Still Writing For My Life

My anxiety level has been incredibly high over the past several days for quite a few reasons, but I'm doing a pretty good job of not letting it paralyze me.  So, go me.  Some of the reasons are self-inflicted [well, isn't all anxiety pretty much self-inflicted?] like my constant over analyzing of whatever the hell is going on between Philip and I right now.  Most are environmental - stress over money, stress over the wedding I'm participating in, other friends that are presently dealing with life-altering career decisions, friends and close family members dealing with life-altering situations concerning relationships.  Monday was three years since my father died, and I found out that morning that a close friend's father passed away suddenly the day before.
Last Friday afternoon I took a second to scribble some notes in my journal to try to help me sort my thoughts.  I listed the things that are bothering me right now, then listed how I can cope with them in positive ways.  In short,

• Regarding Philip - It is out of my control, therefore I have to stop letting the questions that plague me [What is he doing at this moment?  What's going to happen between us?  Does he still miss me?  Care about me?  Did he cut his ex out of his life yet?  Is he sleeping with other people already?  What if I had done this?  What if I had said that?] consume my mind, because regardless of whatever the answers may be, I have no control over them.  I have to Let It Be.  
• Regarding financial stress - Work is picking back up already and the winter will [hopefully] be over soon.  My paychecks will return to normal.  My bills are paid, and I can't ask for much more than that.
• This wedding thing...ugh.  I'll reserve that rant for a whole separate post.  Let's just say I highly doubt I'll ever agree to be in another one unless it's for a family member or a close friend.  But it'll all work out.

Once I got all of that out of my system, I felt better.  On Saturday I was telling a friend about what I had done, and she texted me Tuesday morning to see how I was doing and inform me that I had inspired her to do the same thing - she wrote down all of of her anxieties, took a figurative step back, and was able to pinpoint the cause of the worst of them, therefore allowing her to focus on making changes so that her quality of life can improve.  It just goes to reiterate the point I am always trying to make - writing is cathartic and good for the soul.

Right now it's a matter of going back and applying the advice I give myself and praying that all will be well in the end.  

Sometimes There's Nothing More Gorgeous Than A $100 Bill

If money is the root of all evil, then why do I feel like if I just had a little bit more I would be happier?  Maybe because I wouldn't stress so hard over never feeling like I have enough to make ends meet?  I wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night with depressing thoughts creeping into my vulnerable, sleep-groggy mind, thoughts that tell me I'll never amount to much because I chose a career that I actually enjoy, that I'll never be able to afford to meet another human's basic needs, (a child's,) because I can barely meet my own, I start to panic about getting older and still not really having it together and I end up feeling utterly desolate, unable to fall back asleep.  
There are times I feel like no matter how much money I squirrel away, something will always happen to make it disappear.  Then I think, how do people do it?  How do they get married, buy houses, and have children when I know they are plagued by the same fears that plague me?  I guess the answer is simple - they just do.  My mother says the same thing.
Things change, people are born, they live, they work, they love, they hate, they work some more, try to live a decent life, and then they die, life goes on.  
It is a simple concept, it's just a really hard one to accept, especially for people like me.
I'm not sitting here bitching and complaining about my awful life, as I sip gourmet coffee (a Christmas gift) in a mug I bought when I went out to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame this past weekend, bundled up in warm clothes with properly running heat.  I unbelievably aware of how lucky and blessed I am to have a roof over my head, don't think for one minute I take anything for granted.
Maybe if I list the ways I've fucked up that I have since worked so hard to remedy, I'll feel a little better about myself?  Let's go.

• Back in 2009 I defaulted so bad on my car loan that my car was repossessed.
• Around the same time the car insurance company became tired of not getting paid and dropped me.
• I lost my health insurance for the same reason.
• I've had to borrow $20 from friends just to put some gas in my car.
• I've defaulted on my school loans.
• My credit card debt was so out of control that I just started ignoring the notices that came in the mail and the phone calls that came every day.
• For months, every bank statement I received had a negative balance.

I used to get so mad at how much the bank took from me every time I was hit with an overdraft charge, because I was trying, I was trying so hard to get back on my feet financially, and I couldn't.  Because it seemed like the bank was taking every dollar I was trying to use to get the credit card, school loan and car loan people off my back.
So let's now look at how I remedied (or at least tried to) all of these problems.

• I got my car back and resumed making the payments on time.  (We'll leave it at that.)
• I did end up driving without car insurance for a good year or two.  I don't condone anyone doing that, but once I was a little more financially stable, I secured myself some affordable insurance and have never missed a payment since.
• Same goes for my health insurance.  I did my best to take care of myself so as not to get sick, I went off birth control for about a year (which is actually recommended for women who are on it for long periods of time.)  And again, once I was back on my feet, I applied for individual coverage that I could afford.
• I called the company associated with my school loans and got back on track with them.  I was able to defer my loans until I was able to start paying them again, and since then have not needed a deference, nor missed a payment.
• I consolidated all of my credit card debt.  I know that's not the best way to handle things, but it was my only hope.  The woman I worked with offered me comfort and solace as I cried to her over the phone, as she pointed out to me that my case was no where near the astronomical ones they typical handle.
• I also stopped wasting money on trivial things like getting my nails done, (which I can do myself,) going out to the bars so often, and packing my lunch for work instead of hitting the Wawa every other day.  (Except for coffee refills of course.)

Once I got my shit together, which I swear only happened by the grace of God and lucrative seasons at work, I finally felt like a worthy human being again.  Now my car and credit cards are paid off, and the only debt I am carrying is my school loans, a very small amount on a credit card and the little bit I still owe on the eye surgery I had in June 2012.  These are the things I am using to reestablish my ruined credit and when I checked recently, it seems to be working.
But that little voice still nags me.  "Sure, you may be relatively back on your feet and supporting yourself, but what about a family?  Don't you want to buy a house one day?  How will you afford a mortgage payment?  Childcare?  College-fucking-tuition?"
Maybe once I realize that it's a never ending cycle, that there will always be things out of my control, I can accept it and just keep moving forward.  This constant feeling of being stuck?  It's getting really old.

The Anxiety, It'll Kill Ya

So this year did not start out as I had expected.  This year started on a down, and I'm the only one who can change that.  But I don't know how just yet.
I'm still reeling from losing the man I love.  When that happened to me back in November, I was crushed.  I am still crushed.  But now I'm wondering why I haven't picked up the pieces of my broken heart and started to move on with my life.  Usually at this point, a month or so later, I'd be making progress, gaining back my "Whatever, I'll just take on the world, again," attitude.  I'd be patching up my wounds with mascara and lipstick and lacing up my shit-kickers, each act a symbol of getting stronger.  I'd be even more inclined to keep pushing forward to prove to everyone that I am surviving and will come out of whatever it is trying to hold me down stronger, and more determined than ever to live an amazing life.
But I'm no where near that point.
The other day I realized that I'm not racing towards "the end."  If I had to describe it, it feels more like waiting.  That's the point I've gotten to.  Who in their right mind, at 30 years old, decides to sit around and wait to die?  Especially someone like me, a 30 year old woman that has an amazing group of supportive and loving people around her at all times, who has yet to notice the ravages of time on her body (save for the dark circles under my constantly puffy eyes as of late,) and in fact worked very hard to get to where she is now in life?  Who took an entire year to better her mind, her body and her career and had some damn good success?
Yeah this woman is the one doing it.  And it I need to stop.  I worry.  Constantly, about things not in my control.  I stress over the future instead of letting it become the present and dealing with it in stride.
[I understand everyone stresses over their future.  I think a little bit is normal.  But I take it to the extreme - my concerns and anxiety are downright paralyzing.]  
My mother made a valid point the other night - I am so stuck in my own head that I'm missing out on everything going on around me.  I've become an observer of life, and not a participant.  So guess what has been to added to my seemingly never-ending list of worries?  Just that.
How did this happen to me?

I had the opportunity to be in the crowd on this night. It was only the second time, in all the years I've followed these guys, that I've had the chance to witness this beautiful song played live.  And right now, at this point in my life, the lyrics have gained incredibly important meaning.

I Create My Own Confusion

Here I am back again at square one in regards to what I do for a living.  If a living is even what you can call it; I'm scraping by unable to save a dime.  Sure, having health benefits is great, still being paid for time off is great, but the toll it is taking on my sanity is of a magnitude I didn't think possible.  No wonder 40-hour-a-week drones, those who spend that time in a cubicle or at a desk, are miserable.  I'm not even in a cubicle but I lose my damn mind walking into that same building every day, going into the same locker room, putting on the same scrubs, and doing the same jobs over and over again.  The time just drags on, and I spend more of it there than I do anywhere else.
Yes, I know how lucky I am to even have a job.  I also realize how lucky I am to have the ability to make choices when it comes to my job and what I do to pay the bills.  The enormity of it is not lost on me.  BUT...
I've begun to ask myself, Is this the quality of life I want?  I know, I know.  It's only been four months.  I've applied for two different positions within the company; I didn't get the first one for reasons I completely understand, but I wanted to prove I had the guts and gusto to move upwards.  Still waiting to be interviewed for the second one, or at least hear something, and it the outcome just might make the decision for me - the decision I'd never thought I'd face again and the conclusion I've already come to - that this is not for me.  I walk around that place and think, I am not like these people.  I can't handle this.  I need to be using the other side of my brain again.  At least the stress that caused me was worth it in some twisted way.
The stress I'm experiencing now is of a whole different caliber - working twice as hard for less money, missing my family, my life, popping one or two Klonopins just to get through the day.  With my old job they were there if I needed them, but it was rare that I had to run to the bathroom with a bottle of water and dig through my purse in search of my prescription.  (Which reminds me, I need to get it refilled for the first time in almost an entire year.  What does that say?)
I don't know what the hell to do.  My old job is beckoning me to come back.  Come back Dana, your passion isn't dead.  Come back, you can make a few small demands from your old boss that would make it worth it to both you and him.
Now that my major debt is paid off, I'd be able to sock away some money.  I'd be able to repay those who have helped me out, because right now, the paycheck goes into my account and then right back out, regardless of the fact that I have slashed my monthly bills by almost a third.  I've been sitting on $20 since last Monday to get me through until this Friday.
Maybe I needed a break from the photography gig to reset my mind frame.  Maybe I needed a wake up call to realize how good I had it, even with all of the traffic and snot nosed brats that I had to make look fabulous.  I remember cutting the grass one day, my thoughts following the trails I was making while pushing the mower, and thinking, Maybe being the Picture Lady, being the school portrait photographer, for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad gig.  At least there I had coworkers I looked up to and aspired to be like. At least there, when summer time came, I had the ability and freedom to express my creativity by taking actual portraits that wouldn't just be discarded the following year.  Oh and the stories I had.  The stories I would come home with were some of the best.
Like I said, I don't know what the hell to do.  I am more confused now than I've ever been.  What does my heart want?  What does God want for me?
I better get my ass in gear and head to the gym to (hopefully) clear my head a bit before it's time to go to work.  Shudder.

The Pain Of Not Knowing Answers

Okay, so I tend to blow things out of proportion.  We all do, don't we?  I don't know why I'm struggling with insecurity issues when it comes to my relationship, or why I can't just let it be and accept the fact that someone outside of my family actually cares about me.
About 2 or 3 weeks ago my PMS had seemingly gotten out of control.  As much as I hate to return to the cliche, I can't help but point out that when I'm down on myself, when I'm bitchy and snap and everyone, when I want to crawl into a hole and die just so happens to be when my uterus is doing it's monthly thing.
Wednesday of that particular week I had the day off and the weather was gorgeous.  I spent all day outside, working on the pool & the yard, then laying by said pool even though it isn't swimmable yet.  Then my brain decided to get the best of me.  I started dwelling on why my boyfriend had abruptly cut off the texting the night before.  I started dwelling on the fact that I am almost 30 and I still live at home.  I started seriously wondering if I had made the right decision to leave my old job and start a new one in a completely different field.  Dwelling on financial struggle.  I was missing my dad, and my brother, who has been working down in Rehoboth for the past month or so and I don't get to see as much as I used to, (even though I know it's temporary.)  Waves of emotion just kept crashing down on me and I couldn't control them.
When this happens I ask myself, "Why?"  I have come so far in making positive changes to my life, so why do I still get incredibly down in the dumps?  For a split second I considered asking my doctor about going back on antidepressants.  But I don't want to travel down that road again.  I'd rather exercise a positive mind set without the aid of prescription medicine.  I'd rather stand up and say that I refuse to let depression get the best of me.
Why do I have so much trouble reminding myself to sit back and take serious inventory of all the good in my life and dwell on that instead of the negatives?  I'm in constant search of the answer.

Perseverance Pays Off

Well kids, it's official - I start my new job on March 11th!  I got the call Monday night as I was booking my hotel room in Miami Beach and surrounded by family.
It's a big girl job with benefits, a 401k and paid time off.  Never in my life have I enjoyed these kinds of enmities from a job.  My health insurance comes out of my own pocket, I have no retirement fund, and any time off I've needed has come with a price - or no price as in a smaller paycheck.  My entire adult life has been spent working as an independently contracted photographer or as a waitress or for my father at his business or working part time jobs while going to school.

I will still be struggling financially for the next few months but at this point I'm used to it.  And it's a small price to pay considering that I will now be receiving a steady paycheck instead of worrying about how much I'm getting paid this week or that or whether or not I need to file my unemployment claim.  I finally see light at the end of the tunnel and nothing is going to stop me from making my way towards it.

The Beat Keeps Going On...Right?

Yesterday I completed job application number four, and last night I received my first rejection notice from a job I had applied to a few weeks ago.  Okay, no big deal.  It was in Newtown Square anyway.  I couldn't help but still be a little bummed out.
I desperately need a new job.  I'm sitting here smoking Pall Malls because someone gave them to me.  I'm stressing over how I'm going to afford my car insurance this month.  Don't even get me started on the fretting I do over long term things like, "How the hell could I ever afford a house?  A child?  Are you kidding me?  How the hell do people do it?"
It's easy to get disheartened when you feel as if you don't meet a job's qualifications.  There's all kinds of things I think I would be good at, that I would enjoy doing, but upon reading the job posting's requirements/qualifications, I realize that no, it might not be for me.
So I apply anyway.  It can't hurt.  I am constantly tweaking my resume and making every and any type of networking connections I possibly can, and praying.
I wish the winds of change wouldn't just blow, I wish they would hit me with hurricane-force gusts, because living like this is killing me.
I know I'm not the only person my age going through something like this, the problem is, I don't personally know anyone who is.  Or if they are, they choose not to talk about it.  All of my friends seem to be doing pretty damn good.  Don't get me wrong - I am incredibly happy to see them doing well and living fulfilled lives.  I wouldn't want anything less for them.  And I'm not sitting around waiting for some kind of break or handout.  I'm prepared to work my ass off for it - I mean, I do that at my current job, no matter how miserable I am with it right now.
So I just need to keep plugging away, all the while keeping my eyes and ears open.

Turns Out This Month I'll Be Okay

I got two separate paychecks last week and was able to pay my bills, right before my cell phone was about to get shut off.  Yeah, yeah, I need to budget my money better.  I thought I had been, but as one of my dear friends said to me, "Holes can appear when you least expect it, and you'll get yourself out, I know you will."  And I did without having to ask anyone for help, thank God.  It was amazing how quickly my depression and anxiety lifted the second I signed on to my bank account and saw the deposits that had been made, one of which was much larger than I had anticipated.
So my plan is to do what every financial adviser tells us - make sure I have at least three months worth of bill payments stashed away, and if I'm really committed, four months with enough in my savings left over to have a comfortable little nest egg.  It sounds simple, but if it was, I wouldn't have been in the position I was two weeks ago.  So let's just take that as another wake-up call.  Then next summer, I can lay around the pool, not work, not worry about collecting unemployment, not worry about my bills being paid, and use the paychecks I do get for the sporadic work I do in the summer to go party down in Dewey Beach.
Sounds like a plan to me.

Hoping To Make It This Month

Luckily last Thursday morning I had an appointment with my therapist.  She's wonderful and is really helping me learn to value and respect myself, and being as that I was feeling so low due to my financial situation, I was grateful for having the appointment when I did.  She reassured me that I will turn it around, and that I'm not in as bad a place as I was two years ago.  I realized that I need to buckle down and get a second job; just work my ass off over the next year to be sure that this truly never happens again.  I hate living like this, but I love my job and can't imagine leaving it.  There's only one bill that I know I cannot default on, and I might have to swallow my pride and ask for help with it.
It's amazing how money can screw with a person's head.  The stress and worry that comes with not being able to pay the bills can be utterly detrimental to one's mental health.  I know it is for me.  So over the next couple of weeks I will be hustling my ass off to set it all straight again.  I just applied for a waitressing gig at a well-known restaurant that a girl friend of mine bartends at and I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  I need this.

Did Dewey Beach Save My Sanity?

Out of the past six nights, only one has been spent in my own bed.  It was a whirlwind of a week and I'm exhausted.

I took off for the beach Monday evening on a whim and ended up staying until Wednesday.  I met up with a girl I've been corresponding with via Twitter and other various blog sites.  She is one awesome, lovely woman and we had a great time.  I was honored to show her the ins and outs of Dewey Beach, complete with Devils and Grapefruit Crushes.

While I was down there, a few significant things happened that I never expected.

The first was that I realized my bank account had been overdrawn, twice.  I'm broke.  Again.  I was in a bad place about two years ago and I swore to myself it would never happen, but alas, due to my confusion about the changes the PA Department of Unemployment Compensation has made, my claim was all fucked up this summer.  (I claim unemployment during the summer months because, well, I don't work as much as I do fall, winter, and spring.)  When things like this happen, it messes with my head, bad.  I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do.

On Tuesday my aunt and I were sitting on the beach when I notice a man & his daughter stop not too far from our beach chairs, drop their towels & boogie boards then take off for the ocean.  This man was the Dave Grohl.  I didn't believe my eyes at first, but once I heard him speak, I knew it was definitely him.  I had the opportunity to shake the man's hand and thank him for all that he has done for rock & roll, and he couldn't have been nicer.

Wednesday I was sitting on the beach again, this time with my uncle, reading Traveling With Pomegranates.  As I sat there observing the goings-on around me, reading, smoking cigarettes, watching the ocean and bracing myself against the chilly breeze, it dawned on me - I want to be a writer.  I want to write alongside my photography.  How to go about it is another story, (I mean, yes, this blog is a start,) but I since I made the acclamation to myself, I now know I want to make it a reality.
Once the clouds became ominous and the lifeguards starting calling people out of the water, we packed it up and headed back to the beach house.  When the rain started I decided I might as well make the trek home, so I drove through the storm back to Wilmington, tears spilling out of my eyes here and there wondering what the hell I'm going to do about my bills, worrying whether or not I had enough gas in the car to get me home and if my cell phone would be shut off any time soon.
That night was the only one spent in my own bed, and the stories from the second half of my week are pending my next post.  Stay tuned.


     

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.