Appelsin is such a buttface. I was trying peacefully look at Harry Potter fan theories and memes, when this little, clawed, fuzzy, ninja, indoor panther decides to attack my laptop from the bottom. I’m sitting on the couch with my right foot firmly on the floor, and my left foot crossed over onto my right knee, thus creating a small table for my laptop. The small space between my thunder thighs is just open enough so Appelsin can jump up and attack. So when I lift my laptop up, there is a small little kitten face staring at me. I can’t help but laugh because there is a pussy in between my legs.
I fucking hate the holidays. I keep asking Birth Giver if we can just cancel xmas. I’m not religious so I don’t give a shit about a “virgin” giving birth to some spawn of a god. Xmas always meant receiving presents, spending so much on gifts for others, and counting down the days until January 1st. I always feel like such a fucking brat on xmas, because I have my list and when I don’t get what I put on my list I feel horrible. Sometimes I have moments when I receive something I didn’t ask for, and am in awe of it. But that doesn’t happen too much.
I remember one year Birth Giver gave me this knitting circle thing. I guess I made such a face when I opened it. Birth Giver asked if I liked it, I responded “no” because I was told lying is bad. Apparently I wasn’t suppose to tell the truth either? The fucking asshat (abuser) started yelling at me saying I wasn’t suppose to tell Birth Giver that I didn’t like the gift she picked out for me. I don’t remember the year but it was at least 12 years ago. I still feel like it was recently. This is what the holidays do to me, bring up so much horrible memories. I hate decorating the house for the holidays I find it such a waste of time, plus I noticed that my anxiety skyrockets when I focus on the decorations. This past week I’ve had difficulty breathing when I was upstairs by the xmas tree. I don’t want there to be a reason for me to give gifts to those I care about, I rather give them as just because moments, or I saw this and thought of you moments.
I’m getting worked up again, but I needed to let out my thoughts. Appelsin is squeaky breathing, she’s not asleep, but breathing heavily enough that the air coming out of her snoot makes little squeaks. She’s now curled up in Orey’s bed. Stereotypical kitty. Orey is asleep on one of Birth Giver’s tote bags. He’s definitely a mama’s boy. My tea is delicious, so that helps my emotions, I guess.
On a slightly separate topic, how did the phrase “monsters under the bed” come to be socially acceptable? I never feared monsters under my bed, when I was young I would crawl under my bed to escape the monsters. As I grew, I couldn’t fit under my bed. Stupid Trisomy X Syndrome. When I would switch to different beds I couldn’t fit under those either, I would try hiding between my bed and the wall, but nothing seemed to protect me. I tried hiding in the closet too, but that would mean I would have to clean out all the shit I put in there when I was told to clean my room. When my parents divorced, I think I was the only one who was very excited over it. For years I would wish for them to get a divorce, I was terrified of the fucking asshat who claimed to be my father. I still don’t trust fatherly figures, yes I understand not all men are fucking asshats to their offspring, but there are some that are, and they terrify me. I guess I’m always on edge when I’m around young children because I get flashbacks of when I was a young tater tot and had to find ways to protect myself. (My eyes aren’t watering, yours are.)
When I’m with friends who have offspring, I desperately try to push away my memories and be in present moment. It’s difficult, so I guess that’s why I don’t go out in public a lot?
I’ve been wanting to write this post for awhile, get it out of my head. I took a lot of motivation for me to do so, I’m glad I finally did get it out, perhaps some of the nightmares will leave my head too?
I’ve put off writing a blog post long enough, I had legit reasons for why, no motivation, depression increasing, extreme exhaustion, wrist pain, Appelsin sitting on me asleep and purring. I mean that last one I thought that I would never be able to move. Once a kitty lays down on you, you’re pretty much stuck in that position until they get up and leave. As the chosen bed for the world leader you can not get up. Just accept your fate and be proud. Appelsin is sitting next to me as I type this up. Orey is on my shoulder laying on the back of the couch looking out the window…he was there first, then I sat down so of course he had to lean onto my shoulder for support. He’s tubby, which may or may not be my fault, I give him treats because he gives me *those* faces. When I don’t give him a treat, I avoid his eyes, he follows me, continuing to stare at me until I cave. I end up going downstairs where he can’t follow me. We have an understanding, which is why his nickname is Tubby.
Orey just moved to the other side of the couch, I think he can read, he didn’t like the Tubby comment.
I believe it was last month I had this great idea to write a blog post, but I never did. So I’ll write it now.
To set the scene I dropped out of college in the fall of 2012, I lasted 2 years and a week and a half at Colby-Sawyer College. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did honestly, I had lots of difficulty, not just with the work, but also my mental health. Campus Security was called on me at least twice. One time was because I cut myself with scissors, I didn’t have any plastic knives near me, which was my go to choice, because I couldn’t bring myself to use metal. A former friend called the heath center on me. Another time was because I turned my phone off so Birth Giver ended up calling Campus Security on me, having Campus Security knock on my dorm room was incredibly embarrassing, how I lasted another year was beyond me. This all happened my Freshman year.
I tried really hard in college, a lot of it I didn’t understand. When I would go to the tutoring place I didn’t ask more questions when I should have because I felt guilty for still not understanding the material after it was explained a bunch of times already. I liked some of my classes, but the material didn’t stick in my head. So when the exams came around I would always draw a blank on the answers.
I loved hanging out with my friends, and being in the clubs, I remember I told an upperclassman that I felt like I was at a summer camp the first week. I was having fun, perhaps I’m really good at pretending everything is okay when really it’s not? My Soul Mate in Friend Form was the first one to tell me how college isn’t for everyone. She was there for me during my multiple break downs, particularly one in the library. It was finals and I had waited till the last week because of course I did. I was in the basement of the library trying very hard to hold in a massive panic attack. This was Sophomore year.
I left during Junior year a week and half in, I already missed 2 days worth of classes, I couldn’t leave my room. My depression was getting worse by the minute. I felt extremely guilty being on my friend’s “Worst Roommates List” she hadn’t said anything to me about this, but I just knew I was on there. Plus my grandmother went to Colby-Sawyer College, she was so proud of me getting accepted that I didn’t want to leave or disappoint her. So I continued to suffer because I didn’t want to be the family disappointment.
When I got home I deleted so many college friends off of my Facebook. I was so ashamed for having to leave due to my mental health that I didn’t want to burden my friends. It’s been 5 years since I dropped out. I’m proud of my friends who have graduated, I’m upset that I burned those bridges with some friends, I can’t just “add friend” to a bunch of them because that’s just how I am as a Potato.
For a while whenever my depression and surprise bag of mental illness started to increase (usually around August) I would delete friends off of Facebook because of the fear, embarrassment, guilt, all around depression of not wanting to be a burden to everyone. Then in the Spring I would add them back, or try to. I would also just give up on the adding back, because of the thought of how obnoxious it must be to be deleted then added back.
There was another topic I wanted to do, but I forget what it was, plus this topic took a lot out of me, but it also feels powerful to finally let it out. As I was writing this post outside my window was moving day for a family of squirrels. I watched as Momma squirrel carried at least 3 baby squirrels out of a tree hole, one by one, moving them to another tree out of view from the window. I grabbed some photos and a video.
Left: Momma Squirrel is guarding the tree hole with baby squirrels inside.
Right: Momma Squirrel totally sees me
I noticed something on my birthday, April 3rd. Despite turning 25, I don’t feel, or rather I don’t see myself as an adult. In fact ever since I turned 18 I never see myself as an adult. I always feel like a child in this strange body. I’ve asked friends if they ever feel as though they are trapped in a body that isn’t their own, not in a transgender way, but as a “yo-this-body-doesn’t-fit-my-age.” Friends have informed me that no they do not feel that way. I let Birth Giver know, and asked if it was part of having Trisomy X, plus being on the Autism Spectrum, she said it is possible.
The event that gave me the epiphany:
T’was the evening of Monday April 3rd, this vision takes place at a Shaw’s grocery store. All I wanted was a toy in the 75 cent machine. The toy was called “Dogs in Disguises” Despite already having one- Diablo, a white dog disguised as the devil- I wanted to see what my chances were of getting a different one. I put three quarters in the machine and turned. CLICK. Open the flap, no toy. WTF! Shit, now I have to go get my refund of 75 cents. When this happens at Hannaford they give me my refund of 75 cents not problem, it has happened more than once so the workers at Hannaford know the drill. However Shaw’s did not know the drill. The workers at Shaw’s told me they don’t control the toy machines, since they’re controlled through a vendor. I know this, I just want my 75 cent refund. Lady from customer service followed me back to the scene of the crime, aka where robots ate my money. She asked a bagger what to do in this situation, he said he didn’t know, page the manager? Manager was paged, after a few more back and forth conversations, I was finally able to get my 75 cent refund. First I had to fill out a form, because of course I did. I put my preferred last name “Sir-Potato” since the whole ordeal was ridiculous. While this was happening, Birth Giver and her bf were wondering what was taking me so long. In the car ride back Birth Giver said from her point-of-view it was looking like ‘better give this grown ass woman her 75 cents back before shit goes down!’ Oh. This explains the reaction of the workers at Shaw’s, see I saw everything as, ‘humans are being rude! Robots ate my 75 cents, please just give me my refund and I’ll be on my way.’ This whatever it is, also explains the reaction from the bagger and cashier when I was offered the entire roll of stickers at Trader Joe’s one time. IT ALL MAKES SENSE! HUMANS SEE ME AS A GROWN ASS ADULT! SO OF COURSE THEY’RE GOING TO GIVE ME WEIRD GLARES, WHEN I DO WEIRD SHIT.
Since this power of knowledge has absorbed my mind, I of course have been reliving so many embarrassing memories, all of them are when I’m trying to fall asleep. So I’ll be up at night fighting my past memories, it’s difficult to fight them alone, which is why I’m so grateful that Boobsie comes running out of nowhere, to help calm me down. I usually fall asleep petting his fluffy belly, since I am allowed to do so. I also tend to wake up, with my hand still on his fluffy fur.
I think it’s interesting when I let other humans know that I am on the Autism Spectrum. They don’t believe me at first, but why would I lie about that? I’m not a believable liar, I would test lies out on a nosey neighbor, (made up relatives died) I mean there was that one time I convinced an elderly couple that Birth Giver named me Potato when I was born, because when I popped out of her I was such an ugly child. I have no idea how I was able to keep such a still face when telling them this, because every time I retell the memory I am cracking up. I bet it’s because of my great acting…which is like the acting in porn. Cringe worthy. I know I can’t act, which is why I’m always surprised when someone believes a lie. Am I learning how to properly lie? Or am I just magical? Probably magical, I am a changeling after all!
A teddy bear dog (Orey) snuggling a gay leather daddy teddy bear (Bun Bun):
Whenever I do or say something questionable, I tell myself “I’m an adult!” As though to make whatever I just did seem totally acceptable.
There seems to be a confusion about my Rock Band. They aren’t a band in the sense that they play instruments or sing, they’re a band as in they band together. My rocks are there for each other and me. Each time I pick up a rock I needed to find it for some reason. I’ve had friends help name my rocks as a way to help me keep connected.
1 .Bob the Boulder: It was late fall 2015, I don’t remember 2015 that great. 2015 was as if my mind was on pause, so my body just operated on its own. I think I had so much shit happen to me in 2014, that I had to block out 2015 so I wouldn’t have more shit piled on. The last 6 months of 2014 I had multiple humans abandon me during the time I needed them the most, these were human who I thought were my friends. I realize now it was for the best, unfortunately I wasn’t able to realize this sooner. During fall 2015 I was at my worst, my closest friends lived states away, I couldn’t open my door to greet SMiFF like in college. Every time I walked to work I would pass this rock on the side of the road, I would give it that head nod, the ones that humans give to each other as a greeting. You know the one that doesn’t involve talking, aka the best kind of greeting. One day before leaving Potato Manor I grabbed a reusable cloth bag, when I walked up to Bob I picked it up and put it inside my bag. Bob ended up being half covered in dirt. So basically I dug up a huge rock before going to work. When I walked into the cafe I remember Ms. Rapture asking me what was weighing down my bag I had draped over my arm. I told her I found a new friend in the form of a rock. I texted Science Lesbian asking for rock puns, she delivered with Bob the Boulder along with a few other options. My former coworkers agreed Bob the Boulder was the best name.
2. Kk the llama Rock: Stranger Danger texts “K” to me all the time. Yes, he’s one of those humans who texts me pictures of decapitated bodies. (OK looks like a sideways stick figure) I texted him asking to name my pet rock, he responded with “Kk” I responded with “Ll” because our conversations are amazing. Llama was the first word to come to mind that started with “Ll” According to Stranger Danger I named Kk the Llama Rock in homage to him, since he had no part in naming my rock.
3. Squire Spud: This one is in the shape of a potato. I’m Sir-Changeling aka Potato, so of course I have a squire! A friend named this one for me.
4. Peaches: Birth Giver found this rock on one of her hikes. She suggested I name it Crystal because of the way it looked. That was such a generic name, I asked SMiFF who informed me the name Peaches was better.
5. Melvin: This rock showed itself to me when I was leaving the Lake House aka my grandparents’ summer home. Melvin Village, New Hampshire on Lake Winnipesaukee is the location of the Lake House. I never refer to the Lake House as my second home, it has always been my grandparents’ summer home, saying that it’s my second home never felt right to say. In my dreams the Lake House always appears as a safety base right before a nightmare starts.
6. Shit Nugget: I was walking to meet Birth Giver at a gas station so she could then drive me back to Potato Manor. (This was during when I was in CKA, the sous chef would be making up lies to stir up unnecessary drama in the class. Which gave me unnecessary panic attacks that resulted to locking myself in a bathroom trying to calm down enough to get through the day.) I was angrily stomping my way to the gas station, I was upset that this disgusting human was able to get to me this much. I found a rock at the same moment I shouted “She’s such a shit nugget!” I then squeezed my rage into said rock, my anger was able to go through me into the vessel of a rock. With the help of my classmates and Chef I was able to succeed in blocking out her drama. Having my Chef say “it’s okay to say no” was a huge relief for me. I never told the sous chef “no” but I said it in a different way, which apparently was me sassing her in a way that made her livid. My classmates told me to keep on sassing this human, since it gave them life. Shit Nugget is that reminder that I won’t let some disgusting human get me down.
7. King Momo: I had this rock that was without a name, so I posted on Facebook that I needed a name for a rock, in exchange I would send noms to the winner. A friend I’ve known since Elementary School provided the name “King Momo” she also told me to look up the meaning behind the name.
8. Petunia: While visiting my brother’s girlfriend’s parents on a mini vacation with Birth Giver we were tourists at Plymouth Rock. Along the shops in the area there was a small one with Harry Potter merchandise. I found a rock outside the shop, deciding to name it Petunia rather than Plymouth (the name that was suggested).
9. Lucifer aka Luci: On my way to bother…uh I mean drop off noms, visit former coworkers, and try to free the major guilt that was associated with my former work place. I found a rock. I gave my 2 weeks notice in late February 2016, however I wasn’t able to free my guilty conscious from the flashbacks until January 2017. Flashbacks of having to leave all the time because of anxiety attacks from register trauma. End 2014 to early 2015 not only was I severely depressed, but I was terrified of an assistant manger who worked there. I couldn’t work the closing shifts on Mondays, because the fear this assistant manager gave me was so strong. I was convinced he would kill me from the day I met him. Saying this out loud seemed so ridiculous I kept it bottled up.
Whenever I had to work a shift I would prep myself 2 hours before leaving Potato Manor. Of course even then I wasn’t able to complete my shift, I would get to work act like I got this, last about 2 hours, end up having to flee from register because I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I never really forgave myself for letting down coworkers as well as the other managers who thought they could count on me. I would mentally beat myself up about this night after night. At one point after holding in 5+ hours worth of anxiety this assistant manager told me “we don’t need you anymore” before taking my register drawer to go count it in the office. I broke down in front of everyone. I somehow was able to tell the head manager that I needed to leave right then. I couldn’t look him in the eye as I told him this. I was so broken from such extreme mental issues.
I kept hoping the flashbacks would stop once that assistant manager left. Obviously that didn’t happen, instead increased panic attacks happened. I thought about leaving to find a different job, but whenever I would look at job ads I would have so much anxiety that I could never click on the job description. When I finally was able to leave the job I had the most guilt from the feel like I was abandoning everyone who counted on me. Especially the head manger. I never really felt as though I deserved the amount of respect he gave me. I stayed as long as I did because I couldn’t bring myself to leave, I felt as though I owed him so much for all he did for me. That’s a weird sentence, I feel I owe a person for treating me with respect.
I would always bring noms as a peace offering to the Friendly’s Ghost in hopes that maybe I could be free from this fear. It took until January 2017 to be free from the traumatic flashbacks. I invited myself to a work meeting, I told humans it was for the free food, when really it was so I could soothe my guilty conscious. I skipped one of those work meetings in 2014 because of the insane amount of fear due to that one manager. Lucifer seemed like a good name for this rock, which is tiny by the way. This tiny rock which stands for so much fear I’ve gone through.
10. Tootie: I told Birth Giver that while at Goodwill I farted since another customer was getting too close to my personal space. My grandmother told me she taught me well. There was a rock near Birth Giver’s car as she picked me up that day.
11. Herbert: I dunno, I found it while shopping at outlet stores. I thought the name was odd, like my rock.
12. Stirling Hatred: SMiFF gave me the name as we were reminiscing inside jokes from college. I had a rock that needed a name, after a fit of giggles it was decided.
16. Dewey: SMiFF loves Malcolm in the Middle I had 4 rocks which needed names.
17. Wanker: it’s fun to say…
18. Fredlicia: I walked into my former work place with noms as well as the announcement that I found a new rock, who needs a name. Fred was a name that was suggested, someone else told me to add “licia” to the end. Thus Fredlicia!
19. Global Warming: This one is in the shape of Vermont. Winter 2016-2017 has been crazy.
When I was in middle school I would tell new friends that I was shy at first, but once I opened up more I was alright. I continued to say that through high school, some friends would chime in saying that I wasn’t shy whatsoever. I remember having this embarrassed feeling engulf me, but still manage to continue on with the conversation, despite the awkwardness inside my head.
ERMAHGERD IT WAS ANXIETY! I HAD EXTREME ANXIETY THEN I JUST DIDN’T KNOW THE WORD!
So I guess those humans were right with saying that I was not shy. I didn’t use the correct word to describe myself. I should’ve said “I have extreme anxiety, that will turn into crippling anxiety in the future.” I recently had the epiphany: ‘oh, I’ve always had anxiety. I just didn’t know it at the time.’ Along with the extreme anxiety meant the attacks that followed when too many emotions would happen at once, or I didn’t know how to deal with my anxiety so of course I would burst. I would always try to have my attacks at my house, rather than in public. Or a bathroom if I could find one. Which is odd because the feeling of being trapped is not one that I enjoy. So going to a bathroom hiding myself behind closed doors and walls probably isn’t the greatest coping skill. I say “isn’t” because I still do it.
I was told growing up that my anxiety attacks, panic attacks and anger attacks were all temper tantrums. So that’s what I would tell others that I had. I remember the looks I received back all made me seem as though I was pathetic. I bet if I changed the wording I wouldn’t have had those looks given to me. Which is stupid.
I don’t remember my first panic attack, but I do remember a bunch of them. The outcome of all of them were horrible. If I was around my Abuser whenever one would happen, I would get a hard smack across my face followed by yelling such as “STOP CRYING! IF YOU DON’T STOP CRYING I WILL SMACK YOU ACROSS YOUR FACE SO HARD YOUR NOSE WILL BLEED! THAT WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!” The reason for that response was because I was upset that a science project didn’t work the way I wanted it to at home. When my cousin showed me how to do it, it went smoothly. So I slammed my hand on the wall and stomped away crying very upset. Only to have him follow me to my room and yell at me. Birth Giver didn’t do anything to stop him. Maybe that’s why I’m terrified to have panic attacks in front of others?
(Birth Giver asked me if I call him Sperm Donor, since she’s Birth Giver. I told her his name is Abuser)
I have to stop this post now, because I work at 7am today. It’s 5:33am currently so I need time to calm down the swirling flashback memories.
I’ve been trying my best just to get through December, I’m not sure how well that’s going, because I just want to live in my bed and never leave. My bed is very comfy, as well as warm (I love my heated mattress pad) plus there’s usually a cat or a dog on my bed at any given moment. For example, Orey is snoring next to me.
My depression becomes increasingly worse throughout the winter, and in December it just feels extremely painful and difficult to do anything. Holidays always give me major anxiety, not that I need it with my daily crippling anxiety…I’ve been dreading xmas 2016 since xmas 2015. I don’t see the point of the holiday I’m not religious, and I don’t see the need to visit extended family or Skype even. I told my Birth Giver in November 2015 that I don’t want to see my extended family for at least 5 more years. I saw them this past summer. Birth Giver told me that she misses going down to NJ to visit family each year, because xmas time is the best with seeing family and whatnot. Going to NJ was always a hassle for me. Long car ride, seeing family for too long, not being able to escape to my room for safety. I would be in a guest room, but that’s not my room, and foreign rooms don’t have that much safety feeling. Plus xmas time was very stressful growing up. My abuser aka my dad would always make putting up the tree the worst thing ever. I remember there was always yelling, and I would end up crying and running away, sometimes I would be slapped for “talking back” or trying to explain my side of things through tears and snot. I’m extremely thankful that my parents got a divorce when they did. I wish it was sooner though, I remember calling my brother one night, he was away at college. I was crying telling him how terrified I was that our parents were yelling, I was afraid that our dad would come into my room and hit me. So I was hiding in my closet, hoping to be invisible.
I have daddy issues, along with other issues. I suppose that’s why I have a love for morbid dark humor.
My allergist appointment showed that I am not allergic to dairy, instead my crippling anxiety convinced me that I was. So from the end of April-beginning of December I was convinced that I was allergic to dairy because of my anxiety. Life with dairy again has been good, skim milk is delicious! I missed the taste of skim milk. Cheese is a wonderful thing. The carrot cupcakes at my work are extremely flavorful!
As I write this post, I’m very out of it, my depression is bad, I’m lonely all the time, I have ptsd flashbacks and nightmares when I sleep, so I don’t want to sleep, but I need to sleep. To make matters worse I stopped visiting former coworkers, because every time I would visit this one fucker would remind me how last winter I had an anger attack and threw a dishpan at him. Needless to say I had so much guilt bubbling inside me, I was afraid to go back to the cafe, I was afraid to face my former coworkers. Anger attacks are the worst for me, I don’t have control over my body or actions. I don’t like having these types of mental breakdowns in public, so to know that a bunch of former coworkers saw me like that, I don’t feel safe going back. Chances are I’m going to be reminded how I threw a dishpan at someone. I was told I’m never going to live that down. My therapist mentioned how I need to forgive myself for that moment, and I thought I did, but now I’m not sure. I told myself that he deserved it, because that night he was being a real jerk, hiding my drink on me, untying my apron, being obnoxious to a ticking time bomb he had it coming. Then to remind me (once my mental health was getting better) how unstable and broken I was. I just feel like crying all the time, sometimes tears don’t run down my face, my eyes hurt too much to create the relief of tears. (Bobo is sitting in my lap purring, since he knows I’m upset. Orey is still next to me snoring.)
I usually reread my posts, take out all the times I typed “and” swap it for a different word, but I can’t do it this time. I forgot what else I was going to put in this post. Despite how difficult this month is the rest of my year has been excellent. I’m trying to stay positive, so sending dank memes to Science Lesbian, Queersaders, SMFF, and Stranger Danger. As well as avoiding my former work place, which has been hard because I miss seeing the other employees…but for my mental health I can’t go there for awhile.
Derpy smile in this photo. Bobo bought me this huge can of pumpkin that was on clearance. So now I have 12 cans of pumpkin puree and a massive can of pumpkin puree.
Life is difficult this season, but I do know I have friends, humans, and animals that do care about me.
As I walked into the kitchen to put my dirty tiny mug, that once was over filling with dairy free chocolate chips, into the sink since the dishwasher is clean and my energy to empty it is not present, I see a dog dish soaking in soapy water. This is when it hits me. She’s gone. I leave the kitchen to see Orey, a round (from too many treats) Bichon Frise Shih Tzu mix lying on the back of the couch looking out the window into the night. Bobo is curled up on a chair, his fuzzy little paw is hiding his face. The room is silent otherwise. I sat down on the couch looked up at Orey. “You miss her, don’t you? She’s gone.” I whispered to Mr. Rollie Pollie. I got up because I really had to pee, my bladder really knows how to ruin the moment. Orey followed me, because of his fomo. (fear of missing out) I went back into my room, to see Orey aka Hoover licking my floor (he’s a weird dog.) He’s having trouble getting on beds, so I picked him up he smooshed onto my blanket.
October 26, 2016 at 1:30pm is when my birth giver and I drove Winnie, a mutt of unknown breeds, to the vet to be put down. Winnie, or as I called her, Winifred Johnson had many nicknames, however her given name was Winnipesaukee as in Lake Winnipesaukee in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. She responded best to Winifred Johnson though…or Winnie.
The past couple months had been really hard for her, she was in pain, she wasn’t taking her pills, (forcing a dog to take pills is not something that wants to be dealt with) she was having trouble pooping, but more recently every time she would get up she would yelp in pain. Waking up around 2am because your pet is crying in extreme pain, because her paws hurt, is hard to listen to. It’s hard the first time as well as the last time.
Winnie spent her last day, asleep on a feather blanket I have in front of my space heater. Outside it was in the low 30’s, inside my room the temperature was near 70 degrees. I called my birth giver a couple times, the first time to let her know that Winnie had tried to get up, but ended up crying in such a high pitched yelp that my chest hurt because of having to listen to her in pain, but not being able to do much. I put her pills in some turkey flavored wet dog food, she inhaled that as if it was her last meal. Winnie always was a little turd about taking pills, so for her to eat the food as fast as she did, told me that she knew something was wrong. You could see it in her eyes as well. She took her time going down the 6 steps to get to the front door so I could take her outside to go the bathroom. Having to pause at each step for a couple moments, waiting for the pain to pass enough so she could just walk down till the next one.
I called my birth giver, in tears saying how much Winnie was in pain, she couldn’t walk down the steps, she was yelping every time she moved her paws when lying down. It was painful for me to watch. I couldn’t handle watching her in so much pain. I took a shower, but I don’t know how much of the water was from the shower head, or how much was from my eyes.
It’s not a secret that I didn’t connect with Winnie. We rescued Winnie two weeks after our first dog, Bailey died of cancer on July 3, 2004. There wasn’t much time for mourning Bailey, because there was a new dog that needed love and attention. Winnie lived on the streets for at least the first year of her life. For the next 12 years Winnie was with us, I didn’t want her to be with us, since it felt too much like she was replacing Bailey. It hurt seeing her be in the house, sleeping on our beds. Bailey used to be there. That was Bailey’s spot. Winnie was so malnourished, but we fattened her up…or rather made her a nice healthy weight. I was at a summer camp when my family brought Winnie home, so I didn’t have a say in whether or not she stayed. It didn’t matter though.
I used to go on long walks with Winnie around my neighborhood. I stopped though because a golden retriever attacked us one day. The dog was behind an electric fence, except the fence wasn’t working that day, the owner didn’t realize the dog was outside, so when Winnie and I were walking by and the dog was charging at us, I kept thinking the fence would stop it. Instead this big dog was coming right at us. I tried to protect Winnie by putting myself between the two dogs, since Winnie was never great with other dogs, living on the street she was probably in a lot of fights. Winnie however kept trying to protect me by putting herself in between me and the other dog. The owner eventually noticed and came after his dog, trying to tell me that I should bring my dog back for another meeting in a closed area. I lied and said sure, so he would let me leave. Winnie and I didn’t go on our long walk that day, we turned back and walked home. That was the last time I went on a long walk in my neighborhood. I also developed a fear of big dogs.
It’s surprisingly hard to write about Winnie and memories about her. I was telling Science Lesbian earlier how I was okay about having to put Winnie down. I’m pretty sure that was just the denial taking over, I’m excellent at avoiding my feelings for things. Ask SMFF she’ll agree and tell you how I won’t admit that I love someone until it hurts to breathe because thinking of said human hurts me. When I finally admit it out loud, SMFF is there to tell me “So you’re finally admitting it. That took longer than necessary.”
All of those pictures were taken today, on Winnie’s last day. It sucks losing a pet, and it hurts too much to write anything more.
P.S. Thank you to the vet who called her a turkey, she was a turkey, even though she was a dog, and the dog is not a turkey, the turkey is a turkey, you turkey.
Another thank you to the waitress at Denny’s, you were extremely nice, even before my birth giver told you we just had to put our dog down. I wish we could give you a $100 tip, but unfortunately we can’t. The Rudolph cup, with antlers and a red nose, was what I needed to help make me smile.
A third thank you to the elderly man who walked by our table at Denny’s. He farted quite loudly. I laughed.
And as always thank you to Science Lesbian and SMFF, for being there for me, without judgement.
I was watching Bob’s Burgers on Netflix, until I became bored with Netflix. Which is quite easy to do. I’m probably going to cancel my account because ugh it’s getting boring. Plus now that I finished Lost Girl, there’s really no point in Netflix. Watching TV is getting to be a lot of work, or perhaps it’s my attention that is not catching up to Netflix standards? Anyway I decided to have a BuzzFeed marathon, because those are fun, up until I read a post about how offended humans are. Then my marathoning slows down, because BuzzFeed is starting to sound like Tumblr’s other personality. You know the one who bitches about how everyone is oppressing them, they aren’t using that word in the correct way. Bye Felicia!
This Fucking Post is what I shall be ranting about today. If you don’t want to go on BuzzFeed that’s fine, I think I’ll be able to capture what my opinion in a way that makes sense…possibly…you’ll probably still want to click the link.
Apparently Mental Hospitals aren’t a topic to be joked about. Which is stupid because everything can be joked about. If I think something is funny that doesn’t necessarily mean I support it. To quote Jim Jefferies in FreeDumb (which is on Netflix. Stand up comedy is probably the best part of Netflix) “You can joke about anything, a joke doesn’t mean intent.” I joke all the time about mental hospitals, despite the fact that I am terrified that I will one day be sent back there. By making jokes about it, it makes the fact less scary.
Also I’m extremely disappointed that no one was wearing those strait jackets, and in rooms with white padded walls. Although several teenagers should have been in strait jackets, myself included. (Imagine falling and trying to get back up!) I’ve had humans joke with me saying they see a “room with white padded walls in my future.” I let them know that Mental Hospitals don’t have those, so where are these walls they speak of? Also I would run at those white padded walls to see if they were really padded. I would like to test those out. Can you imagine if that was a job?
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I run at padded walls to make sure they are safe enough for mental hospital patients.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is, it’s even better when I wear the strait jacket to run into the walls.”
For the humans who claim that mental hospital themed Halloween decorations are offensive, I wonder if they have ever been to one? I’ve noticed that a lot of the humans who are butthurt about topics are usually the ones that don’t have to deal with said topics. There was an abandoned asylum type theme park that was shut down because humans found it offensive. These types of humans are the worst, because they are ruining others’ fun. I’m not a fan of being scared, (I will go on strike by not sleeping if I have nightmares) but I wouldn’t want to take away someone else’s fun. My Soul Mate in Friend Form loves horror movies, I can’t watch them. Yes, she’ll tease me a little bit about it, but if I really want to be scared I can just open up the memories from my PTSD.
The decorations are a bit wrong though, the sign wouldn’t be written in blood, however it is true about no one leaving. A kid ran away once, and humans flipped shit. The Po-Po was called, no one was allowed to leave the building that day. The kid was found and brought back, he earned respect from me that day. I didn’t become his friend or anything, but he was able to run away from his aid, I think he got to the next town over or something. I saw him as extremely brave. Wait I just remembered someone wrote “GET ME OUT OF HERE!” on the white walls, in red paint one time.
The rags would have to be in the design of bars over windows, to give it that nice homey Mental Hospital feel. Oh and calling it an Asylum just sounds great, which it’s not. So that’s why I call them Mental Hospitals, because I loathe hospitals….and doctors.
This was an odd post, but basically I just really want one of those decorations, but I can’t because they’re off the shelves…and I don’t want to buy one.
I came across my two favorite jokes when I was in elementary school. I don’t remember when exactly this happened, because time is a figment of your imagination. I’m not surprised these are my 2 favorite jokes, because honestly they describe me so much. One can be seen as offensive to others, but it’s a hilarious joke, so those who get offended need to chill.
Three people are running away from the police, a blonde, a red head, and a brunette. The police are gaining on the three when they notice a pile of potato sacks, seeing as there isn’t much time the three all agree to be animals hiding in the sacks. When the police get to the scene they kick one potato sack “woof” the brunette barked. The police kick another potato sack the red head hissed. When the police kicked a third potato sack the blonde called out “POTATO!”
How do you kill a retard?
Give them a knife and ask “who is special?”
I’ve been having a very difficult time trying to give myself motivation to even write a post. This is what fall season does to me, basic bitches will go post pictures of their Starbucks drinks, or pumpkins in bad filters, and I’m trying to find reasons why getting out of bed is a good thing. I get up to go pee, and then it’s back to bed for me. Depression sucks, anxiety sucks. Both at the same time is a workout. Why should I run when I can have an anxiety attack, it does the same thing for me: out of breath, heavy breathing, exhausted, sweaty, shaking, wondering why that was necessary?
I am actually okay with my weight, the only reason I need to lose weight is so I can get my tits professionally chopped off. I have to be at a safe weight for the surgery, so I don’t feel anything. Plus I figured if I stay this weight, I won’t get kidnapped. Fat humans don’t get kidnapped, eat cake, stay safe!
My birth giver told me I should write a memoir, because my writing skills are amazing, and I’m hilarious…or something like that. My short term memory isn’t great.
This post was just going to be an update of how my depression sucks and I’m trying to hold on, but I decided to make this about my tattoos.
My first tattoo was this faery shadow. I spent about 10 minutes or so trying to figure out how I wanted the colors of her wings. The faery is holding a blue rose, which I researched and apparently blue roses symbolizes fantasy. The freckle at the tip of her foot was not planned to be near my tattoo, it just happened that way. Science Lesbian told me it’s a potato. I agreed. Every human I meet ask if this is a shrine to Tinkerbell. It’s not, Tinkerbell is too innocent for this faery. The shadow is because I didn’t want to think of what she would be wearing, so colored in black with the color in the wings and rose was enough for me. Since this was my first tattoo I went into the tattoo shop anxious, everyone I had asked told me getting tattoos was painful and that this was going to hurt. Even the website said it would hurt getting a tattoo. As soon as the gun hit my arm, I asked when the pain would start. During the procedure I stated that this was the best feeling I’ve ever had, and if I had enough money I would want to be tattooed by multiple artists at once to soak up the comfort. The tattoo artist smirked at this response, I go in anxious thinking it will be painful, end up being upset at everyone who lied to me about this. I did research for a year or so what I wanted my tattoo to be, as well as where I wanted it to be located. I remember my birth giver picked me up one day from work, I sat in the car and informed her that I would be getting a tattoo the next day with money from my paycheck. She told me how my cousin’s wife has a tattoo that she regrets, how a tattoo was permanent, that I should really think about this. I responded I’m not my cousin’s wife, I know tattoos are permanent, that’s the point. Plus I thought about this decision for a while. When I asked to get my nose pierced she told me “it’s your body” so when she was hesitant about me getting a tattoo, I told her “it’s my body.”
My second tattoo was Hello Kitty. (Red bow) I was extremely excited to get this tattoo, despite my poor choices with who I went with to get it. I love Hello Kitty. Plus I believe in the saying “if you got it flaunt it.” My tits are huge! Getting Hello Kitty on my tit was a great choice. She became Hello Titty. Shout out to my eskimo sister for coming up with that name. A year later I got my fifth tattoo Mimmy White, Hello Kitty’s twin sister. It was lucky that I decided to put Hello Kitty on my left tit when I did, because of the bow placement. Mimmy White is known to have a yellow bow, whereas Hello Kitty usually has the red bow. Hello Titty became part of the Titty Twins. Getting Mimmy White on my right tit, felt like a piece of a coming clicking together. The Titty Twins are done by 2 different artists, which I like seeing the different art techniques. I could probably go and have Mimmy White’s eye fixed a little bit, but I’m not going to. She’s special looking (heh heh to joke number 2) and I love it.
My third tattoo was this bisexual pride symbol. Unfortunately it’s a matching set with someone, who I don’t talk to anymore because his views on life are insane! He’s basically like the Westboro baptist church of feminism. He’s one of the humans who’s views are so extreme that he makes other sane supporters look bad. We used to be great friends at a summer camp, then not having seen each other for 10 years he visited me. We went and got tattoos because tattoos are amazing. A couple months after that visit I saw his true personality, and that’s not what I needed in my life. I hate cutting humans out of my life, but it needed to be done. For a while I thought about getting this tattoo laser removed, but I decided to turn it into a lesson. Since I love this tattoo. Now when humans ask me what it means I say “basically it means I support everyone unless you’re a douche canoe.” The fact that my former friend is trans has nothing to do with why we don’t talk anymore. His personality of claiming to be right all the time, then if someone called him out on his shit he would get them to back off by saying “stop oppressing me!” He wasn’t using the word in the correct context, and he wouldn’t own up to his shit. That bothered me. Plus he couldn’t see the humor in the shit life throws. Everything was horrible, and not to be laughed at. I just rolled my eyes, because of how ridiculous he is.
My fourth tattoo I got on a Friday the 13th. So this tattoo ended up costing $13. My mental state was not the greatest time to get a tattoo, in fact I should not have gotten this tattoo. For a couple years this was a huge regret. I got this tattoo with the Shopping Cart, he has Skeletor on his arm….or he did I have no idea if he still has it or not. The theme for these Friday the 13th tattoos was 80’s cartoons. I saw the outline of my tattoo drawn on a sheet of paper with other 80’s cartoon characters, it was the cutest one on the paper. What was my main reason for picking this tattoo out? It was cute. Yes, I am one of those humans! When the artist was done with my tattoo he asked me the following:
“Is Orko your favorite character?”
“Orko. The character on your forearm.”
“Oh. What’s he from?”
“He-Man. You should probably watch a couple episodes.”
“Nah, I’m good. Now I can be one of those humans who has a tattoo from something I’ve never seen!”
My former Boss Man watched the show growing up so he thought I was ridiculous for getting this tattoo. Well he thinks I’m ridiculous for other reasons so it’s whatever. A year after getting this tattoo I researched Orko on Wiki for 5 minutes. I gathered what I needed to know, turns out I have a lot in common with this character.
(The scars next to my tattoo are from a time I thought that catching a baking sheet with my arm was a smart choice. It just came out of the oven with cookies on it. The cookies didn’t fall, but I earned my baker’s tiger stripes. I laughed when this happened, because it was a stupid idea, but it was hilarious.)
My sixth tattoo was the word Changeling on my left forearm. If you’ve been following this blog there’s really no need for me to explain why I got this tattoo. If this is the first post you are reading, welcome to my blog! Go read the other posts to understand more.
My seventh tattoo was my Potato! I asked Science Lesbian to sketch it out for me and she did! My Potato is on my left shoulder, which I found out it where the Devil sits in the cartoons of an angel vs the devil. I researched that. My Potato is holding a red notebook and a purple pen, so he can write down my notes. He’s my Shoulder Assistant, the red notebook is because red is my favorite color, the purple pen is because one of my nicknames is Purple Majesty, which is a type of potato. The three spuds indicate my past, present, and future. My former Boss Man was so surprised when I got it, he didn’t think I would go through with the thought. Which is stupid, because it’s me. When I say I’m going to do something, I plan on doing it. When it happens is a surprise.
My eighth tattoo is another Friday the 13th tattoo. This year’s theme was bad luck, so those squiggly lines are to say that the sashimi is rotten. I saw it as a spirit finger type thing. Plus my love for Japanese culture I had to get this design. My friend Ms. Rapture likes to introduce me as: “This is Potato, she has a tattoo of a rotten fish on her arm.”
When I got my first tattoo I told my then doctor that I would stop self harming and get tattoos instead. I kept that promise, I don’t remember the last time I cut myself. There have been time when the urge was strong, I did give in a couple times, but I haven’t in a while. I’ve gotten tattoos instead. I’m currently thinking of another tattoo to get, but I need to do more planning.
I was prompted to tell the fascinating tale of how I sold my soul to Satan in high school. However since I have a problem with phone games I had to wait to run out of lives before I could write this. I don’t understand why humans will waste real money on phone games, if you just wait the lives will fill back up! Or you can do what I do download a bunch of free games to pass the time. Such as solitaire. I’m addicted to solitaire. However there’s worse things I could be addicted to, like drugs. Which got me thinking…I’m addicted to my medications…does that mean I’m addicted to drugs?! When I go off my medication (I’ve done so multiple times..first couple of times because I was curious what would happen) I turn into a psycho bitch, and delete friends of Facebook, because I don’t feel like a deserve friends for all the dark, morbid thoughts that I have. A bunch of my friends on Facebook have been deleted off, friend requested, deleted off, friend requested, and so on. However since I’m addicted to drugs I haven’t gone all psycho bitch, or deleted friends!…wait I lied, I deleted humans..but I haven’t requested them back so…..
On to the main part of this post!
Lights dim, curtain goes up it’s Story Time.
I was an Emo, crazy freshman in high school. Emo in the sense of “what goes on in mind not how I dressed.” (Actual phrase I would tell humans) My brother had graduated the year before I was enrolled in SBHS, he was one of the popular kids, whereas I was a problem kid, who lashed out all the time. (Sensory overload wasn’t diagnosed until years later..I’m on that Autism spectrum yo) Anyway all the freshman had to be in these peer groups called SLAM. I have no idea what it stood for, but for 15-20 minutes once a week groups of 10 freshman would meet up with 4 upperclassmen and a faculty member.
When I said my name during introductions, one of the upperclassmen was really excited to find out that I was my brother’s younger sister. I remember being extremely pissed off, she wasn’t happy to meet me, she was happy that I was related to my recently graduated popular brother.
One of peers in my SLAM group included Bryan Carparts (a kid who harassed me in middle school and for the rest of high school, not his real name but I wrote a story in English class about a Bryan Carparts who I died a horrific death..everyone knew who I was talking about)
It was right after midterms the following Monday, when one of the upperclassmen told us we should go around the room saying how midterms went as well as our weekend. I was last in the update, which gave me enough time to plan out what I would say. I noticed that Bryan Carparts was absent. (To those that claim I don’t have a filter, I do. I just say what I think is appropriate. Turns out a bunch of times most humans don’t agree with my logic)
“And Keely, how did your midterms and weekend go?”
“I’m pretty sure I bombed my midterms, I studied, but past research has shown that studying doesn’t help me so it’s whatever. This past weekend however was pretty great.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“I sold my soul to Satan to become a vampire.”
“This is what I did. I laid down on my bed, said some chants, then took a sharp knife and ran the blade down my chest. Blood came seeping out, but I continued my chants, while I put my hand inside my chest to pull out my heart. Satan appeared soon, I told him that I want to trade my soul to him in order to become a vampire. He did his Devil magic before telling me I must kill someone so the deed will be sealed. I’m sensitive to the light, but the deed is done…which is why you will notice someone isn’t here today….”
“Keely I would like to see you in my office.” The faculty member told me. Turns out she was the head of the guidance department.
“Keely I don’t take suicide lightly.”
“It’s not suicide, it’s sacrifice.”
I don’t remember what she said next, probably gave me a warning.
The next week I brought in a water bottle filled with Fruit Punch Kool-Aid claiming I was drinking the blood of an innocent.
The week after I tried to convince a friend to claw on the door frame holding her neck with ketchup smeared over her hands and neck saying “That bitch bit me!” She didn’t do this, I was very disappointed in her.
I guess this was too much for everybody so I was moved into a different SLAM group. However I had one of my peers from my previous SLAM group come tell me how a bunch of students thought I actually killed Bryan Carparts. He was late that morning.
Looking back I would do all that over again. I was harassed through out middle school and high school so having my peers think I killed someone who was causing me so much pain, made me feel not only strong but also powerful. He still continued to harass me when we passed each other in the halls, but telling a group of peers in high school that I sold my soul to Satan to become a vampire is one of those happy memories I look back on and smile.