What Are Your Goals?



Something’s lurking. I’ve been much too content this last month. It’s like I’m the delicate fawn at the drinking hole and I can feel the lioness crouching in the weeds a half a mile off, waiting, watching, and licking her teeth in anticipation of my floppy fawn flesh on her tongue and my blood dripping down her jaw.

Floppy fawn flesh.

Alliteration phrase of 2016.

Is fawn flesh actually floppy? I suppose it could be. The next time I’m around fawn flesh, I’ll make sure to flop it around and report dutifully back to you all.

Floppy fawn flesh fears fire.

Say that ten times fast.

Tongue Twisters. Most words are tongue twisters to me. If it wasn’t bad enough that the world cherishes extroverts over introverts, they are also much more fascinated and give much more respect to orators than they do writers. Most fantastic writers aren’t recognized for their talent and their intelligence until their death.



I guess I’ll let my soul be flattered by your recognition while I’m hiding in your fucking closet and haunting your every step.


I’m suspecting most people who are different know they’re different. I assumed I was shy until I reached the age of 14 and started researching how I felt–my first real introduction into psychology.

Before that I had my eyes set on Musician’s Institute.


Then I figured I’d become a millionaire writing a best seller. I’d be the next J.K Rowling in the realistic fiction section. The next Fyodor Dostoevsky. The next Mark Twain.

Then I wanted to study theoretical physics and philosophy.

But as a teenager I identified strongly with social anxiety disorder. I spent a few days crying over it then wondered what other disorders were out there.

Where would I be today without that one moment in time? Studying theoretical physics, probably. Or producing music at Musician’s Institute.

I learned I have something different to give back to the world. That’s kept me from many breakdowns and it’s why I say it’s important to have goals in your life. I learned I have an external family, all of you who deal with their mental health, whether it be mild or “severe”, and that means I belong somewhere.

How did I get interested in psychiatry? It’s not because I’m a smarty pants, it’s not because I’ve had to take care of my alcoholic father like he was one of my patients instead of being a kid.

I read a book called Brain Disabling Treatment In Psychiatry.

Can you guess what it’s about?

51v59e07qel-_sx329_bo1204203200_I read it at 15 before I understood the scope of the overlap between mental disorders, environment, neurology, and biology. Obviously it’s a book with a very strong opinion, and he had many facts to back up his argument just as those pro-psychoactive drugs have many facts to back up their strong opinions.

I got interested in psychiatry because I saw the disconnect between humanity and medical treatment caused by the introduction of business into the industry. You don’t see doctors poppin’ their new drugs to see their effects like we saw with the man who discovered the possible benefits of lithium. Now you see the same drugs being reproduced with a different name for a higher price and available only on certain insurance plans.

Quickly I learned it’s not the drugs’ fault, nor the people who take them, it’s the people who sell it. 

Some people don’t have the luxury to just stop taking medication like me. Those people can be taken advantage of easily and find themselves either drug hopping from pill to pill with no relief and no explanation for why, further inducing their sense of hopelessness which could, in turn, exacerbate depression and low self-esteem, and spark the idea in a doctor’s head to prescribe even more. Or they find themselves on four or five or six (or more) different medications, many of which they might not need.

That’s why I’m interested in psychiatry. People whose rationality gets disrupted don’t always have the cognitive ability to choose how their treatment goes. I want to be that one trustworthy person they can come to who they know won’t ever feed them lies or misuse them.

Psychiatry to me isn’t about “oh heh, you get to dish drugs, hurr hurr derp”. It’s about being a doctor. If you think doctors are good for dishing drugs, than you see the issue I’m stressing.


I haven’t decided whether I want to do adolescent psychiatry or not, but I’m leaning towards it. Children and teens can be taken advantage of even easier because their parents are in such a desperate state of mind. They need someone who isn’t going to take the easy way out. They need someone who looks at their child’s behavior as a family unit, not someone who blames the child’s chemistry, not initially at least.

There are children like Jani Schofield who are different. I’ve been following her story since she was 6. Her parents are getting divorced now, right? Or are they already?

Then there are children who aren’t like Jani and get diagnosed with something when really they just need someone to talk to or their parents to stop letting them play on an Iphone, a tablet, and a laptop 24/7.


This fact keeps me pushing through each semester. I think about it whenever my anxiety and depression tells me to quit, whenever it keeps me up night after night. I think about it whenever I have a panic attack or feel the urge to self-harm again resurfaces, whenever I rage or my mood gets confusing, whenever I get the urge to attempt suicide or whenever the little people in my head tell me I’m worthless and everyone hates me.

I hesitate to say “voices” for obvious reasons. Besides the hypnagogic hallucinations, I’ve only ever heard voices once. That was during a deep depression. If you’ve been depressed, you’re probably familiar with your brain expressing how worthless you are, but you might not be familiar with other voices, other people , external from yourself and rather loud, telling you that you are. You might not be familiar with them telling you to kill yourself or hurt yourself. I can’t remember a lot. I can remember their voices and I can remember feeling confused, but I don’t remember the moments before I heard them or when I snapped out of it. I can’t remember how long it lasted. I just remember being confused.

The only other hallucinations I’ve experienced were olfactory in nature: smelling wood smoke in the shower water.

Through all my experiences, I’ve learned mental “disorders” overlap quite a bit. I learned environment chips in. I learned genes chip in. I learned biochemistry chips in (not to the extent you’re told about) and I learned thought patterns chip in.

I learned we don’t know as much about the brain as we think.


I learned a lot of research is biased and I learned a lot of what is published is biased. I learned some of it isn’t biased. I learned it’s hard to tell between the two.

I learned there are good psychiatrists and bad psychiatrists. I learned some people do well with medication and others don’t.

I learned the brain is as unique as a finger print and deduced the wide-spread idea that mental “disorders” are due solely to a chemical imbalance is about as accurate as my hand being my foot and about as creative as this painting:

Green White By Ellsworth Kelly. Sold For 1.6 Million Dollars



Hired . . . Now What?

It Never Stops

A few days ago I watched the first part of a two part documentary on Agoraphobia. It featured a man who hadn’t left his house in six years, a woman too afraid of her panic to walk her eight year old daughter to school, and a pregnant General Practitioner who couldn’t stay in a house alone for more than four minutes but couldn’t walk past the parking lot of her apartment.

While each of them had in common their fear of having a panic attack in public, they had individual reasons for their panic. The GP couldn’t handle being alone outside or inside and motorways/highways were a serious trigger for her. She’d start shaking, crying, and spewing words a mile a minute.

With the man I most identified because he had some social anxiety. His was relatively mild compared to mine, but significantly impacted his level of agoraphobia. While he walked down the street with a psychiatrist, his eyes constantly searched the sidewalks across the street for people staring at him and he immediately assumed, as we all do with social anxiety, that something was wrong with him, that he looked weird or dressed weird or something. The psychiatrist took a very “exposure therapy” approach from the beginning, so I wasn’t surprised when he had the man lay in the middle of the sidewalk with him and force him to feel embarrassed over something real. They then sat on the curb and walked around while the psychiatrist started shouting gibberish into the air or just generally screeching right next to people.

Honestly, I was laughing my ass off.


Laughing my ass off while simultaneously thanking God I wasn’t the one having to go through that.

I think the method helped him. Would it have helped me? I don’t believe so; I’m a loud person when I want to be and I’ve laid in the middle of the sidewalk and I’ve shouted random things right in people’s faces. It hasn’t helped me conquer my social anxiety disorder.

I also identified with the third woman, the one with the child. Much of her panic was triggered by loud noises. When a bus passed by her and two psychologists, she hunched down with her hands over her ears and started shaking and panicking. As the bus left, she slowly returned to a base level. In a grocery store a worker made an announcement over the loud speaker and the woman went through the same process.

I’m not completely incapacitated by noises like her, but I rage if they’re near me (like the bus) or flinch and plug my ears if I’m in a grocery store. It’s why I wear ear phones everywhere. I think I’ve said this before.


Ha! Can I just point out the address for this picture was literally “Nicole-is-wearing-headphones-that-match-her-dress”. My God. Someone is a creative photographer.

Anyway, the man and the woman with the child both faced their fears exceptionally well and even though they cried and shook and went through the motions of panic during their outings, they took it and felt it and dealt with it. The GP however, did not. She refused to stay in the house for fifteen minutes by herself (she lasted 4 minutes and 30 seconds) and when it came time for all three of them to conquer an obstacle together and hop on a local train without any staff, she refused to get on. The other two were crying and shaking and reflecting on themselves and their fears while they sat on the train ride.

I admire them. I think the GP could have pushed herself harder. That’s not being harsh, that’s being truthful. You have to push yourself, even if it’s to a breaking point. I’ve been the same way, done the same maladaptive behavior, stayed in my house for months and months at a time, and I still do to some extent, but I keep trying. Some days I try harder than others, some days I don’t try at all.

She didn’t try at all at any point. I acknowledge the amount of effort she put into trying to try, but it wasn’t enough. I haven’t watched the second part, because I think it was a stupid idea to take all three of them into a whole new country without acknowledging there may be other mental reasons besides a classically conditioned fear behind their agoraphobia. I saw a preview of the second half where the psychiatrist admitted his work had backfired. It’s one criticism I have about exposure therapy: it’s good for some and really, really shitty for the majority of others.

I want to be like the other two. I can’t hide behind fears any longer, it’s tearing me down.

Today I got hired for that one job. I have to go in for a drug screen and to fill out some paper work this Friday. Training starts every weekend until March in which I’ll be getting a good 20+ hours each week.

I’m worried about the stress. I’m worried about my level of commitment and if I’ve made a mistake. Am I ready?

So I went for a contemplative bike ride. And met this crazy gal:

Cow Grazing

I named her Daisy. She didn’t want to be named and labeled like a human, so I told her I wouldn’t call her Daisy.

Not to her face, at least.

I’m crafty.


Daisy told me there’s no way to know if I’m ready or not. It’s a matter of action, not a matter of contemplation, and she says that’s how I trick myself into backing out of things. I’m a good thinker, she says, but not a good do-er, simply because I think too much. I think I share that problem with the GP woman from the documentary.

I like thinking, I’m a thinker, and all my logic points to being able to solve problems through thinking alone. The majority of the time that’s not possible.


Training will be stressful, I’ve already thought about that. Because this position requires I’m responsible for insane amounts of cash (I’m not talking hundreds, or thousands, or hundreds of thousands, I’m talking the big Mill), the pressure I’ll put on myself to be perfect and never make a mistake will be the equivalent of a primordial dwarf trying to lift three cars stacked on top of each other off their shoulders.

I’m a perfectionist. I hate and love this fact about myself. I love it because it means I do things right. I hate it because it means if I don’t do it right, even when I’m still learning, I’ll tear myself to shreds. 


Hopefully the fact that I’m aware of it will help me ease the pressure.

I know it will get easier as the weeks pass. The more I learn, the more equipped I’ll be to handle situations that require I think on my feet.

The main thing I’m worried about is the fact that all the instructions are delivered orally. I’m going to be learning hands-on of course, but when they explain things it will be orally and it takes me a long time to process oral directions.

I don’t feel like that’s a good thing to tell my new employer.

I told them I prefer not to work with customer service but I didn’t tell them I have social anxiety disorder, depression, and rage issues. I figured that’s not a good first impression in this day and age.


Stress, stress, stress. It never stops. I don’t handle stress well. This job is either going to be yet another disaster, or the best decision I’ve ever made.

Liebster Awarrdddd


I haven’t done one of these things in a while, but tonight seems like a lax night and these awards can be fun, so I figured eh, it’ll give me something creative to write about. So thanks to Youarenotaloneinthisworld for the nomination. Check out the link to her blog if you haven’t visited her already, she’s fantabulous!

As far as other nominations go, I love all my followers and suck at making decisions. I usually spend way too much time stressing out over who to pick for these things and therefore I say if you want to participate, go ahead, particularly if you follow me. I nominate thee.

Yes, you.

You reading this right now.

You’re nominated.

Anywhoo, down to business.

  1. How is your day going so far? Fantabulous. Extraordinary. Not that extraordinary, I lied. It’s also over, so I guess you could take that to the bank and cash it. I woke up, took a shower (that’s an accomplishment), embarrassed myself at the college “Wellness Center” known to the rest of the world as a Gym, found out I’m more unfit than a doughnut, and made some plans to increase my endurance before I start working on my strength. Then I ate a salad. Fantabulous. fantabulous-1001346
  2. Where’s your happy place? Man lives in a sunlit world of what he believes to be . . . reality. But there is unseen by most an underworld that is just as real, but not as brightly lit: a dark side. That’s my happy place. Which is counter-intuitive, but that’s not for you to worry about. In my happy place I’m as twisted as I want to be, as curious and assertive as I want to be. That’s what keeps me from developing homicidal tendencies. 
  3. Any blogs you’d recommend to follow? I’m horrible at making decisions and can’t single anyone out. For that reason, there’s a randomly generated list of lovelies on my main page from mostly followers, but also people who just click the like button. I’d recommend you scroll through them, they’re all just as fantabulous as I am. 
  4. How many animals do you have; what are they? I have my alter egos. They are mostly active at night, like some other pets, and eat off the floor because I don’t want them making a weird animal mess at the table. They sleep in cages in which I lock with two padlocks and an electrically charged door. Sometimes they get crafty and slip a long finger through the cracks in the cage, hence the electricity, and I had to chop the fingertip off of one for that very reason. He doesn’t like me anymore. Other than that, I have no animals unfortunately. I’d love to get a Chinchilla. baby-chinchilla
  5. What country do you live in? ‘MERICA. BURGERS AND FRIED CHICKEN AND BIG TRUCKS. merica_b5b23b318d7bd630e59c71d520c17632
  6. Favorite childhood memory? Not quite sure. Luckily I don’t have a gun to my head. I have satisfactory memories and unsatisfactory memories, but none of them out do any of the others.
  7. When is your birthday and how old are you turning? My birthday is on June 15th and I’ll be turning 21. It’s all downhill from here. 
  8. Quick, what’s behind you?! *Swings two Katanas and swivels on my heels. Surveys damage.* No one and nothing now. twd_gp_301_0507_0278
  9. Do you believe in life on other planets? What kind of life? Microscopic? Intelligent? Ethereal? Something in between it all? Something I can’t even imagine? I believe my imagination, as quirky as it is, isn’t expanded enough to fathom what could be out there. But yes, it’s all out there. Everything and nothing. 
  10. Favorite Hobby? Writing. And Katana swinging.
  11. Biggest Fear?  Disappointing myself. 

I know I’ve been nominated for a few others over the last few months and I apologize that I did not get to them, I either forgot or just didn’t feel like doing it. But as always, thanks to everyone who nominates me for things, I appreciate it. If you want to answer these questions, I’d say it’s a good way to make a blog post whether you’re doing it for an award or not. If you don’t want to answer the same questions I did, here are some more:

  1. What’s the meaning of life?
  2. What’s your most memorable memory?
  3. Favorite vacation?
  4. If humans weren’t on Earth, what would be different?
  5. Most embarrassing encounter with a stranger?
  6. How curious about the world are you?
  7. What’s the point of blogging?
  8. What’s your best and worst coping mechanism for when you’re stressed?
  9. If given the chance, would you travel to space?
  10. Your greatest personal victory?
  11. Immortality: hell yeah or hell naw?

College and Knowledge


As our first assignment, my philosophy professor published a question online in which we could comment on. She asked us “what do you expect out of this class?”

I’m not new to philosophy. I read it as a high schooler (particularly Kant for some reason) and I’ve taken the college courses in it. I feel I’ve had a metaphysical mind since birth; the concepts of reality and our perceptions and the nature of reality are things I get weird looks for when I talk about them. Some people just have a hard time wrapping their head around something that isn’t tangible.

As a child, I lived outside of this physical world and inside of my mental world. I have no problem with fantasy, theorizing, hypotheticals or thought experiments. I don’t take very many things seriously, meaning I don’t believe what I see or what I hear, because my perception of it could always be wrong. Not in a hallucination way, but in a reality way. You know, the color of the desk is only that color because your optical nerves can only receive specific types of light. Were you a Mantis Shrimp, you’d see a whole new world.

Our brains, as complex and as sophisticated as we like to think of them as, couldn’t handle absolute reality. It restricts us from certain perceptions for a reason.

half-life-of-learning-3So I thought for a day on what I expected out of this Ethics course. It made me think about what I want and what I expect out of all my classes. It made me think about the reality of education in general.

There are core reasons people take Calculus and Linear Algebra and Differentials: it fits their major. Physics majors, math majors, engineers, computer scientists, some chemistry majors, e.t.c. In my mathematics based classes, I’m surrounded by those people. They’re all going into the “hard” sciences, and when I say I’m a psychology major they give me that look. 


Confusion, essentially. Perhaps a little pity.

It’s as if people have forgotten majors are not the only thing you’re allowed to study.

I could have stopped at Trigonometry if I wanted to, and transferred to a school that didn’t care whether or not Calculus existed. I could have stopped at first and second semester calculus because the university I’m transferring to only requires the first semester. But I keep on going. Why? What am I expecting?

There are core reasons people take Physiology and Pharmacology: it’s a requirement if you want to be a certified nurse or social worker or an extra education requirement if you’re a drug counselor in this county apparently. Why am I taking it? What am I expecting? I’m not apart of the HSERV (Human Services) program. It doesn’t even transfer.

Besides the obvious “to get a degree so I’m not a lonely, loony bum under the bridge that smells like rotten urine and bad heroin”, what do I expect to get out of college?



If there’s one thing that has bothered me before I even understood the power of knowledge was the fact that people abuse it.

I’m not talking about all those C.E.O’s I spit shit about all the time. They’re not abusing their knowledge of the system, they’re taking advantage of it to serve themselves.

I’m talking about the people who are capable of learning and understanding and acting who essentially do not. Some of those people are the reason those self-serving leaders get away with what they do. To hold your knowledge and understanding from the world is, in my eyes, an abuse of the aforementioned.

To never learn is an abuse of the self, in my eyes.

To take everything in life absolutely serious is an abuse of life, in my eyes. People who are offended by cursing and dark humor baffle me.

So what do I expect out of college besides crippling debt? Whatever I want. I take the classes that are relevant to my career interests and my personal interests. And money will never come in between me and my interests.

Stock PhotoI’m a firm believer that if you are going into a position which serves the people, the last thing you need to do is avoid classes and life experiences which teach you more about people.

So why am I taking so much math? I’m not going to be asking future clients to integrate equations with me, but the action of math on the brain has profound benefits. Depending on its applications, sometimes it’s black and white, sometimes you need a little creativity, sometimes you have to expand your mind and think of something you wouldn’t normally associate with the problem. That’s a good skill to master in a field where the majority of information is coming from ambiguous and sometimes warped sources.

People will come with different problems and different mindsets. Prescribing Ritalin to every single patient who might experience ADHD symptoms is like trying to make a U-Substitution to solve every integration problem imaginable. You can try, I guess, but you’ll be making life pretty difficult for yourself.

You’ll be scratching the surface, but you won’t ever hit the root. Sure, you could use a U-Sub, but you also might need to integrate by parts. There are a million things you might have to do and if you don’t consider them, you’re short changing the math and your brain. You’re also risking an F in the class.

And an F in life.

You short change math, math will short change you. It’s a ruthless bastard. Just when you think you’ll never have to do it again in your life, you have to do it and then some. And then suddenly you’re enjoying it and you find yourself questioning the meaning of life.


There’s a reason thought-experiments are fairly common with great scientists and mathematicians. Because the result makes a hypothetical into a reality. I think that’s what’s most beautiful about thoughts and knowledge and understanding.

Tangible items have bounds and limits. That’s why I don’t focus too much on what I perceive, I don’t like focusing on the physical world and instead have always, since I was a child, focused on what I thought and felt and understood. No one can bind those.


I enjoy knowledge for the sake of its application. I don’t care about being a know it all (that’s impossible anyway), even though I feel like I should be given the reputation I’ve created for myself with classmates and professors.

It’s healthy to think about something other than yourself every once in a while. It’s healthy to ask yourself a random question and spend some time hunting for the answer. It’s healthy to realize you’re not just an organism living under a roof with a job and a family, you’re also a living organism with the ability to wonder about your own existence, about space, about “time”, about the universe, about what’s happening out there in the vast blackness that you’ll never get to see in your physical lifetime.

I don’t know why people get freaked out thinking about it. I honestly enjoy the disconnect.

I don’t know what the point of this post was. I know I haven’t posted in a day or two and it’s been eating away at my soul. So I decided to return for a quick night, even though my hands are stumbling across the keyboard with exhaustion.

That’s right, exhaustion. Before midnight.

I might actually sleep tonight.

Speech Impediment

How are you all today/tonight? Good? Yeah?

As classes rear their ugly head, the realization that responsibility is a burden the child part of me absolutely hates fills my head with doubt that I can get through another semester.


It’s the second day.

One thing I struggle with in terms of social anxiety is walking in crowds. I don’t like the eyes and I don’t like the noise. Today I avoided them by jogging up the library’s entrance stairs and going around the back of the building into the lecture hall of my philosophy class. I’d rather take a longer route and risk being late (which I never am, because I also give myself a twenty minute gap walking in between classes) than to shift my way through all those monotonous faces and unreadable eyes.

I also didn’t know where the building was. Building 450, room 450. I thought it was a typo. I’ve been in room 400 before and saw it only went up to 420. I took a chance and just wandered towards the 400 building. I found 450 by coincidence. I spotted the number behind a bush and sighed with relief in my head.

In my pharmacology class, we have to do a group oral presentation at the end of the semester before our finals. That’s something I know I’ll be worrying about, but I told myself not to focus on that.

c724ad27bbec0850029b85116fe080df305e9092cc588639f1f26e625a8e1908In philosophy, we do group work apparently, and that I am a little perturbed about. If you’ve taken philosophy in a college setting, you’ve probably noticed the professors can be some of the most outlandish (and by outlandish, I mean utterly loony, in a good way). My first philosophy professor I loved. She blurted tons of stories of times she told off car salesmen using Kant ideology and how the car salesman gave her husband an exhausted look at the end of her lecture. She screamed and cursed a lot and slapped tables and didn’t give a damn what you thought about it. She had a way with words I could only dream of and it meant a lot that she respected my writing.

This professor is almost the same. She doesn’t have the same open wit, but she is very boisterous and loud and because we’re in an actual lecture hall instead of a class room, she has the freedom to be very, very loud. I will not be sitting in the front of this class.

The problem I’ve always had in philosophy is speaking. As I’ve mentioned, I have immense trouble forming words. That’s what fuels my anxiety. I know that I’m smart, I know that I understand topics, particularly of the philosophical kind, but I need the space and time to think about them thoroughly. A room full of blubbering fools is not the area in which I can do that. When I need to think analytically, I do it on paper, not in my brain. And as most of you college students know, you don’t exactly get all the time you need to write your thoughts down before you have to talk.

The act of talking doesn’t bother me. The fact that I know that my words stumble and stutter across my tongue, and that my vocabulary falls to the level of a third grader is what bothers me. Then the social issues come in: do people think I sound stupid? Are they going to think I’m mentally challenged?

Because I can’t form the words right and they get all jumbled in my head like a traffic jam, I can’t explain my thoughts either. So even if I have a good answer or a right answer, it comes out convoluted and doomed from the start.


I had my interview today, and it went well. She wants to set me up with another interview with the manager of the position I was applying for. Turns out it’s even better than I thought: they discourage you from talking to guests.

I applied for a position called “Cash Control” in which you basically count cash and keep note of it. You’re in a windowless room in the basement and when you go out on the floor to collect the cash, the fact that you’re carrying thousands upon thousands of dollars (it’s an amusement park, remember) on you around hundreds of people is what is supposed to deter you from speaking with customers.


Because I had said I enjoy making people’s days and interacting with them (which is a partial lie, but also a partial truth), she asked if it was okay that the position required very little, if any, contact with anyone at all.

I said “I’m totally fine with that”. 


But I can’t get over how ridiculous I sound when I talk. I’ve always been rather self conscious about the pitch of my voice. It gets squeaky when I’m around new people or really low when I’m around new people, depending on the day I’m having.

Mostly it’s just the words. I can’t form them quick enough to have a conversation. It made it worse that this woman (who my mother happens to have known from her years of working at a newspaper, which I wish she would have told me before I left) spit questions at me faster than a camel. When people speak to me, it takes me much longer to understand their words, even if they speak slowly. By the time they’re expecting an answer, I’m still hearing their first few words in my head.

It’s worse if they’re expecting an answer off the top of my head.

fillersAnd like I said, this women spoke exceptionally quickly, which made it even worse, and I found myself stumbling over words and saying the dreaded “um” that you’re never supposed to say in an interview. The one at sears was much easier because he spoke a lot slower. At least I had a few seconds to come up with a halfway decent answer.

Luckily this company hires pretty much anyone, and it’s always kids and younger people. The fact that I look hispanic might also help out in my favor.

I also had to take a math test. They gave me twenty minutes to add and subtract. Twenty minutes.



For ten questions like: one customer’s total is five dollars and sixty three cents. He hands you a ten dollar bill. What is his change? 

A math test I was 100% confident about for once. 

I’m going to need a lot of stress management and coping skills for this semester. The group work is rampant and my speech is horrendous. I don’t think I’ll ever be an orator.

If the world would just write instead of speak, maybe we wouldn’t have as many wars.


Project Homeostasis: Find And Maintain



One thing I’ve always struggled with accepting was labeling Substance abuse as a disease. I live with a user and although I’ve never seen it as a choice, I’ve never fully understood its classification.

My professor tonight related the neurological process of addiction to the evolutionary and neurological process of eating.

Yes, eating. 

brainIn the simplest terms, the act of eating is pleasurable for means of survival. When you eat, your brain rewards you with dopamine, that feel-good neurotransmitter, in the Mesocorticalimbic pathway (MCLP), particularly the Nucleus Accumbens. Because you’re rewarded, you keep going back. That’s what keeps you alive. Your brain and body knows it needs nourishment and it’s not going to count on you to do it right, that’s for sure. So it trains you. Like a dog. 

You think you make your body do what you want? Ha. It makes you do what it wants. It’s pavlovs-dogbeen conditioning you since birth. That’s why it’s better to work with it than against it.

When you’re dehydrated, you feel better after re-hydrating because of the same process. Your body isn’t going to count on you to drink water, it needs to remind you: “hey dipshit, I’m thirsty over here, come on man, give me some water already!”

Assuming you look at the world through a biological lens, this is what goes on. This is not my opinion, I’m just telling you what researchers have found out thus far.  Nothing is ever written in stone.

When a drug has the potential to effect the MCLP, it’s considered to have abuse potential. You know, Benzos, Opiods, Amphetamines, Alcohol.

These facts shifted my mind a bit. If you needed to stop eating because it was harming your body, but you got the feeling of being rewarded each time you did it, would you be able to just stop eating?


We’ve seen that in many examples on shows like My 600 Lb life. The ones who keep off the weight often don’t struggle with as severe of a food addiction as their counterparts. Some have Gastric Bypass and keep eating and eating and eating.

Here’s a scale for you.

Say there’s a baseline dopamine release: than,

Eating increases dopamine by 150%

Sex increases dopamine by 200%

Cocaine increases dopamine by 300% 

Meth increases dopamine by 1500%

Stew on that.

Addiction is essentially like a compulsion. That’s how my professor explained it. The user continues regardless of risks of consequences. If you live with OCD, you know what I’m talking about. You know about standing in front of that light switch and having to flip it twenty three and a half times before you can step outside of your room. And as much as you want to stop, you can’t.

If you struggle with substance use and I say something horribly out of line, feel free to tell your story in the comments. I’m just jotting what they’re teaching nurses and community counselors these days, for all of your benefits. Maybe it’ll help someone understand the mindset in the people they work with.

He made it clear that the user may at first choose to try the drug, but because the drug then stimulates a high, the reward pathway is also stimulated and suddenly they can’t stop.

But it’s not as if your body doesn’t try and compensate.

GABA As A Chemical Structure

Tolerance is one way. If you’re an alcoholic for example, the main reason why you are sedated and squirming around in a daze on the floor is because alcohol triggers a serious release of GABA (Gamma Aminobutyric Acid), a neurotransmitter that is rather inhibitory. If you lack this neurotransmitter, you’re probably anxious and wired and an insomniac like me. I don’t know if I lack GABA, but whatever, you get my point.

Well your brain really, really values two things: consciousness and Homeostasis. We’ll focus on the homeostasis part.

Homeostasis means balance. Stability. So if you’re overwhelming it with an inhibitory transmitter, it’s going to start spewing an excitory one at you, like Glutamate. It essentially tries to even itself out. That’s why you have to drink more and more the further you dive into alcoholism, just to get a buzz in your brain; there’s so much Glutamate combating the GABA that you need more and more GABA.

What happens when you stop?

I’m sure every alcoholic has had the shakes and mood swings. But when you’re a severe alcoholic (there’s a spectrum), you’re at risk of experiencing Delrium Tremons (DT) which consists of confusion, hallucinations, or the fatal “sympathetic overdrive” which can advance to cardiovascular collapse. You’ve probably had a seizure or two as well.

Withdrawal for severe alcoholics can result in fatality because of DT’s. Other withdrawals cannot.

imbalance-300x198But Withdrawal from any substance is also your brain’s attempt at homeostasis. When you stop drinking, all that GABA you were once supplying your body with basically crumbles into non-existence. But by now your brain was used to pouring buckets upon buckets of Glutamate on those sedated neurons. Remember, Glutamate is excitory. This imbalance of chemicals is a cause of withdrawal seizures.

You ever hear a doctor explain withdrawal seizures as overactive neurons? Well, that’s what they’re talking about.

I’m not a fan of statistics, they’re about as reliable as my left foot having the ability to spread wings.


Depending on the research, of course, and the researchers.

However, I tend to agree that those of us with a parent who is an alcoholic and those of us that choose to get shit-face drunk raises our risks of developing the disease.

I call it a disease only because I see the biological and genetic development of it much clearer. No one asks for an addiction just as no one asks for heart disease.

suicide-burger-burger-king-secret-menuEating Burger king fifty times a month (A CONSCIOUS DECISION) may raise someone’s cholesterol and they may develop heart disease (NOT A CONSCIOUS DECISION).

Having a history of alcoholics in your family and going out to the bars five times a week with your friends (A CONSCIOUS DECISION) and passing out behind the dumpster might switch on that little genetic component and get that reward center flowing and they may develop an addiction (NOT A CONSCIOUS DECISION).

Not everyone gets heart disease from Burger King. Not everyone gets addicted to drugs.

He put on the board HEART DISEASE and asked us what the first words were that came to mind. We said a lot of things like smoking and cholesterol and genetics. He asked us what the people around those with heart disease were usually like. We said supportive, understanding.

He put addiction on the board and asked us what the first words were that came to mind. Someone blurted ANGER. We also copied the physical health we listed under heart disease. Someone else said struggle. Someone said environment. He asked us what the people around those with addictions were usually like. We said angry. Disturbed. Misunderstanding. Unsupportive. And a slew of other negative connotations.

Because we’ve got this crazy notion that people choose to be addicts. No one chooses to be an addict. I didn’t have to take this class to know that. I did have to take this class to see why it’s classified as a disease. But even I’m not stupid enough to think someone chooses to stick a fucking needle in their arm on a street corner. 

It’s true, some people refuse help. And if I feel any anger towards that, it’s towards the disease and not the person. A few bad choices damn near doomed their future.

Many suffer comorbid with mental health disorders.

There are reasons for turning to food for comfort and turning to drugs for comfort.

Substance Use might not technically be a “disorder” as much as it is a “disease”, but we’re all in the same boat here.


Little Jimmy didn’t wake up one day and decide to develop schizophrenia and then the next day rolled out of bed and said “eh, I don’t feel like dealing with schizophrenia today, I’ll just stop”.

Little Suzie didn’t wake up one day and say “I want to spend the rest of my time having manic highs and suicidal depressive lows! Yay!”

Middle-sized Kyle didn’t wake up one day and say “I think I want to be a heroin addict on fifth avenue now, mom”.

One bad decision doesn’t mean they chose to be an addict. Everyone makes bad decisions and most of them we don’t have the consequences of developing a disease because of it. For example, I backed into a wall today because I made a lazy decision to not wipe off my back window so I could see. Now there’s a hairline scratch on my car.

But that’s not going to kill me.

Good Wishes

Tomorrow marks the first day of classes.

Math at 8 a.m

Physiology and Pharmacology at 6:15 p.m.

As I’ve mentioned before, my boyfriend and I have decided to take a strength training class to get back into shape and to help our minds work better during this semester. We need to go to an orientation before we can use the gym and because none of the other times works for either of us, we have to go at 6:30 a.m tomorrow.

On that note, this is a short post.


I need to sleep.

Goodnight/Goodmorning to all. Have a good Monday.

The Negative Side


Life is hard. 

Addiction is hard. 

Learning Python without a guide is hard.

Bloodborne is hard. 

Window shopping is hard. 

Walking into Bath and Body Works without being stalked and assaulted by staff with blue bags is hard. 

Don’t Let Their Smiling Faces Fool You


This might sound crazy, but I’m thankful every day (I do honestly think about it every day) I’ve never experienced famine to the degree others must. I’m thankful I’ve never had to be a child armed with guns, that I’ve never been a slave in a sweat shop (#Nike, Gap, and all the rest of ’em), that I have no serious physical health problems as of yet, that my parents hasn’t kicked me out of the house yet, that the tradition of my family isn’t to burn my chest flat at the first signs of puberty, that I have the ability to be who I want, how I want, and live life without worrying about being stoned for wearing a T-shirt or refusing a forced marriage.

But one thing that I’ve noticed about many inspirational people who have lived through such things and have developed into a positive influence across the globe, or at least a positive influence to someone or to themselves, is that they often attribute their past to the positive experiences now in their present. 

That’s a hard thing to do for a lot of us.

I’m not much into daytime drama shows but sometimes when I’m feeling spectacularly frisky, and perhaps a bit dull in the brain, I skim through some on YouTube and listen to ingrates screech at the top of their lungs and have a crowd of people laugh or boo at them.

It’s a way to fulfill my human urge to be a part of drama without actually going through the heavy social process of getting involved in it.


Some young man was on a show telling about his childhood in which his mother supposedly ignored him, picked her drug addict boyfriend over him, didn’t feed him or take care of him, gave him up to social services, and then when he came back as a young adult, kicked him out of the house after she stole all the money he’d saved up. At the present moment he was homeless living in a tent getting food and money from one of his siblings. Regardless of the validity of his story (which mucked up the majority of the thirty minutes), his mother finally admitted that she did many, many things wrong. He hardly accepted her apology in the moment. He continued to rub in her face that she was the reason he was the way he was and blamed her for his depression.

As I’ve mentioned several times before, I had a turbulent childhood. Lots of addiction, violence, mental/emotional abuse, homelessness, poverty, and for most of my life I’ve been a survivor. I had to grow up when most kids were barely discovering the fun of sleepovers. I remember having social anxiety in kindergarten because I knew I was different from others and I remember developing depression, rage, and mood issues by the time I was 10. At fifteen I became a caregiver by default for an addict and still am. There are a lot of things I remember and many of them I can contribute to the way I am today.

Who wouldn’t?

The host of the show, who’d been on the young man’s side until that point, told him his statements were valid and invalid. The things that “made him” indeed happened, but he wasn’t taking personal responsibility for his rage and violence towards his mother, nor his own life.

I’ve seen a lot of people write about the horrors of their past and how they wish it would go away. They blame people and incidents and they say “if this wouldn’t have happened, I wouldn’t be on this” or “doing this” or “with this person”.

man with dummyBut how mature is that attitude? What makes them think blaming a person or a thing will solve their depression or their melancholy? If anything, it serves as an excuse not to do the work needed to get out of the pain and the mental hole they’re in.

I think it’s always good to understand how the past represents the present. In fact, I think it’s pertinent for those of us who have traumatic pasts that contribute to our mental health. But once we develop into our own person, once we can understand that who made us, how they made us, and why they made us doesn’t have as much power over our future as we have over our future, only then have we developed a healthy thought pattern, only then can we make a dent in our depression or our anxiety or any other mental health issue.

The blame game is something children play when they want to steer clear of conflict and ownership. It is a measure of avoidance, a maladaptive behavior and pattern that, in adults, often comes with being consumed by negativity and humanity.

We’ve all blamed someone for something once.

Blame is sly partners with denial, too. Some of us refuse to believe we do it.

I Acknowledge I Am

We focus strongly on the negative because it’s a genuine constant and therefore a genuine comfort. There will always be negativity and new reasons to consider yourself worthless or useless. Sometimes there seems to be no reason at all. But for the times there are reasons, for the times you do feel your mind wander into a flooded playground of negativity, for the times when you realize “wow, I’m being really negative today” (if you don’t notice that yet, that’s the first step), ask yourself why when a negative thoughts hits or something negative happens, you put all your attention and energy into it, but when a positive thought hits or something positive happens, you don’t give it nearly as much validation. Sometimes you look for the negative in it. Sometimes you even remind yourself “this won’t last long”.

Next time something positive happens, meditate in the moment. Take advantage of it. Let it fill you up and if your train of thought reverts into the negative, let it pass through. Sure, maybe your happiness won’t last long, but nothing in life is absolute or permanent, perhaps not even death. Depression has it’s own form of anxiety: worrying about the next time you’re going to fall into a hole. It’s the same as me worrying about embarrassing myself in front of my supervisors in a job I don’t even have yet.

job-search22I choose to be excited about this job opportunity. I’m going to worry, I know that. I’m going to be awkward, I know that. The first few days will be hell, I know that. I know I’m going to need stress management techniques, I know that. If I know all that, what’s the point of worrying?

Strength isn’t just about living through abhorrent situations and coming out physically alive, it’s about extracting the positive from the most bottomless and abysmal darkness.

Mental health issues aren’t just about having a mental disorder and being a patient for a doctor, it’s not about being a statistic for some obscure health statistician or a customer for a pharmaceutical company, it’s about coping and living and realizing you have a future just the same as anyone else no matter the obstacle.

Perhaps half of the people who read this won’t believe it. They might even think “your issues just aren’t severe enough to incapacitate you”.

To those people I say: try me. I’ve been to hell and back and every once in a while I purchase an Amtrak ticket and visit accidentally. These are words coming from someone who understands how hot the flames are in hell and who has come out scorched and scabbed over and still determined.

I’m not trying to act like developing a positive outlook is easy when dealing with mental health issues. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried. But i’m a firm believer my long-time coming acceptance of my quirkiness and . . . shall I say, uniqueness, is the reason I can say these words today.

Therefore, take these words how you will. I’ll continue to keep after my goals and make something of myself.

Interview #2

blacklist (the dictionary project)

After applying to every possible job in my town, I’m convinced I’ve been blacklisted by my previous employer.

But regardless of whether or not they’ve been following my life and ruining it step by step like corporate freaks tend to do, I have another interview on Tuesday.

I applied at 1am this morning and received a call from them at 9am.

It’s for the same amusement park my boyfriend works for. I saved this position for the very last resort because I knew they would call me back–they always call everyone back. They need a lot of workers and the damn majority of them are high school kids who can’t work during the weekdays.

I picked a position where I’m down in the basement, counting money, and putting the numbers into a system. I pop my head out to collect the case from different stations, then return to my home in the basement like the freakish vampire I am.

I won’t sport my fangs on the first day. I’ll wait for a week at least, until I reveal my true identity.


I’m good with numbers and I’m good with computers. I don’t know the systems they use, I’ve never even heard of a “File Maker” accounting system, but I understand technology fairly well. It all runs with the same consistency.

I believe you’re mostly working by yourself or with a partner, which I don’t mind at all.

A lot of people with social anxiety disorder struggle in interviews, but I can handle speaking to a man or woman for fifteen to thirty minutes, one on one, especially since they’ll be asking most of the questions.

My worries surround the first day of work. Where do I go? Who do I report to? Do I have to ask around to find out? Where will they be? How much of a fool of myself am I going to make? (Regardless of the logic that everyone is lost on their first day). That’s part of the anxiety. 

My worries surround the coworkers. It’s not the typical worry of “oh no, are they going to like me? Are they going to be nice?”. I’m worried because I know for a fact I can’t communicate with them easily. I know I’m going to have trouble appearing “nice” and average. I’m going to have trouble relating to others. I’m going to have trouble having a conversation with them and not appearing as some passive little girl. That’s partly anxiety. It’s also complete ignorance; I just don’t know how to talk to them. 

intimidatedI’m going to have trouble with not being intimidated by my superiors; they’ve worked there longer than me, how stupid am I going to make myself look in front of them? That’s an anxiety thought.

I’m not going to be able to make friends with the coworkers. I’m just not. I honestly don’t want to and I hate that people have bad impressions of you just because you don’t want to talk to them. They should be thankful they won’t have to hear my mouth like certain other people do. This is my personality. 

Whenever an interview is scheduled for me, an instant pang of regret floods me. Once I’ve committed, I’ve committed, and there’s no going back without burning some bridges. I’ve burned enough of those.

The thing about living with anxiety is that you’ve got a second person inside of you constantly ravaging your brain with reasons why you shouldn’t do something or shouldn’t have done something. It’s always in your ear blocking you from hearing the more competent part of yourself.

So I force myself to seek out some positives.

  1. I’ll have a job.
  2. I’ll be making money.
  3. I won’t feel as useless.
  4. I can pay for things more often.
  5. I can save some dough for when I move out.
  6. I can gain work experience.
  7. I can do something really special for my boyfriend.
  8. I can get my car fixed.
  9. I can work through some of my social anxiety.
  10. I’m forcing myself out of my comfort zone. 16f741e
  11. I can get some fucking internet in this fucking apartment.
  12. I’ll no longer have to panic when my college delays on my financial aid money.
  13. I’ll have to be out of the house often, and it will prevent me from slipping any further into agoraphobia.
  14. I’ll see that everything my anxious twin has been listing off in my head since I got that phone call was all just exaggeration, meant to tamper with my self-confidence. 
  15. I’ll learn my limits–healthy limits.

    Look How Healthy This Limit Is. Love Is Healthy. Math Is Healthy.
  16. I’ll be able to separate my introverted personality from the anxiety and find that I can get along working just fine as long as I’m not around too many people at once.
  17. It’ll will force a more steady sleeping pattern.
  18. Working and school means my schedule leaves little room for feeling sorry for myself and my struggles.
  19. I can prove to myself that I’m stronger than I think.
  20. I’ll learn to balance out my insatiable need for power with my insatiable need to cower before my superiors. How does that work? Ask my brain. There’s a whole bunch of people in there, that’s why I’m so contradictory.

I’m not even going to waste space typing out the negatives. My twin listed off the opposite of each of my positives right in my ear and just the thought of having to have this type of responsibility and do the kind of mental work I’m going to have to do just to get by every day is enough to make me start shaking and tearing up.

But my true self, the introvert, the writer, the amateur photographer, the slightly awkward but otherwise pretty intelligent person could care less about how people see me or whether or not my co-workers will find me weird or not, could also care less about any negatives. It could care less about the fact that June-August in this town are more crowded than Satan’s summer bash in Hell and I heard millions attend. Satan makes some pretty damn good brownies, if you know what I mean. 


I logically understand the separation in myself with my anxiety and who I am. I understand that part of my anxiety comes from the fact that I also struggle with understanding how to converse or make friends and the fact that depression can take control of me in just a few hours and render me immobile. That’s why I work so hard to find the positives in everything, I’m constantly fighting it, I feel it every second of the day and when I’m stressed it’s just harder to find those positives.

Those are struggles I have to face in the moment. I could practice in my head or in the mirror all I want, that’s not going to do shit, not for me. Role play doesn’t work either. I had a therapist do that with me once.

It went horribly wrong. 

I’ll let your imagination wander.



Alive Again


I am alive.


I have been absent for a day.

Two days?

I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been lying in a sickened haze.

My sinuses were under attack by some stealthy virus whose presence went unknown for a day or so until my white blood cells located it and decided to ensue an attack.

It was a brutal war. Many have been lost. Many have been wounded. And yet we emerge victorious.

I’ve been fucking sick, that’s my point. 


I don’t do sick well. As you know, I have health anxiety and with even the smallest sickness comes the inevitable thought that the most benign virus could possibly kill me. You know that woozy feeling you get when it feels like someone’s stuffed two hundred cotton balls in your sinuses? I interpret that as a sign towards my impending demise.

Then came the sore throat. My God, I hate sore throats. They always make me grateful for the smoother days I don’t have a sore throat.

My anxiety over whether or not I’m going to die, and the sickness in general I think, raises my heart rate and I receive that as a sign towards my impending demise.

“The virus has attacked my heart valves and has been obstructing my arteries, this is it, this is what death feels like”.

Some hate being sick to the point where their first thought is cold medicine, aspirin, decongestants, blah, blah, blah.

cough-syrupI hate that. I hate cold medicine and antibiotics more than I hate being sick.

I see more use in cold medicine for making Meth than I do for curing my ailments.

I also don’t take aspirin. I’ve taken it once in my life, and that was when I got my first leg cramp in my calf. It woke me up at 2 in the morning when I was 11 and I was so tired and so confused, I just took whatever was offered to me. And that happened to be an aspirin.

But if you’re someone who takes aspirin for your headaches, please feel free to comment why. Is it the pain? Do you feel the headaches interfere with your day? Your duties?

I’ve never gotten a migraine, but I do get frequent cluster headaches and some that hit me so hard (not hard enough to be a migraine) that I can do nothing else but lay flat on my back with the lights off and no noise.

I just don’t see the logic in those kinds of medicines. Your body is telling you something is wrong. What is the point of suppressing your warning signal? If I’m working hard or something and I get a headache, there’s no way in hell I’m going to take something to stop the pain so I can keep working my body to a point it doesn’t want to be worked too. It’s that whole concept of respecting what your body tells you that I’ve been raised with. If it gives me a signal that it doesn’t like what I’m doing, I take a break and I assess what went wrong.

That can be hard to do if you have a demanding job or a stressful life, I understand. Maybe then you should reassess what you’re doing with your life. I will never push myself so hard that I’m fighting against my body. If your body isn’t on your side than you have nothing left.

keep-calm-and-love-your-body-4My body and I work together. I don’t rule it and it doesn’t rule me.

However sore throats are the bane of my existence, so I sip Musinex once before I go to bed just to coat my throat for the first few minutes before I fall asleep. I never take more than about an eighth of the measurement cup they give you because I’m only concerned about my throat. I’m a baby when it comes to swallowing past sand paper, it just irks my nerves.

I have many home remedies for things. Bloated because you ate too fast or because of a certain food in general? Baking soda, vinegar and water (more water than vinegar) will fix you right up.

Acne? Lemon, baking soda, vinegar. Mix it together until it’s a nice paste, slather it over your face, wait twenty minutes, and wash it off. You don’t even really need lemon.

Acne scars? Rip off an aloe vera leaf and rub that gooey inside over the scars you want fixed. After about a month and a half I was amazed at the results. The scars were fading and my skin was lightening. Not lightening dramatically, I’m not Michael Jackson, but my tones are evening out because of a simple plant.

medermaIf you’ve ever used Mederma for stretch marks or scars (it’s usually about 30-40 bucks in a store), one of the main ingredients is often Aloe Vera. Sometimes onion bulb. Just go rip off a leaf and save yourself some money for fuck’s sake.

Why spend money on products that contain chemicals when there are literally hundreds of other ways to treat your skin and your body?


Sick? Feed a cold, starve a fever. Don’t not eat because you’re not hungry. Shove it in your mouth. I don’t care what it is, just eat it. Drink it. Anything anyone offers you. I’ve never had a cold last longer than a day and a half with this method.

The flu is different. I had the flu at 11 years old and I’m pretty sure that scarred me for life.

I didn’t blog because I was too busy eating and sleeping and watching Good Mythical Morning on YouTube. If you haven’t seen them, go check ’em out, it’s family friendly and pretty entertaining if I do say so myself.

I ate a bunch of Spicy Thai noodles, wanton soups, half a large pizza, fruits, chocolate; a bunch of things. If I wasn’t sleeping, I was eating and drinking water.

Today, no sickness. My sinuses have calmed, my sore throat is gone, my head is clear, and I don’t feel like I’m going to die anymore. Although, I never don’t feel like I’m going to die with this anxiety.

If I could eat anxiety away . . .


Or better yet, if the food I ate used up my anxiety energy, I’d never gain wait and I’d never be anxious. 

I really needed to get rid of this cold since classes start Monday. I didn’t want any residue, no fogginess.

What am I taking? Thank You for not actually asking.

More Calculus. 


Cultural Geography. Online. Because I’m not fucking going to that class.

Human Services: Physiology and Pharmacology. It’s not required. It doesn’t even transfer. But It sounded interesting and I needed another class to be a full time student. It might come in handy. I did it for the money. It sounds like one of those classes that are memorization based and we all know I fair well in those.

Strength Training. My boyfriend and I have been in agreement for a long time now that both of us need to get back in shape, like in high school. He was an athlete in high school (I’ve probably mentioned he loves sports) and I just loved to work out in high school. I liked being toned and being that one girl in P.E who could keep up with the boys on the bench presses and machinery. It was a good way to work off anger.

But I’ve let myself go because I suck at starting things. My only method of exercise after high school was my bike and my bike required me to go outside. Ew.

I cannot run. I was perfect BMI (18) and perfect weight for my height (130 at 5’7) and you could toss me weights and bikes and machinery and I’ll outshine you in a minute. But you want to run a mile? Well go ahead and just take the medal because I’ll be fucked.

I can’t get my breathing down. My left knee has portions of it ingrown and I end up skipping like a gazelle instead of running.

I can skip like an Olympic athlete though, if you want a short race. I get a good foot in the air. It’s majestic as fuck. 

So anyway, I’m alive and back to blogging.

In case anyone was wondering.