Just when I want to be mad...

Okay, so I really don't go out of my way to be mad at my husband, but sometimes he does things that really, really infuriate me. But it seems like every time I have good reason to be mad at him he has another stroke of bad luck. This time it has to do with my health insurance. My policy was terminated recently and I'm almost certain he was the one who terminated it. I realize it was costing him a lot of extra money every month, but he told me he'd keep me covered till our divorce. Thankfully I have Medicare and Medicaid to fall back on, but they don't cover absolutely everything and I'll be very lucky if I don't end up in a monstrous amount of debt. So I honestly had good reason to be pissed off. Then his house burned down. I am sooooooo pissed at him, but at the same time, it's hard to be too angry at someone when their house burns down. I really don't know what to say. It honestly seems like every time I'm pissed at him he has a run of bad luck. Shortly after I left and he hit me up for $800 I really didn't have he had a motorcycle accident. The girl he cheated on me with who was his "soulmate" dumped him after I went in the hospital the second time last summer because she thought what he was putting me through was cruel. I find out he's trying to move to New York over some woman and leave the company he worked with (thus canceling my policy), and although he ended up staying with that company, the girl cheats on him right before he moves up there and dumps him a month later, and now with the insurance and his house burning down. Either he just has really bad luck or karma's biting him in the butt.

It makes me sad sometimes

Clayton and I were talking last night, and it brought up something that makes me sad when I stop to think about it, which would be all the things I've lost because of my illness. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't necessarily change things because I love him very much and my illness led me to meet him, but sometimes it's hard thinking about the way things could have been. I had a full scholarship to a good school in a good program, and I was unable to finish because of my illness. Right now I could have a masters degree (which is what I'd planned on) and a job I really enjoyed and made good money doing. I could've possibly avoided my disastrous relationship with my husband had I not been so dependent on him. I'm not saying I would've been happy with my ex-boyfriend, but him breaking up with me might not have led to a nearly-successful suicide attempt. Not to mention all the years and years of misery leading up to my eventual breakdown and loss of functioning. I could've had been a functional member of society rather than someone living off government assistance unable to work a real job. *sigh* I'm not saying I'm unhappy with my life the way it is now. It's just one of those things where you wonder how things could've been different in a different situation. Some of it too is wondering how things would've been different had I sought help sooner. I went a few years without treatment while my symptoms just got worse... not smart. I just didn't want concrete proof that I wasn't normal. I thought I could handle my illness without meds and I was really, really wrong.

On another note

I checked out my credit report today. Not my score, but my report. Although I'm using most of my available credit, which isn't such a good thing, I have nothing negatively affecting my score right now, so I'm pretty happy about that. I've got a couple bills in collections, but I'm making payments on them at least, so that seems to be keeping my credit out of the red. Now I just have to work on paying off my credit card and those debts, as well as paying off Clayton's debts. I thought I'd always be content to live an an apartment, but really, having a house to ourselves is so much better, and one day I'd like to own a house. I know home ownership is down the road a ways, but I'd really like to have our credit repaired so we have the option of getting a mortgage rather than renting for the rest of our lives. As far as future plans go, I'd really really like to be able to get off government assistance and have a real job. I want a normal life... as normal as it gets for a person with my illness. I'm just really scared to go off social security disability, because there's no getting it back once I lose it, and what if I can't handle a real job?

Crazy idea may not be so crazy

For the longest time it's really gotten to me that I haven't finished my bachelor's degree. A lot of it has had to do with my illness. Okay, like 99% of it. When I started college I was a really good student and got nearly straight A's. When the illness became overwhelming and I started being heavily medicated, everything went downhill, to the point that I couldn't focus on school at all. It didn't help that I kept changing majors. I really didn't intend to. When I started at Clemson University I was a food science major, and I loved it and was really good at it. After I slit my wrist and had to move closer to home, I enrolled in College of Charleston, which didn't have my major. I made the switch to being a biology major, but I kept having to withdraw from my classes for hospitalizations and actually straight up failed one semester due to leaving school after the withdraw date on account of hospitalizations and lack of focus. I had intermittent bouts of academic success... a semester here or there with a 4.0 and then back to doing poorly depending on how long my focus held out. I transfered to a technical college for one semester as a human services major, did great, went back to the biology program at CofC and lost my focus again. I came within 4 classes of a BA in biology but couldn't finish, mostly because I was never stable enough to make it through a full semester. Then I decided I'd try culinary school and I LOVED it, but after a couple semesters it became clear that it wasn't the right program for me because I could never be a chef for a few reasons. A) I can't work a 60+ hour work week. B) I would get bored making the same food over and over. And C) I would never be able to get the healthcare benefits I needed to keep my illness under control. So... fuck. What do I do now? Well, recently Clayton got his VA benefits we've been fighting for, which should include his GI bill. He wants to be an electrical engineer, starting off at the local community college and continuing on to University of Nebraska at Lincoln. So I was doing some research into UNL and found out they have a food science program, and I was shocked at how excited that made me feel. That old longing to finish my degree came barreling back into my life, and the chance to finish my original major, the one that seemed to suit me so perfectly, seems almost too good to pass up. As far as funding it goes, I might possibly be able to get some scholarships through the state, and they have this reintegration scholarship for schizophrenic, schizoaffective (like me!), and bipolar people that I might be able to get. *Sigh* I don't know if my focus or my mental stability would hold out long enough for me to finish my degree, but honestly, with all the course credits I have, both general education and in the major, I can't imagine it'd take me more than a year or two. I dunno. I hope that I wouldn't have to start over from square one since I will have been out of school for so long. But finishing my degree would mean everything to me... it would make me feel a lot less like a huge failure, and hey, maybe I'll get stable enough that I can actually work a full time job. My dream job would be doing research and development... coming up with new food products for a big company like Kraft or something. I dunno. It might be a crazy idea, but maybe not.

Okay, maybe "normal" was a strong word...

I hear voices. Most of the time it's just random shit and they're not actually talking to me, but yesterday one was talking to me and saying some really mean things. It went away after I took my medicine with food. I'm supposed to take it with food every night, but lately I haven't been eating nearly as much and thus have neglected to take it with food most nights. It doesn't absorb nearly as well without food, so... yeah. But it's better now and I just have to be vigilant about taking my meds the way they're supposed to be taken. I still think something's not quite right with my medicine. Lately I haven't been sleeping through the night, and last night I only slept for about four and a half hours before I couldn't go back to sleep... been up since about 1:45. Bleh. I tried to go back to sleep, I really did, but after I got Clayton up for work at 3:30 and I'd been awake for nearly 2 hours, I decided there wasn't much point to getting back in bed feeling so wide awake. I'm seeing my doctor in two days, so maybe I can get this straightened out. I take medicine for sleep, but the last couple nights I've been taking NyQuil so I haven't taken it because you're not supposed to mix the two (benzo's + alcohol = bad). I'll forgo the NyQuil tonight though so I can get a good night's sleep (hopefully). I'm seeing a dermatologist tomorrow because I've been a little broken out lately and that definitely needs to go away. Honestly, I've struggled most of my adult life with acne, and the only thing that really made it go away was birth control, which I obviously haven't been on since I had my tubes tied. *sigh* I really didn't want to be up this early. I might have a photo shoot in Wichita later this month/ early July. It's focusing on cutting scars, and sadly I have plenty of those. I've had problems with it for about 11 years now, although in the past six years it hasn't been nearly as bad as it was. In my teens I would often cut every other day and I would never really give myself a chance to heal. I only had to get stitches once, but that one time nearly freaking killed me. That was almost six years ago, and thankfully it has never gotten nearly that bad again.

Life's back to normal

... or as normal as my life can be. I got back on the full dose of my antidepressant and feel soooooooo much better. Things had gotten a little rocky between Clayton and me there for a hot minute, but that seems to have improved with being back on my full dose too. It also helps that he's finally getting help for his mental illness (recently diagnosed bipolar). Huge relief. It was definitely wearing me down being his (nearly) sole support when he had his highs and lows. Of course I wanted to be there for him, but at some point it was starting to negatively affect my psychological well being too. I felt helpless. I've put so much energy into making him feel better that I've had to sacrifice some of my happiness. It's a lot to ask of me to be the stable one in a relationship, but that's what I've had to be. But I think now that he's starting on some mood stabilizers and going to therapy, some of that weight is going to be lifted from my shoulders.

Not much else is going on. I've finally got all my canning supplies together and ready to go, so I'm going to make some jam today. I got mangoes, raspberries, and blueberries. I was supposed to just use mangoes and raspberries for the recipe, but raspberries were expensive and blueberries were on sale, so I decided to go for a happy medium and get some of each. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I got way too many mangoes. I might see if there's a different mango recipe in my book that calls for more mango and just eat the berries. That would make me happy. :)

Not having the best time

So I've only been taking half doses of my antidepressant for more than a week, and I feel like shit. It was necessary because Clayton ran out of his and I was sharing my prescription with him till I had no more to share. He goes to the doctor next week and I can refill mine next week as well, so it's temporary, but for the time being I'm sad and crabby all the time, not aided at all by the fact I've got PMS. Oddly, despite the PMS I have lost three pounds in the last 5 days, which I'm sure isn't healthy. I think the thyroid medicine is finally kicking in, because even accounting for dieting and exercise, there's no other way I should have lost so much so quickly. I'm not exactly complaining... I've been struggling with my weight for years, to the point that I was making myself throw up after every meal for a year and a half. My husband was pretty dense about it... I'm mysteriously sick all the time, but only after I eat? Come on. I wasn't covering my tracks that well. But it kept my weight pretty constant, and I even lost a little. Once I stopped doing it though, I ballooned. That's the problem with bulemia. Even though you don't necessarily go on "binges", you're still used to eating whatever you want without many consequences weight-wise, and then when you stop you still think you can eat whatever you want with no consequences. I had a fast food problem, and more than that, before we left I had a serious problem with Dunkin Donuts. I would have the largest possible iced mocha, a breakfast sandwich, and at least one donut, and that was if I only went once a day. I was unemployed and I filled my hours and coped with my stress by eating. Odd thing is, now that we're not constantly poor I don't feel the need to eat fast food every day, let alone twice or three times a day. That's saved us a lot of money too, to be sure. Back home, pretty much the only way we survived was Clayton bringing home free food from work. We never cooked at home. In the beginning of our relationship we were always going out to restaurants, every night. You can't keep track of how many calories you're taking in when you're constantly eating out. Geez, I sound so obsessed with my weight. That's not healthy. If I somehow miraculously keep losing weight at the rate I am though, I might try wearing a two-piece for my planned photo shoot in New York. Granted, both my swimsuits I have are technically two pieces, but they're both tankinis and not really the look I want to have. Plus one has a skirted bottom, and that's definitely NOT cute. I want to go look at bathing suits later today, but it seems like it would be a waste of money in two possible scenarios: A) I buy one the size I am now and lose weight to the point it doesn't fit, or B) I buy one that's too small now and fail to lose enough weight for it to fit right. I'm probably going to have to get new lingerie too, as that's supposed to be part of one of the shoots and I don't really have what the photographer had in mind on hand at the moment. What else exciting is going on? Well, having my hours cut at work sucks, but at least it's temporary, so I can probably tough out a couple lousy paychecks. Last night, with the exception of the new assistant manager being a bitch and a know-it-all, as usual, things were pretty harmonious and ran pretty smoothly. I definitely noted the absence of the bitchiest girl I work with last night, as I'm pretty sure that's the reason things were as harmonious as they were. The assistant manager though... she thinks she knows better than I do how to do my job, when she's the one (while I'm off doing something important like getting ice) getting drinks sent back for being made wrong and stocking WAY too much of certain beers in my already overcrowded beer cooler. Seriously, MGD is NOT so popular that I need 10 of them stocked. And who mistakes tonic water for club soda? And she orders me in a passive aggressive way to do this and that AT THIS MOMENT when it's not even remotely imperative that it be done so urgently. I know how to do my job. I do my job well. I could do my job just as well (and with much less under-my-breath mutterings and hostility) if she weren't constantly up in my business. I try to deal with it with the least possible confrontation, but I don't like being treated like a five year old. Most the time I hold my tongue and just stay quiet around her so I don't risk saying something she could construe as insubordination. Then she asks me why I'm being so quiet. Perhaps she hasn't noticed that I'm not quiet around anybody else. I'm downright chatty. But my mom told me if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all, and I have nothing nice to say to her. Would I love to tell her how dumb and absolutely infuriating she is and that she doesn't know the ins and outs of doing my job so she should just shut the fuck up and let me work in peace (as much peace as I can have on a busy night)? Hell yes I would. But I also like having a job. She's not worth losing my job over.