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

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

Defensiveness and the case of the Mondays

Today as of now, has been a very tough day. I wish I had a real excuse as to why, but I don't. Even if I did, it would just sound whiny and I know no one actually wants to read whiny self pitying Grace.

What do you do when all the thoughts in your head are so garbled and coated with moroseness swirled with a dash of chaos, that whenever you try to voice a thought or process an honest remark all you can do is spew out bile and want to hide in yourself until no one can ever find you again?  How does anyone communicate effectively, please, all you actual adults that don't suck at the most basic of human functions, PLEASE tell me how you do it.

Because as of right now, I just want to not exist, and I have neither a flask, blunt, or a dog to comfort myself with and the boss is in the office so I can't look at animal videos. One of the most frustrating things about adult life is how lonely it is. I have great friends and a great boyfriend, but I don't feel like I can talk to anyone because I barely understand myself.

Also, slowly but surely, I am starting to hate my job.  I actually got reprimanded for not putting a space between two words in an email solely meant to provide a coworker with a phone number, and she CC'd my BOSS on it. It may seem small, but little things like that show me how petty someone is.

Fuck bitches, make money.

-Grace #Adulting

For The Love Of Dogs

I love dogs.  I spend at least three hours a day (most likely more) reading about them, looking at them on the internet, and thinking about them.  To many, this seems like obsession. My boyfriend teases me for shutting down when I see a cute dog on the street. Everyone asks why I don't have one.

Well, as much as I would love one right now, the truth is I'm not obsessed.  An obsessed person would not realize they can't provide a life that is worthy of a dog at the moment.  I'm here to make a case that everyone should be "obsessed" with dogs, and here's why:

The only reason dogs are the way they are today, is because of us.  They came to us when we were primitive beings and helped us scour for food; they have helped the Greeks and Romans soldiers in battle just as they do today. Every single trait in dogs has been manifested by humans; if they are aggressive, it is our fault, not theirs; if they are loving it is because we have taught them to be loving.

Dogs are the tailored animal; reared and selected and even genetically modified to our will, sometimes to their detriment.  But they don't know that, all they know of is love.

If you want to know what it is like to live a happy life, live like a dog. A dog goes from moment to moment, taking pleasure in all the little nuances and happenstances that they come across. When a dog is happy their joy is unadulterated; they do not care if they laugh too loud or love too much, whereas human beings hang on to their "I love you's" and words of comfort and hoard them like gold, not realizing love only grows when it is shared.  We guard our happiness because we fear others will scorn it; and it shows in the dogs we rear when they guard their toys.

Dogs have seen me through many difficult moments, and not all have liked me.  I try not to take it too personally, but dogs have their own unique personalities like we do, and not everyone likes me.  Dogs have never judged me for crying, or for being angry, or for being scared.  From the tiniest of puppies that have chewed my clothing to bits to the sickest and the elderly ones that I have had to say goodbye to, they have all just been. They let me, be.

So see a Dog as more than just a pet, more than an animal that depends on food and shelter from you. We tamed dogs, and as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said in "The Little Prince", you are responsible for the things you tame.  If you have the honor and privilege of seeing your dog out of life, do it.  We live in a society where we hide the elderly away because it's much easier than to have to think and care about them.  We turn our faces away from the homeless, the sick and the disabled.

Turn back around, face them.  You will feel much braver with a dog by your side.