10.23.2014

This. Is. Wrong.

She is amazing.:

...I have had stalkers and restraining orders issued in the past, I have had people show up on my doorstep when my personal information was HARD to get. To have my location revealed to the world would give a entry point for a few mentally ill people who have fixated on me, and allow them to show up and make good on the kind of threats I’ve received that make me paranoid to walk around a convention alone. I haven’t been able to stomach the risk of being afraid to get out of my car in my own driveway because I’ve expressed an opinion that someone on the internet didn’t agree with.
HOW SICK IS THAT?
I have allowed a handful of anonymous people censor me. They have forced me, out of fear, into seeing myself a potential victim.
And that makes me loathe not THEM, but MYSELF.
So I write this to urge any person, male or female, who now has the impulse to do what I did, to walk away from something they loved before, to NOT...
[felicia day] 

...This is awful:

In fact, Day was reportedly doxxed within an hour of writing her post on GamerGate. The immediate doxxing of female GamerGate critics, including Day, has been pointed to as an example of the sexism of the movement. Former NFL player Chris Kluwe, who wrote his own post calling GamerGaters “basement-dwelling, cheetos-huffing, poopsock-sniffing douchepistols,” said Day was only targeted because of her gender.
“None of you fucking #gamergate tools tried to dox me, even after I tore you a new one. I’m not even a tough target…Instead, you go after a woman who wrote why your movement concerns her,” Kluwe said onTwitter.
[thinkprogress.org] 
 
This needs to stop; it needed to a while ago.  I don't know what else to say right now.

10.09.2014

Things just keep getting worser and worser...

...this is a "fuck you" entry.

"I think I still need that balance in my life; I want everyone to hate me as much as I hate just existing right now."


It's mental health awareness week.

I was going to write a thing here because it's a particular day of that week, but I can't finish it. Reason being? I feel so wretched and desperate at this point that I can't even explain the precise details in entirety of why I feel so wretched and desperate, involving all the ins, outs and stupidity. I'll try to write the best parts:


I have been 'certifiable' for a long time.

I have gone through a lot of Damn. Hard. Work. to deal with that, including working my butt off to deal with how to manage the huge personal resource suck it takes every day to deal with other people and how to have conversations with them, how to navigate things like public transportation, stores, sidewalks, daily "normal" activities, fake the normal, forget just general coping with mental shit other people take for granted. I have just hauled my ass back up onto the proverbial horse more times than I can count.


Even though during much of this time I physically felt like crap, it got to the point that I didn't realize how much energy it was taking every day just to get through and give the appearance i was functioning just like everyone else.


So i finally sort of get that down, and then my body goes to hell.

This has happened before though, and when this happens, i have gotten used to just accepting that whatever my symptoms are, they are fairly quickly glanced over, we do minimal lab tests and then the "she's a crazy person" button is pressed and I am given the whole "diagnosis of exclusion" deal- when really, they didn't exlude much, it's just that maybe my symptoms did not present to them a diganosis on a silver platter or maybe I don't scream and cry bloody murder if I am in pain, maybe I present a bit atypically [no way! how unexpected!], or any number of things. Regardless, easier to give any kind of random diagnosis that is typically misused and abused and often used for a chatchall but in my situation will even frequently not even fit my symptoms.


This time?

FUCK. THAT. SHIT.


I have not gone through over a decade of school and personal bullshit, working my ass off scholastically, personally, mentally, emotionally- to have this plate of physical FUCK YOU handed to me, only to have doctors do the same thing. I'm not going to sit hear and accept the same bullshit that everything has been excluded when it clearly has not, so I can just carry on in this nonfunctional state and carry a diagnosis for something [which seemed unreasonable until I mentioned I was depressed-induced by THIS CONSTANT FUCKING PAIN] when I have actually already tried almost the ENTIRE list of treatments and all have had no effect or worse- up to disastrous consequences. I REFUSE to live the rest of my life unproductive, not having finished my degree, not able to work, on disability, because fucking doctors find it too much of a pain in the ass to keep looking for the needle in the hay stack or repeatedly fail to listen to my [really quite important and relavant] family history and symptom list.


no. no. no. no. AND NO.

And I also REFUSE to have to go to another health organization which will not take ALL of my insurances, which i have difficulty getting to, which does not work with my case manager, because half the things I say go "in one ear and out the other".


I am angry as fuck.

I am depressed as fuck.

I don't have the goddamn energy to contend with either right now so let's just all hope something changes.

10.06.2014

I am a Delicata Squash.

I mean "a" as in a very specific one. It's in pieces in a few plastic grocery bags, all shoved into one grocery bag, which was then hastily jammed into the trash can in the kitchen.

This was after a very loud, very tearful, quite honest and also funny confession that I was extraordinarily depressed.

So depressed, I told my shocked roommate [who, though bad at hiding reaction, was actually taking it fairly well], that when I discovered the squash was rotting from the inside outward I started crying.

I saw the rotten insides of a squash and I started crying like a five year old missing their mother.

It wasn't really about the squash.

---
I get a produce delivery now and then because it can be difficult for me to go to the store .The produce delivery provides options that are so much better in variety and [usually] quality.  I was so excited about this squash. This delicata squash. I had never had one before.

Most of my other delivered produce was gone and I hadn't eaten much the past few days. I just wasn't that interested. I wasn't feeling up to making dinner but then I thought of the squash and I actually wanted to try.

I started thawing chicken and smelled one end of the squash. It smelled amazing- sort of sweet and buttery.

I started cutting it and then noticed toward the other end it  had a small bruise. I carved that bit out and kept cutting.

Then suddenly it was brown inside.
Clearly it was rotten, so I split it down the middle.

Most of it, no all- just completely ruined.

I was so mad, so frustrated. It wasn't just this squash- this promise of something, this ONE nice thing I had wanted.

---
This very simple thing had been able to motivate me into actually eating, and pushing through this damn desperation I have been feeling- past the horrible understanding of why people want to die all the time; past the idea that I will always be in pain; past the thought that I will never ever finish school or work again; that i will never be what I once was.

It was not just this one thing gone wrong, however.
It was that this very simple thing was me, too.

I am a delicata squash.  I am rotting from the inside out.

I am very seriously, very desperately depressed. I verge on the edge of suicidal fairly often but those around me have little to no idea. The reason being that I absolutely HAVE to laugh my way through life. If I did not I would simply make the leap straight into suicidal and beyond. I would be no more.

Very few people understand this. They can not comprehend how the idea of death can hang around ones head while watching Spongebob daily. They also don't understand that because I actually make it out of bed it does not mean it is easy and it does not mean I am "ok".

There is no winning- if I were to actually stay in bed, people would say that is the reason I am depressed. If I fight with all I have to get out of bed, take a shower, even do some damn productive thing? There is this assumption, even suspicion, that I am not actually depressed.

I have to say... that cuts so deep.

Every step, every breath, every blink can be a struggle. I find myself reaching far beyond that a lot of the time. If I didn't I would rot completely into goo. Maybe I'd disappear into the sliver between the sink and the counter. No one would ever find me.

Honestly I am reaching the end of my rope.

Pain piled on top of forced non-productivity on top of frustration on top of medication side effects [from meds that don't end up helping] on top of loss on top of sorrow- for what I used to be and what I'll likely never be again.

If things don't change soon I quite literally have no idea what I will do.
That is no kind of threat.
I simply don't know.

I don't know how to fix that.