Yeah. The title is true. I’m not lying. I am crazy.
I’m not normal. I’m not the everyday girl you see on the street. I haven’t gone through the same things as you, and I haven’t seen the same things as you. I’ve become who I am, this girl you call crazy, because of the life I have lived. In the end, whether or not you accept me for who I am, I will be who I am.
Crazy, sure.
I am someone that has swallowed the bullshit the world has thrown at her for so long, her mouth has grown numb to the taste of the hate. I don’t gag on what life gives me anymore, because this constant feeding is what I’ve grown accustomed to.
What I haven’t grown accustomed to is the constant feeling of being unsure of who I am just because other people don’t like me. I struggle and fight to fit in, something that is so easy for some and yet seems to be the most difficult thing in the world to me. Still. I’m twenty-fucking-four years old and I’m still crying on a Friday night because I’ve found out again that someone has called me crazy, someone else has made it clear they hate me, someone else has decided that I’m not good enough.
So ok. I’m crazy. I’m not normal.
Some of you will laugh at this. Some of you will scoff, say that I’m just being “dramatic” again. Some of you might take it seriously. Whatever you do, whoever you are, stop and think before you call someone “crazy” again. Because the term and connotations behind it hurt more than you think.
So, before I left Texas I had planned a going away get together hoping to see the people I knew I’d miss a ton when I left. It ended up being a few work friends and I at a bar until about 10pm or so, which was fun in itself, and a Ms. Gwen and I ended up at a tattoo parlor. Gwen probably made me feel the best that night, showing me that I would be missed, and as a going away present she offered to pay for half a tattoo or something along those lines. But because I was just a poor schmuck that couldn’t cough up fifty bucks to cover half the cost of the tattoo I’ve been planning for a few years now, I opted for an outer ear piercing instead. I want to get some video game symbols in a line up the outside of my ankle/calf area. Maybe next time.
The guy piercing me reassured me that they don’t hurt, and coming from him and all his piercings, I half believed him.
Even after the tattoos I have, I still don’t enjoy the pain that is associated with them. So the thought of puncturing a hole in my body does really excite me as it does some people. But because Gwen was getting a tattoo, and she wanted me to get something too, I opted for the ear piercing and went for it.
Now my ear is tinged purple, and my mom thinks I should take it out. It doesn’t hurt at all really, only when I screw with it too much. Which would mean stop screwing with it so much, right? You people and your logic.
I think this feeling is what has been stopping me from writing more than the bare minimum. This feeling of not being able to start, not knowing what words to put here that will catch anyone’s attention. I’m just feeling numb, and I don’t know how to start describing what’s in me. Numb isn’t even the precise word I would call this feeling. I am feeling empty.
It’s been harder to get up in the morning. Sometimes I lay there until noon or more, in and out of restless sleep. Then I get up, find something to do for an hour, and then take a nap. Then spend the rest of the day battling curling up and going back to sleep. I don’t know if this is another sign of being depressed, or if I’m just worn out. Honestly I think it’s a bit of both. Especially when I spend half the night crying, wanting what I can’t have.
I started the Power 90 series yesterday, since I can barely stand looking in the mirror again, and my clothes are just getting tighter. People say I’m not fat, that I carry my weight well, that I don’t look the weight I am. I can’t tell whether or not they are saying that out of kindness, or if they actually believe it. I know all that matters is myself and what I think about my appearance and looks, but everyone knows that we take care of our outward appearance both for others and ourselves. We slim down so we feel better about ourselves so we can go out and be around other people and not feel unattractive or fat. We feel better so we can feel better around others. I might have this a bit backwards, but it definitely is how I feel right now. I can’t stand looking in the mirror because all that goes through my head is “What do other people think when they look at me?”
Maybe my self-esteem has taken a hit when the rest of the crap hit me this month.
I’ve been in a debate with myself over the last few days, wondering how I am really feeling and reacting to my situation. I haven’t been reacting as violently as I had thought I would. I thought I would be inconsolable and isolated, but the only signs that I’m feeling anything other than emptiness is the random bouts of crying at night, and the fact that I can’t really smile. I’m going through the motions and doing the bare minimum, and I can’t bring myself to do more. I guess those are all the signs that I’m just not reacting because I’m shoving it inside and avoiding the feelings that are supposed to be there.
I didn’t even realize until right now that I am really much more upset than I have been letting on.
As part of my self healing, writing letters has been very helpful. Not only have I had a chance to get a lot of what I have to say to people out, I can say it in a form that I find to be very precise and articulate. Sometimes what I have to say just doesn’t come out well in spoken form.
The sole reason I moved to Texas was because of my father. I met him at a time in my life when things needed to change, when I needed to be different. I had just started school again, I was halfway between being happy and sinking into depression. Things just had fallen into place when I first spoke with him, and I never saw the type of life I would be leading because of my choices and his actions. Sometimes I almost feel cheated from what happened between me and him. But I’m starting to accept that I made these decisions as well. I am the one that chose to follow someone I barely knew, even if it was for reasons that I thought were good at the time.
Though, to be fair, they were reasons that no one can fault. I moved to know the other half of where I came from. I succeeded at that at least. I got to know him. I got to know that he wasn’t anyone that I wanted to be near or around, and it broke my heart, but at least I got to know that for myself.
Though it’s been something that’s been on my mind quite a bit lately. My best friend believes that my time in Texas has always been tainted because of the fact that I’ve been so bitter about meeting my father and the relationship failing so horribly. I never thought of it that way before he mentioned it, but the more I think about it, the more it rings so true. It started a trail I followed that led me to dark places, places I never thought I would reach the depths of in my life.
But, was it really fair to put all of my dislike and blame on him?
A lot of the reason why the relationship went the way it did was because of his wife. In combination it was lethal. His childish temperament and actions coupled with his wife’s special brand of selfishness, and my inability to stand up for myself all caused this. Would it have turned out different if I would have just said that I didn’t want to be treated the way I was? Would it have been different if I had just accepted that they were going to act the way they did because I was living in their world? Was I the one that was not accepting of the things they did? I know most people I talk to about it, and their actions over the course of the two years that I lived in Texas really proves that there just was just no thought on their part as to what they were doing to me. Selfish.
Dear Father,
I am sorry that things came to what they did. I was full of hate for what happened between us, but the more that I think about it, the more I become numb to it. As other people have said, you weren’t in my life for 22 years for a reason, and now I am starting to realize that all those years I spent crying and wishing for a daddy to come and save me were just wasted tears and wishes. It caused me to be bitter for a while, but I think I’m starting to just become indifferent. Even thinking about it now, I am sorry for you. I’m sorry you wasted all that time not knowing who I was, and then spent the two years that I lived down the street from you too proud to come and see the person you swore up and down you would never leave again. You don’t even know I’ve left Texas do you? You sent your wife over multiple times, hoping to bridge the gap between us, but little did you know that what I really needed was for you to come to the door. You’ve still missed out on every single one of my birthdays. You have still missed out on everything that has happened in my life, and I don’t think I will ever want you to be a part of anything significant in it anymore. I’ve stopped wishing for you. I’ve stopped hoping for you. I’m starting to move on, and forget the brief pain you caused me.
And this is my first step to really letting go of you.
I’ve been having the itch to write again these last few days, so I cleaned up the ol’ blog site and messed with the settings and here I am. I’ll be completely honest and say that this is really hard to bring myself to do, especially after all the writing I’ve been doing has been for my “self betterment.” If betterment is even a word. Pfft.
Looking at this last post, it’s kind of funny that the last time I wrote in this I was a completely different person than I am now. I was working retail at GameStop, I was battling with myself in many ways, and was bitter at the world.
I no longer worked at GS as of October of last year, after a long fallout with the store and what was going on in it. I won’t say it was worth it, because no one should have had to go through the things we did. Though, the relief I had at not working there any longer actually outweighed the panic I was feeling for being unemployed. Being without a source of income when you’re supporting yourself and living half a country away from your family is some scary shit. But somehow I lived through it, and found a job I truly enjoyed at a call center, working in the roadside assistance portion. It had the solution to all of the things I hated about the intimate retail setting. All I had to do was my job, and doing my job correctly meant I was one of the better agents on the floor. Win win situation if you ask me.
I’ve decided I’m going to write a book about the two years I spent in Texas. Titled: Fuck You Texas I Hate You So Damn Much. Boris says a better title would be: Trials and Tribulations in Texas. I think mine is a better title in general.
Being back in sunny SoCal has been surreal. I feel like I’m in a haze. I wake up, spend most of my day trying to stay awake, and then go to bed. Constantly tired, constantly upset, constantly feeling like I’m going through an ordeal I don’t really need to be going through. Every person I speak to says that this was a good move for me, that life will be better for me once I get settled in and situated. Why does everyone on the planet think this was a good idea, and I still feel like I do? I miss my friends and dog, I miss my house and room and scooter. I miss everything that has made me ME in the last two years. And now, having to redo it all, start all over again, reboot, move on with a clean slate…
I just want my life back.
Then again it’s only been a single week since I got here. I see it as my “settling in” week, where I spent most of it just trying to get a feel for being back again. Week two will have a different theme. Not sure what it will be yet, but so far it’s my “Let’s try not to sink deeper into depression because you miss your best friends and job and stuff” week. I think that’s an admirable goal, don’t you?
Well, two days to my surgery and the bastards screwed it up again. I had gone into the building to pre-register and everything that they had told me to do before the date, and my rage was almost unbearable when the assistant came back and was looking at me puzzled.
“And you say you’re scheduled for the seventeenth?” She asked me.
“Yes. I have the paper right here,” I said as I showed her the paperwork they had given me the date they had planned my surgery.
She glanced at it and said, “Well, we have you scheduled for next Wednesday at the same time.” She looked back at me expectantly, like I should just say yes and walk away.
“Well, I need it to be scheduled for THIS Wednesday. I’ve already taken the days off of work and had this planned for two weeks now. I don’t know where they got that I needed my date changed, but this needs to be fixed, now.” I about slammed the clipboard she had given me with the admittance paperwork on to the counter in my anger. I was still baffled where they were getting that I had wanted my date changed. I would have figured that my calling last week and straightening it out would have, you know, fixed it or something. Apparently not.
I think I had scared the assistant though, because she was back pedaling towards the offices as she told me she was going to see what had happened. A minute later she came back, smiling, saying they were trying to get my date set for tomorrow, but that I wouldn’t have the same time as before, that it would be in the afternoon.
“That’s fine. I don’t care about the time, but I care about the date.” I was probably being mean to someone that didn’t deserve it, it really wasn’t her fault. But REALLY. She is going to call me back tomorrow to confirm the time. If I’m told one more time that it’s next Wednesday, there might be a massacre in Texas. And not the chainsaw type either. That’s not really my style. Robert says I would probably do it Katamari style. Just roll up everything in a fit of anger and light the wiggling mass of people, plants, and animals on fire. I wonder if it would smell like barbeque, this being Texas and all.
So after the screw up (again) at the doctors, it was time for work. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve been working non-stop with no real time off for the last six months and my patience for people of average intelligence or lower is waning, or if the human race is just becoming dumber as time goes on. Something. Whatever it is, it seems like the jackasses of the world are congregating in Denton, Texas, and they all are just raring to get into my store. Don’t get me wrong, out of the majority of the people who come in, it’s only maybe a five percent of them who are either really stupid or annoying. But that five percent stick out more than the other ninety-five of the easygoing or awesome customers. The bad always seems worse than the good. It’s just how everyday life goes.
There are always a few themes that go with the bad. There are always the sexist guys, or the redneck idiots, or the people who don’t think about what they are saying before they spit it out of their mouths. Or the people who think we are running some sort of conspiracy with the things we ask them. Would you like to reserve an upcoming title sir? No, the government will know where I am if I put five dollars down on the game that will MORE THAN LIKELY sell out. I’ll just come get it when it comes out.
Tonight it was the sexist asshole that looked at me like I belonged in a strip club instead of standing behind the counter of a videogame store. After blatantly avoiding me when I asked if he needed any help, he directs the rest of his questions to Jackie, the associate that I was working with tonight. Jackie is a big guy, and gives off the “friendly Texan” vibe. Guys gravitate towards him naturally, mostly because he’s not a moody girl who is trying to size them up, wondering if they’re dicks or not. So at first I just chalked it up to the guy liking Jackie. Until he opened his mouth a little more when I was trying to add to the conversation.
The guy was asking about PS3 pricing, so I was being as helpful as I could, as he didn’t have any idea of how many different PS3 versions there had been. Jackie didn’t either, but with how long I’ve been working at my company, I’ve been around for it all. I could also rant for days on how stupid I think Sony is for those moves, but that is a different blog altogether. After explaining to him how difficult it is to get certain models, even used, and telling him what would probably be the best system for him and his son, he turns to Jackie and says “Well, you’ll know this better than she will..”
I don’t even know the end of what he said. My world swum in redness for a minute, and I had to refrain myself from making a comment that might have gotten me fired on the spot. I picked up a few things, put them back down. Did a useless pace of the floor. By the time he had finished his questions and began to head out, I was past the point of instant murder. But if looks would kill, the little boy he was carrying with him would have been crying over a dead body right about then.
I don’t get it. I don’t know why men automatically swear that I don’t know anything about said “manly” things because I have a vagina. Like my private parts mean I can’t comprehend the complexities of the video game world, I’m just working there because I know my alphabet and can file shit correctly. Why do people still hold such backwards views on females? I could probably get into the racism out here too, because my manager Le gets some flack because of his race. But when it comes to choosing between a black guy and a chick, they usually swing for the guy. I guess it’s just something I’m gonna have to deal with.
Welcome to my new blog. I hope you enjoy it. Or at least not grow bored of it in two seconds and wander off.
It’s been one of those days, which is part of the reason why I am so eager to start a blog. Ranting is the best writing I do, and there is a lot of it that needs to be done. Especially now, when it feels like the whole world is breathing down my back, waiting for my next move. Sometimes I’m half tempted to lash out in an unbiased rage on anyone I start to find annoying, and other times I just want to curl up in a corner, rocking back and forth, whispering to myself.
I’ve also been wanting to start a type of “journal” about this surgery business, as I’m figuring my exploits as a cripple might be worth reading back on. Who knows, maybe ten years from now, I’ll stumble back on some of this and laugh at myself?
Well, part of me is still beating myself up over the fact that this issue has been plaguing me for so long, and I just now am getting the balls up to fix it. Would it be so bad if I hadn’t have waited so long? I sit for too long, and it aches. I stand for too long (which is a daily thing, working in retail and all), and it aches. And by ache I mean seize up, with shooting pain down my calf, and around my kneecap. I can’t even sleep at night all the way through from the pain. I’m an idiot for waiting so long.
But oh well. There isn’t anything I can do now but fix it and follow the recovery process to the letter. I won’t let myself slack on this. Being able to move without fear of it popping out is motivation. Now if they don’t screw up my surgery, or the date…or something else. Why do I say that do you ask?
At work today I receive a phone call from the surgery center where this is all going to take place. They were calling to inform me of the out of pocket I need to pay on the surgery, and to make sure that I know to come in for the pre-screening. Awfully nice of them, and it reminded me that I needed to call the doctor’s office and ask a few questions about payments, seeing as how I won’t get paid or get my tax return in until the 19th and I am required to pay the doctor’s fees on the 15th. So I give them a ring, and the weirdness ensues.
I tell the chick that answered my questions, and she sounds a bit dubious, but says she’ll check with the doctor and see about letting me pay later, or do partial payments. I hang up, happy and feeling productive. I mean, at least I remembered to call, usually I get really lazy on those things.
Well two hours later I get a call while I’m with a customer, so I let it go to voicemail. I run into the back to listen to it really quick and what I heard made me want to punch a wall in.
“Hi Nicole, this is Dr. Ward’s office calling to confirm the move of your surgery from the 17th. We rescheduled it for the 24th, same time same place. Give me a call to make sure this is right, thanks!”
Raaaaawrr!! No where in my conversation with the chick did I say I wanted to move the date back! I called back, panicked, and luckily was able to fix it. I didn’t lose my cool either, cause MAN I was close to freaking out on her. So one week to surgery, still (thankfully), and everything is on schedule. Now I just need to not stress out about it, and let it happen. I keep freaking out, thinking something will go wrong, or I won’t get home, or I won’t recover right…
The Rants of a Girl Nerd 