Sorry I Hate You Sometimes

The other night as I was going to sleep, I was reading through Facebook and came across a contest.  This contest was hosted by UW Credit Union, and they wanted you to reply to the question: What is your favorite college memory?

Now college was a very positive experience for me.  I met some of my best friends ever, got to travel to some amazing places, and had some very unique experiences.  I learned a lot more going to college than just accounting and marketing strategies.  I learned how to use a hair straightener (seriously, I used to think the girls would put their heads on an ironing board and use the iron to straighten their hair).  I met people who were genuine and honest and positive.  I learned how to operate a bus with a wheelchair lift; how to collaborate with a team; and how to pay my bills (I had only ever had my cell phone bill before).  My college friends introduced me to social media and other cool things on the internet.  They helped me improve my writing and social skills, and more importantly, they helped me with my social skills.  I met my best friends in college, and I had a lot of great memories and experiences.

That night, though, I couldn't think of one positive experience or memory.  Instead, my brain automatically and intensely decided that every negative experience, every moment of insecurity and embarrassment, every doubt I had in college was everything.

I thought about my experience in the dorms, where I met Sally and Whitney, two wonderfully amazing friends.  All I could think about was my next door neighbor fighting with her boyfriend, the guy the sophomores dragged to the elevator where he proceeded to empty the copious amounts of alcohol out of his stomach, the time fucktards gave me shit on the way to a dance, or the fifty other disturbing moments in the dorm.  I didn't think about the birthday party my new friends gave me.  I didn't think about Cinco de Mayo margaritas or the time I had 5 bottles of Captain Morgan in my fridge and nothing else.  I certainly didn't think about the time Ryan and I manned Jitters and we had to share the step stool, which still required us to use the counter sometimes.

I tried to remember the great experience I had with Forensics, but I couldn't.  I thought about the times Ben and I butted heads, the time Jerkface kept intruding on my space to fuck with me, or the times I got chastised for talking a little too in-depth about sex (although they learned that I stopped when Janine started talking about birth).  I couldn't stop thinking about the excruciating loneliness I felt on a lot of trips, always feeling like the odd man out.  What didn't come to mind were the social get-togethers like Homecoming events, Halloween parties, Christmas parties, Sorber happenings.  I loved dinners, jokes, quotes, car rides, practices, tournaments, and even driving 3 hours in the wrong direction.  I got to travel and see places and try new things.  Amazing experience right?  Even the night Shauna and I got puked on and the new guy tried to kill me with air freshener (I had severe allergic reactions before my nose surgery).  Even THAT was an interesting experience.  I loved forensics and all my forensicating friends, and I knew they at least loved me sometimes.  Then why did I keep thinking about being blamed for making someone cry (I honestly did not do anything)?

I thought about all of my classes, the apartments and houses I lived in, my trip to Ireland, my friends, my professors, jobs, and other activities, but the negatives of everything were the only memories I could recall.  That is how I go through life.  I'm sad, lonely, angry, embarrassed all the time.  My mind takes all of my experiences, all of my good memories, all my love.  It takes them and shakes them around like a kid with an etch-a-sketch, and all my good memories fall away like the metal flakes, leaving only the memories that got jabbed into the mind and will not shake loose (if you've ever had an etch-a-sketch, you know what I mean).

When I thought about these things, it made me hate everyone, and it made me lonely.  For those 20 minutes, I hated everything and lay there in despair wondering why no one cared about me.  I wanted to lash out with fists and tongue.  I wanted to scream and rage.  I cried.

Fortunately, I was able to remind myself that my friends, my true friends, have shown me friendship and love.  How often have I asked for comfort or company and been denied?  Almost never, and always for good reason.  I've been to their weddings; I've met and played with their children.  They have invited me to parties and asked for my company.  My good friends have included me in their lives because they love me as I love them.

Unfortunately, I am not always able to talk my brain down.  Sometimes I spend days, even weeks like this.  I haven't spoken to one specific friend for months because I can't remember why I'm friends with her.  I have avoided friends and family because I have been overwhelmed thinking they dislike me or they're not good people.  I have inclinations to tell them off, even though I have never shared my fears or feelings.  Sometimes, I do end up lashing out.  Sometimes, I give in to the thoughts and the Irish whistle starts shooting off thoughts that should not be mine.  Sometimes, I hurt people with those words, and most of the time, I hurt myself.

So this is an apology to everyone I have ever met.  I'm sorry I hate you sometimes.  I'm sorry if I have ever lashed out at you for no reason.  I'm sorry I doubted your friendship.  I'm sorry I hurt you.  I wish I could tell you that I'm working on it.  I wish I could heal the wounds I have given you.  I wish I could tell you everything going on in this chemically fucked up brain of mine so you would know and be able to tell the rest of me that my brain is lying.  So I'm sorry.

Giving the Bolder Holder the Cold Shoulder

I haven't worn a bra since June 3rd. You're probably thinking, why do I care about Brandi's underwear? Well, I will tell you.

I took the girls out of confinement because the weight of them was pushing down on my chest and stomach, making the acid reflux way worse. But that's not the only reason I continue to let the girls run free.

When I first started out, I was VERY self-conscious. First of all, my bosom is pretty noticeable. Like I'm carrying around two large hedgehogs on my chest. The peaks also have a tendency to announce their state of mind about as often as a little man's little man during puberty. Like me, they seem to have a mind of their own and don't always take into consideration other people's feelings. They just pop up, and ain't shit you can do about it. Another thing I was not used to was the bounce and sway. Gravity is my girls' worst enemy, and it has taken its toll on them. Every little sway gave them reason to jiggle like a bag of jello.

The fun-bags were extraordinarily sensitive as well. They've been confined in their cells for about 20 years, and like most prisoners, one of the first things they wanted to do was check out the world outside but they were a little scared by the new stuff. I couldn't hug anyone except CJ because it felt too intimate. Seriously, my little brothers got side hugs and my friends got the awkward bubble back step. The good thing is, I doubt my brothers or friends thought I was behaving oddly because I'm often awkward and often dislike touching.

Then there is the fact that it is summer, and that means thinner clothes, lighter colors, and more sweating. There is no way to make my mountains into mole hills with a thick sweater, and trust me when I say that boob sweat is grosser when the armor doesn't take the brunt of it. The light colors of summer really need no explanation after that.

A few things really comforted me during the beginning of the Great Boobie Liberation. The first was a get-together with some friends, where I confessed that I had not been able to wear a boulder holder for a while, and all the ladies said they had no idea I was bra-less. CJ had confessed two days prior that it was extremely noticeable. The day after my meeting, though, I read an article about a high school senior who had not worn a bra for months and got sent to the principal's office because her male teacher felt it was inappropriate and distracting, despite the dark sweater and nipple stickers. The combination of the conversations and the article made me fully understand that it's really not me or the freed girls that were inappropriate, it was the thoughts and sexualization from "others" that was to blame for some of my insecurities. I am not responsible for the comfort of those around me, especially people I don't know, and the comfort of being loose far outweighed the discomfort of thinking people knew and judged. So there, Judgey McJudgerpants and all the little Judgelings. Another great comfort was a study done in France. The premise of the study was to find out if bras helped fight gravity. Please keep in mind, as I do, that this test was only done once in one area of France with a small (ish) sample group for a short time period. They concluded that bras are not helpful and may actually caused atrophy in the breast muscles that should keep them moderately behaved. About half the group reported stronger chest muscles and perkier puppies. As a curious person, I wanted to know if my headlights would develop into high beams.

Of course, up until the jug jockey became detrimental, I didn't want to ditch the bitch. It kept the cha-chas in check, protected them, and gave them a platform to stand on. Also, society says I gotta, and I already have issue with many social norms. Why would I subject myself to more ways for people to judge? (Seriously, middle school girls already made me bashful of the bongos.)

Third, my therapist and I discussed my situation. She authenticated my feelings and helped me realize that I am allowed to put up boundaries, even if I had not before. My body, my feelings, my decisions.

I realized yesterday that I have been without a bra for about 7 weeks. Seven weeks without pressure on my stomach; seven weeks without straps digging into my shoulders; seven weeks without looking for the damned thing because THAT is NOT where I put it last night, damn it. I have also come to realize that I may never have to buy another brassier again. I will never have to walk into Victoria's Secret only to end up frustrated and tired from trying to find a vessel big enough to fit my torpedoes. I will never have to spend $60 on a piece of clothing that only one other person sees (yes, $60 because the people who make the $14 bras don't make them in my size). I have Emancipated the Mammaries, and I am not going back.

I have realized that I don't think about it nearly as often as I did in the beginning either. I don't hug the girls to keep people from staring all the time. They don't get as excited as they used to, and I don't shy away from hugs like I did. I'm still conscious that they are there (where else would they be?), but the thought of what others are thinking doesn't give me nearly the same amount of anxiety as it used to. I don't know if the rack is getting firmer or movin' on up, but I do know I feel better about releasing the hounds.

Sorry, Not Sorry

Funny thing, this.  After yesterday's breakdown, I'm feeling footloose and fancy free.  After spending the entire day at my desk doing nothing but thinking and crying and researching (no, I did not have work to do because my classes are just starting), I went home.  My darling partner changed up all of our well-thought out plans to make lasagna and cannolis and made me tomato soup and the most perfect grilled cheese sammiches ever in the history of grilled cheeses.  Dear CJ even put up with my scattered hyperness (a side effect of an anxiety-wrought day) and would not even let me wash dishes (although I had no intention to).  We spent the evening snuggling with the puppies and watching movies.

I realized, though, that I may have insulted you, my friends and family, in yesterday's post.  I want to explain right now that I am not apologizing for putting my thoughts there and showing you what is in my mind.  These are thoughts I deal with quite frequently or at least very similar thoughts.  I do apologize if you felt hurt by that.  I know who my friends are most of the time.  I know that if you are reading this, you probably don't hate me or you googled me.  If you googled me, well, I don't like to hide who I am.  I am actually a great person who, like a good portion of the American population, has a mental disability.  I cannot be ashamed or hide that fact.  I must be true to myself.

Today is a completely different from yesterday.  I'm feeling my normal, perky self.  I don't hate the idea of putting my thoughts down, and I certainly am not doubting everything.  I have an interview today with a company that seems amazing, and I'm excited and nervous.  Preparation is my motto today, so that's what I'm doing now.  Thanks everyone.

Happy Birthday...

Every year I get excited about my birthday.  What's not to love?  I get presents and I get extra attention.  Unfortunately, today, I am experiencing a rather volatile funk, making my birthday just awful.  CJ and I drove to work due to the extreme cold, and I was actually happy and excited.  I wanted to be at work.

Shortly after I go to work, though, my thoughts went from hopeful to dreadful.  Why isn't anyone saying happy birthday?  Does anyone actually care?  Is everyone just posting on my wall because Facebook told them to?  Einsteins gave me a free breakfast sandwich coupon, but really all I want is a bagel; can I just get a bagel?  God, why do I always expect my birthdays to be great?  Remember when you found out your friend died the night before your birthday?  Remember all the other shitty birthdays you've had?  Like the year your (now ex) boyfriend bought you a Snoopy Dogg CD and talked a friend into lending him some money but it was only enough for a small bottle of MadDog 20/20?  How about the year after that where my (also ex) boyfriend and I went to HIS friend's apartment to play D&D, which didn't even happen because I had to build a character with the other six people at the table and we left at midnight to go to the bar and then my (ex) boyfriend accused me of flirting with his friend?  Or our combined birthday party a few days later where he and his friends hit up the strip club (and no one even asked if I wanted to go) and then he joined me for one drink at the bowling alley before going to the club and then he stayed on the outskirts all night?  Shit, I have a meeting at 10 with ADA, but I'm sitting here crying over the shit.  Should I reschedule?  NO, gotta suck it up.

During the meeting: They're going to deny my request and I'm just going to be crying like a little bitch the whole time.  Why did I think this was a good idea?  All I've managed to do is create more anxiety for myself and create an even bigger problem with my boss.  On top of that, now the GM knows I'm crazy because he was cc'd so that kills any thought he might support me in my career aspirations.  Why can't I be normal?  Am I even sick?  Of course I'm sick.  I get panic attacks, don't I?  Yes, but what if it's just me working up the frenzy?  What if I'm really just self-centered and narcissistic?  What if this is just all in my head?

All Day: I should just go home.  My back hurts, I can't stop crying, my eyes hurt, my chest hurts.  No.  Gotta suck it up.  Need to save that vacation time.  Need to work through this.  All you're going to do at home is stare at the tv anyway.  You should just use this time to be at work.  Wanna work on your blog?  Blogs are good.  Blog makes me angry.  People don't want to read this anyway.  Why am I even here?  Nobody cares beyond a cursory thought.  Facebook told them it was your birthday.  Hell, your brother called you the day before.  He doesn't even care enough to put the correct date in his phone to remind him.  But it was better to talk to him yesterday because of things.  But still, why did he call me with only five minutes to talk?  Surely I deserve more than five minutes of time that isn't devoted to running around getting the girls ready for something or coming home from somewhere.  Meh, whatever, we didn't really get along well as kids anyway.  I don't know why it matters.  Really?  My dad texted me?  Well, there's a first for everything.  Seriously?  A text?  My brother and his family get a PS4 for Christmas, and I get text messages.  I am not one to give a shit about material objects, but that is a serious imbalance.  Wait a second, why do I even care?  I'm an independent woman who doesn't need stuff to fill her life.  Fuck, though, it's unfair.  Anyone can see it's unfair.  Why I do berate myself for wanting at least some equality?  I deserve that.  But why?  Why do I deserve that?  Did I do anything special?  Am I special?  Not really.  But then again, I haven't done anything to deserve to not be treated fairly.  Have I?  Maybe I have.  What did I do?  Nothing!  I did nothing.  I moved in with my mom and it was healthier and better and all of my relationships are better because of it.  If I had stayed there, I probably would have been worse off.  Why doesn't anyone love me?  People love me, god damn it.  My wonderful boyfriend loves me and tried to cheer me up all day.  My mom loves me.  She can't always be around every birthday because of work, but she sent me messages, she took me to dinner, she helps me in anyway she can.  Shit, I should go talk to someone.  No one wants to hear my shit.  Fuck it, I need to talk to someone.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did I even go talk to her?  She gave me a card, yes, but it's a pity card.  She got it because she tolerates me.  That's not true, she like me.  She likes everybody.  Yeah, I'm really not that special.  Go sit down and stop making this woman uncomfortable.  Go deal with this on your own.  Nobody cares.  Just wait out the day until you can go home and snuggle with CJ and the dogs.

The noise never stops in my head today except the couple of times I seemed to have "spaced out".  By spacing out I mean, I'm pretty sure I sat and stared at my computer for more than five minutes without thought a few different times today.  I definitely don't have the ability to eat too much solid food right now considering the anxiety has got me going around in circles.

Anxiety mixed with depression sucks.  Thank God I'm not suicidal, though.  This day could have been worse.