As big as a butterfly

When I was younger there was a moment in my life where I was completely wowed by butterflies. After some horrible choices in life there was this period in time where everywhere you looked there were white butterflies... hundreds of them. And with the circumstances of where I was at in my life, right then those butterflies represented rebirth and cleanliness.

For years I have been charmed by butterflies. I will stop whatever I am doing to watch them. I will bring a chrysalis inside to be able to watch the butterfly emerge. I download pictures of them to be my background on my laptop.

And I have always thought of butterflies as perfect. Maybe because they get to spend all day flitting around in the flowers, maybe because they get to be so beautiful. As a woman I don't see myself as a butterfly. I am too fat, to pimple-y, too imperfect. And then I noticed something.

Go back and look at that picture of that beautiful butterfly again. Really look at it. Do you see the damaged wing? This one butterfly has two huge spots that make it flawed. And maybe in the butterfly world it is the geek or the fat chick. But when I saw the picture of it, I saw a beautiful creature that put a smile on my face. And I realized, we are what we perceive ourselves to be.

Why do we label ourselves by our flaws? We place so much value in those imperfections and we want other people to point those flaws out too. So go ahead and really look at yourself. If you didn't describe yourself in those negative ways, do you think someone else would point them out to you? Be beautiful. Those butterflies are so beautiful and yet they are flawed. I bet you'll find there is more butterfly in you than you imagined!

What doesn't kill us...

Things I have rediscovered in my food choices since becoming a little less financially independent include such gems as Bologna Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, Bean Burritos and Hot Dogs.

If I don't have a heart attack from the fat content, it's a safe guess that Mr. Sodium is waiting in the wings with a stroke.

Date Night... say WHAT?!?!

Yesterday I watched two movies... Date Night and Our Family Wedding. I was struck by one theme that ran throughout both of those and it was how women become wives and mothers and they give up their idenity as the person they were and become ONLY wives and mothers. I've been struggling for some time with a feeling of being lost. I don't pursue anything I am interested in. I go to work and am "working" mommy. Then I come home and I AM mommy. On my days off I am "clean my house and run errands" mommy.

I feel guilty if I sit down to read a book or watch a movie because that is time that I carve out to be selfish. I have a small "guilty" pleasure in life of getting a pedicure... a pleasure that gets shelved everytime I see something in the store that Toby would like or whenever he needs something. Maybe it's because I spend so much time dirt broke that I am really feeling down.

I love being a mom. I love taking Toby to places to show him things like the aquarium or the zoo. But I also miss that woman who would go to see a ballet or who could go lay on the beach all day and while away the hours reading and wading. But mostly I miss people genuinely wanting to talk to ME!

I spend 10 hours a day talking to people on the phone. They call and get someone to talk to. I make the most of it because you gotta do it anyway, might as well have a laugh or two. But when that person on the other end of the phone says "how you doing?" and you start to answer with the normal pleasantries, well, you know they don't really give a damn... and most times don't even let you answer.

When my 10 hours are up, then I spend the next couple of hours talking about Toby. What did he do at school. What is he going to eat for dinner. What jammies shall we wear or what smell can we put in the bathtub. And then he goes to bed. And every one of of those conversations if there is a hint of "me" in it, it vanishes as soon as there is a demand from Toby or a story about Toby.

At 8 each evening, mommy me is over. And I sit on my couch and have virtual conversations with people who I work with, who I used to be friends with. And no one ever asks me how I am. No one gives back any sort of emotional connection. Any and every conversation I have with anyone either revolves around why they pay so much every month or something about Toby.

And I know it may be selfish and I know I may sound like a whiny brat. But just once in a while I want to be able to go out to lunch with a friend or go buy a shirt just for the hell of it. Or have someone ask me how I was doing without cutting me off or telling me how THEY are doing. I want to be able to sort through the laundry of my life and be able to see my own identity, to try my own things. To be able to be a mommy but to also have someone care about me outside of that identity. And to not feel so damn guilty if I do something for me once in a while.

It ain't Musak baby!

I have a friend who recently wrote in her blog about her life's sountrack and it got me thinking and I've kind of been stuck on it for a few days. Thank Carrie!

I look at my life and I can look back into the past and hear all of the songs. Not all of them are pretty and not all of them are real music. There was Petra and David Meece, Keith Green and Psalty. Then there were the sounds of mangos plopping onto the patio in our backyard, Micah barking and the gate latching closed. I hear the ice cream truck and the school bus, the lid to the record player and the click of the cassette deck. As I got older there was the sound of the tennis ball smacking up against the outside of the house, country music and Garth Brooks... and my mom making fun of me and coming into my room singing "yeeeee hawwww". There was the sounds of dishes being washed, my dad watching TV and David playing the piano.

I think of sounds and songs more than I think of the past itself. The sounds connect me to that place, that moment in time. I hear ocean waves and I am sitting on the beach after crossing the bridge, feeling peace and serenity as whatever that day's challenges were wash away with the crashing waves and the rolling tide. When people ask me if I remember this and such I usually would say no, but if you asked me if I remember the sound of the oven opening as my dad pulled out the Thanksgiving turkey, well, then I can see the table all set with the "fancy dishes" and my grandma sitting there waiting for dinner.

When I play the music of my older years, mostly I hear Mike screaming, the pounding of drums. I hear angry music and the clinking of beer bottles. To this day when I hear someone pop the top to a soda, I am transported back to that moment, and I can see the anger that alcohol brought. I hear the sounds of my body being damaged and the words that crushed my soul.

Then the soundtrack starts over. And I hear lullabies. I hear the first giggles of my baby. The cough that the endless runny nose brought on. I hear "Mommy, watch me!!", "No mommy, like this!", "Mommy, can you help me build?". And I know that this soundtrack, this moment of life is the one that tunes out all of those other moments. Sometimes there is crying and screaming and doors slamming, but 20 years down the road when my child is moving on with his life, those sounds will be what I hear.

I wonder what the years will bring. Will I hear marching bands or referees blowing whistles? Will my child be a superstar or a supernerd? All I know is the music makes the memories for me. And I can't wait to hear the next part of the symphony!

My WTH moment

Okay, there is precious little in life anymore that really takes us by surprise. But I have to say as I was scrolling through my addiction of Etsy and stumbled across a very unique pillow, well, all it left me with was a WTH moment. I am not mocking these people's artistic talents but allow me to list some of the following items that I was linked to (first comes the pillow though) and the actual descriptions the people who are selling these fine wares came up with:

1. Utera maxima - Worried that your uterus is too small? Wow them the next time you go to the gynecologist, be the envy of your peers. Why is this Spanish woman so happy? Just look at the size of her uterus! Order now and see instant results!!!


2. Super Period Fun Time Pinata - Because every now and again you have a period that deserves a freaking fiesta. Don't believe me?? Examples for your consideration: You just had your first period! Your period was mysteriously missing for a while but now she's back! You made it through your first period after some hardcore Uterine surgery! Your uterus is herself again after a pregnancy! (said pinata is filled with Bliss dark chocolate, Hershey's kisses and TAMPONS!)


3. Uterus love earrings - think hot pink, dangling uterus hanging from your earlobes. Enough said!


4. Dorothy, Blanche and Rose - Uterus and ovaries pillow - gotta love the catchy logo - nothing says from "U" to "US" like a uterus!

And my personal favorite....

Childbirth teaching models uterus placenta cord baby breast set: And I think the picture above MORE than speaks for this one.

Now the whole time I am seeing these items I am giggling like a 11 year old boy seeing a dirty picture for the first time. I've been married. I have a child. But the thought of a grown ass woman buying herself a giant uterus pillow to cuddle with is just too much for me. If I was ever at my "secret, private No No" doctor's office and someone came at me with uterus earrings... well, I'd probably be a wuss and just sit there but I swear I'd be envisioning myself bare assing it out into the parking lot.

I know we all gotta make a living but this just doesn't seem like the way to me. Knitting a uterus and fake boobies? And for the folks selling both the huge 3 foot uterus pillow and the giant pinata: where do you store these things?

I double dog dare you to go to Etsy.com, think of the most outlandish thing you can think of to search for, and come back here and tell me what freakish bizarre things you found.

El gato

I've been musing upon things that I see in my house. My latest thoughts are on my cats. This may be incredibly boring to the 2 of you who actually check in to see if I have any new thoughts but this is my blog so suck it up.

I have three cats: Countess, Domino and Ninja. These three are as different as three children could be but each one also represents some aspect of my life, the point where they entered my world.

Countess is my baby girl. She has been with me since she was 6 months old and I was freshly turned 21. She filled a spot in my life when I was reeling from bad choices, a horrific breakup and was feeling suicidal. I knew I needed something to come into my world that was settling/calming and so I got a cat. Well, she technically was a replacement cat. The first cat I adopted was a freak who hid under the bed and never came out. Literally never. Returned that nutcase and saw this adorable little kitten. She seemed so sweet and I took her home and named her Countess. This little miss priss gave me a serious run for my money. She looked like a diva from the front but when she walked away, she had this swagger in her step that reminded me of a linebacker. She used to sit in top of the fridge and jump off onto my head. She would climb the window screen in the middle of the night, a repeat action that resulted in being declawed. She has been with me for over 13 years, multiple moves, several cities. She let me squeeze her when my daddy died. She was the only animal in my house that Mike never hurt, I think he knew he'd "disappear" if he ever hurt her. She is the queen of my house and represents so many happy, sad and bittersweet moments in my life.

Then along came Domino. She is fat (we're talking a waddle that swings when she runs), has a wonky eye, lost her mother as a newborn kitten and her nose runs whenever you pet her. We originally took her in when Toby was a few months old. Something insane about Countess needing a friend. First of all, Countess does NOT need friends. Secondly, if she were to pick a friend, it would not be this simple minded animal! To Domino's credit, she ADORES Toby. She lets him lay on top of her, every morning when I open his door, she is the first one to jump on his bed. After Mike and I split, I renamed her Domino. She has these spots on her chest and her nose and they remind me of a domino. Everytime I look at her I sing the chorus from the Van Morrison song.

As I start worrying about Countess' age and the thought that she might leave me soon, I decided it was time to bring in a younger cat to carry on the cycle. Soooo, along came Ninja. Big Mistake! This cat is worse than the worst puppy you will ever encounter. He eats shoes. He steals toys. He fights with the other cats and climbs the curtains. He's actually a younger version of the hell Countess put me through but without the 13 years of forgetting the behavior. He is sweet and loving and stupid and destructive. Most of all, he adores me.

Every one of these animals represents a period in my life, a moment that for better or worse that I cherish because it helped shape me into the person I am today. I look at these cats and I think of 13 years down the road when my son will be a teenager. How many people and animals will have come in and out of our lives in that length of time? Where will we be living? What kind of man will he be growing into? Funny how you can look at a cat and see your past and that it can make you ponder your future!

Yo loser

Hey loser girl. Yeah you. The one who insists on pissing on the toilet seat. Or the one who leaves a toilet full of fecal matter. Or the one who today left it fully loaded with TP so the poor cleaning lady will have to unplug it. In case you were completely deluded into thinking you are the only female who works at your job, I wanted to throw out a "hey. what's up" Yeah, I use the girl's room too. And you are gross. Disgusting. Nasty beyond words. And living proof that people really ARE sometimes raised in a barn.

That's all. Next time, that lever right above where your ass goes? It's the flusher. Give it a try and see how it works for ya.

how you hurt me...

Everytime it hurts me, everytime I catch myself caring... I also wonder... why do you bother? Do you think that they are sitting around caring that you are upset? Do you think even if they did know, that they would do anything to change the situation? You just aren't that important to them... and after all of this time you think it wouldn't hurt, you think I wouldn't care... but I do.

Kiss of death

I haven't written in a while. Honestly I have been so achy and exhausted all of the time that I just haven't had the energy. For the past month or so my hands have been hurting really bad in the morning. My back and hips feel like I just slept in a sleeping bag. In a tent. On top of a rock. So being a genius, I decided to do a little online research. And let me tell you, don't do online research unless you are prepared to have the crap scared out of you with some worst case scenarios. But I also know enough to plug in the symptoms and the hand pain with the feverish joints was the biggie. And it returns... drum roll please.... rhuematoid arthritis!!! And the crowd goes wild!

I am not stupid enough to self diagnose so I did what any chick would do and stood up and asked the lady on the other side of the wall who is out a lot from work for various illnesses if she goes to a rhuematologist. Hey, it wasn't the classiest move but after the last incident with that jerk who claims to be a Dr but refuses to follow the basic Hippocratic Oath, I wasn't taking any chances. Because I am totally able to spot a fellow sickly person, I was able to get the name of a rheumatologist.

I visited there on Friday. And after being poked, prodded and pheloboted (I needed a word that started with P and the guy who draws blood is a phlebotomist!), I was told that he was about 99% sure that I have RA. YEAHHHH!!!! I have never been in so much pain. I have had a lot of pain and I have a fairly high pain tolerance... I did the first 3 days after the c-section with no pain meds, then I realized that you don't get extra points for bravery. You do possibly get a husband who ganks your pain pills so you go through the worst of it wanting to remove his head with your fingernails but that is a whole other story.

I realized that if I test for RA that I have a few things to look forward to... steroids. Which lead to weight gain. Which lead to more pressure on the already painful joints. Which leads to more pain. I had just decided to start a fitness plan when this crap came up to bite me in the arse. And fitness, well, it is not the fan of a person in pain. Walking means that you are left unable to move. I can't even imagine what delights lifting weights would bring on... would my head explode literally?!?! And I am already on the roids... day 1 I was thinking, this ain't so bad. I'm not so hungry. Day 2 has left me a little sick to my stomach. I just hope day 3 doesn't find me curled up with a large cheese pizza, a double batch of brownies and a 2 liter!

And then it hit me that my child has hit even a lower point in the gene pool if I have this disease. His paternal grandmother has Lupus which is just another form of an equally evil beast. So on both sides he has the potential to spend his 30's sitting on the couch and crying after his kid goes to bed.

I'm really not having a pity party. I'd like to have a pity party. Unfortunately, I tend to invite Mr. Chocolate Cake and Miss Phish Food to the party... and I am pretty sure that would just make matters worse!

Little dose of relief

I have been taking this medicine for about two months now. I no longer cry uncontrollably, I can usually drag myself out of bed most days, and sometimes I even have a smile on my face. I am still dirt tired because the sleep aide medicine hasn't reached a dose that works yet. But here is the most beautiful thing... I got a schedule change at work!

I have been bidding on a different schedule for about a year and a half. I really wanted to have the weekends off but child care meant I couldn't work the late shift. So this month around I just bid on anything and everything. Toby is at the school at my work so I could take on any shift. I was so burnt out that it was either give me a new schedule or I'd be taking a leave of absence (in a cute white coat!)

So while I was out for Toby's surgery (and some much needed mental break time), I finally got a new schedule. Sure it means working 10 hour days for Monday-Wednesday (and this is the AWE-SOME! part) but I get off EVERY Thursday and Friday. I have to work every Saturday but in ONE WEEK of having this schedule, I feel sooooo much better! I can still take Toby to school on my days off so I can actually vacuum the floors or wash my sheets. And if I want to do nothing at all but take a nap, well I can!

So there is my little burst of energy... my little splash of relief. Let's see if it keeps getting better!

family ties

There has been something stuck in my craw as of late. Normally on a subject such as this I would keep my mouth shut, suck it up, let it fester... whatever... this is my space for my thoughts and I guess if you don't like it, don't read it.

Family is strange. Different families function so differently and I have a hard time often understanding exactly how it is that mine works. For years I have spent time thinking that all the flaws in my world were my fault. And while I still don't know if that is true or not, I am beginning to see a little error in my thought process.

I see families every day. There are some that are not mine that I have been blessed and priviledged to be a part of for many years. And there are some that once I spend time in their presence, I walk away and shake my head and just be thankful for what I've got. M- has a family that spends their holidays, weekends, birthdays, and vacations together. When I was part of this family I felt like I knew what was missing from my world. A- has a family that you feel like you HAVE TO attend things. Thay have no problem laying on a thick layer of guilt and actually will call you out in front of people for not going to the annual teeth scraping of their great aunt Melba if they feel you should.

Then there is my family. My mom is in my world daily. Sometimes I wish that was less but then I look at what I would have if I changed that equation and it actually scares me. One of my brothers comes to visit once a year. It is like an annual visit to have a colon cleanse. In other words, if it came down to being infected with malaria or making this visit, he might actually lean on the side of the malaria. My other brother is married with 3 kids. He comes down every once in a while and every blue moon I have a safe enough vehicle and money in the bank to visit them.

But then I look at his family on his wife's side. They are there in good times, bad times, you have a birthday and they show up in mass... driving across states (as in MULTIPLE!) to get to you. You have a child and you have a guaranteed helper for at least a week. I mean these people genuinely LOVE each other. They share vacations and live near each other and don't ever have to worry if someone has got their back because every day they are told how much they are loved.

And I catch myself wondering, where did I get the end of the stick that means I go through three surgeries with my son, two years of being a single parent, a divorce, a major bout of depression and I feel like if I ever call to talk that I am either just going to get voice mail or a bunch of grunts. And when I get more encouragement from my brother's mother in law than most of my actual family, I really wonder wheer I went all wrong.

happy birthday... i guess

It was my 34th birthday today. I spent the day feeling a whole lot under the weather... mostly physically but emotionally as well. My son made me cry with his incredible need to be the only person in the room you talk to so when I was finally unloading some of my work anxiety and he was talking louder and louder and louder, all I could do was start crying. Unfortunately two hours later I am still crying. FYI - if you are seriously congested, crying is an incredibly bad idea!

Don't get me wrong. My birthday was great. Very cool and unique presents. Tons of well wishers on Facebook. It's just sometimes the aloneness is crushing. I love Toby beyond measure but lately he has been getting on my very last frayed and ragged nerve. He runs around talking in some psycho language like those damn blue people in Avatar, ignores every single command I give him, acts like he is deaf and blatantly ignores me telling him to do things. So after almost 3 years of being his mommy, I am at a total loss other than going back to spanking all the time - which I had let up on some. Spare the rod, get yourself a migraine headache!

Depression is a nasty friend. It is like that one girl that you so desperately wanted to be friends with in middle or high school. She was the cool kid and everyone was her friend. But looking back now 15 years after the fact, she was just a really mean bitch! She danced around you finding your weak spots and poking her fake nails into them, just enough to hurt, maybe draw a little blood. She criticized you just enough that you really thought she wanted to be your friend if only you would or could have bigger boobs or skinnier jeans or curlier hair. She laughed at you behind your back, maybe had some stupid things she would see if she could get you to do in your desperation to be part of the inner circle.

Now I'm not saying I want to be friends with depression. I'm saying that it is hard to walk away from. For every up in life, there are 20 crushing downs. For every small victory over one of your struggles, there are hundreds of things hidden in that locked box just waiting to come out. The other day I went to a MOPS meeting at FBCTT. I've been invited to this every month for about 2 years by a friend of mine. This month something crawled into me and I was determined to go. Every month Toby gets sick or I get a migraine or I am just so bone tired. This month Toby was already sick, I was already coming down with something and nothing was stopping me.

So I go to this meeting and an old friend of mine was going to be the speaker. And I was in no way prepared for the words that came out of her mouth. She told a story of sexual abuse that she had repressed for years, that came to the surface almost 10 years ago and she has been seeking healing from ever since. I am not an idiot and I know that this message was meant for me. While there was no sexual abuse that I have repressed (at least I hope not cause boy this would suck way worse when it's done if there was), there are years of emotional, physical and mental abuse. Some have been locked away behind little doors in my box and others I allow to sit on the surface to remind me not to go that path again. Maybe that meeting unlocked something but I have been hit with that bone crushing sadness again ever since. I am using this week to screw my head on straight. I will be using some unpaid time in the wake of Toby's surgery to try to find just a little bit of peace, enough to get back into the saddle and try again next week.

so that's what it feels like

Today I sucked it up and went to the psychiatrist... mostly because I couldn't find a legit way to get my meds and only partially because I am interested in feeling better. I'd say it's a 98/2 split in favor of no jail time or exorbitant black market prices. So, Dr B. is a pretty friendly and sort of portly person. Trust me, when you are laying your soul bare, you so don't want to do it to some model type person. She went over some of my history with depression and my family tendancies to be addicted to pretty much anything and everything under the sun.

Then comes the gritty part. I told my mom it's like keeping all of your crap in a box with a nice tight lid and then all of the sudden someone comes along and makes you open the box and show them what is inside. So we looked at the alcohol and drug abuse, the harming thoughts I had toward my child toward the end of my pregnancy, the abuse of my marriage, DCF, how lucky I am to not have Toby taken away from me at birth... oh, the list goes on and on. And I just sat there and pulled the ugliest things out of my box, one right after another. And surprisingly enough, I didn't cry. Maybe after so my garbage piles up you find a numbness of sorts. All I know is that apparently I should have sought counselling like 482 times before in the past.

Dr B seems a little uncertain of how to diagnose me... or maybe she just wants me back there to really hear the good stuff. She feels that I might have a form of bipolar which isn't bipolar at all but it is kind of like seasonal allergies... the depression gets way worse in the fall/winter. She also thinks I have PTSD. Something I have always reserved for men and women who have gone to war and been shot at for days and months on end has now been attached to me. Yeah, she's probably right but it's a little hard to wrap my mind around right now.

The lack of sleeping, the panic attacks in my sleep, the total and complete exhaustion I feel... all going to be treated with a little dose of Trazadone. I laughed a little at this one, mostly cause when they Baker Acted Mike, they gave him a dose of this so strong it would fell a horse. That was the week that I got slammed into walls, my thumb disconnected, spit on, shoved into a door and had my foot almost run over by the car. Pardon me for being a little leary of that one... I took it to CVS. Let's see how long it takes me to suck it up and pick it up. I know that it was probably just the devil in him and that it won't have that effect on me because I am not that person... but still....

All I know is I am glad to have some days off next week. I might totally be bucking the system, but I think I need the break!!!

Here lies George...

Yesterday would have been my daddy's 81st birthday. On that same token, Tuesday marks the 11 year anniversary of his death. Kind of sureal... celebrating your birthday one day and then three days later mourning your passing. And everytime I think about it, I realize, my family history is almost gone. I don't have any living grandparents and only one parent. My son will spend most of his life walking in those same shoes. He has both parents and sets of grandparents but only one half of the equation is functional.

Usually I don't think a lot about my dad. A lot of times when I do think of him it's because Toby has done something that so reminds me of his weird sense of humor, or when I marvel at how much my dad would have liked him and how very much Toby would have loved and adored him. But then every year these two days roll along. And those days I think about when he was dead and I was staring at him lying on the bed with the 911 operator in my ear telling me to do CPR and my refusal to do it... because he was so obviously gone... but also because his dentures weren't in and I knew you have to get a good seal to do it successfully. Then right after that I remember my aunt and I planning a great way to cash in on the accidental death clause that had changed on his 70th birthday, just three days before... throw him down the steps and then it looks like he fell down when he had the heart attack. And I remember my mom calling us sick and morbid.

Then I remember all those years later when I was living in Melvin's grandma's house and I had just gotten home and I had a breakdown in my car in the driveway, just crying and keening for over an hour. I never had taken the time to cry before then. All I know was I heard this Reba song and the next thing I knew, the tears were just flowing. If anyone had ever seen me that night they probably would have thought I had gone totally insane.

I remember the silly things like the stinky stained pillow he laid his head on every night while he watched the news, loudly. The way he sat in the chair staring down between his feet, the vericose veins on his legs and his hammer toes. The government pens and the ugly VA plastic glasses. But I mostly just remember that he was my daddy and he's gone. And I miss him... a whole lot today

hmmmm

Well, I've been on my new medicine for about 3 weeks. Apparently this is one of those that leaves you with that numbish feeling. Don't get me wrong, I am totally stoked that I am not crying at the drop of a hat or wanting to jump of a bridge (and not just for a pleasant wintery swim) but I don't enjoy that part of the medicines that makes you feel numb. I don't like feeling like I have to force laughter, that I have to not cry even if I want to. Every night I look in on my boy and I want to cry. He's so big and grown up and handsome and every day I get this lump in my throat. But the tears don't come.

Toby's father has started emailing me. It's funny cause I feel nothing. Well, to be totally honest I feel like sending him an email back that says "$15000! Then we'll talk" He accuses me of being angry and I laugh. Son, the last thing I am is angry. I have zero caring. I don't care. You are a worm who took a few years of my life but left me with an awesome gift. So thanks for your sperm, have a nice life.

Toby has to have surgery again. Tubes times two. Well, there goes my fantastic birthday vacation I've been planning for months. The doc only does surgery on Wednesdays which means it falls plop center in the middle of my 9 days off. Well damn it, I can still do something fun. I'm going to take the punk to Dinosaur World. Might be lame-o but he's two... he still thinks sticks and leaves are awesome good fun. Then post surgery, I'm going to Tally. We'll play tourist. I found a great deal on a hotel so I will still feel like it's a vacation - minus the flattening of the air mattress slowly as I sleep. Bonus will be if I get a room with two beds so I don't have to have a size 12 (yes that's right... his newly bought 11's are too small) foot in my ribcage all night. And I get to see the cousins and David and Heather and maybe if I ply someone with a steak, they'll watch my kid and let me go out for an hour. It's the little things in life that make me happy.

Oh look, my break time is over. Woo hoo. Back to insanity

Really? Can it ever just be about me?

The title of my post is because something has been bugging me. There are very few people I have any contact with anymore and the ones that I do have a very annoying habit of turning any and every comment into a story about how their life currently sucks. Yeah, I get it. You have problems and issues. But if you would pull your head out of dumping all your issues on me, you might see that I am drowning. Actually, I was drowning PRIOR to you dumping your load on me... your load just made it worse!

When I was getting into my relationship with Mike, I had a couple of very close friends, people who knew all my secrets. Unfortunately what most people don't realize is that abusive relationships have a key linking factor - the abuser HAS to separate his victim from their friends and family. If this requirement is not met, the abusers hold over the victim never reaches that tragic level of complete control. So, I watched my friendships fade... Amy, Cathy, Jen, Greg, Melvin. The people who always had my back got tired of the drama, of me calling them crying about the latest offense. Actually, they were gone before the REAL abuse began.

So once I walked out of my private hell, I was left with only my family. And my family has never been the real listening type. David really tries. He however has three kids, a wife, and a demanding life. Chris has no advice for anyone. And Mom... well, she tends to have the Pollyanna view on life... pretending the problem doesn't exist makes it not exist. So I think I talk to myself which really doesn't help. I need to find an actual counselor to talk to... someone who can help me feel less out of wack. But then I run into the issue of what I do with Toby while I do this.

Life just can't stop throwing curve balls at my head.

The brick wall

I am pretty sure I am hitting a big fat brick wall. My motivation to get over being depressed is waning. I mean, really, a doctor can't/won't help me... maybe what I am going through is just so abnormal that there is no cure. I hate getting up to go to work. I hate having to have conversations with people (which is BAAAADD! when your job is customer service). Every time the phone beeps and a call comes through, I literally roll my eyes, mutter "damn it" under my breath and then slap a smile on my face. Yesterday my cheeks hurt from smiling. The day before I woke up with a migraine that didn't go away until I fell asleep that night. I hate the medicine. I finally stopped taking it. Cause what's worse - being seriously depressed and not wanting to get out of bed OR being seriously depressed and not wanting to get out of bed WHILE sporting a massive headache, no appetite, no ability to form an intelligent thought.... I actually just forgot what the rest of my thought was.

The one bright shining spot in it all is Toby - and everytime I look at him curled up in his bed snuggling with one of his stuffed animals, my heart actually hurts. It hurts because he is asleep and I have to get through the next 4-5 hours of wakefullness by myself. It hurts because when I wake up at 1 and can't go back to sleep, it's not fair to wake him up to keep me company. And it hurts because if this doesn't get better soon, my child will actually remember me as the lady who didn't want to get off the couch

fun new panic

So, I have a fun new thing to lay awake at night worrying about. DCF. Department of Children and Family. They are my biggest fear ever since Mike tried to use the Herndando County Sheriff as a babysitting service and they called in DCF. That was the one thing that finally cut the ties of abuse. They threatened to take away my baby if I didn't divorce Mike. And now because my mind is all messed up and I've told people my mind is all messed up, now I am in bed staring at the ceiling praying no one calls DCF on me. Ain't that a pisser!

I really think it's about time to find that shrink!

Suffer the little children...

Yesterday I called my doctor. I am at a point where the new depression medicine is only NOT making me feel better but I have the side effects of a tension headache EVERY afternoon, what I call Mush Brain and now I am waking more frequently in the night to lay awake with a pounding heart. Three cheers for anxiety!! So the brilliant doctor (sarcasm, sarcasm, sarcasm) had the little nurse lady call me back. And this is an exact quote of what she said "ummm, the doctor, he said like if you are having those symptoms that there is ummm nothing they can do. They said you need to call a psychiatrist." To my outraged shriek of "you have got to be kidding me? Am I supposed to just keep taking it????"... "ummm, yeah cause sometimes the side effects go away"

So here I sit. According to a depression survey I took earlier today on a work balance website, they advised me that I am CLINICALLY Depressed and that if I start to have thoughts of death, I should call 911. I wonder if 911 would get me a different medicine?

To anyone who knows me, Toby is the main reason for my existence. Up until now, even in the depths of my darkest moments of despair, he has been the reason that I still attempted to function. And now I wonder, am I going to sink into a place where I no longer care about him, his well being? Am I going to become so lost that a sweet kiss or smile from him isn't enough to tug me out of that place?

It's not like I want to be here. I didn't wake up and say... "oh being super depressed sounds like it is fun. Let's give that a whirl!" I hate this. I despise waking in the middle of the night in a panic. I hate not feeling somewhat alive until 11 am or so. I hate wanting to lay on my couch asleep while my child plays... he doesn't let me Thank God!

In a world of problems, in a place where so many people struggle with self esteem, depression, anxiety, overeating I wonder how that doctor can feel like he did an okay thing in refusing to change my medication. I now have to start the search for a new doctor. I have an appointment with one next Thursday. Let's hope that there is enough chocolate cake and chips in the house to keep me from diving into the deep end!

Last night I sat down and realized that I am very lucky. Most people do not have the option to be born three times, all you reincarnation believers aside. My first was the actual entry into this world so I don't have much to do with that one. The second was my rebirth as a Christian and again, that one was pretty easy... just pray a little prayer, and WHAM! You are reborn. The third however came with much pain, much effort and much struggle.

My rebirth came on December 16, 2007. So I guess I am a little over 2 years old. And like a 2 year old, I am not having the easiest time dealing with my growing process. That day was the day I packed my beautiful 7 month old Tobias into my car and left my husband. I know people do that every day. Look at the divorce rate in the U.S. alone. But the difference is that on that day I walked out of a life of mental, physical and emotional abuse. I walked out to save my son, not really to save myself.

And so began the decline. With every day that I have gone without being in that relationship, I've lost a little bit more of my grip. Don't get me wrong - there are fates worse than death and spending my life with that man is one of them. So I am glad to be free, so happy to have Toby and be blessed with this awesome kid. But I probably should have sought some counseling when I walked out that door. I probably should have called one of the many centers in Tampa Bay designed to help women heal from the inside hurts, the pain no one sees. But I didn't. I was too consumed with getting it right for my son. Too busy finding a new job, a new home, a new life. And now the reality hits.

It is a slow decline into depression. I don't think you wake up one morning and BAM! Depressed! But as I sit and ponder, I can see all of the steps that took me there - mostly in my personal hygiene! Stopped shaving my legs - Hey, razors are expensive and no one sees my legs anyway. Stopped cutting my hair - that's expensive too and my stylist in Spring Hill up and quit on me. Stopped showering on a daily basis, stopped coloring my hair and then the FINAL one - stopped getting pedicures. That was always my one guilty pleasure in life. Then I started feeling guilty about having my mom watch Toby and using $25 to get one - cause that was money that could have gone to gas, groceries, or diapers. So here I am now, a hairy, stinky creature.

Loss of gravitational pull...

I am creating a blog. Never thought I'd see myself doing that but after watching Julie and Julia, I became inspired in a small crazy way. See, for the past month or so, I have been sinking into a spot of depression unlike any I have ever experienced. Getting up to go to work became a challenge. Thinking about going to sleep just to do it all over again the next day was enough to reduce me to tears. I tried to tell my family about it... and realized that people are ill equiped to handle a pure confession of depression. Sad in a small way and I begin to wonder how many other people are out there in their own "pit of despair" with everyone around them continuing to act like nothing is wrong.

Ironically enough, I have had so much support from friends... not the friends who I spend time with in the real world, but the friends who I encounter in social networking. I was given virtual hugs and advice on different medicines. So yesterday I visited my old and wise doctor. He promptly gave me MORE anti-depressants on top of the ones that I am already on. The hope is that it will pull me up out of the pit and into the realm of happiness again. 4-6 weeks. That seems like forever on this side of the bridge!