Holidays from Hell

Okay, so can I just skip the winter holidays this year? Pretty please?

I don't mean to be a Grinch, but I am having the week from hell, and my level of Christmas spirit is at an all-time low. I was looking forward to being done with finals, decorating the house, sending out cards, making cookies, making some money babysitting, seeing my family, and spending time with my boyfriend. Of course, then shit hit the fan, and it took all of my excitement for the season with it.

My week started off with me getting sick again, right after finals. I've felt crappy for days, all stuffed up and gross. Then, the father of the two little kids I babysit for got hurt at work, meaning he was home with the kids instead of me. I love those kids to death, and babysitting them seriously makes my day when I do, so that was super depressing along with meaning that both the father and I were out the cash he'd get by working and I'd get by babysitting, right before Christmas, when it's usually needed the most. My mother then decided to turn everyone's holiday plans upside down and cancelled Christmas Eve dinner, replacing it with Christmas Day dinner - which would be okay, except my sister and I was planning to be with my father, as we have for the past eleven or so years since my parents split up, since Christmas is his birthday. He's okay with it, because now he'll go spend Christmas with his girlfriend and her kids, but my sister and I aren't invited since we're supposed to be with our mother. My mother is having her boyfriend's entire family over, and none of her own besides me. It's awkward, especially since her boyfriend and I have never and will never be on good terms due to the circumstances surrounding them getting together.

As if that wasn't enough, there's relationship crap going on - I couldn't even tell you if I'm in one anymore. I've been really upset, so now in addition to being all clogged up, my face is sore and swollen from crying and I'm nauseous. (And he's not speaking to me.) A bad fight right before the holidays when you've been together for almost three years will do that to you.

Originally, I'd planned to make a happy post about holiday traditions, but for obvious reasons, that isn't happening. I'm happy that nothing worse as happened yet (like a death in the family or something), but at the same time, it's hard to be grateful that the worst hasn't happened, you know?

What's screwed up your holidays?

Finding "Home"

I think most people have heard the quote, "Home is where the heart is." Since it's craft fair season, I've been seeing it a lot on homemade items for sale - dish towels, wooden plaques, wall hangings, etc. The emphasis is clearly on home as a place, and it makes me wonder if "home," for most people, is a place. For me, "home" is sometimes a place, but sometimes it isn't. Sometimes, home for me is a person - or a feeling.

This week, October 20th to 26th, makes me dwell on the concept of home. If my Nana was still alive, she would have turned ninety-five this week, and this week also marks the nineteenth anniversary of her death. Nineteen years. How have nineteen years passed since she died? It seems absurd. She still has such an active presence in my life, yet she's been gone nineteen years already. Where did the time go?

My Nana died when I was five years old. She was a huge part of my upbringing from the time I was born; I saw her almost every day, I was constantly sleeping over her house, and in many ways, she felt more like my third parent than my grandmother. All my early memories are of her; I have almost none of my parents. My parents and I lived with her for the first two years of my life, and then while my parents were at work or needed some time for themselves as a couple, she was the one who watched me. When I was an infant, she was one of people who got up at night when I cried. From the day my mother brought me home from the hospital until she went to the hospital days before she died, she soothed me. She fed me, she changed my diapers, she bathed me, and she tucked me in at night. She held me, she played with me, and she helped me learn to walk and talk. She took me everywhere - to the park, to the docks, to my friend's house... had she ever learned to drive, she probably would have taken me to school. She loved me to pieces, as I loved her.

When she died, the one thing I never did was blame her. I felt absolutely shattered, but I knew that if she had the choice, she wouldn't have left me then. I learned, at a very early age, that even when people want to be there for you and say they'll never leave, sometimes they don't have a choice. It doesn't mean they love you any less. It doesn't mean they've abandoned you. And the one thing I've constantly thought since then is that even though in a way she left, she's never really ever left me at all.

My home was her. My home was a person, the person who made me feel safe and protected and loved. It wasn't a building, it was her. When she died, I craved a place to feel close to her. My parents and I used to drive past her house every holiday on the way to or from my aunts' house. It was almost like visiting her grave, since she had chosen to be cremated and have her ashes scattered. For the longest time, I thought it was the place that felt like home, but it isn't so much as the place itself as it is the feelings it allows me to bring forth. It's painful to think about loss, and being in that place helps me get home; home to her and those feelings of being safe and protected and loved.

Over the years, my home has expanded - it's been places, mostly, and sometimes feelings. The feeling of freedom that college provided me with and my dorm room were my home for a few years. My father's house has been my home, on and off - or rather, my bedroom has been, maybe even just my bed, at times. My Nana, to this day, is still a part of my home. When people say you can't go home again, I think they're wrong - sometimes you can. Some homes will always be there for you to go back to.

It took my boyfriend saying that his home wasn't a place, it was a person, for me to finally understand why I didn't feel like my house was my home. It took him telling me that I was his home for me to realize that he has become a huge part of mine. When I was around my Nana, she made me feel like I could do anything; I didn't have to fear the world. I knew she'd be right there to help me back up if I fell, and she'd never love me less for trying. He makes me feel, in many respects, the same way. Around him, I can do things I never believed I would be able to, because I finally have the ability to let myself. He's reminded me that I have a home, that I don't need a place. And all I have to do is look into my heart, because the people and feelings that are my home can always be found there. I can be home anywhere, as long as I remember my heart.

What is "home" for you?

Is it TDaP or DTaP?

Last Thursday, August 1st, I had an appointment with my doctor to get a school physical done. I normally don't get a physical every year (I see enough doctors during the year and have enough testing done that there rarely seems to be any point), but since I'm transferring, my new school obviously wants one done. No big deal.

It was only after I was in with the P.A. that I found out I needed a vaccine booster. I have no issues with needles, so I stuck out my arm and in went my booster TDaP/DTaP shot. Once again, no big deal.

Until, you know, about a minute later, when most of my arm went numb and the place where the needle went in started to itch. Neither the P.A. or the nurse seemed worried, so they finished filling out my paperwork and sent me on my way, telling me the arm would probably be sore tomorrow and not to worry about it. Of course, the next morning, I woke up with a hard lump on my arm right where I'd gotten the booster shot. Like any good millennial, I turned to Google. Google informed me that this was relatively normal; some people got a hard lump after getting the shot, and it was likely a minor reaction to one of the vaccine components that would go away in a few days.

Over the course of the next few days, the lump grew to the size of a golf ball. It was itchy and warm to the touch. Pain radiated up to my shoulder and down to my elbow. First, the lump wasn't discolored. Then it was red. Then it looked like I had a massive purple bruise. That's when I decided to call the doctor, who wanted to see me immediately. I drove myself to the doctor, and lo and behold, I was running a fever for the first time in 21 years! (I don't ever get fevers. Like, seriously. I've had sinus infections, ear infections, colds, bronchitis, the flu, and all those other things you're supposed to get a fever with, and I NEVER get one. The last time I ran a fever, I was 2 and had walking pneumonia.)

Yeah, apparently I'm allergic to one of the vaccine components...

On a brighter note, while my body is being difficult, I'm actually getting kind of excited for law school, which is beyond insane (and which I'll insist was never the case when finals week rolls around), but... I like justice. I'm actually trying my hand at the transfer writing competition, which for those of you unfamiliar with law, isn't really what you'd think: it's basically how you get on to law review/a law journal, something which employers generally like to see and which gives you the opportunity to potentially publish a piece of your legal writing. I'm not really sure I'll finish the competition, because I'm nervous about how my legal writing will come across when I haven't done any of it in a year, but either way, going through the sources has been a nice re-introduction to law school. I was petrified I'd have forgotten everything during the year off I had, but thankfully, that isn't the case.

Everything has also improved as far as my relationship goes, which is a relief. We still have our issues to work on (who doesn't?), but I think we've managed to find the common ground that we needed. We'll see how things go, but they're looking up from here.

Standing on the Edge

One thing I absolutely loathe about being in my 20s is how frequently I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down, and wondering what the heck is going to happen next. All of my expectations have gone out the window - I have no idea if I could fall off the metaphorical cliff, if I could be pushed off of it, if I should retreat to whatever's behind about me, or if I should jump to whatever is to be found below me. It's exhausting.

All to frequently, I feel like I'm having the day/week/month/year from hell. Sometimes, it's so bad that I feel like Earth must be hell, only people are too caught up in themselves to realize it. Of course, when I realize I'm thinking this, I tend to think about how screwed up that thought must be, and what a drama-llama I must be for having it. Then I wonder if it's just my depression talking.

I was twelve when I was formally diagnosed with depression, and looking back, it wasn't a surprise. Yes, I was young. But by that time, I had also been exposed to the deaths of several loved ones, the deterioration of my parents' marriage, and physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. On top of puberty and all the crazy crap it does to your hormones, mental illness runs rampant in one side of my family.

Needless to say, I often wonder - and worry (yes, my anxiety diagnosis went hand in hand with my depression diagnosis) - if things are really as horrible as they feel. It's a product both of my depression and anxiety and the way people close to me have treated me over the years, always quick to tell me that whatever I was feeling was wrong and pathetic and weird and screwed-up. It made me become exceedingly careful about revealing my feelings or allowing myself to even feel them, for fear that I would be judged harshly for it.

At the moment, I feel like I have a lot going on.

• I'm in the middle of transferring law schools, something I really didn't want to do. Unfortunately, I didn't really have much of a choice after I lost my scholarship. I'll have a longer commute, a more hectic schedule, a very new/different campus environment, a number of new traffic laws to remember, a new group of people to get used to, and new challenges related to my mobility impairments to deal with. I'm hoping it will be a better environment for me, but I still haven't been able to let go of the resentment I have towards my old school for making this change necessary. I was comfortable there, and despite the constant stream of bad luck I got hit with during my first year (shingles, cellulitis, an allergic reaction, numerous joint injuries, a severe concussion, getting rear-ended, and the major health scare of a loved one), I still managed a GPA over a 3.2.
• My hypermobility is worsening, probably due to the lack of exercise I can do without dislocating something/subluxing something/ending up in a shit-ton of pain. In the past six months, both my shoulders and my knees have started dislocating, mostly notably when I'm trying to get to sleep.
• I've become estranged from two close family members. Even though one was extremely abusive during my childhood, it still hurts.
• I don't know where my relationship stands. There's an issue my SO (?) has had since pretty much the beginning of our relationship. At first, I was understanding, and it wasn't a big deal. It did, however, present issues for the long-term future of our relationship if it remained the way it was. I encouraged him to seek the help necessary to become psychologically healthier in that respect, doing whatever I could to make him realize the gravity of the problem while trying not to push too hard and respecting the fact that these things take time. Nearly two years later, even after seeking help, the problem is not better but exponentially worse, and it makes me feel horrible. I can't help resenting him for putting me through this and not doing the necessary work to get through it. I love this guy - I want to marry him someday, for fuck's sake, but I've gotten to the point where I lash out at him in desperation to make him see how much he's hurting me. He insists he loves me and that he's working on things, but I can't take it anymore. How long am I supposed to wait for things to get better?

Above all, my relationship is what has me the most stressed and upset lately. That's what has me on the edge of the cliff right now. We're not talking, and everything feels so hopeless. I love this guy and want to be with him and be happy more than anything in the world, but he doesn't seem capable of meeting me halfway... or even realizing that he isn't. Whenever we try to talk about it, I feel like he's so insensitive and/or completely out-of-touch with the reality of how this makes me feel; he de-values my pain. First, he seems to understand, but reacts by beating himself up about it and getting down on himself. Then, he does a one-eighty and suggests that I'm taking out my stress from other things on him, and that he's the one who deserves an apology.

It makes me infuriated and extremely depressed all at once. I've had eleven years to get used to my depression and anxiety and how it can cause me to react, and I have become almost hyper-aware of the things I'm feeling or not letting myself feel at every moment. I DO NOT let myself take my stress and unhappiness about something on a person unrelated to it under any circumstances. Doing so is one of my worst fears. If I feel like I'm going to, I tell the person that I can't talk at the moment, need to be left alone, etc. and that I need to decompress and calm down; it isn't personal, I just don't want them to be the victim of misplaced anger/agression/whatever.

I don't know what is going to happen, and part of me wishes I could freeze time right in this moment, so that I'd never have to deal with any of those questions standing on the edge gives you.

Do you ever feel like this?

Exes + Social Media = Nope, Not For Me.

Earlier today, someone I'm friends with posted this article to one of their social media accounts. It's all about how members of the social media generation can keep up - and apparently frequently choose to keep up, with their exes. I know that a lot of other members of my generation do choose to do this, but I don't understand why.

Ultimately, exes are exes for a reason. I think most people, immediately after a break-up, go through a period where they can't think about cutting their ex out of their life completely. I know I sure have, in past relationships. When you care about someone, it's hard to stop overnight. But as time goes on, eventually, I would expect that the majority of people would not want to keep up with their exes - or at least not with many of them. There are certain situations where I could understand having a way to keep in touch with an ex, but I feel like those are likely to be few and far between.

For example, I currently have one person that I consider an ex friended on one of my social media accounts. We dated for a very short period of time when we were young teens, but since we were both in a special program for "advanced" students in our school, we were stuck together  - with the same group of people - from third grade through tenth, both long before and long after we were a couple. The fact that we were ever together is pretty insignificant to our history; the group of kids we were thrown together with was more like a family then anything. It's kind of uncomfortable to think about the fact that we were ever involved, because looking back, it feels vaguely incestual. Needless to say, I don't believe either of us think of our brief involvement as anything particularly noteworthy or important. We have each other friended because the program we were in created a unique kinship between everyone in it; even those of us who weren't friends or didn't like each other had to get along, and we all bore witness to the trials and tribulations of all of us growing up. We were forcibly connected to each other for almost half of our lives, and so we know each other better than almost anyone else. Even if our connections are now more tenuous, it's not so easy to just completely forget them.

All of my other exes were pretty much written out of my life as soon as I was over the relationship enough to remind myself that it was the healthiest thing to do. Why cling to a relationship with someone that it didn't work out with? Sure, at some point you cared about them, but why waste your energy and emotions continuing to do so when that clearly isn't going to get you anywhere? Why prevent yourself from moving forward by keeping yourself tied to someone? I mean, it's great if you guys had a great friendship first and/or a totally amicable break-up because you genuinely like each other but agree you definitely aren't meant to be together. But why would anyone choose to remain connected to someone who didn't want to be with them, who they didn't want to be with, who didn't treat them right, who they didn't care much about to begin with, or who didn't care much about them to begin with? What in the world is the purpose of remaining connected to someone that was just a fling or who you only casually dated for a few weeks or who had no regard for your feelings?

Do you have exes friended on social media?