The Drama Llama Rides Again

Didn’t wake up in the best of moods today. Wrote out a whole spiel on how I like being alone, then deleted it.

A bit of new, enjoyable schadenfreude: My ex-stepmother is talking about suicide again on Facebook. I know I’m supposed to be the bigger person, and act like that’s tragic and sad, but honestly she did too much. I feel like it would heal my soul, just a little bit, if I could pour a full cup of water, beer, piss, etc on her head. So she would feel just as small, and helpless, and humiliated as when she did it to me over and over. Only, Ex-Stepmother is now a 40/50-something year old woman and I was 10.



Okay so, I know I should be compassionate and say “suicide is not the answer” but with her, eh. She suffers from the same memory loss as my father. All the facked up things said and done? “Oh, ♪ can’t remeeeember. ♪ Are you *surrrre* it happened? Tee hee! ♪”

And the Facebook friends arrive. Dark grey is Drama Llama Ex-Step Mama.



My father and her were perfectly suited in narcissism. Oh.. And now you understand what it’s like to feel like a burden? How amusing.

“My daughter won’t drop her busy life to manage my emotions. BAWWWWWWWWWWW”

Oh no, purple lady, she definitely is a mutant. With powers of crushing the self esteem and emotional stability of children!

“Poor me, poor me! Why are all these consequences to my shittiness happening?”

Again with the “I’m a burden” thing. Sometimes, it’s nice to see that what goes around comes around.

I feel for my poor half-sister. What a mother. Ex-Stepmother was far, far more kind and loving to her, but my half-sister also had to endure her downward spiral into alcohol and huffing. I flew the coop at 16, before she really got going. I really wish I could have helped my sister more. My useless mother couldn’t provide for me or herself, so my energies were 100% dedicated to survival. And also.. Who could blame me for not wanting to spend more time around my ex-stepmother and father?

My half-sister has finally chimed in on ex-stepmother’s post.



Oh, half-sister. You emerged from hell with your spine intact. How I envy you. I love how you call out her attention whore nature.

In the weight loss front, I remain comfortably in the 190s. My body seems happy there, though I have begun to snack too much at night again. Gotta watch that.

Today’s going to be beautiful outside. I’m going to do some housework and pet my lovely, giant doggo. He is splendid.


Return to Onederland

After a whole lot of pissing and moaning (literally, the first part), my body finally broke the 200lb plateau and eased down to 197 yesterday. It was kind of torturous, seeing the scale at 200lbs every day without change. I’m not sure what happens, but it’s like a limit I have to break through every time, like my body detects I’m at exactly at 200lbs and makes me have to work for it.

My ketostix were dark, dark pink today, meaning I am deep into ketosis. Hooray, running off my fat! My husband has pointed out that I check my water retention/fat loss by feeling my stomach. The looser/floppier (phrasing), the better. Eww. Those two sentences are gross, and I am gross. Meh. Guess I’m just gross. I’ve never been proper and appropriate, unless I get paid.

But back to weight loss.

I’ve been able to curb my night time snacking. Sometimes it takes me some time, to turn off the part of my brain going,”Why not have another snack? Why deny yourself? It it so bad?” Or at least to stop listening to it. The siren call of comfort is hard to ignore, especially when you’re feeling weaker.

I’m pretty impressed in the month of May I managed to take off 75% of the 16lbs I managed to put on in April, a month I spent ill with bronchitis and off keto. Four pounds until I reach the weight I was on March 23rd, 193 lbs. Hindsight is a bitch, you know? I thought I was enjoying that month of binging, in the name of aiming to give myself the calories needed to cure viral bronchitis. Now I look back and went, did you really need to eat a pint of ice cream every other night? Order pizza and Chinese delivery thrice a week?

When I’m not on keto, I lose all control of myself. I’ve said here before on this blog that I now understand what a lifestyle change means. It means forever. It means reigning in that carb-binging side of me for the rest of my life. It means, “No, I can’t go to the grocery store or go through Wendy’s drive-thru because I’m feeling bad and crappy, emotionally or physically.” I just have ZERO self control when it comes to carbs, and managing my emotions with carbs. I have to be on a lower carb diet FOR LIFE.

I simply don’t know how to stop, I don’t know what to do when my emotions take a dump. I was taught to suppress my emotions and not acknowledge them. A line I recall, semi-ironically, from the TV show “Daria”: “But at least a chocolate bar never told me I was an accident.” That line was there for laughs.. But it’s too fucking real for me, man. 😐

Stupid Metabolism (Plateau)

Woah boy. That month of April I took off dieting just keeps on messing me up. My body is pulling that same shit as last time I was approaching Onederland. It desperately doesn’t want to go below 200lbs. It’s kind of driving me nuts.

I’m partially to blame. I’ve been snacking too much. I fall back into emotional/bored eating at night when I put on something to watch. All of my hard daytime work goes up in smoke after snacking at night.

That being said, I feel like I am becoming a little more fit. I’ve been working outside a lot, and in the last few days, I’ve hiked a couple miles with our doggo.

I need to go on a hard carb fast. My greedy little hands need to stay out of the fridge after 8 pm. I’m going to drag my body kicking and screaming back into Onederland.


The Last Delusion

Day 11 of Funemployment.

I’m nearly back below 200lbs. In the month of April, the single month of April, I went from 193 to 209. 16 POUNDS in a single month. Well, I’m 200.8 lbs right now. I’m sad to have lost that progress but recovery from bronchitis would have been shit while eating 1300-1600 calories a day. Instead, I turned into a walking garbage can.

I’ve been pondering the painful, years-long removal of my last delusion, the one that people could like you for you and accept you. I’ve been pondering my past relationships and reevaluating them, seeing them in the light.

There’s one thing for certain. I would now rather be alone than have pity friends.

That’s what my high school friends are. I still can’t quite let go of them, though I barely see them. We mostly have Facebook relationships now. It’s quite funny, how I was allowed into their group based on pity and schadenfreude, but I still can’t let them go. Like they’re my last tenuous link to humanity, my last spark of hope that I can be treated like a human being by others. Of course, that’s the problem. I’m assuming that “being treated like a human being” means being treated as though I have worth and value, someone who has a voice. It could just as well mean “keep the beta around so you can watch them have a shit life and embarrass themself; snigger and try to take advantage if they have access to something you don’t.”

Human beings are ugly, barely civilized animals. Fiction has done me a disservice, teaching me that people can be nobler than they are. My personal experience is that they are almost never.

I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that other people were like my father and stepmother. I needed to believe people could be better than they are. But now that’s gone. And I won’t spend my energy on others more than I have to. It’s never welcomed, it’s never returned. Fine, I get the message now, finally.

I’ve always known, somehow, that I always had to be my own advocate. I couldn’t count on my mother. My father and stepmother considered me a dead weight, some unpleasant reality they wanted to scrape off their shoe. There were… brief sparks of love from my father’s siblings, but none of them could/would help. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that other people just don’t care. If you’re not lucky enough to have parents that do care, you have to somehow find the strength to cope. Build up yourself alone. Somehow. And if you can’t, I have zero judgement for those who choose to go where there is no pain. I understand.

I have to do it somehow. Build myself up. With little to no help. With little to no understanding from others. Sometimes I feel like I exist on this world as some sort of alien observer, cut off from warmth and acceptance. At least now I understand that I am cut off. I won’t again fill the space between myself and someone else with warmth and light, because I make the mistake of thinking the other person contributed some of it. No, it is all my own. I musn’t waste it anymore.

Sick and Fat and Unemployed :D

So, I’m on day five of funemployment. To say it’s been good has been an understatement.

But it hasn’t fixed me as a person. Without the giant target of my job, my anxiety has been slithering around, trying to find new cracks to fill. It’s like an alien symbiote, seeking to bond with anyone, anything.

Yesterday was pretty bad, anxiety wise, but mostly I blame my switch back to the keto diet for it. It’s been rough. That month off from dieting, I went back full force to emotional eating. Mostly to deal with my impending resignation from work and to help myself fight off bronchitis. You don’t have to feel boredom, discomfort, pain if you’re steadily destroying a pint of B&J’s Strawberry Cheesecake. Or B&J’s Late Night Snack, yummo.

So, back to dieting, since I’m off work and done with bronchitis. No more coughing, sneezing, full nose. I first developed a cold and then full-blown bronchitis after returning to keto after a relief weekend of eating carbs. It’s like my immune system took a dump in protest.

Did I say bronchitis was over? Well, as of Sunday it seemed to be. Now I am coughing, sneezing, and having my nose fill with gunk again. I’m waiting for the never ending supply of mucus. It’s super awesome (/s) that my bronchitis symptoms are returning now, on day three of keto. I could really, really stand to NOT BE SICK AGAIN just because I’m slightly restricting my carbs. What the hell. It makes me feel “why bother to try to lose weight if it’s going to cause your immune system to take a shit every time.”


After all that bitching, not sure if complaining about The Couple and any other of my husband’s friends is worthwhile. It’s just on my mind as well, however.

I feel like I’ve come to a place where I’m ready to stop beating myself up over not being whatever it is they wanted me to be. My friendship is close to unconditional- don’t fuck me over or treat me badly, and I will be loyal AF. To me, slight differences don’t matter. I can still relate to you, even if you can’t relate to me. Their friendship is very conditional. And fuck that, you know. These same people act afraid of me, but if I were to call them “my husband’s friends” or “acquaintances” they would be like “oh, so we’re not friends :(” and I’d just be flabbergasted.. Either you’re fucking with me, or your definition of “friend” is so shallow it basically means nothing. You’re the same people that look like you want to run out of the room in terror when I’m present and speaking. How can you say you’re my friend? How do you treat friends that way?


They’re just people. Naive, ignorant people, not in command of anything, not aware of how they treat me. I’m sure it’s some subconscious thing; “WEIRDO ALERT” their minds scream. “SHE IS SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT FROM NORMAL, OBVIOUSLY SHE WILL STAB YOU.” Welp, I can’t fight their gut reactions. Like most mentally ill people, I will never hurt anyone. But I will always be treated like I will.

Shake it off. ::TSWIFT:: Maybe one day you will find people who don’t act afraid of you. Maybe you will find people that understand you, or at least make an effort to. Or maybe not. Maybe pulling an Emily Dickens and never going outside is best.


Last Day

Today’s the last day at my job. So far no one has spoken to me today. That’s okay. I prefer it this way.

I wish I could say my mood is good, instead all I focus on are my personal failings. My failure to correct the tailspin this current contract I am working caused. My failure to connect or relate to anyone here. It’s all right. It’s okay.

All I seem to be able to think about is failure, and hiding failure. Running away from failure. I am good at hiding, running away. It is not good that now I feel there is no one who I don’t have to hide from. When I go home, I have to maintain the mask of normality for my husband. It’s part of why I married him- he is steady, constant, and doesn’t have to pretend. But this also means he doesn’t understand the need to pretend.

Just keep it up. Just a little while longer. Soon the day will be over, and I can go home and nap. And given my mood swings, maybe by the time I leave I’ll be in a better mood. I tend to turn to this blog when I am at my lowest.

During the time off, I need to focus on doing. On acting. Not sitting in a distant state of introspective rumination. Chasing those thoughts that lead me further down and down the spiral. That’s why I couldn’t succeed at this horrible contract; my lack of successes lead to a slippery slope of perceiving I couldn’t succeed. Sitting at my desk and needing to work, to do something, but feeling paralyzed. My unemployment needs to be a time of recovery; feeling like I can accomplish something. To regain a love of programming, my career choice. To make my body stronger and leaner. To learn how to not give any f*cks. Without the pressure of being in a professional environment, expected to perform, maybe I can do so. That’s what’s left of my optimism, part of me is deathly afraid my mental health might continue to deteriorate if left to my own devices. I can’t allow it to.

Something I haven’t mentioned is that I’m growing my hair back out. Mainly because the last time I got it cut, the stylist asked if I was growing it out. That might seem like an innocent comment to a normal person, but to me it was an implication that short hair was bad. And so I haven’t been able to go back to get it cut, even though it looks worse growing out, shaggy and strange looking. I haven’t been back because I don’t know who will cut my hair, and what other types of comments I might get. I look back at every interaction I have with others and judge myself and the interaction extremely, extremely harshly.

I had a random thought today- if I was speaking to the woman I considered a good, close friend, like a blood sister, and who I ended up completely ghosting, I would say: “I always felt like I could be myself around you. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?” Being myself is the problem. All because I can’t play the part I was handed at birth.

Yet I don’t want to hide anymore. Not hiding means I can be hurt by others. Oh, and I will be. But hiding also means I hurt myself. If I am going to be hurt either way, what do I do?
My skin used to be thicker. No, it wasn’t. I was just blinded by my own social inadequacies that also made me a disastrously open person to others. I can’t return to that. I am currently in a state of change, and they say it gets worse before it gets better. I have to believe it.

I’ve razed much of my opinions of myself to the ground. I feel like the foundations for someone better have been laid.. All the time complaining on this blog has helped me work through some things, to some degree. I simply need to start building.

Huh. I feel better. Funny how that works.

Far Away in a Safe Place

The last week has kind of sucked, I’ve been sick. I took three days off work and have been in late for two other days.

It’s weird that this illness struck me right before I turn in my res1gnation. I started feeling sick last week, on Tuesday. The cold has run its course, but a respiratory infection took its place. No telling when that will end.

This Tuesday, I came back to work from sick leave and found my manager’s manager has scheduled a weekly meeting where he and an HR rep review my weekly activity report. Note, the weekly activity report (WAR) was a consequence of my “needs improvement” performance review from last year. It’s telling, that this manager wants HR to be present when he goes over the WAR with me. My three signed resignation letters are on my desk, ready to go, and I itch to simply drop them off. One for my manager, one for manager’s manager, and one for HR. Only a day left until I can do so. I wonder if they’ll still want to do the WAR review with HR if I’m resigning.

Not much longer that I have to come in here. I have to remind myself. Though I can’t wait to be out of here, I feel heavy-hearted. Mainly, at the loss of this place. It’s not a bad place to work. The company does and has done a lot for me. I’m just not suited to 9-5 work anymore.

What a entitled, ridiculous thing to say: not suited to 9-5 work. It’s deceptive, too. There’s a lot I’m not saying when I say I’m “not suited” to full time employment. I’m not talking about the huge increase in my social anxiety that’s happened over the last two years. The anxiety that makes me more and more reclusive, more and more unwilling to talk to others. The anxiety that poisons every interaction, that leads to oversharing when I do want to talk to others, leading to feelings of humiliation, leading to more anxiety. In a fatalistic way, I’m glad I’m going to be spending much of my time at home. It’s for the best. Fewer people to exist around. Fewer opportunities to feel inadequate.

I’m also not talking about the growing apathy towards my career field. The only feelings of accomplishment I get anymore come from doing housework or playing video games. Everything I do at work is frustrating and far from straight-forward. There is no sense of satisfaction anymore, doing the work that I do. Maybe that feeling will return one day, during my time off from working. I can start slow, learning more about Python and Django, which I worked with during my greatest period of success at the company. I’d love to feel some passion towards a programming project again.

When I think about not working, I feel immediate relief. Like I don’t have to pretend anymore. That I’m some high-power high-earning female. Deep down, I know I’m just a little woman with delusions of grandeur. Delusions of intellect and self-sufficiency. Other people have always been trying to show me my place. Subtly and outright. And the pressure has finally gotten to me, worn me down over years like wind and water does to stone. Look, world, you win. I’m not going to be more than what I seem. I’ll just be what you think I should be. Then maybe I’ll be accepted.

Yes. To stay home, safe and sound, away from the judgemental eyes of others. Safe from the bland, mediocre cruelty of everyday people. Away from dismissive, derisive, unconsciously and consciously over-competitive interactions. Everybody thinks everybody else wants to topple them from their tier in the hierarchy. I want to be treated like there are no levels. Just flat ground, where everyone makes an attempt to see eye-to-eye. I don’t want to bow, but I don’t want to loom over anyone either. I don’t feel suited to this world at times.

Better to focus on what I’ll be doing at home. I’ll decompress. I’ll work on building some sort of daily routine, rather than the haphazard “I’ll do it if I feel like it” thing I have now. I’ll lose my sense of alienation and despair in drawing and writing; my graphic novel will have time to be born now. I’ll be house-proud, fixing up the outside and keeping the inside tidy. I’ll take time to rekindle a love of programming. I’ll do what I want, when I want, but responsibly. A little bit of spontaneity and impulsiveness, to add spice to life. That’s my hope at least.

Desk Warmer

Today, I truly feel my decision to leave my j0b is the right one.

Maybe it’s because I had too little sleep today. Maybe it’s because it’s Monday. Who knows.

It’s hard. Feeling the rightness of it, and knowing I have to stick it out for a few more weeks. My r3signation letter is sitting on my desktop, and the urge to print, sign it, and drop it off is so strong. I haven’t lifted a finger to do any w0rk today. It isn’t right.

I don’t belong here.

I keep thinking back to my five year award. How no one I knew came to it. Not a single person I had worked with. Not a single one.

My five year award was important to me. I’d never held a job more than a year or two before moving on to something bigger and brighter. I felt like I’d set down roots, found a home. Soon enough, I’d see my picture on the 10 year wall, the 15, the 20, and so on.

My hiring manager, who’d been my manager for nearly all of those five years, didn’t show though she said she would. Instead, it was just me and my new manager, who made an awkward and incorrect speech about my time at the company. All of the people at the ceremony were there for the others receiving awards. I felt alone, standing there.

I make the mistake of thinking I matter more to people than I do. Wishful thinking. The delusion I’d held for years that people were different from my father and stepmother, that I could matter to others. But they’re really not. Everyone is caught up in their own mess, and no one has any obligation to reach back to an outstretched hand. Or even notice that a hand is outstretched. I’m not looking for emotional handouts, just.. connection. I was always happy to return what is received.

I have completely disconnected from this place. I come here, sit at my desk for eight hours, and then come home. When I do submit my letter, I will request there will be no goodbye luncheon invite sent out. If my five year award ceremony is any indicator, no one will show up. So I’ll skip the pain of sitting in a restaurant alone, waiting for people to show up.

Another thing works does is put out a picture mat to be signed for the person that is leaving. The mat is placed inside a picture frame around a picture, presumably of the company logo, and after being signed, the framed, matted picture is given as a gift to the departing employee. I’ll make it easy on HR, and request that that not happen either.

It took me nearly six years to figure out I don’t fit, can’t fit, in a standard straight laced office environment. The well of my endurance has nearly run dry. How I can sit here, without packing up the remainders of my stuff and heading out the door, is solely due to what self restraint I have left.

What to do? I can’t submit the letter until April 13th. I have little to no willpower to complete any work, and tomorrow there will be a meeting about what work we’ve accomplished in the last two-three days. I’ve pondered a few things that feel dodgy and not-right. Using up my sick leave. I don’t like that. I don’t know.

I just wanna go.

Luxury Life Decisions

Weight Loss: Not weighing myself til the end of the week. Cuz, female reasons. Nothing like a monthly punishment that also causes you to retain pounds of water.

Life: I’ve been waffling between guilt, apprehension and elation over the last few days since my husband and I decided it was okay for me to leave my job.

It was jolting today when I sat down with my team lead, who’s been gone for the last week, and he brings up how hard travel is on the team. Specifically, our system admin, who sometimes has to be away from home up to a month at a time.

“Our company has to realize travel is hard on us. We’re losing people. If they ever made me travel like [Sys Admin], I’d leave. If [Sys Admin] left, our team would be sunk.”

I had to nod, smile, frown, and shake my head in sadness. Leaving the company because of conditions? How terrible.

I feel like.. I could stay at my job if they made me part time. Or gave me two months off. Or put me on another contract (not likely). My company’s been losing talent.. My former manager, for one. One of our former system admins was kind of a rock star in the company. He stood up and asked hard questions at a All Hands meeting, with a company president in attendance. He must have been dissatisfied with the response, because he left a month or two later.

It’s hard, because my company has done a lot for me. I’ve been there nearly six years and I feel loyalty to them. That is where the guilt and bad feelings are coming from. But in the end, I’m really leaving because I just want to do something else. I need a change. I’m stagnating as a person. What a luxury; if I were in almost anyone else’s place, I’d stay because I had to, to survive. Survival is no longer on my mind, because of how well DH and I have handled our money.

I feel the need to break down how I’m going to handle my time off. DH and I have agreed to a tentative six months off. I need time to decompress- but I also need to better myself. My last post, I listed some items that I feel I need to work on during that time. One other thing I should add: volunteering.

There’s a hippy dippy town about ten miles from where I live, a place where a historical college that had some big names who attended in the 50’s/60’s. If I look for employment, I think my first place is going to be in that town. A bit more of a commute, but if it’s right, it’s right. That’s my first focus for looking for new work. Less defense-y, more hippy. I’m not going to care too much about the bottom line: $$$$$. Though it’d be nice. With my skills, in the right place, right atmosphere, right people, I don’t mind not making the big bucks.

I also feel Hippy Dippy Town might care less about my… eccentricity. Not presenting as a super-feminine person. The thing about defense contracting is.. You’re surrounded by a lot of military folk and conservatives who, depending on how intense their traditionalist brainwashing is, think a woman’s place is in the kitchen and not in the office. A woman who’s not in the kitchen and not slathered with beauty product? Not okay. Messes with their heads.

I think I will take some time to write up a formal plan. One of my goals of having time off from working is to quit smoking. DH understands that it’s almost impossible for me to lose weight, quit smoking, and work all at the same time. I’m not a superhuman who shrugs off stress like it’s nothing. I don’t care about the bravado of: I quit smoking cold turkey while working five jobs, losing 3,000lbs, having ten children and solving world hunger, all while sleeping two hours a night.

I know that withdrawal from smoking will be much, much more bearable if I’m not at work. Working on everything that is not great about my day-to-day life will be. Miserably trudging along with the effects of my bad habits compounding every day until I drop dead at 55 from a heart attack isn’t in the plans. And all I have to do is discard my employment, for now. Sounds like a win-win situation.

Shiftless Layabout Gold-digging Bum

In the weight loss front: I’m down to 193 pounds, or 87.5kg, or 13.7 stone, or 0.0965 tons. For a total loss, so far, of 48 lbs. I’m not converting that.

Some other exciting life developments lately. Husband and I have decided it’s likely in my best interest to leave my job. I’m not thriving here. As I told him, I do not act like someone that wants to be here. And it shows, I am sure that my reputation here has been irrevocably damaged.

It’s both liberating and heart breaking. My company has been very, very good to me- they brought me out of poverty and into financial security. My husband and I now have a home we own free and clear. But I do not find I enjoy what I do anymore. I’ve spent nearly six years here.. and part of me feels horrible at throwing it away.

But not having a mortgage or any debt means.. Freedom. I could live off my savings for three years, if I wanted. Which I won’t. Freedom means I can now do whatever I want, for a little while at least. I could enjoy a leisurely few months off, and begin working part time somewhere. I could freelance my skills. Work half the year, be off the other half. Instead of a daily grind, I could work when and how I want.

I am, of course, preparing myself for a backlash from anyone reading this, or from anyone I know who finds out I left my job voluntarily. It’s likely to be negative. The great thing is, I don’t have to care. I know part of it is envy. “How dare you not work when I have to! How dare you not work when your spouse is working!” We’ve been wildly successful, more than I ever dreamed.. So suck it.

The terrors I had about becoming homeless seem farther and farther away every day, like ages 16-25 were just a bad dream.

The world.. Seems like my banana. Or my oyster. Whatever food item.

Of course, during my time off I have goals. I need to add structure to my life, since the structure of a formal work environment will be gone. I’ve already discussed them with DH, but I might as well flesh them out here.

  1. Learn to love mornings
    1. I’ve been a night owl most of my life. Consistency in rising and going to bed is non-existent. Part of that is some sort of inner rebellion at being forced to rise when told to. I’ve had a problem with this most of my life. But, on the few occasions I’ve got up before 9, other than being exceptionally groggy and irritable, it was nice. To hear the morning birds, see the sun rise, etcetera. So, let’s do it. Let’s start loving mornings.
  2. STRUCTURE STRUCTURE STRUCTURE. As my husband said,”You rack disciprine.” This is related to item 1, but item 1 is important enough to have its own item. I need to rise consistently at the same time every day. I need to shower. I need to brush my teeth. I need to eat breakfast, I need to prepare something simple for dinner. (Husband and I agreed, 4/7 days a week I can make dinner. Fine with me.) I need to adhere to a daily schedule, something that is.. REALLY difficult for me to manage.
  3. House stuff. There’s lots of little annoying things off about our house. Attic is in shambled. Too many possessions. Deck needs work. Landscaping. Fix all the things!
  4. Draw and write. For the love of glob, draw and write.
  5. Update my atrophied programming skills.
  6. Lastly, and most importantly, decompress!