I've not been feeling well lately. I've been pretty depressed as of late, and haven't had the energy to do anything. One of the things I haven't had the energy to do lately is blog. For the last week, every day I've thought, "I should blog". Then I sigh, and say, "Tomorrow".
My husband and I are finally leaving his aunt's house in 6 days. I can't wait to leave. But I'm anxious about traveling to my parents house, mainly because we are flying with our dogs. I'm so anxious about how they are going to hold up. I won't feel better until I'm carrying them off the plane at our final destination. And I keep having this nagging thought that as soon as we get back from our trip, we are going to live with the hubby's mother. This thought is hanging over my head, and it sucks because I have a whole month with my parents. This isn't something I should be dwelling on yet. I hate that I will probably spend the majority of my time at home dreading coming back.
It also makes it almost impossible to be around the hubby's aunt. I'm seeing red. I hate her. I curse her in my head. She says the most reprehensible things. She was on a rampage yesterday. Thinking about it today, I wonder if she was trying to provoke me. She started off saying that I had a lot of work to do once our home is built, and she doesn't envy all the work I have to do. Umm, first of all, I'm looking forward to cleaning everything and making everything sparkle. Second, I can't wait to decorate. I told her I was looking forward to it, and she said, "Of course you are. You haven't done anything in 4 months. It's like you've been on vacation." Really? Really? Vacuuming your furniture and house everyday, dusting, cleaning the bathroom, and cooking meals for you most of the week constitutes doing nothing? Thanks so much.
The conversation moved somehow, someway to how much she hates her husband's daughter, whom he had with his first wife. She said she hated that kid from the start (the child was 4 when she met her husband), and she wouldn't have anything to do with it. She said if her husband had wanted to maintain a relationship with his daughter, she would never have stayed with him. I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. What a disgusting excuse for a human being she is. Now, this gets complicated. The hubby's aunt and uncle are both his biological aunt and uncle, because his mother and his aunt married a set of brothers. My husband's father abandoned my husband much the way his uncle abandoned his daughter. And Aunt has the audacity to say that it bothers her my husband doesn't view his biological father as his father. My husband's stepfather raised him, and he is who my husband views as "Dad". I couldn't believe she said that. I said, "Do you think Uncle's (her husband) daughter views him as her father? I guarantee she doesn't, much the way that my husband doesn't view the person that abandoned him as his father." She actually said I had a point there. Unbelievable. She then said that Uncle's mother never liked her, and if he had wanted to maintain a relationship with her, she also never would have married him. Well, isn't this the pot calling the kettle black! Aunt hates her daughter-in-law (and daughter-in-law knows this) but she still expects her daughter-in-law to be around her all the time. Such hypocrisy!
I think at this point I told her I had a headache, and retired to my room. When her husband got home, I hear her telling Uncle how much she hates having us there. She said she is so sick of people slowing down to look at our newly constructed house. She goes on to say she must have been crazy to agree to let us stay here. She is so hurtful.
She is the most bitter, unhappy woman I've ever met. She doesn't have my sympathy anymore though. Everything bad that happens to her, she has brought on herself with her mouth and her meanness. Ugh, 6 days is feeling way too long at this point. I think (in my non-professional opinion) that she is the reason I've been so depressed the last month or so. I can't wait to be away from her negative attitude and energy.
One last story before I shut up for the evening and stop my bitching. Two weeks ago, Aunt and Uncle went out of town to stay with their son. On the day they were supposed to come back, I guess Aunt downed a large amount of margaritas. She ended up getting so drunk she told her husband she hated him and she wanted to leave them in front of their son and his wife. On their way home, Uncle had to pull over 5-6 times to let her puke. When they got to the house, they sat in the car for 30 minutes and I guess she puked 2 more times in the driveway. We (husband and I) were standing in the kitchen when she came in, hair matted to her head and wearing sunglasses. She stumbled past us and didn't say a word, just went to her room. It was a Sunday, so she called in sick to work the next day with a "stomach virus". So irresponsible. Once again, she proclaims she will never drink again.
When pigs fly. Snort.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
About That...
I just realized today that since I wrote about my friend D's abandonment of me, that I haven't been thinking about her as much. I haven't been searching for her on Facebook as much, and not scouring the Internet for her, looking for any tidbits of information. Yes, I have a problem with cyber-stalking. So sue me. I have a hard time getting over past hurt's, and D was one of many. I thought maybe if I wrote about another past hurt, the same thing would happen? It's worth a shot.
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
Friday, August 31, 2012
Mad At The World.
I've woken up on the wrong side of the bed for the last 3 days. The news has been upsetting me. Hurricane Isaac hasn't helped, it's only made the bad mood worse. I can't stand seeing all the flooding, evacuations, people and pets made homeless, and the unfathomable destruction. It makes my heart hurt.
In my opinion, this unshakeable bad mood has been brought about by dreading the weekend. Yes, the husband's aunt is making us leave for the weekend AGAIN. I'm not looking forward to staying with the husband's mom. I hate his aunt. I can't wait until we leave to go to my parent's house. I just wish I could stay there until the house is done. I honestly don't know how I'm going to be nice to Aunt after we move out. She is the most ugly person I've ever met. Not talking about looks, either...
Also contributing to the bad mood is my weight. I feel so out of control lately. I'm still 11 lbs over my normal weight, and it's driving me crazy! I've been on a diet for the last 2 weeks, and doing an hour of cardio 5 times a week, and yet I feel like I'm continuing to get bigger. The scale hasn't moved in the last 3 weeks, so I'm not gaining weight. But am I gaining inches? I feel like I am. I usually don't have to diet, working out allows me to eat what I want. But not right now. I am drinking more than usual, I think that's a huge factor. I wish I could stay away from the stuff, but sometimes I feel like it's the only way to deal with Aunt. Or the only way to deal, period. I'm just so unhappy. My husband says my weight will stabilize once we are out of here, but I can't stand feeling so heavy during this time period, no matter how short.
My body is so tired. An hour of cardio is hard. I definitely forced it yesterday. My body was sore and screaming at me to stop, but I kept going. I'm paying for it today, I hurt everywhere. I'm at an impasse today. I should do an hour of cardio, since I know I'm going to my mother-in-law's for 3 days and I will eat nothing but fast food. But I hurt. I may do 30 minutes of cardio, and an hour of yoga. To compromise. It's just so frustrating, usually my weight and body is the one thing I can control. I feel like I have none right now.
The urge to cut is high right now. I've held strong, and stayed away, but it's always there. Especially with the impending stay with my mother-in-law. Never do I want to cut as much as I do when I'm there. Yesterday I was smoking a cigarette, and kept having the urge to burn my arm. What would the husband say about that? I don't even know. I do know I would be in a lot of trouble. Also, once I start, it won't stop. Self-control will go out the window and I will compulsively just do it. Like everything else I'm addicted to.
Argh, I just want to scream. Lately, I feel like all the rage and all the frustration is bubbling so close to the surface. I feel like I'm going to explode, and have a massive melt-down. I'm trying desperately to keep that from happening, I know no good will come of it. No good. I've only 3 more weeks until I'm out of here. 3 more weeks. That's what I keep telling myself.
I'm just so mad. Mad at everything and everyone.
In my opinion, this unshakeable bad mood has been brought about by dreading the weekend. Yes, the husband's aunt is making us leave for the weekend AGAIN. I'm not looking forward to staying with the husband's mom. I hate his aunt. I can't wait until we leave to go to my parent's house. I just wish I could stay there until the house is done. I honestly don't know how I'm going to be nice to Aunt after we move out. She is the most ugly person I've ever met. Not talking about looks, either...
Also contributing to the bad mood is my weight. I feel so out of control lately. I'm still 11 lbs over my normal weight, and it's driving me crazy! I've been on a diet for the last 2 weeks, and doing an hour of cardio 5 times a week, and yet I feel like I'm continuing to get bigger. The scale hasn't moved in the last 3 weeks, so I'm not gaining weight. But am I gaining inches? I feel like I am. I usually don't have to diet, working out allows me to eat what I want. But not right now. I am drinking more than usual, I think that's a huge factor. I wish I could stay away from the stuff, but sometimes I feel like it's the only way to deal with Aunt. Or the only way to deal, period. I'm just so unhappy. My husband says my weight will stabilize once we are out of here, but I can't stand feeling so heavy during this time period, no matter how short.
My body is so tired. An hour of cardio is hard. I definitely forced it yesterday. My body was sore and screaming at me to stop, but I kept going. I'm paying for it today, I hurt everywhere. I'm at an impasse today. I should do an hour of cardio, since I know I'm going to my mother-in-law's for 3 days and I will eat nothing but fast food. But I hurt. I may do 30 minutes of cardio, and an hour of yoga. To compromise. It's just so frustrating, usually my weight and body is the one thing I can control. I feel like I have none right now.
The urge to cut is high right now. I've held strong, and stayed away, but it's always there. Especially with the impending stay with my mother-in-law. Never do I want to cut as much as I do when I'm there. Yesterday I was smoking a cigarette, and kept having the urge to burn my arm. What would the husband say about that? I don't even know. I do know I would be in a lot of trouble. Also, once I start, it won't stop. Self-control will go out the window and I will compulsively just do it. Like everything else I'm addicted to.
Argh, I just want to scream. Lately, I feel like all the rage and all the frustration is bubbling so close to the surface. I feel like I'm going to explode, and have a massive melt-down. I'm trying desperately to keep that from happening, I know no good will come of it. No good. I've only 3 more weeks until I'm out of here. 3 more weeks. That's what I keep telling myself.
I'm just so mad. Mad at everything and everyone.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Time For A Break
I need to get out of here.
My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.
Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.
Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.
I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.
Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.
My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.
Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.
Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.
I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.
Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Weekend In Hell
*********There is some pretty frank language in this entry. Do not read if you are so dainty as to not want to read some cursing. I warned you.******************
It was a really shitty weekend.
I mean, really shitty. The husband's aunt asked us to go and stay with my husband's mother from Friday-Sunday. I say ask, but I really mean told. Here's what she said, "Uncle and I talked. You guys are to be out of the house this weekend. Go stay with Husband's Mom". Well, thanks, you crazy bitch. Supposedly, so her and the Uncle can have some alone time. Like that's going to happen, I thought in my head, wishing I could kill her with my thoughts alone.
I loathe staying at my husband's mother's home. Really, really loathe staying there. She lives in a single wide trailer that she never cleans. The house is filthy. An inch of dirt on everything. Cobwebs are in every corner. Bits of food and nicotine gum tossed on the floor, in corners. Not good when you have 2 little dogs that like play Hoover vacuums all around the house. Trash lid soiled with old food. A fridge also soiled with old food, inside and out. Dead flies and heavy dust on the windowsills. The bathroom, oh, the bathroom. I shutter to think about it. She doesn't keep any food in the house, so we ate fast food all weekend. McDonald's, Little Caesar's, Subway, Arby's. My stomach hurt so bad by the time it was time to leave. Her house is in an apparent dead zone. She doesn't have Internet, and I couldn't get service on my phone, let alone 4G Internet service. She watches TV 24 hours a day, so we just sat there for 4 damn days, watching TV. The worst part of everything about staying with her? She smokes in the house. This is not light smoking either. We are talking a pack a day.
I get extremely agitated and anxious when I stay for too long at my mother-in-law's house. I also get a severely stuffed up, snotty nose. I always thought it was the filth that bothered me about her house, but after being forced to spend 4 days there this weekend, I realized why. My grandma used to smoke in her house. My mother-in-law's house smells exactly like my grandma's house from when I was a child.
My husband was working night's this weekend, so I slept alone at my MIL's house. I slept every night for exactly 4 hours, and woke up to the smell of smoke. My MIL is bipolar, and her behavior is extremely erratic. She is just starting on her manic phase right now, so she is not sleeping at night. She sits in her living room, and chain smokes. There is a hefty crack between the floor and the door of the room that I was sleeping in, so I woke up every night, smelling cigarette smoke. And every night, I had a trembling panic attack. I had them during the day too, don't get me wrong, but the night ones were the worst. I cried every night. Cried until I was exhausted and somehow, managed to fall back asleep for an hour.
My husband has asked his mother not to smoke inside when we are there, but she doesn't listen and/or care during her manic phases. She'll not smoke when he's there, or when I'm awake, but as soon as she thinks I'm asleep, BAM! She pulls out that pack so fast, and lights them up for a couple of hours. Maybe she thinks I don't know, but for god's sake woman, you live in a single wide trailer. You ain't hiding shit from anyone.
The husband's stupid fucking aunt called my MIL constantly all weekend. On Friday, her and Uncle left the house. All day. All damn day. So we had to go stay in a dark, dirty, moldy hole so you could go shopping, out for drinks, to a movie, more shopping, and out to dinner? Thanks, you fucking cunt. On Saturday, Uncle left to play cornhole. On Sunday, Uncle left to play cornhole. Are you fucking serious? Are you fucking serious? I saw red most of the weekend, so consumed in my hatred of Aunt was I. I'm still pretty pissed. If I could find a way to do it, I would take my damn dogs and go stay with my parents until the fucking house was done. But they live 2700 miles away, and one person cannot fly with 2 dogs, damnit.
The husband and I just got back today. I'm pasting a big, fat, fake smile on my fucking face and acting like everything is just peachy-fucking king. Aunt had the nerve to say to me when I got home, "Thanks so much for leaving for the weekend! We just had the best time!".
Fucking whore.
It was a really shitty weekend.
I mean, really shitty. The husband's aunt asked us to go and stay with my husband's mother from Friday-Sunday. I say ask, but I really mean told. Here's what she said, "Uncle and I talked. You guys are to be out of the house this weekend. Go stay with Husband's Mom". Well, thanks, you crazy bitch. Supposedly, so her and the Uncle can have some alone time. Like that's going to happen, I thought in my head, wishing I could kill her with my thoughts alone.
I loathe staying at my husband's mother's home. Really, really loathe staying there. She lives in a single wide trailer that she never cleans. The house is filthy. An inch of dirt on everything. Cobwebs are in every corner. Bits of food and nicotine gum tossed on the floor, in corners. Not good when you have 2 little dogs that like play Hoover vacuums all around the house. Trash lid soiled with old food. A fridge also soiled with old food, inside and out. Dead flies and heavy dust on the windowsills. The bathroom, oh, the bathroom. I shutter to think about it. She doesn't keep any food in the house, so we ate fast food all weekend. McDonald's, Little Caesar's, Subway, Arby's. My stomach hurt so bad by the time it was time to leave. Her house is in an apparent dead zone. She doesn't have Internet, and I couldn't get service on my phone, let alone 4G Internet service. She watches TV 24 hours a day, so we just sat there for 4 damn days, watching TV. The worst part of everything about staying with her? She smokes in the house. This is not light smoking either. We are talking a pack a day.
I get extremely agitated and anxious when I stay for too long at my mother-in-law's house. I also get a severely stuffed up, snotty nose. I always thought it was the filth that bothered me about her house, but after being forced to spend 4 days there this weekend, I realized why. My grandma used to smoke in her house. My mother-in-law's house smells exactly like my grandma's house from when I was a child.
My husband was working night's this weekend, so I slept alone at my MIL's house. I slept every night for exactly 4 hours, and woke up to the smell of smoke. My MIL is bipolar, and her behavior is extremely erratic. She is just starting on her manic phase right now, so she is not sleeping at night. She sits in her living room, and chain smokes. There is a hefty crack between the floor and the door of the room that I was sleeping in, so I woke up every night, smelling cigarette smoke. And every night, I had a trembling panic attack. I had them during the day too, don't get me wrong, but the night ones were the worst. I cried every night. Cried until I was exhausted and somehow, managed to fall back asleep for an hour.
My husband has asked his mother not to smoke inside when we are there, but she doesn't listen and/or care during her manic phases. She'll not smoke when he's there, or when I'm awake, but as soon as she thinks I'm asleep, BAM! She pulls out that pack so fast, and lights them up for a couple of hours. Maybe she thinks I don't know, but for god's sake woman, you live in a single wide trailer. You ain't hiding shit from anyone.
The husband's stupid fucking aunt called my MIL constantly all weekend. On Friday, her and Uncle left the house. All day. All damn day. So we had to go stay in a dark, dirty, moldy hole so you could go shopping, out for drinks, to a movie, more shopping, and out to dinner? Thanks, you fucking cunt. On Saturday, Uncle left to play cornhole. On Sunday, Uncle left to play cornhole. Are you fucking serious? Are you fucking serious? I saw red most of the weekend, so consumed in my hatred of Aunt was I. I'm still pretty pissed. If I could find a way to do it, I would take my damn dogs and go stay with my parents until the fucking house was done. But they live 2700 miles away, and one person cannot fly with 2 dogs, damnit.
The husband and I just got back today. I'm pasting a big, fat, fake smile on my fucking face and acting like everything is just peachy-fucking king. Aunt had the nerve to say to me when I got home, "Thanks so much for leaving for the weekend! We just had the best time!".
Fucking whore.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Weathering A Storm
I've had a rough week. Over the weekend, I had 2 panic attacks of a pretty size-able scale. I've been muddling through this week, because after the weekend I've felt drained, apathetic, and down. I'm trying to do all my normal stuff to recover from the aftermath, but it's always slow going after these ordeals.
It should have been a fun and relaxing weekend. My husband and I went to visit his cousin and his wife at their lake house in a neighboring state. It was a long drive through a mountain range, where we ran into some rough weather. The last hour of our trip had us driving through a severe thunderstorm. The rain was pounding down so hard, I couldn't see through the windshield. My husband (along with everyone else on the interstate) flipped his emergency lights on and slowed to a crawl. I don't handle bad driving conditions very well, even though I'm always the passenger. But I still managed to hold myself together by holding on for dear life to my seat.
Already the weekend was off to a rocky start. But, the weather cleared up about 5 miles from our destination and when we arrived, we both settled in with some drinks. We'd been there for about an hour when my husband's cousin got itchy to take his boat out. I was apprehensive. It was late in the day, and there still looked like more storms coming in. But the cousin was adamant. So off we all go, in the boat. Sure enough, we'd been out on the water for 3 hours when a nasty, threatening black cloud appeared over the lake. The husband's cousin had started heading for shore, but we hadn't even made it yet when the downpour started. That's all I remember.
My husband said I had begun shaking violently when the rain started, and that I passed out. Good thing too, because the husband's cousin drove all the way back to the lake house with everyone still in the back of the boat. Through a thunderstorm. With lightening. Smart kid, that one. The next thing I remember, was being in the guest room, changing out of my soaking wet clothes. And I was tired as hell. And not a bit drunk, so I didn't pass out from excess of alcohol. When I went to sleep that night, I didn't wake up until morning. Unusual for me.
I felt like I was underwater the next morning. Foggy, unclear, and slow. But, it was a sunny day so everyone dressed for a day on the boat. I told myself it would be ok, I would just lay in the back of the boat and sunbathe. No big deal. We hadn't been out on the lake very long when the beer started flowing. The beer didn't stop flowing for 8 hours. I was drunk as a skunk by late afternoon. I made a questionable decision when I decided to jump off a 25-foot drop with everyone else. Not something I probably would have felt the need to do sober. I just remember standing at the edge of that drop-off and not caring. Not caring one bit as I stepped off and free-fell. I had a life-jacket on, so I guess it makes this dumb-ass decision a smidge more safe. Everyone decided to head back to the house shortly after everyone jumped off the rocks.
I played it safe (for once) and didn't drink anything, but water the rest of the night. One of my better decisions that weekend. After a long day of drinking and sun, everyone was in bed early. I was laying in bed with my husband, and my mind was going to overdrive. My husband's aunt and uncle (who we are living with currently) were watching our dogs for us, and I began to have the persistent thought that something bad could and/or would happen while we were gone. I thought about how I would feel if one of them were hit by a car, or snatched by a coyote. How I would never forgive the husband's aunt or uncle, and how I would buy a one-way ticket home and stay with my parents, until the house was built. How it would take a toll on my marriage, and how my husband would feel. But mostly, how overwhelming my hatred would be if something were to happen. I lost control in that moment, and I couldn't control the anxiety. It was too much to bear. I began shaking really. Again. This panic attack lasted for about 15 minutes, time of which I alternately felt like I was having a heart attack and that I just couldn't breathe. I think I finally wore myself out, and that's how I calmed down. I was just plain scared.
Needless to say, I was even more exhausted the next day than I was the day before. We headed for home that day, and arrived back at the house with not a hair out of place on either dog. It's now Thursday, and I feel like I'm still recovering from the weekend. I've stayed home this week, completed my workouts, ate healthy, avoided alcohol, and in general tried to stay calm. I've been experiencing mild, intermittent anxiety this week, but I'm hoping I'll start to feel better. One of these days.
It should have been a fun and relaxing weekend. My husband and I went to visit his cousin and his wife at their lake house in a neighboring state. It was a long drive through a mountain range, where we ran into some rough weather. The last hour of our trip had us driving through a severe thunderstorm. The rain was pounding down so hard, I couldn't see through the windshield. My husband (along with everyone else on the interstate) flipped his emergency lights on and slowed to a crawl. I don't handle bad driving conditions very well, even though I'm always the passenger. But I still managed to hold myself together by holding on for dear life to my seat.
Already the weekend was off to a rocky start. But, the weather cleared up about 5 miles from our destination and when we arrived, we both settled in with some drinks. We'd been there for about an hour when my husband's cousin got itchy to take his boat out. I was apprehensive. It was late in the day, and there still looked like more storms coming in. But the cousin was adamant. So off we all go, in the boat. Sure enough, we'd been out on the water for 3 hours when a nasty, threatening black cloud appeared over the lake. The husband's cousin had started heading for shore, but we hadn't even made it yet when the downpour started. That's all I remember.
My husband said I had begun shaking violently when the rain started, and that I passed out. Good thing too, because the husband's cousin drove all the way back to the lake house with everyone still in the back of the boat. Through a thunderstorm. With lightening. Smart kid, that one. The next thing I remember, was being in the guest room, changing out of my soaking wet clothes. And I was tired as hell. And not a bit drunk, so I didn't pass out from excess of alcohol. When I went to sleep that night, I didn't wake up until morning. Unusual for me.
I felt like I was underwater the next morning. Foggy, unclear, and slow. But, it was a sunny day so everyone dressed for a day on the boat. I told myself it would be ok, I would just lay in the back of the boat and sunbathe. No big deal. We hadn't been out on the lake very long when the beer started flowing. The beer didn't stop flowing for 8 hours. I was drunk as a skunk by late afternoon. I made a questionable decision when I decided to jump off a 25-foot drop with everyone else. Not something I probably would have felt the need to do sober. I just remember standing at the edge of that drop-off and not caring. Not caring one bit as I stepped off and free-fell. I had a life-jacket on, so I guess it makes this dumb-ass decision a smidge more safe. Everyone decided to head back to the house shortly after everyone jumped off the rocks.
I played it safe (for once) and didn't drink anything, but water the rest of the night. One of my better decisions that weekend. After a long day of drinking and sun, everyone was in bed early. I was laying in bed with my husband, and my mind was going to overdrive. My husband's aunt and uncle (who we are living with currently) were watching our dogs for us, and I began to have the persistent thought that something bad could and/or would happen while we were gone. I thought about how I would feel if one of them were hit by a car, or snatched by a coyote. How I would never forgive the husband's aunt or uncle, and how I would buy a one-way ticket home and stay with my parents, until the house was built. How it would take a toll on my marriage, and how my husband would feel. But mostly, how overwhelming my hatred would be if something were to happen. I lost control in that moment, and I couldn't control the anxiety. It was too much to bear. I began shaking really. Again. This panic attack lasted for about 15 minutes, time of which I alternately felt like I was having a heart attack and that I just couldn't breathe. I think I finally wore myself out, and that's how I calmed down. I was just plain scared.
Needless to say, I was even more exhausted the next day than I was the day before. We headed for home that day, and arrived back at the house with not a hair out of place on either dog. It's now Thursday, and I feel like I'm still recovering from the weekend. I've stayed home this week, completed my workouts, ate healthy, avoided alcohol, and in general tried to stay calm. I've been experiencing mild, intermittent anxiety this week, but I'm hoping I'll start to feel better. One of these days.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Lack of Privacy = Stressed Out
It's been almost 2 months since we moved in with my husband's aunt and uncle. Thankfully, construction on the home is in full swing, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dim.
The lack of privacy here is really getting to me. The husband's aunt only works part time, so she is around a lot. She talks a mile a minute, barely lets me get a word in edgewise, and if I leave the room, she follows me. Yet, she complains about us being here 24/7. The husband and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea we would be made to feel so unwanted, that we are a huge burden. Before we moved in, it was discussed that I would continue to cook. Once we moved in however, I was told I'm only allowed to cook Monday-Thursday. See, she doesn't trust me to clean her kitchen. She cleans it after every meal I make, and she doesn't want to clean Friday-Sunday. This means the husband and I have to eat out Friday- Sunday, which we hate. Not only is eating out a ton of calories, but it's also expensive! We are building a house here, we are supposed to be saving money.
I'm a very sensitive person, and being made to feel unwanted is taking a toll on me. I've been put under a tremendous amount of stress, and my body is showing it. I'm gaining weight steadily, even though I've been limiting drinking, eating healthy, and working out 4-5 times a week. The only thing I can figure is that I'm putting on weight due to stress. My skin is very blotchy and red right now, and I've got a couple of rashes over my body. Again, stress. Insomnia is in full swing. I've been depressed more days than not. This whole situation makes me so homesick. I keep thinking about my parents and how if we were in this situation with my parents, it would be so different. My parents would never make us feel unwanted, and they wouldn't care how long we stayed. We could stay a year, and they wouldn't care. They wouldn't complain about every single construction delay. They would love having us, I would be able to cook as much as I want, I could make healthy meals there with no complaints from anyone, and I wouldn't have to vacuum every.single.day. My parents love our dogs, and treat them like kids, just like us. They don't care about a stray dog hair, like us. They would not make us feel like our dogs are a burden. I would be able to leave for the weekend, leave the pups with my parents, and not worry.
I'm so frustrated at this point. I want out, but there really isn't anywhere for us to go. The husband's mother lives in a single wide trailer, plus her brother is living with her right now. The husband's sister has a 3-bedroom house, and 3 kids. The husband's cousin lives 2.5 hours away. We are stuck. We are being made to leave this weekend, to go and see the husband's cousin at his lake house. I was kind of looking forward to it, until I learned yesterday that his cousin has invited a lot of people this weekend, and the house will be full. The husband and I will be sleeping on a couch in the basement. Of course, we basically have to go because the husband's aunt has to be by herself.
Whatever. This whole experience doesn't make me likely to help her out in the future. Yes, she is doing us a favor by letting us stay here, but it's not such a gift when you bitch and moan every day, and make us feel like shit. My private thoughts may sound high-strung, but I appear very laid-back in person. Aunt said she couldn't imagine me being the type of person to hold a grudge. I actually laughed at her. Little does she know. I will never forget how she has treated us during this time period. I may forgive, but I will never forget.
The lack of privacy here is really getting to me. The husband's aunt only works part time, so she is around a lot. She talks a mile a minute, barely lets me get a word in edgewise, and if I leave the room, she follows me. Yet, she complains about us being here 24/7. The husband and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea we would be made to feel so unwanted, that we are a huge burden. Before we moved in, it was discussed that I would continue to cook. Once we moved in however, I was told I'm only allowed to cook Monday-Thursday. See, she doesn't trust me to clean her kitchen. She cleans it after every meal I make, and she doesn't want to clean Friday-Sunday. This means the husband and I have to eat out Friday- Sunday, which we hate. Not only is eating out a ton of calories, but it's also expensive! We are building a house here, we are supposed to be saving money.
I'm a very sensitive person, and being made to feel unwanted is taking a toll on me. I've been put under a tremendous amount of stress, and my body is showing it. I'm gaining weight steadily, even though I've been limiting drinking, eating healthy, and working out 4-5 times a week. The only thing I can figure is that I'm putting on weight due to stress. My skin is very blotchy and red right now, and I've got a couple of rashes over my body. Again, stress. Insomnia is in full swing. I've been depressed more days than not. This whole situation makes me so homesick. I keep thinking about my parents and how if we were in this situation with my parents, it would be so different. My parents would never make us feel unwanted, and they wouldn't care how long we stayed. We could stay a year, and they wouldn't care. They wouldn't complain about every single construction delay. They would love having us, I would be able to cook as much as I want, I could make healthy meals there with no complaints from anyone, and I wouldn't have to vacuum every.single.day. My parents love our dogs, and treat them like kids, just like us. They don't care about a stray dog hair, like us. They would not make us feel like our dogs are a burden. I would be able to leave for the weekend, leave the pups with my parents, and not worry.
I'm so frustrated at this point. I want out, but there really isn't anywhere for us to go. The husband's mother lives in a single wide trailer, plus her brother is living with her right now. The husband's sister has a 3-bedroom house, and 3 kids. The husband's cousin lives 2.5 hours away. We are stuck. We are being made to leave this weekend, to go and see the husband's cousin at his lake house. I was kind of looking forward to it, until I learned yesterday that his cousin has invited a lot of people this weekend, and the house will be full. The husband and I will be sleeping on a couch in the basement. Of course, we basically have to go because the husband's aunt has to be by herself.
Whatever. This whole experience doesn't make me likely to help her out in the future. Yes, she is doing us a favor by letting us stay here, but it's not such a gift when you bitch and moan every day, and make us feel like shit. My private thoughts may sound high-strung, but I appear very laid-back in person. Aunt said she couldn't imagine me being the type of person to hold a grudge. I actually laughed at her. Little does she know. I will never forget how she has treated us during this time period. I may forgive, but I will never forget.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Young Adult
Over the weekend, I watched "Young Adult" starring Charlize Theron. While it wasn't the best movie I've ever seen, it was a fearless character study. Charlize Theron plays a highly unlikeable woman, Mavis, who is obviously (in my non-professional opinion) mentally ill. Once the most beautiful and popular girl in her high school, she is now 37, but still mentally stuck in high school. Her character is incredibly self-absorbed, and selfish. Just like a child to never think about anyone but themselves.
Her apartment is disgusting, and for some reason, this woman has a dog. A dog that she never takes for walks, never gives water to, and that she locks in her hotel room alone for most of the movie. Her TV is always on reality TV, mostly "Keeping Up With The Kardashians". Her appetite for TV that a 16 year old would watch is just another facet of her mental immaturity. She is consistently drinking throughout the movie, so it appears she has an alcohol abuse problem as well. I think, as we all probably know, alcohol is going to exacerbate every problem she currently has. She gets an email one day that her former high-school boyfriend has just had a baby with his wife, and that is her wake-up call. It's like the thought suddenly dawned on her that her ex was not sitting home alone, and crying because he doesn't have her anymore. In her mind, she is so beautiful that everyone wants her. Just like a high schooler to think something so naive. And just like a high schooler to think that beauty is the only thing that matters, and that beauty would make a married man leave his wife.
She gets in her car, and drives to the town she grew up in, intent on whisking her ex away with her to big-city life. It never even crosses her mind that this man is married, happy, committed, content. He will obviously jump at the chance to be with her again, and leave his wife. Sigh. There is a lot more that happens in the movie, but what I'm walking away fascinated with is her character. Her character is the author of a young adult book series, which is fitting for her. Because she is likely forever 16 in her mind, she writes in a high school voice.
Her newest book, about a beautiful popular girl, is how Mavis thinks about herself. She changes the names of her characters, but the book is her thoughts. She talks about how her character, Kendall, is envied by everyone and how she is better than everyone. This is exactly how Mavis feels about herself. At the end of the movie, when she is rejected by the happily married man, in order to make peace with her mind, she kills off the love interest in her book. This is how she deals with the fact that she was rejected. Just kills him off. Because, of course, it wasn't her. It was him. It's so interesting that she couldn't have a breakup in her book, she had to completely kill him off in order to go on with her life. Nothing else, but death could explain why her character Kendall is not united with her love interest. It also shows how closely Mavis's real life is entwined with her novel life.
I think what drew me to this character is how similar she is to fantasy-me. I've always been drawn to writing, and I regularly write stories in my head. While I'm getting ready in the morning, I'm imagining a story in my head. When I'm cooking dinner, I'm writing another story. Cleaning the house? Lost in my imaginary world. And my fantasy-me is so beautiful that everyone immediately falls in love with her. Exes pine and never get over me. They think I'm the one that got away, and they would take me back in a second. This is a part of me that never manifests itself in my real life. In real life, I'm shy, awkward, and I wouldn't ever think that every single man I see wants me. In my head, my ex would leave his wife and family for me. In real life, I know this person is happily married and would never leave them in a million years.
I was just so drawn to this character. In Mavis, I saw a part of me that only exists in my head. In my head, I'm extremely narcissistic. I just don't care. I walk around saying whatever I want, to whoever I want. But to be a narcissist, I'm pretty sure you have to lack empathy, and empathy is not something I lack. I'm very happy that this part of me doesn't manifest, because let me tell you, it wasn't pretty to watch in a movie. Her delusional behavior was just that. Delusional.
Her apartment is disgusting, and for some reason, this woman has a dog. A dog that she never takes for walks, never gives water to, and that she locks in her hotel room alone for most of the movie. Her TV is always on reality TV, mostly "Keeping Up With The Kardashians". Her appetite for TV that a 16 year old would watch is just another facet of her mental immaturity. She is consistently drinking throughout the movie, so it appears she has an alcohol abuse problem as well. I think, as we all probably know, alcohol is going to exacerbate every problem she currently has. She gets an email one day that her former high-school boyfriend has just had a baby with his wife, and that is her wake-up call. It's like the thought suddenly dawned on her that her ex was not sitting home alone, and crying because he doesn't have her anymore. In her mind, she is so beautiful that everyone wants her. Just like a high schooler to think something so naive. And just like a high schooler to think that beauty is the only thing that matters, and that beauty would make a married man leave his wife.
She gets in her car, and drives to the town she grew up in, intent on whisking her ex away with her to big-city life. It never even crosses her mind that this man is married, happy, committed, content. He will obviously jump at the chance to be with her again, and leave his wife. Sigh. There is a lot more that happens in the movie, but what I'm walking away fascinated with is her character. Her character is the author of a young adult book series, which is fitting for her. Because she is likely forever 16 in her mind, she writes in a high school voice.
Her newest book, about a beautiful popular girl, is how Mavis thinks about herself. She changes the names of her characters, but the book is her thoughts. She talks about how her character, Kendall, is envied by everyone and how she is better than everyone. This is exactly how Mavis feels about herself. At the end of the movie, when she is rejected by the happily married man, in order to make peace with her mind, she kills off the love interest in her book. This is how she deals with the fact that she was rejected. Just kills him off. Because, of course, it wasn't her. It was him. It's so interesting that she couldn't have a breakup in her book, she had to completely kill him off in order to go on with her life. Nothing else, but death could explain why her character Kendall is not united with her love interest. It also shows how closely Mavis's real life is entwined with her novel life.
I think what drew me to this character is how similar she is to fantasy-me. I've always been drawn to writing, and I regularly write stories in my head. While I'm getting ready in the morning, I'm imagining a story in my head. When I'm cooking dinner, I'm writing another story. Cleaning the house? Lost in my imaginary world. And my fantasy-me is so beautiful that everyone immediately falls in love with her. Exes pine and never get over me. They think I'm the one that got away, and they would take me back in a second. This is a part of me that never manifests itself in my real life. In real life, I'm shy, awkward, and I wouldn't ever think that every single man I see wants me. In my head, my ex would leave his wife and family for me. In real life, I know this person is happily married and would never leave them in a million years.
I was just so drawn to this character. In Mavis, I saw a part of me that only exists in my head. In my head, I'm extremely narcissistic. I just don't care. I walk around saying whatever I want, to whoever I want. But to be a narcissist, I'm pretty sure you have to lack empathy, and empathy is not something I lack. I'm very happy that this part of me doesn't manifest, because let me tell you, it wasn't pretty to watch in a movie. Her delusional behavior was just that. Delusional.
Friday, July 20, 2012
What Would They Think?
************Trigger Warning**************
This is triggering for me, it may be triggering for you.
Early this morning, around 4 pm, my husband got up because he couldn't sleep. He went into the den to watch TV. I went back to sleep, and woke up around 5:30 because I knew it was about the time he went to work. I got up, and went into the den to get him. He was watching the news, about a mass shooting in Colorado at the screening of the new Batman movie.
My husband went to work, and I went back to bed. It took me quite awhile to fall back asleep, however. I couldn't stop thinking about how disgusting the human race is.
Events where masses of innocent people die are a trigger for me. The morning of the massive earthquake in Japan, I cried and sobbed helplessly for hours. I remember when the shooting happened at Columbine in high school, and the shooting at Virginia Tech. September 11th. I don't know why I continue to watch the news when it upsets me so gravely. I'm depressed about the state of the world and humanity for a week after something like this happens.
I read the story on this latest shooting when I got out of bed this morning. I read how the gunman walked up the aisles, seemingly picking people at random. Children were shot in the face. People trampled each other to get out the theater. People saw other people die right in front of them. The panic and anxiety take hold when I read details like this. Pain wells in my chest and my throat. Tears are uncontrollable. I can't even imagine aiming a gun at a helpless child, and killing them. How can anyone do this? One mother said she didn't even think twice about letting her kids go to a mid-night movie, because before today, who would even think something like this could happen? At the movies. Where a lot of people just went to relax and have fun. Where families were. Where children were. Where babies were.
My beliefs and opinions are my own. I'm not going to berate or belittle anyone for their opinions, nor would I try to change them. I expect the same from everyone else. But, immediately I thought of a piece I saw on the "Today" show yesterday. A doctor had a near-death experience, and said she saw heaven, Jesus, and angels. And they sent her back to continue living her life. Really? Really? How can anyone think that, and then look at this awful event in Colorado and justify to themselves that God is everywhere? Really? God let some monster walk down an aisle, pick a 3-month old baby, and shoot them? He let him shoot a 9-year old girl in the cheek? He let people get trampled in a flood of panic and adrenaline? He let children die slowly, bleeding out onto the floor because some psycho kid got bullied in school? Please. I don't understand how anyone can have unshakeable faith. I think mine was shattered when I was a child, and has only crumbled away as I've aged. By now, there is nothing left. I overheard my husband's aunt on the phone yesterday while she was watching this "miraculous" near-death experience on the "Today" show. She was talking to my mother-in-law (her sister), and telling her that me and my husband don't believe in stuff like this, and it's such a shame. How can we not when we see "powerful" evidence like this? Ha.
If anyone could step outside of the human race, and look at as a whole, would they think? I think they would be repulsed. Humans are an angry, violent, cruel species. When people can shoot 60 innocent people, when people can kill others because they think their religion is right and yours is wrong, when people can crash planes into buildings just to destroy life, how can that be right? 1% of the population lives like kings, while billions of people are sick, poverty-stricken, homeless, abused, and forgotten. It makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me panic. It gives me anxiety. It's days like today when I rock myself and tell myself hundreds of times, "You are only one person". I am only one person. I can't save everyone. I can't save every animal. I honestly am better off sticking my head in the sand, like an ostrich, and being ignorant. Because when I see stuff like what I've seen today, my heart breaks. It hurts in my chest. I can't stand to look at or talk to another human being. I can only cradle my dogs to my chest, and cry.
I will step off my soapbox now and again, I must express that my opinions are mine and mine alone. If you believe something different, that's fine with me. But on days like today, I can only cry that we (humans) are being allowed to continue to evolve. Because, honestly, what's next?
This is triggering for me, it may be triggering for you.
Early this morning, around 4 pm, my husband got up because he couldn't sleep. He went into the den to watch TV. I went back to sleep, and woke up around 5:30 because I knew it was about the time he went to work. I got up, and went into the den to get him. He was watching the news, about a mass shooting in Colorado at the screening of the new Batman movie.
My husband went to work, and I went back to bed. It took me quite awhile to fall back asleep, however. I couldn't stop thinking about how disgusting the human race is.
Events where masses of innocent people die are a trigger for me. The morning of the massive earthquake in Japan, I cried and sobbed helplessly for hours. I remember when the shooting happened at Columbine in high school, and the shooting at Virginia Tech. September 11th. I don't know why I continue to watch the news when it upsets me so gravely. I'm depressed about the state of the world and humanity for a week after something like this happens.
I read the story on this latest shooting when I got out of bed this morning. I read how the gunman walked up the aisles, seemingly picking people at random. Children were shot in the face. People trampled each other to get out the theater. People saw other people die right in front of them. The panic and anxiety take hold when I read details like this. Pain wells in my chest and my throat. Tears are uncontrollable. I can't even imagine aiming a gun at a helpless child, and killing them. How can anyone do this? One mother said she didn't even think twice about letting her kids go to a mid-night movie, because before today, who would even think something like this could happen? At the movies. Where a lot of people just went to relax and have fun. Where families were. Where children were. Where babies were.
My beliefs and opinions are my own. I'm not going to berate or belittle anyone for their opinions, nor would I try to change them. I expect the same from everyone else. But, immediately I thought of a piece I saw on the "Today" show yesterday. A doctor had a near-death experience, and said she saw heaven, Jesus, and angels. And they sent her back to continue living her life. Really? Really? How can anyone think that, and then look at this awful event in Colorado and justify to themselves that God is everywhere? Really? God let some monster walk down an aisle, pick a 3-month old baby, and shoot them? He let him shoot a 9-year old girl in the cheek? He let people get trampled in a flood of panic and adrenaline? He let children die slowly, bleeding out onto the floor because some psycho kid got bullied in school? Please. I don't understand how anyone can have unshakeable faith. I think mine was shattered when I was a child, and has only crumbled away as I've aged. By now, there is nothing left. I overheard my husband's aunt on the phone yesterday while she was watching this "miraculous" near-death experience on the "Today" show. She was talking to my mother-in-law (her sister), and telling her that me and my husband don't believe in stuff like this, and it's such a shame. How can we not when we see "powerful" evidence like this? Ha.
If anyone could step outside of the human race, and look at as a whole, would they think? I think they would be repulsed. Humans are an angry, violent, cruel species. When people can shoot 60 innocent people, when people can kill others because they think their religion is right and yours is wrong, when people can crash planes into buildings just to destroy life, how can that be right? 1% of the population lives like kings, while billions of people are sick, poverty-stricken, homeless, abused, and forgotten. It makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me panic. It gives me anxiety. It's days like today when I rock myself and tell myself hundreds of times, "You are only one person". I am only one person. I can't save everyone. I can't save every animal. I honestly am better off sticking my head in the sand, like an ostrich, and being ignorant. Because when I see stuff like what I've seen today, my heart breaks. It hurts in my chest. I can't stand to look at or talk to another human being. I can only cradle my dogs to my chest, and cry.
I will step off my soapbox now and again, I must express that my opinions are mine and mine alone. If you believe something different, that's fine with me. But on days like today, I can only cry that we (humans) are being allowed to continue to evolve. Because, honestly, what's next?
Monday, July 16, 2012
Possibly Temporary Peace?
I'm feeling pretty good. I've been feeling pretty good for about a week. I'm not sure what to attribute my peacefulness to at this point. I had one bad day last week though, and it was a doozy.
It was Thursday. I had a doctor's appointment in the am. I was seeing a new doctor due to the fact that my previous doctor moved to another branch of the hospital, about an hour away. I decided to see her replacement, instead of moving with her. I didn't like her very much anyway. The new doctor was interesting. She was very nice, but she had one of those soft, gentle voices. I couldn't get over the way she was talking. Almost like if I said anything, my voice sounded vulgar next to hers. She did do 2 positive things, however. One, she called another psychiatrist while I was sitting right there and made me a new appointment, and two, she gave me refills on my prescriptions. This way I don't have to call their office once a month, track down a doctor to refill my prescriptions, drive to their office to get the prescriptions, drive to the drugstore to refill my prescriptions, wait at the drugstore to have my prescriptions filled, and finally, go home. This area of the South is really archaic in the way they do some things. It was a big deal, getting this done every month. And I would be really anxious until this task was completed every month.
Now that I've went off on a tangent about my doctor's appointment, I will tell you that I felt nervous and anxious the rest of the day. My husband's aunt, who we are living with right now, decided we should have cocktails around mid-afternoon. She can only be described as "alcohol dependent". I wouldn't call her an alcoholic, but if alcohol is around she will drink it, and she will drink a lot of it. The cocktail of choice was decided to be margaritas. I don't drink tequila. I drink wine, beer, or vodka. That's it. But oh, I drank the margaritas. And another. And another. By the time my husband got home from work, I was blacked out. What's scary is I made dinner while I was blacked out. I grilled hot dogs (so not safe), and made macaroni and cheese on the stove. I remember snippets of the night, mostly of puking my guts out, some of sobering up, some of going to bed. What I do remember is the next morning. Cotton mouth, pounding headache, and a sore, achy body. A hangover from hell. My husband told me the next day that I had a meltdown while I was blacked out. Screaming at him that there was something wrong with me, I wanted to die, and I didn't want to live here anymore.
Wow. That's a lot to scream at someone. Needless to say, my husband was terrified. He didn't know what was going on. I told him the next day that I didn't mean any of those things, that I don't know where they came from. And I really don't. I mean, it's pretty obvious something is wrong with me, but like I said, I've actually been feeling really good.
So here I am, thinking about my behavior on Thursday, wondering where it came from, and how long will this feeling good last? I just don't know at this point.
It was Thursday. I had a doctor's appointment in the am. I was seeing a new doctor due to the fact that my previous doctor moved to another branch of the hospital, about an hour away. I decided to see her replacement, instead of moving with her. I didn't like her very much anyway. The new doctor was interesting. She was very nice, but she had one of those soft, gentle voices. I couldn't get over the way she was talking. Almost like if I said anything, my voice sounded vulgar next to hers. She did do 2 positive things, however. One, she called another psychiatrist while I was sitting right there and made me a new appointment, and two, she gave me refills on my prescriptions. This way I don't have to call their office once a month, track down a doctor to refill my prescriptions, drive to their office to get the prescriptions, drive to the drugstore to refill my prescriptions, wait at the drugstore to have my prescriptions filled, and finally, go home. This area of the South is really archaic in the way they do some things. It was a big deal, getting this done every month. And I would be really anxious until this task was completed every month.
Now that I've went off on a tangent about my doctor's appointment, I will tell you that I felt nervous and anxious the rest of the day. My husband's aunt, who we are living with right now, decided we should have cocktails around mid-afternoon. She can only be described as "alcohol dependent". I wouldn't call her an alcoholic, but if alcohol is around she will drink it, and she will drink a lot of it. The cocktail of choice was decided to be margaritas. I don't drink tequila. I drink wine, beer, or vodka. That's it. But oh, I drank the margaritas. And another. And another. By the time my husband got home from work, I was blacked out. What's scary is I made dinner while I was blacked out. I grilled hot dogs (so not safe), and made macaroni and cheese on the stove. I remember snippets of the night, mostly of puking my guts out, some of sobering up, some of going to bed. What I do remember is the next morning. Cotton mouth, pounding headache, and a sore, achy body. A hangover from hell. My husband told me the next day that I had a meltdown while I was blacked out. Screaming at him that there was something wrong with me, I wanted to die, and I didn't want to live here anymore.
Wow. That's a lot to scream at someone. Needless to say, my husband was terrified. He didn't know what was going on. I told him the next day that I didn't mean any of those things, that I don't know where they came from. And I really don't. I mean, it's pretty obvious something is wrong with me, but like I said, I've actually been feeling really good.
So here I am, thinking about my behavior on Thursday, wondering where it came from, and how long will this feeling good last? I just don't know at this point.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Looking For Answers, Found More Questions
So, my conversation with my dad last week...
It was a really, really hard conversation for me to have, but I'm glad I did it. I'm proud I finally got the courage to ask my dad the things I needed to ask. I almost backed out the morning I was supposed to have the conversation, I was one button push away from sending a text to my dad saying I couldn't talk that day. My husband talked me down however, pointing out that my dad probably had a sleepless night anticipating out conversation. He made a good point, and I went through with the phone call.
It was actually my dad that called me, and about an hour earlier than we'd discussed. We made our usual small talk, what's going on out West, and I updated him on what's going on here out East. Eventually though, I bit the bullet and asked him what I needed to know. Was he aware of any incidents that could have occurred when I was a child, with Uncle S., that I might need to know about?
I got that long pause again. It was with some hesitation that my father told me that my uncle was my primary babysitter from when I was age 1 to about 3. I was with him exclusively from 7:30 am to 5:30 pm, Monday through Friday. My dad told me that they took me out of that "situation" when they realized there may have been an "issue".
My heart sank and I felt sick. An issue? I asked. My dad said he wasn't aware of any specific events, but that him and my mom were "suspicious" something had happened. I asked him to be honest, point-blank, did he think something happened? He said yes. We continued to talk about my uncle for awhile. His drug use, his mental illness, the fact that he identified as a homosexual, and his relationship with my brother and I.
We talked for more than an hour. I felt good when we ended the conversation, mostly I think from the fact that I've been needing to have this conversation with my dad. I didn't really get any direct answers, and now I have even more questions, but for some reason, I feel better.
What's next on my bucket list? Sigh. Making an appointment with another psychiatrist. You could say I've been nursing my bruised ego from perceived "rejection", but it's time to move on in my journey.
It was a really, really hard conversation for me to have, but I'm glad I did it. I'm proud I finally got the courage to ask my dad the things I needed to ask. I almost backed out the morning I was supposed to have the conversation, I was one button push away from sending a text to my dad saying I couldn't talk that day. My husband talked me down however, pointing out that my dad probably had a sleepless night anticipating out conversation. He made a good point, and I went through with the phone call.
It was actually my dad that called me, and about an hour earlier than we'd discussed. We made our usual small talk, what's going on out West, and I updated him on what's going on here out East. Eventually though, I bit the bullet and asked him what I needed to know. Was he aware of any incidents that could have occurred when I was a child, with Uncle S., that I might need to know about?
I got that long pause again. It was with some hesitation that my father told me that my uncle was my primary babysitter from when I was age 1 to about 3. I was with him exclusively from 7:30 am to 5:30 pm, Monday through Friday. My dad told me that they took me out of that "situation" when they realized there may have been an "issue".
My heart sank and I felt sick. An issue? I asked. My dad said he wasn't aware of any specific events, but that him and my mom were "suspicious" something had happened. I asked him to be honest, point-blank, did he think something happened? He said yes. We continued to talk about my uncle for awhile. His drug use, his mental illness, the fact that he identified as a homosexual, and his relationship with my brother and I.
We talked for more than an hour. I felt good when we ended the conversation, mostly I think from the fact that I've been needing to have this conversation with my dad. I didn't really get any direct answers, and now I have even more questions, but for some reason, I feel better.
What's next on my bucket list? Sigh. Making an appointment with another psychiatrist. You could say I've been nursing my bruised ego from perceived "rejection", but it's time to move on in my journey.
Friday, July 6, 2012
The Aftermath of a Panic Attack
Well, I meant to write a week ago. To talk about the conversation I had with my dad last week. An emotional conversation with my dad, unplanned errands, and a panic attack pretty much changed the course of my week. I seem to get a hangover effect when I have a panic attack. I have little energy and am, in general, just depressed for a couple of days after a panic attack.
My panic attack was triggered by an impromptu visit to my sister-in-law's house. I'm normally triggered by her daughter, my niece, at her house but this time, she had something that triggers me far beyond children. Animals.
I don't know why I'm so triggered by animals, but I'm so badly triggered by animals, I can be sick for a week after a panic attack regarding an animal. My trigger is animals that seem to me to be in pain, abused, or mistreated. My sister-in-law got a new cat. Not a cat, a teeny, tiny kitten. The weather has been rotten here, we are in the middle of a heat wave. It must have been 100 degrees that day. My husband and I were walking to his sister's door when I noticed this tiny kitten huddled up against the house.
I knelt down, I couldn't stop myself. I put my hand out to let the kitten sniff it. The kitten was so weak, it didn't move. I ran my hand over it's small body, it was so hot. I looked around for a water bowl. There was none. My blood began to boil. I went inside and immediately got the tiny animal a bowl of ice water. I took it out to the kitten and began to rub some cold water into it's fur. It was able to get up then, and drink a voracious amount of water. I petted the poor kid some more, I could feel it's bones under it's fur. I was fuming. I looked around again, there was no food for this tiny cat. How could they be keeping this tiny, tiny animal outside? In the heat? Without food and water? I picked up the poor kitty, and held it to my chest. It began to purr like crazy, and I felt a sob rise in my chest. I went in and got the poor thing some food, and brought it out to him/her. The kitten ate a ton of food.
By this time, I was seeing red. My husband had come out of the house, it was time to go. I felt tremendous amount of guilt leaving the animal there. I knew I couldn't take it with me, but it took everything I had to leave it there. I felt such hatred for my husband's sister in that moment, I couldn't even look at her.
As soon as we were in the car, driving down the street, the attack came. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, and my heart began to beat fast. Then faster. I began having trouble breathing. I was almost dizzy, and I felt so claustrophobic. The thought crossed my mind to jump out of the moving vehicle, just to try and make it stop. My mother-in-law was in the car with us, and I just tried to calm my breathing down. She was trying to talk to me, but I just ignored her and concentrated on my breathing. My husband knew something was wrong, and picked up the conversational slack.
It lasted about 20 minutes. And then I was drained. I told myself to think about something else, anything else. The next day was bad too. I felt hopeless, tired, and my whole body was sore from tensing up during the attack. Nothing much changed for the next couple of days. I'm finally starting to feel better now. I think.
I found out 2 days ago that the kitten had passed away. It was hit by a car in front of my sister-in-law's house. I have mixed feelings on this. Extreme sadness for such a short, innocent life. A little bit of relief because I don't have to watch this animal continue to suffer. I also feel a little bit of reality, because the reality of life is that I can't save every animal being abused. This is a hard fact for me to accept, and this thought destroys me a majority of the time.
I don't know why I'm this way. I've always had a special place in my heart for animals, I like them more than people. I can't stand to see an animal, innocent and defenseless, being abused by ignorant humans who seem to like to cause pain and devastation. I hate people for this reason. I hate my sister-in-law for letting this happen under her roof.
Anyhoo, the point of all this is that I didn't get around to the post I wanted to write. I was too depressed to open my computer, and move my fingers. I'm sitting here, wondering why I'm so different from other people, that something like seeing that kitten, could send me into a depressed state for days? It sounds so stupid, there are so many bigger problems in the world, but this... this gets me.
I'm hoping to write tomorrow, because I really did have a productive discussion with my dad that I wanted to talk about. Fingers crossed.
My panic attack was triggered by an impromptu visit to my sister-in-law's house. I'm normally triggered by her daughter, my niece, at her house but this time, she had something that triggers me far beyond children. Animals.
I don't know why I'm so triggered by animals, but I'm so badly triggered by animals, I can be sick for a week after a panic attack regarding an animal. My trigger is animals that seem to me to be in pain, abused, or mistreated. My sister-in-law got a new cat. Not a cat, a teeny, tiny kitten. The weather has been rotten here, we are in the middle of a heat wave. It must have been 100 degrees that day. My husband and I were walking to his sister's door when I noticed this tiny kitten huddled up against the house.
I knelt down, I couldn't stop myself. I put my hand out to let the kitten sniff it. The kitten was so weak, it didn't move. I ran my hand over it's small body, it was so hot. I looked around for a water bowl. There was none. My blood began to boil. I went inside and immediately got the tiny animal a bowl of ice water. I took it out to the kitten and began to rub some cold water into it's fur. It was able to get up then, and drink a voracious amount of water. I petted the poor kid some more, I could feel it's bones under it's fur. I was fuming. I looked around again, there was no food for this tiny cat. How could they be keeping this tiny, tiny animal outside? In the heat? Without food and water? I picked up the poor kitty, and held it to my chest. It began to purr like crazy, and I felt a sob rise in my chest. I went in and got the poor thing some food, and brought it out to him/her. The kitten ate a ton of food.
By this time, I was seeing red. My husband had come out of the house, it was time to go. I felt tremendous amount of guilt leaving the animal there. I knew I couldn't take it with me, but it took everything I had to leave it there. I felt such hatred for my husband's sister in that moment, I couldn't even look at her.
As soon as we were in the car, driving down the street, the attack came. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, and my heart began to beat fast. Then faster. I began having trouble breathing. I was almost dizzy, and I felt so claustrophobic. The thought crossed my mind to jump out of the moving vehicle, just to try and make it stop. My mother-in-law was in the car with us, and I just tried to calm my breathing down. She was trying to talk to me, but I just ignored her and concentrated on my breathing. My husband knew something was wrong, and picked up the conversational slack.
It lasted about 20 minutes. And then I was drained. I told myself to think about something else, anything else. The next day was bad too. I felt hopeless, tired, and my whole body was sore from tensing up during the attack. Nothing much changed for the next couple of days. I'm finally starting to feel better now. I think.
I found out 2 days ago that the kitten had passed away. It was hit by a car in front of my sister-in-law's house. I have mixed feelings on this. Extreme sadness for such a short, innocent life. A little bit of relief because I don't have to watch this animal continue to suffer. I also feel a little bit of reality, because the reality of life is that I can't save every animal being abused. This is a hard fact for me to accept, and this thought destroys me a majority of the time.
I don't know why I'm this way. I've always had a special place in my heart for animals, I like them more than people. I can't stand to see an animal, innocent and defenseless, being abused by ignorant humans who seem to like to cause pain and devastation. I hate people for this reason. I hate my sister-in-law for letting this happen under her roof.
Anyhoo, the point of all this is that I didn't get around to the post I wanted to write. I was too depressed to open my computer, and move my fingers. I'm sitting here, wondering why I'm so different from other people, that something like seeing that kitten, could send me into a depressed state for days? It sounds so stupid, there are so many bigger problems in the world, but this... this gets me.
I'm hoping to write tomorrow, because I really did have a productive discussion with my dad that I wanted to talk about. Fingers crossed.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Self-Sabotge?
Oh, lord. Remember how I said I had my first psychiatric appointment on the 28th? Apparently, it was not meant to be. On Tuesday night, I was going over my paperwork, making sure I had everything in order, when I found a piece of paper that said my appointment was 6/19/12. It was 6/26/12 by this point. I was shocked. I took out my calendar and my iPhone, both of which I had marked the 28th for the appointment. I called the office first thing on Wednesday morning to reschedule. A very rude receptionist told me very snidely that since I had missed my first appointed, I was basically banned from ever seeing their doctors. I explained what had happened, and the receptionist told me there was nothing she could do, and hung up the phone.
I cried, and cried, and cried. I had waited 2 months for this appointment with an excellent doctor. One who had graduated from a top-tier psychology school, and had many years in the business. The receptionist was just so... so cold. How could they talk to someone like that, especially in the business they are in? The people calling them are people that need help the most.
I was miserable the rest of the day. You are probably thinking "Big deal. Call someone else". Yes, this is the conclusion I came to, but I had a very hard time with the way I was spoken to. I've been putting off asking my parents about my "situation" until I talked to a professional. Now, something that had seemed to me was going to be a possibility in the near future, was being put on the back burner for potentially another 2 months. I couldn't handle the thought. I know I can't stay where I'm at, I have to take a step forward.
So, with some liquid courage, I called my dad on Wednesday night. With the time difference between the 2 of us, my mom was just getting home from work and I panicked. I really didn't want to talk to my mom about this just yet. I finally just told my dad (who knows I'm taking a psychiatric appointment) that I needed to talk to him about my childhood, privately, possibly tomorrow after my mom left for work.
He paused. Then he said, "So, you have questions?".
"Yes." I replied.
He exhaled. "Ok. I understand. We'll talk tomorrow".
I think I was in even more shock when I got off the phone. The fact that my dad seemed to know what I was talking about, just seemed to confirm that I was right in thinking something was up.
I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I was emotionally strung out. The "help" I thought I was getting had been yanked out from under my feet, and my dad was seemingly confirming that something happened to me as a kid. I didn't sleep much that night. Instead I had very vivid dreams, covering a vast quantity of weird shit.
It's getting late, and I'm still emotionally tired from this week's events. I'll cover the phone call between my dad and I tomorrow. One thing I've learned is that not resting causes the crazy to come out even more. It's off to bed for this girl.
I cried, and cried, and cried. I had waited 2 months for this appointment with an excellent doctor. One who had graduated from a top-tier psychology school, and had many years in the business. The receptionist was just so... so cold. How could they talk to someone like that, especially in the business they are in? The people calling them are people that need help the most.
I was miserable the rest of the day. You are probably thinking "Big deal. Call someone else". Yes, this is the conclusion I came to, but I had a very hard time with the way I was spoken to. I've been putting off asking my parents about my "situation" until I talked to a professional. Now, something that had seemed to me was going to be a possibility in the near future, was being put on the back burner for potentially another 2 months. I couldn't handle the thought. I know I can't stay where I'm at, I have to take a step forward.
So, with some liquid courage, I called my dad on Wednesday night. With the time difference between the 2 of us, my mom was just getting home from work and I panicked. I really didn't want to talk to my mom about this just yet. I finally just told my dad (who knows I'm taking a psychiatric appointment) that I needed to talk to him about my childhood, privately, possibly tomorrow after my mom left for work.
He paused. Then he said, "So, you have questions?".
"Yes." I replied.
He exhaled. "Ok. I understand. We'll talk tomorrow".
I think I was in even more shock when I got off the phone. The fact that my dad seemed to know what I was talking about, just seemed to confirm that I was right in thinking something was up.
I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I was emotionally strung out. The "help" I thought I was getting had been yanked out from under my feet, and my dad was seemingly confirming that something happened to me as a kid. I didn't sleep much that night. Instead I had very vivid dreams, covering a vast quantity of weird shit.
It's getting late, and I'm still emotionally tired from this week's events. I'll cover the phone call between my dad and I tomorrow. One thing I've learned is that not resting causes the crazy to come out even more. It's off to bed for this girl.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Birds... And The BEES
I have a couple of recurring nightmares, ones I have at least once a month. They both involve wasps. I'm deathly afraid of wasps. It's a completely irrational fear. What is the worst thing a wasp can do to you? Sting you. It hurts. So what? I'm a little bit into pain. I like the feeling of getting a tattoo, not to mention I used to cut myself. What gives? There is no rhyme or reason. To run when I see a wasp is a completely ingrained response. And uncontrollable. I've tried.
Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.
Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.
These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.
I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.
It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.
Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.
Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.
These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.
I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.
It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Where Did It All Begin?
I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
8 More Days
It will be 8 more days before my first official psychiatrist appointment. I'm feeling bittersweet over this. Happy because I feel like I'm drowning here, but slightly saddened that I'm so obviously not normal. Normal people don't have sick, twisted thoughts like I do. Normal people don't have panic attacks. Normal people don't thoughtfully touch a knife, thinking about one little cut, and then using all their willpower not to. Normal people don't have weeks that they mope around the house, having crying jags, and thinking that absolutely everything is hopeless.
I don't know what a psychiatrist is going to do for me, I don't know how they can help me. A large part of me is screaming that I will always be broken, there isn't anything anyone can do. This part of me wants to cancel my appointment, and keep what's happened to me a secret. I dread sharing anything about myself with anyone. I don't know how I'm going to find the words to say to a doctor what has happened to me. I can't even accept what has happened to me, how can I tell someone else what is only a suspicion in my mind? I can picture myself opening my mouth, closing it because I can't say what I want to say, and my cheeks turning very, very red. Even when I talk to my husband about this, I have a hard time saying it out loud. If I do manage to get the words out of my mouth, a wave of sickening feeling washes over me. Dread. I've always been this way, and I will always be this way. But there is a small part of me that is holding out hope. Hope that the emptiness inside of me could go away.
I've been feeling especially low for a couple of days while living with the husband's aunt. She makes us feel like children. Before she left for work today, she told my husband to take a shower if he works in the yard because she doesn't want him sitting dirty on her furniture. Umm, we are adults here. Last night, I got lectured for a good 10 minutes on how to properly clean a crock pot. This does not serve well for my self-esteem. Back when I was working (it's been about one and a half years since I quit working) I was a perfectionist. I hated being corrected at work, my supervisor could tell me something once, and I would always remember. I would go out of my way to make sure all my work was far and away the best, and then wait around like a lost puppy for my praise. When the aunt is lecturing me, she is beating the thought into me that I'm not perfect. That I'm a burden to her. That I'm worthless. That she can't wait to get me out of here.
Realistically, I don't think she actually thinks those things about me. But, that's how she makes me feel. I've already noticed that I feel pretty relaxed during the day when she is at work, and then completely anxious while she is home. I'm afraid to make a step, any step, for fear it's the wrong one. I'm guessing this is not the most healthy situation for me to be living in. Everyday, I just hope the home is done soon and I can get back to my environment. It's such a toss up for me, because I'm anxious here, but I'm also anxious at my mother-in-law's house. There's nowhere we can stay that I won't be anxious.
Argh! I'm feeling very frustrated today. It's going to be a long day.
I don't know what a psychiatrist is going to do for me, I don't know how they can help me. A large part of me is screaming that I will always be broken, there isn't anything anyone can do. This part of me wants to cancel my appointment, and keep what's happened to me a secret. I dread sharing anything about myself with anyone. I don't know how I'm going to find the words to say to a doctor what has happened to me. I can't even accept what has happened to me, how can I tell someone else what is only a suspicion in my mind? I can picture myself opening my mouth, closing it because I can't say what I want to say, and my cheeks turning very, very red. Even when I talk to my husband about this, I have a hard time saying it out loud. If I do manage to get the words out of my mouth, a wave of sickening feeling washes over me. Dread. I've always been this way, and I will always be this way. But there is a small part of me that is holding out hope. Hope that the emptiness inside of me could go away.
I've been feeling especially low for a couple of days while living with the husband's aunt. She makes us feel like children. Before she left for work today, she told my husband to take a shower if he works in the yard because she doesn't want him sitting dirty on her furniture. Umm, we are adults here. Last night, I got lectured for a good 10 minutes on how to properly clean a crock pot. This does not serve well for my self-esteem. Back when I was working (it's been about one and a half years since I quit working) I was a perfectionist. I hated being corrected at work, my supervisor could tell me something once, and I would always remember. I would go out of my way to make sure all my work was far and away the best, and then wait around like a lost puppy for my praise. When the aunt is lecturing me, she is beating the thought into me that I'm not perfect. That I'm a burden to her. That I'm worthless. That she can't wait to get me out of here.
Realistically, I don't think she actually thinks those things about me. But, that's how she makes me feel. I've already noticed that I feel pretty relaxed during the day when she is at work, and then completely anxious while she is home. I'm afraid to make a step, any step, for fear it's the wrong one. I'm guessing this is not the most healthy situation for me to be living in. Everyday, I just hope the home is done soon and I can get back to my environment. It's such a toss up for me, because I'm anxious here, but I'm also anxious at my mother-in-law's house. There's nowhere we can stay that I won't be anxious.
Argh! I'm feeling very frustrated today. It's going to be a long day.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Out of My Element
My husband and I are staying with his aunt and uncle for a couple of months. We are having a house built, and it won't be ready for about 4 months. To say that staying with his family has been difficult would be an understatement. My husband's aunt is anal. She is very, very particular about her home. We have 2 dogs, long-haired chihuahuas, and since they shed, I have to vacuum the house and the furniture every day. Our dogs have specific places in the backyard our dogs can relief themselves. How do you tell a dog to pee on this bush, not that one? We have to dry our dog's private areas before we let them in the house. Purses can't be placed on the counter. Shoes can never be on. Plates must be wiped down with paper towels before you can rinse them in the sink. There are plenty more rules, but I won't continue.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Difficulty Getting Over Loss
I've had a hard time getting over losses my whole life. Every time I lost a pet when I was a child, I was inconsolable for weeks. When I became a teenager and started dating, each breakup was harder than the last. I've lost several "best friends", and I experience a never-ending cascade of hurt and guilt.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Things That Go Bump In The Night
My husband and I have just moved out of the rental home we'd been staying in since we moved here a year and a half ago. We moved across the United States, 2700 miles. We left behind my family, our friends, and the place where I grew up. We are now living where the husband grew up.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Why The Name?
I feel I should explain why I chose the name for the blog that I did. I heard Gary Allan's song, "Get Off On The Pain" in 2010. It immediately resonated with me. You can find the lyrics to the song here. I think I work out a lot of what's going on with me through music, I always have.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Inaugural Post
Again, I don't even know where to start.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
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