Doctor’s Appointment Pt. 2

I posted about this earlier, but here’s the continuation. Here’s how the appointment actually went…

First off, I wasn’t alone. My mother came with me. In a previous appointment (at a different doctor’s office) I had a panic attack while on the table with the doctor in the middle of doing her work and jumped off the table and sent things flying. Needless to say, I never went back there again. To keep that from happening again, my mother (so kind and supportive) comes with me.

Secondly, I still cried. Silently, but there were still tear marks on my face even though I tried to catch them before they fell. Embarrassing.

Third, the doctor did tell me everything that she was doing and that really helped. I was prepared for it, or at least as prepared for it as I could be. And she was very, very fast about everything.

All I kept thinking about was that if I were normal and nothing had ever happened to me, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. I wouldn’t be a grown adult who still needs her mother to hold her hand. If I were normal… And that’s what really hurts the most, I think. All the things that might’ve been if what happened to me hadn’t happened, if I’d been in a different place at a different time… all the potential I had wasted because I was afraid of my own shadow for a while. Which made going to school impossible. So I’m in online university which is great and I know what I want to do and that’s nice. That might’ve not been the case if what happened to me hadn’t happened. That’s what I have to tell myself. The silver lining…even if it is a little tarnished. Anyway…

I’ve just gotten home. I stopped at Starbucks on the way home and got myself a little treat. My therapist, when I went to equine therapy, told me that when I go out and do something I don’t want to or that causes stress and anxiety that I should reward myself. So that’s what I did. Starbucks is my reward.

I’m glad the whole thing is over. Don’t have to go back for another year. So glad it’s a once a year thing and not a 6 month deal. Anyway… That’s how it went.

Woman’s Best Friend

Cammie now, aged 6

There’s no way to describe the bond between a dog and its owner. This little pup just always wants to be by your side, barks a little when there’s someone in front of the house, and will only eat her food if you’re eating. Now, that may sound like a needy dog, but for a person who was suicidal it’s perfect.

She warns me if someone’s coming to the house so the doorbell or knocking doesn’t send me into a panic attack. She reminds me to eat a meal every now and then because I’m making sure she’s eating. She never lets me feel alone because she’s always with me or if I’m in my room, she’s across the hall watching out the window to the front of the house.

She’s a smart dog. I know all owner’s say that, but it’s true. It doesn’t take long to train her to do something (like not jumping on you when you come in the door, shaking your hand, sitting and laying down with hand signals only).

She’s really the perfect dog for me. With all my mental health issues, she balances them out. When I’m down, she comes and lays with me. When I’m getting into a manic phase, she’s there to help me let out the energy in a safe manner. She seems to know when I want to self-harm and she puts her head in my lap.

If you’ve got problems, if you’re lonely, I highly recommend looking into getting a dog. Make sure you can handle the responsibilities and everything that goes with it – money for vet visits. Get it neutered/spayed. And look from a shelter. Those dogs may feel exactly like you do and just need a home and some love. So if you’ve got love to spare and money and are willing to try, adopt a dog. Cammie is a rescue and I couldn’t be happier.

Doctor’s Appointment Pt. 1

This may be too personal.

As a victim of sexual assault, going to the OBGYN once a year is very difficult. It’s one of the most dreaded days of my life. I don’t know how to explain it really. I just feel like enough people have seen the most intimate part of me, and I don’t want anyone else to see it. If that makes sense…

I have a great doctor though. She believes me when I say I’m not sexually active. She tells me everything that she’s doing before she does it, just to prepare me. But there’s just something about it that every single time makes me cry. And I hate crying. Especially in front of people. Especially if those people are virtual strangers.

But it’s something I have to do whether I want to or not. Like going to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist but still have to go.

I’m posting this now to compare my feelings about going before I go and then I’ll make a post about going after and what the appointment was actually like. My appointment isn’t until later in the week, but it’s already giving me borderline panic attacks.

As I’m typing this, the doctor’s office literally just called to confirm my appointment and my heart rate just went through the roof – just talking on the phone with the doctor’s office. I feel so pathetic.

Expect another post soon…

Another Diagnosis

My psychiatrist doesn’t live in my state. She used to, but then she moved and now we have our appointments online. I don’t need to leave the house which is something that I love, but it’s also a problem. Part of the problem is that I stopped going to therapy. I just felt like I wasn’t getting anything from it and I sat in an uncomfortable chair, in a too warm office for an hour and complained. I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong or what, but them’s the facts.

My new diagnosis, I’m sure you’re wondering what it is. Well, it’s dum, dum dum! … I’m now diagnosed with agoraphobia! What’s agoraphobia, you ask? It’s a type of anxiety disorder where you avoid things that make you uncomfortable, that could bring on a panic attack or other things that you don’t like.

Having PTSD, it makes leaving my house a little difficult and very exhausting. Being on constant alert, not trusting anyone even if they’re just shopping the same aisle in the grocery store as I am, I’m wondering if they’re going to try to steal from me or hurt me, what do they want? The answer: nothing. They don’t care two figs about me. I know this, but my brain doesn’t when I’m in the moment.

So basically, my agoraphobia means that I don’t leave the house. And when I say that I don’t leave the house, I mean literally I don’t leave the house. I’ve gone into the garage a handful of times. I’ve been in the front yard three times and the back four times. That’s all been since mid-July 2019? I have left the house I think twice to go to my sister’s, but that’s in straight into the car and then straight into her house for the remainder of the trip. Other than my sister’s, I went to my brother’s once late at night to pick up his dog (his baby was in the hospital-whole other story I might tell you later).

Being agoraphobic in this day and age isn’t all that bad. I mean, all the streaming services (Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, Disney+, YouTube TV) and I can watch literally anything I want. I can have a meal delivered to me from almost any restaurant. And I’ve just recently learned that grocery stores will do the shopping for me. I pick out what I want from online, someone goes around and picks it all up, I pay for it online and then it miraculously shows up at my front door!

So while it isn’t all that bad for me, it actually is that bad for me. Because it doesn’t force me to go out and do things, leave the house. It’s much easier to sink back further into my hole. But since I’ve decided that I’ll be posting something on here once a week, I’ll have to get out and do something. Something that I can talk about. So don’t worry! I’ll try to keep this the least boring blog as possible.

Busy Busy Busy Bee

For the past few weeks, my life has been crazy busy. I’ve been gone from home more than being at home. I stayed with my sister and her baby and fell in love with him completely. (not posting pictures for privacy) I may be biased but I think he’s the cutest newborn baby I’ve ever seen. He was absolutely perfect.

While I was there, my school term started! In a matter of days I went from not being a student to applying, being accepted, registering for a class and then it started! I mean, it was less than a week – the whole process. I was amazed. Promo note: If you’re ever looking for an online university that’s a legit university – Troy University is the best. They work with a lot of military so they’ve been doing online for years as well as having an actual brick and mortar university and different campuses. I’m just starting week 3 of my course and I can say that so far the professor an advisors have made my transitioning so easy. They answer questions quickly and thoroughly. It’s just a great university.

Anyway. I’m doing my class, I’m waiting for a specific job opening that would be perfect for me, and currently I’m cleaning out all my stuff, going through everything. So it’s been a busy time, hence the absence on here!

But I love being able to say, “Yes, I’m a student.”

I want to prove my high school teachers who all told me I’d never graduate college wrong, and I want to get my degree. I want to prove that little voice in my head wrong, the one that says I’m worthless and can’t do anything right. I want to show that even people with mental illnesses and PTSD can be successful!

I’m doing it and you can too!

Get Rid of the Stigma

My world has recently been shaken by some upsetting news. Someone I know, or rather knew, killed himself. He had been struggling for years,  but thought that he didn’t need any help because he was a man. Being in the south means that there’s an expectation to live up to, being the man of the house, being the bread winner, be the stable rock for everyone else.

I can’t explain why he did what he did. I can’t explain his reasons because I don’t know. There was no note that we’re aware of yet. He didn’t get the help he needed because it’s so stigmatized and seen as such a negative thing, a man needing help emotionally. I still don’t know how to process it, but that’s what’s been happening.

About a year ago, the man who lived across the street sent his wife out to the grocery store so that when she was gone, he committed suicide. I can’t imagine it. Well, I can. I’ve been suicidal in the past. I’ve literally held a gun in one hand and a phone in the other. Because I knew how it would affect people I loved, I used the phone and reached out for help. There’s still a stigma, even with women, but I think it’s worse for a man.

If you’re reading this and you feel like ending your life is your only solution, I’m here to tell you it’s not. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I know what I went through and am still going through. I know that it’s hard and some days you don’t want to get out of bed or even open your eyes because that moment between dreaming and waking when the world is nothing but black is better than real life. I know what that’s like. You might think that no one cares about you or will miss you, but there is someone out there who does and who will. Even if that doesn’t convince you, reach out for help anyway because it can’t really get worse, can it?

Call the national suicide hotline (US): 1-800-273-8255

If you can’t actually talk about it, try texting CONNECT to 741741 to talk to someone for free.

Just try it. It won’t hurt. Before you do anything, talk to someone, anyone, because this world needs YOU. You just don’t know how yet. Seeking out help doesn’t make you less of a man, less of a woman, or less of a person. Seeking help is that first little brick of inner strength. We all have it if you dig down deep enough. Don’t give up. Don’t give in. Talk to someone. You never know how it’ll help.

I can’t help but think that if there was less stigma around suicide and mental health, that the two people I mentioned (not including my own family members) would still be here today and would be able to reach out and help others by sharing their story. So share yours. Talk to someone.

Valentine’s Day

…is over and no complaints here! Because you know what that means!? The sappy movies are over on TV and all that candy is on sale!

But seriously… I spent my Valentine’s Day waiting in a doctor’s office. How fun is that? Let me tell you. None. No fun at all, but it is what it is. It had to be done and I’m glad it’s over with. Maybe it would’ve been nice to have someone to share Valentine’s with, I don’t really know. All I know is that despite everything and all the work I’m doing on myself right now, my anxiety lets me do hardly anything at all.

Anyone else like that? You imagine yourself doing something, can picture it so clearly in your mind and are excited and happy about it, but then when it comes right up to it, you chicken out? That’s me.

This year, I plan on forcing myself to do something different, something I haven’t done in a long time. And I plan on doing it and writing about it on here, so that’s me holding myself accountable. I will be going to a Mardi Gras parade. At some point. In 2019.

Because it’s Mardi Gras time and the king cakes are out for sale now! 

So yum! I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve always kind of wondered about king cakes and like where the tradition came from. Maybe I’ll do a little research and do a post on it! What do y’all think? Interested?

Warning: Long Post Ahead

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. I’m in the New York country side. It’s supposed be cool! I left the south for a break from the heat, not to bring it with me with no AC! Yet, here it is. I’m sweating waiting for the elementary band to come marching down the main street of this small town’s 4th of July parade. I can hear the drums and the cheers of the very small crowd from down the street.  It’s not a very big parade from a two-street town, but it is cute and they do throw some candy. There are horses and most of the “floats” are actually different kinds of tractors. It lasts less than an hour before the entire parade has passed us by.

The whole family is together, and it’ll probably be the one and only time that we’re all together like this at my grandmother’s house. She’s 88 this year and not getting around like she used to, but still all there. So there are eight of us in a three bedroom house. We’ve rented an RV for extra beds, but with this heat and lack of AC it’s not much fun to sleep in a, for all intents and purposes, a tin can with other sweating bodies. The only thing is that it cools down at night. That’s the saving grace. I enjoy the heat of the south – that sticky, sweaty humid air that makes your hair curl – but I do like being able to come inside into the AC. It’s refreshing.


It’s been a few days since I wrote the above, but the internet here is a little spotty so it didn’t post. I’m just going to add to it.

My bipolar-ness showed just before this trip, and I bought a thousand dollar camera that I don’t actually need. It was on sale, but it was still expensive. I justified it by saying I’d be using it to make a movie of this trip because it’ll never happen again.

As I write this, I’m sitting in a separate room away from everyone. People are outside playing croquet, drinking and laughing. Others are in the kitchen helping to prepare dinner (that I’ve been smelling all day and it’s making my mouth water with anticipation). With eight people in this house, things have gotten a little intimate and there’s no place to go to be alone. With my issues, I need my alone time. It’s like recharging my batteries. Not only is there the eight of us, but we have other family members coming over to eat and play games. It’s fun, but it’s also overwhelming. Things get to be too much – noises too loud, lights too bright. It kind of sends me over the edge, so I’ve got to find the time where I can to be on my own. Hiding before dinner seems to be the only time I can.

My family can be loud. We can be angry. We can be hilarious. But mostly what I feel, or rather don’t feel, is a bond. There isn’t a strong bond between all of us like I’ve witnessed in other families who actually enjoy being together and want to and make time to spend together. It’s something I’ve always wanted and am only recently learning to accept.

Another thing I’m learning to accept is that my grandmother has no filter from her brain to her mouth. I’ve got to take everything she says in stride because I can’t yell at an 88-year old woman. I learned also that other people have noticed that my grandmother isn’t particularly nice to me. Of my siblings, I’m the only one who isn’t married. I’m in my mid-twenties and by my age, my siblings (all older) were married or in a serious relationship (which led to marriage). I’m not dating anyone. I have no “prospects” either. I’d like to shout at her, “How am I supposed to be in a relationship when men still scare/anger me?!” Issues from being raped still reverberate through my life. It isn’t something that just happens and you eventually move on. You never move on, you just learn how to live with it. So while she calls me a spinster, she also calls me a brat. My parents help me out a lot because with my issues it’s hard to keep and maintain a job. I can’t yet finish school because of my anxiety, but I want to. She thinks I’m spoiled. She lets me know where I rank in her estimation of her grandchildren, but I can’t tell her why I am the way I am. I have to bite my tongue and turn the other cheek and pretend she doesn’t hurt my feelings or say what I already think about myself out loud. And it’s really hard. I mean really really hard. She doesn’t get it.

This post was supposed to be a happy one about the 4th of July and the fun side of this trip, but I’ve managed to turn it into a whining rant, so if you’ve read this far I’m sorry. I’m not going to change it because it’s cathartic knowing I’m putting it out there and someone, anyone is “listening” to me. It’s therapeutic. But dinner’s ready now, other family members have arrived and I’ve got to do my best to smile and be sociable when all I want is to take a plate into a separate room and eat silently.

Anyway, thank you for reading this far and I hope you had an awesome, safe 4th of July!

Why I don’t like therapy

I’m not at all saying, “Don’t go your therapist anymore.” If you have one and it helps that’s awesome. I’m real happy for you. But I’ve had a different experience. Isn’t therapy a place where you go to be heard? I felt like my psychologist wasn’t hearing me. That made me feel like I just spent $240 to whine to someone. Which I’m pretty sure isn’t how therapy is supposed to work.

So maybe this is my therapy – writing to you, both of us anonymous. Doesn’t that make things easier? Isn’t it easier to be yourself because whoever is judging you still doesn’t know who you are. Sure, it makes it easier to bully and troll people too, but that’s easily taken care of by deleting and blocking users. We’re both anonymous. We can’t see each other. We might even pass each other in the street or driving on the road, but we’ll never know. That’s what I like about this. Anonymity. The good and the bad.

My therapist wanted me to use my writing to re-write the event over and over until it was easier. But some things can never be made easier and she wasn’t listening to me when I told her how uncomfortable that was – not just because it was emotionally difficult to do, but because it wasn’t going to help me. It really wasn’t. I knew it before the exercise and knew it afterwards. That’s what made me stop going. She was having me re-live this trauma again and again without getting any kind of result other than re-traumatizing me.

I guess my point is traditional therapy isn’t for everyone. I tried equine therapy that focused on my PTSD and it helped me more than anything I’d ever done. It helps that I like animals already, even though I’d never been around a horse in my life. If therapy isn’t working for you, don’t give up on it entirely. Try to find someone somewhere who does something different. I’d never been around horses but I was willing to try and it helped me so much. Don’t be scared to try something different if you can! It may surprise you.

tl;dr I’m Back, Crappy and all!

It’s been a while. Why? Life. Life just gets in the way of these kinds of things doesn’t it? We get so busy, so wrapped up in appointments and other obligations that the things we enjoy doing fade away.

Two members of my family are currently on a trip to France, so I’m house-sitting/pet-sitting for them. This basically means that I get a vacation. Now, I had planned on being able to lay out by the pool, swim when it got too hot. Unfortunately, the weather has other plans. It’s stormy and not ideal by the pool weather. So I’m vacationing inside. I didn’t bring a lot to do inside and I’ve run out of other things. Then, I remembered I had this blog!

There’s something freeing about having this blog, remaining anonymous. It’s like the masks on Mardi Gras. You can be whoever you want, or you can be the real you and take off the other mask you wear every day (like me). Having a blog means you need to be able to write. Well. Not sure I’ve got that bit down, but I’m trying and I’ve heard that the more you do it the better you get at it. Fingers crossed for me and for you, if you’re still reading this far (thanks). Another thing is that you have to have something to write about. That either forces you to go out and have a life, or be thoughtful and write something deep and meaningful after thinking about something for a long time and actually have something worth sharing, anonymous or not.

I guess it’s possible to just have a really crappy blog (like mine, currently). I’ve got to get better at using the computer (this site specifically), writing, and having a life. My anxiety or my PTSD or both make it very difficult to go out and do things. That means saying no to your friends until they just stop asking. I don’t mean to whine because this isn’t a blog about me whining. It’s going to mean something…eventually. Actually, it’ll probably just be like my brain whose focus bounces around like a wild ping-pong ball.

I apologize in advance if you’ve read this far. I also thank you. Next post will be me actually saying something, not just typing words about typing words.