Lesson Learned: Don’t Try New Things, Nina!

At work today, I jokingly said that I wanted a 5-hour energy drink. I had never had one. I was actually surprised when they came back later and handed me one. I drank it, and felt good for about 3o mins, and then things started to go downhill. I began to have trouble breathing. Nothing major at first, but then it started to make me light headed. And dizzy. And then my heart started hurting. Once again, not too bad, but it steadily increased. Add to that stress, movement, and talking. I stopped for a moment, and felt like I was going to topple over. I used my inhaler, but it didn’t seem to help. I stood outside, where the air was cool, and once even isolated myself in the refrigerated area. It helped for a short amount of time, but I had to keep moving.

So when I finally got home, I sat down, and began feeling better. I’ve been sitting here listening to Maximum the Hormone for a couple hours now. My heart still hurts, and I can’t seem to breathe deeply.

Lesson learned: I cannot handle energy drinks. Hope I can sleep tonight.

When I feel like I can safely get up and walk around, I will scan that picture I drew the night before last. I can’t promise I’ll do it tonight.


That is all.


Everything’s Blurred Around the Edges

I feel like life has been going by at sonic speed. I’ve been pulling long shifts at work, voluntarily, of course, and when I get home, I usually collapse and try to inspire myself enough to stay awake… but haven’t written or drawn anything in days. Last night, I got a smack in the face from the creativity bug, and I bounded after it by posting a new interview (Zetty’s Voice, Trat) highlighting his feelings, and even some facts from his childhood.

Then I promptly passed out.

Lately, when not working or sleeping, I have been playing Mortal Kombat: Armageddon. I have a habit of trying to make my characters in games such as these– and Zetty turned out okay. I would probably have better luck on Soul Calibur III, though. I have also had this undeniable urge to draw Zetty… but can’t decide on how to draw her… Should I draw her from before Trat regained his form? Should I draw her interacting with him? Uggghhhhh…. not to mention that the story’s plot is not even begun, yet. Things are going to get so complicated… and… It would simply be unfair to draw Zetty and Trat as a couple… Especially with what is to come in the story.

I think I’ll finally release another chapter today, so keep an eye out for a link to it, if you’re interested. Of course, if you haven’t been keeping up with the story, you can find it on http://zettytrat.tumblr.com/ where the chapters are in the sidebar to the left.

The fun thing about this website is that you can add your own story to it. After the next few chapters, I will be introducing the Dragon Realm, where Trat’s ancestors are. There will be a lot of fun stuff to explore!

But, okay, aside from all of that, I’ve been singing much better lately. Well enough, in fact, that I might try my hand at recording once I find a microphone that doesn’t make me sound even worse.

And as well, I’ve begun to prioritize what I want to buy when I have money enough. The list is quite lengthy, and will take a long time to compile (especially considering that I’m adding new stuff to it everyday).

If anyone’s interested in any of this, please tell me. At this point, I am so scatterbrained that I’m unsure what to blog about anymore. So many different directions to go in, and I’m not sure which one I’m approaching at any point in time.

Have I Been Lying to Myself?

Usually, I can go at least a month– maybe up to three months– without suffering a bout of depression. However, when Vlad leaves, and I can’t talk to him, see him… I begin to become volatile. I will have a couple days when I’m okay, and then I will become overwhelmed with anger for the next two or three. And then the immense sadness, and regret will wash over me, and I’ll drown in it for at least three days.

Today I felt both the anger and the sadness. I felt like screaming, like destroying things. I also wanted to hurt myself. Memories swirled around in my head, thundering my own disapproval of myself over and over, whirling and striking me where it most hurt. And I realized I may have been lying to myself.

Let me explain what was in my head– and maybe it will help me. When I was in high school (particularly freshman and sophomore years) I had not yet know that I was extremely awkward. I didn’t know how to interact with people, and, when forced to, I would humiliate myself with things that didn’t make sense or just looked or sounded outright stupid.

So what? Well, my biggest hope in high school was to be in the chorus and drama classes– because at that time, I had wanted to go into that field. SPOILER: I gave up.

When I finally got into those classes, I had only a couple friends in there. Everyone was like a family– it was something I desperately wanted to be a part of. I kept to myself entirely, out of fear that they would shun me– since, aside from the few friends I did have, everyone seemed to dislike me. Several people, including the teacher, openly encouraged me to join in, and interact with them… and so I did.

And was immediately made the class pariah. Even my friends that were in that class would COMPLETELY ignore me as soon as we entered the class. I didn’t understand. I realized that the class was not a family, but a clique. One that I was definitely not welcome in.

It was during the time I had those classes that my depression cycled crazily. I would cry every day– usually when I would get home– and I had even less self-esteem than before. I wanted to die, because I felt that the one group I thought would appreciate me– they hated me. I was in a musical production of “Little Shop of Horrors” that pains me to remember. If I watch or even think about it, it makes me want to hurt myself. I remember all the pain, all the humiliation. I remember just how much I hated myself.

And even though that time has passed, every time I think about it, I find that I hate myself just as much, if not more.

So what prompted this sudden self-loathing? I seemed to be doing so well! I was even saying things like “I’m completely satisfied with myself right now.”

Well, one of the girls that was in those classes works with us. Usually she works at the other store, and she mostly works mornings– but tonight she came to our store and took charge. Why does this matter?

She was one of the ones who encouraged me to interact. She was also one that gave me the most disgusted looks. Not to mention she has always been a favorite to teachers, and everyone else at work knows she is the bosses’ favorite. She can bend the rules, and they don’t say a word.

And every damn time I look at her, I feel that loathing crawl up my throat, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.

She talks to me like I’m a child– at least that’s how it seems. She treats me like an idiot. And when I stopped to eat, she said some things that felt like she was being passive aggressive. As if I didn’t deserve to eat, that I wasn’t working hard enough.

And who knows. Maybe that much was all in my head. I still despise her for the memories she brings up in me, even if the rest doesn’t really exist. I can’t stand to even look at her.

But that hatred doesn’t touch her nearly as much as me. I am reminded so much that I hate myself that, given something to do it with, I would hurt myself right then. Usually, I don’t get that bad– but being around her makes me so angry, so wild with hatred…

Have I been lying to myself? Am I really satisfied with who I am? Of course not. I never will be, as long as I have memory.

But I’ve decided. I will move to Lexington. I will move there– and I won’t come back until I am done with college and have a good job. Because I don’t ever want her to have the ability to look at me like that again. In disgust. Like she’s so much damn better than me.


I’m sorry for having cursed. Usually I keep a tighter lid on than that… but I just can’t tonight. I’m tired, and I feel like I have a hole in me. I feel like I’m being crushed by that hatred and that misery. And I left the rest of my sandwich at work– so I can’t eat anything else tonight.

I have way too much to get done in too little amount of time. So tomorrow, when I get home from work, I will not be getting on here. I will be busy cleaning. And, I pray to God I don’t have to see her again any time soon. At least until Vlad gets back. When he has time for me, I don’t hurt as much.

How to Make Cleaning Extremely Fun

The soundtrack to Castlevania: Lament of Innocence is an amazing one. This might not be the first time I’ve said this.

My point being is that anything you do while listening to that soundtrack will automatically make everything seem amaaaazing. Even cleaning. It will feel like it is a chore to define the world itself. With this swiffer, I decide the fate of the world! That kind of thing.

For those of you who don’t game, or never did get that game in particular (PS2), like or comment, and I will make it the first game I do a walk-through of on the Internetz. Although the voice-acting is deplorable, and the movements during cutscenes a tad awkward at times, the game itself is amazing. The soundtrack in particular is what makes the game so amazing, in my opinion.

Anyway, I need to go before I stay up too late. I must work in the morning, so it matters… So good night, all, and I will post again in roughly 17 hours.

From the Darkest Depths, Swim Up to the Light

I woke up this evening and immediately remembered something that had been forced to the back of my mind for years. I began to think about it again, and realized that it has a lot to do with who I am today. I think I could sum it up in a few words:

Evil babysitter.

Yes, I had one of those. It was before I went into kindergarten, I remember, because after that, Mom wised up to what was going on and took me out. After that, I stayed with my Nana while Mom worked.

Now… Everything that I hate about myself, I can trace back to the time I spent at Sharon’s (yes, her name was Sharon. I remember that). She would make me eat things that made me sick, and when Mom made requests about what I would eat and drink (so I would stop throwing up and getting sick), she would gripe at me. Me, being a kid, tried not to make waves, but no matter what I did or how I did it, she hated me. And it was obvious. All the other kids that were there (and there weren’t many. I was pretty much the one that was singled out, even when there were others there) never got on Sharon’s ugly side.

The most memorable thing about staying at Sharon’s? She would watch the Andy Griffith show, constantly. That and some generic soap operas. To this day, I can’t stand to even hear the whistling intro to the Andy Griffith show. It nauseates me.

Sharon had a little girl (can’t remember her name, but it started with either a C or a K), who was, I think, younger than me by a year at the most. The little girl and I got along great, but that seemed to infuriate Sharon. I remember one time Sharon said that we had to take naps, but neither of us were tired, but we still got in our sleeping bags and lay there. Mine was on the opposite side of the room. When other kids stayed, I was always furthest away from the little girl. Sharon was very specific in that I stay away from her. The little girl didn’t understand that, and so I frequently got in trouble for things such as the following: As I was saying, nap time, and neither of us were tired. I was lying there, and she asked me what I was doing. I said I was pretending that I was dead, since I wasn’t tired and I didn’t want to make Miss Sharon mad. So the little girl got up from her sleeping bag and said, “Okay, I’ll bring you flowers. That’s what you do when you visit dead people.” So she got up and brought me bundles upon bundles of imaginary flowers, and was laughing all the while. Sharon came in, and assumed it was my fault, so she yelled at me. The little girl lay back down, and went to sleep, but I just lay there, wishing I really could be dead.

There are many episodes such as this that I could tell you, but I think I’ll just skip them. No one wants to spend their morning reading about abusive babysitters, I know. This is the final one.

I have a severe reaction to eating potatoes. As in, I immediately vomit. And it doesn’t matter how you prepare them, unless they are french fries with tons of salt and ketchup, or instant mashed potatoes (which aren’t even potatoes) I could not even stand the smell of potatoes. Frequently, Sharon would stand over me with a flyswatter, and threaten to hit me if I didn’t eat the potatoes. I told her I would get sick, and she would say she didn’t care. One time, when she wasn’t looking, or was off doing something else (most likely watching that show), I decided that I wouldn’t wait for her to get in there. I had been staring at those potatoes for hours (she wouldn’t let me get up or do anything until I ate them all), and was afraid that if she came in, and saw that I hadn’t eaten them yet, she would beat me with the handle of the flyswatter (as I recall, she did that before). So I forced myself to eat them, and continued to even as I threw up all over myself. Covered in vomit, crying, and very cold, I sat there, hoping she wouldn’t see the vomit on me and get mad. I still didn’t dare to get up, because if I left the table without permission, she would yell at me.

I think things changed when my older sister accompanied me to Sharon’s. Not long after that, Mom took me out of there, and started leaving me at Nana’s. Even then, I didn’t talk about Sharon. Sharon would always tell me that I didn’t deserve my mother, and that I was a terrible child. I really took it to heart. She also told me that if I ever told Mom what happened at her house, she would tell Mom how terrible I was. So, even years after I quit going to Sharon’s, I never told anyone. Not even my sister, who knew a bit about the situation. I lived in fear that Mom would go talk to Sharon, and she would tell Mom that I was a terrible kid. Sharon had told me that bad children could be put up for adoption, since nobody wanted them. I was afraid I’d lose my family. Already, I didn’t have much. Taking away my love for myself, and my confidence that my family loved me. That was something that stayed with me for years to come.


Okay, so now that I’ve gotten that off my chest… I’d like to thank you for reading this. Those memories, swam up from the depths of hell my mind, toward the light of consciousness. I hadn’t faced those memories in years, and I thought that if I didn’t put them somewhere, I would forget them again. By forgetting them, I would be allowing them to sneak back into me, and let me keep hating myself like Sharon always hated me. I realize it now. That voice in my head that tells me horrible things, that taunts me about how stupid I am. That is Sharon.

What I want to be taken from this post, if anything, is that abuse isn’t always physical. And it’s hard to talk about, especially for children. It’s easier to bury those hateful things inside, and never let them see the light of day. After all, things like that seem to belong in the darkest reaches where no one can see them. This doesn’t just go for things like evil babysitters, but for things involving bullies.

I have no idea where I’m going with this, right now. My mind is a bit fried. It feels like I yanked up weed in the garden of my brain, and I feel like I just need to listen to some music, or cry, or scream until my voice is as fried as my mind. Age-old wounds don’t simply go away. They get infected, and they fester. Perhaps it was too late for me to purge them, but regardless, I have ripped that scab off, and tried to drain all the nasty things that were making me sick. Bad analogy? I’m full of them.

Regardless, I have many things I need to do– but I want to leave off on a positive note. So here are pictures that makes me smile. I hope they have the same effect on you!


What a Day It Was

Yesterday, as some of you might know already, I woke up at 6 am. No particular reason, really. My brain just decided that was a good time to wake up. I Internet-ed until around 11 am and then went to my sister’s house, to stick around with her and her baby until we could leave for our dad’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. We were running a little late, and I was starting to worry, since I had to go to work at 4pm. But everything worked out well. We arrived in time, I got to play with my nieces (all 4 of them) and my nephew (who was too shy to talk to me at first, since I hadn’t seen him since he was tiny, and he probably couldn’t remember me). It was really nice.

Work went smoothly too, because I arrived in an amazing mood. The only kicker (and the reason I didn’t post anything last night, admittedly) is that someone I work with got into an argument over a band I have listened to since early childhood: Godsmack. Now, this kid doesn’t know anything about Godsmack, never heard their music, never seen their music videos, never even heard of them before I casually mentioned them. So he proceeds to tell me that they must be satanic.

Needless to say, I got extremely angry, especially when he wouldn’t shut up about it. He went so far as to get his phone out and try to look it up. I ended up getting angry enough to say the “f-word” about 3 times per sentence. Yes, I was livid. Not so much that Godsmack might possibly have satanic origins, but because this high-school aged, vain twerp who knows NOTHING about them decided that he MUST be right about a band that he’d never even HEARD of. I felt tempted to tell him to listen to his Miley Cyrus and Eminem and shut up. In fact, I should have. It would have been nicer than what I had actually said.

Eh, anyway. When I got home last night, I was still steaming mad over that. So I looked up some online stores that sell Gothic clothes, boots, and accessories. And felt like a kid in a candy shop. Oh, the things I would order if only I were rich. I just hope these things are still in stock/exist in 4 years when I get an awesome job that pays 6 figures a year. That would be awesome, you know.

Anyway, I’m feeling mostly better this morning. Especially since I am going to go to my mom’s and eat yet another holiday meal, with her and my sister. This is my way of telling you that I won’t be able to post on the blog again tonight. Mom still doesn’t know that I even have a blog– that’s because she won’t understand why I am doing this, and she might be utterly against me having it at all. I was actually really surprised that she didn’t object to my moving to Lexington. I was seriously shocked.

Well, I need to get off of here. I have to get dressed and gather up everything I’ll bring (including cornbread mix. Can’t have Thanksgiving without cornbread and white beans– just playing but it’s really good anyway. Welcome to Kentucky) and then drive that short and yet cold distance to her house. Where I will do next to nothing, more than likely, and stuff my face with joy. We might end up playing Let’s Dance on my mom’s Wii, which never sees any action, but I doubt we will after we eat. We’ll probably sit around watching Spongebob or Despicable Me (Mom has tons of Spongebob DVDs, and just lately acquired the Despicable Me movies).

Everyone have another Happy Thanksgiving– in case there’s anyone out there still celebrating it today! (Surely I can’t be the only one, right?)