What you should know about me.


(Dated May 9, 2010-updated January 13, 2011)

I love to write. I usually have so much stuff stuffed inside my brain that it seems like I have ADD. Look, a blue car! What were we talking about? Oh yeah, me. Good subject. I'm like a Chuck Palahniuk book-on the surface, normal, but when you dig deeper you realize it's more fucked then you could have ever imagined. I try my best to hide the fucked-up part, and I'll bet that a lot of the people that know me, even the really close ones, would think that I'm overreacting. I'm not. At all. I'm like a good, law-abiding senator who gets caught in a gay bar with his leather daddy. You should also know that I'm good at analogies.

a·nal·o·gy
[uh-nal-uh-jee] –noun, a similarity between like features of two things, on which a comparison may be based

My whole life, my being, is a comparison between me and something I'm not. I'm constantly running a checklist off in my head when I think about others vs. myself. "Oh, she's married, like me! And she owns a house." "See? I'm better than her because she's single and I have found someone. But she has a master's degree." I've been doing this as long as I have been living, and nine times out of ten I'm the one on the short end of the compare stick. When I visualize my feelings about this, I always picture myself as the Silver Medal; and everyone else is either a Gold Medal or a Bronze Medal. I don't know if I've ever thought of someone as my equal; you're either better than me or beneath me. It takes a LOT to be the Bronze Medalist, by the way: you need to be snorting heroin on a street corner for me to look my nose down at you. I am an unbelievably forgiving person, even when I know I am right. I will bend my will to make sure people like me. It makes me a good manager for the most part; employees love me because they can walk all over me, customers get whatever they want. I go home with an anger bubble so deeply logged in my stomach that I usually eat or sleep away. Oh, the manager thing? Since about 2001, I've been in some form of retail management: a video store here, clothing store there.


I am currently not working. In the winter of 2008 I broke down, quit my job as a restaurant manager with no notice, dropped my Biology courses and went to sleep. My bipolar took over and I stopped caring. Life screeched to a halt and I lost everything that meant anything to me-except my husband and family. In the chaos that is my life it has been these two reasons that have kept me afloat, that have given my life meaning when all I wanted was for it to end. And writing. 


Writing to me is cathartic. It's either that or sleeping, and I can't sleep at the moment; eating (which I have finally tried to take control of-more on that one later); or zoning out with mindless video games, which I will actually do after I post this. So that's about it for now, I felt like posting about my core so I can work outward when I write.


Hi, I'm hed.


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