Cocoa Hooves

From now on, I am going to try to empty my feelings at least once a week. I really enjoy being able to look back at old posts and see how far I’ve come, and I want to do it more often.

This past week was very good to me. I finally actually got my septum pierced on Tuesday, we finished a good show on Thursday, we’ll be covering a gay pride festival tomorrow. I said my goodbyes to my favorite person, and I feel very at peace. I got a lot off of my chest, and I really am okay.

I need to get back on track with my sugars. I’m scared I’m slipping back into a burnout, but I don’t know how to pull myself out of it. I’ve been having a lot of complications with my insurance and trying to get a new sensor, and that’s really put a damper on my want to take care of myself.

We’re in full-on competition mode now, which makes me both anxious and excited. I am preparing myself to leave everything I have on the table, but the stakes are high and I don’t want to pull an Icarus and fly too close to the sun. Planning the trip is even more stressful than I anticipated (which says a lot), but it also makes me feel incredibly productive and empowered.

I’ve been reading more lately which makes me really, really happy. I can’t believe I forgot the joy and tranquility that books provide.

I have two more college interviews coming up, but after my first one, I’m not that scared anymore.

I graduate in five months. I know I should be excited, and I am, but more than anything I’m scared. I’ve dreamt of graduating and going to college since I was 11, but now that it’s coming so quickly, I don’t know if I’m ready. Then again, will I ever really be ready? I want to be on my own, a free human being with an independent will, but there is SO much I have to worry about that I don’t know I’ll be able to handle it all. Only time will tell.

I’m happy in a way I haven’t been for a while. It’s a calm, quiet happy now. I’m going to make sure it lasts.

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Down by the River

Have you ever felt like you were drowning, but you manage to kick your legs and keep your head above water, but only just barely so? Your legs are starting to fatigue and it’s taking so much work that you barely think it’s worth it but you keep kicking anyway.

That’s as close to accurate as I can get to describing how I feel right now. It’s a down day, really really down, and I’m trying so hard to keep my head up and remind myself of everything I have going for me, but it’s so hard. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I can’t reinvent myself in a week, but it feels barely worth it at this point. I feel so inherently alone.

Breezeblocks

Since yesterday I have been in a very intense and terrible slump and I don’t know how to get out of it. I am in a state of constant panic now where I’m always shaking and the desperation is really starting to win over. I don’t want to harm myself, I know better than that and I made great progress at not needing to, but I am starting to feel like I’ve run out of options.I have no distractions. I feel wholly alone. It would make no difference on anyone’s life if I were here or not. People can get by just fine without me. I am nothing but a nuisance, here to wreck pain on those I love. I feel so small.

It feels like there’s no point anymore. I check my sugar (mostly) when I should, I eat 2-3 meals a day, try to get some exercise in every week, but for what? I’m not actively working towards anything or trying to change for anyone, and I feel like I’ve lost my life’s purpose. I have no purpose.

I just want the pain to end.

A Time To Be So Small

The past two weeks have been the epitome of hyper coasters.

Crush-boy became boyfriend on Monday, and I can strongly state that this was one of the best weeks I have had in quite a while, especially in terms of my anxiety and depression. I feel like I’ve known him for years when in reality I’ve known him for only a handful of weeks.

Yesterday we went on a date to Miami’s Art District, entered a couple of galleries and walked around the Wynwood Walls with his camera in hand, him snapping candids of me against the pieces of artwork every opportunity he had. It was the most incredible date I have ever been taken on.

Getting home that night, however, was a completely different story. We got home much later than expected because we ended up going into a later movie than planned with the rest of our friends, due to Annabelle being rated-R and only one of us being 17 years old. To say that my parents were furious and ballistic is an understatement. I’ll spare the details, telling only that I am basically under lockdown. I had the sort of anxiety attack last night where people are taken to the hospital for, but as always, I had to stick it out alone.

I’m not entirely sure why but words have been failing me lately. I have been having a decidedly more and more difficult time formulating words in an order that accurately conveys my feelings, likewise with drawing. Nothing seems to be coming out right, and I don’t know how to fix it.

When I Come Undone

My first week of school is officially over. I never thought so much stress, anxiety, and happiness could all be crammed into one week. 

My film class’s first show aired today! After multiple set backs and more moments than I would like to admit where we thought we weren’t going to have a show this week, we pulled through. A few of us, myself included, experienced multiple breakdowns along the way, but we got it done and the breakdowns were so worth the final product. I’m hoping that from this week, my group and I have learned a bit more and understand better what it takes to get the show done, and the coming weeks will be easier and not as unbearably stressful. I’m very proud of our work though, so incredibly proud. 

As I was talking to Ryan, my “third pillar”, he made me realize something very true. I met and have been speaking to Ryan since the summer before eighth grade, so for slightly more than two years now. I directed him towards our show, and upon watching it he was blown away partly from “how good it is” (his words not mine, even though it really it amazing) but also from the growth he’s seen in me that was entirely portrayed in the show. He told me that he knows I would never have been able to do something like this, anchor a show in front of my entire school, with a population of about 3,600, this time last year. I would have been wrecked by anxiety so much worse than I was feeling this week, to the point that it would have kept me from doing the show. 

I’m getting better. I am slowly but surely getting better, and I’m doing so on my own terms and by myself. I, of course, have helpers along the way, but for the most part, it’s all me. I was the one who finally decided I was sick of being sad all of the time and I was tired of not doing any of the things I love to do because I was too scared to do them, I was too scared of people’s opinions and criticisms. Not to say I’m not anymore, I was shaking all of third period waiting for the show to air at the last ten minutes, but it’s infinitely times more bearable now. I’m still scared, but no where near the same as before. As much as I would still like to see a psychologist, I don’t need one to get better. My willpower to get better is enough.

My diabetes is getting better as well, slowly but surely. Expect a long post about this topic on Monday, my 14th diaversary. I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that soon, I will have had this disease for 14 of my 15 short years alive. It’s such a huge part of me, but I’m learning that it is not all of me. I am so much more than my disease, and I am capable of so much more than getting stuck thinking about it.

I’m getting tougher. A year ago, I thought it wasn’t possible for me to be any more strong than I already was, and I was wrong. I have more willpower and incentive than anyone I know. I’m strong, stronger than anyone will ever give me credit for. I am enough for myself. 

I’m happy. I can’t believe it, but I’m happy. I want to cry.

Blank #9

I am about as excited as I have ever been to go to university. I am incredibly eager to be done with high school and *hopefully* go off to Stanford and begin my next phase of life, but I am also incredibly eager for what I want to major in. I love to learn, which is one of the reasons I love school so much. I have a thirst for knowledge that is never quenched. I would like to major in literature, hopefully to wind up becoming an editor for a publishing company, or even better, create my own publishing company.

As much as I love special-effects make-up, I don’t believe in myself or trust myself enough in order to make it my career. I only ever see myself failing and coming up short here and I don’t want to disappoint myself.

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I have yet to fall into a slump. Every now and then I catch myself falling, slowly becoming immersed in my head, but I am able to stop and distract myself. I do think, though, that I need to interact with people more. I’m scared I’ll get too caught up in living through my books that I’ll forget how to live in the real world.

I desperately need to learn more songs to play on the piano.

In preparation for school, where I will begin my prison sentence in exactly 13 days, my nails are back to black, and it feels good. Bright colors really are not my thing.
I really hope I make more friends this year.

I made a new video for my YouTube channel after a week of thinking and contemplating if I regret making the channel, and I don’t. I need to vent to someone, and who better than faceless people who watch me talk to a camera. You can find the video below.

Derailed

I’m one-third of the way through my writing challenge. These posts have taken place of my usual complaints about my life, but no worries, I’m about to indulge you in the occurrences of my weekend.

My parents want to divorce. We went to JCPenny yesterday morning, my parents and I, to take advantage of all of the sales and door busters. My parents had an argument in the petite women’s section while we were looking for a blouse for my grandmother, which resulted in my father exiting the store and sitting in a ring of couches in the mall. I then had to listen to my mother rant about my father and his attitude and how rude he was for yelling at her in a store full of people. When we finished, we walked to where my father had sat down and then walked to the car. I had just plugged in my phone and started playing some Old Gray when my mother decided to give my father a piece of her mind in a very raised, not at all “indoor”, voice. This caused my father to get out of the car, tell my mother to go fuck herself, and walk back into the mall. At this point, my anxiety was starting to creep in: yelling is in the top 5 things that set off anxiety attacks for me. My mother thought she was going to continue complaining about my father as she drove out of the parking lot, but you have to realize,all these years I’ve never had a voice. I’ve had to endure my parents yelling without ever being able to fight back, firstly because if I had tried, I probably would have been hit, and secondly because I never found the confidence to. In the car with my mother, I found my confidence.

I told her my opinion on the situation, saying my parents were both acting like teenagers and they’d never solve their problems if they resorted to yelling at each other. This outburst from me surprised my mother enough to get her to turn around and look for my father. He wouldn’t answer her phone calls, so I eventually tried calling him. This conversation with him is one I will remember for a long time.

He told me to not bother looking for him and to stop asking where he was. He said he didn’t want us to find him. I told him he didn’t get to talk to me in that manner; I hadn’t done anything to upset him so he had no right to take his anger out on me. He ended up hanging up on me and I was doing my best to not begin crying in the mall food court. My mother and I walked back to the car and drove out of the parking lot. At a light in front of the mall, my mother spotted my father at a bus stop. I got out of the car and told him to get in, and once seated and driving away, I warned him that he would never be able to speak to me in that manner again. This got me an even larger dose of his fury. My mother tried talking some sense into him, but then he said the only way to fix the problem was for him to pack up his stuff and leave. This is when I couldn’t take it anymore; my anxiety was causing my hands and arms to give the illusion that I was having a seizure, and I began quietly crying in the backseat, trying to stifle the sounds in hopes that my parents wouldn’t notice.

My mother noticed and asked me to please stop crying, which is when I really blew up. I don’t want to be like my friends. I don’t want to have to jump from mom’s house one weekend to dad’s house the next, awkward birthday parties and holidays spent bouncing from place to place. To this, my father told me to stop with the drama because he knows that I don’t love him so why should it matter. I cannot begin to describe the rage that fills me just thinking about it. The hurt, and the disbelief. Of my parents, I am closer to my father, and for him to say something like that felt like he had taken a butter knife and tried cutting my head off with it. I told him he didn’t know me well enough to make that kind of assumption and I began crying even worse. 

To try and sum things up, my father wants a divorce, and I know my mother does as well. How much longer they will be together, I don’t know. I haven’t so much as glanced at my father since yesterday afternoon. I don’t really know what to think, I’m still in shock. If I think about it any more I’ll likely begin crying again and I’m trying to avoid anxiety attacks, so I’ve been painting all day to distract myself. I finished Orange is the New Black this morning as well, set a new record for myself for finishing a season of a television program in exactly one day.

I feel like everything I thought I knew is a lie and everything I’ve been working so hard to keep together is just completely falling apart.

Reflection

As an assignment for English in January when we were reading The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, my classmates and I were asked to reflect on 2013 as well as our resolutions and hopes for 2014. The following is (a slightly edited version of) my letter.

 

2013 was one of the most difficult years I’ve lived through in my young life. In February, I lost my grandfather. My grandparents, for the most part, raised me. Beginning when I was three months old, my parents would drop me off at my grandparent’s house at seven in the morning and would pick me up between eight or nine in the evening. My grandparents taught me everything from cooking basic meals to mowing the lawn, and they never judged me or put me down. My grandparents were the only people who I could say with absolute certainty loved me. My grandfather’s death was an extremely painful loss which to this day, over a year later, I am still mourning. 

Leaving middle school was a sigh of relief for me. To say I disliked middle school is an understatement. Between grueling work as part of being in advanced classes, extreme bullying, and feeling as though I was losing my mind every time I set foot into the building, I was extremely eager to leave. This feeling came with a grain of salt, however, as it also meant saying goodbye to my best friend, my third pillar you could say. We met in 6th grade and she became the sister I never had. To this day, she still knows me better than anyone. My grandfather took half my heart when he passed away and saying goodbye to her was like losing the other half. I was starting high school completely on my own.

The entire week before the first day of school, I would go to sleep wrecked in anxiety attacks. The first day of school, however, put my fears quickly to rest. I made friends easily and before I knew it, the first month had gone by with smooth sailing, and I met my pillars. I found solace in my pillars, a place where for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged. I finally found a home and it was with my two pillars.

Towards the end of 2013, my aunt was diagnosed with stage 2 cancer, which has been yet another severe blow to my family. I’ve now resolved to cut any and all attachments I have to my family to avoid being so catastrophically hurt again.

In 2014, I aim to stop letting my anxiety and depression take control over my life. I want to spend more time with my friends, and do more of the things that make me happy. I want to do things for myself first. I hope for 2014 to be much better than 2013, but I know this will not happen if I just sit by and watch as time passes. I need to make moves to make this year better myself.

 

So far, instead of cutting ties with my family, I’ve actually developed a better relationship with my brother. I only hope that I will not regret this in the future. My aunt’s cancer has spread and she has begun chemotherapy sessions. My anxiety, if anything, has only gotten worse as has my depression. My mother has received phone calls advising her to take me to a therapist.

I haven’t seen as much progress in these months as I would have liked to have seen, but there are still 7 months left of 2014 and I aim to make use of this time to get some of these issues sorted out. My only wish is that my grandfather could still be here; I’ve forgotten what his voice sounds like.

A Crippling Blow

Let me tell you a thing about anxiety. I fucking hate that bitch.

I have spent the last 2 hours and 24 minutes cleaning my room in an effort to calm the shaking in my hands- and yes, I counted the minutes. That’s what anxiety does, it turns you into a maniac. You are now servant to its orders. This week has been chalk full with me wringing my hands in a desperate attempt to stop their tremors, reminding my lungs how to inhale and exhale, reminding my heart that it is a muscle that must relax every now and then, and reminding my brain that the world is not out to get me- or so I hope.

My lips have been chewed to the point of being perpetually raw and sensitive. The ends of my hair are being fried by my inability to stop toiling with it- ironing it one day, curling the next, braiding and putting it into a bun every hour or so. It has also been a battle with trying to discover what is causing my anxiety and the only answers I have come up with are my lack of self-esteem and confidence that render me intimidated by a fruit fly.

why am i shaking why is my heart pounding so fast and so hard its going to burst out of my chest what if it bursts why can’t i stop shaking i can’t write properly with my hands trembling this bad why can’t i do this why is this so hard why am i freaking out nothings wrong theres absolutely nothing wrong so why am i freaking out

And so it goes on and has not yet been alleviated. My biggest fear is I will sink to the place I was two years ago, even so soon as a year ago, when the only thing getting me through the day was the thought of my razor and the endless possibilities that could be done with it.

I don’t want to get to that place again; however, I don’t know how to ask for help. My parents do not believe in my poor mental state because they choose to turn a blind eye to it and pretend I am perfectly alright when multiple doctors have called advising them to get me help. The last time I spoke to my school counselor I was admitted to the hospital and would have been admitted to the psychiatric ward had my mother not stepped in. I just really need help but help is nearly impossible to get these days, but if I don’t get help soon I will end up doing something I will regret and I need to avoid that.

I just want to be alright again.