Carter, the other dingo.

Jack is the dingo that gets most of the press in my household and a lot of that is because he honestly believes that he is person. Jack seems to possess a lot of my more, shall we say, more eccentric qualities. As a result, the other dog in my household, Carter, is frequently relegated to the background. Well that changes today, today we are going to talk about Carter. Carter is a terrier whose story needs to be told and songs to be sung about him. Jack wants to rule the world, but Carter lives for something else entirely. It's time for Carter to stand in the limelight!  By the way, since Jack honestly thinks he is a person, he views Carter as the dog in our household and has tendency to treat him as such.

Dingo riding shotgun.

Carter came to be a member of my household just over three years ago in the fall of 2009. I had been talking about getting a companion for Jack since he spends so much time alone in his crate and I had a lot of anxiety over it.. A coworker of mine happened to be perusing the local pound directory and came upon a doggie that was listed as a fox terrier. Intrigued, I went out to said fox terrier. To start out with, Carter is not a fox terrier. I'm not quite sure just what Carter is, he's tall like a rat terrier but his face is more like a Jack Russel terrier. I just say that he's a rat terrier for the time being. Anyway, this poor dog was found wandering a trail just south of town and he looked absolutely miserable in the pound. I went home that evening and thought a lot about him, I couldn't stand the thought of him being abandoned and placed in the pound, his face was haunting me. So, I adopted him a few days later.

Carter's name that the pound had given him was Scrappy, which did not sit well with me. He needed a proper name. Jack is named for Captain Jack Sparrow and Carter needed a similar, honorable name full of character. I decided to name him after the always smiling drummer from the Dave Matthews Band, Carter Beauford. I can hear everyone groaning over this and I stand by my decision to name him thus. I'm allowed to have one animal named after a member of my favorite band, at least his name isn't Dave. I think it's a good name and it suits him well.

Speckled nose, speckled tummy.

When I brought Carter home, he and Jack sorted out the pecking order of the house terrier style. Terrier style meaning they humped each other for four hours straight. Apparently Jack's stamina won the day and he was crowned the alpha of the two of them. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've experienced listening to two terriers hump the hell out of each other for four hours straight while you try to play video games. Jack may be the alpha but every time the two of them get into a scrap, Carter usually kicks the shit out of him and Carter isn't as tall and weighs 3 pounds less than Jack. This dog has heart, lots of heart. That's something that I find very endearing in a dog (I wouldn't have terriers if this was the case). Carter could steal the alpha status from Jack at any moment, the things is, he doesn't care about being the alpha for reasons that will become clear here in a little bit.

We lost a lot of balls to that creek.

Carter fit in just fine in the household, he has a great personality, but he is a bit dim witted as far as terriers go, especially in comparison to Jack's megalomaniacal genius. Unfortunately, Carter is a bit of a nervous doggie, which makes me wonder if he wasn't abused in his former household. Jack trusts me implicitly but Carter gets nervous if I randomly show him the same level of affection that I'm used to giving Jack. That's not to say that he doesn't want affection, he's just more independent and wants his attention on his own terms. Carter has this habit of crawling up on my pillow just after I've crawled into bed and laying on his back for what I like to call "Carter Time". I scratch his belly to his heart's content and he grunts and groans.....like a piglet. It's really funny, Carter's snout is completely white and his coat is so thin there that you can see the pink skin that resides underneath. Thus, he loosk like a bit of a piglet and sounds like one too.

The first few months with Carter went by without much incident. If anything, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Jack. Jack is spilling over with character, whereas it didn't seem like Carter had much personality in that department. That all changed one day when Carter found a ball outside our apartment. Carter is absolutely bonkers for balls. It was like someone flipped a personality switch within him. For Carter it's all ball, all the time. This was a completely new experience for me, Jack couldn't care less for chasing balls and fetching them.  In fact, I'm pretty sure Jack looks down on carter for his obsession. Carter on the other hand, lives to play ball, there is nothing else to him. When I come home from work, I let the dogs out and Jack jumps all over me demanding to know where the hell I've been. Not Carter. He goes straight for his ball without even a glance at me. His nightly ritual involves spending 15 minutes rooting with his ball in my pillows on my bed. He does this thing where he nudges the ball under the pillow, sticks his nose under the pillow and the ball and then flips the ball into the air and catches it when it comes down. It's really amazing to watch, he flips the ball up so high that it bounces against the wall before he catches it. Once he's done with rooting around in the pillows with the ball, it's at this time that he finally acknowledges me. There are days that I feel like my sole purpose in Carter's mind is to throw the ball for him. Let me tell you, Carter may be dimwitted when compared to Jack, but he is an absolute whiz when it comes to playing ball. He never ceases to amaze me, when he gives me the ball it's like he goes into some kind of focused trance. He shuts out the entire world and focuses on nothing but the ball in my hand. You absolutely cannot fake him out because his eyes never leave the ball. As a result, he can often catch the ball in the air as soon as it leaves my hand. He routinely catches the ball in his mouth directly after it bounces against the wall. It's a shame that I don't have more free time because he could be a world champion flyball dog.

Throw the damn ball already.

At first it seemed like Carter didn't have a lot of character quirks like Jack, but that proved to be wrong. Carter is absolutely obsessed with the dog food dish being full. If the dish is not full, Carter is not happy. I free feed the dogs since Jack tends to be a bit of a grazer. If the dish is empty, Carter will whine incessantly and push the bowl around the kitchen until I get up and fill the dish. This isn't because Carter is hungry, it's because he's worried that there isn't going to be any more food. Ever. I think this comes from him being abandoned on a trail and he may have had to fend for himself for a time. Thus, he worries if there is going to be a next meal. Carter also like to roll and smoke his own cigars. Smoking cigars meaning he likes to eat his own shit. Jack finds this extremely distasteful and turns his nose up at Carter any time he observes him lighting up a stogie. I do believe that I have mostly broken Carter of this habit though I do catch him looking intently at a freshly passed specimen. It's really funny, he looks around to see if anyone is watching and then sort of casually places said cigar in his mouth, like he's lighting up a marijuana joint in public and is afraid someone is going to narc on him. Carter is unlike Jack in his sleeping habits too. Carter is a sort of "let's get up early and play ball" kind of dog, whereas Jack and I are very much about sleeping in. I think Carter waits for hours each morning for my telltale deep inhale and exhale that signifies that I am waking up. As soon as he hears this, he's out of the bed and has his ball in his mouth, ready to go. Carter also has what I like to call an "iron bladder", he can seriously go over twelve hours without having to pee. Jack gets me up at least twice a night to go out but Carter stays in bed for the duration. Also Carter has his favorite spot when I'm playing video games or watching a movie. Jack is usually snuggled up next to me, whereas Carter sits on top of the couch back, wrapped around my neck, it's just where he likes to be when he's tired of playing ball.

Enthused dingo is enthused.

Carter's favorite spot.

                                              

It may seem like Carter plays second fiddle to Jack and to some extent that is true. I've had Jack since he was a puppy and we really bonded strongly during our time on Kauai. That's not to say that I don't love Carter dearly, I just have a different sort of relationship with him than I do with Jack. Personality wise, Jack and Carter couldn't be more different if they tried. Appearance wise, it's the same,  Jack is very regal and handsome, whereas Carter is cute in a piglet sort of way. They are different dogs, I'm not sure I could handle having another dog with Jack's personality, having one dog that thinks he is a person and wants to rule the world is enough. I'm very to have Carter and couldn't be happier with the fact that Carter joined our family, even if he drives me nuts wanting to play ball 24 hours a day.

Who can say no to a face like that?

Some dingos just want to watch the world burn......

I did something this weekend that I rarely do, I took the dingos to Petsmart to buy them some toys appropriate for their ferocious demeanor. Taking two very curious and hyper dingos into a store by myself is an experience in chaos, to say the least. Jack has his head in just about every bin and actively pulls dingo toys off of display hangers. Carter sniffs around and growl occasionally at people and dogs passing by. We were on a mission this weekend though, a friend of mine had suggested that I try purchasing a Kong Wubba since they are supposed to be nearly indestructible. I should have known better......

Jack has never been interested in toys, as far as toys being for playing with goes. Jack treats his toys like he would treat any squirrel or rodent, they are to be ripped limb from limb and their innards are spread across the apartment while he stands triumphant in all his terrible glory over their shattered forms. Toys are just another instrument of Jack's unending megalomania and are seen as nothing more than conquests of his divine will. I have yet to find a toy that kind stand up to 30 minutes of intense abuse from the scissoring action of Jack's jaws, great white sharks would be envious of the power of Jack's methodical sawing actions. I thought the Kong Wubba was going to stand the acid test though since I was told that the toy is "heeler tough". I hate to say it, but blue heelers just aren't in the same league as Jack is and was my hopes were soon thoroughly dashed. Jack ripped open one of the seams of his latest victim within 30 minutes and then began actively shredding what was left of the toy. Seriously, this thing was made of the same material as leashes and he tore it apart like it was tissue paper. Why can't he just play with the damn things as opposed to destroy them completely?

I feel bad for poor Carter, as soon as Jack finishes with his designated toy he sets upon Carter's toy with the same fury that he showed his own toy. All dingo toys die horrible, horrible deaths in my household, Jack persecutes them all with extreme prejudice. Jack is the best there is at what he does and what he does isn't very nice. The only thing that has stood the test of time in our household is this blue rubber ball that I bought for Carter three years ago. This ball is the very embodiment of courage and defiance and many songs should be sung in it's honor. That ball is Carter's absolute pride and joy and he expects me to throw it for him every waking moment of every day. Old Blue is the only dingo toy that Jack has not been able to demolish and it frustrates hime to know end. Jack steals Old Blue from Carter at least once each day and begins his ritual of trying to rend the ball into pieces. I've never seen Jack so determined about anything in my life, he tries and tries but just cannot defeat this ball for the life of him. If it weren't for Old Blue, I'm pretty sure Jack would have succeeded in taking over the world by now.

Three years of having a ferocious dingo try to rend you into little pieces is long time, so I decided to buy Carter a couple of new balls so Old Blue could retire to our empty dingo toy basket (empty because no toy has ever survived long enough to be retired in my apartment). So, I went back to Petsmart today and selected two new balls of different sizes for Carter to fawn and obsess over constantly. Jack has no interest in playing ball whatsoever like Carter does, balls are just another item to be destroyed to Jack. So, I came home with these two balls and Jack set on the smaller one with his usual voracity and Carter was left with the larger ball. Sure enough, 30 minutes later Jack had torn a large gaping hole in the small ball and he was poised to go "medieval on it's ass". I put the hapless ball out of it's misery by throwing it away and while I was doing this Jack stole Carter's other new ball and began the methodical process of destroying it too. The larger ball has managed to withstand Jack's first onslaught but he did manage to remove the squeaky plug from it and has frayed the rubber around the gaping hole that's left. I expect the ball's defenses will fail later this evening and Jack will have another notch in his belt from his latest conquest.

This means that Old Blue will not be able to retire to the comforts of the dingos' empty toy basket as was planned. Carter loves that ball more than he loves me, it's all he really lives for I think. Jack will continue his efforts to be Old Blue's ultimate undoing and I'm sure he will come up with new methods to torture the poor thing. So, I raise my glass in a toast of Old Blue for defying the odds and standing the test of time against a foe who is as unyielding as he is vicious. Here's to survival in the face of extreme adversity because some dingos just want to watch the world burn.....

I think it's time for a break from DMB at the Gorge

After much soul searching, I have decided to take a break from going to the Dave Matthews Band's three day concert at the Gorge this year. Those who know me well know that I pretty much eat and sleep DMB and DMB at the Gorge is the biggest event of the year for me. This isn't a decision that I make lightly but in light of my experiences there over the last two years, it's time for my first break since I lived on Kauai.

You see, two years ago I bumped into my ex-girlfriend there on the first day (the one who pretended she was in a coma for 6 months). This completely ruined the experience for me and I turned around and left for home after the first day. I was pretty badly rattled by the experience and just wanted to be home with the dogs. Someone who is capable of torturing someone for six months pretending to be in a coma could be capable of anything and since she had gone to the Gorge with me the prior two years, she knows exactly where I stay. Part of me believes that seeing her there was no coincidence. I had a good time the day I did stay but was very happy to be home and in a safe place for me after.

Last year I changed things up and went with some friends that I met within the last year. They stay at the Gorge campground proper each year and meet up with all kinds of friends from all over the country. I had heard things about staying at the campground at the Gorge and how it was nothing but a three day party but decided to find out for myself what the experience was really about. It turns out that the rumors that I had heard were true, it indeed a three day party. I pretty much left drinking behind back in the Summer of 2011 due to the negative effects that it has on my well being. I make an exception for DMB at the Gorge but was not prepared for the level of partying that was present though. I guess I'm just over that sort of thing now though I certainly don't judge anyone who does really party it up there. For a lot of people it's a chance to be away from their kids and the normal worries of every day life and try to recapture some of the care free experiences of yesteryear. I wholeheartedly think that's a good thing, it just isn't me anymore. I tried drinking on the first night and just didn't feel right about it so I took the next day off and felt out of place because I wasn't participating in things. What happened the next day was definitely a step in the wrong direction.

You see, I have a lot of social anxiety and don't do well in groups of people that I don't know. It's not that I didn't meet nice people, everyone that I met was really nice and were all huge DMB fans, like me. I was absolutely terrified though and just didn't feel like I fit in. Hoping to ease my anxiety some, I took some valium that had been subscribed to me in the past for such situations. This would have been just fine had I not decided to drink that day. Valium is a benzodiazepine and benzos do not mix with alcohol, it has a multiplexing effect similar to rohypnol (the date rape drug, which also happens to be a benzodiazepine). In essence, I had roofied myself. I woke up eight hours later (20 minutes before the concert started) in my tent, in a different shirt with absolutely no recollection of how I got there. Long story short, I passed out. Thankfully my friend (big thanks, your know who you are) dragged me to my tent to sleep things off. Naturally I was very embarrassed and ashamed of my stupidity. I had no idea what I had done or said prior to passing out and in my case that means I was not in any sort of control of my emotions. It was a bad, bad thing for me to do and I'm still beating myself up over it. I decided to buck up and spend the rest of the weekend chemical free but my social anxiety kept me from enjoying the experience at all. Like I said, I met a lot of very nice people, I just couldn't mix at all.

Needless to say, I went home dejected after the whole experience. If I couldn't form connections with people that love DMB as much as I do, how am I going to be able to form friendships at all? DMB at the Gorge is supposed to be an experience of belonging for me, not one of isolation, shame and embarrassment. This experience demoralized me so much that I became suicidal and ended up in the hospital for a short stay. I still have anxiety over the whole thing to this day. I can't believe I was so fucking stupid and was seriously questioning whether I would ever find a group of people where I felt like I belonged.

That's why it's time for a break, two years worth of heartbreak is just too much. I could go alone and stay where I usually camp but like I said, my ex-girlfriend knows exactly where to find me and capable of just about anything. Going alone also provokes it's own set of anxieties and insecurities, going alone is just out of the question. It really is time for a break.

There are other reasons not to go. For tickets and camping the price tag is close to $400.00 and I usually pay for this with my income tax return. My mountain bike is ten years old now and I would much rather put that money towards the purchase of a new one in hopes that it will inspire me to hit the trails with the dogs in ernest this year. The long term effects of this far outweigh a weekend at a concert, even if it is DMB.

I feel pretty good about my decision as whole right now though there is a certain level of sadness, which is to be expected. This really is a good decision for me right now. I still love DMB as much as ever and feel the new album is the best work they've done in close to 15 years. It's not like I can't go again next year, maybe with a close friend or female companion? I do plan catching the band this summer in Detroit which gives me a chance to spend time with my father and his wife. I'm sure that will just as fun for me even though the band is best experienced at the Gorge.

Most people are going to say, meh, what's the big deal? It's a pretty big deal for me, DMB is a huge deal for me. I connect with their music in ways that I cannot even begin to describe here. I think I'll just leave it at that. On a positive note, this is the last self-centric post that I'm going to write for a while. I think it's time for a little tongue in cheek humor for at least the next few posts!

Optimism, Pessimism, Depressive Realism, Cynicism, Naive Realism and Idealism....a study in " 'isms"

I've spent some time as of late analyzing my attitude towards life and what attitude I wish to have for it. Anyone who knows me would categorize me as a very cynical pessimist. I wholeheartedly agree with the cynicism part but I would argue with the pessimism part. Depressive Realism is a concept that states that depressed people actually have a more accurate perception of reality than normal, mentally healthy people do. I find this concept to be very interesting and find that I subscribe to many of ideas put forth in it's definition.

I've always believed in the idea that I see the world more clearly than most the rest of the world does. This, of course, is based on my perception of the world and that's where the idea that I'm a
depressive realist comes into question. Complex PTSD is in it's infancy as far as it's description, diagnosis and prognosis with treatment goes. According to Wikipedia, sufferers of CPTSD often have alterations in self perception, including "a sense of complete difference from others (may also include a sense of specialness, utter aloneness, belief no other person can understand, or nonhuman identity)" This statement pretty much sums up exactly how I've felt most of my life, especially the belief that no other person can understand me. The Wikipedia entry also talks about alterations in systems of meaning, specifically, "a sense of hopelessness and despair". This also applies directly to me and my attitude toward, life, interpersonal relationships and the human race in general.

Talking about perception and reality and the effects that they have on each other is a very slippery slope that I'm not going to delve too heavily into right now. The idea that my mental illness shapes my perception of reality is something that I struggle with constantly. I really want to believe that the concept of depressive realism is very plausible but as we've seen above, certain tenets of the description of CPTSD are in direct opposition the this idea. One of the therapists that I saw when I was away at an intensive outpatient program made this analogy as to how my mental illness shapes the way that I view the world.

 The story goes that a couple went to visit the Tuscany coast in Italy for a vacation. Upon arrival they found everything to be as beautiful as they expected. As they explored various walking paths and hiking trails, they observed dog poop wherever they went. Mortified by this, they took a picture of said dog poop when they first encountered it on the side of the trail. Instead of moving on and taking notice of how beautiful the scenery was, they became obsessed with how inconsiderate they thought people were by not picking up their dog's waste in such wonderful place. So on they went through their entire trip, taking pictures and focusing on dog poop whenever they found it until it was time to go home. Once they got home, they showed their pictures. Naturally the first picture they showed was of dog poop and the couple and their friends had a good laugh about it. The next picture was, of course, of dog poop again. The couple's friends laugh again, though not as enthusiastically as before. Once they got to the third picture and subsequent pictures of dog poop, it becomes clear that the couple's sole attention was on the negativity of finding dog poop everywhere instead of just accepting it for what it is and enjoying the rest of their trip.

The therapist who told me this story told me that my illness makes it so that I only see dog poop wherever I go and miss out on all of the good things that are present in the world. At the time, this made a lot of sense to me and I started to think about the idea that my mind presents the world behind a filtering lens in the shade of dog poop. In other words, I see only the negative and therefore, obsess over it to the point that I can see nothing else. This begs the question, can I see anything in the world objectively or is my perception of reality really that skewed? My current idea as to how answer this question? Yes and no.

Being an outsider all of my life helped me develop one positive characteristic, I am extremely observant and try to look at things scientifically and develop a working theory of how things work, interact and what kind of outcomes/consequences/results can occur in situation. I seek to understand everything that I see, I want to know exactly how the world works, how people interact and what motivates them in life. This is the clinical side of my personality that I described a few post ago. Because my mind is so analytical, it makes me very well suited to science and most certainly had a lot to do with my choice in careers. I am constantly watching and observing things, be it my dogs,  people walking past my coffee shop, people I work with, the world....etc. As a result, I have a working theory that the human race is ruining the planet we live on and that we will be the cause of our own undoing. I also see what it is that we are capable of as a species. We have this wonderful gift of conscious thought and we spend it in the pursuit of wealth, vanity and self servitude. The things that we are capable of accomplishing are so astounding but we are weighed down and ultimately underachieve spectacularly because of things like race, religious backgrounds and socio-economic status. This is not a post about my social, political, religious (specifically my lack of religious beliefs) or economic beliefs. It's about how I perceive the world and the human race in general. Because we are capable of conscious thought, we should strive to be more altruistic instead of selfish. So, is this my dog poop filter talking or is is the result of a great deal of observation and conscious thought? I honestly have no idea but I can tell you that the above examples are some of my most strongly held beliefs.

The very nature of my diagnosis begs the question, am I even truly capable of forming objective conclusion about anything, let alone the nature of the human race? Is my dog poop filter so strong that it effects every conscious though I have? These are difficult questions that most certainly don't have straightforward answers. This is where the concept of mindfulness comes into play. I have learned that I have to be mindful of every emotion and every thought that I have each and every day. I have analyze everything and determine if my response is my dog poop filter talking or a true interpretation of a situation. As you can guess, this isn't an easy task by any stretch of the imagination and I have been completely lax in practicing this for about 8 months now.

It takes so much energy to be mindful every second of every day and naturally, when I'm depressed, coming up with the energy to be mindful all the time becomes extremely difficult. Mindfulness is almost like the "spin" that political analysts like to use. Being mindful in my case means that I have to put a positive or optimistic spin on everyday situations in my life. I have friends who I work with who are incredibly proficient at being optimistic about almost everything. I spend half the time in awe of them and the other half wondering if there perceptions are in truth, reality. There's that perception vs. reality conundrum again. Mindfulness boils down to choice, I can choose to perceive things in a positive light and be the optimist or I can accept my dog poop filter interpretation of events and be the pessimist. My default option is always pessimism, unfortunately. That is why the conception of mindfulness is so important/essential to my recovery and continued growth as a human being.

Okay, I've talked about depressive realism, dog poop filters (negativity bias if you want to be precise), mindfulness, optimism and pessimism so far. I'm leaving out a key element to my personality though, cynicism. I am one cynical S.O.B., it's my primary defense mechanism and the source of almost all of my sense of humor. Cynicism, negativity bias and pessimism all have a lot of features in common with one another. For the longest time, I thought cynicism and sarcasm were one and the same, this is not the case though. One of the things that I have been taught through therapy is that sarcasm is considered to be nothing but displaced resentment by clinicians. If this truly is the case, it's no wonder that I'm so damn sarcastic. I don't subscribe completely to the above statement because I use sarcasm in my humor so much. We aren't talking about my sarcastic nature here though, we are talking about my cynicism (though it should be noted that the vast majority of my sarcasm comes from my cynicism). I am cynical as result of my upbringing and my experiences with my peers in grade school through high school. I am cynical because I am so observant. This goes back to my general opinion of the human race and the state that we are in right now. Being cynical is easy and is makes a great defense mechanism. Being cynical in my case discourages interaction with the world in the people in it because I am cynical about everything. Oh, I am so good about being cynical. Did I mention that I'm cynical about everything? I did because it's true. I moved to Kauai in part because I was so cynical about the "normal life" that someone in their mid-thirties and is married, is expected to live. I don't want to be your average United States citizen because I'm cynical. I work in the medical field because I'm cynical (though I am very cynical about the state of medicine in the United States today). I am so cynical that it would appear that I have unwittingly embraced a lot of concepts to be found in existential nihilism (I can't believe this philosophy actually exists, I thought I was the only person who thought this way). There is healthy cynicism and then there is Jon cynicism. Once again, am I so cynical because of my dog poop filter? I'm sure this is partly true but I'm sure that my intelligence plays a large role in this too. I would like to think that my intelligence results in a sense of naive realism but I am forced to question this because, once again, of my dog poop filter. The problem is, I like being cynical, I really like being cynical. Is it possible to be cynical about being cynical? I fear that being cynical is part of natural state of being and contributes greatly to my pessimistic nature. One major benefit of my cynicism is an extreme tendency to form my own opinions on subjects that may not follow the norm or majority. This is because I question everything but trust nothing that isn't backed up by scientific fact (clinical side of my personality again). A major drawback would be how my cynical attitude can affect the way I interact with people in general. This naturally feeds my nature of not trusting people and frequently results in dissociative behaviors on my part (not a good thing). Being mindful helps to counteract this to some degree but the dog poop filter is always in place.

Finally, I would talk a bit about my sense of ethical idealism. I hold very fast to my ideals and hold the rest of humanity to what I think should be our ideals as whole. As a result, I'm very cynical. Once again, I see what we are capable of as human beings and am ultimately disappointed because we seem to be unable to transcend our current state of society and achieve a form of utopia (altruism again). My father asks me at least once a year when I'm going to grow up, leave my blatant idealism behind, and join the real world. This always makes me sad because it means ultimately, this means that my father has given up on seeing the world change. Of course, his attitude is probably far more healthy and realistic than mine is because he accepts things as they are instead of pining for the impossible like I do. Here's a brain burner, does my adherence to certain ideals constitute a kind of anti-cynicism? My brain hurts too much to contemplate this question right now, I do intend to give it some serious thought though.

So, what have I learned tonight? Clearly, I am capable to whoring out to Wikipedia by linking endlessly to entries on philosophies and thought biases. Everything cycles back to perception versus reality and the existence of my dog poop filter. Mindfulness is the key to higher state of mental well-being for me. I question everything and as result, I am very cynical. Oh, what I mess I've made tonight, too much to digest right now. I hope your brain doesn't hurt as much as mine does right now and I hope  all the crap I wrote tonight was worth your time.

The legacy of Doctor Who

I recently joined Pinterest a few months ago. Pinterest had been on my radar since last year but I thought it was a new experience aimed primarily at women's interests. I can say that I most certainly like this new social experience and hope it manages to stick around for the duration.

Pinterest is a great way for people to find and share pictures and tidbits on their favorite passions. My pins tend to center around comic book characters, epic sports cars, random favorite anime series and other science fiction odds and ends. Pinterest even provides various categories for you to browse based upon your general interests and I find that I frequently browse the Geek category.

The thing is, the category may be called Geek but what it really should be called "Pining for Dr. Who and Sherlock Fan Girl Pins". Let me get this out of the way, I am a true nerd/geek (whichever you choose) and I am very much "Old School". I have met and know more than my fair share of women who are true, Old School nerds/geeks like me. Old School meaning that the person in question has been this way ever since they can remember. Science fiction has always dominated my interests and most likely will continue to do so until I pass on into the next world (can the next world be cyberpunk please?).

"What does this have to do with the Geek category of Pinterest?", you ask. Okay, go to the Pinterest website and browse the Geek category for 5 minutes. What do you predominantly see? Pins gushing  over how adorable David Tenant, Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch are. Now, I know next to nothing about this Sherlock show that can be found on BBC and BBC America, but I do know a thing or two about Dr. Who. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that I know far more about Dr. Who than 90% of these fan girls posting about how awesome Doctor number s10 and 11 are.

You see, the BBC rebooted Dr. Who back in 2005 after more than a decade without airing the various adventures of the Gallifreyan Time Lord and his ever present "Companions" in his Time And Relative Dimension In Space (TARDIS). This new series is quite excellent from what I've seen and the Doctor has been played by 3 separate actors over the last 7 years. Doctors 9, 10 and 11 (Christopher Eccleston, David Tenant and Math Smith respectively) have all done an excellent job of furthering the mystery, intrigue and quirkiness of the character. As a result, there are now legions of new Dr. Who fans, a much greater percentage of them women than ever before, fawning over the Doctor. All of these new found fans aren't real Whovians (as they call themselves) in my mind and need to understand and respect the immense history this show has.

When I was 7 years old and visiting my father in Minneapolis during the summer, I stumbled onto this strange science fiction show starring a tall man with curly hair in a hat, a very multicolored scarf and an English accent, playing on PBS every day. The production value was shabby at best and the monsters looked very fake but the show was the coolest thing next to Star Trek that I had ever seen. This show was Dr. Who, of course, and I had started watching during the Tom Baker years. No one I knew or talked to had ever heard of this show and I soon discovered that Dr. Who had been around for a very long time, even back then in the early 80's. I only got to watch Dr. Who when I was visiting Dad because he had cable, which something that my mother never believed in. When I was able to, I watched the show religiously and came to know about such things as Daleks (a villain that I've had a life long obsession with), Cybermen, The Master, Sontarans and Silurians. I didn't just experience Tom Baker (the 5th incarnation) as the Doctor, I spent time with Patrick Troughton (2nd), Jon Pertwee (3rd), Peter Davison (5th) and even an episode or two of Colin Baker (6th). Some of the episodes I watched were so old that they were still in black and white.

Like I said, I never once encountered anyone else who knew what Dr. Who was or had even heard of it. It was like my own little secret, daily science fiction television show. Eventually Dr. Who all but disappeared in the 90's and I left it behind..... until 2005. Dr. Who came roaring back with a new face, and new companion and a much higher production value than anything seen before. During that roughly 15 year gap, my science fiction tastes had matured considerably and regarded anything science fiction to be found on television to be of questionable quality. I'm not someone who consumes mass quantities of television (I haven't had any television service for close to two years now and have gone long periods of time without it in the past) so the return of Dr. Who was a minor blip on my radar. I did tune in to watch the return of the Daleks and Cybermen and was very satisfied with the stories told. Here we are six years later and Dr. Who is huge franchise now.... full of fan girls dreaming of being whisked away in the middle of the night by a handsome stranger with an English accent and his blue police box.

I am still a Dr. Who fan and will always be what I consider to be a true Whovian. I love Dr. Who for it's science fiction, not because the Doctor happens to be dashing. I welcome the legions of new fans who now love the series, I just hope that they take the time to experience the Doctor the way he was originally and become true fans and not just a bunch of hopeless romantics. This article is not meant to be sexist in any way, there are old school Dr. Who fans who happen to be women. If any of them happen to be perusing this post I have one question: Will you marry me? Seriously.

                                    Now that's Old School, how about pining for these guys?

A follow up to yesterday's post.....far more rational in nature.

Well, here it is, New Year's Eve. I'm sitting in the window of my favorite, local, downtown coffee shop writing this and watching all of the Missoula residents that are out enjoying the First Night activities. My perspective on things this evening are a little different tonight that they were last night. Last night I wrote everything from a very emotional point of view, I just ran with how I was feeling at the time. I spend a great deal of time writing each week in my journal and decided it was time to start putting some of it in my blog as well. One thing I learned about myself when I was at The Center was that writing is very therapeutic for me and I actually enjoy doing it. I usually manage to make it down here to my coffee show three to four times a week and usually spend around two to three hours writing and watching people each time. I try to be as honest as possible in my writings but generally try to keep things positive in nature, unlike yesterday's post.

 There are constantly two different Jon's competing for control of my personality. On the one side you have the very emotional and reactive side of my personality that is very sensitive in nature and is greatly skewed toward focusing on the negative aspects of my life. The other side is what I like to call the clinical side of my personality. This side of my personality is very analytical in nature and does it's best to be as unemotional as possible. As you can imagine, these two sides of me are constantly at war with each other. I try my best to favor the clinical side of my personality and bury all of my emotions as much as possible. Trying to ignore your hurt and emotions is not a healthy practice, even if the emotional side of my personality is completely irrational. Being completely clinical all of the time also has unintended side effects, it makes it very difficult to form bonds with other people and it makes me appear cold in nature about things. As a result, people can mistake me as someone who doesn't care about others. This is far from the truth though, I am a very sensitive person and care a great deal about people that I interact with. I just don't want them to know it for fear of being exploited by them. My clinical side helps me exceed in my job at the hospital lab and I take a great deal of pride in being good at my job. I just work in an environment where effort and excellence aren't recognized or rewarded.

I wish so much that I could just erase the emotional side of my personality and live completely in the realm of reason and logic. That's impossible and very unhealthy though. Emotions are what they are. They are raw. They are powerful and they are rarely logical in nature. Everyone has them, it's what you do with them that often determines how healthy of an individual you are. This is where I run into trouble when it comes to therapy sessions. Getting me to switch out of clinical mode and start feeling raw emotions is very difficult because I hate feeling like I'm not in control and I'm scared to death that I will be punished for expressing them. I feel very guilt about what I wrote last night. Everything I wrote was the truth as I saw it at that moment. My emotional side was in charge at that point in time and I ran with it. As a result, I feel very vulnerable about it today. Obviously my clinical side is back in the driver's seat tonight as everything I'm writing is very analytical in nature.

Why do I feel so guilty about having feelings? I wasn't really allowed to express myself emotionally growing up and was punished for having feelings or showing any kind of vulnerability. This went well beyond just feelings though. I had severe asthma growing up and had little to no control over it. Unfortunately for me, my mother didn't believe in getting me the proper medications to help with my symptoms (keep in mind that we trying not to judge here, it is what it is). What was worse, I had severe allergies to go with the asthma which included things like dogs and cats. We would travel to visit mom's friends in other cities who had pets and I would always get really sick with asthma. Mom always became extremely angry with me whenever this would happen and I would have to do my best to hide just how sick I really was. One time it was so bad that I needed to immediately go to the hospital. It was bad, really bad. I could have died but all I could think about was how mad she would be with me if she found out. Unfortunately I couldn't hide it from her for long and she reacted just as I expected she would. She physically struck me and told me that I always ruin our trips. I still have nightmares about that experience to this day and also refuse to let anyone know when I'm not feeling well.

I learned I couldn't show any weakness growing up so I coped by becoming as unemotional as possible. This was nearly impossible since this was time time that the inner child was silently seething away in unexpressed rage. I lived in a world where I had to be in control of my emotions at all times. Unfortunately I feel I still need to live that way. No one ever cared about my feeling growing up so why should I care about them? This quite possibly saved me sharing a similar fate as my sister as far as alcoholism goes. I absolutely hate being drunk, I abhor it. Why? Because alcohol lowers your inhibitions which means I lose control of my emotions. I never know what is going to come out when I get drunk and it scares the shit out of me. Fortunately for me, I am a happy drunk and tend to be extremely honest with my feelings about people when I am drinking. My ex-wife used to tell me that she loved it when I got drunk because I would actually express real feelings while intoxicated. I shudder just thinking about it right now. I cannot stand being vulnerable in any way, shape or form. Any time I drink more than two beers (it's extremely infrequent for me to drink at all anymore) I wake the next day in a near panic over what I might have said or revealed to people about me. My heart rate has gone up noticeably just writing about it right now.

I have to learn to be vulnerable with people if I'm every going to make long lasting relationships. Like I said previously, I have a lot of anxiety over what I wrote last night. It was very negative in nature and that isn't the person that I want to be. I want so much to be a positive person who has nothing but nice things to say about life in general. Unfortunately I am far too cynical and jaded in nature. Being cynical was a coping mechanism for me growing up, it helped me survive my childhood. If the world was going to reject me, I might as well learn how to make fun of how stupid it all is. Being cynical is just an excuse to not interact or be part of the world. Why put yourself out there on a branch, exposed to the possibility of falling or worse yet, being pushed off by someone else? What's the incentive to try something new when it's far safer to just make fun of it? I have to learn to stop using my cynicism as a defense mechanism and learn to embrace the world and new experiences. I was doing a very good job of this 18 months ago but things have eroded since then.

Being mindful and allowing myself to be vulnerable is at the core of my path toward recovery. I have to be mindful of every word I speak and every thought that I think. I have to ask myself constantly, is this really the truth or is it my programming and negative skewing nature expressing itself? At the same time, I have to learn that it's okay to have feelings and be vulnerable around the right kind of people. I have to find a way out of the isolationist tendencies of my life. There are things that I can change, like attending support groups, and there are things that I can't change, like my work schedule (I work until 10:30 at night most of the time). I have to learn to not hate myself and the feelings that I have been suppressing for so long. This is not going to be a short or easy journey for me though.  It is important to remember that it is a journey that never ends. The most important thing is that I have to try, not just some of the time or part of the time. I have to try all of the time. This means getting out of bed after only eight hours of sleep, no matter how tired I am or how much I don't want to. This means finding a new therapist that will keep me focused, on task and will help pick me up when I stumble along the way. This means learning how to feel and express my feelings without feeling weak or guilty afterwards. This means going to the gym as frequently as possible. This means attending as many support groups a week that my schedule will allow. This means I have to continually look for new ways to meat people, no matter how much it scares the hell out of me. It means that I have to focus and be thankful for what I have and not what I don't have. It means allowing people to care about me and allowing myself to show that I genuinely care about them. This is by now means a complete list of the things that I need to work on. Tonight is the end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013, it's as good a time as any to get back on the road to proper recovery.

I'm back after a long break....

DISCLAIMER:
This post is very raw in nature. It is extremely negative and bleak. It is also the truth. I am not trolling for attention or sympathy with this post. This is me and what it is to be and think like me. It is not for the faint of heart. This is what mental illness is. It makes zero sense and it is not supposed to make sense. This is where I am right now.



Hello again blog, it's been over six months since I wrote anything here. I'd like to be able to say that the time has been well spent, but it really hasn't. Sigh, it's been so long that I don't even know where to begin. I can say that I feel like a completely different person than I did at this time last year.....and that's not a good thing. I think about how I felt at this time last year and wonder what the hell happened between then and now. Well, I know exactly what happened, I fell down, again. When I came home from my experience from The Center (yes, that's exactly what it is called) in July of 2011 I was armed with something that I had never experienced before, hope. I knew that if I was going to be able to make the changes that I had made from my stay at The Center last, I was going to have to find a support system that would help keep me focused on what's important and mindful of bad thought patterns and behaviors. In my defense, I did really well for about the first eight months. The problem is that I wasn't able to form a support system for myself. At the time, I didn't have any access to any support groups (I do now but lack the courage to start going to them) and I was unable to branch out and meet new people like I needed to. All it took was one Winter and I started falling back into old, unhealthy patterns. It wasn't an overnight occurrence though, it was a very long and gradual process that was somewhat insidious in nature at times.

Like most everything in life, the nature of my disease and it's effects on me are very complex in nature. If I were to sum up my primary obstacle, it would be that I'm far too isolated from the world and it's people. Interpersonal relationships are very difficult for me  many reasons. I don't know how to meet new people and form relationships with them. When you have close to zero self esteem and believe that you are a bad and flawed person, you tend to question why anyone would want to have anything to do with you at all in the first place. This statement is not designed to garner any kind of sympathy or outpouring of comments of how the above isn't true. Barrack Obama could call me up tomorrow and tell me how great of a person I am. He could tell me how likable and lovable I am and I still wouldn't believe it. This is the core of my problems. During my childhood years instead of being loved and nurtured (I'm not placing the blame on anyone here and I'm not angry about the who and what that was involved), I was emotionally abused extensively and physically abused to some extent. There is much that I don't remember about my childhood but I do know that things really started when I was about six years old.

Without getting into any of the specifics, I "learned" that there was something wrong with me and that was why elements of my family didn't like me and why I was constantly picked on at school. There was no positive reinforcement to tell me that I was a good person or that the things that were happening to me were wrong. When you are young, you don't have the reasoning skills necessary to question things that happen to you or the way people treat you. You are a child and your world revolves around things the way that people treat you. I grew up believing that I am a bad person and my mind still believes that to this day. "Can't you just change the way you think about yourself?", is what I get asked frequently. The answer to that question is yes, but it is not an easy endeavor.

When I was first diagnosed with Complex PTSD, the psychiatrist that was doing the diagnosing told me that I have to learn to speak a new language in my mind. As you can imagine, this is a very difficult thing to try to accomplish. Everything in my life seems to support my current paradigm of thinking, that being that I am an awful person. I have very few friends with whom I am in contact on a regular basis and those few who I do talk to, really don't know anything about my story. This illustrates another fundamental challenge that I face on a daily basis, I don't trust anyone. At. All.

I remember a time when trusting people was a lot easier for me, that was about ten years ago though. Between my divorce (and my ex-wife's subsequent marriage to someone who was in our wedding, I wish them nothing but happiness though) and my last relationship, I have learned that I can't share who I really am with people because they will either misunderstand me completely and leave me or worse, turn my secrets against me in an attempt to destroy me (not exaggerating or kidding on this one, it was that bad).  I seriously don't trust anyone and as a result, most people I encounter in my life don't have a clue as to how I truly am. I don't open up to people because I am desperately afraid of being judged, betrayed or abandoned. People who I work with would argue that they know me pretty well, sadly this isn't the case. The persona I present at work is designed to keep people from seeing who I really am and just how vulnerable and dysfunctional that my life is. Once again, I. Don't. Trust. Anyone. Period..... and that includes myself. Don't take it personally if you are offended by the above statement, it is not meant to be offensive in nature. It is what it is, that being that I don't trust anyone.

I hate my life, I really do. I'm scared, lonely and frequently wonder what the point of continuing on is. Another wonderful trait of my disease is that I suffer from random, intrusive thoughts frequently. It's not uncommon for my mind to tell me that I should kill myself 4-5 times a day. It's very hard to explain this in terms people can understand. I can be having a conversation with someone at work and my mind will suddenly flash to a vivid image of the barrel of a pistol pressed against my temple by my own hand. I realize this is a very disturbing thought for most people but it's a fact of life with me. These thoughts are completely involuntary in nature, that's not to say that I don't actively and willingly think about suicide at least once a week. I am not overly suicidal right now, at least not any more than usual. I have my dogs to think of, they are the one thing that keeps me on this planet at times and I won't abandon them. I am almost completely convinced that I will take my own life some day down the road though. There will come a day when Jack and Carter pass on and then I will be completely alone in this life. So, here's where some people are going to say that I need to be hospitalized or something like similar to it. To this I say NO. I'm not going to kill myself tonight or tomorrow, I'm just saying that I think about it often and wish I had the courage to follow through with it.

I realize this is a terrible, terrible attitude and is very unproductive but I can see the writing on the wall. I am going to struggle with mental illness for the rest of my life, there is no escaping that. Once again, I hate my life. I hate just about every aspect of it. I hate the fact that I don't have a normal family. I hate the fact that I don't have many friends. I hate my job. I hate that I'm fat. I hate my personality. The only time that I feel somewhat happy and free is when I'm asleep and am fortunate enough to be dreaming about a Jon that is surrounded by people, doesn't have problems, and is loved by everyone. I have those dreams and wake up, only to find that I'm back in my tiny apartment, I've slept the last 12 hours and it's time to get ready for work. It's those moments that I hate my life the most, to have been given a taste of happiness only to have it snatched away when my alarm goes off. That's only when I have good dreams though. I have nightmares frequently, these aren't your average nightmares. These dreams are frequently phantoms from the past where I am forced to relive moments of abuse, rejection or abandonment. It's not uncommon for me to wake up shaking violently with my heart pounding in my chest. There are times when I want to scream my head off after these dreams. I feel trapped and helpless, like I'm back in my childhood again. This dreams are visceral and they are very ugly. Sometimes I wake up from one nighmare and lay back down and have another one upon going back to sleep.

I hate my life, I hate myself. Oh how I hate myself. I am jealous of my sister, she's at peace (or at least I choose to believe that). Carly saw the writing on the wall, she knew that there was nothing that she could do that was going make her well or happy. I actually think that Carly was the smarter and braver of the two of us. She was brave enough to end her suffering. I have never once been angry with her for making the decision that she did, if anything, I feel I understand it. She was so miserable at the end, all she wanted was peace. I miss her so much though. She was the only other person in this world who knew what took place while we were growing up. Carly was fabulously intelligent, she just didn't have any common sense. Carly suggested as early as eight years ago that I was a good candidate for having PTSD. She knew. When Carly left us I lost the only other person in the world who had answers to a lot of questions about things I can barely remember. Somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought that we would be close some day when we got older and that we would be able to help each other through our problems. I hate the way I treated Carly those last ten years, I was an idiot. I was angry because she got all of the attention while I suffered in silence. How stupid was that? We were in the same boat together and I couldn't even see it. The only difference between Carly and I is the fact that I'm not an alcoholic. I wanted to be Carly when we were growing up. Everyone loved Carly, she was smart, she was popular, people loved her! I wanted so badly to be her, her life seemed so much easier than mine growing up. The truth is, her life was just as bad as mine was. I guess another difference between her and I was our reaction to the abuse we suffered. Carly did her best to blend in and be liked, so much so that she had no idea who she really was. I think Carly had no idea who she was when she took her own life three and a half years ago. Sigh, it's so sad.

I was different though, I am naturally defiant in nature. I took the abuse but was defiant about it. I silently seethed through my childhood and teenage years. I vowed that I would run away some day. I would run away and become successful. I would find my way and my life away from everyone who had ever wronged me. Then one day, I would return and take revenge on everyone who ever hurt me growing up. It's very important to note that I have never wanted any sort of physical or violent revenge on anyone. Physical violence has never been and never will be an option for me. I would never, ever physically harm another person. I should probably let everyone know that I own no firearms and have no plans on purchasing one....ever. If I had had access to firearms over the last five years, I probably would have killed myself several times over. People want to ban the sale of firearms to mentally ill people (an idea I wholeheartedly support, I would ban all firearms if it were up to me though). I make this statement, I am no danger to anyone other than myself and like I said above, I'm not going to go out and kill myself anytime soon, I have my dogs to think of.

Back to the original line of thought...... To me, the ultimate revenge would be to make my tormentors feel the way that I did. To hate yourself, to question what it was about yourself that makes everyone hate you so much. I was a very angry child growing up, living for revenge makes you that way. It helped me to  survive though, I guess that's all that counts (or does it really?). There is a monster that lives in me that is anything but nice, as a result. We will call him the inner child for this discussion. I've put a great deal of that anger behind me over the last few years but the inner child still raises his head on occasion..... and I hate myself for it. I hate my inner child for what he is and what he represents. I hate this innerlchild who still lives in my head that screams for revenge on those who have harmed me. I hate that child so much. That child has no compassion, he thinks only of revenge. I keep him buried very deep within my psyche under lock and key, blindfolded and gagged so he is blind and deaf to the comings and goings of my life. He is probably the most closely guarded part of my personality, no one has seen him in his fully revealed form and no one will if I have anything to say about it. I try to forget that he's there and for the most part, I keep him under wraps. Every once in a while,  a situation will present itself that smacks of the abuse I suffered as a child. Someone will come along who resembles my abusers too closely, these people are very, very dangerous for me. Having suffered abuse as a child, I am that much more prone to fall victim to the same patterns of abuse as an adult. I avoid contact with these people like the plague,  I have a sixth sense for them almost, I see them from a distance and for the most part, avoid them altogether. Unfortunately one of those kind people has a limited  and unavoidable presence in my life. I'm not going to say who this person is or whether this person is a he or she. There are awful people out there in the world and you can't avoid all of them all the time. I recognize this person for what he/she is and I stay as far away as possible because the child in me can sense these people too. Unfortunately a situation arose last month where this person came into my circle and took a very well placed shot at me. That shot struck through all of my barriers and very nearly freed the inner child from his bonds. The next thing I knew, he was screaming in my mind. "Here's your chance! You can have revenge right here and now! Strike now with the full fury of your hatred! Crush your enemies! This person deserves everything that you give to he/she! You can burn a permanent hole into this person's soul, just like the one that resides in your soul! Think of how good it will feel! This person will never mess with us again after we get through with him/her! You can make him/her feel the way that we do about ourselves! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"

So there I was, poised to unleash the full fury of years of abuse and hatred on this unsuspecting person who had offended me. Once again, this energy is not physical in nature, brutality is the last resort of the weak and unimaginative. I will physically harm NO ONE. EVER. I do not thirst for that kind of revenge. Emotional scars are far more difficult to heal than physical ones anyway. I wanted so badly to burn a hole in this person's soul, I could taste it's deliciousness on my tongue. The power built and built within me, I knew exactly what I was going to say and how to say it to maximum effect. This person would never, ever forget the verbal assault they were about to witness. This inner child crouched, ready to pounce, ready to finally get his due....... and I walked away.

I turned and walked away with the inner child screaming and howling in righteous anger in my head. He raged and raged while I wrestled him back into his prison, slamming the door on him with an earthshaking thunder. As the dust settled I came to grips with what almost happened in that instance. I almost became like the very same people who made me who I am today..... and I hate myself so much for it. I absolutely cannot let the inner child out, if I do I have failed as a human being and have become a monster. I hate myself so much for what lives in me. I hate myself for what I can become if I ever let my guard down.

I sit here today, writing this extraordinarily long and visceral blog. The inner child is locked away again, counting the days until he can run free and lay waste to other people's psyches to his heart's content. That's what he believes anyway.....and he couldn't be more wrong if he tried. You see, people can only hurt you if you give them power over you. This is why I get hurt so easily, my whole self worth is based upon how other people see me. Thus, many, many people have power over me, it's why I hate myself so much. The person in question who took a very well placed shot at me has figurative and literal power over me, that's why it hurt so badly and was able to nearly unleash the inner child. Here's the thing though, I could have unleashed a verbal assault the likes of which God has never seen on that person and it wouldn't have done a lick of damage. That's because the offending person couldn't care less about what I think about him/her. I would have just ended up looking like a raving lunatic despite all of the energy that I would have unleashed. Carrying anger is just a waste of time and ultimately does more harm to yourself than it does to those you resent. My ultimate weapon is of absolutely zero value to me and actually just weighs me down even further. I have a hard enough time dealing with myself when I almost use it, let alone if I let things fly. I would never forgive myself for such behavior and worse yet, I would more than likely fail to do any damage to the offending party at all. Did I mention that I hate myself? I really do. For being such a smart person, I really am stupid.

I'm a big fucking mess. I'm probably always going to be a big fucking mess. I hate myself, I really hate myself. I don't even want to try to love myself anymore. What's the point? Everything in my life just points to the case that I am an awful person who deserves to be alone his entire life. I wish I had that courage to take my own life but I don't have it....at least right now. I am sick, very sick. There is no cure. I take pills, I have a therapist but he doesn't even know what to say to me. All I get is, "Come back and see me next week.", from him. I'm so full of shit. Even if I were to embrace myself as a person, it would take an incredibly patient and understanding woman to enter into a relationship with me. I'm broken, there is no therapy or medication that is going to make me a whole person. I am always going to struggle.....and I hate that almost as much as I hate myself. I have no hope. There are people in the world with far larger problems than what I have and they still manage to carry on and find happiness somehow....and that just makes me hate myself even more. I'm not writing this for sympathy and I feel badly for those who actually read all of this crap that I wrote. It's long, it's extremely bleak and negative......and it's the truth. This is what it's like to be mentally ill, this is how I feel every single day. I'm throwing this out there for people to see what it's like. I'm not going to end this post on some positive note by saying that I'm going to do my best to change. I don't give a shit anymore. People can judge me all they want, I don't think it's possible for me to hate myself anymore than I do already. I haven't even begun to address just how cynical and jaded I am in this post. I'm not trying to blame anyone in this post for anything, placing blame solves nothing.  I want answers to questions that are unanswerable. I am who I am, there is no denying that, there is no sense in crying over it, what would it solve? I most certainly play a key role in the way I interact with the world and my isolation, I hate that too. My fate is yet to be written, I still stand by my claim that I will take my own life at some point in time. It's funny, I guess I've alway known that in some way. I'm not glamorizing suicide in any way, shape or form. I do feel that it is an acceptable way of ending unendurable suffering. I love my sister very much and miss her every day but I understand why she did what she did and ultimately, I respect her decision despite the fact that we lost a wonderful, intelligent and beautiful human being as result. The world we live in is not fair, to say the least. I realize this, sometimes people are born or made that aren't designed to make it in the world, I feel I am one of those people. For the time being, my dogs keep me here....because I love them too much to leave them.

I probably shouldn't post this but I'm going to do it anyway, I put a lot of effort into it. Mental illness isn't pretty, it doesn't make sense but it most certainly exists. Maybe some day we will be able to better understand it, maybe we won't.