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At Least I’m Not a Narcissist

I never understood the term “millennial,” so I decided to look it up. There are different opinions on when the generation started and when it ended, but they all seem to include people born roughly between the early 80’s and the 2000’s. No matter which one people accept, 1990 always falls in the generation, so I’m considered a millennial. But there are many stereotypes associated with this generation, stereotypes that I’ve only recently started hearing. Apparently we’re liberal and narcissistic. I cannot call myself a liberal, for I have my share of conservative views, and I tend to think hardcore liberals are pretentious, acting like they’re fighting for a cause when all they’re doing is complaining and not doing shit about the problem. Yeah, I complain, but at least I don’t pretend I’m making a difference, though the small hope is there, the hope that maybe the right people will hear my complaints, people who have the power to change things, because I have no power.

However, the narcissistic stereotype worried me. For those of you who know me well, you know that I tend to punish myself for feeling normal pride because people have accused me of being self centered. My rational mind tells me that the only people who have ever accused me of being vain were people who knew nothing about me, but made assumptions based on word of mouth, misunderstandings, and little to no concrete evidence of me behaving in that way. Still, my paranoid mind tends to not want to listen to my rational one, which is one of my many flaws I sincerely dislike… uh… actually, hate. If I could think rationally when I most need to, I wouldn’t have to sabotage myself.

I don’t know how many times I’ve complained about people not being treated equally, or that good people need to be successful, not the bad people. Sure, as a child, I thought I was special, but don’t all children? Thankfully, even though I was as stupid of a teenager as all teenagers are, I at least had enough common sense to learn for myself that I’m no different from anybody else… well, I do know I’m better than people who make stupid decisions, but so is everyone else who is intelligent, so that still doesn’t make me better than everyone.

Even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t narcissistic, my paranoia said, “well, what if you’re a narcissist for thinking you’re not one?!” So, out of curiosity, I decided to take a few narcissist tests on different medical sites, not just any ol’ site like Quotev or something. With things like these, you need to take multiple tests to gather the most accurate information, not just take one and accept the result as proof. When a test is accurate, the multiple results will always be similar, so you can find the medium that determines where you lie on the scale.

PHEW. I’m not a narcissist. So here’s what you must do on personality tests: BE HONEST. Well, honesty is my code of honor, so naturally, I had to answer honestly, even if I wanted to check the boxes that describe the quality I’d like to have. A number of times, I checked a box, then reread the question, and said, “ah, that’s not entirely true,” and checked the one that was. It’s hard to be honest with yourself sometimes. If you’re insecure like me, lying to yourself on a test can make you feel like you’re fooling others into thinking you’re better than you really are, even though no one will ever see these answers or results. To overcome this, you must recognize and accept your flaws, and for many people, discrediting oneself is a huge fear. It makes people think that they’re bad because society wants us all to be perfect. One must accept their imperfections.

One quiz asked me a lot about how I treat other people, including associates and my love partner, who is currently Michael, and hopefully will be forever. I assumed “associates” meant friends, but it was hard to tell. I do my best not to purposefully hurt my loved ones, which are my friends and boyfriend. I could give less than a shit about people I’ve never even met; They’re not my problem. However, it seems I treat my love partner a lot better than whoever my associates are, and that’s because I’ve always valued love as sacred. Unfortunately, when off my medication, I do tend to blame things on other people that are my fault, including Michael, but that part of myself is not who I am, so I had to check “sometimes” on a few questions regarding hurting your love partner. I’m great when I’m medicated, so I haven’t done that for a long time, and even after I do those kinds of things, I can later own my mistakes when in my right mind.

So, what I learned was basically everything I already guessed about myself; I generally admit my faults and mistakes, I know when I’m wrong and don’t try to convince myself or anyone else that I’m right (except for when I am right, which in that case, no convincing of myself is needed), I’m unhealthily insecure (duh), I don’t take negative feedback well (double duh), I have overwhelming compassion toward people I care about, I actually am an introvert, and not a narcissist pretending to be one, I’m overly cautious about other people to the point where it’s not rational (DUUUH), I’m quick to come to conclusions that people are trying to hurt me when they’re not, I’m DEFINITELY not vain (yay!), I DEFINITELY don’t feel superior (DOUBLE YAY!!!), I don’t need, or want, to be the center of attention (i.e., exhibitionism), I often feel ashamed of myself, I do envy people who have something I don’t, and…. I feel EXTREMELY entitled. When I saw that one, I was like, “well shit.”

That last one I was not aware of, or had not accepted. It’s something I have tried to deny, so much so, I convinced myself that I did not feel that way. The thing is, the feeling is autonomous, I can’t turn it off, nor do I even actively think about it. It’s like walking or blinking. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, because it’s not. But after analyzing past behavior, I’ve come to realize that, not only do I unconsciously feel entitled, but I also unconsciously admit that it’s wrong, and I am ashamed of it. I often tell Michael, “you do so much for me, more than I deserve. I shouldn’t have to be a burden on you, I shouldn’t have to be constantly taken care of like a child. I do nothing for you that even compares to what you do for me, I don’t even know what I could do, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t be able to do it because… I don’t even know why!” I always tell him that, if I ask him to do something for me that I am perfectly capable of doing myself, he can refuse and tell me to do it myself. It does not make me angry or frustrated because I am capable of doing it. I also told him to let me know what I can do for him, but he rarely does… hell, he gets me awesome Pizza and Presents Day gifts, but he never even tells me what he wants me to give him! I went crazy on the italics there.

Last night, we were at Walmart, and he said he’d pay for the bread if I bought the pancakes (because they’re chocolate chip, and my sweet tooth goes CRAZY over them), but he forgot to pay for the bread, so I had to buy it anyway. He said, “I think you can spare the ninety-eight cents,” and I repeated, “I think I can spare the ninety-eight cents” in a sort of sarcastic, self-deprecating way. Then I said, “I mean, it’s not like you’ve done anything for me, right?” And he said, “no, not at all, I’ve never bought anything for you.” We are both very sarcastic people, so we are able to understand sarcasm well and laugh at the joke even though, technically, it’s insulting toward me. Well, if you can’t make fun of your faults, it’s harder to accept them, isn’t it? Acting this way is actually healthy, and when both you and your partner share the same opinions about said faults, it’s even easier to make fun of them. Truth be told, I really didn’t mind buying the bread. In fact, I buy his groceries when he asks me to because I am aware I never do anything for him. Well, I do, but only when he tells me to. I’m not sure why I do this, but I think it has something to do with another traumatizing factor of my childhood.

Welp, I ain’t perfect. I’ve always known this, I’ve always admitted this, and it’s not so hard for me to accept my bad qualities even though I resent them and would give anything to make them disappear. Sometimes you can’t fix things about yourself, especially when it’s too late, you’re an adult, and your brain does what it knows. So, if I feel entitled, I feel entitled. I don’t like it, it doesn’t make me happy, but that’s how it is. I feel ashamed of it, and that’s good, I should feel ashamed. I am also willing to help someone or do something for someone who has done everything for me, as long as it doesn’t stress me to the point of a panic attack. That’s… good and bad. It’s not great. It’s… acceptable in my book, and for the people who love me, it’s also acceptable in theirs. It shouldn’t be. That makes me both love them even more and hate myself even more. But still, I can admit it, and that alone is a quality that should be respected.

So, I may not be a great person, I have my definitive faults, I have poor qualities that are highly shameful and looked down upon….

BUT AT LEAST I’M NOT A NARCISSIST.

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“Lucky Me,” She Said with Sarcasm.

I feel like that one wrestler who gets badly injured, is out for a few months, and then comes back, only to get injured again, once again having to leave for a few months. Yep. It’s like… come on, I escaped my life’s biggest tragedy when I was fourteen, and I have PTSD because of it. Surely things would get better, right?

WRONG.

I’ve learned now to never say, “it’ll get better” for me. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” is what I say now. On top of everything I’ve had to deal with so far in my adult life, you’d think the universe would lay off of me a little bit. Nope! Oh Reitanna, you’re such an idiot, having hope for the future. Every time it seems like life isn’t so bad, I get ran over by a train. Not only that, but when Michael is trying to schedule something for me to help fix it, I say, “so, what’s the bad news?” Because I know he doesn’t have any good news! And I’m right every single time! I’m not surprised anymore, but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

Let’s just cover the recent things that have happened… I lost all of the weight I wanted to lose and then some! I am currently 113 pounds, and my goal had been 115. My weight keeps going down! I dunno what I’m doing right, but whatever it is, I’ll keep doing it! My diet is decently healthy, but it’s not really that you have to worry about, it’s the number of calories you eat each day. I’ve been eating 1200 calories a day at max for months, and it paid off. I like to eat fruit and yogurt to combat sweet cravings, and every so often, a little 100 calorie ice cream cup. When Aunt Flo comes to see me every month, I’m allowed to eat as much chocolate I want, so when she leaves, I always check my weight to see how much I gained… but I never gain any, I just stay the same as I was before. I rarely snack, and when I do, I make sure to only have one serving, I don’t drink juice with a lot of sugar, I never drink more than I should, and I only have soda every once in awhile, which ends up being once every few months, if that. The only candy I eat is either a special occasion, or that one time of the month.

I turn twenty-six this November. At the time this happened, I was 114 pounds. I am in perfect physical health. No history of this kind of thing in my family. I got a kidney stone. Some people don’t get kidney stones until they’re in their sixties, but most people don’t get them at all! Someone my age, with my weight and diet should not have gotten a kidney stone. It was the most painful thing, literally, not figuratively, I have ever experienced. Here’s the kicker: I didn’t show any of the symptoms that lead up to passing a kidney stone, it just came out of nowhere. Boom. Pain. Oh, did I mention I drink water all day, every day? Not sink water, filtered water. Have been for years. And another thing… my diet has remained the same for over a year now, too. My completely healthy diet has not changed. And I got a kidney stone. I don’t eat anything in excess that causes them, and everything causes them.

We’re gonna get “too much info” personal here. I also have always had a… “plumbing” problem. Ya know, things don’t pass as frequently as they should. I thought it was normal for people to make only once a week, but no, the average is about every other day. So, I needed more fiber! I’ve been taking fiber supplements for a long time now, too, nearly a year. Welp, it’s made it easier, but not more frequent. Why am I bringing this up?

BECAUSE EVERYTHING YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO EAT TO KEEP YOU REGULAR CAUSES KIDNEY STONES.

Leafy greens. Guess what? I don’t eat those anyway! I hate darker green lettuce! It has to be light green for me, otherwise I gag! I can’t even eat spinach unless it’s canned. So, there’s part of my fiber problem, but it doesn’t explain how I got a kidney stone. I eat lots of fruit, including lima beans, which are high in fiber, but again, the “lots” isn’t an excessive amount. Basically, it looks like I’m going to need a colonoscopy!

Back to the kidney stones. There was never blood in my urine, and when I supposedly passed it, no stone was actually discovered. My urine test showed that there was a tiny trace of blood, but that could’ve been from the many scabs I have around my pubic area. There. Is. No. Reason. I. Should. Have. Gotten. A. Kidney. Stone. Ooooh, but here’s the best part! MY KIDNEY STILL HURTS! I urinate more frequently, it’s uncomfortable, and my kidney aches similar to menstrual cramps, except only on that one side! Still, no blood in my urine, and the pain is either worse, or less, depending on the day. I’m drinking cranberry juice, which is supposed to dissolve the stones, but do I even have stones? They did a CT scan at the hospital and said they didn’t see any!

So, I’m just supposed to be in pain for the rest of my life? Do you know what I was planning on doing after I hit my target weight? Working to flatten my tummy and get a belly ring. I wanted to have a tummy I could show off. I was so happy when I reached 114 pounds… now, I can’t work on flattening my tummy because it hurts. Standing and sitting down hurts. Walking or bending over hurts. Everything. Hurts.

That was weeks ago, but the pain hasn’t gone. And today… oh… today… ha! Well, lemme just start off with this: ten years ago, I was eating a vanilla flavored See’s hard candy. I tried to chew it on the left side of my mouth, and I felt something crack. I spit out the candy, but along with it was a very small white piece that actually resembled the candy itself. Upon closer investigation, it was actually part of my tooth. Well, it was not really a big deal; I had had a root canal on that tooth about a year prior, so I didn’t feel any pain. It was just a little chip that I had to make sure to brush and floss extra thoroughly because food got caught in there more easily. I got used to it…

This morning, that same tooth completely split. I try to chew on the right side of my mouth because I have two problems on the left side. One, I still have my wisdom teeth, and at the very back of the left side of my mouth is a space between the bottom tooth and the gums that forms a sort of trench, and a few years back, food started to get trapped in it, because it actually hadn’t been there before! It’s nearly impossible to clean, I brush at it, I use toothpicks to try and clean it out, but it’s too far back in my mouth, and, I dunno if you’ve noticed, I have GIGANTIC TEETH. I’m like Hermione Granger in the dental department, but I can’t have them shrunk. Two, on the top left side of my mouth, the filling in the very last tooth fell out a couple years ago, so there’s a big hole. I can actually feel the gums through the hole. Even though I chew on the right side of my mouth, food still gets stuck in it, and I HATE IT. I brush at it and try to dig it out with a toothpick, but I end up poking my gums, and it hurts. Plus, it’s too far to reach!

So… no matter how often I brush and floss, I continuously have bad breath. I can’t stand it. I hate being a human because we are so fucking gross. I’m gross. I’m gross, and I have always done everything I can to stay clean. It’s no mystery where my self-hatred stems from, and this is one of the main sources.

But this morning, I was chewing my fiber gummies on the right side of my mouth like I always do, but accidentally let one slip to the left side. I bit down on it one time, and I felt that same tooth just crack, and now half of it was able to be wiggled. Again, no roots, so it didn’t hurt. However, I couldn’t get the damn thing out of my mouth with my fingers, so I did the most metal thing I could think of, grabbed some pliers, and yanked the damn thing out. My pain tolerance is pretty high, so it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Now it’s just a dull ache, but now, instead of having the front of a tooth, I have an exposed filling. Thankfully, this tooth can’t be seen when I talk or smile, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a health risk.

For those of you who are not adults, and mommy and daddy handle all of your medical costs, you may not know that dental care is horribly expensive. I am a low income independent, so my insurance only covers basic stuff. Michael was on the phone all morning try to find a dentist… well, he found six! Seems like things are finally looking up, huh? NOPE! One was closed, one was fully booked, and all of the others had their problems, and the only one that could take me had a single opening for eight o’clock in the morning. Well, I’m obviously going to sacrifice the sleep I desperately need to try and get this fixed, and hopefully address the other issues going on in my mouth, bu… seriously? Out of six, not one could take me today? I’m afraid to eat anything!

Mike told me, “we’ll get you fixed up, and everything will be fine.” I said, “has it ever been fine? History tends to repeat itself. From my past experiences, I know it won’t be fine. It’ll never be fine.” I mean, FUCK, universe! Couldn’t you just give me cancer? Stop playing with your little toys and finally bring out the big guns to finish me off? This is fucking stupid. I just lost the weight I wanted to lose to feel better about myself… I’m trying not to pick at my face or pull my hair… but what’s the point in trying to be pretty again if I’m just going to lose all of my teeth before I’m thirty? NO MATTER WHAT I DO! I will never be pretty like I was when I was a teenager. God, I was so pretty… I used to look like this:

nature-girl

So pretty… so thin… now I’m thin, but… why does the world hate me? I do absolutely nothing but be the best I can be, I help people, I’m honest, I don’t do drugs, I have a clean criminal record, I’m not abusive… I don’t do anything to deserve these things. This is why I don’t believe in karma.

Now, I’m not saying all of this to hear, “oh, I feel so sorry for you,” so don’t even give me that. I don’t need you to spit in my face, thanks. In case you haven’t noticed, I need to vent about things, I need to complain, and whether or not someone actually reads my blog, I don’t care. It needs to get out, and so I get it out. In the past, when I’ve done this, people have accused me of trying to gain pity and sympathy. It always baffled me, because I was like, “what on earth makes you think that?” I guess it’s because I don’t understand the concept of trying to make people feel sorry for you? All I ever want out of this is to get it out, and for anyone who reads it, to understand. Now I have to actually say I don’t want sympathy because of this sheepshit. It’s… pathetic! It’s like it’s a fad to accuse people of crying out for attention or something. Don’t they understand that it’s healthy to vent?

All the same… I guess I don’t necessarily feel sorry for myself, it’s more like, “really? I haven’t been through enough yet?” They say some people are born into tragedy. I was born from a drug addicted, alcoholic whore who didn’t even know who my father was until they did a paternity test. I had to endure fourteen years of constant physical, mental, and emotional abuse. I still have my first scar from when I was six, and she burned my arm with her cigarette. I have every single scar she ever gave me, and a nice assortment of mental disorders to boot. And when I got free… it just didn’t stop. Thing after thing after thing just kept happening, from being accused of premeditated murder, to being told by my principal that he’d call the police if I didn’t stop crying, to getting in trouble for crying when someone else threatened to kill me, to being used and abused by the worst guy I ever dated, to not being allowed to share a hotel room on our choir trip with my best friend because I had just come out as bisexual at the time, to being kicked out of my grandma’s house after graduation with NO arrangements made as to where I would live, to finally being happy to visit my father for the first time in a decade, only to find that the family expected me to give them money that I didn’t have, to having to sit with my father’s mother in a restaurant and be lectured on how some man was going to take everything I had and I’d have to come crying to her for money, to coming back to California to see my shit packed up and nearly being put on the street AGAIN, and when I finally get some success by getting a job, going to school, getting certified as a makeup artist and licensed as a cosmetologist, I had to endure three years of harassment from an assistant manager to the point where I finally cracked, tried to kill myself, and didn’t leave the house for two years straight because I had gone to Anime LA and was stranded there by the “friend” I had gone with, so I had to ride four hours back with complete strangers, and now my social anxiety is the highest it has EVER been… and that’s just up until 2013… I could go on! Oh, there’s so much more!

And when I’m forced to think about all of this, and realize that I’m still not any closer to getting a house with Michael, getting married, and finally have some fucking peace… my throat feels tight, and I’m actually starting to cry. I took my medication, so this is actual sadness, and I hate it. All I want is to be happy, to smile, to laugh, to feel as colorful as I look… I love feeling happy, it’s the greatest damn feeling in the world… but I’m not happy. I’ve completely ditched my real life responsibilities and created a life in Animal Crossing: New Leaf because I can be healthy there, I can be pretty, I can be social, I have a nice big house, I make money, I’m so successful and happy… I’ve not been working on anything that pertains to me real life job as a YouTuber, and it’s because I had gotten so stressed about people demanding “Muffins,” that I haven’t even touched the next narration in months. It’s bad, and I know it.

I’m just… unlucky. I’m practically a jinx. It’s because I was never meant to be here, I was a mistake. And no, that’s not some emo-boy-dreamy-haircut sheepshit, it’s just an actual conclusion that I have accepted. The fact that I’m not meant to exist doesn’t depress me, it’s that I’m constantly punished for existing, even if I do everything I can to fight life, to do good things, to help other people with their life battles, and I have stopped so many suicides, including my own brother’s. I’m proud of my good nature, especially since I do, in fact, exude 80% of a textbook sociopath’s behavior. I use that to my advantage to protect myself, but having sociopathic traits does not stop me from choosing to do good. And when it all comes down to it, when I finally see some light, just to have it snuffed out again, when every single part of me gets sent back down to the hole I came from, it hurts. It hurts so bad. If there’s a god, this is just one big joke to him. If he created us, he created people like me on purpose. Oh, were you under the impression that I thought I was the only one? Of course not.

There are eight billion people on this planet. I can feel as alone as possible, but the truth is, there are hundreds of thousands of people who were born into tragedy. People who are nothing but bad luck, people who shouldn’t exist. The levels vary; some people have it not as bad as me, some people have it worse, some people have it worse than the people who have it worse, and some people have learned to make it work. I am no different than these types of people. That’s why I don’t feel sorry for myself, because I know that there are countless people in these situations of varying severity. I don’t feel sorry for myself, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not begging the universe to give me a break. I wish it didn’t have to be this way for anyone. That’s why I give advice to those who seek it from me. I want to help them by giving them the tools for survival that I wish I had when I was young. Because it’s not fair. Life is not fair. Life will never be fair. I have accepted this.

But I just want to be happy.

 

(Forgive me, I’m too exhausted to proofread this, so there will be typos. Please respect that I am human, and I am not perfect. Everyone makes typos.)

Sweet, Sweet Salvation from Myself

This is sort of a different blog post than the stuff I have posted more recently. I honestly don’t write enough on WordPress just because I never really think about it. I mean, I don’t have nearly as many followers on here as I do on Deviant Art and YouTube, but my right mind suddenly says to me, “wait a minute, that’s not why you write here. Your mindset of ‘nobody is reading this’ just sounds like another blogger trying to gain popularity for no reason.” My right mind is… RIGHT… as usual, and my unstable mind is always wrong.

Youtube and DA are different because they are ways to express doing what I love, and the mild popularity I have obtained over time was accidental. Now making videos on YouTube is my job, I get paid every month for it, it pays my bills, buys me food, buys food and bedding for my beloved rats. Sure, I don’t make enough to buy things for enjoyment, or help my boyfriend and I buy a house instead of living in this shitty apartment that’s too expensive for what it is, but it’s only a matter of time before I get there. We need to make money in this world to live, and it SUCKS because everything is so damn expensive!

The point is, I write these blogs because I just need to get it out. Even if only a couple of people read it, it doesn’t matter, because the point of most of these senseless banters is a form of therapy. I have a bad habit of bottling things up because it’s become a fad to accuse people of “wanting attention” for expressing the way they feel, and the reason for this is because there are some little shits out there who think it’s okay to pretend to be feeling something they’re not just to get people to pay attention to them. What people don’t understand is that there is a difference between “crying out for attention” and “needing to vent.” For anyone that has a problem expressing their feelings and bottling it all up, you know it builds and builds until you eventually burst into a fit of anger or a traumatizing panic attack. It’s unhealthy, especially for people who already suffer from psychological disorders. I honestly feel that sometimes people accuse others of wanting attention because they want attention. When it comes down to it, they are not my problem. I am my problem. I always have been.

If you keep up with my activity, you’ll know that I suffer from a mental disorder known as Manic Depression, AKA Bipolar Disorder. I was diagnosed when I was a preteen, but I displayed signs of it much earlier according to family members who actually gave a crap but could do nothing about it because the woman who birthed me was an insane whore that didn’t give a shit about her children. I could’ve gotten help a lot sooner if she had just stopped fucking strange men who beat her and paid attention to her daughter. I was put on medication that made things worse, so I was afraid to take medication until I was twenty. Unfortunately, Manic Depression gets worse as you get older, so when things got really bad into my adulthood, I decided it was time to help myself.

It was a very good decision. I told the psychiatrist about my bad experiences with medication, and he put me on some meds that made me feel normal. It was the best I had felt in my entire life. Finally, I didn’t want to die, finally, I’d stop hurting myself, and finally, I stopped sobbing for hours for no apparent reason. Of course, this meant that I’d have to be on medication for the rest of my life, and doses would have to be adjusted accordingly.

A few years later, my most recent doctor decided to put me on Paxil, which is an SSRI. The two medications I had had bad experiences with were also SSRIs, so I’m sure you can tell where this is going. It seemed like the Paxil was doing a good job at keeping me stable, but the price I paid was uncontrollable shaking, twitching, and increased anxiety. It didn’t help that I accidentally took double the dose my first time because of a misunderstanding, and I was vomiting for a few days. However, the shaking and twitching never stopped. People noticed it; even on my videos it was noticeable. It worried my friends, my boyfriend, my coworkers at the time… and then I quit my job. The reason for this was because for the three years I had been working there, one of the assistant managers was harassing me to the point where the company actually required me to attend therapy, which did not help. Therapy has never helped me. So finally, I couldn’t take it. I quit my job and went home.

My boyfriend was supposed to be in Vegas with his family the day I quit. If he had gone, I’d be dead. The trip was cancelled at the last minute, so he was home to stop me from trying to kill myself. After that, I started to develop very aggressive Agoraphobia, which is fear of leaving the house. It doesn’t help that I am also a Sociophobe, and that escalated as well. I am currently in the recovery process, but I didn’t leave the house for two years, and I gained a lot of weight. Because of my Agoraphobia, I could not go to the doctor, so my medication ran out, and I suffered very extreme withdrawal symptoms from quitting Paxil cold turkey. I couldn’t leave my bed for a few months because I was dizzy, I was always throwing up, and yet I could not eat, so nothing but bile came out. Water and bread were all that I could stomach, and I slept sixteen hours a day, which made me feel even more lethargic.

Finally, the symptoms subsided, and eventually, I stopped shaking and twitching. I was off my medication for six months, so in that period, I was depressed most of the time with very few manic episodes, I got angry at the smallest things, I cried constantly for hours on end, and every single fucking day, I just wanted to kill myself. I also could not sleep because I have insomnia that requires medication as well. My fear of death disappeared, my pain tolerance increased (which made cutting myself so easy, it was like nothing more than a stubbed toe), and my extreme fear of needles that I’ve had all my life was GONE. That last one surprised me very much; I have always been terrified of needles, so much that a simple IV would send me into a panic attack. But no, all of that was gone. Why? Absolutely no idea.

Again, for those who follow me, you’ll know about Annatier. She is a character I created many years ago to help better understand and cope with my disorder. Note that hallucinations are NOT part of my disorder, so no, I do not see her, and no, I do not hear her. She is simply a metaphor, but she as a person does not exist. However, when unstable, my thoughts start to get out of control. They don’t become an outside voice, I simply cannot control them. They will tell me things like, “you’re worthless,” “no one loves you,” “mommy didn’t love you,” “you should kill yourself,” et cetera. Suppressed memories are dug up, all positive thoughts are drowned out, and the bad thoughts overlap each other. They don’t need to be a voice to be loud.

I had to try and keep myself busy to shut “Annatier” up. The problem is, Manic Depression is notorious for making people unmotivated and uninterested in every day activities and beloved hobbies. So I was left alone with my thoughts, and it drove me mad. I even began feeling homicidal, feeling like I should simply throw away my life, go stab some people, and get tossed in jail. Hell, the only reason I didn’t kill myself was because I promised to my boyfriend and best friend that I wouldn’t, and my code of honor prevents me from breaking promises. I wanted to go to a mental hospital because I felt I should be locked up. Fuck! I thought about killing people! Actually fucking killing random people who didn’t deserve it! Yeah, I love me some horror and gore, and I write plenty of it, but it is meant to be fictional, I am not a murderer. So not only was I a danger to myself, but possibly others. Luckily, I was able to keep these sick fantasies exactly what they were: fantasies. But still, why couldn’t I go to a mental hospital? Well, my boyfriend kept saying I didn’t need to. I just needed my medication back.

Finally, after two years, I decided I didn’t want to be afraid to leave the house. So I started taking small steps and going places, but never alone. I am still working on it, but I am much better than I was. Unfortunately, a recent car crash has regressed me a little, but that’s just another obstacle, right? At long last, I was able to see my doctor, and I told him what the Paxil did to me. He came to the conclusion that my body did not react well to SSRIs, so instead he put me on an SSNI called Effixor (I don’t actually know if that’s how it’s spelled), along with my sleeping medication and my antipsychotic. I had also been on Welbutren (sp?) before, but he didn’t want to give me too much too fast.

After the first week, I started to notice differences in how I felt. The best part was, I had zero side effects. I began to feel sane, my thoughts were more controllable, my disturbing urge to murder innocent people just to be locked up was gone, and for once in what seemed like decades, I didn’t want to kill myself. It was the best fucking feeling ever, and I remembered what it was like to feel sane. Mean comments on YouTube and DA no longer struck me with irrational anger because I was thinking logically, and was able to tell myself that the people who took the time to insult me were idiots that didn’t deserve my time or energy. Little things that usually depressed the hell out of me no longer had such an effect, AND NO MORE PANIC ATTACKS! And the frosting on the cake? SLEEP. GLORIOUS, UNITERRUPTED SLEEP. My best friend has noted that the shadows under my eyes are considerably less noticeable!

For six weeks, I progressively felt mentally healthier than I had been before, but I noticed something odd. Instead of feeling decently happy like I did when I was on my previous medications, I felt… numb. Yeah, I could laugh, smile, and brief periods of joy were not uncommon, but when it came down to it, I felt so neutral, so apathetic, I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or not. Things did not affect me, and not just because of mental stability, but just every day things had no negative or positive effect on me. Of course, I was also not depressed, so I said to my boyfriend, “I’d rather feel numb and apathetic than depressed and suicidal any day.” It’s been like this since I’ve been on the Effixor (sp?), and I think I know why.

The chemical imbalance in my brain causes me to feel angry, depressed, or sometimes the exact opposite side of the emotional spectrum at extreme levels, though my manic episodes used to last way longer when I was a teenager. What it feels like right now is that my brain is trying to fight the medication, trying to tell me to be depressed, but the medication is putting up a very good fight. As a result, I’m stuck smack-dab right in the middle, causing me to feel next to nothing on a regular basis. I have also seen only a small increase of productivity in me, but I still end up losing motivation. However, instead of “what’s the point,” it’s simply a loss in interest. Because of this, I’ve seen almost every horror movie available on Netflix. T_T Some were pretty good, like American Mary, but some SUCKED HARDER THAN SUCKING ITSELF. I considered The ABCs of Death to be a waste of my time, and refuse to watch the sequel. I’ve also watched quite a few “found footage” movies I wasn’t too fond of, though the V/H/S series wasn’t too bad.

Two weeks ago, I saw my doctor again, and told him how I’ve been feeling. He mentioned that I looked a lot better, and was happy to hear I was also feeling better. In the end, he put me back on Welbutren (sp?), and so far I’ve seen minimal improvement, but these things take time. The car crash sort of didn’t help things, so I’ve just got to be patient. But anyone who knows me knows I am very impatient…

Overall, compared to how I was feeling, I feel fan-fucking-tastic. Like I said, I’d rather be apathetic than suicidal any day! The upside is that negative comments over the internet do not affect me in any way, except to shake my head, block the loser, and delete the comment. Of course, it does annoy me that idiots and scum exist out there, but at least I don’t feel like I want to strangle someone after reading, “o my gawd u suk nd r ugly.” I am able to rationalize the reasons the person left the comment and decide it’s literally nothing. Once it’s deleted and the person is blocked, they don’t exist to me anymore. Besides, all they want is attention, right? Well, I get sick satisfaction out of denying them that attention, because nothing gets to a bully more than their victim not reacting to their torment. It’s actually quite hilarious.

Hopefully I will be seeing more improvement over the next few weeks in my ability to feel, as well as my lack of interest in things. My rats help a lot, because at least cute little animals still have the ability to make me happy. I don’t think that’ll ever change, even if I have bouts of unreasonable homicidal thoughts. I’d never hurt an animal, so at least there’s that much. Nevertheless, I don’t want to kill myself, I don’t feel I need to hurt myself or anyone else, and I’m sleeping. I feel healthy, sane, and less of a worthless screw up. When it comes down to it, all I needed was my medication back. Sometimes that’s all it takes to help someone who is mentally ill. We’ve come a long way in medicine, and I’m glad for it. Now keeping my promise is much easier, and Annatier has finally shut up.

Sweet salvation indeed.