Uno Momento

Holy guacamole. I didn't realize it had been such a minute since my last post. I can't lie- I haven't even thought about writing in here :(

This whole work thing? It's hard to get adjusted to. Especially when you are developing a program, calendar, and the rules. You'd think it'd be easier that way.

Plus. This is my fourth week and I'm still constantly exhausted despite eating a healthy diet. It seems my health has actually deteriorated.

And I think I know why: how do you deal with an intolerable coworker? I am pretty positive this person is the sole reason for my added stress, exhaustion, mood swings, and anything else negative going on with me? (In all sincerity this person is that bad- no scapegoating here).

Any tips or suggestions for how to deal with this person? If it's any help, it's a no-it-all-never-shuts-their-mouth type... I've started to TRY to work on myself more because we all know you can't change someone else, but it's taking up the last bit of energy I have left :(

You're a good man, Charlie Brown

Is it too early to start complaining about my new job?

Complain isn't the right word per say. More like a misunderstanding due to miscommunication a top my already gloomy demeanor is resulting in a lot of whining and questioning on my part.

I don't grumble this much out loud or in "real life". In fact, that's the problem. It stays bottled up until I explode and viscously lash out at unsuspecting victims. And then I feel bad and apologize despite really meaning what I say. And start bottling things up again etcetcetc.

So despite this bloggy-whineyness, I believe it is best to get it out one way or another .

After all, all this growing up stuff means I can't keep throwing temper-tantrums, right?



How do you release your thoughts & emotions without hurting others and/or appearing overly negative?Please share your thoughts!

"History" in the making ?

Last night I fell asleep before the news hit. Jon tried to wake me up when he got home to fill me in, but exhaustion caught the best of me and I mumbled a groggy "go awaaaaaay".

I guess on some level I heard what he said because at 4 am I shot up out of bed terrified. Osama is "dead" ? What does that mean? What is going to happen?! 

You see, I'm more of a realist-borderline-occasional-conspiracy theorist especially since living in NYC. By 4:02 AM I started scouring MSN and NYTimes to read the details. Osama "buried at sea"? Found in a millionaire compound? Blahblahblah? By the time Jon roused at 7:30 I had plenty of pent up fear and questions to wake him up with.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion. It is not my place to bash ideologies. But like many mourners have mentioned, an eye for an eye leaves the world blind. One "death" does not equate to thousands lost. Nor does it take into account that this occurrence will most likely spur massive retaliation. (We the people should not be so gullible nor blindly celebratory- after all isn't that what got us in this mess in the first place?!?!)

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that"

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

What are your thoughts and feelings regarding the recent news? I'd love to hear your conversations, but please be respectful of others' beliefs!

Xeroxing X

Xerox |ˈzi(ə)rˌäks|noun trademarka xerographic copying process.• a copy made using such a process.• a machine for copying by xerography.
Can I breathe yet? I am completely dumb-struck and in awe that the end of April is here, not to mention my boyfriend's birthday tomorrow! These past couple of weeks have made me almost resent writing and blogging for that matter thanks to the ridiculous amount of added-on papers, cover letters, and thank you letter's I've had to make up. Not to mention all the running around the city in between class breaks. Note to self: do not sign up for writing challenges when trying to simultaneously graduate from graduate school and find a job within my career!
It's too soon to tell what is going on in my life. Or is it? 
I don't know, but I can sure as diddly say that I wish I could xerox myself to get through this next week and a half!
Can I get an a-men?

R's Resilience (risking resistance for resting relaxation)

Deer goodness. I am quite literally drowning in work and angry group members- talk about a major case of resistance of trying to cooperate together to finish a stinking silly paper.

I haven't had the chance to adequately think about this topic because of said silly group, difficult professors, and running on 2-3 hours of sleep per night. But, this is a topic I really want to delve into at a later date- when I have been a bit rested and relaxed and far far away from the negative resistant attitudes of stubborn group members.

This is me being resilient to the silly situation. Bouncing back to try to completely my own goals in the best way possible that I can manage right now. Operative term being "right now".

Nice nilly-nally, N

Why is it so hard to come by genuine niceness?

Maybe it's just me, but I seem to encounter all kinds of not-really-niceness all over the place. In Miami, there was a sense of pride, a feeling of obligation to be nice to elders and those in your inner circle- but if an outsider came sniffing by your territory they were often barked at. In Pennsylvania, people seemed genuinely nice to your face but often gossiped and lied behind your back. And New York? Well, here people don't even pretend to be nice. Chivalry and respect seem to be non-existant and the few times someone may tentatively hold a door for you, you have to run to make it because within seconds that moment of niceness is right down the sewers.

I'm a generally nice person, but sharing and compromise aren't exactly part of my nature. Though I do put forth considerable effort to extend my hand to close friends when they need it. Mostly, not thinking of expecting anything in return.

But. The few times where I have been in dire need of their open hands, I reach out only to find a clenched fist. I can't help but wonder why this keeps happening and beyond that, why do I keep putting forth the effort to contradict my own nature?

I guess this is part of growing up.

Death of a student.

Dear school,

For the past 1.5 years you have made my life miserable and crushed my dreams. You have ripped me open, stepped on and tossed out my guts straight into the sewers for the rodents to feast. You have kicked me in the stomach when there has been nothing left. You have yelled at me for first being TOO emotional and then being un-emotional. My heart has quite literally been squeezed to death, left shriveled and useless.

You have left me with unpaid hospital bills, more mental health issues than my clients, and the shell of my body with no mind, sense of self nor esteem within. You have crushed me over and over again. I can only take so much from you and I seem to have found my limit.

WHYWHYWHY

"New York I love you, but you're bringing me down"

View From the Top- Sunnyside 7, March 2011

My mom says I was a pretty healthy kid, getting sick maybe once or twice a year with nothing more serious than strep throat. And pretty typical mental health for any hormonal, female adolescent.

But ever since moving to New York in summer 2009 I have come down with just about everything. Bronchitis, a 3 month flu, food poisoning, stomach problems, a torn ligament. And I've developed fears I once thought were irrational: clausterphobia, heights, heavy things falling on my head, being mugged, morbid thoughts about whether dying on an underground or above-ground subway would be the worst way to go (still haven't decided on that one)...

And anxiety. Anxiety that is so disabling, it causes me to have "pseudo-seizures" AKA attacks that manifest as seizure symptoms. And as of Monday, anxiety that also leaves me completely unable to breathe forcing me to rush to the doctor.

I was never really a particular anxious person. Sure, I'd get pre-test jitters. But these "anxiety attacks" come usually when I'm completely calm and relaxed. A few of my more holistic professors that I've mentioned it to said its probably because "when relaxed, your body/mind finally has time to release all the built up anxiety that is usually too distracted, so it manifests itself more intensely by bubbling up".

I've tried breathing exercises, meditation, my recent foray into active physical exercise. But they all only help so much, apparently. I don't know what to do anymore. Is this all what growing up entails- developing awareness leading to health issues? It's gotten to a point where on some level, I'm starting to believe that maybe some higher power is trying to kick me out of the city; New York doesn't want me around.

I wanted to stick around the city at least another year to experience it as a non-student. But I don't know. Maybe my body is trying to tell me something that I can't quite grasp- or not ready to at least.

"Above ground train- 5 stories up"

How do you deal with anxiety?

"It is not what you look at that matters, it is what you see" -HDT

There it was: a big, red "REJECTED" stamped across a plain white sheet of paper with my bolded name and contact information in the header followed by a plea for employment. As I looked closer I realized I was not only rejected- I was downright ridiculed with a red finger pointing out at me. The more I kept staring at the sheet of sadness I realized the paper was suddenly talking. That's right, a talking sheet of paper with black-framed glasses and beady eyes not only rebuffing me but calling me out. Telling me, "who do I think I am trying to apply for professional positions with this excuse of selling yourself !"

My eyes jumped awake as much eyes can possibly actually jump but the room was dark. Reaching for my phone, I realized it was only 3:30 in the morning. I was supposed to sleep until 6:00 and then start working on sending out my resume. That was my plan. That's why I had worked on editing my cover letter the night before.

But at that point I was so paralyzed with fears of inadequacy I immediately propped open my laptop and started editing the letter. Correcting the same lines over and over again. Trying to make myself sound like a viable candidate for otherwise menial positions. At 6:30, I closed my laptop and tried to find some peace with the back of my eyes but I still couldn't. I had developed a cold, nervous sweat despite the open windows blowing in 26 degree snowflakes. Next thing I knew it was 9 am and I could barely move from my bed from panic.

I sent out the first round of applications this morning. And I already received one rejection back. And you know what? It feels as terrible as I had imagined it would despite the respondent wording it nicely. Before I moved to the city, I had applied at literally over 100 random positions. But the rejection didn't phase me- I believed they were the one's losing out.  Now, I feel stupefied. There is too much responsibility riding on these applications.

Now, I'm really a grown-up looking for a grown-up job with my grown-up degrees. The anxiety is overwhelming. I already had one pseudo-seizure/anxiety attack today before coming to class. All my self-soothing methods have failed me, all my classroom learned techniques a flop.

And now? I wait. Just like the thousands of others unemployed Americans.

No drizzle ma nizzle

TC corner, March 2011

NYC has a pathetic excuse for rain. In all honesty, if I was a cloud responsible for this territory I would feel lame about my raining abilities.

Because it really isn't rain, non-technically speaking. It is an annoying drizzle that lasts all day without pause. It's not the kind of rain that makes you want to go out and frolic in your bathing suit on a hot summer day but the kind that leaves your clothes muddy once the bus plows by with it's 4' sewer wave  in it's wake. It feels as if the residue from someone else's sneeze is loitering your radial being. It doesn't rain hard enough to actually open up the umbrella (which even if you did you'd still end up wet thanks to the wind's temperamental wheezing) but enough that your coat will develop a light layer of wetness and your skin becomes moist. The subways are a slippery, condensated mess. The sky stays a foggy shade of clouded gray, though one can't actually make out any clouds.

Miami on the other hand has my kind of rain. The term torrential downpour is more accurate. You can smell the rain before it even hits. The sun will be shining brightly in the front yard and all of a sudden the backyard becomes a swampy marsh within minutes. And then it's over. The clouds swim over and garden the next block. The rainbow shines brightly overhead.

Soggy masses- 2 train, March 2011

Seriously, corporate America?

Way to destroy my feelings of happiness. Companies will do anything these days to jerk money out of you. I am being penalized for always promoting the company saying how great they are. And what do I get in return?

"OH YOU NEED A DOCTOR'S NOTE BEFORE WE CAN GIVE YOU YOU'RE OWN MONEY BACK EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN'T EVEN UTILIZE THE OPPORTUNITY AND TRIED TO RECEIVE A REFUND BEFOREHAND WHEN OUR OFFICE WAS CLOSED WHICH MEANT WE COULD JUST HOLD YOUR MONEY FROM YOU ON PURPOSE  AND MAKE YOU WAIT BECAUSE WE KNOW MOST AMERICANS ARE LAZY AND THEREFORE WILL NOT JUMP THROUGH OUR COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY HOOPS IN ORDER TO GET THEIR MONEY BACK SO WE JUST END UP KEEPING IT ANYWAY"


Oh, and then there is the ridiculous doctor's office who want to make me jump through their own hoops and can't even see me until Thursday where I'll have to wait most likely at least 4 hours because that tends to be their average wait time for a 5 second consult just so I can get said ridiculously, stupidly, unnecessary note. Which means I won't be able to visit my family this week like I wanted & mentally needed to.

I'm sure somewhere in this there is some sort of lesson as to overcoming my impulsiveness. BUT REALLY? COME ON! I know this is a rant and not an effort to improve writing. But if this was my old school live journal circa 2001-2003 I would use one of those fuming un-smiley faces to describe my mood.

Well, you know what you very silly gym? I'm marching to the doctor on Thursday, taking a good book to read, and getting that note so I can shove it in your fax face! Harrumph.

Grow where you are planted

Yesterday morning I had an anxiety attack. I had woken up early to do homework but come 10 am I was a mess.

It dawned on me: why had I signed up for a boxing class? Why had I agreed on something in the late afternoon/early evening when my mind is manic and I'm clearest in the early morning? What was I doing signing up for a group class when I strongly dislike anything group related, much less something I'm not great at and is equally challenging?

Hours went by trying to force some kind of rationalization. "Michelle, this will be good for you. You'll socialize and get fit. You have to overcome your anxiety." But do I really? No! I tried to cancel my registration. And I fell into a gym trap, You know, when they try to offer you anything and everything to get you to stay. The manager went as far as asking me when was the last time I had been to the doctor.

Talk about rude salespeople.

Preened Practice

You hear about teachers permanently scarring children in grade school from ever being or becoming competent in subjects. Sometimes, enough to completely discourage the child from enjoying their educational experience leading them to fail.

Well. It happens in higher education too.

Last Spring I began taking experiential classes in my program. It was rumored that regularly nice professors were absurdly difficult on students in these classes. Supposedly to motivate growth and preen pre-professionals into becoming professionals. But in my case (and several others), that rumor was very saliently a solid, harsh fact. My professor told me I should consider leaving the program. I wanted to, oh how I wanted to. But at that point I was determined to stay through the completion of the program no matter how long it would take since I had already took out a ridiculous amount in loans. Plus. I couldn't bear facing my family and being an Ivy-league-graduate-school-drop-out. I couldn't cop out then when all my friends back in Miami were cheering for me, living the NYC dream.

I was destroyed. I seriously considered changing my profession. I asked myself why, oh why, did I want to do this. And more importantly, if I was even capable of helping others if I couldn't help myself through those hard times.

Well. Today I received my midterm evaluation from my Practicum supervisor. And that nice man down right made me cry. I blabbered everything to him; about how I felt so insecure with certain (older) clients because my professor had made me feel so inadequately incompetent. And he said, "I don't know why he would say that...you're right where you need to be and in some cases even beyond it".

My faith in myself has been somewhat renewed. Of course I'm still learning what it takes to be a counselor- A LOT! And I know I'm far from being amazing. But I've regained a sense of confidence in myself that seemed so lost and unreachable. And in this field you need confidence in yourself to believe you can make a difference- even when clients don't show it or when they're rude or treat you bad. You need tough-skin to be another persons tough skin.

Such simple feedback made such a drastic difference in my own sense of self. Thank you, Professor.

"I coulda been a contender..."

"My size Corona" Times Square, Summer 2010

We grow up. We change allergies every seven years. And apparently, we lose our alcohol tolerance. I used to have a heavy hand and a lenient liver. Now? Not so much.

Not that it's necessarily a bad thing. In some way I believe it to be some kind of blessing. Kind of like my body's natural way of just saying no. But in another way, I think waking up at 1:00 am because of two beers on a non-empty stomach is a little unfair (and ridiculous).

I guess this is growing up....

An education will get you...

In April 2009, while I was preparing to start the ultimate South American-European adventure I checked my e-mail when I got home from my job at a domestic violence & sexual assault center. There was one from said school telling me to check the college's portal to discover what my academic destiny would be. Honestly, I had forgotten I had applied to the school because it was a last-minute whim in the last week of January, before applications were due.

I checked the portal. I was at home, alone, per usual. I read the words again and again. Finally, it registered: I was accepted. I, Michelle, first-generation American daughter of Argentine immigrants, all-around minority student and typical statistic of a single-parent household. I was being told that I was accepted at an Ivy league college. I yelled so loud I lost my voice.

I think I remember that being one of the happiest days of my life. I was so proud of myself. I was accepted into an Ivy league institution. I joked and said it was so they could fill their minority quota. My life changed. No longer could I escape off to romantic global adventure. This meant it was time to finally move to the city of my dreams, at a school who's name on paper would get me anywhere.

I'm 13 weeks away from my potential graduation as an Ed. M student. I have loans up the wazoo because this institution is expensive, and as I found out once I had already sent in my deposit, they do not grant Master's students financial aid. And now, I'm being told I might not receive that little piece of paper that I have spent so much time, money, stress, and wrinkles over.

My advisor e-mailed me nonchalantly at 12:30 this afternoon despite not able to meet until Tuesday. That is five days worth of anxiety-attack inducing stress I need to endure to find out what my future holds. I'm trying to tell myself that everything will work out for a reason- one way or another.

But it's hard. It really is.

Manic Mariachi

This afternoon on my difficult trek to class, something obscene happened. Now, I know I've only been a New Yorker for about two years. And I know at first I was amused when mariachis, singers, and breakdancers etc. did their ditty on the train. But after the first few months, it stopped being cute and turned obnoxious- no matter what mood I'm in.

Today I was reminded why I stopped finding subway entertainment well, entertaining. I was staring out the "window" listening to music when another fake-Mariachi trio hopped on board. See, authentic mariachi's are entertaining and a reflection of Mexican art. But these men who borrow Halloween costumes from their friends (or just throw on a cowboy hat) and play the same two songs that have the same guitar chords and wander around begging for money are far from genuine mementos of the Mexican culture.

And then. One of these little douchebags decided he had the right to stand in front of me gyrate his backside to my face. It wasn't cute, it wasn't funny but it sure was down right disrespectful. Especially with the other two nimrods smiling and making lewd facial expressions. These are the acts that I hate from anyone. Especially from individuals that further perpetuate the negative image illegal-immigrants have plastered across themselves in the US. (How do I know they were illegal? Well, let's just say my previous two-year relationship taught me a lot. Plus, they're so ignorant they think I don't speak or understand Spanish-or rather their "Chilango" because I'm White-skinned. But that's a whole other pickle)


This wasn't just disrespectful towards women. It was beyond objectification. Maybe even past social-class issues. This was a brutal combination of ignorance and power struggle.

I'm hoping venting here (and to the other 30 people I vividly explained it to) will let this release itself from my memory. These dodos are obviously not worth my stress.