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Everything's on a spectrum. I'm somewhere in the middle. |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** You wear your mask I'll wear mine They don't come cheap But they fit just fine You can be her And I can be him And we'll both sink While the rest all swim --The Fratellis, "Imposters" Please check out my other two blogs--they're blasts from a decade-old past:
The first blog: "Invalid Item"  And the second: "Invalid Item" |
| I've learned a lot about myself in the past 6 months. 1) I can get manic in the winter, too 2) I'm gayer than previously thought 3) Jesus fuck girls who are biting on something 4) I'll flirt with girls np and like it more than I'm willing to admit 5) Okay so I had an inkling of this some years ago when Eric's brother came home from his mission, witnessing my being challenged to eat crickets so I did. Anyway it happened again when I, who can barely handle pepper, snuck a bite of a coworker's super spicy soup because a friend dared me. It wasn't spicy. 6) Smoking on the back patio at night is really nice. 7) Smoking weed on the back patio helps me write (in my head but still) 8) I can leave all my work stuff, including my laptop, at work sometimes over the night or weekend. My nerves are working on accepting this. 9) When I really want to do something, I do it. Even if it's hard and challenges my anxiety. 10) Self-deprecating humor is fun but it can get to you 11) That thing that happens to me sometimes is called executive dysfunction 12) Oh, that's what nerve damage feels like 13) Part of my (hypo)mania is interrupting the shit out of people 14) I want my superpower to be telekinesis so I can whap people with my mind and then shrug when people asked what happened. 15) I may never get back into shape the way I want to. Will add to this, but wanted to get that out. |
| Things I Can Do Other Than Teach (Which, honestly, I would miss so freaking much) 1. Tutor at the community college or independently around the area. Downside to the latter: lawnmower parents. These are the reasons I'm leaving education (that but also how we cater to them). 2. Write short stories, articles. No money, really, but fun. 3. Freelance: editing, revising 4. Become a reading specialist -- stay in education, actually help kids learn how to read both with decoding and comprehension, but have to deal with teachers. 5. Manage investment properties like a n0ob (this is actually something we're seriously looking into) 6. Make products for Teachers Pay Teachers Gotta keep on top of this. It's easy to forget. |
| The educational system is fucked. Last December I had a student whose grade dropped from a C- to a D+ after I put in the last assignment. Nothing was official yet, but I received a nasty email that mom sent to my principal who then forwarded it to me. I did this maliciously, she said. I'm vile. These are her words. I'd had issues with her over the course of the semester. She completely enabled her daughter's awful attitude and behavior. So I get an email from my principal asking if I actually did this. I told him I wanted to speak in person. We could only speak over the phone, but over the phone he told me that I needed to consider that this was a college bound student. See, with a D you pass the class but you're ineligible for a 4-year college. So I inflated grades and I was in a bad depression for quite a while afterward. Fast forward to this last week. I've been on the ball as far as informing parents about their seniors' grades, so much so that I felt I didn't need to drop any of the lowest scores, etc. I had no failing seniors, but about 25% of them had Ds. One was a boy who decided for much of this semester that he didn't need to do nearly that much. I'd been on his case. I'd been in contact with his parents. I sent home a printed out grade report for his parents to look at and sign. If he would have received a 100% on his project, he still would've had a D. So I had to put him in the D report we send out. Enter emails from mom and dad. I was on a field trip, but that doesn't matter because I didn't contact them right the hell back. So Eric, being head coordinator of secondary education, gets an email from my principal asking me to email this family back NOW. At 10pm just as I'm actually getting to fall asleep. I was livid that (1) this is happening and (2) you're really going to go through my husband, asshole? Anyway, I explained to my principal why the kid had a D. I get told again that this is a college bound student. They can't tell me what to do, but they can ask me, an untenured teacher, to "consider" some things. And then let me know that the district can override my grades. I'm tempted to give the asshole an A out of petty spite. He has a D in math, too, which is required for a 4-year. But that teacher is seemingly bumping him as well. College will be fun for him. I'm done with this. I'm looking into other things. Eric and I have investment ideas. There is no integrity in education. |
| I am confident I'm entering my mid-life crisis. I've been here for a few months. Things I never got to do. Why I never did them. 40 is around the corner so death must be at the intersection closer to us than I thought. Why am I the way I am. Make me think of a coffee date I had yesterday. "I'm bi," I told my long time friend. "You've probably picked up on it" (my Pinterest boards alone) "I kinda figured--No, I knew. Your short story?" "It's my way of dealing with it." She knew what I meant by "dealing": that I was processing. That I continue to process. For fuck's sake: been processing for decades. Getting married at 20 takes away a lot of opportunities. She then leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, her hand creating a barrier between us and anyone who might see or hear. "If it helps, I've been with girls before." And it was sweet of her to open up to me too, as someone who grew up LDS. That's huge that not only does she admit to it, but that she's acted on it. I wish I'd had that gumption growing up. But I'm not ashamed of it. I'm ashamed I haven't ever been with a woman and everyone else, it seems, has. Is it something innately wrong with me? I'm ugly? I'm oblivious? Scary? Am I that much a Pollyanna? Damn! My gut tells me she was recently with a woman. Maybe even her best friend in Colorado. They have chemistry. People always think I have or had an active wild side. I was the best kid on the block, really, always making the "right" choices, and I am so scared it's turning me into my self-loathing grandma. She thought she was ugly too. And she never so much as sipped wine. I'm more experienced in worldly affairs than she was, I suppose? 38 is just in a few months. I need to enjoy what's left of this decade (what does that even mean?). 40s will be fine I'm sure, but still... When I joined WDC I was 26. Time, man. |
| "Life is complicated," I said. "Life is fun," she replied --And I've been thinking about that ever since |
| Holy shit it's been four months. So I'm dying here. I'm behaving uncharacteristically. I'm acting more manic in the sense that I'm being more impulsive than I have been in the past. I know I should care about some things but I can't be bothered because it's making me happy to do it, even if it might hurt someone I care about. And I need to talk about it, but the few people who might read this are friends with me on Facebook. And I can't have other friends knowing. I told one I could trust, but she's dealing with so much. I'm grateful for the little she did offer. The other friend I'd tell passed away 3.5 years ago. And my therapist is no help. She doesn't see that I have real issues aside from your standard anxiety disorder, and even then. Further, she appears to be anti-meds. I also need someone who won't dismiss me because they think I'm always good and always have selfless intentions. That is not the case here, and I'm both proud and bothered by that. Plus she knows my kid. She thinks very highly of my husband. "Hi I'm having troubles with my husband. For one thing it would be nice if he took the reins planning a getaway for us. Or, you know, told me he thought I was beautiful." "But he makes dinner sometimes" omfg. But all of this uncharacteristic behavior includes drugging up probably too much. It's 2pm and I've only had coffee, a jack and coke, and now a beer to drink. Recently I had 1.5-2 edibles plus 2 CBD gummies plus cough syrup just to sleep and ctfd. I need something to help my heart and stomach calm down. My doc said no more Xanax--not because I was taking too much but because I was taking it at all. I took one yesterday anyway because I've been living in an anxious emotional hell all week and can't get stoned at work and should probably not take my flu headache Vicodin anymore. The Xanax barely helped. And even on the weekend I have to grade. Gotta watch myself. The hell am I supposed to do. Plus I'm ruining things with friends. I want a smoke outside but I still have a residual cough from my stint with the flu a few weeks ago. I am working on a poem, though. So there's that. |
| For a few years now I've had this car crash scene in my head. A girl nearly kills her friend by t-boning her in an intersection. Hell of a lesson to learn. Then my nephew died in a horrific car crash, so I absolutely put that aside. I'm picking it back up now, though. I'm not sure what it will do, if it can mean anything, but scenes are clingy things. I think I'm kind of masochistic too. Need to do more research of ICUs and whatnot. Glad to know EMTs and nurses. |
| One issue I've always had with my writing, whether it be stories or even a lesson plan, is a lack of focus. I always want to do a million things at once. That's very much an issue right now, so I think I'll write a few entries. This one isn't exactly a tight entry, but for now I'm going to go with it. It's at least on one topic. This has been a good week. I mentioned on Facebook that it's been nice playing the stay-at-home mom bit again, even if only for a few days, and even though being a SAHM nearly broke me mentally. People didn't really understand what I meant, thought I was being hyperbolic, said "Me too!" but they don't know. They couldn't. While I will talk about some of my mental illness on Facebook, they don't know the whole story. It feels attention-whorish. And while I had some mom-guilt at first, I knew that I had to be happy if my kids were to be. Plus, mom guilt never really goes away. Women can't do much right in the eyes of society, and it becomes a part of us. So I might have explained more, but my kids would see it, and I don't want this to come out just yet. My daughter thinks I deal with anxiety and depression only. She brought me my meds that I'd forgotten last week and asked if it was for my anxiety, and though I try to be transparent with her when appropriate, it didn't feel right to say much beyond "I deal with more than just that." Or something like that. There were a few issues at hand before I went back to work: being young, being on meds but still trying to find the right ones and the right diagnosis, having no money, no friends in town to really speak of, leaving my church (a bigger deal when you're Mormon), and a husband who was either in school and working full time or in transition to his career. But I remember becoming suicidal. I hadn't made any plans that I can remember--I've never really gotten past initial thoughts--but I was convinced that my family would be better off without me. My mind had retorts to any words that might be said to stop me. The mind is an amazing asshole. These thoughts are fairly recurring, but back then it was strong enough that it scared me into telling my psychiatrist who simply said "The holidays are hard on everyone." Fuck that guy. I never tell anyone when I'm feeling that way (something good for more people to know--if some of us reach out, it's in code), and that was his professional response. Sara used to always know when I was struggling hard. I didn't have to say a word. I miss that part of the days I stayed at home, too. Sara was alive. A lot of people were. Anyway, I also remember being curled up in the fetal position on the couch in the family room, hearing my mind scream at me and being terrified of myself. I called Eric and asked him to come home. I don't remember where he was to be able to come home, and I don't remember what my mind was telling me, but it was awful. Otherwise, dealing with everything was overwhelming. I yelled a lot, didn't engage with anyone, kids included--didn't want to leave the house, was afraid to go on a road trip to the city my family lived in. I forgot until just now how it used to scare me to drive even hour-long distances--I've always been plagued with anxiety about death with a special emphasis of dying while on the road, or having someone else. So driving still scares me, but not to the point of not doing it. I've come miles from where I used to be. While tiny things will still shut me down, with the rare exception every tiny thing shut me down back then. So maybe staying at home now would be different, but I'd be unhappy without something meaningful to do. After about two weeks I think I'd start to itch, and I'm not sure I'd be able to bring myself to do anything about it. I went back to school and work, though, because I knew it would make me a better person. And in many ways it has. I obsess over it sometimes, which isn't ideal when you have three teens. I could be a better, more attentive mom. In the meantime, having a clean house is nice. Spending time with my kids is nice. Learning how to curl my hair right is nice. Having time for myself is nice, even if I am actively not thinking about work because when I do my stomach tightens. I've been writing a little--mostly in my head, but on paper too. So I'm beyond some of my past obstacles. My meds have me pretty stable (not without issue, but stable), and that means I'm doing more things, but I'm still avoiding things. The most disappointing thing I've avoided is volunteering for the fires. I've donated money, but I'm afraid I'd be useless in person and awkward and the smoke was so bad and for some reason I forget that people are inside, that I could get a mask and walk some fucking dogs. My mind gets in the way. Executive function issues? But I don't know what I'd do if I didn't work. It gives me the structure I can't give myself. Plus it means I can afford things we never could before--material and otherwise. I'm going on an extremely nerdy and extremely expensive trip next June. I like getting tattoos. I like not worrying about money for once. I wonder what else I'd do that would make me happy, but I'm coming up short each time. I'm pretty sure I'd miss teaching though, a few spectacularly shitty parents and kids aside. There will always be shitty people I have to deal with. I just wish I could more honestly. |
| I have two parent-teacher conferences this week with aggressive parents. One is today after school. At least I know there what I'm walking into, though. The other is on Thursday. That mom went around everyone's back to make that appointment--straight to the VP--and refuses to tell anyone what it's about. I have a history with this woman. She was a parent of a kid I had during my first year of teaching, and she made my life a living hell. Manipulative as shit. I don't do well when I'm caught off guard, either. My second period senior class is getting too big for its britches. It seems every day I'm having to shut kids down for the way they talk to me or their refusal to handle reasonable requests (give me your phone/put your phone away). I'm trying. It's been so hard. My meds aren't enough to handle this. I keep pressing on, though. I'm too stubborn not to, though I fantasize regularly about just quitting. I fantasize about starting a book store and then remember that brick and mortar book stores are dying and I'd need an extra angle. Then I realize that I'd be dealing with a whole new brand of asshole. Then I remember that my "take over the world" phases don't last nearly enough. This election terrifies me. I don't have enough faith in humanity to believe 100% that anyone's vote matters if there is a "blue wave," though I hope there is. Fuck Trump and his cronies. I have an African-American student who expressed a disinterest in voting. She's a senior. She's lazy af in class, so this shouldn't surprise me, but this is more real than school will ever be. What laws get passed will affect her. I will need to bury my head in the sand for the next few days (election day and the next few), though I'm not sure that's the best strategy either. I've been self-medicating...a lot. Drinking more. Smoking nearly every night. It just helps me a little. Even when I'm a bit high I don't forget and I still obsess. It's ever-present on my mind. I don't get much of a reprieve, and talking to people may be making me look bad and hella annoying. Compassion fatigue is real. I keep scratching myself, and--gross as this is--picking at scabs. Anxiety, yo. I've been ignoring a friend. She's going through hell, too, and I helped her a lot when I was doing well, but now I'm not, and I just can't, and I hope she'll be okay. She tends to make it about herself. ---------------------------- But I'm trying to write. I have a private WIP on this site that is just a collection of scenes. I don't think it has much merit, but I'm writing and hopefully soon I'll be able to turn it into something. But I didn't place in the Writer's Digest competition, which means I can make it public to WDC members again once I get off my ass. But I'm going to a Wynonna Earp conference in June and I'll be damned if I don't get a picture with WayHaught. I can't express how much I love this show. It breaks so many rules and does so many things well. The representation is spot on. But I'm trying to surround myself with better things. But I have an appointment with my psychiatrist this week. But at least one teacher spoke with a student who is doing well and that student sung my praises who is in at least one of the classes I'm getting flack from. That teacher has been crazy supportive. My department head has been there for me. Another teacher with some weight behind her has been crazy supportive. I just hope they're not harboring secret concerns. But at least I know there are kids in my other classes who love my class and are doing well. But at least my class averages are doing well in my senior classes. I still have work to do, but that's normal. But I've had no problems with my sophomores or their parents. But I'm certain my senior problems aren't much a reflection on me as it is their freaking out about (1) shit's getting real, real fast; (2) I don't spoon feed them answers, and that's different for them; (3) I run my class differently. It's not all out of the book, at least not obviously. Plus I fucking hate the book. It's college level and beyond too many of them. But many of my students do seem to like me (I wonder, but still) But I haven't given up on the gym, much as I want to when my wrists flare up (which they tend to do tenfold when my anxiety spikes--psychosomatic?). Right now it's flaring up. Fuck you, wrist. But I'm trying to eat better, even if I still fail too regularly. I'm not giving up. But I haven't given up hope entirely. But I know I'm there for my minority students. The only ones bitching are the middle class white kids (one Hispanic girl, but privileged nonetheless). Unfortunately nobody cares as much as they should about this population. Lip service. But I'm always trying to get better. |
| I think one of the hardest things about mental illness is living those moments when you realize you could take over the world if you were actually stable all the time. And I'm not talking manic moments. I mean depressed, anxious moments when you remember how much of a rockstar you can be about a month out of the year. |
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