Since I had a mole removed from my back earlier this year, I had to get more skin and cells removed. I had this done last Tuesday (January 24) and I’ve been healing since. The stitches hurt, some of my shirts have bloody smears on them, and I need a fresh bandage put on it every day. It’s annoying, but I’ll have a cool scar by the end of it. Really what I want is answers; I want to know the pathology results. The results were suppose to be back by now, but they haven’t called me saying whether or not I’m cleared. Granted, there’s a 0.0000001 percent I have anything, but this sense of not knowing is stressful and terrifying. I just want to know so I can move on with my life and continue not going out in the sun. Guess I’ll watch more Steven Universe in the mean time.
I promised myself that I was going to start writing and posting more. Instead I’ve been avoiding it because when I come home from work, I’m exhausted and I don’t wanna do anything besides eat snacks and watch cartoons. It’s really annoying.
Annoying to the point where I don’t even know if I should be writing. I’ve been working on the same idea and premise for almost five years now with little to no advancement. I’ve had the idea and story for ages, working on how to connect it all, and finalizing it, but nothing. Nothing has been added to it. It gets to my depression sometimes in the most spectatcular ways.
But then I see movies like La La Land, which plays to that optimist in me. The story is in the vein of being meta while staying grounded. The performances are amazing, the music is enthralling, and the ending is the best I’ve seen since Birdman. I won’t spoil it, but it doesn’t end with a traditional happy ending; just a sense of closure. It’s in these moments that I remember the promise I made for myself in 2017.
Instead of feeling sorry for myself because I’m not where I want to be, I’m actually going to work toward my goal. I’m going to be selfish this year and make 2017 the year of Ryan.
That, and when a mysterious mole on your back gets scrapped off your body and the biopsy shows that it was a very, very early stage of melonina, you realize how fucking terrifying a life unfulfilled is.
Seriously, I don’t go outside without a shirt on so to hear that i might have skin cancer is just a slap in the face. It’s like, “Hey, remember all of your other health problems? Well, fuck you, here’s skin cancer.” I’m not making light of people with skin cancer or who’ve had skin cancer, but I’m glad this was caught early.
Anyway, I’m going to work on some things and be back soon. Enjoy your day.
So I bought a new keyboard to try and help me write more. I have a nice laptop, but there’s something about working on my tablet that’s more rewarding for some reason.
I’ve been neglecting my writing and my reading, but I want to get back on track with that. One blog post a day. It’s sometimes that easy to do and try something new while writing.
I’ve got some ideas that I wanna explore and now that I have a portable and detachable keyboard, i feel like I can get back to where I’ve wanted to be since 2012.
You ever feel like you’re going to cry? You’ve had a couple of rough days and you just feel like letting out every tear you’ve been holding back for a while? There’s nothing warranting it; you just wanna do it.
That’s the feeling I’ve been clinching on to for about a week now. I’ve unfortunately been off my anti-depressant for almost two weeks now and at first I was fine. The last time I was off of it it took three days to feel any negative side effects. This time it took six days to feel it.
It wasn’t normal, either. I thought I would just get really mopey and have low energy. Nope. There were dizzy spells, lower-than-expected energy, violent mood swings, and just anger seething through my teeth. It’s been awful.
While I’m seeing my doctor soon to get more refills, I’ve had some moments of clarity and moments of utter fear. And yet the tears just wait on my ducts just waiting for me to give in and start rolling down my face.
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it, either. A good cry is suppose to be therapeutic, and since it will be January 2016 before I see my new psychologist again, I could use a decent therapy session.
Maybe that’s the point of being in therapy: recognizing when you need to feel something and properly feeling it instead of just surprising it.
I’m in the market for a new car and I narrowed my options between Ford and Toyota. I went to my Ford dealer and had a great experience with them. Then I went to a Toyota dealer and had a awful experience with them. I was so pissed off and disappointed about the whole thing that I found their Facebook page and started to read the reviews. I decided to write one, too.
However, I decided not to post it because A.) that would continue me acknowledging that their still in the running for my business and B.) I can’t be that harsh to someone.
So instead I’m posting it on my blog with the name taken out so you can see what I would’ve posted and understand why they can no longer have my money.
Review: I’m in the market for a new vehicle and I decided to come to [NAME WITHHELD] to test a few options. I had two vehicles in mind I wanted to test drive: the Yaris hatchback and the RAV4. When I arrived, the idea of driving a Yaris was immediately thrown out and I was being pushed into a Corolla, a car I had zero interest in. After being talked down to like I hadn’t done my research on both vehicles and like I had never seen a new car before, I test dove a new RAV4, and then we discussed financing options. While our rep worked with us on the leasing option (something I was open to, but didn’t want to commit to) he didn’t work with us on a longer payment plan for purchasing the RAV4 and instead came back with another leasing option for the Corolla – a car I had no interest in and did not want. After the third or forth time he worked with the manager about the leasing option, I had to remind him that I was only looking today and did not want to commit. Apparently that turned him into a toddler who didn’t get his way and he started pouting. He didn’t even have the decency to shake my hand when I left. I walked away pissed off and incredibly disappointed.
See? Told you it was bad.
I haven’t posted a damn thing since December and I’m embarrassed. This used to be an outlet for me to voice my frustrations and showcase things I thought were cool or interesting, but now it’s slowly going back the way of the MARK I: a relic that has no value in this world. Well, I’m readjusting to my new job and lifestyle, so hopefully I’ll be able to clear out some things that have been piling up in my draft queue for a while.
In 2012 I started shaving my head. I wish I could say I shaved my head for solidarity with a friend who was going through cancer treatments or that I lost my bet that the LA Kings wouldn’t win the Stanley Cup or that I failed at fire-juggling, but I did it for vanity. I am a vain, vain man. Long before I started my crusade against the gluten industry, I was diagnosed with alopecia areata. Alopecia is when your body doesn’t recognize hair as hair and causes it not to grow and creates bald patches. Occasionally I would have some flare-ups and I would use a steroid lotion to restart hair growth. This was my pattern until I graduated college and lost my health insurance. After that, it became very expensive to keep regrowing my hair. Late in 2011 I was losing my hair in larger and larger patches, and it was staying out for longer periods, too. Towards the end of May in 2012 I was missing about 45 percent of my hair and I could no cover it. I gave in and decided to shave it all off. I went to my hairdresser where she shaved off the remaining clumps and I went home to shave off the rest of it with lady’s leg razor. Seriously, those things are a godsend when it comes to going over the awkward contours of a head. I was now bald and proud. Hell, I even went out and bought some new hats so I wouldn’t burn my scalp in the summer sun. I started to rely more on my confidence and personality because, let’s face it, I couldn’t fall back on my blond-ginger roots to get me out of trouble. It was a pretty speculator summer and autumn. I started experimenting with my hair growth again toward the beginning of winter and discovered that most of it had grown back in the bald patches. I could grow out my hair out again. For almost all of 2013, I had my hair back in some very interesting and awkward hairstyles, but it was my hair from natural growth – no steroids or creams to induce it. That was until late in the fall when I had a resurgence of alopecia and the patches got bigger and bigger. I had to shave my head again after readjusting to having hair. This looked like it was going to be my new cycle. I started a new ritual of shaving my head weekly, which has now gone on a year. I kept it clean with my beard and changed my appearance from bald with a beard to completely shaven to a bald head with a mustache (with or without sideburns), it didn’t matter, I just wanted to keep changing my limited look. However, I was getting frustrated that no new hair had grown in the several months following my weekly ritual shearing. I went to a new dermatologist for suggestions and treatment. She put me a cream that just had to be left on for 30 minutes and washed off after applying it to the scalp. That was back in September and now in a few short months I’m already seeing hair growth and feeling a lot more optimistic about my scalp health. For the first time in nearly a year, I have hair in new places on my scalp and it’s only getting better. Hopefully in a few months I’ll be able to get a haircut, which sounds like a bizarre aspiration for a 26-year-old, but I really wanna be warm this winter.
I had a dream last night.
In this dream, I had new-found superpowers that I was still adjusting to. While I was visiting my grandparents with some relatives this psychopath a la the Winter Soldier decides to come after me.
I was scared. I tried hiding in the house, yelling at him to just go and leave me alone.
Instead, he ruins my grandma’s car and calls for cronies. He tried getting in the house, so my uncle and I slam the door on his hand and I take a sledgehammer to his protruding fingers. He runs away like a scared kitten. His backup eventually comes and leaves with him.
I try recollecting myself when a helicopter comes through the neighborhood chasing what I thought was the getaway car. So, I leave my grandparent’s house and go to a hero’s academy/museum.
I start talking to my mentor when suddenly an explosion shakes the building; my nemesis with his goons are attacking the innocent in the museum.
I rush into action going from the back to the front of the building (and some how see all the duplicate heroes on permanent smoke break) while my teammates try to overpower. I show up, kill their battle robot while me and a teammate subdue the remaining three.
We capture them and my teammate, who’s a psychic, discovers they were under an evil spell. We dispel the curse only to discover they’re harmless humanoids and an alien who are begging for their lives, thinking they’re off the hook.
With a blinding light in my eyes, I decide that they can’t be trusted because if they fall again, they’ll go on another rampage destroying and harming more innocent people. I slice the green alien into bits, vaporize the red one into dust and torture my nemesis with lights beaming out of his mouth and eyes before his head explodes.
Then, I woke up in a warm sweat.
I say it was one of my stranger dreams, but I’ve had weirder ones. The superpowers were new and nice touch from my subconscious. Maybe next time I’ll actually let them live.
“Time To Move On”
I don’t have any advice or insight regarding this part. I’ve accepted that I need to move on (I’m sure she has too for herself), but I have a terrible track record when it comes to dating and romance. While I wish it were easy for me to just go out, hit on any woman I was interested in, have the night end in sex and/or a relationship, but I’m just not that guy. I’ve tried being that guy in my younger years and I was terrible at it. I think I knew that wasn’t me. However, I was so deadest on creating barricades and labyrinths for people to work through that I would come off as callous and awkward when really I’m just awkward. I honestly have no idea what to say for this section because your time to move on will come, but it depends on how much effort you’re really willing to put into it. I didn’t care about moving on until I felt like I was losing so much control of my life that I needed something to feel normal again. It’s just important to move forward and remember what made those nights special in the first place. It was the love and affection you felt towards one another that led to conversations about the future and fantasizing about life would be like outside of your town. The lazy nights spent watching horror movies and the days spent entertaining one another. The good mornings and good nights via texts that made each day better than the last. The inside jokes that made you blush when trying to explain it to someone else. The way you two slept entwined in the sheets hoping you would never have to leave that comfort… But sadly, you only have those memories left. Those memories will ignite your passion again and one day you’ll find someone to share those same sensations and feelings.
However, People Do Want What’s Best For You
If there’s one feeling I know better than anything else in the world, it’s isolation. As I mentioned in other posts, I’m really good at it, but that’s not a skill I’m proud of. I think maybe I was Bruce Banner in another life, but I digress from the point. I forged a lot of good online friendships with a fair share of people and while they had the same derivative response of “don’t worry, it gets better” (the one thing you don’t say to someone with depression) I could tell that they cared and really wanted me to get better for myself. However, do the overwhelming nature of my anxiety billowing down, I wasn’t able to get myself to “normal” for months. That’s the sad reality of when you’re by yourself yet surround by people: they all want what’s best for you, but you can’t see that in the mist of your depression.
Don’t Hold Out
Even though she said “I’m not opposed to reconnecting, but it won’t be for a while” the phrase “a while” is incredibly convoluted and vague. It’s almost impossible to determine what a while really is. In my old business, “a while” could range from a few minutes to a few days to a few weeks. And when does it become appropriate to restart this talk? After the holidays or before you get those new puppies? When? You have to decide if that’s a talk you want to have and if it’s something you want to pursue. Even though I wanted to talk to her every day, I never found a good enough reason to start a conversation or find one that would make me seem like I was doing better when I wasn’t. I didn’t need to be “that” guy trying to make things happen when they weren’t going to be any different from the last time around. No one needs that chaos in their life.
Clichés Are There For A Reason
There are three things I hate: terrorists, clichés and gluten free bread in that order. Terrorists for obvious reasons, gluten free bread is terrible and crumbly, and clichés just rehash the same one line and message multiple times. However, I learned during my tenure in the deep dark cavern of depression that clichés as inspirational messages and typographical posters do help the healing process. Even simple messages and quotes, no matter how often you see or hear them, can help you feel better about your situation. I didn’t have any particular quote or passage that I loved reading when I was feeling particularly vulnerable, but going through Tumblr tags and seeing what others had posted or reblogged helped ease that grief a bit. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to see me through to the next day.