Shifting Gears

So...this summer was really hard on me. I've been fighting depression pretty much my entire life, which has been difficult. It's kept me from doing stuff that I would like to try, or things that I enjoy doing already. But this summer...it just got worse. And it wasn't helped by the fact that I stopped taking my anti-depressants sometime right after my grandma died last year, right when I probably needed them most. So, I've been on a downward spiral since then, but I think school was keeping me together and giving me a goal. But I didn't go to school this summer. I decided to take the summer off, and that left me a bunch of time to sit alone and think. And think. And thinking turned to brooding. Brooding turned to analyzing my life. That turned to me deciding that the best course of action in my life right now is that I end it.

So, a few weeks ago, after I had been fighting between this dark presence in my head, trying to convince me that dying might be the best thing to do, and this other sort of will to live that I still had, I went to the hospital and asked for help.

Whoo, what a mistake!

Now, don't get me wrong, I was right to go to a hospital. I needed someone to talk to, I needed anti-depressants, and I needed a plan. What I got was anti-depressants and a plan to get out of the hospital if I was a good little girl and ate all my food and joined in all the useless activities of making crafts and letting some guy yell at a room full of people for an hour about twelve-step programs. Because chronic depression is so addicting. I mean, doesn't everyone want it? People selling their bodies to strangers for it? No? No?

Anyway, I was released from the hospital into the custody of my mother who promised the doctor in front of me that she'd remind me to take my pills every day, and make sure I made it to all my follow-up appointments, but when I noticed to her the other day that she hasn't asked me lately if I'd taken my pills, she said, "Hey, you're an adult! That's your problem, not mine! Don't you try and make me your keeper."

One of the girls in the hospital was really worried that her mom was going to lie about her to the doctor, but I just said, "They have to know that we didn't get this way by ourselves. They have to know that our parents had something to do with it."

I don't want my mom to be my keeper, and I don't really want her to remind me to take my pills, but it would be nice if she mentioned it to me every now and then. "You okay? Taking your pills. If you're not, I'm gonna kick your butt!" Or, you know, whatever it is that normal parents say to their depressed children.

Anywyay, none of this has to do with me going to college necessarily, but I needed to share somewhere, and since no one reads this blog, I guess this is as good a place as any to unload.

I start yoga class tomorrow, and I went to History on Monday, and Economics on Tuesday. Both are going to be interesting classes, and Econ is going to be very challenging. Especially since the teacher is the embodiment of every single Econ Professor Stereotype available. He could give Ben Stein a run for his blandness of speech.

Well, I guess I'd better go shave my legs and pits before tomorrow so no one has to look at my hairyness.

Back

I went and got my books for this semester. There was a guy who was older than me, like 40's, 50's, and he asked what he was supposed to do. I told him that he had to find his books and then pay for them. Then there was a lady in her 60's with her 30-something son, and he was smiling and saying, "Did you get all your books, mom? Did you make sure you got them all? Maybe you should bring a gift for the teacher!" It was really cute.

Of course, everyone else was a teenager, going to college for the first time. I advised some girls taking math courses to get some test sheets, because teachers require those. Then I wondered if I should pick up a green or blue book, but I decided to wait until the classes actually start, because each teacher is different.

This semester, I'm getting history and economics out of the way, and I'm taking yoga so I'll know how to stretch better after my jogs. The good news is that I'm only going to be at college two nights a week, and the yoga class is on Saturday morning. Seriously, I can just roll out of bed and throw on a sports bra and some pants and go to class, which will be nice. Then I can come home and nap.

Well, I guess it's started again! Hopefully I can keep going.

Wha' happen?

Why is it raining? It never rains in Southern California!

Oh man. It's coming down.

I've also decided to declare war on people who tell me that I have plenty of time to get married* and have kids. I'm glad they think that, but as an up-and-coming scientist, I can tell you that I have about four good years left in which to find a guy if I want to have biological children (I might not...), and that figures in meeting him, training him, getting engaged, and then waiting a year for the wedding.

Why do I bring these things up? I really don't know. It just kills me when people tell me what is and isn't true about my life without knowing me. My friend said the other day, "I'm going to kill the next person that says I'm married to Jesus. I mean, how creepy is that?" I said, "Jesus is great. I love Him. But He doesn't tuck me in at night, and if I have a nightmare, He isn't there holding me." She laughed, but we both got kind of quiet because we know that it's true. It sucks being single.

I love Men In Black when Will Smith says to Tommy Lee Jones, "Well, you know what they say. It's better to have loved and lost..." and Tommy Lee says, "Try it." So, I guess the next time someone says, "You have plenty of time!"* I'm going to answer, "Really? Then why did you get married so young? Kind of stupid of you."

*People seriously tell me this all the time when I visit churches. They ask me if I'm married, and I say no. Then they ask me my age and I waffle, but end up somewhere over 28 and under 35, and I get a little hand-pat and a "You have plenty of time." condescention speech. Just to spell it out: their comment is completely unsolicited, and I don't look down, embarrassed and "admit with unshed tears" my singleness. In fact, I often answer, "Oh, God no!" and the kids question is met with fear and "Dear Lord, no thank you!"

In the summer-summer-summer-summer-summertime...

So, it's Summer in California. Sorry, Rest of the World.

When we first moved into this place, it was one of the coldest winters we had seen here in Orange County in a long time, and this apartment was seriously cold. I mean, I'm cold all the time, like one of those annoying little skinny girls who "kechews" cutely into a tiny handkerchief and then asks to borrow the nearest fireman's jacket (which she gets. Along with his phone number), except I'm fat, and unless I start running again, I'll be fatter still.

Anyway, where'd I go?

Oh, right. It's cold in here. I spent the first few weeks, I spent every night shivering myself to sleep underneath two blankets and a comforter until we figured out the right heat temperature, and I've been trying to figure out how that will translate to the summer months. Is this place really poorly insulated? Or is it just designed for a lot of air movement, and therefore cooler than other, older apartments?

Well, it hit the 90's today, and I didn't realize how hot it was until I was forced to go outside for some groceries, and I was like, "Wow! It's hot out here!" Well, inside it's nice and cool. I have a blanket on my legs, and my mom is wearing as few layers as she can legally wear and still keep me in the same room with her. But she's hot all the time. And she's still just right, so I'm hopeful about the summer.

Classes are almost out for the winter/spring semester, and I'm debating on taking a class in the summer. On the one hand, I need classes. On the other, six weeks of cramming in lessons is hardly conducive to learning. Maybe for an easy English class or something, but definitely not for sciences or maths.

Gesundheit

I don't know why, but my allergies are just terrible today. I have spots on my face, wheezings in my chest. Tremblings and flutterings!

Sorry. Channeling Mrs. Bennet there a bit.

Oh, man. Living in California is really hard during the seasons. For me.

Pennies from heaven

I've been reading Dear Abby, something I tend to avoid....

There's people who believe that pennies they find on the ground are from their dead loved ones, and you know. I don't judge. I think that losing a loved one is one of the hardest parts about life. I still feel ripped apart from my Grandma's death last June on what would have been her 89th birthday. But I couldn't imagine her or my Grandpa dropping pennies down on me. Gramps was too much of a skinflint for it, and I'm pretty sure Grams would want to drop down more than just a penny.

Shortly after Grams' death, a friend of my Auntie's went to see her. This friend is a psychic, and told Auntie that she saw Grams! In heaven! And there was a man with really thick white hair, and she was reunited with him, and she was really happy!

Auntie, who has the dry, acerbic, sarcastic sense of humor that the rest of my family has, said, "Well, if she was happy, I don't know...but if they were quarrelling, that really sounds like my dad."

Oddly enough, that did give me comfort. Both the fact that this psychic saw Grams reunited with Gramps, and that my Aunt wasn't about to fawn over a woman who more than likely saw my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary photo (we all have a copy), which showed Gramps and his healthy, thick, beautiful white hair.

No Farms No Food

I saw the above on a car bumper sticker tonight on my way to school. It would have been better if underneath, it had read, "Know Farms, Know Food." Of course, it would have been equally awesome if someone had thought to put a comma on there somewhere.

My friend A is getting along really well with her boyfriend, and I am even more optimistic about their marriage than I was at the beginning. I was out to dinner with them a few weeks ago, and we were talking about tests. I mentioned that my algebra teacher last semester said that women should choose their first instinct when it came to an answer that they weren't sure about, and that men should always go with their second choice. P said, "Oh, that works for me and A." I was all, "Buh?" and he explained that since he's been married once, that would make A his second choice, and he would be A's first choice. I tried my hardest to not smile at A like, "Yes! I knew we'd been watching Say Yes To The Dress marathons for a reason!" but I think I gave myself away.

I'm totally going to buy her the new Miss Manners book on how to have a proper wedding. I'll give it to her when P isn't around, though. Don't want to freak him out too much.