Yes I have one. I'd like to think that I acquire a different person for this position every year or so. However, that has not been the case for quite some time now. When I first met her she wasn't so bad but for some reason that I cannot recall we didn't start off well. Maybe it was something I said, maybe it was a blog I wrote, or maybe it had to do with a new experience she wasn't ready for. Either way we didn't see eye to eye.
I'm not saying I'm Dorothy and haven't done and said a few things in the past that were probably not conducive to a good relationship with this woman but I always was the one apologizing and trying to make things better. I never did receive any kind of apology. My point is that I feel there is no reason for this person to not accept me for who I am and start treating me as I should be treated.
The reason I used the phrase "Wicked Witch of the West" is because I was explaining to my sister the frustrations that person had brought on that week and she said: "Even if someone dropped a house on her sister, she has another one." I now think about that every time this person gets me down and I chuckle to myself. I love having a humorous sister that knows what to say to make me smile :D
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Writing Love on her arm
When first looking at me most people wouldn't assume that I've suffered from depression, but then again when people look at me they probably wouldn't be able to tell that I'm a daddy's girl, I didn't graduate high school, or even that I'm 20 years old either.
I've always liked the expression "never judge a book by its cover" but I've found that many people do. Its amusing to watch someone's expression when I tell them any possibly hidden fact about myself. Depression isn't something found on the surface (usually) but found when no one else is looking. I didn't know what I was feeling was something worse than I thought. Most of the time it was hidden even from my parents (mostly my mom) who are painfully observant about almost anything. It didn't really occur to them I was depressed until I ended up drinking charcoal in an ER for swallowing a fistful of pain killers.
I was harming myself at an early age. Most people didn't know or see because most of the time it wasn't visible. Every now and then I'd take scissors and cut my upper arms. I did it because I felt so emotionally drained and exhausted from everything that seeing the blood trickle down my arm was a relief; some sort of stimulant that made me feel better. Then next day, however, it would hurt like hell and I'd be faced with the physical pain as well. I still have some pretty bad scars on my upper arms from these occasions but whatever I did to my wrists faded away; thank heavens for that. When my arms became more and more obvious to my friends I moved down to my legs. My legs right above the knee was the ideal place, it bled more. I'd scratch my legs and arms really hard with my nails to deaden the skin on top and cut away. My weapon of choice was usually scissors. We had sharp craft scissors that were perfect for the job. I still have those scars too.
I haven't hurt myself in over a year. I'm not proud of the things I did to myself and to my family. I know it hurt them more than it hurt me, especially the night at the ER. Unfortunately that wasn't my last act of self harm. One particular plummet of self-esteem encouraged me to take retractable knife to my left leg. It did much more damage than I'd intended. Those suckers are sharp! It didn't hurt at all, but I saw my skin peel apart and I knew I'd gone too far. 11 stitches. 3 inside, 8 out. That was the last time I ever hurt myself or my family. I couldn't bare the look on my dad's face anymore. That occasion scared me and that scar is the darkest and most bold one I have. I hate my scars, but they are there for the constant reminder that I will not fall back into that habit ever again.
I've never talked about my self destructive ways before. Not really anyways. I told my family why I did it. The physical pain took away from the emotional pain, even if it was for a day or two. When asked what my scars are I usually say "It was just an accident." That's a lie that I won't tell anymore. They're reminders, not accidents. I survived myself. Its one of my greatest accomplishments. Occasionally I do get depressed but I have had such a turnaround in the way I think and feel that I don't need to harm myself to feel better. I've become increasingly positive to a point of absolute shock to myself. That's why today I wrote "Love" on my arm. Its a worldwide event to support people with addiction, suicide, depression, self harm, you name it. I wrote love right over the top of a few of my scars on my left arm to make a promise to myself and to those who care about me. I love myself too much to harm myself again. This is one promise I will not break.
I've always liked the expression "never judge a book by its cover" but I've found that many people do. Its amusing to watch someone's expression when I tell them any possibly hidden fact about myself. Depression isn't something found on the surface (usually) but found when no one else is looking. I didn't know what I was feeling was something worse than I thought. Most of the time it was hidden even from my parents (mostly my mom) who are painfully observant about almost anything. It didn't really occur to them I was depressed until I ended up drinking charcoal in an ER for swallowing a fistful of pain killers.
I was harming myself at an early age. Most people didn't know or see because most of the time it wasn't visible. Every now and then I'd take scissors and cut my upper arms. I did it because I felt so emotionally drained and exhausted from everything that seeing the blood trickle down my arm was a relief; some sort of stimulant that made me feel better. Then next day, however, it would hurt like hell and I'd be faced with the physical pain as well. I still have some pretty bad scars on my upper arms from these occasions but whatever I did to my wrists faded away; thank heavens for that. When my arms became more and more obvious to my friends I moved down to my legs. My legs right above the knee was the ideal place, it bled more. I'd scratch my legs and arms really hard with my nails to deaden the skin on top and cut away. My weapon of choice was usually scissors. We had sharp craft scissors that were perfect for the job. I still have those scars too.
I haven't hurt myself in over a year. I'm not proud of the things I did to myself and to my family. I know it hurt them more than it hurt me, especially the night at the ER. Unfortunately that wasn't my last act of self harm. One particular plummet of self-esteem encouraged me to take retractable knife to my left leg. It did much more damage than I'd intended. Those suckers are sharp! It didn't hurt at all, but I saw my skin peel apart and I knew I'd gone too far. 11 stitches. 3 inside, 8 out. That was the last time I ever hurt myself or my family. I couldn't bare the look on my dad's face anymore. That occasion scared me and that scar is the darkest and most bold one I have. I hate my scars, but they are there for the constant reminder that I will not fall back into that habit ever again.
I've never talked about my self destructive ways before. Not really anyways. I told my family why I did it. The physical pain took away from the emotional pain, even if it was for a day or two. When asked what my scars are I usually say "It was just an accident." That's a lie that I won't tell anymore. They're reminders, not accidents. I survived myself. Its one of my greatest accomplishments. Occasionally I do get depressed but I have had such a turnaround in the way I think and feel that I don't need to harm myself to feel better. I've become increasingly positive to a point of absolute shock to myself. That's why today I wrote "Love" on my arm. Its a worldwide event to support people with addiction, suicide, depression, self harm, you name it. I wrote love right over the top of a few of my scars on my left arm to make a promise to myself and to those who care about me. I love myself too much to harm myself again. This is one promise I will not break.
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