drive.

I'm making a content change. Or adding a content restriction: no more sick talk. Let's just from now on assume I'm feeling like crap a lot of the time, but posting anyway. When I get to the bottom of this mystery, I'll talk about it. Otherwise, mum's the word. The other day, it occurred to me that this may be a food allergy, so I've adopted a gluten-free diet, which seems to be making a difference. The last thing I'll say about feeling sick, is that if I figure it out before my doctors do, I want them to pay me for doing their job. 

Moving on. I've had a great week, even with a few snags. I went in Wednesday morning to fill out all of the hiring paperwork for my new job. It's complicated. It's amazing how things work out, because during that exact time, my Dad was starting over again, too. Happy detoxing, pops.

Am I not supposed to talk about this online? Is this the wrong forum for airing dirty laundry? If that's the case, I'll just talk about me.

I'm the daughter of an alcoholic. I can't even figure out all of the ways this has shaped how I behave, how I love, or how I will continue to become the person I'd like to be. If sometimes that crosses the clothesline of a reader's comfort zone, so be it. I'm not here to create a virtual utopia, and I don't have a way to filter the fact that people have the most impact on my life, whether I want them to or not. I share these things because in some way I think they are important to someone. Not because they are about me, but because maybe somewhere down the road someone will find me here, even by accident. 

And maybe that person will need to read about someone else who is anywhere, trying to sort everything out just the same.

Every one of these topics are based on things I might talk about in my daily life. My daily struggle to live. To live with my mistakes, my successes, or what I feel are my shortcomings. Sometimes I like to talk about things like our current medical culture. That they're pushing me and anyone else looking for help with emotional difficulties into taking prescriptions to solve their problems. Yet, suicide rates are up, and have continued to climb. I wish there were more I could do to address this, but I'm only one person. Part of my struggle with this is also related to some dirty laundry that I may need to air for clarity's sake, since I've also vowed to quit being vague and elusive on the internet. It's pointless. You either have something to say, or you don't.

[I digress. I have at least enough of a filter to know that mean things said without purpose or provocation are best kept to yourself. If you find you have to encrypt something so you don't sound mean, it's probably not worth saying.]

So I talk about me, with everyone in the world in mind. I'm not a narcissist. And if I seem to be, just think about how much time during the day a depressed person thinks about themselves. A hint: it's all fucking day.

O.K. Back to the part where I had a good week. I got a job. It seems like it's going to be great. I guess that was really the only great thing that happened, but it was enough to keep me going. 

“In my paranoid world every storekeeper thinks I’m stealing, every man thinks I’m a prostitute or a lesbian, every woman thinks I’m a lesbian or arrogant, and every child and animal sees the real me and it is evil.” --Miranda July, It Chooses You