One small step for man, One HUGE step for Pixie

I actually sent two of my articles to a magazine today. Can you believe it???? I was so shocked with myself I had to slap myself in the face twice for good measure. Unfortunatley there a good and bad points to this.

Good Point: I sent two articles to and editor at an online magazine

Bad Point: It is a magazine for mostly middle eastern folk

Good Point: Meh, what the hell, I can pretend- its not a paid position anyway

Bad Point: Editor says, Hey Pixie, (IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME) can you write some stories in Arabic?

Bad Point: Pixie exits with tail between legs crying at the her own stupidity.

Its ok, I am working on promoting as much content as possible. Plus my lovely princess friend Jess, who luckily for me works for a publication, will keep her eye out on some writing jobs.  The sun is coming out!

On a bad note, I once again, got in a fight with

a) my husband last night- who blames everything on me and who on even good days acts like a 2 year old with crap in  his diaper.

b) my 7 year old daughter, who for some mysterious reason, is exibiting the sighs of PMS. Hello hormones in all our milk and meat.

c) The ASSFACE that I work for, you know the guy who is not really my boss but pretends he is. Who technically I was hired to be his assistant, when Mother Teresa herself would kill this motherfucker.

ASSFACE: what is this illustration doing in this file?

Pixie: The client needs to sign it, in order to process his application

ASSFACE: well this illustration is 3 months old, his premium is going to go up now. (increasingly yelling at me) HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DELIVER THIS TO HIM NOW?

Pixie: Well that is the only one we have, and he didn’t sign it 3 months ago WHEN HE WAS SUPPOSED TO so what would you like me to do?

ASSFACE: I DONT BELIEVE THIS. YOU ARE TELLING ME YOU DIDNT REALIZE THIS?

Pixie: (increasingly vulgar language is now spewing from the hole in my face)

It may be that your whole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.

You fill a much-needed gap- because the world simply does not have enough ASSHOLES.

Now Pixie may need a new job. But I wouldnt go out any other way.

MWAH!!!

Medication immunity

Second post today. I am so god damn bored I can barely take it. Medication (Paxil) is not working as well as it should. Or I could be extremely tired, which is why I have done absolutely nothing but write (why by the way is not my job that I get paid for) all day. The jackass who I assist tried to trip me up yet again today, but through the torturous 8-9 months I have been with this fuck face  guy, I have learned to research the correct answer FIRST to avoid potential embarassment. I feel better than I did this morning though. Talking to my BFF this morning, who strictly FORBADE me to ever do anything as stupid as I did last night (ie: take a fatal dose of lorazepam; only it was not fatal because the dose was so low- damn doctor!). He tried to make it about him so I wouldn’t think he would miss me or anything. But deep down I know he would… I have also researched ways to get myself out of this current situation

ie; pixie’s paycheck = >0 + money required for sitter = way too fucking much + an insane amount of accrued debt, due to pixie dealing with her anxiety by shopping with credit cards = the price of a small house + other various debt that shall not be mentioned = HOLY FUCKING SHIT WE OWE HOW MUCH???

I am dead set on getting a part time job, where I can work in the evenings or even the odd weekend. Of course my husband comes up with the following excuse

We will never get to see each other

-which really means – HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO TAKE CARE OF 3 KIDS AND WATCH HOCKEY???

What about spending time as a family on the weekends?

-which really means – HOW THE FUCK CAN I GO AND SPEND INSANE AMOUNTS OF TIME FIXING UP A PIECE OF SHIT COTTAGE THAT WE WILL NEVER STAY IN, WITH 3 KIDS IN TOW? HUH?

Anyways, I have to see the doctor on April 1st and may, or may not request and increased dose. It was hard getting over the side effects of the lowest dose. Starting all over is not my idea of a good time.

Relapse in treatment

Yesterday I had a minor relapse in my depression/anxiety treatment. I had a terrible day and it got worse once my sitter decided she is raising the rates again. I don’t know if the fact that I am working in a job that depresses me beyond belief, only to hand over almost my entire paycheck to her, is what set me off, but something obviously did. I thought of at least 5 ways to kill myself. My husband and I are drowning in debt, I am miserable, I am pretty sure he is miserable too. Any solutions I come up with he refuses to entertain. I have made the suggestion he file for bankrupcy protection. We are constantly short on our required expenses. And now with daycare going up, it is not even worth it for me to be working. I contemplated escaping this life. I know I can’t live like this, but I also can’t make changes without his help. I took too many lorazepams before I went to bed with the hopes of being able to silently slip into the other side. I guess my doctor may have thought I would have attempted this, and only gave me a low dose so it pretty much did nothing, other than cause me to sleep very well. I woke up feeling better this morning, but now I am faced with the reality of possibly having to increase my paxil, to make sure I do not feel this way again. To ensure no serious attempts are made to end my life. I am not sure how long I will be at this job anyway in all seriousness. They are constantly whispering about me and having meetings regarding my performance. The one thing the Paxil has done has given me the attitude of not caring. This time when I get handed the pink slip, I know I won’t cry, hell I may even laugh and thank them. In the life of a depressed person, the only time action is taken is when it is forced upon you. Taken by someone else.

Pursuing a new career

I haven’t wrote at all over the Easter weekend. On the weekends I barely have a moment to myself so it makes it difficult to concentrate and output ideas. Kids jumping on you and sitting on your lap and saying “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy”. If I had a quarter for every time I heard that in a day, I would be sitting on my yacht suntanning in Cabo. Anyways…. I managed to squeak 45 minutes of privacy last night to finish my 2nd week of therapy, and write an article for Associated Content. (shameless plug, please visit my page and read my articles…. and tell your friends.) I spent a good portion of my working day yesterday NOT working, but coming up with ideas to write about. The ideas were flowing like water, and I came to a conclusion. I am going to write about as many things as I possibly can, and I am going to send out my articles to as many magazines or publications I possible can to pursue a career in writing. I am not cut out of this investment crap, and it is starting to show. I am forgetting even the simplest things and it is all being taken down, let me tell you. I think subconsciously I am pulling a move from George Costanza’s playbook. Doing whatever you can to encourage dismissal at the workplace. In other words, being a total jackass to see how fast you can get fired. Maybe a career in writing is a thankless thing, but pretending you like a job you loathe is not conducive to good mental health.

The EMO haircut

Ok so now that my emotional ranting is through, I wanted to tell everyone I got what is catagorized as an “EmO” haircut. It looks much like bed head, sharp, choppy layers all throughout. And much shorter. I love it other than the fact my hair is not STRAIGHT!! Once it is shorter it gets all wavy and pretty and makes it difficult to pull of and “Leave me the F*** alone” haircut. But it’s not so bad.  I don’t care if I am almost 30. I don’t care if I am a mother.  I am just waiting to color it and Voila! I will be forever known as the most immature pushing 30 adult out there. Here is a link for all the different EMO hairstyles. I suppose I may fit in well with this group. The whole mantra of being “EMO” surrounds sadness and hopelessness. Two prominent signs of depression.

http://www.emobucket.com/thumbnails-2.html  

I am off to have a flipping awesome long weekend. Happy Easter!!!

Creating a serene environment

I went to the library today. I was lucky enough to get off work at 3pm and you know I high tailed it out of there. I picked up every book and CD I could find on meditation. Not for me though….. for my daughter. She is a very intense child. Emotional and explosive she will cry at the very mention of something. She complains about constantly being sick and having headaches. I am certain she is depressed. Why wouldn’t she be??? Her mother is suffering from at least 3 different emotional disorders, depression being one of them. They do not give children medication (rightfully so) for depression and the waiting list for psychotherapy is long. This is causing a set back in my own recovery. Guilty feelings flood me, and I beat myself up for having to be this way, and worse of all, giving it to my innocent daughter. During my therapy sessions, I have realized that I have always been depressed. My mother and stepfather were too wrapped up in their feelings of selfishness and entitlement to notice. I was also constantly sick, I cried at the littlest word, action or even a the thought of getting up in the morning. I was a reckless teenager, changing my appearance constantly. (I still do that). I got tattoos, piercings and colored my hair rainbow colors. I did poorly in high school at first and was drinking and doing drugs at age 16. I suppose the difference between me and my daughter, is she has a loving and caring environment, and although she may not know it yet, I would crawl to the moon and back to see her smile. For all my kids. I have decided though, that both myself and my husband are going to stop sweating the small stuff. We are going to yell as little as possible in the kids presence, we are going to come up with constructive ways of discipline and encourage self esteem and independence. I am going to make sure I tell all of the kids how much I love them every single day. I am going to put even 10 minutes aside to do something with each of them individually. I am going to teach my daughter to meditate. I am going to create a place in her room that is calm and peaceful where she can listen to relaxing music and just BE.  I know I should care about my own recovery, but I have been living with mental illness most of my life. And I brought my daughter into this world, and by god, I will do anything to make it as happy a place as she could wish for.

Its almost the weekend….(long weekend)

I got my haircut yesterday, and it looks really good. I wanted it a bit shorter but I trust the stylists advice in relation to the shape fattness of my face. I was too tired to color it the blazing red last night. That can wait until the weekend. Speaking of weekend, this is going to be a great weekend for my mental health. 3 days in a row of no work!!! I really need to catch up on some ZZZZZZ’s. And plot ways to get out of work the following week

Now that I am in therapy, I was thinking alot today about someone who inspires me, someone I look up to. Other than myself (just kidding) I have to say I look up to my best friend. I have never told him that. He is amazingly talented, but so modest about it. He struggles on when the going is tough and has never required medication, like me. He makes me laugh when I want to cry and would bend of backwards for me. And he likes my poorly behaved kids. What more could I ask for???

The transformation of our living room is beginning. We are trying to create a more serene  environment for me. Just little things to try and keep me relaxed when the shit hits the fan  when the going gets tough. I was so sick of that sponged brown and beige walls and all the burgundy furniture. I needed COLOR!!! So my hubby is hard at work, which is good because then he is not yelling at everyone about everything.

I think that fact that I am better has somehow made him worse. He is so edgy and screams at me and the kids about everything. Plus he finds fault in all the little things. It makes me wonder…. maybe it’s not me????

Here is a piece of my sick humor in time for easter

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5427138374898988918

Taking a plunge to give my mood a boost

I decided today to cut and color my hair. This of course can go one of two ways. I will absolutely love it and it will give my self esteem and mood a well needed boost. Or it could go the other way and it will look like crap, I will wear it up for months and wallow in the misery that is my hair. Much like what happened to my son. He had really nice, thick long hair and the butcher hair dresser at Little Tots hair shop destroyed it to the point he was being called a girl by everyone, everywhere. Of course it was funny to a certain degree, but I wasn’t going to let him go to school and get made fun of even more than he already does. So I took him to another hairdresser at a different place and he is now sporting a faux hawk, or mohawk or something in between. But on the plus side, he looks like a boy again.  I drank a whole 3 green beers last night and was convinced that the beer in combination with the Paxil and the Lorazepam I had to take last night (because some jackass at work stressed me out to the point I was having some NOT SO PLEASANT thoughts about something I could go to jail for) to relax was going to kill me in my sleep. It’s a wonderful life living with anxiety. The fear of dying is always just one beer, one pill or one sleep away. I will write about my hair tomorrow and if it looks good I may even get excited and upload a picture….

Revisiting some old ways for St. Patricks Day

Today is St. Patricks day and I have decided after being sober for quite a while, (at least 2 months) to celebrate my Gaelic roots by divulging in some green beer. I am not sure how this is going to fare with the Paxil, but due to the fact I haven’t drank in so long, I will be lucky to get past 3. I didn’t write all weekend because I am trying to keep myself busy with stuff other than wallowing in my own misery, and sharing it with everyone. I am also trying to make up to the kids, the fact that their mother is borderline mentally unstable, and for two weeks in a row sat crying in her bed. They couldn’t understand why I was afraid to come out, or why I never stopped crying. We went to the Science Center as a family. My anxiety probably was highest while I was here than it has been in about a week. The medication works well, but it doesn’t produce miracles. I am still slightly agoraphobic and claustrophobic as well. It is funny thinking about it now, because back in the summer I was at a music festival and started freaking out in the crowd. I was with my BFF and he was slightly scared to say the least. Mind you so was I. I had no clue at the time what was wrong with me, just that I couldn’t breathe and everyone was taking my air, and my personal space. Much like the fact I still have thoughts that would make even the most open minded person wonder. I was thinking today about how it would be funny to let a mouse run loose in the office and watch everyone freak out. Or how it would be to hit a snowbank doing 80 kms an hour. Maybe tripping somebody just for fun. Of course I would never follow through with any of these thoughts. They are just that. On Saturday, I took my son to get his second haircut of the weekend. The first one was butchered so badly but a hair dresser who has obviously never cut anything other than your standard brush cut. I laughed so much inside watching the second woman cut his hair. She had a face only a mother could love. Her teeth were sticking out of her mouth, they were brown and she was missing more than a few. She was a squidget. Short and round. I could not believe someone who looked like this worked with the public. For me to laugh at this woman, who I didn’t know was mean. I have no room to talk myself. I think every day about stabbing the eyeballs out of a certain one of my bosses, who feels that woman hold no place in the world but to serve men. Who uses every mistake I make as an excuse to publicly critize me and attempt to embarass me. In the words of JT, what goes around comes around.

Happy St. Paddy’s day everyone!!

Making Progress

I received a letter today informing me that I have been referred to a psychiatrist and my appointment is…..get this……. SEPT 17!! Wholly crap thank god I am not suicidal or anything because clearly I would not make it 6 months. I think it is ridiculous to have to wait that long. I am making progress in my battle, I was able to fall asleep last night without any medical intervention. I actually slept through the night as well with no midnight panic attacks.

Its Friday!!! This is also a good thing. I will be so happy when 4:30 comes. I have been faithfully keeping my mood journal up to date. It is kind of strange though because since I started the Paxil I feel emotionless. So to have to write down how depressed or anxious you are on a scale of 0-100 is difficult. I am not depressed, nor anxious, nor happy or glad. I just am. Everyone says I look better though. I have some color in my face. I always laugh when people tell me this because when I wake up my face is as red as a tomato. I actually put make up on to reduce the redness and make my face fair. Apparently “white as a sheet” suits me well.