This year's summer vacation, like the best I've ever had, was steeped in a little grit, and a lot of salty water. But it was the worst.
After getting laid off without warning a little over a couple weeks ago, I got really, really worried, and expected to go another long period without work or money. We couldn't afford this apartment any more (someone else was paying on the lease before I was hired), and the options for staying elsewhere for a while were, well, much fewer and less attractive than we'd thought.
For several days towards the end of my summer vacation, I stayed in an old haunt of mine I hadn't seen for a couple years, a place I call The Deep. I can't recommend this place any less, especially without all the swirly colors, and strange thoughts and visions I used to freshen it up with during earlier stays. Try the Hilton instead. Or solitary.
Until that point, I hadn't been suicidal since I decided to transition, a subject for another time. But I've learned by now to see that situation coming a mile away, and it was out on the patio. I nearly checked myself in one night, but decided to ride it out (burying my head in video games, graphics software, and YouTube) for at least the evening in an attempt to save five grand.
Connie then asked her boss if she could transfer to another store while I worked at that one. After an initial answer of no, she was moved to the store I'd been working at, and I was rehired doing kids' clothes again at her store. Full time, even! Yay!
A lot of my old coworkers are there too, and I received a welcome back on my first day back that really melted my heart. But while it's a great feeling to be working again at all, I think I'm going to use my "currently employed" status to try and find something a little less physical and high-speed. It really is rough.
Until then, the vacation is over, and everything is back to to normal, or as "normal" as can be expected in my situation, anyway. I'm preparing my upper lip for laser hair removal, saving up for a name change, and passing very, very well these days. The vacation from my vacation has been great so far, and looks even more promising!
While things have been for the most part pretty okay-- relative to how most of my transition has gone so far, at least-- I've not been, well, doing well, which makes it pretty hard to get the things done that need done. Like, say, posting on Transgurl more than once in two months!
Being a Fucked-up Bipolar Chick™ means there are both highs and lows, but Type II bipolar disorder (which I've been diagnosed with in the past) is hypomanic. This means that when I feel "high," it's not as severe or long-lasting, relative to Type I bipolar.
The rest of the time is usually kind of a low-grade depression that sits just below baseline, and reacts to situations a little too strongly. Type II is also faster. It tends to turn your life into a roller coaster. And being hormonally female, especially via easily forgotten oral medications, does not help the matter. Seriously.
In a few moments, I'll be back on Prozac (generic). I've not taken it since right before going full time, but I probably should have been on it all along. It's not for everyone, but I've used it for four different periods, and it has always ended up making me much happier, more focused, and admittedly, better functioning. The change it induces in me is marked enough to draw happy, surprised comments. I've been on various other psych meds, and this, the second one I ever tried, is the one I personally respond to the best, by far.
The cycle goes something like this: Things get bad. I go on Prozac. It really helps and I feel much better. I feel so much better, I stop taking Prozac after six months or so. Yay, cured for life! For the third time! I do okay for a few months. Things get bad.
After the umpteenth close call I had a few weeks ago, I think it's time I seriously considered that I apparently need to be on something for good if I don't want life to feel like a broken glass treadmill with weekly reminders of how I could feel. Worse yet, I risk it ending abruptly by going without. Even now, as myself.
The last time I quit Prozac, I thought maybe my transition would remove the need for psych meds, at least for me. Even though things are much better than they would have been beforehand, transition itself only fixes one problem, and as the old Buddhist koan goes, everyone has 47 problems.
This year's summer vacation, like the best I've ever had, was steeped in a little grit, and a lot of salty water. But it was the worst.
After getting laid off without warning a little over a couple weeks ago, I got really, really worried, and expected to go another long period without work or money. We couldn't afford this apartment any more (someone else was paying on the lease before I was hired), and the options for staying elsewhere for a while were, well, much fewer and less attractive than we'd thought.
For several days towards the end of my summer vacation, I stayed in an old haunt of mine I hadn't seen for a couple years, a place I call The Deep. I can't recommend this place any less, especially without all the swirly colors, and strange thoughts and visions I used to freshen it up with during earlier stays. Try the Hilton instead. Or solitary.
Until that point, I hadn't been suicidal since I decided to transition, a subject for another time. But I've learned by now to see that situation coming a mile away, and it was out on the patio. I nearly checked myself in one night, but decided to ride it out (burying my head in video games, graphics software, and YouTube) for at least the evening in an attempt to save five grand.
Connie then asked her boss if she could transfer to another store while I worked at that one. After an initial answer of no, she was moved to the store I'd been working at, and I was rehired doing kids' clothes again at her store. Full time, even! Yay!
A lot of my old coworkers are there too, and I received a welcome back on my first day back that really melted my heart. But while it's a great feeling to be working again at all, I think I'm going to use my "currently employed" status to try and find something a little less physical and high-speed. It really is rough.
Until then, the vacation is over, and everything is back to to normal, or as "normal" as can be expected in my situation, anyway. I'm preparing my upper lip for laser hair removal, saving up for a name change, and passing very, very well these days. The vacation from my vacation has been great so far, and looks even more promising!
Posted in employment, misc by Milla | Comments (2)
While things have been for the most part pretty okay-- relative to how most of my transition has gone so far, at least-- I've not been, well, doing well, which makes it pretty hard to get the things done that need done. Like, say, posting on Transgurl more than once in two months!
Being a Fucked-up Bipolar Chick™ means there are both highs and lows, but Type II bipolar disorder (which I've been diagnosed with in the past) is hypomanic. This means that when I feel "high," it's not as severe or long-lasting, relative to Type I bipolar.
The rest of the time is usually kind of a low-grade depression that sits just below baseline, and reacts to situations a little too strongly. Type II is also faster. It tends to turn your life into a roller coaster. And being hormonally female, especially via easily forgotten oral medications, does not help the matter. Seriously.
In a few moments, I'll be back on Prozac (generic). I've not taken it since right before going full time, but I probably should have been on it all along. It's not for everyone, but I've used it for four different periods, and it has always ended up making me much happier, more focused, and admittedly, better functioning. The change it induces in me is marked enough to draw happy, surprised comments. I've been on various other psych meds, and this, the second one I ever tried, is the one I personally respond to the best, by far.
The cycle goes something like this: Things get bad. I go on Prozac. It really helps and I feel much better. I feel so much better, I stop taking Prozac after six months or so. Yay, cured for life! For the third time! I do okay for a few months. Things get bad.
After the umpteenth close call I had a few weeks ago, I think it's time I seriously considered that I apparently need to be on something for good if I don't want life to feel like a broken glass treadmill with weekly reminders of how I could feel. Worse yet, I risk it ending abruptly by going without. Even now, as myself.
The last time I quit Prozac, I thought maybe my transition would remove the need for psych meds, at least for me. Even though things are much better than they would have been beforehand, transition itself only fixes one problem, and as the old Buddhist koan goes, everyone has 47 problems.
46. *gulp*
Posted in hindsight, misc by Milla | Comments (3)