Yes, I'm still here.

Hello, my very few readers!

Didja miss me?  It's ok if you didn't. 

I've been trying to avoid the news after enough exposure to know what level of destruction we're at but not enough to overwhelm me to tears. I've been spending my time focusing on the novel that has been itching in my head since the 80s.  I didn't have the maturity or insight to do it justice then.  Getting older has its advantages.

I've completed the first draft. This is amazing for me because I think the last thing I actually completed was my handfasting ceremony. (For the sticklers: I know handfasting is the engagement in certain traditions. Our vows were unique and it fits for us.)

I've always had a problem finishing things.  The anxiety of "doing it wrong" or "not well enough" is too strong for most things.  Case in point:  I was going through a divorce at this time ten years ago and was berating myself because I "wasn't even able to complete a damn marriage." 

Anxiety is a lot of things-- a bitch, disabling, overwhelming-- but it is rarely rational. As long as I complete "living" each day and do not cause injury to another, whatever I do, don't do, don't do well enough, what have you, does not matter.   I know this. I still cannot feel it.

I have various ways to resolve it.  I haven't hung a picture in forever because I have this crazy idea that it won't be placed well and the hammer/nail strike will result in a cartoon-style crack in the wall.  Irrepairable, of course.  If anything, my imagined screw-ups will be done with perfection.

So let's hand a picture anyway.  And do it "wrong" on purpose   Crooked, too high/low, and dent the wall somewhere outside the frame's coverage. Has the world come to an end?  Nope. Will it be criticized?  Maybe. Does that matter?  Hell no.

Sounds good, huh?  I can plan well.  But 80% complete is about as far as I get.

Getting the entire novel down on paper is enough.  It has to be. I told the story in full. DH was worried -- maybe still is-- that I will feel like a failure if it's not published.  My head says no.  My heart says eh.  The goal was to write.  That goal was and is under my control. Publishing has too many factors for it to be "my fault."   One member of my writing group mentioned that an agent somewhere will be as passionate about the finished product as we are and they will sell it to a publisher who feels the same.  The trick is to find the right combo; that is in the hands of the Fates.

Preliminary research tells me an adult contemporary fiction debut novel rarely clocks in at more than 100k words.  It happens, but it's the exception to the rule.  My manuscript (unedited.... and it needs editing) is a cool 182k words.  There isn't a logical place to split it into two novels. There's a "then" and "now" aspect that is too interconnected to stand alone with any satisfaction.

I've cut a subplot that wasn't intended and it's still over 161k. 

I have reached a tentative decision.  I'll have two versions of the manuscript:  in full, as I intended; and a shorter version for possible publication. I feel good about this so far and will see what unfolds.

Yay me!

But If You Didn't Do Anything Wrong...

For a perfectionist, nothing is more horrifying than the thought of screwing up.  Not even the actual screw up, just the possibility.  We spend so much time checking, rechecking, tweaking, returning to the original, etc. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse an extra time, just to be sure.

We've been surrounded by mixed messages.  First you get the encouragement: "Don't worry. Everyone screws up." "Don't be so hard on yourself." "If you do your best and it doesn't work, it's still fine."  But once a mistake is revealed?  "Well why weren't you paying attention?" "It's so simple." "How could you possibly miss that?"

Perfectionists hear about a new law/decree/task force/policy, and we immediately run through the possible problems. It's not that we're alarmist, we need the whole picture to understand what will be required of us.  We want to know what the ramifications will be if we miss something.

Perfectionists are info seekers.  We are data miners. We take the result and learn how all the pieces fit together. We try to make different pictures of those same pieces. We're lawyers, scientists, researchers, counselors, and historians all rolled into a neat package of frazzled nerves.

You see, we're the ones who laugh the loudest at the supposition of "If you didn't do anything wrong, then you have nothing to worry about."  We laugh because that is a simplistic argument that should be true. It isn't.  It's a lie we tell ourselves because we desperately want to believe if we follow all the rules, do our best, and avoid mistakes, we'll live happily ever after.

Bull. Shit.

Lies, damn lies, and statistics, right?

You can poll the exact same group of people multiple times and get vastly different results based on how a question is asked.  If you want a specific result, you practice wording the question to nudge answers in the desired direction.  It's a sophisticated manipulation.

Sometimes you have to start with raw data and draw conclusions from that.  First, you collect all the information available such as all the students in a school district. You take demographics-- age, economic bracket, parental situations, address, ethnicity, and the like; scholastic history-- grades, teachers, pedagogy, and so forth; extracurricular involvement-- sports vs drama vs art vs music vs community service; social environment-- cliques, after school jobs, friends from school, friends not in the district...

Lots and lots of data.  So much good can be done with this. But, for argument's sake, let's say that there's a particular guidance counselor a researcher doesn't like for whatever reason. This counselor's students have the highest college acceptance rates and are among the most well adjusted, well rounded kids in the district.  This counselor is doing everything the right way.   Dollars to donuts, the collected data will show this is a model counselor.

The data collected can also be grouped to show a myriad of reasons to fire them.

The collection of information is always-- always-- the first step for a bigger end game. Always. A plan enacted without the proper data will crash and burn.  Perfectionists know this.

When the person requesting the data is shady and when the task of collection is given to a person whose morals are also questionable, the resulting report will most likely be skewed.

Believe it or not, I've spent a good amount of time setting up for a very simple point.

If you didn't do anything wrong, you still have to worry about falling victim to another person's agenda.  Being a Good Person or a Law-Abiding Citizen does not protect you from harm.

This has been a passive-aggressive post.  Attribute this rant to whatever you wish.  I have no control over what you believe to be the source. This information is now public for anyone to draw any conclusion.

And that, reader, is my point.

I have.... questions

This blog is supposed to be about my mental health struggles/revelations/recovery, but since I started the day by literally vomiting after seeing the election results and taking a Xanax, my political concerns belong here. Comments of an abusive nature will be deleted.

I figured I should publish this before my 1st Amendment rights no longer protect me from publicly denouncing the government.  I guarantee this post will be considered treasonous before 2020.

My country and my fellow citizens have done things that I haven't agreed with in the past.  We've always been an interesting case study in cognitive dissonance, confirmation bias, and hypocrisy. We've waged war in other countries claiming it was for Peace and Freedom.  We've criminalized behaviors that should have never gone before a judge. We've picked and chosen which Constitutional rights apply to certain groups and which do not.


This.... this time it feels a little different.  I've been embarrassed to be American before.. but I've never been this fearful.

We... somehow?... elected a person who sees nothing wrong with criminalizing a religion.  He demands that everyone needs pay their fair share, but finds every possible way to get out of that himself.  He demonizes anyone who isn't white or not an attractive woman--- the attractive women are just there to please him.

There will a bevy of think-pieces exploring, once again, "not all Trump supporters".  I've said it before and I'll say it over and over again. If you have to defend something by saying "but not all_____", then you are either delusional or too fucking scared to look at yourself.  The non-selfish citizens of the United States just lost their federal government.  This isn't a Democratic vs. Republican statement; there are extremists on both sides.

Yes, I'm lumping anyone who voted for Trump as selfish. It's possible you may also be a misogynist, a bigot, a xenophobe, and/or a fascist.  But you are, without a doubt in my mind, selfish.  I really don't care if we've been best of friends or if we're family. You've shown your true colors and those colors disgust me.

Third-party voters?  I understand why you did it. I only hold you indirectly responsible for the next four years.  But you voted to make a difference and you tried to be ethical by not participating in the "lesser of two evils voting".  I don't agree with you-- even though all the polls seemed to point to a landslide Democratic win and a third party vote would express your discontent in reasonable way-- and I still respect you. Thanks for trying.

I'm part of a demographic who really shouldn't be all that affected by the Trump Administration.  I'm upper middle class, educated, white, and a housewife.  I'm also part of a demographic that could be affected:  I'm a woman who is currently disabled, fat, and a person who has a higher probability of developing one or more types of cancer.  My health and healthcare will most likely suffer under Trump's Administration and a Congress controlled by Republicans.

But, hey.... I'm a housewife whose childbearing years are ending so.... it's not like Trump or Congress would care anyway.

Overreacting is definitely part of my alphabet soup of disorders.  However, I've thought long and hard about all the possible problems of a Trump Presidency.  I've done research.  I've looked for trends.  I've tried to disprove the trends I found.  It's hard to not be biased, but I swear that I've done everything I could possibly think of to be objective. In no particular order, here are my main questions about what happens next:

1. Will my gay friends be allowed to remain married?
2. Will the fabulous gay couple who has adopted a bunch of underprivileged children be allowed to continue doing good?
3. Will my loved ones who have pre-existing conditions be able to afford the treatments they need?
4. Will anyone who isn't white be required to present documentation of their status upon request?
5. Will Muslims be allowed to live here?  I'm not questioning if they can come into the country, I'm asking if they will be allowed to exist within our borders.
6. Once Social Security is privatized or dismantled, will we have any rights at all to the money we've pay into it?
7. When the 1st Amendment is modified, will we still be allowed to read foreign news sites to learn what is really happening here and what we're actually doing abroad?
8. When the ACA is repealed, can my two children under 26 still be permitted to be covered on our insurance?
9. When the ACA is repealed and our premiums still don't go down (because why would insurance companies mess with their not-for-profit profits), who's fault does it get to be then?
10. Will women still be permitted to legally obtain birth control once abortion access is gone?
11. Will miscarriages be criminalized?
12. When we put America First, does that mean our education system, social services, and domestic humanitarian efforts will improve?
13. Will we have to pay for preventative care again?
14. When our economy tanks... oh wait. See question 11.  That's all related.
15. When Medicare and Medicaid are revamped.... oh wait. That's under question 11 too.
16. Do we even know what Law & Order really means?  Will arguing a speeding ticket become a felony?
17. Will we no longer have freedom of religion?
18. Will we have an official language?
19. What kind of protections will we have if we aren't white, male, cis, able-bodied, and of a Judeo-Christian faith?
20. If Trump is assassinated or decides he doesn't want to be President, will Pence really try institute conversion "therapy"?
21. Will the consequences for women not smiling on command be legal?
22. Will back-to-school shopping lists include Kevlar?
23. How long will my prison sentence be for not standing for the national anthem or refusing to pledge my allegiance?

None of these questions is snark.  I'm dead serious. I've heard every single one of these issues be discussed by those who support the extremes.

Make no mistake:   As of 1/20/2017, we are a nation of extremes and once Trump's Cabinet appointments are confirmed, there will not be a moderate in the line of succession as far as the eye can see.

Before you comment with "if you don't like it, leave", take a civics class.  If you don't like my position, then don't listen.

The Language of the Unheard

Disclaimer: I know not many people read this and those of you who do know me fairly well.  However, in case this post makes its way onto the screen of a stranger, let me clarify that the Black Lives Matter movement was part of a discussion during which I learned something about myself and should not be addressed in a comment.  This blog is supposed to be about how I’m processing the insights into the roots of my disorder. While I have some political ramblings on here, I’m trying to focus on what’s going on with me.  If you want to read and comment on my thoughts on our world, you can go here.

I tend to have extreme emotions to begin with but, my reactions to Black Lives Matter and Trump’s campaign have been completely over the top.  The demonization of BLM and the elevation of Trump’s ideology du jour feels like a personal attack on me, which is ridiculous.  The only targeted demographic that truly affects me on a personal level is Trump’s misogyny.  Still, the intense anger that overtakes my rationale when discussing either topic is perplexing.  My support for BLM and against Trump is justified on a logical level;  if I’m presented with a point by point list of each agenda, I can show-- calmly, rationally, respectfully-- where I stand on each and why. But when it comes to a verbal discussion, all sense of logic flies right out the window and doesn’t boomerang back until a mushroom cloud appears.   That’s not the best way to bring understanding and compassion to a subject.

A mushroom cloud appeared when I embarrassed myself, and probably my family, yesterday.  If you have seen any portrayal of an Italian-American family dinner and have gaped at how loud and intense the conversations can be, let me tell you, this really happens.  Yelling is how we communicate. About everything. Right down to who brought in the mail.  My role in the family is The Kid.   My cousin is also The Kid.  Respectively, we are 42 and 21 years old, but we are the youngest members of the local clan.  We are also much more introverted than the rest of the family. ( I’m going to pull my cousin out of this post for now since I cannot speak for her but wanted to mention that I’m not technically the youngest of the family.)  The Kid’s role in the family is to remember to “shut up and let the adults talk.”  While this is never actually said, it’s implied by various actions such listening to the first few words of my sentence and then either redirecting the conversation to someone/something else or cutting me off before I actually finish  my comment. Both actions have been happening to me at the dinner table my entire life. 

Most of the roots of my disorders need to be cut by being my own person. It is ok to assert myself I need to be confident in my thoughts, actions, and words.  I need to internalize that I am within my rights to express myself on any topic.  In return, others are allowed to dispute my points of view with their own.  This is how we learn.  This is how we come to understanding each other.  This is an integral part of a functioning society. Whatever label it’s given, conversations, discussions, debates, or fairly fought arguments over disagreements need to happen and they need to happen with respect.  If you are shown any disrespect, end the conversation and walk away until tempers have been controlled.  This is how I prefer to conduct myself. I’m not always good at it.  In fact, I failed miserably at my self-imposed decorum yesterday. 

However, my failure wasn’t because we disagreed.

A troublesome side effect of having Scrambled Brain is my lack of impulse control and how it likes to present itself at the most inappropriate times. I feel there’s a difference between acting inappropriately with someone who knows you well and someone who is an acquaintance.  Both deserve respect. However, if your manners bolt out the door with the former and if that’s not a habit, it’s easier to reconcile.  The latter isn’t aware that temper tantrums isn’t really your style.

Prior to this full-blown disorder, I would approach a debate with facts and logic:  “no, this is what the research states” and “explain to me why you believe that”.  Scrambled Brain has not only created a mess of the facts, but it likes to flip my Assert Yourself! Switch firmly into the On position.  That in itself isn’t a bad thing.  The problem is when my unconscious decides to fight a battle that isn’t the topic of discussion.

The discussion turned to Black Lives Matter and my opinion was in the minority of those voiced.  (DH feels the same way I do but he’s healthy enough to know when to speak and not.)  The discussion was heated— though, I honestly don’t think it’s easy for anyone to remain calm on this subject.    When I look back on it, I was the person I usually want to slap.  I wasn’t listening.  I wasn’t trying to understand.  I was more interested in saying what I had to say and dare anyone to tell me why I’m wrong.  That’s not who I want to be.  Ever.  About anything.   I was on the other side of how I expect myself to act. I was the disrespectful one and the gentleman, who, mind you, had some really good insights and points on the subject, did the adult thing and walked away.  Then I continued to argue with no one, but I was no longer talking about BLM. I was spewing frustrations over being told I’m wrong or dismissed before I finish expressing my point.  Let me get to that period or exclamation point and then have at it.  Please.

Yes, I apologized to him.  He did nothing wrong, really.  If I were in my right mind, I would have calmly requested that I be permitted to finish my comment and, from what I’ve observed, he probably would have complied. Instead, I raised my voice and slammed the table with every word.  The only thing good I can say is that my punctuated words were the rest of my statement rather than an attack on him.

I spent the next two hours crying and dissociating in and out before fell asleep for the night.

Aside from making a fool of myself and trying to explain this crazy disorder for the nth time in 4 years, I figured out why I become so blindly enraged when BLM is criticized.  I understand their frustration on a nonracial and nonlethal level. They aren’t Being Heard either. With every retort of ALL Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter,  the fear and grief of the Black community is being dismissed. Yes, all lives and blue lives matter.  Of course they do. But when those phrases are used to drown out voices rather than addressing the matter at hand, they become nothing but a three word silencing mechanism.  Any response other than “I agree” to Black Lives Matter is morally, socially, and ethically flawed in some way.  The reason for that flaw will vary from person to person and has no place in this post. (Maybe I’ll write another on Medium…)

Trump does the same thing through different tactics. When his statement is challenged and he cannot provide backup for his belief, he turns to mockery, insults, and fearmongering.  Anyone who doesn’t agree with him is fair game. Believe it or not, I would actually have a tiny bit of respect for him if he didn’t constantly stoop to lower and lower levels in his attacks. (Side note:  I do NOT agree with him on anything. “Respect” is meant to convey that I’ll agree to disagree.)  His popularity enrages me.  The fact that I have family and friends who would actually vote for him brings me to terrified tears.  Trump’s form of dismissal is dangerous for every single living being on this planet.  

People love to quote Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. during national racial conflict.  I’m going to stick with this one:  “A riot is the language of the unheard.”  If you are dismissing this statement with “I’ve never been so mad that I’ve rioted”, a) good for you; and b) you’ve never lost your temper and yelled at or punished your kids for not listening to you?  I’ve spent my entire life not Being Heard. Being Heard does not require agreement.  I require my point of view to be heard and considered.  I agree that I need to make sure Scrambled Brain doesn’t interfere with giving the same consideration to others.  My outburst yesterday, and in past arguments on a variety other subjects, stems from almost constant dismissal when trying to join a dinnertime discussion for as long as I can remember.  

A riot is the language of the unheard.

I think it’s time to hear each other.

"Just Do It" Only Works For Nike

I know it's been a long while since I've posted anything.  I'd like to say it's because I've had better things to do, but that's not true.  I've had plenty to say, but it was more along the context of politics than the introspective growth topics that I'd like this blog to focus on.

My progress with GAD and MDD has been forward a little, back a little, and stagnate at times.  I'm still doing what I'm "supposed to" (going to therapy, taking my medications, identifying and working through triggers.....) but I keep coming back to "what's the point".  Why should I bother?  It's been 4.5 years since my brain broke and I still spend Every. Single. Day. Fighting.

It's friggin' exhausting.

But I've been trained to push through.  Just do it. Keep at it.  This is what I'm supposed to do and All Good Little Girls do what they are supposed to do.

All Good Little Girls. Are you kidding me?  I'm squarely in my 40s.

That's the craziness of my alphabet soup of disorders. My adult ego hasn't taken over in the reactionary part of my brain.  I'm still the Little Girl who reached for the toy that was purchased with the Very Expensive liquid medicine, which fell, shattered and bled all over the asphalt between the double parked cars, sending my paycheck to paycheck parent into (what I recall as a) rage.  I'm still the Little Girl who actually, sincerely, seriously DID hand in the "A to Z in NYC" project Sr. Rita Marie said she didn't receive. (To any teachers reading this, I know you've heard it a million times over, but I REALLY DID HAND IT IN DAMN IT.)  I'm still the Little Girl who pulled straight A's in school and was told I wasn't working hard enough. I'm still the Little Girl who graduated 4th in her class, 80 points away from a perfect score on the SATs, acceptance to every college applied to.... but ends up at a college I didn't want to go to because I didn't get any scholarship money.  I eventually dropped out, went to another college I didn't want to go to, and got an Associate's degree I used for about 4 months.

Fast forward 15 years from graduation and beyond: I'm the Adult Little Girl who couldn't keep a marriage together.  I'm the Employee Little Girl with the highest weekly billing and 98% retention rate of hires but I'm not bringing in enough business. I'm the Parent Little Girl who can't "just make him get a job or tell him 'the door is that way'."  I'm the Homeowner Little Girl who isn't keeping up the maintenance. I'm the Housewife Little Girl who can't keep up with the dog fur and clutter.

None of this is a big deal.  None of this should put me-- or anyone-- in a dissociative state.    When I look at what I've written here, I see how pathetic it is that these are my thoughts.  Look at what I just typed:  pathetic. I see this as another failing.   The cycle is never-ending!!!


Someone who has nothing but my best interest at heart introduced me to someone in the medical field last week. "Tell her what your problem is. Maybe she knows a better doctor for you."  (That's paraphrased.)  So I explained to this professional exactly what happens to me.  Then I told her what I've learned about why it happens through therapy.  She said, "If you are this aware of your symptoms and triggers, I think this psychiatrist is doing a fine job with you."  I hugged her. I'm gonna bake her a lemon meringue pie for her birthday on September 1st.

This is where I'm at. The ideas of "just do it" and "don't let it bother you" and "get over it" would be WELCOMED if it worked. I've asked professional after professional after professional if this approach can work for some people.  Time after time, the answer is "For a very small percentage of people it might, but, for the majority, denial is only a temporary solution and not healthy."

Anxiety is a reflex. When you go to the doctor and get your knee tapped in just the right spot, your lower leg jumps. Sure, you can focus on not moving your leg if you want. If you are completely on guard, constantly vigilant, braced for every possible moment when something could tap just the right spot, you can avoid the reaction. Try this exercise:  Raise your non-dominant hand up over your head.  Reach for the ceiling or sky, wherever you may be. Now keep it there.  For how long?  Every waking moment of the day. When your arm gets tired, imagine people standing before you with their arms crossed telling you "just keep doing it"  and "if you work hard enough, you can do it"  and "if you really wanted to beat this, you would just do it."  Now do this every day for 4 years. No breaks.  Every day.  If you are lucky, you might build up enough strength to hold that arm up.  It's more probable that you'll damage your muscles and lose reasonable use of your arm.   Living in a state of hyper-awareness is a one-way ticket to more health problems.

And it's friggin' exhausting.