brother bought a coconut…
… he bought it for a dime.
Say, doctor, is there nothing I can take, doctor, to releive this belly ache.
There comes a time in a girl’s life when she must simply put on her 25 greatest drinking songs and get into the shower, cause she smells like ass. Specifically, after sleeping for eleven hours straight and having more fucked up dreams than she can count. That time is now.
And yet, here I sit, braless, and in a Red Sox hat (with other clothes on as well), hair’s greasy, and I think that if I can smell myself others certainly can. The cats still like me at least.
Did you know that one of the top signs of depression is anhedonia. A severe lack of interest inthe world,often characterized by a disinterest in taking care of oneself and by excessive sleep. I know this because I have a degree in psychology. I know this because I work with teenagers who are so depressed they can hardly move.
I’m not depressed.
I’m not in denail. (mostly because I’m afraid of crocodiles.)
I’m in this weird state of flux. Yes. Flux is the right word. It’s a good one too. It’s starting to be like spring in Vermont. It’s weird. It’s thrown me for a loop. Sping like weather is significant because I always get an urge to move and urge to change at this point of the year. I can’t stay stagnant. I can’t stay in the same place. I need to move.
And we will.
I’m applying for this job. It’s perfect. It’s what I need. It’s what I want. It’s working in a school one on one with a teenager who has extreme emotional disturbances, to use the terminology of the job description. Basically, this kids have a shitty life and they’ve decided that if life is going to give them shit then they’re going to start throwing it.
It’s okay. I understand that. I’ll bring some big rubber boots and wear a hat. I’ll slog through it, because that’s what I do. That’s what I want to do. I want to be there to catch the shit. I want to be there to block the delivier of shit. I’ll set up road blocks, I’ll send out guards. I’ll be there.
And that’s what matters most. So many people just abandon ship when it starts to smell. They take one look around and say see ya as they jump overboard. Better to be eaten by sharks than drowned by shit.
That’s not my perspective. No one’s really bad. They’s just had less chances at life than others.
And you don’t even have to have it bad to feel lost. I was so lost as a teenager. At my current position I score mental health assessments. RADS, SIQ, MMPI-adolescent. As I score the sheets I look at the questions, I would have been off the charts for suicidal ideation. I even wrote a will at the sweet age of 13. I was drowning in myself. One day I almost got the nerve to talk to one of my teachers about how I was considering suicide. She said something that day while I was probing to see if ishe would understand that scared me off. So I didn’t. I didn’t die either. I was too guilty to take it that far. I knew it would kill my parents. So I stayed. I struggled.
I tried to help my friends who I saw breaking apart more than me. I’ve always been good at saving face, at pretending. Some people just can’t do that. So I tried to be there for them.
We’re all still here. Doing okay. We’re not close though. That’s the nature of these things.
I know that my mother seriously considered suicide as a teenager. Her home life sucked. My home life didn’t. Sure, I couldn’t have a civil word with my dad until I was 18, but it was okay. My mom was really close to me.
What if my children feel like I did? Like my mother did? Obviously it’s hereditary. Obviously, we have a predispostion for depression and anxiety.
My mom’s been having panic attacks. Not full on, black out attacks, but the fluttering bird heart attacks. I know if I tell her that they could get worse they will. Thank god I went into this field otherwise I wouldn’t know how to deal. I wouldn’t know the right words to comfort her, I wouldn’t know what resources are available. But I did. And I do. She says that I might have panic attacks someday. That I might suffer from this.
Just like I might get colon cancer. Just like when she was diagnosed I started to have terror attacks. I started to walk in my sleep. I started to wake up in the dorm’s common room. I started to do my laundry in my sleep. My grades failed and then they became perfect. Yes, mother I am fucked up. Yes mother it’s linked to you.
The thing is I can’t tell her about these things. It’s too much for her to handle. I can barely handle her illnesses, I doubt she’d know what to do with mine.
She won’t go see a psychiatrist. Instead she goes to her gp. Who tells her he’s not a psychiatrist. She’s scared of the labels. I understand. Once you’re labeled it’s hard to think outside of that box. It’s hard to think that your emotions are normal or your reactions justified because you are inside this box. And no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you stretch out, the box is only so big.
It’s okay.
And I"m okay. I’m working through alot of my issues.
And right now I stink and need to shower. Maybe even SHAVE?!
whoa. hold back mountain lady.
you put the lime in the coconut and mix it all up, put in the lime in the coconut and then you feel better.