Sunday, December 18, 2011

Tis the Season...

I know last time I promised a pretty peek into what happens when you stop taking the "take every 4 to 6 hours as needed" drug,'s Christmas. Almost. And my body and nervous system have basically recovered and moved on to new exciting things.  Like my left ovary. I would love to be able to say that after two ultra sounds and a doctors visit we know what the problem is, but of course that isn't the case. It never is.  I remember years ago an RN friend of mine saying..."People think medicine is a really isn't. It's more like an Art."  She was right. It's an Art and often times a Guessing Game. So rather than knowing what's wrong exactly, we don't. We know what it might be, but don't know what it is. But whatever it is, it's on my left ovary. Basically my three options included...the "let's wait and see if it grows"...the "open me up and try to remove it"...or the "go through the belly button and removed the whole ovary."  Because there is no real way to rule out the C word and I don't plan on using that part of my body again, I chose option 3. So that is what I'll be getting for my 40th birthday. Fabulous. It better include percocet.

I do feel somewhat proactive.  I mean, why wait and see?  Maybe if I were 20 and wanted a boatload of kids, but at this age the wait and see method takes on a whole new meaning. Time is precious and in thinking about the "what ifs" over the past week, I realized I don't really want to waste much time waiting for anything. I want to enjoy as much as I can, and if I don't enjoy it...I don't want to do it.  It's pretty simple.  I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to stick to that, given my personality and make up...BUT...I do know that the world won't end if I start taking time to enjoy my life.

But despite all that and some family drama that kind of crept up on me...I am managing to enjoy the season. My wallet isn't enjoying it, of course, but my wallet is a huge scrooge most of the time anyway.

My son is waiting with great anticipation for Santa to bring him everything on his list, which he will of course. He always does, because Santa is friggen awesome!  This might be the last year of believing. I hope not. Life is never as sweet as when you are a child who can believe in the unbelievable. I want him to hold onto that. I want to hold onto that in him. So I will.

Merry Christmas to the rest of you out in Bloggerville! 

Hope, who will continue to take it as comes, and fa la la la la la la.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

One day in the life of...

Once again I've been MIA from the world of "blog about it because you're really the only one who gives a shit".  I'm sure there's a reason I haven't been around. I've probably been busy or something.  Honestly I've sat here for a half hour trying to compose my thoughts in a way... so that what I write... won't sound crazy. I haven't gotten very far with that. Then somewhere between thinking, nervous twitching, and sipping on a mid-day white russian my eyes stopped on the title of my blog. Crazy. It's right there in the title. So who gives a shit. (I believe we've already established that. Me.) 

Another problem I have with this entry is how to write what's on my mind, without really writing what's on my mind. You know what I mean?  No. You probably don't. Sometimes I want to write what I'm really thinking and really feeling, right this very moment. But doing that would most likely leave a mark. A scar. A bruise. It would most likely cause more damage than healing and I'm here for healing, I think. Not damage.

I'm damaged. There is no doubt. I've damaged myself. I've been damaged by others. Mostly I'm glued and taped and forced back together, but each new scrape always opens an old wound. That's how damaged I am. So much so that it pisses me off.  Expecting anyone to understand this is pointless. Expecting someone to understand that when they hurt you they set off a chain reaction of all the other times they hurt you and all the other times others hurt pointless. People don't understand this. Unless of course, they too, are damaged.

I don't know how to fix anything. I never have. Once it's been broken, it's always broken, isn't it?  I've been trying mostly to just fix me. Okay, not really "fix" me. I've been trying to do what I can so I don't fall off the edge. I'm right there. I can feel it. And when some outside force, or something someone else does affects me, I teeter. I get dizzy and lose my balance and then even think about jumping,  but remember my son, and know that I can't.

Right now I would give anything to just erase the shit in my brain and start over. It's not doing me any good. I can guarantee you that much. But I can't. My 9th grade science teacher told me so. She also told me I wouldn't want to forget. Fuck her.

I'm rambling, I know. It's the crazy. Maybe I just have too much on my mind. In my mind. Maybe I expect more of people than they are able to give. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Any of this. Relationships. Motherhood. Life. Giving a shit. Maybe I wasn't. Judge me if you want. I'm just being honest. Brutal, maybe, but still honest. Some people are cut out for it. They relish is doing and giving to others. They participate. They volunteer. They go, go, go. They wash their husbands/boyfriends underwear while turning a blind eye to the fact that he's fucking or desperately wants to be fucking someone else.  Then they talk about how blessed they are. Some people are really just "cut out for it". 

I think I lost my train of thought. Too much on my mind, like I said. Along with some Anger. Can you sense the Anger?  I think I'm going to learn how to shoot a gun. Not to kill people of course, because that would be really crazy. And I'm only crazy enough to say shit no one wants to hear. I want to shoot a gun because so far nothing else has really worked, so why the fuck not? 

I should probably stop rambling, but honestly I'm a shitload less anxious now. I really am. So, I guess it doesn't even matter what I wrote or how crazy it sounds to anyone else because...I feel better. And that is what this fucking blog it about. Tune in next time for "Anxiety: what it really fucking feels like...and the symptoms of Lorazapam withdrawals."

Hope, who feels a little like the female Holden Caulfield...and regrets never being able to have lunch with J.D. Salinger."