Fighting the urge to punch and flee.

I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and began treatment at the age of 20, after dealing with it on my own since age 5. I may have covered some of this in previous posts, so I won't go into my history with it much now. I have tried 2 different medications with success, but chose to go drug-free for my pregnancies... it hasn't been easy, but I manage to stay afloat most days. Now, onto my story:

Recently, I needed to make it to a scheduled appointment with my midwife for a checkup (I'm nearly halfway through my pregnancy!), but Clint couldn't take me because he'd been awake more than 24 hours with work and school. I can't drive because part of my anxiety disorder is that I get to have these really fun debilitating phobias. So, I had to call my dad to drive an hour to pick me up and take me to my appointment, a 15 minute drive from my house. He was more than willing to oblige, but it's painfully obvious to me that he doesn't understand where I'm coming from and his comments on the subject are cutting. I'm only barely comfortable being a passenger, so by the time I made to the clinic I was a frazzled mess and beyond jumpy. 

Another aspect about this whole situation that was giving me anxiety was the fact that I had to go in alone, when usually Clint is there with me, talking to me and keeping me distracted. When I have to do anything out in the real world by myself (like an adult) I panic. I was so anxious that I was unable to leave a urine sample, which is impressive for a pregnant woman who generally has to pee every 20 minutes. The nursed poked fun at me a bit, which wasn't helpful. My appointment went well overall, but my midwife could tell that I was on the verge of bolting. She expressed concern that I'm not currently on anxiety meds even though I'm pregnant and she wants me back on them immediately after I give birth. The way she was looking at me and the measured, soft way that she was speaking to me made me feel about an inch tall. In a moment like that it's hard not feel like the weirdest weirdo in town.

After my dad dropped me off at home, I told Clint all about it. I don't know what response I was expecting, but the one I got was, "Oh yeah, you definitely need to be on something. No question".

At least he loves me anyway.

Be your own friend first.

A lot of life has happened since my last post and I guess I just got busy living it. In the last few months I found out that I'm pregnant with my second son (yay!) and my first son turned 3 years old. I've been doing a lot of reflecting and soul searching lately, and it's only partly hormonal.

Case in point: I have never been one of those people who have a lot of friends, but I truly value the few that I do have. Sometimes, though, I find myself valuing that friendship far more than my friend seems to value it. In the past that has meant that I become preoccupied with mending the fences and trying so very hard to please that person in the hopes that I can convince them stop being an asshole to me. I can tell you, that is very taxing and not at all healthy. But no more!

Dear friend, 

You have been a jerk on multiple occasions.

You are not allowed to call me just because you need something.

I won't be used.

Don't call me to make plans, I know you won't be there.

I deserve respect and consideration.

Good-bye,

Katie the Self-Respecting

Conversely, I've been having a wonderful time with my true friends. Coffee dates, fulfilling conversations, much needed support and all those little necessary details of love. The key is quality over quantity in all things (except money, ha!) and I'm grateful for what I have. It's pointless to put energy into anything else, really.

I don't want to drag this post out even though I have stories for you. I'll save those for the posts I plan to write very soon.

Sally Sue, come home!

On one hand I'm antisocial and introverted, but on the other hand I'm eager to help and eager to please. It was that hand that landed me in a hot, dusty old house that smelled of cats yesterday.

I had been reading this page (I urge you to click the link, read, and donate if you can) when my doorbell rang. Normally when my husband isn't here I don't answer the door to strangers, but I had seen this man earlier that day checking the mail, so I figured he must be a neighbor. He told me that Cathy, the elderly lady who lives next door, had fallen and couldn't get up. He wanted to know if I could help him assist her. I took my 2 year old son with me into this woman's house, which was empty of furniture and most of her belongings because she was in the process of moving out. The gentleman, another woman, and I helped Cathy up off the floor and then we all stayed to help her pack the rest of her things into her car. Sadly, what didn't fit in the car had to be left behind, but I made sure she had all of the important things. This poor woman was rather upset that she couldn't take her massive 20 year old microwave with her. She ended up giving me her Hoover SteamVac Carpet Cleaner and some other cleaning supplies because she couldn't take them with her. I'm going to have my dad professionally clean out the appliance before I decide if I ought to keep it or donate it. At one point her cat bolted out of the house and couldn't be found, so she sat in her back yard calling out "Sally Sue! Sally Sue, come home!" and I suppose the cat eventually returned, because Cathy left later that night.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of construction work. I looked out the window and saw Cathy's abandoned belongings being thrown into a large dumpster along with the carpet. The man who had come to my door looking for help yesterday was actually the realtor and he told me that a contractor had bought the house and would be renovating it today. I have no idea what all is being done to the house, but it sounds like whole walls are coming down. I'm curious who my new neighbors will be.

An education in humiliation and homicidal planning

90% of my experience attending Boise State University was soul-crushing embarrassment and the reinforcement of all of my worst fears. Case in point was the arch nemesis I made in Stephen.

Stephen was even more socially awkward than I was (this is hard to imagine, even for me) and he made my skin crawl instinctively. I made every effort to avoid any interaction with him, which was made all the more difficult by the facts that he both lived on the same floor of the same building as I did and he was friendly with the girls who I was becoming friendly with. Their friendship seemed offensively incongruous, because the girls were pretty, popular, fun and socially-aware... while he was the opposite of all of those things plus the worst personality traits you can imagine. I decided that these girls were just being fashionably "nice" to him. I would compare this to the way that hipsters "enjoy" anything. It's trendy and they think it makes them look ironically cool. But instead of a heavy vintage typewriter with missing keys, these girls were carting around the male equivalent to the girl from "The Ring" and telling it that it was adorable.

He was the farthest thing from adorable.

One night, some people from my floor decided to go downstairs to watch a movie. Stephen sat next to me on the couch with his lanky, uncoordinated body, long, creepy, black hair (a la "The Ring") and weirdly bothersome John Lennon glasses. This was the first time that I was forced to have him inside of my personal bubble and it felt icky. I promise you that I wasn't just judging this creature by his appearance; I just felt so upset and uncomfortable around him and I don't know exactly why. Every time I was forced by the dorm gods to be near him for any reason I was overcome by the overwhelming urge to spew curses upon his house and throw hot coals at his face.

Part of my aversion to him was my inability to sense his presence without actually seeing him. I'll try to illustrate this for you:

Imagine, you are in your house, but you are in a separate room from the other people in your house. You "sense" that a TV is on somewhere in the house. You can feel the TV even though you can't actually hear any perceptible sound being emitted by it. You would be aware if the TV was suddenly turned off because you would feel this change in the energy more than you would hear it. Do you know this feeling? For me, if I'm standing in a room and someone walks quietly in behind me I can feel them the way that I can feel that TV. It is the exact same sensation. Stephen was a broken TV and I tried to rationalize this by telling myself that he must not have a soul.

Things escalated quickly one night when I quietly left my dorm room, crossed the well-lit circular lounging area and approached my long-time boyfriend's door for a spontaneous midnight tryst. I knocked and waited, and then I knocked some more. I started to think he was asleep, which would be pretty normal at that hour, and my focus drifted as it is wont to do. I was probably thinking about the number of calories in the bananas foster that I had unwisely consumed in a moment of weakness earlier that day as I turned around to head back to my room. Once I completed my turn, my face was MAYBE an inch from Disturbing Stephen's face. He had sneaked up on me so expertly it was shocking. I was so caught off guard by his sudden and intrusively close presence that I blurted out the first thought that entered my mind which was, "You are so fucking creepy!" Little did I know, that single assessment of his creepiness level would set off a chain of reactions (not a chain reaction mind you, but a fucking chain of reactions) that to this day I sometimes still find myself feeling anxious about.

Reaction #1: Epic Pranking

On a subsequent night I prepared to leave my room and, as always, I first looked out the peephole of my door before exiting. I was less concerned about psycho murderers and more concerned about my peers' judgy eyes. I was baffled by the nonsensical blur that met my eye instead. I tried, unsuccessfully, for a moment to translate what I saw into the shapes of the couches that I knew must still be out there. Finally, out of frustrated confusion I flung open the door and... A STARTLING CURTAIN OF NEWSPAPER. I was angrily surprised by this lame prank and I simultaneously ripped down the paper and forcefully walked forward and TRIPPED OVER THE FUCKING SOFA THAT WAS HIDDEN BY THE CURTAIN OF NEWSPAPER. My rage-fueled adrenaline rush quadrupled my strength (read: Hulk) and I veritably tossed the offending furniture aside. I lurched toward my boyfriend's door and started angrily pounding on it, thinking he would burst forth and valiantly defend my honor, but no. Instead I proceeded to bang on Stephen's door and I let loose a string of expletives so acidly vitriolic that my potty-mouthed mother would have been shocked and awed. I don't know that this string of expletives was necessarily coherent in any way, but the fact that I was able to speak at all was impressive, considering that I had bubbling lava in my veins.... and then nothing. Nothing happened. No one appeared. The hatred that I felt was swiftly morphing into a humiliation panic. That's when I saw the sign on the wall next to my dorm room door:

SMILE FOR THE CAMERA, KATIE :)

And there it was, on the floor, a webcam. To this day I have no idea whether or not that webcam was actually recording me. The silence suggested not. The lack of any triumphant glee on Stephen's part gives me a sliver of hope that my embarrassment miraculously went unnoticed. Utterly defeated, I sulked back to my room. As I approached I saw that toothpaste had been smeared over the peephole.

Reaction #2: Toilet Paper Tussle

One day I walked into my dorm room and I was alarmed to find Stephen inside, toilet papering the half of the room that my friends lived in. My instant blind rage out-weighed all logic and reason and I went ape-shit. At first I was only verbally abusive, but when this turd of a human refused to leave my living space I resorted to attempting to physically throw him out. My rage-monster strength was apparently an equal match to his soulless-creep strength and the ensuing violence resulted in frenzied shoving with very little actual movement. This resulted in his shirt being ripped at the collar and that's about it. We were at a standstill. I ended up fleeing the scene to find "help" in the form of my friendly neighborhood RA. What I meant to do was get assistance eradicating the psycho from my room. What I actually did was accost, confuse and frighten the RA as well as the nice family he was giving a campus tour to. I said something along the lines of, "Stephen just put HIS HANDS ON ME!" which just sounded weird. All that came of this was that I ended up looking like the bigger psycho in the scenario than Stephen did. Nothing was done about it. No one helped me. I started being more vigilant about checking the lock on my door at all hours.

Reaction #3: Toilet Paper Bomb

*Muffled thud*

Me: Whaa?

*opens door*

There is a roll of toilet paper on the ground.

There are messages written in Sharpie that go many layers deep.

"YOU ARE SO FUCKING PATHETIC, WHAT A BITCH. YOU ARE SUCH A STUPID BITCH" ad nauseum.

So, what did I do? Something logical or effective? Haha, of course not! No, I picked up the rude tissue and hefted it mightily back at Stephen's door... and it only flew halfway before falling impotently to the ground. It's surprisingly difficult to lob a roll of toilet paper intimidatingly, even with rage-y Hulk-strength. Instead of leaving the stupid roll on the floor and protecting my last scrap dignity I charged toward it, picked it up and threw it again. I then stormed through the first open door I saw to tell everyone and anyone how much I hated that creepy little prick. I'm telling you, I didn't even know the girls who I walked in on. I just stomped into their room and began berating them with my all-encompassing hatred of someone else. I had lost all ability to reason with myself and I simply needed to tell someone just how badly I was losing my shit. I remember seeing alarmed faces and almost nothing else about that moment.

And you know what? Stephen won all of the battles and he most certainly won the war. All I managed to do with my Hulk-smashing was to humiliate myself more than he could humiliate me on his own.

Touché, ass-wipe.

My neighbor wants me to help him vomit

Moments ago I was unloading the dishwasher when I heard a timid knock at my door. When I saw that it was my strange neighbor I was tempted to pretend I wasn't at home, but he knows my habits too well. He asked if Clint was available because he needs medical advice. My husband works at the hospital, but he isn't a doctor, and since he is sleeping between shifts I refused to wake him. This neighbor then tells me that he thought he was eating his customary meal of raw beef, but to his great dismay he realized too late that it was actually raw pork. To his knowledge raw pork is much more dangerous to ingest than raw beef and he is desperate for advice on how to induce vomiting. He was shocked that he couldn't find ipecac syrup available anywhere and I informed him that it is rarely used now because it has potentially dangerous side effects. He has been unable to induce vomiting on his own and he told me that if he doesn't find a solution to his situation that he will be back at my door in a couple of hours when Clint wakes up. I told him to call a nurse and ask for advice, but he is phobic of nurses and doctors... This man mends his own broken bones in his garage. I really don't want to find him on my doorstep again at 4:00. You guys, this is some seriously weird shit.

The day my parents tried to kill me with embarrassment

April 16th will mark 5 years of happy togetherness with the love of my life, Clint. The beginning of our love story, however, is as ridiculous as they come and I still blush from embarrassment when I think back on our first lunch date, especially because my parents love to remind me of the fiasco.

To properly set the stage for you I first have to tell you how it is that Clint and I came to know each other. When we were 15 years old Clint and I began talking over the phone after his best friend urged him to call me on his behalf, trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend to be with him instead. The noble and very social Clint did this favor for his painfully shy buddy, but it turned out that Clint and I hit it off as fast friends and his ill-fated buddy was soon forgotten. Some time later the phone calls stopped and we lost touch as our lives went in separate directions. It wasn't until 6 years later that, either by happy accident or cosmic design, our paths crossed once again when he unknowingly stumbled upon me on MySpace, struck up a conversation  with me and I recognized him by name and friendly association. A week later we had plans to meet in person for the first time, on a completely nonthreatening lunch date at a local bar & grill. This is where my insane parents come into play.

When I offhandedly relayed the details of my plans for the day to my parents (keep in mind I was 21 years old at this point) they somehow got the idea that I was planning to meet up with some completely random dude from the internet on a dangerous flight of fancy. Maybe it was all of the alarmist Lifetime movies they'd watched about internet predators that set them off, all I know is that when I turned off the ringer on my cell phone that day like any polite dining companion, I set off a chain of idiotic events. Meanwhile, Clint and I enjoyed a nice meal and lovely conversation; we had a great time and found that we had a lot in common. Further plans for the afternoon were made and it was all very laid back and adult. As we walked back out to the car to head to the movie theater together, I checked my phone and realized that I had multiple missed calls from both of my parents and several panicked voicemails from my mother who was near tears and ready to call the police to report me as "kidnapped by a psychorapistkiller" if I didn't call her back in the next 5 minutes. I'd never been so mortified in my life. I called my nutty mom and tried to put out the fire that was raging in her brain as Clint laughed hysterically at my shocked and ever-paling face. All the while, my dad had located my car and was stalking us, watching us like a hawk from the innocuous green Subaru Outback. I'm telling you, I was embarrassed to the point of near-nausea. I was instantly made to feel like a reckless 13 year old about to be dragged home, kicking and screaming, by my over-protective parents. I was so sure that I would never see Clint again and I would become nothing more than a funny story he would tell his buddies at the bar. The fact that he stuck around to see what would happen next still amazes me to this day. 4 months later we were married. He still thinks my parents are crazy though. They are, anyway.

Every year my dad loves to threaten to follow us on our date while we celebrate our anniversary, and every year I give him hell for it. The embarrassment manages to stretch through time.

A beautiful life

In my last post I talked of goals made and projects started that never took off from the ground. I'm happy to report that in the sunlight of spring I have once again found energized motivation. Writing is still on the back burner for now, but I've been exercising every day and I've finally started scrapbooking again. I've filled multiple photo albums too; it feels good to know that those memories are just a page turn away. Speaking of page-turning, I've rediscovered my love for Stephen King after more than a decade of neglect. His books light a fire under me and remind me that it's okay to embrace my dark creativity. I'm feeling inspired.

My days are now filled with gardening in the sun, accompanied by the musical soundtrack of wind chimes, my favorite songs and my son at play. The vegetable garden that I've been planning for years is actually happening now and I'm excitedly awaiting the first signs of life. Strawberries, flowers and climbing ivy on a pretty new lattice are all happy works in progress as well. I'm reminded every day how lucky I am that I've been able to manifest the beautiful life that I always dreamed of.

I've carefully been distancing myself from people who I react to with negative emotion and I've stopped paying such close attention to toxic news media. It's amazing how quickly the fog lifts.