Up So Close

When it’s late at night (and FYI it’s late at night) I like to write, and I like to pick little niggly things apart.


I like to read Fanfiction. I like to lose myself in someone else’s imagination. I like to be overwhelmed with emotion, I prefer it to be happy, but it’s like being adrift in a sea of emotion. letting things buoy you up and drag you down.

There’s a line from a movie, that I didn’t love, it didn’t do GREAT, it’s the last movie I think I saw Meg Ryan in, and frankly I think she’s kind of… DONE. You know? but that’s what happens when your whole acting career is based on the fact that you’re “adorable” and then you get botchy plastic surgery …. While Kate and Leopold is cute (it’s the movie I”m referencing here) it’s not either of their characters I like, pretty much at all.

The lovable character… the character that makes me cry when he says this line is her ex boyfriend stuart. You may not know the actor (Liev Schreiber ) he’s not been in a terribly large amount of things, but the quote that I adore is this:


It is no more crazy than a dog finding a rainbow. Dogs are colourblind, Gretchen. They don’t see colour. Just like we don’t see time. We can feel it, we can feel it passing, but we can’t see it. It’s just like a blur. It’s like we’re riding in a supersonic train and the world is just blowing by, but imagine if we could stop that train, eh, Gretchen? Imagine if we could stop that train, get out, look around, and see time for what it really is? A universe, a world, a thing as unimaginable as colour to a dog, and as real, as tangible as that chair you’re sitting in. Now if we could see it like that, really look at it, then maybe we could see the flaws as well as the form. And that’s it; it’s that simple. That’s all I discovered. I’m just a… a guy who saw a crack in a chair that no one else could see. I’m that dog who saw a rainbow, only none of the other dogs believed me.


While he’s talking about time (obviously) since the movie relates to time travel, I feel this way with things on occasion. We live such fast paced lives that sometimes we don’t pay attention to what we’re feeling. We just box it away deep in our stomach and shove some fast food on top of it and let our guts hang over our waist bands (not that I’m any different as far as the fatness goes, I’m just saying).  I soak it all in. I think about what I’m feeling, a lot. Some people say i’m over dramatic… when I say some people, I mean EVERY PERSON WHO HAS EVER TALKED TO ME…. See what I mean? I don’t just look at how I’m feeling and say “yep that’s it” and toss it aside. I crawl down deep inside it. I live in it. I explore it. Like a great big ocean with caves that are so dark and deep. I want to see every part. I want to feel it wash against me.

I feel sad, a lot (alot, cause it makes me think of Allie Brosh when I smoosh it all together). Sometimes I don’t feel like getting out of bed. Sometimes, I don’t feel like there are words to describe it. There is no picture to paint, no story to tell. I’m just lost and trapped, and scared and alone. It makes my chest tight, and my heart heavy. It makes me wish for simpler days. It makes me wish that I wasn’t terrified of tomorrow. (I shouldn’t borrow worry from tomorrow, as tomorrow has it’s own worries and troubles ;))

Hope, it’s what I need. Hope that something will change, something will be better.

I am struggling with the thought of getting medication again. Medication and I don’t have a great history. the last meds I took left me more depressed and unsure than I was before I had them. So i always think twice now when I’m down. I think “Can I get through this? Do I really need it.” I feel like a cloud has been hanging over me for a month. if so not more. I am trying. I am trying. What else can I ask for? to focus on trying not to be smothered and drowned in my own depression is about all I can manage right now.

I should probably go see a therapist. But how do I randomly pick one of those off of a website? Sheesh.

Look for upcoming changes to the blog. nothing massive, just little changes (they’ve started happening already ;))


Derringer Meryl [ a little unwell] Out

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I’m getting a year older this year. and if there is one thing that I have learned about me: I don’t like big groups.


This sucks because with my friends, and their spouses (whom I also consider friends, but I wanted to illustrate the number here) and their children (most of us have at least 2 kids now if not more) its’ really hard for us all to get together and I don’t turn into a wicked hose beast….

*goes off to google what that means in case it’s nasty* … Noun (1): A woman who is ruthless, evil, and outright objectionable in both physical and mental presence that seems accurate.


Anyway, when I get into a group of like… say 10+ people I start getting snippy. You know a little curt. ( see also: blunt, breviloquent, brief, brusque, churlish, compendiary, compendious, concise, crusty, gruff, imperious, laconic, offhand, peremptory, pithy, sharp, short, short and sweet, snappish, snippety, succinct, summary, tart, terse, unceremonious, uncivil, ungracious)

I could google for more, but why when that illustrates it so well. I also Kind of use up all of my social appropriateness at work. I am nearly always in a group of 10+ people at work, and more so (considering the work I do) in an awkward situation. (Even more awkward. It’s like Meta awkward, the awkwardness builds on itsself in such a manner it refers back to itsself. THATS RIGHT.) Anyway, I kind of use up all my niceties in a day.


Imagine it’s like… D&D and it’s an ability called “Social Norm” and I can only use it 3 times a day like mother flippin’ laying on of hands or whatever. Point is, it’s limited and I use it up at work where I’m paid to use it. So I end up going out (especially in the summer because people are healthier in the summer, and they like to socialize in the blazing mother flippin’ heat (O-M-G this heat!) So I am warm… well let’s say I’m sweaty. So I’m warm, I’m covered in a layer of my sticky gross sweat, which makes me increasingly nervous because I am now nervous that I smell because I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, and there are over 10 people there. Then you add in my kids, whom I love. Like a lot. God help them, cause I feel like a lost cause on them sometimes. But you get the ragging of “Mommy, I want food” which you give them of course, be cause you’ll get people staring at you like this:



(Check out Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh!

So I do that, but it also makes me nervous, which makes me sweat more… I think I should break for a moment to say why it makes me nervous around food. I have been good about it for years. But I get uncomfortable eating around people. I hate potlucks, because I am sure at least one person is thinking “What is up with that fat chick?! She’s back for more!?” so I never eat enough, and I swear to ALL that is holy and good in this world I am sure people are watching me. Like that moment in movies where you sit up and you realize everyone is staring at you HORKING DOWN the cheetos and dip and you just feel like fatty fat Chris farley and everyone is just staring and you hear like a fork drop and then you have to hastily excuse yourself (Oh you’re seeing into the inner workings of my mind now!) Also I feel like I don’t eat “properly” so eating in front of people makes me sweat too. Nervous = sweat. Plus, as I mentioned, it’s hot. Now, oft times my husband is with me when I’m at these things. And I’m sure people think I’m a hose beast because i make him do like EVERYTHING because I can’t handle it. He gets me my food, he gets me my drink, he gets the kids food, because I have a brain relapse when I try to go get food.


Funny story about food. when I was little (little, teenager, whatever) my parents and I would have breakfast together. and by sheer happenstance (usually at least once a week if not every day) my parents would star at me while I ate. They weren’t TRYING to be jerks. They did not know about my crippling phobias. (in fact I would say up to this posting they probably still don’t) so they weren’t trying to reinforce some of my worst fears, but at least it was just mom and dad. If they didn’t want me to be a porker, they could have stopped feeding me.


ANYWAY: Back to the setting of it’s warm, I’m nervous (and sweaty which makes me more nervous), there are over 10 people which makes me curt, I’m being belligerently abusive to my husband by making him my manservant (because he understands my psychosis and would not like to deal with sobbing Meryl later that night) and nice normal people try to interact with me. This leads to fail. My sentences are short. Even in the best of circumstances I lack finesse, but I do try. Like actually engaging instead of just answering when someone says “How are you?” I remember in addition to saying that I’m well I should ask (for proprieties sake) “and how are you?” because it’s NICE dang it! Instead it goes a bit like this:


Nice normal person: “How is work going, Meryl?”

Me: “Fine.” (Imagine the attitude of a petulant rebellious teenager, only encased in a 27 year old woman who has no right to speak like that…. not that teenagers do.)

Nice normal person: “That’s great, so you’re a trainer?”

Me: “yes.” (At which point my brain turns off. I have answered two monosyllabic statements, that means I am CHECKED OUT.)


Then, when I am removed of sweat, and heat, and kids screaming at me for food, and I am calm to the point where I am not going to stick my own eye out just for a reason to get out of there. I think back about how it was a nice evening… except for my social inadequacies. Then I think “I should just facebook that nice normal person. I am sure they would understand” I become RESOLUTE in the idea. THat’s a great Idea.

and then I think “and say what? I’m sorry I’m socially retarded around more than 10 people and it was hot and I was sweaty so I got snippy I don’t think that would work out very well. Let’s just keep the crazy inside.


So this is for you, nice normal people of the world:




Derringer Meryl [on toppa it] Out

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The one where I admit I’m crippled emotionally

I think everyone has bad days. When you burst into tears because of an All American Rejects in the car– you should probably be seeking help.


Music helps people through a lot of things, takes their mind off the pain, helps them get in touch with their emotions, helps them see another point of view, and once in a while, helps you shake your booty for an hour or two. Who couldn’t use the exercise? In a mentally well person, is there a thing as too much exercise? I doubt it.

So as I sit here listening to “Move Along” I find that the emotions it evokes, the times in my life it reminds me of are still, too personal and secret to share. I listen to this song when I’m down. It helps me remember to be UP. That being said, it still makes me sad, just a little, as it reminds me a little that I am too broken of a person to reach out to people when I am depressed. I went through a dynamic change in my life last year (2010) that broke me.

I feel fortunate enough to say that as broken as I felt, and I still feel, from the experience I also found it VERY inspiring. I feel blessed, not necessarily in a spiritual way take it as you please, that I have the ability to see the bright side of a lot of things. I have the capability to get a crap sandwich and say “Thank Goodness i got this crap sandwich, it makes me happy for the good food I normally get a chance to eat” On the flip side though, I can see the dark and unpleasantness of a lot of things as well. Especially within myself.

So, I sit and I listen to this song, and It reminds me of my social inability to reach out to others. Even when those who are closest to me, Or who I percieved as being closest to me, were in their time of need, I withdrew. I feel like it’s something I’m paying for now. But I have a belief in living with your mistakes. Also, I still have that crippling social ineptness that prevents me… from being out there. I am not afraid of what might happen…

… I am exhausted. From trying, and thinking two or three steps ahead, trying to make up for how broken I am. It’s not something I could medicate for, the anxiety (the need to plan steps ahead, compulsively) is something I could medicate for. Instead, I have withdrawn. I hope no one takes any particular offense to this. I … have no excuse. I may end up dying lonely and sad, or maybe I’ll die with my closest friends morning the loss. Who knows. But I can’t control it. I can’t FORCE people to love me despite the fact that I am afraid of the rejection of calling you to say hello. Maybe so much subconciously that the thought does not even occur that NORMAL people do that. Normal people ask each other how their days were, and joke and laugh.

Dear friends, I am not normal. I am crippled emotionally. It is a good day when I can leave my house and go the whole day without hating myself. Please know that I do truly love you, despite my inability to be any sort of normal, and I am sorry if I ever gave you the impression otherwise. I will try to be there for you.


Won’t you be there for me?


Derringer Meryl [Someday a post won’t be a bring down] Out



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What I don’t say

Could fill up 20 blogs.

Like how I”m afraid to sleep because I’m afraid someone will come and kill me in the night.

I don’t blame them, But I worry for my family.

Derringer meryl [life goes on] Out

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the one where I talk about dreams

I hate dreaming. especially on the medication I’m on. it’s like being awake and asleep blur together, and I’m not sure what has happened. Last night I dreamed I decided to up and leave and go to boston, and my entire family (meaning my parents and brothers and sisters in law) were in favor of this. I remember that I thought it was too cold in Utah, and I apparently thought that Boston was going to be some sort of tropical island. It was bizzare. There were some under currents to the dream that made it increasingly more disturbing, but I choose not to revisit those.

Mom has suggested that I apply for a blogging job. I’m not sure If I’m coherent enough for that, but I figure I should try for it anyway. It’s for a “getting out of debt” blog. I’m not as deep into debt as the average american, but I think I may have an angle that works. Also I’m younger than they’d like, so i’m already fighting on that. Anyway. It’s something I’d like to do. Write for a living. Or I guess, write for money you know? They say writing is like being a prostitute… first you do it for fun, then you do it for those you love, and then you end up doing it for money. HAHA, clever.

As I mentioned I was reading through my writings from college. I find myself just staring at them a little. I want to write more. I find myself struggling with expressing the images in my head. They are beautiful, and breath taking. Vivid and enthralling. Sometimes, they are just scary. Mostly… mostly just beautiful. Sometimes i read what I write and I try to remember what I was feeling, but can’t. 🙁 It’s sad for me. I want to recapture things like that… I was very depressed in high school, but I had passion. I felt like the sun was on the horizon, that the darkest hour was right before dawn.

Now I feel like I’ve shut myself in the closet and shut out the light. On many, very real levels, I hate myself. I do not think I deserve things. I don’t deserve to be happy. I am a thing to make people happy. I literally do not consider myself to be human. I dont’ know why… I don’t know why I’m like this. But it’s damaging. It’s a horrible way to live, it’s a horrible way to think. I feel like by not saying it for so long I’ve allowed myself to really believe it. Why i’ve deprived myself of so much. I have been thinking myself a healthy person when I’m not. No worries my friends and family. I am currently on medication, that clearly (unfortunately) is not working well, but monday I”ll discuss it with the doctor, and we’ll try again. I do not believe that depression is something to be ashamed of. I am always saddened when I find out someone has been silently struggling. I want to help people, I want people to see me and know I’ve been there too. Feeling like there is NO reason to be sad, but still hopelessly sinking into a dark hole. Wishing you were dead, just so you wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. I have been (and I am) Suffering from a Major Depressive Episode. It is HARD for me to be out there, but the fact is, i don’t have anyone to pull me out like I did in High School. As much as my husband loves me (and he does) he cannot spend every minute of the day plotting on how to cheer me up. I know my mom worked really hard when I was in high school, trying to keep me on an even kilter. It was rough on her. I’m sure of it. I had good friends that helped her too. I feel sad that I’ve regressed so much to that girl.  In some ways, I am worse. Luckily for me, I haven’t thrown up from the stress, which I did in High school a couple of times. I miss the luxury of being a teenager. When you could just shut the world out. Go home and stay in your room and cry if you wanted to. Funny thing, you can’t do that when you’re an adult. You cant’ just say “Sorry I’m not coming to work today, or for the next week. I’m going to sit in my bed and eat food until I feel better, or until my skin becomes part of my sheets. Don’t dare me, I’ll do it.” Or for that matter, stay in bed because you feel so catatonic that the idea of talking to anyone at all seems impossible.

New to this bout of depression is Paranoia. (Funny Enough, Flag Pole Sitta is playing in the background right now) I’ve been… attentive before to protecting myself. But I have paranoid delusions. That people are talking about me. That people want to kill me, even people I should trust. Scott would say I’m being over dramatic. I am not. I fear it. It consumes my thoughts. i think about it a lot more than I would consider natural.

Anyway, going to go to bed. I have a nice weekend laid out for me… whoo!

Derringer Meryl [nice relaxing weekend] Out

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