In Briefs

Sorry ^ inside joke with a friend.
In brief:
I’m selling custom fragrances. They are made of essential oils and ethanol, whose relatively low toxicity (used externally) can be verified by searching the ingredient database at Environmental Working Group

I still have PTSD, and sometimes dealing with customers or anyone triggers the hell out of me. I get uncanny vibes about whether or not I can successfully get someone what they want while I maintain my comfort and feeling of safety and sanity. It’s like not you; it’s me. Then again, I worked customer service nearly 20 years and, honestly, sometimes it is you, darling.


Why does it feel so good to give someone a dollar or two a few times a week? Why do I end up talking to them? Why does it feel good? Is it self-righteousness? Is it my programming? I was programmed to believe I deserved nothing. Then again, I don’t buy that anymore. I just feel good when I give. I feel good when I’ve been frugal enough with my money for the month that I can give.

I often wonder if the people I’m giving to have just as much as me – subsidized housing, Public Assistance, Disability, or some combination of public housing and benefits. What moves someone to sit or stand on the sidewalk and beg? I never begged. No wait – one time I asked someone for a swipe so I could get the train to work: when I was working, the money flew away from me before I knew what was happening. I wanted to get rid of it as fast as I could. I hated that job.

No, that’s not it. Yes, I hated my job. I needed to spend out of convenience, because what life didn’t take out of me, my job did. I needed to take a cab to the train because I injured my leg at work. I needed to spend money on medical care and medication, because I didn’t get insurance. I needed to buy food, because I didn’t qualify for food stamps. I ate and ate and ate so I could get to sleep; so I could forget how awful the day was and how awful the next day would be. I saw no way out. There wasn’t really any way out. I looked for jobs all the time.

I’ll Make It OK

I never know if I’ll get through one day or the next. I mean, I believe I’ll stay alive. Yet I can only do it by putting one foot out of bed each day; then the next; and so on.

I try to imagine my future. Will I write? Will I finish my four-year degree? Will I ever be able to work again? What would allow me to earn my keep? Will I ever be able to decide where I want to live and sign a lease?

I know I’ll make it. I know I’ll stay alive. I know this morning that I’ll be alive in the evening. Yet I know any given morning I might not get out of bed, because of a migraine; I won’t be able to think of a good reason to risk a panic attack in order to go out and accomplish something. I know that even if I make fun plans and follow through with them, there’s a damn good chance that my mood will stay depressed.

So what’s the point? JUST KEEP GOING. That’s the point. One foot after the other. That’s the point.

Cuz I have a secret: I think my future’s gonna be awesome, really awesome. And I can’t wait.

What the hell, Depression?

I don’t understand my mental and physical conditions at all. I can be fine, and then a weather front rolls into the area, and I’m flat on my back for days. I’m in pain. I can’t speak. My body fills with negative comments I’ve heard, mean things. Something sinister inside of me toys with my sense of joy, telling me I’ll never get better.

“You’ll never be able to work. Who’d hire you. You know you’re making it all up so that you don’t have to go back to the service industry. Don’t you know that all you exist to do is wait on people?”

That stuff curls up and nests inside of me for weeks at a time, and then, one day, it’s gone. I remember who I am. I can organize my thoughts. I can stand up without the room spinning, without getting sick.


I’ll be moving right along, going to all my appointments, keeping up with the housecleaning, and suddenly not be able to sleep one night. Then a huge depression pushes me down and holds me there until I wake up one day and feel fine. I’m fine! I can go to the store! I can tolerate the heat for 20 minutes at a time.