Because Saying “Screw Off” Can Be Hard to Do



Well folks, apparently it is altogether possible that there is an actual meme or photoquote or graphic to describe how I am feeling right now.  And really, leave it to Tupac to set me straight! Things continue on in my world, about as normal as the setting on a washing machine, but again there have been some blips on the radar.

My mom (QoB) and stepdad (Big Dawg) were together for thirty-some years when their divorce was finalized at the beginning of 2015.  Big Dawg did his part (to the best of his ability), in helping my mom raise me.  I won’t say he was perfect, but he wasn’t a demon either.  He was many times there when I needed him, although was just as often in the other room staring at the TV while I cried and fumed and fought and otherwise dealt with the the irascible mental illness within my brain.

He angered easily, although he never struck me or my sister (that I remember), but my clearest memories are of him losing his temper and yelling and doing the lecture-thing far too often.  It was through him that I truly believe I learned some really terrible coping skills and relationship skills, but I don’t hold him to blame for any of that.  It is what it is, it was what it was.

Somewhere between the announcement of the pending divorce and now, I have taken it upon myself to be extra-special-nice to Big Dawg.  Mostly because I feel sorry for him, now quite pathetic and alone.  When he and QoB very first broke up, I do believe (looking back) that he showered me with attention and affection, using me as a pawn to get to my mother.  I do see that clearly now.

What’s difficult, is that the attention he gave me, I had been thirsting after for most of my life, so I didn’t see it as negative at the time.  In fact, it is hard to see it as negative even today.  And maybe tomorrow, it will be difficult, too — I have no way of knowing.

What I do know is that my mind has been playing some fierce tricks on me, and I am at a point where I am on a wire above the city, balancing between giving him more benefit of the doubt, more opportunities, more chances, or just hopping off the wire onto my emergency inflated escape pad and giving absolutely NO MORE of myself.  Now, not no more of myself forever, but for quite some time.

I have a tendency to give too many chances, especially to the men in my life.  Oftentimes, people around me don’t understand it, and wonder why, oh why, is Rosa giving this schmuck another go at her heart and *fragile* psyche.

I have a hard time giving up on people, and I always have.  I can have been completely hurt by someone at age six through thirty, and continue to give more and more chances.  It has worked out in my favor a few times, but mostly it ends me up with heartache.  I don’t want anymore heartache at this point.

I am at a point right now, where I am unsure if I can follow through on current family commitments, nevertheless keep attempting to stoke the fire under a certain person’s ass, praying that they will take notice of me again and give me the time of day.  Praying I won’t always get chosen dead last for every little thing.

I grew up with a romanticized notion of how someone was, deep down, and now that the gold glitter paint is flecking off, I’m at a loss as for what to do.

I will make it through this Thanksgiving because I am tough and LarBear will be at my side, but I am not sure I am going to be able to follow through on anything after that.  I believe everything is going to need to be “up in the air,” and I will take it day by day.

Which, hmph, is what I am supposed to be doing anyway — mindfulness, keep it simple stupid, day by day, minute by minute, stay in wise mind, hug a tree.


The Biggest Gift I Could Receive from Divorcing Parents

I have been doing better here lately, there is no doubt about that.  Unfortunately, over the last week or so, I have started to do things like, a) not be able to sleep or b) cry uncontrollably for hours on end, and c) deal with suicidal ideation.  The sleep has been better in the past three days and I am hoping it stays that way because that just makes it all the more difficult.

Holiday times have always been important in my immediate family.  There have always been big lunches and dinners and the tallest Christmas tree that can be found and cookie baking and house decorating and prepping recipes and menus for days on end.  I mean, they were huge for us.  This year has been a stark reminder of just how upside-down life is right now.

For one thing, there is no QoB and Big Dawg.  They won’t even talk to each other, nevertheless see each other.  I mean, I guess I should have seen this coming, but they absolutely hate each other, if the words they say are true.  Words that I am pretty sure I don’t want to listen to but end up hearing all the (fucking) time anyway.

I don’t think they understand how devastating that is, to your child, to disparage your soon-to-be ex-husband or ex-wife in front of said child.  No matter that this child is 33 years old and Ab is 32.  There was all this drama in the beginning and then they were both adamant that I be kept out of it.

It is slowly creeping back in.  I understand (not really) that they can’t stand each other, but they both need to keep the shitty remarks, comments, insults, etc out of my face.  And its not one doing it more than the other, although Mom is trying harder not to do it around me.  But as with anything, you inadvertently get either of them on a roll, and it’s all downhill (for me) from there.  No one wants to bash their mom or their dad.  If the parents want to, then they need to call a friend or find a therapist.  Actually, they could both use a therapist at this point, and that is me being generous, because they both really needed one long ago.

So what am I to do?  Well, the correct answer should be — support your parents while they are going through this hard time.  And you know, I can still in a lot of ways, but in some ways I can’t.  At different times, they are so upset that they can’t even be in the same room with me, nevertheless talk with me or even text over the phone.  Ok then, there goes two major supporters.  The two peop;le that have been there for me all my fucking life, now as if they have disappeared off the face of the Earth at times.

And that’s not to say they don’t try, because they do.  But they are both in such a bad place, both so unhappy, angry, anxious, stressed, heartbroken that they aren’t always able to be there and I really do get that.

Frankly, I can’t handle this level of stress in my life.  Even when they keep it to themselves, which is definitely not all the time, I am just barely making it.  I am letting household duties fall by the wayside, I am not practicing my DBT skills well or often enough, and all I want to do is distract, distract, distract.  In fact, I have pretty much distracted since August of this year, right before my birthday, when things really started getting ugly.

So, no, I don’t want my parents to get back together.  I want them to TRY to heal instead of being stubborn and thinking they can do everything on their own.  I want them to take the advice they would give me in the same situation.  I want there to be more common sense and less anger.  Maybe even a bit of being polite — I do see a tiny bit of it from both parties.

But more than anything, I really don’t want to hear anymore negative speeches, from one about the other.  No more snide remarks, comments, jokes.  I am your daughter, and I deserve that much respect.

Crackling Like a Live Wire

You may or may not have noticed, but I dropped out of Reverb.  The prompts were good, the prompts were fine, but there is just so much daily bull shit going on right now that I feel I can barely keep my head above water.

The divorce seems to get more painful and exhausting for my mom as time wears on.  I am doing my best not to get in the middle and they are doing a. good job of not putting me there, but its hard to see her so defeated.  She won’t let me around her, in fact, when she is upset, so I spend a lot of time getting avoided.  I get it, really do.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

My anxiety has been sky high the last several weeks.  It decreased for awhile, but is now back in full force.  I am still not smoking or using lozenges or the patch, and have decided to try and address my problems with binge eating.  I had thought of doing weight loss surgery, but with the habits I have, it would just be dangerous.  My thought is, work on the problem behavior with the thought that maybe someday I can do the surgery.  What I really want, though, is to lose weight in any way possible so that I can stop being that fat girl and move on with my life.

I have a friend I am trying to get back in touch with.  I have been thinking about it a lot lately and went ahead and tried to make contact today.  It was a bit of an awkward situation on my end when we stopped (inadvertently almost) atlking to each other last, and I am hoping that he can look past that and we can be friends again.

Promises that this blog will move onto bigger and better things in the near future — it only seems like there is a lot of bellyaching going on about petty little stuff.  Yep, I know…. I’m sick of it, too.

Possibilities and Challenges

I like to blog more often than a month worth of every 10 days or so, but life is getting in the way.  Not necessarily in a good way.  In short words, my parents are getting a divorce.

Longer words, current circumstances are stressful, interpersonal relationships are either weakened or strengthened.  I find myself crying a lot and screaming, “I can’t do this” in my head (and sometimes, out-loud, usually in my car), even though I’m not sure exactly what “this” is.

And sometimes, actually, it’s more like mostly, it hurts so much and its so badly stressful because you see your parents, people you have known your entire life, who have loved you and protected you and sang silly songs to you and called you out on your curfew, well, you see them suffering.

Suffering and crying and being angry and being sad.  Having to make really hard, life-changing decisions.  It is very difficult, as a grown woman, for the first time after 30-some years of living life together, that you see your dad cry.  Not able to talk to you because he is so upset.  Absolutely heartbreaking.

All the people around you, who so clearly don’t see your position and obviously think you are an idiot, tell you it’s not your fault (of course it’s not!) and that it is between them and there is nothing you can do to make it better (well, YES, no kidding, really?).  I spent the first bit trying to get them back together, of course, which is a natural human response, I believe.  But then I realized, this is not my battle to fight.  There is absolutely not one single thing I can do that will “fix” this or make it better.

I am hoping I am going to turn the corner from being extremely stressed out and upset and crying and going on to some sort of acceptance.  I am working on it, is all I can say.  Maybe do a little more of what Mr. Merton says:

You do not need to know precisely what is happening,

or exactly where it is all going.

What you need is to recognize the possibilities

and challenges offered by the present moment,

and to embrace them with courage.

Thomas Merton

A quick note…

I have been very behind reading, liking, and commenting on other blogs.  If you haven’t seen me stop by in awhile, my emotional turmoil and all the stress is what is keeping me away.  I hope to return to the blogosphere with much enthusiasm in November for NaBloPoMo and plan to be doing a lot of reading of blogs I have followed forever and hopefully some new blogs starting very soon.


Grieving, and the Quest for True Love

The rub within, is that if DSB had fought for me at the end, I would have let him stay.  It would have been foolish, but I would have had some sort of “proof” that there was love between us.  In the final six months of the DSB and Rosa saga, I became his caretaker, his amazingly unappreciated caretaker, and that drove a wedge between us.  Maybe if that hadn’t all happened, maybe he’d be sleeping in the back room right now and I would be snoozing away, because I wouldn’t have had so many terrible thoughts chasing each other in my mind.

While I am doing much better, I am deep down still grieving that loss.  Through all the comments and the well-wishes in the responses section, I can tell you that — I am grieving.  How long will I grieve, how long can I expect this to last?  That’s what I want to know, because it is affecting my day-to-day life.  I jumped headfirst into an online flirty-type friendship because then, someone was giving me the attention that I had so been dying for.  When it became clear that nothing would come of that flirty-type relationship, and we decided to just be friends, I was hurt and frustrated, but relieved, all at the same time.  I could stop trying so hard, stop making a fool of myself.

I don’t think I can have another relationship, of any kind, right now, or possibly in the next long while.  I just need someone to love me, to pay attention to me, and I am looking for it in the wrong places.  After my last two relationships, I can’t have another wherein I am not paid attention to, in which I am ignored or made to feel unloved.  I know this isn’t just in my head.  This is really happening, or not happening, as the case may be.  How hard is it to say, “I love you” once in awhile?  How hard is it to reach out and give your partner’s arm a squeeze or give a hug or touch them in any non-sexual way?  In both relationships, I nearly felt like a leper, there was so little human contact.

I may have my problems, but I know how to love someone, how to treat them well, and look after them.  I have many good qualities of which I am aware, and they outnumber any minuses on my side, such as having bipolar disorder or being overweight or not being ultra-feminine.  I know I am a catch, and I will wait around as long as it takes to find someone that truly appreciates this.  I can’t go through what I’ve gone through before, and I hope I never have to.  

I want that “happily-ever-after” love and I know it is out there.  I have seen it, witnessed it in both sets of parents and many other couples.  It takes hard work and there is going to be some disagreeing, and fighting, but, at end of day, if I could just find someone who loves me as much as my Dad loves his wife or as much as my mom loves the Big Dawg, then everything would be golden.  I do believe it can happen.

Even if I have to move to Russia and wear one of those hats.

The Song

Received a missed call from a Colorado number about a week after DSB left. Received a mail forwarding notification from Colorado about a week later. I’m not even TRYING to go back to that, and I’m trying not to think about it.

I think this song sums it up perfectly (that and I’m ragingly emotional from loss of cigarettes…Day Two, you kicked my ass).

When He Won’t Seek Help

We’ve probably all been there.  Had a significant other, going through a tough time.  Perhaps they have a mental illness, or a serious physical illness.  Perhaps they don’t have any sort of illness, but life has them flailing.  As a concerned significant other — what do you do?

The first step is probably to wring your hands and worry about it a a bit first, before acting.  It’s quite possible that, while you’re wringing your hands and doing the “polite” thing and not saying anything, their situation is getting either better or worse.  If the situation is resolving itself on it’s own, then your boyfriend is lucky.  If the situation is getting worse, you tell yourself that they will surely seek help.

When it is said, “seek help”, that means help of any sort.  Perhaps they will come to you with their problem, their struggle, and ask you to listen.  You may have some knowledge of what they are going through, having gone through it yourself or having someone close to you  who has struggled in the same way.

Perhaps the problem is out of the bounds of what a layman can do, and they seek professional help.  A therapist, their primary care physician, an internist, a specialist, a member of their ministry.  Someone, hopefully the right someone, who can  help them with this problem.

What is more likely is that your significant other, or whatever  he is to you at this point, does not seek professional help.  Instead, there is denial that there is a problem, and you get your head bitten off for suggesting a call to the ol’ PCP is in order.

There may be Googling of symptoms and WebMD may lead your boyfriend to self-diagnose.  No one should ever diagnose themselves from WebMD.  It is a very bad idea, and they have a disclaimer on their website.

Perhaps your significant other has no insurance.  Perhaps they are unable to take a sick day to go see a specialist.  Perhaps the driveway is blocked with snow and they are unable to receive this much-needed attention.

So you, the significant other, has resorted back to a wringing of hands and worry mode.  Your mental health might start to suffer.  You might start to take those Klonopin PRN’s and find yourself wanting to stay away from home, because there is so much tension with this person who refuses to seek help.

He gets sicker and sicker, in body, in mind, in spirit.  You almost don’t recognize him anymore, for all the pain he is going through.  Your back and feet and head are killing you for the constant waiting on hand and foot, all the while working your regular job and trying to run your household.  The stress is breaking you.

It gets to a point, that he is so sick, even he has to admit it.  He admits it, but does not seek help, choosing instead to wait and see if things subside.  You are a party to all of that because, well, you live together and you are taking care of his every need.  Anticipating things that might go wrong and trying to veer things onto an even course, which he doesn’t let you do, because control is always his, even in this.

He has so many physical symptoms, and they’re getting so much worse, that you start waking up at night to make sure he’s still breathing.  Your mind turns over and over, with the thought that he is getting ready to die, and probably will, in your bed.  With the certainty that what is going on could kill him, you tiptoe around on eggshells, but you are never allowed to say what you are thinking, because you don’t poke spears at a sleeping lion.

The day comes, when you realize you have memorized his entire (quite lengthy and involved) medication schedule, because you know you will eventually break him into going to the ER.  And you know that he will not know these things, along with the fact that he might not physically be able to do so, due to severe pain or shortness of breath or general malaise.

You take charge and you make sure the nurses have the right information, the information that will get him admitted, because that’s where he needs to be.  Of course, blood tests and chest X-trays and CT’s are ordered, because it is very clear, even to your partner, that at this point, there is a very serious problem.

He tells you that he should have gone to the doctor “a week ago.”  It is not in your best interest to point out that you have been suggesting such for the past three.  In fact, it is not in your best interest to do much of anything while waiting for tests to come back.  Including going out to smoke a cigarette, because, well, you know, HE can’t, so why should YOU?

He asks you to go dig for change in your car so he can have a Pepsi, although the closest vending machine is worlds away through a complicated maze of the hospital’s basement floor.  He doesn’t take no for an answer, and when you bring him one from a convenience store, because that was, well, more convenient, he is enraged.

It is not his money, but he cares how you spend it.  In trying to explain that you perhaps spent 20 cents more, he yells at you.  For no reason.  And mutters to himself, “I should have just taken care of this shit myself.  I should never let you do ANYTHING.”

While you try and tell yourself that he is in pain, and that things will be better soon, you are faced with an awful truth.  This is round six in the ER in the past two years, and things are the same as they always have been.  In fact, it’s round two in the past month.  You start to realize that this is not going to get better.

Of course, they admit him, mostly because  you have provided a wealth of information, and then the hospital stay starts.  You shouldn’t smoke while he’s in the hospital, because he can’t.  You shouldn’t eat fast food or do anything “fun” while he’s in the hospital, because he can’t.  You dutifully bring him requested items once, twice, sometimes three times a day.  He is miserable and in pain, he can’t breathe, there is always something and he takes it out on you.

They are ready to discharge him, for the sixth time.  You know he will be coming home to a fairly clean house, because you begged your mother to come help with the mess.  When he arrives, he is critical of how things look, and especially how things smell.  You think it smells clean, and he accuses you of using chemicals to poison him.

You realize, with this sixth hospital admission, that something inside of you broke a little bit.  You realize that you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold on.  You continue to wait on  him hand and foot, but you don’t care as much.  You continue to listen to the ranting and raving when you want to go do something, and still, you’re not able to break free.

And then on the 30th, he’ll tell you about all the plans he has for his money, and none of it include anything for you, including groceries.  Another month in a two year relationship rolls by, in which, you’ve had help with groceries a handful of times.

And then a fight starts.  He screams at you and tells you that you are the most self-centered person he has ever met in his life.  He tells you that your family treats him like dog shit on their shoe and that they are trying to ruin your life.  He tells you that he could have made it through all of that, without your help.

A few more angry words, more yelling on his side.  You ask him, if you really feel that way, why are you still here?  He says, fine, then I’ll go.  And you scream at him, “please motherfucking do!” and cuss  and yell your way out of the house, leaving behind two dogs who are used to the drama, so you can go to your mom’s and get away for awhile.

While at your mom’s, you text him to please plan on sleeping on the couch, and all items need to be removed and him gone by the end of the next day.

Best text message ever sent.