I have absolutely nothing to say. I have writer's block. Or I've finally run out of actual ideas. It's like my brain just died.
Shrieveled up and died, I tell you.
I mean, I've had writer's block before... Usually nothing a good run or a day or two of doing absolutely nothing but watching stupid chick flicks couldn't fix.
Oh, but not this time.
Because all I do now, when not job hunting is... Nothing. Nothing.
And I can't sleep tonight. I'm worried about my interview tomorrow. Plus, I was craving sweet tea earlier today. And I really should have had more self-control because caffine and I don't play well together.
I drove to McDonald's just to get a large sweet tea. I think I drank the whole thing in two minutes. I don't live but a hop and a skip from McDonald's and it was gone when I got back home.
Yeah... So. I'm sorta wired for the night.
I dyed my roots, waxed my eyebrows, gave myself a facial, painted my nails... I mean everything I could think of to boost my confidence for tomorrow with the hopes of wearing myself out.
Or using up all the caffine in my system. But nope.
I am now sitting here on the couch, stealing the neighbors wifi... And writing my most pointless blog in a long while.
...I'm killing myself, Smalls.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 1:38 AM
Not in the military! Wooooo! I've been rejected by every branch there is.
I actually laughed when I talked to the Navy and Marine recruiters. I mean I was slapping the table laughing so hard I tell you!
As soon as they found out I'd received medical treatment for Panic Disorder, they flipped and where like, "And why exactly are you trying to join the military?!?!"
I can't find a job anywhere in this big ol' city and now even the military has rejected me.
Over and over and over.
Now I don't believe my anxiety issues are keeping me from finding a civilian job. They have no way of pulling my medical history. And usually, I act relatively normal in public.
I've yet to have a freak-out moment during an interview and yet, still no one will hire me.
But I do have an interview on Friday. Talked to a former employee of the company and she said they're extremely picky about who they hire.
She said they call their ideal employee "Tyler." Not really someone named Tyler, but they call them the Tyler.
So maybe just maybe, I'll be a Tyler. :)
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 1:35 AM
A chemical imbalance in the brain. A short in the wires that trigger my fight or flight response.
I hate that the doctors think they can cure it with a pill and the therapists think they can fix it with a few deep breathing techniques...
Well just got done making an attempt at the breathing techniques. And nothing.
My heart's still racing, I can't breathe, I feel like I'm going to regurgitate my dinner. And my head's spinning.
Not to mention there is no one awake to remind me this is just another panic attack. So I'm left to talk to myself. Which doesn't always work... Like now for example. I'm talking away, trying to pretend I'm sane, while probably driving myself more insane.
And I hate that people think that it's just something you can get over.
How exactly do you get over something that has the ability to choke you, make you completely numb and pass out? I'm sitting on the precipice as I write this..
And I wonder, should I go wake someone? Call someone?
Cause what if this one time I'm actually really dying? Only, that's what I think everytime..
But everytime it feels like the Grim Reeper is ready to pounce.
And I just don't get it? What turned me into this freak? What went wrong for me to develop such a strange way of coping with stress?
And now I'm rambling just to keep my mind off thoughts of suffocating to death... But I just typed that out... So I'm not doing such a hot job of distracting myself...
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 2:28 AM
Derick is second from the left.
Derick's sunbleached eyebrows were hardly visible next to his suntanned skin, but nonetheless I saw when they shot up when I'd spoke. He'd had his face glued to his iPhone and his thumbs had been working overtime. Probably texting one of his many girlfriends.
But now he was looking at me as though I had three eyeballs. His mouth fell open as if to say something, but as soon as it did, he snapped it back shut.
I looked him directly in the eye. "What?"
He grinned sideways and squinted his blue eyes at me. He shifted his large frame on the couch and stared at me for a few seconds. "I don't think I heard you right."
I played with the fringe of one of the pillows. "I said, I'm thinking about enlisting."
Derick's mouth fell slack again and his eyes widened just a bit. And then he looked confused all over again. He shook his clean shaven head at me. "Why?"
Derick's a friend of mine. He knows my situation with not being able to find a job. And he knows I have no desire to return to college.
But he also knows my temperment and ability better than most of my friends. And the reason I decided to talk to him about my contemplation was because he serves in the Army and has done a tour of duty in Afganastan.
My hands flew up, defensively. "Because, I'm jobless. Plus, the Army's got benefits. And it's service to my country... And it's a job."
Derick ignored his phone and awaiting text message. "Bullshit."
I think my face resembled a wrinkled Bulldog's at this point. "What kind of response is that?"
His attention was on his phone once again. "Mine."
Men. So freaking ridiculous.
"Derick, I'm honest to goodness considering enlisting. And I would appreciate some feedback."
Sighing, he flung his phone to the coffee table and laid his head back against the couch. "Don't."
"Why not?" I stared him down.
His gaze was directed toward the ceiling. "Because, Mand, you'll never make it."
He cut his eyes to look at me. He appraised me looking me up and down without moving his head or neck. And then met my eyes. "You are not military material."
I picked the nearest pillow and aimed it at his face. As it bounced off, he caught it. "What are you saying? I wouldn't survive?"
Derick's eyes always give him away. "No."
"But women survive the military everyday!" I narrowed my eyes at him
His smile was small. "Yeah, but Mand, they're not woman like you."
I swallowed. Time for a second opinion.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 5:31 AM
I step to the right. You're going left.
With a flick of your finger, you gesture me back.
Slow and tedious, I try not to trample you. Not knowing where you're going.
You shrug your shoulders and offer me the lead.
You smile because I have no idea what I'm doing. But you play along.
A step to the left, one to the right. I slip. You catch my arm.
I laugh. And continue with my mess. You follow like it's the most natural thing ever.
One more round and I submissively give you my hand.
Your black eyes meet mine. And I'm just fine here. Lead me where you will.
You spin me so fast I'm dizzy, testing my resolve. But I'm still clinging to you.
A little closer this time.
You seem suprized that I'm still here.
I trust you, you know this. So you're cautious.
Moving slower, you slow our steps.
This isn't a miss this time.
You would have made a lovely fling.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 12:52 AM
With a Marbaro dangling from her lips, my grandmother says, "...Now the way to solve that problem is to have no important business... That way they have no business of yours to be concern with."
I stopped my rocking chair with my foot. "Huh?"
"Nevermind, Mandie. Just shake it off and move on. That's what your Ma's trying to say." My mother laughs and takes a drag of her Virginia Slim.
My grandmother nods her head in agreement.
I cross my arms and shove the rocking chair back into motion. "Easy for you to say, he's not your dad."
My cousin, Megan lights her a cigarette and pulls up a chair on the porch where we were all sitting.
I come from a family of smokers. On occasion I might take a drag. But for the most part I can't stand the things... At least they've always smoked outside.
But the porch is where we have some of our longest conversations and biggest arguments.
Every house I've ever lived in with my mother has always had one... And the only one that didn't, she converted the garage into her own personal smoking lounge.
"So what exactly did he say?" Megan looks at me.
She was referring to the conversation I had with my father earlier over the phone. He had called three times before I had decided to finally answer.
"He demanded to know why I deleted Marcia [my stepmother] from my Facebook." I grinned a little.
My cousin chuckled. "You did what?!"
I laugh. "I deleted her. She sent me a couple of rude messages so I just deleted her."
"How did you explain that one to your dad?"
"I just explained I had gotten some messages. And figured I'd solve the problem."
All three of them laughed.
"I just don't see why a grown woman's going to get upset about something like that after all they've done to you and then have your dad call just to ask for an explaination." My mother shook her head and put her cigarette out in the ash tray.
"Well whatever. He could tell by my tone I wasn't interested in the conversation. It didn't last long."
"If they don't care to be involved in your life, why do they care if you deleted her on Facebook?" Megan asked.
"Dad said that was the only way they knew I was alive. I told 'em they would survive."
My cousin took a drag. "Harsh. What he say to that?"
I sighed and picked at the peeling white paint on the arm of my chair. "I don't think he knew how to respond. But like I said, wasn't much said. We said bye after that."
"Why don't you talk to your Nannie about all this?" My mother lit another cigarette. She was referring to my father's mother.
I couldn't help laughing. "Why? So she can put him over her lap and spank him? He's a grown man."
My mother smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "You never know with your Nannie..."
"I hate all this drama. I just don't see the point in putting in the effort. He's made up his own mind." I flicked a chip of paint across the porch with my finger.
Megan chuckled. "...Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."
My mother interjected. "No, more like the Young and the Restless."
I narrowed my eyes. "It's gonna be General Hospital if you two don't shut up."
We all cracked up.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 10:42 PM
1) It is possible to be friends with your ex-husband. And even have a civil dinner filled with talk of silly memories that only the two of you are privy to.
2) If your sister is a co-dependant, confronting her about it will result in a swift hand to the back of the head. Denial always comes first.
3) Speeding tickets for 26 miles over the speed limit aren't cheap.
4) Eight waffles for breakfast is great for a quick rush... And a really lame drowsy day.
5) Saying "um" a lot duing an interview will screw your chances for the job.
6) Falling in love with someone who doesn't let themselves fall, is more of a plummet. And there's no dragging them off the cliff's edge with you.
7) Roommates like to "borrow" your clothes... So much so, you'll have to trade wardrobes to have something clean to wear.
8) Being a "cool" nerd only works in the movies.
9) Don't EVER assume parking is free in Chattanooga. Especially if you have a Georgia tag... There's no question about it, they will ticket your as- ahem, rear end.
10) Oh, and don't pick up drunk hitch-hikers... Even if it is a sad-looking woman with no shoes on. Because she will talk your ears off about every sign in the Zodiac, spill beer in your car and all over your passengers, and get you lost... Because common sense should tell you a drunk woman can't give good directions to save her life.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 3:27 AM
My father has always been one of the most important people in my life. A rock. Someone I knew I could always turn to, could always trust with anything.
He’s honest, loyal, and forgiving.
And for the most part, my father and I have always seen eye to eye. And when we didn’t, were usually able to come to an agreement with little anger.
I respect my father and value his opinion above anyone’s on this earth.
Something I never expected to get was his cold shoulder. To have him turn on me when I would face some of my biggest trials.
But I’ve carried this burden for a while now. Unable to quite face it head-on. Wondering if maybe I had imagined the whole situation.
I don’t remember the last time I saw him… A month ago? Very strange for my father and me.
But we’re both on opposite ends. And neither one of us is willing to inch towards a compromise.
My father told me he disagreed with my move to Tennessee. And he wasn’t happy about my divorce. Or about my decision not to go back to college.
So he and my step-mother have decided to remove themselves from my life. Something I still don’t quite understand. I live only 45 minutes away from home.
It’s not like I have to buy a plane ticket to visit. Or them me.
Still, I sit here with my cell phone in my lap and contemplate calling in anger. To drive home just how much they’re hurt me. To yell and scream and be absolutely childish about the whole situation.
Because I feel stabbed by the one person I never thought would hurt me.
But I can’t hurt him. I can’t yell at him. And I can barely voice my broken heart without tears.
Yet, I have no idea what to do with him. He’s my father after all. Do I put all of my memories of him away in a shoebox and shove it under my bed? Forget about him?
Easier said than done. Because I’m stuck here where he left me, holding the broken pieces of a relationship that can’t be helped with duck tape or crazy-glue.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 11:28 PM
Words aren’t flowing as usual. With ease I can make mess of a blank page… And horizontally complicate a blank screen. But not today.
Not when I need this release the most. I need my mind to stop. To let go, before I drive the inhabitant of this tired body completely insane.
But silence has never been my friend, inwardly anyways.
Tears nor anger will placate this. I don’t want the depression or the headache. I just want this gone.
Settled, resolved, undone, forgotten, burned…
I shut my eyes and cannot understand myself. A mystery behind these lids. Why do I take the long route to everywhere? To say anything?
Where’s my sense of direction or my ability to be direct? Why can I not just look you in the face and say what my brain’s been screaming at you all along?
Because I think it would shake you. Actually, I know it would. It would make you angry. You might even boil and lose control.
Would I then find peace in that? In knowing that I wrecked what little I could of your world?
You’re a vulture. I would tell you that. Picking me apart and judging what you know nothing about.
I would love for nothing more than to back you in a corner and make you squirm. Make you say to my face what you’ve been thinking this whole time.
Tell me I didn’t turn out like you expected. Tell me I screwed up. Tell me all your efforts were in vain. Tell me I’m not worth it any longer. Tell me I never was. Tell me.
Maybe then I could at least sleep with the knowing. And let go with the efforts. And make peace with the rest.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 12:21 AM
I rarely blog about national or world events... Or politics. I even try to keep a simple, quiet kind of faith that speaks for itself. Not the kind people ram down others throats.
It's just not my style.
Until I read this article.
It made my blood boil. I wanted to scream. To find the guy responsible and ram his face to the pavement. Maybe I shouldn't be blogging such violent statements. But like I said, my blood's boiling.
The article can be found here.
Two of my brothers served in the army and a stepbrother who's been in the Marines for almost 20 years.
The fact that people could so carelessly toss aside the risk they are creating for our soldiers, not to mention Americans in general, is maddening and saddening at the same damn time.
Our freedoms were bought at a high price. And this radical church's freedom to burn Korans is protected by the very lives of the men and women they are about to endanger.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 11:40 PM
I’m not the only one screaming.
She can’t run fast enough to out run the traps set for him to make his escape. Even to save him, the knife’s still at his wrist, and the poison still on his lips.
With my face pressed against the glass, I whisper words she can’t hear. “Let him go before you ruin yourself.”
But isn’t that what we all say to each other?
“Beware: Love’s a bloody war. And your soldiers are wimps.”
And I can’t even remember if I’m screaming for myself, or him. I see him. But I can’t see him.
The heart’s a mystery. The mind is only half-revealed. And liars are good at what they do.
Yet, he still has my pumping vein wrapped around his finger.
If he yanks, I’ll bleed. If he lets go, I’ll die.
He looks me in the eye and his ask the question, “Is this a risk worth taking?”
I don’t know. “Are you a risk worth taking?”
He twists my vein around his finger, tighter.
We’re about to find out.
Lived Through by Mandie Described at 2:01 PM