And as I’m wishing I could get out of it and worrying that I can’t fall asleep, I found this Captain Awesome blog:
I want to say that I know how hard it is to open your home and your heart to parents who seem to take pleasure in criticizing your adulthood.
I know what it’s like when you clean up to the best of your energy, groom yourself to the point of snapping a proud selfie, and cook with the finest things you can afford… and instead of appreciating these gestures of love and respect, your parents comment that you’ve ruined your hair, that they don’t like your weight, and they don’t see why you live in this dump. I know that this stings like a slapped face, and that for days afterward you’ll be probing this hurt, feeling around its edges like a bruise, unable to let it go.
“This little world you’ve built for yourself is total crap!” is never going to be something you’re grateful to hear.
so. On. Point.
that is all. Wish me luck!
1. Batiste dry shampoo can help on mornings where you should’ve taken a shower, and your hair is greasy but you can’t actually work up to taking a shower. Even if you have to use what seems like a lot. Don’t mess around with those loose powders; they’re not worth it.
2. Waterproof eyeliner and mascara. This probably goes without saying, but I bought a Tarte clay paint eyeliner and was loving the way it went on and perfecting my wings, until I had a teary moments and realized that even light dabbing with tissue was making me raccoon eyed.
3. Lip colour will make you look more put together than you actually are. Just slap some on in the elevator or something.
4. Use your depressed symptoms to your advantage! I’ve gone to work in interview suits, because I don’t feel well enough to do laundry and none of my regular clothes are clean, and everybody thinks that I am super up when really the opposite is true. Yes, it sounds like putting on a suit is a bunch of work, but when it’s clean and hanging in your closet you just pull on a skirt, pull on some boots, put on a top like usual and you’re good to go.
5. You might be poor like me, but don’t fucking stint on your beauty products when you’re depressed. I’ve got some dollar store purse packs of Kleenex, and they’re thin and rough and release a shit ton of fibres when you pull one out of the pocket. If I’m having a cry away from home, dealing with some shitty ass Kleenex is enough to make things way worse, because how do you feel about saving that dime now?
6. Try wearing natural fibers. I know I feel way better in linen or cotton then if I’m trapped in polyester or nylon.
7. Fluffy is the word when you’re at home. Fluffy bathrobe, fluffy slippers, jersey sheets, fuzzy blankets.
I called tonight, thinking i’d be kind and check in. There’s literally nothing that I can say that won’t end up going wrong. So for example, I said that I was going to make some kraft dinner with salmon tonight for dinner. My mom responded by saying “that’s not very healthy! I only eat Kraft dinner once a year!”
OK so I said that I had found a great hotel for a trip I have coming up, and that it was literally two blocks to the train station, which would take me straight to the airport and I wouldn’t have to worry about a cab or a shuttle. My mom responded, “is it safe to walk around? The last time we were in a big city they told us we shouldn’t be downtown after five.” So I answered “Yes, thanks, tips” and she asked if I would rather she didn’t care. The choice isn’t between either you’re the most negative person on the planet, or you don’t care at all!
She’s just a fucking wet blanket, can suck the joy out of any news, can see the cloud in any silver lining, and I hate it.
Not that my dad is any better. I mentioned to him while trying to make conversation that I found a couple of great suitcases on Kijiji. One of them is a hard sided Hays carryon, and the other is a brand-name super rugged check in size. I paid $130 for them both, and they would’ve cost about $700 to buy new. My dad, who wasn’t really paying attention because he was on the Internet at the same time as being on the phone with me, moderate about how they had lots of suitcases and they could’ve given or loaned me one. The problem is that their suitcases are literally the cheapest suitcase you can buy. Like just a thin little nylon box with a cheapo zipper, and pardon me if I want to be able to buy souvenirs or presence and not have them get crushed by the airline on the way back.
I felt kind of sad about that afterwards actually, but my dad just thinks about what the cheapest thing is. That he can’t actually appreciate quality or enjoy it because he’s too busy buying the crappiest thing he can get his hands on.
Anyway, it put me in a bit of a bad mood and made me regret that I tried to connect with him in the first fucking place.
I’ve lost my wallet. I’m fairly certain it’s not lost lost in the permanent sense, that it’s in my house somewhere, but hell if I know where it is. I stopped at the grocery on the way home from work on Friday. The stuff from the store made it in the house, my bag made it in the house, I must’ve taken my wallet out and now I’m superstressed cause I don’t know where it is. Fuck! I was going to go and get a passport photo taken before I realized it was gone, so I’m wearing a shit load of make up and even eyebrow pencil and now I’m doing things like looking in the fucking deep-freeze and sweating like a bitch. Double fuck!
I just placed an online order for Accutane. From some online international pharmacy that might be a scam, so fingers crossed. I don’t even know if you can do a chargeback with a credit card if the package never arrives or something. I did Accutane before, about 15 years ago, and it was fucking fantastic. My lips were really dry, but I have plenty of Chapstick, and my skin was good for a long time. Now I’m getting bumpy under the skin pimples along my jaw line, which is for sure hormonal acne. My doctor gave me oral antibiotics, then he gave me some cream, and it hasn’t really made a difference.
I know Accutane is a big production because of the possibility of birth defects, but I have an IUD, and haven’t gotten laid in literally years, so I’m not too worried about that. I’m pretty sure if I went to my doctor and asked for a referral to a dermatologist, he would make a fuss about it. I’m just tired for asking for things. Like when I went in with tennis elbow, I had had it for two weeks and it was getting to the point where it was painful all day. And I go to work with migraines all the time, so it’s not like I’m complaining about a little twinge. The doctor gave me some topical nsaid cream, which I refer to as bullshit cream, because if it could be solved by taking Aleve I wouldn’t have even bothered with the doctors appointment. So I had to wait a week and make another trip to get the steroid injection into my elbow, and that was what worked.
Then with the neurologist, he prescribes me literally six steroid pills for three months, and I certainly have to beg for opioids, and he tends to prescribe six packs of triptans with two or three refills, but 18 pills for three months doesn’t really work when I get 3 to 4 migraines week during the summer. I hate the pressure of trying to decide whether I should save my pills or whether it’s bad enough that I get to take one now, it just sucks. And I know everybody wants to start out with conservative treatment, but I’m tired of fucking around. I’d like to get just one problem actually taken care of for once.
So, hopefully the pills actually arrive; I did order brand name instead of generic. When they do, I’m going to tell my psychiatrist the truth, that I ordered Accutane off the Internet, and if he wants to order blood work to monitor my liver that’s fine, but I’m going to take them regardless. I mean I’m fucking depressed and getting migraines all the time, I don’t want to be a pizza face too. I don’t care if the doctor doesn’t think it looks that bad when I go in there after work with a face full of primer, foundation, concealer, powder, and setting spray. It’s not his face.
I ordered a low dose because then I have the option of cutting back if I get bad side effects. I only ordered about a months worth to start with anyway.
I think the ketamine lasts for about 10 or 11 days, because by the Friday before I feel like I’m dragging my ass and yesterday I remember thinking “it’s only Tuesday, how am i going to manage to get dressed and out the door and to work three more times this week?”
Today felt better. I’m kind of acutely aware of my loneliness, because we are having a wedding shower for a coworker this week and I’m practically the only single person on the floor. I left work a little early and did a shit ton of stuff but it kind of feels like I didn’t get that much accomplished.
The problem with my house is that it is overwhelming. My first move I had detailed lists of what was in every box, because that’s how I like to roll, and then in the depressed, escape-the-mice, and my-husband-left-me moves I’ve done a shit job of throwing stuff together at the last minute. Then it is a horror on the other end because I’ll need something and have to root through a bunch of miscellaneous boxes to get to it. The stuff that is “messy” in my house is stuff that doesn’t have a place because it’s never been really put away, and I never have time to unpack it because I’m running to stay in place with migraines and work.
I had to leave work early today because the barometric pressure was plummeting. Maybe I will get a chance to catch up a bit on the long weekend…
My parents just called and suggested I could meet them in a nearby city this weekend because they’re going to a dance or something and are going to drive their motorhome.
So I said if they wanted a campsite for this Saturday night, they had better get on that yesterday, because it’s prime camping season. My dad was like “On yeah, I’ll look into it tomorrow” and I didn’t get why you wouldn’t make a reservation right away if you know that’s what your plans are. Either he doesn’t want to pay for a campsite, or he doesn’t grasp the idea of reserving online and wants to try to call a person, which is fine, but I said I didn’t really want to spend the night in a Walmart parking lot with no power or water, I’d rather drive back home. Seeing as it’s prime camping season and all. So that’s frustrating because I’m trying to help them out and they’re being obtuse! When my mom got on the phone I said I was just trying to explain the reservations and what not and she got this TONE of voice and was like “Is something wrooooong?” Like I would tell you if there was something wrong. You would be literally the last person on the planet, bitch!
I feel like it would be a jerk move to turn them down because they obviously want to see me, even though to be honest I don’t want to see them! I felt annoyed and thought “What for?? You were just here!” Don’t they remember how much fun we didn’t have? Can’t I just see them at Christmas and leave it at that? I mean, I would never pick them as friends if they weren’t my parents and they have opposite values of me so we just don’t have a lot in common and it sucks to feel pressured. Fuck!!
I put “put bra and shirt on” as a Thing I Have Accomplished Today. Yep, I’m reaching. I had bought some baskets of mushrooms because they were the cheapest, which turned out to be a mistake as when I sat down to clean them they had become moldy from being in the damp plastic. Great.
I called the food bank because the lady at the nonprofit credit counselling services agency gave me a sheet of resources after I told her my grocery budget was $100 a month. She was like “that’s totally not realistic” and I said OK, fair enough, $150. I was thinking of the giant tub of protein powder that I just bought for $100, and then I would just need milk to go with it, right? Well apparently a grocery budget supposed to be at least 3 times that. She asked what about eating out? And I was like ha ha Ha! That’s funny! Well, I do have the $1.50 hotdog every time I go to Costco.
So she said even if they could just start coming up with some of the basics, I’d be in a better place, and I thought OK. So I called them on Friday. They still had a file on me from my old address, so it must be at least three years ago, but I didn’t have to answer any questions or anything. They directed me to the crisis centre which is actually near my house, so I went there this morning.
I drank all the milk last night, so my fridge contains a bag of apples, the eggs from Costco that I still haven’t cooked, peanut butter and jam and syrup and salad dressing. The freezer has frozen peas, frozen bananas, a couple of pieces of frozen meat, and a few little bags of frozen vegetables. Then rice and lentils in the pantry, and that’s it.
When I’ve been going grocery shopping, I usually get a bag of frozen fruit from Costco for $10 or $15 to make smoothies with, some bread, milk, and maybe some frozen veggies. So my nails are pretty much a coffee or a pop in the morning, the smoothie throughout the day, and then some toast or a bowl of frozen peas when I get home.
I wasn’t expecting much, because when you pass the food bank donation bags to buy at the store it’s all dry pasta, spaghetti sauce, mac-and-cheese, and cans of beans.
So there I was waiting in the waiting room, trying not to cry, thinking I would probably get a couple of regular grocery bags of stuff. And feeling really pissed off about the rental laws. Five years ago I was living in a place that was like $550 less, but that was the place that I had to take the landlord to court because he couldn’t bolt the toilet to the floor and wouldn’t pay someone to do it. Let’s say that place was $800. So then I moved into the main floor suite, for $950. Then after living there for two years, he raised the rent to $1100. Then the place was absolutely infested with mice, to the point where I couldn’t even leave silverware in the cupboards because the mice ran all over the house at night. So I had all of my dish cloths and silverware in Ziploc bags, and had these cartons of nitro gloves from Costco and Lysol wipes, and the mice had shit all inside the stove so it was totally unusable, and the landlord wasn’t willing to do anything about it. So I moved again. To a place that was $1300. Because it’s only $200 more, but that was the best that I could find. Then it was $50 more. So now I’m paying $1350 a month, plus power, which is more than one of my two week paychecks.
I guess it’s like being house poor, because I don’t have a mortgage or any fucking equity, there’s no point to it. So I’m sitting here thinking about how I’ve worked harder and harder and I’m just getting further and further behind, and I’m literally tearing up sitting in the food bank waiting room. Finally they called my name, and there’s little tables where you can unload their boxes into your bags. Holy shit. I don’t know when I have bought a grocery haul like that. I’m absolutely sure that’s the kind of stuff that my parents and my sister got when they’re grocery shopping, but this is totally news to my fridge.
Fucking fresh cauliflower, fresh broccoli, radishes, an eggplant, a brick of cheese, a brick of cream cheese, a carton of milk, a bag of some sort of frizzly fancy salad leaves, a huge tub of potato salad, two loaves of bread and a bag of buns. A bag of sugar and one of brown sugar, A couple of bottles of Gatorade that will be handy for when I get a migraine, a bag of cereal, a couple of boxes of mac & cheese, a can of salmon, A bunch of snacky type stuff like granola bars and fruit roll ups, and a tray of eight plain individual chocolate cakes. I mean, holy shit. I kind of expected gruel and bruised fruit or something.
So I’ll be cooking today, to make sure none of this goes to waste. And when I’m in a better place, I’m going to pay it back.