My Rants and Raves

Welcome to my Rants page where I will give daily/weekly/biweekly updates on what crosses my mind, struggles, questions. Enjoy.

February 2006

2-22-06
So what happens when I start validating myself and my feelings? That's my new therapy assignment. Kiandra had a point- I do tend to wonder what is wrong with me instead of believing that I may be right. Like with intimacy, I just assumed the problem was mine...instead of acknowledging the fact that my feelings weren't strong enough for him and that I was mad at one point. Or there are the days I think I have just as much as everybody else has- no more...when in fact it may be too much. I'll deny it.

So what happens when I open my eyes and become more awake? I guess we will see. Tonight, I'm up very late and have messed up my bed time a bit. My first thought? That I was mis-managing my time and was an ass for not getting some of this done sooner etc. A few CD's of course came along with it.

Then I stopped myself. And I thought...what happens when I start validating myself and my feelings? I admit I am doing too much. Really admit it. I've done one hell of a denial trip these past five years. It's been a slow awakening. Heightened recently. When I heard the officers of my club all say how much work they have, and they can't make it to the meeting or do anything this week. I, of course, was thinking...well I must not be doing too much if I make time for the club and can do things. But my friends were only complaining of HW. I can't imagine just complaining about HW.

I work full time...I go to school full time...I run a club...I run a website and support group...I have a social life...I have a big ass research study...and then me time? I don't wonder why I am awake at 3:00am.

I don't think anymore, that I was mis-managing my time. No amount of time managing can reduce the pressure and all of the work. It's too much. My life was full enough with just job and such, but then to add all the school responsibilities and the fact that I still want to see my friends and have me time...and I can't believe the amount of things I am responsible for.

I have done a good job recently with my time...and now I have more time being single- I plan to enjoy it. I'm going to have to stay caught up with my school studies and that needs to be the priority. Then my work, which during the week it's not bad, but three kids are awaiting an update that I need to do. That's quite a few hours of work there. My club...is going to have to be third. I have a major author and another speaker coming in March- I will have to delegate responsibility. I can see myself just doing it myeslf...but that's not what a good president does. I trust in the other members.

With the realization that you are doing too much...what does one do? I don't honestly know. It'd be so hard to cut something. I will try a time re-haul and see what happens for a week and hope for the best. If that doesn't work...I will look into other things.

But...I do feel good...that I can actually admit to myself that I do too much. Of course then I pat myself on the back because I haven't lost it this semester and am actually in good spirits. Guess we shall see.

Off to finish a Latin quiz and catch some hours of sleep. More on this later.

2-18
Alright, so this thing below is what I wrote for my non-fiction creative writing class. This was the first time I had anything personal I've written be graded. I wasn't sure what my prof would think. He loved it, well the first version. Then he asked me why it was only 3 pages. I told him that is what the syllabus said. He laughed and said to take the shackles off- go with it and push the humor to the edge. So this is what came out of that. I've posted it on the bipolar support group I belong too and the members have loved it and showed it to family members. So basically, I am awed because I never really think my stuff is that good. But, I guess I need to be more confident because everyone has told me this kicks ass! So here goes.

Becoming Bipolar

There was a time in my life when I thought I could be a code-breaker for a secret government agency, that cars were following me, that I was given a special purpose by God, I could walk on water and voices told me to harm myself. Welcome to mania. The thoughts flowed fast and the delusions faster. At seventeen years old, I was at the height of my first manic episode. No thought was too grand, no idea too preposterous, and no goal out of reach. I believed I was the chosen one. I believed in many things that were not there. This was my induction into becoming bipolar.

I did not all at once become bipolar one day. Instead it had subtle beginnings at thirteen years of age. Eventually it dawned on me that thinking about ways to kill myself every night was not normal. After finally receiving a bipolar diagnosis at twenty, I looked back at my adolescence and no longer saw just a lonely girl that seemed to blossom and wilt with the changing of the seasons. I saw instead periods of depression alternating with a subtler mania, known as hypomania, before my full blown episode at seventeen. My bipolar began a cycle that never wavered, with winter and spring I descended into deep despair and then summer and fall saw me rise again. While some people go about the bipolar process with periods of being normal and stable mixed in with the madness, I was not one of those people. Thirteen saw me hit the road to depression and I alternated this with short manic happiness.

Then seventeen happened and I was caught midway on my journey to becoming bipolar. Strangely enough, when you try out a noose around your neck and then tell your guidance counselor that you are going to kill yourself, they take you to an inpatient facility. This was then the beginning of a long diagnosis process. I was immediately slapped with the suburban depression brand and sent on my way. One week later, I had an important knock upon my door. Before I could put away the blade I had been injuring myself with, my mother opened the door. With blood every where my parents called the hospital and suddenly I was back. Then I was given the Major Depressive Disorder label and the token anti-depressant. Suddenly, I was seeing roses again. The peculiar thing about anti-depressants, if you really have bipolar, is that they make you manic.

The story is often the same among those diagnosed with bipolar. First, you get stuck with the depression label, and then given an anti-depressant and a psychiatrist who doesn’t listen to all of your symptoms. Mania meant he was right and that the meds are working. Not that feeling good could be too good. How many hospital visits does it take to become bipolar? Thus far I’d accumulated three and all mis-diagnoses and only anti-depressants, but that’s all just part of the process. Besides the hospitals and the medications, part of the process includes questioning your doctor. I once asked if I could be bipolar and was told that I was jumping on the bipolar bandwagon. I laughed at that thought because why would I want a more serious disorder that would mean more medication and hospital visits? I seriously wondered about his psychology degree.

Finally, a new city, new therapist, and more questions. Though I accumulated hospital visit number four and once again labeled with recurrent depression and again given another anti- depressant, it was time for a change. Two weeks after getting a new anti-depressant, I was awakened to three phone calls: my therapist, the hospital I was just released from, and my new psychiatrist’s office. The day before I exhibited a wide range of behaviors that they evidently thought was out of the norm. I just said welcome to my life:

September 25th, 2003
Road trip anyone? I wonder how far I can drive in one night? I am tired of sitting around doing nothing right now…I wanna see how many miles I can drive from now until tomorrow. Or, maybe I will get drunk for the first time...I've been wondering about that, maybe its time I tried it.

Okay- who wants a new brain? Mine is currently up for auction to the highest bidder. Seriously...who wants it- because I don't!!! So now I'm trying to figure out what I want to say. I'm a little cautious...don't want to say anything that will make me sound nuts, but man, the thoughts going through my head...and am I thinking creatively and looking at the "big picture".

Notes to self: When in a very elevated mood- don't post on own website- very dumb. When not taking medication- don't say anything, oops! Final note to self: am very hyper still...thoughts are still racing, I can't sit still, I am typing a ton.

Somebody stop my freakin' mind…besides being super de duper hyper, my freakin' mind is racing like it’s on nascar. But now not just good thoughts are going through, but bad ones too, how do you stop your head from swimming in thoughts, how do I get my foot to stop shaking and get my hands to stay still. And how in the world do I get my head to stop spinning long enough for me to hang onto a thought!! I feel as though I can walk on water right now, but at the same time I’m telling myself I need to go pick up a razor and have fun? What is that about?!

Well, here comes another hundred thoughts racing by…not to mention the stupid freakin idea’s I’ve gotten…at least I’m creative! I feel freakin' hyper right now!!! Wahoo...My mind is racing, my fingers can hardly keep up (and let me tell you- that rarely happens!) I feel so freakin high- for no reason at all...this is great!!! High on life. I love this mood.

My therapist read this narrative and set the calls in motion. I’m surprised they didn’t send someone after me and pick me up right then and there for a one way ticket back to the loony bin. I was fully immersed in the beginnings of a manic episode. After the phone calls, I went to the one person who had believed I had bipolar, my mentor and professor. She helped me write out my symptoms from high school and I took them to my psychiatrist. All he could say was, “Why didn’t you bring this to me sooner? Of course you’re bipolar.” (As if the behaviors were not enough of a clue.) Finally, I hear the words! Who thought I’d be overjoyed to hear those words. With the diagnosis came new medication including a mood stabilizer, an anti- psychotic, an anti-depressant, sleep medication, anti-anxiety medication and then two stimulants for my other disorder ADHD. I couldn't just have one, but decided it'd be more fun with two disorders.

After beginning these medications, I wondered later why I was still alive, not because I survived a suicide attempt or two, but because I put my body through medication hell. Taking so many medications is quite a long journey in the bipolar process. With my initial bipolar diagnosis I had to take ten pills a day. Eventually my stomach had enough. Just the mere sound of the grains of the medication in the capsule shaking made me gag. If I stopped the medication, I threw up. If I started the medication, I threw up. Now, perhaps if I was a "normal person" I would have thought that I should just stay on them and only have one period of throwing up. Instead I began a vicious cycle of starting and stopping, which made me continuously ill. Eventually I thought staying off them was the right choice. Remember, I'm not normal, I am bipolar afterall so the sane decision occasionally eludes me. To this day, any medication with the grains of it making a sound in the capsule, I automatically gag. Pavlov's classical conditioning at its best.

The fun medication side effects do not end there. Six months after starting the mood stabilizer, Depakote, I started noticing that I was losing a lot of hair. I ran my hand through my hair multiple times and came out with a fist full of hair each time. I was soon looking like a cancer patient. There are a lot of side effects a crazy person can stand to become sane, but losing my hair was not one of them. Looking in the mirror made me depressed and waking up in a bed of hair made me gag. I stopped Depakote promptly. I started cycling through moods immediately. For a few months I hid my madness by working and staying away from people. Eventually my doctor found out and gave me a new medication, which then lands me a new hospital visit when the medication didn't work. After being admitted my doctor kindly noted that he thought this might happen. I kindly thought it would have been nice if he told me that. It’s only my life we’re talking about and these visits to the hospital were wearing on me.

Today, all of my medications, but one, I myself asked to try. So I am paying my psychiatrist eighty-five dollars a session because why? Mainly because he has the power to actually write the prescriptions. Though I'm not too bitter, I know my body best. Part of this process was knowing what makes me throw up, what induces hair loss, what makes me stable, what prevents the madness and what brings me back to sanity.

Had I become wholly bipolar? Not quite. Bipolar is more than a diagnosis, it’s a way of life. First there was the not tolerating the meds, going off the meds and being hospitalized again. Been there, done that. It was then I became an expert on what would be best for my body and being bipolar. This had nothing to do with ego, but only for survival. For this reason, I asked for Lithium, the most successful drug for treating bipolar. As a Lithium woman, I began to experience a stability in life unknown to me. The next step after going off your meds due to side effects is to go off your meds because you think you can control your moods and you are sick of swallowing fifteen pills a day. This racks up visits five and six to my favorite inpatient ward. Then you become older and wiser and complete the last few steps. A strict sleep- wake cycle is important in becoming bipolar. Mix that with being a former “night” person and a college student and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. From the time of diagnosis and actually achieving a strict sleep- wake cycle, it took three years. Acceptance of medication? Three years. Eating healthy? Three years. Finding stability? Three years. However, stop missing the manias? Life- long. Missing the creativity? Life- long. Stomach exhaustion from medications? Life- long. Mood highs and lows? Life long. Some journeys I take don’t necessarily end.

Some people may hear that I have Bipolar and look on with either fear (in case I'm crazy) or with sorrow which can be confused with pity. The reaction of others is just another part of the process. All I can say is that the stories speak for themselves. I've lost all humility while on constant observation and the staff would watch my every move, including showers and using the bathroom. That was a crappy job for the staff. I remember learning that the quiet room is indeed quiet to the point you almost hear your ever thought and the craziness that surrounds them. Watching a patient call the police from the patient phone and tell them the staff is beating all of us was quite entertaining. I once had a seventy year old woman ask me if I wanted to fight. My head screamed for me to throw a punch her way just for the heck of it, but even while crazy, I couldn't hit an old woman. I've eaten raisin bran every day for two weeks for each meal because the staff told me I couldn't have my laptop privilege unless I ate. I was also the patient who wrote to the administration every day because I reasoned that we already felt terrible, so why are they feeding us terrible food. For some reason, the food never improved so I ate the raisin bran. Once I watched a schizophrenic patient take his meds and realize that I am taking more than him. I wondered if one disorder could be crazier than the other. Then I remember I once sang one hundred bottles of Zoloft on the wall, after being admitted to the hospital. I don't wonder if I'm crazier anymore. The colorful stories that accompany a bipolar diagnosis are just part of the process and the part where you can laugh.

Becoming bipolar is also about embracing the way my brain works and accepting that it works differently. Becoming bipolar was a journey into madness and then to becoming a recovered crazy person. Unlike many of my peers, I have spent a great deal of my life trying to end it, rather than live it. As a result, everything seems so much more intense to me: I love more, laugh more, smile more, smirk more, listen more, talk more and cry more. Now, I simply live life more. In my life I have experienced both immense sorrow and immense joy. Both dwell within me, tempered by medication, and most days I harness the power of both successfully.

Becoming bipolar has been called a detour, being interrupted or just crazy. I think it was just a journey to find myself. All of this, everything that happened, that was my life. I don’t think it was an interruption and I don’t think I took a detour away from my path. This was always my path. It was just a long winding road to get where I was always meant to be.

2-13- 3:00am
Well, the day had to come where I would finally really mess up sleep and eating. I had been doing so well, but the writing has been on the wall. I admitted to Kiandra last week, I think, that I was doing too much. I didn't make my schedule so that if things popped up I wouldn't be doing too much- which she pointed out. My schedule ought to be able to take things that just pop up...I'm learning.

In the first couple weeks of school I did make some bad decisions and those decisions are coming to haunt me now. I blew off a ton of Latin classes and even more Music Theory. I've probably only attended half or maybe a few more. Big oops. I did maintain my sleep, but I was losing ground. Research popped up and I put that before a few other things that should have come first.

Thus, it's 3:00am and I am still an hour away from being done studying. I've had to make up weeks and weeks and weeks of Latin and it was silly to think it would take me just a day to make it up and I got a late start.

I had to stop a bunch of CD's tonight. First thinking this would be a never ending pattern- just like before. But it's not like before- I care so much more. And, most of all, I have the ability to stop making the bad decisions and switch to the good ones. I'm already working on it.

I wrote an email to my Latin prof setting things straight and I promised her I'd be in class. I want to pass- I need the D. So if I do well on tests and quizzes...I can pass even if I don't participate. Music theory is easy enough to keep up with if I do the HW and show up for the tests. Not worried there. And I wrote Sam and told her that I needed to re-prioritize and move research down the list. We had been making fast progress and meeting more than twice a week. I told her that we needed to back up to one and make it Friday, not Monday. I'm sure she'll be fine with that- she puts my health first too.

With the job thing wrapped up, things are less hectic. Starting tomorrow, I need to get back on track and stick to it, no matter what. I need to not get so far behind and if I keep finding myself there...then I truly know I am doing too much. I will think long and hard when things pop up whether I can handle them or not.

All of that being said- I am scared. I would say fear is ruling my life. I am afraid that the things I see for myself in May are too fairy tale like- too good for me. Why, after the life I have led, would so many things just come together? I told myself not to think of something bad happening just because something good did...but I'd be more foolish to think that thought wasn't there.

It's a race to May. That is what I feel like. I'm trying to keep everything together so that I can walk and get that diploma and settle into my life- the life I've always wanted. It is exactly three months to this day. And I keep thinking is the shit that could go down in three months keeping me from graduating on time. It seems too good to be true...as tears come to my eyes.

I also know, though, that I have the power to keep it together and make decisions that will allow me to graduate. Fear may be prevelant in my life right now...but I can choose to study for tests, to make it to class...to make at least a freakin' D so that I can graduate. Fear no longer holds me back- but it does hurt.

After really coming along in therapy recently, I find myself just thinking...if only I can make it to therapy, I need to talk this all out so badly. So many things. And I hope I can prove to her that I can pick up the pieces even after a slew of crappy decisions. I am not who I used to be.

With all of that said...I think it's time to do one last thing before bed...and get a couple hours.

2-12
I ought to be doing more Latin studying right now, but so many thoughts pounded me, I had to write them all out before I could continue my school work. This will also tie in with the next homework assignment.

For the last few years, my life has been centered on healing. Though the focus has been on healing, rarely do I ever think of how I have come. I'm always thinking more- I need to be healed more, or I need to make this change or that change or I think about what can help make me better. Tonight, I took a second and acknowledged how far I really have come- I owe that to myself.

Most of my childhood, I don't remember. It seems like I remember one snapshot for each abuse that took place, almost as if my body and mind couldn't take anymore than that. Because of this, I think I was able to repress so many things or to deny that they happened or were happening. So at seventeen years old, after the manic phase and depression started, I took it out on my skin. There was my pain, I would say. At that time, I denied my mother ever doing anything but goodness, that my father was a total loser and I had no contact, that my brother was this loser my mother loved unconditionally while making my life a living hell...and that nothing in my childhood was hurtful. Never would I have breathed a single word of sexual abuse. I was cutting myself without knowing, going to the hospital working on issues that were non-existant and struggling with a disorder that made me great one moment, and rock bottom the next.

This is what I walked into Kiandra's office with. That's where my journey starts.

So at 19, I was firmly believing a fantasy childhood, parental lies and lies about myself and on the wrong medications. I'm sitting here now at 22 shaking my head. And thanking God for Kiandra. She took me in and changed my life.

Tonight I am celebrating the huge change in myself from that 19 year old girl to the 22 woman I am today. I listened in therapy and we began to lift the veil of fantasy. To think that today: I have an awesome relationship with my father, I realize the extent of my mother's abuse, I acknowledge what my brother did, I admitted to sexual abuse and I'm working on that, I acknowledge all of the pain of my childhood and how pain and chaos have become easy.

At 19, within two months of seeing Kiandra, I was back at the hospital- too unstable from the revelation that my childhood was not perfect. Though, instead of dying or leaving Kiandra because I didn't want to face myself...I did go back...again and again and again. The next year I worked on the physical abuse issue and started to see the emotionally abuse. I never quit or said that I wouldn't work on these things- I faced the ruins of my life and kept on going.

After a year of being with Kiandra and hurting...I finally answered yes to the question she asked me on several occassions- was I sexually abused? I then chose to go to a day treatment to face my anger and denial. Those two weeks changed me- I denied and then I raged in the second week. I needed to feel that anger finally. At this time, I didn't run away, stop therapy or hide...even when it would have been so easy. And finally bipolar was caught. I put trust in a psychiatrist though in the past I swore I wouldn't heh.

So then at 20, I resolved my feelings around the physical abuse, explored emotional abuse, got contact with my Dad after six years and started a great relationship with him, began to question my relationship with my mother, started cognitive distortion work, started plans of actions, and recieved first round of meds with bipolar.

I look at all of this and think of the whirlwind I was caught up in. I read over old rants, and I see how hard it was for me during some of those times. To think that honestly, I could have chosen a different route. Kiandra showed me a path that would be difficult and treacherous at times, but in the end calm and peaceful. Or I could have kept cutting, overdosing, and other unhealthy habits. I chose to instead heal. Of course I could write about all the wrong stuff I did, but I want to remember what I did right for once.
So in two years I basically changed my entire life and how I remembered it. I'm still in awe at that transformation. From a girl who denied everything, I was beginning to wake up. And also of importance- I stayed in college- not taking time off and kept my job not taking time off. Some may see that maybe as not the best decision, but I saw it as strength. That I could heal and go to school and have a job- a life. I'll admit it was not always easy, but hell- I did it.

The next parts of my life are a little blurred and I don't know what happened when, but it was just as difficult as the previous ones. I faced even the mention of the words sexual abuse and talked about it. Once, I even found the strength to talk about it in detail to my counselor. And I joined a few survivors groups to talk about it more. I started trying to change my relationship with my mother and was hoping for the best. I went to a life changing hospital stay where the passion for life came back to me. I withdrew from school for the first time and was all the stronger for it. I knew it would be five years at college and not four. And I didn't let that kill me. I told my family I was sexually abused. I dabbled in getting better with life skills- eating, sleeping, meds, exercise, friendships, though it was not perfect. I found hobbies. I could look at myself in the mirror.

Then, we began the process of ending therapy which was almost as difficult as the other things I did. I learned what it was like to be truly sorry for something. I learned to say goodbye.

At this point, I still carried a lot of hope for everything. I hoped that my mother was really changing and we'd have a relationship. I hoped that I could be in an intimate relationship and navigate through it pretty well. I hoped that for once I would be compliant with meds and maybe I'd be stable. I hoped that I would do better with sleeping and eating. I'm glad I had that hope- it carried me through. I did a lot of things right in this time, along with the bad. I think I was tired of trying to heal- it hurt so much and I had been doing it continuously for three and a half years. My body went through medication hell trying to find the right ones. I was tired of healing being my focus, for once I just wanted to be.

Though I now say that was on the bad side of choices, I am patting myself on the back now. For three and a half years I did face all of the hurt- every single week, not just in a therapy session, but outside as well. Maybe I never did enough, but the point is I did a lot of thinking and healing outside of the therapy room. As much as I fought getting better, I kept on going, facing the hurt as I could. Though when I left therapy the first time, it was more of an escape and a yearning to face the days without so much healing...I can accept that. Was I healed in the sense that I was accepting of things and allowed myself to really feel and express those feelings, and really changing my thought process and able to be in an intimate relationship? No. I was healed in the sense that I had just begun to find myself (the real me) and explore the different facets of myself. I was learning. And I think I came pretty far for a girl who only a few short years ago believed there was nothing wrong and I was firmly in a fantasy world. I was more than a shell of a person. Though I wonder if she knew I was just avoiding further pain, she let me go on my way, free to explore this new found world.

But, with any escape, it all catches up to you. The sleepless nights got to me, relationships weren't stable, my mother pulled away in a very hurtful fashion, my moods were unstable, and I stopped doing cd hw every day. I could no longer hold up the illusion that I was happy and stable and the pain I had been avoiding hit me hard. I hated to think that I needed help again after being so independent, but I was no fool.

I started slowly back into the world of healing with a day treatment. Then, it was Kiandra's turn. I so badly just wanted to be healed and resisted the notion that I needed such therapy anymore. Our first two months were awful as I raged against her...and myself. My pain came back with a vengeance and I realized just how many secrets I kept to myself...and how I always seemed to keep reality out of my life. She showed me the holes in my healing and thought process. It hurt so much. But ever a trooper- I forged on. I wanted to prove to her that her ever present faith in me was not misplaced.

And I did something that caught both of us by surprised. I changed so fully all the way around and landed dead center in reality. I used to live in a fantasy that my mother would change, but now I accepted that she would hurt me and sometimes love me. I lost hope on my mother and I catapulted into healing. I stopped making excuses for the things I didn't do and instead just did them. I had choice in life. Just like I always chose to heal and continue to get better...I finally lost the charade in my life and was just me.

Healing was not going to be fast. Though I should have known this sooner since I had been facing my pain for over four years, I always just hoped one day I would be just "healed." Now, instead, I know I've found myself, but I'm aware that things could rise up and I will face them as they come. And shit happens. It really does- and I could face it in a healthy way or not. Eventually I chose healthy. And every thing changed- I slept in a great sleep/wake cycle and was committed to my medication every single day. I brought back cognitive distortions and my brain appreciated it. I opened up in therapy with a new found vigor. I let go of the secrets. I let go of living my life in crisis.

One day, I realized that I was focused on who I was becoming, rather than who I had been. I know the pain of my past, but it's no longer my focus. My identity is not that of a survivor of all of that pain...but on the things I am doing today and the promise of what I will accomplish. Real power and control wasn't lamenting upon all the wrongs against me, but to make a choice to live healthy in every way- no more thinking solely of the wrongs. I could leave my baggage when I needed to. Not that I was denying, just knowing there was a time and place for it and I could decide that. I still have pain, I'm still in therapy, but I am getting so much more out of life now.

Today, I relate to who I am becoming, not who I was. I'm the real person...the one even before all of the abuse. I am not just the abused girl- but I want to say, hey look over here, it's me. I have a stability I have never known in life- ever. And I acknowledge the choice before- the ones I refused to see before. And this is it, I know I'm moving into my last few phases. And I think it's amazing. In May I graduate after five tumultuous years and move into my dream job and into a life I never thought possible.

They always say you never know how close you are to your goal until you are right beside it. I guess that is true, since I believe I am right near it. Not there, but moving in that direction. And tonight I wanted to say hey...I went through all that shit, even though I could have given up so many times. I faced my pain and I am healing from it. No one can take that away from me. Their are still a few kinks in the system...but I'm learning and am an eager student. But most of all, I'm truly resolving so many of these issues. I don't know how much longer it will take to get to the place I need to be, but I'm alright with that. I don't need a time table. These days are mostly joyous and the ones that are troublesome I accept and work on making them better. I'm active in living healthy.

I was in hell for so much of my life and have seen the worst of so many people. But I've also had a lot of good times in my life and those are the ones I try to live for. I deserve to have some happiness in my life and I no longer worry about when shit happens. I just deal with it. Kiandra took such a broken little girl and stood by her every step of the way- so now I'm standing next to an awful lot of good stuff. I didn't always make the best choices and I'm sure I was frustrating- but somehow I got here. I kept going, I faced so much pain, worked through its effects and I've made it.

Tonight I remembered so many of the good things that I did. I didn't just get to this place as a passive patient. Or maybe it was because I had such an ass kicker for a therapist. But the choice was always mine to go back for more...and to make the changes she always told me about. I know my life could have taken so many different directions, but I'm glad I stuck with it. Sometimes I think that I almost died, but now I think...damn, I almost lived. Most of the last bunch of years was only surviving with only a peep of real living. I'm just glad Kiandra always kept me moving forward.

I made a choice, even through the pain, to heal. Now I choose to simply live and live well, here in reality and in the present.

'Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets in to who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all
- Dar Williams, After All

2-9
Life is still good a couple days later. I made a contract with myself. Includes: going to class every day, stop skipping, do the HW too, take all of my meds, keep my room clean, do the more advanced CD HW and then some other stuff.

I have a few things to work on, just haven't had time to think and rant, life's coming at me pretty fast. I think things will slow down next week.

Mostly I keep thinking starting in May I have a whole new life awaiting me. One I can't even conceive of because I never thought it was possible. So I'm in "just graduate" mode kind of. It's an incredible feeling to have a dream of yours just plop right down in your lap. I've dreamed before and wished and wanted, but never saw myself actually grasping things like that.

So now...I sit and think about all of the changes about to come. And then I get scared. Scared shitless. And that's the feeling for now.

2-7
Alright, Bobb has a new name, better name, cooler name: Kiandra. So from this moment on, Bobb is Kiandra. Now on to the good news. Here is what I wrote when I got the good news:

For three and a half years I have been working my ass off as a behavioral therapist for children with autism, running a training program, doing mental health advocacy and research. Sometimes for free, and definitely for little money. I also made sacrifices- I decided to put my job ahead of my grades. A risky move but one I felt was right.

Today, I got my dream job. The interview I had today could not have gone any better. The executive director of this company rocked. And she mentioned things that I had wanted to do in this field for years. I get to make a "model" program for college students, training them in ABA (applied behavioral analysis), and putting them with families. And I get to do this all over this state! Also, I'll be a lead therapist for families in my area- which is great, I don't have to travel too far. And, more importantly, I get to keep my kids if they can afford the higher rate. And I know Julia's family will. So I get to keep her. This company saw my loyalty to the families as a strength!

In the past, I would be waiting for the bad news. But, I know I worked so very hard for this and I made it. The salary is unbelievable. Base pay is 35 grand...but since I'll have four years experience too, my base pay is in the 40's. Plus, within the next year I will have my certification, so that adds more money. I can't believe it. I've never had that much money in my whole entire life. Like holy cow.

Things are looking up. I picture my life now- getting up, working all day having a blast, come home, curl up with my two cats doing paperwork and listening to music. Then going to sleep and getting up and doing it all over again. I cannot wait.

I made it. I know it and I feel it. I just need to make it through these next few months.

This is incredible. I don't even know how to celebrate such good news!

2-7
It appears I am finally getting through all of my secrets to Bobb. It was a long list intially, but I find myself writing less of them. Which is a good thing.

An incredible thing has happened in about two months or so. When I left Bobb initially, I was okay but not great. I was going to live life and not be suicidal about it. But I kept far far too much from Bobb, so I wasn't as healed as I needed to be. And I got very good at lying to myeslf. Then I went over the edge a bit and found myself back in her office. And that's exactly where I needed to be. I have rediscovered myself and have a new understanding that I never even came close to.

And that has changed my life...for the better. But it does mean changing relationships, which scares me some. And I'm still scared of May when my whole life basically changes. But, I don't face every day with fear, but take them one at a time, my focus on trying to live healthy. When I graduate college, it's not just saying I passed the classes, but I passed some life tests as well.

You would think at times perhaps I am bitter or upset that living is hard again. But I'm not. It needs to be hard for a while. There is no easy way to live as some songs suggest. I'll take the hard as they come and just keep on getting better.

I used to believe that life gave me more than the average person- more bad things happening. And while as a child I did go through more than the average child...when I'm an adult it is all about how I deal with things. I can deal with them in a healthy way or an unhealthy way. For the longest time I was just so angry that I had to face so many things all the time that I wasn't looking at why bad things kept happening. They were bad sometimes because I made them bad by not handling them well. Yeah, go me. Not.

These days life is different and I can handle what life brings me. Even though things are incredibly hard as I make some touch decisions...I know that in the end I'll be alright. Life is sweet...haven't you heard?

2-7
Why is it I feel like someone should be singing these lyrics to me?

Wishing That
Jann Arden

And when I held you
You would almost always hold me down
You could see through
Everything I said I was falling
And you said not to fall on you
I've bitten every finger 'till it bled

Wishing that you loved me too (2 x's)
Wishing that

And when I kissed you
You would almost always kiss me back
But I could tell your mind
Was with someone else
Oh my hands are folded
Neatly on my lap and I am
Picturing your body as I ask myself if

You love me too
Wishing that you love me too
Wishing that

Listen to my nervous laughter
Sunken deep inside my heart
My lips are dry I'm teary eyed
For you my love
Harken all you fallen angels
Help me find a place to rest
My head is pounding here beneath
The weight of this
I'm wishing that

And you know me
Oh you know me more than anyone
And when I hear your voice
Everything I've done disappears from memory
Oh my darling come and save me
Tell me I'm the one you're dreaming of
Tell me that

You love me too
Wishing that you love me too (3 x's)
Wishing that
You love me too
Wishing that
I'm wishing that
I'm wishing that...Wishing that