A List of Clichés That Make Me Want to Punch You.

People are getting on my nerves so I have developed a list for the people that don’t have a mental illness. Study it. There will be a test douche bag.

Here is a list of what not to do with someone with depression or, in my case, Borderline Personality Disorder:

1) I don’t want you to tell me that I have a good life. I have eyes asshole, I know that I have a good life.

2) Don’t ask me what is wrong and then when I say ‘nothing’… don’t act like something is wrong anyway. It’s just my bitch face.

3) And even if it’s not my bitch face, did you ever think that I don’t want to share my feelings with you because I am sick of hearing myself talk about why I don’t understand why I am depressed? Or maybe it’s that I don’t feel like hearing your broken record telling me that, ‘I should be happy.’

4) Don’t tell me that if I exercise, I will feel better. When would you like me to do that? Between my full time job, being a mom or going to therapy three times a week? When I am not doing the above, I want to do something for me and that is not the gym. And why is it not the gym? Because the gym smells like sadness and despair.

5) Don’t tell me that things will get better in time. Shut. Up. Like seriously, do you have a book of clichés?

6) Don’t tell me to use therapeutic skills. Do you know what I want to do when I am in a rage of emotion? It’s not to use skills… it’s to do the opposite. It is just to sit there and wonder why the hell I have to be the one to use skills to regulate emotions. Maybe you need to use skills because you are pissing me off.

7) Don’t tell me that if I eat better, I will feel better from the inside out. I will tell you what will make me feel better. It’s a few eggrolls, a whole pizza and ice cream, you clean, eating, health hippie. Go hug a tree while eating granola.

8) Don’t tell me that I am thinking too emotionally. You know why? Because I can’t control my emotions… that is part of being a Borderline you ass.

9) Don’t tell me to take a deep breath. I will tell you why, because when I take a deep breath, it only helps me to channel my energy into pummeling you to the ground.

10) Don’t tell me to enjoy what is around and take in the moment. I want to get out of the moment and I want to run. I want to run but I am fat because I don’t exercise because of my emotions which is part of my disorder which is part of who I am which is part of what I can’t control which is why I have my problems in the first place, hence the therapy. Jerk.

So, remember people… think before you speak. Don’t give us the clichés. Just sit with us because we just want to be with people that are comfortable with being in our presence.

Until next time,

This is not a multiple choice test.

 

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Let’s Talk About Being Naked.

No parent is ready to talk about sex with their child; especially if the child is seven.

‘Mom, why are you attracted to daddy?’ -Nicholas

‘Well, he has nice eyes, he’s kind and sweet. He is a gentleman and he has a great butt.’ -me

‘I bet you guys had so much fun before you were a mom because then you and daddy could have so much fun doing things.’ -Nicholas

‘I love being a mom. I have fun now.’ -me

‘Yeah but you and daddy could have been naked and danced in the kitchen.’ -Nicholas

‘Well, yeah but we can be naked now… just not around you.’ -me

‘Hey mom, when you and daddy are naked, does your penis and vagina ever touch?’ -Nicholas

‘…uhh…’ -me

How does he even think about that? I didn’t even know what to say… instead I did what any good parent would do and used distraction…

‘Hey, let’s watch Harry Potter!’ -me

Thank you to my friends, Harry, Ron and Hermione for getting me out of the sex talk. Now my son is just traumatized by Voldermort… it seems like a fair trade. He would of been traumatized either way…

Until next time,

I will never be naked again.

Is this Cheers?

So, you want everyone to know your name right? Just like in the old sitcom, Cheers.

I always thought it would be so cool if I could just enter a bar and everyone screamed out ‘Allison!’

Woo! I got so close…

So earlier this week, I went to the pharmacy and the woman asked for my name and I started spelling it and she said, ‘I know who you are and you are the teacher right?’

Well, it finally happened. Someone knows my name… maybe she can be my best friend now… I mean she knows my medical history and all.

So why is this such a different experience than Cheers? I will tell you using my all mighty list.

1) She knows my name from all my antipsychotic meds. Just kidding, they aren’t antipsychotic… at least, I don’t think they are.

2) She remembers that I am a teacher. It must be the bitch face I have going on.

3) She asked me which medication I was looking for and how many… so she has good attention to detail.

4) We bonded in the drive-thru about our crazy classes, (she is also a teacher).

5) We discussed how it would be beneficial to have a bottle of wine in your desk drawer so you can drink before classes.

6) My pharmacist understood me and is aware that you shouldn’t mix alcohol with medication but here she is, supporting me 100%.

7) She didn’t care that the pharmacy drive-thru was getting long because we were having a deep discussion about how we can’t wait till we retire.

8) I think I found my best friend in the pharmacy drive-thru.

9) She doesn’t know it yet that we are best friends but I feel like when my medication is ready, I will ask her out on a best friends date. I mean, I have BPD so boundaries are a non-issue for me.

10) And just like Cheers, I am happy to go where this woman knows my name, knows my medication and still likes me enough to hold up the drive-thru. That’s real friendship right there.

Until next time,

🎵🎶🎵Don’t you wanna go where everybody knows your name? And they are always glad you came… as long as you are still taking your anxiety medication. 🎵🎶🎵

The Lights Fade Out

The best feeling in the world is to make someone laugh. It’s the only way I know how to connect with someone. However, I was recently told that I don’t always come off as funny and sometimes, my humor is mean even though that is not the intent.

I am struggling with that.

Not because of the criticism. I mean, you never want to hear something bad about you when it comes from someone you care about and love. What I am struggling with, is that I don’t know who I am without it.

I’m noticing.

I am noticing that since this was brought to my attention, that I am more quiet. I am noticing that I am reserved. I am noticing that I am cautious. I am noticing that I feel like I am overreaching with people. I am noticing that I question myself more after I make someone laugh.

The noticing is hurting me the most because I am over analyzing my every move, my every thought, my every interaction. This whole time I have been sarcastic because it protects me from a world that has treated me less and taught me that less was all that I was. So, I started treating myself less to defend myself. No one can get to you if you get to yourself first.

I am less.

I feel less because I don’t know if my jokes are the right ones. I feel less because I don’t know if it’s the right time. I feel less because I may have hurt people. I feel less because I feel like I don’t know any other way to connect.

I want to make people laugh.

I want to make people laugh because that is the only way that I know how to connect with you. I want to make people laugh because it helps me to feel like I am close to you. I want to make people laugh because I just enjoy the sound of your laughter which makes me feel like I am more.

Now, who am I?

Until next time,

Mic drop

Just Another Day Teaching in Paradise

So I am a high school art teacher, however, I think writing about art is just as important as creating it. 

Final exams are this week and each student had to write a two page synopsis paper and include reasons and research as to why they picked a certain artist or photographer for their final project.

Here is a list of problems with this generation currently in high school…

1) Two pages is apparently too many. Wait till college kid. Seriously, even as an art teacher, I have to write a two page document about why your ass failed my class and what interventions I used to try to help you to pass. Writing is part of life.

2) High school students write like they are talking, I’m sorry, texting, because no one talks anymore… they write like the are texting their bff. There are lots of ‘cuz’… aka: because, ‘i’… aka I and ‘stuff’… aka: I am literally writing ‘stuff’ as bullshit because I am trying to take up more room on the paper.

3) Font. I said I wanted the paper in 12 point font. Do you think I don’t notice that you used size 14 or 16 font? Listen, the reason I know is because your paper is now so much more easier for me to read.

4) Margins. The margins of the paper are one inch. Did you think that I wouldn’t notice that your margins are like 3 inches in and you have centered the whole thing?

5) ‘Is it ok if I only write 1.5 pages?’ -Let me think about this… no. If i wanted 1.5 pages, I would have made that the requirement instead of two pages. Yes Johnny. You can write 1.5 pages and then you can write .5 more…

6) Telling me how much you love me at the end of the paper will not get you extra points. Do you know what it will get you? A smiley face. 

7) Writing 1.5 pages and then adding a photograph to the leftover .5 pages so you make the two page requirement. <Gasp!> How will I ever figure out that there are no words on this .5 pages?! 

8) Spelling and Grammar. There is literally nothing that drives me crazy more. The Word program ACTUALLY HAS A BUTTON FOR THIS. You press it and it checks everything for you. I mean, at this point with the cuz and i’s, your paper must light up like the 4th of July. Yup, God bless America. 

9) Name. Your name is literally spelled wrong. It’s your name. A name you have had for 14, 15, 16, 17 or even 18 years! Wtf.

10) Plagiarism. I read your paper and then I typed part of your paper into Google and then, I found your whole paper. Now, the only way that this site on Frida Kahlo and your paper match is because you stole from this site. Word. For. Word. Unless, <gasp> they stole from you! Could it be? No.

Until next time,

Just give me the website

It was Just a Dream

It was one of those dreams where I never wanted to wake up because I felt absolutely perfect in that moment. I felt complete; I felt whole.

It started out on a cold day. I was at the polar bear plunge but there were whales swimming around me as I dove into the icy waters with my friends. In an instant the still water threw me in a huge wave and I had no control. I was under the water hoping to come to the surface for air. Then I landed face down on the cold, sandy beach. I looked up and you told me how proud you were of me while you handed me a towel to dry off.

It was a special night because in this dream it was also Christmas Eve; my favorite holiday. This year was even more special to me because I was going to your house for the first time. Everyone was there; my friends, members of my group and my family. I was excited because you were finally going to meet the people that meant the most to me.

Your house was beautiful. A breakfast nook, a huge wooden table for dinners and it was all next to a giant fireplace. I can still remember the warmth.

The walls were filled with pictures of your daughter. Pictures from the time she was small and even now when when she is an adult with her soon to be husband. There was even a tribute to a person named Joanne that you had lost long ago. There were photographs of trees and forests and a weird collection of hats on the wall. There were Christian statues around your home even though you are more spiritual than hard core Christian.

And then there was your warmth and your love. It made me feel so happy to be in your presence and invited into your home to meet your family and to share this holiday season together. 

My family was there too and you were able to meet them- I was happy that you met my children. It was hard having my family there because I knew I belonged with them and I would never belong with you and your family.

As the party continued, my extended family trashed your house. Even though it was just a dream, I remember feeling embarrassment anyway. My mom dropped medicine all over your floor and then for Christmas she gave us each a can of soup. My dad was too tired to function and acted drunk as he stumbled out of your home dropping shrimp cocktail on your rug. My in-laws were so late, that by the time they actually arrived, the whole party was over. And you and your kind husband still made us all feel welcomed as you cleaned up and decorated your home for the holidays.

You were decorating the tree and I looked up to see you there and you winked at me. A sign that I knew I wasn’t alone.

But then, as my embarrassment turned into shame seeing my family there in your home, you grabbed me by the shoulders, you wiped away the tears streaming down my face and you embraced me. From just a look, you knew what I was thinking and with just a look, I knew it would never be.

And in that moment, I knew what it was like to be extremely devasted and at the same time, feel completely cared for as well.

And then, I woke up. And as I looked around the darkness of my room, I realized that nothing was real but I knew that the feeling of being cared for was real because that’s how you make me feel all the time.

Until next time,

I love you hardcore and no, I am not drinking.