It Could of Been Worse

Hey there! I come bearing good news: I am conscious! This may seem like a given, and it usually is. But I went all syncope Tuesday morning. Take note: eating, in general, and especially when one takes 522mg of medication in the morning, is invaluable. Having hot chocolate with said 522mg does not count. Wearing one's glasses is also an important thing. If these instructions are ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.
I really love my jTerm class, Puppetry in Performance, taught by local professional puppeteer,  John Ryan. I literally give the class my all. And then some.  I woke up on Tuesday at 9:10, and class is at 9:30. Challenge Accepted. I threw on some clothes, took the afore mentioned 522mg, and was on my way to class. I got there, a little late, and got right in to the warm-up. After that, we grouped up for the activity that day (making animal puppets out of newspaper and tape), and that is when my hunger and lack-of-food induced headache came. That kind that's right above the eyebrows. I couldn't quite mask it that I was in a bit of a hell. Malissa noticed, and so did my amazingly spiffy friend, Etta. Etta gave me a CliffBar, because she is so spiffy, and I went outside (the class is in the Lab Theatre) to nom on it, and got a drink from the super-cold water fountain, too. After about three minutes of upwards-spiraling anxiety, I realized that I was probably about to vomit. I ran through the Lab (the shortest way to the closest bathroom), and pretty much right as I got in the stall, yes-sir-e, I puked. The next thing I know, Malissa is patting me, "Ley, can you hear me?" I let out a light groan, and heard three sighs of relief. One belonged to Malissa who was kneeling just behind and to the side of me, one belonging to Sarah, who was standing above me, and the other belonging to John, who was sitting in front of me. It's pretty lucky that the stall doors in the Lab bathroom don't lock anymore, because I had passed out. Malissa said that campus safety was on the way, and moved to the side as Sarah, who has a fair amount of medical training, found my pulse, because she knew that the EMTs (who were also en route) could use the information. She and Malissa went to elsewhere-that place that I don't know or care about-and John stayed with me, and he let me hold is hand, and reassured me even more, saying that it would be okay. Malissa and Sarah returned from the land of elsewhere and helped me walk out of the bathroom and into the dressing room (remember that this is all in the Lab). Pretty soon after, Campus Safety arrived, and Sarah and John went back down to class. Malissa stayed with me until the EMTs arrived, when she stepped aside to let them take vitals and blood sugar. I rejected the ambulance, but the EMTs went to the hospital to start processing my information. Campus safety took me to the ER and waited until they took me. I was almost petrified at the prospect of doing the ER alone. Just after they left, Brandy, the social worker I see at the campus health center came in. She knew how scared I was to go it alone, and decided to be there with me. Isn't that awesome? It did make the whole thing a lot easier. They did an EKG (I'd had that done once before--but this time they put sensors on my ankles--apparently that's not a new thing...) took blood (I surprised Brandy with how calm I was), had me pee in a cup (one of the things that I absolutely detest most), and did chest x-rays (I wonder, boobs must look quite...interesting on those). Brandy and I chatted while they processed everything. They gave me saltines (of which I am quite fond of) and ginger ale (its a highly advanced medical treatment), and since I was there through the time when normal human beings eat lunch, I had lunch too (which was surprisingly not bad). After four or so hours, they decided that my body is just weird and likes to faint and let me go.

At least a chandelier didn't fall on me.

Me and My Generation

THERE IS A STRANGE PHENOMENON with my generation: the Maskbook phenomenon. My peers and I have an exoskeleton that is so opposite to ourselves. 
The therapist who I started working with on September  3, 2003 didn't realize the severity of the depression I developed over that that time until February 14, 2011, the day I was first admitted to a psychiatric hospital for what ultimately has been diagnosed as borderline personality disorder  
We, as a generation, can be off the radar until we crack. Sometimes the crack is just cleavage in the rock, like me, and sometimes it is earth-shattering, like Adam Lanza. All of us 90s kids and the millennials have been able to present a different version of ourselves online: the version we want to be: the version we can't be. 
I hid an eating disorder for over ten years. In July of 2007, I was 5'4" (just a tad shorter than I am now) and weighed 90lbs. The only reason I was able to break the cycle was because I was put on a drug that was also an antiemetic. 
Adults see the media that we do, the Victoria's Secret models, girls think they should look like, and boys think they should look like Taylor Lautner or Eminem. They don't realize how much it affects us until their daughter gets knocked up, or is too light that they no longer menstruate or their son has one too many sports-related concussions, or gets shot in the street. 

Every member of iGeneration is at war with their sense of self.

Thank you, Twenty-Five!

I've only been back in my room for maybe an hour or so now, and I'm already thrilled to be back. My room is just my room, which, yes, means that I am still sailin' solo sans roomie...well, I have Cappuccina, who is kind of like a roommate in that she's loud at night when you really want her to be quiet, but other than that, she's a hamster. A very good hamster, I may add.