Category: Emotions


Numbers game

While reevaluating this blog I started looking at the numbers. If you look at the numbers, this is not a successful blog. It is more like an online diary or journal. My first blog post was on November 27, 2006. I have 1,565 posts, that averages out to 98 posts a year. There were 14,705 hits on those posts. That averages out to 10 hits a post. Rather abysmal. I don’t view this as bad or sad or anything, I started this blog because since I have been a little girl I have kept a diary/journal, so in a sense I am rather glad not many people are reading. It makes this feel more private.

What is disheartening is reading the first posts I made. I wrote like I was talking to someone, making jokes and snarky comments. Now I am just reporting life, not seeing the joy in it. There is no more joy in my life apparently.

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March 16 was the first day of working remotely, NYS way of saying we are working from home. At first it was until March 30, it is now April 13 and I am still at home.

At first it was, Yay! No getting up early or having to get dressed! And it was fun. Then I started to think about all the things I wasn’t getting done. Not being able to pop by the brewery after work for a pint. The isolation is starting to wear on me.

And then started the petty annoyances, not being able to go anywhere, wanting to sew face masks and not having the supplies and nowhere to buy them. Ordering contacts and not getting them and it’s been a month. Ordering knitting supplies and having the store call me to say they can’t ship them.

Then things started to break, the home button on my iPhone, a knitting needle, and most heart rending of all, my laptop. Yes I am typing this on my iPad with an itty bitty keyboard. At least I have an iPad with a keyboard.

If any thing else breaks, I’m hiding under the bed until July.

This is something to talk about, not hide away or make people ashamed of. Be there for the ones you love.

Happily Ever After*

Hi. I’m Danni and I have Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I’m presently  untreated, and unmedicated.

I’m pretty high-functioning, though, so most people don’t realize how hard I’m working to keep my eyes open because my depressed brain wants to sleep for 14 hours a day and my anxiety maybe lets me get 5. Or that I’m keeping my limbs tucked in tight partly to be polite and take up less space because I’m paranoid about my size, but mostly because even on a rush hour train I’m afraid an accidental touch from a stranger is going to trigger a bout with the screaming meemees.

I present as perfectly calm, put together, and slightly detached, even aloof sometimes.

Meanwhile the inside of my head looks a bit more like this with a soundtrack of Dani Filth-like shrieks overlaid:

20190119_105632 Storage, after approximately 21 hours of clean up (non-consecutive)

Last year was…

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My best friend has been encouraging me to go to college. Full disclosure here, it won’t be ‘going back to college’, since I never went. She went to college and has her bachelor’s degree and is now looking at law school. She graduated summa cum laude with a 4.0 GPA. None of which is encouraging me to actually apply for college since I know I won’t do as well. I”m about half as intelligent as she is. However tonight I applied. New York State is offering free tuition.

It isn’t as easy as I hoped it would be.

As I was filling out the application it said I needed to submit my FAFSA ID, which I don’t have and I was routed to the website to apply for FAFSA. So I started the application process, including questions I had no clue so I guessed, I hope I’m right, if not I’ll either owe NYS a billion dollars or go to jail. I can handle jail. I couldn’t handle debt. Anyway, somewhere in this process, in the middle of my soul crushing confusion I tweeted:

Someone replied with a gif of Woody saying “You’ll be fine, Partner”. This is someone that I am pretty sure I have never met in person, just on social media. As I looked at the tweet and thought, “She doesn’t know me”, I then thought of the 80 people who formed a human chain to save 9 people caught in a rip tide. To those 80 people, it may not have seemed like a big deal, but it was a huge deal to the people they saved.

Just like, to the person that responded to my tweet, it might not have seemed like a big deal, just a quick search and post, but it encouraged me. It made me think, that maybe I can do this. Maybe I can start a new chapter in my life. Not life saving maybe, but certainly life changing.
 

“Speak” is a young adult novel by Laurie Halse Anderson, it is not a new book, it was first published in 1999. And this is not a review of the book, that will be on my other blog. In fact, this post has a spoiler in it so if you haven’t read the book and are planning to, you might want to not read this post. This is a chance for me to get on my soapbox about my favorite topic to get on my soapbox about, violence against women.

Melinda Sordino’s freshman year is off to a horrible start. She busted an end-of-summer party by calling the cops, and now her friends — and even strangers — all hate her. Months pass and things aren’t getting better. She’s a pariah. The lowest of the low. Avoided by everyone. But eventually, she’ll reveal what happened at the party. And when she finally speaks the truth, everything will change.

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what happened at the party. In fact I knew before I read a review of the book with a spoiler that told me what happened that Melinda had been the victim of some sort of sexual assault, either rape or attempted rape, probably by a popular boy. What I didn’t understand when I was reading the book was why no one knew what happened, they all knew she called the police but not why. I was expecting that she was a pariah because she had claimed she was raped at the party but no one believed her, but no one knew why she called the police. The reason (here’s the spoiler) was because when the police got there, she ran away and didn’t talk to them. Of course then, you might ask, if she didn’t talk to the police then how did everybody know she called the police? I don’t remember that being explained. It’s really the only thing in the book that doesn’t make sense. It did not detract from the impact the book has had on its reading audience.

This book has an interview with the author in the back. I didn’t really read it, just kind of skimmed through it, one question and answer caught my attention:

Have any readers ever asked questions that shocked you?

I have gotten one question repeatedly from young men. These are guys who liked the book, but they are honestly confused. They ask me why Melinda was so upset about being raped.

She admits she was horrified, as she kept getting the question over and over she realized that many young men are not being taught the impact that sexual assault has on a women. I would go a step further and say a lot of young men don’t truly understand what rape actually entails. “Lots of Men Don’t Think Rape is Rape“. I keep reading on social media that we need to talk to our girls and boys about rape, tell girls how to protect themselves and boy to not rape. Parents need to do more. They need to educate their children, boys and girls, about what exactly rape is and why it is wrong. Boys can’t understand the emotional impact of rape unless someone explains it to them. Realize I am speaking in generalities here, I know there are some very aware young men.

Rape is a crime of violence and woman can feel it. Even when their life wasn’t threatened women report being afraid they would be killed. Some men don’t realize they are a threat to women simply because they are bigger and stronger than the woman. Also the way the ‘definition of rape’ has changed and the fact that many men are starting a ‘mens movement’, just makes me more afraid.

O.K. that’s all I can think of right now. Getting off my soapbox.

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Perfection

Is not attainable in its true sense. But what about relative perfection? Sunday I had to go to Brooklyn, after telling myself over and over again that I needed to leave earlier than I left Saturday, I ended up leaving later. Then when I got to Lexington and 59th I waited for the Q train, and waited and waited. I saw a girl going to the same event I was going to and we started talking about “No Q train” trying to figure out another way to get there and she said, “It always happens on the day you need everything to be perfect.” Perfect for us at that moment was making all our train connections smoothly, at the proper station and without waiting. We made it to Brooklyn, but we were late.

Today was another special event I planned to go to. For this event I didn’t have to go to Brooklyn, but I had to dress up pretty, do my hair and makeup and hopefully not be sick feeling. I woke up with cramps I thought they were stomach cramps from my soup the night before and thought maybe I was developing an allergy to black beans. One of my great-nieces is allergic to black beans. As I was getting ready for work I realized they weren’t stomach cramps and I wasn’t going to be feeling well for the special event in the evening. Then when I came home from work early so I could ready, I was going to iron my dress and make dinner, instead I sat down on the couch and fell asleep. I barely had time to take a bath and get dressed. Fortunately my friends are not critical. But I was not happy.

Perfection, not attainable in any form.

When you’re making other plans is the saying. In my experience it would be ‘death is what happens’ which is a part of life as they say. Just when I decided that I would dig deep and buy an iPad I get a phone call. Now I have to save money for a plane ticket to the west coast. I have six months I was told.

One time I said I would only get on a plane if someone died. I’m making a slight adjustment, died or is dying. I would like to get out there before he dies.

Of course this means my heart is breaking into pieces inside me and the pain is more than I can bear, but I can’t think about that now, when life happens it still goes on.

20130718-233255.jpg

Just a quick post to remember the day, it was sudden and I was here, he was there so I didn’t get to say good-bye, something that matters only to me.

Oh you fancy?

It started with the yogurt. When I was on Weight Watchers I started eating non-fat Greek yogurt, the reason being Greek yogurt is high in protein (18g in 6 ounces of plain non-fat Greek yogurt, 9g in 6 ounces of regular non-fat yogurt). This guy, (who’ll I’ll call Guy) walks back and asks what I’m eating, after telling him he says “Oh fancy yogurt.” From then on he called it “Your special fancy yogurt.” which really pissed me off. It was more the way he said it, which to me sounded like, “Oh you think you’re so special (better than everybody else) you have to have special fancy yogurt.” Like my ‘specialness went that far’. NO I think I’m fat and need to lose weight. When I tried explaining it to him, in an effort to get him to stop saying it, Guy insisted that’s not how he meant it. He meant it as a compliment.

Fast forward to this week, Guy and I go get lunch, I got chicken cutlet with mixed vegetables. The deli gave us plastic forks, which I don’t like using, so when we got back to the office I went to my cubicle and got a flatware fork. Immediately he says, “Oh you had to get your fancy fork.” I almost stabbed him with it. It’s not fancy, I’ve had plastic forks break when stuck into food, sometimes they won’t stick into food the tines bend, if I had been by myself (which is how I prefer to have my lunch) I would have told the deli people I didn’t need a fork. If I had brought my plate he would have said “You had to get your special plate” (oh wait, my plate is special, it’s heart shaped and says LOVE on it). You might be thinking why don’t I just say “No” when he asks me to get lunch with him? It’s not just that he pays for lunch, if I say “No, I brought my lunch” then for the next month he goes on about how hurt he was, how if it was him, he would have left his lunch for the next day. Reinforcing the “You think your so special, better than everybody else.” I’m not special, I’m an introvert and need my alone time.

Then there’s the favorites, my FAVORITE deli, and if I find a new place I like, your FAVORITE new place. All with that special inflection on favorite that makes me want to spit. There’s a word for what you’re doing Guy, its called “HARASSMENT”.