It's the end of the world as we know it...

I am not good at friendship.

I am not good at being a friend.

I missed learning all those nifty little social cues as a child, when to be quiet, when to talk, when to back off, when to extend a hand. I’m not asking for pity, or comfort, but simple understanding.

There are many of us out there who don’t know how to interact with people; we’re shy, cautious, nervous. We say inappropriate things at inappropriate times, trying to break the ice, but making things worse in the end. We either avoid eye contact, scared of what we’ll see in someone else’s eyes, or hold it too long, trying to make a connection that has long since departed.

It’s hard to tell when people are annoyed at us, or just annoyed in general. We take all brushoffs to heart, when we need to learn to let go. We wait too long to reach out, to renew a friendship, only to find that our friends have moved on in our absence.

We are introverted, unable to connect, unable to see the world as others do. The thought of spending hours upon hours with others makes us panic, shake, cry. We do not know why others seek it out, when all we want is silence.

But still, we want to be liked, we want to be loved. We want to have that easy camaraderie that every one else seems to have, that we lack. We want to be *that* person, the center of attention, but when we finally are the center of attention, we freeze, run away, hide.

I’ve known for years that my sense of humor rarely meshed with anyone else - I’m sarcastic, dry, and prone to inane ramblings about nothing. I do not mean to offend anyone with my ill-timed comments, but in my head, they are quite witty. Until they tumble out of my mouth, the meaning lost, the words scrambled. And I am left looking like a fool.

I want to be your friend, I really do. I just don’t know how. I’m trying, every single day, I watch others interact and try to learn from them. But in the end, I think, it’s something that comes natural to a lot of people, but not to me.

Accepting it is hard, I truly want to be liked. And I truly want to like other people, I try to find ways that I’m similar to them, to find some common ground. History, tastes in movies, etc. Even something as simple as a peanut butter & mayo sammich. There are a thousand and one ways we can connect with people, a thousand and one things in common. But gathering up the courage to take that first step is hard.

But I’m trying. I am.

So forgive my ill-thought words and sarcasm. I mean well, I do.

On a side note, here is a picture of Larry the giraffe I bought the Boyfriend Unit (yay!):

Sad Songs and Lullabies

Sunday night, I tried to end my life.

I was overwhelmed with past decisions and felt my life was spiraling out of control. I tried to drown my sorrows and pain with a handful of pills and some tears. I then went out to the car with my favorite teddy bear and cried.

A bit later, I realized that I didn't want to die. I called the Ex-Boyfriend (previously the Boyfriend), crying, sobbing, repeating over and over, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die."

He rushed home and took me to the emergency room, where I spent 28 hours feeling like a freak show. When a person overdoses, they can either pump the stomach or give the patient activated charcoal to absorb whatever medication they took if they are unsure if it has been digested.

The ER staff went with option B for me.

After several unsuccessful attempts at drinking it (and spewing it all over the walls), a feeding tube was inserted into my nose. Three times. I fought them the first time, there was no numbing and a good deal of pain. They switched to my other nostril after realizing my nose had been cauterized at a young age. The second time, they numbed the back of my throat and nose and slid it in, only to discover they had slid it into my lungs. It finally made it into my stomach, where the activated charcoal was pumped in and left to sit.

I was then left to wait until the hospital's counselor/shrink/etc. was available to talk with me. Four hours later, the decision was made to admit me involuntary to a mental health facility, as required by North Carolina law.

I arrived at the hospital at 10:30 p.m. Sunday night and did not arrive at the facility until 2 a.m. Tuesday. I spent nearly 27 hours under watch, wearing only a paper gown.

The three days I spent at the facility was life-changing, to say the least. The nurses and staff treated me like a human being, albeit a human being under constant supervision. The other patients were there for a variety of reasons - schizophrenia, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, etc. Some handled it well, participating in therapy, etc., while others fought and demanded immediate release.

I will never forget that feeling of helplessness. Every movement monitored, recorded, observed. Staying in a small room for 12 hours a day, with four hours for therapy/group activities and eight for sleeping. Having to check out toiletries between 6 and 7 a.m., sleeping with my door open and bed checks every 15 minutes. Spending hours upon hours staring at the wall or coloring, because there was nothing to do.

It was strange going home; though I only spent three days there (four total, including the hospital), it felt like a lifetime. I was overwhelmed when I got home, being able to open doors whenever I wanted. Privacy when showering. Choosing my own food.

I will say this now: I will never attempt it again. Not just for the experience of attending a mental health facility, but how I was treated by others on the outside, including medical professionals.

I realize that working in the emergency room can be difficult, even more so if you work the third shift. I realize that you see people from all walks of life, all ages, all needing some sort of care. But what these people need most is compassion, especially those that try to end their lives. We are lost, lonely, confused. We think we are worthless and unloved. Burdens to society and to those we care about.

We come to you because we need help, whether we realize it or not.

To treat us with apathy and disdain only makes us hate ourselves more; we feel like burdens, drains, leeches. To tell us a procedure "isn't that bad" if you have never experienced it only makes us distrust you even more.*

To sit there and laugh about a mentally disturbed patient who was lying in bed drugged and handcuffed because he was a danger to himself and others is abominable. You have been entrusted with our lives, our mental well-being. How can we trust you if you mock us behind our backs? 

*The young doctor who treated me Sunday night had received a feeding tube through his nose, it was standard practice at the medical school he attended. If you do not know what your patients are going through, how can you empathize?

I am aware that they deal with suffering, pain and death on a regular basis, that it drains the heart and soul. I am aware that the only thing you can do during those times is laugh, but if you must laugh about your patients, do so behind closed doors.

Additionally, if you are a nursing student visiting a mental health facility and choose to interact with the patients, please show some tact and decorum when talking with them. Do not call them "nutty" to their face, or tell them you do not want to "worsen" their condition by winning a game.

You do not know the circumstances around their arrival, or what their illness is. You do not know if they are bipolar, schizophrenic, manic or going through withdrawal. You do not know what insults they have put up with by those who do not understand their condition.

So do not insult them to their faces.

According to the CDC, an estimated 25% of adults in the U.S. reported having a mental illness in 2003 (source). As of 2010, there were 308 million people in America, 231 million adults, so nearly 60 million Americans suffer from mental illness. While some of the numbers are skewed to the elderly (you are more likely to be depressed in a nursing home), reported lifetime diagnosis of depression were 15.7% (source).

The NCHS states:

Antidepressants were the third most common prescription drug taken by Americans of all ages in 2005-2008 and the most frequently used by persons aged 18-44 years. From 1988-1994 through 2005-2008, the rate of antidepressant use in the United States among all ages increased nearly 400%.

Source.

Open up Facebook. Look at all your friends. Out of the 100 people you know, 15 to 25 suffer from mental illness, either depression, bipolar disorder, etc., and you might not even know it.

They didn't ask for this, they didn't ask for their mind to betray them, to lead them down dark and twisted roads, feeling more and more isolated. They didn't ask for society to look down upon them because they see things that no one else sees, or their emotions are taking a twirl on the Ferris wheel. All they want is to be understood and loved.

Don't blame them when they want to end it all, don't walk away because you don't know how to handle it. Yes, it's hard dealing with the constant drama and emotion. It's even harder on us, because you only see a fraction of what goes on inside our heads.

Just hold us, comfort us, tell us that we are loved, that we are special and deserving of life. Talk about the happy times. Ask what you can do to help.

And above all: treat us with respect.

The Hunt for the Domesticated Salesman

Earlier this month, my car, the Awful Boat, started acting liked it was about to go to the Great Car Unknown, so the Boyfriend Unit and I traded it in, after looking at many new and used cars.

I hated it.

The actual process of picking out a car -- deciding on the model, interior, perks, etc. -- was a bit frustrating, but fun at the same time. I liked looking at all the cars I can't afford, and wincing about most of the ones I can.

The part that I hated the most? Dealing with salespeople. I know, everyone hates dealing with car salesmen, they are up there with politicians, creepy preachers and the kid who plays with his iPhone at the movies.

Most complaints that I've heard about car salesmen is that they are too pushy, they constantly call or pester you to make a sale, and they might smudge details about a vehicle so it's more appealing.

I wish we encountered that, or some attention from salesmen. Instead, we were ignored at the dealerships, left to wander the vast wastelands of domestic and imported cars, blinded by their shiny new paint jobs. When we are able to capture the attention of a domesticated peddler, we were treated like pariahs, riffraff, someone to humor until we decide to leave.

We realize that we were not buying the most expensive of cars, but neither were we looking for a cash car or the cheapest car on the lot. We knew what we wanted, we knew what our budget was, and we're reasonably well-informed about the cars we did want to look at.

Salesmen are guilty only of what so many of us do on a daily basis - judging a book by its cover. We didn't go to dealerships dressed to the nines, looking to impress; indeed, we did just the opposite. While we do not quite resemble hobos, we were quite casual in our attire -- flip-flops, tee shirts, ponytails (on me, at least).

We didn't seek out salesmen, we waited for them to come to us. It's a game, really. If a salesman is brave enough to venture outside his air-conditioned dealership, and talk to us like human beings, they will get our business (if they are selling the car we want, of course).

“For every sale you miss because you're too enthusiastic, you will miss a hundred because you're not enthusiastic enough.” -- Zig Ziglar

The only time we encountered a salesperson that actually treated us like human beings was at a Chevy dealership, and the guy had only been there a week. He was nice and very personable, if a bit unknowledgeable about the vehicle, but his sales manager was horrible - talking down to us (and to New Guy), treating us like we were wasting his time, up until he found out that we could actually afford the vehicle, and then some. Then we were his best friends, and he became the pushy salesperson we all love to hate.

All of the other salesmen at the other dealerships would barely give us the time of day. One older gentleman, whose chest hair was quite distracting, even cut our conversation short because someone else came in and wanted to talk to him. We avoided that particular dealership.

I guess you can't really blame salesmen, though. Their livelihood depends on selling vehicles, and they don't want to waste time on someone who isn't serious about purchasing a car. But there are many types of vehicles on the market, from many different dealers, and in the end, you can try to sell the car and the brand, or you can sell yourself and the company - make the experience as pleasant as possible and make yourself stand out in consumers' minds in a favorable way.

But without that personality, you're just another polo-shirt taking up space at the dealership.

Update - In the end, we ended up with a 2013 Volkswagen Golf. Why did we end up with a VW? Multiple reasons. We've both had VWs before, and loved the feel of them, and the dependability. The Golf had the features we both wanted - Bluetooth, horsies, size, warranty, and the Outlaw (as we dubbed our salesman) was honest. If he didn't know something, he didn't bullshit us.

We were originally trying to decide between a Golf and GTI, the GTI was more fun, but the Golf is a bit more practical. Problem with the Golf was that they didn't have the wheels we wanted or the color, and the GTI was a bit too pricy. When we went back to the dealership after a lunch break, Outlaw had actually found the Golf we wanted, and offered us a price break.

What made us happy was that he found the cheaper car we wanted. Most salesmen would have tried to find the more expensive car to sell us, knowing their commission would have been bigger, but he knew we would be happier with the Golf.

And we are, we both love it.

Zooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom.

Adventures in New Eyeballs, part two

Today was my first day back at work since last Wednesday, and let me tell you, it was certainly interesting. About an hour after I clocked in, my eyes were already hurting. My left eye is currently 20/20 (with a slight glare around all lights, including monitors and cell phones) and my right eye is 20/25. Between the two eyes, I can drive and read just fine, but staring at a computer was apparently a bit beyond me.

About an hour into my shift, my coworker CF noticed I kept staring at the ceiling, letting my eyes rest. She alerted our boss and I was sent home, with orders to call the doctor.

I received a call back from the doctor's office just as I arrived home, with instructions to stop on in as soon as possible. Thanks to Apple's new Map feature, a 10 minute journey ended up taking me the better part of an hour, as Maps mistook Ellstree for E Lane Street, and I ended up in the bad part of town.

While I was driving, my right eye went from "eh, sore and tolerable" to "gonna pop out any second now." So it was a fun drive, being lost, in pain and panicking because I was lost.

Since the office staff and DK were so good to me, I made them a basket of goodies decorated Halloween-style to say thank you.

I found the basket at World Market, and the ribbon and bow at A.C. Moore. Inside, I put some pumpkin crunch popcorn, two types of crackers, three chocolate bars, candy corn, tequila salsa, three berry preserves, garlic & herb cheese wedges, chocolate-covered jelly beans and a bag of chocolate eyeballs (get it?).

They absolutely loved it!

When my right eye was checked out, we found the pressure had skyrocketed - up to 53 (normal is between 10 and 20). A couple round of drops were put in, along with the dreaded pills that make you, er, extremely dehydrated. After about an hour and a half, DK had come back from surgery and the pressure in my eye was down to normal.

We talked for a bit, and decided that the next course of action was the laser procedure again - the one that made me empty my stomach and pass out. Of course, I started panicking immediately, and asked if I could take leave for an hour, I needed to eat and wanted the Boyfriend Unit there with me. He said of course, and off I went into the rainy unknown.

The Boyfriend met me at Applebee's, and after a well-deserved Coke and spicy boneless chicken wings, we went back to DK's office. All three of us started discussing options, and we eventually made the decision to do surgery on my right eye - same as last time, opening up some drainage holes to permanently reduce the pressure.

Rant Time
DK said he wished he had done it on Friday, when I was already put under, but the Boyfriend brought up a good point - why operate on an eye that was behaving normally? It only increases the risk of infection.

A few comments have been mentioned to me that it's an easy surgery, that DK is trying to fix his original mistake, cover his ass, etc., but that is simply not the case. A very small percentage of those who receive ICLs have complications, and I just happened to be one of them; there was no mistake by DK or his staff.

The ICL surgery is different than LASIK -- sedation is administered, my eyes were surgically cut into, the ICLs were implanted and allowed to unfold and then the drainage holes were put in (an iridectomy, actually). There's risk with every surgical procedure; you're just as likely to get an eye infection from LASIK or even a simple eye exam.

A very complicated procedure, actually, if you factor in the fact that one small mistake can permanently blind someone; it's not as simple as removing an ingrown toenail or a loose tooth.
End Rant

Tomorrow's surgery is scheduled for noon, though I have to be at the surgery center at 10 a.m. No food or drink after midnight tonight, which means I'll probably be a bit cranky tomorrow.

If you take anything from this, please let it be this bit of advice - your eyes are one of the most important organs you have. Without your vision, you cannot drive, see the sunset or the sleepy look on your lover's face. Go in for yearly checkups, and for Shiny Unicorn's sake, if you're prescribed corrective lens, please wear them, if not for your own safety, then for the safety of everyone else around you.

And make sure you find a doctor you trust, a doctor who goes above and beyond the usual "let's see if you're still 20/20." It's certainly worth the extra cost, believe me.

Thoughts about Mötley Crüe & KISS in concert

At the end of July, the Boyfriend and I went to see Mötley Crüe and KISS live at the Time Warner Pavilion in Raleigh, N.C. We had great seats, in row P, and the weather was decent for summertime in the South. Rained in the very beginning, but since the pavilion was covered, we just felt a cool breeze. I felt sorry for everyone camping out on the grass, though.

The opening band, The Treatment, was energetic. I'm afraid to admit I couldn't actually understand any of their lyrics, but the songs had a good beat. The lead singer made me feel very old when he announced he was under the legal drinking age in the U.S., but oh well.

At times, I felt a little over-dressed for the concert, as I was wearing a green cotton skirt and black top, and a lot of the concert-goers were sporting mullets, ripped shirts or wife-beaters (if they were wearing any tops at all), the usual "I'm in the Deep South" attire. But at other times, I felt quite normal when I spotted fishnets, over-the-top pink hair and leopard print tattoos. It's not enough that the pattern has to invade everything from couches to baby clothes to dog collars, no, we have to sport it permanently. In bright colors.

The Crüe's opening was interesting enough, a large clock counting down until the big entrance, and the band walked through the pavilion in a procession of scantily-clad dancers, theatrics and banners reminiscent of my (brief) college days.

Crüe was entertaining enough, they went through their repertoire of familiar songs (at least, I believe they did, not being a big Crüe fan). It seemed the lead singer was a bit confused and forgetful, and kept making up words to go along with the beat. Either that, or he was under the influence of copious amounts of drugs and was seeing shiny butterflies everywhere. I will give him credit, he did know his newest song quite well. Of course, it is about a favorite topic for most rock stars, movie stars and porn stars - Sex.

I was quite impressed with their two dancers - the sheer amount of muscle needed to go up and down the chains and hang themselves in the air was really quite impressive.

When the drummer decided to do his (somewhat?) trademark drumming-upside-down routine, the crowd went wild. He found a volunteer to go with him on one song (amusingly enough, a Red Hot Chili Peppers' song). The volunteer reminded me of an older Bruce Willis, and it made his day, nay, his year to go up there with the Crüe's drummer.

Overall, Mötley Crüe had a performance full of lights, dancing women, and sparkly things. It was missing actual, live musical talent (well, the lead singer), but the show was eventful.

During intermission, the Boyfriend and I were subjected to a rather unique woman we called "Chatty Cathy." Chatty Cathy was an older woman, late 60s, early 70s, and thought the Boyfriend was her new best friend. She would talk to him during the concert, even if he couldn't hear her, or talk incessantly to herself. We learned many things about Chatty Cathy that evening, like she loved Toby Keith and Eminem and was a groupie of a local(ish) metal band. Oh, and she enjoyed dancing in white tights and a short red dress.

I was able to avoid most of her babbling when the Boyfriend went to get us a pretzel and drinkage, as I am partially deaf in one ear. Unfortunately for Chatty Cathy, it is my right ear I am deaf in, not my left (as I had informed her), but... Mea culpa.

The couple sitting to my right were quite amused by her as well, to the point where they were snapping pictures of her while she was dancing.

A stagehand for the Crüe operated a water gun into the crowd every now and then, rather refreshing since the high for the day was in the upper 90s. During one such time, the annoying woman in front of us (you know the type - standing on her chair, blocking the view for everyone, etc.) was trying to protect her hairdo from the gun by hiding under a rain jacket. The Boyfriend is an evil one, and kept gesturing to the stagehand to aim for her. He obliged, but not after aiming for the Boyfriend first. I think he felt it was worth it, the woman was soaked from head to toe.

The Boyfriend glaring at me during intermission

When it became clear KISS was about to go on, a low murmur started building in the crowd. "This is it! This is what we've been waiting for!"

The band had a theatrical entrance, lowered from the heavens, like the human gods to us mere mortals. There was more smoke and lasers in KISS's entrance, compared to the Crüe, and a lot more spandex.

Where people would talk a bit during Mötley Crüe's set, they were almost reverential as they sang along to every. single. song. during KISS's performance.

You could definitely notice the difference between Mötley Crüe and KISS - while I had trouble understanding the lyrics for the Crüe, I could definitely make them out for KISS. They were also more...energetic, they made the show about themselves (and their logo), rather than fancy lights and dancing girls.

We left before KISS finished their set, my feet were killing me, the Boyfriend was tired, and we wanted to avoid the traffic and the like from the mullet-bearing crowd.

I had some reservations about attending a concert, I'm not one for big crowds or loud music, but overall, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The music and energy pulled you in, I found myself moving to the music, or bouncing in my place, even to songs I didn't know.

And it was quite fun to people-watch, I tell you.

Vacuums, spices, oh my!

In the span of 10 minutes, I not only managed to make the Boyfriend's nose burn, but vacuumed out the freezer.

Say what?

Earlier today, we bought an expandable shelf organizer from the Container Store (here), as our spices were in disarray. While going through all the many jars and bags, we had to play the guessing game "What spice blend is this?" Sometimes I'll make a spice blend, stick it in a bag and forget to label it.

One of the blends was a Cajun spice rub, mild and sweet. The other...not so much. I thought it smelled good, so I asked the Boyfriend to smell it. He takes a big whiff and immediately starts to tear up, his nose was burning from the spices.

Whoops.

I think that one had cayenne, cumin and paprika in it. My bad.

While he was recovering, I went to go pull out a steak for dinner (mm, flank steak) and I didn't realize he had placed Stormy's dog food on top of the freezer. Note: we are trying to train her to eat twice a day, as soon as we put her food down. I open the freezer door and BOOM, dog food all over the freezer, in the ice maker and scattered on the floor.

Le sigh.

Since my broom is out of commission, and we really didn't want to handpick all the dog food in the tiny crevices in the freezer, we decided to vacuum it.

How many people can claim they have vacuumed a freezer?

I'm accident-prone, what can I say? At least the spices are better organized!

Pardon the horrid iPhone picture

{Recipe} Breakfast Casserole

Even though I'm not working right now, weekends still have that "sleep in and relax" feel for me. During the week, I'm a "forget breakfast" or "eat a bowl of cereal" type of girl, but on the weekends, I like to something more substantial. A breakfast casserole is quick, easy and rather versatile.

Plus, it's hard to mess up.

The dogs were a captive audience, until they realized I wasn't going to give them any bacon, and Demon Kitty was indifferent to everything.

Ra was distracted by the kitties

Stormy is rather confused

The Boyfriend Unit ignored all of us, as he's working from home today. Bah humbug.

I originally found this recipe on AllRecipes.com many years ago, and I change it up a bit every time I make it. The original recipe can be found here.

Ingredients

• Hunk of French bread
• 1/2 pound of bacon
• 1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
• 3 eggs
• 1 cup milk
• Dash of salt, pepper, basil and cayenne

Directions

1. Prepare bacon, either via oven at 400ºF for 12 to 15 minutes, or on the stovetop.
2. Break bread up into tiny pieces and cover bottom of glass pie dish.
3. Sprinkle the bacon and cheese over bread cubes.
4. In a bowl, whisk the eggs, milk, spices, salt and pepper. Pour over the bacon and cheese.
5. Bake at 350ºF for 30 minutes or until puffed and golden.
6. Admire your handiwork, and promptly eat.