The one thing I can't afford to be delusional about

It is not abnormal for a college-student-run blog to start suffering when studying becomes a constant around exam time. It is also to be expected to have less time to post when health becomes an issue. Right now, both pose as issues that have been keeping me from keeping DtD up to date, so I figure I should offer a little insight as to why my schedule no longer has post subjects written in for every other day, except for today of course, which has in all caps:

"POST ON BLOG ABOUT WHY YOU SUCK AT POSTING THIS MONTH."

See, I was diagnosed with iron deficiency anemia when I was in high school. It all started with my Algebra II class junior year. My grades were beginning to suffer because it became a chore to concentrate. I got enough sleep, I wasn't necessarily bored in class, I simply could not focus. So, like most kids in high school who can't concentrate, I was diagnosed with ADD. The medication seemed to help keep me focused for longer stretches of time, but then I began to feel weak, lethargic, and incredibly shaky. Something wasn't right. That was when I went to the doctor and had my blood drawn for testing. (Worst clinic visit ever. They poked me ten times before they were able to find a good vein. Last resort was through the top of my hand, and it hurt like a motherfucker.) A week later I got the results and I was told that my iron levels were dangerously low. I was anemic.

This anemia has been a reoccurring issue since then. I take supplements until my levels test out as normal, then I take a break (you can actually overdose on iron if you are not careful), and the anemia comes right back into my life like a weight pressing down on me, keeping me from fully enjoying life the way that I want to. When a friend asks if I want to go running, I have to pass for fear of fainting. When my dizzy spells begin to dictate what I can and can't do, I feel incredibly limited and weak.

It has been exactly a year since I started taking the concentrated iron, and I feel worse than ever. I fainted at work in front of my customers, and let me tell you, it was not something I could laugh off. I was mortified. I even had a spell in my room while sitting at my window. I was not being physical what-so-ever. Everyone and their mom agreed that another visit to the doc was necessary.

On Tuesday I traveled to San Antonio and fasted for a blood test. When I sat down with the family doctor and explained what was going on, she looked incredibly concerned and asked that I lay down for the entirety of the visit. They took an EKG (if you have never had an EKG, they make you strip and hook you up to a machine that monitors your heart, it's not something you want to get used to) and blood samples, nothing that I have never experienced before. Then she sat down with me and gave me two referrals: a cardiologist, and a neurologist. Immediately, I was terrified.

Y'see, I am not a big fan of doctors, stemming from an experience of mine last year. My Dad lost his business due to a shitty economy, so we no longer could afford health insurance. So instead, I went to a doctor on campus, someone affordable who could still help me.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Hi. A few years ago I was diagnosed with a severe iron deficiency and since I haven't been feeling myself lately, I just wanted to check my iron levels to see if I have improved any since then."

The man was hesitant, but performed the blood tests. When he called my cell phone and asked me to return to the clinic, I of course was concerned. "I don't think you are anemic. I think you have thalassemia."

"What the heck is that?"

"Well, your blood cells are abnormally shaped. It's like sickle cell, only this is a Mediterranean disease."

"My Mom has some Spanish in her..."

"That might be it. We need to test to make sure."

For one entire month, I was asked to return to the clinic weekly for blood tests, X-Rays, physical exams. You name it, I did it. By the end of the month, the doctor concluded that I was anemic. What. The. Fuck.

I was drained, literally.

He did, however, refer me to a cardiologist for more extensive exams, but I was broke, so that was not an option. Plus, I was way too pissed off at this doctor to continue treatments, so I abandoned the clinic altogether and just stuck to the concentrated iron. But when I went to Alaska, and was so weak, Michael was tempted to bring me to the emergency room, but me, not wanting to make a fuss, refused. However, after I fainted at work, enough was enough. So here I am: confused, weak, angry, wanting answers, and generally exhausted.

I haven't made the appointments just yet because I have not received the results for my blood test from a few days ago, and the wait is killing me.

Yes, for once, I have an excuse. On top of all of this, I have exams to study for. I will keep you updated when I can, and even entertained with some potential guest posts. If you are interested in helping me out, please email me at JessRolin@gmail.com. I appreciate all of you and your never ending support. I don't care what other bloggers claim. I have the best group of followers, period. Let's just hope that this is temporary.

Love you all,

J-Roll

No title can express what a picture can

I just received the most brilliant piece of artwork ever known to man in my inbox earlier today. This tops anything produced by Picasso or  Leonardo da Vinci and obviously has the potential to be the best thing ever produced by a human being in the course of our existence. Thank you Christine from "The New Adventures of  Christine" for taking it upon yourself to create a visual reference to the scenarios my boyfriend Mike dreams up involving me in a Playboy bunny suit massacring innocent pandas.

This in no way is a reference to my mentality or my view on pandas. I hold no hostility toward the littles guys whatsoever, but obviously Michael's subconscious believes me to be a mentally unstable hottie.

Confused? Click here to fully understand the reference.

Let's just focus on the boogers kids.

My reward for classes being cancelled today is being surrounded by children who constantly feel the need to nark on each other and go poop with the door wide open. One of the kids asked "Are boogers always green?" from across the room and it completely caught me off guard because I am still fending off the mentality that I had adopted last night when I posted. My Mom seemed caught off guard too, which surprised me more than the question itself because she must hear questions like this everyday. She has been trained in the art of answering strange questions that manifest in the minds and escape through the mouths of three-year-olds. You have to maintain a good sense of humor when you are around kids all of the time.

Vloggity Vlog: A challenge in of itself. "Y'know."

"Songs" and ladders

Before I start on my overdue blog topic the challenge calls for, I would first like to express to you how full of fail the other day was. I could not have put myself in a worse situation.

This calls for some background information.

I live near the Devil's Backbone in the Texas hill country. I drive down this winding road to get to school in San Marcos because it is a shorter distance than the highway route. Back roads are awesome. That is until you decide that driving as far as you can go until you pass the one gas station for miles halfway to your destination on very little gas.

Ahem.

So a few days previous to this one, Dad and I were going to haul all of my belongings from San Marcos to Spring Branch. I decided that driving up early was the best bet so I could attempt to organize before Dad showed up after work. The less stress on him is less stress on me in the end. My actions, however, made up for the stress I alleviated by showing up early.

Before I left for San Marcos, I helped Madre clean out the garage for the incoming junk to cram in there. Keep in mind, my bad luck and clumsiness was inherited straight from her. Only with our power combo could a set of stairs leading up to the attic almost kill the both of us. Don't ask.

After a family scavenger hunt for my keys, I left. Only when I was halfway to my destination without a lick of gas did I realize that my purse was not in its usual resting place in the seat beside me. After parking at the pump, I tore my Jeep apart in hopes of finding that one item that determines whether or not a girl is totally screwed. In this case, I was totally screwed. My purse was at home...

...in the garage...

...on the pool table...

...where I left it...

I was without a phone, without money and had to, by some unrealistic chance, get home and retrieve my purse. But even if I had a phone, who could help me? Mom runs an in house daycare. Like she could really leave the kids for twenty minutes. Come on Jess.

I was so panicked that I was shaking when I finally decided to chance it and drive back home. I was like this the whole drive home. Every slow car made my blood pressure rise, every stop sign made my blood pressure rise, every hill and every bit of traffic. I was pretty sure that if I had encountered just one more obstacle than I had previous to arriving home (I totally made it guys), I would have stroked out.

My Mom wasn't surprised when I sped into the driveway in a fluster. "Here," she laughed, handing me my purse. The rest of the day went swimmingly, that is, until I got sick. (This is me explaining why I haven't updated in a while). I'm still sick too. It's pathetic how out of it I am, actually. My funny bone isn't working to its full potential today.

Onto the blog challenge. I will be writing multiple topics throughout the day. I am going to start on an easy one, since I am a cheater and don't give a rat's ass what the challenge says what order I am supposed to go in, I'm diseased and my brain needs to rest.

Day "blah": Put your iPod on shuffle and write ten songs that pop up.

1. DJ Shadow- "Six Days"
2. Fastball- "The Way"
3. Iron and Wine- "Arms of a Thief"
4. The Beatles- "Yesterday"
5. Anna Nalick- "Breathe"
6. Slipknot- "Snuff"
7. Versa Emerge- "The Hider"
8. Fiona Apple- "Across the Universe"
9. Nancy Sinatra- "Bang Bang" Kill Bill Soundtrack
10. Muse- "Hoodoo"

OH! That's a good playlist. I'm impressed and slightly less sickly due to the pure awesomeness of this list of ten. The power of music can do wondrous things.

What day is it again?

I have been putting off this post all day. At first I was excited. I logged on as soon as the shouts of children outside of my door and the crash of plastic toys colliding became too much for my REM cycle and it decided that enough was enough. I was still a little out of it and I vaguely even remember logging on. That's how pumped I was to post today. My subconscious acted for me.

Then I saw the topic that I was supposed to write on and I chose to study instead.

Now that I am finished studying and have already put off writing with another DVD of That 70's Show, I am faced with a dilemma presented on the computer screen I so frequently visit. Either I write the truth for fear that my friends and family will be exposed to something I've managed to keep somewhat under wraps, or let loose a secret that defines a period of my life that I am not very proud of.

So here's the topic: A time I thought about ending my own life. 

Here we go.

Freshmen year of high school was a disaster. The school year started off with a phone call from a friend telling me that my ex-boyfriend from two years previous had died in a car accident. I took his death very hard. What made it worse was that specific friend reminding me that before his passing, he had planned to ask her out. I was bitter toward her for a while after that. His interest in her was all she seemed to recollect about his life, and she flaunted it. But every night that led up to his funeral, I was wounded by the regret of not trying harder to make it work between us. Maybe then I would be happy like I was when I was with him. Maybe then he wouldn't have sneaked out for a late night drive.

I decided not to attend his funeral for one reason: the last time I saw him, he was smiling and laughing and was asking me to write something in his yearbook. I don't remember what I wrote, but I hope it reminded him of what a wonderful person I thought he was. I knew that if I went to his funeral, that would have been the last picture of him ingrained in my memory, and I didn't want that for either of us. He deserved to be remembered in the way that I remember him now.

As time heals most, it healed me, but only after a series of events occurred that warped my views on life, friendship, and love. My attitude had darkened and remained so for an extended period of time. My friends had little patience for it and cut contact with me. I was encouraged to end my own life by someone whose heart I had apparently broken. My friends practically dared me to do it, but did not fail to mention that they would not be attending my funeral if I had done so. I guess they had a different philosophy on funerals than I had. My parents' relationship was facing a rough patch that was not easily overcome. All of this hit me like a train, and I deteriorated beneath it.

Mom mentioned therapy. My therapy was my writing. Staring off into space helped too sometimes.

The idea of ending my own life occurred frequently during that time. With my friends gone, I had no one to talk to about what I was going through. They had all blocked my number and ducked away from me in the halls at school. The only person who had stuck around to pick up the pieces was an ocean away and was the boyfriend of one of the girls who stopped talking to me. He tried his best to keep his interactions with me under wraps for fear of more unwarranted conflict, but eventually I didn't hear from him either. I fantasized about dying, and out of spite did I envision all of these people attending my funeral, feeling sorry for every time they had ever hurt me or left me alone to deal with myself. I wanted to die to pass my suffering onto them. I wanted them to feel the way that they had made me feel, but worse. I felt so much and so little at the same time. It is an emotion as twisted and as undefinable as love. You simply have to experience it to know what it is.

That was when I cut myself. At school, I saw lines embedded in teen wrists all of the time and I scoffed, believing that the cuts were a cry for attention, that they were pathetic.

And they are cries for attention. But when I cut myself, I wasn't doing it in hopes of bleeding out, and I wasn't doing it so that people at school or at home would see them. I did not wear the cuts like trophies as some people do.

I hid them.

I was ashamed of them.

I hated them.

I hated myself for making them.

I was just so desperate for some other form of pain to distract me from what I was feeling. It worked too. For a moment I wasn't so focused on losing a friend, being lonely, being ignored, or possibly living in a divided house. I was focused on the shame of making myself bleed for the sake of having a temporary release from everything. The worst is that the scars are still there, always reminding me of what I went though and what I was willing to do to myself to escape from it.

Recently I had a friend who mentioned wanting to chug bleach. I was on that situation like nobody's business. My own experiences led me in that direction. I had to be the friend that I didn't have so many years ago. But when I called my other friends to ask if they had heard anything from this friend, I received a series of aggravating responses.

"Oh, she'll be fine. She does this a lot."


"It doesn't mean anything. She won't do it."


"Well do you want me to go over there? ...I'm kind of busy."

I was disgusted. I was angry. I was terrified. And it reminded me of when I was crying out for help and no one showed up to do so because they didn't take me seriously enough to be concerned for me.

My advice here is directed to those who have a friend who is in the rut and obviously needs help. Do not ignore them, because their cries for you could be communicated in different ways. Maybe they get mad at you more often. They might even yell at you. They might even ask you to leave them alone. But do not let them get to the point of wanting to die. They may fight you the entire time, and they could hate you after all is said and done, but as a friend you did your job. You kept them alive. You don't get a trophy for doing so, but helping a friend overcome a trial like that should be good enough.

Ways of contacting me are littered all over this damn site. If you are or feel alone and are facing something that seems impossible to overcome, please, email me. Talk to me. If the people around you fail to be a friend, I will gladly step in and substitute for them. Remember, help comes in many forms. I may not be able to offer physical consolation, but as a writer, I will gladly offer to you my words.

So now you know.

(Okay, I know. I fail at following directions. That is why I drove boss man back at work insane during my first month at the lounge. But I am sorry kids. I put too much effort into this, so the rules of the challenge are just going to have to be broken. Plus, I read the challenge while half asleep. You can't blame me. But don't worry, I will cover religion tomorrow. Maybe. I would rather talk about THIS than religion right now. Stupid funeral protesters can kiss my gay friendly and soldier supporting ass.)

When life gives you lemons, don't sit on your ass and stare at them

Why is it that awesome ideas for blog posts and creative ways to start them off flash in my head before I fall asleep? Because due to their unfortunate timing, and since I am never motivated to write anything down, what happens when I wake up? POOF! Gone. All of them, all of the fantastic things that I wanted to say disappear because I have the memory of a pot head. I'm just upset that I could have written something super awesome on here and now I can't even remember what I wanted to say.

So here I sit, scrambling to find something to talk about when all I've done today is paint my nails, watch movies, and sit around on my ass eating. I am living a dull and uninteresting life here because I've been hiding from reality since I've returned from New York. I have got to get out of this house and do something with myself, because if I don't, I will never have any decent posts to share with the lot of you. Ever. And that would be sad.

BUT YOU ALL ARE SO HARD TO PLEASE!

So it's new goal time. By the end of the day, I will have something to talk about-- something other than me complaining that I have nothing to talk about. I mean, if your life isn't full of great material, what kind of life are you living anyway, right?

Some things that kids say, or sing rather

Here's a song I overheard one of my Mom's kids singing.

"Deck the hall with gasoline, fa la la la la la la la la!

Light a match and make it gleam, fa la la la la la la la!

Watch the school burn down!"

...I worry about American youth sometimes. They can't even RHYME.

I like living, thank you.

It is hard to have adventures in Alaska when there is so much damn ice on the road. The weather condemns you to stay put and that is hard to do when you are restless and live in a small town like Homer. But even if I wanted to to venture out and the weather allowed it, there is still one small issue-- I don't have a car.

Mike has been hassling me to learn how to drive his truck so that I can have a means of transportation during the day while he's at work. It makes sense, right? How hard can driving a stick shift be?

Reasons why I refuse:
I don't want to destroy his truck.
His truck barely makes it up hills.
He has trouble driving his truck.
I don't feel like learning how to drive on ice and learning how to drive stick shift at the same flippin' time.
Most of Mike's friends are afraid of his truck.

If those aren't reason enough and ya'll think I'm being ridiculous, I have more. His truck stalls out a lot. His Alaskan friends advise me not to learn in this weather. His truck is attracted to ditches. His truck slides across the road like it was made to do just that.

Still not reason enough?

Then your name is probably Michael.

You can eat around the debris

Delayed flight, body odor infested plane, screaming babies, man in front of me reclining his chair to the point of almost breaking it into my lap, sore neck, no more peanuts on flights, lack of working outlets in airport to charge laptop, sitting next to the bathrooms on the BO infested plane, lack of outlets on flight, stupid line cutters when boarding plane, having to check in again, not knowing where the heck to put my luggage in those tiny stalls in the public restrooms, running across an airport the size of Texas, almost slipping down the stairs after warned that it was "slippery".

Then I saw him standing there beside the door, hands in his pockets, his eyes lighting up when he saw me. And all the bullshit that I had to endure to get there was so unbelievably worth it that I would not mind doing it all over again-- from the friends that told me that long distance was ridiculous to the people that told me I should end the relationship before I get hurt. Yes, I would experience that shit over and over for him.

That was the first day, which sets us up for what happened last night.

Keeping in mind what was said previously, I was put to the test to make sure that it was actually true. It's easy to say that you are willing to experience distasteful things to be with someone you love. I mean, that's love. But I guess when I made a mental note of it in the Homer airport, someone heard me and decided, "What the heck? Let's test her some more!"

Yep. My bad luck was not left behind in the South. It followed me to Alaska. Then it developed into a more lethal strain of bad luck and became contagious rather than hereditary (sorry Mom).

Last night Mike and I were craving pizza, so we bundled up and went outside to heat up the truck. Well, taking into consideration that the last time Mike drove his truck, he was escorting me back to the house. The man was excited so I don't blame him for, uh, leaving the truck in drive.

I was in the process of climbing into the truck, as was Mike, when he started the engine. When the truck jumped forward, my leg traveled with it. Yes, it is still attached. Luckily I escaped and slammed the door before the truck slid into the ditch beside the porch.

We were just lucky that it was parked at an angle away from the house. If it had been straight, his truck would have flew straight into his roommate Marshall's kitchen. The only time that would have actually been acceptable is if we were coming home from picking up the pizza. We'd burst into the side of the house, open our doors dramatically and shout "OH YEAH." Kool-aid man style. No one would pay any mind to the gaping hole in the wall. Their minds would be set on the deliciousness of the pizza and the epic entrance.

At least that was what I visualized as Mike stood there in the snow in total shock.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just a little disappointed."

"What?"

"Nothing."

I hope the deer were in costume too

Yesterday was disturbing, even for Halloween. My close friend Michaela and I thought, while disregarding the nature of the holiday, that instead of dressing like naughty nurses and getting trashed in town, we would instead venture off into the night with a camera and take some night shots for her final before graduation. The thought of standing in the middle of nowhere with only the stars above me and the crickets singing to me was romantic and the urge to catch it on camera was even more appealing. So we drove about in search of anything that would make for an interesting photo. Along the way a few oddly grotesque and somewhat alarming things happened to us. Half of me does not care to remember. My saliva is already starting to taste bitter.

So we were traveling along this dimly lit back road that led to New Braunfels when Michaela noticed something interesting on the opposite side of the road. Since no cars were around, it was safe enough to take a U-turn. Just before the turn as she began to slow, her headlights reflected off of something that made my insides churn. Before I could speak a warning, her tires went right though the bloody mess. At first I didn't know what to identify the corpse as. After my friend rolled over it and got another look, she thought it was a porcupine. But our second drive by proved otherwise. It was a ribcage. A freaking ribcage that was all maggoty and shit.

We decided to keep going and surprisingly, we were still in high spirits. I don't know what the frig was wrong with us.

We rolled to a three-way stop where another car sat perpendicular to us. Michaela waved them on, so the car continued forward. As it passed in front of us, her headlights shined through the window and illuminated a mask that was looking directly at us. It was white with hollowed out eyes, like two large black holes on a skull, and a malicious grin. Blood was pouring from the eyes. Neither of us screamed, necessarily. We simply exchanged nervous glances while thinking with warranted repetition, "Do not like, do not like, do not like, do not like, do not like!" 

Now those kind of spooks were to be expected, but nothing like the next two that followed.

After taking a few shots in a nearby park, Michaela and I got back into the car and hit the highway again. I was telling some elaborate story that I cannot recall now, as I was too distracted by the next bit to even care about finishing it off. In mid sentence, both Michaela and I caught site of a decapitated deer head that was on my side of the road staring directly at me as we sped past. "...so then I wa- EW! HOLY SHIT THAT WAS THE MOST DISTURBING THING I'VE SEEN ALL NIGHT."

(Pause for me to make noises that I do not care to type out.)

The next one topped it all, and Michaela was the first to see it. We traveled through the park a second time for a follow-up shoot and ended up getting lost. After a few turns here and there, she pointed through my window and shouted, "OH MY GOD." Of course, being, well, me, I looked over to see what she was gaping at. There limped a deer, half of the bone in its leg jutting out through its skin. And it was still standing. Like. Walking on it. That was when I screamed.

You'd think that being born and raised in the South, where seeing a restaurant called "The Roadkill Cafe" is normal, I would be somewhat used to the prospect of viewing dead animals on the side of the road. But this was just ridiculously morbid. I was practically being forced into seeing dead animals over and over again. That mask just made me jittery, weakening my defenses before I saw the real nasty stuff. We decided to head home after that.

For once I feel sorry for my food. This must be what it feels like when you actually watch those videos on YouTube titled, "What Cruelties Happen to Animals Before Consumed." Only firsthand.

This is going to make me think twice about finishing off that venison meat Dad has stored in the freezer, and I don't even know who to blame.