I found this quote on Tumblr (and since Google failed to give me another source besides Tumblr I don't know who originally penned it).
This is something I definitely need to keep in mind, and live by. I'm so super hard on myself for my anxiety issues, maybe this will help me correct that.

"Depression is not selfish. Anxiety is not rude. Schizophrenia is not wrong. Mental illness isn’t self-centered, any more than a broken leg or the flu is self-centered. If your mental illness makes you feel guilty, review the definition of “illness” and try to treat yourself with the same respect and concern you would show to a cancer patient or a person with pneumonia."

I'm working on a post on dealing with mental illness/anxiety issues, it's taking a lot out of me to write it mainly because I have to delve back into everything, but I think in the end it will be beneficial not only to me but hopefully to others as well.

What are your thoughts on this quote and/or mental illness?

i actually kinda like this picture, even though i'm just being silly.

R's foot is still not better. This will make 2 weeks that he has been out of work.

My mom keeps having more and more complications from her gallbladder removal. She is unable to eat any solid food (and has lost 20lbs in the past two and a half weeks). They've done a CT scan (with contrast), a HIDA scan, and did a scope yesterday. They thought the problem was with her oddi sphincter, but when they did the scope they had to take a bunch of biopsies (but didn't tell them what for or why). 

I'm officially broke. I saved almost all of my tax return from this year and put it in an "emergency savings" account. It was only 1K but that's a lot of money for us. But between R's medical bills (2 doc visits with X-rays) rent, bills, and him being out of work, I've had to shoulder all financial responsibility (we usually split all  bills 50/50) it's completely gone. Completely. I feel so vulnerable and I'm terrified of losing our house or not being able to feed our pets. I'm hoping R can start going back to work next week and work doubles until we get our savings back.

I'm trying to find a second job since I only work 7:30am-6pm Monday-Friday. If I can find a job for nights and weekends that would help a lot. I just wonder where I'm going to find the extra rest and how in the world I will be able to handle the stress of a second job when I can barely handle the stress going on now. But I mean, what choice do I have?

I found 7 gray hairs.

I need a hug.

I hit my wall this week, hard. I haven't dipped that low in a long time. I was terrified, honest to god terrified.

It sucks being the person who is known for having the shittiest luck. It's more of less of a joke among my so-called friends. It's not their fault, I could've said something back when their sympathies turned to malicious jokes. Yeah, I have streaks of just incredibly bad luck. No, calling me "Walking Murphy's Law" is neither helpful, or appropriate. Unlike most people, I don't thrive on attention. I like to avoid it as much as possible.

I feel awful for having depression and anxiety issues. Growing up in a psuedo-Christian cult, depression, anxiety, and mental illness in general were all just sin issues. If I was depressed, I was told it was my own fault for not being grateful and a sign I just needed to pray for forgiveness and change my attitude. Sure.
When I woke up in the middle of the night from a night terror, soaking in cold sweat and my "flight" instinct kicked into high gear, it as a sign I had unconfessed sin in my life. I'd lie awake for hours, every night, trying to figure out what sin I had committed and hadn't already ardently asked for forgiveness for it.

But it's NOT MY FAULT I'm a manic depressive with (at times) crippling anxiety issues. I have to tell myself a million times a day that it's not my fault. It's not. But because of how I was raised to view depression/mental illness, I've always blamed myself. I was raised to believe that treating depression with medication is wrong and sinful, you weren't placing your trust in God and you were wrong. I was raised to believe that seeking help through a therapist was sinful, secular, and wrong. You were already sinful for having your feelings, but you were doubly sinful if you tried to find any way to cope or overcome those feelings.
Depression and mental illness is not taken seriously or viewed as a legitimate problem by the church in general. In my experience (outside of the cult) depression is always the sufferer's fault. It's sin.

How messed up is that?

I've only in the past year been able to shake those stigmas and seek professional help. I started seeing a therapist earlier this summer, but had to stop after a few sessions because the co-pay was outrageous, but I really did like my therapist. I tried to see a counselor back when I first came back from BMT, but I was waaaaaaay out of her depth, and so I didn't go back to see her anymore. After just relating what all had transpired in my life in just the last 6 months she just kinda sat back and went, "Whoa. Wow. You've been through some pretty traumatic stuff."
I just sat there and thought, "Honey, we've only glossed over the past 6 months, if we go down any further into my life you're gonna get the bends!"
So I never went back to her.
My boyfriend's parents gave me money yesterday for my co-pay to see my therapist. I think that's one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me, they helped me get help.

R and his family have been nothing short of amazing this week. His parents didn't push me to go to work when even getting out of bed sent me into one of the worst panic attacks I've had in ages. In the very worst moments I argued with him, I tried my best to break up with him. "Is this the person you want raising your children?" "Am I worth this? How can I be worth this? What do I bring to this relationship but disfunction and misery?"
I wanted to save him from the pain. I wanted to release him of any obligations he thought he owed me. Nobody should feel like they have to live with that forever I reasoned. I envied him for his option to say, "No" and walk away entirely. If I were him, I would've.

But he didn't.

He picked me up off the floor, he shook my shoulders until I looked him full in the face.

"Do I need to drag you to the jewelry store and put a ring on that finger right now? Do I need to drag you to the courthouse right now and marry you to prove to you I'm not going anywhere? I don't care if you're like this tomorrow or next month, or next year; I'm going to be here. You're not getting rid of me so easily."
(I know, I know, even romance novelist can't write the shit he comes up with.)

Then, I realized I'm not the one who's crazy.

I am feeling better today. Yesterday, I was actually able to come to work without having a crisis that left me a screaming crying mess in the floor. I'm still in full blown coping mode, can't be helped. I still can't handle a whole lot. Instead of being at 110% capacity I'm back down to 99%. I'm tired, but I feel like I have a rope to keep me from drowning in the waves.

Sometimes even the smallest thread can be the greatest gift. It's hope.

.

It's colossally unfair to expect the one person with crippling anxiety issues to hold it together day after day, while everyone else is falling apart.
It's extremely unfair to react in nothing but anger towards me.
I've been working 12hr days 5 days a week. I know this is nothing compared to some people but it's a lot for me. I've been carrying all the financial burdens for months now.
I didn't lose my finger, I know this.
I didn't have my gallbladder removed suddenly, I know this.
I didn't jump off the top railing at a movie theater and (probably) fractured my ankle.

And yet I'm not allowed to be weak. I have to roll your sleeves, I have to drive an hour and a half to sit with you while your husband goes to play tennis. I have to work extra hours now because I'm not the one who can't walk.

But I'm more broken than all of you.

Who was there when I was sick? Nobody.
Who was there for you when you were sick? Me.

I'm sorry I'm weak. I'm sorry I've gone so beyond what I can handle that I'm beyond recovery at this point. I'm sorry the stress has been so toxic on my body that my bones ache, my speech is gone, my panic is showing. I'm sorry I can't be happy right now.

But what do you expect? YOU ALL KNOW I CAN'T HANDLE STUFF LIKE THIS ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

And yet, where is my help?

My illness is invisible. My brokenness is dismissed.

But in the end. I'm not mad at you.
I hate myself for being a failure. I hate myself for being unable to just keep going when day after day, week after week there is always a new crisis. I tried so hard to be better this time. I tried. Just ask the people here. I tried so hard to hide my problems. I tried. I failed.

But that's been my life. I'm dashed to pieces against the breakers and it's my fault I can't put it all back together. I'm sorry my illness interferes with yours.
I try.
I fail.
I fucking hate myself.

And yet, who cares about the truly broken one. Did you wonder what would break first too? My spirit or my body? Is it really a surprise?
It wasn't your fault you lost your finger.
It wasn't your fault your gallbladder had to come out.
It wan't your fault you twisted your ankle.

But it is my fault when I break.

It's always my fault when I break.

"When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't crawl - when you can't do that...
You find someone to carry you."

But let's face it, no one is going to do that. No one wants to carry the crazy person.

Here's my new favourite piece of jewelry

I have to admit I am a little bummed they only had Huttese. I couldn't find any rings of the Imperial Aurebesh.

Me: "R, what are you doing?"

R: "Throwing pennies at the rabbit to stop him from chewing the wall."

Me: "I see, because throwing money at problems always solves them, right?"

*Wedge runs away*

R: "Yup, pretty much."

I have too much fun at my job.

I heard an ad on the radio this morning for a "male enhancement" supplement that boasted it's "immediate and explosive results."

Because nothing disguises the fact that you have a small penis quite like premature ejaculation.

Brilliant.

I pulsed earlier this morning about my mom going into the hospital and straight to surgery, and I really appreciate all the prayers and kind words! That kind of stuff really helps, knowing that people out there care and all, thanks so much!
She had to have her gallbladder removed after having some pretty intense stomach pain for the past few weeks and especially in the past few days. When the surgeon came out to talk to us she said that it went very well, and that the opening to the bile duct was very small and restricted and it was best that she had it removed now before any stones formed. They suspect that the pain she was experiencing was caused by the "sludge" that forms before stones was harder to get through the opening (since it's thicker than bile).
R and I sat with my stepdad while she was in the OR and until she went into her recovery room. I got to see her for a few minutes, she was doing well but was having nausea and was completely wore out. The hospital where she had the procedure was very nice. My stepdad said he had researched this hospital this morning before deciding to come to it and it had one of the lowest rates of infections of any hospital in the state. They also had some really, really nice courtyards and gardens, and in one of them there were elephant and giraffe sculptures. Mom is going to stay overnight and be released tomorrow morning.

Between R's dad losing his finger just 4 weeks ago to Mom's surgery today I get the feeling I need to sit down with my families and explain to them that they are supposed to KEEP all their limbs, digits, and internal organs.

The fun just never ends!!!

i love this guy