You Can Scream, You Can Cry, But Don't GIve Up

I'm currently working on obtaining two AA degrees, one in Human Services and one in addiction counseling. Now, I say "currently" because, yes, I'm currently trying to complete my last two courses that it will take to FINALLY be done.  Did I mention that I've been working on these degrees since 2011.  Yes, you read that right almost FOUR years to get my two year AA degrees. And I still have two classes that I have to finish.  

Did I mention that I'm 39 years old?  *sigh*  

Talk about feeling like I want to scream.  Some days I DO cry about it.  And I'm certainly trying not to give up.

I am wanting to carry on and obtain my bachelor degree in Sociology.  I'm on the verge of giving up.  Here's the dilemma: if I petition to graduate with my two AA degrees then I can definitely get those lovely papers to hang on my wall~which I am just dying to do.  I have never finished anything in my life.  I dropped out of college my first go round.  I then went to trade school and finished with a diploma instead of a degree because I just couldn't push on any further.  So now I have the option of petitioning for my degrees and feeling that sense of accomplishment that I've never felt OR I can keep going to finish my transfer courses so I can continue on to an even bigger accomplishment.  What to do?  

Did I mention that I also have a mental health disorder that comes and goes as it wishes causing me to become almost incapacitated at times?  

Yeah.

So what do I do?  I can petition for my degrees and THEN continue on with my transfer courses, but I will have to pay a much higher rate for them and I really don't know if I'm eligible for financial aid since I still owe bu-coup amounts of money from the trade school that I never finished.  Again, *sigh*

I want to just pull my hair out.  And scream.  And cry.  And, really, just give up.

But that's my MO.  I give up.  Why, though?  What am I scared of?  Why can't I just make a decision?  I'm a completely indecisive person.  I am the queen of what's called "avoidance coping".  If I avoid making a decision then I avoid making a commitment that I will likely fail to meet.  I'll be setting myself up for failure.  At least that's what I am telling myself.  

I can always push my degrees out even further by taking only one class per semester; which is my husband's recommendation.  This is a very appealing idea since I know I don't want to overwhelm myself and make myself definitely feel like giving up.  But how long should it take a normal human being to complete a simple degree for gawd's sake?  Should that matter?  Or I can suck it up and take the two classes I need RIGHT NOW to finish my first two degrees and hope I don't screw up my GPA by overwhelming myself (yes another reason I like to give up on my endeavors...if I am not perfect, I don't want to do it) and then leave a second decision to be made in the future about carrying on to my bachelor degree?

What to do?  What to do?  

I'm terrified of finishing and then giving up on my next goal.  I'm terrified of not finishing because I am focused on the overwhelming task of finishing my next goal.  I am terrified of not getting my "A" in my classes this semester.  I am terrified of finishing AND carrying on to my next goal only to find out I can't get funded anyway.  

What do I do?  Sometimes I scream (Especially in my head), sometimes (a LOT of times) I cry. 

But so far I have NOT given up.

Don't be afraid like I am.  Don't set yourself up for failure just because you're afraid to make a decision.  Set those goals and then strive to meet them.  If they take you longer than anticipated, go ahead and scream.  Go ahead and cry.  But, whatever you do, do NOT give up.

~Jezzie

Just Fuck

I have been trying to make myself write every day.  This blog is the attempt to get me back on track as an opinionated, intelligent, articulate woman.  But you know,….

Some days you just want to fuck.

Or you want to watch TV with your favorite girlies.

Or sit on the couch and eat until you are miserable.

Or read a mediocre book.

Or decoupage with your mom.

Or pet your animals.

Or road trip.

Or sleep.

Or cuddle under a blanket with your doggy.

Or cuddle under a blanket with your hubby.

Or go to the thrift store.

Or go and have a laugh at the comedy club.

Or...

just fuck.

How's that for articulate?

Some Days Are Better Than Others

...and today was not that day.  

Today was hard.  Actually, most of my days lately have been hard.  I'm not sure why.  I'm never sure why, really.  Shit just happens.  It just starts-magically-out of nowhere.  I'll be trucking along, confident, secure, motivated, engaged. And then BAM! I have a panic attack.  Or even worse is when there is no BAM! and I just slowly and miserably inch my way towards depression.  That's when my anxiety really sucks.  See, a panic attack is short lived and shortly forgotten.  This other, though... daily worry, wringing my hands, constant nausea waiting for the next thing (ANYTHING) that has to be done.  Leaving the house becomes more and more difficult until I almost become resentful because my husband won't make excuses for me and keep me home.  I'm exhausted because I can't sleep for worrying about some stupid shit (like having to interact with other human beings at work or the store or at my mom's or anywhere that's outside of the comfort of my pajamas and living room)

That's where I'm at now.  I'm inching.  I feel it.  My stomach feels it.  My tear ducts certainly feel it. 

I want off this ride.

I want to be normal.  

I hate being normal.

I want to be manic. 










Most days.....


~Jezzie

The Cure

Cold and Wet

Warmth is just a bottle away

Scared and hungry

Courage is just a pipe away

Aching and alone

Painlessness just a pill away

Tired, oh so tired

Sleep is just a needle away

There he goes...

There he goes

Our little man

A face full of dimples

And eyes of the sea

Hi hair, jet

The black of a raven’s wing

Chubby little toes and fingers

Always searching for

The next “thing”

Curious and bold,

Easy to laugh

He dares you

Not to fall in love with him

As he toddles away

There he goes

Our big boy

Still those eyes, only

Now eyes more aware

Of life that moves forward

Without him

He’s all legs and long arms

In jerseys and cleats

Football games

And basketball practice

Friends and girlfriends

Are what matter most

He dares you

Not to reminisce

As he walks away

There he goes

This grown human

Off to another day

Money to be made

And papers to write

He’s all brain and responsibility

He no longer laughs

Quite so easily

A breathtaking sound indeed

Blue eyes focused

On what is yet to come

New adventures

A new life, future wife

With a truck full of memories

He dares you

Not to miss him

As he drives away

The Elements of Me

You are earth

the rock that I lean on

the ground beneath my feet

steadying me, grounding me

keep me sure and steadfast

allowing me to crash

on something strong, familiar

standing beside me always

You are air

the breeze that lifts me

the wind that carries me

to far away places

you lift my spirits

allowing me to fly

with the world below me

flying beside me always

You are water

the swells that rock me

the waves that bury me

drag me from my rocky shores

fluid and adaptable

allowing me to float

weightless and gentle

floating beside me always

You are fire

the flames that burn

the heat that consumes

scorching my skin, my eyes

the demons within my soul

allowing me to blaze bright

no fear of extinction

blazing beside me always

You are the elements of me

carry the ashes of me

on the wind

douse them with water

send me back to the earth

You are earth, air, 

water, fire

the elements of me

My Muse

pas·sion

ˈpaSHən/

noun

1. strong and barely controllable emotion.

   "a WOman of impetuous passion"

While complaining to my husband today about the lack of passion in my writing and my inability to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it is) he informed me that he feels that my writing does, in fact, still show passion.  In his words: "even if your passion right now is looking for your passion". 

Hm.  Interesting thought.  So, I got to thinking.  And reminiscing. 

My mother once told me that I was "always so radical".  I was completely indignant at the thought.  At the time. I mean, my god, how horrific for someone to reduce another person's love and desires, freedom of expression, needs and wants... the thoughts and emotions that consumed them, mentally and physically to a word with such negative connotation. 

Now, though, I realize with a significant amount of loss that I miss being radical.  Radical = passionate, in my perfect-vision hindsight.  And I miss being passionate about something.  About anything.  About everything.  I miss the ache in my stomach while being infuriated and unable to create change.  I miss the screaming in my head and through the keyboard while trying to make others feel what I felt about social injustice and politics and mania and depression (passionate about depression!). I miss the red-hot pulsing of my blood when i would rant to anyone- everyone- about wrongful convictions and sexual freedom.  I miss the thrill of debate.  I miss raging on about religion or the death penalty.

Once upon a time I read with passion.  I ate with passion.  I wrote with passion.

I miss me.  Passion was my life force.  I fed on it and digested it and spit it out like some repulsive meal that left a bad taste in my mouth.  

Who was that girl? She wasn't particularly beautiful or funny.  She wasn't especially unique or anymore intelligent than the next girl. 

But...

She existed.  And god damn did she shine.  She was enthralling and captivating, an agitator and thought provoking. 

Maybe my current passion is about finding that girl and rekindling a romance not long forgotten.

Trapped

I am trapped by my finances.

I can't escape.  I literally can't escape.  We have one car (that has issues, btw) between two people who work full time in opposite directions and opposite schedules.  I want to sneak out on my lunch break and window shop or drive around my old neighborhood.  I want to throw the girls in the car and go have lunch with my hubby or just surprise him by saying 'hello' and driving back home.  I want it to sit in the driveway all day and never be used, but look out the window and see it sitting there waiting for the minute that I WANT to use it.

There is nothing we ever seem able to do to get 'caught up'.  Every time we have an extra penny we end up having some sort of catastrophic event and I hear the universe belly laughing at us. It takes money to do stuff, no?  Hell, it takes money to make MORE money.  



I am trapped by my town.

I can't seem to escape it.  I don't want to live in a small town.  I don't want to live in a "country" town or a conservative one or a quiet one.  I want to live where there is noise and color and tastes and smells from every culture and every neighborhood that is not my own.  I want public transportation- smelly buses and, let's face it, smelly people sometimes.  I want to be able to walk to the store and to museums and to the best dive in town.  I want street food and horns honking and historic districts.  



I am trapped by routine. 

I can't escape it.  Escaping routine puts the balance in danger. When I go off my routine I go off my rails.  Seriously.  I shop, I call in sick, I sleep, I don't sleep, I never want to be home.  I get wander lust and day dream and want to run away.  Because people who live without routine do those things.  I WANT to do those things.  I want to call in sick and run away and spend money on a road trip we can't afford and binge watch really bad (or really great) t.v.  I want to regret it all.



I am trapped by my meds.

I can't escape them.  They are, supposedly, there to make me normal.  Or keep me stable.  Or whatever other way you choose to look at it. Well, I don't know what "normal" is, but I'm fairly sure that I don't like it.  I am boring.  I am, as one of my previous blogs so succinctly put it, the most boring girl in the world.  My meds keep me from being creative.  They keep me from being fun.  They keep me from being interestingly despondent.  My meds keep me from feeling beautiful- or hideous.  They keep me from feeling sexy- or sexual.  I am able to function, true.  But is functioning all there is?



I am trapped by my head.  

I can't escape.  I talk to me, I question me.  I am my only friend and most days I hate me.  My head is lonely and dark and crazy and safe.  Many days, it scares me.  My head is a box that I can't claw or crawl my way out of...because I like it here.  No one tells me they won't be my friend just because I'm depressed (depressing?) and morose.  Of course my head tells me I'm crazy, but at least the crazy never leave me. My head is my safe haven. 

Work frustrations

And here I am again trying to find a topic to write about.  So far this blogging thing isn't going as well as expected.  So let's see. .. Nothing exciting going on with me.

I am still feeling a little frustrated by a work situation.  I exactly was promoted to "senior counselor"at my job.  This was granted after I received a raise "to justify my raise". I was, and am, so excited to get a promotion and a raise.  However I learned shortly after receiving my promotion that our clinical director wanted the position to go to another counselor.  A counselor that has only been employed with the agency for about 5 minutes. 

Why?

Because he's black and our director feels we need more diversity at the administrative level.  What?  Now I totally get the ideology; however I am one of two non person of color employees in our department at this site.  And the other department here has, imagine this, a black senior counselor. 

I was heartbroken. 

I was, and am, frustrated and angry over the situation. I realize I should let go because I did, in fact, get the position; however I feel really. .. hurt, I guess, that my efforts and excellent performance were unnoticed by my boss because he felt someone less qualified should have been promoted in my stead. 

Aye well. Life isn't fair or unfair.  Life just is.

-Jezzie