I don't have much to say...

Yes, I am still here. I don't have much to report. I'm taking a children's lit class, a class on plagues, basic biology (with lab), organic chemistry (with lab), and physics with calculus two (with lab). Today I had two tests and a presentation. The first test (organic) I believe went well. The second test I'm sure did not go well, but we got three points for putting our name on the test, so I know I didn't get a zero. The presentation, according to peer comments, I did well on, but lacked confidence. Speaking in front of people is one of my biggest fears so that is really good.

That was last week. I've since gotten grades back... a 99 on the organic chemistry test, a D on the physics test, and a 10/10 on the presentation. Looks like I have to step up my physics game. I also took two tests Tuesday. The first one went pretty well. I BSed a little, but I think I did okay. The second one, I don't think I did too well on. I hope the free response is worth a lot of points because I'm pretty sure I got that part perfect. The night before I took them I could have studied more. I had a couple of breakdowns over a few things, so that had me challenging why evolution mattered when some other things are going on.

Wednesday, I did the lab I talked about here. It took me all of 11 minutes. People kept coming over to look at mine because I am the only one who had her shit together. Because I am amazing. And because I had done the lab before... sort of.

I really don't have too much else to report. School still makes me anxious. But not quite as anxious as before. Mostly. I did have to take a Xanax twice this week before school to stop me from throwing up. But I've been especially stressed this past week about family stuff.

My roommates are great. We're all sort of slobs. The trash bags are building up in the living room (the dumpster is really far away). We leave dishes on the stove and on the counter. Which if we need to use we can move without expecting anyone to blow up. If we need to do laundry and there's something in we just do their laundry. Again without having to expect anyone to blow up. We live a lot more like a family than my last living situation. And everyone loves Storm.

Also, for some reason all of my comments on my last post went away. The comments are still on my IntenseDebate account, but aren't showing up for everyone to read. There was quite a few of them so it's unfortunate. It's like Blogger suddenly got rid of IntenseDebate and put its own comment... thing back. So that's no fun. I have no idea how to fix it. If anyone does know, email me.

So... how have you all been doing?

Going Back to School

You didn't expect another post so soon now, did you?

Going back to school has terrified me for a long time. I don't know what part about it does -- except for all of it. I'm afraid to move in. I'm afraid to meet my new roommates. I'm afraid to start school. I'm afraid to sit in class. I'm afraid to do labs. I'm afraid to do homework.... Basically... I'm afraid.

And yet tomorrow I move into my new home with three girls I have yet to meet.

Why does it scare me? I don't know. It might have something to do with how I left early last time. But then again, maybe not. I know I can always take a medical withdraw if I get too sick. Yet, that does not seem to comfort me.

I feel like I should say more, but I don't know what else to say. How do you feel about going back to school?

Cooking Fails

I wrote this post around the same time as the last post. Except I figured it was too soon to post another one. So of course that resulted in me waiting about a month to post it. It's only logical.

Usually I'm pretty good at cooking. Cooking with me is never an adventure. I get everything or most everything out. And right after I use it, I put it away. Which is annoying sometimes, especially if things are timed. It also results in me eating cold food a lot because things are put away before I eat. But it's just what I have to do. The rest of my life is not neat, but for some reason while cooking it is. If someone else cooks I couldn't care less about the mess. But, I make what I made and that's it. Easy.

Meanwhile, cooking with my roommate from last year, I'll call her... Joe (until she gives me a better name... that's right, pressure is on) nevermind, she's already used her name so, Ashton, is always an adventure. I frequently get texts from her saying crazy things that happened in her kitchen. She always has a story. When I'm at her house and she's in the kitchen, she's probably swearing about making a huge mess or injuring herself.

However, things for me can't always go well. Sunday night I was trying to decide what to make before going to her house and I decided on something easy, frozen pizza. Very healthy, I know. Usually when this happens I end up eating the entire pizza, but I promised myself that I would eat only half of it and save the other half for Monday night.

I preheated the oven, put the pizza in, and waited. When the pizza was done I realize, as I did all the times before, I don't actually have any oven mitts. However, I solved the problem the same way I did all the other times before, I used a towel to grab it and my other hand to sort of scoot it on to the towel. Now, I have no idea what happened. I may have touched the oven rack. The pizza might have been hotter than usual. Maybe I just had bigger reflexes or less of a pain tolerance. I don't know. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. My pizza did not stay nicely balanced on my hand with the cloth. Instead it fell back into the oven. Except it did not land on its back - it landed on its face. Within seconds, before my very eyes, all the cheese had melted off of the crust into the oven. Oops. I grabbed the crust as quickly as I could, but it was too late. In my hand was a plain crust with only a few traces of sauce and in the bottom of the oven was cheese - a lot of cheese. In retrospect, I wish I had taken a picture of the glorious mess I had made.

I glanced over at the roommates watching TV on the couch - I hadn't gotten a single look from them. Which was weird because I think they have some sort of remote monitoring device in the kitchen. Every time I use it one of them shows up and watches me. I'm dead serious. The other day one of them sat with the TV on, watching me, and as soon as I went back to my room, she turned the TV off and went to hers. It's like they don't think I can use the kitchen or something. I mean, had the pizza thing happened first, I totally would have understood. But it didn't. Every time one of them (same one who was watching me that time) uses the oven she sets off the fire alarm. They cook everything in the microwave or eat something frozen up in the oven, they're the ones who can't cook. The most complicated thing they can cook is pancakes from a mix... and my sisters can make better ones from scratch without a recipe. Yes, that's right. My younger (and older) sisters can cook better than me. But I spend more time not moving. And that is clearly the more important life skill.

Anyways... I looked at my phone and realized Joe Ashton was going to be there soon. And I somehow had to clean the oven before anyone noticed. Even though they were all in the living room. Probably watching me when I wasn't looking. I turned off the oven and use the rag that had failed me to scoop cheese off the bottom of the oven. I actually would recommend this method if you ever decide to get pizza all over your oven. Go back and forth between the oven and the sink washing off what cheese you can from the rag using cold water. It took a really long time. I mean a really long time. And every time I looked over the roommates hadn't moved. Weird, right? The rag then ended up in my shower for a few weeks until it went in the washing machine. When I don't want to deal with something, I put it in my shower. If you live with me, I promise I never put trash bags in the shower. Never.

So, for the record, this is something I do not recommend. I would give it 1/10. I can't give it a 0/10 because I learned how to clean cheese out of the oven. If you do this you will 1. burn your fingers 2. have to clean the oven and, of course, the most tragic 3. not get any pizza.

Then on Tuesday, at Joe's Ashton's house, I burnt my arm making ice cream.
Yes, you read that correctly. I burnt my arm making ice cream.
'nuff said.


Since then I have not had any kitchen disasters, that I remember. And it drives me crazy that they watch me. And then have conversations about why the fire alarm isn't going off. Trying to explain that when I cook there's steam and not smoke did not help. Oh well, maybe they're just jealous of my skills because I know that there are things that can be eaten that do not come pre-made, frozen. Probably.

I am also working on a political cartoon. And by working on it I mean made it up yesterday and tried to draw it a few times. Remember my drawing skills? Yeeah. Later I will probably draw it a few more times, pick the best one, and call it a day. And then I will post it. And we will all pretend that it's supposed to look like that, and not that I can't draw to save my life. Or no one will care because it will be that awesome. And now I will go back to reading Allie Brosh's book, Hyperbole and a Half, who, if you haven't been to her blog, you should. The link should be over that way ----> (see, I can even draw arrows well).

For more accidents in the kitchen see part two.

The Stigma

Hey guys,
I know it's been awhile. I'm a bit behind on my blog reading, but I'm trying to catch up. I've been watching an unhealthy amount of Dexter dealing with a roommate situation and doing copious amounts of physics. I know some of you know details but for those of you who don't - it boils down to the stigma of mental illness (and some people just being horrible but that's not what I'm going to talk about, this time). This roommate put me down repeatedly and called me weak for doing possibly the strongest thing I've ever done - getting help.

If you think mental illness doesn't have a stigma - then you are probably contributing to it. And you are hopefully lucky enough to never have to experience being sick in this way. (Aside: I'm going to use quotation marks to add in what "you" say. It's probably not what any of you would actual say but that's how I think.) "But two of my best friends have been on antidepressants for years" (you say, see?) "and I still think you're wrong." Well, there are different levels of severities. And I'm not saying that antidepressants are over prescribed (I totally am) but the stigma still exists. It's not okay to stare at someone in a wheelchair, but it's okay to shoot dirty looks at "crazy" people and mumble about how they should be locked up. Words like "psychotic" are spat out like poison. And no one's supposed to hang out with people who are "not quite right in the head" or "insane." Why? Because it might rub off? Last time I checked hallucinations, compulsions, and panic attacks are about as contagious as cancer. For example, people claim it's because of old movies that they think ECT is horrible. But people who haven't even seen the movies feel the same way. When the facts are... oh wait... they have none.

And then, after all that, people decide that it must be fun or easy. We just don't want to deal with things. We made it up. We just want attention. The truth? All we want is to be normal. While you're thinking about how easy it is to stay in bed all day, we're thinking about how easy it must be to be like everyone else. How easy it must be to know that you're seeing the same thing as everyone else. How easy it must be not to freak out over something that isn't scary. How easy it must be to go about life without knowing that in a second everything could change and you could be completely incapacitated with no one to help you.

Others only seem to see two types of mental illness. Those who have "completely lost it" and those who are pretending, enviable because they can get out of things. They don't see how truly desperate these people are to escape. I've tried to find experimental treatments, trials, to join from horse tranquilizers to brain surgery. "That's ridiculous - you don't need that, don't be silly, you're just a little sad." Well, you don't understand, you can't understand, what it's like for something to always be there. And that's okay. I envy you. And I really hope you don't envy me. Because there is no one I would wish a severe mental illness on. Because it doesn't just stop. It doesn't take breaks no matter what is going on. And it's always there. No matter what.

This stigma affects the people who actually suffer from these conditions. Especially because after awhile - we start to believe it's true. We believe we must be faking. We believe that maybe we should and could just "snap out of it." We believe that we are weak for getting or accepting help. So on top of everything else, we put off getting help, and hide our conditions. We don't want anyone else to know because they might think we are weak. We don't want to accept to ourselves that we are that weak and couldn't just deal with stuff on our own like everyone else. The disease lies to us and on top of that we have others agreeing with it. And so it's hard for us to decide which voice to listen to. Who is right. Especially since we know everything could change it in a second.

This is what happened to me and this roommate. I believed her. She was saying, confirming, the things I was already thinking. While other voices protested, I just couldn't believe them. I wasn't that bad. There were tons of people who waited more time to get help and were therefore worse than I was. I was faking it. I was over exaggerating. I was needy. I was weak.

I know these things are not true. I know that those who are close to me and care about me are correct. I know it. I try to believe it. And I try not to listen to the negative forces in my life, both external and internal. But it's hard.That is something I think everyone can agree on, mental illness or not.

This is my take. I use "we" meaning people suffering with mental illness, but this is only my reality. There are exceptions. I know there are others who feel the same as I do, but just because someone is mentally ill do not assume that this is how they feel. Because we are not all the same. But at the same time, we're really not all that different from everyone else. Don't be afraid of us. Don't make assumptions. Treat us the same way as you would treat someone with diabetes. Diabetics may need special medication or watch what they eat. But it would be silly not to talk to someone because s/he were a diabetic, right? And it would be just as silly not to talk to someone because s/he had a mental illness.


On a completely different note, I started running with one of my roommates last week. And by started running I mean I went twice with her. And then once by myself, where I guess I did too much too soon because I injured myself a little. But as soon as I feel completely recovered and find the right insoles for my shoes, I plan on going back to it. Maybe a little slower this time.