We're like totally Bff's!

I went to college in August of 2007. I decided that I hated it two days later. I shouldn’t have been so culture shocked. I was an hour away from my hometown. I lived with family members. It definitely was not a big deal. Except it was. I had a feeling I wasn’t in Coalinga anymore.

            For those of you not fortunate enough to know the details of my endearing little town, it is small. You start school at Cheaney Kindergarten. Then you go to Bishop for 1^st, then Dawson for 2^nd and 3^rd, then Sunset for 4^th and 5^th, then Coalinga Middle School, then Coalinga High School.  Students (usually) start together and finish together and learn everything about each other somewhere between.

            I’m not here to publically blast Fresno, or even imply that nobody in Fresno (or other larger towns) have friends like mine, but in that first week of college I learned more than I’ve learned in the past 2 ½ years of college. I learned that my  friends are special.

            Don’t get me wrong, like all friends there have been comings and goings. There were times when I thought some friendships just weren’t going to last, and some times when they really didn’t. I don’t want to focus on that, though. I want to (and feel like I need to) focus on how remarkable the lasting are.

            I know my best friends. I really really know them. I know that 5 seconds after he finishes his drink, Josh Warren will stick his hand in his cup and begin eating the ice cubes. He doesn’t just eat them though. He shoves a chunk in his mouth, bites off a piece, then sticks the remained back in the cup. It’s borderline disgusting. His car smells like summer and the Jurassic Park ride at Universal. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t love zebras. If you are with Ashley Jennings for an hour, she will have applied chap stick approximately 6 times. There is a good possibility it will be one of the jumbo lip smackers ones that 7-year-olds love. Right now she is maturing though, so it is rose scented. However, it actually smells like chocolate. She is guaranteed to be wearing at least one neon color, and her wrists are always covered in obnoxiously beautiful bracelets. I actually know all of her secrets, and will definitely be writing a tell-all book if she becomes famous some day J. Audra’s white Hyundai creeks when it makes a left turn. Also, the day she got the car, she slipped in a Panic at the Disco CD. It got stuck and remains forever. She has a birthmark behind her ear, and the Big Dipper in freckles on her forearm. She is also a kleptomaniac, so if you have a perfectly sharp number 2 pencil with a full eraser, guard it. BJ will make reference to the fact that he is good looking at some point in any night. He will also be sure to Scat (sing, not feces) and speak in his own made up language. He owns more clothes than I ever will. Also, Brooklyn. Somedays Jake speaks in accents. He also claims that every song is the first song he and his grandpa played together on the guitar. He is a hinter, not an asker, and will never let you throw away food.  They are my pride and joys.

            When I came to Fresno, and began conversing with my peers (which I gave up on in a week), I realized that they didn’t know their friends like I know mine. Perhaps their ultimate best friend, yes, but it was different. While some teenagers had Riverpark and movie theatres to occupy their time, we didn’t. We ALWAYS had to create our own fun. So we made movies, and toilet papered teacher’s homes. We spent hours upon hours playing cranium, and drove golf carts in the fields. We had bonfires, and deep conversations in the hot tub. We shared Pans of Gold at Perkos and indulged in sunflower seeds, Mountain Dews, and pepperjack cheese slices. Our entire lives, we were forced to be creative and partake in activities that require A LOT of bonding.

            We’ve grown up together. There are some awkward romantic histories (because for some reason, in high school, we never dated outside of the group). We are a family. It is horribly dysfunctional, but completely beautiful. We are funny, and obnoxious, and loving. We are comfortable with each other and share a bond that’s honest and pure. They annoy the crap out of me sometimes, but they accept that sometimes I just want to watch Dan in Real Life or Elf again. They know that I’ll fall asleep 30 minutes into the movie (even though I’m at 6 in a row! Horray!). They give me sinus massages, and I’ll pop their backs. I’m Kris, not Karissa.

            When I grow up, I don’t want to live in Coalinga, but I do want to live in a place that allows my children to make friendships like the ones I was blessed enough to make. I want them to make their own pizookie and have real conversations over sweet tea. I want my daughter to talk to her Uncle Josh like I talk to Steve Warren. I want the girls to spend hours in a white Echo at a park. I want my son to go camping and feel manly after his first cigar with the boys. I’ve just been very, very blessed, and sometimes I don’t remember. Thanks, friends J

Wrap up.

       My recovery from depression definitely wasn't easy or graceful. It consisted of many instances of me thinking I was cured, and then relapsing into a few days of feeling completely overwhelmed and hopeless. Luckily, after a mixture of therapy, doctor's appointments, and prayers, I broke my habit of convincing myself I was dying, but that wasn't the end of all of the anxiety. As I mentioned in my previous blog, I had an insecurity crisis, and experienced anxiety and depression on another level that I would have never expected. 

      I want to move on, but before I do I have a few more things I would like to talk about. Just some words of advise, if you will. I'll bullet point it. I love bullet points. 

• My Grandma Bonnie, who I mentioned in a previous post went to the emergency room about 3 weeks after my grandpa passed away. She is the one who had been suffering from depression for years, and she also had other diseases that made her constantly feel unwell. Something was different, though. After a series of several tests, she was diagnosed with Leukemia. She passed away three weeks later. I am weird about grieving. I usually focus the pain on how much everybody else feels pain, but with Grandma I felt a different sense of heartache. She died in depression. I know she loved God with all of her being, so I rejoice in the fact that she is now more joyful than I could ever understand. However, it hit me that I COULD NOT let depression defeat me. I NEEDED to gain control. Now, I definitely didn't right away, seeing as how that was in October, and I was fully cured in June, but it was a wake up call for sure. 
• I think I mentioned that I was put on anti-depressants? Anyways, I was. Now I am two things: stubborn and an idiot. I'm stubborn because I'm part Italian and also because my mom is Tina Morris. I hated being on medication. Not only because of the usual reason of it being scary and the possibility of the side effects being far more damaging than the initial issue. I was mostly miserable because I hated feeling that weak. It was hard enough for me to sit vulnerably and accept help from a therapist. It felt overly whimpy to me on medication. I realize now that it isn't true, and while I wouldn't suggest anti-depressants as the first step towards curing depression, it does prove to be beneficial in some circumstances. Now, why am I an idiot? When my therapist and doctor put me on the medication I was probably told 2 million times, "DO NOT STOP THE MEDICATION ON YOUR OWN. WHATEVER YOU DO, LET US WEAN YOU OFF." Approximately three weeks of taking the medicine, I quit. Cold Turkey. I told zero people I was doing this. Most people who know everything about my year don't even know this. For about a week I felt like I was possessed by a demon. I wanted to die. I felt like everybody else wanted me to die. I felt like I was going to be trapped in this state forever. Luckily, I could talk myself out of it and convinced myself that it was because of the medication. However, it was disgusting and scary, and I was afraid of telling everybody that I had quit taking the pills that I dealt with it alone. It could have easily been a disaster, but God is merciful, and I am blessed. BUT if you are or need to take anti-depressants someday PLEASE don't be an idiot like me. Listen to the doctors. 
• As I said before, I fully recovered in June. As in, four months ago. I haven't really researched, so I don't know how long is typical. I do know that it is a process. I also know that it is sort of a fun process. You will get BEYOND encouraged and motivated, and then you will feel infinitely worse than you did to begin with. To me, it became a game. That's kinda sick, and I'm probably the only freak who felt like that, but defeating the depression and anxiety was beautiful. I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of every single person who has recovered. It's scary stuff. It is also a sweet experience, though. Don't give up. 
  

Well, that's all from me. I definitely was disorganized and confusing, but that's my story. I really hope it helps. Well I guess it's not the whole story, because I still have two more entries lined up on this topic. Next one is a special treat :) It will be written by a special guest. Clues: He is handsome. He writes well. He is one of the best people I know. Be excited :) Then I'll talk about God, and it will be fun. THEN I'll be done and will start blogging about not so depressing (literally) things. 

Romans 12:12. 

      

Intimate.

     This entry is embarrassing for me. In my opinion it's the most intimate one of all, and in turn, painful to write. With that said, this is not a pity party. Please don't think I'm being pathetic, because I think what I have to say is vital for women to hear (sorry gentleman). I do have one warning though. It isn't going to be 100% honest. Everything I state is completely true, but not the COMPLETE truth. Somethings aren't appropriate to address via facebook, BUT if you really want to talk about it and have questions I would love to talk about things one-on-one. Anyway, let's move on. 

     Growing up, I never really had confidence issues. I was lucky to skim through middle school without any major self-esteem problems. I was definitely awkward, but I didn't care too much. I went through pretty much all of high school with Jake as my boyfriend, and he always made sure that I knew how much he loved me. It was always enough. I never had any trouble talking to people or being myself. I was comfortable. Of course, I always had things that I wished I could change about myself (most in appearance and character), but my flaws never controlled my life. 

      A couple months after I found out about my dad's affair, I began to feel weird. It was a weirdness that went beyond my already established depression and anxiety. I felt as though I didn't have any worth. Suddenly I felt unlovable. I knew it was silly. I had tons of people around me who I had always thought loved me, but I began to slightly question it. I couldn't fathom why somebody would love me. I didn't think I had anything worthy to offer. My dad had made that apparent. 

      From the moment I was born my dad had one job. He was supposed to love me unconditionally. If he ever couldn't manage to put food on the table or shoes on my feet, he could always love me, and love me unconditionally. He failed. The way I see it is that whenever he met the woman that encouraged him to cheat on his family, and it came time for him to make the decision that would affect his future, there were two things that could have happened. He could have either not thought about the wife and three children he had at home, counting on him to love them, OR he could have thought of us and not cared enough to stop. Both cases are disgusting. I assume that latter is what actually happened. This thought REALLY affected me. If I wasn't worth sticking around for to the one man who was OBLIGATED to never stop loving me, who would find me worthy? 

      I began to resent myself because of this thought. I suddenly felt ugly, stupid, dull, and unable to ever be beautiful, intelligent, or captivating enough. I was certain that I had nothing to offer any man. This was obviously directed towards Jake. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that I was unworthy of love. 

       The obsessing started fairly quickly. I hated everything about myself. EVERYTHING! My hair frizzed too much, my brown eyes seemed generic (when you could actually see them that is. They were squinty and disgusting), obviously my nose was abnormally huge, and I was the only college student with this much acne. I showed way too much teeth when I smiled, and my lips just didn't seem proportionate. As I mentioned before, my weight had landed in the high 90's, and offered no evidence that I was a female. I was genuinely disgusted with every one of my physical features. Things I had never cared about soon mattered so much. 

      I specifically remember one Tuesday (I only had class MWF), lying on the couch and crying hysterically because I felt so ugly and helpless. I went to the bathroom, sat on the counter, and stared at myself, just judging and criticizing every single feature for nearly an hour. My words were harsh, and I was nothing less of abusive towards myself. 

     To top it off, I felt like my personality had been stolen, and I had nothing comical or intelligent to offer anyone. I was worthless. Literally worthless. Jake was going to abandon me. It was obvious. I knew he had already found a woman more beautiful, hilarious, and intelligent that I ever was or would be. Plus I was a maniac, so it was hopeless. 

      This is the part where I'll shy away from details, even though people will probably now think way worse things than what actually occurred. To summarize, I became insanely insecure, jealous, and paranoid. Of course during all of this there was a cue for beautiful women to enter, and I reached a state of mind that turns my stomach when I think of it. I became a different human being, a psycho one. I'll admit it. 

      In my head, I knew that Jake didn't want me. Of course, I also knew what he DID want. She didn't have a huge nose, even though Jake would assure me that my nose was perfect, and any other one would look ridiculous on me. She also didn't have boring brown eyes, even though Jake assured me that my eyes sparkled and danced more than any colored eyes he had ever seen, and that in the sunlight they turned Edward Cullen-ish and were amazing and unique. She also didn't have a goofy smile that exposed way too many teeth, even though Jake assured me that my smile was what attracted him to me in the first place. Of course, he was lying because that's what men did. My dad lied. He had obligation. Jake didn't. If my dad didn't think I was worthy, Jake surely didn't. 

        This sick way of thinking almost ended our relationship. I worked so hard to pull Jake close to me, and attempt that he would never leave me, that I did the exact opposite. I overwhelmed him. I wasn't Karissa anymore. I definitely wasn't the 14 year-old-girl who he had fallen for 5 years prior. I was in no way the girl he had spent growing up with. I was legitimately a different person, who was obsessed with what I didn't have. I couldn't grasp the fact that just because I didn't look, think, or act like (fill-in-the-blank) did, didn't mean that how I did look, think, or act wasn't good or worth loving. 

     This way of thinking didn't apply only to my relationship with Jake, but it transcended into all aspects of my life. I always think about how embarrassed I am about the people who just met me this past year. I was probably the most awkward human being on the planet. Whenever I was around somebody I wasn't fully comfortable around, I was constantly wondering if they were thinking about the fact that I wasn't beautiful. I was sure they were judging all the unfunny things I would say, and how I would sit silently like a freak. I knew they noticed the worried face I would get, and how I was cold and unapproachable. I'm pretty sure I ruined a handful of potential friendships. Sad, but true. 

     Pam helped me alot. She would make me do different assignments to make me realize that nobody was as flawless as I thought. She made me find positive things about myself, and to accept any compliment anyone gave me, and then periodically repeat them back to myself. To be honest, I didn't follow alot of the directions and that's probably why it took me so long to improve, but it felt reassuring to have somebody who understood, and made me feel like my feelings weren't uncommon. 

     I reached a point where it almost felt good to cut myself down. In a sick way I enjoyed convincing myself that (fill-in-the-blank) was better than me. Attending this continuous pity party became addicting. I couldn't stop. Until I did. 

      After a series of my breakdowns, Jake and I had reached our breaking point. We were both exhausted, and questioning if it was worth it. It was at the last possible second that I realized what I was really doing, and how ungodly I was really being (more on that later. I'm dedicating a whole blog to the God part in all of this). I realized how much of an impact I was having on ALL of my human relationships, Jake's being the most prevalent at the moment. For the first time in a long time I remembered how much we had. I'm not saying that our relationship prior to this was perfect in any way, but I had always thought there was something special about our relationship. It was natural from the beginning, and I could never picture anything ruining it. Here I was, doing just that. I knew I needed to get back to freshman -year- of-high-school-Karissa. So I spent a night in deep prayer and reflection, and I made the executive decision to do it. I finally let go of everything that the past year had burdened me with. Mind you, this was in April 2009, but better late than never. Now, I was SO lucky to have a wonderfully graceful man who was able to have confidence that he knew the real me, and patient enough to know that I would return to that person. 

     I have to admit, that I'm still weird sometimes. I'll find myself being harsh towards myself about things that don't matter, like the size of my nose and clearness of my skin. I'll also occasionally feel nervous around people who don't fully know me, and act like an awkward freak. But, all of that are normal things that normal people do. The difference is that I now when to stop. I know not to let my negative thoughts overwhelm my logic and control my happiness. That's what I hope can be learned by this little side story of my story. Something that starts as a simple thought caused from painful feelings, can erupt into something SO damaging, if left untamed. 

      Do I blame this on my dad? No. Even though I feel like I said, "My dad ruined my life," 5 million times last year, it isn't true. Did my dad do something crappy that made me feel crappy? Yes. I had a choice though. I could have understood that my dad didn't fail at showing me uncondional love because of something that I'm lacking. I could have understood that just because I don't see beautiful and flawless when I look in the mirror doesn't mean Jake doesn't think I'm beautiful. I could have understood that just because my dad had an affair doesn't mean that Jake will be lead to do the same. I fed myself lies. Nobody did it to me. I was in total control, and let things get out of hand. I will take total blame. What saddens me is that SO many women (not to leave out men, but I don't think like a man, and don't want to speak for one) have had feelings like the ones I've described. The reasons for it vary, but it's all primarily the same overwhelming feeling of feeling unworthy. It can however be cured, with hard work and prayer. 

Ok, well I'm not going to proof read this (I never really do) because its awkward to read, but I hope this helps SOMEBODY. If something doesn't make sense please ask. I really feel passionate about this, and would love to share more details. I might elaborate on some things later, because this doesn't feel quite concluded. Over and out. 

The Shrink

     So fast forward a couple weeks from my stepmom telling me we were leaving my dad. She took him back again, only to be left with a still unfaithful husband. Ridiculous, I know. Now it's the week before school starts. A week before I'm planning to move back into the house with the two of them. The week that my dad has a "business trip", where we already know he is going to be with his girlfriend. My stepmom and I decided that we would pack up all of the stuff, and move out while he was gone. We were going to temporarily move into her parents house that was about 20 minutes away from us. Of course, I was staying in Coalinga up until the very last second possible. 

     A couple nights before I was going to head over to Fresno, we got a call that my grandpa (mom's dad) was in the hospital, in a coma. He had had a really bad asthma attack, and stopped breathing. They were able to revive him, but were afraid that he had suffered brain damage. My mom and I rushed to Fresno (1 am) and stayed all night at the hospital with family waiting for test results. It was the worst place for me and my anxiety to be. After hours of sitting in the waiting room, and convincing myself I was going to die of every condition the patients in the ER had, I went over to my Grandma Bonnie's (stepdad's mom). It was already morning by now, and I tried to get some sleep. I failed, so after about an hour, I just went out and sat with Grandma Bonnie (who was widowed and lived by herself). We talked for hours (we never really talked about things beyond school, work, and how Jake was doing). I recapped my summer, and opened up completely about my depression and anxiety. She understood everything, and was soon finishing my sentences. I suddenly realized that my grandma had been experiencing the sickness for years. Hearing her stories made me realize more about myself, and more about what needed to be done to change. I like to think of those hours with Grandma Bonnie as my first therapy session. 

     So, my grandpa stayed in a coma, unresponsive for another week. In the meantime, my stepmom, brothers, and I had made the move. We worked hard to keep the boys comfortable and feeling safe. They handled it better than I could ever imagine two little boys ever could. I think they were used to being without dad around. 

     Anyways, I was exhausted. Between starting a new semester of school (and living 30 minutes away from it), protecting my brothers, encouraging my stepmom, attempting to sort out my feelings towards my dad, and visiting my practically lifeless grandpa in the ICU, I barely had any time to go on WebMD and convince myself I was dying. Of course, I did manage to find time for that. 

      I was worsening daily, and my mom decided to call our insurance and get me hooked up with a therapist. We researched, found one that seemed right for me, and booked an appointment. Two days before the appointment, my family decided to take my grandpa off life support. I was devastated, but mostly heartbroken for my mom. I was plunged deeper into depression. 

      I started therapy. I was super nervous and super skeptical as I walked into the dimly lit room that smelled like candles, with a couch, and a side table that held a tissue box. Crap. It was too much for me. My throat grew lumps and my eyeballs rained as I explained my story to my therapist with the comforting voice (we will just go ahead and call her Pam). I quickly became at ease with Pam as she became almost misty-eyed. I knew she cared about me. She told me she thought I was strong, and assured me that I could conquer this. She would help me. I didn't believe it, but I figured I would try. It made me feel good to talk. I took a silly questionnaire that asked me questions that made me uncomfortable and weak, and it told me that I was depressed (no duh). I also got diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder, look it up. Someone you know has probably suffered from it). 

      I felt like I was going somewhere. I moved out of the house my stepmom was renting, and into Jake's cousin's house that was closer to school. I felt bad leaving my family, but being so far away from people who comforted me was making things worse, and I needed to make myself better. I was putting so much effort being strong for everyone that I became more weak. They understood. I was also going to therapy twice a week, and with Pam's tools, suggestions, and listening skills, I began feeling less anxious about my health and the other day to day issues I would normally become easily overwhelmed by. However, I didn't realize that I would soon become anxious and overwhelmed by a new set of issues that were controllable, issues that I let myself acquire. 

(Issues that I will write about in my next posting that I will begin right now while I don't have any homework!) 

Hives

This is the yucky post. I mean REAL yucky. Here we go...

It was July 5th. I was busy trying to keep my mind off of dying. In the mean time I felt like everything sucked. I didn't have energy to deal with anything, and even if I did, all my passion was gone. I felt like a zombie. I think I was. 

I called my stepmom because I missed her. I hadn't seen any of my Sullivan family for quite some time since I was in Coalinga dying. I tried to keep in touch as much as possible. However, something was wrong this time. My stepmom, who is usually full of energy, sounded as dead as I felt. She tried her best to tell me everything was going well, but after a few minutes she broke down. After some questioning from me, she explained that she and my dad were having problems. I didn't understand what was odd about that. It was one of the reasons I became depressed during my year of living with them. I knew they weren't happy. 

Knowing it was more serious than she was making it out to be, I pressed her for more answers. She just kept saying that I didn't need to worry about it. She didn't want me to be stressed about it. Then it clicked. 

"He cheated on you, didn't he?" I asked calmly. 

Silence. 

"Are you ok?" I asked, still calmly.

"Yeah, sweetheart."

"He really cheated on you?!"

"Well, yeah. Kind of," she lied.

"Kind of?"

"He just started a relationship with a woman. I don't think anything really happened yet."

"So, what's going to happen now?"

"I don't know. Just don't worry about it Kiss. We'll figure it out. It will be ok." Her calmness mimicked mine. 

"I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault." 

After some I love you's, we hung up. I didn't really feel much. I was confused, sad, a little angry, but mostly, I was shocked. I hated adulterers. Affairs were something I had always felt passionate about, and here it was happening in my own family. I felt nothing. 

Jake was housesitting, so after I got off work I headed over there. I needed something to comfort me. The news had left an eery emptiness in me, and I craved something solid. I sat with Jake on the couch and my eyes started to water. 

"My dad cheated on Laura." I said. 

He turned to me, "What?" 

"Well, kind of, I guess," I explained to him what Laura had told me, including some other facts, like how my dad had confessed it to her the night before. 

I cried a little, but mostly because it felt like what I should be doing. There weren't many feelings to back up the tears. 

When I got home that night I cried a little more. My feelings still weren't present though. I only felt a sense of curiosity and loss of comfort. I saw it as just something else going wrong. 

Days went by, and I did what I do best, ignore the problem. I had my mind on other things (panic attacks mostly). My stepmom periodically kept me posted. They were trying to work things out. My dad had supposedly stopped talking to the woman. However, I soon got word that the relationship wasn't over, and it consisted of far more than I was initially led to believe. My stepmom was ready to leave this time, however, my dad fell on his knees, cried, and begged her not to go. She stayed. I thought she should have left, but I respected whatever her decision was. They were "trying to work things out."  

Ok, timeout. I've been working on this blog post for approximately four weeks now. I dread even thinking about it. The other posts came super easy, but writing this one has been exhausting to me. I think it's just because I avoided all feelings during this part of the series of events. I'm going to skip ahead to mid July. 

Ok, at this point Laura and my dad had gone back and fourth a couple times. I was still convincing myself that none of this was happening. Anyways, I was at Shaver Lake with Jake and his family. Every year since he was like 7 (I made that age up, but it's somewhere around there), Jake's family rents a cabin (well, two now) and spends the entire week hanging out on the lake, and doing lake things. Also, when I mean family, I mean ALOT of family. Anyways, I have had the privilege of attending the past four summers. That summer was super exciting because it was the first week that I didn't have one panic attack. It was amazing. I felt alive. Mid-week, while we were getting ready to leave the day camp at the lake and head back up to the cabins, I got a phone call. It was my stepmom. It was over. She was leaving my dad. 

I cried hard for the first time. Tears were raging and my chest was heavy. My stomach was turning and I just wanted to collapse. A carload of Jake's family was waiting in the parking lot and Jake was waiting for me on the trail. He asked as few questions as possible and helped me pull myself together. I look like a complete monster when I cry, but I climbed in the vehicle, and successfully made it to the cabin without a breakdown. Jake ordered me to go and take a shower to relax. I did, and came down just in time for dinner. I tried to play it cool, until I broke out in hives. I blamed it on a possible allergic reaction to some sort of insect. 

I survived the evening and everyone went to bed. Jake and I settled into our spots in the living room. After a few minutes on my air mattress, the heaviness crept back. I sat with Jake on the couch and cried for what seemed like forever.  Unfortunately, the time spent in tears that night would pale in comparison to the following year. 

Ok, enough for now. Sorry for the short, and boring information blog. The next will come sooner and juicier. Promise. 

Parvo, No Apartment, Still Dying.

Ok, I think I'm going to speed things up from this point on. My mom was furious about the entire emergency room situation, so we went to my regular doctor (the real one that I love, not the idiot who told me I was dehydrated). He is the most amazing Christian man, and truly kept me sane all summer (I'll explain more about his later). I'm sure more Coalinga people will know what doctor I'm speaking of. Anyways, we told him everything that had been going on, from the first incident in church to the night at the emergency room. 

"I think you've been having panic attacks," he said. 

"No, I think I'm dying," I responded. 

He smiled and went on to explain what panic attacks consisted of. I had experienced almost all of them. I felt like an idiot.  The entire two weeks I had been having the stupid things nobody cared to explain to me that panic attack may be the cause of my symptoms. I had always thought a panic attack was simply feeling really nervous, but I never understood the severity of it and the extreme things it triggers your brain and body to feel. The doctor explained that a number of things could cause an attack, and it was hard to pin point the reason it was occurring. He did, however, inform me that depression and panic attacks usually ALWAYS occur together. He gave me a few muscle relaxers to take if I had another attack. 

Now, the thing about panic attacks (at least my experience with them) is that they literally distort your thinking. I had a great doctor sit me down and tell me, "YOU.ARE.HAVING.PANIC.ATTACKS. YOU.ARE.NOT.DYING." Then, the next time I would get one (and even at times in between) I would freak out and convince myself that I was dying of some undetected illness. Anyways, that's just a sidenote.

Ok, alot of the following isn't in order, but I want to explain some of the other things that were going on so I can move on to another aspect of the story. As I mentioned, I was planning on getting an apartment with two of my friends for the following school year. I was so excited, and in the midst of the panic attack crap, it was something that kept me focused on good things yet to come. One night my best friend, Josh, called Jake and I to tell us his family got a new puppy. Obviously, we ran across the street to see her. I fell in love with the precious chug , and immediately needed (wanted) one. It was our church's youth pastor who was getting rid of them, so I called my future roommates to get their approval, then went right over to get my precious Chloe (aka Clover Grace Sullivan, who you are all obsessed with, right). She was just what I needed. Chloe was also so beautiful, that the moment I brought her home my mom went and got herself one. 

Well that happiness didn't last long because both of the precious puppies got Parvo and almost died. I was devastated, and of course this caused even more stress and anxiety. For a week I did nothing but watch Chloe vomit, have diarrhea, and virtually lose all the weight on her body. I had to continually shoot antibiotics and Pedia-lite down her little mouth. Luckily, they both lived.

Then I found out that I wasn't going to be able to get an apartment. The other girls were ready to move, and I realized that financially it was impossible for me. I was devastated that I was going to have to spend another year living on the ranch, not that I didn't love my family, but the loneliness was miserable. Nobody was ever around, my mind wasn't being stimulated, and the commute to school every day STRESSED ME OUT (especially during fog season). I felt hopeless, literally hopeless. 

Now, please don't laugh (too much) at the following section. As ridiculous and irrational it all is, it was completely real in my head. 

During the summer (and for a couple months after) I went to the doctor about 20 time. I always exaggerate numbers, but I'm not this time. You all know about my brain tumor, but I (along with Web MD) diagnosed myself with a number of life threatening diseases. Here are a few:

1) Stomach Cancer: I had the most awful stomach pains, that were accompanied with diarrhea and constipation. I knew it wasn't the stomach flu, so of course, it had to be cancer. These symptoms lasted for weeks, and also made me lose my appetite. I was either sick or anxious, so I rarely ate (which is the complete opposite of my usual behavior). During the course of my panic attack issues I reached a mere 99lbs, which is completely disgusting, I know. However, it was even more reason for me to believe I was dying. Oh, this was all due to Irritable Bowel  Syndrome, by the way. It commonly accompanies the other symptoms of panic attacks. 

2) Skin Cancer: I had had a horrible mole on the top of my head for almost all of my life. I don't mean freckle either, it was a HUGE sucker. The most common things it was compared to were a tick and a pencil eraser. Lovely, right? Anyways, it always bothered me, but mostly because hair cuts were incredibly stressful. For the most part, it was just funny. My friends loved it, and a couple guys even named him (yes, him), Steve. Suddenly, it wasn't so funny though. Now, I was sure Steve was killing me. I panicked, and went to the doctor about it. He told me he was sure there was nothing to worry about, but he would remove it if it made me feel better. They had to shave the area around Steve, along with shots on and around him to numb for the procedure. Anyways, a couple minutes and a bleeding bald spot later, my beloved Steve was shipped off to the lab only to reveal he was not cancerous. Poor little guy. Good thing is, haircuts are lovely now. 

3) Ovarian Cancer: Long story short, I didn't have a period for two months because of all the stress and not eating. I thought it was cancer, so had to go to the stupid gynecologist to debunk that one.  

4) Deadly skin infection: I have a sore in my nose that I thought was going to kill me. 

5) Jaw Cancer: My jaw is slightly crooked, so I thought that the side that was lower had a tumor. I was also suffering from TMJ, so it was tense and sore all the time. That made it worse. 

6)Diabetes: The tingling from the attacks convinced me I was diabetic. 

7) Heart Disease: I had constant chest pains. This is another thing that comes along with anxiety. 

Anyways, there were lots more, but these were the highlights. My doctor is amazing though, and patiently comforted me during every visit. I can't thank him enough. Sorry, for the slightly boring post. Another one is coming soon. 

Venti Caramel Macchiatos Get You Every Time

As I was writing my last post, I kept remembering different things that happened, and realized HOW STINKING LONG this story is. With that said, I am trying to figure out things that are worth cutting out, so bare with me. 

Anyways, I was dehydrated (well supposedly). In my mind I still had a brain tumor, but I tried my best to go on with my normal activities. Something just felt strange though. I felt slightly sluggish and almost empty. A couple nights later one of my friends, Audra, and I got some Starbucks, and spent the rest of the night (like 3 hours) driving around the three streets in Coalinga. We talked about all sorts of things, but none of the topics were super heavy or depressing. I got home at around midnight, and immediately went to bed. I had Nick at Nite on the television, the ceiling fan was providing me with a comfortable temperature, and I was wearing my biggest and most snuggly pajama shirt. None of these perfect factors helped me. I felt funny, not exceptionally bad at first, just funny. I tossed, turned, and creatively tried to position my body in new ways, attempting to find something to make me comfortable enough to sleep. 

Then I started to shake. It wasn't a convulsing shake, just the sort of shiver you get the night before you have something exciting to do. It was an anxious shake, I suppose. The shaking was soon accompanied by a clamminess and outpouring of sweat. Next came the violent pounding of my heart along with the tingling of my right arm and leg. "Brain tumor," I thought, "This must be how you feel when you are about to die from a brain tumor." As tons of disgusting thoughts stampeded in and out of my head, I tried my hardest to continue to find comfort and get some sleep. An unsucessful hour and a half later, I got up to search the medicine cabinets for some sort of sleep aid. I popped a couple pills and plopped back into bed. 

Nothing. I felt absolutely no drowsiness. If anything, that stupid pills made me more awake and intensified the shaking, sweating, pounding, and tingling. After another hour I had had enough. I woke my mom up for help. After explaining everything to her, we came to the conclusion that the Starbucks got to me. I still didn't feel right, so I had her come and sleep the rest of the night with me. After 30 minutes and a back rub, I finally got some rest.  

Two days later Jake's dad was taking us and our best friends, Josh and Audra, to the beautiful (sarcastic) Lake Buena Vista for a day on the boat, and then we were going to spend the night at Jake's Grm and Grmps (Grandma and Grandpa, duh).

That day I felt great. We ate, sang, tanned, wakeboarded, and Josh and I tubed. He is my fellow wild child on that bad boy, so we got bumped around a bit and had a few nasty crashes. It was nothing out of the norm, however I was slightly nervous it would affect my brain tumor. We finished up our day at the lake, and headed to Grm and Grmps'. They are two of the greatest people on the planet, and have the cutest house that Grmps built himself. It always feels like home.  As usual, we had a great night with them. We had pizza, sat around the table, and listened to Grmps (who is the best storyteller EVER). It was perfect. It was then time to sleep, so the four of us set up our beds in the living room and started to settle down. Literally the moment I put my head on the pillow it started again. The shaking, sweating, pounding, and tingling flooded back. This time it was accompanied by an overwhelming feeling. I'm not even sure I can explain what feeling I was being overwhelmed with. It was some sort of sick combination of fear, sadness, claustrophobia, with the slightest touch of anger. 

I told Aud and Jake that it was happening again (Josh was on the phone in the other room), and we tried everything to make me comfortable. Aud and I switched pillows, I ditched the blanket, and moved to a different couch. No change. The three of us figured I was dehydrated again, so I started to drink water. I had to urinate almost immediately. We thought that was strange, but I kept forcing the water down anyway. It was worthless. Nothing was changing. Soon I was peeing after every sip I took. I felt awful because I knew everybody was tired, and I was rustling around making it almost impossible for people to sleep. Finally, I went upstairs to a spare bedroom, thinking maybe it would be cooler or quieter there. It was worse. The room is decorated with leftovers from Jake's mom, Melissa, and his Aunt Janna's childhood. This includes porcelain dolls, which are creepy even if you don't think you are dying from a brain tumor. Jake would come up periodically to check on me, and at around 3:30am he stayed in there until I finally fell asleep. 

We went back to Coalinga, and everything was semi normal for a few days. Then one night I sat down to have dinner with my family. It was steak and sauteed mushrooms, with garlic mashed potatoes, a caesar salad, and asparagus, so I was feeling pretty good about life. The second I started eating the overwhelming feeling came again. This time it was less physical and more mental. I definitely had a hard time breathing, and my chest had a strange ache to it. This time I was more panicked though. The most disturbing thoughts were flying in and out of my head without my control. Even with all of this activity going on inside me, I felt dead. It was like my battery was drained. I felt intense emotions, but could do nothing but sit blankly. After a minute or so I snapped out of it and began gasping for air. I started crying and yelling that I was dying. I demanded that somebody take me to the hospital. This was it. I was sure I was going to die within the hour. 

Of course, my mom panicked, and next thing I knew we were speeding to the hospital. The five minute drive had slightly soothed me, and I was ready to explain my symptoms. They got me in right away (obviously, it's Coalinga). My experience there, however, was awful. The doctor came in, looked at me and said my condition could be a few things. I was either on street drugs, having a weird reaction to legal medication, or I was schizophrenic. As you can imagine, this made me feel fantastic. My mom payed $50, I got a plastic bracelet, and we were headed back home, where I was still sure I was going to die. 

More soon :) 

The Day I Diagnosed Myself with a Brain Tumor.

      The past two years of my life were spent in a dark, haunting, and scary state of depression and anxiety. I want to share my story to help. This isn't an invite to a pity party or sob story. I want to share because nobody shared with me. I can't be as raw as I would love to be on this thing because it is public and there are people involved in my story that I don't want to humiliate TOO much. However, I know there are some people who will be offended. Anyways, again I apologize if some things seem vague. 

Drumroll please......

At the beginning of last summer I found out that my dad had been having an affair, as simple as that. It happens (sadly) waaayy too often and affects waaayyyy too many families everywhere, and there are tons of worse things that could have happened to me, and tons of better ways I could have handled it. 

 My biological mom and dad were divorced when I was a baby, and both went on to marry two of the most amazing individuals I have ever known. I had always been super content with what my family was made up of. Two moms, two dads, four brothers (two on each side). I got two Christmas, Easters, and birthdays. Like most divorce kids, I lived with my mom, but I got to visit my dad's family every other weekend, holidays, and during the summer. It worked. 

Fresh out of high school, I packed all my things and headed for my dad's house to live while I attended Fresno State. I was pumped. I loved my Sullivan family, and always felt a sense of guilt for never being able to live with them. I wanted so badly to see my baby brothers grow up, let my dad see big girl me, and to have feminine heart to hearts with my stepmom, Laura. Upon the big move I was rudely awakened. 

I think I became almost instantly depressed. We lived out on our ranch (located about 15 minutes away from Madera, Kerman, and Riverpark). This meant I had to drive 20-25 minutes to school everyday, and about the same distance if I wanted to do anything fun for myself. That suddenly turned into me doing absolutely NOTHING fun for myself. I had no friends with me. Jake might as well have been in another town. I had nothing to do except look at the vineyards, talk to my 80-year-old grandma, and play with my dog (who ended up getting hit by car and died...fantastic). I switched to Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes, and that made the situation completely worse. I spent my two free days of the week crying, eating, and sleeping. I hated everything. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go back to Coalinga High School, and my friends, and my house that smelled like candles. 

Anyways, enough background details. I was depressed and didn't realize it. I just knew that I felt like I was losing myself. So, that May a couple friends and I decided to get an apartment for the following school year. I hadn't had a job all year, so I wasn't quite prepared financially. I did, however, have a job set up for the summer and was prepared to spend a lot of time working so I could move closer to school and spend time with people my age. 

Then Memorial Day weekend came. It was my first week of summer vacation, and my happy little self was living back in Coalinga. It was everything I had been yearning for all year. That Sunday morning was pretty average. I was sitting in our usual pew at church, listening to Pastor Mike preach. All of a sudden, everything changed, and I experience something I will never forget even one detail of. 

My vision started to blur. Everything was foggy, and as much as I tried, I couldn't focus my eyes on anything. It felt like what I had always pictured a newborn baby's vision looking like. Then I became slightly light headed. I was dizzy and almost delirious. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. It felt like all of the oxygen  was being sucked out of the room and my body. I remember the temperature in the room rising ten degrees and feeling suffocated by the heat. Sweat seeped out of every pore. Uncontrollable shaking in my legs started, and every sound had an echo to it. I couldn't seem to focus on anything, and just remember hearing Pastor Mike saying, "A community is a common unity." I kept repeating that phrase in my head over and over. My mind began responding to my body. "You have a brain tumor," it told me, "you're going to die. This is it." All of the sensations I had being feeling within those past 30 seconds (that felt like 30 hours) magnified. I gasped for air, but received nothing. I told Jake I felt weird. After another minute without change, and hearing, "A community is a common unity," 200 more times, I got up to walk around. That didn't help. I went back to the pew, but after hearing my brain tumor diagnosis in my head again, I went back to the foyer. Jake came after me this time, and sat me down on a couch. I just remember staring at him. I knew who he was. I knew that I was supposed to have a connection to him, but I didn't feel anything. All I heard was his echoey voice trying to get answers from me. I tried my best to explain what I was feeling, but I didn't even understand what it was, so that proved to be unsuccessful. Then I threw up- in the toilet, thankfully- but I threw up. Church was over by that point, and Jake had told my mom the little details that he knew. She found me sitting on the bathroom couch looking straight ahead. She still gets emotional when she talks about the glazed over look I had on my face.  I remember looking up at her and just crying. 

My mom dragged me out to the busy foyer, and attempted to explain my symptoms to everyone. I remember hugs, prayers, and echoey voices saying things like, "dehydrated" and "low potassium." Next, I was being hauled home where I was forced to consume Gatorade and baked potatoes (because bananas make me vomit).  Soon, I was back in the car and on the way to the doctor. That weekend was extra eery because it was overcast and rainy. This confused me even more as I stared blankly out the window. 

Long story long, the doctor shined a light in my eyeballs, took my blood pressure, asked a couple questions, and diagnosed me as dehydrated. Reality slowly became to ease into me as I drove back home, but, of course, it didn't stay long. 

Ok, I guess that's it for now. I don't want to torture you with ten pages of my life, so I'll break this nonsense into segments. More to come. 

Three Reasons. Three Warnings.

     I must be honest; I have intensely mocked bloggers for quite some time now. I've never understood the thrill in journaling via the World Wide Web, where a whole two people would most likely be the viewers. However, a college friend of mine recently started blogging and I was suddenly intrigued. I guess it isn't so lame after all, but the real reason I have decided to share my diary with all of the universe is because I need it. I'll just go ahead state my reasons for needing it via list, only because it's summer and my brain is too mushy and intoxicated with sugar to organize it any other way. 

Reason 1.) I have an issue with keeping all negative emotions inside, so they can marinate in all of my negative thoughts and become completely and utterly irrational. At the moment I wrongly attempt to solve this problem by blurting out a sarcastic comment here and there and praying the people around will pick up my hint and understand how I feel about whatever issue I'm having. However, it just gets me more upset when nobody picks up on these hints, and I feel as though I am not being heard. I think that if I can casually publish my opinion on certain things that are going on around me or simply in my head, I would a little more represented (even if nobody is reading). 

Reason 2.) I am extremely complex and often times inconsistent. In a way, writing down all these things that go in and out of my head (and sometimes don't return), I could better understand myself. Hopefully, this will also create a sense of accountability with myself. 

Reason 3.) One of my favorite things in the world is to listen to people's thoughts and ideas. I find it absolutely fascinating. Over the past year I have realized how much EVERYBODY has in common, and how much realizing these similarities can be therapeutic. It's amazing how much peace I have recently found by knowing specific people who think, feel, and experience the same thing as I do or did. I think it's a huge factor in creating relationships and building trust. As you will soon read about (once I get used to blogging), I have been through so many things in these past two years, more than I had ever thought of. Now, I feel this tugging on my heart to share. I want people who may be thinking, feeling, or experiencing things that i am or have to feel normal! There are so many things that aren't talked about, and that people feel ashamed and afraid of. Because God specifically chose me to go through the things that I recently have, I feel it is my duty to share and to attempt to make it easier for anyone who relates. 

Now some warnings and clarifications: 

1.) Don't be scared. I don't plan to merely write about awful and depressing things. I laugh a lot and thoroughly enjoy making others laugh, so hopefully I can do so when I come across funny little things in this world that I decide to share. I also am interested in some shallow and superficial things that I love to talk about, so be prepared for posts about that. 

2.) Like I stated before, I am incredibly complex and inconsistent. Please be patient and understanding if I don't always make logical sense or if I continually change my mind about how I feel about things. I also tend to think in extremes at times. It's annoying. 

3.) I might not go through with any of this. Even though I'm super passionate about this right now, my passion may fade tomorrow. That happens a lot. 

Hopefully, I will be a successful blogger. Tune in to read new posts, and feel free to leave responses. I love hearing alternate opinions. :) tooooooodles.