Six Years Later...

 To say it’s been a while is an understatement. It’s been six long years since I’ve visited these pages. Six long years since I’ve written. Anything, basically. I didn’t quit writing exactly. I just put it away. The same way I put away my art, my photography, and my love of reading books. I don’t think it was on purpose. I got busy with other things. For four of those years I worked almost non stop. Days, nights, and weekends. I’m not sure anyone even noticed. Whatever time that was left I most likely spent doing laundry and all the other mundane jobs in life that no one else cares to do. I kept as busy as I could, partly to escape reality, and partly because I didn’t really have a choice. Each of those years, as well as the ones before and the ones that followed were sprinkled with lies and mini betrayals. Spaced perfectly, though probably not purposefully, so each impact would be slightly more painful than the last. A couple of those years were also filled with dealing with my SA’s mother and her failing health, and then her passing, and her affairs. It’s difficult to watch someone slowly dying over such a long period of time. Especially someone who was so sad, surrounded by other people telling her it was all her fault. 2019 was spent mourning the loss of someone who never really existed and has not passed. It was eye opening as well as traumatic and I definitely have not worked through it all yet. Then 2020 arrived to kick us all in the ass. That, too, was eye opening in far too many ways to wrap my brain around right now. It’s was a collective trauma experienced by every person in the world, in their own way. It’s was ugly, and hateful, and it tore people apart. It’s was also a time of reflection, that for some, shined the light on what is really important, and brought some of those people together. And for others, it highlighted how very unimportant they are. Even within their own lives. 

And six years later, here I am, back to the very place I first found my voice. 2021 seems a good year to find it again. It has a lot more to say. I’m rusty and it may take me a while to find the words I need in order to tell the stories, but it’s time. It also feels like it’s time to dig out all of the other things I’ve put away. The things I love and the things that always brought me happiness. So, that’s it. Here I Am. Back in the saddle again, and looking forward to finding my safe space again.

Hope, who is glad this dreaded first post is over. Again. 

The last three months. Sort of.

I've taken quite a long break from writing. Not because I haven't had anything to write about, but because all I seem to have to write about is shit. I get tired of not having any joy to post. I get tired of reliving the things that cause pain. Before starting this I just re-read through some of my last posts and there is a very clear theme that's been hanging over me like a dark cloud. Death and being forgotten. This most definitely isn't the theme of my choosing, and yet, here it is, in black and white. I have such a fucking headache right now. Between the heat, the pollen, and tears I would love nothing more than to go to bed for a week. But I can't. So I'll write, once again, in an attempt to make sense of everything that just doesn't make sense to me.

Since my last blog entry I've had many relationship ups and downs, went back on daily anxiety meds in an attempt to lower my blood pressure (seems to be working okay) and, well, reduce the ridiculous amount of daily anxiety I live with. I had a major panic attack, which spawned a sort of "coming out" FB post about the realities of living with anxiety. From that post I made several new contacts and online relationships with people that I wouldn't have thought dealt with the same issues as me. It also helped to get reunited with an old friend. We'd been talking for six years on social media.  In fact six years ago our lives were so much alike it almost seemed like were destined to become close friends. Over the past six years our lives continued on paths that were also very much a mirror image of the others. "OMG...are we twins?" Is what she would always say. We talked periodically and always said the famous "We have to get together sometime." But sometime never seemed to come. It was never the right time. Our lives played a roll in this. Our anxiety played a roll in this as well. After my post, however, we wrote back and forth almost all night and decided not to just say it anymore...we needed to get together and talk. And finally we did, back in February. We talked for hours about everything. Our lives, our children, our relationships, our anxiety, our fear of death, our need to have order and plans to feel calm and safe. We joked about reloading the dishwasher and how much anxiety we feel in the middle of a mess. We talked about how very few people understand and how one of the most important thing people like us need is for someone to understand. We talked about how we only lived 5 minutes from each other and if either of us needed help or support that we would call the other any time, day or night. And we also joked about not waiting another six years to get together again. It was a really good night. I don't have very many people in my circle.  People who know this hard, dark side of me and actually understand it and have felt it themselves. After that night I knew I had just added one more person to my circle. One more friend who would understand the challenges of daily life and why things for other people that seem so easy, are not easy for us. I felt so good walking away from that conversation. I think she did too.

We talked a few more times but never got the chance to get together again.  On April 22nd she passed away. To say that this crushed me, is an understatement. It sent me into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that are just now starting to slow down.  I felt the loss for her daughters, her boyfriend, her family and friends. I felt my own loss, as it was too soon. We had just started and we were going to help each other. And then I felt the loss for her. The loss of her life, I thought about how we had talked about death and how that was one of the main causes of anxiety in both of our lives. I thought about how she could have died. There still hasn't been any confirmed information but the last thing she looked up on her phone was symptoms of a heart attack in woman. I've thought things like...did she think she was just having a panic attack? Is that why she didn't wake anyone up? Was she afraid of being dismissed. And if she did think that at first, why didn't she call? I've thought a million things...like what the hell went wrong here? This shouldn't have happened. Did she just not want to bother anyone? And then I felt guilt.  A tremendous amount of guilt, for still being alive. I'm not sure if that even makes sense, but in my mind back in Feb there were two blonde women sitting and talking over dinner and drinks. Both with similar lives, both with similar issues. Both with so much in common.  Who got to decide which one of those blonde women had to die? During this whole processing period I've even thought the opposite. That maybe it wasn't that she "had" to die. Maybe she "got" to die. Maybe it was time for her struggle to end. God, I hope her struggle has ended. I'm not religious and hardly spiritual, I've always been the kind of person who needs facts and proof. The mystery of death is hard for me to place in a nice neat casket. I just don't know and I can't have a true belief if I just don't know, I can only hope.

In any case, it's been an internally rough few weeks. There has been more death in my life over the past year than ever before. People I care about. It's felt like the more I fear it, the more it keeps happening. I've been able to talk with a few people about this and it has helped somewhat. We all feel this loss on a very deep level, I think.

Yesterday was Mother's Day I couldn't help but think of Laura all day. I thought of her girls. I thought of her mother. I thought of everyone just wishing for one more chance. For one more day. I spent most of the day alone as Rick was working and Jack was with Jason. The day before we had taken his mother out to breakfast, so I decided to do something for me, which I very rarely do. Normally I would spend the day working, but this year I said fuck it and went shopping. It was actually a pretty nice day alone except I waited all day long for someone close to me to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. Someone I live with. Someone I gave birth to. Someone I made a child with. The only person to send me a personal message in the morning was a friend who I don't think has missed a mothers day wish since I first got separated from Jack's father. It was nice and yet it made me cry. It made me cry because when I heard the text come through, I knew it would be him. I knew it wouldn't be from any of the people that I wished it would be from. It's hard and it's so confusing to me. I feel like I'm doing something so wrong that everyone else deserves the words, but not me. I can't even begin to describe how much it hurts to know your ex (who is supposed to be guideing your son) just completely blew you off and your boyfriend who wished his mother and ex wife a Happy Mothers Day, couldn't say the words to you. All day I waited. If there is a lesson here I don't know what it is.  Life is short, I guess. It can end at anytime.  That is a lesson that I think maybe everyone else needs to learn.  I know it well. Maybe the lesson I need to learn is to stop waiting.

Hope, who in the end decided to take the wishes, lunch and friendship that were sent my way and enjoy the day as best I could.  You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.

And when one of us is gone, and one of us is left to carry on...

Another year has passed and it's Feb 8th again. The anniversary of my (birth) mothers death. It always hits me hard that each year goes by faster than the last. That with each year, her face, her eyes, her voice, and her smell get so much further away from me. And yet, each passing year, is also a reminder of how quickly my own life is passing and how much closer I am getting to being just a photo and a memory that my own son might one day pull out once a year.

I can already see the winced faces and hear the "Oh, don't say that!" from various people in my life. But the fact is, it's true. The cycle of life is a very real thing that none of us get a free pass on. I just turned 43. My mother died at 32. Time isn't a guarantee. This is hard to think about, let alone accept. If you have an anxiety disorder or know someone who does, you know this very topic is a huge source and trigger.  So much of my anxiety revolves around this fact and this particular unknown. 

Maybe that's why I don't want people to tell me not to say what is true, just because it's uncomfortable. Not saying it, thinking it, or feeling it doesn't make it any less true. To that, they might say, "well no, but you shouldn't DWELL on it." Dwell. It's a funny word. You shouldn't dwell on it. You shouldn't focus on it. You certainly shouldn't obsess about it. Maybe that's true. But what about, finally, once and for all accepting it? Would that be okay? And in order to accept it don't you have to think about it? At least a little?

Yes. You do. So here I am, thinking about it and writing about it and daring to say that my mothers death at such a young age has affected me, and still ,to this day, at the ripe old age of 43 I'm still that scared little girl, so sad that she is gone forever, and so scared that it's going to happen to me. 

I don't want it to happen to me. Who does, right? But given my condition I think it's time I find a way to be okay with it. And the only way I can think of to do that is to acknowledge it. To stop pretending that we're all going to live forever and that's it's not okay to talk about the fact that we're not. And then I can acknowledge that despite my fate, despite the fate of everyone, I am still here now. I'm still here with some issues and problems, but I'm also still here with dreams and ideas and a whole long list of things I still want to do. I can try to accept the fact that all of this will be over one day so long as I also try to make sure I'm having the most authentic and enjoyable journey that I can possibly have for me. My journey won't look like yours or his or hers and it really is time that I realize that and start to believe that it's okay. That, of course, requires a lot of letting go. Letting go of ideals, and old ideas, and thought patterns that were never even mine in the first place. It requires forgetting who I thought I was supposed to be and who I thought other people wanted me to be and remembering who I really am. What I really like and don't like. What makes me comfortable and what doesn't. Accepting anything is work and it doesn't have to be done all at once, but it does have to start somewhere.

Right now, today, it starts here.
I love you, mommy.

Torn

Okay, so maybe that's a little drastic, but you get the point.  This one line could pretty much sum up my entire life and the way I've felt since I can remember being able to feel. To be more accurate and little less violent, it started out more like.....I hate everyone or nobody loves me. This was, of course, when I was four or five, and I challenge anyone to find a child an alcoholic who didn't cry themselves to sleep to the tune of nobody loves me.

The sentiment still rings true, however It's still very black and white. Polar opposites.  My two main emotions/feelings/beliefs when dealing with conflict of any kind.  When being let down, or hurt, or lied to. When being ignored, overlooked, or dismissed. I will either believe you don't love me or I will believe that I fucking hate you. I will believe it with my whole heart. Or, I would, if a heart had the ability to believe anything. I will believe it with my whole brain. Why do you think that is? I'm only asking because I don't know for sure. Is it because of my brain and the black and white thinking being part of my biological make up? Or is it simply because when I was a little girl people fucked me up and I never learned how to think any other way? I don't know those answers. I just know that this is beyond a shadow of a doubt, the way it is.

I've often joked that "I hate people."  And when I say joke, what I really mean is, I've often said it jokingly so it would appear to be a joke, when in reality, I think I fucking hate people. Not all people of course. And not all the time, although there are some people I do hate all the time.  Is that awful? It is, isn't it?  I sounds awful.  Hate sounds awful. Maybe it's not really HATE.  Maybe it's more like dislike, or can't deal with, or don't understand. That sounds better, I think.  There are most definitely people who LOVE people.  They just adore everyone and they'll say it as often as they can for anyone who will listen. "I just LOVE people. I'm a people person."  I am not one of them. I'm not made from the gene pool. I think it's great that someone could love everyone, but I can't.  I've only truly loved a handful of people so far.

I don't know where I'm going with this to be honest. I guess maybe I'm just being honest. I'm still dealing with some shit that has almost put me in a permanent state of  "I don't give a fuck".  I do think that is a real state of being.  It exists and some people are lucky enough to get to live there.  I'm also angry.  One way to be sure that I'm angry is to count how many time I use the word FUCK. If it's more than twice, I'm most likely angry. Maybe this is good. Maybe it means I'm coming out the well finally, and this is how I do it.

I have a lot of decisions to make, or at least I feel like I do,  Smart decisions that enhance my well being instead of kicking my well being in the balls. (My well being is obviously male)  I feel like I have been in a state of limbo and I don't ever fair well in that state. The black and white thinking, remember. I'm fairly certain I'm still not in a decision making frame of mind. If you're not sure why, just refer to this entire post.

Anyway. I feel a little less angry after getting to type Fuck so much.  It really is nice release.

Prozac Nation

It's been a while since I've had the energy to visit this place.  I always find myself back here though. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

A lot has happened since the Thanksgiving incident. The mystery behind said incident wasn't much of a mystery at all. Just a classic case of being forgotten. There was no apology, of course. No, "oh shit!  I don't know how we could have forgotten to invite you!  I'm sorry. " I find that when people screw up they prefer to just forget it and wish that you would too. I pretty much have, but the next incident that occurred, which caused me to forget it, was much worse. Roughly a month later, we lost a family member, David.  David, technically was not "family" by blood or even marriage, but he was my aunts boyfriend for about 15 years, and held as much, if not more, weight as any family member I've ever had.  It was completely unexpected.  I hadn't even known he had been sick or in the hospital until I finally spoke with my aunt a week before Christmas.  I called her on Saturday that weekend and she said she was back at the hospital and he wasn't doing well. The next day I had two missed calls one right after the other, and I knew.  That night was spent at his house with all of the people we spent summer camping trips and cookouts with year after year. It was a difficult night. It was a difficult Christmas and a difficult couple of weeks after that.

Dealing with death isn't something I know how to do. Maybe no one does. I tend to stuff it down as deep as possible, but even then I know that it has happened.  This was the second loss of someone close in the same year and both shook me to my core. Not just the loss, but both deaths caused me to question everything in my life, and question my own mortality. I'm told this is normal. What probably isn't normal is that it also made me want to pack my bags and run.  Run away from everything and everyone that I know. As far as I could get. I didn't. Mostly because, right now, I can't.

In anticipation of the New Year, I tried to really figure out what I could do to make things better. To make myself better. To make my life better.  I tried to really figure out what it was that I needed.  I thought I had. I thought I knew.  The first couple of weeks were even okay. Sort of.

These second two are going to be a struggle.  It's already started.  I'm not sure if it's PMDD or if it's the aftermath of a shitty Holiday Season or if it's AS, or Bi-polar disorder, or just your normal run of the mill bout of Depression.  I can't name it.  All I can do is feel it.  I tried hard to turn tragedy into something positive.  I've even tried to be social and connect with people. Either the timing is off or I just don't get a response. The people that haven't responded to me are slowly being crossed off my list, and my world just keeps shrinking. I don't even know if that is a good thing or a bad thing.  It just is.

I'm not feeling a whole lot of anxiety right now, which leads me to believe that this is probably some sort of depression. Depression is almost the opposite of Anxiety.  It brings a sense of relief.  You stop being afraid of things like dying because living becomes so hard. Also unlike Anxiety, which tends to bring agitation, Depression brings anger. ANGER. The dark, mean kind. The, I fucking hate you kind.

This will probably pass. It always has in the past. But right now, it truly feels like hell. It feels like being at the bottom of a well. There is nothing around you but darkness. There is no way out. It's cold and lonely. You keep thinking someone will come and you'll hear them yell down to you that they are there and they're going to help you out. But they don't come. They don't even know you are down there and there's no way for you to tell them. Even if they did come, you'd probably just yell at them. Tell them to go away because you don't want them or need them. In fact, right now, you fucking hate them. Or if you didn't yell, you would just stay perfectly quiet until they gave up and walked away. It doesn't make any sense, but I don't think it's supposed to.  Nothing makes a whole lot of sense when you're in the well.

From here I just push through when I have to, or sit still and wait when I can.  There is very little I can do, short of deciding to take anti-depressants again. I can't stop it. I can't even shorten it.  I can't snap out of it, or cheer up, or think positive. I can't just think of something else, or get out my own head. I know all of this, and while knowing it doesn't make it any less painful, it does help in a way. It helps because part of the desperation comes from trying to do all of those things that you can't do. You think you should be able to. People tell you you should be able to. And when you can't, you feel hopeless. Lost forever in the darkness with no end. Knowing and accepting the fact that you have to wait and that you don't have the power over this does help. A little.

Hope, who is still learning..

Thanksgiving

It sucks to be excluded. Everyone who has ever been excluded knows this.  People who have never been excluded know nothing about it. They are normally the ones doing the excluding.  I could be generalizing, but for the most part, generally, this is pretty much true.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving and I probably would have posted then, if the power hadn't have been out. Thanksgiving is all about being thankful and family and probably being thankful for family.  I did my best,  I swear I did. The first winter storm brought along a power outage that started at 2pm the day before,  and pretty much made the whole experience stressful.  No heat. No water. No cooking dinner. No lights. You get the idea. We had a brief period of the power coming back on.  Just enough time to get the turkey in the oven and cook for an hour. We finally gave up and went out to eat at a local restaurant, just the three of us. That part was nice but for the most part it was an experience I'd rather forget, and yet the loss of power wasn't the most disappointing.

The disappointing part was watching, via social media (because there was nothing else to do but browse my phone apps), everyone getting ready to spend the Holiday with their friends and family, while we had been waiting right up until the last minute and never got an invite from mine. I've spend many Thanksgivings with them since my divorce and had gotten to feel as though I was maybe a "part" of that. In fact, we had gotten an invite from my BF's uncle and turned it down. At the time I actually thought that I would like to spend it with my family this year. Just thinking that now makes me feel stupid and something else that I can't even fully describe.  Embarrassed maybe. Embarrassed for myself. For assuming. For letting myself think that I was a part of something. The feeling almost makes me want to throw up.

By afternoon when the power hadn't come on we were told "We could come over if we had no power."  That also made me want to throw up.  Thank you? I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. How am I supposed to feel? Like a charity case.

Being excluded sucks. Plain an simple. It's happened too many times in my life to even count.  There are many reasons for being excluded, although I don't know why it was this time, and I can't stop myself from ruminating over it. It could be that we are not a "part" of the family. It could be because they don't like me/us.  It could be because they heard about the therapy or the AS.  It could be because the last time they were around my son, he talked their ears off. Maybe they don't like my BF. It could also be that they forgot. I've been overlooked more times than not and then blamed for it because I'm too quiet. It could be for any reason or any combination of reasons, none of which I will ever really know. All I do know is that it sucks. You try to reason with yourself or make excuses. You tell yourself you really didn't want to go anyway, because being around too many people is exhausting. You tell yourself it's for the best because, honestly, you really were just hoping for a quiet day for the three of you. You tell yourself you don't really care, or that you shouldn't really care. And then you ruminate some more, because it sucks, and because you do care. Because even though you know you don't fit, you still want to belong somewhere. Because even though your son may prefer to be alone more often than not, you still want him to grown up with some sort of "family" and memories. Because even though you have the option of saying no, and can, and should sometimes, you still want to be asked. Because being excluded and overlooked makes you feel irrelevant, even in your own life. It reinforces all of the horrible things you believe about yourself, that you know you're not supposed to think or believe.

And what do you do in a situation like this?  Do you just keep quiet?  Do you just write a blog post in an attempt to stop the racing thoughts and questions?  Do you say something?  Is it even acceptable to ask why we didn't get an invite this year, because honestly that is what my first instinct to do was, but I'm all too often asking or saying things that I shouldn't or that people don't want me to.  I really don't even know.

I know I shouldn't let this bother me. I've been independent, on my own, and alone for so many years now that I'm okay with it and I can do it well. I've also been excluded enough to realize that when it happens it's usually because it's not where you were meant to be.  My rational side knows this and will most likely take over after I'm done feeling hurt, angry, foolish and broken.

Someday, I'm sure,  I will be thankful for the lesson, even if I don't know exactly what it is today.

Meltdown

So today I'm having trouble with everything.  Fucking winter is on it's way and that in itself is enough to make life more difficult to deal with.  My normal state of being is a state of stress. This is constant that never seems to let up, no matter how I try to get to an easier place.  More schedule changes have the next two months looking like hell. Not MY schedule changes, mind you.  Everyone else's.  I'm sick of the trickle down effect.  I know I'm supposed to just accept change, but that's never going to happen.  None of the major recent changes in my life, and work schedule have had anything to do with me, and it's really pissing me off.  How is everyone else's life more important than mine?  How is everyone else's work more important?  Why am I always having to remind people that "I have to work." ?  Jesus Christ.  If I don't, we don't survive.  The bills don't get paid and we don't get to eat. How is that not important?  I sometimes think, everyone thinks I just pull money out of my ass and I can magically do everything, without ever having any down time, or ever getting to enjoy my life. That is not the case. Not even close. I'm seriously about ready to explode from be saddled with the majority of the responsibility for so fucking long.  For some insane reason I have the urge to throw everything in the house outside.  In the cold and the rain.  Irrational thoughts. I'm aware of that, but that doesn't keep them from finding their way in.  I don't deal with my emotions well.  That's obvious. All I know is I'm pissed off and I want to DO something. Throwing everything outside seems like a better option than banging my head against a wall. Right?  I actually did this as a child, when I lived with my birth mother.  When something would piss me off, all the check-out aisle toys I owned went out the window of our second floor studio apartment.  As much sense as it doesn't make, it did seem to make me feel better. But I'm a grown up now.  I still don't know how to deal with these "feelings" so I'm writing everything down in a rambling fashion without a second thought to what the fuck I'm saying.  That, in a sense, is throwing all my shit out the window, isn't it?

I can't waste too  much time here dumping my shit, because I obviously am not going to have too much time to fill orders at the busiest time of the year.  I'm not sure what I can do to bring myself to a better place.  Normal people know what to do. I don't know how to make my heart stop racing, and to make my muscles loosen their grip.  This is what unexpected change does to me. Each and every fucking time.  I start to see no option but to separate myself from everyone.  To take complete and total control over my own life.  This will make my life small. People will say I'm a control freak.  I'm not.  I don't care what you do so long as it doesn't affect me. I'm rigid. I'm never going to NOT be rigid. 42 years on this earth has taught me that. I just need to find a way to not just exist in a world that's constantly changing, late, irresponsible, forgetful, messy, chaotic, and loud, but I need find a way to be happy here. To not live in a constant state of stress. Right now, in this moment, I can honestly say, I don't know how to do that.  That all of the baby steps I've been taking have been wiped clean and I'm back to square one.