So I have an alter ego named Ta’Ta. It is me, but when I get flamboyant or angry. I get the head swivel, and I get my finger out and snap. You can tell when that side of my personailty. I also am like that when I feel fierce. Make-up, hair, accessories, girly girl, yet strong. That is Ta’Ta. My friends named that side of my personailty. Sadly I don’t get to express myself like that anymore. So my cousin said I should do something where I say my take on different things. I said I should call it ‘Ta’Ta’s take’. I am extremely tempted to try this when I am better.
My bunny likes to go under the bed. It would be fine except Padiddle ripped out the bottom of the box spring so she can climb inside of it. So now I have a bunny that is going and playing in the box spring too. I tried to block it off but she is so tiny she can squeeze under the cabinet beside the bed and keep going till she is under. She is so determined to go play under there. She always finds a way. I have given up. She hasn’t hurt herself yet and it has been 7 months. So play away my sweet bunbun.
People always assume since I am larger and because I appear super girly that I am not strong our that I am out of shape. I feel out of shape since I got sick and gained a ton of weight. I work out everyday and do yoga on top of that. I can lift my own body weight and can pick up things that people assume are too heavy for me. I have muscle it is just under my fat. I also have a hard time knowing how hard to throw something as a light toss for me ends up being a big throw. At parties straight guys who I don’t know always tell me to punch them… I don’t know why.. I say they don’t want that because I will hurt them. They assure me I won’t and say to punch as hard as I can. I do punch them, but not as hard as I can and they always get hurt. What did they think was going to happen? I told them it would hurt so I won’t give it all I have.
When I get angry I get stronger. So I will throw things, but like plastic bags or a clean tissue, so that I get my rage out but there is no way anyone can get hurt, or I don’t ruin anything. Don’t mess with the mentally unstable because we have a special rage strength.
I wore leggings and a t-shirt walking to my cousin’s. She took me to mcdonalds and I didn’t care that I was dressed poorly in public. I believe in dresses and wearing real pants. I use the leggings for under dresses or yoga normally, but not today. Today I am wearing things that should not be worn in public together. I just didn’t care today. I haven’t worn a bra in months and am making myself wear one this week. Hence the t-shirts. I have to wear one with t-shirts, because of my weird rules. I also did yoga this morning and just didn’t bother changing. This doesn’t seem like much but it is a huge deal and would upset me if I could feel right now.
My family doesn’t tell me when some one is sick or in the hospital until they are back to being healthy. They don’t want to upset me more than I already am and know I have a hard time as it is. This makes things worse though. I am constantly worried that they aren’t telling me someone is ill.
I was playing with my dad over Xbox live yesterday when my aunt called my parents. My parents like to use speaker phone so they both can talk to you at once, which I don’t mind. So my aunt called to tell my parents my Nannie is in the hospital because her brain was randomly bleeding. They don’t know why it was bleeding but they got it to stop and are keeping her in the hospital and watching her like a hawk. I heard everything because dad didn’t mute his Xbox set. What is weird is that I didn’t have a panic attack over it. If it is Mom, dad, my babies, or my sister I freak the hell out. Even when healthy.
Nannie is 91 and has told me that she doesn’t want to live an other 10 yrs. It could be I was just so exhusted from anxiety and numb that I won’t process it for a few days. I cried and am teary writing this. I want her better and home safe. We have all been soaking in every moment we can with her for the past few years, just because we know she is getting up there and she won’t last forever.
A friend just moved home due to anxiety. He had posted on Facebook that he had moved back and he was anxious and depressed. I reached out to him, because I know what it is like to be depressed and have anxiety. I told him how hard a time I am having and how he would have to come here because I can’t leave my house much. If I do leave I would have to bring my service animal. I told him how I get panic attacks all the time and am just an anxiety riddled mess. Days after he came over he said that he thought it was a booty call… WTF?!? I am anxiety riddled. He knew I couldn’t barely keep alive, as I told him when we were talking about our illnesses before he came over. Knowing I am super anxious, have panic attacks all the time, and I may have to re-schudeal if I have a panic attack, some how equals I want sex? I don’t get how anyone could think someone who is as openly sick as I am would even be capable of any sort of sex or anything. We never spoke of sex only of our diseases and the hell they have caused us. He figured it was literally just for company and have someone to know what he was going through around, when I never made a move on him.
It never occurs to me that people aren’t being themselves. I take people at face value, since I am open about everything. I don’t care if you like me or not. In that same vain I am a people person and normally like going out. I have been told since I was little by peers that they admire how I just don’t care and how exhausting it is to be someone they aren’t. I felt sorry for them. You can not restrain me from being me. If you don’t like chipper, kind people then I don’t need you. I have an odd sense of self. I know I deserve the best as everyone does. I am not going to be friends with someone and change who I am around them. I had to push through having anxiety my whole life. I don’t have time for those who externally won’t accept me. Nothing they can say is worse than what my anxiety tells me. I have lived with hell internally and I refuse to be around those who don’t accept and love me for me. It also doesn’t hurt that I always had a supportive family and I met my soul mate in 1993.
I miss my flawless porcelain skin. That is one thing I had going for me. My breakouts are having two or three small pimples before my period. Now I have blochy skin, with super dry face and tiny pustules. My eyes always look like someone punched me because they are black from crying so much all the time. I now don’t even look like myself anymore. Just a sick puffy black eyed version of me.
There are a lot of crazy people who do not take their medican uptown. No wonder because if you need help the government makes it hard for you to receive what is needed for mental health issues. The uptown crazy is a special breed of insane that has no filter and is legit insane. They tell me I am weird for having a service cat… That is the pot calling the kettle black. I know I am not okay, but I am not as insane as you hooker with three teeth who likes to kiss clothing at stores.
I was in a store today and Wesker was crying because people were around and she wanted people to pay attention to her. A crazy asked what that sound was. Now this is not unusual, what is unusual is looking in my carrier at Wesker and asking me ‘is that what you call a cat?’ If it looks and sounds like a cat chances are it is one. I want to know what she thinks a cat is?