Sometimes A Little is Too Much

Over the past month of my unintended absence from blogging (and life in general), it is becoming clearer to me what I need to do and have around me to stay somewhat sane.  In the forefront, stress of any kind must be kept to a bare minimum.

Stress.  Right.  Traumas from years ago are rearing their ugly head and the past year seems like it was fraught with tension and tears and angst.  I know that if I am going to survive, I am really going to have to remove myself from all that.  Even a little stress is too much.  Even a little stimulation is too much.

While in some ways the man I started dating last December has been very supportive, I question if now is not a good time for me to be in a relationship.  We fight and I would admit that a lot of it is my craziness, he has serious issues as well.  In some ways we are not good for each other.  I love him but the fighting drives me crazy.

I have been trying to head back to basics in the last few days.  Thinking about blogging (and then doing so), getting started in individual art therapy, taking meds like I am supposed to.  Going to my bazillion appointments.

Still not enough.  I have had numerous med adjustments.  I , continue to be suicidally depressed, am cycling through anger and irritability every few hours, chest crushing anxiety, crying spells several times daily.  I haven’t been able to work even a few hours here and there and I don’t know when I will be able.

My doctor wants me to do ECT, since this bipolar has been so treatment resistant.  I am looking into it and think I will do it as soon as I get medical clearance.  Because really, this shit has to end somewhere. Somehow.

Sanity, Apparently, Is Fleeting

Once more it’s the up and down, the crash and bang of my mood smacking into the ceiling and then hurtling down into the basement.  In a matter of hours, minutes sometimes.  Too much emotional reactivity to things that probably don’t really matter, but seem SO important in the moment.

I am telling myself that this all has to do with being sick and isolated and off my game and away from work.  Because, I am NOT going to the hospital again, not now.  Someone, perhaps my therapist or maybe my sister, told me that extended illness could really mess with your mood.  Well, here is living proof.

Like a fool, I have been dredging up these memories of DSB.  You see, he was an ass, but I DO have some good memories of our time together.  And with those memories at the forefront, it’s hard to keep in mind all of the negative.  And it makes me think — where did our love go wrong?  Was it me and all my craziness?  Did I need too much, ask for too much?  Did he love me the most he possibly could and it just wasn’t enough?  Was he just that limited?  But more importantly — I think it was my fault.  It could have been, right?  I could  have made it work if I CHANGED him more.  How ridiculous, right?  Sadness will do that to you, make you think that way.

You see, I’m calling this sadness, and not depression, because the two are entirely different.  I’m still functioning — I just feel really crappy off and on.  I had a very nice evening yesterday with Mom and the Big Dawg.  I even ate some real food — steak and a baked potato.  It doesn’t get more real than that, right?  That should make me HAPPY, right?  It did, for a little while.

And then I got home and it was just me and the pup and I started to think about how excited Rascal would always be when you came home and how DSB was always, always waiting in the office with some trashy TV on to hear how it all went.  There isn’t anyone to tell how it all went when I get home now.  There isn’t anyone to kiss me goodnight or to nag at me to take meds or encourage me to get to bed.  The last voice I hear of the day now is Mom’s, or Dad’s, several hours before I go to bed, and while I know they love me dearly, it’s just not the same.

I got up in the middle of the night last night, and have on several other nights here lately, and was surprised that the light wasn’t on in the office.  Like I expected him to be there.  Why would I expect that or even want that?  I think this must be all  part of the grieving process, that I can’t believe I’m STILL going through.  If I look at it, though, it’s only been a little over two months that he’s been gone.

So is this normal?  Is this grief for DSB and a longing for someone to just be there?  Or is this madness brought on by all the medical problems I’ve had the last six weeks, not including the mental health issues toward the first part of that?  Maybe it’s both.  Whatever it is, I hate it.  Fucking hate it.  Half the time I feel like I’ve got it together and the other half I’m just falling apart.

Sometimes You Have to Burn Bridges

 

 

Younger, naive, much less in tune with the ways relationships work (and don’t work).  To put it simply, I was just young and dumb and hopelessly romantic.  I thought I was in love, maybe I was.  It sure seemed that way, when we weren’t fighting over something silly and he wasn’t ignoring me or giving me the silent treatment.

We were very different.  At that young of an age, I had a restlessness to do things.  Anything, really.  I wanted to have have dinner and an evening of conversation at my mom’s house, go catch a movie once in awhile.  I wanted to have my pregnant step-sister over and make her brownies and see how excited she got when the pan came out of the oven.  I wanted to go to ballgames with my dad and not see his disappointment everytime I left the house.

And he didn’t want to be around people.  Not anyone.  Not his family, not my family.  Sometimes, I think, not even me.  I did everything I could to catch his attention — cooked great meals, suggested movies to watch, brought home card games I thought he might like.  To no avail.  The harder I tried, the more he ignored me.

I see now that it was terribly painful for him to be around other people.  When he said, “Rose, I don’t know what to say!” — he really meant that he didn’t know what to say.  I thought he was just shy at first.  And that was okay because I’m a little on the shy side myself when I first get to meet someone.  But it was more than that.  There was a complete confusion, for him, about how people interacted, talked to each other, empathized and loved one another.  He didn’t understand it, and it couldn’t be taught.  I tried — he would say, “just leave me alone.”

I don’t know how I made it through three years like that.  My biggest problem with him was that he constantly ignored me.  I would get home from work and we would talk for a little bit and, even though he had been home all day by himself, he had to get away again.  He would go to the basement and play video games at full volume, for hours on end.  He would take his tablet or his iPod and go listen to five or six or seven podcasts.

I remember thinking, “I just want him to like me.  To love me, even!”  I remember wondering why he never wanted to be around anyone, no matter how loving and including they were.  It was all very confusing to me, because I felt like I was doing all the right things, like my family and his family were doing all the right things.

When things were close to the end, we were sitting around taking online questionnaires.  I sent him one for Asperger’s Syndrome.  He read off his answers to me, which were all lies.  The truths were all such CLEAR markings, and I can say that I do have some experience with this, having worked in the the mental health field for over ten years.  I began to think, not for the first time, that something clinical could have been playing a role in our dysfunctional (nonfunctional) relationship.  Not that it was or that it had, but that it COULD have.

Right after that, we got into a big fight about the same old things (ignoring me, never wanting anything to do with anyone, playing video games for 12 hours at a time overnight).  He said he was leaving.  I told him that I would hold him to that, and he left the next day.

It’s three years later and imagine my surprise when he friends me on Facebook.  Knowing I shouldn’t, but wanting to know how he is, I accept.  And he starts messaging me.  Over and over.  Won’t stop.  I finally figured out to unfriend him.  He kept messaging me and I didn’t understand how that was possible, so I blocked him.  My phone rang a few minutes later, and it was him, pretending to be a customer service rep.  I told him we were never getting back together, that it would never happen and that I had bad memories from that time.  He said he understood and would leave me alone.

I hope I don’t have to change my number.

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.

Better

I have been rather annoyed with myself this past week, for not blogging more.  I told myself that it was okay, that I was taking time out to do things that would improve my mental health and lessen the loss of DSB.  I told myself that starting new routines was what I needed to do in order to move on with my life, and, in some ways, that is true.  In some ways, it isn’t.

Not being on a structured schedule, where I have to be home at a certain time, get dinner on the table by a certain time, spend a certain number of hours at home, and so forth — that’s not structure I need, and it’s structure that I’ve kissed goodbye.

I realized that I have really no reason to wake up at 6:00 a.m. every day, or even 7:00 a.m. for that matter.  I therefore do not have to go to bed at 8:00 p.m. or 9:00 p.m.  What this means is that I can stay out (yes, OUT!) later, enjoying the company of my family, nuclear and extended.  It also means that I can stay up until 10:00 p.m. to watch a tv show or watch a movie.  It means that I can go to bed at 10:00 p.m. and it’s ok to  read for another hour or two, if I’m really into my book.

I mainly feel like, before I had all of these contstraints on me and on my time, and now those heavy chains have been unlocked and I have shed them, leaving them far behind.  Doing what I want to do, unfettered by anyone else’s agenda, is lovely.  Being where I want to be, eating what I want to eat, driving where I want to drive.  It’s all quite freeing.

In some ways, I feel like I’m a bit free-floating, and could possibly use some more structure, but I just feel so HAPPY with the way things are going right now, that maybe that part of me that has always held such tight control over having a schedule and having things PLANNED out, is releasing it’s grip a bit.

Regina asks, “if I kissed you where it’s sore, would you feel better, would you feel anything at all?”  The answer is, yes, I have actually already been kissed (by family, by freedom, by living life, by my pup!) where it is sore, and I do feel much, much better.

 

 

My Current, Personal Pep-Talk

The song below was brought to my brain, courtesy of my dear friend, Mental Mama.  She shared it as a song that reminds her of her significant other, and, as she says,

And it actually depends on the day which of us is “singing” this to the other. 

I have literally played this song over 50 times in the past two days, usually on a continuous loop.  I’ve emailed it to my mom, I’ve told my dad about it, I’m humming it under my breath.  It’s there, it’s stuck.

MM and her significant other may “sing” this to each other, but I think it works for me to sing it to MYSELF.  Read the lyrics, listen to the song.  I am singing JUST THAT to myself.  I’m giving myself a constant pep talk.  I’m not giving up on me or who I am.

When I look into your eyes
It’s like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
Well, there’s so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you’ve come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?Well, I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up

And when you’re needing your space
To do some navigating
I’ll be here patiently waiting
To see what you find

‘Cause even the stars they burn
Some even fall to the earth
We’ve got a lot to learn
God knows we’re worth it
No, I won’t give up

I don’t wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I’m here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you’re still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn’t break, we didn’t burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I’ve got, and what I’m not, and who I am

I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up, still looking up.

Well, I won’t give up on us (no I’m not giving up)
God knows I’m tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)
We’ve got a lot to learn (we’re alive, we are loved)
God knows we’re worth it (and we’re worth it)

I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up

 

Heart Pains

My foolish heart thought that any fond memory of DSB and I together had been decimated by the worst, most awful last six months of our relationship.  I was wrong.  I found “Coffee Mornings” today when I was inexplicably browsing through the “random post” feature.  I guess I just wanted to torture myself a little.

I can step back from my anger and resentment and all the negative feelings now, and realize, that sometimes we really  had something, or at least thought we did.  We had our moments in time that were truly special and beautiful.  At some point, we loved each other like crazy.  There were times when the world was right and the air was cool and we couldn’t get enough of each other.

I’ve denied all that the past several days since we have broken up, but it’s true.  Sometimes there was pure magic.  Of course it wasn’t perfect, but in the first year and a half, we had some truly amazing and loving times.  It’s a lot easier to break up and condemn a relationship as being totally bad.  Nothing is ever totally bad, there is always some good.

Which is why now this  is so hard.  Which is why I am trying to allow my heart to grieve for what could-have-been.  I have been going on and on about how relieved I am, and don’t get me wrong, I really am, but now there is this heavy sense of loss.  The loss of a person that never let me know him well.  The loss of a person that swore he loved me, no matter what.  Just because it wasn’t like that at the end, doesn’t mean it wasn’t EVER like that.

I think it’s easy to focus on the negatives, because then you don’t have to deal with the truly painful shit.  Dealing with the good memories and reconciling them with the fact that there will be no more good memories, or any memories, is devastating.  It really wasn’t all bad.  No matter how much I have made it out to be, there were many good times.

There was a time when I believed him when he would oh-so-occasionally tell me he loved me.  There was a time when he would go out of his way to make me believe it.  There was a time (long ago) that he would hug me or kiss me or tell me “I love you” spontaneously.  There was a time when he would share himself with me, share himself with the people I care about most, show that he did care.  It didn’t happen often, and not recently, but it did happen, way back at the beginning.

I’ve only cried three times (counting today) about DSB and I breaking up.  The first night he was gone, when I was writing a blog post about our breakup, and now.  I don’t think that’s probably enough tears, but I have a feeling there will be more to come.

What I would really like is for this blog post to stand alone as a brief nod of the head toward DSB, my acknowledgement that there were good times, and my permission to myself to just completely let go of all of it.

via

Six Days Post-Breakup

 

I have been working hard at banishing the thought from my head that this breakup and the most-negative contents of the relationship were my fault.  I have been writing lists, indicating things I can do now that I wasn’t “allowed” to before.  They’re written everywhere.  On my computer, on junk mail, in my  planner, on scraps of paper, on the back of Kizz’s heartworm med box.  Whenever I have a thought, about something I can do now that I couldn’t do then, I write it down.  In my mind, this will free me from the bad feelings I have about this relationship.

More importantly, I hope it will free me from the thinking that the mistreatment of me and my pup during the relationship were not my fault.  I guess I could just start a mantra, “This was not my fault, this was not my fault, this was not my fault,” but I don’t think that would work.  I need concrete examples.

My memory of the past two years is a bit hazy.  When I was severely ill, a lot of those memories didn’t get locked down tight.  And, I’m just guessing, that a lot of the traumatic moments between us didn’t get remembered either, simply because of their nature.  But the thing is, the last six months of the relationship are crystal clear.

And guess what?  This was not my fault.  I try to tell myself this.  But I can’t help but wondering why I stayed so long, why I put up with the things I did, why I went along with the things he wanted me to do, why I let him put me in a little, tiny box and throw away the key to the outside world.

I am like a woman, half-drowned, getting her first gasps of air.  I am socializing now, even if it’s only immediate family (and Rock, of course).  I am staying up later and finding no ill effects.  I am doing what I want to do during the day, when I am not at work, and it is such a freeing feeling.

In the m0nths before we broke up, I was always trying to stay at work late or come in early, because I didn’t want to be at  home.  I signed up for every mission, every bank run, every errand.  I just did not want to go home.  And, at the time, that wasn’t a big red flag to me.

I saw my dad today, and he helped me take a ton of DSB’s medical supplies to the hospital to donate.  I know I should probably hang onto some of the other stuff he left, just in case, but those medical supplies were expensive and I know that is what he wanted done with them.  It is so nice to have all of those cardboard boxes out of my living room.  I mean, the living room has been packed with them since January and now, nothing but furniture and a TV.  I’m loving that, and so is Kizzie, because she gets to hang out on Momma’s lap while we watch mindless TV.

It is going to take me and mom a lot of time, but we’re going to get the house totally cleared up.  Rugs professionally cleaned, furniture steam cleaned, the works.  She’s also going to do some patching on a few holes in the plaster that have been gone through with a chair.  She says, and I believe her, that we will have this place so clean that I won’t believe it, and it will be very easy to keep it that way.  She even dangled the carrot that it would be possible that, if it were cleaned up and kept clean, that my sister might want to visit with my nephew.  I could die, if that happened.

It would be great period, if I could start having people over again and not be ashamed of what my house looks like.  My stepsister and her two kids will hopefully come this summer, if I can get the pool operational.  My dad, although he doesn’t like Kizzie (afraid of dogs), might even come in and we can sit outside in my backyard and shoot the shit.  My mom kept coming over through it all, but she did tell me how much more comfortable she is coming over now that he is not here.  I guess I’m so oblivious, that I didn’t realize she was uncomfortable in the first place.

This is a time of growth, and I am having more good times than bad times (although I’m not sleeping), and I’d have to say that getting him out of here is the best decision I have made in ages.  Years.  A really long time, anyway.  Now I just have to start building myself back up from the ground, which will likely be a daunting project, but I’m ready for it.  I have some goals I want to accomplish, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I need anyone’s permission, and I can focus on what it is that makes me happy.

 

 

Ten Things of Thankful, Sixth Edition

You know when you’re feeling bad, it’s kinda hard to identify the positives in your life?  I always enjoy TToT, but I’m having difficulty pinpointing what exactly it is I am thankful for right at the moment.  Sure, there’s things I’m thankful for.  I know there are.  It’s just that this part of my brain is fuzzy at the moment.  I’m gonna give ‘er a go, though.  You should, too.  Just write the damn list already, and then link up over at Considerings.  You’ll be glad  you did, once you get it all out on paper.  I know I always feel better.

1) I am thankful for my new-found brother, Rock.  My family has adopted all 21 years of him and he has truly been a lifesaver during this hard time.  I blogged more about him yesterday, but I think he needs to be numero uno on this week’s TToT, because having him around has made things just a little easier.

 

2)  Of course, the next shout out goes to my parents, QoB and the Big Dawg.  I am thankful for them every week, but they have been especially kind and gentle and loving with me over the past several days.  I have seen a wealth of understanding and compassion, especially in the Big Dawg, that I didn’t know ran so deeply.  I don’t know what I expected, but they are coming through just like they always have.  I don’t know why I expected any less, possibly because I feel like the most foolish, biggest pile of dog poo, and that I would possibly to be blamed for stuff that has happened, but that’s not how it is.

 

3) I am thankful I have four people by my side who are helping  me take care of the practical details that have come up in this whole mess.  The Big Dawg especially is taking charge, getting my lawnmower fixed and when that failed, bringing his own mower over to mow.  Getting rid of the boat.  Dad helping me take all of DSB’s medical supplies to the hospital to be donated so I’m not swimming in cardboard boxes.  Mom feeding me and raking and burning leaves.  Rock helping out with yardwork.  Mom’s promise to help me get my house in order and revamp a couple of rooms.  Without them, it is all so overwhelming.  With help though, it can be done and I believe that.

 

4) I am exceptionally grateful to all the wonderful blogs I read for keeping me entertained over the past couple of days.  I love them all, but find two especially inspiring, positive, and full of light.  Cynthia Reyes fills her blog with beautiful  homes, renovation projects she is following, lovely pictures of her garden, and just a little bit of magic.  I thank her for inspiring me to keep going when the world is getting to me, and I know I can always take refuge in one of her posts.  The other blog, written by my friend Marilyn Armstrong, can always be counted on to have several posts a day, containing anything from historical anecdotes to amazing photos to funny insights to rants about important things, like the lack of plug-ins in her home to the trend of not including user manuals in electronics purchases.  I hold Marilyn’s blog in high esteem, not only because her written word and photos are lovely, but because she remains so positive in the face of so many difficult challenges.  Marilyn and Cynthia are both beautiful people, wonderful bloggers, and if you haven’t already, you should go check them out.  I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Cynthia’s memoir. It has received amazing reviews and I just downloaded it to my Kindle. I have no doubt that it will be fabulous.

 

Marilyn’s memoir that I HAVE read and loved, loved, loved. It changed the way I was currently looking at spirituality dramatically. Definitely worth a read.

 

5)  I am grateful for rededicating myself to taking better care of the Kizz.  I have always shown her a a lot of attention, but Rascal (Mr. Neurotic) always wound up taking center stage.  Mom bought her a honking armadillo toy and hooked her up with some new treats (that DSB would not allow…didn’t believe in bones or rawhide) and also a new leash and collar.  She is looking snazzy and seems to be very content to be the only dog again.  I am getting her groomed next Friday (which DSB always discouraged for some reason) and have her up to date on shots as of yesterday.  Kizz has been with me through thick and thin and deserves to be first, instead of playing second fiddle to another pup.  She doesn’t even really seem to miss DSB or Rascal, but seems rather happy to be ruling the roost again.  Oh, and without Rascal here, there is none of the constant barking from her.  She peeks through the fence at the neighbor with interest, but no barking.  Hmmph!  What a good dog, and DSB always said how she wasn’t very well behaved or smart.  Wrong!

 

6) I am grateful that I am going to be able to change my eating habits dramatically.  When you live with someone who likes fatty, rich food and mostly refuses to eat vegetables, you become limited in what you cook.  When you live with someone who eats everything in sight as soon as it is purchased, you stop buying certain things because it’s like throwing money down the toilet.  I am looking forward to more fish, more soup, occasional ice cream, 2% milk, soy and almond milk, cereal, fresh fruit and veggies, and being able to keep my pantry and fridge stocked.  If I ever have to eat biscuits and gravy again in the near future, I may puke.  Actually, no more gravy period for quite some time.

 

7) I am thankful there will be no more whining or complaining about how much time I spend blogging or looking at other blogs or emailing.  Talk about jealousy.  I can do as I please, in my own home again.  I can have soup for dinner and ramen noodles for breakfast, if I feel like it.  I can keep my house cleaner.  I don’t have to ask for permission to do things.  I could go on and on with the things I am grateful for that I will be able to do now, and just can’t  help but kicking myself that I didn’t figure all this out sooner.

 

8) I am thankful that the anxiety monster seems to have passed with the leaving of DSB.  So much stress and anxiety tied up into that relationship — totally unreal.  It has been two days since I have taken a Klonopin, and in those two days, I didn’t even really think about needing one.  There is so much less tension, so much more laughter, and almost nothing to worry about.  I attribute that to my awesome Team ‘o Four (Big Dawg, QoB, Rock, and Dad) for helping me to simplify, solve problems, and make life easier.  I know I already listed being thankful for them above, but they are all a post in and of themselves.  Love you guys!

 

9) I am thankful for having a good, great, awesome therapist.  I sent her a list, a four-page list at that, last night about all the things that were better  now that DSB and I aren’t together.  Not only did she read it on her day off, she responded.  And told me she’d always want to read anything I sent.  She reads my blog.  I feel like she is very invested in my mental health and, most importantly, like she genuinely cares about how I am doing and feeling.  I don’t think it’s often that you find a therapist that gets you like that, but we’ve had a lot of practice together.  I’ve seen her for the past nine years pretty much solid (other than a year spent fiddling with mental health center therapists) and then she was also my therapist for a couple of years when I was 16.  She is amazing, totally deserving of her Goddess of Mindfulness status, and I hope she  knows how much she helps me.  I wouldn’t be where I am today without her support and guidance.

 

10) I am thankful for the outpouring of support over the last week.  It is amazing to me how many people commented, wishing me well, offering advice, sharing their story, saying a prayer for me.  A lot of people came out of the woodwork, because I was having a rough time, and I can’t say thank you enough for that.  It has meant the world to me to know I have so much support out here on the Interwebs.  I appreciate the reading, the liking, the commenting, the emails.  Everything.  You have all touched me deeply and I am immensely grateful.