Lawyers, Guns...& Family

 
I just finished this book. I found it when we were going through all of my dad’s stuff after he died, and I, being the bookworm of the family, was told to keep all of his books if I wanted them.
My dad loved and borderline idolized Warren Zevon, and now I know why. I wish I had been more familiar with Zevon’s work while my father was still alive, so then we could have discussed it and listened to it together, picking apart the music and lyrics as musical families tend to do.
I see now why Pop loved him, because he was a crazy genius. My father had similar traits. The further I got into the book, the more difficult it became to read, because it made me think about my father and his life. My dad was the guitar-playing womanizer, the man who could have had the world in his hands if he had the ability to make better decisions, the alcoholic who, deep down, denied his problem until the very end. But he was still my Pops, and the things he held dear I carry with me now.

Dewey Beach - A Way of Life

Ok so my weekend in Dewey Beach?  Awesome.  I don't get to go down there as often in the summer as I used to, so when I am there I make the most of it.  And damn do I.  My girl friend summed it nicely the other night - "I'm surprised the town is still standing."

A brief overview of Dewey Beach - it's a small town that's about a mile long, on one side is the Atlantic, on the other is the bay.  Route 1 runs through this stretch of land and along it are more bars and restaurants than I can remember off the top of my head.  In my experience, the beauty of it all is that everything is in walking distance.  It's also a landmark party town.  (Which of course, makes it my favorite.)  Unfortunately, it has gotten a bad rap over the past couple of years.  The politicians seem to want to squash the camaraderie that Dewey stands for.

My family has been renting/owning beach houses in Dewey for most of my life.  I have nothing but amazing memories of this town, with plenty more to make in the summers to come.  Is it all about drinking?  Pretty much.  Did my liver need a break when I left on Monday morning?  Pretty much.  Let's see how much I can remember of my Dewey Weekend 2012.

Thursday night was a shit show at the Rusty Rudder with my uncle, some of his friends from Pittsburg and a few Weekend Warriors - people who either live down there or rent houses for the entire summer.  I got there around 10:30, and proceeded to slam Bud Light draft, (which yes, I regretted the next morning.)  Next thing I know, I'm covered in glowsticks and on stage with Love Seed Mama Jump.

Friday night I checked out the new club, Ivy, which is a change from the typical beach bar style that rules Dewey.  I liked it, but I can go anywhere and here a DJ play house music.  My uncle, his friend and I, had a few drinks then headed over to Bottle & Cork, the greatest little rock & roll bar in the world, where there was a Michael Jackson tribute band playing.  We ran into more Weekend Warriors, so I took off with them, we went across the street to Woody's for a shot, then over to the Starboard for last call.  My uncle & I hit Mama Maria's for a slice of pizza to soak up some of the alcohol.  Pizza is probably the best drunk food, in my opinion.

This is me, super excited while the siren is blaring.

Saturday my girl friend came down and we headed over to the Bottle & Cork for Jam Session, the infamous happy hour that can either kill you or make you stronger.  The siren blares throughout town at precisely 5 pm, letting everyone know that "United we stand, united we jam."

My view from the wall.

We stayed until about 7, running into old friends and meeting new people, jamming to the bands, and drinking.  All while standing on the wall, my favorite spot because you can see everything and it's less crowded than the floor.






  Saturday night my cousin, my girl friend, my aunt & I all went out on the town starting with the Lighthouse and ending with the Starboard, as usual.  We also scored a bunch of free stuff at Nalu.

My girls and our awesome free stuff.

  We spent all day Sunday on the beach, after eating delicious roast beef sandwiches from the Dewey Bull to soak up any residual alcohol left in our systems.  It was decided to do Sunday Funday at Northbeach, an outside bar located right on the Rehoboth Bay and home of the yummy, refreshing and slushy drink, the Dewey Devil.  (They will knock you on your ass if you're not careful!)  I happened to run into a special friend of mine there who had just gotten down with his friends, which triggered my extra night's stay in Dewey.  I met up with them at Hammerhead's later that night, we scooted over to the Starboard for a Grapefruit Crush, then back again for last call.  Monday morning I was deposited back at my family's beach house, then sadly departed for home, smelling like booze, sweat, sex (maybe?  I won't tell.) and a damn good weekend in Dewey Beach.

My aunt & I enjoying Sunday Funday action.

A New Perspective To Think About (February 2012)

The last thing my new therapist said to me as we were wrapping up our first meeting has stuck in my brain, and given me the confirmation I needed to believe she can help me.
  "You were at the hospital the day your nephew was born, correct?"  I nodded.  "When you held that precious baby in your arms for the first time, you were overwhelmed with love for that brand-new creature, I'm sure?"  I nodded again, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes.  "And I can only assume as you looked down at him, you knew the world was at his fingertips, and he deserved only and nothing but the best for his life, and you would do anything in your power to help give that to him."  I nodded yet again, the tears spilling over because I knew what she was going to say next.  "You need to think of yourself as that baby, because you are just as special, you are a lovely young woman with the world at your fingertips and you deserve nothing but the best, just like that baby you love so much.  We are going to fix what is wrong so that you come to believe it."
  Talk about food for thought.  The trick is getting myself to believe it.  I guess that's what the therapy is for. 

Hey! What's going on?

Still coming down from an amazing weekend in Dewey Beach, Delaware.  Luckily I did not get arrested.

Gearing up to see 311 at the Festival Pier on Penn's Landing in Philadelphia on Friday with my brother and *hopefully* a special friend of mine.

Baby shower on Saturday, but the Pack 'n Play that my girl friend & I were supposed to buy already got scooped up, so I need to get the creative juices flowing.  I hate sticking to registries.

Next Thursday is 311 in Holmdel, NJ, and my chance to finally meet this band.

Friday is my 29th birthday, and it's looking like no one is going to be in town.

So that's what's going on, trying to keep busy and working long days at the same time.  It's good for me because the department I'm involved in at the moment is moving forward and I'm blessed to be a part of it, not only because it shows the faith my company has in me, but it's rekindling my passion for photography.

When I'm Already Standing On the Edge, Please Don't Push Me Over (February 2012)

I've been doing okay for the past week and a half or so.  Sunday was a little shaky for no apparent reason.  Every time my mother spoke to me I felt like it was a personal attack.
"Are these your sunglasses on the table?"
"You think you could take these pans downstairs for me?"
The icing on the cake was when I reached for a mini Reeces' cup and she says, "If you're not eating dinner with us I don't think you should have any candy," after I had repeatedly told her I was meeting friends for dinner a little later on.
Now, my mother was not being condescending in any way at all.  But sometimes her tone of voice might indicate otherwise; that's just how she is, and having known her for 28 years, I'm used to it.  The problem is that when I'm in a fragile state, I can't fucking handle it, and everything she, or anyone else, says to me, can send me over the edge.  I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but instead I removed myself from the situation.  I went upstairs and calmed myself down until it was time for me to leave.  I smoked a few cigarettes and wrote in my journal.
The other day I made dinner for my mom, my brother and my nephew.  I had already been on edge by the time everyone got to the house; the only thing keeping me from breaking was the thought of seeing my nephew and hearing him ask "Where Na-Na?" in typical fashion as soon as he came through the door.  But try having your mother and brother up your ass while you're in the kitchen trying to prepare a meal when you feel like shit.  When you feel like you're going to snap.  When you're bummed out but don't know why.  Something so trivial like preparing a meal seems equivalent to climbing Mount Everest.
Then I overhear my brother call my nephew by a nickname my dad used to have for him.  My brother probably didn't even think about it after it came out of his mouth but it hit me like a ton of bricks.  Thank God they were leaving to go to the store because I went upstairs and lost it.

"What Is It With You, Girl?" (February 2012)

  I've been going back and reading my posts over and over to make sure my points are clear and I'm saying what I feel I need to say, but I want to clarify a few things.

  I am fully aware that there are people who suffer from depression worse than I do, and my heart goes out to them.  I'm fully aware that there are people who have had way more traumatic experiences throughout their lives, and my heart goes out to them.  I'm fully aware that I've been pretty damn lucky, and sometimes that's the hardest part of my struggle - What the fuck do I have to be depressed about?  So I'm in the process of figuring out why I suffer from it and how to fix it.  I didn't grow up poor, I was never abused in any way, I was never really bullied in school, aside from the minor teasing I endured because I was a late bloomer, a bookworm, and not very athletic.  (See The Ugly Duckling from Dane's Haus.)  Back when I was growing up bullying was no where near the serious and devastating issue it has become today.
  I take a step back and look at loved ones of mine who've been to hell and back - those who have been exposed to sexual abuse, mental and emotional abuse, addictions and various other tragedies, and I'm in awe at how these people have picked themselves up, dusted their shoulders off, and turned their lives around in order to move in a positive and healthier direction.  It's definitely an inspiration to me, and maybe one day I will share their stories, anonymously of course.
  It's looking like for me it's all boiling down to being chemically imbalanced, and as I move through the grieving process I'm learning that my father's problems stemmed from just that.  "The man who had it all..."  Yet his life never stopped spiraling out of control.  I don't want to end up like that.

Gimme The Drugs Or Something Else Is Going To Give - A Brief Timeline (February 2012)

 I started to write out my past experience going down the psycho-pharmaceutical therapy route, then decided a timeline would be more concise and easier to comprehend. So here goes...

2003

• In the spring of this year I had my first actual breakdown. The stress of being in my last semester of college and assembling my final portfolio, the deterioration of my parents' marriage, the man I was in love with telling me his ex-girlfriend was pregnant and thinking the baby might be his, it all just hit me like a ton of bricks.
• My family doctor put me on Paxil* and things started to get better once it kicked in. I graduated college, landed a job within a month after moving home, as well as entered into a relationship with the man I was to spend the next five years with.

2005

• The Paxil stopped doing what it was supposed to so my doctor switched me to Effexor**. Life continued on as normal. The anxiety had yet to rear its ugly head.

2006

• I quit my job as a photographer, went back to school as a chemistry major and started working in a local pharmacy. My first few semesters went by relatively smoothly and weren't too stressful.

2007

• I got a job at the local hospital as a pharmacy technician and making a little more money, but school kept getting tougher, my relationship started to deteriorate and the stress of my family life kept escalating. All the while, I was taking my meds like a good little girl.

2008

• Cue breakdown Number Two. In April of this year I left my boyfriend, just dropped a nuclear bomb on his world and ran as fast as I could the other way. This was the start of my downward spiral and panic attacks as well.
• My family doctor asked me if I wanted Xanax***, and I said no. (Xanax makes me a zombie, no matter how small the dose.) So he prescribed me Klonopin***, which I take to this day whenever I feel a panic attack coming on. 
• I started seeing a therapist.
• The PA who oversaw prescribing psychotherapy medication in the network I was using kept increasing my dose of Effexor to the point where I had had enough. The therapy wasn't working and I didn't feel like a human being due to the amount of antidepressants I was taking.
• (I'm not proud of the fact that during this time, I was self-medicating as well with anything I could get my hands on - Valium, Vicodin, Darvocet, alcohol, and occasionally marijuana but I've never been a big pot smoker.)

2009

• My depression worsened, I was still engaging in unhealthy and risky behavior, my financial situation was completely in the shitter due to the fact that I bought a car I couldn't afford and had waited too long to apply for financial aid for school.
• I ended up losing my health insurance and could not afford the medication without it, so I weaned myself off, (which I do NOT suggest doing without aid from a doctor, but I had a pharmacology background and was able to do it relatively successfully...again, I couldn't even afford to go to the doctor.)
• I stopped going to therapy.
• I quit the hospital and went back to work for the same company that had hired me out of college. Things were starting to get a little better.
• My beautiful nephew was born.

2010

• My financial situation got a little better and I was doing okay without the meds.
• I felt stronger mentally and pulled my shit together enough for it show on the outside - my work improved, my relationships improved, and the panic attacks and bouts of depression subsided for the time being.

2011

• Pop died in February of this year.
• My panic attacks started again.
• I realized my depression had come back full force.
• Buzzard decided to tell me in December of this year that he loves me and it threw my emotions into complete chaos.

  And here we are in 2012. I decided to get professional help. I see a grief counselor once a week in order to help cope with my loss and learn the tools I need to move on with my life. Tuesday was also my first appointment with an LSW to help me get my life back on track. I will be documenting my progress with both women along this journey to recovery I've finally taken the initiative to start down.

*Paxil is an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor.)  Drugs that are classified as SSRIs are meant to give one's mood a little uplifting.

**Effexor is an SNRI, (serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor.) Drugs that are classified as SNRIs are meant to actually help relieve the symptoms of depression.   

***Both Xanax and Klonopin are classified as benzodiazepines and are meant to relieve the same symptoms, so I really don't understand why, on a chemical level, Xanax turns me into a zombie yet Klonopin takes the edge off enough for me to continue functioning throughout my day when taken if I need it.

Insanity and the Task of Keeping Myself Occupied - And On A Negative One - From February 2012

     Like I said in my previous post, I tend to spend more time doing things that aren't necessarily healthy in regards to my mental well-being.  So while the list may be short, these activities can be utterly and devastatingly self-destructive.

 Destructive

• Booze
  -I've become concerned with just how much alcohol I've been consuming lately.  But does that make me sit back and consider slowing it down?  No.  Because when I drink it slows down the thoughts running through my head.  Usually.  Sometimes it just makes it all worse, but most of the time it's the former, not the latter.  
• Drugs
  -Luckily, I've never had a problem with this one.  There's a voice inside my head that constantly reminds me that if I start, I will never stop.  I guess that can be considered a benefit of being aware that I have an addictive personality.  Unfortunately others are not so lucky.
• Sex
  -This is probably the worst one for me personally.  I use sex as a means to escape, as a means of self-justification, as a way to prove that someone does want me.  I may not jump in bed with strangers on a regular basis (I used to,) but it's still a big part of my life.  I'm going to safely assume that the endorphin released in my brain during the act of sex does squash my feelings of depression and desolation for a short period of time.  (Ex. - this past week I was at Buzzard's Tuesday night.  Wednesday night Drugstore Cowboy decided to reappear in my life and I ended up at his house.  Thursday night I got a phone call from another previous lover and he came over.  Friday night Drugstore Cowboy called me again and was in my bed within an hour.  So that feeling of being wanted?  Yeah, it's nice.  And I didn't have one depressive episode all week.) 
• Engaging in unhealthy relationships
  -This is another big one for me.  When one feels like their self-worth is in the shitter, they'll take whatever attention and affection they can get.  My weakness is the one I call Buzzard.  I love that asshole with all my heart, and I know he loves me the same, but our relationship is incredibly volatile and damaging at times.  So why don't I just leave?  Because I'm not strong enough.

January was a very hard month for me, with work being slow, I had too much time on my hands, most of it spent in my room, alone, at a bar with a drink in front of me, in the bathtub with a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my life and make decisions based on whether or not they will affect me in a positive or negative way, but it's not easy, and anyone who is afflicted by depression can tell you that.

So for now, it's one fucking day at a time.

Ode to Buzzard - If You Ever Really Loved Me

I wrote this a few months ago, and as far as an update on my tumultuous relationship with Buzzard - it is completely, 100 percent done and finished.  It is over.  He is no longer a part of my life.  Maybe one day I'll go into detail, but I'm still in the grieving process over the death of our relationship.  It was ugly, nasty and everything I didn't want it to be, but I am now able to breath, I am able to sleep, I can eat, I can laugh, I no longer have a cloud of doom hanging over my head.


I don't think you really love me.
If you truly loved me, you'd show it.
You'd fight for me instead of pushing me away.
If you truly loved me,
You wouldn't always be keeping your eye out for the next conquest.
If you truly loved me,
You'd realize that sleeping with 100 women doesn't make you a man,
that fighting for one while 99 others are chasing you is what makes you a man.
If you truly loved me, you wouldn't hurt me.
You would put aside whatever "bullshit" you're dealing with
in order to be with me.
I can no longer fight, I have become too weak.
I can't force you to make a decision.
And if you truly loved me,
you wouldn't force me to make the decision to walk away.
So I guess you don't really love me.

If you truly loved me,
you'd step up to the plate and be a fucking man,
you'd be the man I need instead of telling me that you can't be.
Instead you're throwing me away because you're scared.
So I guess you really don't love me.

I can't save you nor do I want to.
You don't need saving.
I hope a part of you dies every time you think about me.

I've told you everything, I've given you everything,
but you don't want it and you've proved that to me.
Because if you wanted it, it wouldn't be this hard.
So I guess you don't really love me.

Through all of this I still believe that love is the strongest force
that propels us as human beings.
You obviously don't feel the same way,
because if you did I wouldn't be lying on the floor
with a broken, bleeding heart
wondering how I am going to survive every fucking minute
of every awful day without you.
So I guess you don't really love me.

I took off the ring and put it away
with all of the other tokens from men who disappointed me.
Just another symbol of failure
to add to my collection.

And That's What the Birth Control Is For... (February 2012)

  A question I've been asking myself lately is whether or not my biological clock is truly ticking.  I'm writing this as my two-year-old nephew is sitting next to me, enthralled by Woody & Buzz in the world of Toy Story playing on the television.  He's been here since about 7:30 this morning, we've watched Finding Nemo, (kind of,) he took a huge and disgusting poop, we've gone for a walk around the block, and lunch isn't for another two hours.  Oh yes, and we've already had a temper tantrum over cookies.

  It's all good though, this little guy is my baby.  He's the love of my life.  Some days the only reason I get out of bed or decide to keep trudging through life is because of him.  He loves his Nah-Nah and I love him.

  But obviously it's a lot different because he's not my baby.  I didn't give birth to him, I can only help out here and there when it comes to raising him; he's mine to spoil because he's my nephew and not my son.  All my life I've dreamed of having kids.  One, two, three, there was a time I even thought I wanted four.  But now I'm starting to think I'm just plain crazy.  How could I dream of even wanting a baby when sometimes it's hard to even look at Nico without wanting to cry?  What is it that makes me want to cry?  The fact that he's growing up without my dad, his PopPop?  The fact that there are days when I'm in such a funk that I hate myself for not being able to fully enjoy the time I get to spend with him?  Maybe the fact that I'm scared of two things - one, that I'll never get the chance to have a baby, or two, that deep down I don't see how I could ever be a good mother?
  While on the phone with one of my girl friends the other night, I remarked at how sometimes I think having a baby would help save my sanity because it would fulfill one of the major problems I'm suffering from - that I feel I have no purpose in life.  It's a reason to be the best person one can be because there's another human being depending on them.  Isn't it?
  It's just hard when last night I was with Buzzard, the man whose baby I'd have without even having to think about it.  Being in the mental state that I am, though, it would not be fair to bring a child into this world.  Right now, that's what the birth control's for.

Insanity and the Task of Keeping Myself Occupied - On A Positive Note - From February 2012

When my mind and body are idle is when I tend to start spiraling downward.  That's when the scary thoughts start creeping into my head, that's when I decide to hole up in my room and not want to see or talk to anyone, even though I'm craving human contact.  But my state of mind won't allow it.

So what do those of us afflicted by depression do try to alleviate the feelings of desolation, isolation, worthlessness, listlessness, or wishing that we could just disappear?  I've taken inventory over the past of things I personally can do to help get myself through the bad times, some suggested by others, some I've come up with on my own, and I've separated them into two categories, the positive and negative.  Unfortunately I spend too much time going through the negative list, but let's start with the positive.  

         Constructive                                               

• Exercise or manual labor
  -one of my dearest friends told me the other night that when he was going through a stressful time in his life, he'd put on his running shoes and just take off, running until he couldn't possibly go any further, to the point of exhaustion.  So the other day the weather was nice, and instead of spending the afternoon in bed, I got in the car, headed over to a local recreation park, and started power-walking (I don't run) with 311 blasting in my ears.  I walked over five miles, and when I was done, I was tired, my muscles were sore, and I was proud of myself.
• Creative projects
  -After the first of the year I decided to organize all of my photography work, everything I've shot since 2001.  It took me about a week.  I took every disc with photos on it, loaded them on my computer, compressed every file and condensed what was once a giant pile of over 30 discs into maybe 10.  Everything is accounted for and organized nice and neat.
  -I started this blog.  I need to do something constructive with my time, and whether people read it or not, I don't care.  It's for me, but I do hope it can reach out to others going through the same thing.
  -One day not too long ago I took the initiative to rearrange all of the furniture in my bedroom, all by myself.  I cleaned my room from top to bottom, washed and re-hung my curtains, and rearranged the prints I have hanging on the walls.  I had also purchased a new television, set it up all by myself, built another bookshelf, and reorganized my books and photo albums, over the span of about two days.  Little things like that give me a sense of accomplishment.
• Long and short term goals
  -Back in the summer I opened up a savings account with two goals.  The first was obviously to start saving money, because I hadn't been for a very long time.  The second was to save for a trip to Las Vegas coming up in March to be a part of every die hard 311's dream - 3-11 Day 2012.  As of right now, I have a sizable chunk of money in that account, the tickets for my 311 weekend are sitting in my desk, and my flight and hotel are booked for Vegas.
  -I started taking better care of my car once I paid it off.  I keep it clean, and have been steadily getting it fixed back up, because, I think we can all agree, having a nice ride makes us all feel a little better.
  -As far as short term goals, mine are just to get through the Goddamn day sometimes, hopefully without crying.

Unfortunately sometimes these constructive ideas/projects/goals truly are just short lived.  Even though I have this amazing trip to Vegas planned, my depression clouds my thinking and I almost forget that I am going to see my most favorite band in the whole world for an entire weekend in the biggest party city in the world.  That's one of the bitches about depression.  It will drag you the fuck down no matter how hard you try not to let it.

"When I Put My Finger, On Your Trigger..." From February 2012

The triggers of depression are so widespread that sometimes it's hard to keep track of them all. Major things such as a traumatic experience like the sudden loss of a loved one (which also has the power to launch someone who has never dealt with depression into a dark hole for a very long time,) relationship problems or work related stress to trivial things like hearing a certain song play, someone looking at you the wrong way, the slightest change in your routine.

I used to think I could handle change with no problem. But these days all it takes is something as little as an appointment being canceled or someone deciding to tailgate me on the turnpike, and the panic attacks start.

When and why did it get this bad?
Last February, I lost my father in a car accident. His life was wiped out in a split second. I briefly detailed it in a post titled Time Doesn't Heal from another blog of mine. I grieved and grieved, and am still in the process of grieving. It's not something one can get over in a day, a month, even years. So my main trigger has been the fact that my father is no longer here on earth. I cannot call him on the phone, he does not come by the house anymore, he is gone and it's permanent.
One of the hardest things is watching my nephew grow up and knowing that my father is not here to see it. Sometimes it's difficult for me to even look at that sweet little boy without wanting to burst into tears. This first year it was the birthdays, the holidays, even little things like seeing a special about the San Francisco Giants on television or hearing Rocky Raccoon by the Beatles. I can either smile about the memories those things invoke or go in a corner and cry from the overwhelming sensation of loss. When I'm talking to someone about it, I attempt to explain to them the scope of having lost someone so quickly and tragically - that every little thing, from the big stuff to the small stuff, from the joyous moments to the sad ones, are magnified a million times because of the void that now exists in my heart.


For example: Last summer I started dating a really nice guy. We enjoyed each other's company, he was smart, attractive, we got along very well, my family really liked him. And out of no where he dumped me, his reasoning being that, even though I was "so awesome, beautiful, so laid-back and fun," he couldn't put aside his issues in order to pursue a relationship. This devastated me. Usually I can bounce back from a rejection, but for some reason this one took a little longer. And in the back of my mind all I could think was that if Pop were still around, he'd hug me, dry my tears, look at me and say, "Angel, he's a fool." But Pop wasn't here to do that this time.


So the tragedy myself and my family has experienced over the past twelve months has pushed my depression into overdrive. There's more that goes along with it, of course, that I will write about in detail at a later time.

How About A Little Comic Relief?

I don't want this blog to be all serious, all the time.  So I'd like to sprinkle it with little anecdotes from my family life, because honestly, someone should make a reality show out of us.  Times like yesterday are why I love being a part of my family.

  The central air conditioning is not working.  Jammed compressor or something.  Thankfully someone is coming out to look at it soon, as I sit here writing this, sweating, and drinking blazing hot coffee.  I'm a glutton for punishment, whatever.

  My brother, his wife, and the baby, Nico, all came over yesterday afternoon to swim because this heat is pretty damn brutal.  Well, you can't swim when it's lightening and there's a storm brewing.  So we battened down the hatches and went back inside, where it was hotter than hell.
  Now work with me for a minute, and just try to visualize three sweaty, grumpy albeit still good-natured adults and a 2 & a 1/2 year old losing their minds.  Thank God we all have a sense of humor.  My brother is running around opening windows, grabbing any fan he can find and positioning them around the family room. My sister in law is laughing at him and making sure her bathing suit is drying so she can sit on the furniture because she didn't want to put her clothes back on, I'm laying face down on the floor trying to cool off and Nico is climbing all over me.  We're pretending to go "night-night" because the fan that is in his bedroom is now downstairs and he thinks it's time to for "night-night."  We're making snoring sounds.
  My brother goes to change Nico, and the baby decides he'd rather run around naked.  (I really couldn't blame him.)  He's also feeling the need to show us all his behind, and playing with his little pee-pee.  My sister in law and I are dying as my brother struggles to get some clothes on him.
  My mother walks into this circus as my sister in law announces, "Hey guys!  My butt is dry!  That's good news!"
  Meanwhile, I'm blowing up my new exercise ball and attempting to use it.  Picture me, the girl with very little coordination and not much grace, trying to balance my ass on this thing, falling off and nearly busting my head on the fireplace hearth.  We were all in tears from laughing so hard.
  Then dinner arrives, the storm breaks, and life goes back to normal...
  Well, whatever it is that we consider normal.

Notes To Him

I always miss you when you're not near me.
I need you.
I want to sleep.
I want a drink.
I think I'll have another cigarette.
Sometimes I want to die.
I need to feel your presence next to me.
Because when I do, the pain goes away.

How The Fuck Did I End Up Here? From February 2012

Let's talk about what exactly depression is. Is it a disease? Is it an affliction? Wikipedia defines it as a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can affect a person's thoughts, behaviour, feelings and physical well-being. Click on the link to read more.

So how do I personally define depression, that from now on I'm going to refer to as my "D," and how does it affect my life? I've battled with it for quite some time now. I've experienced just about every emotional and physical symptom that it can invoke, even ones I would never consider related to it.

The D for me is many things. It's feeling isolated in a crowded room. It's a feeling like a worthless human being. It's feeling like there's no purpose for my life. It's the feeling that no one truly loves me, even though I fucking know better. It's listlessness, frustration, mental exhaustion. It's looking in the mirror and not liking the person staring back at me. And those are just the things I feel inside of me.
Physically, it's the fact that I rarely eat anymore, and when I do my stomach feels like it's trying to lurch it's way out of my body through my navel, or I get indigestion so bad I feel like there's a Mac truck sitting on my chest. It's waking up in the middle of the night unable to breath because I'm having a panic attack, or just not being able to sleep. It's crying so Goddamn much that I get dehydrated, (yes, it's possible,) it's sitting in my room and smoking cigarette after cigarette watching the clock.

I'm having a hard time hiding it anymore as well. People pick up on the fact that I am not okay a little quicker than I'd like. "You look beautiful today baby, but you're not happy, I can see it in your eyes." "You've lost so much weight, you look fantastic, but I can see it in your eyes that something's wrong." Damn me and my tell-all eyes.

I've decided that I'm fed up, and have decided to get professional help, which I'll elaborate on later. Because honestly, I don't know how the fuck I ended up here

Two Years Later... (From June 26, 2012)

My depression got worse before it finally got better.
I've lost touch with the D/s world and am okay with that.
Still a rock & roll junkie.
Still a bit trashy, but I've learned there's a time and place for it.
  Like heavy metal music festivals.
Still a broke bitch but my finances are now in much better shape, so instead of broke let's call it "frugal."
I'm not over Buzzard yet, I wasn't when I wrote it two years ago, but I have moved on and will not let myself look back.  I can't ever let him back into my life this time around.  Ever.  
I've lost even more weight.
And there's more gray hair throughout this mane of mine.
I no longer need contacts or glasses to see.
Cultivated more new friendships and let go of ones that faded away without remorse, animosity, or regret.
Still have the same job, going on year seven.
My nephew has taken to calling me Na-Na.
The car is paid off.
I have health insurance.
Nine tattoos instead of eight.
The revolving door my bed used to be is no longer in service.
  Aka - I'm learning to respect and love myself.
Still in tune with my sexuality but I yearn for something with substance.
I've been to Las Vegas for 3-11 Day and had the time of my life.
My mother and I are as close as ever.
Same goes for my brother and I.
I am fatherless now; mine has gone on to Heaven.
Attempting to grasp the fact that life is about the right-here-right-now, not the what-ifs, would-ofs, or should-ofs, or even the what-wills of the future.  It's about right now.

24 Things I Am Now (From June 23, 2010)

I wrote this in an attempt to figure out where my life was and where I wanted it to go.  I know there's a list from 2009 laying around somewhere but as of right now I cannot find it.  The notes in italics are from my point of view at the present time.

Utterly and hopelessly depressed, worse than ever before. 

  Little did I know it would get so much worse.

More dominant than submissive.  

Rock & Roll junkie.

Still trashy.

Still a broke bitch.

Still slutty.

Eight tattoos.

The aunt of a beautiful baby boy.

  Nico was born on October 27th, 2009.

Over Buzzard.

  Haha, I was delusional.  I was in no way, shape, or form over this man.

Over the other one whose name began with a B.

  The love I had for this one turned into a good friendship.

Having an affair with a co-worker.

  Not so much an affair as just simple fun.  He's still a good friend.

Perfectly lonely.

More mindfuck-er than fuck-ee.

  This is up for debate.

A few pounds lighter.

Noticing more gray hair around my temples.

Mourning the death of more than one friendship.

Back to working for the same boss who hired me out of college.

Closer to my Mama.

Not afraid to jump on a plane, train, or into an automobile.

Feeling like I'm back at square one.

Suffering from a creativity block.

Uninsured.

Attempting to clean up the mess I've made of my life.

Welcome To My Groove - February 2012

What is my purpose for starting this blog?  To give others an inside view of living with depression and anxiety, not just the woe-is-me, "I hate my life," whiny perspective that I find is all too common.  I want this blog to be informational, yet personal.

Some background on myself -
  I've been struggling with depression and anxiety for the majority of my life.  Yes, I grew up a privileged white girl in suburbia who had two loving parents, wanted for nothing and boatloads of friends.  Now I am a still somewhat privileged white girl in her late twenties, still living in suburbia, with a college degree and decent job, even more friends, an adoring little nephew, a loving family, the phone numbers of more men whose faces I can't even remember stored in my phone, who has done more and been more places than most people I know.

So what's your deal, Dana?
The truth is, I don't fucking know.  If I could understand why depression afflicts certain people and leaves others alone, why it makes those of us who do have it feel the way we do, I'd have an answer.  I don't know the reason why I feel alone in a room full of people, or even with someone laying in bed next to me.  I don't know why I feel like no one "gets it," like no one gives a flying fuck about me, but dammit I just do.

I'm starting this blog to track my progress as I travel down this long hard road to recovery and am going to do everything in my power to keep it going, for myself, for anyone else who feels this way, for people who don't understand what it's like for those of us who are unfortunate enough to be afflicted by this awful demon called Depression. And I'm also doing it for my mother.

Whether You Like It Or Not

I'm merging my two blogs, and I've chosen this one as my outlet for...everything and anything.  I had a separate one that was solely based on my struggles with depression, while this one is a little more light-hearted, I realize that, as Jack Johnson says, it's all relative.