I Am The Walrus

It's been over a year. Things have changed, yet are still completely the same.

Medication traps you. It makes you feel like your emotions are trapped in a box. You're only allowed to feel so much of any one emotion.

Nothing is real.

I've tried for so many days to feel something, anything.I tried my playlists. Pretending is even more difficult to do because I just don't care to do it.

Emptiness.

Void.

The good news is suicide hasn't really been a problem. You apparently have to care enough to want to do it and I just don't.

These are just rambling thoughts. I don't expect any of it to make sense.

The more secluded I get, the worse I get. I can't even have conversations with people without them coming out....wrong. They feel forced.

It almost makes me chuckle when I notice who doesn't even notice the change in me or the ones that know I'm going through a rough time, but still don't actually care. My favorite has been "I care about you. Oh hey, check out all these board games I bought!" Really? Do you really think I give a fuck about your games? Or about how you're going to Atlanta for another weekend to play games all weekend and then complain about how often your pregnant wife calls you to yell at you? Here's a thought, don't go to Atlanta all the freaking time you moron,

Idiots.

Worthless. Completely worthless. Unappreciated. Far from special.

What does a woman want to feel? Cherished. Loved. Treasured. Strong.

Don't get me wrong. I've been given compliments that would imply any of those things. Words mean things. So do actions. The closest I've come to feeling anything is when my best friend sent me a picture of cuddling. Sometimes there's nothing that can be said. Sometimes there's nothing that can be done.

Empty Pressure

Empty pressure. How does one even explain that? It's going to sound crazy, but it's like a hollow weight sitting on your chest. It feels like the void within you is suffocating  you. What makes it worse? Still not even feeling whatever pain should exist at that time.

In Honor of Suicide Awareness: Here's the Hot Button for the the Day

I know it's been a few months since I've been here, but for very good reasons. I went back to work and if you've been here, then you know I also have a baby. My days are spent coming home from work to have dinner with the family, feed the baby, then go to bed by 8pm (because my not-so-new baby still hasn't gotten the hang of sleeping through the night). The biggest reason is because my computer is dying. It should be dead. (Puns are not intended considering the topic for today).

I fired up my dying laptop just to make this entry. That's how important it is to me to get these thoughts out today.

The death of actor/comedian Robin Williams has created a lot of buzz throughout various media sources/social networks in the past 24 hours. You have those mourning the loss of a man that gifted us with his talents (or rather mourning his talents as a lot of us don't personally know the man), and those that have decided to grace us from their cloud high in the sky with their ignorant statements about how inconsiderate R. Williams was to take his own life.

I'm trying really hard not to be a hypocrite and bash those people bashing the man for his action. I can't understand how they must have felt their entire lives to just be. To live every day with an emotion, whether it be happy, sad, or content. To always be grateful for living another day. In turn, they cannot understand what it's like to have more bad days than good. To actually be saddened to awaken each morning. They can't comprehend what it's like to go day after day pretending to be content or happy when in actuality there's nothing but a void of life within.

This fantastic woman wrote an article on the subject matter of Robin Williams' suicide and it's beautifully written. I've attached it for your reading, if you wish.

Robins Williams, suicide, and being a coward

Let me give you a little background on me, my life, and why I feel the way I do about this topic. Or you can just stop reading if you can't handle the controversial topic.

I was raised an only child. I had a different version of "Only Child Syndrome" than one thinks of when they hear that title. I wasn't a spoiled little brat. Yes, I got everything I wanted, but the problem was getting me to say I wanted it. I'm not saying I was a perfectly innocent child that never threw any fits, because I did. I just didn't feel like I deserved any of the things my dad tried to buy me. 

I was a very lonely child. I have always been odd and because of it, had few friends and got made fun of a lot. My childhood friends had brothers and sisters, but there were a lot of issues that went into some of those friendships. One in particular I refuse to discuss for very personal reasons. The biggest obstacle was my friends' parents not liking me for whatever reasons. One mother did a lot that she could so that I could not play with her children and to this day, I still have no idea why. Know how I learned all the combos and fatalities to the first couple of Mortal Kombat games?  Because I didn't have anyone to play the game with, I played all the two player games by myself. I even perfected playing Super Mario World on two player by myself. With my feet. That's right. I learned how to play with two controllers using my hands and my feet. So it's with my feet I learned all of the fatalities on Mortal Kombat. First by accident, after that I just paid attention to what my feet did to pull it off.

Since there wasn't much playing I could do by myself, I read a lot. Probably too much. That didn't help the teasing from other kids. I never realized until adulthood that I had always been sad and lonely, even as a child. I didn't have a terrible childhood, just an unfortunate one. I spent most of my time with my mother. I adored my mother and thought she was the best thing ever all the way up into my twenties. Despite everything, I always thought she was Number One. I thought the world of her. As a kid, I didn't see that my mom had her own problems she was dealing with. I only knew about the ones she told me. She had her moments that I never understood. She would be laughing and joking with me and I felt loved. Included in life. That's what love felt like to me. It felt like being included in life. At seven and eight years old and up. That should have been recognized by someone. Granted, I was very shy, but when someone made that effort to include me so much in what was going on around me, I felt loved. Then, a few minutes could go by or hours, but she would be in a terrible mood. I'd try to cheer her up by bringing up one of the things we thought was so hysterically funny earlier, and she would look at me like I was retarded.

Do you know what it feels like to have your mother make you feel like you were genuinely alive and happy to be that way only for her to look at you like you were stupid when you tried to re-live that moment?

That's when it started. My striving for her approval just so she would never look at me like that again. I felt worthless. I felt stupid. At around eight or nine is when I started daydreaming about my death and hoping I wouldn't wake up in the mornings. I didn't feel like I would be missed and I just couldn't take the pain I was feeling anymore. And at that age I didn't understand the pain or why I felt it. I just knew it hurt and I wanted it to end. I also didn't know what suicide was or how to do it. I would sink down into the bathtub and let out all of the air in my lungs. When that hurt too much, I knew that wasn't the way I wanted to go.

My mom had a best friend that I loved. She was always around, would randomly bring me gifts just because she thought of me, and included me. I still love that woman to this day. My dad had a friend like that, too.

My parents split up. Not uncommon then, and certainly more common than it should be today. I wasn't upset by the divorce. I knew they shouldn't have been together. They drove me nuts. They were just so wrong for each other for so many reasons. The arguing, the inconsideration for each other and, hell, for me. I just hated it. But this is crucial for what's to come. I was the one that helped my mother. She cried in my arms and I soothed her. At twelve years old. I coddled her, gave her advice, told her it wasn't her fault. And very selfishly relished in her including me and making me feel like I was needed. That became love to me then. Being included and needed.

I happily moved to another town with her. I couldn't play with my best friend because her mother wouldn't let her, so what did it matter? I wasn't missing anything, except for the kids that teased me. But my mother was a young woman in her early thirties at that time. She was pretty and could be fun. Therefore, she found a new man quick enough. She didn't need me anymore. She didn't include me. She wasn't home a lot and left me to fend for myself. I tried to have as much fun as I could, and I had a couple of friends there. It was just getting to them that could be the problem since Mom wasn't home a lot and I never knew how to reach her. Then we moved in with the boyfriend where he didn't have a phone and lived out in the middle of no-where. He had two neighbors nearby and one a little further down the dirt road at the plantation.

Occasionally, she let me back in. She would take me shopping and I felt like I could survive again. Most of the time was spent in my room at his house though. They didn't want me around. I'm not just saying that. They would "suggest" that I go to my room or go stay at a friend's house more often than not. They got exasperated if I didn't go. Then I witnessed that man trying to kill her. I ran to the closest neighbor in my bare feet, tears streaming down my face, and this horrible screeching sound I didn't recognize coming from my throat. 

We packed up and moved out. What did I get from all of that? The joys of anxiety attacks. (Here's why the whole divorce thing was relevant, it tied to the anxiety attacks. Needed for future reference.) Life was tolerable. That's when I realized was feeling empty felt like. From the age of thirteen to seventeen, I felt devoid of life. Around seventeen, I assumed it had to be the weather. We had moved when I was fourteen from Georgia to Indiana. I chalked my lack of feelings up to the gray skies and dead fields of Indiana winters. So I moved back to Georgia where I was reunited with my childhood best friend. With the freedom of being driving teenagers came the freedom of being able to hang out. And I made new friends. One of them became my best guy pal. He became my brother. His family adopted me and I loved them.

Still no feeling. I tried everything from trying to live like a teenage girl to cutting myself just to feel something. Anything. I remember nights laying in front of the fireplace, my arms wrapped around an oversized teddy bear, blood soaking through my sweatshirt and caking on the bear. Still nothing. I eventually told my affectionately-termed Bubby what was going on in my head. When it got really bad, I would drive to his house and he would wrap his arms around me and beg me not to go. He never said where, he just asked that I not leave him. He would name off all the reasons he wanted me to stay. Sometimes that would do the trick, but sometimes I would leave his house as empty as I arrived.

I tried drinking. I tried sex. I tried going to college. I tried different jobs. I tried clubs. I tried drugs (okay, really just one, the other two were taken unknowingly). I tried relationships I shouldn't have and failed ones I should have tried to keep.

Even today, I still have the problem. I feel like I'm not good enough. I feel like I'm a failure. I feel like I'm just causing pain to everyone around me. Sometimes it's just the thought of my children and husband that keep me from doing anything. And there are times when I'm in too deep and I think of all the ways they would all be better off without me. It was easier when Pen was younger because I justified that she wouldn't remember me to know what she was missing.

I don't have a fear of guns because my cousin was shot (either by himself or by another) or because I was raised around too many of them. I have a fear of myself. I have more good days than bad days the past few years, but it can be as simple as a fight with the husband or just a morose day that can drag me down. Today is a hard day for me because I empathize with Robin Williams. I feel so much pain that he lived as long as he did with his suffering because I know what it's like. I feel for him and I feel for his family. It sucks to feel helpless and that's what happens to the family of the depressed. They feel helpless. Just like the depressed person. It's a disease that hurts everyone around for some reason or another.

And if you want to argue that it's selfish to want to end your suffering, then let me ask you this: Isn't it just as selfish to ask the suffering to keep living so you can have them? If someone was in daily pain from cancer eating away at their body, would you rather they live another twenty years in that pain just so you can have their presence? Depression is a like an emotional cancer. I'm not advocating suicide. I'm saying watch what you say and how you say it. Saying negative things to the sick doesn't make it any better.  

Thanks to Pinterest and staying at home with Baby Boo...

I have a plan. I came up with this plan around 2am last night after feeding my Baby Boo and have been working on it in my head ever since.

I pin a lot of stuff on Pinterest. Big surprise there, most people on the site tend to do that. I actually do something with the stuff I pin though. Some of it is just inspiration. I pin hairstyles that I try, use hair and makeup tips, make the craft stuff, use the cleaning and organizing tips, etc. The clothes are a bit tricky. I generally just use those pins to find similar outfits as I shop, but sometimes I find that one shirt that I fall in love with. My mission is set. I scour the internet, discovering the brand of the article of clothing and what stores carry/carried it. Occasionally, it's still being sold somewhere. Most of the time it's discontinued. That's when I turn to Ebay. I've lucked out and found these clothes on Ebay and it's dirt cheap.

However, there is this one cardigan I have found that is still being sold, but I am not paying over $100 for it. This leads me to my plan.

I have a cardigan that I still wear, but the way it fits me is annoying. Plan: Alter it to make it what I want. I'm going to take it in and remove parts of it and do magically things. As soon as I start on this plan, I will share the befores and afters with more of the story of what I did.

I had to write this down before I forgot said plan.

My fun with Photoshop

So it's been over a week. Maybe two? I lost track. I ended up finally going into labor unknowingly. Fortunately, I have a friend that made me call the doctor after having contractions all morning. Then the hard part was do I call the doctor first or take a shower or finish my part-time hours before calling the doctor? I opted for taking a shower, then finishing my daily hours, then calling the doctor. In all honesty, I didn't think it was that big of a deal. The contractions weren't really that terrible to deal with and weren't getting any worse or closer together. At least, I didn't think they were. By the time I got to the hospital, I was 5 centimeters dilated. Oops.

So my husband and I spent some time watching Dragnet (I love that show) and teasing the nurses for blowing out so many veins in the multiple attempts to insert the IV. Turns out that I wasn't insane and my contractions were not normal in the least bit. They were not regular nor getting as painful as what they probably should have been. Yep. I'm a freak.

So our baby boy was born by 6:33 pm that evening. I got bored in the hospital a lot, so I took a lot of pictures. It took me a few days of being home before I got to editing them. I kinda love my befores and afters. They aren't spectacular nor professional, but I love them and that's what matters.

Original

Basic editing

A lighter B&W

B&W

Greater Than Gatsby has some fantastic actions. I recommend looking into them if you use Photoshop.

Any newborn is going to have skin coloring issues during the first few days. I prefer to use black and white for those reasons alone. The darker black and white takes away all the redness to his skin, but the lighter black and white plus a Gaussian blur adds an interesting blend to the mix. I have more pictures to take, but for now I have a couple hour nap heading my way before this little one's next feeding. Ciao, loveys!

Hair, hair, whatever shall I do with thee?

I'm that person. The one that goes all through Pinterest and finds all these fantastic hairstyles that I absolutely adore and pin to my heart's content. Then, I actually try to re-create the hairstyles only to discover that my hair isn't long enough, not curly enough, not short enough, the layers aren't right, too fine, or just not thick enough.

Not only am I cursed with thin hair (it's always been a problem for me), but it's also very fine. My hair will fall out of a simple braid. There are types of hair clips that I cannot use because my hair is simply too fine. It freaking sucks.

My daughter is also cursed with fine hair. I recognize all of the signs when I see them. We have a hard time brushing it out after a bath because of all the tangles. Every morning when she gets up, it looks like she took up break-dancing during the night and spent eight hours practicing spinning on her head. This means she is going to have difficulty maintaining hairstyles and a hard time getting her hair to do anything that doesn't involve stick-straight hair.

FYI, she just randomly shouted at the dog "No! I don't want to hear your piggy noises!" The dog is asleep underneath our coffee table three feet away from her.

I digress.

I know we need to change her shampoo/conditioner deal and I already explained to my husband what we have to look forward to when it comes to taking care of her hair. She's almost four. I can't expect her to take on that responsibility this young. I'm the one that doesn't want to cut it, the least I can do is properly take care of it. I told him what kind of shampoo/conditioner we will need to get, how we will need to wash her hair, what we will have to look forward to in the future (she will not be able to use 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner combos when she starts school), and how we will have to maintain her how for the time being.

One of the measures of preventing the major rat nest from forming in her beautiful tresses is to just put her hair up before bed. My child does not like having her hair up if she feels like she will be lying down at any time. It bothers her and she will want her hair down immediately. So, I sat her down after her bath and explained to her that she will just have to start putting her hair up before bed so she won't get knots. She seemed receptive, but we weren't going to start that night. I like to take time introducing changes to my girl because she will get very upset if you don't. She likes to be involved.

The next night, I reminded her that we were going to be putting her hair up so it wouldn't get all tangled and she still seemed game. I told her we were going to do two braids, just like Doc McStuffins. She normally fights me on this hairstyle (she's quite partial to just pigtails), but was actually quite eager to give it a try. We braided her hair, had a final conversation about her sleeping with her hair like that, and off to bed she went.

She got up the next morning and we took her braids out. Huzzah! No tangles or knots! I was also pleasantly surprised to see wonderful little waves in her hair that seemed to stay all day. They did fall a little as the day wore on, but they were still there. I decided I would share it with whoever actually looked at this thing, or just to remind myself of how it looked.

Morning after braids (ignore the Christmas pajamas)

Soft waves

I Multitasked!

Headaches when contracting are the worst. You don't want to take anything for the headache out of fear that it will dull the pain from the contractions and then you'll have no idea if they are getting stronger or not because what if the Tylenol is actually quite effective?

I did some housework and creative stuff at the same time! Speaking of which, I need to go start that load of laundry...

The other day, in my attempts to walk this baby out, I dragged my husband to a bunch of antique stores in town. I managed to find two skeleton keys, a beautiful blue beaded necklace, an apron, and a jewelry box. I bought one of the keys for my daughter to play with and one I plan to make a necklace out of. More on that later.

Today's project was cleaning the apron and jewelry box.

I love this apron. The colors, the style, everything about it. $5. What you can't see is there are a few stains on the apron. No problem, I'll take care of those. I mixed up a solution of 1 tablespoon baking soda, 1 tablespoon blue Dawn dish soap, and 2 tablespoons peroxide. Then I just drizzled it on the stains, using a fork (I don't have a good brush to use) to rub it in really well, then let it set for an hour.

During that hour, I worked on the jewelry box. Yeah, it looks pretty gross. No way I was just going to throw my jewelry all willy nilly in there. I wiped it down and used a wet washcloth to wipe down the velvet liner. Luckily, the stains were more surface stains so I didn't need to do anything more than that to get rid of them.

After that, I uploaded all my pictures on my SD card and edited them in Photoshop. I eventually ended up here. Since it had been an hour, I threw the apron in the washing machine with a load of laundry and am washing them using warm/cold water. That should remove the stains easily. If I wanted to show you a before and after picture of how well this stain remover works, I would have done it a few weeks ago when I was washing the baby's stuff. The swing cover had a huge stain on it and it would have been perfect for a before/after shot. Alas, I didn't think of it then.

That's all I have for now. I'm currently folding laundry so I can have an empty basket for the load in the washer (I do have more than one basket, but I only allow two baskets to have clean clothes in them to prevent myself from feeling overwhelmed by laundry). Then I shall continue to somehow get this kid out of me. I've tried walking him out and spicy foods. Tonight, we try White Castle. Don't ask, it was suggested to me.