neurotic behavior « artistmotherteacher.com

September 2nd, 2010

This is the last one I swear

I have to write one more post about BlogHer. Yes, I know it has been over 3 weeks but I just have a couple more things to say. And they are important.

When I left for New York that early Wednesday morning I was nervous. Nervous to leave my husband and son behind. Nervous to fly. Nervous about throwing myself blindly into a situation with 2400 other humans that I’ve never met in a BIG city where I’ve never been.

I sort of alienated myself from the get go. I had a king size bed in a room all to myself. No roommate. Nobody to plan the day with. No buddy to gossip with in our pjs at the end of the night. No fallback friend. Just me.

Peace and quiet.
Peeing with the door open.
Sleeping in just a t-shirt and undies.
Not having to get dressed in the hot steamy bathroom after a shower.
Time alone whenever I needed it.

A roommate would have been too much.

This was bliss. I was alone but not lonely.

I can see how BlogHer has all the potential to be ridiculously overwhelming and invoke panic attacks—but I was okay.

BlogHer was great for me. I missed the drama. I didn’t really expect empty elevators or working internet so when I didn’t get those things I didn’t freak out. And when I did? I was just a little bit happier because of it.

I was in control of my weekend. I made it what it was.

I took from it exactly what I needed and left the crap—literally and figuratively—behind.

I came home with so much more than just swag.

The sessions I went to were engaging. The tears I dabbed away—shed without any shame—at the Voices of the Year keynote were somehow freeing. The people I met always made me feel welcome. And understood. I can’t imagine too many situations where I could stand in a ballroom wearing a paper bag on my head, with a drink in one hand and a vibrator in the other and NOT have people think I had gone mad.

That is BlogHer.

I got to experience it first hand.

And I have a little secret. I owe that opportunity to this lady. She gave me her ticket. Why she gave me the ticket is personal and something I want to keep that way for now. But know this, it was an unselfish act of kindness and for that I will be forever grateful.

And if I have any regret from my trip to New York and BlogHer, it would be that I wasn’t there late enough that Sunday to hug her in person and tell her just how monumental her gesture was.

August 3rd, 2010

I can’t be the only one that has discussed BlogHer with their therapist

Tomorrow I leave for a 5 day trip to New York. By myself. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m traveling with a couple of very hip ladies. When we get to NYC I’m meeting another fabulous lady I’ve know through the internets for nearly five years. And then there is the fact that there will be around 2400+ other women (and a few men) hanging around with a similar agenda. BlogHer.

But I’m not traveling with family. I’m not traveling with my best friend and my little boy. I’m traveling with people I know just a little. Frankly, it is freaking me out a bit.

Add to that the fact that I’ve never been to New York or to a conference centered around blogging and my anxiety levels are off the charts right now.

I kind of want to puke.

I also want to have an amazing time. I want to meet new people. Connect with friends I’ve only known online. Learn. Laugh. Photograph.

I’m not packed yet. I’m trying. Clothes are out. Shoes are too. I even have a surge protector strip tossed in my suitcase. And snacks. So it’s a start.

I’m also really good at procrastinating.

That does nothing for the anxiety.

And let me just say that when you do laundry every couple of days and rarely attend cocktail parties, it is really hard to put together outfits for 5 days that don’t showcase the fact that you will happily wear the same pair of jeans several days in a row. With t-shirts. And very little make-up. Which is why the clothes are out. I had to make sure I actually had enough things to wear for 5 days. I kind of fail at the whole fashion thing.

I’ll pack all the cords, memory cards, and various electronics up as soon as everything gets a nice fresh charge.

I’ll sleep like shit Tuesday night in anticipation of the 5 a.m. alarm Wednesday morning.

I’ll probably cry when I leave my husband and son behind.

Hopefully I won’t puke.

And at some point Wednesday morning I’ll descend upon New York City for the first time in my life.

I’ll have an amazing time. I’ll meet new people. Connect with friends I’ve only known online. Learn. Laugh. Photograph.

I can’t wait.

Be gentle with me New York. I’m just a little worm burrowing my way through the Big Apple this weekend.

June 25th, 2010

Facing Depression

March 3, 2010.

That is going to be one of those dates I remember for a very long time. Like December 30, 1999—the day JQ and I shared our first kiss. Or August 17, 2008—the last day I breastfed G-tot. Those are days I hope to never forget.

March 3, 2010 was a Wednesday.

It was also the day that I had a complete emotional breakdown. One that left me nonfunctional and in a puddle of my own self loathing and despair. I was completely and utterly broken.

Something just snapped.

I taught two classes that day without any problem. I felt good. And then around 2:00 it all fell apart. I found myself standing in my office sobbing uncontrollably.

It was really bad.

There was no way I could finish out the day. So I went to let somebody know and when I got to her door I broke down all over again. That’s just not something an emotionally stable person does.

I drove home through more tears.

It was that afternoon that I knew I needed to get help.

I think that I’ve known for awhile now that I could use some help and have been in denial.

I wrote the following back in December in a notebook. Before knowing I was pregnant. Before the miscarriage. It should have been a red flag.

Sometimes this is the letter I want to write to myself.

What the hell is wrong with you? You are living a mediocre life and are settling for far too little. You’re a shitty communicator and relentlessly selfish. That’s why your relationship tends to be so dysfunctional. You know what the problem is yet day after day you refuse to change it. Therapy would probably do you wonders. Don’t be ashamed of it. Nobody has it all figured out and many probably feel just as fucked up as you do. You can’t keep internalizing it. Or one of these days you’ll snap.

You’re 33 and far better than the life you let yourself live. You are on the cusp but if you continue to sit idly by then you will stay right there. You don’t come from money or connections and are going to have to work that much harder to achieve what you really want. You don’t have time for the bullshit laziness.

I always told myself it was something I could overcome on my own.

“It’s not that bad.” I lied.

I way lying to myself about my own mental stability and happiness. Who does that?

So on the morning of March 4, 2010 I dug out the card with the name and number of a therapist on it that my OB-GYN had given me in January. I called her. And much to my dismay she wasn’t in my network. Stupid insurance.

I felt completely lost again. I can’t just pick a therapist out of the phone book. I could end up with some nutjob that way.

That’s when I decided to call my primary care physician. I was hopeful he could recommend someone and at the very least he could do SOMETHING for me.

He decided a 30 day prescription of Zoloft would be the right thing for me.

More precisely 100 mg of Zoloft.

With much hesitation I took that first pill on a Friday night. I knew there would be some adjusting to the medication and I thought taking it in the evening would offset some of the side effects.

I was so wrong.

I felt like some drugged out zombie the entire next day.

I couldn’t function like that. Even if it was just temporary. I wouldn’t have a clear head in an emergency and there is no way I could have gone to work feeling high and still depressed.

And 100 mg to START? What the hell Dr. Overdose?

I still have 29 pills in the medicine cabinet.

I never took a second pill. I’m just not a pill taker. Never have been.

Fortunately, Dr. Overdose also gave me the names of a few therapists that were in my network. I called the one he recommended by name rather than by group.

On March 26, 2010 I went to my first appointment with a psychologist. EVER.

I have had six sessions so far. The first couple I cried pretty much the entire hour. At one session a few weeks ago I didn’t shed a tear.

I think that may be a sign of progress.

I’m really glad I made that call. I deserve it.

June 8th, 2010

You know taquitos that are half scalding and half frozen taste like crap too

I kind of want to give up the microwave.

To slow down. To stop scorching canned vegetables in old Tupperware containers. And for the love of all things good in the world, I want to stop reheating my coffee and just drink it while it’s hot.

Do you know how horrible reaheated coffee is?

There was a time in my life when I would dump the cold stuff in the sink before I would even consider nuking it. And now look at me.

Enough with the microwave already.

So I want to try to give it up for a week or two. Or many.

And not just say I’m going to do it. Because there is no way I’m going to be able to just say it and make it happen. I need to unplug it. And make it inconvenient to plug back in Like maybe remove it completely out of the kitchen.

I obviously have extraordinary willpower.

But let’s face it, EVERYTHING tastes better NOT made in the microwave.

Popcorn. Holy crap, fresh made popcorn blows microwave popcorn away with its awesomeness. We have cut off all ties to the microwave with our kernels. Plus, the kids will be wowed with their magical popping goodness properties.

Anything that is supposed to be crunchy tastes better not microwaved. Fries. Fish sticks. Pizza Rolls. That crap food deserves its 15 minutes in a real oven.

I’m just not sure I can wait that long.

June 5th, 2010

I Never Liked That Wicked Witch

So…tornado warnings.

Sightings in our area. Touching down. Doing damage.

Guess who is taking cover in her basement?

Yep.

With G-tot. Watching the live streaming video on the local news website. Discussing the storms and safety on twitter.

Getting hilarious pictures from friends that somehow make me just a wee less freaked out.

111453637

Wishing dearly that JQ wasn’t an hour east of me tonight for a gig. Right where the storms are headed. The gig is over but he can’t leave. They are advising them to stick around for a few.

So here I sit. In the basement with a sleeping toddler on the couch next to me.

I’m really glad our basement is partially finished.

I also really hope the electricity doesn’t go out.

Oh, I have my flashlight.

And lots of candles.

I just don’t want to lose my internet connection.

May 24th, 2010

Say My Name

So I’m changing my twitter name.

Soon.

No longer will you be able to find me with underscore-pixie-underscore.

Which is really hard for me to do for some reason.

As I mentioned before, “pixie” is no longer that relevant. In fact, I think twitter is one of the few places where I’m still using it. It has nothing to do with my blog anymore (which is where *pixie* spawned from nearly 5 years ago).

And so it is time to say goodbye.

But I need your help.

I don’t want to constantly change my twitter name until I find the right fit like I do avatars. I want to do this just once if I can help it.

The problem is I can’t make up my mind.

If you ask JQ this is nothing new. I’m a tad bit indecisive when it comes to life.

But! I have a short list and I’m open to suggestions that aren’t super asshatty.

What I really need is for you to VOTE. Tell me what you like. Tell what you hate. Tell me why if you want.

Just HELP ME CHOOSE.

(I have no idea if these are actually available at this point. Please don’t be a dick and snatch them all up for yourself if they are. Cool?)

@Holly_AMT (really would prefer no underscores if I can help it but this melds my actual name & my blog nicely, 9 characters)
@ArtistMother (sort of an abbreviated version of my blog like @alotofnothing uses, 12 characters)
@ArtistMotherTeacher (may be a bit longer than I’d like, 19 characters)
@Holly_ArtistMotherTeacher (way long but all encompassing, 25 characters)

Umm…yeah, so that’s what I’ve come up with so far. Thoughts?

April 17th, 2010

I’ve just needed a little time

So it seems I’ve hit a wall.

I have lots of half written posts on tangible pieces of lined paper in notebooks here and there. They just need finished up. And the typed out.

But they haven’t been.

Life away from the computer has been more important.

I’m going through another one of those sort of life transitions. I feel like good things are in the midst of happening.

And I’m just trying to figure out my place in all of it. Finding the happiness.

March 2nd, 2010

Sometimes Twitter Looks an Awful Lot Like High School

Twitter is giving me that icky feeling lately. I can’t say that I care much for it. Nasty comments, bad attitudes, snark lace with malice—I am enough of an emotional mess as it is—I really can’t handle any more negativity right now (whether it is directed specifically at me or not).

And what the hell is this?

I don’t know who it came from and I really don’t care. It just came at exactly the wrong moment. A different day I may have even been a little entertained by it. But not that day.

So once again my experience with twitter is changing. And not in a good way. I want to feel good about twitter. I want it to have value and make me smile. Not make me feel like shit.

I can’t handle all the noise anymore. I’m way over my personal capacity of the number of people I can follow. I feel like the whole thing is losing that certain touch that I used to enjoy about twitter. So I’m cutting back.

I unfollowed around 150 or so people in the past week. It was just too much.

I want to make real connections with people. Sometimes that doesn’t happen. Sometimes you realize that you will never make that connection. You just aren’t compatible. The conversation is too one-sided. You just don’t care enough about what that person is saying anymore.

And that’s okay.

I may still be over capacity for what I can handle. I have no idea at this moment. But my twitter feed is more streamlined now. I’m ready to listen to those of you that have been lost in the sea of all the streaming tweets passing by on my screen.

I’m ready to have a real conversation and make amazing connections again.

And I’m just so tired of the antics that remind me of high school. You see a tiny avatar and 140 characters of a moment in time. But behind those tweets are real people with real emotions just trying to find a spot in the cafeteria of life. Don’t make them feel like they should sit alone.

February 21st, 2010

I Either Need Waterproof Mascara or a Therapist

I suppose it has just been one of those days. Or even just one of those weekends. Because when I think about it, I have cried at least once each of these past three days.

I’m not sure what my problem is.

But it isn’t very pretty.

Maybe it’s some sort of hormonal imbalance.

I mean, I’m a completely sensitive jackass regardless. Plus, I still haven’t had a period since the miscarriage. Which has to be throwing my hormones completely out of whack. Mix it together and kapow—you have a bat-shit crazy woman on your hands.

JQ is so lucky.

I cried today playing trains with G-tot. Trains. Which aren’t inherently sad. G-tot was pretending that Madge the truck had to go to work and Gordon the train engine had to go to school so he needed to say goodbye to Madge. Except he kept saying “mommy” instead of “Madge”.

“Goodbye Mommy.”

“I love you Mommy.”

And I cried. Because that is exactly how it is in our house on the mornings I work. Right down to the kiss goodbye he made sure Gordon gave Madge.

Then I cried more when JQ jokingly told G-tot to tell me to stop crying so much. Which is probably more like half-jokingly because, HOLY CRAP, I cry a lot.

Clearly I have some issues to work through.

So here I am at this moment in my life wondering if I really am coping with things well.

Some days I don’t feel like it at all.

Some days I feel like I’m stuck inside my head internalizing all my feelings because I don’t know how to communicate them without crying.

Some days I say nothing and still cry.

Good gravy I think I need some therapy.

January 14th, 2010

Scared

I’m scared.

I wasn’t before last week but now that I’ve told the world our news it feels so much more real. And that scares me. A lot.

I’m scared that something bad is going to happen.
I’m scared that I told everybody “too early”—whatever that means.
I’m scared at every painful twinge I feel in my uterus—no matter how minute.
I’m scared shitless after reading this post.

And you people really need to stop posting the “dead babies” status on Facebook. Forget taboo, it’s just depressing to see that every time I launch Facebook. Don’t you know FB is for mindless chatter and stupid games? Remembering dead babies is so not what I need to read right now. Give a pregnant lady a break won’t you?

I’m really scared that when I came home from the doctor’s today and peed I swore I saw a tinge of blood when I wiped. Not visible red blood or any spotting but—sorry for the TMI that comes next—a wipe that just looked too dark and swirling with that “almost the end of my cycle” kind of stuff. You ladies know what I’m talking about. But my in-laws had come over for dinner so I had to put on a happy face for the next couple of hours before I could tell JQ. Inside I felt like I was dying. My heart was breaking while I made pork chops and served mini chocolate ganache cakes. I didn’t want to be losing my little zygote.

As soon as they left I grabbed the extra pregnancy test out of the linen closet and shut myself in the bathroom. Still two pink lines. No questionable discolored wipe after I peed this time. But I couldn’t get that earlier pee out of my head. I came out of the bathroom with my jeans in my hands and just broke down and cried. I felt so helpless and scared for those two hours.

I don’t want to be scared.

Update 1.15: Woke up this morning with the same experience of that first pee yesterday. And cramping. Then with the next one actual blood. Not a tiny mix but actual red blood. Which sent me into a full on breakdown. Called the doctor and was sent for an ultrasound a couple hours later. The sonographer puts me at 5 wks and 6 days which is just the mark where they can detect anything on their machines. The ever so invasive trans-vaginal ultrasound detected a small flutter and I briefly heard the woosh-woosh of a heartbeat. I’m still really shaken up by the whole thing and still cramping. So I’m going to just try to take it easy for a few days. If you need me, I’ll be on the couch.

Update #2, 1.15: Lots more blood loss. Complete with clots—which will totally freak you out when you see it. Major cramping. Called the doctor. Ultrasound results came back fine. Said to get off my feet, get some rest and try to relieve some anxiety. Also wants to do another ultrasound in 10–14 days. Please keep sending your positive thoughts my way.