The square root of the problem.

Einstein said that “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Well, in my life that proverbial tree was mathematics. Don't get me wrong, I handled the simple stuff like basic addition but when long division came into play in elementary school. I somehow found myself having a major misunderstanding. To sum things up (yes the pun was intended) math and I became enemies. I hoped for a reconciliation at some point but then teachers started including in my tutelage things like decimal points and percentages. Then they even added letters (what in the heck was that about??? I loved to read and write! How dare they desecrate letters in the name algebra!). Now back to the problem at hand. I will at some point have to take an algebra class if I want a degree. I am about as excited about taking this class as I am contracting influenza. I have friends in high math places (luckily) to help me out but I'm still terrified. Why? I have what I believe is number anxiety. Not particularly related just to math but I believe that is where all the number issues started. I usually miss questions on tests related to dates in time as well and I get nervous and immediately go blank if I have to add the simplest of numbers in my head in front of others. I could be fine on my own but I immediately start judging myself for the other person when I have to do it in front of them. “Oh my gosh what an idiot!” “Is she seriously taking that long to figure out an equation that my 9 year old can do in their sleep?” I know I'm pretty hard on myself but I just have a fear that I'm a bit simple minded and the people I love and respect will find that out. My whole academic life is based on fear of being found out that I'm an idiot. I didn't even want to take a questionnaire to find out if I had ADHD for 1, fear of passing, (yes, I know that would mean I had ADHD) and 2 of failing thus solidifying my fear of just being and idiot.

As far as ADHD goes there was a bit of a stigma when I first heard of ADHD. The world had this view of kids running wild and rabid like feral children until they were dosed. I was a bit squirmy as children are but my “H” in the abbreviation came as a mental thing. In other words I was a daydreamer. I figured out early the best thing about my math book was that it was thick (not because I was particularly studious and wanted to spend every waking hour working with numbers till I understood) The truth is I was a bit short and riding on the bus made it hard to see well so sitting on my math book made for good rubbernecking opportunities of road kill and glancing into the automobiles riding by. The same went for my history book. I did like history just not when I was expected to know the date when something happened. So I guess I need to try and take Einsteins words to heart and believe that I am a genius but if I continually judge my extremely right-brained self by my ability to calculate left-brained equations I will be damning myself to an eternity of feeling like a loathing idiot. So my little blog fish, what is your proverbial tree?

...and then the tidal waves crash...

Okay, so Tuesday was my last group therapy since outpatient care and after processing (more like marinading in my own past juices)  The flood of memories, thoughts, and emotions started to swell and lap up against my brain.  Each small wave licking at something buried long ago in an attempt at survival.  Each time a wave would recede it came back harder and heavier than before crashing against my skull in an attempt to escape.  Each wave bigger and wider and I began to drown in my own thoughts.  With each slam of each wave of memory I began to ask why. Why am I "the weird kid"?  Why am I more sensitive than my siblings? Why do I hate myself?  Why do I hurt myself? Why do I have anxiety over the tiniest of things? Why do squirrels run into the middle of the road then look to see if a car is coming?--sorry, I did mention in the previous blog that I have ADHD.  (I must learn to pull the shades when I write near a window).  Although I couldn't stop the pounding waves that later erupted into a stress headache I was able to keep it from turning into an emotional tsunami with no survivors.  The one thing I will give myself credit for is not hurting myself.  I have a tendency when it comes to fight or flight to choose the latter and my way of coping with emotional pain (which I don't get, like, or usually know what to do with) is to turn it into something I do know how to deal with and sadly enough that is physical pain.  For those of you still in the dark about my methods of unhealthy coping skills I would usually burn horrid words onto my skin.  I'm trying really hard not to do these things hence the start of this blog which in a way I just realized makes me accountable.  Hmm...

Anyway, I guess I could ask why till the end of time and still not have an answer, so pulling away now from all the earlier water references I see this walk or journey I'm on to try and better myself as an unpaved road filled with potholes.  Some of those potholes are filled with murky disgusting stagnant in the heat for days water harboring mosquito eggs (sorry I like water references and have a hard time pulling away from them) I find my self doing okay sometimes walking along and carefully repairing holes filling them back up with earth and gravel but sometimes I get lazy and walk around the potholes denying they were even there in the first place.  Sometimes I get cocky and leap over the potholes accepting that they are there but refusing to deal with them.  The biggest problem that these temporary coping skills have is that eventually I trip, fall backwards, or not leap far enough and find myself in the bottom of one of these potholes.  Sometimes I climb out and realize I need to fill it so I don't have to deal with that particular hole again.  Sometimes I climb out and haul ass running as fast as I can and end up falling into a deeper hole.  Sometimes I just lay there and wallow in it.  Getting dirtier, muddier, and  deeper in the depths. Sometimes I don't fall at all and like a squirrel get hit by a quickly approaching car. Not always road kill. Sometimes I end up running off my road and take a detour from my journey.
So I end this blog entry with a question and I wish you luck. How will you handle your potholes today?   

This is a place where I will empty out the labyrinth that other people refer to as my head.  I will ramble about meaningless dribble or pull out my soapbox.  I will have late night posts of insomnia induced silliness or tell heartfelt stories (some fiction).  Why?  Because I need a healthy outlet.  I am someone who suffers with what some would call labels (I'm not boxing myself in) I am who I am and although sometimes I make apologies for that I hope here I won't have to. Now on to the name tags that professionals of the mental health community has stuck, written, and scribbled in their almost illegible handwriting (yes apparently those long stints in university was to break you of any semblance of English letter structure) about me.  Clinically depressed, (not really until 2007. apparently before I saw anyone in a clinic about depression I was just depressed. *shrugs* Who knew?)  EDNOS (for those of you who like me didn't go to doctorin' school) Eating disorder not otherwise specified, SI (don't you just love abbreviations?)  Self injurer, and lets not forget the abbreviation almost everyone is familiar with ADHD.  I think I have mostly everything covered. If you have any questions about any of those I will be happy to answer them with what I know but this internet thing has lots of information and you could probably pull up your answer faster than I can respond so I will probably answer with what I know about me or my experiences.
   
Now, about why I call myself a writing fairy... well, I started doing that when I wrote my first story in kindergarten.  I always wanted to be a fairy (purple wings) and I was going to write stories about my imaginary alter ego.  I did but I have no idea where those tattered pages are now.  I did write and draw lots of pictures.  So this is my first blog entry and I hope for many more.  please enjoy!

"Feet what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?"  - Frida Kahlo