It's just me inside my head. @essenceofmebymarissalrobins - Tumblr Blog

Teal Ribbons...

“Your periods shouldn’t hurt.” No, they shouldn’t. But they do. Fuck, do they! That is, when I would actually have them; which was rare. Every 1 in 10 women in the US are walking around suffering from Polycystic Ovary Disease (or PCOS as it is most commonly acknowledged)...

from incredibly infrequent/frequent, heavy and painful menstrual periods, over-abundant facial or body hair, depression, anxiety, infertility, thyroid conditions, insulin issues (including Type II Diabetes), PMDD, hair loss, moderate to even severe acne, darkening patches on the skin, pelvic pain even when they’re not menstruating, weight gain and even more difficulty losing weight, high blood pressure, elevated cholesterol ....the list goes on and on and on...

I’ve been fighting this shit since I was 11 years old. I envy “normal” females. I secretly almost HATE them...which I know isn’t fair, I know... they didn’t choose to have a normal body no more than I didn’t choose to have a fucked up one.

When you’re fighting an invisible disease, you almost feel like there’s no point in “fighting”. As common as this disease is, I have such a hard time finding other women who are in the same boat... who understand how painful, mentally and physically; this is. Let’s put the fertility issues (which seem to be the most prominently acknowledged symptom of the disease) aside for a while and talk about the here and now:

This shit started when I was 11. Of course I hit menarche just like a lot of girls tend to do at that age... and it was NOT an exciting experience like my mother made it out to be. I’m cool with blood and what-not; and of course I was expecting puberty just like every other female my age, but I didn’t expect for my body to go into a complete tailspin and I certainly didn’t expect that much pain. I used to think I was just a wimp and couldn’t handle pain; but trust me, it’s been proven that that is FAR from the truth.

I distinctively remember being huddled on the floor at one point in almost a fetal position because I had no other coping mechanism. Midol? Psh. What a fucking mockery. I’ll spare you the rest of the gory (and I do mean GORY) details and just tell you that I knew something was really wrong by the following year. I knew that it was normal for my cycles to be irregular for the first couple of years, but when I was about 12-13 they completely stopped for almost a year... when I finally did get a period, I really did think I was hemorrhaging. “Hello, month-long period. GO THE FUCK AWAY.”

I distinctively remember this one day I was making myself lunch and I had the Discovery Health Channel on. Remember that show “Mystery Diagnosis”? That is EXACTLY how I figured out what was going on with me. I googled what I’d heard on TV and sure enough, I had every damn pronounced symptom listed. My mom scheduled an appointment with a gyno for me and sure enough, without so much as a head to toe assessment she said “Yep, looks like a case of PCOS to me. Birth Control Pills will help.” Yeah, right. Ortho-Tri Cyclen Lo was my enemy from the get-go. Not only did it cause such bad mood swings that I started punching holes in walls (seriously), my periods were coming every two weeks. Fuck that noise. I stopped the pills and just went about my life period-free; letting my hormone levels continue to rampantly unbalance. Of course at the time I didn’t know that I was doing my body a real disservice and that this was technically really dangerous for several reasons...

I had been gaining extreme amounts of weight very quickly for the past few years by the time I was around 14-15. I had tried every diet and even saw a nutritionist at one point to no avail. But did my general practitioner ever once test me for insulin resistance? Nope. I was miserable. I spent most of my teen years feeling like a leper for the fact that I was very overweight and my body couldn’t even do the one thing a woman is supposed to biologically be capable of doing. I’d even been told at one point by a gynecologist that my chances of ever getting pregnant were nil. Talk about a major psychological blow! There were many times that my depression got so bad that I honestly considered just ending it all. It was pure hell.

By the time I was 17 I started researching my disease more. Once I figured out that what I deal with is pretty damn common (way too fucking common in my opinion) I started dealing with trying to get it under control again. I was put on birth control again, in fact; I think I attempted taking 4 different types of pills until I fell in love with Yaz. That pill was ah-mazing. I miss it. I stopped it during my second year of college because I wanted to start trying to lose weight and honestly I wanted to see if my cycles would magically regulate on their own (oh, how naive I was).

I managed to drop about 90 lbs in a year (still have a way to go) and I do feel better in some regards....now if my new OB/gyn could get me on the right prescription and figure out a remedy for all of this damn pain and put an end to having a period every 2 damn weeks, I’d feel a little better about all of this. Metformin has been a huge help to combat the insulin resistance. The only thing I feel better about in this whole ordeal is that I’ve been told I CAN have kids...what I have to endure to succeed in that is still unknown, however.

Teal ribbons are used to symbolize this fucking terrible disease. This world needs a whole lot more awareness, and so much more research needs to be done. If my suffering can’t end, I honestly hope deep down in my heart that other people’s suffering can be prevented in the future. This shit needs to end.

Missing these Fall days right now <3

Sam Parr State Park; Jasper County, IL Photo taken by: Marissa L. Robins

Hand Me Down by The Wallflowers

You won't ever amount to much You won't be anyone Now tell me what you are thinking of How could you think you would be enough

It's not that you have stayed too long And it's not that you've done something wrong It's not your fault that you embarrass yourself

You're a hand me down It's better when you're not around You feel good and look like you should But you won't ever make us proud

You've been used by an army of kings You've been touched by the lips of a queen Now we've all made good use of you But you won't be needed again

So why don't you move and let someone else in And make some room for a new harlequin 'cause you never know when you'll disappoint us again

You're a hand me down It's better when you're not around You feel good and look like you should But you won't ever make us proud

Now hand me down It's better when you're not around You feel good and look like you should But you could never make us proud Hand me down

Now look at you With your worn out shoes Living proof evolution's through We're stuck with you This revolution's doomed

'cause you're a hand me down It's better when you're not around You feel good and you look like you should But you could never make us proud

You're a hand me down It's better when you're not around You feel good and you look like you should But you won't ever make us proud

"It's just me inside my head..."

They say that people who struggle with depression or some other form of "mental illness" make the best confidantes and/or friends. That's probably true. They're less likely to tell you to 'fuck off' when you share your feelings or personal issues with them because they can relate to the pain that you're feeling... they just won't tell you about it. They lend a comforting ear and offer what they can to you, no matter what they have to sacrifice or how deeply they have to dig deep within themselves to grasp it. But they'll hand it over all the same. Why? Because it's all about remaining as strong as they possibly can. It's all about hiding the true turmoil that they feel within themselves 24/7.

Over the course of my life so far, I've only had a few people who I can truly call friends. Thank god for them; I wouldn't change them for the world. But do I bother them with the bullshit I deal with in my head? Nah. I've always been the one to help others with their own issues... but almost never ask for help with my own. Maybe that's why I'm the way I am? Maybe that's why I sometimes have days where I can't stand to be awake unless I'm medicated or under the influence of some pretty tasty alcohol?

Counseling didn't help. Even when I did manage to let go and talk about everything plaguing me. I just felt like it was bringing everything to the surface-- not to resolve it, but to only acknowledge it and just let it keep sitting there; festering. It feels the same way when I actually do attempt to talk to people that I love. They offer an "Oh, geez; that really sucks; I'm sorry", and I'm just internally stating, "Well fuck; I just let you in on this and that's all you can say? The very thing I say to myself all the fucking time?"

One of my best friends and I were riding in her car the other day. She's been having a rough time in her own life lately; but she said to me: "You know, I never would have known what you were going through had you not told me about it. You're really good at hiding it, and always finding the bright side of things." Goal accomplished, I suppose. But that still doesn't lighten the darkness that encroaches my being every. single. day.

How My Love Story Continues...

Well, today marks six months with the most amazing man I could have ever hoped to be with in my life. I spend every single day thinking non-stop about how much I love this guy. Being apart from him is extremely difficult, and some days it makes me crazy; but it also makes me truly cherish the time that I DO get to spend with him. He's my everything. I am so thankful for him and everything that he is and does.

His smile makes me melt. His laugh makes my heart happy. The smell of him makes me weak at the knees. His touch and his kisses make my heart beat at an extremely accelerated level. His sense of humor? I live for it. I love everything about this man; even the qualities that he dislikes about himself. In fact; ESPECIALLY the qualities that he dislikes about himself. I could stare at him for hours; because I just get lost in him. Part of me is stuck in disbelief that I got so fucking lucky to find him.

How My Love Story Began... (part 1)

I had never dated in hopes of finding "love". I dated pretty much for the sole fact that it was what was expected of me, being a girl age(s) 16-19. I lived my life believing that I was truly meant to be alone; no matter how badly I really did want to find that true, amazing connection with that one guy. I had been a total doormat. I believed that I was unworthy of good love. Deep down, I knew that I was a good person; with a good heart, but I wondered if it was just incapable of the kind of love that was outside of friendship or family.

I struggled (and still struggle with) major low self-esteem, for various reasons; and even though I'd always been pursued, nothing good had ever come out of it. I always managed to attract crazies, total dicks and/or absolute losers with no life ambition. It took a fucking terrible break-up of a horrible relationship for me to start looking within myself; at what was really wrong with me. Why couldn't I love myself? Why couldn't I love anyone else? Why did I keep letting men treat me like I was nothing? Why was I letting people use me in general? This lead to a complete turn-around in my life. I began to focus on finding security within my own being, and changing the aspects that were plaguing me.

I started with my lifestyle in general: I quit drinking excessively and stopped smoking pot (as much as that amplified my anxiety problems). I began to address feelings that I had been repressing for years, all while I worked my ass off (literally) to change myself physically and mentally. I maintained a healthy diet, started exercising regularly and just taking care of myself for really the first time in my life. In the beginning of 2014 I had made a promise to myself that I was going to work hard for the life that I wanted for myself, because I truly did deserve it.

Honestly, I've gone my whole life being okay with being "alone". Sure, I have friends and family that I love dearly; but I truly am happiest in my own head. That's really a big reason why I've started this blog. It's never a good thing to sit for too long with all of these random ponderings floating around in your mind. However; against all of negative opinions based upon my prior terrible experiences in this department; I decided to attempt dating again...

I had had an okcupid account for years (since before I was legal...shhh.) and I had met PLENTY of psychos and losers there; so I really wasn't all too hopeful...But living in this area, there aren't a whole lot of choices unless you want to date a distant relative. The activity I got on that site was ridiculous. I had notifications out the ass 24/7; but really not from the kind of guys I was interested in getting to know personally. Most of those who contacted me were just looking for a booty call; and I ain't about all that.

One day in early July I was just scrolling through my "People You May Be Interested In" section, and his account popped up. I distinctively remember raising my eyebrows, clicking on his username link; and I immediately got to reading his profile. We had a high percentage of compatibility, and his "about me" section didn't raise any red flags; in fact, I found myself comparing my own personality and likes/dislikes to his. For once I felt sort of hopeful about carrying on, so we got to talking.

Before I knew it we were texting, and he had suggested meeting up and going out. I won't lie, I was fucking scared. For one thing, I'm a paranoid human being anyway; but I was also a magnet for some very scary suitors. Truthfully I already liked him very much, and I wanted to get to know as much as possible about him; and what's a better way than face-to-face? So, I agreed to a date: but only if he would agree to come and meet my parents first. I don't know why this "traditional" value is overlooked in society these days; but seriously, guys; it's only decent to introduce yourself and meet the parents of the girl you're dating; whether it's the first date or beyond.

I chose a popular local Italian restaurant to meet up at. Can't go wrong with good Italian food and a very public setting (where there are plenty of witnesses), right? It took me forever to get out the door that day. Between crises in the house, dealing with my nephew, fighting a major natural hair disaster and trying to find a decent outfit to camouflage as much of my changing (shrinking) waistline as possible; I didn't think I was ever going to make it there in time. I'm a freak about being punctual, so I was secretly hoping that he would be running a bit late too so that I wouldn't feel so guilty. We got there at around the same time, so I suppose it wasn't such a bad ordeal.

I was sitting in my car, making sure that my eyeliner wasn't smudged all over my perspiring face because of the insane late-July heat and humidity. I was grabbing my purse when I happened to look up and see him walking down to sidewalk toward me. I immediately knew it was him; and I internally started thanking any source of a higher power that his pictures had been legit and he was for sure not some trolling creep.

He smiled as I got out of my car; and my heart literally skipped a beat. I couldn't help but just look at him. His face was gorgeous, and his build was ideal to what I'd always liked in a guy. After saying our hello's, we were seated at a booth and instantly started talking; about anything and everything. My anxiety melted away immediately, and I just couldn't help but stare at him. His smile gave me heart palpitations, and his sense of humor was exactly what I'd always dreamed of finding in a mate. We talked and laughed throughout dinner, and after we left the restaurant; he followed me out of town to my house. I warned him ahead of time that my family is fucking nuts, so to be honest I was waiting for the fallout. This first date was going far too well.

He was so well-mannered. I didn't know that there actually were men out there that still opened doors for females, picked up the tab and even made direct eye contact. What threw me for a loop, though; was when my dad came upstairs before he left for work, and TJ instantly stood up, introduced himself and shook my dad's hand. I looked at my mother from across the room; both of us wide-eyed with shock and absolute approval. Holy shit, classy ones still exist!

Once we were alone again, I turned the radio on and we sat there and talked and laughed for literally hours. The whole time I just kept thinking about how attractive he was; in looks and his personality. I instantly felt a connection between us; and I wondered if he felt the same way.

I sat there thinking "wow...for the first time, dating doesn't feel like a chore." I realized how much I really was enjoying his company, and I couldn't stop thinking of how hot he was. He was highly intelligent, seemingly very motivated in his life; and I knew that he had ambition. I also learned how family-oriented he is, and that is always a quality that I've sought in a potential boyfriend. Nothing is more important to me than family; and I've always wanted one of my own so of course it makes sense to want to be with a person who values that as well.

It was after midnight when we finally started to part ways, and I felt bad that he still had an hour-long drive ahead of him. I stood up to walk him out, and to my complete surprise he embraced and kissed me. And let me tell you; that kiss could set the fucking world aflame, people. I almost had a damn heart attack. That has never happened to me before; that feeling of electrifying chemistry. About ten minutes later, we broke apart. "I should probably go or I'm pretty sure we'll be standing here until morning. Your mom will come up here to find us. haha" I agreed, laughing; still reeling from it all. I was on cloud nine. As I turned to watch him walk down the stairs to the front door, he said "We should really do this again soon." I looked at him, smiling so hard that my face hurt; and said "Promise?" He said "Yes, ma'am", flashed that gorgeous smile that is framed with those dimples that I still melt for; and left.

A couple of days later and a lot of text messages in between, we met up again; this time for dinner and to see Guardians of the Galaxy at the Arcadia. I honestly had been having a horrendous day. I was just then getting into the new groove of not being in class every day since I'd just graduated, and home-life wasn't sitting so well with me thus far. But as soon as I laid eyes on him, all of that aggravation melted away; just as I stopped breathing. We had another great dinner, and while sitting in the movie theater before the film started; we talked and laughed just as our first date. We locked gazes, and he said "Okay, I gotta get my fix"; and leaned in and kissed me. Again: heart attack.

The theater was like a meat locker I was so cold. But he did a fantastic job of keeping me warm. The film was hilarious; and I live to hear him laugh so that was definitely a great choice. Afterward, we were walking out of the theater and down Main Street toward our parked cars; talking about nothing of particular importance, when he slightly grabbed my arm, stopping our stride. He put his hands on either side of my face, pulling my lips to his; as I wrapped my arms around his neck. (That's quite a reach since I'm such a shrimp and he's so tall) While enthralled in my heart attack, we heard obnoxious yelling from a group of people and the honking of a passing truck. We instantly broke apart, laughing hysterically. We both weren't the type to engage in PDA, so it really was surprising for us. To this day, damn near four months later; I still laugh and smile every time I drive down that street. That is one of my all-time favorite memories; and I don't mean in terms of my social life; I'm speaking in terms of my entire life.

#date #mylove #firstdate #kiss

Music is one of the few things in life that makes absolute sense to me...

Silence scares me. Okay, it terrifies me. If all that I can hear is the sound of my own conscience, my panic switch is almost instantly flipped. When you've gone your whole life (literally since you were sprouting in the womb) with music playing damn near 24/7; silence becomes a foreign invader. Some people think that music is a barrier that I use to avoid dealing with shit in my life, but on the contrary. It enables me to confront it all head-on. It strengthens what (questionable) sanity I retain.

I grew up with parents that are avid music lovers; but neither have any sort of musical talent whatsoever. They're both tone-deaf as all get out. So is my brother (god love him). Maybe that is why I've fought so hard to learn how to use my hearing to sing on key? My mom jokes that I've been singing before I was even speaking in sentences. Truthfully, singing has always just been fun to me. It's expressive. It's a release. It's a calming mechanism. You weren't a cool kid until you were kickin it in your carseat in your Garanimals belting out whatever was coming over the car radio or through your walkman (for all you little kiddies, this was before the "iPod" was invented) and I did plenty of that, trust me.

Mom and Dad exposed me to every genre growing up. Country, Rock, Pop, Motown; you name it, we listened to it. When I was born my grandmother sent my parents those classical baby tapes; and according to my mother, I was not havin' that shit. I would have much rather had heard Motley Crue. To this day, my love for music stretches to really every genre. I can honestly appreciate anything. Some people believe that a song has to have direct meaning to them for them to enjoy it; or make that connection to it. For me, I can appreciate it regardless if I can relate to it.

#music #love #soundtrack #life #listen

Who the hell am I? Background Info.

We all have a name. I was given Marissa (and I’ve hated it all my life, don’t ask me why; I can’t pinpoint a particular reason). The concept of naming is a pretty cool thing if you really think about it. Consider it: a human being is carried in the womb for about nine months and its parent(s), not knowing a damn thing about the kid decides one day “Hey, I’ll think I’ll name him/her [insert text here].” They are born a blank slate, their name being really their only identifier. I think this is why I’m such a stickler for giving your kid a name that is unique, yet not literally made-up or overused by the general population. Seriously, people; let’s stop it with the “Let’s throw these four syllables together. That sounds pretty cool.” Give your baby a name that means something, even if this meaning illustrates what you wish for them to have in their life.

So who the hell am I? Well, since I’ve already given you my general identifier; here’s some background information to help you gain a sense of who Marissa is and what makes her tick. I’m from Jasper County, Illinois; a very small, rural community. To put it simply; a lot of cornfields, gravel roads and cows. I was born on November 18, 1993 (that would make me 21 if you don’t want to do the math; and shit let’s face it, nobody likes to do math---and if you do, that amazes me) I literally came into the world screaming, and metaphorically-speaking: I haven’t stopped.

My parents are pretty fucking cool, if I do say so myself. My dad has busted his ass his entire life to make sure I’ve had everything I’ve needed and more than enough of what I’ve wanted. Sure, that’s what any responsible, loving parent would do; but truthfully, no parent HAS to do that so I’m eternally grateful. My mom is seriously like my best friend. You have no idea. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not one of those moms that are strictly like “hey, I can’t give my kid any kind of parental guidance because she might get pissed at me”. Rather, my mom is the type that has been both an amazingly guided parental figure while maintaining a super close friend-like relationship with me. I think I get my sense of humor mostly from her, although I think a touch of it comes from my dad as well. The goofiness? Definitely from mom. Paranoia? Dad. OCD? Dad. Nerdiness? I don’t know where the hell that comes from. I was the type of kid that watched more scientific and educational programming than cartoons and read books faster than my grandparents could send them. I have a 34 year old older half-brother who is pretty much my buddy. We’ve had typical sibling-fights in the past but he’s still awesome. I also have a 14 year old nephew who is a huge part of my world. Sure, we’ve grown up together; but he really is very much like one of my own offspring. It’s true what they say; an aunt is the only other one who can love you like a mom and still kick your ass when you need it.

I graduated from high school in 2012. Overall I can’t say that I necessarily had a bad high school experience; although I really hated school while I was enrolled---or at least most of the time anyway. Mostly it was due to the fact that I am the type of human being that gets notoriously bored with routine even though I can’t stand to NOT have a routine. If that doesn’t make sense to you, just nod your head and go with it. I was in chorus for a while and a band nerd (alto sax) throughout junior high and had tried to make it continue in the beginning of my high school career, but it didn’t work out for various reasons. The one thing I REALLY loved doing was participating on yearbook staff. Photography and Journalism is fucking magnificent, and to this day it is still one of my passions.

In August 2012 I started college as a Nursing major. And guess what? In July 2014 I graduated with an Associate’s Degree of Science and Fine Arts. It takes a special person to be a nurse, and I wasn’t special enough. Bahaha Let me explain: I’m an EXTREMELY empathetic person, and to be a nurse, sure; you have to be empathetic, but you have to be able to turn it down as needed to do your job efficiently. I couldn’t. I used to have full-on breakdowns in restrooms and storage closets after providing care. It was horrendous. Not to mention I am a pretty high strung person, so stressful and/or fast-paced career tracks are not a good suit for me. There was also one particular instructor during my LPN training that disliked me for various reasons, and therefore; she made my life a living hell.

Now that I’ve graduated with that degree, I am currently trying to make another move. I’m going through the motions to get enrolled in a mortuary science education program at an Indiana university, and I’m praying that shit goes my way because taking this semester off is killing me. I miss class soooooo bad. There are only so many episodes of ER, Ghost Adventures, and Monsters Inside Me that I can take before I’m chomping at the bit for something else to do. I think that’s one reason that has finally been that last big push to make myself jump back into writing, and my other loves that I’ve been neglecting for so long. So welcome to my blog, welcome to my life and welcome to my mind.

#my life #backgroundinfo #welcometo

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