Sometimes I wish I could look God, square in the face, and ask him:
"God...just what the fuck are you thinking?"
Yes, I would drop an f-bomb, in discourse with the Higher Power That Is. Why? Because whatever he's doing, he's REALLY making a mess of things.
But, maybe he's not thinking. That'd make things make a hell of a lot more sense.
Lemme have my Dean Winchester moment: So help me if you say God works in mysterious ways...
This isn't God working. And don't refute it with Satan over running blah blah blah...I used to believe that tripe, but the older I get, the less credibility it has. The way things go, it makes no fucking sense, and it REALLY isn't fucking fair.
Let me back up a bit, and at least shed some light on what is setting this off. Earlier this summer, a good friend of mine's mother passed away. It was sudden, to keep it concise. I was sad when I heard, but I didn't know how hard this would hit me, until I was at the funeral home, and saw her laying in the casket. I lost it. And I cried, and cried, and cried during the whole service. It was hard for a lot of reasons: This was someone I had known about 15 - 16 years, she treated me well, and she was there for me when my mother died. I had a lot of good memories of her and my friend, and some of the goofy, crazy, off the wall things she did. She was an unapologetic 60's child who lived every moment as loudly, brightly, and crazy as she could. And, on the personal end, this was the first friend I've helped through losing their mother. I always knew, in the back of my mind, this day would come, and it would suck. But like all times like this, you never know how bad they're gonna suck, til you're there.
The beginning of September, I found out an old high school friend passed away. THAT was a messed up situation. Out of respect, I won't name names, but I will say this is someone I always had good memories of. She and her boyfriend (later fiance) were always nice to me, and we always laughed and smiled, even ended up going to the same college. She was always super nice, and always smiling. That's what I remember.
So Facebook posts. She's talking about medical issues. Saying thanks for the prayers and the encouragement, here's to hope. Then her wedding gets pushed back. Ok understandable. The next post is from her sister, saying she's passed on. I didn't believe it when I read it.
She was supposed to be getting married, and going on her honeymoon! Instead, her family was burdened with having to bury her, and lay her to rest, instead of seeing her and fiance (very good guy) off on their life together. They buried her in her wedding dress
I got angry. I got REALLY fucking angry. I cried, and I threw a few temper tantrums. This REALLY is not fucking fair. And I admit, that anger is what is driving this.
Then, last Saturday, I get another call from a friend of mine I worked with at Sears. Her husband passed a week ago. He had been battling cancer. I only met him a few times, but she loved him dearly (this was her second marriage) and she fought hard for him. She took care of him, she did everything she could for him, he was her main priority, and that's how it should be.
This case, I knew he had only a short time left. I knew it months ago. So that call was less jarring in a way. When she called, I knew. She started off asking how my new job was, but that said, I knew why she really called.
This has been a rough year for me, in this regard. 3 funerals this year...I haven't had this kind of year in a while. Ever actually. And this is why I'm wondering just what the flying fuck is going on.
Yeah, yeah, yeah I know Death is part of Life. I get it. But ALL THREE of these deaths have been nothing short of tragic. All health issues. And no I am not turning this into a debate about our healthcare system either (and fuck off if you do). NONE of these people deserved what they got. At all. They were all good, kind, caring, loving, wonderful people. All of them.
And this brings me back to even thinking of my mom. Why in the hell is it all of the good ones are not just going, but go in horribly tragic ways? They don't fucking deserve it. It would make more sense to me at least, if it seemed things happened in a balance, but they don't. All this bad shit going on in the world, and the ones who suffer, are the ones who should be thriving (at least not going through the shit they are). The ones who are thriving, are fucking pricks, assholes, murderers, thieves, abusers, and the like. And fuck their couch. Seriously, I'm sick of how fucked up and twisted this world is. No good deed goes unpunished.
All we rationalize it with is "God." As if a three letter word and an Iron Age book make any fucking sense of it. We just chalk it up to that, and that seems to make it all ok. Screw. That. It's not a bloody fucking answer, it's just a platitude humans created to try and explain it all to themselves, so we can feel better about how shitty the world is. News flash: That. Doesn't. Fucking. Work. This world is still a fucked up mess, and we aren't doing much to fix it, either.
I'm sick of these platitudes. I want some real fucking answers. Something that makes some goddamn sense. Why did mom die, and dad got the chance to continue on and be an asshole? Why did an old friend of mine pass away, when she should've gotten married? Why did another friend, who treats me like one of her own, lose the husband she truly loved? Why did I have to watch one of my oldest friends go through what I went through, at still a very young age. FUCKING WHY?! I'm fucking sick of how it is, and I'm more pissed off I can't do anything about it. No, it's not up to me to save the world, but dammit I'd like to change something. I'd like to fucking understand it. I'd like to make it at least a little better.
Why the hell are those of us left to suffer and hurt? And why is there so little there to help us through? Life continues the fuck on, and sometimes you just want to stop, kick, scream, throw a fit, get angry, and crawl back into bed. This horrible, awful thing happened, and you have to keep marching on. Here, someone's husband died. Tough shit, keep calling about selling cars. Here, your friend's mom died, ok good, I can make the funeral, because I don't sell lawn mowers til later today! Here, all this bad shit is happening, you want to scream at the world, but no, put on a fucking smile and act like it's all fucking ok, even if it isn't. Sometimes, I want to stand in the middle of the road and cause a scene, and maybe I'd feel better. Does it solve anything? Maybe not, but maybe it will. Because maybe I can finally illustrate how I feel. Stopped traffic and made everyone else pissed. That's how i'm feeling, now do you fucking get it?
Like I said, this has been a rough few months for me. Three funerals since the end of June. Fucking three...I don't think there've been that many since my great uncle died in 2005. My grandma in 2007...and really only one or 2, more that I knew about, than going (save one, I just could not make which kinda bothers me honestly). It's been a rough year.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
Why having a shitty retail job sucks, and it's not just about the wages.
I've been in retail since I finished high school. I have been a manager, I have been a cashier, I've been a cashier/clerk-expected-to-behave-like-a-manager-because-managers-suck-then-I-get-in-trouble-for-doing-their-jobs. I've been a hostess. I've done in home care. And you know...I can honestly say, these jobs suck the life out of you.
Ok, ok, before you start on the "but at least it's not..." I get it. But you know what? All those other shitty jobs (which probably are shittier than retail in some ways) also pay decent wages. So shut the fuck up. We aren't talking about that point, because it's irrelevant.
Like I said, this isn't just about wages. I could talk all day about that, and the expectations of the sales staff from the shitty hours (management won't even work) to the shitty pay to the lack of benefits, and so on and so forth. But everyone has talked about that. You can go look up articles with more thought and research to them than what I would put in here, so I'll leave you to Google so you can go look those up. I'm gonna talk about the shit that Google won't find as easily.
This shit wears on a person. From the asshole customers who have no respect for the employees, to the asshole management who have no respect for their employees, to the asshole employees who have no respect for their fellow employees...well...you get the pattern. It's the sheer lack of respect that is in the retail industry. I don't care if we're talking Walmart, of high end department stores. There is no respect for the people working in the jobs. And that's why it's so shitty.
Work holidays, work weekends, work nights, work several weeks in a row with no days off (illegal as fuck BTW). Keep your mouth shut for fear of losing your job. Don't defend yourself. Put up with being cussed out. Deal with people throwing money at you. Be on your feet all day. Deal with screaming children (nothing pisses me off more than these damn mommy blogs saying "Hey I get my kids annoy you...but you have to put up with it because..." No I fucking don't. I'm not a parent, teacher, or caretaker. Shut your kids the fuck up and fucking watch them). Deal with immature, rude, ungrateful adults. Deal with people looking down their nose at you. Any other job posts blogs about the utter shit they have to wade through (and there is a lot for sure), they get lauded and praised and respected for what they do for people. The people who work at the stores you shop at? Inconsequential.
In my experience, a good portion of these people in these jobs more than likely have a lot of education, work experience, and/or multiple jobs. They are busting their asses to make ends meet on fucking shit wages, and some of the succeed pretty well. Even without government assistance (I'm putting my husband and myself in this category...we don't make crap, but we live well).
Stop with the general disrespect and rude behavior. Fucking STOP. The people working these jobs are, in fact, human beings, with stories, lives, families, etc, just like someone working bankers hours. Stop treating us like we don't matter, and are insignificant, and not "As good as you." Fuck you. A good part of us aren't some stupid, ignorant, moronic assholes like you want to think we are. A lot of us are probably smarter than you. So stop being a fucktard, and start treating us like your momma taught you some manners.
Ok so now that I'm done swearing and ranting, why am I even talking about this? Here's the toll it takes on me.
My self esteem--mostly--is in the shitter. Why would it be, I mean, I have a job right? At least. Some people don't have that.
That's definitely true. I've had some struggles with joblessness and honestly, where I am working right now isn't too bad. There's some good days, there's some bad days, but hey you have that. Right? So I won't be too harsh on the company or the job. Honestly, those 2 things aren't the problem (most of the time). Even when they are, they aren't the biggest ones. So why the self esteem issues?
I worked my ass off for a long, long time, in school, and in my jobs. I took on more volunteer work than I should've, in the name of furthering my experience. I took extra classes, I studied overseas, I took jobs that I felt would get my foot in the door. I fucking worked hard for my degree. And I don't just mean my academics, but with what my dad did, I went through a lot. I worked a lot of hours at a day job, I put in a lot of time in class, I spent a shitload of time on homework. I pushed myself hard. I have a lot of experience for what I did, and I put my all into it...to wind up selling lawn mowers and trying to push repair agreements on them...to work for a manager who's the same grade of dickbag my dad is...to come out the other side of a dysfunctional home life to end up in another shit place.
Some days at work just suck. Nothing more, nothing less. Everyone has bad days. Some days, I look at myself and working where I do is a reminder of all the crap I went through. Not because it's a bad company or anything, but I look at my peers, who are in full time jobs, and in their desired fields, and you know...they came from decent families, with decent backgrounds and support and encouragement and parents who gave a shit. I feel like where I am now is a "symptom" of where I came from, and that drives me up a wall. I struggled, and fought, and well...the rich get richer (metaphorically or literally) and the poor get poorer. I feel like I failed somewhere along the way. If I had told my dad to fuck off, if I set myself up differently in school, if I hadn't been bullied, if mom hadn't gotten sick, if, if, if, if...
I don't expect hand outs or anything. I don't expect anyone to do anything for me. But, I also feel pretty hopeless. Like it won't get any better than this. I worked that hard, I struggled that much...for this. This is fucking it? Freaking really? This is all I have to look forward to for the next 40 years? So much for proving myself. So much for proving that I'm "better than that." So much for everything. This is all the better it's gonna get. Fuck this noise. I'm done. I want a fucking refund.
I'm tired of feeling worthless. I'm tired of working jobs where no one appreciates you at all. I'm tired of trying to please people who don't give a buttfuck less about me. I'm just, well, tired...
I think I'm going to end this here. I'm starting to ramble, and I've written enough.
Ok, ok, before you start on the "but at least it's not..." I get it. But you know what? All those other shitty jobs (which probably are shittier than retail in some ways) also pay decent wages. So shut the fuck up. We aren't talking about that point, because it's irrelevant.
Like I said, this isn't just about wages. I could talk all day about that, and the expectations of the sales staff from the shitty hours (management won't even work) to the shitty pay to the lack of benefits, and so on and so forth. But everyone has talked about that. You can go look up articles with more thought and research to them than what I would put in here, so I'll leave you to Google so you can go look those up. I'm gonna talk about the shit that Google won't find as easily.
This shit wears on a person. From the asshole customers who have no respect for the employees, to the asshole management who have no respect for their employees, to the asshole employees who have no respect for their fellow employees...well...you get the pattern. It's the sheer lack of respect that is in the retail industry. I don't care if we're talking Walmart, of high end department stores. There is no respect for the people working in the jobs. And that's why it's so shitty.
Work holidays, work weekends, work nights, work several weeks in a row with no days off (illegal as fuck BTW). Keep your mouth shut for fear of losing your job. Don't defend yourself. Put up with being cussed out. Deal with people throwing money at you. Be on your feet all day. Deal with screaming children (nothing pisses me off more than these damn mommy blogs saying "Hey I get my kids annoy you...but you have to put up with it because..." No I fucking don't. I'm not a parent, teacher, or caretaker. Shut your kids the fuck up and fucking watch them). Deal with immature, rude, ungrateful adults. Deal with people looking down their nose at you. Any other job posts blogs about the utter shit they have to wade through (and there is a lot for sure), they get lauded and praised and respected for what they do for people. The people who work at the stores you shop at? Inconsequential.
In my experience, a good portion of these people in these jobs more than likely have a lot of education, work experience, and/or multiple jobs. They are busting their asses to make ends meet on fucking shit wages, and some of the succeed pretty well. Even without government assistance (I'm putting my husband and myself in this category...we don't make crap, but we live well).
Stop with the general disrespect and rude behavior. Fucking STOP. The people working these jobs are, in fact, human beings, with stories, lives, families, etc, just like someone working bankers hours. Stop treating us like we don't matter, and are insignificant, and not "As good as you." Fuck you. A good part of us aren't some stupid, ignorant, moronic assholes like you want to think we are. A lot of us are probably smarter than you. So stop being a fucktard, and start treating us like your momma taught you some manners.
Ok so now that I'm done swearing and ranting, why am I even talking about this? Here's the toll it takes on me.
My self esteem--mostly--is in the shitter. Why would it be, I mean, I have a job right? At least. Some people don't have that.
That's definitely true. I've had some struggles with joblessness and honestly, where I am working right now isn't too bad. There's some good days, there's some bad days, but hey you have that. Right? So I won't be too harsh on the company or the job. Honestly, those 2 things aren't the problem (most of the time). Even when they are, they aren't the biggest ones. So why the self esteem issues?
I worked my ass off for a long, long time, in school, and in my jobs. I took on more volunteer work than I should've, in the name of furthering my experience. I took extra classes, I studied overseas, I took jobs that I felt would get my foot in the door. I fucking worked hard for my degree. And I don't just mean my academics, but with what my dad did, I went through a lot. I worked a lot of hours at a day job, I put in a lot of time in class, I spent a shitload of time on homework. I pushed myself hard. I have a lot of experience for what I did, and I put my all into it...to wind up selling lawn mowers and trying to push repair agreements on them...to work for a manager who's the same grade of dickbag my dad is...to come out the other side of a dysfunctional home life to end up in another shit place.
Some days at work just suck. Nothing more, nothing less. Everyone has bad days. Some days, I look at myself and working where I do is a reminder of all the crap I went through. Not because it's a bad company or anything, but I look at my peers, who are in full time jobs, and in their desired fields, and you know...they came from decent families, with decent backgrounds and support and encouragement and parents who gave a shit. I feel like where I am now is a "symptom" of where I came from, and that drives me up a wall. I struggled, and fought, and well...the rich get richer (metaphorically or literally) and the poor get poorer. I feel like I failed somewhere along the way. If I had told my dad to fuck off, if I set myself up differently in school, if I hadn't been bullied, if mom hadn't gotten sick, if, if, if, if...
I don't expect hand outs or anything. I don't expect anyone to do anything for me. But, I also feel pretty hopeless. Like it won't get any better than this. I worked that hard, I struggled that much...for this. This is fucking it? Freaking really? This is all I have to look forward to for the next 40 years? So much for proving myself. So much for proving that I'm "better than that." So much for everything. This is all the better it's gonna get. Fuck this noise. I'm done. I want a fucking refund.
I'm tired of feeling worthless. I'm tired of working jobs where no one appreciates you at all. I'm tired of trying to please people who don't give a buttfuck less about me. I'm just, well, tired...
I think I'm going to end this here. I'm starting to ramble, and I've written enough.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Robin Williams, Depression, and All That Jazz
*fair warning: I get crass, rude, and potty-mouthed here...don't take it personally because it's not geared at any one particular person. I'm addressing the dumbassery that is American society. I also do not mean to bash religion or anyone's faith, I'm being critical of how religion was used against me.*
So, now that we've lost a much beloved celebrity to suicide, now we can talk about suicide, death, and depression openly and honestly, and it's not a taboo. Way to go humanity, you failed, and THIS is why.
No, no, no I'm not disrespecting Robin Williams' memory. Jesus Christ, who DIDN'T love the man? I watched Dead Poet's Society like it was a religious practice when I was in high school. Jumanji was a favorite in grade school. What 90's kid didn't ADORE Hook? BANGARANG!!!!!!!!! Flubber was adorable as hell. No one else could've done Good Morning Vietnam justice. Patch Adams reminds us that no matter how "insane" we are, beneath it, is a genius lurking. Robin Williams and Nathan Lane in The Birdcage is the CUTEST FUCKING THING EVER! I could go on forever but...it was a long day, I'm tired, and the point of this isn't to go on about his filmography. The man was pure gold, in so many ways.
One thing that resonated throughout his movies, to me anyway, was no matter how bad it got, no matter what you were going through, there was truth, and beauty, and laughter, and fun, and hope exist. There's something beautiful lurking in all of us, we just have to look for it. Sometimes it takes a little work, but for each and everyone of us, there is hope.
But despite the hope he gave us, and the laughter, and the joy, beneath it was a man struggling with so many inner demons. And after 63 years, he lost. But you know what, I'm impressed.
Right, right, I know...you're probably all "What the fuck are you saying Erika?" Well gimme 2 seconds and let me explain it. K? K.
I don't know everything about his struggle--no one but him ever did--but I know what my struggle has been. And that, I can and will talk about and hope maybe somehow this all comes full circle. Maybe this'll all make a little more sense.
Shame on each and all of us. Not just for Robin Williams' death, but for how we continue to treat mental illness, and how we treat those who suffer from us. Shame on each and everyone of us. We've dun fucked this whole thing up, more than a hooker on top, and maybe this was finally the slap in the fucking face we all needed.
I called off at my current job after only being there 2 months one day, due to an emotional break down (2 call offs in about a week and a half time span). Don't remember what caused it, stress probably, but who fucking cares. Point is, I was sitting on my living room couch, bawling and crying and freaking out with Brandon saying "Kitty you are NOT going into work today." I was a fucking wreck. But you know what...no way in hell that's a reason to call off work. Not a good one anyway. And you think I didn't know that? You think it didn't drive me nuts? Because it did. But when you're dealing with diagnosed depression, having a break down like that is damn near the same as having the fucking flu, and puking your guts up. Except, guess what, they have vaccines for the flu. You can prevent that shit completely. Wash your hands for good measure, use Purell, and cover your mouth. That is ALL you have to do. Depression...guess what...I can't do shit.
But what about medication and therapy Erika? Well duh you dumbass, of course those are options. You think I'm a fucking idiot and didn't think about those things? That was the FIRST fucking thing I did. After sobbing on the phone with the national suicide hotline on New Year's Day after having a major emotional break down (worse that any that I've called in over...and I've skipped probably 3 - 4 shifts in the last 3 years due to these break downs). God bless that woman I talked to...and God bless people who do what she did. That phone call helped me get my head back on straight, and figure a few things out. Not everything, but enough to make the next step. Sometimes, that's all you need.
I've probably been battling some form or other of depression since childhood, but you know...when you're crying and angry at 5 years old, no one wonders if it's depression. Everyone says hey, you're a kid, you'll throw a fit and get over it. And most of the time, that's true. So whatever.
High school...it was a fucking terror. I had lost mom in 8th grade, I was grieving, I was a hormonal teenager, like we've all been at some point, and it was a fucking train wreck. Whenever I think of those 4 years, I just think of a deep, dark hole that swallowed me up. The amount of self hatred, self loathing, self destruction, and sadness I felt during those years was awful. And Freshman year at a private school...let me just say I will NEVER stick my kids in a parochial school system. NEVER NEVER NEVER. People wanna bitch about how bad public schools are? Please. I'd do public school any day. Those kids, in the name of Christ, were TERRIBLE little bitches, ho-bags, and assholes. High school started on a very bad foot, and it only got worse over those 4 years. I know most people hated high school, I won't deny that, but I know now, it wasn't just teen angst, there was something REALLY wrong.
And everyone only ever dismissed it. Be happy Erika, your faith should make you happy. Believers in Jesus are happy. Be happy because your mom suffered cancer and was happy. Be happy because your life is only just beginning. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy.
You know what? Fuck you.
If it wasn't being beaten over the head with reasons to be happy, it was someone telling me I only kept going in my depression (someone = my dad) to fish for compliments. Or someone was telling me I created problems and I needed to "suck it up and deal with it on my own" because I was "almost an adult." (someone here = my fatass bitch stepmother) Oh and when it came to grieving for my mom, I had no right. I lived with her longer than my brother, I didn't have a right to grieve. I had nothing to be sad about. Oh and he...he lost the love of his life. Poor guy could wallow in his pity all he wanted.
As long as I can remember, any feelings of sadness, anger, hurt...I was told wasn't legit for some asinine reason. Faith was ramrodded down my throat. My face was rubbed in my mother's memory. But never once did anyone offer any help. And when it got REALLY bad (i remember having a freak out when I was 19 - 20 and my brother was on the receiving end, and I looked at him and screamed that I felt like I had nothing, and another one I had around my dad on my way to work and looked at him and quoted AFI, saying "My life is a dark room."), there was never, ever, anyone there for me. No one was ever there to tell me it's ok, to console me, and tell me the way I was feeling wasn't wrong, it wasn't a sin, it was something some people go through, and struggle against.
Depression was a dirty word. Depression was a state of mind, and--here comes the religion--true believers didn't deal with it because Christ conquers all. Dafuq kind of solution is that? That doesn't solve a goddamn thing. All that train of thinking did was pummel me further down, because all I ended up thinking was I was a lousy Christian and a lousy person for not being happy all the time. Gee fucking thanks. That didn't solve anything.
College, I worked so fucking much I didn't have time for it. Not once I got going full time and I was nearing 22 (a bit more grown up, but still a kid). It was there, but, I was preoccupied. And I met Brandon. And I did some cool shit along the way. Lots of stress, but lots of fun too. Then I got kicked out of the house. And Brandon and I broke up. And tons of other stupid shit. Then Brandon and I got back together. Then France. (the one time in my life I was *actually* happy) Then I came home and got married...
And that was when everything came crashing in and I realized I had a huge fucking problem. I needed to get into therapy, maybe even try medications. I needed to do something, or I was going to self destruct. I couldn't do this. I couldn't handle it anymore.
That's what depression is. It will fucking eat you alive if you let it. Depression isn't just having a bad day. It's not getting up on the wrong side of bed. Depression is...it's a deep dark whirlpool that tries to suck you down. And the shitty part is? There. Is. Nothing. You. Can. Do. No matter how good of a day you've had, no matter how wonderful your life is, everything is dark, and gloomy, and you just cannot for the life of you muster up the give a damn or the smile for even a good day. As I sit here trying to put words on it, I realize it's damn near impossible for me to convey just how awful this has been. This has been a life long fight, trying to will myself to continue on; trying to convince myself that life isn't so bad, that it'll all be ok. When bad things do happen, they hit me a thousand times harder than they hit an average person (at least someone not combating depression of any sort). That's why I fly off the handle like I do. I feel like every bad thing, is one more reminder of how horrible, and awful I am, and how little I deserve to be here. It's not just shit happens. Not for me anyway.
Every day is a fight. Some days I have to fight to get out of bed (and I mean more than I keep slapping the alarm because HEY I don't work til 4!). Some days I have to fight to smile. Some days I have to fight to remind myself there IS a reason to keep on trying. No matter how fucking small, there is a reason. And, keeping that reason...is a fucking bitch to do.
I read an article the other day (most used phrase in my vocab now I swear lol) about suicide and Robin Williams. I'll link properly at the end just to be credible, but this part struck me:
"Suicide is a decision made out of desperation, hopelessness, isolation and loneliness. The black hole that is clinical depression is all-consuming. Feeling like a burden to loved ones, feeling like there is no way out, feeling trapped and feeling isolated are all common among people who suffer from depression.
But don't tell me it's just a bad day. It's not. It's a day in and day out struggle to survive, most days. Especially now...all I feel like on an average day is a burden. A dead weight. That one fucked up element to the existence of any and everyone close to me. Were it not for me, things would be so much better. But no...I'm here, and I've just gone and fucked it all up for you.
Do you understand how soul crushing that feeling is? To feel like single-handedly, you drag the entire environment around you down? Do you know what it is to feel that every day and feel like there is no answer to the question, short of cutting off your own existence? Have you ever even thought about the fact people feel this way?
I was diagnosed with Dysthymia. AKA low riding, long term depression. No manic mood swings, just an ever persistent feeling of worthlessness, hopelessness, and pessimism. No matter what you do, it will never go away. Medication maybe balances it out, but nothing can stop it. And the kicker is, with the disorder I was diagnosed with, you have to have a consistent pattern lasting MINIMUM of 2 years before that diagnosis can be given. TWO YEARS. Before anything can be done. Most people, from my understanding, suffer longer than that before getting help. And that, is what I call agony.
I will be honest, I don't know how long I will hang on. I am, for now, sometimes it feels like by a thread. I got my Granny's stubbornness, and sometimes I think that's what keeps me off the edge, more than therapy or drugs could. But how long will that last? How long can I make it? Will I make it to whatever date was decided for me the day I was born, or will I decide to end it before then? No matter what I do, I have to live with this the rest of my life which what could be 50 more years? 80 years of this. Who wants to go through that? Who wants to put themselves through that?
And that is why I am impressed that Robin Williams made it 63 years. He survived his demons for that long. Long enough to make us laugh, cry, think, and feel, and to be a husband, and a daddy, and win awards for all of it. They say those of us who hurt the most, also laugh and smile the most. Even today at work, I was told "at least you're happy and still laugh." And I do...I giggle over everything. Always have. But if you knew the pain I carry with me, daily, behind that laughter and smile...I think you might have a glimpse into the world of Robin Williams. He smiled and laughed more beautifully than any of us ever could.
Article: "There's Nothing Selfish About Suicide" http://www.huffingtonpost.com/katie-hurley/theres-nothing-selfish-about-suicide_b_5672519.html
So, now that we've lost a much beloved celebrity to suicide, now we can talk about suicide, death, and depression openly and honestly, and it's not a taboo. Way to go humanity, you failed, and THIS is why.
No, no, no I'm not disrespecting Robin Williams' memory. Jesus Christ, who DIDN'T love the man? I watched Dead Poet's Society like it was a religious practice when I was in high school. Jumanji was a favorite in grade school. What 90's kid didn't ADORE Hook? BANGARANG!!!!!!!!! Flubber was adorable as hell. No one else could've done Good Morning Vietnam justice. Patch Adams reminds us that no matter how "insane" we are, beneath it, is a genius lurking. Robin Williams and Nathan Lane in The Birdcage is the CUTEST FUCKING THING EVER! I could go on forever but...it was a long day, I'm tired, and the point of this isn't to go on about his filmography. The man was pure gold, in so many ways.
One thing that resonated throughout his movies, to me anyway, was no matter how bad it got, no matter what you were going through, there was truth, and beauty, and laughter, and fun, and hope exist. There's something beautiful lurking in all of us, we just have to look for it. Sometimes it takes a little work, but for each and everyone of us, there is hope.
But despite the hope he gave us, and the laughter, and the joy, beneath it was a man struggling with so many inner demons. And after 63 years, he lost. But you know what, I'm impressed.
Right, right, I know...you're probably all "What the fuck are you saying Erika?" Well gimme 2 seconds and let me explain it. K? K.
I don't know everything about his struggle--no one but him ever did--but I know what my struggle has been. And that, I can and will talk about and hope maybe somehow this all comes full circle. Maybe this'll all make a little more sense.
Shame on each and all of us. Not just for Robin Williams' death, but for how we continue to treat mental illness, and how we treat those who suffer from us. Shame on each and everyone of us. We've dun fucked this whole thing up, more than a hooker on top, and maybe this was finally the slap in the fucking face we all needed.
I called off at my current job after only being there 2 months one day, due to an emotional break down (2 call offs in about a week and a half time span). Don't remember what caused it, stress probably, but who fucking cares. Point is, I was sitting on my living room couch, bawling and crying and freaking out with Brandon saying "Kitty you are NOT going into work today." I was a fucking wreck. But you know what...no way in hell that's a reason to call off work. Not a good one anyway. And you think I didn't know that? You think it didn't drive me nuts? Because it did. But when you're dealing with diagnosed depression, having a break down like that is damn near the same as having the fucking flu, and puking your guts up. Except, guess what, they have vaccines for the flu. You can prevent that shit completely. Wash your hands for good measure, use Purell, and cover your mouth. That is ALL you have to do. Depression...guess what...I can't do shit.
But what about medication and therapy Erika? Well duh you dumbass, of course those are options. You think I'm a fucking idiot and didn't think about those things? That was the FIRST fucking thing I did. After sobbing on the phone with the national suicide hotline on New Year's Day after having a major emotional break down (worse that any that I've called in over...and I've skipped probably 3 - 4 shifts in the last 3 years due to these break downs). God bless that woman I talked to...and God bless people who do what she did. That phone call helped me get my head back on straight, and figure a few things out. Not everything, but enough to make the next step. Sometimes, that's all you need.
I've probably been battling some form or other of depression since childhood, but you know...when you're crying and angry at 5 years old, no one wonders if it's depression. Everyone says hey, you're a kid, you'll throw a fit and get over it. And most of the time, that's true. So whatever.
High school...it was a fucking terror. I had lost mom in 8th grade, I was grieving, I was a hormonal teenager, like we've all been at some point, and it was a fucking train wreck. Whenever I think of those 4 years, I just think of a deep, dark hole that swallowed me up. The amount of self hatred, self loathing, self destruction, and sadness I felt during those years was awful. And Freshman year at a private school...let me just say I will NEVER stick my kids in a parochial school system. NEVER NEVER NEVER. People wanna bitch about how bad public schools are? Please. I'd do public school any day. Those kids, in the name of Christ, were TERRIBLE little bitches, ho-bags, and assholes. High school started on a very bad foot, and it only got worse over those 4 years. I know most people hated high school, I won't deny that, but I know now, it wasn't just teen angst, there was something REALLY wrong.
And everyone only ever dismissed it. Be happy Erika, your faith should make you happy. Believers in Jesus are happy. Be happy because your mom suffered cancer and was happy. Be happy because your life is only just beginning. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy.
You know what? Fuck you.
If it wasn't being beaten over the head with reasons to be happy, it was someone telling me I only kept going in my depression (someone = my dad) to fish for compliments. Or someone was telling me I created problems and I needed to "suck it up and deal with it on my own" because I was "almost an adult." (someone here = my fatass bitch stepmother) Oh and when it came to grieving for my mom, I had no right. I lived with her longer than my brother, I didn't have a right to grieve. I had nothing to be sad about. Oh and he...he lost the love of his life. Poor guy could wallow in his pity all he wanted.
As long as I can remember, any feelings of sadness, anger, hurt...I was told wasn't legit for some asinine reason. Faith was ramrodded down my throat. My face was rubbed in my mother's memory. But never once did anyone offer any help. And when it got REALLY bad (i remember having a freak out when I was 19 - 20 and my brother was on the receiving end, and I looked at him and screamed that I felt like I had nothing, and another one I had around my dad on my way to work and looked at him and quoted AFI, saying "My life is a dark room."), there was never, ever, anyone there for me. No one was ever there to tell me it's ok, to console me, and tell me the way I was feeling wasn't wrong, it wasn't a sin, it was something some people go through, and struggle against.
Depression was a dirty word. Depression was a state of mind, and--here comes the religion--true believers didn't deal with it because Christ conquers all. Dafuq kind of solution is that? That doesn't solve a goddamn thing. All that train of thinking did was pummel me further down, because all I ended up thinking was I was a lousy Christian and a lousy person for not being happy all the time. Gee fucking thanks. That didn't solve anything.
College, I worked so fucking much I didn't have time for it. Not once I got going full time and I was nearing 22 (a bit more grown up, but still a kid). It was there, but, I was preoccupied. And I met Brandon. And I did some cool shit along the way. Lots of stress, but lots of fun too. Then I got kicked out of the house. And Brandon and I broke up. And tons of other stupid shit. Then Brandon and I got back together. Then France. (the one time in my life I was *actually* happy) Then I came home and got married...
And that was when everything came crashing in and I realized I had a huge fucking problem. I needed to get into therapy, maybe even try medications. I needed to do something, or I was going to self destruct. I couldn't do this. I couldn't handle it anymore.
That's what depression is. It will fucking eat you alive if you let it. Depression isn't just having a bad day. It's not getting up on the wrong side of bed. Depression is...it's a deep dark whirlpool that tries to suck you down. And the shitty part is? There. Is. Nothing. You. Can. Do. No matter how good of a day you've had, no matter how wonderful your life is, everything is dark, and gloomy, and you just cannot for the life of you muster up the give a damn or the smile for even a good day. As I sit here trying to put words on it, I realize it's damn near impossible for me to convey just how awful this has been. This has been a life long fight, trying to will myself to continue on; trying to convince myself that life isn't so bad, that it'll all be ok. When bad things do happen, they hit me a thousand times harder than they hit an average person (at least someone not combating depression of any sort). That's why I fly off the handle like I do. I feel like every bad thing, is one more reminder of how horrible, and awful I am, and how little I deserve to be here. It's not just shit happens. Not for me anyway.
Every day is a fight. Some days I have to fight to get out of bed (and I mean more than I keep slapping the alarm because HEY I don't work til 4!). Some days I have to fight to smile. Some days I have to fight to remind myself there IS a reason to keep on trying. No matter how fucking small, there is a reason. And, keeping that reason...is a fucking bitch to do.
I read an article the other day (most used phrase in my vocab now I swear lol) about suicide and Robin Williams. I'll link properly at the end just to be credible, but this part struck me:
"Suicide is a decision made out of desperation, hopelessness, isolation and loneliness. The black hole that is clinical depression is all-consuming. Feeling like a burden to loved ones, feeling like there is no way out, feeling trapped and feeling isolated are all common among people who suffer from depression.
People who say that suicide is selfish always reference the survivors. It's selfish to leave children, spouses and other family members behind, so they say. They're not thinking about the survivors, or so they would have us believe. What they don't know is that those very loved ones are the reason many people hang on for just one more day. They do think about the survivors, probably up until the very last moment in many cases. But the soul-crushing depression that envelops them leaves them feeling like there is no alternative. Like the only way to get out is to opt out. And that is a devastating thought to endure."
This. Fucking this. I have had days where literally, my ONE reason to hang on is my cat, Clover, because I know if there is one being who would not know what to do if I was gone, it's her. She's my little miracle cat. I've never had an animal latch on to me like she does, and I'll be damned if i lose her any time soon.But don't tell me it's just a bad day. It's not. It's a day in and day out struggle to survive, most days. Especially now...all I feel like on an average day is a burden. A dead weight. That one fucked up element to the existence of any and everyone close to me. Were it not for me, things would be so much better. But no...I'm here, and I've just gone and fucked it all up for you.
Do you understand how soul crushing that feeling is? To feel like single-handedly, you drag the entire environment around you down? Do you know what it is to feel that every day and feel like there is no answer to the question, short of cutting off your own existence? Have you ever even thought about the fact people feel this way?
I was diagnosed with Dysthymia. AKA low riding, long term depression. No manic mood swings, just an ever persistent feeling of worthlessness, hopelessness, and pessimism. No matter what you do, it will never go away. Medication maybe balances it out, but nothing can stop it. And the kicker is, with the disorder I was diagnosed with, you have to have a consistent pattern lasting MINIMUM of 2 years before that diagnosis can be given. TWO YEARS. Before anything can be done. Most people, from my understanding, suffer longer than that before getting help. And that, is what I call agony.
I will be honest, I don't know how long I will hang on. I am, for now, sometimes it feels like by a thread. I got my Granny's stubbornness, and sometimes I think that's what keeps me off the edge, more than therapy or drugs could. But how long will that last? How long can I make it? Will I make it to whatever date was decided for me the day I was born, or will I decide to end it before then? No matter what I do, I have to live with this the rest of my life which what could be 50 more years? 80 years of this. Who wants to go through that? Who wants to put themselves through that?
And that is why I am impressed that Robin Williams made it 63 years. He survived his demons for that long. Long enough to make us laugh, cry, think, and feel, and to be a husband, and a daddy, and win awards for all of it. They say those of us who hurt the most, also laugh and smile the most. Even today at work, I was told "at least you're happy and still laugh." And I do...I giggle over everything. Always have. But if you knew the pain I carry with me, daily, behind that laughter and smile...I think you might have a glimpse into the world of Robin Williams. He smiled and laughed more beautifully than any of us ever could.
Article: "There's Nothing Selfish About Suicide" http://www.huffingtonpost.com/katie-hurley/theres-nothing-selfish-about-suicide_b_5672519.html
Thursday, July 31, 2014
930 East
Driving to work the other day, I pull off 309 and am waiting at the light to turn onto Coliseum and head to work. I see a woman crossing the road, being careful of course, but you Fort Wayners know, this is NOT an intersection to mess with, on foot especially.
She had a few beat up looking bags with her (one reminded me of the Civil War era carpet bags), but she herself looked very well kept, clean, etc. Maybe she was staying in a near by motel? There's quite a few right there. Who knows? All I knew was, the quality of her appearance (well kept, clean, neat) combined with her surroundings (hoofin' it across a state road near the highway) and her trappings (sizable, well worn bags), there was a story there. Good, bad, I don't know but it was a story just the same.
As I watched her walk to wherever it was she headed next, I have to admit, I envied her a bit. Whatever that story is, part of me was really wishing I was in her shoes rather than in my car. She seemed free. It almost made me think of a biblical passage: Take nothing but the clothes on your back, and the shoes on your feet. Don't bother taking money with you. Rely on the kindness of strangers, and if rejected, shake the dust from your feet and move on. She seemed liberated (emphasis on seemed) and a part of me really, truly wanted that for myself.
She had a few beat up looking bags with her (one reminded me of the Civil War era carpet bags), but she herself looked very well kept, clean, etc. Maybe she was staying in a near by motel? There's quite a few right there. Who knows? All I knew was, the quality of her appearance (well kept, clean, neat) combined with her surroundings (hoofin' it across a state road near the highway) and her trappings (sizable, well worn bags), there was a story there. Good, bad, I don't know but it was a story just the same.
As I watched her walk to wherever it was she headed next, I have to admit, I envied her a bit. Whatever that story is, part of me was really wishing I was in her shoes rather than in my car. She seemed free. It almost made me think of a biblical passage: Take nothing but the clothes on your back, and the shoes on your feet. Don't bother taking money with you. Rely on the kindness of strangers, and if rejected, shake the dust from your feet and move on. She seemed liberated (emphasis on seemed) and a part of me really, truly wanted that for myself.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Chateau d'If
That title is supposed to be tongue in cheek, anyway. If you speak French you might get it. If not, well...
If I could live the kind of life I wanted--exactly how I wanted, right now--God knows it'd be a far sight different. Literally. I'd be in such a different place.
I'd be at home, reading, writing, enjoying coffee and time with my husband. Home would probably be another country. Work? Work wouldn't be "oh shit I need a job." Work would be something I'm doing because I want to. Something like teaching, translating, interpreting...the jobs I really liked doing.
I'd be able to enjoy my music, my books, my rest, my pets, have time to go to the gym, and do errands, and clean, and all that other stuff. There'd be a lot less pressure, but still expectations and meeting them as such. I'd get a pay check, and the family would be taken care of, but it wouldn't be a goddamn rat race.
I don't fucking fit in the 9-5 schematic. I really don't. I've been fucking trying and the last few days, I really feel how much I don't belong. I won't go into details, but I will say today it came to a head. I won't point fingers or play the blame game, but I will say that I don't feel like I belong. it's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't want to earn my keep, pay my bills, and support myself and my husband. I do. I just...this conventional bullshit isn't cutting it.
I'm careful not to let myself fall too far into this. You know who did let themselves go too far? My dad. And he's an asshole. The last fucking thing I want is to be like him. I almost landed myself there once, and lesson fucking learned. People are still assholes over that shit. But anyway, before i digress too much, I don't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't think I am going to (necessarily) but I still feel like I have to make a conscious effort to NOT end up like that. And I am REALLY fucking trying. REALLY REALLY REALLY fucking trying. But I can't help that me...this...just isn't working.
It's like a bad relationship. Neither person involved is bad in and of themselves, but together, it's a fucking toxic situation. That's how I'm feeling. My partner (work) is just fine, in and of themselves. I'm fine on my own. But we got forced to sticking together, and then there's friction. We just don't match. But, without my partner, I don't have many options. So, you stay in a shitty relationship to ensure your own survival. I fucking hate it. I don't stay in shitty relationships. Ever. Period. With anyone. Ever.
Sure, there are better fish in the sea, but the fuck do I do to find them? I'm still feeling empty handed. It isn't that I don't believe in myself...It's well...maybe a part of me doesn't believe in myself (yeah I know, fucking right?)...but maybe part of me is afraid of trading a rotten canoe for a rubber dingy. The rotten canoe is at least a canoe. A rubber dingy? I'll take my chances with the canoe.
I hate not knowing what to do. I hate, hate, hate, HATE it. If i at least know what to do/what I'm doing, then it's manageable, you know? I just...
Some days I still want to drive my car into a tree. Or down a bottle of my anti depressants. Or invest in a package of razor blades (DO NOT get into a BS spiel about how that's bad. I fucking know it is but it takes a lot of fucking guts for me to say this so just listen for 2 seconds before you say a fucking thing). I feel that hopeless, and useless, and worthless, and just...like it's not fucking worth it. What seems small and insignificant to you? Fucking take that on with a mood disorder (Dysthymia to give it a name). I feel like a goddamn failure, and like it's hopeless. I'm so fucking sick of feeling this way too. What's a minor setback for you, for me may as well be the end of the world and makes me feel like my worth as a human is negated.
And you know what pisses me off? I KNOW a lot of how I feel comes from "those who mind" who ultimately "don't matter." But, I still feel fucking shitty, and what the fuck do I do about it?
I've struggled most of my life to feel like I mean something, like I matter, like I'm worth while. I've never in my life felt like I meant shit all to anyone...and the one person who did care, well she's 6 feet under. I've never been once good enough, or merely adequate enough, for one person. And when I can't even keep it together for a shitty job, how the hell else is anything else supposed to matter? What the fuck can I give to anyone else? What the fuck do I do for the world around me?
Well, what started off as a rant about how I feel like I don't fit in has quickly spiraled out of control. I guess it all fits together though. I just want--for one time in my life--to feel like I amount to something. Like everything I do, everything I am, is more than just a pile of worthless shit with too much makeup, and too loud of a voice. No one fucking cares, and I can't hold myself together well enough to deal with the menial.
But--and maybe that's how this all ties in--I feel like this shit I just...can't. It's not that I don't want or try to, it's not that I don't need to. It's, for some fucking reason(s), that I can't. I can't manipulate myself enough to give a fuck. Or even if I give a fuck just...I can't get it right. And it drives me goddamn crazy because for now, I need to. I need to get it right enough to be able to get by. In a sense, I'm ok with that. I mean, hey, if it keeps me afloat, then it's fine. It's a stepping stone from point a to point b.
I feel like i was born for something...else. Bigger? Better? (Longer and Uncut) I don't know. But where I am at sure as hell isn't where i want to be. But I'm also feeling a little lost right now. I wish I could be one of those people who just floats through life...not caring, not thinking, not worried about where I fall in the scheme of the fucked up phenomenon called life. Or the even more fucked up one called humanity. Most days I wish I could go to sleep, and never wake up because I am just tired of the fight, and the nitpicking, and the struggle for beans. Never wake up, and make the world a better place, because now, someone as worthless as me isn't here to fuck anything else up.
If I could live the kind of life I wanted--exactly how I wanted, right now--God knows it'd be a far sight different. Literally. I'd be in such a different place.
I'd be at home, reading, writing, enjoying coffee and time with my husband. Home would probably be another country. Work? Work wouldn't be "oh shit I need a job." Work would be something I'm doing because I want to. Something like teaching, translating, interpreting...the jobs I really liked doing.
I'd be able to enjoy my music, my books, my rest, my pets, have time to go to the gym, and do errands, and clean, and all that other stuff. There'd be a lot less pressure, but still expectations and meeting them as such. I'd get a pay check, and the family would be taken care of, but it wouldn't be a goddamn rat race.
I don't fucking fit in the 9-5 schematic. I really don't. I've been fucking trying and the last few days, I really feel how much I don't belong. I won't go into details, but I will say today it came to a head. I won't point fingers or play the blame game, but I will say that I don't feel like I belong. it's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't want to earn my keep, pay my bills, and support myself and my husband. I do. I just...this conventional bullshit isn't cutting it.
I'm careful not to let myself fall too far into this. You know who did let themselves go too far? My dad. And he's an asshole. The last fucking thing I want is to be like him. I almost landed myself there once, and lesson fucking learned. People are still assholes over that shit. But anyway, before i digress too much, I don't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't think I am going to (necessarily) but I still feel like I have to make a conscious effort to NOT end up like that. And I am REALLY fucking trying. REALLY REALLY REALLY fucking trying. But I can't help that me...this...just isn't working.
It's like a bad relationship. Neither person involved is bad in and of themselves, but together, it's a fucking toxic situation. That's how I'm feeling. My partner (work) is just fine, in and of themselves. I'm fine on my own. But we got forced to sticking together, and then there's friction. We just don't match. But, without my partner, I don't have many options. So, you stay in a shitty relationship to ensure your own survival. I fucking hate it. I don't stay in shitty relationships. Ever. Period. With anyone. Ever.
Sure, there are better fish in the sea, but the fuck do I do to find them? I'm still feeling empty handed. It isn't that I don't believe in myself...It's well...maybe a part of me doesn't believe in myself (yeah I know, fucking right?)...but maybe part of me is afraid of trading a rotten canoe for a rubber dingy. The rotten canoe is at least a canoe. A rubber dingy? I'll take my chances with the canoe.
I hate not knowing what to do. I hate, hate, hate, HATE it. If i at least know what to do/what I'm doing, then it's manageable, you know? I just...
Some days I still want to drive my car into a tree. Or down a bottle of my anti depressants. Or invest in a package of razor blades (DO NOT get into a BS spiel about how that's bad. I fucking know it is but it takes a lot of fucking guts for me to say this so just listen for 2 seconds before you say a fucking thing). I feel that hopeless, and useless, and worthless, and just...like it's not fucking worth it. What seems small and insignificant to you? Fucking take that on with a mood disorder (Dysthymia to give it a name). I feel like a goddamn failure, and like it's hopeless. I'm so fucking sick of feeling this way too. What's a minor setback for you, for me may as well be the end of the world and makes me feel like my worth as a human is negated.
And you know what pisses me off? I KNOW a lot of how I feel comes from "those who mind" who ultimately "don't matter." But, I still feel fucking shitty, and what the fuck do I do about it?
I've struggled most of my life to feel like I mean something, like I matter, like I'm worth while. I've never in my life felt like I meant shit all to anyone...and the one person who did care, well she's 6 feet under. I've never been once good enough, or merely adequate enough, for one person. And when I can't even keep it together for a shitty job, how the hell else is anything else supposed to matter? What the fuck can I give to anyone else? What the fuck do I do for the world around me?
Well, what started off as a rant about how I feel like I don't fit in has quickly spiraled out of control. I guess it all fits together though. I just want--for one time in my life--to feel like I amount to something. Like everything I do, everything I am, is more than just a pile of worthless shit with too much makeup, and too loud of a voice. No one fucking cares, and I can't hold myself together well enough to deal with the menial.
But--and maybe that's how this all ties in--I feel like this shit I just...can't. It's not that I don't want or try to, it's not that I don't need to. It's, for some fucking reason(s), that I can't. I can't manipulate myself enough to give a fuck. Or even if I give a fuck just...I can't get it right. And it drives me goddamn crazy because for now, I need to. I need to get it right enough to be able to get by. In a sense, I'm ok with that. I mean, hey, if it keeps me afloat, then it's fine. It's a stepping stone from point a to point b.
I feel like i was born for something...else. Bigger? Better? (Longer and Uncut) I don't know. But where I am at sure as hell isn't where i want to be. But I'm also feeling a little lost right now. I wish I could be one of those people who just floats through life...not caring, not thinking, not worried about where I fall in the scheme of the fucked up phenomenon called life. Or the even more fucked up one called humanity. Most days I wish I could go to sleep, and never wake up because I am just tired of the fight, and the nitpicking, and the struggle for beans. Never wake up, and make the world a better place, because now, someone as worthless as me isn't here to fuck anything else up.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Sergeant York (1941)
Last night, after a lot of talking about it, Brandon and I finally sat down and watched the Sergeant York movie with Gary Cooper playing the main role. Growing up, this was always such a big deal in the family, as it was part of who we were, and what we came from. It was always something to be proud of, and know, this is what made us who we were. Or a part of it anyway. We were a humble, Southern mountain family, raised on legends of Daniel Boone, and worked by the sweat of our brow. And it came around, full circle, with this particular story (almost a legend in and of itself). The story itself is remarkable, as it recounts a man's struggle with his faith, and answering the call of his country. He simply wanted to do the right thing. It's a story of a "small" man caught up in a big problem, and how he rose to the occasion. He did everything in his power to do the best he could. Even after The Great War, he came home and did what he could to bring education and means of making a living to the children of his community. He only ever wanted to help, and even in the midst of a war, that was his end goal.
Yeah, I know, I'm a bit biased, because it is family heritage. But it doesn't make what happened any less remarkable. And, it was important to me to share that with Brandon, because, well, it's the family legacy that's being meshed together. And if/when we have children, this will be part of their heritage too. That has always been important to me, because it's a good story. It's one of hope, and remembering that even the little guy can achieve something big, all he has to do is set his mind to it.
Not to mention, now, a little older and a little wiser, with a little more education, and a bit more knowledge of the world, watching this movie again, I caught so much more about so many things. So many historical and cultural notes I didn't catch watching this as a kid. It makes a world of difference when watching it.
While I was away, I always found it somewhat remarkable that, as far as I know, the last time a York set foot in France, it was to fight a war. Almost 100 years later, the next time a York did that, it was to travel and go to school. I always felt like my year away maybe played into that legacy somehow. It may not be remembered on a mass level, no one may never write books or movies about me and my life, but for my heritage, and the legacy I grew up with, that was how I fit in to it.
I never made it to Chatel Cherey, where all of this went down (though I wanted to, and I contacted an organization about information on that place itself). I will one day though. And making it to Pall Mall, Tennessee is far more feasible. I want to see all these things of legend I was always raised hearing about. I want to be able to see something tangible to where I came from, and maybe things will make a bit more sense about why I am where I am now.
I'm glad I finally got to share this with Brandon. It always meant so much to me, but now it's something that's part of not just my family, but our family. It's a truly special thing, to me.
Yeah, I know, I'm a bit biased, because it is family heritage. But it doesn't make what happened any less remarkable. And, it was important to me to share that with Brandon, because, well, it's the family legacy that's being meshed together. And if/when we have children, this will be part of their heritage too. That has always been important to me, because it's a good story. It's one of hope, and remembering that even the little guy can achieve something big, all he has to do is set his mind to it.
Not to mention, now, a little older and a little wiser, with a little more education, and a bit more knowledge of the world, watching this movie again, I caught so much more about so many things. So many historical and cultural notes I didn't catch watching this as a kid. It makes a world of difference when watching it.
I never made it to Chatel Cherey, where all of this went down (though I wanted to, and I contacted an organization about information on that place itself). I will one day though. And making it to Pall Mall, Tennessee is far more feasible. I want to see all these things of legend I was always raised hearing about. I want to be able to see something tangible to where I came from, and maybe things will make a bit more sense about why I am where I am now.
I'm glad I finally got to share this with Brandon. It always meant so much to me, but now it's something that's part of not just my family, but our family. It's a truly special thing, to me.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
It's nice having a weekend - tales from the sales floor #1
No, seriously, you never understand how nice weekends are in high school. Even if you're in some kind of sports, or band, or whatever, you never realize how nice it is going to school from 8-3, with weekends off, and evenings to yourself. Even if you have homework. Once condemned to the world of retail, forget it.
Now, I know there are other industries, with more demanding hours than retail. Don't get me wrong. Medical workers, city workers, police, fire fighters...and the list goes on. I sell lawn mowers. Definitely not as demanding as performing emergency surgery on a car accident victim, intervening in busting up a gang, or diving into a burning house.
But, I will be honest, I feel like at least those lines of work are appreciated for what they contribute. I may not be saving and protecting people, but hey, when you NEED something for your house, you're running to where I work (or somewhere like it). Or the grocery store. Or Hey! I wanna go shopping! So you head to the mall, and enjoy your time out, your new purchases, and your chance to play (even though your credit and debit cards and checkbooks detest it lol). Remember the little guy (so to speak). We're there busting our butts, so you have a great time, or making sure you get matched to the product that suits your needs the best. And frankly, most of us are lucky to make money that puts us at the Federal Poverty Line. I'm not gonna go into politics, but I will say, at least be appreciative. The pay ain't great, the hours suck, and most the time we go home with sore feet and backs, but if you at least appreciate what we do for you, I promise you, that goes a LONG way. It may not pay the bills, but it does make us feel better about our station. Or at least makes it tolerable.
So that said, I was off work yesterday at 2:30, and had today off. I actually got to enjoy hanging out with friends, and goofing off, and had a bit too much to drink without worrying about working hung over. Always a good thing. I definitely appreciate when I get a weekend or even part of a weekend. I actually get to spend time with my husband--even if it's just hanging out in the same room--or work on my yard (STILL a work in progress), or go to the gym, or clean, or just lay around. Or maybe I'm even the one finally getting a weekend to go shopping (and my credit cards and debit card hate me lol). Whatever it is I end up doing, I like having a chance once in a while to relax.
Enjoy your weekends people. Not just so you can sleep in and all that. But really enjoy having 2 days, back to back, where you get to appreciate time to yourself, and really don't have to worry about asking for 2 guaranteed days off. Work 5, rest 2. It's a nice little comfort despite everything else. I never knew how much I would miss a solid schedule like that.
Now, I know there are other industries, with more demanding hours than retail. Don't get me wrong. Medical workers, city workers, police, fire fighters...and the list goes on. I sell lawn mowers. Definitely not as demanding as performing emergency surgery on a car accident victim, intervening in busting up a gang, or diving into a burning house.
But, I will be honest, I feel like at least those lines of work are appreciated for what they contribute. I may not be saving and protecting people, but hey, when you NEED something for your house, you're running to where I work (or somewhere like it). Or the grocery store. Or Hey! I wanna go shopping! So you head to the mall, and enjoy your time out, your new purchases, and your chance to play (even though your credit and debit cards and checkbooks detest it lol). Remember the little guy (so to speak). We're there busting our butts, so you have a great time, or making sure you get matched to the product that suits your needs the best. And frankly, most of us are lucky to make money that puts us at the Federal Poverty Line. I'm not gonna go into politics, but I will say, at least be appreciative. The pay ain't great, the hours suck, and most the time we go home with sore feet and backs, but if you at least appreciate what we do for you, I promise you, that goes a LONG way. It may not pay the bills, but it does make us feel better about our station. Or at least makes it tolerable.
So that said, I was off work yesterday at 2:30, and had today off. I actually got to enjoy hanging out with friends, and goofing off, and had a bit too much to drink without worrying about working hung over. Always a good thing. I definitely appreciate when I get a weekend or even part of a weekend. I actually get to spend time with my husband--even if it's just hanging out in the same room--or work on my yard (STILL a work in progress), or go to the gym, or clean, or just lay around. Or maybe I'm even the one finally getting a weekend to go shopping (and my credit cards and debit card hate me lol). Whatever it is I end up doing, I like having a chance once in a while to relax.
Enjoy your weekends people. Not just so you can sleep in and all that. But really enjoy having 2 days, back to back, where you get to appreciate time to yourself, and really don't have to worry about asking for 2 guaranteed days off. Work 5, rest 2. It's a nice little comfort despite everything else. I never knew how much I would miss a solid schedule like that.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Au début
Can I be honest here? No, I mean really, can I? I know, I know, you're thinking "But Erika! Of course you can be honest! It's YOUR blog! Post what you like! Forget whatever wire-tappers and internet trolls think!" No, that's not what I mean. I know I can be honest. Hell I have a TALENT for it. I can be brutally honest if you piss me off enough. I mean...can I be open?
I have no idea what the fuck I am doing here. Blogging? Seriously? I haven't done this seriously in ages! And why not use Facebook? Because fuck Facebook notes. This shit is cooler not to mention, I feel like Facebook is too clogged with political articles (guilty there, I admit), game invites (once again...), VagueBooking (try not to do that too much...unless I want to talk about it), food porn (never do that), Selfies (yep...bad about that one), and general bitching and ranting. Don't get me wrong, I love Facebook for all its shortcomings and flaws. I have so many wonderful people in my life, and it's easy to keep in touch on FB, instead of scrolling through for email addresses, and attaching pictures (sigh...them's was the days!). I guess I feel like I can be more expressive here, and invite people to come in, rather than force feed it in your newsfeed. I feel like this allows me more of an outlet.
So, back to honesty...yeah, what the fuck is this? Hell if I know. Oh, yeah, profanity too. I'm good with that one. Don't like it? Fuck off. Seriously. I don't have time for that shit.
I've been debating doing this for a bit now. I used to enjoy a duality of writing by hand, and writing online. Maybe I just don't have the environment I used to. Writing in my journal is a chore, and I'm barely home long enough to let myself soak into that mode. Goddamn, never though I would miss high school and all of its liberties.
To move on to some actual content, instead of me blathering on like a moron, why am I here? Because, I have too much craziness rolling around in this head of mine and some of it needs to come out eventually. Sure, some of it will get written down. There are things that make me too vulnerable to just spill EVERYTHING on a webpage. But there are things I want to voice. Things I want to communicate to people, and maybe they'll roll my ramblings around in their heads and say "Hey Erika, here's what I think!" and actually talk to me. No, I don't mean the infamous internet bitching we all find ourselves in at one time or another (WAY guilty of that one). I mean...discussion. Picking minds. Introspection. REAL INTERACTION (yes, even possible via computer...communication is communication people. Deal with it). Because sometimes, it's easier to type up words on a computer screen, rather than talk, or write, or keep it bottled up (which I suck at the last one anyway).
So can I be honest? I hope someone somewhere reads this shit, and doesn't think I'm a total fucktard moron. I hope someone reads this and just says to me eventually. "Erika...I get it. You said everything I feel." I know it won't be that ways 100% of the time, but I'm ok with it happening once every so often. I just need an avenue in which I can be as expressive as I goddamn well please, and maybe someone else can appreciate it.
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