Feels: an explanation

I've been feeling some pretty major feels lately. I use the term "feeling feels" instead of "depression" because I'm trying to explain what I'm feeling, I'm not just putting it out there that I'm sad a lot.

WHAT I'M NOT LIKE:

 I don't have this problem at all. I've dyed my hair blue like 4 times. 

I don't even give a fuck about this anymore...

My phone:

I'm more like this:

See, this is what kinda sucks. What a whole lot of people don't understand is that actual major depression is a disease, not a period in one's life when bad shit is happening and they're sad. Depression is a chemical deficiency in the brain, or a lack of those chemicals that make you happy. They control the reward system, and the serotonin receptors in the brain are getting dangerously low amounts of the "happy chemical." This is an actual disease and nine times out of ten, it just appears for no justifiable reason. I've been consciously dealing with depression since 2nd grade, when absolutely nothing bad was happening. In fact, the most traumatizing part of my life so far didn't happen until 5 years later.

Another thing: I don't have any enormous problems in my life that aren't caused by depression. I don't want people to think that I don't appreciate everything in my life.

I have a pretty badass mom.

I have a pretty epic face-battling warrior partner.

 I have a pretty badass cat.

I have some super badass friends.

I also make this happy derp face a lot. 

Honestly, my life is pretty okay. I just thought I'd share this with people because I want people to know that I'm not always super normal but I do my best to be positive. I love you. Seriously. Come let me lick you. It will cure me.

My life journey towards realizing that I'm weird as f*ck

I'm weird. Really weird.

I didn't always know that I was kinda different in regards to my interests and personality. I was a really normal baby and toddler and everything. I was cute with little blond pigtails and I wore pink dresses and such. I had a fetish for princesses, sparkles, and My Little Pony.

I believed in cooties, and that girls go to college to get more knowledge and boys go to jupiter to get more stupider. I loved my mommy and my daddy and my wittle baby bwuvurr. I was passionate about my ballet class and all things girly and fabulous. After watching Barbie Fairytopia when I was 3, I firmly believed with all my heart that one day I would too be greeted by a fairy queen, be given a rainbow bejeweled necklace, and begin sprouting my own translucent glittery fully functional fairy wings. One may have described me as adorable, perhaps even precious.

Then, when I turned about 9 or 10, I quite suddenly plunged off the deep end and went entirely tomboy. I have no idea how the hell it happened, but it happened. I began dressing in loose jeans, crappy sweatshirts, and my hair looked like that of a rather greasy Kurt Cobain, split down the middle, in front of my eyes and everything.

I spent basically all of 4th, 5th, and 6th grade in this awkward female hobo form. This is when I believe I realized that I was kinda strange. I hadn't found myself yet, but I definitely knew that I hated pop music and I wouldn't go within 7 feet of any kind of skirt or the color pink.

when I was around 11 or 12, I somewhat reverted back into a pretty perfect person. It was really weird, and I blame puberty. I started wearing makeup, I grew out my hair down to my ass, and I decided that wearing push-up bras when I had size A boobs was a good plan. *Notice- it wasn't a good plan. What mattered to me is that I suddenly got somewhat popular.

I KNOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I WAS POPULAR ONCE? 

WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!

Yes. The thing is, I hadn't yet discovered awesome metal or the style that I currently know I have. The only things I'd really been exposed to were being a tomboy, or being girly. So I chose to be girly. Apparently I'm rather pretty when I'm girly, therefor I was popular for a few months before I went fucking insane. But, for that period of time, I was one of those popular sluts that everyone hates. I was that girl.

So, at the height of my sweet popularity, I kinda realized that I hated everything.

This was no ordinary "I hate everything" hormonal pre-teen phase. This was pure, dark, wretched hatred of everything. It was really unpleasant. I was aware that I'd been dealing with mild depression since I was in 2nd grade, but it quite suddenly spiraled out of control into a cavern of depressahateaholism. So, a month or two after I turned 12, my life kinda went to shit and I may or may not have become a delusional alcoholic reclusive schizophrenic hot mess.

I lost my popularity. I didn't really care. My logic was kinda just like "Whoa, how did that happen? I could've sworn that just a month ago I didn't smell like a walrus with indigestion. Wait, when was the last time I showered?" That's the period in my life when I realized that I really liked piercings and tattoos and shit-tons of eyeliner. 

So I ended up going through all this rehab type shitty shit and I sorta became my popular self again. Not mentally, but physically I was like that again. I ended up moving to Utah a while later. I wasn't ridiculously popular, but at first, I don't think anybody suspected why I always wore long sleeves, or why whenever people mentioned One Direction I'd cringe, or why whenever we passed a person with body modification I'd stare at them and drool. 

Last year I decided I'd been portraying myself as if I was a popular bimbo for too long. I chopped off 2 feet of my fabulous blond hair so it was just barely longer than a pixie cut, and started dressing in band t-shirts and such attire. It didn't go too horribly. I regret nothing. I started being more open about my music-writing and psychedelic paintings and my awkwardness and the fact that I try to kiss anybody with more than 50% of their body covered with tattoos. 

Since last year, I've pierced my ears a total of 8 times, started stretching my ears, given myself a tattoo, and brutally murdered a total of 682 smurfs. Yeah bitch. I did that for society.

So yeah. I don't hide anything anymore. Except my genitals. Those are mine. You dirty pig.

Chinese Food

I hate chinese food.
I love chinese food.
AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH

I've never had this problem before a few months ago.

I've always loved chinese food, one could argue that it's always been my crack. Since I was, like, five, I've always ordered one of two meals; egg drop soup with california rolls, or lo mein with general tsao's chicken and a spring roll. I'd always finish every bite, and be perfectly filled and happy.

HOWEVER. 

I stopped eating it for a while. I was busy with moving across the country and I also had a horrific eating disorder, which all pretty much ruined my appetite for everything. Then, August of this year, when I had settled into my new home and was pretty much recovered from le bulimia, I just really started wanting chinese food. I just remembered that it existed, and I was like, holy shit I need chinese food RIGHT FUCKING NOW. 

So my mom happily drove me to the local Panda Express, and although they unfortunately didn't have california rolls or egg drop soup, they had an abundance of my favorite noodles and general tsao's chicken and spring rolls. I ordered it, and on the car ride home, I was so fucking excited it wasn't even funny.

When we got home, I shoved the food in my face pretty damn fast. So fast, in fact, that I didn't notice I'd just eaten about half my weight in greasy Chinese takeout. I remember it quite clearly. I was in the middle of chewing my very last bite, and suddenly I just felt my stomach screaming at my brain that it was about to fucking explode. It was as if I had just swallowed one of those little capsules that you get in goodie-bags when you're a kid; the ones that you put in water and after a few hours it turns into a foam dinosaur or a crab or something. It didn't look like too much before I ate it, but I swear it expanded in my tummy to a point where I was nearly sure I'd have to get my stomach pumped.

My stomach:

I didn't understand. I was basically recovered from my eating disorder, so it wouldn't make sense that I was still sensitive to food. Had my stomach shrunk? It made no sense. Nevertheless, I spent the rest of the night in the fetal position, clutching my abdomen, trying not to vomit.

Since this experience, I've ordered from Panda Express a total of three times. Three times. AND THE SAME THING KEEPS HAPPENING.

WHAT THE FUCK, STOMACH? WHY WON'T YOU LET ME EAT MY BELOVED CHINESE FOOD?!?!

So now I'm seriously scared to eat Chinese food, because I'm afraid of the horrific stomach ache I get when I eat it. Even so, I still crave it constantly.

Dear Chinese food,

Stop making my stomach flip its shit. It didn't do anything to you. 

-Courtney

Dear Stomach,

Stop flipping your shit when I eat Chinese food. It's the same stuff I've been eating since I was a little kid. It won't make you explode, it's your own fault that you're racist and don't like asian things; don't even get me started on the problems you seem to have with Indian food. I swear, one of these days we're taking you to counseling so you can get over your racism.

-Your Goddamn Owner