A Tree Grows In The Forest

Have you ever followed a line of thought and come to a completely irrelevant, odd, ending? I don't know what started it, but I was just thinking what the very first woman thought when she had her first menstrual period. I imagine it terrified her. That would be quite a surprise - one day all this blood oozes from your twat. And then it happens again the next month! That's messed up. I think men should have periods too. Even though I'm a woman, the thought of tampons makes me cringe. But it's still pretty funny. A few weeks ago in women's studies I was telling the girls in my group that I read an article about a birth control pill coming out for men. They thought that was great. Sasha was so funny. "No. YOU get the pill!" I told them that the pill should make men gain weight like the female version does.

You know, I've actually been feeling pretty good lately. Maybe this Effexor stuff works. It's weird not to feel so sad, worthless, hopeless, and even suicidal all the time, despite that my circumstances haven't really changed any. In a way, part of me liked being depressed as a way to get attention. "Love me because I'm sad." I withdrew from my women's studies class. That did make me feel like a loser and a little bit of a failure. Not a complete failure. I wonder if I wrote this in my last blog. That teacher that I emailed with a lot, and then she stopped, and now she started again, so that makes me happy. I am so ready for this quarter to be over. Don't I sound like I'm 18 instead of 26? I have an exam that I should've been studying for since yesterday, and have yet to open the book. I was so exhausted yesterday. I couldn't sleep worth shit Thursday night, and last night before I went to bed I took two hydrocodone and two clonazepan and slept like a baby. Of course I slept until almost 1 pm. So, I'm disappointed in myself, but still not depressed.

Another thing, DSHS turned me down for the exemption to stay with my doctor, Rachel. I'm bummed out about it, but still not depressed. This happy go-lucky shit isn't working out for me. It doesn't feel normal. Oh! Because it's not! At least for me. But I suppose it's better than pondering the different ways to off myself, and feel like I'm drowning in this deep abyss all alone and that no matter what I do, or how hard I try, I will never get to where I want to be, never accomplish what I want to accomplish, because there will always be hurdles to overcome and emergencies to take care of that won't let me move forward. Ok, now I feel a little depressed. I probably sound like I'm high. I don't need drugs to get high. I'm crazy enough as it is.

Yesterday on my walk I thought of the old saying, "It's hard to see the forest through the trees." and what it meant. I came to the conclusion that the trees are different areas or events in your life that are happening right now that won't let you see the bigger picture - the forest. These are my trees:
- psych exam on Tuesday I need to majorly study for
- paper due in philosophy on Thursday that I haven't started
- Rx's I need to pick up
- Make a dr. appt., and go to the appt.
- fill out the interrogatories the paralegal sent me two weeks ago I haven't done
- finish putting stuff away in my room
- get things out of storage that I want to put in my room
- buy books for next quarter
- try to read at least a little for each class next quarter
- finish reading Diana
- read Resilience
- read True Compass
- read Seized
- read The Bell Jar
- get my computer fixed
- make an appt. for tattoo consult
- do ambulatory eeg monitoring

- fill in my volunteer hours for SU

- hopefully get a Rx for PT (my shoulder is actually doing much better)

- make the appts and go to them

I could go on, but I'll stop here. They are not in any particular order whatsoever. So, what am I doing sitting here wasting time? Because it's what I do best. I hate that about myself. So, with all these trees in front of me, how can I see the forest? Actually, I think I can. I know that the little things in life don't really matter. At least not in the long run. You need to be disciplined, but not too hard on yourself. Life is hard enough as it is. I'm not disciplined. Maybe you don't need to be disciplined. Well, I guess if you attend a university and have lots of homework, you should be disciplined about that. And if you want to actually exercise regularly, you need to be disciplined about that. It's also very helpful to manage time well and be organized, which also takes discipline. So yes, self discipline is good. Moving on, I think it's important to know where you're going in life, if you want to get someplace. If you don't care where you end up, then it's fruitless to care where you're going. Well, I should study a bit before I go to bed, which I could really do now (as I let out a yawn). It's 9:30. Pathetic.

"A tree never hits an automobile except in self defense." ~American Proverb

The Women

It's been an chaotic week, hence why I haven't posted a blog in four days. My mother told me that she wanted to kill herself, my grandmother might have been raped, I got a speeding ticket and my body is trying to come down with a cold, and as usual I have a ton of homework. This drawing is one of my favorite works by my favorite artist, Vincent van Gogh.

Wednesday morning I walked out to the patio to have a cigarette where my parents were already having one. I could see that Carmen was very upset and looked very worn down. She told me she woke up, saw the piles of paperwork that needed to be done, thought of everything else that needed to be done, tired of living in a house that looks the way it is, and felt the only way to escape it all is if she was no longer alive. She couldn't think of any reason why to not take the pills she set out that she knew would kill her. By that time she was crying and I was fighting back tears myself. I've thought in the past of what a relief it will be when she does die, but I didn't want it to happen like this. I know I sound like a horrible daughter, and maybe I am. I feel like I'll never be able to get out from under her until she herself is six feet under. But right then and there, I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to kill herself. She said she really didn't think I would care if she did. I said things in the past that I know hurt her - some things she was never supposed to hear, like when I told a friend that I didn't think she would live another five years and I told Momma that she was my natural mother and Carmen is just my biological mother. I don't want to believe that this crazy person who never accomplished anything or did anything with her life, except raise me, is my real mother. She's illogical, irrational, and has no common sense. But since I was born, her life was about me and only me. She's done everything she can to give me every opportunity and was always there, usually when I didn't ask her to be, but there were a lot of times I'm glad she was. She kept repeating that she wasn't telling dad and me this to make us feel guilty, that she just needed to talk. I believe her. I felt guilty anyway, because I know I contributed to her depression. When I said those things, I was coming from an angry and resentful place. That's more of an excuse than a reason, isn't it? I told Diego what Carmen said and that I felt guilty for at least some of her depression, and he told me to not feel guilty. It's not my fault. "Your mother is a little nuts."

Wednesday night I studied and finished my assignment for women's studies (wmst), and was so proud of myself. I stayed up until 3 or so. I found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I sat down to read, my mind went in 100 different directions. I actually didn't get all that much studying done for my psychology exam. I thought about telling my wmst professor that I chose to study for that over doing her assignment, but I wanted to do it all, and I didn't want to turn in yet another late assignment. It's not her problem I can't concentrate, or that I had an exam that day. Then I totally misunderstood the article I wrote on and ended up not turning it in anyway. Thursday morning, after almost five hours of sleep, I hurried to my physical therapy appointment, and got a speeding ticket on the way of course. While the officer was writing my ticket, I burst into tears. I was still crying when I got to PT. My therapist, Rick, sat me down and asked me the problem. I told him about Carmen and the speeding ticket (I still haven't told my parents about that). He had me lay down on the table while he gave me a nice massage. I could see snot oozing out of my nose, dripping onto the support bar beneath my face. When he was done, I used the cloth I rest my face on to wipe my nose and the bar, and threw it in the hamper. I went into one of the rooms where I found some tissue to blow my nose. I looked in the mirror and I looked like I've been punched in both eyes, without the bruising. They were totally swollen. He didn't make me do exercises. I just had heat and electrical stimulation on my back. I did some studying on the bus on my way to school. After wmst, Dr. Mower and I walked out together. When I tried to tell her about Carmen, I started crying again, and told her about my speeding ticket, my lack of sleep and the exam I had after her class. She encouraged me to ask my psych teacher if I could take it at a later time. I knew I would do horribly on it, for lack of studying and I was completely exhausted. I didn't want to ask that of my teacher, but I want to get a good grade too. "It's ok to ask for help." She gave me a big hug, giving me strength, and I hugged her back. She has her own devils she's dealing with. My psych teacher told me that I could take the test on Tuesday with no penalty. "We're here to help you, not to beat you up." I wonder if it had anything to do with me crying so hard I could barely talk? I'm grateful that I have the teachers I do.

So now we come to yesterday, my deceased grandmother's birthday. Carmen gets a call early in the morning from one of the nurses where my gramma stays. She said Gramma said she was raped the night before. Wow! I had a doctor's appointment and I woke up with a sore throat (coincidentally one had nothing to do with the other), so I stayed home. I don't want to make my grandmother sick after she's been raped, especially since she's prone to pneumonia. Would that be double matricide? Driving my mother to suicide and killing her mother with a sore throat? My mother and I share the same doctor, so I tell her about mom's depression. She told me to call her psychiatrist and psychologist. Dr. Mower encouraged me to do the same. I get there a little late because I forgot to give myself time to take the back route. I'm on foot. The sidewalks are all torn up on the main street. It takes me 15 minutes instead of under 10. I'm so glad my doctor is so close. Because I'm late, my doctor sees another patient first. I end up waiting over an hour in the exam room. I wear a mask in case I have something contagious. Rachel is pregnant and I would feel horrible if I gave her anything. My back really hurts and I'm so tired I decide to dim the lights and lay down on the table. She walks in and says, "My chart says you're here for a follow up on your depression, but you're wearing a mask and laying on the table." My depression seems to be under control. This week was especially hard, so I feel run down, but not particularly sad or in despair.

I walk home, and feel totally exhausted. Dee calls, Carmen's best friend, probably wanting to know why Gramma is in the hospital, but I don't feel like talking to her. I decide to go to bed and wake up around 4. I eat a whole pint of tomato bisque with two breadsticks from Olive Garden. I keep telling myself I need to start on homework, but I'm just too tired. I go back to my room around 7 and check facebook. I hear my parents come in around 8, but I don't go out at first. I don't want to know. I eventually go to the living room and ask mom what happened. She said there was no bruising or signs of rape, but Gramma said he didn't actually penetrate her, that he laid on top of her and fondled her breasts and genitals. We don't know whether to believe it or not. We don't think she's lying, but she's talked stories before, like she and a Seahawks football player were lovers, and she and one of the male aides (who's younger than me) were going to get married. She fully believed in them. We don't know if they were dreams or what. But what if this did happen? Who would do this? Why didn't the aides see someone? Why didn't Gramma call for someone? The whole thing is very disturbing. Life is very disturbing.

"I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full." ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar