Patrick told me that he talked to Daniel. And Daniel says that he's in love with Olivia. Figured it out like three weeks ago. That is also known as right after we stopped dating.
To my credit and unutterable relief, I did not cry. I did not vomit. I went into a sort of shock, and even though I felt nauseated again and my chest felt too tight, I didn't flip out.
There's no reason to. If he cares about her that much, that's great. It's not like I want him to be alone for the rest of his life just because he didn't want me. Even though it hurts to still have feelings for him that I know now will never, ever be reciprocated and that they're with a girl that I was pretty suspicious of before, I can move on a bit easier now.
The biggest problem I have is that he continued to say he likes me even after "figuring out" that he loves her. Why in the fuck would you say that to someone you know is trying to get over you when you, uhm, DON'T? But Daniel's known for lying to try to spare someone's feelings or to make them feel less awful, so I suppose I do know the answer.
He still claims to care about me and my feelings, but I'm shrugging that off. I don't think it's likely he thinks about me unless he's forced to. If he does, that's dandy. If he doesn't, that's dandy too. Because it doesn't MATTER either way. He's not going to be in my life and he's not important to who I am. He taught me a lesson that I needed to learn: You can't make someone care about you more than they do, and if they don't care about you enough, move on.
I think it's funny that a couple people who met Olivia last night say that she didn't seem as smart as me, or as pretty. And that I was too good for Daniel anyway. Whether the first is true: no clue. I didn't talk with her enough to get a solid reading on her intelligence. She didn't seem stupid, at the least. As to the second: well, she's not ugly. Perhaps if she had worn less make-up I could have had a clearer idea, but as it stands, she just seems... normal. For the last: of course I'm inclined to think that I AM too good for him. Whether or not that's true is another story.
All in all, I hope things work out between Daniel and Olivia. They have things in their way, and it's not likely that things WILL work out, but hey. To feel secure in my goodness I must at least offer hope their way.
So yeah. That's where I'm at. I'm hurting a little, but growing more and more apathetic as the day goes on. We'll see how I'm doing when I cut out the lights, curl up with my cat and my triceratops, and try to go to sleep. Hopefully this trend will continue, and soon I won't give a damn if Daniel's having wall sex or regular sex with Olivia when they're living together.
Last night as I lay in bed, I didn't feel sad or upset. So that's an improvement. However, I did remember a few things that I forgot to put in here.
Though Olivia seemed nice, she does sort of seem like a bad influence. She's only 19, but talks about drinking... a lot. Now, she could have been just putting up a front because, you know, she's 19. But I don't think she was. At one point, when it was mentioned that my coworker Jamie had quit drinking, she turned to Daniel and said, "Don't ever let me quit drinking." I don't remember hearing his response to that, but it definitely threw me off-kilter.
Also, I find it kind of amusing that she displays some of the qualities he said he doesn't want. Well, I can only think of one right now and that's the make-up thing. But still. 'Tis amusing, that is.
My momma thinks he's interested in her because she's a "bad girl", what with the drinking and the less-than-appropriate-for-the-weather clothing and all the make-up. I don't know. I don't really care.
Well, I have to go mow the lawn and pick up pine cones and then treat myself to some free Chick-fil-A because I traded coupons for bowling last night. If I think of anything else, which is entirely plausible, I will return. UNTIL THEN, GOOD SIRS AND MADAMS.