"Knocked Down, Beaten, Black and Blue"...Mentally That Is.

FUCK!

I'm making something happen. Or at least I'm trying to. My therapist will be really impressed when she gets back from holidays. See, I have a hard time "making things happen". I'm scared of failure, I have lack of motivation, and I'm a self destructive. So it usually takes something big for me to jump into action, and then I'm only "in action" for a split second, and if nothing happens, or come from the action of taken, I give up. I wish I was more persistent, and self confidant, but I'm working on it.

Anyhow, here's the "big" thing that happened, that pushed me into action. Well I guess it isn't just one thing, it's more like a series of medium things:

First of all, I'd like to start by saying that I understand that everyone deals with pricks in the work place, and I shouldn't let it get to me, blah blah blah. But I'm a delicate flower...or more realistically, I may treat myself like a piece of shit sometimes, but I'll be damned if someone else thinks they're going to treat me like a piece of shit...only I get that privilege dammit!!

1. I have a turtle neck top...let me reiterate TURTLE NECK, that has a small cut out across my shoulder area on the back. The cut out is below the neck, between the bra straps, and above the bra line. I was told by a co-worker that "I'm giving people the wrong impression" by wearing it. NOTE: This particular co-worker wears low cut bar tops, that show the joining of the two cups of her bra...

(Like this, only it was a turtle neck, and the hole in the back was much smaller)

2. My boss was told by a fellow manager that she thinks that I am overpaid for my job, etc. Let me remind you, that I live in my boyfriend's parents basement, and make under the poverty line. I could in no way sustain myself on my income...and that's too much money?

3. Someone at my workplace bought a stuffed pumpkin to sit in our reception area in fall. Someone unrelated to me, 2 years ago. All I do is put it out each fall as part of the seasonal decorations. I was yelled at, talked down to, and told it looks completely unprofessional and instructed to remove it, by someone who does not have the authority to make those types of requests. Especially since I have no authorization to remove it since I didn't purchase it, and it's been in our office for 2 years. A co-worker that was present during the incident told me to go to HR since the way I was "spoken" to (used loosely since this individual was yelling) was way out of line.

4. I was reprimanded for dressing inappropriately for the work place because my skirt was too short, and told that me dressing inappropriately has come up several times before. My skirt was 2 inches above the knee (and it's the shortest skirt I wear to work), and I was wearing grey stockings, so none of my actual leg was showing. I should add that no where in our dress policy does it say anything about the length of skirts, and managers and other employees regularly wear shorter skirts. Ex. While I was in the washroom crying, after feeling attacked and mistreated since I don't wear anything that is inappropriate, and I dress more appropriately than most of my colleagues, an employee came out of the stall wearing a shorter skirt than I.

(Like this, only it was a black skirt with grey stockings)

Those are only 4 recent (as in, 3 within the last week) examples of why it's time for a change. They don't seem so bad written down, but they really felt as though I was being attacked and mistreated. I'm not in high school anymore, and I'm sick of all of the juvenile bullshit. I'm a good person, and I've never done anything offensive to anyone I work with, and I don't deserve to be treated as if I'm some kind of worthless slut, because I'm young, and clothes look different on me then some of the other people I work with.

So I've applied for some other jobs within my company, and spoken with my supervisor about making my position part time so I can go back to school, (in the event that one of the positions closer to home does not pan out), so I can get the hell out of this place. Enough is enough. My anxiety is bad enough without having to wake up each morning dreading the 8 hours ahead of me.

Sex Bomb, Sex Bomb!

FYI - This post is about "sex life" more specifically, my sex life...(that warning is for you Mom)

I think sex is healthy. I'd say most people would agree with me. Aside from the physical benefits of having a work out, the stress relief, and other necessary reliefs, it builds confidence, it strengthens relationships, it helps keep couples close, both physically and mentally, and is the distinguishing factor between, being a "couple" and being "roommates" as far as I'm concerned.

So yes, the BF does not worry that I'll ever "have a headache" or "not feel well" or "am too tired". We're pretty much on par as far as desire goes, and it's something I'm proud of, so I can't understand this perpetuated stereotype that women only "give it up" on holidays, and birthdays.

Anyhow...all this considered, and after 4 years of no excuses...no stereotypical, male gives female back rub hoping it'll lead to sex...it happened.

Two nights ago I was feeling sooo sick. I fell asleep at 7pm on the couch, and woke up at 9pm,  forced myself to get up and go lay down in bed. The BF got me a "puke bucket" and laid down behind me, rubbing my back. And then...he tried to progress that back rub...seriously! Come on! I've never had to say "no, I'm too sick", until that day. I'm kinda ticked off that he made me say it...I was proud that I'd never had to before. So, UGH! Now I'm one of those women whose "too sick" for sex. Lame!

Sunday Confessional

Geez, it's been a while since I last confessed...

So here it is... I'm afraid to go to new restaurants because I'm afraid I won't know how to order.

It really stresses me out, especially if it's one of those places where you have to order at the counter, and there's a line up of people behind you, and you have to try and read the board behind the cashiers head, pick what to order, and not hold up the line and frustrate those behind you. UGh, the stress!!

So two days ago the BF, myself and a couple of our friends went out for ice cream to this new ice cream place around the corner from our house. I was first up to order so I did it fast and didn't get anything special, just two scoops of different flavors. I couldn't handle the stress of figuring out the toppings and types of cones and mixing the ice creams etc. So I went with the basic.

The BF on the other hand, doesn't play that way. He got to the cashier and had to ask a million questions and figure everything out. In the middle of ordering this happens:

He takes a step back, runs his hands over his head/face and says loudly...

"So is this where it happens? Is this where the world starts to pass me by. Where I don't understand what the kids are eating these days. What the hell...this shouldn't be this difficult!"

And that my friends is why I hate those situations, and also why I love my BF so much. He has no problem calling himself out, whereas I try my best to still look like I know what I'm doing, and end up eating something I'm only mildly satisfied with.

UPDATE:  We went back again and I tried ordering something more complex!
This is: Vanilla Cake Batter (or something), Chocolate, with Oreo chunks mixed in.
DELICIOUS!

Looking For Catharsis - Because My Mom Told Me To.

I'm writing this because my Mom told me to, and I always do what my Mom tells me to, like every child out there...kind of, sort of...well not really, but this time I think she's right. Writing is cathartic for me, and right now I'm really in need of some...catharsis.

I don't really know what happened...well I guess I kind of do. When I first started taking Ciprolex for my anxiety/depression, it worked WONDERS, like rainbows, and unicorns, and shooting stars all over the place. I couldn't have been happier, I felt how I'd never imagine I could feel. You see the depression and anxiety stem from abuse I endured as a young child, and because I was so young when it happened, the influence it had over my development was never seen. I've just always thought that this is just who I am. I'm a nervous, stressed out, lack luster, over analytical, not trusting, self sabotaging  person. Anyhow, to make a reeeallllyyyy long story short, at 25 I finally decided it was time to see a therapist and get my life on track. So after a few weeks of therapy sessions, I went to my doctor and was prescribed ciprolex. It worked amazingly for the first few weeks, I had never felt better, and all of the "personality" traits I thought were part of me, just started to disappear, or became incredibly easy to manage. Then I ran out of pills, and being that I'm often self sabotaging (when the depression is kicking in), instead of going to the walk in clinic (my doctor was on holidays) I just stopped taking the pills. This fucked me over. In inexplicable ways. After a few weeks I started taking it again after my therapist insisted that I go to the walk-in, and have a prescription issued.

The medication has never worked the same as it did when I initially started taking it. I'm sure this is normal, since my body has become accustom to it, however after seeing the potential I have to feel good, and the way I'm feeling now, it's making the gap between the two even larger. I'm sinking into a deeper depression knowing the potential for happiness, security, funny loving, and confidence that I have, but can not feel right now. It's awful. Yesterday my doctor upped the dosage, so hopefully that works, since I can't stand feeling this way.

Side note - I have the world's best Mom. You might beg to differ, but she really is the bomb-diggity my friends. I called her, holding in the tears the best I could, as she unbeknownst to me, was arriving at the clinic because she either pulled a muscle really bad, or broke a rib. Instead of rushing me off the phone or telling me she'd call me back, the second she heard my voice, even though I wasn't crying yet, she stopped what she was doing and talked me through it. It wasn't until later in the conversation she told me where she was and why. Seriously, my mom, with a potentially broken rib, stopped on her way to the clinic to get ex rays, to talk me through a minor breakdown, offering to come over and hang out with me. That is just one of the reasons she's so amazing!

So here I am, blogging again, even though I have no drive to, for cathartic reasons. To try and pick myself up a little. Hopefully it works, because as my Mom told me earlier this morning, I'm way to young to feel defeated by life, I have way too much life left ahead of me.

Sunday Confessional

I'm totally doing a "post date and time" for this entry. I'm just hoping it works, because if it does boys and girls, it means that I can write my Sunday confessional on any day of my choosing, which is never a Sunday...or a Saturday for that matter, and it will appear magically (that's right, this shits magic as far as I'm concerned, something needs to be!) on Sunday! Woo!

Anyhow, Sunday Confessional:

I'm Claustrophobic...which among several other things, is the reason I'm not catholic and choose instead to confess on here. Their little tiny boxes that you have to sit in, (which I'm sure stink like the body oder of the guy that was in there before you, likely confessing he has an adversion to cleanliness) makes it hard for me to think straight let alone breath properly. It's also the reason that I avoid taking elevators with other people. I need a plan of attack if the elevator shuts down and I'm stuck in there. Being packed in their like sardines with a bunch of strangers sounds like a nightmare, so as it stands my plan is to lay down in the elevator and force myself to fall asleep (I have an uncanny ability to fall asleep whenever or wherever I want to). See, if I'm sleeping than I won't be freaking out about being confined and about the amount of oxygen I'm using, and what I'm going to do if I need to go pee, etc. But in order to execute this plan, I need to be alone in the elevator, or at max. with one other person. "Why don't you just take the stairs?" you may ask...well dinkwad, the asshole that designed the building I work in, made it so that you can not access the stairs from the lobby, how brutal is that? So I'm stuck taking the elevator regardless. (And for you firefighters out there, you can take the stairs down to the lobby floor, however they exit outside, and you can only open the exit door from the inside stairwell, so you can't enter them from the outside, totally lame). So anyway, the moral of the story is that I'm claustrophobic, as previously addressed, and I'll wait for WAY too long to catch an elevator so that I can take it alone. If you're ever rushing to make an elevator and you see me standing inside, don't be surprised if the doors close in your face, I'm a bitch like that, I need to insure I have laying down space in the event of an elevator break down.

Confessional

Sometimes I drink too much...Friday was one of those days.

Sometimes I stay out too late...Saturday was one of those days.

Monday's should be part of the weekend. I need more rest.

Sunday Confessional...Shut Up, I Know!

I do not like buttons. Particularly plastic ones with the four holes...even as I type this I have a grossed out look on my face and I'm lightly typing on my keyboard as if it's covered in cooties. I fucking do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam I am - substitute the "green eggs and ham"  for buttons and were spot on...although I doubt very much that I would like green eggs, they sound DISGUSTING!

Apparently this has been a problem since I was a kid. My Mom says that I couldn't do up buttons so I flat out refused to wear anything that had buttons on them...I think that in a previous life someone tortured me with buttons, or my torturer was wearing button covered clothes...OR my torturer WAS a giant button...that's the only reasonable conclusion I can come to.

PS I would like to ask my sister to please remove the dish of buttons she left on my desk at my moms house. Not Impressed. Granted I don't live there, but now that I know that dish of buttons is there, it irritates me from a distance.

Sunday Confessional - On Monday

I don't like blogging on Sunday's - So you should pretty much always expect the Sunday Confessional on Monday's.

Sunday's are my, wearing-the-first-articles-of-clothing-I-see-on-the-floor-when-I-wake-up, big-breakfast-eating, BF-cuddling, cartoon-watching, Sunday-driving (in my less than clean-but comfy-floor clothes), PVR-catching-upping, hangover-recovery, laundry-doing day. It's pretty jammed packed with glorious nothingness that turning on my laptop is WAY too much effort.

I love writing this blog, but not as much as I love all of the awesomeness and all of the nothingness that consumes my Sundays.

Sunday Confessional

I pick my nose. I do not eat it. 

Sunday Confessional

Sometimes when I'm going pee I wonder if it's really happening or if I'm actually in a coma and just dreaming I'm on a toilet and I'm actually peeing in a diaper...seriously, I'm sober.

Also, when I say sometimes, I mean pretty much all the time.