It’s been a while since I’ve written about anything serious on this blog. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Gishwhes is super serious, and I am still devastated that HIM is breaking up, but… Well.
First of all, I am really happy that Team Dandelions filled up so quickly. I never imagined having an entire Gishwhes team together in a matter of days. And by the looks of it, it is going to be an awesome year. Loads of creative and kind people on our team and I am so looking forward to gishing with them.
That said, I’ve been pretty quiet about my life lately, compared to what I would usually share on this blog. The truth is, I’ve been going through some personal issues, and I have no idea how to really talk to anyone about it.
Which led me to my doctors office, one day, unable to speak, because I could not stop crying. The poor guy took me in without an appointment and referred me to a psychiatrist.
What you need to understand about me, is that mental illness is not a thing in my family. If it is not physical, it is not real. You do not ask for help, unless it hurts somewhere, real, like an arm or a leg. Falling apart is simply not a possibility in my family.
So for me to actually ask for help, sorta, was something I thought I would never, ever do. And I haven’t really told anyone about it, because I doubt that anyone would be supportive. (The boyfriend excepted, but I don’t want to burden him with me being unable to handle my life, so… I get how unfair that is, I just can’t stop thinking like that.)
Long story short, seeing the psychiatrist went exactly as I had thought it would. She talked, I answered, and she had no idea what to do with me. I am not the kind of person who talks to strangers about myself, and I have no need to turn my childhood or anything else upside down in therapy sessions. I was there out of desperation, because I didn’t know what else to do, but that didn’t mean that I had any real need to talk to her.
She did end up giving me some kind of a diagnosis though, before she discontinued our sessions, not believing that she could help me, or that I could in anyway, change who I am. She believes that I am schizoid.
Naturally, I googled that, and even if I don’t find myself to be a perfect match, there sure is some points where I fit the description. Mostly, what stuck with me, was how being schizoid, is not schizophrenia. I don’t hear voices, I don’t believe that I am more than one person, stuff like that. No, I create fantasy worlds and live in them, and to me, they are more real than anything standing right in front of me.
Imagine that. I thought that was just me, you know, having and active imagination and it turns out, it’s a personalty disorder. Makes you wonder about a lot of authors, don’t it…
The psychiatrist believed too that the reason for my sadness is not depression, or anxiety, or anything remotely treatable. It is simply who I am, and something I will have to deal with. Mostly, it is triggered when I am forced to interact with the real world, and to be someone I am not. Like, normal. Doing the laundry, shopping, smiling when someone calls me “dear,” even though that always makes me want to stab people in the face. I despise it when people talk down to me, and most men do. Anyone who knows me, knows that you don’t say anything to me that you would not say to a man. Don’t call me “sweetheart,” don’t comment on my looks, don’t call me “pretty,” unless you are the kind of person who would call a man that too. I will hate you with a vengeance, behind my smile. And I will probably cry about it later, when I am alone.
Okay, staying on track here. Basically this diagnosis is giving me a reason for why I don’t play well with others. I realize that it is not just a blessing. I realize that it will be very easy for me to slip into my fantasy world completely, and avoid all human contact, now that I have a reason to. I am not normal. I can’t help it and I can’t change.
I realize too, that even if the psychiatrist told me that it was perfectly okay to be me, and that I have every right to be who I am, without feeling that I need to change, I don’t think I should just cut all ties to the real world. The thing that always scared me the most was me, being allowed to be… Just me.
As much as I love to be alone, to go for long walks with my pokedex, (pokemon go,) to hang with my horses, alone on our pasture, or to write on my books, I am terrified of the day when I don’t have a reason to talk to anyone anymore.
Which is why I do things like Gishwhes, and even took the job as team captain this year. I can be real, once in a while. I can deal with people, once in a while. I can be a part of this world, in my own small way.
Also, I still work out everyday, and I know it is becoming an obsession with me, like most things does. Having been raised to believe that I was sick, when I cried every morning when I had to leave for school, working out is in some strange way me, reclaiming my life at long last. I am not physically ill, despite the many diagnosis my mother made sure I got, to explain why she could not get me out the door. Part of me always knew that I wasn’t sick. I have worked with horses all my life, I have been the daily leader of stables since I was 13, unofficially, and sorta unpaid, but still. That is the kind of job that would wear down most people and someone diagnosed with ME (chronic fatigue syndrome,) asthma, and fibromyalgia should not be able to do any of it. But that was what the doctors told my mom, and that was what she told me and the school, when I could not breathe, crying my heart out, because I had to go to school. That is why I was allowed to stop going to school when I was 12 and never came back.
It is kind of empowering, to be working out now. To prove to myself once and for all, that they were all wrong. Maybe I should have realized it sooner, but I have to say, it is very hard to break free of how you were raised. Especially when you don’t have any other explanations for why you are just unable to put on your jacket and go to school like normal kids.
Well, I guess I do now. This is just who I am. Great.
In a way, working out, is making me interact with people too, since all the trainers at my gym knows my name by now and – hold on- talk to me when I show up. They are really awesome, all of them, and even if I wish they would not know me, and not force me to smile and answer them when they say hello, or ask if I’ve caught any good pokemon lately, (one of them plays as well, only he is team mystic… Tsk tsk…) I guess it is the kind of interaction that is good for me. Keeping me a little in the real world, not letting me slip entirely into my own fantasy world.
So, to sum up this long post, I guess that what I am trying to say is this; I am still here. For all of you who have worried that this blog has been quiet and that I have stopped answering my phone, I am sorry. I am trying very hard to deal with me at the moment, figuring out who I am and how to handle me.
I still have a long way to go, and the boyfriend and I are moving in a week, so my entire life is in boxes, and our economy is in ruins. Really, I like my fantasy world waaaaaay better than the real world. Just saying.
The horses are doing good though. Nothing much to update on there. Saleem broke another tooth, most likely because when he broke his mandible as a colt, the foundation for his teeth were damaged, so the vet was by again. Tardis is still improving on her cushings medication, although the edema under her belly doesn’t seem to be disappearing. Marble is lame again, as always when spring comes and she starts growing again. She is driving me insane, always growing into too tight tendons. But she is happy and does not require pain killers this year, so I guess I should not complain. Apocalipse and Ablaze are what keeps me sane (ish) these days. They are my two little angels.
I don’t have a lot to write about them anymore though, since no longer riding them has removed a lot of the stress I always felt around my horses. I no longer feel that they need to learn something, or that I need to do better, or that we need to compete and show the world that we are awesome. Seeing Apocalipse and Saleem play on the pasture is all I want these days. I honestly don’t miss riding at all. Who knows, maybe some day, I’ll go there again, but for now, I need a time out to get myself in order, and I have no business training them, asking them for something I may not be able to give myself. Luckily, they are happy, not working, and that is all I really want. For them to be happy.
As long as they are happy, there is one thing I am doing right. I guess that is a start.