January 6, 2019

As the Gays Say, “Thank U, Next.”

I did it. I fucking did it. I passed my Real Estate Appraiser’s License Exam.

For the past three years I have been in an apprenticeship with my boss and taking the online classes required to be an appraiser. Once I completed my 2,000 hours of experience, my courses, and the application the state accepted those and ushered me to the next step, which was to take an exam. (My approval came last June, to give you some idea.) They give you 6 attempts or a year to complete it for a reason. It is fucking tough.

This success was my third attempt. Even now, after passing, I still don’t think I studied enough. Regardless I completed the second to last hurdle. The next is a review of my work completed and after that I should receive a license.

When I got my results I literally almost broke into tears. But the two testing center clerks were right there, and a middle-aged man bawling over a score wouldn’t have been attractive. So instead I jumped up and down, while I clutched that paper with my grainy photo and the word “Passed.” My husband told me after that he wished he had filmed it because he had never seen me so happy. (“You weren’t even that happy when we got married!”)

For so long this has hung around my neck dragging me down. I was beyond stressed because for once in my life I was expected to actually complete something. My boss took me on with the understanding that I would get my license and be one of his residential appraisers. That was/is going to happen. I didn’t want to fail him and betray the trust he had bestowed on me. (Again, another first.)

In the beginning the pressure drove me nuts. I ended up diving headfirst into one of my addictions that pushed my relationship to the brink of collapse. Luckily I survived that and I found ways to numb the burden of responsibility in other things going forward.

The other dark side of this journey was that it kept me from working on my book. In my mind there was a level of tasks that had to be completed before one could begin. Whenever I sat down to work on it I would think to myself “you should be studying for your exam.” My favorite was “this isn’t as important as your license.” The “frivolous” venture of trying to be a published author was always back burner.

Now, I have no other responsibilities other than finishing up my AA and editing my book. I can return to the things that, for me, matter immensely. Not saying that the thing that is my livelihood didn’t matter. It was merely a means to an end.

So, tonight I got to sit down with my chapters and feel the creative freedom to work without guilt or anxiety. It was heaven.

December 30, 2018

Oh, insanity.

I am moody as fuck and I cannot place the source as there is so much going on right now. All I want to do is disappear. My logical mind says it’s my depression flaring up but then the other part of myself thinks it’s all due to my weird sleep pattern, the over-abundance of sugary foods (and little to no protein), and my low water intake. All of this has put me off balance.

The other part of me thinks it’s situational. All for the new factors in my life and the absolute stress of having to retake my appraisal exam. I’m emotionally overwhelmed. All at once I want to scream, cry, and laugh. It is in that where I feel broken and insane.

I attribute most of these feelings to the test. This is the third time I will take it. I need a 75 to pass and in my previous attempts I earned a 71 and then a 72. Respectively. I’m very nearly there. My entire career hinges on this. It will provide me with more money and freedom for my boss’s wife where right now she’s limited because I haven’t gotten my license to provide an additional MLS access.

I am also someone who takes pride in my intelligence. I have an inflated ego when it comes to that and when I fail from my lack of knowledge I have an identity crisis. My want is to further separate myself from the situation because I can’t take another blow.

The proactive thing to do would be to study my ass off to avoid further failings. However my self-doubt makes me repeatedly tell myself that I am an idiot who can’t do it. It’s all self sabotage. (Aka I am a mess.)

My moodiness only arose when I set my exam date and paid another additional exam fee ($88). But additional factors came into play…

Today I started studying. At the completion of the exam the participant is given a print-out of their score which is broken down into sub-categories, and I began with my weakest subjects. It felt okay but staring my failure in the face sent me into overdrive and I “ran away” by turning off my phone. That provided some comfort from further interruption and ease from my own psychosis, however it caused panic to my husband (as I didn’t divulge what it was I was doing before I did it.) Now I feel even worse.

All of this could be further soothed if I was taking my anti-depressants, I imagine. Though the fact remains that every time I take them I turn into a zombie. I feel like I’m walking around in a daze and then lack any kind of passion for the things I enjoy. I medicate to basically exist. Yet it is in these erratic moments that I wish I maintained a constant dosage. I don’t want to be insane and in turn drive those around me crazy with my mood swings and irrational behavior. It is here where I sometimes think I should be alone. All I do is cause people stress and that’s not fair to them.

December 5, 2018

Writing Through the Depression

Writing has always been my outlet, ever since I was a kid. Primarily because I am (what I have been described as) a very cerebral person. Living in my head is a dark and dangerous place and putting it into written words always gives me some sense of peace I could otherwise not find elsewhere. I typically don’t speak my thoughts because they are random and I easily get lost trying to find the right word, especially if I am speaking to someone (I talk a lot to myself). I have discovered that most take what I say as gospel and that is not how my mind works. I’m constantly working things out. Which is why I choose writing more than anything else.

The only problem with my writing is that it gets me into trouble sometimes. I always assume whatever I write on my blogs will be lost to the depths of the internet, but sometimes it finds its way into the hands of others. It’s irritating but the nature of the beast, and more often than not it doesn’t ever get discovered. I find that comical for a few reasons but the number one being I have shared my site with others in the past but no one can be bothered to ever look. Unless of course they’re mentioned in the thing and then all of a sudden it’s a hot commodity. Otherwise no one gives two shits. It’s like inviting a friend to the play you’re in, or the stand-up show you’re doing at the local open mic, or if you’re performing anywhere. People can’t be bothered. In my younger days I would let it bother me, but now I just shrug and realize that’s the gamble no matter what.

Yesterday I was feeling way down. I got to the point that I wanted to isolate from my entire life. I liken it to “running away.” The very thought of just leaving everything behind and hitting the open road crossed my mind but unless I’m carrying cash that isn’t going to happen. Plus, how would my sudden disappearance affect those in my life? It’s always that thought that keeps me grounded.  It’s hard pushing against the current of my depression but I know I have to make an effort or suffer the consequences of severe depression.

Last night I returned to my “finished” novel to restart the process of editing. For once in a great long while I did not get upset. When I found myself spinning my wheels, I told myself to just start back at the beginning and re-read again. It was nice. Then whenever the voice of my inner critic attempted to creep in, I ignored it and thought “I can do this.” Even this morning I told myself (as I doubted my efforts) that I am just out of practice. To get to a better place I have to keep trying. It’s like that lawn mower that’s been sitting in the garage for months. It takes a couple pulls to get it going, and even when you do get it started you have to let it run for a bit to get it to where it’s able to do the job it was designed to do.

For my own sanity I am not going to make any grand pronouncements of finishing my novel by a certain time-frame or even at all. It always ends in misery and self-loathing. Instead what I will do is feel proud that I got to the task and am content with the results.

November 30, 2018

Midnight Mumblings

Per usual, I am feeling very down. Some might say that it is just seasonal blues. Others might say it is because my life is just a convoluted mess with the utmost chaos. And there are those who would say it’s because I refuse to take my antidepressants. Whichever the reason here I am.

I jest, but I’m certain it’s the middle one. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, work has been slow, my boss asked me if I even wanted to be an appraiser (that was fun), school is coming to an end, and then tonight I had to do IT work for my parents again because they are utterly helpless when it comes to technology.

To top everything off my husband keeps “joking” when he brings up the notion of his boyfriend moving into our, soon to be vacant, spare bedroom. It’s definitely not a joke because the dude (husbands boyfriend, “Derek”) has until the end of the year for his current lease and my spouse is upping the frequency in which he mentions the scenario. (He even suggested we could do it for a month and see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out you can return the side-piece for a full refund.)

Don’t get me wrong. I like Derek, but I don’t know how I would feel with this man, who is also having sex with my husband, living with us. Part of me doesn’t like the idea at all, but then the other part is curious to see how much pressure I can take before I snap. If that even could happen.

When I brought up this story to my therapist she gave the impression it would be a bad idea. I got that when she said “that would be a bad idea. Threes don’t ever work out.”

Don’t think the the husband is bringing it up multiple times a day. That’s not at all whats happening. If anything it’s maybe every other, always under the guise of a “joke” or “humorous banter.” However, I know what he’s doing. I’ve been with this fucker for 15 goddamn years, I know how he operates. Our entire situation now, at one time, was an off-the-cuff obscure hypothetical. Yet here we are.

In actuality, this has weighed very little on my mind. That could be because I am disassociating from the situation and refuse to consider the idea, or it is that I really don’t feel like it’s a real concern. Either way, I thought it would be an interesting topic for one to read. It’s always fun to watch the train wreck.