A moment in a thought

My thoughts, in my life, of adoption and other such things

Depression is a bitch October 1, 2009

Filed under: Depression,life,Mental illness,Self acceptance,thoughts — Jessie @ 1:21 am
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Yep, you heard me.  It really is.  I have been struggling with depression since I was probably about 14 years old.  I don’t think it has ever really and truly gone away.  Sometimes I like to think that I feel better, and sometimes I REALLY do feel better.  Sometimes I think I might actually be free and clear of being just plain freaking miserable.

But alas, no, the depression always seems to creep its way back.

I have tried antidepressants, and yeah, they do help.  Really they do.  And really, I probably should be on them.  But I have no health insurance, no job at the moment, no money.  So it makes getting things, even simple medications, very difficult.

So I deal with depression.

Someone I know recently told me that in order to not be depressed anymore, I just had to catch myself when I started to feel like I was headed downwards emotionally.  She told me to make a list of things I liked to do that made me happy, and when I started to feel that down turning, to do the things on the list.  She gave me ideas like watching a comedy, and thinking of the really great moments in my life.

Well sure, that works… sometimes!  But not all the time.  Because like I said, depression is a bitch.

It makes me hate me.  Unfortunately I do hate me, especially when I am depressed.

When I am depressed, its hard to see past my faults.  I am totally socially inept when it comes to people.  I don’t understand why this is.  The closest explanation I have is that I never had the opportunities to learn proper social skills.  I didn’t really have any friends when I was little, and the few that I did got so annoyed with me, they would just give up.  I had one, and still have one, who just sorta accepts me for me.  That always amazed me.  But anyway, I didn’t have friends, my parents were USELESS when it came to trying to learn how to be a normal human.  My mother was uber strict about everything, so trying to figure out what was right and wrong was pretty much a hopeless cause since EVERYTHING I did was wrong to her.  In middle and high school I did get some friends.  But they were all like me, loners, hopeless, depressed, stoners who just sort of moseyed on through the day until they could get high, or go to sleep, or do something insanely stupid that would be amusing for a few minutes.  Even then, even with the loners, I was a loner.  I have many of these people as friends on facebook, and even the ones I considered to be some of my best friends, don’t know me at all.  Don’t know the slightest thing about me.  Probably don’t really care.  It hurts to know that I never really connected with ANYONE.  It hurts to know that is probably the main reason WHY I have no idea, now, how to hold on to a real relationship.

I have no social skills.  I am 27 years old and I don’t really know how to be NORMAL.  I mean I am not completely hopeless, but I struggle with basics, like how to react when people say things.  How NOT to say the first damn thing that comes to my head.  When to talk, when to shut up, when to give advise, when to listen.  All these things are learned by trial and error.  I didn’t have any of that, and now that I am older, not many people have the patience to deal with it.  I suppose I am not the only one.  But I guess that many people don’t really CARE that they don’t seem to have these basic skills, me on the other hand, I do.  I thank GOD every day for my Daddy (my bdad) for he is the only one who seems to have enough patience to not only love me unconditionally, put up with me, support me, be my best friend AND try to tell me WHEN I do something wrong, so that maybe I can fix it.  God bless the small miracles in life.

It’s like the core of my very personality is just defective, and try as I might, I can’t seem to make it completely right.

My body sucks, years of depression (theres the bitch again!) have taken its toll on me.  Everyone handles things differently.  I sleep, a lot, and eat.  Its my vice, my addiction I suppose I could call it.  Funny I can spill my heart and soul out but can’t talk about the fact that I have an eating disorder.  Due to this, the general nature of food is when you eat it in excess, you gain weight.  I have been getting fat since I was 12.  I succeeded fairly quickly.  And now my body is something I like to think belongs in a circus with little kids staring at me.  Okay so I am not that bad, but I am fat.  Fat enough to not really fit into clothes right.  Fat enough that I can’t just buy a bra at wal mart anymore.  Fat enough that EVERYTHING is difficult, that EVERYTHING doesn’t really fit.  Things people who are of more normal size don’t think twice about.  Like airline seats, lawn chairs, and sitting next to someone thats bigger than a toothpick at the movies.  Its embarassing, it’s the one thing I hate most about myself.  My Daddy is my saving grace on that too, he eats like I do.  Only somehow blessidly, as he is a man, is not QUITE as fat as I am.  But I am watching him die, from diabetes, from high blood pressure, from heart disease.  Its not a fun thing.  And knowing what is doing it to him, and knowing that I am headed right there.  He is 48 years old, he shouldn’t be as sick as he is, but I am going to be sicker than him.

Depression does this.  And it works in mysterious ways since no two people react quite the same.  But its a disease none the less, one that eats at you from the inside out.

And for me, no one knows.  NO ONE knows.  Sure some people know I am depressed, but no one has a clue when I am in my room alone that really I am curled up within myself.  No one knows how often I wish I wasn’t born, because I feel like everyone I know would have benefited from this.  The really deep depression makes me feel like I just shouldn’t be here, that I was just a god damned f’ up to begin with so why the heck am I here?  What purpose do I serve other than to cause others stress and pain?  It makes me so angry that I just can’t seem to be the person I want to be.  I feel like life was wasted on me.  That maybe my aparents would have been happier if they had just adopted a kid that actually FIT in their family, one that tried harder, did better, and didn’t screw up all the time.  Maybe my bmom would feel better if I had just had the life she wanted me to have, if I just WAS that kid that could fit.  If I was actually a well established human being that she actually LIKED.  The grown up one that could be her friend and not annoy the f@%k out of her.  If I wasn’t born, than no one would even HAVE to know I had been here.  No one would have to have suffered the pain that I cause, no one would be any wiser.  Maybe they would be happier.

Then I wouldn’t have to hurt.

Because G Damn it, depression hurts.  It makes me think these things, it makes me FEEL them inside!

My only blessing is that somewhere deep inside me I do know the truth.  I know that I am worth something, and that my aparents probably wouldn’t have been happy with anyone.  My bmom is probably happy somewhere that I am alive, if for nothing else that she has someone to email all the time, and an eternal connection to my bdad.  That I didn’t REALLY cause undue pain to my bdad just because I am alive.  That I DO deserve to be here, and I DO deserve to be happy.  I DO come out of that shell, I am lucky, because I REALLY DO.  The deep depression, the deep dark nasty life sucking mean bitch depression isn’t there all the time.  I am blessed with that, because sometimes I look back and wonder how the hell I even survived that.

I think I survived because when everything is always dark, you get used to it, you get adjusted.  But now, now I get some light, I get some happy, I get some sunshine, and optimism and love.  I hold on to those for dear life when it gets dark.  Because now that I know what light is, the dark seems so much darker, and so much deeper.  But I hold on to that light.

 

Where is the open window here? September 14, 2009

Filed under: Depression,life,reflection,Things,thoughts,Uncategorized — Jessie @ 6:24 pm

God I have no freaking patience today.

Not that I ever really have lots of it.  Through the years I have had different kinds of patience for different things.  But I think that has all just worn thin.  I am so just FED UP with my life.  Just fed up.  I have been for what seems like years now, and nothing I add to it, subtract from it, try to do with it, seems to change that.

I have had these brief periods where life seemed to be okay.  A little over a year ago I finished my degree, got a good job and started making a decent wage with a company that actually offered health insurance.  YES!  Finally.  I got my butt through school, that was hellish in and of itself.  And got myself OUT of my daycare job, which was great, because I just needed to be DONE with kids.  I used to have tons of patience for kids… but after seven years of working with them, my patience wore out, and I needed to do something else.  Went to school, got my degree in graphic design, and landed myself a nice KID FREE office job.  It really looked like things were going to start to look up.

OF COURSE NOT!

I lost that job just three months later, I am a massive fuck-up.  And I thought to myself, okay God, when you close a door you always open a window right?  There has got to be a reason for this.  There has got to be a reason why I just lost the best job I had ever gotten, and my best chance at actually making something of myself in the field I went to school for.  Because it was in the middle of the worst economic crisis since the great depression.  There has GOT to be some reason for this bull shit!  I got let go one week after my health insurance, which I had for the first time in five years, took effect.  There had to be some reason.

Almost a year later I have still yet to find that reason.  I have been living off of unemployment insurance and the money I make watching a little girl named Zoey for a whole whopping five dollars an hour.  I have not been able to find ANYTHING in my field, had one group interview for a job at a UPS store that also did graphics work, and there were people there that not only had their bachelors degrees (I have my associates) but also experience in the field.  My crappy three months at my great job don’t add up to much as experience.  Which let me know JUST how bad the market is for graphic designers.  My Degree is essentially one VERY expensive waste of paper.  F’ing GREAT!  All that work, all that heartache, all that freaking money!  For nothing.  For absofreakinglutly nothing.

Now I have six weeks until my unemployment runs out.  Six weeks is nothing but a blink of an eye.  I might have another extension, in fact I am pretty sure I do, but I can’t risk it.  And besides… back to the patience thing, INEED TO BE DONE WITH KIDS!  I love Zoey, but Zoey is a kid, and I need to be done with them.  I just do, for my dwindling patience sake, for my sanity sake.  And I need to go back to having a normal schedule again.  I have meetings I want/need to go to at night.  But I have to watch Zoey from 2-8.  Kinda kills that since most of the meetings take place anywhere from 5 to 730.  Can’t make any of those.

And I just can’t take the impatience anymore.  I do my very very best not to take it out on little Zo.  I do love her, but gosh shes a little kid, and she gets into EVERYTHING CONSTANTLY.  Which grates on me, and creates a feeling within me that I am not a big fan of.  That feeling of rage… thats what happens when I hold in my feelings of impatience, that feeling of rage.  And most of the time the only release I have to let it out on is myself.  So my impatience turns into frustration, and that frustration just turns inward toward myself.  Which makes me even more angry at me for everything I screw up on to begin with.  Its like this horrible never ending cycle.

I guess what frustrates me the most is this feeling is not new, in fact, in my life, it seems like its ALWAYS CONSTANT.  I had that reprieve when I got my good job.  It was like a sigh of relief, I could feel my life setting into something that I could handle.  But no, as per usual, it just slipped away, right through my fingers, like a big joke on me.  Like the universe was showing me JUST what it felt like to take that sigh of relief, just long enough for me to miss it when it was gone, and proceeded to take it away from me.  Reminds me of my childhood, my parents used to love to do that to me in punishment.  They took anything good I had away from me.  The worst parts of my life I spent grounded with literally nothing, they would even take my music away from me.

So thats what all this feels like, a big freaking punishment, a punishment because I just seem to be the biggest f up that ever lived.  Because life never seems to stop punishing me.

There is a hopeful employment oppourtunity, I have spent so long sending in resumes and calling places and gotten no where.  But there is a temporary staffing agency at one of the hospitals near me.  Hopefully I can get hired there.  Its just a temporary position, no health insurance or benefits but it pays alright.  And maybe it will be alright for a while.  Lord knows what I will do after that, if I even manage to get hired there.  But for now, that will have to work.

Because thank goodness, that job is blissfully CHILD FREE.  Maybe I could manage to get some of my patience back.

I just wish my life wasn’t just so damn FRUSTRATING all the time!

 

What does it feel like to be a borderline? September 13, 2009

Thats an interesting question.   And I could answer it in so many different ways.

Its been a long time since I have defined myself as a borderline, an adoptee, an anything really.  For a while now, I have sorta just accepted some semblance of me and described myself as that. But there are parts of me I suppose that may never really go away.

I read about Borderline Personality Disorder and realize that even if per say, I don’t qualify for the diagnosis, what it feels like to be a borderline will never be far from my mind.   I will never forget what it felt like for me.  Hell still feels sometimes.  (although I feel like I need to put a side note here, that I have recovered from having to feel a lot of these things anymore, I am a lucky one)

It feels like being lost.

It feels like not belonging in your own body, in your own skin.  Sometimes its even hard to feel like you really do exist, that this body you live in exists, and that it is somehow connected to you and to the actions that you put it through.

It feels like sometimes pain is the only way to make you FEEL like you exsist again.  Of course I am not talking mental pain, no that is something that is felt on such a deep level, you have to close it off just to remain somewhat functional.  No physical pain, physical pain is the connection to the reality of everything.  Without it, sometimes you can get compleatly lost in the non-reality of the disconnection you feel.

It feels like your mind is disconnected from everything sometimes, like you can’t quite get a grip on anything because there is just no way to grasp it, instead it just slips through your fingers just when you think you might get ahold of it.

It feels as though other people don’t really exsist once they are gone.  As soon as they walk out the door, or hell even just go to bed in another room, it feels like they don’t exist anymore.  Of course somewhere in that rational mind you know they still exist!  But you can’t feel them any more.  Like a light switch that just gets shut off, every feeling you have, every feeling they give you, dissapears as soon as they do.  As if every essance of there very being is gone until you see them again.  And when its that one person, the one that is the center of your world at that moment, Sometimes the pain of just missing someone is so unbelievable, its like the inner parts of your soul will just come apart until you can just know that they exsist once again. So sometimes you pretend they are there, just so you won’t have to feel what it feels like when they aren’t.  And of course, there is that rational brain telling you that you are nuts… and just deal with it.  But the longing is still there, no matter how many times you try to rationalize your way through it, the longing is still there.  The missing is still there.

It feels like lonelyness… because once you are alone, you are ALONE.  You can’t feel those who love you, you can’t feel their love towards you.  After they are gone, its like they don’t love you anymore.  After all, if they are gone, how can their love remain.  Lonelyness is so central, so inside the core, it feels as though you practically are the only person who exsists in the world, and yet that existance is so fragile, so unreal, that the lonelyness becomes your exsistance, and soon it feels as if the whole world has gone.  And without others, your own exsistance fades, hence herein comes the physical pain, as said before, physical pain can become the only tie you have to actual exsistance.

It feels like dark… dark dark dark.  Like all the light in the world was just somehow sucked out.   All the energy and all the hope, just gone, sucked away to destinations unknown.  Only sometimes then there is light, LIGHT!  So damn bright it almost blinds you.  Your eyes… your body are unaccustomed to so much light and it practiacally blinds you.  Happy is just as stong an emotion as sad, only even more scary.  Because I never quite knew what to do with that light… and before you know it, snap, its gone.

It feels like being compleatly out of control.  Anger, rage, at NOTHING sometimes.  But there is no hope in controlling that anger, none at all.  Let it out, and it is distructive, violent, dangerous.  Keep it in and it makes the darkness even darker, until finally everything just goes black…

or RED

And watch out for red… because when RED comes there is no help.  When there is red, there is no rational, only rage, uncontrollable, uncomprehensible, inexplainable, rage.

It feels like death, like death of your soul, death of your mind.  And you can’t get death OUT of your mind.  Can’t walk by a window without wondering what would happen if you jumped out.  Can’t look at your own wrists without knowing how simple it should be.  Can’t stop obsessing about how or when or if it would work.  Cant look at a bottle of pills without seeing death first.

It feels like black and white, and nothing in between… well except maybe red.  But everything, everyone, every place good or bad.  And every moment the black and white changes.  Good self, bad self, good mother, bad mother.  And somehow the ability to keep the good and the bad compleatly separate.  You can love someone you hate, and hate someone you love.  But never at the same time.  You either love them, or hate them.  But that can change in an instant.  Borderlines can love someone abusive… and be okay with it.

It feels like confusion, like never knowing the answer to a question.  Even one as simple as whats your favorite color?  What IS my favorite color?  Is it black, I’m wearing black today I think I like black.  But Purple is nice too, but wait maybe I like blue… do I like blue?

It feels like insanity, because through it all Borderlines are just intelligent normal people… with some kind of messed up brain sequence.  We know we are messed up, but don’t know how to make it stop.  Don’t know how to just BE NORMAL.  Don’t know how to just be ourselves.  Have no off button… have no on button.  Have no button that turns the black and white into gray.  Have no button that makes it easier when someone walks away.  Have nothing like that.  But do have an intense need to be loved… which proves difficult for others to do.  Which in turn makes our lives more difficult too.  It feels like insanity because you just can’t understand what the hell is wrong with you.  Why you can’t make sense of anything or anyone.  Why people look at you funny and ask you what the hell is wrong with you.  It feels like a complete lack of understanding and place in the world.

Because it feels like being able to function completely normally while no one around you has a clue.

No one around you knows the war you fight within.

 

Who am I? September 5, 2009

And what a question that is.

Who am I?  Really, WHO am I?  I have so often wondered the answer to that question.  In the nature of me, and the nature of the diagnosis of BPD the question Who am I comes up quite often.  If you had asked me 10 years ago… five years ago… I probably would have looked at you like you were out of your mind.  I had no idea who I was, or even how to begin an accurate description of me.  I was whatever I wanted to be, a personal chameleon that could fit well into any situation.  Belong with any group of people.  Only I never really did BELONG, just pretended.  And silently hoped that no one would notice the chameleon in their midst.

Over the years I have developed something that would qualify as a sense of self.  I learned to lable things at put them into perspective and say, yeah, this is me, I like this.  I could even tell you reasons why I liked those things.  I have learned to allow myself to be myself, without questioning that too much.  Granted it doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

Hoever, today, I took a quiz on a dating site, I decided to join a dating site, yay for me.  But I took this personality profile… I have taken lots… I know my profile personality pretty well.  This profile was different, the questions were aimed to be answered as you were as a child, not as you are now.  Because according to this, everyone is born with their core personality in tact.  Being that I worked in child care for 7 years,  I can tell you that this is probably true.  Babies, even little ones, have outrageously different personalities that they always carry with them through their childhoods.  But anyway, so this test is geared at your core personality, the one you were born with.  There was a disclaimer in there about yeah, people change blah blah blah but your core personality always remained.  So I took the test.  There were four personality groups.  Blue, the intuitive, intimate, emotional type.  Red, the powerful, stubborn, relentless type.  White the gentle, kind, dependable type.  Yellow, the outgoing, spontaneous and fun loving type.  I figured I was a shoo in for blue.

I got yellow, not even just yellow but DEFINITELY yellow (thats what they said, definitely yellow).  Yellow?  Where did that come from?  I am not outgoing, I HATE being around people.  I suck in social situations and avoid them at all costs.  I don’t like to be around people,  revel in being alone!  I don’t like having lots of friends, being the center of attention, I am not outgoing, I am not extroverted… all I could think of is WTF?  YELLOW??  The worst is my next was red, then white, THEN blue.  No no no, they got something wrong.

But then I started thinking.  I was that obnoxious child, the one that was always in trouble, and way too loud.  The one that wanted to be the center of attention and loved making people laugh.  The one that put tacks in her shoes because she liked the clicking noise walking down the hall.  The stubborn and crazy and creative kid.  I was that one.

So what the hell happened?

If our core personalities never change, where did mine go?  And the more I started thinking about it, the more I realized its still there.  Just so locked away and hidden it doesn’t come out often.  When I am with my Dad (my bdad for those followers) I am that person still.  The fun loving, outgoing, silly funny person.  The goofy one who loves to make him laugh.  The one who is always being cheerful and telling him to look at the bright side.  The Yellow me.  Yellow.  When I am with him, I can be yellow.

Every time else, I am Blue.  The emotional, feeling, intuitive, craves intimacy blue.  And I am blue with my Dad too, if it weren’t for the intimacy of our relationship (and NO intimacy does not mean SEX, at least not this definition of it) the yellow in me would never have come out.

So who the hell am I, the Yellow or the Blue?

And if core personalities don’t change, why do I gravitate towards blue?

 

The death of childhood December 17, 2008

Life has thrown many obstacles at me, as I am sure is the same for many others.  Some people just seem to go through life without too much difficulty, without ever knowing what it feels like to be abused, depressed, suicidal or any of those other fun things that come along.  

I on the other hand, am not one of those people.  Because of that I have been in therapy for what seems like an eternity but is really only six years.  I have a myriad of diagnosis including chronic depression, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and Borderline Personality Disorder.   However, I don’t really think of myself by those things.  In all reality I am just a person, thats all it is.  A person with things I have to deal with, and have dealt with, tremendously well all considering.  I am a completely different person now than I was six years ago, three years ago, even one year ago.  However, some things just never cease to amaze me.  New things pop up that I hadn’t even thought about.  

One of those was in a therapy session I had yesterday.  My therapist asked me to write a letter to my mother, and start it with Dear Mom, I hate when you…. and list all the things from my childhood that I hated when she did.  So I did.  I started with the pen to the paper and Dear Mom, I hate when you scream at me… and so on from there.  Without too much time passing, I found myself in tears and with a list that was four pages long.  The saddest part was that none of the things were one time only things.  They were ALL things that she had done to me, more than once, and not I hate it when you wouldn’t let me go to so and sos house.  Nothing like that, all things that were regulars in the list of I hate it when yous… 

When I got to the fourth page I stopped.  Simply because I was crying too hard and I didn’t want to go on.  I closed the notebook I had written it in and didn’t think about it again.  Didn’t remember a lot of the things I put in that list because I was writing from the heart and not from my head.  

In Session yesterday my Therapist, J, made me read the letter out loud.  I surprised even myself when I had a hard time doing so.  I don’t know why, I guess because A.  I knew it would hurt her, and B.  I knew it would hurt ME.  I knew that reading that list would transfer what I had written from a secret place locked deep in my heart, to a conscious place in my head.  I didn’t really want to do that.  I needed to do it.  

I did it.  In reading the list of things I myself wasn’t even ready to hear, I made yet another realization.  Well really J made the realization through the tears in her eyes that I didn’t want to put there.  My mother was abusive.  

I was abused.  Not just sexually abused, that I already know about… a little hard to forget, even though my mind had done a good job of it.  But I was abused, by the person who was supposed to love and nurture me and care for me forever and ever.  Not physically, no she didn’t hit me any more than the slaps when I did something wrong.  No she was verbally and emotionally abusive.  

I don’t know why this comes as a surprise to me.  But it does.  It hurts, it brings up things I don’t want to feel.  My mother was abusive.  Not an easy thing to deal with.  

Particularly since the worst part of it is, I love my mother.  I really do.  I don’t know why, I guess that deep part within me that loves her because she is my mother.  I love her because she isn’t ALL bad.  She isn’t a terrible awful person who belongs somewhere in the pits of hell.  Which is hard for me, because I would think that all abusers belong somewhere in the pits of hell.  

My mother does not.  She is a good person <BAH> really, she is.  Well I guess I should say she TRYS to be a good person.  She was the girl scout leader, the mom who always went on field trips, the one every other kid loved!  She made the best cookies, she made the best projects, she was creative, she is all sorts of good things.  

However, she is also abusive.  It wasn’t on purpose, I KNOW that.  All she ever wanted in the world was to be a mother (I know right?  Barf) I just wasn’t the right daughter for her.  Too bad there isn’t a store or something where you can pick the right kid.  Had things been different perhaps it would have worked better, but I was just not the right kid for her. 

I do not allow myself to still be abused, we have come to this relationship that seems to work, where we both pretend that the past never happened and we are just this happy family la te da.  

So how does one go about dealing with something like this?  Dealing with a rationalization that comes in adulthood.  I guess I just keep going about doing what I am doing and hoping the eventually the majority of my demons will settle.  That hopefully I will know how to be someone that is not anywhere NEAR my mother.   I can’t make the past better, I can’t make it different.  I can keep going toward the future but I wonder how to effectively let go of the past, without burying it in a non healthy way, as I have done for so long.

 

How does one learn to cook? December 16, 2008

Filed under: Cooking,life — Jessie @ 1:14 am
Tags: , , , , ,

After posting my blog about Gavin Rossdale, I realized just how much I missed blogging.  

I started this blog as a place to get out my feelings about adoption.  Not that those feelings aren’t important anymore, they just aren’t at the forefront of my life anymore.  I have come to terms with things.  

I do however, miss blogging.  So blog again I shall.  Only instead of being my Adoptee blog, it will just be my life blog.  Probably not nearly as exciting, but hey, maybe someone wants to read about my life.  

I realized today a fundamental thing about myself.  Its actually been brewing for quite some time now.  

I have discovered, that against my honest thoughts, I can’t cook.  

I always thought I could, I mean, I make KILLER meatballs, I have a secret ingredient.  I can make a great box of macaroni and cheese, and hamburger helper?  I can make the best you have ever tasted.  Its a little bit depressing to realize that beyond that, I really just have no cooking skills whatsoever.  

I cooked a lot, with my mom, as a kid.  I was in girl scouts, I made lots of things.  And I really do make great meatballs.  With my mother watching over, I always managed to make just about everything that a recipe was put in front of me for.  Served to the family, everyone commented on how great it was.  And I got this false sense of confidence in my cooking abilities.  I really honestly and truly in believed that I was a good cook.  When I moved out of the house at 20, I had a little teeny studio apartment.  Along with a little teeny fridge.  The freezer was sufficient enough for a box of hot pockets and maybe a bag of chicken nuggets.  Other than that, nothing would fit.  

I lived off of boxed food, sandwiches, chicken nuggets and all other easy things that most would probably associate with children.  I made pizza bread with french bread when I felt like it, and perhaps a chicken sandwich on occaision.  However, that was the extent of my actual cooking.  I didn’t have a real oven, and only a hot plate for a stove.  I didn’t cook.  However, I was still deluded that I could.  

I moved in to my current apartment with my Bdad and fam the October before last.  I still didn’t cook much because after five years of making it on sandwiches, mac and cheese, and hamburger helper, I really didn’t expand my horizons much.  Besides, I was always really busy.  

So this October, I lost my job.  That is pretty much a whole blog in and of itself.  But anyway, I found myself with all this time on my hands.  Plus as one of the few bonus’ of losing my job.  I qualified for food stamps.  So I decided to give real cooking a try.  I was excited, I was going to make all sorts of stuff.  

The only thing I really managed to make was the realization that I just really suck at cooking!!  

I attempted a meatloaf, and… well… it was more a… meatbrick.  It actually wasn’t terrible all considering, but it wasn’t what I would call good.  It was one of those things you wouldn’t mind eating if you were starving and that was all you had, definetly not what I would call yummy.  

I attempted a chicken and rice casserole, the chicken came out pretty decent, the rice casserole part… not so much.  It was pretty much like eating dry rice.  And I tried really hard, putting cheese and other yummyness into it.  It just didn’t work out so well for me.  

Today was by far the worst.  I decided to make BLT’s… well okay BL’s because I don’t like tomato.  I cooked the bacon, real bacon, not the heat and eat stuff for the microwave I usually get.  I figured bacon was probably pretty easy.  Nope, aparantly not.  I like my bacon crispy, I thought at one point it was almost done, I’ll put the bread in the toaster… came back a few seconds later to take out the bacon.  My crispy bacon resembled something that looked more like one of those hard dog treats that is supposed to resemble bacon but really doesn’t.  It was like this burnt red color and pretty much broke into a thousand peices when I went to put it on the sandwich.  I burned the bacon, I mean how hard is it to cook bacon!!!!  

I also attempted to make eggs, but we won’t discuss that either.  

So what I want to know, is how people just learn to cook!!  I have been taught to cook, my mom is a really great cook! (one of the few things she is good at)  So why is it that I can make a couple of things really well, and everything else I am just a total cooking idiot?  I read the directions, things just never seem to turn out well for me!  

Is it a matter of practice?  Is it just going to slowly get better, or am I doomed to a life of cooking for idiots cookbooks and hoping my kids don’t mind crunchy bacon (not that I have any, but when I do)

 

Gavin Rossdale December 11, 2008

Filed under: Gavin Rossdale — Jessie @ 12:17 am
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Okay, I know I havn’t written here in… well like forever.  I guess I just havn’t really been in an adoptee state of mind for a while now  I do however, always think little blogs in my head and have a hard time not writing them down sometimes.  

Tonight I have one that was just begging to be written, and what the heck, I have a blog, why not write it.  

I don’t know if any of you have that one person in your life.  That one celebrity or whatever that you just attach to and for lack of a better way of putting it, fall in love with.  No I am not talking about the OMG Brad Pitt is soooo hot kind of love.  The kind that the person speaks to you in a way, and perhaps at a time when life wasn’t so easy, for whatever reason.

That person for me was Gavin Rossdale, the at the time lead singer of Bush.  Of course, it doesn’t help that he is OMG sooooo hot, and I was sooo 14 when I first laid eyes on him.  But seriously, Gavin was my man, he was my teenage obsession that lasted a long, long time.  I knew his words by heart, I knew his voice by heart.  I was absolutely positively in love with him.  I won’t go into all the mushy barfy details, but he was a constant when my life was constantly in turmoil.  His was a face that made regular appearances in my dreams.  His was the voice that got me through the hardest times of my life. 

My mother, being my mother, refused to let me go to a ‘rock concert’ even with a chaperon.  So I was never able to see him live on tour.  Every year he would come, every year he would go, and every chance to actually see him, and every hope of mine, would go with it.  I had all the t-shirts, all the cd’s, all the posters.  My walls were covered in Gavin.  God I was ridiculous.  But his words got me through.  

Years went on, and Bush came apart, and I never really heard much about Gavin after that.  The only time I heard about him was because of his wife, Gwen Stefani (I was devistated when they got married, he was finally, officially, taken).   Then one day, I was listening to the radio and I hear this song… and it sounded just like him, I knew beyond a doubt that it HAD to be him.  Love remains the same, thats what the song was called… isn’t that just a freaking kicker.  After all this time, yes, Love remains the same.  I freaked, all I could think of was OMG I hope he goes on tour again and I know, this time around, I will be able to see him.  I don’t care where he goes, I don’t care how much tickets are, nothing was going to stop me from my chance to FINALLY see him!!!  

In my town, the local hit music station puts on these little concerts, they call them listener lounges.  They put the tickets out there to their club members in the form of a raffle, you use points that you collect from listening.  Needless to say, they somehow managed to snag Gavin.  And I somehow managed to win tickets.  It didn’t even really click in to me what was going on.  I guess nothing that good ever really happens to me.  These little ‘lounges’ as they are called, are very private, only 40 people can get in.  40 people and Gavin.  I couldn’t believe it, it was fast.  I won the tickets on monday and the concert was tonight.  I didn’t have time for it to sink in.  Not to mention, I didn’t know what to expect. 

When I saw him, I couldn’t fathom it.  It was just a little thing, no ‘backstage’ no outfit changes.  Just a chair, a guitar and us.  Gavin walked in with his enturage, and it was just about pitch dark.  No one seemed to notice, I hardly noticed, I was standing in the back of the croud, and I couldn’t fathom that that could possibly be him, just standing there.  Then I walked up, and there was no mistaking, I was standing in front of my hero.  I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t much of anything. I reached out my hand and touched his arm, I think I stuttered, but I said OMG I can’t believe its really you, he smiled and his bodyguard told me they would be doing a meet and greet later, basically like ‘yeah we are working toward that chair over there, don’t draw the crowd’.  I just said Wow, I think I am going to cry, he took my hand, said ‘don’t cry’ and pulled me into a quick hug.  Even as I write this I can’t believe it happened to me.  This kind of thing just DOESNT happen to me.   He sang, he played guitar, all the while I was just in awe that he was THERE… like right there, right in front of my face there.  

Tonight, I met my hero.  My Idol, my icon, my obsession.  Tonight, I got to fulfill a teenage dream that I never thought would be possible.  Because tonight, not only did I see Gavin Rossdale perform.  I met Gavin Rossdale.  I HUGGED Gavin Rossdale… TWICE!  I got my picture taken with Gavin Rossdale, and I got his autograph.   I touched him.  I didn’t just see him from 53rd row seats in a stadium, like I would have had I gone to a concert at 15, I touched him.   I hugged him, he hugged ME!  I heard his voice, not from a distance, but from close enough to reach out and touch his fingers on the guitar.  I heard him sing close enough to see the look in his eyes.  I heard him perform my favorite song close enough so see his eyelashes.  

Tonight, was by far, the very absolutly best night of my life.

 

 
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