A budding clinical psychologist with Bipolar I & OCD

At the end of the day I’m an angry old man who has been through the ringer with Lyme Disease, Bipolar Disorder, OCD and a LOT of associated anxiety. Right now I’m at the end of my rope with my life, and while I’m resting at the bottom I’m spending my time balancing rage over the poorly run organization I work for, depression, and my physical health. I’m going to make some changes, and I think some of the changes I’m planning on making would be beneficial for other people in similar boats. (Mine is periwinkle blue though and really hard to keep clean).

At work I’m the rock for the 4 women I take care of with intellectual disability. I chuckle to myself that I can play mom and advocate for them, but I’m terrified when I get a phone call or even get a car wash. I’ve had my car for 5-6 years now and never gotten it washed. How ridiculous is that to admit? And why? Pfft, I can do that CBT exercise where you work backwards to find out why it’s so scary and at the end realize, oh I don’t want to look stupid in front of people even if they’re strangers I’ll never see again, but beyond that, periodic exposure therapy hasn’t been that much help.

That being said, my first change is that I’m going to start cutting out sugars. I did some research on the effects of the body and mind and my three major goals are to reduce Lyme symptoms by feeding the bacteria with sugars, increase my concentration naturally, and have more energy. (Sleeping all day when you’re depressed is also really easy, but not very healthy) I don’t like taking 5 hour naps on my days off and feeling like I need to battle to stay awake every single day. It’ll be a slow process. Cut out pops, juices, desserts, drink more water, eat more lean meats and avocados, blah blah. It’ll also help me lose the weight I’ve been working on dropping with exercise 3 days a week. (That’s a healthy choice I’ve already made).

For the emotional component, I’ve started praying on the daily. I’m a Catholic but I don’t often get to church (Maybe if I had more energy I would). Seriously though that has little to do with the point of this paragraph. The prayer has given me some empowerment over things I can’t control. A little peace of mind and spiritual balance.

Got an autistic sister who you’re horrified for because she won’t express anything to you and has poor sleeping and hygiene habits and you can’t do anything about it? BOOM prayer for her. Obsessive fear (I’ve had this for years) that your house is going to burn down and everything you own destroyed forever? Pray to prevent it. Hey, I know prayer isn’t for everybody, but some sort of ‘spiritual’ balance could be helpful, even if it’s just a peaceful mindfulness that can be practiced. Throw out your positive vibrations into the world you hippies. Do what you have to do. On top of the praying I’d like to find some good guided meditations and practice relaxing my body and speedy thoughts. In the past I’ve done guided meditation and been talking in my head the whole time. It ruins it. When I was in intensive outpatient therapy I used to secretly look forward to guided meditation days, and tried SO hard to make it through the whole half hour long process without messing it all up by thinking.

Lastly, and this is more or less just for me, I’m at that point where I feel like I’m ready to leave my job. I’ve talked a lot in this blog about the injustice that happens there, and how I’m pretty much not interested in being involved in a place run like that anymore. I’ll try to stay in contact with the women so I can always support them to the best of my ability, but I also will never be able to afford an adult life on $12/hour and am shortening my life with the amount of time I spend upset on the daily. In fact my direct supervisor who is a hard working genuinely caring woman is quitting for the same reason after working there a much longer time, getting out of working with the population entirely, taking a HUGE paycut and going to be making what I make. That says a lot when you want to get out THAT bad. And I understand that 100%.

I’m making a change to work at a hospital or clinic I think, working on my updated resume now. When I have the degree in hand in a few months I’ll be qualified for a lot better jobs and would like the clinical environment experience behind me to nudge me in front of the next guy, even though I already have a a year and a half of experience in “the field” now. Psychology, by the way. And when I apply to grad school, I’ll have a year and a half of (unrelated) empirical research on mental health stigma (in particular, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), to take with me.

I know the rest of you out there on the sea of troubles are all coming out of different ports, but if I pass on my pirate knowledge and experience maybe it’ll help you battle the next sea monster. That’s always my #1 hope while in this blogging community. I mean that’s why we go to group therapy too, right? 

Advertisements

The Future is Everything that Hasn’t Happened Yet

One of the clients that lives in the CILA house I am the main DSP for asked me what ‘the future‘ meant. That was the best answer I could come up with. Working with a special needs community (ranging drastically in functioning levels) makes you have to answer a lot of questions you don’t normally think you’d be asked. At least by adults. Some of them more than twice your age. That you cook dinner for. And help learn the difference between pushing and pulling. And teach manners in a grocery store.

I was freshly thirteen when I had the first manic episode I can remember. It lasted MONTHS, and ended with a bang. I had hit the major depressive whiplash from the damage done and thought that my life was over. This was nearly a decade before I’d be diagnosed with Bipolar and several years before anyone would assess me for depression. Either way, therapy wasn’t in the cards at the time, but my dad did hand me a book as a ‘gift’. It was The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens by Sean Covey. The book became my bible. I read it again years later as a 20 something when I was having a really rough time, and it still held its head tall with values for people of all ages.

I remembered this book on my ride home from work when I thought about my future. Big changes are ahead regardless if I welcome them or not, that’s just the way life works. The prospect of some of these had been popping my heart strings tonight and firing my anxiety off like rockets. I thought to myself, “Barbie, if you can cross your arms the opposite way for 30 days, you’ll have retrained your brain. You would make crossing those arms a learned habit, and if you can create a habit like that in 30 days, you can deal with other big changes in 30 days, and looking at it like that makes life changing events seem like much less of a living nightmare.” I felt less like crying after a little clear thinking, but I still felt like crying, nonetheless. I started tapping into memories from different ages and circumstances. My life adventure has been turbulent.

The holiday season every year since I got “the news” about Santa has been an emotional time for me. I think about the mortality of my family, and hold traditions and immediate family bonds more sensitively than I do the rest of the year. I’m also Bipolar, so, duh, I’m extra emotional to begin with. I start to doubt that my boyfriend who I’ve been through the ringer with (who I met 11 years ago this month) and who I’m getting closer to spending the rest of my life with would be able to fully accept the fragile little holiday Barbie that I am inside the grown up shell. I hold up my sword and shield every time I walk out the door, but have only ever let down ALL of my defences in front of my mom, dad, and sister and let myself be 100% vulnerable. One. Hundred. Percent. This is because I know I’m accepted regardless and supported, and of course they’ve known that squishy Barbie for 28 years, in addition, to the Paladin Barbie that I am when facing the world. In fact, I’m sure my family knows that side of me LESS.

I’m embarrassed to show them the paladin the way I’m embarrassed to show ANYONE else the little girl. I’m really horrified to put that part of me on the table for my partner in full, and I wouldn’t even know how. He knows me, he’s my runner up to my immediate family and knows me better in a lot of ways, but I still face fear of rejection in this one aspect of my life. Again, that little girl “me” that only my family has experienced has never even tried going out in the sun before, and I fear how badly and quickly that could start a fire, charring everything around it.

Originally, this post was meant to tell stories from work and about how I miss an online gaming community aspect and how great I’m doing at always keeping myself busy with things I enjoy which makes me feel fulfilled and accomplished. About how I’m the best caretaker I know, how I’m glad to have the opportunity to care for adults with developmental and intellectual disabilities and how I’m damn good at it. The perfect fit for the job actually. This post was going to be about how the only aspect of my job I detest and makes me want to call in on a daily basis from anxiety, depression and anger is every other staff I have to work with or under. Their actions and their attitudes. About how come December I’ll have that coveted 1 year of experience in my field, and once I get the degree paper in hand, I can wave around that experience and let the fish bite, moving my career forward. Then this post was going to tell of how my adviser screwed me over unintentionally, and I can’t run the experiment for my independent study until next semester, which pushes back my graduation date another several months, which leaves me feeling trapped at my job, and makes my days a little colder.

I may have squeezed a post into a paragraph, but I feel less constricted that I’ve let ALL those feelings fly. I hope never to stop writing, and I hope people will always be around to read what I have to write. That being said, I’m going to try to catch some Z’s.

The Odd Couple

I’ll be the first to say that when you wake up in the middle of the night having to pee like your life depends on it and your Asperger’s sister who has no sense of time or urgency is sitting in the bathroom and you can hear her ripping a square of toilet paper at a time after BEGGING to get into the bathroom “just to pee less than a minute!!!” it really makes you mad. Then you hear the toilet paper ripping stop, and you knock on the door hurriedly again, she starts up again…after a little while, you’re in the hallway doing a dramatic pee dance and she EVENTUALLY finishes. You run into the bathroom, pee, wash hands and when you come out she’s in the kitchen STILL washing her hands. I don’t care how insensitive it sounds, when it’s YOUR sister, and you know how high functioning she is, how spoiled she acts and how much you work to take care of her and the rest of your family she still rolls her eyes and won’t even look at you, in the middle of the night…it REALLY makes you mad.

Since there are no anti-PO’d medications (waka waka), I just asked my brand new psychiatrist this past Monday to refill my prescriptions for Luvox and Lamictal and asked him to put me back on ADHD medication. He had a file in hand from the hospital I used to see my doctor at before she moved to Colorado which specifically listed ADHD as a diagnosis and wrote about how we had talked about my very expensive time-consuming ADHD testing and how she was going to try me on Strattera, and he still acted like he wanted to ask me to get ADHD testing before he gave me any medicine. I was ready to swing at him, particularly because he had the attitude of one of those “I really give no F’s about you whatsoever” attitudes. He’s the kind of guy that made me jump into the psych field out of the business field and blow the last several years of my life working toward my bachelors. Mind you, I haven’t seen a psychiatrist in a little over a year and my GP had been refilling my OCD/Bipolar cocktail and had finally gotten sick of it, but I’d been off Ritalin most of the past year and my ADHD wreaked havoc on most of my life. I was determined to get back on it, and I have, and I’m thankful. I kind of wish the guy tweaked my Luvox prescription, because my intrusive thoughts have been getting out of control the past several months, but we’ll see what happens in the future med wise. I literally have no time for myself, let alone therapy by the way. I’m hoping that session 2 with this guy is a lot better than session 1. I’ll see him in another twenty-some days.

My current struggle since I last blogged has been that the stress at work has triggered a major depressive episode. The doctor asked how many manic episodes I’ve had in my life and I replied that I get one every year or two, but I have a worse problem with depression. He asked if I’d tried Latuda or another antidepressant. I said no, and was expecting him to prescribe one, but he didn’t. I was too anxious at the time to speak up about it, but next month I plan on it. AFTER a little research on Latuda, in particular.

I stumbled upon an article the other day, the full text here, which is entitled, “Bipolar patients’ brain cells predict response to Lithium”. The sample size for the study wasn’t very large, which lowers validity, but it was an interesting read. The scientists collected skin samples from clinically diagnosed BP patients and turned the cells into neurons (don’t ask me how the heck they did THAT) and compared them to the neurons from “healthy people”‘. They tested the cells’ response to a Lithium bath, and found a diversity in excitability of the cells. Lithium didn’t do much for me, because like I said, I have a larger problem with depression than I do mania, which is why I’m on Lamictal, which I highly recommend trying if you’ve got the same problem. Our body chemistries are all different, but it’s got a high success rate among people with my kind of problem. On that note, my own research is driving me insane, because I work overtime all week at the CILA, then cram my efforts into lit reviews and test preparation just to find out that I need to re-do something or add more to my paper before I can run my tests. I’m doing a capstone right now, which is the last thing I need to graduate. The stress between that and work has taken me back to the mindset where I really just wish I could live off disability comfortably. I’m sure that the way American economy is going, disability funds are going to quickly evaporate, so even if I were to get on it, I doubt it’d be something I could benefit from the rest of my life. It’s frustrating enough to be a late twenties adult (eh, just being an adult in general), let alone a Bipolar one with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and ADHD.

Besides the obsessive skin picking that’s super embarrassing to admit I’m succumbing to again lately, my house is benefiting from my re-decorating and cleaning of the place (as much as is tolerated by the rest of my family). I think back to when I was a kid, undiagnosed with all this junk, and how on a monthly basis I’d spend an entire day ripping my bedroom to shreds in order to re-organize the whole thing. Scrubbing the walls, re-lining up my stuffed animals in a different order, dusting…Now, with my sister having grown into her Asperger’s and us still sharing a room in the same house since she was born, I can’t touch half the stuff in the room, and it drives me insane, but I still mess with what I can. (Insert the “Odd Couple” theme song here). Boy oh boy does it feel good to even move one or two things around every other night. Now onward to my last work day into a weekend where I plan on suffering through more paper editing, and lecturing myself on how I need to stop isolating myself and spend physical time with my friends if I want to keep them. Then there’s supporting my long time boyfriend who is having a bigger problem with depression than I am, and handles it WAY worse than I do…

“I can’t take it anymore, Felix, I’m cracking up. Everything you do irritates me. And when you’re not here, the things I know you’re gonna do when you come in irritate me. You leave me little notes on my pillow. Told you 158 times I can’t stand little notes on my pillow. “We’re all out of cornflakes. F.U.” Took me three hours to figure out F.U. was Felix Ungar!” -Oscar Madison, 1968 film, The Odd Couple.

Bipolar, OCD, and My Cousin’s Wedding

I went to my cousin’s wedding this past weekend out-of-state. If I could change one thing about myself it would be not to brood over things like she’s much younger than me, has known her fiance for a way shorter period of time than I’ve known my non-fiance, and has a picture perfect public relationship with him. Doting over each other and whatnot. Making productions of kisses. That’s just a clogged emotional artery though. Guilt that I’m a couple of years away from 30 now and just finishing up my undergrad, a semester behind my cousin, to add to the embarrassing feelings. Blood however is still pushing through my veins, and thank God for that.

Turns out I had a nice time, and got in some family bonding with extended family that I enjoyed very much. I took a million pictures and was proud they had good composition and decent lighting. Photography has been a hobby of mine for years now and though I don’t currently have a working nice camera, I still managed to use the technology available to take shots. The key is to keep snapping away, and then skim off the crap ones, then skim off the not so great ones, then keep the good ones but show off the great ones. In my opinion at least.

The night we arrived at the hotel I ran to a Walgreens to pick up a card after we ate a late dinner. (I went with my immediate family). I ended up bluntly exposing my feelings about why I wish I had a closer relationship with her (and it’s true, I wish I did). Mental illness was the key component, and the stigma revolving around the subject made me cringe and tear up while writing it.

This was the letter. She hasn’t read it yet as far as I know. They were busy all day and are going on their honeymoon in the morning. I both want her to read it and don’t. I’m scared of her reply. More so I’m scared to be let down by her reply.

“Dear C,

I am very proud of you. I remember little blips of walking down the hospital hallway to see you when you were first-born. I remember dominating bowls of black olive appetizers at your birthday parties at your old Chicago house and playing games like ‘Elefun’ in that living room.

Something old: childhood memories.

Then, to speed this up, you guys moved, later yet i got sick with Lyme and all my confidence flew away and I’ve spent the days since fighting major depression, ocd and bipolar disorder. There IS a point to this recap. You need to know that for those reasons, I have sabotaged my relationships with family and friends for years. It’s an enormous regret of mine that my little cousin is 21, a college grad and getting married i hardly know her. And you hardly know me!

Something borrowed: my ears are yours anytime. I’m a great secret keeper and of course a growing psychologist.

After grandpa died, one of my biggest fears was that if grandma passed away the BARBIE side of the family would fall apart. I’ve meant to start mending gaps and making up for lost time but how do you explain to a perfectly normal extended family  that you carry around a constant sadness and fear that’s not reasonable 90% of the time and it makes it hard to socialize with them because you’re super far from comfortable? Putting that out there for you right now is super terrifying. If you know though, maybe that’s the first step toward having a solid relationship.

Something blue and something new: the color you now know I secretly carry.

You’re about to start a brand new chapter of your life and I’m so happy for you. I felt that if I didn’t tell all that to you, you would never know on the happiest day of your life so far that your big cousin loves you so so much and always has.

Now get out there lady! Get married!!!

‘Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.’ -William Shakespeare”

Well that’s it. That’s what it was. Of all my impulsive ideas this one wasn’t so bad I suppose. Now if only I could use some of that impulsive energy to knock out so I get some rest tonight. Maybe after accomplishing as much as I did after we got home and additionally emptying my mind of all the thoughts I was saving up to get out, that’ll do the trick.

G’night moon, G’night stars, G’night WordPress.

If We Can Change the Lens…

This was passed on to me by someone near and dear who thought I would take interest in it. Now I’m passing it on to you. I thought it was fabulous, funny, smart and inspiring. Normally I lay around with the volume off on the computer. It took me over a week to get my lazy ears clicked into the e-mail this was linked to and actually watch the video. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that those of us with mental illness CAN change our brains, as well as the rest of the average folk who struggle daily too. Aside from being something I can personally relate to, it’s a perfect picture of the person I want to be while I’m speaking in the realm of academia one day after all the years of study I’ve put into my psychology major.

The best of luck to all of us who take the plunge to change,

Bipolar Barbie (Q)

When It’s Out of Your Hands, What Can You Do?

Decay. It’s a generally awful emotional and physically sour feeling that’s only offset by the new LED (color changing) tea candles I placed in glass holders I got from the dollar store yesterday that are illuminating my dark room. Since I started working full-time this has become a routine feeling on Sunday nights. Usually Sunday’s are when I sit down with myself and rage about the big depressing offenders in my life whether I want to think about these things or not.

Tonight’s reasons why I feel like I’m decaying are as follows:

1. Finances. Two weeks ago I slipped and sprained my spine and neck. I’m healing, though slowly, and I missed out on a week’s pay as well as gotten written up for poor attendance even though I had three doctor’s notes. You know 9/10 times a co-worker who sees something drop will not pick it up for me even if I’m wearing a back brace and knows I’m not allowed to bend? For example, a client in a walker’s hat fell to the floor. The co-teacher subbing for my regular partner saw this, and passed both of us by.

2. Work. I wish the state would make their yearly visit to check up on the facility I work at already and catch-all the sons of b’ches (TEACHERS! STAFF!) who are sitting around on their phones or leaving their assigned rooms to socialize in other rooms OR EVEN SLEEPING DURING CLASS TIMES and teach them a lesson. Also, I’d like them to see how in the lowest functioning room all of the activities are missing pieces or the pieces are all mixed up in different activities to sort which don’t belong together and the only reason those two things are occurring is because of the laziness of the staff. Even the fact that staff see marker’s are sitting there uncapped, they don’t even say anything to the capable clients to cap them OR to take matters into their own hands. When I had to sub for a half hour twice last week in that room I was so disgusted I felt like throwing a HUGE fit. But if I do? Nothing will happen. None of my concerns to my immediate supervisors/boss are addressed. If anything, I’m just set to be made to feel uncomfortable.

You know that in my three-month review I was told that because I told my co-workers we couldn’t go through a client’s bag without their permission because it was against client rights that I have to work on my communication skills with them? No ******* joke. It’s going down in my file as a mark against me. I’m SO glad to be working with “A” in the class I’m in right now. She’s like a trustworthy aunt who shares my work ethic. We’re about to lose some staff when the small group homes open and we’re starting two new male staff in the coming weeks. We had one new female staff start when I was out that week with my spinal injury and my impression of her thus far is that she’ll fit right in. That being said there is nothing positive I have to say about her. Get a job prostitution is my suggestion to more than half the staff. They already suck **** at their jobs. These are intellectually and developmentally DISABLED people that we, the staff are RESPONSIBLE for. It’s unfair.

3. General Health. Following up on the fact that my back still hurts, I also feel that centipedes under your skin hypersensitivity that only Lyme Disease can give you and I’m just straight up physically uncomfortable in my own skin. My sleep is poor and my fatigue is out of control. I’ll likely need a change of…

4. Medication. I need to call the community mental health center and get an intake appointment scheduled. I’m scared about doing it, but I need a psychiatrist I can see at only hours that they can provide. I likely need a little medication tweaking, as well as I’d like to get back on ADD meds which I could benefit from so much right now, and my thyroid may be the source of my fatigue which gives me anxiety because finding an endocrinologist I can see at convenient hours will also be difficult. Especially one that takes public aid.

5. Travel and Punctuality. It’s nearing the 10 days in which I get to dogsit and though I’m THRILLED for the little mini-vacation, I’m going to be doing a LOT of driving to and from work and the apartment, then to school, all places that aren’t very close to each other. The driving doesn’t concern me, but the “Oh god I hope I get there on time.” dread is already getting to me. The days I won’t need to travel and stalk the city streets for parking will be welcomed with open arms.

School. After finding out that my adviser was going to be leaving the university he passed me off to two candidates he felt would be able to help me get my independent study underway. One said she’d be taking a leave of absence in the fall and wouldn’t be able to help me either, the other passed me off to someone else who pretty much stopped communicating altogether and very obviously did not want any part of it. So I sent an e-mail earlier today to the original advisor, letting him know that now I’m an extra semester behind in doing the last thing I need to do so I can graduate. It’s not my job to know exactly what I’m supposed to do without any guidance. If it was, and I did know, I’d be done yesterday. I feel like ALL my confidence I had at the beginning of the semester has been pulverized, and even the anxiety I wasn’t feeling at the beginning of my lab class is catching up with me.

So yeah. By the end of every day since we’ve last spoke WordPress, I’ve pretty much felt pretty hopeless. I hope all of you guys out there are staying strong and kicking ass. I’ll catch up with you folk shortly.

In My Head

How often are you ‘in your head’? If you like the color purple, prefer paper bags to plastic at the grocery store, and don’t like getting water in your ears, you, like me, are often in your head! (At least that’s what Buzzfeed would deduce). I’m so much so in my head, that it seemed a valid hypothesis of Chris’ as to why I never remember how to get anywhere we’ve been a thousand times. I’m not ‘paying attention’ as well as other absent-minded habits I have. I was so much in my head tonight, that I finally got out of bed and decided now was the time to blog for the week.

427f69dd2748a90a708ae84676b2c7f1

Christmas last year made me want to throw up. When I was younger people used to talk about how dysfunctional their families were and I felt bad for them. Mine was great. I looked forward to holidays. Now thinking about getting together with my mom’s side of the family is something I dread. My cousins are SO different now than when we were growing up. We have hardly anything in common and pretty much talk only on Christmas these days. I’m going to make the effort to text them this week, try to spark conversation, and hopefully remedy some of that break in social tension. At least it’s tense for me. I hate the fact that all we do is exchange presents and watch each other bicker with our respected siblings. My Asperger’s sister got so wound up with me for some tiny thing I said that I can’t even remember that she pretty much said the only thing she said all night which was to bash me in a rage. After that everyone was silent, and we didn’t really pick up the mood because we had no games to play. I felt like crying. The only ‘good’ part of Christmas is the morning of that I spend with my immediate family. I’d best cherish this Christmas, for it’ll be my last as an undergraduate college student.

You read right. I’ll be graduating Fall 2015! It’s much later than I’ve wanted to have graduated, but having the fog of not knowing if there was anything I was missing lifted from my shoulders, I feel so much better about it. I spent the past year and a half avoiding talking to my adviser in the department. I was terrified to see him and it ended up being no big deal after all. In fact, it was a pleasure. I only need one more class to graduate, which will take one semester. The thing that’s pushing graduation two semesters instead of one is that I need to complete my Capstone project. Everyone in the department needs to complete one before graduating. There are a few options, but Dr. F (my adviser, and the only currently working clinical psychologist in the department), knowing my ‘condition’ and anxieties recommended me do the independent study. Not only do I get to work independently, but I get to work with Dr. F, who everyone wants to work with. He’s always booked with max students he can mentor for their projects. He’s doing me such an honor by taking me on and instead of making me wait until Fall to begin my project (which is when I’m officially in a time slot to work with him for) he’s having me start in the Spring which will prevent me from taking yet another semester to graduate. I’m thrilled. Because his field of study is abnormal psychology, I get to pick something in that realm I’m interested in. (Bipolar Disorder anyone!?) To make things all the more relieving, I don’t have to think about a project proposal until the Spring semester starts. I’m going to work my ass off to ace my one class, and impress the board with my independent study. That’s the official plan.

Announcing my excitement wasn’t the only thing I wanted to bring up in this post. Remember earlier in this post when I mentioned about throwing up? I did that two nights ago after going out with Chris (and meeting our friend and his date) who had free tickets to a concert. It urged me to pose the question to my fellow bipolar peers, how much can you drink? This is a more complicated question than it sounds and it started the year I was diagnosed. My boyfriend at the time said that an ex girlfriend of his was bipolar and could either out-drink anyone who came her way and not get drunk, or after a glass of wine be plastered. I feel like that’s the same for me. I had four shots of vodka, an IPA and a quarter of some wheat beer and didn’t feel a thing. No buzz, no loosening up, it was a waste of money and for that I’m glad that I didn’t pay for most of it, and I feel bad that I didn’t pay for most of it too in that regard. I never know what to expect when it comes to drinking anymore. I had an okay time, but was as I usually am, stuck in my head.

One of the things I was stuck in my head about was a very brief conversation piece I had with Chris on the way home. To make a long story short we have a very long history of dating, not dating, helping each other get through the mud of life, and right now he’s in no mood to be in a relationship with anyone. I’ve been in love with him for years, and see myself being alone if I don’t end up marrying him. If he were to get married I’d never speak with him again, to be frank. As long as I love him, he’ll be the only person I want to be with. I’m short-sighted I suppose you could say. I already can read your mind that you’ve been through this as well and I’ll be surprised to find someone else. No worries, I know it’s not an impossibility. I’m just speaking in the moment and the past several years of momentary feeling.

That being said, it brings us to our conversation. I told him something I was thinking about for months now. If he and I aren’t together as a couple or married by the time I’m 36 I’d like him to donate his sperm to me so I can be artificially inseminated with it and have the baby I’d love to have. He thinks I’m crazy and he won’t do it. I don’t blame him, but still it hurts to hear. It wouldn’t be the same having some stranger’s baby I pick out of a book. My mom was 37 when she had me. I always thought that was old and made me sad because I felt like my peers would all have more time with their mothers who had them when they were younger. That I’d be shorted precious time, but that’s pretty much a realistic cut off age if I want children. I can live without them, but I’m such a mom at heart truly. I mean I’m also a six-year-old at heart, but I guess that’s the goofy balance I’m meant to have. I love and adore the children I nanny for and wish I had my own children to spoil and teach and watch grow. It’s selfish as well I know. For me, I wouldn’t care if Chris wanted any parental responsibility and he’d have no reason to assist financially, but in the end its half his child. Oh well, it’s just something that’s been chewing on my heart for a bit.

Ahh, hopefully now I can sleep. Tomorrow I need to do my job search, pick up my thyroid medication and reply to blog responses from last week. I promise to do my best to accomplish all of those things! I always feel vastly accomplished when I do manage to complete the tasks for the day no matter how menial they are. I recommend making a check list mentally or physically for the day and crossing things off as you go. It’s helped me a lot.

You’d all best be doing fantastically today WordPress family, or I’ll come looking for ya!