Tag Archives: first world problems

Anxiety Sucks

My family has raised me with the belief that mental illness is just a phase or bad attitude. Because of this, I cannot say for certain that I have some kind of anxiety disorder. I have not seen a doctor, nor do I have the funding to do so. So let me tell you what I know:

When I was no older that 5 or 6, my mom took my little brother and I to McDonalds to play on the playground and I saw him pushing another kid. This made me uncomfortable to the point where I returned to the table and started to silently cry to myself. My mom asked me what was wrong and I angrily said “nothing”. I couldn’t have been more than 6 years old, and yet that memory has burned into my mind.

When I was a little older, my family went to Skateland Roller Derby. It was really fun. We zipped around the rink as cheesy late 90’s early 2000’s music blared overhead. I left the rink, talked with the parents, and decided to go back into the rink. I swung my hand back too far. A little girl with a massive blue icee was standing behind me and my hand hit it, causing it to erupt all over her. She screamed and cried and I sped away. I hid in the bathroom, bawled my eyes out, took of my skates, and started having trouble breathing. Eventually, I calmed down, snuck out, told my parents (who told me to apologize and gave me money to buy a new icee). I found the girl sitting with her parents and I set the slushie on the table… I didn’t have the heart to look them in the eye, but I saw their faces change from angry, to confused. My face was red, snot dripping from my nose, my eyes swollen and wet. I said I was sorry before I marched back into the bathroom. The room was spinning. I felt dizzy and then I threw up into one of the toilets. I hid in that stall for a good twenty or so minutes. I sat in there, still as stone, tears running down my face, thinking I was a horrible person.

Nowadays, when I look back at the things I’ve done that are embarrassing, I can laugh a little. These two memories, though, are just two of the many that make me so sick that I cringe. I feel nauseous just thinking about them. My heart skips a beat, my mind enters fight or flight mode and tries to think and find things to distract me. I stop breathing. I stop being me.

When I tried telling my parents about this, they told me I was being dramatic. To be fair, I’ve been known to add unnecessary flair to my life. But somehow, I think this might be more than that. Last Tuesday, my sister and her friends and I gathered for our weekly dinners. I told a long and drawn out joke that left them confused. The silence shredded my soul into pieces. After dinner, I left and had some kind of panic attack where I had to curl up in the passenger seat of my friend’s car and wait for over half an hour before I felt I could trust myself to drive home. Today, I was supposed to do an event with these same people, but yesterday (Monday), I started feeling uncomfortable. I dreampt a bad dream and tried not to let it get to me. I went the whole day through work without much of a problem. But then I got home and everything came rushing forward. I don’t have a good job, I have no money, these people aren’t interested in this event I thought of, even my friends are ducking out, I have no where to move to at the end of the month, my car is falling apart. All these things seemed to rush in at me for no reason, causing me to cancel tonight’s plans and go into hiding.

I am a laid-back person. I love hanging out with people I don’t know. I love being random and laughing at myself and my foibles and follies. I love being me and not giving a crap about what other people think. But for some reason, I failed to do that two weeks in a row. This has never happened so frequently, but it has happened. It’s rough. I apologize for my lack of posts, updates, and general improvement.

All this being said, I am excited to move out. I am excited to find a new job. I am grateful for all these wonderful new people in my life. I am thrilled to be a part of their lives. I love to laugh with and at my own expense. I love to be with them. And I love all of you. Your support, your enthusiasm, your love has seen me through thick and thin. I am so proud of my peoples. You guys are powerful and you’re going to great places. Many blessings upon all of you. Thank you for your continued patience and support. You mean the world to me.

Much love,



Romance is hard. Or at the very least, finding it is hard. I’ve tried many-a-thing; online dating, blind dates, dating exes (not recommended unless you like repeats), asking out friends, flirting at bars, etc. etc. etc. So far, I’ve had some luck, but it normally doesn’t last. I’ve had lots of fun, lots of adventures, etc. etc. ETC.!!!!

I’ve resorted to witchcraft.

Not really, but there is some magic involved. I thought, “Hey. What will bring those that I wish to date to the premises?” That’s when I tried the milkshake. A banana, an ice cream cone, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, and a half-cup of milk. It was delicious. I waited, slurped, and waited some more. Slurped. Waited. Slurped again. Slurped even more. Choked. Coughed. Slurped. Waited. Nothing. I’m disappointed. Ah well….

My Milkshakes DON'T bring boys to my yard.
My Milkshakes DON’T bring boys to my yard.

Chin up, my lovelies. We’re going to find our soulmates, or whatever. Believe in yourselves! And remember that you are worth all the love in the world. Love ya!

Sleep well and dream big!

Dear Yak in the Crack (AKA, Rant of the Year)

To Whom It May Concern (and it should concern you),

I am a lowly man, poor of wallet and of nourishment. Nevertheless, I am blessed with opportunity to live in a country where I have the freedom to choose where I spend my last* 7 dollars for the week. For whatever reason, I chose to dine with you. Perhaps it was because you are across the street from my current residence, or perhaps it because my options are limited at this late our. Whatever the reason was, it is no longer relevant. I suppose I could have been more conservative with my ordering of cheese-slathered food, but not wanting to look like a pansy in front of my friend, I decided to order some of your cheesiest, spiciest food. Because #YOLO. Your meal also came with fries, a drink, and two tacos.

One bite of your cheesy, spicy burger-esque garbage ball and I knew that I was going to throw up if I continued, so I ate the fries instead. After finishing those I moved on to the tacos. Let me clarify something: what you served me was hardly a taco. Strips of lettuce, hot sauce, some yellowish liquid-abomination I can only assume was supposed to be artificial cheese, and some “meat” slapped between the folds of a thin crystal grease disk does not count as a taco. That meat felt and tasted like sand, dirt, and meat seasonings. Not that I could really tell over the abundant neon mucus flowing from within the bowls of this soggy, yet crunchy vagina you call a taco shell. The smell should have clued me in, but with the thought of all those starving, ebola-infected children in Africa, I reasoned that gorging on this repurposed poop was the honorable and American thing to do. #MURICA

It was after my second taco that I began to realize something was horribly wrong. My insides were already plotting revolution. After all, food only takes seven seconds to hit the stomach from the time it slides forcibly down my gullet. When I was pulling up to my home, I knew I had mere seconds before the inner walls of my stomach were torn open to reveal the Spanish Inquisition. I got to my piddly diddly department and “released the kraken“, as it were.

I accept that this is entirely my fault, as I am the one who willingly consumed your painted mush and bowel-destroying doom dish. That being said, I feel the FDA should shut down the branch of your establishment that pretends it knows the difference between Mexican Food and the grim beneath a dumpster that can be sprayed brown and be called beans. I will not return to your eatery until such a time when you no longer have these dangerous bioterrorist weapons on your menu.

Thank you kindly for your reading of this letter.

May your “tacos” burn in hell.


The Man You Just Poisoned

*My friend actually paid for the meal (bless his heart), I just wanted them to feel even worse.

Did You Miss Me?

I really missed you guys and this blog. It has served as an outlet for my innermost thoughts and ideas. This last week has been full-fledged insanity and while I realize that is no excuse, I have not yet mastered the ability to to write a post every single day (which is a goal).

First, let me tell you what’s been going on this week:

It was CHRISTMAS! I do hope you all had a marvelous holiday (whichever one you celebrate). I did. I woke up late on Christmas morning (I desperately needed sleep after working crazy and nightmarish shifts at my retail job for four days straight) and went downstairs with the family to open presents. Last year, my loving family gave to me a series of condiments and crackers. My hopes and expectations were not high and I was totally okay with getting food. I am not the type that likes to receive gifts. Don’t ask me why; that’s another blog post. Anyway, I didn’t even ask for anything this year because I didn’t want to A) get my hopes up, and B) make my family purchase something for me that I would be uncomfortable unwrapping.

So you can image my surprise when THIS gift was unwrapped by yours truly:

It's also my very first TV.
It’s my very own TV!

32″ may not stun a whole lot of people, but you all have to realize I work a part-time minimum wage job, pay rent, insurance (both health and car), phone, gas, and for my own food. Much needed wanted furniture and electronics have been put towards the bottom of my list. Once all the basics are covered, I spend what remains of my money slowly trying to update my wardrobe, since I’ve been wearing the same clothes since Freshman year of High School (I must have been a reeeeally fat kid for all of this to still fit me). So all of these things combined added to my surprise and awe as peeled off the wrapping paper. I can honestly say that I am among the world’s most blessed. Yeah. I know it’s just a TV, but it is mine. It is beautiful, it’s not a hand-me-down, and it’s mine. It was a delightful feeling.

Of course there’s no place for it in my tiny room, so I’m keeping in the box until I move out. Which will be soon, if all goes according to plan.

There are many things I wish to speak of further, but I shall end here on this post. Thank you, my loving readers, for your support. Thank you for your patience. And thank you for being an inspiration to me. This blog helps me be a better human being. I know that might sound strange to some, but if you look at who I am when I’m not posting as opposed to who I am when I’ve just written a 600 word blog post about whatever it is that is on my mind, you’ll find that I stand a little taller, smile a little wider, and dream a little bigger.

Remember, my dearest ones, if you’re going to dream, dream BIG!

I Died At Work Today

When I work, I don’t frequent the break room because I hate taking breaks (unless I’m hungry or tired). Today was no exception. If I can get away with it, I will go my whole shift without taking a single break. I only had an hour and half left on my shift (of which I was working two extra hours. Go me.) and my boss came up to me and said “You need to take a lunch. Or else.” And I said “You don’t own me! I do what I want! I’m a strong, independent woman (hungry, tired, dude) who don’t need a man!”

Okay, I actually said “Oh, okay. Thanks!”

I headed to the break room, sat down at the table, and as soon as I did that, my head became incredibly heavy. It fell down, slamming into the table. It was painful, yet oddly delightful. I felt like I should sleep. I felt like my mind was ready to wander into that realm of dreams (more of that in a later post). Sleep. Sleep would be perfect.

But I was at work. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t possibly get away with that. Plus, I don’t nap. I coma. I coma, people. If I attempt to sleep at any given time other than the times I normally sleep, I do not wake. For days. It’s actually really scary. Terrifying. I will not wake up. Sleeping is horrible. It wastes time. It steals time. It steals it. With it’s little, grubby, sand-dusted* hands.

Anyway, I decided I needed to sit up. I started to pull away from the table. The tablecloth came with me. My eyes popped open. I sat all the way up and the tablecloth came with me, knocking over all the stuff on the table. What was happening? Was I dreaming? No. I was too sticky** to be dreaming. I fell back down, head-first into the table. This time it wasn’t so delightful. I tried to take a few pictures, but they were blurry and I gave up… and then died. You get the featured image at the top instead.

So what was your goofy struggle today? Anything odd happen? Something that might have been annoying, yet kind of funny? Share. Tell me.

PS. This is obviously the most profound post you’ve read. I think you should follow my blog because of how much it changed your life…. I’m itchy…

PPS. I wrote this on the 10th. Wednesday. So “today” isn’t accurate.

*Sand-dusted: a reference to The Sandman. The creeper who sprinkles the eyes of children to make them fall asleep.

**It was syrup. Maple, I believe. Smelled good, I guess. Just old. And gross. And stuck to my forehead.