Vent

Strap in, this is a long one. 

I have always had anxiety. All my life it has been there, lurking and grasping me around the throat to hold me back from the things I wanted to do. As a child, I wanted so badly to put my ring in the hat for a school play. Anxiety held me back. In high school, I joined the basketball team, but anxiety caused me to drop out before the first game. 

Now, I have had a choking phobia since I was around 17-18 years old and I choked on water. I am talking hardcore choking, I was drowning in it. Couldn’t breathe, every time I gasped for breath, a horrible sound came out. It was utterly traumatizing and it caused my liquid intake to go down. It made public meals torture. 

But three years ago, my anxiety hit the roof. We had in-laws living with us at the time that I wanted out. They had been with us for far longer than the “few months” they promised. Try six years. Years. Every day, I was waiting for a “normal” to return that never came. 

Many of my beloved pets became terribly ill in a short span of time and passed away. At the time, I recently had wisdom teeth removed and had to be on soft foods only for a month because of complications (they punctured a hole into my sinuses). 

I couldn’t eat afterward. I was hungry all the time. Ravenous. All I could think about was food. My stomach growled constantly and I always felt dizzy, weak, and lightheaded. Yet whenever I would try to eat something, my throat would close up and I would gag and spit the food out. 

I cried out of frustration, terror, and a growing sadness. 

I lost 65 pounds. 

I weighed as much as a 10-11 year old child. I was in 70~ area at 5’7” tall. 

I hated what I saw in the mirror. It terrified me. I was skeletal. 

I didn’t know it but my mom told me later that she called my aunts and cried about me. How scared she was that I would pass away. My sister worried about me. My brothers were at a loss. My husband felt helpless. He told me he was going to hospitalize me if I couldn’t help myself. 

I reached out and finally found mental health professionals. They prescribed me an antidepressant and upped my dosage of Ativan, which I only used previously for the dentist because of my severe dental phobia. 

One day, I was absolutely exhausted and starving and I had to eat. But I just kept sobbing over my food and spitting it out. I took ativan because I was desperate. But ativan saved my life. 

Every morning, I took 2mg and I could eat. It wore off around 3pm but I was able to eat regular breakfasts and lunches. My weight steadily went up. 

I soon had a team around me, rallying around me. I had a therapist that helped me cope using cbt. I had a dietitian who helped make what I did eat count. 

During this whole three year recovery, my psych had me on every antidepressant you can name from Prozac to Viibryd. None of it really did anything for me.  Some of them made things worse. Ativan continued to be the lifesaver. 

But my doctor didn’t want me to stay on it. I know the risks involved with benzos. But not even other benzos worked like Ativan did. Not Valium not Xanax not klonopin. My doctor kept messing with my medications.  She wanted me to be on anything except ativan. I tried her alternatives but nothing worked. 

Now I have a new doctor and she switched my ssri to a srni. Not. Working. All the while, for the past year and a half, I have have to fight with my doctor over ativan refills. At two points she was late getting back to me and the cold turkey withdrawals were horrible. 

If they would work patiently with me, I could titrate off but they are really messing with my head and body when they force me to go without over a weekend.  

This week was another fight for a refill. I just want to be done with so-called mental health professionals. Therapy and my dietitian did more for me than my psychs ever did. 

I wish I never even went to a psych. Going to force myself off drugs but I admit that I am terrified of losing weight and the ability to eat again. 

Wheew.        

It’s 2019!

This is definitely belated but hello, 2019! After the rough ride that was 2018, I am hoping for a much more positive experience this year. Part of this is due to an attitude change but it also helps having a good, strong support system which I have found that I do have!

Creativity has been tough for me for a while now. Once, there was a time where new ideas, stories, and characters flowed out of me naturally. They filled my dreams and they played in my head when I listened to music. For a while, due to mental struggles (and physical struggles–let’s be real here for a sec), I wasn’t feeling it. These days, I am starting to feel it again.

You may have noticed a couple of changes around the website. Most of it’s just the same old, same old, but my books are back on sale. Journey in the Dark may make an appearance soon as well. At the moment, it’s so old that I do not have the files on my current computer. If you’ve read my work, what’s been your favorite so far?

Breathe

It’s hard to remember that I need to stop and breathe sometimes. I feel as if this year has been even worse than our introduction to 2017. Thus far, all I can count is tragedy, from my uncle passing away to my aunt passing away to the poor cats who passed in between those two and then on to the fact that my Nana had a heart attack just a week before her 90th birthday…

I know my mom says she feels like death is surrounding her and it’s not just HER. I think we’re just seeing it more now. Or maybe that woman from FBE is right and life really is like toilet paper: the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes!

For a greater part of this year, I’ve been in some kind of funk. I feel so defeated and distant from everything. The stress of the family issues on top of dealing with my perfectionism issues with school, I’ve kinda gone off the rails mentally. All I want to do is sleep but I’m trying to stay awake and busy with things. …Things. I guess.

Some days, I feel much more capable of living life like a normal person and then there are days, weeks, hell… MONTHS where I don’t feel capable of even doing much more than rolling out of bed. Sometimes I wonder if I’d even roll out of bed at all if it weren’t for my husband and my pets. They’re worth getting out of bed for, of course. And my sister. I look forward to her visits. When I know she’s coming, I get up with more spring in my step.

I’ve been sick for nearly two weeks and it’s finally tapering off. I think stress battered me until my immune system left itself wide open for sickness. At least I can breathe without pain now! I think it’s making its way out of my system now but I do have one sore, crusty nostril from all the nose blowing and such. Ouch!

I’m not sure why I’m putting this out here. Somebody said something about journaling and I remembered that I have this website. I feel as if I failed because this was supposed to be my brilliant writer’s website but instead, it’s sort of become a dump for all my thoughts.

Asexuality

I don’t know if a lot of you know this or not but I’m asexual.

So, I read something troubling on tumblr about asexual people and I guess in the ace tag, there’s a whole lot of hate for us. I didn’t actually check out the tag because it’s super early in the morning for me and I need to sleep–I didn’t want to end up sickened or outraged by what I might read there. Why put myself through that turmoil, anyway?

Anyway, the subject got me thinking about it, though. About asexual people and their role in the whole LGBTQIA+ movement. It seems like a lot of people (and I’m talking people in that spectrum, not just a bunch of straight people) don’t want to include us in everything and on the shallow end, I can sort of see why. It’s not like we have to suffer the same way that they do. I never had to “come out” to my family or anything. I like to cut my hair short and I’ve been mistaken as a lesbian more times than I can count but I’ve never suffered for it. I was teased a lot but I wasn’t hurt or persecuted or threatened.

I can get married if I want to because I’m dating a man and I’m a woman, so I don’t have to rally and fight for the right to be married. I’ve never struggled when I looked in the mirror and saw a girl’s face staring back at me. I’ve never felt like I don’t belong in my own body, that it doesn’t represent who I am inside.

But it still upsets me when I hear there’s such hate toward us or that even people in that spectrum say rude and hurtful things about us when they should understand more than anybody that it can hurt to have your life trivialized.

I can’t speak for all asexual people everywhere but for me, it hurts my feelings when people scoff as if asexuality isn’t really a thing or say things like they can’t believe how we have no interest in sex, that it’s unnatural. That we need to be put on medication or see a sex therapist to open ourselves to the idea.

Why should we? I don’t want to change who I am. I am just fine without sex in my life. I don’t want it, I don’t need it. I will admit that I do struggle sometimes with my lack of sexuality because my fiance is a sexual person. Sometimes, I worry that he won’t love me anymore because I can’t feel for him sexually or provide for him sexually. I love him so much but I can’t do that, not even for him. Some asexual people do and I understand that. But I have no will or drive to do so and it makes me extremely uncomfortable when other people judge me for not wanting to, for lacking any desire to do anything like that.

I’ve been told by my own family to just get over it and do it, just grin and bear it and I’ll get through it. I suspect both my grandmother and my mother are asexual, too, but they did it because it was expected of them. When I see my doctor and have to admit that I’m not sexually active, I feel like a liar, even though I know I’m not lying. I feel from some people, that I’m judged because I don’t do it, like I’m a prude.

I promise you, I’m not a prude. I talk about it. I’ve seen porn. It generally doesn’t faze me. I feel nothing when I see two people having sex. I’m not turned on. Sometimes, I admit that I want to be, but I’m not.

But how do I write smut, people ask. Same way anybody who doesn’t/hasn’t had sex does. I know what sex is. I know how it works. I know how it feels, for the most part. It’s not that hard to write about something you don’t do or are not. I write sexual characters, I write gay characters. I write characters who don’t share my ethnicity. I write religious characters. I am none of these things and I can still write about it. How many people who have written about sword battles or magical anime fights or starships have actually DONE any of those things? I have every right to write about something as commonplace as sex, especially if it’s a large part of who two characters are.

Anyway, this turned into something of a rant but I wanted to share my thoughts, jumbled as they are at 5AM and see what others thought.