I think New Year’s resolutions are a bunch of horse shit, so even though I was feeling fat and lazy, I didn’t make one. But since then, I’ve started on medication, started therapy, and school, and I’m trying to get my shit together.
Dan actually went with me to my last therapist appointment. We talked a lot about how I feel tired and lazy all the time and how I really want to work on that. It was on Monday, and I told both of them that I never start doing stuff because I start procrastinating, and because it was Monday, I’d wanna start on Monday, because it was the beginning of the week. Both Dan and Beth didn’t let that fly. She said, “What’s so special about Monday?” And Dan reminded me about how I felt about resolutions: anyone who needs an excuse to start is postponing something they don’t want to do.
Well, because of that I’ve decided I need to get a routine going and stick to it. After that meeting, Dan and I went and got Wii Fit Plus so we had something new and interesting to use the Wii Fit board for. Tuesdays and Thursdays I have class all day. I get up at 8:30am. And so I can’t work out those days, but this gives me the ability to start a new routine where I get up five days a week at 8:30am and work out three of them.
I’m not going to worry about my weight or food (long time readers will know I’ve had issues with that in the past) because my problem is not my weight now. I am completely comfortable with the fact that my BMI is actually like 26 or something now, but I am not happy with how I am tired all the time because of laziness.
This morning started the work outs and I already feel a lot more energy. I actually made a nice lunch and am really excited about eating it too. It’s true I still don’t feel like actually doing work, but it’s not a miracle worker. I just need to stop needing naps and wanting to sleep all day instead of going out with friends.
I actually didn’t fuck up as badly as I thought I had! I am the kind of person who tends to avoid looking at things or dealing with them if something goes wrong because I always expect the worse. When I finally felt well enough, I checked my last semester’s grades, and found I had actually still passed one of my classes with a C+ and got a D in another that actually counts because I started going to my college before they enacted the C or better policy. I hate leaving those classes with such shitty grades (my GPA is usually an A-) but I’ll take credit where I can.
I thought I’d have to do a medical withdrawal for the other two classes, but one of them I have to take for my program anyway so the F will be replaced with whatever I get this fall, and the other teacher is being amazingly awesome and allowing me to make up the work. This means I can still graduate this fall, even though I kind of lost it there for a while.
The spring is going to be a really difficult semester though: I have five classes, plus the class to make up, and though I only have class for two days a week, the days are 12 hours each (10:30am-9:50pm). I’m pretty nervous about it, but I know I really need to do this in order to get my degree and just move on with my life.
I’m also making a goal to read one poetry book per week. I’ve been reading books as normal even though I’ve been feeling shitty, so I think it’s gonna be a possible goal. With my financial aid, I went ahead and bought a few extra books that I didn’t need in order to have enough for this goal, though I’ll need a few more.
School started for me on Tuesday so I haven’t had all of my classes yet. Plus work, this is gonna be rough, but I think I’ll be ok.
I’ve seen a therapist twice, which is going well, but then she didn’t call me back for a week. She had previously told me she’d be busy, but I was getting kind of irritated. This morning I was woken up by her calling me (love that ringtone from that NES game Uninvited, heh) and she told me she had been previously out of the office, which is good.
See, the problem, as usual is money. The psychiatrist (who I was pretty irritated with because his “appointment” with me was him reading off the depression checklist) thoroughly questioned my past use of Ativan, something that really helps my panic attacks, asking if I abused it and shit. That made me really uncomfortable, but I digress. He gave me a script for something that the generic of was fifty bucks…yeah, that’s not cheap at all.
Couldn’t afford that but my mom gave me the hook up temporarily until we figure what’s going on. You know, Walgreens and CVS have prescription cards that give you a discount? That’s pretty cool.
Anyway, I’ve been taking this shit for 2 days and all it’s done so far has made me feel kind of pukey. I’ve been spending the past few weeks playing non-stop Dragon Age: Origins, which is keeping me busy, but I’d like to be a sane person soon.
Also I made a formspring account, so if you go to this page you can ask me whatever questions you want, even if you wanna be a super douche: http://www.formspring.me/imagesfromapoet. See you there!
So I’ve not posted in the past month, but I’m probably about to post twice in a row to make up for it a little bit.
I’ve since found a therapist and possible psychiatric solutions, but I’ve been completely fine for the past week or more because I’m not having to worry about school — all of my stress seems to stem from the idea of “growing up” or “finding a career.” I think it’s just the idea of finding something I have to do for money 40 hours a week.
Anyway, I actually saw my family on Thanksgiving, which was kind of awkward but not completely unpleasant. My grandmother recently found out about my money troubles and about how we don’t have much money for food and she sent me a fuck ton of stuff to eat, so that was awesome.
My New Years Eve went well too. Dan and I went to a friend’s party. It wasn’t super fun because the majority of people there were really conflicting with me in interests (they spent a portion of the night doing drinking games) but we left around 1:30am and headed over to Abi and Tayler’s place to hang out. We had a few more drinks and were there until 5:00am playing Uninvited, a point and click for the NES. The game is ridiculous, but still pretty fun when you’re drinking and taking turns. We never beat it but I’m sure we’ll play more of it next time we see them.
I’m trying to look up for this next year, but I see a lot of issues. Because I failed all of my classes, if I actually choose to go back in the spring I most likely will not get financial aid. Do I want to continue going to school? I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.
Stay tuned for a less personal type post.
I have not been really interested in blogging much lately. I guess you could say I’m “depressed” but it’s more like extreme apathy. I’m really behind in school and struggling to even go. I sought out mental help at my school and they told me I should really take medicine. Because I don’t have insurance, I literally called 30 places, and they either told me they weren’t accepting people now and it wouldn’t be possible for a few months or that they don’t handle situations like mine (i.e. not their specific field — some of the places were rehab clinics and such).
At this point, to be honest and completely frank (those of you who know me well should know that’s something I’m used to), I really could care less about going to school and only go to my job because I cannot afford to get fired — if I get fired, we cannot afford to eat, and overeating is pretty much the only thing I get any joy out of when I’m depressed.
I am trying to “be strong” but there’s just not much out there. My life isn’t hard by any stretch of the imagination: I have somewhere to live, friends, options, fun things to do, but I literally care not for any of it. I don’t even care enough to cry.
I find it pretty weird that I would post this in a public entry, but it’s just the only explanation I have. Sorry for my absense.
My mom was my dad’s second wife. I met the daughter my dad disowned (because he told his third wife she “wasn’t his” when there’s obvious proof she is), the one from his first marriage, when she found me on the internet after ten+ years of looking for me. She told me some horrible stories like that he told Mary, her mom, that he was going to medical school, had a pager and scrubs, and went to class every day, but had been lying and never enrolled at the school.
My dad and my mom both did horrible things to me as a child. Never sexual abuse, but they had their own issues and paid very little attention to me, even when I acted out to specifically get it. My mom was on drugs. My dad was a workaholic. When they got divorced (I was 9 and my younger sister was 7) my dad fought a custody battle to get my sister and me, won, and then moved us away from my mom and blatantly ignored us.
Years later, my mom cried and apologized to me for not being able to be there for me; my dad’s response to me has always been one of “I never did anything wrong, why are you so fucked up?” I moved away in 2001, when I turned 18.
In 2006, his third wife’s parents went on a Caribbean cruise. They invited every child and grandchild (my stepmother has 4 and my dad has my sister and I) and their significant others except for me. I found out through facebook. My stepmom felt so much “guilt” at me not going that she and my dad paid for my trip, barely talked to me the whole week, and though she hugged me tight and promised she wouldn’t “forget” to call me the next time one of my grandparents died like she had earlier that year, we haven’t spoken. Her father died a few weeks after we got back.
He’s everywhere, on all sides of me, at all times, lurking. I see his glasses on the face of a much older man with too pale lips and crooked teeth. I see his hands gripping the thin metal pole on the train, but they’re attached to the skinny arms of a teenager. Looking up from my cell phone, I see him across the street, and I almost jaywalk to get to him. But it’s just wind. He’s not even in this country and if he were he would be more beautiful than when I last saw him. He must be.
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I didn’t get it then, I couldn’t see how big his nose was or how his ears stuck out. His lips were too full. He never took care of his eyebrows except for occasionally when he would shave crookedly between them. It never helped: there was just the shadow of the hairs there and a bit missing from his left eyebrow. His teeth were straight and white but he never brushed them enough. The electric toothbrush he had was a gift from his mother, and he hadn’t bought a new head for it since she gave it to him two years before.
These things I then knew not, nor observed. They met my eyes on every side, and I saw them not. I composed poems, in which it was not permitted me to place every foot everywhere, but in one metre one way, and in another, nor even in any one verse the same foot in all places.
I started writing poems about him from the moment I saw him, poems where I noted his nose, his glasses, his shoulder blades. He sometimes would jut them out at me to prove he could, like wing flaps, like broken wings. I knew he looked unique. It was something I knew well.
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Now I walk into a restaurant and see his hair from behind but when I walk past and do a double take, the chin is all wrong. I stare at too many tall, thin men with black hair and unshaven faces and plastic glasses. I look too long and it frightens me that they might be looking back.
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His tongue was slick, licking syrup off of my cheek or spices from my fingers. His hands rough as he pressed them against my thighs to open them. But his skin was so soft and I would rub his back and say, “How did you get skin so smooth?” And he would always reply: “I moisturize.” But he owned no lotion. I saw these things, but there was so much I knew not, nor observed.
Or I ignored.
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About As a poet, I feel like any photography I do will always be a reflection of the words I use. When I think, I think in words, not images, unlike visual artists. This site houses a minimalist dream log, my poetry including poems from You May Waltz To Your Doom In Sanguine Stained Shoes, my photography, and a blog with Let's Play related entries.
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