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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'm not sure how to start this. I just got home from watching A Star is Born. I love Lady Gaga. I love everything she stands for. I love that she's different. I love how she empowers others. So I wanted to see her movie. While the end is foreshadowed enough (and doesn't even need to be once you get the gist), I didn't see the end coming quite like that. My friend died allegedly of suicide three, almost three and a half, years ago. It hit hard. I carried that with me for two years, two years of going over our final words, our final texts, the way she was before I learned that the authorities never ruled her death anything, let alone a suicide. I carried her that with me for two years before I learned that her husband was--is--under investigation for it. He cut off all ties with me last September, with everyone, even his best friend. His last text to me thanked me for being such a good friend to Sara. He now lives in Oklahoma with his new wife who does not like talking about Sara at all. He took his 11 year old daughter but not his boys (15 and 17) who still live here with their grandma. He's going to law school. I don't know whether or laugh or cry. I was fairly loud about suicide prevention and letting people know of the signs for those two years after she died. I still do, but it seems disingenuous now, which is dumb, I know. I have an idea of what it's like to be suicidal. I've experienced the thoughts--the serious, repeated thoughts--that the people I love and hold closest to me would be better off without me. And she was suicidal, no doubt. She had tried a few years prior with pills. I babysat her as much as I could until she was as much out of the weeds as possible. We all watched her. For the next two years we'd have conversations. I remember at least two vividly: Once in her bedroom, and once on my back patio. She believed so much that everyone was better off without her. I tried. I tried so hard to let her know how awful life would be for her kids and her friends without her. I watched her slowly crumble, dissipate. And it hasn't been the same. As far as her kids go, life has gone to shit as far as I'm concerned. It's a whole thing that I don't particularly want to get into much. Suffice it to say I can't believe I'm part of this story even peripherally. But Sara began to slip again hard about 6-8 months before she died. It was particularly bad, and with everything else considered, I saw it but didn't. She was pushing me away pretty insistently, and I was dealing with my own stuff. I took it personally. I didn't see it. Suicide made sense, even if it was by gun. The question of how she got a hold of her husband's gun (he was Chief of Police) was always there, but I assumed that someone that desperate to die would find a way. She partied the night before she died. It was my birthday. She died, I'm told, around 4 the next morning. I was always haunted by the thoughts and visions of her alone in her home, the living room, staring at the gun. For two years all I did was imagine how alone and desperate she must have felt. Anyway. Once I discovered that she may have been murdered (some reports that I haven't seen say she was shot twice in the head), I wondered if I was really someone who knew what it was like to lose someone to suicide. For those two years I told my students that I did not take jokes or passing references to killing oneself lightly. This was serious. I knew. I lost my best friend to it. I carried that with me. Bricks thrown over my shoulder. I carried that shit with me. And watching this movie today, the end--I re-lived all of it. I knew it was coming, perhaps, before Eric did. I couldn't tell. I kept trying to tell him with my eyes because I knew I wasn't going to be okay, but I don't know if he saw it. We're not exactly communicating very well lately. He keeps asking if I'm okay, and because I don't want to cry too much, I tell him I am. "They foreshadowed it enough," he said. The death, yes. The suicide? Maybe I just missed that. But suddenly I was taken back a few years, going over and over in my head what Sara's last hour(s) must have been like. Those last few minutes. Minutes she put the gun to her head. The thoughts that must have been screaming at her, cajoling her into believing this was the only way out of the pain that never went away for nearly long enough. That her family and friends would be better without her. Eric once said that I'm still someone who lost someone to suicide because I carried it with me for so long. I lived the experience. It shattered me. I went to friends who fancy themselves mediums. I reevaluated my non belief in god,of the thinking that I'd love to see her again. I volunteered for our local Out of the Darkness Walk and even pretended to be part of the team that organized its second year here. But still. I have a hard time telling my students now that I know someone who killed themselves and how much it hurts and how much they need to not make it a joke. I don't regret seeing the movie, but damn. |
| I called in sick today. It's the first time this year, which isn't terrible being that it's the end of October. It's been a really rough week, respectively, and I went to bed with a bad headache and woke up with a budding migraine. I felt sick to my stomach, so I called in at 5:30 hoping someone would be able to pick it up. Nope. Other teachers covered for me today. I hate that, but I knew I would have struggled a LOT otherwise. I've had run-ins with two parents this week. One is someone I have an awful history with. She made my first year of teaching a living hell five years ago, and now I'm lucky enough to have her daughter. A few weeks ago I got a shipment in from Donors Choose. This project was centered around diversity. Because of the generosity of so many across the country, my kids now have access to more books featuring LGBTQIA+ characters, characters of color, and books typically geared toward boys. I put 5-6 of these books on 8 different "stations" and asked them to spend 5 minutes per station looking at the books and taking seriously simple notes on what they found interesting and not. One girl--a senior--apparently felt I was forcing her to read something she was uncomfortable with. What the actual fuck. So I've been dealing with that. I think I finally shut it down, but knowing this mom it's not over. The other mom is concerned because her daughter (a senior) is concerned about her C grade and the fact that she's struggling. First, dear readers, if your kid is over the age of 16 take the tit out and insist they talk with their teacher. Not you. Next year this girl is going to college and won't have mom to advocate for her. So I'm dealing with that. It seemed innocent enough at first, but there's been a tinge of annoyance to her emails as of late. She didn't get my response (that I sent) and now I'm insisting her kid be there as well. I'm a bitch. Anyway, called in sick. Went home after setting up my room as best as I could for my sub and slept 4 hours. I'm still exhausted and I've only been up for 2.5 hours. I woke up at noon, checked my email, and there's an email from the secretary. "It's Friday. You know what that means. If anyone can sub for me, let me know!" Implication: anyone who takes a Friday off is looking for a long weekend. Maybe a few seasoned veterans. I'd be stupid to do this as a newbie at this site. So now I'm fighting the urge to explain myself. I've been fighting this urge a lot lately. It's a stupid urge. I told Eric that if this school lets me go after this or next year I think I'm done with teaching (I have two years until I get tenure. Until then they could let me go for no reason at all). I'm not going to chase it. My last school wanted me, but it was a shitshow with regard to admin, the school's roll-over relationship with parents, and it wasn't worth the headache. Plus it was a commute--and a scary commute at best. I just want to be closer to home. I want to see my kids. I want to relax a bit. More unrealistically, I just want to not deal with the politics. Can I just teach these guys? I swear I'm not out to get them. Interestingly enough, the only kids who seem to think I'm out to get them are the white, privileged kids with asshole helicopter parents. The rest of them know I've got their backs. They know. They are who I am here for. I am here for the Hispanic boy who thinks he sucks at English but who is now starting to rock it. I'm here for the person who snatched up a book about intersex characters the second they saw it and took it home. Unfortunately privileged white people are loud and often have connections and money. Volume is everything. What I do wrong yells. What I do right whispers. Fuck them. |
| Hey, one or two people who read this because I can't get on nearly enough to establish a firm base. How you doin'? I need to be on my Chromebook when going to sites like this. It's kind of a pain. It's just easier to be on my work laptop and do the rest on my phone. Writing these would not be easier on my phone, though. -------------------------------------------------------------- My doc seems to want to run with the Bipolar II diagnosis, and whatever. He called my emerging moods when I first saw him "hypomania" which makes sense, and I know I had that last year. So this morning, 6am (because sleep is stupid), I looked for and found one journal of mine from last summer. I was definitely hypomanic then. I knew I was at the beginning of the school year, but nope. All summer. Spending a lot of money, irritable af, got like 3-4 hours of sleep a night, headaches nearly every day. My gen prac had me on Abilify, which I didn't remember, and I was taking more of my anti-depressant than was prescribed because I thought I was depressed. Then my doc officially upped the A-D dose. Then I actually got depressed, and it seemed to be triggered by a few small things: my department being difficult (didn't specify how), my teaching line being all freshmen and learning about that literally a week before school started, and a parent telling me that her kid was scared especially of me. This only got worse when my nephew died a few months later. I'm wondering when I was hypomanic before that. I know it did, but details elude me with one terrible exception that had me running to the doctor in the first place. I need to ask Eric to get some boxes down so I can go through my other journals. And I should continue to journal. It's helpful. But it's annoying. I want to be alone when I write them. So I'm back here. I'm doing okay, but the impulsiveness is still here a bit and the anxiety is there too--very mild--and falling asleep is a joke and I've been smoking pot just to calm everything in me down because Xanax, melatonin, and sometimes benadryl does jack shit for me. My psych gave me something for sleep but I can't take it during the weekdays because it'll make me super drowsy in the morning and driving is no bueno like that. I might renege on telling him I don't want Ambien, but I'm afraid of the things I'll say when I'm on it. It makes me rather chatty. |
| This is more for records-keeping sake, since it's been helpful before. I saw a new psychiatrist today. Those appointments are always so damn clinical, but this guy was better than I've had in the past so I'm keeping hope. He's keeping me on my meds--weaning me off one, and slowly building the dosage on another. I told him for the third med I'd like to go back to what I had before because I lost weight on it. He doesn't think the med I'm on right now causes weight gain, and while I don't think it's all of it, it's definitely about 10% of it. I'm just glad he said he's fine with switching me back since the two are "basically the same." Whatever. I'll take it. The only diagnosis was "definitely OCD" though even then I feel like I need to tell people I'm not counting the number of times I'm washing my hands or turning the light switch off. It was touching knobs to ensure they were locked although I could see they were locked. When it's not about that -- and it's not anymore, not since I was first given Prozac and treated for OCD -- it's about obsessive thoughts. You should really do this you have to do this what if you don't do this did you consider what will happen if you do it now and on and on until I just do it (or sometimes say it) so it'll go away. Sometimes it's small, like taking a shower. Sometimes it's a little odd, like cleaning the bathroom at 8pm on a school night because if I don't I won't sleep. It's been more complicated in my past. It has taken over. That's when I finally saw someone, but they didn't see OCD. They saw anxiety, then depression, then suggested bipolar. This is what I'm basically being treated for now and have been for the past year: mood stabilizer and anti-depressant. I still wonder if this is what I truly have because anti-depressants can cause mania-like symptoms. He wasn't definite about the bipolar, but we're going with it for now. I'm not a fan (it's a hell of a thing to have on your medical record--god help me if I ever need to get insurance on my own), but it is what it is. He said what I'm experiencing is hypomania -- and yeah, I'm experiencing it now. I had it at the beginning of the last school year, then I was depressed for about 10-11 months. Switching schools has done a lot for the depression, but now I'm talking over people, buying things left and right, can't focus for shit--I have ten projects going on at a time, for example--and I'm not sleeping as much. It's still healthy, but I don't fall asleep until midnight lately, then I'm up again at 5:30. Maybe that's not so healthy. I know better than to take side jobs (helping at the football game, advising TWO clubs, etc.) at the school that I feel like I could handle. I know better than to listen to that part of me when it swaggers through my brain. That doesn't last, and then you're stuck and you're the asshole who can't handle her shit. I'll avoid being the asshole whenever I can when I can. It wouldn't surprise me if it was bipolar -- the mild form. I'm not buying cars or having sex that's abnormal for me, etc. It's there, it could become a problem, but it's not so far. Just irritating and could cause some interrelational issues with friends and family. I say and do stupid, impulsive things. It is better than the depression, but it's frustrating too. Not sure how to explain that, really, but it's definitely its own brand of frustrating. |
| So as it happens, I forgot about this place. I forget about a lot of places. But I'm back because I needed a place to discuss this. There's a new show I'm getting geeky over. It doesn't seem to have the same kind of merit that Buffy The Vampire Slayer has, but it's good: Wynonna Earp, billed as a supernatural Western horror series. Plus there's a couple in the show that I'm all for -- and duh it's a lesbian couple. I've been thinking about this a lot. I always have, but this: I watch these two characters, Waverly and Nicole, kiss and the only way to describe it is omg. It's hot. But there are straight couples on this show that work really well too, but watching them kiss? Not as hot. And I don't think it's because I'm not completely straight. I think it's because when the straight couples kiss, it's forceful. The man is always aggressive. When the two women kiss, it's passionate, can soft. It's a deep, soulful kind of passion. I know this passion because Eric and I once had it, but you don't see it on TV very often. That said, I'm comparing W&N to other lesbian couples I've loved, and it's no comparison. Let's just say there's something between these two, and I've been dying to figure out how to put this kind of passion into words lately. It's also kind of nice that the storyline surrounding these two is not about being outed and there hasn't been any pushback from the characters who discover their friend/sister is bisexual (though it would be excellent if just once we could talk about a character being bisexual. It's always straight or gay). One of the women was shot and not killed. A few tropes are being rejected here, and it's nice. Maybe I should write a story where a character is clearly bisexual. I haven't done that yet. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Anyone who remembers me and/or has read my other two blogs, you know I've dealt with some mental health shit over the last ten years. I've had anxiety all of my life but was never properly treated for it. I probably had other things that just went undiagnosed/treated. I didn't want to get on meds until things got really bad in my mid-20s. My GP initially said "Oh! Anxiety." Then it was, "Wait, you're depressed, too." And then, "Have you ever thought you might be bipolar?" That last one is still up in the air, but the psychiatrist I was referred to didn't even spend time diagnosing me himself. He wouldn't stfu until I said, out loud, "I have bipolar." That initial appointment--I shit you not--lasted, tops, 10-15 minutes. Most of it was his cajoling me into agreeing with him and then educating me on what it means to be bipolar. Nevermind the gravity of such a diagnosis. That's heavy shit to put on your medical record. Insurance companies will LOVE me if I ever have to go private. I can kiss that shit goodbye #UniversalHealthCarePls That said, the meds he prescribed worked. But I was gaining weight despite every effort not to. That doesn't help depression, btw. Neither does it help when your GP tells you you need to lose weight and you're trying to and going on thyroid meds and appetite suppressants and going vegetarian and still being a fat ass all the while your cholesterol is screaming at you and so your doctor is, too. For my height, I was pretty heavy. Then one January I went to my psych and told him I was having suicidal thoughts. This is no small thing for me. I was scared. He said, "Well, it's the holidays. Everyone feels a little down." I dropped him like a bad habit after that and saw someone else who said "Bipolar? I don't see it. I do see OCD, though." I was put on Prozac. I lost a shit ton of weight. Compliments everywhere. Cashiers asking for my ID back because the picture looked nothing like me. Mentally, things were looking up. That should be the first thing I mention, but that's always a wildcard. Losing weight helped. Then that psychiatrist moved to Ohio and I was left with nothing. There are no psychiatrists in my hometown anymore. At least none without some serious issues. So I went without for a long time. My GP retired, and I got a new GP who is very hot and cold. One day he's very attentive and the next he just wants me tf out of his office and dismisses everything I say. On a "hot" day--I wish I knew the specific month--I told him I wasn't doing well. At all. Last year was fucking rough for me. Summer time had me missing out on events because I was teaching, I had a wicked flare up of my sciatica, and I had wrist surgery. There was no going to the gym where I was becoming a beast with my trainer. I could have done some cardio, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, even though it's the only thing my cholesterol responds to. So I didn't, and cue about 10 pounds. Plus I was kicked to the curb at work. No more seniors and juniors. I got all the freshmen--the first week I had a class of about 40. They also didn't want me to be department chair despite my entire department wanting me to do it. Nope. They wanted Newbie to do it (it's easier to steamroll new teachers--no tenure). I fought it and eventually won, but shit. And then everything in my classroom went to shit. No projector. No computer. No doc cam. No printer. No real sense of urgency to fix any of it. I rely heavily on these things and was relegated to using my own laptop so I could take attendance and check my email. Thank the gods the old IT guy set me up with my laptop or I would've been royally screwed. It was a rough start to the year, and it only got worse. Anyway, New GP said he wanted me off Prozac and on something else. He didn't like Prozac. It was old (and probably something else). So we went on something else. I started gaining more weight, and it still wasn't working. He changed my meds to something else, something like Prozac but still not because, despite my wanting to go back, he didn't like it. I shouldn't gain weight, he said (again), because it was like Prozac, but he was wrong. I am Queen of Side Effects. He also brought up the B word, asking if bipolar had ever been suggested. I was experiencing mild mania. So now I'm taking bipolar meds. If I have it, my guess is that it's cyclothymia .Then I lost my nephew in November in a horrific car crash (fuck drunk drivers). By January my GP upped my anti-depressant dose because I was borderline paranoid about leaving my house. About anyone I loved leaving the house. Let's also add 10-15 more pounds. I still have 20 pounds to go before I hit my heaviest but I'd rather not see that again. My self-image is bad enough when I'm healthy and my cholesterol is behaving. But that's where I am today. My year at work only got worse. I was depressed the entire goddamn year both at home and at work. I think things are looking up right now, at least these last few weeks, but I'm heavier than I'd like. I could be doing some things better on my own, but I'm working on it. Depression doesn't exactly say "Let's go out and do things! Let's eat healthy!" No. It says "You should do these things but you're not and that makes you pretty dumb, doesn't it? Sure you're committed to doing something tomorrow but lol we both know better. Have a migraine on me. Take a nap. Hide out in your room. Nobody cares anyway." tl;dr I've been depressed for a year and I just made an appointment with a new psychiatrist who may very well suck balls but if I can get on some meds that won't make me a fat ass and could more effectively buoy me up a bit I'd appreciate it. I'd also appreciate a solid diagnosis. |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** So I'd like to write. I (for lack of a better word) finished my last story for that contest. I need to leave it alone until I'm notified that I didn't place. (I very well might place--I've learned my lesson there; I'm capable--but the odds here are gargantuan. Writer's Digest, you guys). I'd like to write other pieces now that that story is on the shelf. I have the time and just enough inspiration to come up with the shortest of excerpts, pieces of dialogue. I'm still generally more apt to write young adult stories, though I find lately that I'd rather write new adult stories--just for the slightly older kids (18-22). Maybe I'm growing up a bit too. So there's that. Easy. I also tend to write plotlines more geared toward romance. Cool. ...and lately I want to write stories featuring a bisexual main character. Here's where things get tricky in my head. Please note that making simple appointments for the doctor or my stylist gets tricky in my head, so: I worry about being a one trick pony, which is fucking hilarious seeing as 99% of my stories have been based on the same characters I've had since high school. They're evolved and much more defined, but still. So there's that, and the always fun Why does she always write queer new adult lit? I don't even need to bring myself into the discussion, though that's definitely a factor. The simplest response I'm most comfortable with is this: why is that a problem, but always writing heterosexual new adult lit doesn't faze anyone? And honestly I think it's the most pertinent answer to address. Leave me the fuck out of it for now. Follow me here. It's a lot like a former student's button said: "Why is straight the default?" and something Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg allegedly said about equality on the bench being reached when there are nine women justices. Why? Well, there's nearly always been nine men, right? Right? So "why does she always write queer new adult lit?" should be met with another question: "Why are you asking that question?" The answer, of course, would be that queer lit is not how it's always been done--it's not the norm, and so it stands out. However, I hope I don't need to explain to you fine folks why "that's how it's always been done" is a shit argument against stepping or existing outside the box. That alone is hard enough for me to address with someone right now, but it's far easier than addressing the other implication IRL: is she? And I'm just not there yet. |
| If I've learned one thing about writing, it's this: themes or central focuses are key to success, and that absolutely applies to blogs. I don't have that here. Hell, I can't focus in real life. I'm just a delight, I know. I could talk about a number of things. The most appropriate would be my writing. I might even be able to incorporate some of what goes on in my classroom related to writing, but most days I just want to have something else. I bought my 3-month "maybe I'll rejoin for real" membership because I wanted to write my own things. It helps immensely to teach it to my students, but I have to do my own work too. I could talk about my family. Been there, done that. It's a goldmine. It always has been and always will be. My blogging began with The Great Flu of '07 right here at WDC. Every single member of my family was stupid sick, and I was up one night while they were all asleep (finally) in the living room, and I thought what the hell. I still remember praising Febreeze. I've been married for 16 years. My oldest is 15, then my son will be 14 in two months, and my youngest boy is 12. There's a lot to talk about there. Then there's me. I go through cycles of what my thoughts won't leave me alone with. My anxiety, depression, sexuality, friendships (or lack thereof); my relationships with my extended family, which could be worse but could also be better. And, of course, the career I have that I'm still not sure I want. Last year was a shitshow of a year. I had to deal with more than my fair share of ridiculous parents, unsupportive admin, and an almost total lack of decent resources. I ended the year with a few months of just anger, and that's not me. Not when I'm teaching. That combined with what was going on personally with the loss of my nephew, and I was a mess. I've been depressed for at least a year. I can't seem to get out of it, and it's making wanting to teach that much harder. To help that, I went through the process to get a job elsewhere, but now I have to fight for tenure again, get to know the culture of a new school, go through that horrible process of fitting in (fitting in with other teachers is a thing that takes a year or two to happen). And now they have me teaching senior classes, which is fine (been there), but teaching seniors when you're new to a school is sketchy. They think they own the place. And they also gave me a senior honors class. I've taught freshman honors, but that's a joke of a class. It's just regular freshman English with maybe a smidge higher expectations. Mostly they just throw the good, quiet kids into that class. Many of them don't really belong in a more rigorous class. Plus junior high classes inflate the fuck out of their students' grades. No, Johnny (and, last year, Johnny's insane mother). I am not giving you extra credit so you can bump your 89 to a 90-something. Sit the fuck down. I have enough work to grade without extra credit. It's a lot. I thought that not teaching summer school this year would further alleviate things--new school, a summer to myself (which isn't really a thing). But it's not, and that terrifies me. I've looked at other programs. I've looked at technical writing, copy editing, freelancing, paralegal programs (I began a program when I was 20 or so), general admin assistant/secretary work. You guys, it got so bad that last year I frequently fantasized about going back to retail. Anything where I didn't have to take physical and emotional things home with me. When I was in high school I considered going into publishing--that's still an attractive option for me. All of these ideas, save the office one, would require us to move, and while I'm sure Eric would move for me, he'd have to commute, and I'd never see him. And I'm done commuting, myself. It's part of why I found a different job. My drive to work is now 5-10 minutes instead of 45. Also I'm not 20-something anymore, so starting over is daunting. There are some programs where you can go straight from school to career; others take time and internships and other bullshit. Be kind to your teachers. The job is infinitely harder than you would ever imagine and incredibly thankless. I'm going into my 5th year soon, and I totally understand why many teachers opt out of the profession in those first 5 years. That said, it's money. I know that if something happened I could support myself. That's huge. That's a freedom in and of itself. I just don't know. Right now I'd just like to write. I'm still working on what. |
| I submitted a story to Writer's Digest's Annual Fiction contest last night. The closer it got to the deadline, the more I was convinced this story suuuucked. But I also know that this is how it works. When you write, all you see are the flaws. When you paint, all you see are the things you could have done better. Hell, when my husband spackled the damn wall, all he could see were the places he could have spackled better. So I just did it. I also tried to keep in mind an old story of mine that I submitted to my university's fiction contest. My professor was super impressed with it when I wrote it for class, but I was in a lowly fiction writing class and knew I would be going up against creative writing majors--grad students, at that. Eventually enough people convinced me to just submit the goddamned thing...and I won. It was wild. If you won, the university submitted your piece to a national contest. I didn't win the national. Didn't even place. And, per my second paragraph, I get it. It was a bit dated and kind of forced. I've tried to fix it since but maybe I just need time. I am proud of it. It was the first time I'd written a story with a strong plot. Characters I can write all day long (okay, maybe one in particular), but plot? Bitches, please. Plus it had literary merit. Extended metaphors, symbolism, all that good stuff. A month or so later I wrote a rough draft of the story I submitted yesterday. It flopped hard. A few of my classmates were ruthless with it. My professor was kind but I could tell he felt there were problems. Still, I knew there was something there, and since then, on-and-off, I've been working on it. I'm proud of the writing as far as descriptions go; I'm proud of this story's literary merit. I worked really hard to ensure that most, if not all, of my words are purposed. I don't want fluff. I'm not sure if the narrator is enough of a person on her own though. I'm not convinced of the plot--its structure, how it holds up. What began as a story about two young women whose lifelong friendship is challenged by the change of going to college became something else...kind of, and for that I'm afraid it lost its focus. My writings seem to be amalgamations of each other, and that worries me. We'll see. Maybe enough people will not read the submission directions closely enough. Maybe it's better than I think it is. |
| My facebook feed is full of stories and advice regarding suicide. I'm in a low place. Not scary-low, but low, and I've been without one of my meds for a few days now. I saw a lot of my coworkers, likely, for the last time last night. There's always talk of getting together for drinks, but I think by now we all know better. A coworker who said he'd give me a ride to his place for the after-grad get together (just shooting the shit and drinking beers) forgot about me. I'm not surprised, but I suppose I should be a little bit if I asked him. To be fair to myself nobody else I spoke to seemed to be going. It's so easy for me to feel invisible. Ninety-nine people can see me but if one person doesn't, if one person makes me feel like I'm back in high school again, it's over. Still, one coworker saw that I was having a hard time and stayed with me the half-hour until my husband could pick me up. He's leaving that place, too. He annoys me sometimes but his heart is in the right place. That makes up for the world. He saw me when nobody else really did. I try to focus on these things, but it's exhausting. Most people there see me when they want to, and I'm never quite sure when they'll want to. I'm so tired. It's all behind my eyes, and coffee doesn't touch it anyway. |
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