I Miss Her (and I Take Full Responsibility)

It hasn’t been an exceptionally long time since we’ve talked, has it?  I have started to feel poorly the last few days about not having the privilege to talk to you on the phone or even text back and forth with you, and so I obsessively counted the days since your last incoming call on my phone log.  Six days.  Soon to be seven, because it is 11:30pm and I am almost certain you are asleep.

I can hear you now, saying that isn’t so long.  I know you are busy with a real job, one like which I will never again hold.  I know you have many house projects, most of a sort that I just can’t identify with.  In addition, you have friends that demand your attention, bills that must be paid, cakes to be baked, and super-mom feats to accomplish.  None of those are things that happen in my day-to-day life, and, getting down to brass tacks, most of them never will.

I’m pretty sure, if I asked you, that you would say it’s no big deal…all of these things that you do.  I am the older sister, but you have been my hero for years.  I look up to you, I admire you, sometimes, perhaps more often than I would like to mention, I envy you a little.

I know your life isn’t easy, that there is nothing simple about raising an almost-two-year-old while working full-time and flipping one house and remodeling another and maintaining a relationship with your husband, not even skimming the top of all the other amazing things that you do.

It is completely selfish of me to miss the days when you were easy to get ahold of and I could grab ahold of a little bit of your time and press you close to me and feel like we were breathing the same air — that we had managed to grow up together and not kill each other and still be on speaking terms, even hugging terms.

Some days it breaks my heart when I think of my nephew, and I think that I will never have a bond like you have with any child of my own.  Some days it absolutely kills me.  But when I see you two together, and neither of you are paying any attention to the world around you, the love I see in its purest form blinds me.

That little guy has the best mommy that any child could ask for.  I know with the strongest conviction of my heart because his mommy has always been my sister.  My sister has always shown the bravest love, the most understanding, the highest respect, and the most tempered patience to me.  If she can shine that light a little further, which I know she can, and focus it on him (which I know she does and will and will always), he is going to be even more special than we could ever have imagined.

For right now, I will be a little selfish in my tears, and I’ll think of my sister and look forward to the next time we can have a little chat.  In the meantime, I’ll miss her, because that is just how I operate.  But mostly I think I will sit and smile and keep her in my thoughts, as she is human, like the rest of us, and could maybe use a little sisterly happy-thoughts headed her way.

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.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Daily Prompt: I Can’t Stay Mad at You

Do you hold grudges, or do you believe in forgive and forget?

 

I don’t fit under either of the two cute little categories that WP decided on when they put out today’s Daily Prompt.  I bet most of you don’t either.  Rarely can we apply ourselves, as humans, toward reacting in the very same way to a specific comment or act, or even an unspecific comment or act.  So much of how we react depends upon the person in question, and also, if the act was perpetrated against us, or another person.  Because of this, I’m going to focus on one person for the purposes of this post.

Growing up, I saw very little of my father, the one I refer to on this blog as “Dad.”  My biological father.  I think he tried the best he could to love me when I was young, but he wasn’t able to be consistent.  You really must be consistent with young children, especially if you are a parent.  So, not showing up to pick me up for the weekend, cancelling plans at the last minute, not remembering my birthday, being passed out drunk when my sister and I were over for Christmas (just tiny little kids, at that).  Thirty-two years later, I have forgiven him for all of that.  The anger and the hurt and the even sometimes, hatred, fell away when I realized that, by being angry with him, by holding that grudge, I wasn’t allowing myself to move forward.

So I forgave, I found compassion.  But I didn’t forget.  Thinking about those times still makes me sick to my stomach, and even now, when he is running a few minutes late, I’m convinced he’s not coming.  So no, never forget.  But I forgive…over and over and over.  So much that others in my life question why I do.  He became much better about things around ten years ago when he married my stepmother, but he has regular lapses in the behavior you would expect from a father.

He acts like an ass, he says something judgmental, it appears that he does not have the feelings and emotions of a human being.  All those years of hurt come back, and I feel like I’m six years old again, looking out the living room window for the car that would never show up.  I don’t hold a grudge, but there’s a big part of my heart that remembers, can’t forget.

I realized not long ago, that sometimes I will have to tell my dad how to act.  For years, he would never call, but I would check in with him a few times a week.  I finally told him how much this bothered me, that he could never be bothered to give me a ring and I felt like I was doing all the legwork in this relationship.  As Dad often gets, he was baffled.  Had no idea.

I’m telling you, Dad does not have the normal emotional make-up of a human being.  He can be very distant and he goes through phases where it seems like he’d just as soon throw you in front of traffic than give you a hug or talk about the weather.  And maybe it’s this lack of humanity in him that makes me forgive him over and over.  I truly believe it’s possible that he just can’t help it.  His love, however inadequate at times, is the best it is ever going to be.  His follow-through sucks sometimes, but it’s getting better.

I think his wife helps him with that a lot.  Actually, I know  she does.  I don’t know how many times he has acted truly cruel, and then called back an hour later to say he has talked it over with his wife, and realizes now that he was very wrong.  She’s good for him, keeping him honest and accountable.  I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked her for that, for making my dad a better man, but I should.

After this last rough patch, we hand lunch today.  It went really well.  He was in a good mood and was chatty and told me how great I looked and how proud he is of me for all I am doing with work and taking care of DSB, and that’s how it should be.  It isn’t always, and I had to go a one month span without seeing him seemingly to prove a point, but we’re back on course again.  All is forgiven.  Again.

So DSB and the Queen and all my other supporters out there can keep shaking their head, knowing it’s only a matter of time until the next go-round.  Me, I’m going to embrace the fact that he’s my dad and he’s still on the planet and I’m going to keep forgiving every dumb thing he does.  Because I truly do think he’s oblivious, and I truly do believe he’s sorry when he hurts my feelings.

 

Embracing Aunt-hood

There has been so much happiness in my realm lately.  Of greatest note is the birth of my nephew.  I have visited him twice and, while I may be biased, he is perfect.  I hold him and am mesmerized by the way his little face scrunches up this way and that, reminding me of his very-animated father.  He lies peaceful and serene, reminding me that there CAN be such peace and serenity, and that one does not necessarily have to be an infant to know it.

At my insistent request, my sister is sending me a couple of picture messages of him to my cell every day.  I am probably not the only one making this insistent request, and part of me feels a bit guilty for doing so, but this baby is a game-changer and I really just want to soak up as much of him as I can.

I am absolutely sure that my sister and her husband are soaking up as much of that love as they can, too.  My sister was fortunate enough to be able to take 12 weeks off from her job, and my brother-in-law runs his own business, which, although he is still quite busy, allows him to spend more time with him than if he were in a traditional 9-5.  I’ve wished many times that I lived closer to my sister.  I yearn to be closer and even now more so that my nephew has been born.

I am sure that if I lived closer, I would be knocking on her door every day, bugging the crap out of her, so it’s probably best that we don’t.  It’s funny, because I spent years and years.  Pretty much from 2005 — 2010 feeling like I was the last person on the face of the Earth that she would want to spend time with.  You know, having a sister who has (had) a very active mental illness was a lot to handle.  So I get it.  Really, sis, I get it.

And then things started happening and I started getting better.  The mania went away and the depression simmered down and I could actually hold a conversation.  With my sister.  Pure gold, pure love.  I felt like I was being given a second chance, and I didn’t even question my sister giving me another chance.  I was just too grateful.  For us to be close again, like we were long ago, would be all I would ever need from her.

And she started seeking ME out and sending me thoughtful text messages when she didn’t have time to call.  And then she started making time to call.  And I thought I must be the luckiest person on this planet to have a sister that cared like she did.  And I was so incredibly grateful that I forgot those nearly five years when we barely interacted, and realized, for the most part, that those five years where I was mostly apart from my sister, were my fault.

It wasn’t my sister who didn’t want me around.  It was me making myself completely unavailable for any of the things in her life.  She knew I wasn’t much for socializing, so she didn’t invite me to parties or get-togethers where there would be a lot of people.  But she wanted to, I found out later.  She did a lot of that, “protecting” me from all of the things that scared me.  She thought she was doing something good, and really, she probably was because a lot of the time I was a complete wreck and would have ruined any decent party.

But she wasn’t not inviting me places because I had a mental illness.  She was not inviting me places because she didn’t think I would have fun, because she knew I wouldn’t fit in.  Looking back on it, in that light, I don’t feel angry about those five years that I lost her.

I look back and I think of her asking me to be the maid-of-honor at her wedding, so surprised that she picked me out of all of her friends.  I look back to that wedding and remember the great time I had, and the great speech I made.  Of how close I felt to my sister, and even to her husband.

I look back just a little over a week ago, with my sister sending a text message telling me that I can come see my nephew in the hospital whenever I want, that I got priority because I was “Auntie Rose.”

I feel like I am a part of her life, and I am so very grateful.  I’m happy that we could get to this point and I look forward to all of the wonder and joy I am going to experience with her new little family.  No matter what, I vow to always be there for that little boy, my nephew.  No matter if I get really sick again, I will still be Auntie Rose.

Landing the Right Job

Today’s Day Eight Reverb13 prompt is as follows:

What went right in 2013?  Maybe you didn’t quit smoking or lose those pounds or go to Paris, but something did work, did happen, and/or was realized. What was it?

In 2013, a lot of things went right.  A few things went wrong, and a lot more fell through the cracks, in between.  They just “went.”  As DSB says, “it is what it is.”  He actually says that so much it is annoying, but I think after reflecting upon this past year, there is some truth to it.

Sometimes we have to accept our circumstances for what they are.  And I have had to do a lot of accepting over the past year.  This coming April will be two years that I have not worked a “regular, full-time” job.  I have been working 15 hours each week for my parents in a very low-stress, flexible way.  I didn’t work much last year (2012) because I was struggling so much with my mental health, but I worked the full season this year, and I think that is definitely something that has “gone right.”

My little job gives me a sense of purpose and makes me feel like I am helping my parents out, which is especially a good feeling, because they do so much for me above and beyond.  My little job gives me structure, too.  Three days a week, I know where I will be and what I will be doing.  It isn’t a glamorous job, but it is rewarding and easy.  I get to interact with people, use my brain a little, and get out of the house.  That may not sound like much, but I think it is a lot of what is helping me keep it together.

Unlike any other job I have had, I have never called-in last minute, never faked sick, never walked off.  I’m not sure I’ve even had a sick day, although I did miss a couple of days when I broke my foot early 2013 and missed a few days when I did my last group therapy session.  That is a new record for me.  I think most of it has to do with the fact that I have a lot of respect for my parents and I don’t want to put them in a bind.

I don’t know what the future holds for me, job-wise.  I know I can’t return to the stress of working in the mental health field, and I probably can’t manage full-time employment.  Hopefully I can keep going on working for my parents for some time to come.

Come Meet the Infamous QoB

My mom, Queen of Bisquits, Queen of DaNile, whatever you want to call her, has graciously agreed to “guest post” tonight.  Has been a bit of a trying day and she has always been a giver, this time being giving me a little time to decompress.  Without further ado…

As a guest, first We say gracias, elder Mija. As a blogger… well, for QofD ‘tis been done for years, rarely in the public eye.

Funny, it is, how the older one gets the less and more angst fills one’s world. Ya know… that tiny little space in the continuum one calls “life.” How different one’s own perspective is, let alone seeing it in different eyes as the cycle goes forward.

Spent a day, today, first Pricillatating (yes, that’s a word) a necessary trip to the local homebigbox place to score schtuff for the store, and elsewhere. Then stopping in a parking lot, realizing one’s beloveds from a different time span were linking up with a “grandpa,” who was never much of one. Realizing if SOMEONE didn’t make this prettier, ‘twould perhaps not be very pretty for the young eyes of youth.

It went well. ‘twas chaos, in a good, though confined way. On toward reality of the day… what was really supposed to be happening, rather than a hella long sidetrack. Small children who used to be terrified of dogs greeted three of my dogfamily, with joy. All of them (dogs) much bigger than the “kids.”

Noticed, the one child seemed so much like a younger child once known very.darned.well. His father. Heartbreakingly similar. Really? How can lack of environment still have those same looks, twitches, and compassion?

By end of day, we’d fed goats tortilla chips, caught snails from the aquarium to send back with small boys, cooked some hella good “birthday” supper for the birthday boy… who had a “cold” and couldn’t participate much. Ehh, a tired old story that gets re-told. Over, and over, and over again.

The bestest part of this day was spent with my Rosa, today’s hostess with the mostest. We always can talk, and talk, and sooner or later maybe figure out world peace… or not.

After day is almost done, ‘twas a good day. Fraught with small boys, too cold the weather to be outside, and the yearning to have more time with their beloved momma who I think of as a true friend. It makes me think of time spent, with all… and wonder how life keeps up this constant churn and turn.

At end of day, I wonder… was I a good friend? A good mother? Am I still a good mother? Can I be a halfassed good grandma? Have I DONE enough with my life to put a small piece of it forward?

Funny, how we all seem to have such angst at living our lives. Coulda’ Shoulda’ stinkin’ thoughts. If I had one wish, I’d wish away the second-guessing many of us live with.

At end of day, ‘tis best to be very thankful for life. We choose to live it. We have the ability to embrace it, and just call it good. ‘til tomorrow. Then we’re given another chance to try again. Therein lies the way of way of a more peaceful existence… as one gets older, ‘tis hella easier to say it was a good day.

 

 

I Sing Because I’m Free

It will be two weeks this Wednesday that my Grandma passed.  I feel like I am still dealing with the aftermath, but things get better every day.  I went back to Mass this past Sunday and it was really helpful.  I wish I had taken RCIA this past fall, but there’s always next year.  I guess I just wasn’t ready at the time.

My buddy, Pond Princess, has loaned me her rosary and I am learning to pray it.  I find it very soothing and like the prayers I am meditating on are being heard.  I just keep praying for God to make me willing, and to help me to turn things over to Him.  In some ways, I am very willing, in other ways, very willful.  It is a daily struggle to take things as they come, without trying to orchestrate my own life.  It’s all about letting go and floating.

I have been trying all I can do to use the skills that DBT has given me.  I am staying busy, and working constantly at turning my mind from the pain.  I accomplished a lot over the weekend, and that feels good.  I am also using sacred self and trying to take care of myself.  My sleep and eating has been out of whack, but I know that will settle down if I just get back into my routine.  It’s the getting there that’s the hard part.

Prayers for Pond Princess’ mom and more for my family, as it seems we keep going through the death and dying of our loved ones.  If you don’t pray, give some thought or light a candle for us.  My family and I feel loved and blessed by all of our friends, and I know that right now we are leaning hard on all of you.

Lauryn Hill and Tanya Blount, His Eyes are On the Sparrow

 

Spork Through the Eyeball

It has been a rather interesting past week, and not having such great luck in the health-maintenance side of life.  I’m not dying, but once I wished I was, and once I thought I was.

Last week, I had a cavity filled and my mouth poked around in a good deal.  The dentist found three more cavities that hadn’t showed up on the initial x-ray, so I am back in the dentist’s chair again next week to get another three done.  Will probably have to take the afternoon off work, because it will just take that long.  I seem to have inherited, to some degree, QoB’s inability to get numb through shots, hence the wishing I was dead (or at least comatose) during the drilling.  The dentist says he is going to try a nerve block next time (with the next three fillings).  Let’s hope it works, because I am kind of a sissy when it comes to tooth pain.

I had a great weekend, spending time with Dad and talking religion and drugs on Friday, then out in the back 40 with QoB on the golf cart on Saturday.  Many compliments to the Mushroom Hunter on pepperoni salad and props to the Big Dog on the angels-on-horseback (something like that) on the grill.  Oh, and the morels.  Delish!

Sunday was going along like any other weekend, although I chose to sleep in rather than go to church for the second week in a row.  It has just been hard to go to church lately, what with my little quasi-stalker, and all of the social interaction that goes into it.  That and I have really enjoyed catching up on sleep, but it would probably make more sense not to stay up so late on Saturday so that I can still function on Sunday.

So, here is is, Sunday, and I’m just puttering all day.  Around 8:30pm, I get this painful stabbing sensation in my eye.  It doesn’t go away and I am in so much pain that I am pretty sure I am having a stroke.  My vision was screwed up, I was dizzy, felt nauseous, and weak.  So, I called 911 and was taken by ambulance to the local hospital.  Dad and Karen were with me from 9:30pm to 2:30am, waiting and waiting.  They did a head CT and said that there was no bleeding or anything like that, but that my nasal and sinus cavities were “very inflamed.”  Turns out it was just a migraine, likely brought on by a sinus infection or some such BS.  I felt slightly silly that I had taken an ambulance ride to the ER in the middle of the night for something that turned out to be a severe headache, but was also relieved that I was checked out and everything was ok.

The headache/migraine held on all day yesterday and I went to bed last night at 8:00pm, because it hurt so bad.  When I woke up this morning, my headache was much diminished.  Hallelujah for that, because I was barely functional at work yesterday.  I go in to see my primary care physician, The Caveman, at 11:00am today, so hopefully he will figure out if I have a sinus infection or if I am just having random migraines.  In any case, I would definitely recommend steam, a warm washcloth, guafinesin, and Vicks to get rid of some of the nasal/sinus congestion.  I think that is a lot of the reason that I am feeling better, and, hopefully will continue to feel better throughout the day, instead of feeling better and tan worse as I move through the day.  Also highly recommended is Excedrin Migraine.

I feel like I am getting through the feelings of loneliness, the desperation of being on my own, the depression that has been clouding my mind lately.  I think a lot of it has to do with the weather (sunshine, yay)!  That, and I have started using my sun-lamp again, although only on gloomy days and for only a short period of time.

Time to get off the computer, am starting to feel a stabbing pain again.  Steam, Vicks, Excedrin Migraine, rinse and repeat as necessary.

Again, you will just have to click the link to go to the song, as I still haven’t figured out how to embed YouTube with the now-strictly-enforced copyright laws:

Brandi Carlile, The Story

The Will to Carry On

I sure am up bright and early today.  I think that’s what happens when you go to bed at 9:15 p.m.  I am on “Plan A” of QoB’s model for healthy living.  “Plan A” consists of taking medication as prescribed, AKA taking meds twice a day instead of once.  It has really made a difference, it seems.  I am less agitated in the evening and more pleasant to be around (at least I think so).

I have also started taking Cymbalta again and it is amazing how wonderful I feel.  Back to where I was before I decided to go off it, really.  Apparently the withdrawal effects from going off Cymbalta suddenly include depression and irritability.  Hah!  Who would’ve known?  I was obviously not in my right mind when I went off it in the first place or I would have Googled everything.

Dr. Love’s parents were in town yesterday and I was able to spend a few hours in the evening with them.  We get along pretty well and it is always nice to see them.  They brought Matt’s nephew with them and he is getting SO big and is starting to say really funny things.  I think is he around 4 years old.  What a crack-up and what an age for repeating what he hears.  We went out for Chinese and he kept talking about the “damn Mexicans” and how we should “ship ’em home.”  Apparently he has been overhearing some rather racist conversations somewhere.

While at the restaurant, I ran into a co-worker from when I worked at the community mental health center.  It was really nice to see her and I think we are going to have lunch to catch up.  She has become a supervisor and I can totally see her in that role, kicking butt and taking names.  I told her I am loving corrections and that I had always thought I was not nice enough to work in straight-out mental health.  She says, “Hah!  Do ya think?!?”  I can remember giving people “pep talks” and co-workers coming out of their offices to see who is giving the “nice litle old lady” (aka, the 60 year old meth-head) a hard time.  Oh those were the days!

I have been cheating a little bit on my Paleo diet and have really been experiencing some serious gastrointestinal problems as a result.  Why do I do this to myself when I know it will make me sick?!?!?  Oh wait, it might be that eating disorder kicking in, as QoB reminded me.  I do tend to forget about it.  It’s just normal to me.  I don’t think about how other people eat and just assume that what I am doing is what anyone else would do.  Well, apparently it’s not.

So, to counteract urges to go to Casey’s and buy chips and cheese, I have cooked myself some good things for lunch today — edamame, zuccini stir fry with brown rice, grapes, apple with PB.  Should be a much better day for my stomach.  I also gave Dr. Love my debit card to hold onto.  My lack of self-control never fails to amaze me.

My car has been in the shop this week and it will finally be done today.  I’m pretty excited, as I have been driving Gav’s mini-van and it is very different from driving my car.  Definitely not as cool, but it has been great to have something to drive while my car has been out of commission.  It is hard to live in Topeka without a car and depend on the kindness of others to sneak you out of the facility for a smoke break!

Keep on keepin’ on.

Queen, The Show Must Go On