The Scarlet Letter

Sometimes I feel like my brain is a hand that has no opposable thumb; that it is lacking in the most basic of functions and reasoning.

But other times I wonder if I feel this way because it's easier to just say something is wrong with me.

Every night, for the past 9 months I have listened to various meditations, mantras, motivational speeches. I've used delta waves, repetition, osmosis, you name it.  I even tried praying. I don't even believe in God, and if I did I'm not egotistical enough to think he'd take the time to listen to me with all the other shit happening.

I have exercised.  I have reflected. I have written. I have sang. And I have cried.

Oh, how I have cried.

I went to the psychiatrist today. I made the appointment 3 weeks ago and have waited anxiously for it since. I wanted help.

He prescribed me pills.

They are not high dosage, they are not intense.  We spoke for about 30 minutes, and he never gave me a diagnosis. I had spoken to him of the various ones I'd had.

He prescribed me pills and psychotherapy, because part of my issue was a personality trait.  I have been off and on meds since I was 14, and talking about my extensive history of struggling was strange because it has been a very long time since I had said it all aloud.  It was like a juvenile's rap sheet, and my conviction was on his prescription pad.

I was ecstatic. I was relieved. I thought "Now I've got the magic elixir, and it will all click in my head and I will be normal".  Then I talked to my boyfriend about it.

My boyfriend is the most level headed, pragmatic and emotionally intelligent person I know. He's also a naturalist who prescribes to his own belief that you just "get it" after continuously thinking about how you need to change.

It made me feel like a failure.

The shame is so palpable I can feel its heat vibrating off my chest and now I want to just crawl under a rock  or live like a hermit.

I'm a failure.

He didn't mean to make me feel this way. Not once did he criticize my choice, he even told me he was proud of me. But I know. I know there's a "but" somewhere.  I know, deep down most likely subconsciously he's lost a little respect for me, as does everyone who finds out I am on medication.  There is always the attached "well, she's on meds".  It's hard enough being taken seriously as a woman. It is a bookmark. It is a stamp.

It is what keeps me up at night frantically listening to these recordings until I wake up in the morning with palpitations and terror.  I am afraid of what I will do or say.

I am afraid that what I accomplish or fail will always be shadowed by this aspect of myself. I fear having people give me that look, the look of pity and the look of fear as if you have something contagious.  I have given it to people myself, and I am so, so sorry for it.

Because it is a scar. It is a branding.

It is a scarlet letter.

-Grace #Adulting

Of Nemo and Toilets

There are two types of people in this world: People who see the futility behind toilet seat covers and those who refuse to see the truth.

There are also other types of people: People who assume a server doesn't mind waiting while they read the menu, and those who realize this is a dick thing to do.

Last night, in what was supposed to be a FUN dinner, I contemplated smashing everyone I'm related to in the face with a hammer. I would never do this, but I admit imagining it felt good.

First implication of the evening being a stressful one, I ask my family if they want to eat at Bareburger since they keep wanting "organic" food. They inform me they didn't like that place. We end up at Bareburger, because this is the place they were talking about all along. But of course, I can't be right.

Next, I ask my mother what she wants: A turkey Burger.
Okay, I say. What on it?

Turkey Burger.

...It's like dealing with a five year old. She always does this, she'll just tell the server after assuring us she's thought about what she wants despite barely reading the menu that she wants "Chicken". This means the poor server has to wait and speak with her another 5-10 minutes as she makes up her mind and actually reads the menu, while I look for a rock to crawl under.

While ordering a pretty specific and large amount of food, I am constantly being interrupted and the server is being accused of being wrong and reminded of things she has already noted. I am an actor (sort of), I know server speak you assholes.

I am informed I ordered a bad beer, and that it isn't cold enough.  Granted, tap beer is warmer.  However, this is the same exact beer my cousin ordered for them last time we went and they all said they liked. Amazing how that works.

Finally, there's an issue with the check because the server either miscounted our cash or my Aunt did, because my card is overcharged. While I am speaking with the server on how I will take care of MY MONEY, and making sure I give her all my CORRECT INFORMATION, my family is pestering me to explain whatever I'm doing. In spanish. While the server is still there.

When I inform them that she has other tables and I don't like speaking of personal matters in front of wait staff, I am accused of putting others above my family members.

I snapped. I told them that "You have no clue what it's like to be a server. Stop being so self centered, and let me worry about my fucking money".  I'm now a monster.

I really hate this idea of family obligation that I find is extremely prevalent in Hispanic and Latin culture.  We are born needing and "loving" our mothers because we have to in order to survive. At least, we used to.  Our parents also feel the natural urge to shelter and care for us because it helps the survival of the species.  This is terrible in some cases because, honestly, most people I know shouldn't be parents. I mean please, please, please next time use a condom.

It's ridiculous to me that I have to feel manipulated and made to feel irrational guilt by a group of people who claim they do it out of love, even if with the best of intentions.  I am nearing 25 (google calendar reminded me of my own birthday) and I'm ready to choose my own family. Whether that means a husband or maybe just dogs the rest of my life, that is my choice.  I owe you nothing. You  are EXPECTED to take care of a child. If you don't, then you are a horrible human being that goes to jail. It is in the nature of having children; you don't get thanked. If you're looking for appreciation, you've chosen the wrong life path.  After they can fend for themselves, your job is done.

If you try and hold them too close and too long, those little baby bird wings get mangled, and then they end up like me.  The Nemo of the bird world, trying to fly away with only one wing.

-Grace #Adulting

Hangxiety And Considerate Drug Addicts

Sometimes, when I'm really anxious or really depressed I won't eat because then I can just focus on feeling hungry instead.  I tried to do this exact same thing this morning, but instead I ate some apricots. Because apricots are awesome.

I'm still hungry, and still anxious, but now they are both an even feeling so I am naming it: Hangxiety. I will stop talking about this, because A) I have realized that telling people too much never ends well, and B) It makes me sound really crazy.

So here I am, sitting here and feeling hangxious. And apathetic, because I have had a combined total of 18 hours of sleep since Friday because of filming the movie I'm in, Vermilion. I had to take the train at 4 a.m on Saturday to get to Philly on time, so here is an account of my train ride from the Bronx to Penn Station.

4 A.M, car 1: Pretty quiet, there's a homeless dude but he's not the super smelly kind and so maybe he's sane enough to be a witness in case anyone stabs me. Speckled with a few other people, including two sleepy young men.

4:10 A.M, car 1: After falling asleep for a few minutes, I hear a commotion and the sound of something somewhere between a liquid and a solid spilling.  Turns out, the sleepy young men were not really sleepy, just shitfaced. And now puking. Glad he was sitting up.  But really dude, where are you partying this hard in the Bronx?

4:13 A.M, car 2: I'm exhausted, upset, and generally miserable. I get stuck on a car with a bunch of loud, screaming, idiotic men that are yelling in very strident voices, probably about how they are general burdens on society and probably were born because their mom's couldn't afford birth control. Guy next to me is very very red.

4:16 A.M, car 2: Guy next to me is even redder. He's started saying some non-sensical things. I look to the two cars surrounding me and it's either puke car or the one that I'm pretty sure I just saw a homeless man pee into. I'm stuck.

4:22 A.M, car 2: Guy next to me is probably on Meth. He's started yelling at the air and at me, but assuring me he'll be fine once he reaches his stop. That's considerate I guess.

4:30 A.M, car ...well,train 2: I switch to the express train to escape them all, only to be followed by the gang of parakeets.  I am too tired to even be angry, and I resign to a miserable existence for this morning, and hope they all die a very early and painful death. Preferably by alcohol poisoning.

Once at Penn, I met up with another cast member. He's strapped for cash due to some bad circumstances and so I buy his ticket. I feel like a terrible person, because instead of feeling like I really helped someone I feel taken advantage of. How terrible of a person must I be, in order to feel like I'm being duped when I help someone out?

I kind of don't want to live on this planet anymore. I think I'd do better on a different one.

-Grace #Adulting

On Fucking All The Self Righteous Pricks

There are very few instances where I wish I was crazy enough to just set someplace on fire.  But unfortunately, I have this thing called morality and a general fear of being someone's bitch in prison.

I work a very boring job as a personal assistant at a travel agency. I took it to escape another boring job at a real estate agency.  At least my employees weren't fucking assholes there (although, pretty sure one of the boss' there tried to ask me out on a date. Awkward.).  Case in point:

1. They rarely involve me in conversation, barely even saying hi. Ironically, the one who comes off the friendliest is the most dangerous to trust.

2. They are petty. They will CC my boss on correcting my spelling mistakes on emails that hold no importance.

3.SOMEONE or some SOMEONES has been reporting me coming in late. And fuck them, because I have very little do anyway and spend most of the time reading random articles on the interwebs. And I do EVERYTHING they ask, so what the FUCK do they care?

4. I technically don't even take money away from the business. I'm paid through my boss' husband's company I guess to save on workers comp or something.

5.  Instead of throwing out/recycling things themselves, they'll actually put it on my desk and wait for me to come into the office before it gets taken care of. The recycling bin is right next to the bathroom. Oh, the poor things might break a nail.

6.FUCK THEM ALL IN THE EYEBALLS WITH A SANDPAPER CONDOM

I'm also slightly disgusted by them because it is obvious to me that none of them have ever gone through any economic hardship, either through watching their parents struggle or struggled themselves.  I've been pretty lucky, but I always finish my plate; I know the value behind putting food on the table.  One of the reasons I don't have a driver's license is because my parents told me they couldn't yet afford a tombstone for my sister and I though "Meh, driver's ed isn't THAT important".

Anyway, I'm cranky and saddened by the fact that I am not only working with a bunch of jerks, but I actually felt like I owed them something. My boss sat me down a couple months ago and expressed that she was afraid I would just leave as the summer came after she invested so much money and time in me. That I should invest in her and she'll invest in me.

A part time job that is leading me no where is not "investing" in me, you stupid twat.  I admire my boss for her business skills and organization and general savvy, but this means she's a master manipulator as well. I just happen to be nice enough to be steered.

Well fuck them, as soon as I find something better, I'm out.

*Drops Mic*

-Grace #Adulting

Panic, palpitations, and bears. Oh my!

My head is currently more condimented than a salad. Oh, the things I do for beauty. Or at least to tell myself I'm even making a difference. Genetics, thou art a bitch. 

Today I went to the gym, for the first time in about a week. Understandably, I knew it was going to suck. What I didn't know was that elevating my heart rate would cause me almost having a panic attack. I had to leave after my squats.

The first time I can remember ever having a panic attack was in junior high. I was in my science class and we had a substitute teacher. Back then, I was a very different kind of person. *cough cpugh* goody two shoes *cough cough*. This was the year before I told my parents I was a satanist. So, big year of changes for me. 

Anyhoo, we had a sun and the class was going insane because of this. I noticed across the hallway a very annoyed looking teacher gazing into our room and yelled out as an aside "guys, shut up, she's looking at us!" 

Fast forward ten minutes, and I'm being pulled into the principal's office. Of course, I'm freaking out (I've always been neurotic) and the teacher who had looked into our room has accused me of telling her to "shut up and stop looking at us". 

First thing I say is "but, she wasn't saying anything. Why would I tell her to shut up?" Apparently this means I was a smart aleck. 

Second thing that happens, is that I'm threatened with suspension. Next thing I know I feel my hands tingling and my face seizing up. I can't breathe, I'm hyperventilating. The teacher is looking at me like a freak. I'm ashamed. 

My mom used to tell me stories about how she was so crippled by anxiety even a train would cause a panic attack and my dad would get angry with her. I can only empathize the shame that comes with that experience. Because it's happened to me multiple times. 

It's hard to be in that place again and feeling like not even those closest to me understand. I don't like talking about my anxiety, I figure if I don't acknowledge it out ooud it will just go away and no one will think any less of me. I've accepted that this is something I'll always have to deal with and come to terms with, but will anyone else ever will?

-grace #adulting

To be or not to Hepatitis B?

You may have a medical degree, but this doesn't mean you're not an idiot.  Case in point: My weekend.

So I got a physical done for the first time in who knows how long, and of course this includes blood work.  I should have known I wasn't dealing the highest caliber of medical professionals when it took them 3 tries to find a vein, and they had to use the one in my hand and the assistant says "Well let's hope it doesn't burst" to the OTHER assistant while I AM RIGHT THERE. SITTING WITH A NEEDLE POKING OUT OF ME. TRYING NOT TO HYPERVENTILATE. I AM NOT A ROBOT.

This was last week, so this weekend I am dog sitting and I suddenly get a call "The doctor needs you to come in to discuss your blood work results". Um, what? So of course, my inner hypochondriac starts to imagine all the worst things, from cancer to Super Aids.  So I go in, and right away they hand my my lab results on a paper that has a whole lot of red on it.  I ask if I'll get to talk to someone, and am told to wait for the doctor.  2 and a half hours later I am no closer to seeing the doctor, so I leave with a test that states I am positive for Hepatitis A and B to race back to a dog that might poop itself if it waits any longer.

Fast forward to Saturday morning, after waking up at the ass crack of dawn to be the first person there, the assistant speaks to me and tells me I have Hepatitis B.  Understandably, I start to hyperventilate and inquire about the future of my liver and the possibility of cancer.  Also, I'm confused, because I don't use dirty needles or have sex with homeless people. This is what he said, VERBATIM.

"Well, since you're asymptomatic there's no need to concern yourself with liver disease just yet.  While half of liver cancer patients have Hep B, that doesn't necessarily mean Hep B causes liver cancer.  It's just that most people with liver cancer have Hep B."

Why, thank you physician's assistant. YOU MADE ME FEEL TEN TIMES WORSE ABOUT MY LIFE, FUCK YOU, I FEEL BAD FOR THE GIRL YOU DATE YOU PROBABLY SUCK AT TALKING TO HER TOO.

An hour later, I finally get to talk to the ACTUAL doctor.  Who says I don't have Hep B, I just have antibodies from the vaccine.  I do have a hyperactive thyroid which would explain why I'm neurotic as fuck, though.  I'd like to think that if this get's fixed, most of my problems will be gone.  I know that's not the case though, because my brain is also broken. But not my spirit!

Ok maybe it is a little broken.  It's hard to feel hopeful when even going to the doctor is so difficult.  I'm trying to be healthy, trying to make positive changes and then I just flip out. It makes NO sense.  And I worry it will ruin everything.

So here's pictures of the doggie I took care of, because fuck doctors.

-Grace #Adulting

Training Wheels and Blankets

Today, I made up my mind.  My professional goal is to be a community/social media manager.

How the fuck do I become one of those? The girls at my current job are such micro-managing control freaks it's not like I'll ever get to touch their social media sites. Seriously, if I wanted to be micro-managed this much I'd just stay home and hang out with my family.

I figured out exactly what pot feels like to me; it's sort of like wearing a fuzzy blanket while holding a laser pointer.  You get to peek out from under the blanket and focus on one thing at a time, the thing that seems most important.  My boyfriend says I'm much more logical when I'm high, since I operate on a zero-mental break down mode the rest of the time.  There are these moments where I feel I'm getting insecure and then I realize that I would look much stupider admitting I do and would it would be more beneficial to shrug it off. Is that almost like confidence?

So anyway, laser point thoughts; I feel like I've been riding on a bike with training wheels my whole life.  I'm biking alone, but there's no real danger yet, just the danger of comfort.  Now if only I could learn how to get those fucking wheels off and ride off into my fat bank account sunset, that would be just swell.

Open to suggestions.

-Grace #Adulting