Thursday, December 16, 2010

"Camisado" by Panic at the Disco

For this blog to really depict my mental state and battle, I have to blog how I'm feeling right when I'm feeling it, which is why there has been an influx of posts in the past week. As I said before, this has been a horrible week. So to the post.

If I were bipolar, this would be the depressive part of the cycle. This is the part when I'm so down that I hold the pill bottle in my hand as I shake and question. Do I do it? I'm so alone. I feel as if I've lost a brother, and I have. The song in the title depicts my feeling right now, in a sense. Please don't get me wrong, I still have my amazing boyfriend, but girls need more than boyfriends, they need friends. And in some odd twist of fate I've lost another one. I'm the Black Friend (like the black widow). My boyfriend is the only man who was been able to withstand my actions which normally drive others away. I won't list real names, but everyone will have a name. I'll tell you my story..

First was Lerry. I met him years ago on the beach. My attachment was strong as it always is when guys. I got clingy and needy and was willing to do whatever it took to keep him as my friend. Of course that pushed him away. He took a very small piece of me with him. But he came back years later, and the cycle repeated. Just two months ago he returned, but this time I didn't give him a piece. This time I knew I was sick. I knew I had to be careful.

Next was Iriano. Beautiful person, we clicked immediately. I honestly had no feelings for him, none at all. He didn't interest me in the slightest. But I also got very attached. That's to say the least. Of course I scared him away, why wouldn't I? Actually, it was making my illness much worse to be around him, so it was a necessary separation. I met him during my first real time away from my boyfriend. I met him after my suicide attempt, and I thought for so long that he saved my life. I felt indebted to him, like he was better than men. I guess it was that Superhero complex. He honestly just stepped into my life at a wrong time. Or perhaps it was a right time, because I'm still here today. Only God knows.

Last was Clario. I'm sure you remember him from an earlier blog post. He was like a brother to me. After the first incident where he didn't protect me, he made it his mission to protect me from any and everything from that point on. Including my terrible hallucinations. He was there for every tear and such, we've known each other for a while, but it wasn't until recently that we started to get to know one another. He was a bit on the manipulative side, and I fell for it like I always do, but he wasn't a bad person. And I could tell that he really gave a damn. I allowed myself to trust that he wasn't going to go anywhere, so I allowed himself to become a part of me. He was family to me... But I wasn't family to him. He cared for me in an inappropriate way, and as usual, I handled it wrong. I always have this fear that people are going to leave me, so I do whatever I think they want. Well I messed up, it was my fault I think sometimes. Other times I know it wasn't. Well Clario was taken from me. We aren't allowed to talk or anything, and this is the most recent and most painful wound. Luckily I still have my boyfriend. It's hard to find people close to your age who actually give a damn. He was my battle buddy, and now I feel like I'm alone. My boyfriend doesn't quite understand the troubles I'm facing. He tries, but it's hard.

So now I'm walking around feeling as if I've been ripped apart. I'm so down and depressed. All I want to do is hide in a dark place. Closure is important to me, and I wasn't given the chance to have it with Clario. My wounds are so plentiful and so deep I often don't want to survive them. Who would? Clario and my boyfriend were both guys who I thought of when I sang "Crawl (carry me through) by Superchick. I can't let my boyfriend bear the weight of my illness alone so I'm back to forcing it all inside, but letting out some of it here. Death is sitting next to me, waiting. But I have a family. I have a man who loves me. I have a support system adults wide. But why can't I find acceptance from people my own age? Why am I so vulnerable? And so alone? Why can't my family be enough? I don't know. I feel so terribly all the time because of this. This illness is ruining my life. I don't have much left, and I can see my life falling a part. I see a mother who smokes because she doesn't know how else to handle her daughter. I see a father who drinks in order to deal with it. A sister whose anger sears through my soul. She might be the main reason I won't commit suicide. Because if survive, I'll have to face her anger again. She doesn't understand. But unless you're in my shoes, who does?

Signing out,

Whitney, Austin, and Death

Times may have changed, but my illness has not.

Mania. It's something that I deal with often. My manic episodes come from seemingly no where, but they hit hard. I have a much harder time controlling my actions when I'm manic, and that's something that very few people who aren't professionals understand. To date, only my boyfriend. And because he understands so well he's titled as an "enabler." Annoying. (The thing is, that man is a disabler. Haha! But he isn't an enabler at all.) My manic episodes often have a trigger. Besides a very common one being stress, they can be triggered by exhaustion and medications. For me it often feels like people can trigger them. Generally males that act like they really care about me. It sucks, and I hate it, so I tend to not hang around guys that much. Except that when they worm themselves into my life, things tend to go wrong.

I have a boyfriend who I love with all my heart and soul, and when I'm in a "balanced mood" I would rather die than even think of touching another person sexually. Except when I'm manic I do things that go against the very foundation of my being. (Luckily I haven't been afforded most of the opportunities yet, but things like drinking and smoking. These are things my amazing boyfriend has protected me from, because he can often recognize my mania.) But I've screwed up, more than I would want to admit, and he knows these instances. He understands it's my illness ruining my life. But how can he heal if he cannot blame? I never asked for this. He didn't either. The main thing that runs through my head is "What would his mother think?" I can only imagine she'd hate me. I know most of the time I do. Suicide is a thought that crosses my mind at least once a day. I often feel as though Death is a constant companion.. Just waiting on the day that I get so exhausted from it all. When I'm in a manic episode I just go go go. I do things and never think about the consequences, but when I finally return to a normal mood I get so down because of the things that I've done. Things I normally wouldn't/shouldn't have done. How can I live with myself when I keep screwing up so badly? And now I'm away from the only person who ever truly grasped the concept that sometimes I am unable to think rationally.

Recently I started talking to a person more. This person was younger than me and his behavior caused me a lot of stress. I considered this person to be like a brother. And told them so, and I should have walked away when they said they were in love with me. But how could I? Someone (other than my seemingly biased boyfriend) actually gave a damn about someone as worthless as me. Someone who was semi-close to my age didn't care about my illness. And things got out of hand. This person didn't know how to recognize my episodes and things were said. Things I tried to fix whenever I realized. But the truth is, I was manipulated in a lot of ways. I should have given them the boot, but I couldn't. They made me think they needed my help. Told me that no one cared about them, and that they hated life.. Hinted at suicide often. And I know how that feels, so how could I abandon them. Well, their parents found out, and it looked like I was the villain. I don't exactly believe that I wasn't. In my mind I'm always the villain. All I heard was "You're older, you know better." Well how do you explain to someone that you TRIED? That they took advantage of your mania? I'm starting to realize that there is no help for me. Even in this house. I listen to lectures about things I know, but things that don't make any sense to me when I'm manic.

This week has been one of the worst. With the events going on with that person and our families, I ruin everything. My parents were forced to chose between their friend and their daughter. Seems like an easy choice, but what do you say when your daughter royally effed up? I deserved whatever punishment they bestowed on me, hell, I even welcomed it.

And all I have to blame is my mania. Even though somewhere deep inside I know I'm not exactly responsible, I blame myself. What does it sound like when someone blames their illness? Like their not taking responsibility for their actions. What type of person is that? I don't want to be that type of person, even though I know I did my best. I have these emotions raging inside of me. I'm starting to realize that there is no help. No medicine, no doctor, no dog can fix me. And the dog helps the most it feels, but everyday is a BATTLE with my family. Every little mistake Austin makes is scrutinized. He's a DOG not perfect. All I ever hear about is how the ADA hasn't certified him. I know the law, but who listens to me? This battle is a burden that I have to carry alone. It feels like eventually Death will win this battle, and he's rubbing his hands together saying "Patience is a virtue."

Whitney and Austin

Travelling & Airports

Yesterday I arrived on the beautiful island of Oahu. All was well... Until I stepped into the quarantine office. And then all Hell broke loose. But.. Let's rewind to the start of my day.

I didn't sleep well Saturday night; I was stressed about flying with Austin. So, when 0330 (a.m for those non-military) rolls around I'm rearing and ready to go. My grandmother expects me to return without Austin.. HA! (Sorry, it's just annoying to always hear people's opinions on your illness and what is necessary to treat it. They also think that 19 is too young to have a service dog... So is it too young to be sick? If so, they oughta take that one up with the man upstairs.) Anywho, let's skip ahead to the airport. We go through security... No problems, we load up on the plane, and Austin was scared at first. He was shaking so I fed him treats and then he seemed to be having a ball. I fell asleep, and he did, too. When I woke up he wasn't shaking just staring at me sleep.... Awkward. (The flight attendant was SO nice, she told me that Austin looked cold and to put him up on his mat on the seat next to me. He climbed into my arms, though.) We disembark that plane (only a two hour flight) and make our way through DFW. I of course had to take him to the relief area because our next flight was going to be eight-and-a-half hours. He looked thirsty so I bought him a water and left security. Before leaving I took a valium because I saw those new fangled scanners, and having a SD means that you have to have the new fangled pat down. Being touched by strangers really triggers me, and I knew I'd get sick, even with Austin there if I had to have one. After asking thirty odd people we find the scanty relief area (but I'm not complaining it was a relief area!) He sniffed around and I got worried that Austin wasn't going to use it; there was no grass only a fake fire hydrant and some wood chips. We'll he was determined to prove me wrong because he handled one and two. On the way back I was feeling.. A little more than high. But I was so calm that the entire airport could have blown up and I wouldn't have given a rats rear end. We made our way back through security and.. We didn't even have to do the pat down! They only checked Austin's vest. We ran into another SD (a golden-doodle, also self-trained) and I realized that Austin needs more work with dogs... Now I just need to hunt some down!!! But we went through and I was annoyed about having to get rid of my water, but I didn't complain too much. We soldiered on and I got some eatery. I was so out of it that it took me about one minute to find my wallet even though it was right in front of me. But I didn't care too much... Or at all. I sat down to eat, and spilled my food (which normally would've sent me into a rage) but I just wiped it off and laughed. A lot. And then chatted on the phone. I stayed calm enough, and that satisfied me greatly.

The plane ride was long and boring, but how is that new? Austin made friends with the neighbor guy and basically slept with his head on him the entire time. But when I got up to potty Austin was not happy! It was funny. But all went well until Quarantine time. Basically they told me he wasn't an SD and that made me so mad. The guy was rude and thought he knew EVERYTHING. My mom handled him and soon before the week is out I'll be going to the quarantine station with my letters and having that handled. Pisses me off it really did. Sorry the ending wasn't so good here, this has just been an awful week, but don't worry... That's the next blog post!!

Friday, December 10, 2010

Olive Garden and more

So, even before Austin arrived, Olive Garden was a hot spot for my boyfriend and I. We'd go at least once a week. It was fun! And so when Austin finally arrived I knew we had to go together for the first time. Steff (my bf) took us, and when we walked in they lady looked at us a little, oddly. Austin was vested, of course. But they seated us (not asking any questions) and put us off in a corner. I was a little bit MORE than perturbed. There was no one anywhere near us, and I knew that we had just been quarantined. So I asked for the manager, and when he came I told him about my feelings and he says "Yes, you've been separated because of the dog, which, by the way, can't be in here." I told him Austin was a service dog, and he said "Oh!" He apologized profusely and offered to move us, but I sort of liked our little nook in our own little world, so we opted to stay. Austin did fine, and we had a wonderful meal.

Earlier we went back, and the same manager was working. He knows us now, as we've been back many times since the incident. There was a lady behind us who pulled him to the side and began talking with him. She had her back to us but I could read his lips. He told her it was a service animal. I was a little offended, but I know that she handled it the proper way. I generally have the feeling of having to say something. I mean I get pissed at the drop of a pin, but I was a little disoriented because of a triggering fire alarm. Generally I dart whenever loud noises suddenly blare, but this time, I finally was able to stay planted long enough for me to be helped out. I was insanely dazed, though. And even those who weren't mentally ill were upset. They were just able to get down the stairs whereas I generally would have hidden away. But that lady was still better than the idiots behind us who made the comment about a dog. But I didn't hear, Steffon did. Anyways we ate our meal and had a wonderful time. I think Austin has started alerting. Because I was in the middle describing the ENTIRE Prince Caspian movie to Steffon when Austin jumped up on me. About a minute later I felt like my head was being squeezed on both sides. My words started to slur and it was just bad news. Other than terrible episode I was alright-ish. I had trouble walking, but that's not particularly new. In Petco is where I really started having trouble, my legs felt like they weighed 30 pounds each, which is quiet possible, but it's different when you feel the weight. I think it is, at least. I had a hard time, there.

On Sunday I'll be taking a looong flight back home to Hawaii. But I'll be laying over in Dallas. I fly out of Mobile, which is nice because they don't have the new scanners in place. Having a service dog means that you don't get a choice in your method; it's instantly going to be the pat down. I have so much trouble with being felt in those ways. It brings back memories that I wish I didn't have. I've been freaking out trying to figure out how I was going to make it, because when I get to DFW, I'm going to have to leave security to potty Austin. And then I'm going to have to have a serious pat down. After hearing all the horror stories on youtube (my psychologist even had a few), I knew there had to be something else to do. I called my psychiatrist and got something to help level my anxiety. Now I KNOW I'll make it through. Yes! Just sucks that it has to be done by drugging up.

Signing out,

Whitney and Austin

Tuesday, December 7, 2010


This was a phrase that was used some time ago on a different site. Can't really remember who or where, but it's fitting. I've found that not many people know what Fibro is. (Fibro's my affectionate pet name for Fibromyalgia.)

What is Fibromyalgia?
It's a condition characterized by body-wide long term pain. You have tender points in your muscles, joints, tendons, etc. It's also linked to anxiety, depression, sleep problems, stiffness, and fatigue.

Now, those who've known me before college KNOW that I am a Drama Queen. I am, it's true. And I think that has contributed greatly to people not taking me seriously. But things really have changed for me since leaving home. I suppose I've withdrawn from the outside world. I used to be so proud of the strength that I possessed. I was a monster! I could fight anyone and anything. I knew no fear. I miss that Whitney. I wonder where she is when I need her.. Like now. As a child I associated a cut, any odd lump, or even a strange bruise of unknown origin with death. I would worry about whether it was cancer or some awful infection that would take my life. But I can't ever really remember exaggerating pain. Now that doesn't mean I didn't. I remember once when I was five years old, I was playing with Tiffany (my older sister) and her beloved Barbies. She had ALL the latest accessories, including a Barbie baby bottle and a roller skate. As a tomboy I have NO idea why she let me around those things, but she did. I wasn't playing with Ken and Barbie and telling so mushy gushy kid story, nope! Not me! I was playing with the bottle and skate, sticking the bottle into the skate. And then it got stuck. (Reminder both were small and plastic, so yeah.) Tiffany, to say the least, was infuriated. Her seven-year-old sassy self to me "I don't care what you do, but you better get that thing out of there!" Poor little five year old me, what was I to do. Well, I did what any self-sufficient strong-willed kid would do. I went to the kitchen and somehow got my hands on a knife. Looking back I see a huge glinting knife, but I was small, so that fact cannot be proven. I stuck the knife into the skate and began to pry the bottle loose. It was coming loose, slowly. I was began to smell my redemption so I pried a little harder, shoving the knife deeper. And like any good knife would, it sliced through the plastic, and into my waiting hand below. All hell broke loose for little old me. I just KNEW I was going to die. I was screaming and begging my parents to get me to the hospital quickly. Looking back to this day, I remember really feeling as if my death were imminent. So I know I wasn't faking. I believed it. I cried through bath time, I cried at bed time. And that's all I remember. But I'm still here, so I reckon I survived it. To be honest, I don't even recall a drop of blood. (Just an example of how dramatic I was)

But since that time a lot had changed about me. I KNOW for a fact that I have a high pain tolerance. Incredibly high. I can withstand the yanking of my hair, I can take the punch of many and not falter. I am strong, and take pride in that. Even growing up, I told my mother of growing pains, but only because I thought they hinted to an underlying deadly illness. Today, it takes a TON of pain for me to admit it. I'm not proud to admit that I'm often in pain. Sometimes I avoid the limp to appease it just to hide the fact that it's there. I use often loosely, because something ALWAYS hurts, it's just a matter of how badly. Some days it's hardly there. And I hardly notice it, but others it takes all of my strength and more to get to the bathroom. There have even been days where I couldn't do that alone. Doctors always say "Walking helps it." Well people, I live on a college campus and walk almost everywhere. Even getting to my car is a long walk! Walking hasn't appeased my pain. I think it's fueled it. I have been doing research, and see now that there are others like me! It makes me feel like I'm not making up this great amount of pain. Like I'm validated in wanting help. I've found some who use wheelchairs, some scooters, some walkers or canes; but only on their worst days of for mall trips or to places like Disneyland and stuff. I read the story of a girl who was in so much pain she just quit walking. I've wanted to do that SO many times.. But the ridicule I'd face from my family and peers has forced me to suffer through some pretty terrible pain.

I've used a wheelchair in Target, and when I couldn't handle the airport alone for the pain I asked for a wheelchair escort. I was so humiliated that I fought tears the entire time. I didn't even tell my mom. Can you blame me? At the time it seemed that no one understood my pain. But I know I'm not alone. And I'm not giving up, see I'm going to keep walking on the days that I can. But I won't be bedridden, and I'm tired of pushing myself so hard that I end up having to take multiple naps a day just to recover. I'm going to find something to help. Even if I have to get a job and pay for it out of my own pocket. I shouldn't have to be ashamed to utilize something that makes my life a little easier. I'm so tired of hiding everything.

Signing out,

a hurting Whitney and a restless Austin

Monday, December 6, 2010

"That's the good thing about memory loss!"

That was a quote my mother said to me yesterday. And at the time, it was GREAT! (It meant I'd forgotten everything I'd seen in the Eclipse movie. I KNEW it was going to come back to haunt me, but I had no idea how bad it could be.

See, I don't get a choice in the whole memory loss thing. I can't control the things I remember and the things I forget. Even growing up I had a TERRIBLE memory. I was easily distracted, and all it took was one second for me to forget a chore that had just been assigned to me. But add the mental illness component and the drugs taken to treat it, and BAM! You've got yourself a recipe for disaster. Often enough, this recipe plays out in methods that even I could not suspect. Like today, all I've had to eat was a hot pocket around 11:30. It's been twelve hours since and the only thing I've consumed was a White Chocolate Mocha with a shot of caramel. And on an empty stomach, I was rolling in pain. I'm stubborn, though. And daily I submit to the pain from fibromyalgia. Whether it's stopping every few minutes when walking or even admitting when the pain is too intense. These aren't things I enjoy doing, but things that I must. To be perfectly honest, there have days when I've used a wheelchair in Target or Walmart, and even a day when the airport was too much to handle alone, so I used a wheelchair and an escort. These are things I haven't admitted to my family. My mother doesn't my pain very seriously, to be honest. And my doctor laughed in my face. So I wanted to face down this stomach pain, but I couldn't. Ah well, I had my bf pick me up food. Now the pains much better, thank the Lord. But forgetting to eat isn't rare, not at all for me. Neither is forgetting things like homework and on the worst of days to feed my dog (now I keep food in his bowl just in case).

Don't get me wrong, there are perks to this situation, too. I can usually forget something that makes me upset within five minutes time, if properly distracted. It allows me to forgive much easier. I can forget past events and people, like they never even existed. I sort of enjoy that one. Others not so much.

I realize now that the Fibromyalgia situation needs its own space, perhaps tomorrow for that one.

Signing out,

an appeased Whitney and a snoozing Austin

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Give 'em Something to Blog about

I almost had nothing to blog about today, hence the title. But close to Midnight a slight.. Altercation occurred with someone I hold more dear to me than I would've ever expected... Let's just say he's like a brother to me. We'll call him... Clario. Clario witnessed some really crazy stuff happened to me, and it was a while before I realized that he was even there. Clario witnessed an.. Abuse of sort and I realized that when I needed him, when I was too weak to fight back he didn't stop the abuse that occurred. And once I realized it, and found it his reason I was really hurt. I mean if I had the power to stop something like that from occurring I would, and I do it all the time everyday. His reasons were understandable, but still very selfish. His inaction caused me more pain that I really could have ever realized at the time. But all he had to say was sorry. Normally I'm very forgiving, you know? But I had a really hard time forgiving this time. I think I was just pushed to the brink with all the hurting that seems to have been happening to me.

When I realized that I had hurt him by confronting him I instantly forgave him. Who wouldn't? My intentions were never to hurt. I just needed answers, but of course I didn't really get them. But the night worsened when I realized that he had shut down. I tried to get him to open up to me and talk but instead he yelled. Now, when you're dealing with people with mental illness (MI) they have things that trigger them. They can be as simple as a scent to as complicated as a chain of thoughts. Well yelling triggers me, along with being cornered and touched by those who don't have permission. So I could feel an episode coming so I said a prayer to calm down. (My Aunt taught me that!!) But I still lashed out pretty bad. Things began to crescendo and then BOOM. We were fighting. I don't think I've cried like that because of a person in a while. It didn't go well, but God separated us (the internet cut out) before any permanent damage could happen. I  had a hard time sleeping with things the way they were, but stuff happens.

It really is my fault, sometimes you have to learn to rescue yourself. I've been doing it for so long now it's almost like I need someone else to do it to take a break. I shouldn't depend on others, but at times I have to. Things aren't easy for me right now, but whoever said they would be? 

Even though things happened, I still love him. I love him very much, he's my rock, my protector, and more. And if he's reading this, I love you.

Signing out,

Whitney and Austin

Thursday, December 2, 2010

A Bit of Bad News.

So, all my medicine changes have really been wreaking havoc in my life. And last night I received a letter stating that I had been called to speak with the Office of Student Conduct. The letter stated that I had violated the code for both disorderly and lewd conduct. But let me get back to the very beginning.

It started on September 14, a lovely day, as it was my distant friends birthday. (Yes April, I remembered your birthday after all these years.) Ok, I don't really know whether or not it was a lovely day, but for the sake of my sanity, let's just say it was (I've the memory of a fruit fly) even though it probably wasn't; during those days there were more bad days than good. And so, the day proceeded. And at night time, I slipped into a minor psychotic episode (they're called minor because I recover fairly quickly). I live on the 3rd floor in my dorm, and my room is located next to the stairwell. You'd think I wouldn't hear stomping ABOVE me, but I do. And of course the noise of students bounding up the stairs. That night, it triggered me, and I started to feel like I was being hunted.. Like a man was coming for me. (I used to have hallucinations about a "shadow man.") So as I slowly began to become more and more anxious and paranoid, I began thrashing and screaming. Once my boyfriend calmed me down it seemed another student would slam a door or stomp up the stairs, and the process would start again. Living in a dorm makes that whole thing rather.. Disturbing. My RA came and so did the Hall Director. Eventually I was able to calm down and return to my room feeling secure. I thought it was over, but a report had been filed concerning my "disorderly conduct."

The next event occurred after I was changed to Ambien to assist with sleeping, I had also been removed from an anti-psychotic drug. This is all being told from another perspective as I don't remember very much of it. My RA says she left her room because she heard a scratching on her wall, and when she stepped outside I was there in only a robe and underpants. The robe was open and I seemed heavily medicated as I was trying to use the phone. She led me back to my room and three minutes later I returned to hers saying that the room didn't belong to me. She assured me it did and back I went. Many hours later, I woke up outside in the same attire (with no shoes) and realized Austin and I were very lost. I now know I was on campus by the Student Center, not far from my dorm. It was freezing cold and at the time I just had no idea how to return to my dorm. I pushed the Emergency Button and informed the nice lady that I was lost. An officer came and together we attempted to figure out where I lived. I sat in his car (it was warm) as we called every family member we could. After perhaps half-an-hour we located my grandmother who called my sister who called my aunt who woke my parents. Then my address was identified and I was driven back to my dorm. The police called the HD and some head guy and they forced me to stay downstairs. The complaint I read said I slipped between states of lucid and childlike behavior. After what seemed like an hour I was taken to my room and the HD stayed in the lobby for many hours. This was another "disorderly conduct" complaint and also where the "lewd conduct" complaint came from.

As one might imagine, it is very frustrating to receive complaints for things that are not in your control. I expected to be called for my boyfriend sleeping in my room with me, granted it was only to make me feel safe, but that was a choice I made. I had a choice in that matter. But I didn't choose to have episodes, nor did I choose this next frightening event.

I am very modest, and I could never walk outside like that out of choice. Well I had the meeting this morning, and after some very extreme prayer for God to curb my tongue and order my thoughts, I began to calm down. I also read some scriptures on peace. I walked into the office feeling extremely calm. The man... Let's call him Dr. F. Fry, was very kind. He listened to me and reasoned with me, and told me he understands my situation. After we got things worked out (for the lewd conduct I received a warning).

Before leaving he told me that my resilience inspires him, and that he enjoys meeting people like me. Hearing that made me want to fight a billion times harder to fight the demons that have been affecting me. So, if you ever had any doubts let me clear things up for you here and now.

I will win this war.

Signing out,

Whitney and Austin

Edited to add: God really can turn a bad situation into a good one. Dr. F. Fry definitely impacted my life and strengthened my will to fight.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Making mistakes

As I said in my first post, I have a psychiatric service dog named Austin. He's a real cutie. I'm on a neat listserv and all of the people often said "I'd never go anywhere my dog wasn't welcome." So I took it to heart. Austin is like an extension of me. He sees parts of me that I don't have to talk about. I love him to death.

On Black Friday, we went shopping and had a wonderful time. That night the Auburn-Alabama game was going on and we were invited to watch it at the home of a family friend. But because she had family she just didn't think bringing Austin was a good idea. I sort of saw it coming, but hearing it hurt me really badly. Ever since my family moved to Hawaii, it's hard to feel welcome anywhere. I've always stood out, but I guess things just became more difficult without my family by my side. So I lashed out and made a facebook post (real mature, right?) It said that I would never ever go anywhere my service dog wasn't welcome even if a death occurred and blah blah blah. I'm not big on swearing, but I was a complete and total bad word. Lots of them actually. See, the problem is is that I LOVE that woman. She has really been an inspiration in a lot of the things I've went through. She is strong and real and so doggone funny. She has a beautiful family and that woman can SHOP! I think she'd donate a kidney for me if she had one to spare. And what did I do, I insulted her and didn't think it through.

I guess the important thing comes from being able to realize your mistakes and admit that you are wrong. Now I can only hope I'm forgiven. Learn from my mistakes... And know that you can't take words back.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Getting to know me

I'd like to start out with some information about me! My name's Whitney and I'm 19. My stories here is all about me making it through my life with mental illness! I utilize a psychiatric service dog named Austin, and he's amazing. He's a 12 pound Maltipoo, but big things come in small packages. Don't worry, it's not going to be all depressing! But it is probably going to be real as hell, and if you can't hang than you may not want to climb the monkey bars. I think this is all for now.. My super short attention span makes it rather difficult and this took me a rather long time.

Whitney & Austin