It’s Now Or Never

While I am still enjoying working in retail, I have finally decided to go back to school and study towards becoming a Vet Tech (or Vet Nurse… they’re both the same thing).

I have noticed myself becoming more and more weighed down by my Depression and Anxiety (and the chronic fatigue which seems to follow the two around).  Even though I’m fully medicated, which does help to even everything out, the mental disorders are still there, and always will be.  As always, Baxter is my saving grace, my fluffy little angel, who gives me a reason to get out of bed and have a shower and get dressed every day… I even walk every single day with him.  He makes me laugh to the point of tears sometimes, and is my favourite shadow.  Kitty also seems to know when I need smoochy cuddles, and I don’t even mind her selfishly cuddling me for warmth.

Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Meowbelline.

And that is also what has made me want to work with animals; I love them, and always have. I want to help as many animals as is humanly possible, and for me, the easiest way to do so is to become a Vet Tech, well, the actual easiest way was going vegan, but I’ve already done that, so on to phase 2.

Sidenote: As I’m writing this I can feel that horrible creeping feeling in my chest and gut, like someone is scraping my insides with a blunt spoon… Can spoons be blunt?  I say yes, because it doesn’t feel like my insides are being scooped, just lightly scraped.

Where I got the above idea from… it really does feel like this, though. – FilthyRatbag

So, I’m writing this all down in hope that it will give me the kick in the bum I need to actually enrol in my first pre-entry papers… because I’m scared.  I want to be a Vet Tech so badly, that my anxiety is stopping me from pursuing it, because what if I fail?  I will be a 30-something retail assistant forever who failed to do what I always wanted to.  But what if I pass and can then go off and become an animal physiotherapist… or assistant physiotherapist. What if I get a job as a Vet Tech in a zoo?? Those are the main two dreams… I also want a job that I would happily get out of bed for, even if my insomnia makes me have less-than-healthy sleeping patterns.  On that note, the worst mixture of side effects are depression-induced fatigue, and anxiety-induced insomnia… the two don’t really go that well together.  I am so tired at work sometimes that I forget to give change, and forget who I’ve already interacted with, which then sends me into an anxiety spiral where I start tripping over my words, and forgetting simple words, and all those fun things.

So join me, dear reader, on my journey to Vet Tech… I hope we both enjoy the ride.

Don’t Feed My Dog

I’m a bit angry with a few Masterton locals.

When I first got Baxter he was a chubby wee sausage with sissy paw pads.  I worked really hard with him, cutting down his meals and walking him daily.  He went from just over 8kgs to around 7kgs in the 3 months I had him… until we moved to Masterton.

Unfortunately he is adorable and runs to whoever he finds with food, and they generally don’t ask and have thrown whole sausages for him at the park, and my neighbour has been feeding him FULL MEALS without asking or telling me.  The only reason I knew is because he was now back to his sausage shape and had a huge and full belly.  The neighbours in front of us have a doberman (main culprits), and the neighbours beside us have a pitbull… tonight Baxter came back from the pitbull yard with a huge belly… so obviously he’s finding food at both houses. The thing I don’t think they realise about feeding Baxter is that he is much smaller than their dogs, and needs only a fraction of what the big dogs get fed.

I’m walking baxter AT LEAST twice a day and he’s still a huge fatty, which makes me really sad.  I know that I am a chub, but I have this thing called cognitive thinking and know that what I eat, at times, isn’t good for me.  Dogs do not have this. They rely on humans to feed them the appropriate amount and take them for exercise.  The other unfortunate thing about Baxter is that due to his past of neglect and abuse, he doesn’t have an off switch with food anymore.

I’m not a food nazi, I give him treats so he knows that he is loved and a good boy, but I know when to say when.

Lastly, I just think it’s extremely rude to feed someone else’s dog ANYTHING without asking first.  You don’t know whether that dog has any allergies or is on a strict diet for whatever reason. Don’t be a dick. Ask first.

I know he’s not ridiculously overweight, but I put so much love and time into getting him healthy and happy again.  Above is my favourite photo I’ve taken of him.

Rant over, for now.

Today Was Weird

Since I’ve had my wee lamby-dog, Baxter, I have finally started exercising daily, and finding amazing new places I never knew existed, even in the park that I frequent.  Yesterday I went to Thompson’s Bush, which I have driven past many times, but never thought about investigating.  It is stunning and my new favourite place in Invercargill.  There are a ridiculous amount of native birds, all squeaking and singing and peeping and it makes me so happy.

Yay nature!

Today I even picked up some rubbish on my way through the bush, because I was feeling particularly conservational.  I was naughty and let Baxter off his lead, which I only do when there are no other people around.  I stopped and enjoyed some sights, and took some super-hipster photos.  I let Baxter choose our path.  When we finally got to a path which leads back to the road, I stopped, because there was a very suspect looking person hanging around my car… he stopped, saw me, then started walking towards me.  I sized him up and was confident that I could take him if needed, and kept walking past to my car.  As I was walking past him, he stopped at the information sign and went to look underneath it, noticed me noticing him, then took a million years to roll a cigarette.  So by this time I just really wanted to know his deal… I sat in my car, for AGES, just watching him out the corner of my eye.  When he thought no one was looking, he started rummaging around behind this sign, and then I was like “ooh! naughty drug deals!” and I really wanted to go back and be nosey, but I managed to stop myself and just went to my local cafe instead.

Look how much fun we have. Also, Baxter likes to dress like David Bain.

While sitting at the cafe with a friend, with Baxter on my knee because he loves me so much, some super-cool teenagers walked by in their swaggy pants and puffer jackets.  I relayed to my friend how much I hated teenagers, and as if they heard me, two of them started staring each other down and threatening a fight.

I had never seen a fight begin with a swinging back kick until that moment.  It was a piss poor excuse for a swinging back kick, but he tried.  Then the other guy used his fists, because he meant business.  Friend ran over to break up the fight, other guy ran over to break up the fight, Baxter was going apeshit because he hates fights… and it was over.  Swinging back kick guy came out worse off with a bleeding nose.

Okay, so these kids are a bit cuter than the shitty teens.

Not ten minutes later I noticed a young boy crying outside the library; an older lady tried to help him, to no avail.  This quiet guy who was waiting for a bus went over and got a few words out of him, and because my day had already been so interesting, I went over, too.  This kid must’ve been around 10 years old and absolutely beside himself in tears.  I managed to calm him down and ask what happened:  His mum had met him at the library after school, he asked to get some books out with his own library card, mum said no.  He pleaded with her, she kept saying no, and she ended up getting so pissed off with him that she just left him there, telling him to find his own way home.  I got his name and address and his mum’s name, and then nice quiet guy and I took him into the library to find some yu-gi-oh books.  I left his information with the librarian and then just hoped for the best.  I’m still a bit flabbergasted that someone would just leave their kid like that.

To the people who stepped in and helped today:  Thank you.

I’m a loser baby…

I made it up to day 18 of 30 and now I’m done.

I was eating less (without even realising it) and feeling awesome from working out every day, started to notice my tummy bulge lessening, and even had the patience to do up a 4-hook bra behind my back… then all of a sudden my anxiety starts creeping up on me, and I got 4 minutes into my workout on day 17 and just collapsed into a pile of tears.  Phil ran into the room to see what was wrong, and in between sobs I managed to cry the words “I can’t do it”.    I couldn’t understand why I felt like this all of a sudden, but that’s just mental illness for ya, I guess.  I am at the point where I will hang out with friends and then come home and immediately freak out like I’m that one special needs kid that everybody just tolerates.

I’ve been diagnosed with clinical depression since I was 17, but have only been diagnosed properly with generalised anxiety disorder for the past couple of years.  I found out after talking to mum that I’ve always acted “weird” in social situations; particularly cafes and restaurants… I would be all antsy and tell mum “people are looking at me, we have to go”.  Lucky for me, depression and anxiety go hand in hand, so I’ve got that going for me.

#sarcasm

The first doctor I went to – after raging out for no reason and throwing a notebook across the room in front of mum – prescribed me with Fluoxetine (prozac), and told me to stop working.  The prozac turned me into a zombie and made me feel worse than before, I’m sure that not working didn’t help.  Then I was in a musical and my friend’s mum told me to change to her doctor because he had been through depression and actually helped.  She was right, he was awesome and wouldn’t mind me calling him randomly throughout the day when I was having a “moment”, and he changed my prescription to paroxetine (aropax), which seemed to be better.  I still had my down times, when I would scratch my arms til they were raw and bleeding and looked like burns: I turned up to work with two long plasters down my arms and my boss told me that I wasn’t allowed to work “looking like that”… I wrote a letter to head office and got him in trouble (don’t fuck with me).

It was around this time that I was accepted to study at the other end of the country, so I moved down (no-one thought I was going to stay more than three months) and got a bit worse for a little while because I didn’t know anyone and lived in a house full of bogans with stolen dial-up internet (don’t even ask).  After bouncing around a few doctors over a couple of years, I finally found the right ones.  We talked and changed my meds to loxamine, and I felt fine for ages, and I was happy in my relationship so (stupidly) I weaned myself off of the loxamine with the new citalopram I had been prescribed.

I was fine for about a year, and then around the end of my third year of study, I lost the plot and didn’t leave my bed for 2 weeks; I was a hysterical mess, and even though Phil kept hinting that I should go back to the doctor I refused, and then mum said the same thing and I finally went.  Started up properly on citalopram, which was the best medication yet, and finished my degree, and stopped smoking, cut off my dreads and got a job.  Everything was coming up Milhouse until I realised (when Phil went on the same meds) the reason behind my non-existent sexdrive… yup, ’twas the meds.

By now my doc and I are bros; she knows everything about me because I’m constantly in there with ALL the problems.  So we talk it out and I get prescribed Venlafaxine, which I also noticed helped me to feel feelings again, I hadn’t noticed how emotionally numb I was until I changed from all the SSRIs to an SNRI.  I like that I can cry now, because crying is important.  But I think I just need to up my dosage (I’m going to talk to bro doc first).  So that’s probably why I’ve been feeling horrible all of a sudden.

I also found a different type of exercise that is actually fun and punches you in the face even after a few minutes… Hooping. Holy shit, it’s crazy.  I made myself an adult sized hoop and have just been putting it off, but I really want to get good at it, so my practice is also going to be my workout… thank goodness for the 6ft fence around my yard so the neighbours can’t see fatty Jaz failing at hula hoops.

Pretty snazzy, huh?

So, we’ll see how this one goes.

If you think you may have depression or anxiety problems, don’t hesitate to go to your GP, school counsellor, or call a helpline.

Fun Games For Bunnies.

Fun buns

– Jump at any tiny sound that happens.

– Nibble the pages of books that you find.

– All cables are for nibbling.

– Nibble everything you come into contact with.

Shoes are especially delicious.

– Eat pieces of carpet.

– Eat the remote buttons.

– Dig into human’s clothing and then try to move it with your mouth (bonus points if humans are inside the clothing).

– Dig into anything… any-thing… a-ny-thing.

– Run around the house.

– Run around the house in the opposite direction.

– Push over water bottles.

– Keep pissing on the same cushion after the humans have washed it.

– Demand food from your human by putting your nose inside their nostrils.

– Freak out when the cat rolls onto your head and just sit there underneath the cat until it moves.

– Whenever you are given a tasty thing, run away with it because it might have been a mistake.

– Flop on the ground for exactly 20 seconds, this way your human doesn’t have enough time to get a good photo of you being nice to the cat.

Except that one time when I caught them.

– Move your litter box around as many times as you can until your human makes that high-pitched sound that you hate.

– Hide under the bed.

– Eat your poop.

– Piss right next to the litter box in the bathroom, because the floor smells too clean.

– Learn how to open doors if they aren’t properly closed; this is obviously an invitation into that room.

Now you are ready to be a fun bunny.  Good luck.

Black (poop) Friday.

Day two of my workouts and iron supplements…

My workout was both easier and harder today; it was easy because I knew what was coming, but it was hard because I went full retard and WENT FOR A RUN LAST NIGHT.  Honestly, what’s gotten in to me?  I was just sitting watching Supernatural (no spoilers, please), then all of a sudden I had this urge to go for a walk.  So I dropped in on my friends and stole their fatty dog, so we could go for a fat run together.  Even though it felt like my heart was going to give out and my lungs were on the verge of collapsing, I felt pretty freakin’ awesome afterwards, AND a couple of creepy older men looked me up and down (still got it).

You flatter me, sir.

Then today happened and I could feel all of myself yelling abuse at me in between muscle aches.  Soooo I did what any sane person would do and did my day two workout.  I felt good, my arms and legs did not feel good, but that just means I’m doing shit properly.

Took my iron supplement and left the house because leaving the house is a big thing for someone with anxiety and depression problems.  Had an iced coffee, and not very much water… this was probably my downfall.  Went to a friend’s house to chillax.

And then it happened…

I nearly had to rip my friend off of the toilet so I could sit down.  My stomach felt like it was about to burst so I assumed the position… fuck. you. constipation.  It hurt so bad, I was literally sweating out of every pore on my body (the fact that it was 28 degrees didn’t help much), it felt as though my very being was being forced down into my colon, but I didn’t want to make too much noise and alarm my friend… also I thought I was going to faint [cue friend being yelled at to bring me water].  While I was sitting there, with only a couple of wee nuggets in the bowl as a consolation prize, my mind did this cool thing that it does when my anxiety plays up:

What if I get all this hell water out of me, and I do end up collapsing from exhaustion and strain (I wasn’t straining, I know it’s bad).  What if she has to come to my aid and drive me to the hospital covered in black diarrhoea?  (Iron shits are black, don’t be alarmed)

In the midst of my shit and constipation-induced delirium, the floodgates finally gave way and I was both relieved and still in a large amount of shitty pain, but mostly relieved.  I don’t know whether you are aware of iron-shits, but they are THE WORST; they smell like satan’s salty buttcrack, and they feel a lot like that, too. I liken this particular episode to the resulting explosion from filling a spud gun with water and then loading it up with a potato.

Beware the iron-shits

I finally emerge, a couple of pounds lighter, still drenched in constipation sweat (there was an actual puddle where my feet were), and lie down in the middle of her lounge to take a breather.  Friend told me she totally would’ve cleaned me up the best she could before taking me to A&E ♥

It’s over now, I am not looking forward to tomorrow’s show.

Jesus take the wheel.

I have been grumpy and lethargic as fuck recently, so I finally got off my fat arse and did something about it;  I started taking iron supplements again (looking forward to my first anal explosion), and I started the 30 Day Shred.

The “shred” is a 30 minute high impact workout where you do all the cardio and strength training in one go and halfway through your first session you may find yourself fighting the urge to throw your weights at your computer screen, or asking a deity what you did to deserve this.  I do feel  better now, though, after cooling down for an hour… my arms don’t want me to use them anymore today.  But fuck you, arms! You don’t own me! I’m going to use you today; I’m going to lift a coffee cup to my mouth with you, and I’m going to pet my animals with you, and I’m going to use you to squeeze out of my workout clothes.

I might even go busking with the old uke today *Jaz’s arms scream in agony*.

The only downside to this whole working out thing is having to wash my hair every day because of scalp sweat… please, contain your orgasms.

hnnnngh

In other news, I got a new (secondhand) phone the other day and I remembered why I hate getting new things.  Changing all your settings all over again, putting all the shit from one thing over to new thing, feeling like a dick asking google for things (but that’s what it’s for?).

Also, Kitty and Bunbuns (Destroyer of Worlds) are friends 🙂 soooo happy.

*mwah*

Right, Jaz… Shower, clothes, hopefully not iron-pill-diarrhoea, coffee, write something poetic or song-ish… maybe breakfast… yes breakfast.

Getting Shit Done.

I’ve never been keen on new year resolutions, because we all make empty promises to ourselves in the heat of the moment…  But this year I want to change things in my life, just little things, but things.

I am going to start the 5:2 “diet”, which is a weight loss method that a lot of people I know have seen big results with.  Basically you can eat whatever you like for any five days of the week, and for the other two days you must eat 500 or fewer calories.  I believe this is good for me personally because I have my vices that a conventional diet wouldn’t allow.  I usually buy day-to-a-page diaries, but for the sake of planning my 500 calorie days, I’m buying a week-to-two-page one so I can plot it out.

My life

My partner is still a bit iffy about my weight loss plan, and I have to remind him that this is my decision and all he can do is support me through it (especially when he hums and hars in front of my friends when I tell them my plan for the year).

Another thing that I’m going to do this year is go through the stages of celebrancy training.  I am hoping to be fully qualified by the end of the year.  I will do both weddings and funerals and am really excited about this endeavour.  I already have someone who is willing to be my mentor [we will call her L.].

So that’s what’s happening in Jaz’s world at the moment.

This year my blogs will be my trials and tribulations as I work towards the two (totally doable) goals I have set for myself.

UPDATE: After ten months at the Early Childhood Centre, I decided it wasn’t for me.  I still visit the kids now and then, though.

 

I also bought a bunny.

Hai

Witty Blog Title

When I decided to make the move from one end of the country to the other, I didn’t know anyone in the South Island, let alone the COMPLETE BOTTOM of the South Island.  I knew that I had to find a flat first, because being homeless was off the cards.  I trawled the flatmate wanted ads on trademe and finally found a place that was really cheap, and after chatting to the guy I decided it was going to be my new abode.

The moving day came and I said goodbye to Mum and cried way too much because I’m a little bitch with a million feelings.  I believe this guy’s name was Shane, which should have set me up with at least an inkling of an idea of the fact that I would be living with bogans… me, coming face to face with my first real life bogan.  Anywho, I arrive at Invercargill airport and Shane has offered to pick me up, which is awesome, but I don’t know what he looks like yet.  I call him and see this guy reach for his phone and my stomach drops a bit.  Think holey oil-stained t-shirt which may have once been blue (now grey), unkempt hair, black jeans, and black doc-marten type shoes (love Docs, by the way).  So we get “home” and I meet the other two flatmates who tell me that Shane is just “luxing” my room…  Umm… what?  I imagined him in there throwing soap flakes all over the place to… maybe make it smell better?

Turns out southlanders have some neat names for things – which they are adamant are the right words – that everyone else in the country has a different, proper, name for.  Let’s learn some, shall we?

Lux: To vacuum, or another word for the vacuum cleaner itself.  

Super Heater/Super Heater Cupboard: It’s quite cold down here, so when someone told me about this “super heater”, I was like “where can I get one? they sound awesome”.  Turns out it’s just a hot water cylinder and its cupboard.

Belgium: Luncheon meat/luncheon sausage… weird, right?  

Definitely not a piece of processed meat…

There also seems to be a city-wide epidemic where no-one knows how to use the word “seen” in the right tense: “I seen you the other day”.  No. I want to slap you in the face.

Baaaaack to the story…  Shane was actually lovely; he drove me to tech and picked me up and took me to the supermarket and things, but I had a rough time in that house because I had no friends to escape to.  I cried and re-thought my decision every night for at least a month, and then I found my neighbours who I wrote about in The Rhino and the Katana, and life was a bit better.

Oh! I also forgot to mention that the airline lost one of my suitcases on the way down… my important one, with my whole life in it.  But luckily they found it halfway up the country and delivered it to my door the same night.

Coming from a part of the country which is mostly populated by Maori people, this was a bit of a culture shock.  I’ve found that people are, shall we say, less tolerant of other races down here. HOWEVER, southlanders, on the whole, are actually some of the friendliest people I have ever met.

Although bogans seem to have a negative light thrown on them, they just have their own little sub-culture that some people may frown upon… sometimes me.

 

Also, I apologise if this doesn’t make much sense… I am ridiculously hungover.

Morbid kids.

I usually just go with the flow at work; if the kids want me to be involved in their games then I will join in and do what they tell me to.

I don’t know whether it’s because we go past the prison on our excursions to the bush, but they are obsessed with putting me in jail and hurting me (not really hurting, just pretend). Today I was put in jail and given “the hotness” (burnt with a stethoscope), and they cut my heart. Of course I died from such treatment… But when I un-died, they asked what kind of strawberry drink I wanted. I pointed to the imaginary picture and they handed me the glass… It was poison! I clutched at my throat and slumped down in my chair. Another kid told me that I could have this other poison drink, but he was told in a whispered voice not to disclose that it was poison, or else I wouldn’t drink it. Some of these four year olds are too smart.

Usually how it starts.

So I came back to life and was poisoned a few more times, and then went on a hunger strike because I had figured them out. “I can’t eat any of your food or drink your drink because I keep getting poisoned and I don’t trust you anymore.”… They didn’t want to play anymore, but I still had to pay a million dollars to get out of jail.

Not the right kind of poison… but look at them.

They usually tell me not to escape when they go away to find more people for jail, which is basically an open invitation to escape so they can put me back in there. I didn’t escape this time; thought I’d get out on good behaviour. I was very wrong.  

I asked what I did when they put me in jail the second time today… I had kicked someone.  I love how that was one of the naughtiest things they could think of.