It’s about five o’clock in the morning, and outside all I hear are annoying, chirping birds.  When I was young, I used to be a very heavy sleeper;  just give me a flat pillow and a blanket and I could sleep through any natural disaster (and my noisy, sex crazed neighbors).  But over the years I seem to have lost my ability to go into a sleep coma, and now everything from happily chirping birds to a creaky misstep on the hardwood floor keeps my eyes pried open.  Have you seen A Clockwork Orange?  Yeah.  You know what I’m talking about.

So I find myself awake here in my bed, posting a blog, listening to birds.  It’s becoming really incessant now.  You know those robotic birds in Mary Poppins?  You know, during the “Spoonful of Sugar” scene?  I’m beginning to think it’s a robotic bird that will never stop its tinny chirping.  This is why people go crazy early in the morning.  Insane, robotic bird beasties.

Sorry, TANGENT.

I’m not sure how long this post will be, or how long it will take me to finish it.  I had tinkered with the idea of posting it when I returned to the internet after a long stint of health problems, but ultimately ended up waiting until now.  I wanted to make sure I was doing, overall, much better before I even attempted to put any words down.  It’s difficult when you have a lot of critical “eyes” watching you;  you almost feel like you can’t even discuss certain topics without causing a shit storm, sometimes.  But I don’t think anything should be off limits in the world of blogging or writing, and as someone who majored in fiction writing in college and was directed to write about what I know, I intend to give you just that.  A blog entry about BIRDS.

…just kidding.  See?  I haven’t even truly started this blog and I’m already trying to diffuse it with humor.

When I was very young, my parents sent me to a therapist for writing horrific things on my homework in Jr. High combined with artwork that made my poor conservative mom question, “Where did I go wrong with her?”  Since then, I’ve been diagnosed with a variety of mental disorders.  I was never really happy in school, and like most of my viewers who have felt the sting of rejection by their peers, I felt like a misfit.   I tried to fit in earlier on;  I begged my mom to buy me designer clothes (and I know how absurd this will sound, but my Jr. High peers wore Tommy Hilfigwhatever and Adidas everything, so I thought it was cool).  The biggest issue with that was I was too overweight to wear the clothes I wanted to, to fit in;  so I went the Sharon Needles route and used her brilliantly dark theory when I hit Jr. High:  ”When in doubt, freak them out.”  Oh yes.  Yellow cat eye contacts, baby.  Mascara for days.  Black clothes.  Black black black and you BETTER NOT LOOK AT ME or you will get one helluva poisonous death stare.  (I wish I had pictures. ….Actually, no.  I don’t.  At all.)

It didn’t really work.  I attempted suicide at age 12.

That obviously didn’t work either.  As much as I would like to go into the things that happened between my teenage years and now, I’d rather not get a cramp by the amount of typing it would require to really elaborate.  That particular time span was filled with ugliness.  Some good, some bad, but a lot of ugliness, self doubt, and a gaping lack of motivation.  When my Dad passed away of brain cancer, a very gruesome death I witnessed in my house when I was fourteen, things took a turn for the hopeless, and I found myself messed up in a world of delusional thoughts, pills, eating disorders, and jeezus christ, whatever else you can possibly think of.  It’d be silly to say there were not good things that happened from then until now, but the good parts didn’t seem to over write the broken bits of my brain.  During college, I remember my psychiatrist wanting to put me on heavy anti-psychotics to tame my terrifying delusions.  I had a very loving boyfriend at the time who would have done just about anything for me, but unfortunately, the heavy drugs I was on left me creatively empty, exhausted, and nearly emotionless.  Feeling useless, I broke up with him after college.  The drugs did help quell the scary things I was feeling at the time, but it also left me feeling like a zombie, and I couldn’t do anything creative or worthwhile without seeing life through a thick fog.  So I stopped taking them, and never looked back.

A few years ago, after a long stint of doing very well (I restarted college, figured out what I wanted to do, and also found video making to be a good thing for me) I found myself back in a dark place.  Possibly the darkest I had ever been in.  I was suffering from almost constant delusions, night terrors, and physical pain due to other pre-existing medical conditions that I had given up on bettering, and that feeling of hopelessness slowly started to creep back in, despite being successful in school and at my new job of teaching aiding.  Even though I would never blame other people directly for the root of my issues, there were people in my life that made things difficult for me, and made me feel worthless.  People who who hurt me, but didn’t want to admit that;  so instead, put me at fault for being hurt.  For being “dramatic.”  Too emotional.  I find that I spent more time trying to repair broken bridges that people would have rather kept demolished, and all I can really say to that is:  Shame on you.  And though I can remain bitter, I realize that true friends, and genuine people will forgive you anything and stick by your side, and people who blame you for being dramatic, fucked up, or unworthy are things a poisonous, self loathing person would say in attempt to quell their own insecurities.  And I will have none of it anymore.  If someone can’t look past your scars and see a hardworking, (but obviously suffering) person, then let the bridge stay demolished, and do not look back.  People will make any excuse they can to put you in a bad light to make themselves took superior.  No matter how polished these people appear on the outside, they are grisly and ugly on the inside.

I overdosed.  I had literally snapped like a twig, and consumed so many pills that I shouldn’t have even woke up.  The only reason I did wake up, and was found, was because I was vomiting so violently everywhere.  It is said that people who go tell someone they want to end their lives do not truly wish to die;  they are reaching out for help.  For someone to stop them.  This wasn’t how I felt.  I wanted to die, and I wanted nobody to stop me, so I told nobody.  Because if I did, I risked being stopped, and I am the type of person to fixate on an idea so intently that I will not give up until it has come to fruition.  What followed the OD are some of the most painful, graphic things I have ever been through in a hospital emergency room, and I don’t care to relive them.  Let’s just say I had people working hard on me to keep me alive, and I was semi-conscious for many of their procedures.

I know that some people can’t even fathom how one can seriously consider going through a self termination attempt.  And I’m not sure if I can really explain it, and have it make sense.  I was done with everything.  I felt people hated me.  I felt I had proof that they did.  I felt I would be doing people a favor.  People can claim selfishness all they want to.  Even I am not prone to disagree with that statement;  it *is* selfish.  But when you are in such a dark, uncontrollable state, you don’t feel that way.  You genuinely feel like you are doing people a favor by ridding them of your worthless, fucked up being.  You feel like you are being thoughtful, as warped as it sounds.  I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it my mind, it was clear as crystal, and I just wanted everything to stop so I had a chance to be normal.  I physically recovered, and was put into therapy for a long time.

For a while, I was completely bitter.  I felt like someone had taken my choice away from me, and I felt trapped in a life I didn’t even want.  I was a snot to people.  I told people to fuck off.  I told nurses to blow me.  I told doctors they couldn’t fix my goddamn life and make people like me, so “leave me alone.”  You know… months of feeling that way REALLY SUCKS.

Goddamn, I look back at how I really felt and I can’t even imagine telling someone to fuck off.  Well, I mean…I COULD, but not because they were just trying to be helpful.  Christ, I was such a bitch.  And to anyone I was severely toxic to because of my own self loathing and anger:  I am so deeply sorry.

I can’t really determine the exact moment that things got better.  Here I was thinking I was going to explain some grand, epiphany moment with angels singing and birds chirping, but nope!  I got nothing.  This is highly disappointing, actually.  I’d make something up, but that’s not very genuine at all.  All I know is that after I had been suffering the consequences from those dark times, there was a point when I wanted to correct myself.  I wanted to work for it.  This may sound exceedingly silly, but while I was recovering, I was watching a LOT of RuPaul, and as campy and entertaining as he is, he is also extremely wise and inspirational.  I wouldn’t say I took all of my inspiration from him, but it accounted for a lot of it.  ”You can transform yourself into anyone you want to be.”  You’re on, RuPaul.

So I took an entire summer off of school and work in hopes of getting my health back in check.  Every day, I did a new work out.  I discovered kickboxing, which I still practice.  I lost 20 pounds, my heart seemed to be beating more regularly, my skin cleared up as I introduced healthy foods into my diet, and without any friends to talk to during that entire summer, I focused very, very intently on *myself.*  Some of it was lonely, and that’s okay.  I rediscovered art, and GASP.  OUTSIDE.  Yep, I went outside sometimes.  I wore all black and dark ass sunglasses, but come on, it’s a start, right?  I also started to convince myself not to rely on others to consistently be happy.  And I am not saying that is a bad thing anyway, because let’s be realistic;  it’s far easier to feel good about yourself when you have the reassurance and support of others, versus you trying to convince you that you’re awesome.  That’s just how it is, and don’t let anyone tell you that depending on other people is wrong.  The most important thing you will do in life is create awesome, fulfilling relationships and friends.  Do not let anyone make you feel guilty for reaching out to them.  And if you reach out to a friend and they are cruel and not receptive, then they are not your friend.  The bridge.  Burn it.

But in that particular span of time, I truly needed to be alone to prove to myself that I could do it.  I could get better, I could take care of my medical conditions, and I could live a lot happier.  And when I fixate on something, I see it through until it comes to fruition.  And I did get better, and I did slowly let my good friends back into my life.  I forgave many.  Not because they necessarily deserved forgiveness, but for my own sanity.  Sometimes forgiving someone else is a good way to heal, even if you forgive them mentally, and end up never saying a word to them.

I graduated with high honors, and excelled in the business world.  And when I felt comfortable, I brought the videos back, which seem to bring me more happiness than they ever had.  I had to leave TGWTG behind (as you most know) because there was a huge mental block there, and I felt that in order to truly start over, I needed to start over with everything.  This isn’t to say I didn’t keep some of the friendships and acquaintances I met through the site.  People are more important to me than just BEING on a popular site.  But I did leave behind the mental block, and the memories associated with that time period.  I’ve made some new friends since, and have found some truly caring people in my life, and I’ve found that they have benefited me and have made me feel special.  We all need to feel special, sometimes.

I decided to get a bigger tattoo piece on my arm after I started feeling physically well again.  It’s a very spacious, colorful piece, that has gears and wires and mechanical flowers in it.  It was supposed to represent a stronger, working body.  Actual, living flowers can wilt and die away in a short period of time, but these mechanical flowers have more staying power. (But now that I think about it, techy things CAN malfunction.  Oops.)  Pretty cheesy, eh?  Regardless, I feel more beautiful than I ever had with this tattoo on my arm, and over time it will also serve as a time piece and reminder of how I proved to myself that I could pick up the pieces, and how I learned to accept the fact that I am not perfect.  I still go through dark times, I still get sad, and scared.  But everybody does.  EVERYBODY is fucked up in some way.  But it’s not our jobs to judge other people or tell other people how screwed up they are.  Worry about your damn self, because in the end, you are all you have.  People will come and go in your life.  I thought that the people I met on AOL while role playing back in the day were going to be my friends forever.  But they came and went, and I know that people I associate with now will also come and go.  But I (and my tattoos) will still be with me.  So dammit, I better take care of me.  (I know, cheesy cheese cheese. Mmm.)

My huge freakin’ tattoo.

It’s tricky to write about subjects like this.  You never know which middle aged mom will E-mail you about what a bad influence you are, after all!  Haha.  (Hah…I’m…not joking.  A middle aged mom E-mailed me and asked me to remove my Web site from the internet because I am terrible.  Ahem).  But if I could help, inspire, or give at least ONE person some hope, then this long ass blog entry was absolutely worth it.  Some entries like this end on the “woe is me” route, and “I don’t know if I’ll ever get better” route.   Not this one.  Survival of the mind is incredibly challenging, but you can get through it.  You can find something to make you feel worth while, and I believe that no mind is so broken that it cannot be fixed.  Or at least patched up.  And I don’t regret anything of the actions I have taken in the past.  I don’t even regret the fact that I may have burned bridges or offended people, because that brought me here and it all makes me this person.   And perhaps I am a little bit crazy, but if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be me.  So you can either take that and embrace that, or leave it, and I’ll continue on with tweeting about pizza and bad computer games.  And my brain doesn’t like to believe it sometimes, but I’m a strong willed person, and no matter how many people I want to kick in the head and mouth out to, my heart remains in the right place.

Next to my lungs.

 <3