Teacher blog

I haven't bveen posting much lately. My mind is full of school things. If you'd like to read about my school updates, and non-sex things, go HERE and read my awesome blog there. I'm not closing this or anything, but I needed a family friendly place to update people about work which is what I am doing most of the time now.

Coming home

Well.

That was all I had written since Monday afternoon and now it is Wednesday. It's very difficult to explain this. But I will try. I feel like I'm coming back from something. Coming home. That reminds me of Ellis's song Coming Home to You. She's my favorite musician. I've seen her in concert twice and am totally in love with her. She makes me all giggly and starstruck when she's in the same room.
Ellis (ignore the grain, I accidentally left the ISO at frickin 1600):

Back to the point. I've been horribly irritable for several weeks, which followed a depression of about a month. I was irritable until last week. I would yell so loudly at my students that I scared myself. Everything set me off. I wasn't even fit to be teaching to be honest, but you can't take a sick day for being angry. Part of it had to do with my aide being out. She has missed probably a total of almost 4 weeks of school and it's only December. But either way, I was just plain angry. I could hardly get myself to school. I decided I needed to go back on Risperdal, I hated my job, I cried a lot, and I just wanted it to all be over. I called Mom all the time in the mornings so she could talk me down and I could start breathing normally again. Not last weekend, but the one before, something flipped the switch. I started to feel better. It wasn't perfect, but it was better. And then Thanksgiving break happened, which was wonderful. It was such a good time for a break. And then Monday I started to think about the difference in my words and thoughts. These ruminations were a combination of having to make a hair decision (appointment is on Friday) and making Christmas lists and deciding what style of clothes to ask for (my grandparents and parents require a rather specific list).

On the way to visit my therapist, I realized I may not want to make my hair neon anymore. And as I talked to her, I realized I felt this urge to grow my hair a little and not be so edgy. I do enjoy my bright hair, but sometimes I am edgy on purpose. I just want to calm down. And I want to wear some less masculine clothes. I don't want ruffles or anything, but I feel the need to be pretty. And it has to be pretty, not just attractive. I want to feel like a girl again. I want to be recognized as a female, as feminine, as a woman.

And now it is Thursday night. This is taking me forever.

Part of me looks the way I do because it jut comes naturally. I haven't been overly feminine in years, and I dress for comfort. But a lot of what I say is a result of what I've experienced. Loren asked me where it started. It can all be summed up in this name: Grace Marie. When I was still a part of this Christian community, I was asked not to date for a year. I decided that was ridiculous but decided to try it. Around the same time I fell for The Creep. To make a long story short, I just wanted to have a relationship, I kept getting stricter and stricter rules, people were watching me and analyzing me, and I rebelled on purpose because I felt so boxed in. I've never quite gotten over that.

Aaaand it's Friday night.

And just like I said before that I put up the gay shield so that people can hurt that, but not the real me, I realized I'm tired of putting up shields. And more than that, I'm tired of trying things on. I don't want to try anything else on. I just want to be ME. That's why I feel like I'm coming home. I'm coming home to ME. I don't know who I am, really, but I am starting to find out, and I want to continue finding out. Whoever I am, I can't be myself when I'm trying on all these different personas. I am who I am. `And for whatever reason, who I am is a lot quieter and calmer and less rebellious than I seem to people.

My fear is that I will never stand out again, if I stop wearing and dyeing and professing like I do. I don't want to be looked over, viewed as just conforming, or seen as a normal average girl. If I give up all of these things I put on, what is left?

Em the Femme the anonymous

I got a little hurt tonight. I was with BFF eating dinner and she told me she'd read this blog. I was saying blog readers, plus her, were the only people who would know why I didn't go to MN over the weekend, and that's when it came out. She then got sheepish or something and said she unsubscribed. My stomach dropped.

See, here's why I don't tell anyone about it. For most people, it's because I get explicit and want to be out of the closet. Seriously out. And for those people to whom I am already out, there are just some things that don't need to be said. And most importantly, when I know my friends are reading it, I get sort of exhibitionist and I say things for their benefit, and when I am writing it is 100% tainted knowing that my friends will read it. I try not to think about who's reading it but it doesn't work. For some reason with online friends it doesn't matter. The lone friend reader reading this I've almost gotten used to him reading it. But not BFF. I felt betrayed. So I started furiously knitting very tightly and it came back to bite me the next row because it was almost too tight to work with. She said she was being nosy and wanted to know what was so secret I couldn't tell her. And she also said she wanted to understand. That's all fine and good, but ASK me.

I tried not to outwardly sulk. I was seething. A friend, well, fine. I'll deal with that. But her? That really really hurt. I was very explicit about wanting to keep my real life friends away from there. I even posted about it. So I sat there knitting, angry, and when the pizza came I got up to get water and must have looked upset. As I was walking into the kitchen she asked if I was upset. I said yes, but I'd get over it. She told me she understood why I was upset and that it was OK. And then she did what I had been waiting for this whole conversation. She apologized. And I felt better after that. She said it was OK for me to be mad at her for a while. But I told her she said what I needed to hear and so then I was OK. I felt better. I just wanted an apology. I didn't want her to feel bad (OK, maybe a little) but the apology signified that she knew she had hurt me and after that I could move on.

I'm grateful for my ability to post without real life repercussions. I'm sure they exist but with me trying so hard not to reveal personal information about my work/hometown I'm hoping my chances go way down.

This discussion about anonymity has made me realize how long it has been since I've taken any nudes. It is about time I do that. I haven't taken any self portraits in ages, save for the ones of my hair. I'm sad. I don't know if I lost my groove, or what. Maybe I just need to get back in the practice. I let my entire life revolve around my medication side effects and I am obsessed with going to bed early. Early means getting more than 8 hours, which means being asleep before 9:45. Ouch. I don't NEED to leave here until 7, but having an hour and 15 minutes to get ready is nice. I can check my mail, take a shower, eat some breakfast, pick out clothes...etc etc.

Anyway. I'll get on that and post some deliciously work inappropriate photos.

I'll try and make this quick, as my goal is to turn my lights out in 10 minutes.

My therapist was so proud of me today when I told her what happened over the weekend. She thought it was a really good decision for me to be home. I felt really pressured to go even though there were so many things there that would have made me uncomfortable, but mostly due to the long drives and getting back so late, and my severe issues with traveling like that. And I'm a terrible passenger, especially with unfamiliar people who intimidate me. She congratulated me on keeping myself together and not cutting.

We talked about why I rebel sometimes. I don't always. At school, for example, I follow the rules and if I think someone is unhappy with me it freaks me out and I bend over backwards to fix it. Around other people, for example the people I would have been with this weekend and other similar acquaintances, I am scared to death. And I put up the gay shield. By the way, I just figured this all out today. This was a huge revelation.

See, if I put up the gay shield, and make it loud and clear I like girls and activism and Buddhism and falling asleep next to hot women after crazy sex in the candlelight (OK maybe I don't mention that part but man that was hot and I will explain it later), then they can judge that part. I KNOW how to respond to people disliking my sexuality. I do NOT know how to respond when people just don't like ME. I don't want them judging ME. See, I'm a shy and quiet person who is uncomfortable around unfamiliar people. I don't make good conversation with them. Therefore, I look pretty boring and awkward. And even without the gay thing, I don't buy into their brand of Christianity and I don't want them judging me for that either. So when I'm around people who intimidate me, and who I think might judge me, I put up this gigantic wall of gayness or Buddhism or whatever and then they can judge that and I'll deal, but the real me is safe. I can name 4 people with whom I can be myself, for real: Mom, Dad, LittleBrother, and BFF. That is IT. Anyone else, and I'm probably putting on a show or a mask.

I was going to wear a blazer and tie this weekend. It would have been cute, but it was also a "take that" to P (brother of the bride, friend), who said I would look good in blue (back when I liked him) and so at the time I decided to get a blue dress. He and I ended up being completely incompatible, and we ended up arguing and haven't talked a lot since. So when I thought about this weekend, and that, on top of which I would have been surrounded with tons of people who intimidate me over the weekend, I was like, no. What's the opposite of a nice feminine dress? So I was playing THAT role. The "I'm gay and rebellious and you can't hurt me" role.

Now the real me IS gay, and might be Buddhist, and is working on being sexually free, but I don't shout about any of them ALL the time.

Part of the problem is that I have trouble feeling like I have an identity. I know that everyone deals with that, but I have no idea. I can be one thing or another, like a teacher, or gay, or a photographer, or whatever, but I can't be all of them. It doesn't make sense to me. It's a trait of borderline personality disorder. not that everyone with this issue has BPD, but I do have it, and when I got my psych testing the doctor made sure to mention my identity diffusion, most common with adolescents.

OK, that was past 1o minutes, but I had to find my phone, and then talk to my brother about how I made a kid cry today. He was touching the only color printer in the school NOT owned by the office, and he would not stop. I physically guided him away from it and he insisted on going over there just to bug me. Normally I'd ignore him but it was expensive stuff. Finally I just screamed NO, and I mean screamed. He started to cry. I didn't feel bad. He has beat up on me and my paras SO much and has been a little snot. So no sympathy for him.

Bedtime.

A depressing post 100

I was hoping my 100th post would be really super awesome. That's why I hadn't posted it yet. I was still planning something. But right now I need to just talk about this.

I sort of told white lies to everyone about why I'm not off in MN shooting a wedding this weekend. My mental health is not awesome right now. I am still coming out of a depression. It's not as bad as it was, but I'm not feeling my best. As much as I wanted to take pictures, I wasn't looking forward to the rest of the weekend. And I wasn't the primary photographer. She specifically asked me to be there so that I could take "my" kind of pictures. And I was flattered. But first I had to get the day off. And then I had to be in a car for 9 hours with people. Twice in a weekend. And to top it off, I wouldn't be even leaving my hometown until 1, and the same goes for going home, and losing an hour, it would make it pretty late getting back. I get up at 5:45. And the thing is, if I have zero time to decompress, I would have been a MESS the next day. It would have ruined my week. I can't just be cooped up with people for that long, go straight to bed, and then get up early the next morning to be with my students. People get confused when I try to explain it. Anyone know what I mean?

And then there was the problem of the wedding itself. I'm highly uncomfortable around such strong spirituality. And I would be driving up with people who were pretty hardcore and we just have so few things in common. I was just hoping no one would bring up anything remotely religious because I would get so uncomfortable. I just don't know about God these days. The thought of being with them in a car for a combined 18 hours scared me. It panicked me. I wasn't just trying to be ridiculous when I said that. It really did make me panicky. Plus, a dinner that involved a ceremony with things to say that I'm not sure I believe anymore and it just freaked me the heck out. I couldn't handle it.

But I decided to go. I sucked it up and decided to go because she wanted me there. I took the day off, packed a lot, and got into the van. I started to get nervous when I saw all the other camera bags. I got in the car and started knitting. We talked, and didn't end up actually leaving until 40 minutes later. Grr. As we got onto the toll road, I found out that there would probably be about 4 photographers total not even including me. That was the last straw. I just felt so insignificant. It was selfish, but that's what I felt. My heart starting racing and I got teary eyed. I texted my mom and told her I was going to cry because she didn't need me. The only reason I decided to go was because I could treat it as work, and I could just do my thing. But the thought of having to compete with all those different people just made the trip seem not worth it. I don't know. I can't justify it anymore. So Mom told me she'd pick me up. I told them to drop me at the rest stop and I'd stay. I just said it was an emergency at home. So there I was. Such a sad sight...with my bags and clothes on a hanger sitting at a McDonald's in the middle of nowhere.

It would break my heart if she ever found out why I didn't come. It would probably really get to her brother too, who is probably reading this even though I asked my RL friends not to read. I'm not sure she (or he) would understand. People who don't have serious mental health issues often misunderstand those who do.

I'm going to just take my medicine and go to bed. I have nothing planned for tomorrow. I'm beginning to regret my decision but there's nothing I can do now. And I'm aware that I would have been very unsettled on Sunday, having spent the whole weekend away from home. But now my stomach hurts and I am upset I stayed here. She will be sad, and I will have broken a promise. I wish I didn't have those panic attacks. I totally freaked out. I made a snap decision. I should have delayed, just like my therapist told me to. And Mom was just trying to help by offering to pick me up. But I didn't delay. I panicked and got out of the situation as fast as I could. So now instead of being miserable on the drive, I will be miserable at home feeling sorry for myself, having nothing to do. And I mean nothing. I'm tired of my computer and my apartment.

Boohoo. Pity party.

12 Steps for Buddhists

I've had such a hard time on the codependency boards. They all view God as some all powerful saving thing who can make things better. I don't WANT to rely on a higher power. And I truly believe that I can deal with my codependency issues and borderline personality disorder without believing some mystical higher power is somehow going to help me. For me, God doesn't help me through much of anything. I don't think he works that way. I mean, what's God going to do that I can't? It's not prayer-in, help-out. God is not a candy machine. I refuse to believe that I can't help myself in the way of medicine, therapy, and skill building. It has turned into a discussion about higher powers and what I've found out is basically, there IS no way around addiction that does not involve a spiritual awakening and thinking that something bigger than you has to help. What happens when an atheist, for example, becomes addicted? Are they just screwed?

All I wanted were some books that would help that don't involve the 12 Steps because those take a view of God that I don't. I hope I never become alcoholic because I'd hate those steps and would need to find another way.

I'm Catholic, but with a Buddhist soul. They're not incompatible totally. Buddhism relies on understanding more than faith, so you see how much religion doesn't work for me.

This is so disheartening. I WANT to get better, but there has to be a way other than lying about my spiritual beliefs. There's no way I can change them. They are what they are. Even if I say they're changed, they won't be.

How does anyone who's reading this deal with crisis without surrendering to a higher power? Is there another kind of higher power? I even believe in God but not that I need to surrender anything to him. It's all so confusing.

Photo post

What do I feel like writing about? I've written two very heavy posts and I feel like I need to write something lighter. No one likes a whiner. But sometimes things just need to come out.

Maybe it's time for some photos. Yes, that is a good idea. I don't take enough lately. I just don't go out anymore. I need to make time. I just have to get up early and I hold my bedtime so sacred. I work out twice a week and I take my violin lesson on alternating Wednesdays. But in the time I have, I HAVE to go out more. This is my sanity. It makes me so happy to take the pictures and edit them. So I'm going to make a goal for myself to take pictures once a week, and it doesn't matter where. Just anywhere.

So here are some self portraits.


I hated this picture because I screwed up the focus, but then I made it into a Holga-like picture and I like it now. This is by my parents' house.



My new medicine. We'll see.


My student had a seizure the day I took this. It was so scary. It was long, too. She has a nurse with her, luckily, so I didn't have to do anything, but I just felt so helpless standing there watching her jerk and hear her holding her breath and almost squeaking. Normally she doesn't make a peep. She's not only nonverbal, but practically mute. It freaked me the fuck out.


This is from Sunday when I was still fairly sick. I knew something was different and something was very wrong. I had just called Dad and started crying because my chest hurt and I had a fever (I hadn't had a fever since practically childhood).