Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Being Jack's Mom

Summer is here in New England, and it's hot and sticky. Given our recent move and no longer having a lake in my backyard it's not nearly as enjoyable as it has been. Change. Yuck. Another change this year is no summer childcare. None. Zip. Zilch. Every year until now I've had some sort of "paid help" whether it be school camp, a baby sitter or day camp at the lake. It was nice because it gave me a break and some time to work uninterupted and it also got Jack out of the house and with "other people", which everyone has always stressed the importance of.  This year it's the two of us, here, mostly in this house. It's going okay so far and I'm quickly realizing that the "nice" part of having childcare was for my benefit only. Don't get me wrong, I'd take someone up on the offer in a heartbeat. I still enjoy getting time to just be me, without mom duties 24/7, but he's over the moon with most of it.

Life is busy for us, even at the slower pace we like to move. I try to wear many hats in the summer, but between being a doll artist, a housekeeper, a cook, a house renovator, a girlfriend, a daughter, a friend, and a woman, the largest part of me is still mostly Jack's Mom. 

I've struggled with that, probably since the day he was born. Not because I didn't want him or love him, but mostly because I realized I wasn't made for this. I was completely out of my element, and that mothers instinct thing was lost on me, at least for a very long time. Some woman are definitely cut out for the job of motherhood and I have absolutely nothing in common with them. The struggle was made even harder by not having the same type of child rearing experiences as these "other" moms.  All of our "stuff" was different. Not necessarily bad. Just different. I had an amazingly polite 2 year old who said please and thank you, but for life of me I couldn't get him to wave, or play with other kids, or even acknowledge me half the time. "Our" struggles were different, and our time table and milestones were different too. I didn't fully know that then, so I kept reading the books and trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. It wasn't an easy road in the beginning, even though I was sure I had an amazing kid. I fought against what was, in order to try to get us to what we should be. I listened to a lot of the wrong people. 

I know, now, that wasn't what I should have been doing. Hindsight. 

Over the last year and half I have learned so much. About myself, about my son, and about accepting what is. Although no one has an official diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome, living "as if" has changed things drastically for both of us. It's still a process of living and learning and making a few mistakes, but  everything that was so confusing way back in the beginning now makes perfect sense. That's not to say that we don't still have our struggles. We do. Almost daily. But we can manage them and solve problems and do whatever it is that we need to, regardless of how typical or normal it may seem to anyone else. 

Today was a pretty "typical" day with Jack, and inside each "typical" day with Jack are amazing little gifts...

We started off by sleeping in, which is a new novelty for both of us. The latest he's ever up is 5:30am, with 4am being the earliest. Sleeping until 8am is a gift in itself and I thank and bow down to those budding hormones. Our plan for part of the day (because we like to have a plan) was to organize his room to better display his Legos (because sorting and organizing and creating order is fun.)  He was excited to do it so we headed to the store to pick up a new Lego bin. We've gotten into the routine of him heading straight to the Lego aisle, while I do a quick shop and then meet him there. 

This is what I found when I arrived I the toy section. 


I asked him what he was doing as I watched him move box after box. "I'm putting everything where it goes."  And there you have it. Sorting, organizing and creating order. Even in Walmart. Some people might be seeing a red OCD flag. It's possible. But what I saw is a kid doing what he likes to do. He was having fun. 

Once he was done we headed out with a small new lego set in tow, simply because he didn't even ask to get it. That in itself is worth $7 to me. 

On our way home I stopped for coffee and he wanted to stay in the car, which I normally allow so long as where not in the ghetto. When I came out the set he had gotten was opened and already built. A time waster he is not. On the ride home he talked about the Lego set and how he was going to put the stickers on and how he would play with it when we got back. I asked him if he was getting bored with vacation yet.

Jack: "No. I love summer." 
Me: "But we're not really doing anything or going anywhere. "
Jack: "That's what I like. Staying home." 
Me: "So you wouldn't want to go to a camp and play with your friends? You don't get bored not playing with anyone?" 
Jack: "No. I like being independent and doing my own thing."
Me: "What about when the kids are around? Would you still rather play alone?"
Jack: "yeah. Sometimes. When I'm playing Legos I like to play alone. And if I'm playing Basketball I'd rather play with Tori because when I play with Ryan there are so many rules and it's confusing and I just like to keep it simple."
Me: "Well, you're definitely a kid who knows what he likes. I used to like to play alone in my room too, but Grandma would usually make me go outside to play with the other kids."
Jack: (shocked) "Why would she DO that?"
Me: "I don't know I guess they just thought it was better for me."
Jack: "How is it better if you don't want to do it??"
Pause...
Jack: "You know, you probably would have gotten grounded, but you COULD have said...No, I don't have to! I know my rights!"

Wish he had been around all those years ago to advocate for me....

A little while later he said, "When summer is over I won't be that happy to go to school, but you will because you'll get to be alone for six hours a day!"

Yeah. He gets it. And what is amazing is he gets it a way that he knows it has nothing to do with him, just like his desire to play with his Legos alone has nothing to do with anyone else.

Once we got home I started lunch and within minutes he was in the kitchen fighting back the tears. Apparently the stickers to the Legos were proving, once again, to be a major pain on the ass. The lack of fingernails and poor fine motor skills has made this task a difficult one for him. I tell him to ask for help but he rarely does. 


For a perfectionist, this sticker is just plain shit now. It will never do. In his frustration, he asked if he could write a letter to Lego. I told him, sure, that would probably be a good idea and he could take his anger out on the paper.  This one is him taking his anger out on the paper...


This one is the letter. In messy/mad handwriting. 


It says: Dear Lego, Make all the stickers print ons NOW!! I don't want any more stickers. In fact lots of people all over the world may not want stickers. Please make that happen! Loads of people have trouble putting them on, getting them in a good position, and it's FRUSTRATING!

Not a very polite letter and he refused to sign his name. Later tonight I have to find out where we can send it because he's had enough. :)

It didn't take too long for all to be well again, and we went on to spend two hours organizing his room.
I don't think we can fit another lego book or set in there. That doesn't matter though, because we will. Somehow, we will. 

And this is how it usually goes with us. This is a pretty typical day minus all the other stuff I didn't include. It's days like these that make me realize that, even though I'm still sure I wasn't cut out for motherhood, I was supposed to be Jack's Mom, whether I was ready or not. And for that I'm grateful. 

Hope, who is mostly grateful, because, seriously, mothering those " normal" kids would have sent me over the edge. 







Monday, July 7, 2014

Catching up.

After a nice solid month of being MIA, I'm back. Im sure my tens of readers missed the hell out of me. I didn't intend to be gone so long, but, you know, once I make a real serious commitment to something, well, I usually bail. It's kind of my thing. 

So I did start documenting my PMDD symptoms on this fabulous little app called iPeriod. It was helpful. At least until I forgot to keep documenting, but then it was helpful again when a week ago I started wondering when I last had a period. Sure enough I was on day 38 of my cycle. For those of you that don't know what that means ( men ), I was 10 days late. Hmmm. I've only been that late a handful of times and each handful contained a pregnancy. That didn't seem possible as my BF had the boys snipped, so unless I was blacking out and screwing random fertile men, I assumed that wasn't it. I was right. Aunt "Flo" finally arrived with a vengeance. Bitch. Not only did she bring her own kind of pain but she added to my Sciatica. Why. We still don't know. So, long story short. No change of life babies, and most definitely a blip in the hormone scale. It's over now, so let's move on.

What I did on my summer vacation: I worked really, really, really hard. 

We really did take a little vacation. Four days in Newport, RI with kids. I almost didn't. I came really close to saying No. Instead, I voiced my concerns, which, is never a good idea. No matter how many psychiatrists tell you it is, trust me, it's not. It lead no where good. In the end I decided to go and to put into practice some of the coping strategies I've been learning over the past year in therapy. I coped like a rock star. For the most part. I kept feeling myself going off track and I kept pulling myself back. On purpose. I did a lot of breathing. I did a lot of not worrying about things that were not, nor will they ever be " my problem". I even allowed myself to say "no" to something when by the last night both Jack and I were exhausted. Not because we had been crazy busy but because we had just spend every waking hour of the past three days with people. That's not something everyone can understand. I get that, but I also don't care anymore. Just trust me when I say I need time away and if I don't get it I will start to have thoughts of tying you up and locking you in the basement. I was pretty proud of that. Finding my balls, and saying "No, I think we'll stay in tonight." 

So all went well, mostly, until the last day, which also happened to be wash the linens and clean up day. The details aren't as important as the very evident lack of communication that is very much still the elephant in the room. 

Eh. Who cares. Rome wasn't built in a day.

Once we returned home I took a solid week to not give a shit about anything. It was nice. When stress started to creep in I told it to piss off. When the anxious thoughts started squawking I told them to shut the fuck up. It was good. 

It was sort of good. I feel a little calmer. A little more in control. I haven't made the decision to jump on the daily med train. Yet. I'm still battling that out, mostly right before I fall asleep, and then again, as soon as I wake up. I think I feel a little calmer because I stopped caring a little, if that makes sense. It sounds a little shitty, but it doesn't feel that shitty. If you don't understand me, I don't care. If you don't like me, I don't care. If you don't want to communicate with me, I don't care. If you want to be a shitty mother, I don't care. If you don't want to marry me, I don't care. If you think I'm an idiot, I don't care. If you resent me, because you have to pay me child support, I don't care. If you don't enjoy spending time with me, I don't care. If you talk about me, I don't care. 

Not caring about any of this feels good. Selfishly good. I don't know if that's wrong or right. It does come with a cost I think. But doesn't everything.

Next on the agenda...figure out a place and time to write with no interruptions, because I've been interrupted at least seven times during this post. 

Hope, who is well aware that all the people that "do" care, aren't going to be happy that I don't. 

Friday, June 6, 2014

One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small



"You're just like a pill. Instead of making me better, you keep making me ill."

Decisions. I kind of hate them. I paid a visit to my regular doctor, ironically for a med check. A med check regarding the meds I'm not even taking. We discussed my "symptoms" aka feelings/behavior. That, the timing of said behavior and the fact that my tits feel like someone is cutting them with razor blades when touched for a week out of every month, lead her to the same conclusion. PMDD. Not to be confused with PMS, which is also very real and a pain in the ass. So great. We've got some answers. Doesn't completely explain my craziness away but it certainly helps to understand some of it. We talked about what I can do to help myself, most of which I completely agree with, but will most likely struggle to do. We talked about how I don't really want to take medicine, and we talked about how I don't really want to feel like this anymore either. In the end I left with another prescription. For Prozac. I left without being really sure if I would take it or not. My only experience with anyone that has taken Prozac is with my grandmothers sister. Her doctor prescribed it to her after her husband passed away. She took it for a while. And then she got in her car, pulled out of her driveway, drove to the top of the hill on her street, turned around, hit the gas, and drove her car straight into the big oak tree in her own front yard. There's no concrete proof that is was Prozac that caused her to take her life, but still, the incident left an imprint in my brain.

Suicide stories aside, I also have an anxiety disorder, which tends to make me ... Uh anxious? I worry. One of the things I worry about is starting or takings new medicine. I don't think my worries are entirely irrational, however, as I don't tend to react to any medicine or substance in a typical way. Despite my reservations, I had pretty much decided, after therapy today, that I would give it a try. This weekend...so I wouldn't be alone in case I started frothing at the mouth or suddenly wanted to jump off a bridge. All I had to do was just take it and go about my business. Pill, swallow, done. So long as I didn't read the possible side effects. I went the pharmacy, picked up the bottle, which is not as cheap as the others, and drove home. Don't read the possible side effects. Don't. Don't fucking do it! Okay, maybe just the common ones. Just to be prepared. You have to know what to expect. Wait! No! Don't do it!!! No. No. No! 

And then, of course, I did it. I read that pamphlet. That whole entire fucking pamphlet. Which wasn't easy at all because I need reading glasses now and I haven't been able to find them since the move. So, yeah. That was a mistake. 

Now I've pretty much decided not to take them. Pretty much. Maybe. Ugh. 

I just don't know. I want a wrong or right answer and there isn't one. 

For now I'm just going to marinate in it. Maybe when the crazy starts to rear it's ugly head I will change my mind. Maybe when I feel lost and desperate again, desperate to stop it all, I'll grab that bottle  with little thought or care about all the other bad things that could possibly happen. Maybe I'll only care about the bad things happening at that very moment. 

I guess we'll see. The wait won't be long. I figure I have about another good week left. 

Hope, who is going to try to enjoy the weekend and wait until Monday to brace herself for the ride. 

Friday, May 23, 2014

Failure to communicate

I had a visit with my doctor today and brought up the subject of PMDD. While he conceded that, yes, that could very well be the case and the anger I feel over things that might simply cause another to feel slightly annoyed, could be exasperated by the symptoms, he urged me not to dismiss the things that are actually going on in my life. Fine. I get it. While it would be nice to have one simple answer to all of my problems, nothing is ever simple. And by ignoring a problem we don't solve a problem. We only create more problems. I fucking get it. I'm not one to shy away from trying to fix something that is wrong. I'm not Irish. Not even a little bit.

Only there is no solving this problem. Once again, like a stupid fucking idiot, I used my voice. This is never a good thing. One because it causes that fucking sound to come out of his mouth. That sound of disgust. It's like a fucking knife in my back. I hate it. I can't even begin to describe how much I hate it. It ruins everything right then and there. Anything that I could have said in a normal rational way is out the window. And then the show begins. Nothing is ever solved.

I tried. That is the best I can do. I'm not happy with the way things are. I'm just not and it doesn't matter if it's two weeks before my period or during. Everything has changed so much from the way it used to be, and yes, I KNOW things change. I'm so fucking sick of hearing that. What if I didn't want it to? What if that is the kind of relationship I needed and not this? What if the house and the laundry and the shopping and the dishes and the waiting for the man to come home isn't what I fucking want? What if I want someone I can talk to who won't let out a sound of disgust? What if I want to discuss a book I read or a movie we saw. What if I want to be able to say what you did hurt me...without watching the eye rolls. Fuck that. And no I don't think I'm losing my mind right now, I just think I'm fucking pissed.

I've always had this ridiculous need to "fix things". I think that stems from the whole Alcoholic parent thing and feeling like it's your fault and blah, blah, blah. But really, why?  Can't something break and just be broken. Why do I struggle so much with accepting that? Why do I invest so much in something that no one else is concerned with? If it's broken, toss it out. Walk away and don't look back.

Christ. I'm like that fucking little kid that no one wants to play with, only I don't know that no one wants to play with me. I don't get it. So I just keep coming around.

I'm starting to think the whole relationship concept is a piece of shit. Is it even real? It starts with something that's purely instinctual on most occasions. It's start with lust. Lust. Infatuation. Perhaps a little obsession. Maybe some addiction. But when those things fade away, and they always fade away, ( I know. I've been married twice. ) what are you left with? The person you thought you knew better than anyone becomes a stranger. I'd like to say this is just my observation alone, but the divorce rates speak for themselves.

Maybe we are not made to be with one person forever. Maybe that isn't the way to true happiness. How could it be if we aren't happy?

Loving someone isn't always enough. We all have needs that have to be met in order for us to find some level of contentment. I realize it's unfair and unrealistic to expect one person to meet all of those needs, but don't they have to meet some? A few? Or do we meet our own needs with complete disregard to how our partners think or feel?

I don't know. I thought I knew once. I thought I had found the best thing ever. The person who was perfect for me, despite being my opposite. Or was that the lust and infatuation and obsession? Probably. All of that is changing now though. It has been over the past few years, no matter how hard I have tried make it stop. The addiction was the hardest part to get over. I'm not even sure I'm over it. Would I still be here if I were?

Hope, who wishes she could just forget.


Thursday, May 22, 2014

Going off the rails...

This blog is completely one sided. By reading just a few of the posts (never mind all of them) it's easy to get the impression that I am completely miserable. That there is never a reprieve from the anxiety or the anger or the struggle. That's not true. I don't share everything here. I just dump my shit here. Believe it or not, and I'm sure it's hard to believe, there are times when I am happy. There are days when I do enjoy life and I even laugh. Ask my friends. Both of them will tell you.

But I don't share those times. I've been criticized in the past for not writing anything happy, and the truth is, I don't. At least not very often. One reason for this could simply be that the urge to write comes when it comes. I can't control it anymore than I can control when I struggle with life and when I don't. Another reason, I'm sure, is that when I am happy, I'm off enjoying my life, instead of reflecting and dwelling. When the helplessness and the anxiety and the anger are gone, the last thing I want to do is the activity I normally do when they are present. And in all honesty, if I were to write both sides, your heads would be spinning as fast as my own with the drastic and sudden change in my mood and my outlook. If what is here now doesn't make me appear crazy, the Jekyll and Hyde posts surely would. Having said that, it may just be what I need to do.

These past weeks have been especially challenging. If I try to explain it away I can say things like, I've been under a lot of stress, there have been a lot of changes, and I'm simply tired and worn out. This makes sense. The move was stressful. I'm still having conflicting emotions about being here because there was nothing in me that wanted to make the move in the first place. I can't put everything away because there is simply no room to put everything away. For someone who is in desperate need of order this is a huge struggle and it's interfering with my daily life. I'm not adjusting well to working here. The light is different and nothing looks the same. It's hard. This I mostly blame on my neurology. It is what it is. Whatever it is. I'm pushing to "get over it", but I'm stuck in the middle, like a needle on a broken record.

But there are other things too. Like the anger. The intense frustration with everyone around me and the deep and frantic desire to either remove them from my life or remove myself from theirs. The paranoia. The belief that no one will ever be faithful to me and that I'm being lied to. The emptiness. The times when I can't do what I love because I can't even feel what I love anymore. The discontentment. When I don't want you to touch me or be around me, but at the same time I fucking hate you for ignoring me and leaving me alone. And the sadness and helplessness. That feeling that this will never change and I will always feel empty and no matter what I try will never help. These things can't be blamed entirely on neurology. I know this because it's not a constant feeling or desire. It comes and it goes. Just like the tide and just as quickly. These things are part of something else and I only share them from my own point of view when I am deep in the throes of it all. When it is all consuming, I come here and I spit out my anger, and it's always someone else's fault. Always. I'm not sure I was fully aware of that until last Saturday night. I've been aware of the shifting and the back and forth, and of experiencing happiness which was quickly followed by the fear of "how long will this last?" That, I have been aware of for quite some time, and in reading through old writings from when I was a teenager it was present then as well. There have been times when I feared that perhaps I was bi-polar. I haven't shared that thought or fear with anyone. Not even my doctor. It's one thing to call yourself crazy. It's something else entirely to be labeled as such. We don't mind being a little crazy, we just don't want to be "cocktail of medication every day for the rest of your life" crazy.

So what happened to give me that moment of clarity? Earlier in the week I could feel my frustrations building. With my life, with the move, with my relationship. It wasn't anything drastic that was happening it was all the little things. I had to pick up dirty laundry. Plans kept changing last minute. My boyfriend was distracted by the television and wasn't hearing anything I said. The kids kept slamming the door. The noise. etc...Things that are annoying. Things that might make someone "take a break" for a while. I did take a break upstairs in my room and looked up apartments for rent. Later I sat outside alone for a while. When I came in, everyone else went outside. I felt completely alone and  like I needed an escape all at once...like a caged rat and a piece of the furniture all at the same time. I could feel the anger building and honestly I hated everyone at that point. I left to go to the food store because I could think of nothing else to do and when I got there I had no idea what to buy. I felt like I wasn't even really there, like I was controlling myself like you would  a character in a video game, just making myself go down the aisles and place random items in the cart. There was nothing left inside of me, if that makes any sense, and I'm fully aware that it may not. Somewhere on the ride home, during a phone call that I wasn't paying attention to, I decided I needed to leave my boyfriend. That we weren't going anywhere and that although we were happy once, we could never be happy again. I had made up my mind. He can stay here and rent this house because I don't even want to be here anyway. ?Saturday night there was a play at his kids school. He had repeatedly asked me during the day if Jack and I wanted to go. I never answered him. I couldn't answer him. How can I go to a play when my whole life is falling apart!? How could I possibly deal with all of that and not dive head first into a panic attack? (keep in mind, now, I've decided...decided...that I have to leave him and he has no idea that these thoughts are in my head and if only he would have picked up his dirty socks and so on...are you getting the picture?) In the end he and the kids went because I managed, through the invisible hands around my throat, to get some words out that somehow communicated that I couldn't go. The thought that crossed my mind the minute he said he would take the kids and I could be alone, was not the moment of clarity. In fact it was the exact opposite.

Thank god I will be alone, and maybe I will die while they are gone.

That is what I thought.

Maybe I will die.

If I try to explain that thought now I just attempt to rationalize, only there wasn't anything rational about it. I simply felt in that moment, that somehow, if it happened, it would bring relief. I didn't necessarily think, I should do something to make myself die. But this completely worn out and empty part of me...hoped. What happened instead was that the minute they drove off I felt the invisible hands remove themselves from my throat and relief came. All on it's own and unexpectedly.  I came over to my computer where I'm sitting right now, and blogged about the anxiety side of things and not going to events that my son wants me to go to, leaving out the other messy details. Somehow it was enough to clear away some of the debris that was cluttering my thoughts and it was like I came rushing back into reality. Back to the here and now. And immediately I thought...what the fuck is wrong with me!?!  It was like I'd been hit by a truck. This isn't right. This isn't normal. This is making it so hard to live. My neurology, of course, took over and my need to know kicked into full gear. This is where it lead me.

Living with PMDD- A partner's perspective

This is me. This happens. There is a brief break. And like clockwork, this happens again. This may have ruined all of my relationships. This could ruin every relationship in my life. At least until menopause...

As I've stated, all of my experiences are documented from my point of view only. This one comes from the partner in the relationship and as I read it I could hear my own partners voice reciting the very same words.

I started keeping a log so I can clearly see how I feel and what's happening on each day of my monthly cycle. When is the anxiety worse? When do I have panic attacks? What days do I have my suitcase packed and one foot out the door? When do I feel helpless or full of hope? What days do I hate everyone? What days do I actually believe my dreams can still come true?

Yesterday was the first day I actually felt energetic and got things done. I even cooked.

Last night I got my period.







Saturday, May 17, 2014

Avoidance.

"You're not going? Why aren't you going to go?" He asks. The very same question I remember asking my own mother time and time again.

"It's just not my thing." I say. Something he always tells me when there's something he doesn't want to do. Something I think he can relate to and hopefully accept without further questioning. Because, really, how can I tell him all the reasons why? How can I tell anyone, so that they would understand?

How can I say I've just had enough today? And this week. And this month. That too many things have changed in too short a time and my whole world is out of order. That the slamming door and the loud TV and the constant motion of the day have filled me up. That I don't feel what other people feel. That as much as I may long to be a part of something, to be included and to belong, that I simply don't, and I feel more alone than ever in a room full of strangers. How can I explain that already my thoughts are racing faster than my brain can keep up, but I can barely form a sentence? Choosing the right words is nearly impossible. How do I describe the darkness? The emptiness? The fear? That sitting in a row with no escape is suffocating and keeping my eyes where they ought to be requires more work than I am able to do. That the sound of clapping would be so amplified right now I would surely jump out of my seat. That the unknown isn't something I can face tonight no matter how weak or pathetic it may make me seem. How do I explain that the panic is lingering and past experience has taught me that it's just around the corner? That when I get dizzy and have nothing to hold on to, when my heart starts racing and the pains shoots up the left side of my head and that icy cold feeling of death rushes into my chest, that I can't be in a room full of people. That I'd rather be home, alone, where I can cry, and shake, and make deals with the devil.

How could I explain any of this without sounding like a lunatic? I can't. So I don't. Instead, I force a smile, and tell my almost ten year old that... It's just not my thing.

And as much as I may have longed for understanding my entire life, I truly hope to god that this is something he never, ever understands.

Hope.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

The next move.

It's always hard to know how to start up again after a long blogging break. Blog. It's a Funny word. For some reason, right now, it sounds funny. Blog, blog,blog,

Anyway. I could go into the long details of the last month or so, but I couldn't do it with feeling. Simply because I'm not feeling now what I was feeling then. Now I'm only feeling what I feel now. But more on that later.

Instead I'll take the long story short approach. We moved. Too short? Okay after a shit load of stress, we moved. Stress that included giving our notice and then finding out my aunt was having second thoughts about renting. Stress that included only having a month to organize and complete the packing and emptying out of not one but two houses, along with a partial renovation which included the ripping out of old stinky 30 year old carpets and the purchase and installation of new stinky carpets. Stress that included finding the mold in the house that I had said was there from the beginning. Stress that also included our final rent cost being increased not once but twice from where we thought it would be. ( The whole reason behind the move to begin with). There's more but I'll leave it at that for now. I've never done so much work in a short period of time and I can say with all honesty I will never do it again. When all is said and done I'm betting that the "savings" this move was supposed to generate will be negligible. But, it's too late now. Always go with your gut people. When you don't, well, you end up here. 

In any case, I'm trying to make the best of it and moving forward as best I can. Which, by the way, is slowly. I'm moving very slowly. 

As for what I'm feeling now, drained would probably be an accurate description. I'm tired. So tired in fact, that I'm also fed up. With everything. With everyone. I find myself fighting for things I'm not even sure I want anymore. If you have to fight too much, it makes you wonder if it's even worth it. All that time spent begging someone to pay attention to you, could be spent with someone who actually pays attention to you. See? I'm learning! So what do I want? I want to be heard. I want my life to slim down. I want the people in it to be the ones I can relate to. I want to be able to take time away from work and stress so I can enjoy the things I enjoy. That's really about it.  And as simple as that seems, it just hasn't been that simple at all. 

I'm trying to stop kicking myself in the ass because it doesn't do any good. The "You knew better!" thoughts only further increase my anxiety. I'm trying not to care too much, because that usually sends me straight into panic. And I'm trying to find some joy. I've even fought for it a little. 

My next move is to rewind. All the way back to when I knew what the fuck I was doing. Or at least I thought I did. I'm not really all that sad, so that's good. But I'm certainly in self preservation mode. I think I'm ready to be selfish again. I think I'm ready to give up on caring about what anyone else thinks again. I think I'm ready to stop looking for understanding, and I'm ready to only speak my truth. All of these things, by default, usually help to slim down a life. Instead of continually wishing I was someone else or I could be different I'm now saying " fuck it." Some will understand that. Some won't. And that's how we learn where we belong. 

I really am tired. 

Hope, who is just a bit unplugged at the moment.