Xmas sales

Well, in 2 days I managed to spend probably 2 paychecks. Maybe not quite that much, but way more than I should have. (Damn those 30% off coupons from Kohl’s!) I had just paid off all my credit cards too.

But, even with the few missed shifts, I’m working a lot more now that the semester is over and it’s not quite so bad. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I spent last night at the opera. I had to – my son was playing cello in the orchestra. Not my first choice for a Friday night after working 9 crazy hours at work, but I survived.

At work I screwed up the popcorn machine and dumped unpopped popcorn, oil and salt down into the already made popcorn. It made that popcorn super salty and oily. I felt guilty about leaving that huge mess for the closer (who screwed me over with hours so why do I feel guilty?) so I tried to clean up some of it. We also discovered that the dish soap came in 1 qt bottles instead of a big plastic bag in a box that automatically dispenses the soap. I spent 2/3rds of my day trying to pour 2 bottles into the old bag. I was finally making some pretty good progress when the clerical person – who is awesome – brought me a box. A box holding a bag of dish soap – the kind we need. I laughed because I had to. Otherwise I probably would’ve surprised a lot of customers with the language I would’ve used.

And the afternoon was crazy busy! It was Friday, but very busy. I barely got any of the normal afternoon stuff done. Luckily, I was the opener today so I only screwed myself. I open tomorrow too. 3 days in a row. Maybe tomorrow I will remember to put the pop nozzles on the machine before I open. (Luckily the 1st person to order a drink noticed they were missing before she started to fill her cup.)

Today started off with me printing the order. Duh, it’s Sat. I have to do the order on Sun. I knew it was the weekend and I can’t remember the last time I worked a Sat morning. Probably 2009 before I started teaching kids’ self defense, which is on Saturdays.

Wow, 2 years ago I started teaching judo again. I’ve had 1 student that entire time. I have another student that I’ve had for a year and 1/2 now. Slowly. I’ve volunteered a lot of hours because I haven’t had enough students to hold class and get paid. But I wanted to keep the continuing students I had. So… volunteering it became.

I think I started back at the judo class I take 4 years ago now. How time flies. And ukes. (Little judo humor there.)

I made it thru my entire shift today without any uppers or downers. (I sound like a druggie who’s too stupid to know they don’t mix.) I’ve been up since 3 am. I made it thru the insanity of yesterday too. Yay me! I did start shaking last night at the opera, but I hadn’t eaten either. It wasn’t too bad. (I was still able to text during the opera, so all was good.) I was definitely ready to hit the sack. I can’t believe I woke up so early. I can’t believe I’m still up now. But, I have to transport my kid to his high school for another performance of the opera. Tonight my mom is seeing it and going to bring him home. Yay bed!

I just realized I need to check my school email. I emailed a bunch of advisers for different programs to see what they thought of my condition – the shaking – and how I might fit into the programs. That’s my next job – finding what I want to petition for next fall. I figure the more programs I petition for, the better my chances of actually getting into 1. Hopefully at least 1.

I’ve only got a few minutes before we have to leave and I haven’t eaten yet. Time to end.

Another missed shift

My meds cause trouble all the time. I didn’t fall asleep last night until “late” (11) because I got home from work late because I had to do a little shopping and got a drive thru dinner. (I hadn’t eaten since about 1 and it was now after 9. Not eating causes problems with my meds too. It affects their absorption, effectiveness, and how long they stay in my system.) Then, my son was at a concert with my mom (music from the 15-1600′s) and he wasn’t home yet. I went to bed, but didn’t sleep. It was too weird knowing I had my son this weekend and he wasn’t home yet. Not just sleeping over at someone else’s house, just not home yet. Too weird. So I was laying awake wondering how long until I could fall asleep, if he would wake me up, or if my meds would cause me to sleep thru the entire thing.

He came home about 45 minutes later and I was still wide awake.

This morning I was supposed to work from 8:15-1:30. I had a hard time getting out of bed – hit the snooze more than usual – and was really dragging. I got the cafe open, and realized I was dragging. I took one of my “magic wake up” pills, but after an hour it hadn’t done anything. The manager realized how out of it I was and she arranged for me to go home early. I came home and took a 3 hour dead to the world nap. I take a med to create drool because I have problems with dry mouth from my other meds. I was so asleep, that I was drooling and it was all over my face and pillow.

After my nap I felt great! I was wide awake and could’ve finished someone else’s shift tonight. I got the new “winter” lights put up – purple lights mixed with clear snowflakes – so I can still have them on in Jan. I’ll be interested in seeing if my idea works. I put nails in around the doorway, then used binder clips (the black, springy paper holders with the silver handles) to hook the lights in and hang on the nails. If nothing else, it will be easy to keep putting back up everyday after they fall.

I completely cleaned off my dining room table which was about 2 inches deep of papers, coupons, and study notes. I got it down to bare and even washed it! (For those of you who don’t know, this is an amazing event that happens about 2x a year.) Laundry, cat box, garbage out, cleaned up the light stuff, put hone numbers in my rolodex to get rid of more papers… I’m trying to think of other stuff to do before I lose my streak. But my stomach is telling me that dinner should be next.

Now my kid is telling me that dinner should be next. Ha – he’s cooking! (A frozen pizza in the oven, but still.) I’m 1/2 watching the Packer game. The Vikings game ended with the Vikings making fools of themselves. They had the chance to win, but the quarterback fumbled. Between Detroit and Minnesota, they fumbled/kicked/tossed the ball 40+ yards backwards away from Minnesota’s end zone. They were 2 yards from the end zone. They would’ve come back from a 21-0 first quarter score. But Nooooooo! They had to go and lose the game. I’m willing to bet that if I wasn’t watching the game they would’ve won. They scored all of their points while I was cleaning the table and just sort of listening from the other room. The Packers could lose this game, after all, I’m watching, but right now they are winning 31-0 10 min into the 2nd quarter. I don’t know if I’m THAT big of a jinx.

Work last night… having to clean the breakroom… NUTS! We have pb&j all month to “help keep our muscles fed. Well, I think there was a bottle’s worth of jelly spilled all over the table. The bags of bread were glued to the table because of it. There were globs of peanut butter on the table which made me wonder if people were just taking it out of the jar and putting it on the table. It took about 10 minutes to clean just by itself. Then, there was an empty frozen dinner box on the counter. I knew, because she checked out thru me, that it was a head manager’s. She was still sitting there and I pointed it out. No thank you/please – just “throw it out”. Like I’m supposed to take care of her garbage. The front end manager – the head cashier – left her popcorn sitting on a table. She’s the one who knows how awful the breakroom gets and she didn’t help by simply throwing out her bag of popcorn. She’s the 1 who’s supposed to help “protect” us from the worst of the worst happening in there. She’s making it worse.

Dinner’s ready – I guess I’m done ranting about the breakroom. Maybe I’ll come back and complain more…

 

 

Day #3

I’ve made it 3 shifts at work without shaking. At least not so much that I needed to take meds. Someone noticed it at the end of 1 shift, but I was almost done with work so I just let it be.

There was this truly creepy guy at work yesterday. His presence made me shaky and I wondered if I’d make it. He kept asking for food, 1 thing at a time. He asked if it was okay if he was $.20 short of the price of a hot dog. If I hadn’t seen the wad of $20s in his pocket, I might consider it, but he was not hurting for cash. Then he asked me to watch his stuff – which is common when people need to use the bathroom or something – and he was gone for 30 minutes.

I know the trend is to wear pants below the boxers. My son does it every day. (Drives me up a TREE!) But this guy was wearing tighty whiteys. That’s a new one that I really didn’t need to know about.

Today I had to change the oil for the popcorn machine. We use this “t” looking bar that melts the oil before we put the machine part on top and lift it all into the machine. Well, the last time I had to melt the oil, I forgot to unplug the heater “t” thing and melted 1 of the plastic bins we use. This time, I did 1 better – spilled hot oil all over my leg. The closet thing I could think of was degreaser which I sprayed on the leg of my pants. It took away the hot and probably got the oil off my skin quick enough. I was more worried about losing a pair of work pants – who wants to spend money on work clothes when they get ruined by oil that you work with every day?

I got home and washed my pants – they’re fine – I’m happy. I put heavy duty Canadian special cream on my leg and nothing major has happened. I didn’t expect any problems, but when people at work heard about it they freaked out. I’m not going to sue a multi-million dollar company because I spilled oil on myself when I knew it was hot. It’s a hazard of the job working with food. At least it wasn’t a deep fryer this time.

1 of the questions I was asked by human resource was if it was intentional as part of my wanting to hurt myself thing. I told her no and tried to reassure her – if it was, I wouldn’t have told anyone. She was puzzled, but relieved. That’s what/how people think once they know. Al’s a nut! Intentionally hurting herself is a past time.

Granted… at 1 point it was. But that was a long time ago except the 1 night a few weeks ago. For 20+ years it was my way. But not anymore. I don’t hate myself anymore and I’m starting to see how someone might want to be my friend. Making “friends” at work has helped. Routinely talking to the same people and having friendly conversations helps. I can usually make them laugh (with me not at me… ha,ha) and that makes me feel good about myself. I’ve helped others thru significant problems when they were at work. That makes me feel useful. I fill in extra shifts/stay late/come in early on a regular basis when I’m not in school. I’m not sure they know how often I help out. I know 1 person does and I know she’s thankful for it. Knowing I can make her incredibly, ridiculously complicated job easier makes me feel good.

Until a few years ago, I hated myself and didn’t understand why anyone would want to know me. I figured people were better off if they had never met me. I felt bad for my son, having such a horrible mom. (But during that whole time I knew he was better off with me than his father. Tells you what  I think of his father.)

Laundry time.

Merry New Year

Other people celebrate Christmas at this time of year and want to spread their cheer by wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. I started getting this response from guests today. How do they know I’m not Jewish? They don’t know that I have never celebrated the Christian version of Christmas. They don’t know me – they just assume that I’m just like them.

The shaking didn’t start until the very end of my shift today so I didn’t need to take any meds. That’s cool. Only a few guests said anything about it during my last hour. I told them I needed to eat. (It was dinner time.)

That shaking. Those meds. The need for those meds. Makes me nothing like them. They go shopping for Christmas decorations and drop $200. Makes me nothing like them. Some of them may deal with minor depressive episodes. Some of them take 1 or 2 of the meds I take. If they are on other antidepressants, I’ve probably been on them. They weren’t effective for me. Because yes, I have depression and that’s why I take 3 antidepressants, but I have to go one step farther. Atypical antipsychotics. Cool stuff.

Because of these meds, the cocktail as I call it, I have problems sleeping at night, so I take a sleeping pill. I have problems staying awake during the day, so I take “wake up” pills. I have problems with shaking because of the med cocktail, so I take a smooth muscle relaxant. I have problems with dry mouth – like I would gag because my throat would get so dry my tongue would hit my gag reflex and without any saliva, I’d choke. So I take a med that makes me drool now.

But not taking my cocktail, “life” before the meds was lying on the couch during the day sleeping and sleeping thru the entire night. After I resigned from teaching, it got so bad that I would wake up to give my son a hug before he got his ride to school, go back to bed. I’d get to feeling guilty about being in bed all day, so I’d put clothes on and go sleep on the couch. I’d wake up when he came in the door and ask about his day. Well, everyone knows a kid’s answer to that is “fine”, so I’d go back to sleep. Sometimes I would wake up to make him dinner, sometimes he’d have to get his own. I’d wake up around his bedtime and get him into bed. Then I’d climb into my bed. Every day. For a year and a half.

I had a job at a portrait studio for awhile, but missed a shift and was never scheduled again. Then I just slept more. Eventually I got a job driving a “friend” around all over the place. In between driving her around, I’d come home and sleep.

Eventually she mentioned a thing called “DBT”. I wondered what it was but didn’t think much of it. I was hospitalized in a day patient program at the time and they talked about diagnoses from the DSM. There were all the normal versions of depression and bi-polar. Then there was one mentioned which sounded more like me. Borderline personality disorder. It’s depression like symptoms caused me to be diagnosed at 13 as having major depression. But the one missing key, the one element I had never told anyone, was the self harm.

That day in day patient I realized that I didn’t have just depression. I had borderline personality disorder. My mom and I did some talking and talked to some other people, and eventually I got into a DBT program with the county.

Dialectic Behavior Therapy. It teaches about emotions – it labels them and gives examples and varying degrees. I walked in to “class” the very first day and it was like someone had split open my head and taken out my thoughts.

I had always been in cognitive behavior therapy – you have a bad situation, you talk about it at therapy and re-live it, then at the end of 50 minutes you get kicked out the door. I was miserable for the next few days until I figured out how to stuff the pain. Then I’d go back to therapy and it would happen all over again. Every week. On and off for years. My last therapist was convinced that if I did “middle class” tasks, like clean all my windows, I would feel better. She insisted that I had to clean my windows. The last week I had health insurance was the last week I saw her. She was actually yelling at me to do something. Yelling.

I only stopped going because I had no insurance. I didn’t realize what she was doing was wrong – I didn’t understand how cleaning my windows would improve my life – but I felt like I deserved to be yelled at. She would give me tasks every week to do. Sometimes writing, sometimes exercise, different stuff. And every week I walked out of her office with every intent of doing it. And every week I would walk back into her office having done nothing. And I felt bad that she would get upset and be disappointed, but I never felt bad about not doing the stuff. (To this day I still haven’t ever washed my windows.)

This was the worst cognitive therapy had ever been for me, but it had never made ANY sense to me. I didn’t have the tools to deal with the emotions that were brought up so I turned the emotional hurt into physical pain. That was easier to deal with. This went on for years. I’d start having more problems with the depression and I’d go back into therapy. It NEVER helped.

Then I walked into that DBT classroom and read that sheet of paper that had the myths on it. It was labeled “myths”. We were supposed to rewrite the myths to make them factual. Mentally, I could understand and see how they were “wrong”, but I believed in almost every one of them. Someone cracked open my head and put it on paper.

Someone understood me.

I was relieved and shocked. It seemed like something might actually help. I called my mom when I got home and told her about it. She cried – we finally found something that made sense to me.

The new meds that they got me on when I was in that program helped me better than any other med I had ever taken before. An atypical antipsychotic. (It also helped me lose the 80 pounds I had gained on the other medication that had started to help a little bit.)

More of the tale later. Time for bed now.

My typical Sunday

Well, it started out typical food service  from 815-4. Only I bailed on fa about 3 to go cashier because it was busier on the lanes (until the Packer game started) than it was in the kitchen. Since it’s a 3 pm game, I actually get so see some of it – yay! I got to see some of the Vikings game too. It’s a great football day for me. (Although I don’t know if the Vikings won or lost… hmm.)

I was able to bail on kitchen duty because 2 of us were scheduled for 3 hours at the same time. Overlapping for busier times during the holiday season. Only it wasn’t busy.

Cashiering for 8 hours sucks. Cashiering for an hour is fun. Cashiering for only an hour before you go home is even more fun!

I had an “episode” this morning. About 10, I started shaking and could feel it starting to get worse. I’ve been given permission to run and take my meds whenever I need to and the managers have been cool with it. Unfortunately, the med takes about an hour to kick in so that was a long hour – sweating profusely, feeling slightly dizzy, and of course, the shaking.

The shaking, as far as we know, is caused by some other meds that I take. The side effects are better to deal with than the disease untreated. Great choice I get to make. Which one do I deal with? The depression and borderline or extreme shaking? And not sleeping, except when I’m sleeping too much. Like being awake at 3, 340, 430, 5, and again at 6. Of course, I was sound asleep when the alarm went off at 730.

Kind of an oddity – cats get hiccups. Murray had them this morning when I woke up. He was making this odd gagging motion/sound. I checked his mouth and it was empty. (This is not a move I recommend ANYONE else do to this cat!) His pulse was regular, and his lungs were “gagging” too. As far as I can tell – it was just the plain old hiccups. At least I got a good laugh when I was exhausted and trying to talk myself out of getting out of bed.

People at work see me shaking and always ask if I’m cold. If I see someone who obviously doesn’t have control of their head movement I don’t ask if they were a bobble head in a past life. I just deal with the person. I understand kids asking and have no problem with that – it’s the innocence of curiosity that makes them wonder. I have no problem with that and I tell them the truth – the doctor gives me special meds to make me feel better, but at the same time it makes me shake. Usually they look at me for a second, then tell me what they want. The parents get all embarrassed – sorry, blah, blah, blah. Your kid isn’t afraid of my shaking – why are you? Your kid is observant. Be proud of that. Your child isn’t making fun of me or freaking out (usually), but you’re embarrassed because your kid is intelligent?

Just saw the final – the Vikings lost. That sucks. (Packers are currently leading at half time.)

I don’t understand why I get asked 5000 times a day if I’m cold? If I was in a wheelchair would everyone ask – can’t you walk? I’m always in capris at work, so I must not think it’s too cold there. If someone has no fingers do people ask what happened? No. They just uncomfortably “ignore” it.

Maybe I should wear a sign that says “will shake for money.”

Then, I get all the “are you okay?” questions. No, I’m having a medical emergency and that’s why I’m standing in front of you serving you a stupid hot dog. Your hot dog is more important than if I’m dying. Or having a seizure. You aren’t conscious when you have a seizure. But since no one ever asks about disabilities because they are too embarrassed, no one knows that.

I know what happens when people find out I have a MENTAL illness — oh my god! She’s psycho – get away from her as quickly as possible! She might eat my child. “Yah, we’ll go out to dinner Fri night – we’ll meet you there. Oh, you have a mental illness? We’re busy.” Then I get upset. “Oh god! Here she goes – we’re all going to die!”

And yes, I realize one of my favorite shows depicts mental illnesses in the worst possible shadow – people with borderline are afraid of abandonment so they capture people and kill them if they try to escape. There are different levels of intelligence. There are different levels of mental functioning.

I’ve never wanted to kill anyone. I was just afraid everyone was going to leave me. If I kill them – they’ve left me permanently – what’s the good in that?

Time for some dinner – Byerly’s Wild Rice Soup with roasted garlic bread from the Outpost. (The bread actually has full cloves of garlic baked into it. Good? Doesn’t describe it.)

 

Chicken… cont.

Well… the thermometer told me the chicken was done. My eyes told me it wasn’t. At least probably not down thru the breast. We ate the legs and thighs. I had a knife and tongs and just sort of ripped them off. It was good – if I may say so myself. Kid liked it too — mark that in the history book.

So the mom came out and was wound up. I just explained what I had done and I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. She exclaimed “No! He loved it! He was singing which he does when he’s happy!” I was relieved and glad that I could help. I like those kids.

Speaking of which, one of my former students came to my store and did everything he possibly could to “hide” from me – he wouldn’t look at me – he turned his head side to side quickly and when his head was facing me, he covered his eyes with his hands and arms. He definitely knew who I was and that I used to make him work! He thinks he’s immune to it. If he can unbuckle the seat belt on a wheelchair and unzip his coat, for example, he can feed himself. (His parents didn’t follow thru on what I taught him.)

Chicken anyone???

Alright. So when I cashier at work, I find out when we have old meat for sale to get rid of it before we have to throw it out. That whole “best by” date thing. This means that I buy interesting cuts of various meats at a huge discount – usually $2-$4 off. Hey, a $4 roasting chicken for $2? I’ll try it.

So this means searching for a recipe. A task that sent me almost over the edge about 2 weeks ago. I found a great website for finding recipes – they are easy to sort and there’s an easy way to do a site search. “Roasting chicken” and over 4000 recipes showed up. Hey guys? I only have 1 chicken. And a picky 16 yo.

Basically I got the concept that you brush it with melted butter and choose your seasoning, and cook it breast side up. For 1 1/2 hours if it’s 3-4 pounds. Hmm. I guess size does matter. I have NO clue what size this thing is. And there’s no stuffing in it, so it’s less time… but I don’t know how long that time really is. And I’m supposed to “baste often”. What’s “often” in 1 1/2 hours? 10 minutes? An hour? I’m going for 30 min. After the second time I plan on taking the temp to see if it’s warm enough. Dinner is another adventure.

Last night was top round steak. Tried to chicken fry it. Tried being the key. It was edible, but not very good. It was only $3 and it was a meal with some frozen veggies.

Culinary came up as one of my “high interests” in a recent test I took about what career I should have. It’s a crappy job in the sense that it’s lots of long hours, low pay and hot. Hmm. Sounds like my kind of job. Lots of work – like where I am now – and low pay – like where I am now. It’s hot in the cafe too. I’m always found in capris, except that one week in January when the outside temp is less than 10 degrees. Then I wear long pants. (But most of my long pants roll up to capris, so one never knows…) Someone once told me that we could only wear capris between Memorial Day and Labor Day. People have told me I’m crazy (that whole mental illness thing???) for wearing capris in December, but that doesn’t make the inside temp in the cafe with the grill, the 1000 degree oven, and the pretzel warmer any cooler.

Physical therapist assistant and medical assistant came in there too. I’m leaning mostly towards the PTA because it pays the best (I’ve been WAY too poor for WAY too long) and because I might be able to get back to working with my special needs kids.

Special needs kids became a major part of my life when I was 16. I spent the summer as a group leader for the program’s youngest kids – 3-5 yos. I met the kid that I was a nanny for for 7 years. I was so excited to bring my son and that  child together because he was like my first child. I had him for long stretches at a time (he actually had 4 nannies) like for long weekends from school or for a week during the summer. When I was fairly pregnant, this child and my baby would push each other thru my stomach when this child would sit on what was left of my lap.

Along the way I met and did respite care for many families along the way. I met a friend of a friend who is very, extremely, physically impaired, but mentally he’s right on track. I learned how to use a catheter, and changed a million diapers. (Ok, so that isn’t so cool, but the kids were!)

“Those kids” were why I became a teacher. It took me another 10 years, but I got there. And I loved it! There were some extremely frustrating things about teaching those kids — mostly having to deal with therapists and people who didn’t see the potential in these kids. I did. I still do with the kids I meet now at work.

There was a mom struggling with a baby in an infant seat in a cart, a young (4-6? yo) daughter, and a son in a wheelchair. I was just sorting stuff and putting it in the right places, so I asked if he needed to be in the bathroom or if I could help her by hanging out with him for a little while. She was ecstatic! I said it was no big deal and I walked around with him, showed him stuff, talked to him and he “sang” the entire time. I figured he was either really enjoying this, or yelling at me the only way he could. I told him I didn’t know which he was trying to express, so I was just going to keep doing what I was doing.

When his mom came out she was very expressive and asked what I did to him. I was sort of shocked and put my hands up and said nothing.

Chicken’s done. Stuffing is stuffing. Time to try to figure out how to cut this stupid bird.

I’ll tell you the rest of the boy at the store in a while.

 

No more school… almost.

Well, I’ve started studying for my medical terminology exam next week. Then I’m done. There is supposedly some kind of developmental English class that I’m supposed to take this spring. I have both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree. I think I get the whole English thing. After all, I did have to write a thesis.

I was supposed to have therapy today, but my therapist is sick. It’s sad when the only thing you are looking forward to in your day is going to therapy.

Tomorrow I go back to work. 8 hour day cashiering after not working at all since Sunday. (Unless you consider teaching judo work, but I don’t think so. Did that on Mon.)

My Murray wanted to sit next to me on the couch and landed on the remote. I reached under him and moved it, thinking he’d be more comfortable. He turned around and laid down a different direction and laid on the remote again. I guess it’s not that uncomfortable.

Murray has been walking very stiffly today. Kind of like an old man. I can’t stand to see any signs of aging with him. He’s my guy. He’s “only” 13, but I hate that thought. He still wanted to go “outside”. (I have a glassed in front porch that they go out on to.) I told him it was cold, but he still went out. He spent about 20 minutes exploring the porch – making sure everything was in order. He has to meow to come back in – so he doesn’t scratch at the door – and he was very stubborn about it. I stood at the front door for about 5 minutes before I finally just let him in. It was about 45 degrees, so it wasn’t SO bad.

I went thru all of my grandmother’s recipes. I ended up with her wooden file box and haven’t done anything with it since I got it – about 8 years ago. There were a lot cut out from old newspapers that talk about the writers as if they are right next door. It’s so homey. So are some of the recipes that she had for years. Some of them were barely legible from spots and spills over the years. I found several “family” recipes which was cool.

2 weeks ago I was hospitalized again. I was at work and trying to find different ways to hurt myself. Haven’t felt that way that strongly in about 6 years. Standing there, in front of the knife rack, I was imagining which blades would cause the nastiest cut so I could continually pick at it for weeks.

I threw a student at judo – one who seems to have an infinity for getting hurt while trying harai goshi – and my bent elbow nailed his bent leg. He staggered around for awhile, trying to walk it off, and my arm was numb for about 15 minutes. Right on the funny bone. (It was still pretty sore until about 2 days ago – a week and a half of constantly feeling my funny bone hurt. Even wearing long sleeves irritated my elbow.)

That night at work, I kept finding ways to hit it on things “accidentally”. It’s the main thing that separates what I have from bi-polar and plain major depression: I inflict pain on myself to feel better. Typing it now makes it seem so stupid. But when I’m at my worst – can’t find a shelter from the storm – it’s my coping mechanism. It worked for 20 years before my major breakdown.

I closed down the cafe and left early. I came home and talked to my son about what was happening the best I could, then went straight to the hospital. I spent 3 hours in admitting doing homework. I spent 1 1/2 hours in in-take. I got on the unit about 1 am. I had to wait an hour for the only med I take that they had – my sleeping pill – then went to bed. About 5 am, a variety of people started coming in. The one I remember clearly was the guy who came to take my blood. He turned on the room light which was just evil. I suppose it’s better with the light on, then him trying to stab my arm in the dark, but I wasn’t thinking thoughts that were that nice at the time.

I saw the doctor, I saw the nurse, I saw some after care person. I ate breakfast and went back to bed. I got up, asked about my morning meds – even though it was 11 am, took a shower, and got released after they spent about 2 hours doing all the paperwork. I think they did more hours of paperwork on me than number of hours I spent on the unit.

My son had come home sick from school, so when I got home he and my mom were here. That was nice, although I knew my son came home because he was upset. My mom had done her usual – cleaned the kitchen and cat box, and was working on the laundry. It’s sort of nice, but I feel bad.

I invited my mom over for Thanksgiving to “watch the Packer game”, which I knew she had absolutely no interest in, but I thought we could chat. We ate – my son and I had pork chops with apples and marischino cherries and my mom had a veggie salad. Then… she did it again… she got up and started to clean the kitchen. I went out to help – I couldn’t just sit there and know she was cleaning my house – and saw about 3 plays of the game. I did see the one part where the Packer got his head pounded into the ground 3 times and then his arm stomped on. Happy Thanksgiving to him.

I’m stopping now because a new episode of Criminal Minds is on.

Black Saturday… and I’m at home

So all those (crazy) Black Friday shoppers are now out on Day 2 – Black Saturday. They didn’t go deep enough into debt yesterday, so they’re back at it again.

While I’m sitting at home, on my couch, comfy after taking a nice shower after sleeping for 14 hours. Well, 12 solid hours and 2 dozing hours. During those dozing hours I had some really vivid, detailed dreams that paired some real life stuff with some bizarre stuff.

The one that was kind of the strangest was: I was at “work” which was a small platform area – like the sound/light control area at a concert – that had 2 State Fair Park burlap mat slides on either side. Only they were water slides. A former co-worker was there and we were handing out drinks to all the employees. One of my current store managers was there and telling me to hurry up. (A normal statement from her.) It turned out we were closing the place for good that day and she wanted to get everyone celebrated and going home. We were all trying to grab the “cool” plastic glasses for keepsakes. My co-worker and I couldn’t hand them out quick enough.

Then Murray decided it was time to bump my pillow which woke me up. Not that I let him know.

Murray is a 17 pound all black cat with a little white “dog tag” spot on his chest. He is very eager to be fed, any time he can talk someone into it. He feels that he is king of the house and should get what he wants when he wants. Mostly – food.

And, yes, cats are trainable! Murray is 13 and came to us from the Humane Society 11 years ago. It seemed as if he was ALWAYS hungry. He would wake me up as early at 5 am to feed him. {Important note here – I am NOT a morning person. A fact my son learned when he was about 18 months old.} I ignored him. I’d turn away from him or pull the blankets over my head. Once he’d leave me alone for a few moments, I’d jump up out of bed and hurry up and feed him. It took him awhile, but he caught on. He still bugged me. And I still pretended to not notice him. Eventually, and still to this day, he has to wait an extra 20 minutes to get fed if he bugs me while I’m “asleep” – laying in bed with my eyes closed. He’s allowed to bump my pillow with his head because if I’m actually asleep I don’t notice it. If he does anything else and wakes me up I yell a very sharp, very loud “NO!” and go back to ignoring him. (I’ve woken my son up a few times. Oops.) I’ll explain more about Murray a little later.

Then there’s Mystic. He’s also 13 yo and is a brat. He thinks when it’s time to eat at night, he can get my attention by being naughty. Well… I yell at him and take him down… he has to wait about 10 minutes until I’ll feed them. He took a LOT longer to learn than Murray! He still sometimes doesn’t get it. (He’s our stupid cat.) He’s almost all black with white on his belly (hidden most of the time) and a tail that looks like it was dipped in white paint – just the tip. He’s more my son’s cat than mine. They like attacking each other and usually Mystic is on his bed at night.

Then, 4 years ago, a 5 month old tortoiseshell kitten came to live with us. My son named her Minka. She’s 8 pounds, but about 5 feet long when she completely stretches out. She’s also from the Humane Society and the one who is really in charge. Murray will walk away from his food if she comes up to investigate. (Of course, he just goes to her bowl, but still.) She lives u to “tortitude” and things are either done her way or it’s not right. Although she is very skidish and easily gets scared off. Especially when there is a very large, very noisy boy who likes to spook her.

My son. 16, cello player, decent grades, long hair with wings (it’s shoulder length when he straightens it), splits his time between his dad’s trailer home in a hick suburb and our house. (3 weekends a month with dad, the rest of the time with me.) Really great kid. He’s come thru hell in his life because of what my disability has cone to our lives and he’s a trooper. And best of all? No interest in learning to drive.

Back to Murray. After I resigned from teaching, all I did was lay on the couch with the tv on and sleep. I wasn’t worthy of wasting food on. I wasn’t capable of taking care of the house because I couldn’t get off the couch. It’s like when you are really sick with the flu – crampy, achy, tired, not wanting to do anything but sleep until you feel better. Only I never felt better. I didn’t reach out to anyone because a) I didn’t know there was any other way to feel, and b) I didn’t think I was worthy of wasting someone else’s time. I was awake to give my son a hug before he went to school, went back to sleep until he came home. I woke up for a little while when he came home from school. I’d sometimes cook him dinner – like boxed macaroni and cheese, otherwise I don’t know what he would eat, but he took care of himself. I’d go back to sleep until his bedtime (7 pm) when I would go to bed for the night.

He was 10 when it started to get that bad.

I felt like I was more damaging to my son than being worthy of being his mom. I constantly thought he’d be better off without me, but I knew that would put him full time with his dad which I knew would be worse.

Murray slept with me. He would want me to pet him. He’d follow me when I did get out of bed or off the couch to check up on me. I always thought he was a cool cat and the fact that he wanted ME to pet him and ME to cuddle with made me think that maybe I was worth something to somebody – even if it was “just” a cat. Murray and my son kept me here. He is my stud muffin hero. (He’s 17 pounds of solid muscle. When we first got him, you could see how his fur followed the muscles of his body.)

Speaking of which – he wants attention now. It’s my favorite version of “Black Saturday”.

Black Friday from the employee’s point of view

Black Friday according to a retail worker with a mental disability: Who’s crazier?

Okay. So you want a $400 tv for $299. You get to the store an hour before it opens and wait in line, usually freezing your whatever off. This year my store opened at midnight. The person who opened the food service area had to be there at 11 pm the night before – Thanksgiving Day. Is it really fair to expect someone to work thru the night after spending all day dealing with family? I mean, unless you are one of “those” people who gets along well with EVERYONE, family gatherings are usually stressful. Stressing out all day, cooking all day, dealing with family all day… then go to work to make more food for other people. Really?

So that you can run like a maniac, grab a cart which someone has pushed toward you, and try to find one of the 3 tvs available at that price? Do you realize that the year I opened the food area, I laughed as people looked stupid running in the door, pushing and shoving, trying to grab carts that employees just push out into the middle of the crowd?

Then there was the guy that camped out for 2 days to get some “incredible deal” on some tv. TV. Is it really worth making national news and everyone thinking you’re a dork? To get a stupid TV?

I’m a fan of TV. Mine is on almost all the time and I love my shows. My days don’t feel right when I don’t watch at least one episode of Criminal Minds and Law & Order:SVU. (Just got cable the day before Obama was sworn into office. Never knew how many HOURS of L&O and Criminal Minds stations would run.)

But to camp out and miss out on a day with my son? (Who’s a teenager and mostly just ignores me anyways, but at least we’re in the same house.) For TV? Not worth $101.

This year I worked the “second shift” in the food area. 4 am to 12:30 pm, but I was sent home early. Because it was dead. No one wanted food. A few people wanted drinks. They scheduled 1 person from midnight to 4. She was SWAMPED! Longest lines they’ve ever seen for buying food. There were other people available to help her, but the manager decided not to move any of those people. My coworker was bombarded for 3 hours. And people didn’t want drinks. They wanted pizzas, pretzels, chicken tenders, soup. All of which take time to make. Under 5 minutes, but that’s a long time when you are standing there counting the seconds until the oven is done while there are a million customers waiting.

And people don’t seem to understand that we aren’t McDonalds. We can’t serve 5 hamburgers, 3 fries, and milkshakes in 3 minutes. (Well, we can’t do hamburgers or milkshakes at all – we don’t have them.) But McDs is set up with many workers, with the fastest cook times. Ingredients are pre-made and stored.

We don’t have those kinds of facilities. We have 1 oven, 1 microwave, 1 employee. Even during rushes on normal days we have trouble keeping up.

Apparently about 3 am it died down. By the time I came in at 4, it was dead. I had time to make all the salads and sandwiches that we normally have. (Which guests were complaining about the fact we didn’t have them during the huge rush.) In 5 hours, I think I might have had 20 guests. Who only wanted popcorn and drinks. I cooked 1 pizza. I cleaned. Under, over, around. Everything.

2 people came in at 10 am. There were 3 of us with no guests. Our manager had given me a list of things to clean. Or I could go home once the others got there. I stayed for a little while, helping serve guests, then opted to leave instead of taking a break. As I was talking to my manager, the check lanes backed up, so I ended up on a lane. No big deal. Something different. I never got my break, but went home an hour early. They scheduled 3 of us for 2 1/2 hours. But the first person was alone her entire shift. I’ve never seen anyone be so happy to see me at work.

All of this chaos. All of this extra work and no work and trying to find things for people to do – we had too many cashiers for a couple hours too. All so YOU people can run like an idiot after standing outside freezing for several hours so you can maybe get one of those TVs?

And now Black Friday has turned into Black Saturday too. I’m watching all the ads on TV for different specials tomorrow morning. I think stores are taking a day off from all this crap on Sunday. Then, Cyber Monday was created. This concept makes sense to me. Staying up late in my pjs, hot chocolate, and my cat snuggling next to me with my warm netbook on my lap. Click, click, click, enter credit card number, click. Go to bed. I think Black Fridays and Black Saturdays should be banned and only allow Cyber Mondays.

As for the reason I started this blog, my original idea, is to explain my life with a mental health disability. I am capable of holding a job in retail sales. Been doing it for 4 years. I used to teach special needs children – the severely disabled ones. I loved that. That’s why I became a teacher. Because “it was easier to find a special needs teacher than a 4 yo Kindergarten teacher”, and I was the only one certified in the building, I got moved to regular education 4 yo Kindergarten.

By this point, the depression was pretty bad. As a Kindergarten teacher at this point – I sucked. I was paired with another teacher – the special needs teacher – and she did most of the work while my depression worsened. The assistant principal in the building had wanted to get rid of me since the day she met me.

See, I have a “different” opinion of severely disabled kids. I have expectations for them. I expect them to work at what they can do and I would find any way possible to help them do it. BUT! When they weren’t working (not due to medical conditions over-riding the situation), I “yelled” at them. Just like any teacher “yelling” at a student who isn’t working. They are kids. They are humans. They deserve respect and expectations.

Try to imagine no one having any expectations of you. Don’t have to get out of bed. Don’t have to shower, shave, go to work. Not bring home a paycheck, not having to take care of your children. For awhile almost every year, we get this – a vacation. Cool.  Then you come back to people expecting things of you. You are needed and wanted wherever your responsibilities lie.

I expected these kids to do stuff. Not run a marathon if they couldn’t walk, but activating a switch to turn on a fan to cool themselves off. Yes. I got one kid to feed himself (after 7 months of daily work). He fed himself his after-school snack every day. Why were we feeding him at school? No one expected anything of him. His parents didn’t follow thru on the self feeding and I had to start all over again the next school year. That time it took 5 months. (When I started working retail, he and his family came into the store. He was in a wheelchair – when he was totally capable of walking – and he did everything in his power to not look at me or make eye contact. I know he remembered me. He probably thought I was the nastiest person in the world. I made him work. He didn’t want to deal with me again.)

I expected a child who scratched everyone who came anywhere near him to do something positive with that arm. I got scratched. A lot. My hands and arms were constantly scabbed over. Even with no white part of the fingernail there, he could draw blood. It was suggested to me that I squirt water in his face every time he scratched me. I think that treatment (waterboarding) is inhumane and don’t even use it as a form of discipline for my cats. Another suggestion? Restrain his “good” arm. And I figured if I did that, he’d improve his “bad” arm at scratching. (I heard 6 years later that he is now completely restrained – both arms and legs – because he started kicking when he couldn’t scratch. It takes 4 people to change his diaper because of how vicious he is. 2 to hold him down, 2 to change him (Because he was an overweight child who is now either 12 or 13.) He gets brought off the bus restrained. He is fed breakfast. He’s pushed off to the side in his classroom. No one will work with him because they don’t want to get scratched. No one has any expectations of him. He’s fed lunch, diapered, and restrained again. Then he gets sent home on the bus. What kind of life is that? He’ll only get bigger and stronger and more vicious. He’ll always be excised from his school community and any community he’s in. I heard he has started biting now too.

Because when he was young, he wasn’t worked with enough and now what kind of life will he have? How much more violent will he get?

So… back to my story. I was put into regular 4 yo Kindergarten and sucked at it. I was too many years away from my training to handle switching to 27 fully abled little people. My patience was non-existent. (I never had any for my special needs students either – I expected them to work.) One day they would show me how they could tie their shoes. The next day they would whine that they couldn’t. 27 kids doing this to me every day. No. Wasn’t happening.

I wasn’t doing any academics with them except math which was a pre-made read the script program. I had poor classroom management. I didn’t have enough stuff for them to do. I wouldn’t take them out to the playground because I would get cold standing around watching them.

I sucked.

And my depression was getting worse. Quickly.

And the assistant principle was on a mission to get rid of me. My assistant would see me not handle something perfectly and run to the assistant principal. She would come directly down to my room and scold me in front of my class. Well, the kids learned that what I said didn’t count. At the end of the year, it got so bad that I was “working” with one group of kids who preferred running circles around the classroom. I stood up and put my arms out and tried to stop them. They laughed.

I sat down on the table and watched them. It was in that moment that I didn’t care if any of them got hurt.

That was when I KNEW it was time to get out.

I had been hospitalized several times during the school year, but was still expected to produce daily lesson plans. From the psych unit. I had a LOT of resources there… NOT! And some one who is inpatient at a psych hospital probably isn’t in the best teaching mode.

On the last day of school I packed up everything in my classroom into my car. I drove home, emptied my car, and went directly to the psych hospital where I spent 3 weeks on the unit. I did day patient after that for another few weeks.

During day hospital they taught us stuff about coping and dealing with stuff. One of the daily lectures was about diagnosis. One in particular caught my attention.

See, I first attempted suicide when I was 13. I was labeled as having depression. They gave me meds that didn’t do anything for me. (An SSRI) I was raped when I was 16 by my 8th grade teacher. (Don’t ask.) I was diagnosed as having bi-polar depression. (I never told anyone I was raped either.) More meds that I stopped taking because they didn’t help. (More SSRIs) I graduated high school and went on to college where I had an “episode” that put me on my first psych unit. I just remember wanting to sleep and they wouldn’t let me. They put me on meds. (No clue) It was reconfirmed that I was bi-polar and had depression.

I went on to graduate college and start teaching. My earlier tale was the 7th and 8th year of teaching. I got my Master’s degree in education during that time too.

Sitting in that classroom as a day patient, I was intrigued by a new diagnosis – Borderline Personality Disorder. What I had never told any one was that I scratched myself to the point of bleeding all the time and had since I was a kid. With BPD, that is a key factor that separates it from depression. I got CORRECTLY diagnosed and got into a Dialectic Behavior Therapy program a few months later.

My very first day in DBT, I read a list of “myths”. I knew mentally that they were myths, but I believed almost every one. It was as if someone cracked my head open and took out what I was thinking. I was in shock the entire day. I went home and called my mom at work. She closed her office door and cried – we finally found something that was very likely to help me.

I did a 20 week program and had my meds changed. My doctor and I had been mixing chemical cocktails for years. One seemed to make me feel a little better, but within 9 months I gained 80 pounds. The hospital staff talked me into trying a different med. Being completely miserable at 200 pounds (I’m 5’3″), I agreed. I lost 10 pounds the first month, physically felt better, and agreed to continue to try it. (Almost all pysch meds take up to 2 months to reach a “therapeutic level”.) I felt better. I could get off the couch and talk with my son. I would be awake when he got home from school. As the med dosage increased, I felt even better.  Iwas arguing with myself about doing laundry – it needs to be done, but I don’t want to get u and walk all the way to the washer, do it, don’t do it… for hours. Increased the med again and I was doing any thought I thunk. I got laundry done – all the way to folded and put away. I was cooking dinner almost every night. And I was losing weight like crazy.

As I felt better, I walked more, I ate better, I felt better, I walked more, etc. I lost all the weight, plus an extra 10. That’s when the doc stepped in and was concerned I was becoming anorexic.

That’s where I’ll leave this for tonight. After all, I’ve been up since 3 am and it’s now 7:30 pm. I think sleep would be doctor recommended at this point. I also have to see how I post this where other people can read it.