Decided to show some NYC pride with my Hurricane Sandy Relief Bayside logo shirt today.
No, but I know a black girl who grew up in Queens, with BOTH of her parents, who went to a special school for academics, participated in a program at a Bio lab at Queens College for a summer, and took photos for her HS yearbook.
Me.
Apparently there are people out there that think that someone like me couldn’t possibly exist
That hurts.
August 2012: Weirdest Month Ever
The title of this post is lame, but it’s true. August 2012 is a weird month that I will never forget, because it was a rollercoaster, but ended really well.
- My close friend and confidant moved back home. I already covered this, but just to recap, it was sad, and painful, and it took a few weeks for me to get my footing afterwards. Hopefully I’ll get to visit him soon.
- I got fed up with the poor gas mileage and Microsoft SYNC problems with my Ford Escape, so I traded him in for a new VW Passat TDI. I was on track to get 570mi out of my first tank of diesel, so I’m a very happy camper.
This is all stuff I covered before. So here’s the big news:
- I was offered a position as a Tech Writer/QA Tester, which I accepted. It’s a $15k salary jump, and will be way more challenging than my current position, so I’m ecstatic!
I’d been actively looking for a new position for the last four and a half years, so I’m very excited for the opportunity. I got to give my notice on Friday, and that really made it the best day of my life.
And the icing on the cake:
- It just so happened that my big brother, B, was in town for business on Thursday and Friday, and I got to spend a few hours with him and grab lunch before I dropped him at the airport. I hadn’t seen B for over 12 years, so this was long overdue! If the pic below is blurry, blame his iPhone. :)
So yeah, August was painful, exhausting, and ended full of joy and excitement.
So much happened last month that I took a hiatus from editing photos while all of this was going on, because I stopped enjoying it, which slowed me down and it became too time consuming. I have several sets to sort and post, and I look forward to getting those up for everyone to see in the near future.
Aftermath of Yesterday’s Panic Attack
So, I had a pretty intense panic attack yesterday, and today I’m still feeling the effects. For those of you who have never had a panic attack, you need to understand that it can take a while for a person’s body to recover from that shock.
Yesterday, my chest and upper back were sore for at least 5-6 hours after the panic subsided. Obviously, the soreness in my chest was from the violent, rapid heart rate. While I was having the panic attack, muscles all over my body became tense, and there were also some muscle spasms. This, of course, affected my injured right rotator cuff, and it proceeded to throb until I broke down and took Advil several hours later.
This morning I woke up to muscle soreness throughout my core, sore thighs, and tender biceps. I fully expected my abdomen and lower back to be sore, but the thighs and biceps were a surprise. I guess my body was working extra hard to help me keep the car on the road since the attack came on while I was driving, and all of this soreness is a result of that.
I still feel off. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s almost a hollow feeling. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, but I managed to make it to work early, and I don’t know how I pulled that off. I kinda feel like I’m moving in slow motion, and I feel kinda washed out.
And then there is the guilt. I feel guilty for texting my friend and telling my coworker. Both of them have other stresses in their lives, and I feel like a burden to them.
The friend I texted remained cool under fire, because that’s just how he’s wired. He didn’t panic, or give me any unsolicited advice (until after it was long over), and most importantly, he didn’t feed my fears and allow things to escalate. He’s also up early, so I knew he’d see my message hours before anyone else would. I feel bad for involving him, and I feel bad for making him worry, but he reacted the right way, and that’s why I chose to message him.
So that’s what it’s like. It’s a shock to your system, and it hits you on the physical, mental, and emotional levels, all at the same time. The after-effects can last for hours, or days, depending on how bad the panic was. And those of us who suffer panic attacks usually feel guilty for subjecting our loved ones to it. It’s a thoroughly awful thing.
What Panic Attacks Are REALLY Like
So I had my fourth full-blown panic attack since February this morning. It started sometime after 4:30am, and I only know that, because I texted a close friend (that I trust completely) shortly after I realized what was going on. I woke up after it already started, and to be honest, initially it didn’t feel like it was going to turn into a full attack. I felt like someone was standing on my rib cage, and both of my arms were tingling. Every heartbeat felt like someone was beating a tympani inside my chest, and I could feel it all the way in my ears and toes.
I managed to get another hour of sleep, and woke up to a concerned text from my friend (and to his credit, he manages to show concern without getting nervous or flailing or reacting in a way that can make my panic attacks worse, which is one of the reasons I reach out to him). This was a few minutes after 6:00am. At this point, my heart rhythm and beat intensity were both normal, and my arms were a little tingly, but I felt like the panic had subsided.
I got ready for work, hopped in the whip, and was driving into downtown Raleigh, when I was suddenly gripped by a full-fledged panic attack while merging onto Capital Boulevard. My heart rate probably hit about 150 for a few moments, but slowed slightly as the panic settled in and gripped me. The entire episode lasted about five minutes, and was accompanied by tingling arms, sweating, and shortness of breath. Luckily, my adrenaline kicked in, and I didn’t get woozy or disoriented, because that would’ve been bad whilst driving.
About a block away from the parking deck, my heart rate and rhythm dropped back to normal. It’s been about 2 hours since the attack ended, and the rest of the symptoms are still fading away. I am physically exhausted, and I feel like I ran five miles and dead-lifted 200lbs.
So that’s what a panic attack is like for me. I feel like someone is standing on my chest, and I can’t take in a full breath. Sometimes just my arms start to tingle, but if the attack is intense enough or lasts long enough, my legs can go tingly too. My heart rate goes from resting to rates that I’d expect if I were doing high-intensity cardio training (140-160bpm). Sometimes my heart misses beats, and my pulse can get thready. I am instantly covered in sweat from head-to-toe, and I can also get dizzy. Sounds like a blast, right? Well that’s not the worst of it.
The worst part is that I feel like a burden. When attacks happen around family and friends, I know I’m a burden on them. I get babied and coddled, and I get concerned looks for days afterwards. Sometimes their reaction to my panic attack makes the episode physically worse for me. If I’m alone, I usually try to reach out to one of my friends to let them know what’s going on, which is the responsible thing to do just in case something worse happens. But then I become a burden to the person on the receiving end of the text or phone call. I used to let my parents know when I had panic attacks, but I don’t anymore after my dad’s major illness last year, because they have enough to worry about. If it is a particularly bad attack (I had one that lasted over 90 minutes), I usually end up missing work, which makes me a burden to my coworkers.
So at the end of it all, you feel emotionally and physically drained, and a burden to your loved ones. It’s a wretched thing, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Having a Captain America shirt is really handy on patriot-flavored holidays. Thanks to the Avengers movie, I’ve also noticed that people listen to me and follow my orders more readily when I wear the shirt. Odd, but totally cool.
My hair is insanely long and no one believes me, so here is proof. (Taken with instagram)
My Head is an Avengers Spoiler Free Zone
So I never go to see movies right when they come out, because I hate a crowded theater. Comic book movies also bring out a lot of whiny children and people with babies, which are things I do my damned best to avoid at all costs. I will go see it sometime next week once I’ve recovered from this weekend’s festivities.
Since I’ve done an excellent job of avoiding spoilers thus far, I probably won’t be keeping up with my Tumblr dash for a few days (honestly I’m already woefully behind, and I’ve just been hitting the blogs of my followers directly to keep up with them). So if it gets quiet ‘round these parts, you know why.
Enjoy posting all of your feels. I’ll enjoy reading them in a week or so!
The Agony of Being Squelched
I don’t work in a creative field (IT), but as a writer I live with one foot in the land of creativity. I also work for state government, so I censor myself a lot, both in meatspace and online. I am not just talking about words. My deeds, my thoughts, and my actions are all run through a filter that I’m not even always conscious of. Since I only spend about half of my time in creative spaces, being squelched exhausts me mentally and physically, and only serves to make me angry.
I take that anger, and I use it to fuel my creative projects. I struggle with the exhaustion, but my creative endeavors replenish my energy. There is nothing quite like taking a great photo, writing a heartfelt essay, or designing a great webpage.
I had a friend who lives entirely in the creative spaces (writing and music). He has no filter. He says what he thinks, and he means what he says, everyone else be damned. He pursued a career in the creative space, because that’s where he thought he belonged, and that’s where he thought he could express himself freely.
The business side of being creative is one that destroys the humanity in people. I’ve watched an energetic, funny, wildly creative person suffer the agony of being squelched. I’ve watched an eloquent, self-assured person get systematically picked apart and broken down. All over money.
For someone who exists entirely in creative spaces, the definition of agony is to have what to wear, what to say, and how to act dictated to them. Suffering all of that for a paycheck is soul-crushing, and must cause unimaginable mental and emotional scars.
It hurts me to witness all of this, because it could just as easily be me. I could be the starving writer having words put in my mouth by money-grubbing editors, and be told what to say and how to dress by a smarmy manager. Life put me on a different path, and has both blessed and cursed me by making me spend half my life outside of the land of creativity. I feed my body by slinging techno-babble, and I feed my heart with my camera, my pen, and my Mac.
I now know that all attempts to make a living in the creative space should be approached with caution. Anyone who wants to monetize my creativity should not be taken at face value.
I’ve learned a lot watching this person’s story play out, and I hope that once this chapter of his life ends he will heal and find the way back to the person he was before all of this.
Why Should Your Credit Score Matter to An Employer?
I signed this petition, and I think everyone who reads this should do so too. There are so many people out there who need jobs, and with every passing month the job market seems to get a little bit better. The problem is that employers are rejecting people based on their credit scores and debt-to-income ratios.
If you’ve been unemployed for a while, chances are your credit score and debt-to-income ratios may not be great. So now you can’t get the job to make the money to pay down your debt-to-income ratio and correct your credit because of your debt-to-income ratio and credit score. How sick is that? Sign this petition to lay the smack down on TransUnion and stop this practice.
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I am a gadget addict who technically communicates. I'm shorter than you think I am. I name everything after TV characters. I've got Kitty Pryde (and Nightcrawler too). My brouhaha owns your ruckus.
