Don't Eat the Daisies

Last night I had trouble pronouncing basic words; think “real” and “great.” At first I had a good laugh because I couldn’t carry on a conversation without sounding like a moron, but that all changed when I went to read in bed and had trouble there as well. I was able to make out a lot of words, but I did not retain any of the plot line and again, basic words were foreign to my brain. This was, undoubtedly, a withdrawal side effect from Zoloft. It was also the scariest I’ve dealt with so far. The inability to carry on an intelligible conversation caused me to have a really shitty panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, my heart was racing, and I legit thought I was going to die. Fortunately going outside and staring at the super moon while standing in the freezing cold helped. I also threw up, and I swear I was basically John Coffey from The Green Mile, spewing out the garbage of whatever is going on inside of me. I sound fucking insane. But that’s what happened. I woke up this morning st

I attempted to do an online suicide prevention chat; I was number 49. Seriously? People are suicidal and have to be in a line to talk with someone? That is not right. It's been a rough night. It's been a rough few weeks. I'm having terrible withdrawals from Zoloft and I can't control my reactions. I am so quick to anger and rage. I am so sad and tired and can't sleep. I cry so much. I think about cutting myself. I've thought about driving my car into a tree at top speed. My brain is zapping me every time I move my eyes, which, as you know, people move their eyes all the time. The people in my house suck. I love them to death, but they suck. We've had conversations about this. I have point blank told them that I need help, and I wrote down the ways that I need them to do it. They said they understood. They apologized. They had conversations about how they could support me together because I am almost not in control of myself. And yet they went and did the s

Christmas is such a bittersweet time for me. I love everything about the holiday, but it comes and goes so quickly and is a reminder of how much we’ve left behind. Lorelei is 8 and this very well be the last year she believes in Santa. That hurts my heart in a way I’ve never felt before. She is so intoxicated by the magic of the season. From her elf on the shelf to the naughty and nice list to leaving cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer, she is about it all. I am not sure how I will adapt to the loss of so much wonder and enchantment; it’s something we will never get back. Christmas is also an end to another year. I don’t handle the loss of time well and never have. 2017 has, for all intents and purposes, been garbage; it’s been tarnished by a sociopath who is dividing our country and leaves us wondering what we will awaken to each morning. It’s been filled with mass murder and natural disasters and the loss of loved ones who were taken far too soon. But 2017 was also wond

I am sad and that's okay. I am broken and that's okay. I am a garbage person and for now, that is okay. I am struggling right now and that is okay. I am not where I want to be and that is okay. One would think that with all of these things that are okay in my life that I, myself, would be okay. But I'm not, and that's okay, because it's okay to not be okay. Now if I could only get myself to believe that.

I miss my long hair. I feel really sad and unattractive without it. The cut is cute and my stylist is amazing, but cutting my hair didn't fix anything. I don't know why I thought it would. I wish I was a different person. Someone who is confident in all areas of her life, or at least someone who is able to fake it. Someone who is energizing, fun, and uninhibited. Someone who can say no to people, who is okay just being herself without the desire for approval from those who don’t really matter. We allegedly get one life and on the surface mine is incredible. I wonder what kind of haircut I need to get in order to pull those feelings into the deep end?

My silence is suffocating but expressing myself is a fate with the potential for consequences much worse than that. What choice do I have but to live with the deafening screams that only I can hear?  I want so badly to not feel this way, yet it is the hand I was dealt and the house always wins. My head knows that the game is rigged but my heart refuses to fold and so I bet again. I never was any good at gambling.

I think we can all agree that I am not the self-help-book reading, mushy, love everyone type of person. I am actually the exact opposite. That said, I am just about through the book  Love Warrio r by Glennon Doyle, and never have I ever read something that has been a mirror reflection of myself, from the way I feel, to the way I think, to the way I behave. Love Warrior   is in no way a self help book. It's one woman's struggle with herself, her identity, how she interacts with the world, and how the world tells her she should interact with it. It is exactly everything that I feel and have ever felt, and I find myself saying "YES. YES!" on almost every page. I have always, always, always been a self conscious individual. I can remember being 4 years old and not knowing how to act, feeling inferior, incompetent, and painfully out of place. I retreated inside myself and put up this shy shell of an exterior that was "cute" when I was young, but as I aged preve

When I was a kid, probably nine or ten, I told my extended family that I was done hugging them. They were so fucking annoying with their hugging any time anyone farted (this was the example I gave as to why I was through), and I was not okay with that. My aunts and uncles were, of course, offended, and my grandma hugged me anyway, but it was something that was important to me to stop. Why would I hug people so many times like that? Why would I use touch as some weird gesture that meant nothing to me or them? Fast forward to now, and for the most part those aunts and uncles still don't hug me. My grandmother is long dead, so those have stopped, too. I'm still stingy with my hugs but these days it's due to shitty self esteem and a strong sense of self doubt. This, ladies and gentlemen, is adulthood, and one of the many reasons I stay up late eating cheesecake alone in front of the t.v. at night. It might also be the reason for the teardrops on my guitar, but I can't rem

Yesterday I went to a celebration of life for a co-worker, Nadja May. I only knew her for just shy of two years, but she made a big impact on my life with her boisterous laugh, positivity, and overall sense of comfort, grace, and well-being. Nadja was one of the very few people who could read me. I'm good at hiding my emotions because of my natural poker face, and Nadja always saw through that. Nadja was the one who rescued me when I was an emotional wreck after the incident with my boss, and she had no idea that she had done so. I never thanked her for that. I also didn't extend the same courtesy to her. About a week and a half before Nadja died I saw her walking through the hallway and past my door. She looked disheveled, something that Nadja never was, she was always polished and gorgeous and perfect, but this time she looked off. She had a smile on her face, but it was vacant. And I thought to myself that I should stop her and check in. And I didn't. I feel terrible for

The past few weeks have been mentally difficult. I am so unhappy right now. I can't even begin to describe the number of times I've thought about self harming; I pulled my hair so hard yesterday that it nearly came out. I only stopped out of pure vanity. After that happened I drug a wire hanger across the veins of my left wrist, but couldn't bring myself to actually do damage. The pain I could inflict upon myself sounds lovely and it would be the perfect escape from the pain I have in my head and heart right now. I know why I am hurting. I know why I feel despair and rage and sadness and agitation and a lack of fulfillment. But I can't tell anyone.

It baffles me to be someone who has a life that is so good, but who feels so, so sad. Nothing feels right these days. My head is off, my body is off, everything is off. I just want to be on. Even if it was on with a dimmer switch, at least there'd be some light. I spend a lot of time in the dark these days, metaphorically speaking. I can never be happy with what I have, I am always longing for more, am always comparing myself to others. I truly am a bad person. That sentence isn't meant for someone to counter, it's a fact. I am a bad person. I'm not nice. I'm perpetually tired. I'm ugly inside and out. I'm mean. I'm detached. I'm jealous, oh my God, so jealous. And I am undeserving of the people in my life. Again, this is not a post in which I'm hoping someone will throw glitter at me to make me feel better. It's how I feel and it's how I've been feeling for quite some time. Depression is a spiteful bitch. She goes away for awhile,

I wish I had the energy to compose something profound, but I'm tired and really high, so I won't/can't. There's a fuck load of a lot wrong with this world today, especially in America, but I'll be damned if there isn't a fuck load of a lot of things right with it, too. I am continually impressed and touched by the kindness of others.

There are few things in life that can make me feel such a wide array of emotions than John Mayer. Happy, peaceful, lovely, tingly, sad, devastated, hurt, broken, magical, turned on, awe, grief, melancholy, excitement, touched, and magical. This man just gets it. He fucking gets it. I am so excited to see him in concert for the third time next week. John Mayer, I'm coming for you. Not in a creepy way of course, unless you're into that then okay, cool.

I haven't had a week this devastating in a very, very long time. I got into a "disagreement" with someone who means the world to me and it got so far blown out of proportion that I'm still shook and confused as to how it happened at all. We've talked, but things feel wrong and awkward and forever different. My heart is hurt. This person is so important to my life. She plays a large role in why I love my job, she is inspiring and makes me happy . So few people in this world do. I am just so sad about this and am feeling a strange pain. There is pain for myself, of course, but an overwhelming amount of pain in feeling...knowing...that I hurt or made her uncomfortable, even though it was unintentional. These feelings are, of course, entirely my own and I alone am responsible for them. I've cried a lot over the past few days. Gut wrenching, I-can't-breathe tears. I hate it. Matt told me to quit with the pity party, but it's not that simple. If it were

I am a serial empath. I feel things incredibly deeply and absorb the energy of those around me without trying. This is often a good thing and allows me to understand the people in my life, but it is, at times, extremely detrimental to my overall health and well-being. This is especially true with my family and close friends, and when they are off, so am I. This isn't some reflective personality bullshit, this is how my body and soul operate. The feelings of the people around me become my own, even if I don't understand them, and have such a profound effect that I carry them with me throughout my entire day. That is not to be confused with turning other people’s feelings into my own to make it about me. It is always about them. It is always me feeling for them and wanting to help. There are times when I am feeling great, am in a good, positive mood, and I walk next to someone and BAM! I'm done. I feel sad, hurt, angry...whatever it is that person is projecting without real

The couch that at times can be so comforting and inviting can also be a trap that weighs me down, refusing to let me leave. The very thing that I look forward to is often the thing that I can't escape, that my brain, body, and heart won't let me escape from. This is depression. It is very hard to explain and even more difficult to understand, but it is how I've felt since 2003, the year in which I was officially "diagnosed" with a condition that I will battle throughout the entirety of my life. I imagine this sensation is similar to what drowning feels like. I can see the surface, all I have to do is stand up and I'll be safe, but I can't . In these instances I am often above my body, looking down. I can see myself as a wet rag on the chaise section of the couch, so weak and sad...and not belonging there. If only I would dry out or at least be hung up elsewhere then maybe I could flee. But I can't. This is a dampness that does not go away.  It

This Post was recovered from THURSDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2016 There are good and bad moments in every day; it's inarguably easier to focus on the bad, and very difficult to focus and hang onto the good. Today I had three very distinct moments that left me feeling all sunshine-y and happy, and made such a lasting impression that I am compelled to blog about them. Forgive the shitty writing. I'm tired and don't have the energy to do better. Thing 1: I sat with good people at our holiday party. I had good conversations, I shared inside jokes, I felt good and like I belonged. Even though much of the "party" was boring, it was boring with a purpose. The majority of the time was devoted to people who have been with the company for 10, 15, 20, 25, and 30 years. My employers care so much about their employees that they throw an expensive party complete with elaborate speeches, poems, songs, skits, etc. to honor their service. Normally all of those things would anno

This post was recovered from THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2016 It took awhile, but my head is finally above water, and while it is too soon to say for sure, I think I am headed in the right direction. I met with a new doctor who put me back on Wellbutrin and my brain is starting to function again. I feel like I am out of the black hole I had fallen into and it is a  good  feeling. Life is very stressful and I struggle to do much more than work. but work is something I am good at. My patience is thin but it is getting better each day. Sleep still eludes me most nights but even that is improving. I ordered a new Beachbody workout system and am waiting for it to arrive so that I can begin to chip away at this weight and feel more like myself. Progress is progress and I will take it. I am trying very hard to focus on doing only one thing at a time and it is anything but easy for me. I have to stop and remind myself 10,000 times a day to complete a task before starting a new one. Mul

This post was recovered from 11/17/16 On this, the eve of my 33rd birthday, I am filled with mixed emotions. 32 has been a whirlwind of a year, and so much has happened. I'm a Scorpio, and therefore a naturally pessimistic person, so I have difficulty seeing the positive. I also have a penchant for lists, so let's list this shit out: The Shit List I had a literal psychotic breakdown. I almost killed myself many, many times, in ways that "sane" me had never thought I would. Literal. Psychotic. Breakdown. My psychotherapist propositioned me. Huh.  I gained FORTY pounds. I'm obese for my height. I went up to a size 18. Self esteem? None. I'm pretty sure my hearing is getting worse. My left eye is fucked the fuck up. I was legally blind for weeks. I have so much medical debt from said eye. So, so much. And I'm not done. My skin turned oily. Like, hella oily.  I have a crazy zit filled face! What the actual fuck?! Donald Trump is the president. Let

This post was written 5/7/17 and was recovered from my deleted entries. I've decided to keep some of my old writings.  It is not possible to live authentically. We are all different people depending on who we are with, and even when we are alone we re-play interactions and events over and over again, analyzing them to such a degree that we make ourselves anxious and left feeling inferior. Think about it. Who are you really? You don't know. You can't know. I cannot recall a single moment in my life where I've been authentic. I'm too worried about pleasing other people and being judged to be the person I am, whoever she may be. I play so many roles that there is no way to be her. I'm a mom, wife, about 68 different people to different friends at different times, a social worker playing 81 different Danas, a daughter, sister, aunt, awkward Target shopper, binge eater, body hater, judgemental bitch, and the road rage-eous driver I've ever encountered

Here are the good things in my life right now: My kid. Holy shit, my kid. So smart, so sweet, so kind, so weird, so amazing. My husband. Holy shit, my husband. He puts up with so much crazy and still loves me for it. My job. Holy shit, my job. I love it. It makes me happy.  My boss and now friend. Holy shit, my boss and now friend. I just love her so, so much. My friends. Holy shit, my friends. You know who you are. Thank you. So, so much.  Pot.Holy shit, pot. It's changed my life. I sleep so good. There's lots more, but those are what's important right now. So, in a nut shell, Dana is a person who loves her kid, husband, and job, who is all about her boss, has amazing, kick ass friends, and smokes pot. Things could be worse. 

I deleted the entirety of my blog. It was difficult. I cried. It felt good. It gave me anxiety. I'm sad. It's washed away. It's done. My old posts were annoying and sad, and I'm not saying that my new blog won't be annoying and sad because come on, that's basically my m.o., but I don't want to be reminded of the shitty times. Some people would say that I could use the old posts as an opportunity to reflect and see how far I've come, but, bitch, please! I know how far I've come. I remember it. I lived it and don't care to relive it again. Here's to a fresh start.