I am at an all-time high for stress this week. Even my chest is hurting. I am scared that the panic attacks will come back. I am doing my best to not let that happen.
Math today was interesting. Today was interesting in general. I awoke remembering the weird dreams involving a friend. I also remembered that I un-followed sixty people on Twitter and redid my blog by changing the layout as well as deleting entries. I seriously doubt any of the sixty will notice and no one will notice the blog change. I changed the blog because it started to turn into a public diary and I didn’t like that. I want this to be about controlling stress. Anyway, I decided to talk to mom and Sash about the depressed feeling I had been having. They said it was probably normal stuff. You’re a woman, it happens. They gave me a pep talk which resulted in me doing my math without mom hovering and me losing all my confidence again; back to square one. I know I shouldn’t get bent about screwing up on a few math problems. Not the end of the world. I just do, though, and I always wonder when did this panic\frustration overload start? How come when I have an excess of emotion, any emotion, my brain shuts off? It’s like it goes, “Too much emotion, goodbye.” Why? I am taking supplements, vitamins, essential oils–you name it and I am probably taking it. So, it’s no deficiency issue. Maybe there is just too much on my mind right to do anything without help. This damn dream I keep thinking about has me more worried about my weight which really stressed me out during math. The dream I am talking about was this,
My Mom, Sister, Brother and I are at this Italian family’s wedding. While Mom, Brother and sister are inside I am outside having a good time with this one guy, family member of the Italian family, who is making pasta. All of the people at this wedding are very attractive, by the way. I felt I looked really pretty, too; I wasn’t feeling self-conscious for once. I was wearing this emerald green dress (It was actually the color of a nail polish Sasha used on me.) and my hair was all spiky. You get the idea.
So I am talking to this guy and he’s firing all of these pasta questions at me, I’m answering every one of them while also firing back with pastry questions. Then this woman walks over to him and asks when he will be inside (In Italian. Note: In my dream I am fluent enough in Spanish that I understand Italian.). I don’t see her face but I see she is wearing this gorgeous red, silky, open-back dress and she has long hair. She’s also thin.
He replies in Italian thinking I won’t understand him, “I’ll be in a bit, Babe. Just let me deal with this white Ukrainian whale.” I hear her laugh and I look up. It’s Olivia Wilde. And the “Italian Guy” was actually a friend of mine. That hurt a lot. It hurt because it was an insult but it also hurt because, in the dream, I thought that the guy was my friend. Not one of those guys who drops you the second a pretty woman is present. It also hurt because I thought he liked me, not “liked me” but as a friend and I felt like an idiot for thinking I was wanted when really I was being dealt with.
As it turns out, everyone at the wedding has been laughing at me. I ended up finding my family’s car and driving around on the Italian family’s property. I stop the car in the woods and I find this bulkhead in a grove of tree’s. It leads to a miners-like cave. Even though I can’t really see where I am going because I am crying, I just start walking. It’s a huge, sparkling cave with all sorts of jewels embedded into the walls but I don’t care. I keep walking (At this point I have lost my shoes.) and my dress is getting more and more torn. I eventually find my way home through this cave: I am sitting on the porch when Dad calls (I have a cellphone, too.) asking where I am because Mom, Brother and Sister are worried. I tell him I am already home and why I left. He relays the message to Mom and them and instead of being angry, they understand.
I woke up after that wanting to cry and hurl things against the walls in rage. Stupidly this dream has been on my mind ever since it happened which was about, oh, a week ago. My dreams have only gotten worse but luckily none of them feature Olivia Wilde. It still doesn’t improve my confidence, though; the memory. My nightmares used to actually be scary. Morbid, really, and now they are filled with Photoshopped women making me cry. To combat this I have started reading more Steampunk novels which are filled with tough, non-photoshopped, smart and snarky-as-hell women. As well as being filled with strong men who notice the women based on their brains, not their looks.
Books. What would I do without them?
Something I have realized is that the man who will be willing to love me and marry me will have to be combination of three things: toughest motherfucker alive, patient beyond meaning and loves a woman with a hurricane-like temper.