janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-10-04 05:48 am
Entry tags:

No Appointment Today

I have no appointment today. My mom does, but, for the first time this week, I don’t. I would normally say that a lack of an appointment is worthy of a happy dance, but I’m a bit worried about my mom’s appointment.

She has to have an ankle CT this afternoon to find out what the surgical approach will be to fix her left ankle. She’s got a dislocation, fracture/re-fracture, and bent hardware from a fall that she had at Nana’s house. It’s the first ankle that she had surgery on–the ankle that has already had two surgeries. And since she’s in constant pain since the fall, the orthopedist has already told her she will end up having surgery again. He had said, at first, that she might not have surgery again, but she explained that she’s in constant pain with it and he said that the fixes would, at least, be able to stop that–even if they make her ankle less flexible.

So, I shall worry about my poppet.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-10-03 06:31 pm
Entry tags:

A Bracing Problem

My parents and I went to the dentist yesterday. We didn’t get our teeth cleaned, but we did get X-Rays. I’m proud to say that I don’t have any problems now that I didn’t (probably) have the last time I saw a dentist. That isn’t to say that I don’t have anything wrong.

In 1993 or 1994, I got sealants put on all my 12-year molars. In 1997 or 1998, the 12-year molar on my upper left side broke while I was eating lunch at school. After that, I had a root canal started by a dentist and finished by an endodontist before I got a crown put on it. I had to go to the endodontist because the dentist couldn’t find the 3rd part of the nerve. (He also had to block off too much time to look because my mouth got numb in an odd way–the opposite side would numb first and then it would take two to three times how long it should have taken before the left side would get numb.) The endodontist couldn’t find that part of the nerve either and declared that it just wasn’t there.

Yesterday, I found out that that tooth still had a cavity and the root has a lesion. I can either go through a new root canal, a new build-up, and a new crown OR I can have the tooth pulled. The latter is cheaper, so I may have to go with that. Either way, I have to have an endodontist consult.

The other problem is that the dental student who examined my teeth said that I need to have the braces done as soon as I can get them done. I told the student that I do have trouble chewing and she didn’t seem shocked that that was an issue after seeing my teeth. She was staring at my bite for a second during the exam, and, though I had something between my teeth, I told her that it was a crossbite and underbite, which means that my teeth don’t meet properly. My lower jaw is more prominent and my teeth cross in a funny way.

my teeth

My teeth also point in an odd way because they try to meet properly. The top ones point forward, though this isn’t visible when you look at them. The bottom ones point backward, which is very visible. The student thought that braces alone might fix the issue, but the orthodontists and oral surgeons who I’ve seen before have been pretty clear that jaw surgery will be required. My maxilla will have to be broken around the mid-line and rotated down, while my mandible will have to be shortened and pushed back. I also have an openbite, which will be fixed at the same time. The consensus has been, in the past, that it will be about 18 months after the first set of braces before I’ll get the surgery, then a new set will be put on and about 6-12 months later they will be taken off. They’ll be top and bottom braces because both jaws have to be worked on. I tried to tell the student some of this, but she said that things may have changed and surgery might not be necessary. I figure that if it is serious enough that braces are no longer truly optional, that the need for surgery is probably still there. So, I’ll have an orthodontist consult there and I may be able to get them a lot cheaper at their braces clinic.

She wants me to get a new night guard, because sometimes, when I grind my teeth, my jaw hurts really bad. It has more to do with going to bed angry or in pain. I have to make sure to take Flexeril to relax my jaw enough so that I don’t grind them. I think she was so insistent on it because my jaw kept dislocating when she would have me open it. That seemed to weird her out a little.

So, I have to go back to Birmingham and get my teeth cleaned and have all this stuff done/checked out.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-09-30 11:26 pm
Entry tags:

Back To Burnt Sugar

In about twelve hours, I get to go back to the hematologist’s office/building for the 4-hour infusion. I always get a little nervous the day before infusions. I’m not too fond of being poked with needles to begin with, because of the hard stick thing. Infusions are a bit worse for a few reasons, but when it comes to the needle part, I dread it because not only do they have to find a vein, they have to find a vein that can hold the IV. (My veins, in addition to being hard to find, are small, move, blow easily, and are notoriously stubborn when it comes to working.)

I also dread the infusion itself. Iron infusions burn. It isn’t a little sensation. It goes from the site on the arm of the IV down to the hand and around the IV.  It hurts and it is painful, and you have to suffer through the pain/burning because iron infusions (and blood transfusions) are a treatment of last resort. Since I can’t take the iron orally, the burning is something I will have to learn to tolerate.

And finally, I dread the way I will feel from a few minutes into the IV until a few days later. I got really bad headaches after the 30 minute/1-hour treatments and my blood pressure shot up really high. So I will basically be overdoing it on my Flexeril for the next 48 hours or so. If my blood pressure didn’t get so high (140+/100+) on infusions, I wouldn’t have to max out my dose of muscle relaxers, but I have to do something to get it under control. I may even have to pull out the Lisinopril that was given to me at one point.

About the only thing that won’t completely suck is that if it’s an iron sucrose infusion like last time, it may have the taste of burnt sugar. That’s not so bad. (It’s a lot better than the saline flush that they use for IVs.)

In an ideal world, Tuesday would be a day of rest for me so that I could recover from the infusion properly. Sadly, Tuesday is the day that I have to go to the dentist, so I won’t get to recover then. I also won’t get to recover Wednesday because I have a renal ultrasound scheduled for that day. So I’m claiming Thursday now as a day for me to sleep and do absolutely nothing–basically, I’m claiming it as a regular day for me.

I hope this infusion helps more than the previous ones. I also hope that they figure where the iron is going after this. Maybe if they figure it out, it can be fixed. And if it is fixed, maybe I’ll finally be able to have a somewhat normal life. A girl can dream, right?


Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-09-08 09:33 pm
Entry tags:

Dear Suncoast Basset Rescue

Dear Suncoast Basset Rescue,

I’m one of Willow’s former owners. She wasn’t crated the majority of her life. In fact, she was rarely put in her kennel. (The only times we really put her in there was when my mom, dad, and I would have to go somewhere together for a few hours or when paramedics would have to come to take my mom to the hospital—mom is very ill with kidney failure, diabetes, and high blood pressure.) She would protest going into the kennel and would run around the house trying to keep from going in one. She actually spent most of her days in a chair next to my mother’s couch. I’ve attached a picture of her in her chair, cuddled with one of her toys. She’s a very sweet girl and was actually housebroken when we got her. When my family’s health deteriorated dramatically in short time period, we were no longer able to take the dogs out enough to keep them housebroken. Willow has a few health problems, which you may or may not know about. (I hope that the shelter she came from told you about them.) She was diagnosed with an enlarged heart a few months after we first adopted her. She had to take Enalapril for that all year, and sometimes had to take theophylline to clear fluid out of her lungs. She was also diagnosed with an underactive thyroid, which caused her to lose hair in many spots. She was on a thyroid pill twice a day for that. And she had to have regular blood work done to make sure that her levels were maintained.

We also were the family of Molly, who is on your website at number 829. Molly was adopted in late 2003 or early 2004. She was born October 27, 2002 and her birth certificate is somewhere in our house, so she is quickly approaching her 10th birthday. Molly has cowered since we first got her. As one of our vets told us and as you noticed, she was abused. She was purchased from a breeder, left outside, given to someone else, and then she got pregnant. When that happened, her then owner took her to a shelter in Selma. She had her puppies, but the shelter there wasn’t feeding her enough to keep her at a healthy weight. When we adopted her, she was severely underweight. We had to feed her puppy chow to boost her weight, but she was always on the low end of normal. Before her second birthday, we found out that Molly had arthritis, which acts up when she is cold or when the weather is bad. Sometimes she gets angsty when that happens, but we would just rub her ears and try to keep her comfortable when that happened. Molly had breast tumors removed early on, and they were not cancerous. Earlier this year, though, she had a tumor removed from her left hip. She had some abscesses from the non-cancerous tumors. We kept them cleaned, which she didn’t usually mind, and had her checked by the doctor, which she didn’t like. (She has to be muzzled at the vet because she has a major fear of vets. She would growl anytime she would see or hear a vet or vet tech.) She loves to cuddle and she would lay in my lap whenever I would read. We joked that she read the entire Harry Potter series with me. She lost weight while she was in the shelter this year after she got sick and was depressed.

My parents and I didn’t want to give her or Willow or our other 2 dogs up, but we were extremely sick, our house was a mess and condemned to boot, and we had no other choice. We miss them and love them everyday, but we know that they are probably doing better in other environments. We were very happy to see that they made it to a basset rescue because we had hoped that if we couldn’t get them back that they would go to a basset rescue.

I wanted to send this to make sure that they’re taken care of and that your agency has a better understanding of these two girls.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-04-04 01:41 pm

Idle Hands

I’m supposed to get my laptop fixed on Friday. For once in my life, I guess I’m going to have to treat Good Friday as if it actually is good. I hope that the technician is able to fix it, but I’m not going to assume that it will be that easy. Experience has taught me not to expect things to happen as quickly or easily as one would hope. That is especially true of repairs.

In the meantime, my dad is being nice about letting me have time on his computer. I guess he’s become accustomed to my laptop deciding to take a sabbatical. I guess that that makes sense.

My mom is being extremely difficult lately. I know that that has become the norm lately, but it seems like she is getting worse. And it seems like it is about the weirdest things.

When my dad and I came home from the emergency room on Wednesday, she decided that because I wasn’t admitted to the hospital, told what was wrong with my digestive system, and wasn’t dead that I was feeling well enough to be bossed around. She felt that it was appropriate to start having me get her things within five minutes of coming in. If she hadn’t just heard that I was anemic and that my blood pressure was low, then I could probably give her a break on that, but she’d heard both things and she just didn’t care. Actually, she seemed a bit pissed that I went to the hospital instead of her.

When my parents went to the grocery store last week, I had put chips and chocolate (in that order) on my list, which is normal. My dad understood that because the two things were on separate lines, I wanted chocolate and chips. My mother, on the other hand, decided that I wanted chocolate chips. When they got home and I asked why they had gotten 2 bags of chocolate chips, she told me that chocolate chips had been on my list. I knew that wasn’t possible. (I had written the list out twice because I felt the first time I was a bit too rude about what I didn’t want [i.e. food I can't eat] them to get for me.) My dad still had the list, so I got it from him and I showed it to my mom. I asked her where on the list had I asked for chocolate chips. She realized that she’d made a mistake. Of course, she had already taken the “fun” step of accusing me of trying to make her look bad. That wasn’t the case. She told me that I was lying and that I was definitely trying to make her look incompetent.  She says that anytime anyone calls her on being wrong.  She thinks that it is my mission in life (and my dad’s mission in life) to make her miserable and make her seem like she doesn’t have a clue about what is going on.  I guess she thinks we enjoy giving her a hard time.

The next day, she asked if she was going to be getting my bank statements and bills and access to my accounts, so that she could get my finances “all straightened out”. She had decided that she was going to do this about a week before, after she’d told my dad that I had overdrawn my bank account again. (I hadn’t.) She’d come home from the grocery store that week to tell me that I was being irresponsible with the money in the account and that it was all due to being bipolar. She felt that, though she has a tendency to spend money as easy as (or easier than) me, she was the person who should be in charge of the accounts. At first, I had agreed, but that was only after she’d basically forced me to the brink of tears. By last Friday, though, I’d decided that I didn’t like that idea and I didn’t like how the “agreement” had been reached. When I told her, she said, “Your father told me that you would never let me do that.” I replied, “Well, I guess he knows me better than you do.” That pissed her off. She said, “I don’t know how.” I told her that dad and I had gotten a bit closer lately. She pointed out all the things that she had done for me in my life, and that my dad was always too busy for me. Basically, she was trying to use my insecurities with my dad against me. When she realized that that wasn’t going to work, she told me that she expected them to get the $200 per month that I owed them, even if I couldn’t pay any other bill or became overdrawn. And she seemed to think that I would definitely become overdrawn without her.

I realized about then that my mom has definitely been using me a lot more than I thought she did. I don’t know if she intentionally does it or if it’s just a “happy consequence” of the stuff I went through as a kid. I guess I’ve become so dependent on her for love and approval that I’ve given away my sense of personhood. The reason that I feel unappreciated and like a slave in my own house is probably that on some level, she doesn’t appreciate me and she does think of me more as a slave than as a daughter. And that’s depressing. I practically worshipped her for the majority of my life, and I feel like she never really valued me. Maybe I’ve let people step all over me my whole life because I just don’t feel like I deserve a real say in things.

Oh, I’m considering moving the posts from Hyperaware and Blah Blah Biddy Blah onto this domain. I’ve got a poll on the Facebook page for fuzzypinkslippers.com. If you could vote on it, I would appreciate it. I think it would be easier on and cheaper for me to combine them, but I want to know what other people think. Feel free to comment there or here about what you think about the possible combination.

Now, I’m about to talk about some stuff that might be gross for some folks, so don’t look if you’re squeamish.

Read the rest of this entry » )

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2012-04-03 03:34 pm

Let’s Make Some Lemonade, Yo!

I’m having to have my laptop repaired again.  Guess what the repair is for?  If you guessed motherboard, then you obviously know my laptop better than the guy at tech support.  He told me that it had the motherboard replaced once and the only other repairs that were done were the palm rest and the LCD.  Um, no.  It has only been repaired onsite (meaning at my home or at Nana’s house) for those issues, but when it has gone to the depot, it has had all kinds of stuff replaced.  Honestly, it’s got more new parts than all of the plastic surgery addicts of Beverly Hills combined.  The constant repairing led to me submitting a question to WHNT about my state’s lemon law.  I’m hoping it gets picked/answered.  This is what I submitted:

I purchased a computer about 3 years ago from Dell and almost a year after I purchased it, it had a motherboard failure. Since then, there have been about 4 more motherboard failures plus many other repairs. The laptop is being repaired about every 3-4 months. It’s become really frustrating and I feel like my laptop is a lemon. Would it be covered under the lemon law? Or does that only apply to certain products? If it is covered, what would I need to do? I would really like to be able to get my geek on without contacting tech support so much.

So, maybe they’ll pick it.  Keep your fingers crossed.

In other lemon-related news, I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon.  Before I can get my GI referral, I have to jump through just a few more hoops.  Namely, I have to have my Amylase, CMP (which was done at the ER), Lipase, and Lipid levels checked, as well as an abdominal ultrasound, 2 urine tests, and 4 (this is gross) stool tests.  I have a feeling that insurance will kick the CMP when I go for it, because it was just checked less than a week ago.  The other stuff, they will probably allow.  The family doctor apologized to me yesterday when he was doing the exam.  I made sure to yelp, scream, and holler when he would hit certain spots–something I have finally learned to do.  I was surprised when he said he was sorry for hurting me.  His attending came in and repeated the exam.  She also was somewhat apologetic.  (Maybe because I had been mentioning the pain and the issues somewhat persistently since I started to go to that clinic.)

When the nurse did my vitals, my blood pressure was doing its fun bottoming out thing.  The top number was either 122 or 127 (one was for BP and one was for pulse), but the lower number was 53.  It was kind of funny that it was so low because the nurse checking me in had just asked me if I was on blood pressure medicine about a second before the number popped up.  I think that, because of my weight, she was expecting it to be super-high.  She does not know how my body likes to operate.  She and the doctors also didn’t seem to realize that the constant up and down, including laying back and raising back up was making me nearly pass out.  I wanted to tell them, but when I would get so dizzy and light-headed, I couldn’t exactly think straight enough to get my point across.

When the nurse checked my weight, it almost looked like she was going to go with 298, but she decided to go up to the 300 range and settled on 312.  The scale seemed like it “thought” I was closer to the 298, but she went with 312.  Don’t know why.   After she went with 312, she made sure to announce it vocally, which is something I hate.  I understand if she thinks that I need to know the number, but believe it or not, I can read a scale well enough to tell what my weight is.  I don’t like having the whole world hear it, though.  Anyway, if it is at 298, then it has hit a new low.  If it is at 312, it may be one of the lower numbers for their scales.

I had to describe what was wrong to her, and, wouldn’t you know, she tried to convince me that I could be pregnant.  When I told her that it wasn’t possible, she gave me a look of disbelief.  Yeah, I know, I’m going in complaining of nausea and pain, among other things, and I’m 28 and on Medicaid, but I’m not an effing stereotype.  It is, as far as I know, impossible to get pregnant without having Miss Egg introduced to Mr. Sperm.  I’m pretty sure that I would know if I had had sex with someone.  I guess she thought I would be too ashamed to mention it, or something.  God, I hope that if I had sex and got pregnant or thought I was pregnant that I wouldn’t be too ashamed to tell a nurse about it.  I may be shy and hesitant about talking about certain things, but I hope that wouldn’t be one of them.

Mirrored from fuzzypinkslippers.com.

janersm: (anna paquin: golden globes)
2011-09-29 03:31 am

So You Want to Be an Asshat: College Education and Occupy Wall Street

Before I start posting things and offending someone, because I know I will ‘cause that’s what I do, I should say that this is in reference to a post that featured the exact images featured throughout this post. It is also in reference to quotes from this entry by the same girl. Lessons for this girl and others like her will be bolded.

asshat #1 - college - 01

Hi, we haven’t been introduced, which is honestly fine with me. My name is Janet. I am 27 years old. Ten years and 1 month ago, I started to college. I still have not finished. And I am going to explain to you, Christine, and others like you why it is that you can’t act like you’re somehow better than other people and why you can’t judge people who are in debt. Hopefully, you will be able to understand it.

You may not be whining about how you are going to pay for your education, but I can assure you that that scenario might change. You see, you’re two years into what I can only assume will be at least a four year degree program. I say at least because I spent the greater part of a decade in college and I know how insanely hard it is to get a degree cracked out in a year these days, especially if you’ve changed majors (which I did), go to a smaller school (again, that would be me), or if you have trouble with getting classes or aid approved. Oh, hey, that’s me again.

We’re taught as kids that we’ll go to primary and secondary school for 12 years, or 13 if you include Kindergarten. We’re taught that our post-secondary education will begin with a four year rendezvous in the world of bachelor degrees, aka our undergraduate education. Well, that’s great and wonderful, unless you go into certain schools, degree programs, or have any issues at any time with any teachers, financial aid, or basically anything in your school, personal, or work lives. We’re also taught that if we don’t achieve the goal mentioned in that first sentence of this paragraph that we are utter failures, and this sentiment gets reiterated by people like you or your favorite candidate, Ron Paul.

So, my first official lesson to you is that you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch. You don’t know what will go on in the next couple of years. You don’t know what will happen in your life in that time. No one really knows for sure what their life will hold.

That brings us to the next lesson: do not judge that which you do not understand. You are not one of the people that you are mocking in your images, so you don’t know what is going on in their life. When I started to college so many moons ago, my dad actually had a job. His years of anger and torment and depression hadn’t eaten up his entire ability to work yet. I also had some level of energy that I no longer have. I was also happy that I was getting to go to college a year earlier than my friends, which made me feel like the luckiest human being in the history of the world. I hated being in high school. I had lots of friends and I was no longer being bullied, which went on some when I was younger. I was very smart and I had a lot of potential, but I was always miserable at school because I would spend seven hours a day (at least) listening to lessons on stuff that I had studied in my own time when I was much younger. I was bored out of my mind with school by the time I was in second grade, so the sooner I could move on, the happier I was going to be. There were issues that I was having with my psychiatric problems, including that I would go into such severe depressive spells that dying seemed like a good idea or that cutting would somehow allow me to bleed my pain out. I was also grieving because at around this time my parents were told that my former foster sister wouldn’t be allowed to move back in with us, which broke all of our hearts and spirits, and they were told that the reason was that they had raised a daughter who ended up depressed. She was kept out of our house because of my mental health, and I felt like any suffering or pain that she went through from that point on was on me. And I still feel guilt because I know that her life might have been different if I had somehow not managed to go crazy my Junior year of high school. And though this may all seem unimportant, I am stating it because you wouldn’t understand what all of this was like unless you went through it yourself. Even then, you wouldn’t completely get it because you’re not me. So, I started to college a year early with high expectations, massive depression, horrible guilt, and paranoia and anxiety episodes that were crippling me on a daily basis. I had to start off very, very slow. So, I already knew I was going to be in college for more than four years.

asshat #1 - college - 02

This is where we get to majors. When I was in high school, I was going to study music management and production. I was going to go to MTSU, which has a stellar program for that degree. I changed my mind, which isn’t uncommon and isn’t a bad or irresponsible thing to do. I decided to go with a double major of social work and religious studies. I was going to go to the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. That was my goal and I was going to achieve it.

After almost 3 years in community college, because that’s where you go (instead of going to some school like Yale, which was my childhood goal) when you have dropped out of high school, I applied for a transfer to UTC. I was admitted there. And after my parents had written a hefty check so that I could live in an apartment on campus with 3 other girls, I started having massive panic attacks. They were coming regularly. It got to the point that if I even thought about the state of Tennessee, I would break down into tears or I would hyperventilate. So, after three years of working my ass off to prepare for this one specific school, I had to change my majors again.

I realized I had to stay in town, which meant either going to Oakwood College, the University of Alabama in Huntsville, or going to Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical University. My mom went to UAH, so that made me hesitant about going there. It also didn’t have a social work program, and that was the program that I wanted to use so that I could become a counselor. I could have chosen to get a degree in psychology, but I really didn’t want to do that because it wasn’t the exact path that I had my hopes set on. This leads me to another lesson about college and a lesson about your politics, as well: be flexible. If you’re flexible, you might find that your path is a little different than what you imagine it is. If you think that being flexible might not matter, I can promise you that it does. If you understand that you need to be constantly thinking about if the path that you’re on is the right one for you, then you might understand that you may one day end up in a situation where you, once again, must reevaluate your options.

There were two places that I could go to for my education that offered what I wanted, or what I thought I wanted. I didn’t go to Oakwood because it was a private, religious school, which meant higher costs and stricter moral standards. While I’ve never had sex and I rarely wear any makeup or jewelry, I would have had to agree to an honor code that forbids students from wearing makeup, wearing jewelry, promoting certain ideas (abortion/women’s rights, gay rights, etc.), having premarital sex, etc. and that wasn’t something that I was willing to do. I chose Alabama A&M. It was cheaper. I was a lot cheaper, since I got to go there on what was basically a a free ride. I was given a diversity scholarship because I was a white girl going to an HBCU (also known as Historically Black College & University) and I had the grades to get one that covered tuition, books, and room and board. So, that should have been enough, right? Well, the fun thing is that sometimes you need financial aid in order to cover the costs of your education while a school is deciding whether or not they’re ever going to apply your scholarship. I didn’t apply for financial aid very early during my first year there. I didn’t realize I needed to apply for it, since I had a scholarship that was going to cover everything. It didn’t cover everything because it wasn’t being applied to my education. So, I had to get the Department of Education to approve loans for me so that I could cover my tuition so that I didn’t get kicked out of school.

I realized at that point that I needed to make sure I always had tuition covered via loans that would get distributed to to the school because the school wasn’t going to just give me the free ride that I’d been promised. The loans would get refunded a few weeks after the scholarship would get applied to my account and then I would spend the loan money on luxuries like food and shelter, because by this time my father had lost his job and was no longer really employable. My loans started covering our monthly grocery and utility bills because we were living on my mom’s Social Security Disability checks and (eventually) my SSI/SSDI checks.

asshat #1 - college - 03

The school that I was going to was not a $50,000 per year school. Even now, it isn’t that expensive of a school, but college is an expensive thing for a lot of people. Tuition there is (currently) at $220 per semester hour (for in-state residents) plus mandatory fees that are $750 for anyone taking more that 10 hours. (I took 15, which was sometimes too much for me.) So an in-state student going there is going to pay them about $8,000 per year. Not bad, huh? Even when you consider that I was paying for access to buildings that still don’t exist on campus, a parking space that I didn’t need since I still don’t drive, a fee that allowed me to use the computers on campus—which was only necessary when I was trying to access the Alabama Virtual Library, and a yearbook that I only was able to get a copy of in my last year there. I never got reimbursed for things that were supposed to be covered by my grants and loans and scholarship. Basically, I was losing money by going there, which wasn’t really bothering me that much. Even when my parents and I were trying to figure out what we were going to eat on Thanksgiving because we’d run out of money to buy food and our food stamps were used up for that month, I wasn’t worried.

The worrying began in January 2007. I was set to graduate in about four months. I was in my last semester as an undergraduate. I had already taken my GRE and had a high enough score that I should have easily gotten into the Masters program at that college. That would’ve meant that I would be finishing my Master’s Degree in one year, instead of two. I would be saving more time and money. I was studying for my licensing exam for my B.S.W., and I was doing two seminars and my (required) internship. Everything seemed okay. Sure, I was still having issues with depression, but I had accepted by this time that I was going to have those problems for the rest of my life. I was okay with that.

On the first day of my internship, I showed up extra early and I was excited. I had been told the previous semester that since I was going to be doing my internship at the Boys and Girls Club (an internship that was given to me at the very last possible minute) and I had been told (at school and at my professional interview for the internship) that I could wear the same exact clothing to my internship that I’d been wearing at school. To me, that meant that I could wear jeans, t-shirts, my jacket (since I was always cold) and my sandals. I always wear sandals. Even when it is cold, I will wear sandals, and that is because they are comfortable to me. So, I wore my sandals the first day. I got called into my boss’s office and asked if I could go home and put some “real” shoes on. I told the boss, who happened to be a friend of my professor, that I would, but I would have to call my dad and he would have to either take me home to get the shoes (which would take an hour and half for the whole trip) or he would have to bring me a pair (taking half the time). When I explained how long it would take, she told me not to worry about it and to just wear them the next day. I told her I would.

The next day, I was wearing the appropriate footwear (sneakers) and my professor showed up. She wanted to make sure that I was wearing the right shoes, since I had messed up. I smiled and told her I had. I tried to show that I was being a competent future social worker. I tried my hardest to prove to her that I was doing a damn fine job. I thought I had shown it. On Friday, at our seminar to discuss our week, she didn’t mention me by name, but she made jokes in front of the entire class about my incompetence and about how I was ill-prepared. Because she mentioned the sandals, everyone knew it was me. I was horrified. I tried so hard not to let it show, because I’d grown up with a grandfather who liked to humiliate me often and I knew that would make it worse. I found out from my friends, a few weeks later, that I was often joked about by this professor. Apparently, my sartorial choices and “lack of insight” (i.e. how I wore the sandals on a rainy day and ended up walking across the campus without the sandals on, which was comfortable, and because I never brought an umbrella) were commonly joked about by this professor in front of my classmates.

The next week, I was called into the boss’s office again. This time to find out why it was that I wore the “same” clothes every day. I change my clothes many times during a given day, even when I have done absolutely nothing. I feel dirty if I’m in the same clothes for very long, so a whole week of wearing the same clothing every day would just be impossible for me. I was wearing different jeans (different colors even) and different shirts every day. The only thing that was the same was that I always had my jacket zipped. So, I was confronted about this, but this time my teacher was there. And it became evident that something that had been disclosed to the staff from the day I showed up for my orientation was about to get thrown into my face.

First, she asked me to call my parents to have them come pick me up from the internship because she thought I needed the day off. This began to eat at my already fragile psyche, and it got worse when I said that I was having to wait until my parents heard my voice on the answering machine. Apparently, I was a horrible person because my parents couldn’t afford to have Caller ID. My day off soon, within minutes, became a week off, which wouldn’t be counted against me. I had to agree to it, of course, but I thought that she had to be doing what was in my best interest and she wouldn’t do something that would hurt me. I trusted her, and I don’t trust people easily, but I trusted her. I couldn’t stand her, but I trusted her. And that was the point in my life where I realized that people suck. Within the next forty minutes, while waiting for my parents, I got grilled on my psychiatric history. I also got asked if my adviser, who I liked and trusted even more, could go with me to my next psychiatrist appointment. It became evident that I had no choice, so I agreed, which actually brings me to a lesson. Don’t ever be naive, because people can tell and they will fuck you over in a heartbeat. So, I was a twenty-three year old who was going to have her adviser meet her psychiatrist. I wasn’t too concerned, but I should have been.

The next week, both of those professors showed up at my appointment. They went back with me. They got to listen to me tell a psychiatrist that I had never seen before (I go to a mental health center, so you don’t always get your assigned psychiatrist) that I’d been psychotic, depressed, and suicidal in the previous two months. They also heard me say that I wasn’t actively depressed, suicidal, or psychotic at that time, but that didn’t matter. Because at this point, I was told by the psychiatrist that I needed to be hospitalized. I was given a hospital order, which I didn’t follow through on, and I was given that in front of two teachers who would, months later, end up using as part of their justification why, with so little classtime left and a history of complete honesty about my psychiatric condition, I was being dismissed from the program. In January, though, I didn’t realize that that was going to happen. I was told to take a few months off, and that it wouldn’t held against me. I was also told to call back in the spring about my internship, so I called and called and called and called. The lovely teacher that loved to joke about me didn’t call me back. She didn’t answer notes left at her door. She didn’t even answer questions sent to her through one of her colleagues, who had become an unlikely ally for me. Eventually, after I’d started back to school and was taking an entire semester (except for 2 hours that were specifically linked my major) of classes that had nothing to do with my degree, I would be pulled into a meeting with the two teachers and told specifically about my dismissal. During this meeting, I would be told to get a degree in business or something and to never work in a job where I had to deal with people. They were very specific about how I shouldn’t be around other people. And that was when I realized I had worked almost 7 years to get a degree in a field that I had come to hate and it meant nothing. I was in a pre-professional degree program, and I was going to have to start all over again.

Oh, but wait, there’s more. When I dropped out of my internship back during that January of “fun”, my student loans for that year were returned to the government/banks. The school returned all of the money from not just the spring semester, but the fall semester (when I was actually in class), too. So, I had to pay the school again. I now owed thousands of dollars that I didn’t have, and that I couldn’t pay to them. So, I chose to try to go to UAH, but I was dishonest on my application. I omitted that I went to A&M because to mention it meant that I had to get my records. I couldn’t get my records because I couldn’t pay the loan back to the school. UAH figured out my dishonesty, put me on probation, and said that I couldn’t be admitted to their school until they had my complete record. I had to wait until my dad’s disability got approved so that I could have my grades.

When I finally went to school there, I was so burned out and so tired from everything that I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go to class and take tests and write essays for another four years and not know if that degree would ever come. I didn’t have the energy to get out of my bed in the morning, so I had to quit. I had to completely quit, which led to some nasty comments by people I know, about my laziness and about how I was just taking everything before too seriously. So, that was the end of my education career, but not the end of my debt.

asshat #1 - college - 04

I shouldn’t owe the amount that I do, but I do owe it. And that is not as you suggest in the very next image, because of my dumbass choice. No, it’s because I believed that people who were supposed to help me wouldn’t turn my whole dream into a nightmare.

asshat #1 - college - 05

So, in terms of your apology, I have to agree on one thing you said. You stated, “I am an idiot.” That, my dear, is true. Because you made the most asinine of statements, and you deserve the shit that gets dished to you. I think it is petty that you criticize people for getting mad at your post, but you don’t seem to realize just how horrible those 5 images are. You don’t realize what anger and what emotions you are evoking in another person because of your petty need to feel better about yourself. If you want to state your opinion, then do it in a nicer way. I bitch at people all the time now, which is not who I used to be. I was the girl who didn’t do that kind of thing, even when I was pissed, I was never outright cruel to people…not like I am now. And the stuff that you were being a brat about is part of what contributed to the bitchier version of me.

Like I said, you have no clue what is going on in another person’s life. You have no clue what your education career will be like. Most of all, though, you’ve just proven how incredibly immature and inconsiderate you are.

So, unlike many of my very, very snarky opinion posts, I shall end this one with a big fuck you. Why? Well, because your images inspired this post, which inspired me to reflect on everything that has happened in a decade, and that made me cry for two hours straight, while I tried to figure out what exactly I could say. I know it is unimportant to you because I’m just another whiny person with a lot of debt who made bad choices, but what you said was hurtful. It was cruel. It was unnecessary. You can be opinionated without going into full-blown bitch-mode. And you need to learn how to do that. And, I’m going to give you some advice that hurt me a few years ago, “Never get a job around other people.” They don’t deserve to have your judgmental behavior around them. No one does. If you do want a job around other people, then you need this advice as well: learn to be a more accepting human being. Learn to look at a person and see a person. I also need to say thank you, though, because this is probably the most that I have ever completely mentioned on the subject anywhere outside of just with my parents.

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