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.