All posts by Wiggle Worm

No one said they were above me, but I could see, and it only proved how easy climbing trees should be

(Fish Song – Jessica McCabe)

First off, I really loved this song and I felt like it could totally apply to a wide variety of situations.

Here is the song:

I feel like this is kind of where I am right now. No one has recently said anything like hey you’re a lesser person for not having done residency or you’re not worth it…but it is pretty easy to see where I am and where other people are and feel frustrated.

It isn’t the overt you’re not enough anymore. Now it is the occasions when the me on paper holds me back. It is the excited people on facebook posting about how God loves them so much and has blessed them with dream job. By extension, if God shows love and extends blessing via meeting career objectives then I must be unloved and unblessed because I didn’t get what I wanted. If happiness is the proof that God is good then by extension the crushing of my dreams must mean the opposite. I also just realized another reason those posts were so distasteful last year (there haven’t been enough this year to make a blanket judgement). Pretty much every single person claiming God was blessing them was someone who wanted absolutely nothing to do with God prior to getting the job they wanted. I realized that while it was going to hurt either way, it probably hurt more because these people who hadn’t cared about God somehow at least acted like they believed when they got what they wanted. God is really important to me. I will admit that I am fiercely protective and this is probably me trying to protect God from people who only care when they get something incredible…one more way I am just messing everything up.

I am not a monkey, but I am also not a fish. I am a penguin. Metaphorically, I can swim, but not very well or gracefully. I am a bird, but I can’t fly. I live on the land but I can hardly walk. I am a throwaway animal. There isn’t really anything I can do right so the only thing I’m really good for is a spectacle.

Why does life have to hurt so much?

Last night I worked the 2:30-11pm shift at work. I drove home. And I got home later than I usually do walking. I live a mile away yet it took like 35 minutes to get home because I got so lost and now my car is dangerously low on gas. This is my brain on grief. I will admit that I am not the greatest at wayfinding, but when you only live a mile from work, it definitely shouldn’t take 35 minutes starting at 11 at night to get home. I don’t know what happened. Thankfully God put me somewhere that I eventually realized where I was and how to get home, but it is frustrating when stuff like that happens. I guess it feels like a confirmation that I can’t do anything right.

Today is match day for pharmacy. I made it out alive last year, and I will keep going this year. It hurts. But my oatmeal and a cookie made it to my mouth eventually. I feel like I can’t, but I know minute by minute day by day I will survive this. Someday it will be okay even if I have to keep waiting and holding on until I get to heaven for that someday to occur.


Whining and Crying as Well

(He Grants Sleep to Those He Loves – Michael Card)


The line that comes immediately before these lyrics, similar to the title of the song, is “For he grants sleep to the ones that he loves.” When life hurts so much and sleep is not coming easily, it feels easy to use this as evidence against God loving me…but I have to remember that next line “whining and crying as well.” God acknowledges that we can expect to have negative feelings. But it still hurts.


Today last year the light at the end of my long tunnel burned out…or more accurately, the bulb was crushed so it couldn’t really even be changed. I tried to make today not come. I just stayed at church and stayed at church as if not going home would mean yesterday would never end. Not that yesterday was awesome or anything, but I guess I instinctively knew that whatever I felt yesterday it would surely be much worse today…but eventually I had to leave…and eventually today came.


I’m eating, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but it really isn’t enjoyable like it should be. I mean, I like the chocolate, but it isn’t enough to even make me feel happy while eating it. I guess that’s better than fighting to get the food in my mouth in the first place and crying through the entire process of putting food in my mouth, but that doesn’t mean I am happy to be living this way. Why won’t God take me home?


At this point, I really don’t care if there is something I am supposed to learn from this. If this is what it takes then I don’t want to learn anything. I just want it to not hurt. I wish I could say all the tears this morning were from cutting onions, but that wouldn’t be true. Although I did cut onions this morning. I guess I did claim I wanted a job where I could grow…in all honesty that was pretty much just some words other people fed me because “I am interested in this job because you are hiring and I need a job” doesn’t exactly give you much of a chance of being considered. But I suppose I have grown – I bought vegetables that were not frozen peas, and not just because the store ran out of frozen peas or for some one time recipe. I intentionally chose something else. I am learning to experiment and try new things. I am proud of that, but I would trade that and like anything else for the pain to end. I wish God operated the world like a laptop. Control alt delete, open task manager, select applications, find myself on the list, click end process. But God doesn’t operate the world like a laptop, so I can’t push my plans through. I am stuck here until God changes my path, and I feel frustrated. I don’t understand why God won’t fix it.


This thing is gonna bend and shake you

(This thing is not gonna break you – Christa Wells)


It is still so hard. Today (Thursday) I was holding back tears at work. Saturday is the one year anniversary of the first match day when I didn’t match. It hurts so much. I pray for God to take me home, but he keeps saying no and I feel frustrated and overwhelmed and trapped. The pharmacy match day is Tuesday. The student sitting next to me kept talking about the awesome residency she plans to match with. She asked me where I did residency. I know she meant to make conversation, but it was another wound in my hurting heart. The physician match day is tomorrow. There are lots of information out about celebrating that. I don’t want to celebrate match day. I am grieving match day. It hurts too much. When can I go home to heaven? Why does this have to be so hard?


I want to believe the lyrics of this song that this thing is not gonna break me, but I feel so broken and I feel like I’ll never be able to put the pieces back together. It is too hard. I just want to not hurt anymore.


I know I am doing so much better than I was – still eating, at least able to hold back tears…but it is still so hard. It still is so intensely painful. And sleep is kind of hit or miss, but I’m at least getting some sleep some nights. But I am so exhausted of just surviving. I want more. It hurts too much. I just want this to end. How long do I have to keep going through this? Why won’t God take it away? I want a way out. Where is my white flag? Why can’t I just quit? I’ve wiped the tears from my face too many times. Does this ever end? Can my fractured heart ever be healed?


I’ve been looking up suicide rates following match day. I haven’t found any statistics. What I have found is that medical student suicides are most often quickly swept under the rug and hidden or disguised – labeled as accidental overdose when it was clearly intentional for example, or natural causes or unknown cause of death when wrists were slit or it was a self-hanging or whatever. I have also found that not only is the attempt rate higher in physicians or medical students, but the success rate is also very very significantly higher. I have found nothing on pharmacy students. I do know, however, that stress and anxiety rates are higher in medical students than in the general population and that stress and anxiety rates tend to be higher in pharmacy students than in medical students, although mental health is MUCH less studied in pharmacy students than it is in medical students…so I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if there is also a hidden phenomenon in pharmacy students. So maybe I should be proud I’ve made it a year almost without killing myself. But I don’t want to be proud. I want to be dead and I want to be happy. I’m sorry about not tying this up in a pretty package with a bow, but I’m just so tired of pretending I’m okay every day when I’m struggling so much. I just want to good enough. Maybe then I could express myself well enough that people wouldn’t invalidate my pain. It is probably my fault that people don’t get it, because I’m not good enough at anything, not good enough at using my words, not good enough at explaining what happened. Maybe she was right that I’ll never be wanted. It hurts to know I’ll never be good enough ever. Why did I bother trying so hard for so long just to be left here so aware of my worthlessness? Maybe it would have been better to get a job at Caribou or something or McDonalds or something. I might not have been competent at “would you like fries with that” at the time of high school graduation, but I could have learned. I would have learned, because I am determined and stubborn.


Just remember from the darkness of night always comes the bright of day…The pain in your heart that may never go

(Piece of Heaven – Go Fish)


First off, this song is awesome. I love Go Fish. Plus Go Fish is awesome because their tagline is something like music the kids love that doesn’t drive mom and dad crazy…as in their music is intended to be enjoyed by everyone.


Anyway, I mentioned recently that I have been really loving the book “Beautiful Things Happen When a Woman Trusts God” by Sheila Walsh. In the book, Sheila Walsh becomes a speaker. It occurred to me a few days ago that Sheila was a real person and most likely I could find some of her talks on youtube. It seems like the theme through the book and her talks is what is your identity, not just your name, but who are you. A subtheme that is definitely expressed, but expressed more strongly in her collabs with other speakers, is that brokenness is not a flaw, in fact, our brokenness is what facilitates community.


In the context of those themes, this song seems even more relevant.


“Please God, how can it be? He was just here; it doesn’t make sense to me”


“Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s the middle of the night…but sometimes everything’s alright”


“You may not see what you’ve been given after all that’s been taken away.”


“People try but only Jesus could know the pain.”


“I see a piece of heaven when I look at you. It shines so bright after all you’ve been through. It doesn’t seem fair, things like this never do.”


“Tough questions they never leave your mind; easy answers are nowhere to find.”


So anyway, I am trying to figure out who I am after the storm that feels like it wiped everything I knew away. I used to be “future pediatric critical pharmacist, lover of and loved by my eternal daddy Jesus.” (To steal my about me section from YouNow). Then I didn’t match. I was no longer on the path I’d been on my entire life. That was the only thing I’d ever wanted since early elementary school, and probably even before. In the wake of the destruction of my dreams, I was pretty sure God didn’t care, and if he was perfect and all-knowing yet didn’t really care then he probably didn’t love me and to be honest, I was angry with him. My entire identity was washed away. I am stuck in a dead end that I don’t know how to get out of. God and I are on better terms as I am reminded that God gave us warning in advance that this life WILL be hard, but what about my dreams? I changed my bio to “wannabe” instead of “future,” but I feel like there has to be more for me than this. I think that is definitely a big part of why I have been thinking about if there is any way I could go back to school for social work without throwing away the degree I fought for first. It would be a fresh start. An opportunity to have something go right…but I know it wouldn’t really fulfill me. My real dream is still working in NICU or pediatric emergency. I hate that I had to settle for less. Sure, I make a pretty decent living, but money can’t buy happiness. I think I would rather live destitute but doing what I feel like I was made for than have all the money in the world and stay stuck here…but no one will hire a volunteer pharmacist…and I don’t really see any realistic way out of where I am. I feel frustrated.


People tell me I am brave, strong, resilient. I guess, in reflecting, I would have to adopt those words as my own and describe my identity as #brave #strong #resilient #survivor. Yes, with the hashtags, because I might not be a digital native, in fact, I have always been a little more reserved in pretty much everything, and so right about the time other people stopped verbally hashtagging, I started…so the hashtags kind of pick up that little piece of my identity. From hula hoops and scooters as a kid to hashtags as an adult, I have always picked up the trend right around the time it stopped being cool or popular. Sometimes those words feel right, but so many other times, I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel resilient. And sometimes I don’t know if I even want to be a survivor.


Sometimes I still cry. Sometimes I am frustrated by the snail’s pace of healing from grief, or by the fact that recovery is not linear. Sometimes I am just making it through life. I feel like an imposter sometimes just impersonating the brave, strong, resilient girl that people expect of me. All I want is to sink into a puddle and drown out the pain, but I smile and keep on going. Maybe that is what it means to be courageous – to keep going even when life gets so hard.


Maybe it is hard because from a distance I don’t see the depths of pain so clearly, but from close up all I can see is the pain right now. When I look back, I do see the deep desperate pain, but more than that, I see my friends as a human shield. They gathered around me as if to protect me from my pain. They were my external armor from the world to soften my fall. When I try to look through the holes I do see the pain. I do see the girl scared by her rapidly plummeting weight yet struggling to feed her body. I do see the girl crying so hard she can barely see where she is going and mind so far gone that it is an effort to remember how to start, stop, steer my car, yet telling everyone she is fine so as not to accidentally inconvenience anyone. I do see the girl not sleeping while her eyes drip the moisture of tears onto the pillow – moisture her body didn’t have to spare. But those pieces add up to a fractured whole, because it is covered by the protective cage of my friends’ support. That cage wasn’t to keep me in, it was to try to keep me safe, just like we don’t put hamsters in a ball or cage to trap them, but to protect them from being crushed or lost.

 lunar Sphere inside bucky ball 3D Print 139325

The image I see in my head is kind of like this, but pretend the yellowish outside frame is a network of my friends’ bodies and arms and legs, and the green blob in the middle is me. I am so thankful for that support. Lol…I would try to draw it, but I am no good at art. I spent twice as much time in art class in eighth grade not because I loved it or had any talent, but because I was struggling and needed more time to get my projects finished…and okay, also because on one particular project I took the directions a bit too seriously which made it take FORever to finish that stupid painting.



But still seeing my brokenness and pain now, while hamsters are intended to live in a cage, people aren’t, and so eventually I had to leave the cage and figure out how to navigate the world on my own. And it is still hard, especially as in just a few more days it will be the first anniversary of the day I didn’t match the first time. It hurts. It feels like carrying a heavy weight on my shoulders every day. It is exhausting. My body is fighting a battle to survive while my mind holds us hostage in grief. I almost made plans to go see some people the weekend of April 13. My first match day was March 17, and the second one was April 12. This year the dates are March 20 and April 12. If just one of those dates were April 12 I would consider planning on a trip that weekend. With both of them, I know better than to try to plan anything. Considering how much I am already hurting, I want to make sure I am not setting myself up for a dangerous situation. I can’t say with certainty how I will be feeling that weekend, but it seems that there is a high enough probability that it will not be a good idea to travel that I shouldn’t plan on it. ‘Cause I am nothing if not stubborn. Once I planned it, I would have a hard time cancelling it, because girl is no quitter and isn’t going to let grief defeat her. So someday I will go reconnect with my besties, but not yet. I’m going to have to keep waiting. I miss my friends so bad, but TBH it probably isn’t ideal to show up struggling anyway. I want to see my friends, but I want to do it in a wise way that I can look back and only smile. God put awesome people in my life and that is how I want to remember my time with them, awesome.


So yeah, I have no idea where I was going with that…I guess that whole thing was a super long way to say that I have awesome friends, but I am still struggling one year later and coming to terms with that. And when I am struggling I am back to fearful of seeing my abuser. I dreamed last night that I was at a swim team party and for some reason she was there and not only that, was sitting at the end of the potluck table. It was scary. I went through the line, but I couldn’t stand to be so close to her so I went back to avoiding…to the point that my plate was filled with chips and umm, that’s about it. Sure, part of that is because girl is a picky eater, but dessert on my plate is pretty much a no-brainer if you know me. It might sometimes be dessert plus chips and skip the rest, but at this potluck there was only chips, because I would have had to get closer to her if I wanted anything else. And that showed me that as much as I want to believe that I am totally past that, I am not. I still have some work to do to get past the abuse. It doesn’t just disappear because I don’t want it to be there anymore.


Babies Bleed from Bulletholes

(Dear Me – Nichole Nordeman)


So this post (or maybe just the first part of it…) is kind of embarrassing and different from what I usually post, but there has been a little voice at the back of my head telling me to write through it. I’m not sure whether there is someone else who needs these words that God wants me to reach or if I need to be writing it to learn something for or about myself, but I’ve avoided it long enough and it is time to just go for it.


So the night between Tuesday and Wednesday, around 2:30-ish, I thought I heard four gunshots. Looking back I still have no clue what it might have been, but awake brain recognizes the lack of any identifiable police involvement means it is unlikely to have actually been a gun, and the lack of voice or static negates any possibility of a neighbor watching something on TV or listening to some kind of recording.


Terrified, I decided to close my bedroom door (for extra seconds of notice) and get under my bed. I barely fit, and was cold and squished, but leaving the pillow on the bed, I laid under my bed with my sheets pulled off and against at least one side of the bed for “protection.” Besides, there are clothes and jackets on the floor so it isn’t that out of place and if by chance my feet aren’t showing it could like the apartment was deserted.


At what I found out was about 3am I reached for my phone. I guess to try to put it on speakerphone to 911 if I knew it was the end since I definitely wasn’t making any extra noise so maybe I’d save someone else.


My original plan was to not get out until my alarm went off, but since I naturally start for real waking up around 4, it was about that time I realized it was increasingly painful to stay under the bed, and also I was no longer as hidden because my stomach was making hungry noises. I was cold and scared and decided at this point I’d been under there for a long enough time that maybe the situation was controlled, but if it wasn’t I still was going to need to be at work in the morning if I was still alive, so I needed some better rest.


Getting back out is rather challenging for an adult sized human, but I did that, took my glasses back off, typed on my laptop that I had been under my bed “in case I died and no one knew I tried,” and went back to sleeping ON the bed.


This whole situation was so out of character for me. Sure, my comfort zone is pretty much 39*75 (the size of a twin sized mattress), but while I have had problems with anxiety, it has never been like that. I am a girl who blatantly ignored all the rules about where you should and shouldn’t go in St. Louis, partly because I had no idea where these places were and weren’t, partly because if I need to go somewhere no one is telling me I can’t, and partly because I really wasn’t afraid and felt that mostly people were just being scaredy-cats about something that really wasn’t going to happen if you used your noggin as something other than a hat rack. I had no problem with wandering around in the dark or in the light or in the rain or by a train…okay, not by a train, but you get the gist. So I guess with this being so weird for me that there must be either something fueling it, or something I am supposed to have learned from the experience (besides the knowledge that I have no intention of ever sleeping underneath my bed).


So I guess most obviously, is there somewhere in life I feel threatened? I mean, physically, no, I do not fear for my safety. And actually, even if I were still in the area where my abuser lives, I am no longer afraid of her. She no longer is in a position of power over me, which has been huge for my healing. I feel safe from her. Actually, over the past few weeks, when I have imagined visiting people in the city where she lives, when the what if of her showing up appears, my response is no longer to yearn to get away and to put up a mental fence of protection around myself. Instead, my response is to politely excuse myself, calmly approach, and sometimes in my imagination my words are a request to please leave me alone, but other times the words are simply a quick “I forgive you” followed by calmly returning to my friend. It was actually really empowering the first time that happened to realize I was no longer kept captive by fear of her. Anyway, all that to say physically I feel safe. I guess sort of in terms of my career I do feel threatened to some extent. I am in a position that I do not like that is really not a very well-respected position. I also know that the longer I am out of school the harder it will be to convince any residency program to accept me. And I know that in the course of surviving (and having nowhere to use them anyway), I am most likely losing knowledge and clinical skills as I fail to keep up to date which will make residency harder if I ever get there. I feel trapped and frustrated. I want out, but with an impossible to use PTO system that requires one know when they will need days off a year in advance, I don’t see how it is even possible to interview without lying about being sick which is obviously something that would be wrong and not something that is even an option for me. I can’t do that. And in an interview, how do I explain the years off? How do I explain the holes and complete change in path? How do I even get that far when I have nothing to offer anymore? How do I find any relevant reference writers without announcing that I desperately want out?


Next Saturday will mark one year since I failed to match. I guess it is the one year anniversary of the trauma. Or is it? I mean, is it really that well defined, or do we mark time starting at midyear, or submitting the application, or the first interview, or the phone call from my advocate friend, or from the email from the abuser that was the beginning of my escape, or from my first session with her, or from her first day at school? Or we could start even younger and blame the change of churches as a teenager that stole away my identity as the beginning since without that I probably would never have gotten involved with my abuser and even if I had may not have been as vulnerable since I would have had a stronger, harder to break, confidence in my identity and worth. But that one year mark since the first match day does feel like a big mile stone. It seems insane that it has been nearly a year. In some ways it still feels like match day was yesterday. In other ways it seems like that was forever ago. It is hard, too, because as long as I stay in the pharmacy world I am constantly going to be confronted with the perennial cycle of resident interviews and the match.


As March 17th gets increasingly closer I am starting to feel more of the pain again. It hurt so much then, but it still hurts now. I still cry sometimes. You know, I think my response to hide under my bed to save myself maybe is showing me how far I have come. Last year when it happened, I definitely knew I had no interest in being alive. I longed to go to forever home with eternal daddy. Gradually as I healed I started to reach a point where I was ambivalent towards life. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to die, but I also knew I wasn’t a super fan of being alive. I know that sounds weird, but I was and in a lot of ways still am just living every day for the sake of getting to the end of it even though I know inevitably the next day will come and I will have to start all over. My response kind of shows that I am reaching a point where I want to be alive more than I want to die. Maybe it is just a control thing, or maybe I just have enough good things coming up that I am living for those good things and will crash again when they are over, but I really want to believe that this is where healing begins and the light meets the dark. (Okay sorry, my brain really just is a messed up mp3 player sometimes). I am not where I would like to be, and I don’t have a lot to show for myself, particularly to anyone who isn’t privy to what was really going on last year (and even before that), but I guess I need to recognize that I have worked really hard to make it through this year. Pinterest told me that sometimes courage isn’t standing on the stage, but is instead the little voice that says I will try again tomorrow, and I have bravely tried again tomorrow for nearly 365 days since match day. Sometimes it feels like a knife is ripping me apart from the inside, but I haven’t given up. I’m still here. I’m not always sure I’d like to still be here, and it certainly wasn’t by choice, but I AM still here. I don’t know why God kept me on earth, but I am and I have to deal with it the best I can.


And that is certainly not to say that everything is bad and nothing is good. I have found some wonderful people. Also, recently I was watching a kid video that mentioned that kids or even adults who have been in hard places can sometimes be psychosocially still living at a lower age than their chronological age, because it is harder for them to grow past the age where they were hurt or missing something. As I mentioned above, changing churches was really hard for me. As a minimally social kid who really only fit in and had connections at church, being separated from that environment was a huge struggle in my world, not made easier by going somewhere that every other girl my age had been friends since early infancy. Most of them had no interest in inviting in another girl, and to be honest, at first I didn’t want to believe this change was for real and wasn’t that invested in trying to make friends anyway. Even when I realized I was stuck, and did want to be included, I was left out. It hurts when you go from somewhere you got to choose your Sunday school class to somewhere it is preassigned based on grade level and all the girls in your grade are a clique that doesn’t include you. It hurts when they frequently have parties that include every girl in the class except you. It hurts when going around the circle for anything intentionally skips you. It hurts when you aren’t even allowed a prayer request, instead being assigned the same prayer request every week from the other girls in the group. It hurts when you have no escape. Even when I signed up to lead my own small group, my assigned adult overseer was the mom of one of the girls. Anyway, last night I attended youth group at my current church. Yes, I know I am not a youth. At my old church at home there were a good number of college students and young adults who weren’t really volunteering as youth leaders, but kept coming every week basically never actually graduating from youth group despite their high school graduation. I always saw myself as being one of those people, because youth group was where I fit in. At the new church at home, that wasn’t something anyone did. Maybe because there was a college age ministry. Knowing that I wasn’t doing well in youth group and had connections in the college age group, I was allowed to join a few months early, and while a lot of the people were not actually college students and just hadn’t graduated from college ministry (I guess it was the holding grounds for people who still wanted something more the way youth group was at the other church) it was good at first…until the few college age people in the group moved on and the rest of the group would be excited you were there when you showed up and then ignore you the rest of the time. So anyway, this youth group experience was what I wish I had all those years ago. I didn’t fit in super well since I was an adult but not a leader in a room of mostly middle-schoolers, but I felt included and valued. The circle didn’t skip me. People acted like I belonged there, like they really cared about me. I wasn’t really ready to use a lot of my words yet, but I felt like it would be a safe place if I was ready to use my words. I didn’t actually intend to go to youth group – I have a bible study that meets at the same time – but a couple of the leaders asked, and I figured it would be a lot better than the bible study I had been going to. I always hear them happy and wish I were in a group like that. In my group, most of the people are really wonderful individually, but put them all together and it is a super negative group. I am very not a fan. Also, they are all at a completely different stage of life from me. They love having homework. I hate it. Okay, I said it. I’ve been pretending I don’t mind, or making excuses why my homework isn’t done, but in reality, I just got frustrated with the idea of homework. I want to be able to go to a group and have community, not just someone else telling me something I really should have done if I was a good little Christian girl. I get that if you are an empty-nester or a stay at home mom of school age kids you do have some time in the day you might like constructively filled with adult content, but as a single, full-time working, young adult who is also still just trying to make it day to day, I am not interested…especially since the homework is the kind of crap you get in literature classes and literature is right up there with history in my least favorite classes. You know, until I started writing this I didn’t realize how hard I had been trying to force a Honda key to start a Toyota. I joined the Bible study because I really needed community and decided there was some community, but I guess you can’t just make people your community.


So…TL;DR version: I had a weird fear response. I realized I want to live more than I want to die right now, but also that the closer March 17th gets the more the pain is resurfacing and strengthening. Also, I found out that I really enjoy youth group.

And I’m not done fighting, this is the sound of surviving

(Sound of Surviving – Nichole Nordeman)


So a couple weeks ago, I loaded an audiobook on my Hoopla account that I hadn’t ever listened to before. I was barely 5 sentences in when I decided it might be my new favoritest book ever. Now that I have made it to the end a few times, I can agree with my initial assessment that it is a pretty good book, although I do think that the beginning is incredible, but the end starts to get kinda meh…I don’t mind if you bring the Bible into your story, but it kind of gets disruptive to the storyline when you pause to tell me who all of the prophetesses in the Bible were. That random trivia doesn’t really add to your story and just makes me feel kind of annoyed because I want to get back to the story at hand. Oh yeah, the book is “Beautiful Things Happen when a Woman Trusts God” by Sheila Walsh.


A couple days ago youtube suggested I listen to a few Nichole Nordeman songs that I hadn’t listened to in a long time and I found myself really connecting. And I just really love the title of this one: Sound of Surviving. Surviving is pretty much all I was doing for a long time. The entirety of mid-March to mid-October is a huge blur of just getting through life. Maybe it is just because I tend to downplay things to avoid unwanted attention, but I want to label this a trauma with a little t. It is hard even knowing what I went through to acknowledge how hard this was. Intellectually I know the way this was so intimately linked to the abuse probably should qualify it for big T trauma, but I guess that feels like cheating. It feels like putting the blame on someone else for me not being good enough…and I guess now that I write that out, it shows pretty clearly that I really am still trying to rebuild.


I guess I need to acknowledge that the little girl who was wasting her life becoming a pharmacist because she could do so much more became the stupid girl who was so out of touch with reality that she thought she could be a pharmacist, and now this pharmacist still is struggling to learn to believe again that she could be worth anything. She is still trying to learn that she isn’t just an annoyance. She is still trying to learn that she deserves being acknowledged as a member of society even when she doesn’t have much to give. I hate so much that I ever let anyone make me feel like I was worthless, but I do understand that it isn’t my fault.


So, umm, yeah, whether little or big traumas, they can lead to living in chaos. And, oh my is that true of my life right now sometimes. I went to five different stores Friday and Saturday that sell fruits and vegetables…and even walked past the correct departments in each of those stores. And Sunday I opened the fridge to eat lunch and there was no fruit or vegetable in the fridge or freezer. There are clothes all over my apartment and papers on the floor. I recently-ish heard about a filing system that has always been very much my system, but is even more so my system and something I can totally support now. It is called the SHAPE system…which stands for Stacks, Heaps, And Piles Everywhere. It used to be a system that made me feel at home and actually worked well for me to keep track of things. Now it is at an extreme where I am working hard not to trip over things and I sure hope there is more than one copy if it is super important, because the extra is probably just as lost as the original, but at least with two things to look for there is a higher chance of actually finding one of them.


And, um, that was actually not at all anything that I actually sat down to write. (Okay, let’s be honest, except when I am out in public I VERY rarely am in a sitting position. I am almost exclusively more horizontally positioned, and as of the past months usually getting pressure input from at least a sheet if not the comforter as well). What I was actually going to say is that when you are “just” surviving you don’t really have much in the way of an ability to think in the long term. Everything is either now or not now, and not now bears no relevance when you are pretty much running on empty just trying to take care of now. So when in May you are told you absolutely must create an account on this website and you must do it right now, you do it even though you have absolutely no idea why you would ever want to have an account. You also assume that you will remember your username and password because you do now, and there is no not now that you have time to worry about. You then forget that this website even exists until one day when you get an email that says click here to sign in for more information.






A search of the emails that I saved located a username. Awesome. Except that I still haven’t got a clue what my password might be. And there isn’t a forgotten password link. It isn’t in my list of important passwords. There is a possibility I may have written it down, but if I did, it was probably in my notebook for class that I since have thrown away because there wasn’t anything useful in there except for a few things that were painful but that I saw no need in keeping. And even if it was written in there, chances are it was just on another line as another note for the day, and going through 70 pages of notes and recognizing that line and knowing it was a password and the password I was looking for is a pretty marginal chance. Even a series of gibberish-like characters isn’t much of a giveaway if you know the way I write. My typing is a little better because autocorrect and those little red lines give me some help, but when I handwrite, there isn’t a little genie flipping around letters and underlining potential mistakes as I make them, so I end up with words with the letters out of order. Most of the time it is middle letters alternating positions (incredible = icneridlbe), but sometimes there is a letter or two completely out of place (belautifu = beautiful), or a word spelled with inappropriate phonetics (write vs rite vs right, dun vs done), or some combination of the three. Yes, when I was in school and studying it sometimes made it a puzzle to figure out what I meant in my notes, but it also gave some much needed comedic relief at times. I still have a picture of my notes where furosemide is spelled something like frusomedie and I had looked at what I wrote and went wait, what?? So yeah, this account that I absolutely had to have, I have it all right. And it is very secure. So secure that I have tried every single thing I could think of and haven’t got a clue what my password might be. Luckily though, the information I wanted was purely curiosity and not anything I actually needed to know, so it isn’t a big deal…unless I continue to get messages that I can’t find out more about in which case I’ll probably be annoyed for eternity (or at least until I opt out of emails).


Take the Bullets Away

(Take the Bullets Away – We As Human/Lacey)


Never have I written a post that better utilized the lyrics of this song…lol…


There are a lot of things inside my head that I want to write about…one of them is the shooting that made the news last week. I recognized the location on the map as the same general location as two other shooting events that made the news enough to reach my corner of the universe recently-ish…yet these people described their area as very safe. Sometimes we pigeonhole ourselves into a world of tunnel vision where we see only what is right in front of us and miss the big picture.


There are a lot of debates on the internet right now surrounding this event.


  • Is gun control super important or is it completely irrelevant?
  • Is the real problem guns or is it mental health?
  • Is talking about mental health following these events important in furthering the conversation or is it completely disrespectful?


So yeah, all those things get me thinking about what my opinion would be if my opinion actually mattered. Just going to say right now I think the position that talking about mental health following these events being disrespectful is completely stupid. Sorry if that offends you, but actually, no, I am not sorry about expressing my opinion, lol, just sorry you got your little precious feelings hurt. I think as a society in general we are often too self-centered. We are so focused on our own worlds that we miss what is going on in someone else’s sphere. Other people’s pain is not noticed or is ignored. For that matter, other people in general are often ignored. How many times have we all been on an elevator with someone we didn’t know and said absolutely nothing, or at most a hello? That reminds me of someone’s facebook post that I saw a few months ago. They posted to be really careful near this particular strip mall because omg they felt so threatened and scared…the real story? This person ignored someone who was approaching her and pretended she didn’t notice. She got in her car and she felt really threatened because the person came up to the window while she was texting and knocked on the window to get her attention. The person writing this post said she looked up then refused to acknowledge the other person. I read that story and was pretty sure it wasn’t the writer who deserved to feel threatened. It is perfectly natural and human to request assistance or ask questions of our fellow humans when we encounter them…and ignoring them and refusing to even take the 5 seconds to say you are busy or can’t help is nothing but rude.


Okay, so yeah, tangent of tangent of tangent, my point there is that while you obviously do not have to be mentally ill to commit a crime, I am guessing most people who commit crimes are not doing it because they have gotten too much positive attention in life, and that positive attention is good for everyone. People who struggle with mental health concerns often need positive support people, yet no one notices because we are all busy with our own worlds.


I don’t really care what you think the “real” problem in these events is. What I do care about is that these events seem to push mental health into the limelight. Whether mental health was a factor in the event or not, I think it is beneficial to bring more awareness to that area. I think mental health is something that a lot of people brush off as not that real, not that important, not that relevant, and that does a disservice to the people who do need help but think by extension their needs are not real, not important, not relevant. Everyone matters y’all.


I do think that access to guns is a problem. People have said why does a teen need a semi-automatic weapon (I don’t even know what that means…lol…). I counter, why does a teen need any weapon. For that matter, why does anyone need a weapon. Sure, if we limit weapons it will still be possible for bad people to get their hands on one, but that will be much more difficult, greatly decreasing the ease with which a crime can be committed. Outside of living in a warzone, which has not been the case in the United States since the civil war, there really is pretty close to zero need for personal ownership of a gun. People whine but what about hunting…well, no problem, because there is this thing we do with lots of other entertainment equipment called daily rentals. Rent the gun from an authorized facility for a limited period of time. Return it when you are done. This also prevents the issue of your toddler accidentally killing you when you leave your gun unlocked and accessible…not sayin’ just sayin’.


People also claim police officers need deadly weapons for protection. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Yeah, no. This argument goes back to the he said she said of childhood. Just because he pushed you doesn’t mean you have permission to push back. Two wrongs don’t make a right (but three lefts do J ). Murder is no less wrong when you are murdering someone who murdered. Dead is dead. I understand the desire to quickly gain control of a situation before you are close enough to physically restrain someone, but there are options that don’t involve killing or otherwise threatening people. Just because someone made a bad choice doesn’t strip them of their humanity and their right to be treated with compassion. If something audiovisual is not practical, then I’ve heard of something called a pellet gun, which in my understanding anyway, does physically hurt enough to shock the victim, but does not usually cause lasting damage.


Speaking of revenge killing…I read that is what the police want to do with the Florida teen. Kind of ironic, because the teen is apparently on suicide watch as well…so basically it is the justice system just wanting to show their power and exert control. No, you can’t kill yourself. We want to do that to you. People who are suicidal don’t necessarily want to die though. They want for their pain to end, and committing suicide seems like the only way out even though that really only transfers the pain to other people.


So yeah, the gun manufacturers are gonna have their panties in a wad if they can’t keep selling more guns, but really, what is more important, the needs of a very teeny tiny minority to sell guns, or the needs of the vast majority to have safety? The gun manufacturers can come up with something else to make but the dead people can’t become any less dead.


Kinda like what I heard today. Someone in a video said that following loss it is important to remember that we cannot undo what was done, and we cannot do what was not done. Therefore we must mourn the things that were done and realize we cannot change or replace the loss. Moving back into my life, this really explains why even if I had gotten an awesome residency in phase II, it wouldn’t have ended my mourning. We cannot do what was not done – it wouldn’t have changed that I didn’t have a residency then. And we cannot undo what was done – it wouldn’t take away the worthlessness, rejection, and betrayal I felt. It wouldn’t unkindle the pain of the abuse. Sure, it would add something that might take away the sting, but it wouldn’t undo the pain that was already there.

Courage is his Name

(Harold the Helicopter)


Today I actually feel pretty good. That is such a blessing considering that under a week ago I was desperately crying out to God to take me home. I know the fact that I feel that way sometimes means I should get help processing the grief, but I also know that with my history it will be best and safest for me to not push myself into that until I am pretty stable. It is kind of a catch 22 I guess. I can’t get help because I am struggling. I am struggling because I can’t get help…but first and especially second year I started learning to stand up for myself and to figure out how to support myself through things. I might have taken some steps backwards through the abuse third year, but elephants never forget and neither did I. Third year and the fallout gave me ample opportunities to start growing those skills to the best of my ability. Someone once suggested that I had PTSD surrounding another event. I posit that if that is true then I have comorbid PTG (post traumatic growth). I have found my inner warrior. I might be primarily a people-pleasing pushover, but I at least sometimes believe that I do have worth and I am worth fighting for.


I am not so sure the PTSD assessment was ever really that accurate, but that is not the point. The point is that grief storm attacks are normal, particularly in the first year surrounding the event. Considering that my “event” is more of a complex loss that occurred in pieces over a period of time, defining that year timeframe is kind of difficult. That is not to mention that the one year designation also does not make one immune to further storms of grief, but rather a somewhat arbitrary marker separating firsts from other hard events. It is easy to see the grief storm and feel like I’m not moving forward when in reality I am. I want forward motion to mean feeling awesome all the time and that is not how life works.


I am feeling apprehensive, because in almost exactly a month will be the first anniversary of the first match day last year. Maybe I will get lucky and the day will go by without a second thought…but probably more likely it will be a very challenging day. Last year on the 16th my red skates came in the mail and I tried them on that night before going to bed. The next morning I was taking pictures of my new skates to upload to facebook when I got a call from my mom to look for the match results. I figured it wouldn’t have come yet, but curiosity made me go look anyway. And my world stopped spinning. Grief is hard. It is crazy that it has been 11 months since then. It still feels raw like it was yesterday and at the same time it feels like it has been a million years that I have been fighting since then. In relation to another event someone once told me that I should try to do something exciting on the anniversary to cover up the pain and make it something to look forward to instead. Yeah, I’m not so sure about how that will work. To be honest, that day last year not only had the excitement the night before, but was originally a day to which I was eagerly looking forward. I was excited to announce my residency position. Then the excitement was crushed into disappointed agony. So I don’t really see how adding extra excitement will do much more than make the resemblance even more striking. And…umm, I may have decided to plan a party the night before anyway, because, well, mostly because I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to when the party was going to be when I said yes I would like to help plan. I am really hoping that the party is engaging enough that it at least is a little bit of reprieve from the pain that will most likely be happening that weekend. I am going to be brave. I am going to have a hard week, but I am going to survive.


Well, anyway, since I am already way far away from what I originally sat down to write, I guess I might as well go even further off course and share some of the things that have been saved in my internet for a long time.


I found this letter on the internet and the site was citing it from somewhere else that was citing it from somewhere else and I got tired of trying to track down the actual original reference, so I guess this is probably kinda copyright infringement or something, but this letter about grief I felt was not identical to my experience but did have a lot of things in there that I would very much have liked to have been able to express. I bolded a few of the things I would really have liked everyone to know.


Dear_____________________(Family, Friends, Pastor, Employer),


I have experienced a loss that is devastating to me. It will take time, perhaps years, for me to work through the grief I feel because of this loss.


I will cry more than usual for some time. My tears are not a sign of weakness or lack of hope or faith. They are the symbol of the depth of my loss and the sign that I am recovering.


I may become angry without seeming to have a reason for it. My emotions are heightened by the stress of grief. Please be forgiving if I seem irrational at times. I need your understanding and your presence more than anything else. If you don’t know what to say, just touch me or give me a hug to let me know you care. Please don’t wait for me to call you. I am often too tired to even think of reaching out for the help I need.


Don’t allow me to withdraw from you. I need you more than ever during the next year.


Pray for me only if your prayer is not an order for me to make you feel better. My faith does not excuse me from the grief process.


If you have had an experience of loss that seems anything like mine, please share it with me. You will not make me feel worse.


This loss is the worse thing that could happen to me. But I will get through it and I will live again. I will not always feel as I do now.


I will laugh again.


Thank you for caring about me. Your concern is a gift I treasure.




(your name)


I wish I had found this sooner. I might have actually posted it on facebook or something if I had been able to find the energy and motivation to do that. I wish that I had found it though because of those phrases at the end “I will not always feel as I do now. I will laugh again.” That is a piece of hope that I am not sure I would have actually believed if I had found this too soon, but that piece of hope is something that I still am clinging on to. Sometimes it feels like nothing will ever change and I am going to be stuck here forever. Okay, most of the time it feels like that. It feels really good to try to believe that maybe someday there will be something more for me than this pain.


I also found more recently a page by I think it was Margaret Feinberg about what not to say to someone grieving. Usually I hate that kind of list because everyone is so different and what someone else wants to hear might be what I can’t stand and vice versa. This list though had some things that I agree with. What not to say: you must feel so close to God right now. Umm, no, no I didn’t. I felt like God didn’t care about me, and that is not a close feeling…Instead pray for me. I like that this is phrased “for” not “with” me. While I did appreciate people who prayed with me, the first few days I didn’t want that because I didn’t feel like God was good anyway. Oh looking back I know I needed the prayers at that time, so please do pray for me, but I wasn’t ready yet for the praying to be with me. Don’t say have you tried more super foods? Yeah, trying to create easy solutions for me is not what I need when my world is falling apart. Sure, most people do drown in water where they could have stood up, but screaming at them to stand doesn’t help them. What helps them is jumping in to the water with them and holding them up out of the water. Instead be with me…I am a person, not a problem to be solved. Yes, there is a huge power in with. I crave community all the time, but in grief is isolating and a time when I really needed people but had even less ability to cultivate it…and I wanted people to be with me, not give me a list of what I should be doing differently or an “easy” answer that sure didn’t seem easy or like an answer to me. The third thing on this list was Don’t say let me know if I can help, instead make a specific offer. This one I am not so sure about. I actually really appreciated people who offered to help even if the offer was vague. Sure, I might not have known or if I did know I might not have been able to express it, but just the offer meant a lot to me. And to be honest, even a specific offer that was exactly what I needed could very easily have been turned down because I didn’t want to be a burden, I didn’t want to be anyone’s little charity project, I didn’t want to be needy, I didn’t want to end up in a situation that could get me in trouble, etc…

So yeah, I’ll end with a book title I found and fell in love with…(no I have not even looked for the actual book to read).

“Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved.”


Oh yeah, and this would be a good time to say thank you again to all the people who have made a huge difference with your kind and welcoming and supportive words and actions and stuff. Thank you so much for believing in me and for me when I didn’t believe in myself and couldn’t believe for myself. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for the time you took to enter into my world. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for putting up with my sometimes misplaced frustration and with the crazy that came out when I was hurting. You mean so much to me.

Looking for someone to save your life

(Worth it – Francesca Battistelli)


Music is an important part of my life. It is how I best encounter God. It is how I like to experience my world. It used to be omnipresent in my world. I realized recently that through this period of grief, music has not been so consistent. Sometimes it was my lifeline, but other times it was absent, the empty soundtrack mirroring the emptiness in my life. But anyway, on Tuesday I was walking home, trying to hold back tears, and singing to myself…”So whatcha gonna do when the bottom falls out and you’re left with nothing but your fears and your doubts to hold to? Who’s gonna hold you?” The lyrics showcasing the desperation and pain and immense loneliness and worthlessness I felt. “And where you gonna run when it’s all on the line and you’re looking for someone to” and then I stopped. I couldn’t explain it. I just inexplicably couldn’t keep going. The tears came as I frantically tried to keep anyone else out on the streets from seeing my wet cheeks. I turned the corner and partially hidden by the privacy of a building I took a deep breath and weakly finished the sentence “to save your life. Save your life.” Those words so hard to say when the last thing I wanted was my life. I wanted so badly to die. But now I am doing better. Now I can move on and start to actually believe the second half of the song. “Love can hear you. Love can heal you if you let it inside. Oh remember now, love’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”


So yeah, I thought considering my last post I better hurry up and get something more positive up before anyone got too worried about me. I’m sorry. I do not usually edit my posts anymore now that I am free and don’t need to hide, but that also means I don’t have the opportunity to read my words and wonder if anyone will be legitimately worried about me. I am still trying to heal the hole of grief, and sometimes it is hard. I know my goal was for this year to be better, and crying uncontrollably doesn’t sound like better, but I have to give myself grace. Being able to give myself grace is better than before. And really, I am learning to climb out of the pit I keep being pushed into. I was pushed hard and the wind was knocked out of me, but I didn’t stay down too long. On Thursday, my manager came to apologize to me about the situation (okay, not the whole thing obviously, but the tiny piece he knew – that the PALS class I was excited about was happening without me). He wasn’t going to change it, and wasn’t going to bend the policy about training only being allowed on paid time, but somehow just being brave enough to acknowledge to my face that he understood my frustration was enough to start building the bridge. Like I have always said, there is a lot of power in “with,” and I think that is why that helped. Although I will say that initially breaking the news to me via email was also good, because I don’t really want my manager to see me cry. Vain, maybe, but whatever. Anyway, I might have come home Friday and had skittles and cookies for dinner before going to church, but I had so much fun at the game night that I actually did eat reasonably well and didn’t want to leave…I was up WAY past bedtime and was practically asleep standing up by the end of the night, but I really enjoyed it, and this morning I was feeling so much better.


I know that it is not “good” to be fighting life so hard when grief storm hits. I know it is not exactly “normal” to spend significant amounts of time deeply yearning death. I am working on it my own way, at my own pace. I also know that there are some things I am just not ready for, and trying to process with a counselor is still something that is too similar to the abuse for me to be ready to seriously consider it as an option. There is more healing to be done before I am willing to try again.


So on that note, back to what I actually originally sat down to write…


I know I can’t expect life to be perfect or anything, and sure, I rarely do compulsions anymore, but I do occasionally have more than an appropriate amount of germ anxiety. Yes, I know people do get sick, and the world goes on, but OCD doesn’t make sense. I am so much more free of it than I used to be, but when I am scared I don’t want “better,” I want no fear. Zero. Nada. Zilch. It (the OCD) probably did get worse than it had to because of what else was going on a few years ago, but I am a fighter. Compared to where I was mid to late third year, I basically haven’t had a single problem since the summer after third year…it’s just that I want recovery to mean 100% of the time having zero fear, but that isn’t realistic, because every single person has at least a little fear once in a while. Having some non-disabling fear occasionally and even having disabling fear once in a long while is normal…which is hard to understand when you have spent time in the very black and white world of OCD. Either it is clean or it is not, and either you are afraid or you are not…no in betweensies. So realistically, I probably am totally normal or pretty close, but my perspective tells me it is pieces of OCD back because I had fear…


I read an article maybe a month ago about how hard contamination OCD is in the winter and talked about how people with OCD tend to have a radar for signs of sickness and how that can be like a game of dominos. I definitely have a radar for signs of potential sickness and it sets off a theoretical chain of dominos and I end up with a feeling of impending doom. It is terrifying. For me it has always been linked to social difficulties. If you get sick you have to either communicate that you are sick or somehow manage to hide it, which is probably not completely possible (particularly around anyone like me with a very sensitive radar) and is also super disrespectful of other people to not quarantine yourself if you are germy. Communicating it is scary and also means that you have to decide when to come back.


I hate winter. I hate germs. I hate norovirus. So far I feel healthy, but my world doesn’t feel stable, and working in healthcare can definitely impact how safe I feel. Plus, the compulsions I had/have with OCD were not just washing, but also “researching” (in quotes, because primarily through social media). So I am acutely aware that a person remains contagious for weeks following the end of symptoms and traditional hand sanitizer is not effective against it, and even cleaning supplies that *can* kill it are often not effective because they are used wrong. For example, I’m not sure if Clorox wipes are effective against noro even if used appropriately, but the way a lot of people use them they might as well be using wet paper towel to clean. Cleaning wipes require a minimum wet contact time to be effective. If the surface doesn’t stay wet long enough you haven’t cleaned the surface and if you *cringe* wipe the surface dry immediately after using the wipe then you have just become a master of the placebo effect if you believe you actually did any cleaning. Frozen noro can remain infectious forever. Room temp noro can remain infectious on surfaces for significant periods of time as well. Very possibly months or more. The number of viral particles required to cause illness is in the single digits. Compare this to the millions to billions of aerosolized particles following a single vomiting or diarrhea episode, not to mention the amount in the vomit or feces themselves, and clearly it is no surprise why infection doesn’t tend to happen in just ones or twos.


So yeah, winter can be a really hard season for me as a former OCD-er. I go on a rollercoaster ride from almost certain I am doomed to promising myself that I am safe and back again. Knowing way too much from my former hours of research makes it easy to be fearful. I know how easy noro spreads, so not only do I react to the people in my actual life that get sick (umm, yeah, I have determined my parents entire house is contaminated and am not sure I ever want to go back…kinda a problem), but I also react to the Olympics outbreak in Korea and the outbreak at a college in Wisconsin. I see the dominos. Even if someone doesn’t get sick, suppose somehow an American tourist’s backpack picks up a few viral particles from being near someone who was near someone sick (and realistically there would be a lot closer contact than that). That backpack gets put onto a plane with zillions of other people where the germs are transferred to another person’s purse. That person goes to work and their purse is hung on a hook touching lots of other people’s bags and coats and the germs transfer to the inside of someone else’s coat. That person’s coat comes home. The next day they put their coat on over their pajamas to go to the mailbox. The germs transfer to the pajamas. The pajamas are worn to bed the next night and the germs are transferred either to hands or sheets and then to the mouth. By that next night the person is sick and there are zillions of virus particles everywhere and they are tracked all over the city and people are very mobile, city to city, state to state, country to country.


That little scenario I wrote out takes out a lot of potential steps in the process, and drastically simplifies from the zillions of vectors to a single chain, but I hope that it helps understand how easily I can fall victim to fear. It took a lot of words to write that scenario out, but it took less than a second from reading about the Olympics to feeling a sense of lack of safety…and anger. The Olympic committee put out a bunch of hand sanitizer in response. Unless in Korea hand sanitizer is actually pure bleach rather than something like the ethyl alcohol we generally use in America, it will not help prevent spread. In fact, it probably decreases safety, because it makes people feel safe even though they really aren’t. When people feel safe they are a lot less careful which greatly increases the potential for spread of sickness. I want to say that is not okay.


But I am proud of myself. So far I have thought about whether I should keep eating and drinking, but have continued to decide that yes I should. Even with all the other things going on making life hard, or maybe because of all the other things going on, I have not come to a panic level of fear. I might be exclusively wearing pajamas in or near bed – not even clean casual clothes, but I am able to go through life seemingly normally at least from the outside, and that is important to me.


Although I will admit that I do have a desire to know everything there is to know about what is going on with noro at the Olympics…but that is probably also related to my input strength – trying to collect and categorize all the information available. It really is a bummer that news sources don’t seem interested in reporting full stories. From my perspective they give just enough info to whet my interest and then end the article and cease follow up coverage. It is kinda frustrating when you are someone like me who desires to know the entire story. It’s the same way with a lot of news – like with a school shooting I want to know how people are doing after it’s over. How are things different? What new frustrations are they facing? …ad nauseum…if I had my way we really wouldn’t need much news, because we’d still be getting news updates on the school shooting that happened in December 2012…inquiring minds want to know…


Lol…what do you want to know? I would love to do a Q & A post…although realistically I don’t have anywhere near enough viewers for that to ever happen…

Love needs room to breathe

(Plumb – Phobic)


Sometimes life is hard. I don’t understand why God doesn’t love me enough to take me home. I am ready to be done. I am tired of pretending to be strong. I don’t want to keep going through this every day. When do I get to give up?


I came home today and, okay, I hadn’t held back all the tears already, but as soon as the door closed behind me I couldn’t breathe because I was crying so hard. I am trying to make it through life every day, but life hurts so much. Every day I just have to keep holding on and keep acting like everything is okay because I don’t have any other choices. Every day I have to get up, shower, get dressed, eat three meals, go to work, change into pajamas, buy groceries, go to bed…I keep doing it because what else am I going to do?


I guess I should back up. Today was another resident interview at my workplace. And today I found out I couldn’t take the PALS class I had signed up to take April 2nd and 3rd…because training is required to be on paid time and there isn’t PTO available those days, never mind that I would be perfectly happy to use my time I already was going to have off anyway to go to class. I’m a salaried employee, who cares if I “work” an extra 13 hours without extra pay. I want to do other duties as assigned. And that took away the only thing I felt like I had left to look forward to.


I want to just give up on pharmacy. I could be happier working at Caribou, but then everyone would be right that I couldn’t make it as a pharmacist. I wanted to prove everyone wrong and show them I am good enough. But all I do is fail and I just want out.