My sister started her first day of classes at the University of Michigan (the real one) today. As usual, she had lots to say on the matter.
On hygiene: "Guh. I can't get ready because my suitemate is bathing! I wanted to be able to get breakfast. Pooey."
"Go eat and then bathe."
"Hail no! I can't go there with my hair looking like this!"
On cafeterias: "Eat awrone."
On navigating the campus: "Have you ever seen the episode of friends where they're in England and Joey needs to jump in the map?"
"Lol yes."
"That's what I'm about to do."
On meeting new people: "Can't tell if gay or just good style." and then later "Definitely gay." followed by "Messenger bag boy! Where'd you go? I wanna marry you."
On getting to class early: "Cold and alone."
On being in class: "Hot professor alert...he might be gay too."
On getting out of class: "All by myselffff."
My baby sister's all grown up. And I miss her.
Tomorrow I start school too. Here goes nothing.
Love,
Katie
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
I need you to know something
I am terrible at keeping plans. I am a procrastinator (and a forgetful one at that) and I will find whatever else there is to do and do that before doing something I don't want to do. Wait, did that make sense?
Basically, I got distracted and didn't keep up this blog like I promised. Whatever. Sue me.
Anyway, this post will rattle on and border --oh hell , it will probably cross over--on TMI territory. But these are things I need to say. Besides, nobody reads this anyway except maybe Bonnie. Hi Bonnie!
A few months ago I had my annual check-up. I was five months late on doing so. Typical, right? But we're getting off track here. Moving on.
At my annual (late) check-up, I told my doctor that I had let my perscription for my birth control pills expire and was having horrendous, life-altering cramps again. This, my doctor determined, was due to ovarian cysts that would go away once I was back on birth control. So she put me on Seasonique*, which for those of you that don't know, is a birth control pill that keeps your period at bay for longer than usual so that you onle get one every three months. Four a year. Sounds. Awesome.
Um no.
A month or so into taking these pills, everything started to change. I was angry or sad or just...blah. Nothing. Numb. All the time. I was unable to get excited or be happy for anything, although flying into a rage or hysteria was pretty easy for me. I had terrible mood swings and poor Corey had to walk on eggshells around me because I was constantly starting fights.
Then, my stepmom died.
I thought I was sad all the time because of her death, and yes, that was the main cause. But I couldn't function in real life anymore. I would cry for hours and scream and Corey would have to hold me against a wall in our condo so I didn't hurt him or myself. It wasn't me.
People told me it might have been the pills. My mom and Corey were sure of it. But I was adamant. I hadn't had a problem before. They were crazy. I was fine. The end.
Except that I wasn't fine. Every day was worse than the one before it. When I feel normal, every day is a new beginning. But now every day was a new end. Everything was over and I had nothing and nobody cared and the world was a horrible place. It was awful and scary and frustrating and I began to think that there was no way out other than to die. And I thought about it all day every day until one morning after starting a fight with Corey before the sun was even up. I went into the bathroom of our brand new apartment and grabbed a bottle of Target brand Ibuprofin and shoved a handful into my mouth. Before I was even able to chew or swallow or do anything, I was on the bed with Corey on top of me, his hands in my mouth. I choked as he dug his fingers into my throat scooping out red-coated pill after red-coated pill and screaming, "How many did you swallow?" None.
That was the last day I took those pills. And yeah, I do feel better. A lot better. I can laugh again. I don't cry as much. I get excited about things and can make jokes. Corey says he feels like he got me back. Like I came back from the dead.
Well, maybe I did.
Love,
Katie
*According to my Google search skills, depression among Seasonique users is a common occurrence. Funny, it's not on the warning label! Anyway, I'm sure you can do your own research, but here is one of the stories I read that pretty much summed it up. As always, talk to your doctor about drugs and their effects because I have no medical training. At all.
Basically, I got distracted and didn't keep up this blog like I promised. Whatever. Sue me.
Anyway, this post will rattle on and border --oh hell , it will probably cross over--on TMI territory. But these are things I need to say. Besides, nobody reads this anyway except maybe Bonnie. Hi Bonnie!
A few months ago I had my annual check-up. I was five months late on doing so. Typical, right? But we're getting off track here. Moving on.
At my annual (late) check-up, I told my doctor that I had let my perscription for my birth control pills expire and was having horrendous, life-altering cramps again. This, my doctor determined, was due to ovarian cysts that would go away once I was back on birth control. So she put me on Seasonique*, which for those of you that don't know, is a birth control pill that keeps your period at bay for longer than usual so that you onle get one every three months. Four a year. Sounds. Awesome.
Um no.
A month or so into taking these pills, everything started to change. I was angry or sad or just...blah. Nothing. Numb. All the time. I was unable to get excited or be happy for anything, although flying into a rage or hysteria was pretty easy for me. I had terrible mood swings and poor Corey had to walk on eggshells around me because I was constantly starting fights.
Then, my stepmom died.
I thought I was sad all the time because of her death, and yes, that was the main cause. But I couldn't function in real life anymore. I would cry for hours and scream and Corey would have to hold me against a wall in our condo so I didn't hurt him or myself. It wasn't me.
People told me it might have been the pills. My mom and Corey were sure of it. But I was adamant. I hadn't had a problem before. They were crazy. I was fine. The end.
Except that I wasn't fine. Every day was worse than the one before it. When I feel normal, every day is a new beginning. But now every day was a new end. Everything was over and I had nothing and nobody cared and the world was a horrible place. It was awful and scary and frustrating and I began to think that there was no way out other than to die. And I thought about it all day every day until one morning after starting a fight with Corey before the sun was even up. I went into the bathroom of our brand new apartment and grabbed a bottle of Target brand Ibuprofin and shoved a handful into my mouth. Before I was even able to chew or swallow or do anything, I was on the bed with Corey on top of me, his hands in my mouth. I choked as he dug his fingers into my throat scooping out red-coated pill after red-coated pill and screaming, "How many did you swallow?" None.
That was the last day I took those pills. And yeah, I do feel better. A lot better. I can laugh again. I don't cry as much. I get excited about things and can make jokes. Corey says he feels like he got me back. Like I came back from the dead.
Well, maybe I did.
Love,
Katie
*According to my Google search skills, depression among Seasonique users is a common occurrence. Funny, it's not on the warning label! Anyway, I'm sure you can do your own research, but here is one of the stories I read that pretty much summed it up. As always, talk to your doctor about drugs and their effects because I have no medical training. At all.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Social Network
So I deactivated (much quicker, easier and less permanent—should I ever want it back—than deleting) my Facebook account. Yes, I know. SHOCK! AWE! AMAZEMENT! Someone of the generation of laziness, entitlement and handheld device worship gave up a social networking site! Alert the media! Via Facebook!
But seriously, guys. I don’t even miss it.
I don’t miss everyone knowing my business and secretly stalking me without bothering to actually interact with me.
I don’t miss the copious amount of updates and photos and videos from overzealous parents intent on chronicling their child’s every. breathing. second.
I don’t miss knowing what people are having for dinner tonight.
I don’t miss invites to events and parties that in all honesty, I was never considering attending in the first place and only RSVPed “maybe” to be polite.
I don’t miss worrying if people will find out what I did instead of attending the event/party that I RSVPed “maybe” to.
I don’t miss obnoxious people with low self-esteem that feel the need to express their superiority to everyone via status update. Ex: “OMG! I just got a new sofa for $20 on Ebay and it’s the most amazing sofa in the entire world that retails for $300 billion and is made of Tasmanian squirrel skin that can only be harvested between 2:48 and 3:04 am on February 29th of a leap year so it’s super-awesome and you will never have one and I will and oh, did I mention my boyfriend just proposed with this ugly ring and we’re getting married super-soon and you’ve been engaged for six months with no wedding plans in sight? “
I just don’t miss it.
What I do miss are some of the people that live so far that I never get to see them and can only communicate in these ways. And also sending people Youtube videos (Hey, I never said I gave up on the internet entirely!) and pictures.
And yeah, there are some things that I want to share with people.
I want to tell people about my newfound love for organic, whole, natural foods and green living. And my rekindled love for running and Owl City. Or about the severe, debilitating, suicidal depression I went through. Or the loss of yet another close family member at their own hand.
I just want to talk to you people. But why do I have to sign in blood and give up my privacy and sanity (because dude, Facebook is addictive) to do it?
That’s why the blog is back. Until I get lazy or busy and don’t update it. As I am wont to do.
Either way, here’s hoping you’ll be here with me no matter what happens.
Love,
Katie
But seriously, guys. I don’t even miss it.
I don’t miss everyone knowing my business and secretly stalking me without bothering to actually interact with me.
I don’t miss the copious amount of updates and photos and videos from overzealous parents intent on chronicling their child’s every. breathing. second.
I don’t miss knowing what people are having for dinner tonight.
I don’t miss invites to events and parties that in all honesty, I was never considering attending in the first place and only RSVPed “maybe” to be polite.
I don’t miss worrying if people will find out what I did instead of attending the event/party that I RSVPed “maybe” to.
I don’t miss obnoxious people with low self-esteem that feel the need to express their superiority to everyone via status update. Ex: “OMG! I just got a new sofa for $20 on Ebay and it’s the most amazing sofa in the entire world that retails for $300 billion and is made of Tasmanian squirrel skin that can only be harvested between 2:48 and 3:04 am on February 29th of a leap year so it’s super-awesome and you will never have one and I will and oh, did I mention my boyfriend just proposed with this ugly ring and we’re getting married super-soon and you’ve been engaged for six months with no wedding plans in sight? “
I just don’t miss it.
What I do miss are some of the people that live so far that I never get to see them and can only communicate in these ways. And also sending people Youtube videos (Hey, I never said I gave up on the internet entirely!) and pictures.
And yeah, there are some things that I want to share with people.
I want to tell people about my newfound love for organic, whole, natural foods and green living. And my rekindled love for running and Owl City. Or about the severe, debilitating, suicidal depression I went through. Or the loss of yet another close family member at their own hand.
I just want to talk to you people. But why do I have to sign in blood and give up my privacy and sanity (because dude, Facebook is addictive) to do it?
That’s why the blog is back. Until I get lazy or busy and don’t update it. As I am wont to do.
Either way, here’s hoping you’ll be here with me no matter what happens.
Love,
Katie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
