happy birthday to me

it’s here. happy birthday to me, I suppose. I survived another year of living with myself, of beating myself up and despising who I am and what I haven’t accomplished.

a friend has to postpone birthday hangouts last night. instead, a different friend came over last night and gave me a few gifts. I skipped the gym this morning. I have had a few wishes her at work; I’ve received a few texts from my Louisiana folk too. then there’s an unrelated work hangout this afternoon. in the evening, I’m going to Noodles and Company with a third friend; he will probably pay, knowing him. then tonight I’ll cry myself to sleep. Saturday, Brian will take me to dinner and to see Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. at some point, I know I’ll get a gift from another friend who always sends something.

 

I wanted to cry when I woke up this morning. I really hoped that my gift from The-Powers-That-Be would be my not waking up finally. alas.

my sleeping issues have returned. I’m not sure what’s up with that. I mentioned to Brian about going back to a sleep specialist, and he agreed that it was a good idea.

my depression is worse, too; but that typically happens around my birthday.

I haven’t been to therapy in several months. she had a health issue that kept her out of work. she wants to meet Sep 2. I liked what work we were doing when we were actually doing it. but her constantly cancelling and rescheduling appointments was a real pain, and I had decided that I wouldn’t go back. but now, with the state I’m in, maybe I should. for now, at least. …man, I dunno.

I got a UTI last week. haven’t been back to my kickboxing since then. I know that’s not helping my mood any. I also ran out of my fibro and my axiety meds two weeks ago. so that’s taking a toll.

 

overall things should be great for me. but I’m crazy, and things are not good in my Mind.

so yeah. happy birthday to me.

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Tough Mudder

I survived Tough Mudder!!  within this hour exactly one week ago, I started a 5-mile (8.05k) job that included 13 different military grade obstacles — and I obviously survived.  It was legit testing, y’all.  sure, a few years back on a Zombie Run, there was a time I needed to stop and catch my breath, and I decided to just let them take my flags if they wanted; didn’t matter, I needed to breathe.  but this was different.  this was legit mentally and emotionally challenging.  I was concerned I wasn’t going to be able to do certain obstacles, or that I would greatly injure myself in a n attempt.  I questioned my very decision of being there, or having signed up for this.  and then I went all existential and questioned so many other decisions in my life, including the move and the job acquisition.  but I just paused, recollected myself, and moved on to the next challenge.

and I completed it.  it seems like I should be more proud than I am.  I don’t hang out with or talk to fitness people anymore, so no one really understand the magnitude of difficulty that is the Tough Mudder.  normal adventure runs are a joke compared to this (I don’t mean to down those 5ks; I still love ’em!!).  but I don’t feel proud.  I’m disappointed in myself, that it was as difficult as it was for me.  that I didn’t prepare better.  that I didn’t perform better.  I’m disappointed at how it wasn’t as amazing as it should have been (as is related to things within my power, not the organization).

I suppose that’s the pessimist in me, the cynic.  the hyper-self-critical perfectionist.  but I don’t know how to change that about myself.  I suppose this is something I should bring up in therapy.

what the fuck have I done?

Brian and I have done it.  we’re committed.  July 15th, this year.  only three months away.

….we’ve signed up for Tough Mudder.

and I’m going to die.


Tough Mudder is like those adventure runs that I used to do all the time, except in Hard Mode.  it’s not so much a race as much as it is an obstacle course.

Tough Mudder is 10-12 miles of mud and 20+ obstacles designed to drag you out of your comfort zone. […]  With no podiums, winners, or clocks to race against, Tough Mudder isn’t about how fast you can cross the finish line. It’s about pushing yourself. It’s about teamwork, camaraderie, and accomplishing something extraordinary.

Brian is doing the 10 mile course with 20+ obstacles.  I’m only doing the 5 mile with 13 obstacles.  I’m not at a point where I could handle the 10 miles.  (though next year/time, I aim to be.  >:D )

all of this means I have to start working out again.  and I started this morning.  it means I have to workout every day, no matter what.  no excuses.  no wimping out.  even if it’s just a brisk walk outside for a few minutes, I have to do something.

the Tough Mudder website has a three-month workout program designed to help get you ready.  it’s a lot of circuit training and HITT — because that’s that kind of fitness I’ll need for the course.  and honestly, that’s the kind of fitness I want overall.  I want to be able to do bursts of stuff.  I don’t need long endurance.  and HITT is easier to change things up so I don’t get so bored as quickly.

that’s all for now.  I wish I could write a more concise and stream-lined post about it, but my brain is all over the place.  I wanted to at least get it out there that we’re doing this.  so that in the future, when I’m groaning about my workouts, you’ll know why.  😉

work nigh resulted in self-injury

I was lying on my side, repeating a phrase with which was I was far too familiar. at the “ch” sound in the collection of words, I felt the top of my tongue bounce of the roof of my mouth in a familiar pattern. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and I could barely transmit breathes past the sounds I was chanting. my eyes burned, and I could feel the air against the entire surface of my eyeballs. tears from the topside eye flowed into the lower. snot was dribbling out of my nostrils, passing just above my upper lip and down onto the couch.

but I didn’t cut. I didn’t pull out any hair. I only hit my head a few time. I didn’t scratch or burn or bite, or anything else that I wanted so terribly to do. I didn’t even drink. I Disappeared for a little bit to calm down, also known as purposefully disassociating. then I slowly rose and took a klonopin. I had no reason to be alive, and even less reason to be awake. I actually had a say-so in the latter, so I worked towards a goal — Disappear until tomorrow.

as I swallowed the pill, a shot of memories ran past my mind as I recalled how what was previously such a wonderful day pushed me into this dark, hateful place….

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should we be alright with being mediocre?

only 2.5 of the numerous jobs I’ve had did I very actively not like.  1.5 of them were retail (I say a half because I liked the job at first; it just got old and certain changes yielded to my starting to dislike it), and one of them was a call center.  all of the others, I actually didn’t mind going to work most days.  some days, I even really enjoyed it.

I’m on the fence about this one.  I like what I do — I like the money management, I like the paperwork, etc.  and I like for whom we do it — impoverish people who are just trying to have a new start in life, or who were unjustly attacked or injured.  and I even like most of the people I work with.  but when something here stresses me out, I bring it home and I obsess over it for several days later.

I allowed a few tears last night because of yesterday’s miscommunication.  because I’m just tired of it.  and I still am not sufficiently fluent in Spanish.  and I keep messing things up.

I asked Brian last night how do people endure working somewhere they hate.  he said, from what he’s come to understand, is that in most cases they just don’t care about the job they do.  they text, or play on Facebook, or take forever to do Job A to avoid having to do Job B, etc.  they don’t actually try most times, nor do they really care about their quality of work.

I can’t fathom that.  I mean, it makes sense.  it really does.  and I can see if from an employee’s view and from a customer’s view the poor service many people provide in various jobs.  but I can only see that a possibility; surely that can’t be reality.

that’s one reason I left the half-disliked job — the changes they made ensured I would not be able to do my best work in the position, and I wasn’t okay with that.

when I was at the call center, I tried to help every single customer to the best of my ability.

because that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?  how can we expect good service from others if we’re not providing it ourselves?  how can we ever improve or grow as individuals if we’re not challenging ourselves?  how is acceptable to okay at be shitty?

so maybe he’s right….  maybe I care too much about the quality of work I do.  maybe I’m at fault for having respect for others and for my job.

and I would love to say, “well here on out, I’ll be alright doing mediocre work just like everyone else.”  but I know that’s a lie.  so I’ll just stay in this job, and I just keep going home miserable, and I’ll keep crying and struggling.  because even I wanted to, I don’t think I could sacrifice my integrity just to make my life easier.

Death of a Saleswoman

I’m a good saleswoman.  I can make you buy just about anything.  when I was just a peon at the portrait studio, I was capable of having you purchasing so many portraits, you wouldn’t know what to do with them all.  when I was a cashier at a book store, I constantly broke through the roof in membership card sales.  I was always one of the most successful Girl Scout cookies seller in my childhood.  I’ve always been able to get people to buy what I want to them to buy.

and this time around, I over-successfully sold me.

that’s how I feel at work.  I think I over-sold myself to them, and now I’ve screwed them over.  I did too well in the interview, because I’m obviously not nearly as competent and intelligent as I made myself out to be.

I wouldn’t say I’m a liar, because I’m not.  I just used stronger language than I should have, maybe.  instead of  expressing myself as comfortable and relatively experienced with finances maybe I should have said I’m an idiot with numbers as soon as you place a dollar sign in front of them (Brian can confirm the truth in that).  instead of telling them that I would be willing to relearn Spanish, I should have commented on my inability to really recall any information or facts.

I have done them a disservice in selling myself so well to them.  and this guilt is going to eat me alive.

but does it really?

so that post about every little thing mattering….. ugh. foot in mouth.

I’m walking the up and down the stairwell in my apartment complex because I can’t bring myself to go to the gym. I am weak and tired; and my current issue is my shame for being weak and tired.

I couldn’t even get into gym clothes without just bawling. so Brian told me to walk around the complex in whatever I am in (work clothes). better than not moving at all, right?

I can’t bring myself to go out of the stairwell and into the hallway. what if there’s a person? I can’t be around people right now.

so I’m hiding in the stairwell. but I’m walking. up, up, down, down. up, up, down, down.

better than nothing, right? every little bit matters?