In Which I Suffer Injections and the Humiliation of Being Rejected by a Homeless Man

This week has been pretty full of shots and needles, and I'm pretty done. 29 shots of Botox into my head and shoulders on Monday, then 8 steroid shots in my back and a blood draw today. Not that I'm complaining, I'm so glad that I have these medicines and therapies availble to me--they really do help me feel better!!

But, you know? Ouch. That was all quite painful. 

Also, I tried to give a pan-handling homeless man my Happy Meal today, but he didn't want it. That was odd, depressing, and slightly humiliating all at the same time. Like, "oh, okay. I'll just be over here, eating my white trash food. The stuff that apparently is so awful homeless people would rather starve than eat it." I mean, what the heck kind of food snob was he? It was a Happy Meal! I wasn't throwing around Quarter Pounders with cheese and other artery-cloggers on a bun. There are apple slices in there!

Anyways.

So now I'm going to jump into bed early with a box of highly caloric Girl Scout cookies and watch Dr. Who.

Yeah, that's right. I'm following up a Happy Meal with Tag-A-Longs. What now, old man? WHAT NOW?!

Birds Invading My House

So, that's twice now a bird has flown into my house and gotten itself stuck. 

So am I secretly a Disney princess? Or are there just really dumb birds occupying my neighborhood?

Thoughts on the Fictional Bipolar Character Theodore Finch and his Resulting Actions

So. I have deep thoughts to share. Because of book, which, hey, is one of the main purposes of books: to make you think and talk about the things you think about. So here I go. Saying the things I think because of this book.

This book:

All the Bright Places

by Jennifer Niven

The Publisher says:
"The Fault in Our Stars meets Eleanor and Park in this exhilarating and heart-wrenching love story about a girl who learns to live from a boy who intends to die.
Soon to be a major motion picture starring Elle Fanning!---(WHAT?! THIS WILL MAKE AN AWFUL, HORRIBLE MOVIE, THIS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA, PEOPLE, YOU SHOULD REALLY RETHINK THIS)
 
Theodore Finch is fascinated by death, and he constantly thinks of ways he might kill himself. But each time, something good, no matter how small, stops him.
 
Violet Markey lives for the future, counting the days until graduation, when she can escape her Indiana town and her aching grief in the wake of her sister’s recent death."

(Basically, Finch and Violet become friends and do a school project together where they have to explore their state and they go to all these random, awesome places in Indiana and learn how to live and are happy and fall in love and it's good.)

My Thoughts:
Well. This book. This book, this book, this book.

This one really got me. Meaning it both really shocked and upset me, and it also got the real essence of my life, my mind, my past experiences with mental health issues.

Typically, I say that those with mental health issues shouldn't read books about characters struggling with mental health issues. It just screws you up. Even if you're doing perfect in your life, the struggle of the characters really brings you back to low times and it can be really emotional and simply tough to go through. But, you know, I saw the cover, and I thought it would be more about getting over grief and learning to live and happiness and sunshine, and, well ALL THE BRIGHT PLACES in life.

But no. No, no. Finch is bipolar. He has manic depression. And I was mystified and so full of awe at how the author was able to perfectly portray the feeling of OTHERNESS and restlessness that comes with being bipolar. It was like seeing my teenage self come to life on the pages, the risk taking, and the searching for and obsessing over mysterious concepts that don't quite make sense, the feeling that there is some OTHERNESS to you. That you have to run, you have to go, you have to DO SOMETHING. Regular existence is simply not enough. You have to search for more. 

I desperately want to know if Jennifer Niven has manic depression herself, because it was so spot on. I was completely enthralled by the accuracy, and it was pretty scary. I mean, I was Finch as a teenager. Only I was Finch on the inside, and was secretive, and I hid it a lot better. But I eventually got help. And I'm NOT Finch anymore. I still have depression and anxiety and all the normal issues of life, but I don't have that crazy OTHERNESS driving me anymore. And I haven't thought in a while just how horrible it was to be ruled by it, and how grateful I am now that I'm okay, that I can go through a day and feel satisfied with my existence. That the restlessness is gone.

Sorry, I'm rambling. But I want you to know how affected I was by Finch and his character.

And then he committed suicide.

I broke.

Because that could have been me. I was Finch, and I had that choice of stick it out or end it myself, and I CHOSE TO KEEP GOING. 

But Finch didn't. And it really shocked me. I suppose I really had faith in him and thought he was going to tough it out. I thought his "attempts" were the OTHERNESS wanting to do things no one else does, be on the edge, feel the feeling of ALMOST. Because that's how the book opened-- Finch was on the bell tower, and I was convinced that he wasn't actually going to do it (he meets Violet then, and helps her through a panic attack). But then again, I guess I'm an awful judge of other's suicidal choices. I don't know, it's just a sort of emotional electrocution when a character that you've identified with, a character you've decided represents the teenage you KILLS HIMSELF.

So as I finished the book last night, I used up a box of tissues as I reflected. I guess I was so upset because I was remembering how awful it was. Because Jennifer Niven was able to describe what I felt to a T, which means that other people feel the same way-- that not only I experience this. Because nobody should have to go through this. If you can't trust your mind, the world is the loneliest place. Because this happens, in real life. Because people do feel like there is no other option but to end it all, and they do. Because people get left behind, wondering what they could have done. Because they COULD have done more. Because of the stigma mental health has. Because people don't want to be labeled. Because there ARE things and people out there that COULD help, but they aren't taken advantage of. Because we don't have ENOUGH resources to help teens and (and adults) with depression and mental health issues and people suffer because of it. Because people are killing themselves, and that's just not right.

So. The book was good. It was a good description of what it's like to be bipolar. The plot was alright. The characters were decent. The emotional level was intense. But the ending helped pull things together emotionally (so I was able to pull myself together and stop bawling into the side of my cat). But it brings up a real life question: there are kids out there who are thinking about killing themselves. Who are you to them? Are you a peer egging them on? Are you a teacher not paying any attention? Are you a family member refusing to see the signs? Or are you a friend who tries to do something? Are you someone who sees the signs? If so, don't just wait to see if it gets better. You may not have any time left to wait. Say something. Show them how much you love them. Show them how important they are to the world. Just be there for them. Ask them questions, let them talk. You just may save a life.

Now Accepting Alternate Methods of Payment

"Hi, Ma'am, would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?"

"Would I?! YES. Give me 2 Thin Mints, and a Tag-A-Longs, ooh, and a box of coconut ones. How much is that?"

"Only two years of tuition at a private out-of-state college!"

"Whoa. That sure went up."

"We're also accepting blood contracts for the eternal servitude of souls this year, too."

"Nah, I can't, I already sold my soul to Nutella. How about my firstborn? Would you take that?"

"Yeah, that should work. We'll give you 10 boxes."

"Sweet!! Best deal ever!!"

In Which I Am Frustrated Because I Can't Remember Why My Dream Was Awesome

Have you ever had a really good dream? One of those really good dreams that you realize is a really good dream while you're still dreaming? So, while half asleep, you tell yourself to go over and over the dream so you can remember it when you wake up? 

Of course, then you wake up, and you're like "... What the heck?" Because not only is it completely bizarre, but you don't remember 95% of it, despite the remembering-exercises you did in your semi-conscious state.

Yeah. Had that happen last night/this morning. It's one of those moments when you really start to question your own sanity. Because even when you DO remember, you realize just how WEIRD your dreams are, and it's slightly disturbing that you found them amazing and delightful on some unconscious level. You know? 

I don't know. Maybe if I remember more from last night I wouldn't be so cynical. But I don't remember. I remember images, and can see clips of my dream, but I have no idea what the plot was. No, that's not true. I think I remember what the plot was, I just don't remember why I was so obsessed with it. Why I wanted to remember so I could write it down when I woke up. 

Sigh.

I used to have very vivid dreams. I remember blogging about them in, like, the eighth grade. They were so random and looooong, and I'd remember a ton of it in the morning, so I'd tell my friends before school so we could all have a laugh at my crazy mind. I still remember some of them quite vividly. I remember my first nightmare vividly, too. Okay, it obviously wasn't my FIRST nightmare, but my first registered nightmare in my recollection. I remember my sister helping me go back to sleep after a nightmare when I was probably 6, when she told me that she took the scary thing in the nightmare and made it funny. Like if you have a nightmare about alligators, you change your dream until the alligator becomes your friend or is doing a funny dance. I like that memory.

New Year's Resoloutions

Nobody ever really follows through with their New Year's Resolutions. I mean, if they did, the world would become a progressively better place every year if we did. Or we'd all be skinny, at the very least.

I never really make resolutions. I think of things. Like, hey, I should totally try and do more of such and such. Or be more mindful of this and that. Never exercise. I learned that one early.

I love seeing other people's random resolutions on the internet. Like, one I've seen a TON of is "wear more black." Wow, really? You can make resolutions like that? But, seriously, why black? I guess the idea seems chic, but the implementation usually more drab and slightly goth. I mean, if anything, I'd resolve to wear more color. Then again, I'm pasty and black and I do not get along.

I also like "be nice to myself." What does that even mean? I mean, props on the super ambiguousness so at the end of the year basically anything can count, but seriously? My version of being nice to myself would be indulging in cake for every meal and letting myself not feel guilty, or perhaps splurging on a whole new wardrobe I did not need but wanted. "Hey, Holly, why did you rob that bank and spend all the money on books and chocolate milk?" Oh, you know, I was being nice to myself.

But my most favorite resolution of all is the one I've adopted for this year: drink more water. I love that this is an acceptable status. I feel like I'm getting away with something awesome! I mean, it's basicAlly saying, "Drink more of the one liquid substance on earth essential to living." It's like resolving to breathe more air. Hey, do you think I can use that for next year? 

This tops the charts though:

Isn't He Precious

I'd just like the world to know that my cat cries outside the door every time I go to the bathroom

Because he cares that much.

Oh no, not about me. About letting me know that there's a tiny gap in the food in his food bowl, and he can now see the bottom, and this is clearly a violation of his dignity and he will not be in any way, shape, or form alright until this situation is rectified and he can again over-eat and barf on my floor, bed, or other personal belongings (see next post).

In Which I Say Strange Things In Retaliation to Diego Vomiting on My Favorite Footwear

So, I just walked into my room, ready to take a nice nap to recover from a really awful road trip last night and a possible cold brewing in my sinuses, and what do I find? My cat has barfed on my floor. But not only has he barfed on my floor, he's vomited all up along one of my favorite boots in some disgusting, gravity defying way. The cat in question is napping contently on my bed.

So, of course, I immediately start the berating. I mean, of all the places in the house, why my room? And why did you have to defy gravity in such a boot-destroying way? Those are my favorite boots! And so on and so forth and what have you.

So then, as I'm ranting and grumbling and Diego is giving me this totally content-lovey-dovey face because I'm paying attention to him (he's like a child-- or a Kardashian-- any attention is good attention, even the negative kind), my dad walks by. He walks by right as I'm threatening, "Next time I barf, I'm going to barf on you!" 

Which, granted, would be weird enough to hear at any time in any circumstance. (I don't claim to say intelligent things when berating my cat. I mean, he's a cat. He's going to do whatever he wants no matter what I say. Plus, you know, the fact that he doesn't understand what I'm saying. That may contribute.) I don't even know if he (my dad) heard, or anything, but I immediately realized that "next time I barf, I'm going to barf of you!" is probably a really strange thing to hear out of context. I mean, i would probably stop and investigate if I heard someone say it. But then again, I've said some really weird things in my lifetime, many of the to my cat, so my dad probably wasn't all that surprised.

I'm still ticked off about my boot. You're so blacklisted, cat.

How I Came to be Eating Macaroni Salad at 3 AM

Sometimes I get really intense cravings. Lately, I've been raving Little Ceasar's pizza. Not just any pizza, Little Ceasar's. And by lately, I mean like the last two weeks. And by the last two weeks, I mean that I wake up in the morning craving it for breakfast. And then lunch. And then lunch. And then dinner. So on and so forth. I assume this means I'm lacking in something and my body is giving me this craving so I can fix this deficiency. But what nutrition I could possibly gain from a Little Ceasar's pizza is  totally beyond me.

So, two nights ago, I'm almost asleep when this specific craving hits. It's so intense that it wakes me all the way up from my dozing state. This has never happened to me before. 

So, I'm obviously not going back to sleep until I do something about this craving. I can't ignore it this time. But it's like 2 in the morning. Little Ceasar's is not available,and this causes a problem. So I start to brain storm.

I don't think any other place sells pizza at 2 AM. Plus that would be really weird, ordering pizza in the middle of the night. I don't have the ingredients to make pizza at home. Pizza is officially not an option.

But we had rigatoni the other day. That has tomato sauce in it. And pasta is still Italian and therefore pizzalike. Feeling optimistic I might appease the craving enough to at least fall back asleep, I go to the kitchen feeling optimistic.

Optimism fades, however, when I look in the fridge and find the leftover rigatoni gone. Sigh. What else might work?

Well... There's a bowl of macaroni salad. Macaroni has pasta, like rigatoni. That might work.

So I get myself a spoon and eat some macaroni salad straight out of the bowl, at 3:02 AM. But first I make myself a glass of chocolate milk because that's my usual go-to for midnight snacks or cravings. I ate, my full belly was enough to sate my craving, and I went back to bed. The end.

I never did get my Little Cesear's. But we did end up going to a pizza resturaunt the next night. I don't think that normally would have killed the uber-craving, but I got sick off of it, so it kinda put me off Issa for a while.

Currently, it's 11:30 pm a few nights later, and I'm writing this to distract myself from terrible nasuea. This has been happening a lot lately: I'll lay down to go to bed, then 20 minutes later I'll get nasueas. Tonight it's especially bad. Bad enough to take nasuea medicine. 

Anyone got any idea why this phenomenon happens? Cause I'd really like it to go away.

Aw, man, I hope I don't actually have a stomach but today. I've got the whole hot/cold clammy thing going on, which doesn't usually happen. Ugggggggh. I don't wAnt to be sick! Ugh. Oh well.

Here's to sleeping on the bathroom floor...

In Which I Reflect Upon Food Poisoning

So, back in September, I wrote a post about many things, including how John Green and Bill Gates were teaming up with water.org to build wells in Ethiopia...

Anyways, at one point, I wrote:

"I understand that diarrhea is one of the leading causes of death in children in many countries, because you can't drive to walmart and pick up some Pedialite. Because they don't have clean water, or easy access to IV systems, they get dehydrated and die. From diarrhea! As inconvenient as it is, diarrhea isn't something we have to worry we might die from."

It's ironic that I was talking about dying of diarrhea, when I was unknowingly in the first few hours of food poisoning. Never have I been more sick.

Let me just say, I have a lot of experience being sick. I have a chronic pain disease. But this beat all. Let's just say that I now know the difference between a little stomach bug-- which I get a lot, it's a part of fibromyalgia-- and true food poisoning.

Even thinking about it now, it's like, oh. My. Gosh. It's been over a month, and I'm still in shock over the trauma that was food poisoning. Let's just say I got so exhausted that I stopped being able getting out of bed, so I collapsed on the nasty carpet in my bathroom and cried. And barfed. And pooped. And cried so more. Every time I see carpet I have traumatic flashbacks.

Huuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn.

(That was a shudder/gag)

What did I get so sick off of? I don't know. Mom and I had gone to the movies-- so I ate popcorn, which I don't usually eat (but Mom had, too, and she was fine) and we'd gotten candy at the dollar store that was a little stale, but other than that all I had was a turkey Subway sandwich. Although not fancy in any sort of way, it was decent enough. It was a sandwich. How can you sick off a friggin turkey sandwich?

And it's like, my body has no self-preservation. I see Subway commercials, and instead of being overwhelmed with nausea like a normal person, I'm only on the slightly negative side of indifferent.

No, the best part was that Dad was out of town, so it was just me and Mom, and she took a sleeping pill so she missed this entire thing. It brought me a smile to realize that I despite the fact I had nearly every light in the house on, her door was wide open, I was flushing repeatedly, crying and barfing/dry heaving loudly. And in those few moments of agonizing quiet between attacks, I could hear her snoring happily away.

... Also, I'm not ruling out that dollar store butterfinger that tasted curiously stale.

Knowing me, I probably caught some parasite along with the food poisoning that is slowly eating my inside, and attaching to my spinal cord in order to defecate in my spinal fluid and therefore soil and overtake my brain. All while making me poop my brains out.

I never want to see a toilet again.