So I was scrolling through my pictures trying to find one to send to someone, and a thought hit me out of nowhere.
“I’m okay.”
I saw there, still scrolling through the pictures, recognizing the changes over time. The happier, more content, strong willed me came back. I watched, in these pictures, the story of my life in this past year.
At the beginning of the year, I was afraid, scared that I might not be okay for a long time. Now, it’s the end of the year, and I’m okay. I. Am. O-Kay. I am okay…
I’m happy, I’m content, I’m enjoying my life… I’m okay. My mental health… she’s okay.
I hope we both stay okay for while. I know the inevitable must happen, but I want to be okay for a little while longer.
I know these past past few years have been REALLY rough for everyone and I hope you can find healing wherever possible. I only wanted to share my light so that you too, may find it.
Y’all, I’m so tired. All the time. I know it’s because I’m depressed but… why can’t it be like turning on a switch. You know what I mean? You feel sad, then all of a sudden, you just turn it to happy? Yeah, like that could ever happen.
ANYWAYS. I’ve been forcing myself to do anything remotely close to self care because, you know, forcing one’s self to be happy always works. I just, I don’t know what else to do. Laying in bed all day is always an option and trust me, I’ve done enough of that, but like… I need human contact. I need human connection.
When I’m not depressed, I’m very active and I like to be with active people. Doing everything but when I get depressed, I pretty much don’t know who I am.
So, I’ve been depressed, trying to maintain some resemblance of normalcy. It’s uh, great…
I have all the daily tracker apps on phone that I could find. I have so many alarms set to just get out of bed. I’m trying so hard to maintain that everything is fine.
But really, I’m not. I’m not fine. Everything is not fine. But like… I know I can’t do anything about it. So..
Hahaha, the title of this entry is funny because… like… HOW DO I KNOW? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. I just know in the middle of the night, when every one is asleep, I’m listening to angry music. I think… maybe I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one who feels this way.
I don’t know if I can put into words how I feel. I don’t know if I do feel… I’m drowning… in an empty pit of darkness. Do I keep struggling day in and day out? Should I even be asking that? I don’t know what to do anymore.
Everyone in my life has told me, “talk to Jenny.” But like, what is she going to do? Ask me the standard questions:
“Can you do the things you normally do? Are less sad or more sad?”
Shit like that. And like, that’s the problem. I can’t… I don’t know. I can’t feel. I only feel when I’m with him… and I can’t be with him if I want her. I can’t have them both.
There’s actually a song that describes this perfectly.
“To be loved and love at the highest count means to lose all the things I can’t live without. Let it be known that I will choose to lose, It’s a sacrifice, but I can’t live a lie. Let it be known, let it be known that I tried.” – Adele
How long can I go on living without him? How long does it take for me to be okay without him? How long will it take for me to happy?
Okay, I should preface. I AM happy. I love living here, with Whitney. I just… a piece of me is missing. He’s a big piece of me. And… he’s doing perfectly fine. It’s like… it’s like he forget about me. I know, I know he didn’t. But… I’ve spent half of my time up here, with Whitney, laying in bed. Ignoring my dog. Ignoring chores. Ignoring work.
I feel awful that I’ve put this on Whitney. Sometimes, I wonder how she feels. If she feels she “stole” me from him. I don’t feel that way. I made the choice. I made the decision to put myself through this.
I just have to figure out who I am without Buckley… how long that will take, I don’t know.
I would like to start by apologizing that my blog is not very consistent. I blog when I can and sometimes life can get really busy.
But! I’d like to give y’all an update. Last time I was here, I mentioned that I had put in an application to get a collie puppy named Lucca. Well, I got him!
Me with Lucca
He’s so sweet, loving and very stubborn! I can’t wait to see him grow into his personality!
It’s great that I got him but I’m terrified I’m going to fuck him up. I’ve never owned a dog, let alone a puppy. But, Whitney (my girlfriend) has been very supportive. She constantly tells me that I can do it. That I’m great with animals and that he loves me.
Speaking of Whitney, I moved in with her. I, kinda, sorta, had to. In order to get Luke, I need a different place because where I was staying doesn’t allow dogs. Which means, I had to move with her.
Well, it been a roller coaster. Whitney and I are getting along great but I forgot she lives in house that has no insulation, nothing to really stop dirt getting in, and literally lives in on a dirt block. So, I guess you could say her house had dirt… everywhere.
I have been trying my best to clean it because it bothers me. I’m clean. I’m a clean person, which means, everything around me needs to be clean. This house? Definitely not clean.
Some days, I can handle it. Some days it doesn’t bother me. Then other days? I get so overwhelmed that I must clean the whole house. Obviously, I do practically clean everyday. Vacuuming, dusting, etc. What I mean by cleaning the whole house is, DEEP cleaning. Like, so it smells like sanitizer. Do I like the smell? No. Do I like how clean it is? Yes.
I love clean. I don’t know it has anything to do with me having OCPD but, I love clean. I love being clean. I love my home being clean. So this is really bothering me, that I live in a dirt home. I’m trying my hardest, I just don’t know how to make this work.
Y’all remember the house we had applied for yesterday? Well, we didn’t get it. We were first in line and we didn’t get it… Explain that to me.
However, we did go see another house today. It’s a little fixer upper but honestly, it’s perfect for a starter house. I don’t mind it. We are renting BUT maybe the landlord will let us do some work to the house? It doesn’t hurt to ask.
The house we looked at today.
After we got home, we automatically sat down, filled out the applications and emailed them back. The sooner, the better, right?
We’ve had to talk several times because my expectations and hers are completely different. I grew up in the suburbs, in an upper middle/upper class neighborhood. She grew up in a lower class neighborhood. Her parents had to work everyday to pay for the things they needed. Mine, didn’t. So, to say we have different tastes is an understatement.
Some of things we’ve talked about is that we are the working class. We HAVE to work in order to get by. Why? Well, we’re millennials. I understand that we have to work and maybe my expectations should lower a little bit but… I want to live in a nice house. I don’t care if it’s small. I don’t care if it doesn’t have a garage, I don’t care where it is. I just want, good floors, central a/c, good electric, nice non-squeaking cabinets, doors I can fit through (I’m 6’0), and just an overall clean place.
Before you say anything, I know. I’m complaining about how and where I don’t want to live when people can’t even afford a house. I know that, don’t worry.
See, but here’s the thing. Sometimes, you get this idea in your head of what something will look like and then when it doesn’t, you get disappointed.
Tonight, we got home, I looked at her and said, “I know I’m not the easiest person to house hunt with, but I’m trying, really trying, to see what you see.”
She appreciated it because, I am. I really am. We have different views on the world, and that’s completely okay. It’s just something I have to learn.
Honestly, I’m willing to learn as long as it’s for her.
Side note: I’ll talk about the puppy tomorrow night.
I don’t remember the last time I blogged. I think my life at the time was in the shitter. Now? My life is wonderful. Well, mostly. I’m still suicidal but will that ever go away? Probably not. The rest of my life? It’s amazing. I have a wonderful girlfriend, her name is Whitney. I met her last year during the pandemic and a month after I overdosed. I actually think I told her overdosed like two months into talking? I didn’t want that hanging over a potential relationship and now here we are. Almost a year later.
We are currently looking to move in together. We’ve been seeing place after place after place. We did find an apartment, which is nice but we really want a house. We have filled out four apps in two days and if those don’t pan out, then we can move into the apartment in November.
On top of that, I filled out an app tonight for a puppy! My first puppy or dog, for that matter! His name is Lucca! He’s a nine week old Collie. He’s so handsome! I’ll attach a picture. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to get him until we either find a house or move into the apartment in November but they are willing to hold him for me until that time! Now, all of that depends on if I get approved! But, I think I will!
Lucca
You know, I’ve been so excited all day because of all of the changes coming to my life, I forgot that I am bipolar for a second. I, like, hyper focus. I don’t like being patient for changes because changes are hard for me. I want it happen as quickly and as painless as possible; but life doesn’t happen that way.
It’s now 1:30am and I’m wide awake; hyper focusing on the dog. The puppy. I actually do need sleep because tomorrow I’m getting a new bed delivered for us that we will use for when we move. Yet, here I am. Wide awake. I’ve tried playing some video games. I’ve tried writing and now I’m blogging.
Oh! Not to change the subject or anything, BUT, did I tell you? Like I said, I don’t remember when I stopped blogging. I have been officially diagnosed with BPD and OCPD. If you’re not familiar with OCPD or Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder is basically a nastier version of OCD.
I don’t count to specific numbers or rearrange everything all the time but, I need everything in its place. I constantly think about everything. ‘Is it perfect? Is there more I could do?’ Various things like that.
So, maybe tonight is mixture of everything. Thinking obsessive thoughts, focusing on something that isn’t going to happen right away and wishing life would work in my favor. But you know, it could also just be me as a person.
I, at least, hope you get some sleep. Or for those of you who are reading this during the day, I hope you got some sleep.
On August 1st or 2nd (I can’t remember the date exactly) my grandma had a hip replacement done. The surgery went by fast and she apparently handled it really well, however, she’s now in a rehab facility and all she can do is complain and she’s coming home within the the week. Let me just explain the circumstances to you here. IF my grandma comes home that means either my grandpa or myself will have to stay home because she cannot walk 200 feet by herself. Her physical therapist over at the rehab center has even told her she can’t get up to use the bathroom alone, yet.
IF she comes home, grandpa/myself will have to miss work, or any other things so that someone is with her all times. This is will put more stress on our family than she realizes. I’m already stressed enough. Could I ever possibly tell her this? No. She’ll get mad, it’ll lead to an explosive fight and by the time she does come home she won’t even look at me. (She fights like a child). My opinions, my stresses, or worries never matter in this house. Just hers. Always hers.
I was on the fence about writing this post as it deals with issues I don’t like to talk about but here it is.
A little bit ago I was out of town with a woman I was talking to. (Yes, I know. So lesbian. We barely know each other and we already went out of town). We were sitting on her friends couch and she looks at me and says, “can I introduce you as my girlfriend to my friends?”
I screamed, internally. I said, “yes!” I mean, obviously. But I was screaming. Why? Why was I screaming when I just said said yes? Well, there are two reasons. The first one is really very simple; I was happy.
The second; I was/am terrified. I handle relationships about as well as I play the flute. Which, trust me, if you heard me play any instrument you’d realize how bad that actually is.
Relationships are built on trust… and that’s hard for me. Let me break it down for you. I trust her to catch me if I fall. (Even though I’m taller than her). I trust her not to poison my food. I trust her in my house. I trust her with my car. My past… the part people hear and cringe at… that… I’m terrified about. Do I think she’s everyone else? No. She’s the first person in a while who didn’t run at the word “Bipolar” and the name “Caroline” but she doesn’t know the half of it. The parts I keep buried. The parts of me that are… monstrous.
Whenever I enter a new relationship there’s always this question. What if she finds out I’m not who she expected?
I’m only writing this because, for once, even if this relationship lasts for the next three minutes, forever, or the next two years, I just want to be the person who isn’t afraid to take a chance. I want to know what that’s like.
I’m learning.
(Also, if she reads this I might have some explaining to do).
I know it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and I’m about to explain why but I would just like to take a moment to say that I’m a bit nervous. Writing has never been one my of strong suits but then when you add my ‘feelings’ to the mix, I think most of the time I probably screw it up, horribly; Especially if there are other people reading it. However, I will say I like writing no matter terrible I am at it. That being said, let’s continue on with the story about why I haven’t been writing.
Earlier this year I decided it would be a good idea to make a journal and a blog so I could keep my thoughts in order and it did… for a while. But there was an issue with my blog. Not a big issue, a minor one… sort of. One that could’ve been fixed with a simple conversation but I didn’t know how to do that. See, in my life when I have to tell someone close to me that I don’t like something they are doing it ALWAYS turns out bad. So I prolonged the conversation and stopped blogging and eventually stopped journaling.
All this person was doing was bringing up my personal blogs at work, in public, out in everyday life. This person is the only one I know who follows me. I like my privacy. I like things to be kept to oneself. I was talking about close personal stuff. I didn’t know/understand how to have a meaningful conversation with this person about my privacy because I thought they would get mad.
Turns out, it was all in my head. They didn’t get mad. They were supportive and understanding. They weren’t anyone else I’d ever dealt with in my life who had ‘threatened’ my privacy because they didn’t like it.
Now, after a few months of trying to reevaluate my life and get more things squared away, I can safely say, this is my first blog post and my journal entry entry is just a few moments away.
This post is going to be a little different than anything I’ve written about previously. I don’t normally talk about these things. I think mainly because I don’t know how. I identify as gay. I’m attracted to women. I’m not ashamed of it and that’s not what we’re here to discuss. What we’re here to discuss is the rest of it. The part that I don’t tell anyone exists. The part I’m afraid of.
I’m 24 years old and I’ve slept with more people than I can count on both hands. That makes me feel ashamed. Does it make me feel like a slut? Like a whore? Not at all. I like sex. Who cares. But what I’m ashamed of is that I can’t remember all of their names. They blend together. I ran into a woman that I had ‘relations’ with and couldn’t remember her name. She told me I should be ashamed. She started to belittle and demean me but before she could finish, I agreed with her. I told her she did nothing to deserve what I did to her. She looked astonished like she never in million years thought she would hear me agree with her.
That was almost two years ago. Now I’m doing a bit better. I was in a successful ‘friends with benefits’ relationship until she got married. Which I’m so happy for her and so proud of her. Her boyfriend (now husband) at the time knew about us and there were no secrets. Every time I feel ever the need to do something ‘unhealthy’ I tend to go driving. I would honestly rather pay more for gas than hurt someone’s ego and mine.
My therapist and I have talked at length about how I separate sex and love. I use sex as band aid for problems. I’m not an addict. I don’t need it to fill some hole or void in my life/heart. The problems I have, my bipolar leaves me feeling I’m not wanted. So as you can guess what is it I do? Go find sex. I want someone to want me. I get I what I need then I leave. They’re left feeling alone and horrible about themselves.
I never stopped to think about the consequences of my actions until the day she ran into me. I’ve been thinking about her a lot recently and how I’ve been changing since then.
The SJ Chronicles 