Finding the Ground

Roots. They grip the ground. They keep plants in one place and provide nutrients and everything needed for the plant. In order to have roots, you have to have ground, and moving seriously uproots me, sends me into the air. I feel like I’m tumbling through the air, trying to land and figure things out again. We moved into our house at the end of August, this year. It took me until yesterday, December 16^th, to unpack my box of trophies and trinkets that have always resided in my bedroom. Now they reside in my study. It’s awesome. I have my bowling trophies on the windowsill, I have the engraved plate my mom bought for me on the shelf above my monitor, right next to my awesome, new jester frog. My study is fucking awesome, now, and it took me until now, halfway through December to Christmas. It feels like I’m settling down as I put more boxes in the attic and find homes within my house for more of my belongings.

            Plenty has happened in the months since I last wrote. I realize now that I need to forgive myself for not writing more often. Forgive myself for taking so long to unpack and get everything set up. Frankly, though, I didn’t want to write blog posts from the living room, anymore. I don’t like moving the furniture on the carpet because the carpet is really thick and even the chairs, as light as they are, don’t move very easily if I try sliding them. The apartment floor was much better for it. I’m so glad to have my study set up so I can blog not only with a monitor and a computer chair where I can see everything on my screen clearly, but also so that I have a secluded space in the house that is my own, where I can get away from everyone or select my company. There is only one chair, and it is mine. No one else sits in it. I plan to make my altar next to the window in this room. This is my space. The only things in here that aren’t mine are two of Randy’s books on Tao, because this is basically the book place of the house and they look good on my shelf.

            My trash container is a party cup. Literally a black Solo cup that sits on my desk and holds a few small things and is nice and discreet. I don’t have to change trash bags or cart things in and out of the room. I can take the cup out, toss it, and grab a new cup to bring in for trash. It’s wonderful. I bought new speakers, a new monitor, a new tablet—everything is fucking great. I can’t wait to actually start using the tablet, but I’ve been really absorbed in the Sims 4, lately.

            Two friends are staying in my art room until they get on their feet and can get their own place(s). I have yet to hang my dragon posters because I want to swap the locations of the hutch and what Randy thinks is a carrion cabinet. If it is a carrion cabinet, it’s very simple and has a large opening and single shelf in the large area for maybe a TV and cable box, I would imagine. Either way, I want to switch the walls on which these pieces of furniture currently sit, and put Persephone’s TV in the “carrion cabinet” and the hutch against the wall next to the front door. My battle dragon can hang over the hutch and the cliff dragon can hang over where Persephone should put her riding cars away, next to the fireplace. I plan to hang my other purchased paintings along the walls in the stairwell to the art room.

            Today, I read some articles. One was about the effects of alcohol on babies while breastfeeding. The other was about Mick Jagger having a new baby at the age of 74, with a woman by the age of 30. The breastfeeding and drinking article started out by saying that imbibing in a few drinks during the holidays will not necessarily result in anything negative with the nursing baby. It then went on to say that mothers should be conscious and aware of how much they are drinking, however, as getting drunk while breastfeeding is generally frowned upon for many reasons that have nothing to do with how much alcohol gets into the breast milk. As far as Mick Jagger having another baby… Well, that’s for another blog post, but my point here is that I’ve managed to pull away from the Sims long enough to get my brain working and creating ideas based on my experiences as they relate to what I’m reading. It is also immensely helpful to have the two friends I have staying with me. They provide socialization and while I have gone through more marijuana over the past month than I have in practically the past two years, it has been a pleasure to have them because I have started to find myself again. One friend, I’ve known for the past six years, since the end of high school but prior to the start of the military, pays attention to things far more than I’m used to people paying attention, particularly about personality traits and the like. He has helped me recognize, again, who I am. Who I have been. He’s helped me put some of the pieces together.

I Want Justice

I am beyond angry.

            There are many reasons for my anger, chief among them some obvious choices, such as the cops murdering black people in my country.

            One black man was pinned to the ground, unarmed, by police and shot point-blank in the chest. WHY?! For what POSSIBLE reason could these cops have done something so heinous?!

            Fear.

            It’s out of fear, just like it was out of fear that they shot a fucking gun into a car with a CHILD in the back seat! They shot and killed a law-abiding citizen after pulling him over for having a busted tail light. He had his girlfriend and their child in the car with him and these cops shot and killed him.

            I want justice. I want to see these cops stripped of their uniforms and dragged through the streets by their feet, tied to the back of a Hummer going about 10 mph. I want to see these murderers placed before a judge and stripped of the ability to ever again serve in the capacity of public service. I want their firearms taken from them and used to shoot every limb on their bodies, multiple times.

            I want justice.

            What would justice be? Clearly, taking these policemen off the force would be the first step. But they have MURDERED people. In cold blood. Do they not deserve pain in retribution?

            I imagine the families of the men who were killed. I imagine the child in the back seat of that car, witnessing her mom’s boyfriend shot by police and killed in the driver’s seat for reaching for his driver’s license as ordered. Then, I imagine all the women who experience fear for their lives on a daily basis, as well, because of the men who exist who want nothing more than to harm. I think of my female friends who have walked down the street to unsolicited sexual harassment, and that is the least severe thing I can imagine because I have friends who have been raped and beaten. I, myself, have been sexually abused.

            Many things go through my mind when I think of these things. I think of the #YesAllWomen movement on social media and I think about how it doesn’t apply to me, even though I’m a woman, because I walk down the street without fear… or so I think. I can’t stand to go anywhere alone. Is that a result of social conditioning?

            I think of the #BlackLivesMatter movement and how white people everywhere try to dilute the problem and separate themselves by saying #AllLivesMatter. Now it’s #NotAllCops.

            Well, it may be that not all men are rapists and murderers and it may be that not all cops are murdering sacs of scum that need to be eradicated from the face of the planet. But it is true that all women and all minorities are afraid. Every year. Every month. Every week. Every day. Filled, at least in some capacity, with fear. Fear of those who are supposed to be our peers and our protectors.

            I don’t want to live in America anymore. I want my family to move to Canada and live out the rest of our days in a peaceful country that has very little violent crime, even if it means I will not be allowed to own a firearm. After all, with the new laws coming to fruition in my own country, I can’t own a gun anyway because I suffer from mental illness.

            If I can’t fix it, I want to get away from it.

Critical Thinking and Research

The problem with some people is that they buy into televised news networks’ rhetoric.

            In the process of doing my own research and working to independently come to my own conclusions about such issues as NAFTA, Hillary Clinton’s candidacy for President, and Bill Clinton’s crimes as President, I have been called lazy, dumb as a rock, and a fuckhead. These from people who support Bernie Sanders and whose goal should be to educate those around them, not cut them down for their ignorance.

            I thought Bernie supporters were basically cut from the same thread: independent thinkers, considerate of others, and willing to correct others when they’re wrong without throwing shade at them.

            I was wrong.

            As it turns out with everything in life, Bernie supporters are made up of a multitude of personality types, including the assholes who “don’t have time to teach” those who don’t know better. Somehow, Bernie has managed to touch the hearts of these rock-hard people who think they’re better than everyone else and that they have all the “right” answers. This speaks volumes for the Independent Senator from Vermont.

            I’ve learned a great deal over the past few weeks. A lot of what I’ve learned has to do with my college classes, most recently Critical Thinking in Everyday Life and previously Elements of Health and Wellness. These are two of the most important classes I could have taken with the University of Phoenix, as I have learned what I must do to continue my path of healing and I am currently learning how to challenge my thinking and the thinking of those around me to encourage the betterment of persons, including myself.

            In addition to my class work, I’ve learned that the North American Free Trade Agreement, cosigned by Hillary Clinton, has resulted in greatly increased trade deficit with Mexico and Canada. It has also contributed to the movement of thousands of American jobs to Mexico, where labor can be purchased cheaper than in America, and imports from Canada and Mexico have greatly increased while exports have decreased, despite promises of the opposite from NAFTA supporters at the time of signing. (Source: https://www.citizen.org/documents/NAFTA-at-20.pdf)

            In addition to my NAFTA research, I’ve learned that Hillary Clinton has literally flip-flopped on live television regarding nearly every major issue we face today, including gay marriage and her stance as a moderate. When I presented the video to prove it to my grandma, she countered with, “They use sound bites to make their point and don’t show the whole story.” If that’s the case, I’d like to know what the whole story truly is, because the video pretty clearly shows Clinton lying through her teeth about changing her stance on issues such as gay marriage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dY77j6uBHI.

            In addition to my Hillary research, I learned that Bill Clinton was, in fact, impeached in 1998 following a lawsuit against him by Paula Jones and the court case involving Monica Lewinsky. I learned that the word “impeached” does not, in fact, mean “removed from office,” but refers instead to the legal proceedings that played out in 1998 and led to Clinton’s acquittal of his charges, despite his perjury. My grandma likes to tout that Bill “was bringing down the national debt,” but if that’s the only good thing he did while he was in office (it’s not; the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell act was actually a good thing at the time), I wouldn’t say he’s a great example and it certainly doesn’t guarantee that his wife would continue the good work. (Source: http://www.eagleton.rutgers.edu/research/americanhistory/ap_clintonimpeach.php)

            Research is only the first step to independent thinking. Research without question only leads to information acquisition, not the objective weighing of said information to reach an informed, credible conclusion.

            I’m sorely disappointed in the quality of people involved with Bernie Sanders’ Dank Meme Stash on Facebook. They’ve proven to be rude—just as, if not ruder than Hillary supporters. All I want is to see the information for myself; one man argued that “the wheel doesn’t need to be reinvented,” but I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel. I’m the newly-awakened kid who has never seen a wheel before and wants proof that it’s round because if I don’t see it with my own eyes, it could really be square for all I know.

            I’m done taking information at face value.

Some Thoughts about Thinking

Thinking about thinking is hard and most people don’t do it. The Puppeteer runs amok and it seems that the majority of people, at least in the United States, are under Its power.

            The Puppeteer is all of the forces in the world which would have you believe whatever piece of information is presented to you, without question. For example, when the preacher tells you that God is omnipotent and loving because the Bible says so, that preacher is an agent of the Puppeteer and you’re a victim of that power if you don’t question what he says. How is God omnipotent? What evidence do we have that God exists, aside from an ancient text that has been poorly translated thousands of times? How many times has the Bible been translated? How many inaccuracies exist due to translators’ desires to convey cultural context over literal meaning?

            These questions are penetrating, critical questions that help us to think critically about religion and what the preacher says. These types of questions are what I am now exploring in my class through the University of Phoenix and I feel fortunate that I now have the resources before me to take control of my own mind in a way that I hadn’t previously considered needing doing.

            The Puppeteer is evident in Its work; we see It at work with the 2016 election, as we are flooded with information from the different sides of the race. We see Hillary blasted all over the television, Bernie blasted all over the Internet, and Trump slandered all over both. What information should we believe and what information should we toss as useless? The answers lie in the research.

            Yesterday, I did some research on Hillary Clinton. I discovered that she has a history of defending women’s rights and speaking against the big banks, Wall Street, and Big Pharma. I also learned that she stands by her decision in the 1975 rape case that is often cited as a means of “exposing” her as a “villain”. The truth is, she stands by the fact that she is responsible for the lightness of the sentence because she fulfilled her obligation as a defense attorney. Initially, she requested that she not be appointed to the rapist; when her request was ignored and she was thus obligated to defend the young man, she fulfilled that obligation, regardless of how it made her feel or what the result was in the end. She was a defense attorney and she did what all defense attorneys strive to do; she defended the man against his charges.

            Some things I already knew about Hillary are that she did nothing wrong as Secretary of State during the Benghazi incident and she has not been found responsible for any loss of confidential information through her emails. In fact, all speculation against her regarding Benghazi and her emails have been led by Republicans and those supporting the Republican Party, such as Citizens United. Smear campaigns against Hillary should not be any more readily believed than smear campaigns against Bernie; however, so many Bernie supporters are willing to believe that Hillary did something wrong with Benghazi and she lost confidential information in her email scandal. These are the same Bernie supporters who proudly tout that they’ve done all their own research and have all the facts to make their decisions.

            Why are so many intelligent people so willing to sit back and just absorb whatever information best suits them? Why are they so disinclined to dig a little deeper in their research and find the real truth for themselves? It’s been touted by Bernie supporters that they’ve all done their own research, but the more I think critically about the things Berners share, the more I realize they’re sharing false information almost as much as the truth.

            When did our society come to so value laziness and lack of critical thought?

New Friends

My life has been marked by few friendships and many acquaintances, not all of them pleasant. Living with my mother for two years as a kid had a significant impact on my social life as I grew up and even as an adult. As an adult, I find that friends are harder to find only because I am not placed in a room with a group of people on a daily basis, as is the case as a child going through school. This will change soon enough as I go back on campus at Evergreen, but until then, every new friend I make is significant. I’ve made one, recently, and I have a new acquaintance who may well become a friend.

            I met Kita through my friend Kat and initially only found myself at Kita’s house when it had to do with Kat in one way or another. At last, though, I added Kita to Facebook and we started to hang out without Kat around. I even brought Persephone over to hang out with the kids, especially since there’s a little playground right in front of Kita’s back patio. The playground is great and I really enjoy taking Persephone over to play and hang out; it’s time that she can climb and have fun as well as socialize with some other children who are her age, older, and younger.

            Persephone’s new friends include 3-year-old Nessa, 6-year-old Aliy, and nearly-1-year-old Atalia. That doesn’t include the other children who go through the house; 6-year-old (I think) Caitlyn, a baby boy, and 2-year-old Mazaeah. It’s nice to get out sometimes and take her over to hang out, rather than keeping her in our apartment by herself and having her play with her toys forever.

            The first time I took Persephone to Kita’s house turned into an adventure. Kat was with us and I was uncomfortable letting Persephone outside to play with the other girls without supervision, so I went outside with her so she could play on the playground under my watch. Naturally, while I was out there, she thought it would be a good idea to take off around the side of the building, and I caught her and brought her back to the playground with ease. A little later, I thought Nessa, who speaks in clear, full sentences, could keep an eye on her and alert me if something happened. I was right in my thoughts, but I could not predict what would happen.

            “Her gone,” Nessa said in her sweet little voice. My immediate reaction was a less-than-graceful, “What?!” I had been sitting in the living room with my friends and Nessa stood in the doorway and repeated, “Her gone.”

            I ran back to the bedroom, threw my shoes on, and ran outside, immediately yelling for Persephone the moment I hit open air. Freaking out, I took off in the direction Percy had gone when she’d tried doing her own thing while I’d been watching; then I noticed that my friends were heading the other way around the building, under the direction of Nessa, who was quite the good little watcher and knew which way Persephone had gone. It was a good thing, too, because when I followed the herd and passed it, going around the building, I found Persephone trying to play with a boy who looked older than her, but was still a child. It was a relief to know that she hadn’t gone far; still, I immediately called for her with urgency and she came at last.

            We left shortly after that incident, but I didn’t think of it as an experience that should keep Persephone away; instead, I figured I would have to ensure she was monitored when necessary. With Persephone’s next visit, I asked Aliy and Caitlyn to watch her and it worked quite well. Our last visit saw all the children indoors the whole time, as it had been raining, and that worked well for me because I didn’t need to monitor Persephone’s actions while indoors. She really is a good child and she generally stuck around the other kids until it started to get late.

            I enjoy spending time with Kita because she’s nice, I like smoking with her, and her home is the kind of child-friendly that allows me to bring my own kid and let her play with the others in the house. We’re all moving in August and I’m moving pretty far away, but it’s nice to have someone to spend time with until the time comes to pack and move. I also think we’ll still spend time together even after we move.

An Adventure in Puppy Fostering

This week has had an eventful start. I’ve managed to spend a good amount of time with friends, particularly one who regularly takes care of about five children, two of whom are pretty close in age with Persephone. Her name is Kita and she recently acquired a 2-year-old, half-Labrador/half-Chihuahua puppy.

            She needs to have someone take Milo, the dog, until her boyfriend’s lease ends in August and they move into a house. I thought the person to watch Milo could be me; after all, I have another dog and she could use a canine companion, and my cat is chill enough that it shouldn’t be a huge problem. She’d also told me that Milo was good with other dogs and cats, as well as children, so I had high hopes.

            So, Tuesday night, I took Milo home with me. Before entering my apartment with him, I took him for a little walk and he peed. I didn’t go too far or insist on watching him poop, as it was the end of the day, I still had to walk Baby, and I assumed he had probably pooped earlier in the day. So, I took him inside long enough to drop off his supplies, then grabbed my dog and took both of them outside.

            The greeting process was highly energetic. Milo was all over Baby, sniffing, and Baby was overwhelmed. My poor dog is so timid that this little 2-year-old puppy was intimidating her despite being smaller than she is.

            A few problems arose right away. First, Milo started barking the moment he met Randy. I put him in Baby’s crate almost immediately, to try shutting him up. We put a blanket over the top so that he wouldn’t have any stimulation and he could calm the fuck down in his own space. That was my thought process, anyway. I had to let him out, though, because his barking got worse in the crate. So, I let him out of the crate and put Baby in it so that he wouldn’t be able to bother her.

            That didn’t work. He was restless and would wander back to my bedroom, where I’d hear Baby’s growl arise from his intrusion. I managed to keep him in the living room for the most part for a little while, but then it was time for me to go to bed. Milo seemed slightly improved; he’d been listening to me, at least a little. I left him in the living room and went to bed, letting Baby out of her crate so she could lie next to my side of the bed the way she likes.

            That didn’t work, either. Milo whined, barked, and scratched at my door persistently enough that sleep was out of the question the way I was trying it. Still, I tried until I couldn’t stand the noise anymore and I got up to check on him…

Problem the second, he pooped all over our floor in front of the front door. And I mean all over—it was scattered little-dog poop (mind you, Milo is not an ankle biter; he’s about knee-high to me and I’m 5’8”). Randy had just gotten home and I saw the poop in the front hallway. Randy cleaned it up while I shoved Milo back into Baby’s crate with a new resolve to keep him there all night regardless of how much noise he made.

            Finally, his barking became whining and his whines became fewer and farther between until he was quiet except when Randy walked by. Then, he would growl and maybe bark once to voice his discomfort. I managed to get to sleep and it was glorious. I thought that the morning would be better.

            I woke up and began my day as usual, leaving Milo in the crate. I didn’t want to let him out before I was ready to walk him because I didn’t want him to potty in the house. This turned out to be an all-too-valid fear, as the moment I let him out of the crate—before I had the minute to put his harness and leash on to go outdoors—he peed on Persephone’s toys.

            I caught him the second he started, grabbed his nape, smacked his hindquarters, and shoved him down by his nape so he’d be close enough for a nice strong whiff of his piss. I didn’t rub his nose in it. He yelped and, while I don’t think I hurt him, I did reconsider the course of action I was taking to ask myself if there wasn’t some other way of punishing him for his actions. Meanwhile, I took him and Baby outside while Randy cleaned up the mess.

            This was quite early in the morning; I don’t think it was even 09:00 yet. I walked around the entire apartment complex, thinking all the while that Milo has a great deal of energy and the regular shortness of walks I take with Baby would not be sufficient. I also wanted to make sure he got out as much pee and poop as he had in him, so I was quite pleased when he did poop outside—a decent amount, it seemed, though it could have been more. I learned that later…

            It’s one thing to have a dog who is noisy and needs correction. It’s another to have a dog who seems completely un-housebroken. I took a shower yesterday to take my friend Katherine to City Hall to get her passport. After my shower ended, somehow, both Randy and Persephone ended up in the bathroom with me. When we stepped out, there it was again—

            Poop. All over the front entry. Again.

            Jumbo Chihuahua shit.

            That’s the best way I can describe it. If you’ve seen dog poop, you’ve seen the different ways it comes out of dogs’ asses, and you know that little dog shit looks different than big dog shit. Well, Milo’s shit has the aesthetic of little dog shit, but is on a slightly bigger scale because of the Labrador in him.

            Milo had shit all over my front entryway again.

            I had been considering, while in the shower, giving it a couple of days with Milo to see how things would go. With the second scattering of dog shit on my floor—and the second bout of relief at my refusal to live in a carpeted apartment paying off with the ease of cleaning up animal waste—I realized that watching Milo would be overwhelming, despite my best hopes.

            He had seemed better behaved after the initial pee incident on Persephone’s toys. I thought the pee was just an accident from being kenneled all night and not going potty. When I saw the poop on the floor after my shower, though, I knew that watching him would be too much. I don’t have a yard; there’s no way I could have put him outside. If he stayed, I would have had to monitor him practically every waking moment, watching and waiting on edge to take him outside to avoid indoor pottying.

            I have a lot on my plate. Those who regularly read my blog are aware of this; you’ve read about some of the struggles I face with raising my daughter and getting recognized for my artwork to make money with it. The last thing I need at this stage in my life—in an apartment with no yard—is an animal shitting all over my house all the time.

            So, much to my chagrin but to Kita’s understanding, I took Milo back and explained the situation. Randy was quite angry with the puppy and probably especially angry that he was the one cleaning up the shit and piss. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with the puppy, but still I’m grateful for his actions because I was busy after my shower with keeping Persephone in my room with me, away from the dog shit.

            It was difficult having a puppy in my home, but having Milo for the night and morning made me realize how wonderful Baby is and how blessed I am with the animals I have.

On the Road to Health

Things have been changing for me as time progresses. I’ve been calm and generally happy, lately, which I would gladly attribute to my smoking marijuana. More than that, however, I’m happy because smoking usually gives me the munchies, but lately that hasn’t been the case. I’ve overeaten a lot lately regardless, but my realization that I’m no longer feeling the munchies feels significantly important to me, like the realization itself was the first step to making the health changes I need to.

            This morning, I woke up shortly after my alarm, rather than simply shutting it off and going back to sleep to await when I need to react and get up. I’m tired of living my life in a reactionary way; my goal is to live my life in a proactive and productive way, so it gave me a measure of pride to rise before 07:30. I cooked breakfast this morning; last night, I changed the bed sheets and folded a load of laundry. These are some recent things I consider successes in my life.

            My health is not at its peak. I’m sure I’ve gained weight again; I can feel it and I can see it in the mirror. The fat is in my face and I can’t un-see it when I take a selfie or look closely at myself in the mirror. Keeping the munchies at bay while smoking weed has been my dream since I started smoking weed; the fucking munchies ruin me. I binge-eat and hold it down rather than puking like I really feel like doing. It’s unhealthy and it needs to change and that’s a fact that has been solidified in my mind since taking my health and wellness class.

            It might help me to publicize my physical health journey. I feel as though I now have the ability to control what and how much I eat, more than ever before; part of that is my starting to cook. I cooked breakfast this morning; I can start cooking breakfast every day and gradually include lunch and/or dinner. This would give Randy a break from cooking and we wouldn’t go out as often, since the cooking burden would be shared.

            This blog would serve as a decent way to log my journey and I can begin now by reporting that I ate a handful of scrambled eggs with broccoli for breakfast and Wendy’s for lunch. I’m full now but I didn’t feel too stuffed after my fast food meal; moreover, we walked over to the thrift shop and wandered around it for a while to burn off some of the calories right away. I’m exhausted now because meandering around stores takes more energy than I understand; I did eat some dumplings with my friend Katherine, as well, as we smoked a blunt together after I took her to City Hall.

            I finished last week’s homework all on time, as well. One of my assignments was to create a blog entry about an infectious disease. I chose bacterial vaginosis and I’ve been considering posting it to my actual blog, as it is good information to spread but I’m not sure it’s the most relevant thing in the world. Not as relevant as, say, climate change, that’s for sure. My first assignment was a PowerPoint presentation on Alzheimer’s Disease. That’s another topic I considered blogging about, as I am at an elevated risk for the disease due to my great-grandma having dementia.

            My healing journey is progressing steadily, I think. I’m still taking Ziprasidone at night, which may also be helping my mood. I’m excited about the new development with my marijuana habit; not having the munchies makes it really easy to just drink water or some other beverage, instead of stuffing my face continuously.

Keeping On

Maintenance is the hardest thing in the world and its very idea often scares away any motivation that might come my way to get something significant accomplished. Every day is a struggle against myself.

            Yesterday and today, I did some laundry. Within the past few days, I cleaned the bathroom and the living room and hallway floor. Is there still more to do around the house? Yes. Is it still pretty intimidating? Yes. Do I still feel proud of what I have done? Yes.

            I managed to get through a load of laundry today. I folded and put away a whole load and while I can do more in a day, it is enough for me that today, I got that one load done. I also saw my psychiatrist and spoke with her about my medication, today.

            Many small goals exist in my mind, waiting to be made and achieved. Perhaps tomorrow, I will do two loads of laundry. Maybe I’ll sweep and scoop out the kitty litter. Maybe I’ll do all of those things. My next goal to meet, however, is walking the two miles to and from the 7-Eleven down the road from me.

            I can make all the progress I want. I can feel as proud as I want to about the small things I accomplish, but it remains true that I can’t stand going out by myself. As I pull myself together within my home and accomplish household chores as well as online schoolwork, I realize it may be a while before I am at a point in my health where I can go for a walk every single day with my dog and daughter.

            Maybe I’ll notice a great increase in my health during the summer, only for the opposite to be true in the winter. I’m observing these things because I want to be sure that I’m following the best path for my health. That begins with knowing what I’m battling.

#Winning

My time this week has been spent primarily working on my illustrations. I also did a photoshoot with a friend of mine, so in addition to completing three drawings very recently and inking a new one on top of it, I have photographs to go over, edit, and upload for all to see. I look forward to the process, though it will be time-consuming and I’m not sure how I’ll get ahold of Photoshop in order to do it. I’m proud of the work I’ve accomplished thus far.

            In addition to pressing forward with my artistic endeavors, I feel pride in my ability to research things online and find information on various topics. On Facebook, I provided four reputable sources to back up my claims that families on public assistance are not what have destroyed our economy, but that instead it was the bailing out of the big banks in America that has tanked the economy and caused massive problems. I had a friend who was convinced that the people who abuse drugs while receiving “welfare” are proof that “most people” are lazy, unmotivated, static burdens on society.

            I allowed the topic to be dropped when my friend linked me to a source that provided an argument for drug testing welfare recipients. The same site had the opposing argument as well and I saw it as a moot point; yes, I think people should be tested for drugs for public assistance the same way they are tested if they join the military or get a real job. However, there is existing evidence that proves that drug testing those on public assistance costs much more money than it would save—despite the claims by those who are like my friend that it would somehow save money for state governments. My friend is convinced that the only reason it cost more than it saved was because the Supreme Court ruled it unconstitutional to administer drug tests without reasonable suspicion.

            As far as I’m concerned, I won the debate due to my abundance of source material. I had the stronger argument, better referenced. But my thirst for knowledge was not quenched simply by proving that the big banks are the problem in America. After all, with Bernie Sanders’ campaign for President of the United States, the big-bank bailout is pretty well common knowledge and the only thing I learned was that the bailouts are still ongoing and costing trillions, rather than billions, of dollars. (http://www.forbes.com/sites/mikecollins/2015/07/14/the-big-bank-bailout/#26e9b2a83723)

            Thirsty still for more chances to assert my intellectual superiority over those around me, I went into my online classroom with University of Phoenix and took a look at the week’s discussion questions. Then, like the pretentious asshole I am, I found five different sources and wrote over 400 words, almost in essay format, on the topic at hand. Of course, looking back on it now, it’s difficult to remember, because that was on Monday and each week starts new on Tuesday.

            Overall, I would say that I feel like it’s a good time now for me to use these abilities for the greater good. I can do so by using my blog to my advantage and simply creating a blog entry for an issue I find in America or the world. My blog can be my personal collection of essays.

            Look out, world, here I come.

Successes Week 1

This week has had many small successes. Looking back, I find it is better to look at the things I have done, rather than the things I have not done.

            Too often, I have found myself reminiscing on my day or my week, thinking, I should have done more. Monday was a turning point for me, this week, and I am proud to be able to say, today, on Saturday, that things have gone well, overall.

            This week, I saw my psychiatrist and my therapist, both. I have follow-up appointments with both of them. I returned everything I needed to, to Securitas. These things stand alone as successes for me, because I accomplished them.

            I colored one of my drawings and scanned it, but it came out as a .PDF. Still, the picture is complete and I can now use a library scanner to get a .JPG image to upload to Patreon. It will be my first new drawing posted to Patreon and it stands as the start of my work life as an artist.

            Furthermore, I fed my daughter this week—perhaps not for every meal, but I did contribute—and I contributed to cleaning the house. I also went grocery shopping and organized the refrigerator.

            So, what are my next steps, you might ask? I’ll tell you…

            My first priority is to make sure my phone stops dying in the night, so I can get up before everyone else does in the morning. My next step is to begin an exercise regimen that I complete on a daily basis. I need to do this in the morning before people wake up because when Randy gets a job, it’ll be on me to take care of our daughter without help. Having a morning exercise regimen will begin my day with purpose and success, which lends motivation and leads to movement, rather than sitting around, for me.

            My next priority is to create and foster an environment within my home that will best suit my daughter, who is a young child and deserves to feel respected, independent, and confident in herself. This will be a much more difficult task and that is why it is not my absolute first priority. After all, I must begin my day with purpose and momentum in order to achieve the movement needed to work with my child in my home.

            Already, Persephone shows interest in cleaning. She uses baby wipes to wipe down surfaces; she grabs the broom and tries to sweep with it. She wants a clean and tidy environment that she can manipulate to learn and develop. My resolve is to provide that for her, no matter how difficult it is or how long it takes to achieve the ideal environment.

            I have the whole summer to work with my child and my home while Randy finds a job. I have the whole summer to get everything together, including my transcripts for The Evergreen State College. Until September, I have the opportunity to greatly improve my health and wellness and develop a system within my home wherein my daughter can freely grow, learn, and develop.

            There is no way I can know at this time whether we will be able to purchase a home or need to rent a house. Either way, I know where we are going and I know what we seek in a living place. There is no way I can know at this time when Persephone will go back to a childcare facility, but knowing that Evergreen has a daycare on-campus sets me at ease because I know I don’t need to spend time during the day searching for just the right place for her to go.

            I’m going back to school. I thought about looking for a job, today, because although I’ve done well this week to remain positive, the voices of mania and anxiety speak to me and tell me that I need to do something that is immediately reasonable and of a regular income. They tell me that Randy will never find a job and I’m the only one who can do what it takes to provide us with the income required to purchase a home in August. This has happened to me so many times I cannot count them, but the difference this time is that I’m aware they’re false thoughts.

            Randy is perfectly capable of finding a job between now and August. However, if he doesn’t, I now recognize that it isn’t the end of the world. If he stays at home, it frees me up this summer to spend a good amount of time at the library, to and from which I can walk. At the library, I can work on my art and my writing to post to Patreon. I can scan my pictures the moment I finish working on them and I can sit in a quiet place and write my heart out until a story emerges.

            Owning a home has been the “end goal” for a while, but it’s time to change that because owning a home is not the end-all, be-all of life and it will not inherently change the way we live. It is much more reasonable for me to set smaller, shorter-term goals and work towards owning a home when it is absolutely possible, even if that means next year or the year after.

            I’ve felt like shit because my peers are buying homes and I feel like I’m behind them. I fail to see, in those moments, my peers who are just like me or worse off. I fail to truly look around myself and notice that I am in a stable place, if not the most ideal, and I have time to get to where I want to be. My greatest revelation on Monday was realizing that I have time.

            So, I’m going to use it.

Revelations and Foundation

I got up on time today.

            I’ve set my alarm so many times and simply turned it off and continued sleeping. Not today. Today is the beginning of a new way of life, a new schedule that I can stick to because my foundation lies on a solid schedule. Having a schedule and keeping certain things like breakfast, lunch, and dinner regular is where my life can truly begin.

            My life has just begun. Ever since I had my daughter, I’ve been living as if my life is over, but it isn’t. I’ve just separated from the military, though it now goes on two years since the separation, and I’ve just had a beautiful little girl who is growing into a wonderful child. I’ve struggled intensely with depression, but the truth is that my life has just begun. Now, I get to determine what happens.

            I get to be Mommy. This was a revelation for me because I thought about my daughter as if she were me; what would I want if I were two years old? And I realized—I can provide my daughter with everything I wanted and needed when I was her age. I can give her the life I never had—hell, she already has it. She already has both parents raising her with love and kindness as much as possible. That’s something I never had.

            I have a foundation. I’ve been feeling like I’m floundering endlessly in an abyss, trying to find footing and build a life for myself without a foundation. I realized, yesterday, that my foundation exists. It’s time for me to build upon it. My foundation is a regular schedule and a clean house and as long as I have a schedule, I can build upon it. My schedule now includes a morning workout, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every single day. Twice a week, it includes laundry, and that is non-negotiable unless something comes up—but the great thing is that laundry is something I can put into any other day of the week. Just because I have it for Saturdays and Sundays doesn’t mean I can’t do it on a Wednesday.

            Now that I’ve created a schedule, I can work around and with it. I’ve scheduled breakfast to be at 07:30 every morning, but it is almost that time right now and I haven’t started because my daughter is still sleeping. My plan is to finish this blog entry and make breakfast; I expect she’ll wake while I’m cooking and I can get her up then. But having a schedule is my foundation and it is what helps me get out of bed in the morning and start my day with purpose, as I did this morning by getting out of bed and doing schoolwork.

            Life is measured by small achievements and big achievements. Both are equally important. I’ve had a few big achievements in my life and one of them was giving birth to my daughter. In fact, giving birth to my daughter was such a large achievement that now I need to focus on the little ones—like getting out of bed with purpose every morning and feeding my child when she’s hungry.

            I need to focus on myself, but in so doing, I can also focus on my daughter, for she is an extension of myself.

Asshole

You’re an asshole.

            You try to save face and say that you’re just an “ass,” and that it isn’t a bad thing because you’re not a bad guy, but you’re a liar. You are a fucking liar and you don’t even know it. You think you’re doing all right because you defeated addiction and continue to defeat it every day. Good for you! You got clean! That’s not the end of the journey and I know you know it, but here you are, acting like a fucking child, avoiding your daughter.

            You post things to social media that are transphobic, homophobic, and otherwise rude and insensitive. You don’t think that your daughter actually cares about these issues and if it ever did cross your mind that she might, you don’t care. You think, “She can get over it,” or, “It’s not a big deal, it’s not serious.” But it is serious. It is fucking serious because I have a friend to this day who is shamed, hated, and abused just for being who she is, because she has a man’s body.

            It’s a big fucking deal because hate crimes still happen. You think that whatever you post is your business. It’s your Facebook, right? Sure. It’s yours. You can post whatever you want and you can think it’s funny, but maybe it should cross your mind that what you put into the world actually affects other people. Those who see your Facebook posts react to it in one way or another.

            Your “mind your own business” attitude is loveless. I don’t know who you are anymore. I thought you were my dad. I thought you were someone who had turned over a new page in his life and would actually be there for his family, but you’re proving once again that you’re not there for me.

            You never really were.

It Is Time...

The Evergreen State College is the only school I’ve read about and attended that can help me achieve my dreams. It is true that I have true aspirations and I have given them up for other endeavors, including my attempt at becoming a security officer through Securitas.

            Had I been able to stay awake without trouble, I could easily have done the job as transit security. I am a capable woman. I am strong and powerful.

            I choose to take this experience as a lesson. It is one that has taught me that it is time for me to make myself a priority. I am an artist. I enjoy drawing, painting, and writing. I want to make my life about drawing, painting, and writing, and there are things I can do to make money that will not cause me suffocating anxiety.

            The American Heart Association can certify me as a First Aid/CPR/AED trainer and I can make good money training people. I can pay to get a teaching certificate and work as a substitute teacher, though it will behoove me to complete my Bachelor’s Degree. A degree, I can get from The Evergreen State College and I can teach classes related to those that I am taking in school. I am a good teacher; many people have recognized this about me.

            I have a world of potential being wasted by my mental illness, but I cannot lie down and simply stop living—no matter how much my depression holds me down and I want to give up.

            This blog entry may sound determined. It may sound uplifting for me. But, the reality is that just before writing this, I wanted to die. I simply wanted to stop living and give up, fade away into the dust. What saved me was a drink Randy bought for me.

            The drink is designed to reduce stress and I’m surprised—happily so—to say that it works. I will definitely be needing more of them. Or, perhaps I need to get back into taking my St John’s Wort. In reality, if I hadn’t had this drink, I would probably still be in bed, where I spent most of my day today sleeping out of depression.

            This drink has managed to assuage the monster that is depression just enough for me to realize that it is up to me to get up in the morning and fight. Fight for a clean home despite the depression’s crushing weight that usually keeps me from lifting a finger to better my situation. Fight for a healthier, toner body, despite depression’s suffocating ability to keep me in a chair for hours upon hours at a time. Fight for my dreams, which I can follow best at the Evergreen State College. Fight to create—create and post to Patreon works of illustration, writing, and even photography.

            I’ve said it many times: It’s time for me to get up and take my life into my own hands. It’s time for me to stop seeking structure from an outside source. It’s as Lucifer himself said to me: I create my own path in this world and there is no one who can hold my hand for it, for it is my own. Healing is not linear, but I am on a healing path and that is what is most important.

I'm Not a Security Officer

I couldn’t breathe. No matter how much air I sucked in, my lungs wouldn’t expand far enough to feel satisfied.

            This was the third time this had happened and this time, I hadn’t even taken a NoDoz yet, nor a single sip of an energy drink. Why couldn’t I get enough air? Why couldn’t I breathe?

            It turns out, it was anxiety. Anxiety like I’ve never had before in my life suddenly hit me—first during the active shooter training, then during my first 12-hour shift, and now again on my second day in the field, the moment I arrived.

            To top it off, I felt as if I would pass out if I closed my eyes, even if I was standing up. The idea terrified me beyond belief; getting fired was the last thing I wanted to do! If I fell asleep, I would be fired. And I couldn’t breathe.

            I remembered the day in training when this had first happened and my mind replayed Ryan and Nate telling me to let them know if this problem persisted. The problem was persisting.

            I couldn’t work like this. I told my field training officer what was going on and let him know that I believed I needed to go to the VA. Tonight. He talked to the supervisor and had me do so as well; I was given leave to go to the VA and get evaluated to figure out what was wrong.

            That’s exactly what I did.

            They surprised me by knowing I would be there before I even arrived. I don’t know who called it in, but the VA was expecting me in the emergency department. I was called back soon enough and went directly from the vitals check to an exam room, rather than waiting again in the lobby as I had done the only other time I’d been there.

            I spoke with a social worker. While speaking to her, I realized that transit security really isn’t what I’m meant to do. I can’t work with this anxiety and it doesn’t help that I’m supposed to work nights for 12 hours at a time more often than not. She explained how unhealthy such a shift is and it made me think of the suffocating anxiety I had felt, the way my lungs couldn’t take in enough air.

            What I really want to do is art. Even if all I do for a career is teach art after college, I want to do art. I want to write my stories and illustrate them, too, and possibly make money on Patreon or through physical book sales. I want to paint. I want to dabble in photography. And I can do it all if I go back to the Evergreen State College.

            So, that’s what I’m going to do.

My First 12-Hour Shift

I survived my first ever 12-hour shift, today. It started at 17:00 Sunday evening and ended at 05:00 Monday morning; this will be my permanent shift, regardless of which nights I work.

            Having never worked a 12-hour shift before, I could not have known how difficult the first 6 hours could or would be. I couldn’t have known that, until 23:00, I would be desperately fighting sleep and popping NoDoz—given quite generously to me by my field training officer—like they’re going out of style. NoDoz, by the way, does not increase one’s feeling of wakefulness, but instead keeps one from actually dozing off. It’s quite effective and, when coupled with an energy drink, can cause difficulty breathing, as I discovered by sipping some Nos energy drink (also provided to me by my field training officer) after having taken four NoDoz pills.

            Something about watching the day end is exhausting. Even walking around on a patrol of the parking garage seemed tedious and tiresome, as if I could somehow fall asleep while walking. Prior to 23:00, the halfway point of my shift, I felt worries pop into my head and create little nests in my brain.

            What if I can’t stay awake and I’m caught sleeping on the job and I get fired? This was my principal worry. My response was to tell myself that I would work my way through training and see how I felt about the job; if I felt that staying awake would be a very serious problem, I would work my way up whatever chain of command I have and communicate my difficulties so as to avoid being fired and, in the worst case scenario, resign. This was, of course, a premature thought process, though not irrational or unreasonable, as I have had difficulty staying awake before and even have dozed off during class.

            What if I can’t do walking patrols for 10 of the 12 hours I’m on shift and I get in trouble for sitting down too much? It occurred to me while in the first half of my shift that plantar fasciitis is on my VA disability claim and constant patrolling could cause back and foot pain for me. I worried about what I would do if it became a serious problem and the solution was simpler than my mind wanted me to believe. Simply put, there are two ways I could approach my possible physical limitations: I could simply explain my position and provide my disability compensation letter if required; or, I could communicate up my chain of command and, in the worst case scenario, either transfer to another account within my company or resign due to inability to properly perform my job duties.

            Indeed, I worried quite a bit in those first 6 hours over whether or not I would need to resign from my job, though I’ve so recently acquired it and am still only in training. It doesn’t help that I only have two nights in my two weeks of field training; the rest are day shifts, though my permanent schedule will be nights after I’ve finished.

            I wondered, too, what I could or would do for work if I were to resign from my current position as a security officer. Chief among my options was to speak to Victor at WorkSource again and go from there to find a better fit for my skills. Other options were to simply quit trying to have a regular job and get really into painting and drawing, or attempt to resume my tattoo apprenticeship (internship) with Lu.

            After 23:00, it began to dawn on me that I could make it through 12 hours of work without as much trouble as I worried about in the first half. I felt more alert and capable of the work I was doing. It occurred to me that the trick is to get through the first half; the second half might as well take care of itself.

            By 23:00, I had taken my first 15-minute break and was on my way to my first 30-minute “lunch” break. Randy had packed me homemade pizza and tacos for my two lunch breaks and while I ate the pizza prior to my first lunch break, the tacos were waiting to be devoured during that first 30 minutes of “lunch” time.

            Time goes by much more easily for me when I don’t feel like I’m fighting sleep. The transit center was lit well enough that I could read my book without turning on the office lights; the CCTV cameras provided minor entertainment; patrolling the parking garage proved to be a perfectly useful activity for staying awake and also for getting more oxygen.

            There were times when I felt that I had trouble breathing, but I realized that this trouble came from the high amount of caffeine I’d ingested, more than a respiratory issue within my body. What I learned from this revelation was that it is perfectly acceptable to take four NoDoz pills to maintain alertness while on shift, as well as perfectly acceptable to drink energy drinks in order to feel more awake; what was not acceptable was mixing the two as I had done. That was a mistake and unless I wanted to risk giving myself a heart attack, I would be better off choosing one or the other, rather than both, in the future.

            Now that my shift is over and I’m home, relaxing and winding down to go to bed, I realize that this is something I can do. I am capable of making it through 12 hours of work without falling asleep. I am capable of patrolling as necessary and if I have trouble as I start out, I can communicate my difficulty clearly and with evidence to support me.

            There are things I enjoy about my job and it is important for me to remember them. I enjoy wearing a uniform. It relieves me of the responsibility of choosing what to wear to work. I enjoy doing a job that requires vigilance; it is a test of my skills and abilities and this night, I proved that I am capable of maintaining it as needed. I imagine that I can only improve from this point on, as I am able to recognize my potential weaknesses and act accordingly.

            12 hours is a long time no matter how you look at it, but it’s only the first 6 hours that are truly challenging to me. As long as I can continue to power through them as I managed to do this night, I will be fine. It may be difficult, especially when I no longer have a second person to keep me company and converse, but it will not be impossible. There are plenty of things to do, including patrolling.

            I am a strong, powerful woman and I am capable of performing the duties of this job.

Loneliness

All I want is a community. I don’t know why it’s so much to ask, but it seems that it’s actually asking for the whole world just to wish that I had a community of friends around me.

            Don’t get me wrong, I have friends. They’re just not nearby. They’re anywhere from a three-minute drive to a day’s plane ride, away. They’re introverts. They’re busy. They don’t have time to make for me in the way that I can make time for them. Things always come up…until they want a favor.

            There is a lot I would do for any one of my friends if they needed my help. I’m always there for my friends and I feel like they know it, but they don’t extend the same back towards me. At least, not the ones who are close enough to actually see me in person and spend time if they ever had it.

            If you need a ride to the airport, I’m there. If you need ginger ale to settle your stomach because you’re too sick to get it yourself, I’m there. If you need a ride to work, I’m there. If I can be there, I am, and I don’t ask for anything in return but the same courtesies in friendship.

            So, why is it so hard to find people who share my values?

            I want to build a community of houses—decently sized houses with yards, maybe some land—where I can live with those friends who do actively make time for me. If I could, I would move next to me all my friends who actually take the time to send me a message asking how my day went; I’d move in those friends who reply to me when I send a message and actually take the effort to keep a conversation going for any length of time; I’d move in those friends who do for me as I do for them and those who invite me out when something comes up, or come out with me when I invite them and they’re available.

            No, I don’t believe that friendship requires constant contact. But that doesn’t mean I want my friends to burrow into their introverted holes and never come out to play. My schedule is changing but I’m requesting friends to come out on a weekend night, which is typically when everyone has time off anyway.

            It doesn’t help that I have a child. The moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew I was going to lose at least a couple of friends. I get it. They’re child-free. They don’t like spawn and it’s nothing personal against me, it’s against all parents and their offspring. Knowing doesn’t change my feelings.

            Knowing that the child-free people avoid me based on principle and not on my own actions doesn’t prevent me from feeling shunned—maybe even more shunned than I’ve felt my entire life, and I’ve literally always felt shunned.

            Knowing that there are people I call friends who avoid me because of my child makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong in becoming a mother. It makes me feel like children are terrible and my child is the fucking devil just because she exists; because she’s the reason people don’t want to see me.

            How am I supposed to find joy in my child when she is the cause of so much misery in my life? I can’t take my daughter to karaoke. I can’t watch anime with my daughter, or hold philosophical conversations with her, or share a joint with her. These are all things that can happen when she’s older, but she’s a toddler. I need other toddlers for her to spend time with and I need other mothers to be my friend and take time for me the way I take time for my friends.

            Sure, I can take my child swimming. I can take her to the zoo, or the wildlife reserve, or the children’s museum, or the park. Those are all wonderful daytime activities, but now I’m going to be working nights.

            It seems my new shift will make me lonelier than ever unless my nights off correspond with my friend who also works nights. Let’s hope I get lucky again the way I got lucky to work so close to home. Otherwise, I’ll live a very lonely life.