taking it back...

I've missed writing because I've been super busy and felt like hiding away. So here is a long, truly scary confession post for me with *gasp* a photo with MAKE UP ON. 

Triggers here. Fyi.

I don't wear make up pretty much ever. If I do, it's basic mascara and some pink blush used as eyeshadow. Nondescript. Barely there. Fiance is cool with it - "You're naturally beautiful.  Women really are. I wish you - all of you - could see it too." Love him, right? Anyway. We did engagement photos a week ago, and so I did the thing you do and put on my face - and though I look very Jane Austen? I about had a panic attack walking out of the bookstore restroom to go meet up with our photographer.

Fiance immediately asked what was wrong - and I almost cried off my face as I told him I hate wearing make up. "People look at me more. They see me. Men see me. I want to be left alone. I don't want them to look at me." He was confused. And as I thought about it from his perspective - I found myself analyzing why I think this way.

Guy from high school who locked me in his car and threatened to rape me? He wouldn't let me wear make up. Or cute clothes. "I don't want other men to look at you. You're mine." Checking my phone, playing mind games, making me change outfits before dates if I looked "too hot." Don't be seen.

Supervisor who locked me in the janitor's closet with him. He let me go when I stared too hard at him, wide-eyed and more confused than scared. "Close your eyes, girl. What the hell you doin' with those?" Don't be seen.

Ex who repeatedly abused me for two years - "You attract so much attention just because of your face. Especially your eyes. Stop looking at me. Look down." "Take off the eyeliner, you look stupid." "Did you see that guy checking you out? Don't wear that shirt when we go places anymore." Don't be seen.

I've always been shy. Awkward. Looking at the ground. But to have a panic attack because I put on make up? Unable to breathe because my eyes shine? Afraid to show fiance my face when I put this stuff on because he might see something he's suddenly afraid of or made angry by and tell me to disappear? He wouldn't. He won't. But my crazy brain says he might - it's ridiculous.

So guess what? This cleansing confession post now has a DARE. A BIG ONE.

Be seen. With or without make up on. With or without a nice outfit. I'll Be Seen. I'll see others. I'll smile and laugh and walk with my head held high.

I'm taking back my face.

nothing to do but do...

A phrase comes up a lot in conversation these days. I say it, my friends say it, my family members say it -- after we take turns detailing the hard things that we're facing or the stresses brought on by work, school, health, and other things, we say with a shrug and a half-sort of smile, "Eh. What can you do?"

It's as though it's a socially constructed way of saying, "Thank you for listening to my problems, and don't try to help me -- I just needed to talk."

It's true, in a lot of ways. So many things just have to be done, regardless of the difficulty or the heartache. Life doesn't stop for anyone. Unless you happen to have a billion dollars in your bank account, of course -- then you can tell the world what to do and it has to listen. Money talks a lot louder than anything else.

I keep looking at the things in my life and I'm sometimes amazed that I get anything done. I'm honestly baffled that I'm accomplishing anything at all.

Sometimes I look at other people's lives and feel grateful that I don't have their struggles. They're so strong -- sometimes it makes me feel even weaker -- I couldn't do what they're doing.

Everybody's got something. For me, and for everybody else -- despite the physical pain which grows worse by the day, the emotional issues that creep in the background, the lack of sleep due to nightmares and pain, and the immense anxiety caused by deadlines, health problems, bills, and what-have-you -- we just keep going.

Eh. What can you do?

Everything, apparently.

where we're going...

I've had a lot to think about lately.

I'm definitely a planner. I plan my days almost to the minute, working out every detail as I get ready for bed and making sure I'll be where I need to be at least ten minutes in advance. I practice schedules until they're timed perfectly -- for example, my Wednesdays are planned for the rest of the semester. After this morning I know that washing one load of laundry takes exactly 27 minutes, meaning that if I wake up an hour and 15 minutes before I need to leave for school, I can get one load done while I get ready, put it in the dryer, and have a second in the washer before heading off to school. I won't be late for class, nor will I run out of time to do chores, homework, and make dinner (Wednesday is my dinner night and my laundry day -- I added my other chores so I can get them all done in one afternoon).

I think about this and wonder -- if I'm more than a planner; if I am, in fact, a control freak. To have days planned to the minute?

When I think about not having a plan, though...I get anxious. It's why I've been feeling so much anxiety about the coming year. It's no longer if I graduate next year... but WHEN I graduate next year... and all that entails. I don't even know if I'll be accepted to a college that starts in the fall -- most of them begin each January, which means 7 months of doing who knows what while I wait for school to start. Honestly, I don't even know which school I should try and get into -- I don't know what's right.

And what happens if I somehow end up married in the next year? Or if not -- keep dating, or suffer another heartbreak? I've always heard people say that you never marry the first person you date. Well...one called off engagement and two break-ups later, and we're still making everything work. In fact, it's better than it's ever been. Now people tell me that it's unlikely that we'll not get married. I can't help but wonder, though. I can't help but wonder if he'll stay. Or if I should stay. I know that I want to -- I don't want to be anywhere else. I just wonder if it's right.

What if, what if, what if. I know it doesn't help anything to wonder about things I can't control. It's hard not to wonder -- everything has gotten complicated and grown up in so little time. Peter Pan would be disappointed in me. Luckily for me, Peter Pan was never on my list of "People I will Emulate." No, I've always wanted to be like Clara Barton, or Louisa May Alcott, or George Washington. People who did things. Grown up things.

I wish someone had told my child self to slow down, to not be in such a hurry to grow up. But that begs the question, would I have listened?

No. No...I don't think I would.

when it hits you...

I can't say I didn't sleep last night, because if I'm dreaming, I'm most likely asleep. I can say, though, that I am quite possibly the most insecure person I know.

Really. All of the nightmares I had last night were incredibly eye-opening. I am so, so, so insecure that it's ridiculous. 

Insecure and self-absorbed. 

Bug.

...

Lately when I think about writing, I feel sick. Then again, that's how I feel when I think about most things.

I'm often ready to bolt into the nearest restroom because my stomach turns and twists so much. I'm always (not an exaggeration) on the verge of tears. I can't sleep.

The worst thing is that my happiness for other people's joy is tinged with a deep pain. It isn't jealousy; I know how jealousy feels -- mean and angry and bitter. This is different. It's more like a quiet, aching sorrow, one that I don't want the happy person to know about because I don't want to detract from his/her joy.

And yet, I sometimes wish they knew, just so they could give me a hug and a job to do so I can help bring about their special days. It's better when I'm working, especially when I'm working for others.

It'll get better. Honestly, it only can get better from this.

I'm lucky, really. Lucky that this is happening: I'll be more aware of others' feelings. I'm learning to be more forgiving. I'm learning to take care of myself for me, not to please someone else. I'm understanding that what I want is just as important as what someone else wants (although I still often do not have opinions, which some of my friends mistake for not sticking up for what I want -- sometimes, I just don't care what we're doing because I'm with people, which means I'm not alone). I'm getting better at telling people the truth regardless of the consequences. I'm practicing asking for help.

I'm growing.

Funny, how I forget that growing physically comes with pain, too -- joints enlarging, muscles stretching, bones lengthening -- keeping me awake when I was little as my body changed into the 5' 2" person I am now. Why should mental, emotional, and spiritual growth be any different?

Perhaps because the pain, for me, is enhanced by other things in my life, such as the long-time struggle with depression, and the more recent appearance of quite severe anxiety. And part of it is my personality: two of my friends were talking to me last night, and they reminded me quite firmly that my loyalty to others has often placed me as less important -- that it's time to stop taking the backseat. And they're right -- while being loyal isn't a bad thing, strengths can easily be weaknesses if used the wrong way.

I'm lucky in friendship. Lucky that I have people in my life who care about me, and who stick with me no matter what's going on in my life. I'm lucky that I have people who celebrate my successes, and who lift me up when I've hit the ground.

Georgie's just lucky, I guess.

breaking...

Really.

It's the only word I can use to describe the way my life appears right now.

Nothing is working out. No matter where I turn or what I attempt, things fall apart. Often it's not my fault.

Like the fact that the IRS doesn't recognize my social security/address combination, and so there is now an issue with my financial aid. It clearly states my address and social security number on my tax return -- figure it out, government. Oh, wait -- that's too much to ask, isn't it?

Like the fact that I suddenly went from registered for ECON 110 to being 106th on the wait list and I'm a SENIOR.

Like the fact that I have to take ECON 110 at all.

Like the fact that I'm completely alone at home this week because my room mate is out of town in Disneyland, on a vacation that I thought I was going on as well. I'm still not sure why he broke up with me. At least I didn't buy a plane ticket.

Like the fact that my presentation partner flaked out on me and I ended up doing almost all of the work. NEVER have I had such awful groups, EVER, like I have here at BYU. Seriously, I have never had a good group at this college. Of all places -- where we profess to be hardworking and honest and dependable. Guess it's one of those things that's easy to say, right?

Like the fact that my dad is getting sicker, and his company still makes him travel. HELLO. HE HAS CANCER. If you're reading this, dad's employer, I am NOT happy with you. Yeah. My dad's cancer is terminal. He's DYING. And you -- for the sake of the all-mighty dollar -- are making it worse.

Like the fact that my dad really is dying. How fast or how slow, I have no idea. Having that hanging over me all of the time is absolutely horrific.

Like the fact that my ex-fiance treats me like a girlfriend -- that, though, I have more control over. And let me tell you -- that will stop. So help me, it's going to stop.

Like the fact that no matter how well I eat, or how much I exercise, I'm still gaining weight.

Like the fact that no matter how often I pray, or count my blessings, or do nice things for other people, I cannot shake the anxiety and fear that threaten to envelop me every day.

Wow.

What a rant of negativity. Sorry about that -- I feel better though.

when I went for a run because I could...

Some storms begin with a small drop of water falling from the sky -- a slow sparkling crystal descending from the clouds to land with a slight splattering spread on the pavement. A storm that appears gradually, misting the earth and blocking the sun with its fog.

But this storm began without shining crystals or pavement drops bleeding into one another to create a single shining slate of asphalt. This storm began in her heart.

She felt it before she heard it. A cold, hard stinging inside her chest; a sharp, tight pulsing in her brain.

It's going to rain.

Down from the sky-- barrage of hammers on the rooftop --
down from the clouds -- volley of bullets against the walls!

Down,
down,
down
down!

Out, out, out -- out into the rain.

Running...running. Bare feet against the pavement.
Running...running. Hair plastered to her cheeks.
Running...running. Clothes clinging as though naked.
Running...running. Skin screaming with the sting.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Repeating
in her mind, racing through the storm. Racing through the storm running from the rain through the rain to the rain
the rain the rain the rain

The rain.

Cold, biting, stinging rain -- rain that is alive.
Cold, biting, stinging rain.
Cold. Biting. Stinging.
Cold. Biting.
Cold.

Cold.


Cold.

She can feel it. Feel. the cold. the bite. the sting.

the life.

Time -- what time? No time -- running. running. raining.

Hair streaming, hands shaking, feet bleeding, lips speaking
words she cannot hear. Stumbling, tumbling, crumbling on the porch
wet
wet
wet
with rain.

The rain.

All she wants is rain.

i am iron maiden...

False.

While I would like to believe that I embody qualities of Tony Stark, as in the ability to laugh in the face of danger and be phased by nothing, that is the absolute opposite of the truth. Case in point, sitting through Iron Man 3 was a nightmare. After wobbling through the parking lot, desperate to get to my car and on my way home, a panic attack ensued, leaving me so exhausted and shaky that I could barely drive.

Yep. The film was a bit too intense for this girl. Objectively, I believe that it is the best of the three when you look at character and plot development, as well as graphic quality. The film also had an actual bad guy who was legitimately frightening. Stark's other nemeses? Snore. Subjectively, not my favorite film, and one I probably will avoid in the future in favor of a Psych marathon or Captain America.

Second severe anxiety episode this weekend. Thank heaven for good friends who let you spill how you feel, who don't judge you for the crazy thoughts you share, and hug you tight so you feel safe.

Also, the puppies are seven days old as of this morning. Their eyes opened yesterday, and they are precious. I'll post some pictures as soon as I get my camera back from my sister -- can't believe she's graduating this week. It's a wee bit insane.

the me I was...

After a couple of hours spent trying to sleep, I've given up for the moment.

I keep thinking about who I used to be a few years (or even months) ago. In a lot of ways, I'm haunted by the image of the old me and wish desperately to go back to who that girl is. And at the same time, I'm just as disturbed by the pain I feel when I see all of the changes in my life.

The changes have been for good. I no longer starve myself. I no longer do a lot of things that were really quite bad for me. Yet I'm dissatisfied.

I look at myself in the mirror with contempt. I despise what I see -- the thickened waistline, the fuller hips and breasts, the presence of more me everywhere. I hate that.

I feel like I've completely lost control -- I can't go without eating anymore. I get so sick when I don't, most likely because of the years I spent keeping myself to under 1,000 calories per day, if I made it even close to that. I see pictures of myself from just last year and compare them to how I look now, and I want to cry.

I want to cry because I'm "not skinny."

How stupid is that? How ridiculous is it that I berate myself for every thing I put inside my mouth? Even as my brain says that I need to eat, and that eating is good for me, my brain also screams to stop because I'm FAT.

My diet isn't bad. I eat a lot of good foods, and I go for walks several times a day. That's about all I can do right now, as my body still gets worn out very quickly. I'm not complaining -- there have been times when all I could do was lie in bed and pray that the pain would go away. Walking is a joy. The pain I experience after a long walk is worth it, because I'm walking. And not a slow stroll walk either, but actually walking to have some sort of activity in my life.

Despite it all, my pants still get tighter. My shirts aren't baggy. There is more of me than there has been in years, and I have to force myself out of a panic when I feel myself starting to get hungry (also a new development -- in the past five years, I forgot how to feel hungry). I have to make myself be calm and remind my brain that if I don't eat, I'll get sicker.

I miss the old me. I know it's stupid. I know it's wrong. I know that weight isn't the important thing.

But I don't believe it. And I wish that I could go back.

fill-in-the-blank...

"World's worst ___________________."

That's how I feel right now. World's worst you name it, that's how I feel.

Worst daughter.
Worst friend.
Worst student.
Worst employee.
Worst girlfriend.

Especially the worst girlfriend part.

But more the worst person in general.

It's probably not true, and probably stems from many factors. Like lack of sleep, intense worry about an exam tomorrow, a near panic attack during church this afternoon, the family gathering tonight, weaning off of medications.

I feel like a total jerk.

Also probably not true, but it doesn't lessen how badly I feel.

I really do feel like the worst person ever. And so, I think it's time for bed.

road block...

Common relationship advice includes this as the number one important thing to do: communicate. Communicate openly, honestly, and often, about how you feel, think, and what you want.

To that I pose a question.

How do you have an open chain of communication in a relationship when one person cannot voice thoughts and feelings? Ever?

You're probably guessing which person I'm talking about. Yes. That would be me.

I can't talk. By that I mean I cannot for the life of me find words that express how I feel or think, about anything. On top of that, I'm terrified of saying what I want, and have always been that way. I'm afraid I'll be classified as bossy or selfish -- I always do what others want to do, and make every effort to have no opinion of my own. 

There are times when I want to talk, where I desperately wish to say what I think and how I feel. When the opportunity arises, though, I often find myself forgetting what I wanted to say. It's as though by someone asking what's wrong or what I'm thinking about, there's suddenly nothing there. There's no problem to discuss, even if there was one the second before. There's no thought to share, even if I'd been super excited a minute earlier about telling a story or idea. 

I can't find words. I can't remember things I want to say. I can't do it. 

Or, I can do it -- but only with certain people (three, to be precise), and only very late at night when I'm in a sobbing panic, or one on one during a long, painful event of the other person waiting for me to find the words and urging me to spill things out.

Speaking about myself -- thoughts, feelings, desires -- has always been a struggle. However, it hasn't been this difficult in years. I can't make decisions, I can't tell the truth about how I feel (half of the time that's because I really cannot remember what I wanted to say). And it gets worse every day.

What's blocking me, I wonder. Fear, perhaps? Of rejection, of hurting someone else. Pride, maybe? Or a sudden onset of goldfish syndrome?

worried...

It's one of those days.

Cold, wet, dreary. A day where I would rather be home in bed, wearing sweats and curled up with a Captain America comic book, hot chocolate, and Kala.

There are so many things on my mind. So many worries and concerns. So much to do and so much to think about.

Last night was hard. It was really hard. Though it was late, I broke down and called a friend, desperate for whatever advice and comfort he could give. Desperate to not be alone.

I've been thinking a lot about what was said last night. What I need to do, and how to go about doing those things. I've been thinking about being brave, about being strong, about not giving up.

I don't feel brave. Nor do I feel very strong. I feel tired, and scared. I feel weak, inside and outside, in all areas of my life.

oh, gosh...

I don't know what it is, but I keep getting hit with this head-aching, toe-curling, stomach-twisting, heart-wrenching panic.

All night and all day long I've been fighting throwing up or collapsing into a sobbing heap on the floor. Not kidding -- it's almost happened.

Maybe it's the semester coming to a close, with so much to do.
Maybe it's the amount of work I've been given at the library, now that Jeff is leaving.
Maybe it's the lack of money in my bank account.
Maybe it's the idea of moving home in a couple of months.
Maybe it's the pain in my body that never quite goes away.
Maybe it's the fear of losing everything I hold most dear.
Maybe it's the thought of leaving Kala when I move.
Maybe it's the guilt that often creeps into my mind, for seemingly no reason.

Perhaps it's time to go home now. I don't know what it is about work, but every time I come down here, I feel incredibly anxious. Which is silly, because it's not like anything or anyone can get to me down here. All doors require security access, and even if you shot the sensors or the door, you couldn't get it open (Jeff explained it once, but I don't remember how that works). Although, there are several dozens of feet of duct work, shelving, books, concrete, wood, furniture, computers, dirt, and students above my head.

Pray there's not an earthquake while anyone is in the library, yeah?

mia...

I realized tonight how long it's been since I've written anything. I'll update you on the happenings around the House, but right now, I need to spew.

I feel so...not good enough. In my classes, among my cast members, at home, on the job, in my relationships...in all parts of my life, I don't feel good enough.

Sometimes I imagine leaving it all behind, all of it, and disappearing for a couple of days. Just getting into my car and heading off somewhere, with my cell phone silenced and Carrie Underwood on the radio. No note, no hints as to my going, no nothing -- go and come back before anyone notices. Just to clear my head, to take a break, to be me, without all of this, for a little while.

Inadequacy is a hard feeling. It's one I'm not fond of, although I am very familiar with it. Dealing with it never seems to get easier, though. If anything, it gets harder for me as I get older. More and more things enter my life, and more opportunities for the feeling arise. Honestly, it's pretty exhausting.

Life truly is good right now -- I'm a very blessed, very lucky lady. The hard things and difficult feelings make the good aspects even better. For that, I am grateful. You truly cannot have sweet without the bitter, for the bitter gives perspective that would otherwise be lost.

PS This is why I've been MIA of late:

Cute, isn't he?

i'm wide awake...

I've slept for about 12 hours in the last three days.

Just can't sleep. I can honestly say that I am in a constant state of terror. Literally, I'm barely functioning. TERRIFIED (and annoyed because all of the sudden my "o" key is struggling a lot).

However, I found a good way to get my mind off of things. It's called North & South on Netflix. Last night I couldn't sleep, not even with the night light on, so I got on the computer and searched Netflix for kicks. There it was, like a shining, glorious beacon of hope and truth in the dark -- Mr. Thornton and Miss Hale, fighting for their definitions of justice and mercy, passionate in their beliefs and their eventual love.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I only watched two episodes last night -- up until three because I was too exhausted to sleep.

I wish I didn't have to go to school anymore. I'd just stay awake all the time, because I wouldn't have to try and sleep.

On that note, I curse the "o" key and say good night.

sometimes I'm dumb...

I've often imagined what it would be like if confronted with my worst nightmare. Usually I end up heroic, speaking eloquently and powerfully, standing up for myself and leaving with a firm, final statement that ends everything and turning on my heel, leaving the room with a metaphorical bang.

In reality, I ran as though chased by a horde of Mordor orcs and hid in a bathroom stall, sobbing. And then sobbing at home on my couch with my room mate and friend. And then crying in my room. And then staying up all night because I couldn't sleep.

My nightmares came alive last night -- and it was awful. More awful than I imagined. I was pathetic. I panicked and ran like a child. I cried and cried, so hard that strangers stopped me and tried to help.

I was so stupid. So stupid, stubborn -- Miss Independent, thinking she'd be fine on her own, that no way would anything happen, that I'd be left alone. So many people, odds in my favor. Psh. I'm an idiot. 

I wish I was braver. I wish I'd been able to stand up for myself and tell it like it really is. To end it, once and for all.

But I couldn't do it. Chelsea and Kenna told me that running was good, and that it was even brave, because I got out of the situation. They were so nice to me last night, letting me cry and sitting with me. They even let me say what I was really thinking, and they didn't judge me for it (I used a couple of words that I save only for certain occasions -- funnily enough, I don't feel guilty). 

I want to sleep. I'm so tired -- this day has been so, so hard. Thank goodness it's almost over. But, I'm glad to be at school. 

Nobody can find me here.

what the Idaho?

I've been to Idaho before. But I don't remember it being the way it is today.

Granted, I don't even remember that trip to Idaho because I was, liiiiiike...two? Maybe younger? All I remember of that adventure comes from the stories people tell me, and the abundance of photographs in the basement showing me talking to a bronze statue of a little boy.

Funny how stories and photographs can become memories in our heads of events that we participated in, but don't actually recall.

But that's beside the point.

Idaho is, in my opinion, a weird place. The main reason?

There are no mountains.

Seriously. Compared to the real mountains at home, these lumps of rocks are tiny. There's so much open space here, so much so that I actually feel uncomfortable. As I sat in the passenger seat of Ann's car, she laughed at me because I scrunched myself up in a ball and said, "It's just so open." Really, though. I'm digging my little bedroom because it feels safe. Not only is it about five times warmer in here this morning than it is outside (yesterday was surprisingly warm -- Provo was colder), it also has walls and a ceiling and a door.

Safe. Loving this room.

Just for the heck of it, I did a Google search, which led me to agoraphobia: "a condition where the sufferer becomes anxious in environments that are unfamiliar or where he or she perceives that they have little control. Triggers for this anxiety may include wide open spaces, crowds (social anxiety), or traveling (even short distances)" (Wikipedia).

What the heck -- that definition describes me so well it's a wee bit scary. As in, three for three.

Anyway. Idaho is grand. But I'm very glad that I'm not here by myself, and that Ann likes my company. It'll be a good weekend.

Can't wait to go back home.

tough...

Sometimes she (the she being me) pretends that she is this care free, enthusiastic, happy-go-lucky girl who laughs at every tease and joke made at her expense that she hears. Even if to her, it's actually not funny. Even if it hurts her feelings. Even if it gets inside her head and eats away at her for days after.

Like how when she went out with some friends and ordered a good sized meal because she's finally been hungry, and ate it all, and was still hungry, one of her friends was surprised and jokingly remarked "You are such a pig!" And so she laughed and brushed off the comment, turning it into a bigger joke. When in reality, it was as though the words had slapped her in the face.

The sting has worsened rather than lessened -- I'm already self-conscious about eating in general, and when I actually can eat, I often feel guilty for it after. I usually avoid eating in front of people, and even if there are people in my home I make sure my portions are itty bitty in comparison to others, just in case. It's getting better, with some people. I keep working on it.

The person didn't mean it in an unkind way. It was really just a joke -- after all, most of my friends never see me eat anything, ever. So to see this (for me) abnormal behavior, it makes sense that someone would say something, merely from surprise.

But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt, and doesn't hurt.

Gotta be tough.

I'll get over it.

day 3...

Currently on hour 70 of one of the worst headaches I've ever had in my whole life. So far I've been through one 50 count bottle of Ibuprofen in the last 4 days. Wondering if it's even helping anymore...I honestly don't know why this is happening. I'm told it's most likely stress -- that is very possible. Incredibly possible. Here's the short list of stress inducing things:

1. An unexpected guest in my house who was invited by my roommate who moved out a week ago. This guest is a) staying longer than I was told she would, b) does not have my landlord's permission to be in the house, c) has been keeping me up all night due to her need to watch movies late at night with the sound up because "I get so bored," and d) invites her family members to stay in the master bedroom, again without permission from the landlord. I contacted my landlord and told her what's going on, and she said she'll take care of it. I just hope she isn't mad at me.

2. More things happened with Callie over the weekend. It's getting better though, but it's taking a long time and a lot of effort on my part. I'm very frustrated because I don't have time to talk to her every minute of the day, or spend time with her, and I really  need to try and sleep when I can. Luckily she's starting to get things rolling and we're heading in a good direction.

3. I'm supposed to go swimming with someone this weekend. I don't have a swimming suit that I feel comfortable in and I can't find one online that can be here in four days (shipping options are only 10-14 business days at all of the places I've looked). I'll go look for one tonight probably, but still. I look terrible in a swimming suit. Not okay.

4. Balancing school and work is very, very difficult. I ended up dropping one of my classes because I'm pretty sure I won't be able to handle the homework and work 20 hours a week. So far I've been getting all of the reading done after school and work, and during my breaks during the day. But it's a tight schedule. I need to get really good grades, and I'm worried that I won't do as well as I need to.

5. My health isn't improving very fast. Something is always hurting, particularly my head. It makes it hard to get my homework done, because sunlight and artificial light hurt my eyes, as does reading. If I tilt my head down for too long or look to the side, my eyes start blurring and I get very dizzy. It's rather frustrating.

I'll make it work. Things will be okay. I'm just doing the best that I can and trying to take care of myself as well. Things will work out.

don't do drugs...

One year ago, the family practitioner at the clinic handed me a prescription and said, "This is for you to use only when necessary." I read the information on the paper and didn't understand most of it (nor could I read it -- doctor handwriting). After dropping it off at the pharmacy and waiting for an hour, I received a white bag with a little bottle inside of it. When I pulled the bottle out and read the label, I was surprised to see that the pills were none other than the prescription pain medication Lortab.

In the past  year, I have only used the Lortab twice. Both times were when I honestly could not function due to the pain I was experiencing. There have been times when I was tempted to use it because my body hurt so much, but I was always able to tell myself, "It could be worse, you know. It's not really necessary at the moment."

That's what I kept telling myself yesterday, from the moment I awoke at 6am due to the pain radiating through my whole body. As the day progressed and after taking as much Ibuprofen as I could without poisoning myself, I couldn't take it anymore. 

Honestly, I don't remember much of what happened yesterday. I vaguely recall agreeing to go swimming with a friend next Monday morning on Labor Day -- at least, I think that I did. And I also vaguely remember my sister coming over to have lunch with me. And I vaguely remember someone walking on the roof of my house (they were speaking Spanish, so I think they were the roofers the complex owners hired to patch holes in the tiles). Other than that I only remember feeling like I had television static in my brain and snowflakes in front of my eyes. 

Usually when I've taken Lortab, it puts me to sleep for 12 to 14 hours. This time I didn't feel particularly tired. It was weird. It's weird today, too. I'm feeling a bit hungover. Granted, I've never actually been hungover so I don't really know what it's like, but this is just bizarre. My head is still fuzzy, my stomach hurts, and I have to focus really hard on whatever I'm doing or I cannot figure out what's going on. Not to mention driving was a terrifying experience. Hey, you do what you gotta do. Good thing it was only a 2 minute drive to work and 2 minutes back. I didn't go grocery shopping, so I was mostly smart.

The pain hasn't gone away, either. The Lortab numbed everything very well for about three hours yesterday, but then it stopped working. Fuzzy brain and seizing muscles were not pleasant. Still isn't pleasant! 

Dad told me not to take the Lortab again for awhile because "that stuff can be very addicting." To which I reply, are you serious? Why on earth would anyone want to feel like that all the time? It's absolutely miserable! It's been over 24 hours since I first took the pill and I still feel awful. It boggles my mind that anyone would voluntarily seek out a drug that makes one so very...fuzzy (it's really the only word that I can think of that describes the way this feels).

I'd be a terrible drug addict. I get very tired of the side effects and never want to take the stuff again. It helped for a little while -- it was so great to not hurt for a few hours. I'm kind of rethinking the necessity of the pain killer though. I'd almost rather deal with the pain than take the drug. The after effects suck.

As a side note, I feel so anxious all of the sudden. Really insecure and kind of freaking out, but I don't know why. Actually, it's almost funny -- the wind is blowing and whistling around my house, and I keep jumping at noises and stuff (like that's new?). Alternately jittery and sluggish. 

Don't do drugs. They screw you up. Even if they appear necessary, I'm thinking that my original philosophy is the better way to go: whenever possible, do not take pills. Medication doesn't solve your problems!