Healing...

I'm healing in more ways than one.

Healing my body...

I just had surgery to repair an umbilical hernia. Over the years stress and pregnancy have created a cacophony of minor health issues here and there: cracks in my pelvic bone, slipped discs in my vertabrae, post partum depression, hi aortal hernias, etc.

One Saturday in September after a grueling day of shopping with the kids and being on my feet for 12 hours straight, pushing an umbrella stroller with a bockety wheel that I hate with my nearly 50 pound three year old in it, lifting, lugging, pushing, pulling. I came home sore. My entire body was wracked with pain and the area all around my belly was rock hard. It hurt to even stand upright, completely still. I could not lie down flat in bed. Sleep that night was impossible. All day that Sunday I "took it easy" (i.e. only doing laundry, breakfast, lunch and dinner for the kids) and that Monday I felt better but thought maybe I should go get checked out. Imagine my surprise when my doctor announced that I had a hernia the size of a small grapefruit and refused to allow me to leave his office. I was rushed to the nearest hospital to meet with a surgeon who yawned and said my doctor overreacted, that my hernia was only the size of, say, the opening of a soda bottle. Very little, was his description.

Still the solution was surgery, which was scheduled for the first week in October. An awful experience all around thanks in part to my parents, the anesthesiologist and some other memorable moments best forgotten. The surgeon had to eat crow and admit (after surgery) that my doctor had been right all along, the hernia was huge and required much more repair than he'd thought. It took a very large piece of mesh to repair the hernia and I had a nearly 6 inch gap between my abdominal muscles and he took it upon himself to repair them by fusing them back together.

Ouch.

Two days after surgery I came down with a horrendous sinus infection that swelled the entire left side of my face and caused the most wretched pain ever. Having no one to drive me to the doctor, I drove myself and after waiting a long time to see the doctor I promptly face-planted into the nearest wall as I attempted to walk back to the examination room. Did I mention my doctor's office is nearly an hour from my home? Scary ride back indeed.

Long story short (too late) I'm still recouperating from it all. I don't go back to work for another two weeks.
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Healing emotions...

I think everyone has had a moment when they evaluate the friends they have and determine whether they truly are friends or simply fair weather friends. Single parents have or rather, should have support systems of friends and family that they can count on in any situation.

I do not have that. I don't think I've ever had it. During the preparations for my surgery and throughout all that happened after my surgery I am certain that I have perhaps three friends that I could possibly count on in an emergency. Everyone else... I just don't know.

I do know that the realization that the people I called friends are in fact not, cut me quite deeply. I can't really describe why. But I can say that my already diminished circle of pals is now definitely whittled down to a trio.

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Healing spirits...

During September I had an epiphany. Suddenly, I knew "what I wanted to be when I grew up." I know the exact path I must take to obtain my goal, how long it will take, and I know I'll be successful. And as soon as all this was revealed to me a calm settled over me. I don't know. It's like I feel like I can dare to dream, to hope, to have goals once more. An absolutely weird feeling of peace has descended.

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Healing heart and body...

Still working on this one. I think, for now anyway, that my problems in the lack-o-love department stem from *drumroll*, ME.

Profound, I know.

My self esteem and overall spirits have been abyssmal to say the least. My lack of confidence in my personal appearance destroys any confidence anyone else would have in me too. And the lack of confidence isn't from my weight or clothes or anything like that. It's my teeth. They are rotting in my head, well the few that I have left. I put everything before getting them fixed. It's costly and painful and my God I wish I could smile with confidence. I wish that this shit wasn't hereditary and I wish people would believe me when I say it's hereditary and not think that I'm bullshitting them. It's not because of a lack of dental hygiene; my parents, aunts and uncles on both sides of the family have the exact same issue. We're considered lucky if we can keep most of our own teeth without major intervention to the age of 40. I am 32 and oh hell, I'll be able to keep most of the bottom row but the top is just gone beyond hope. I hate my teeth and the troubles they bring. I am terrified of dentists to the point that I have to have a tranquilizer prior to seeing them otherwise I can't sit in the fucking chair in the waiting room let alone that monstrosity they examine you in. This fear stems from a long list of terrible, rough dentists over the years. (I once had a dentist who I would LOVE to name here that tried to remove a crown without anesthesia with pliers. I had blood running down my face and pooling in my neck and he said that I was behaving like a baby and that if I didn't stop screaming he'd REALLY hurt me. Rotten fucking bastard.)

Anyway, that's my big confession. The elephant in the room that everyone wants to talk about.

My teeth.

Yo-yo-ing...

There have been lots of good times lately. And an equal amount of bad times. Despite this I am doing well. I stopped taking my prozac; I felt I didn’t need it and had no reason to rely on it. The doom and gloom and despair that had hung over me since giving birth to Trinity had lifted. I only occasionally felt that familiar feeling drape over me, usually when it was getting close to the time that my period arrives. So, completely normal, no?

No.

Ulcers and hernias have returned with a vengeance. Most nights I don’t sleep because the pain and pressure keep me writhing. There is no comfortable position. There are no magic drugs. There is no magic cure.

*sigh*

It’s stress of course. What else could it be? Stress from the pressures of daily living. Keeping my head above the water, aka “debt”, fighting with the girls’ father, just… a lot. Writing used to be my outlet. I wish it worked so easily now as it did then. I’ll try to reinforce the habit again, not just for therapy, but because of my love for it.
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Today, while shopping for groceries, I saw a man. I’d seen him in produce, bumped into him again in dairy. Big dude, beautiful brown skin, cap set back on his close cropped hair, triangle of a goatee. Tall. And big… I adore big men. Skinny men do nothing for me, but big men… ah. I love them. Bellies and all. There’s just something so sexy and attractive about the way they carry their weight, the way you can snuggle under their arms on the couch, and cushion your head on their massive chests when lying in bed.
Anyway, this guy was insanely sexy. I went across his path - because no one stands between me and my hazelnut coffee creamer - and he spoke to me. A deep “Hey… how you doin’?” I looked him in his brown eyes and said hi back, “I’m good and you?” and hoped he’d say more. You know, ask for my number or continue the conversation.

Nothing. I got my creamer, turned around and he was gone. Wow. Now there’s a blow to the ol’ ego. I continued to shop and chat with Trinity who was sitting in the front of the cart but my thoughts wandered. Why did he lose interest? Is it my teeth? Am I that ugly? Fat? I bet it’s because I’m fat. God, I’m such a fool to think anyone would ever be interested in me, fat as I am and ugly to boot. Why bother even coming out of the house? I should stick to my usual shopping areas, usual shopping times, midday when other moms are about, not paying anyone any mind except their bald, bawling babies in their cars eats in the cart…

For a while, I couldn’t stop myself from tearing my own esteem and confidence to shreds while simultaneously wondering what the fuck was wrong with me that I was visibly hurt and agonizing over this guy that previously hadn’t existed to me 15 minutes earlier. I mean, yeah, I normally do beat myself up, but not like that. But then it hit me:

My period… coming soon.
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It’s things like what I wrote above that make me realize how lonely I truly am. I don’t feel I need a man to complete me and I don’t necessary want to be in a relationship. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a commitaphobe or whatever you call people that are terrified of anything deeper than a friendship. But there are times when I miss having someone around. Not necessarily men, because women… an entirely delectable subject altogether. But I miss having a man sometimes. The largeness of him, the scent of him, the heat that resonates from his body. The heady aromas of cologne mixed with the freshness of soap from his shower and wave grease in his hair. The sexiness of a thin necklace or bracelet resting on his skin. Gentle mustache hair tickling my neck as he nuzzles me. Huge, powerful hands that dwarf my own and that gently caress my body, possessing every crevice, gently resting on the curve of my hip. Kisses down my spine, my chin, my breasts and beyond.

Intellectual conversations, heated political debates, mutual appreciation of music and art, laughter and love, sensuality and sexuality all melting into…

Him.
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Another birthday has come and gone for me. Another month or so where I sit and reflect on my life, now, past and future. I don’t regret the past. Ever. I’m not anxious for the future either. Too many shattered hopes and dreams. I don’t dare dream again. I have no hopes. I exist, here, now.

But then I think of my children. How my every waking breath is for them. Every blessed moment. Every dime I make, step I take, decision, everything is all for them. Have I lost me? Probably. At this point I think I am too far gone to find me.

But there is something about birthdays that makes you realize how much or little you mean to those of value in your life. And with each passing year my heart grows a little colder with the knowledge that I don’t mean shit to friends. It’s not that I expect parties or gifts or money. Just simple acknowledgement. You see, for others, my friends, family… whoever. I make an effort to let them know that they matter. To me, to everyone. And I don’t always do it in a way that’s best reflected through money. I take the time to figure out what would be most pleasing to that particular person and find ways to express congratulations, happiness, whatever to them. For one girlfriend who was celebrating a birthday at a time that I had very little money I found a couple of books by her favorite author at a bookstore on clearance and I got her a card. Inside that card I enclosed a brief letter of encouragement because she (like me) is always putting herself down and never realizing how truly valuable she is as a person and a friend. It made her cry. That was years ago and she tells me that even now when she’s feeling down she pulls out that letter and it makes her cry all over again and see herself in a different light. That same friend was the only person to really make me feel special this year on my birthday. No one else bothered. No one else cared.

First time in 32 years that I didn’t have so much as a cake for my birthday.
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I’m not trying to whine. Really. I’ve got problems but my issues are minor compared to so many others. I realize that. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing a little and wanting just a little bit more happiness in my life. I wish to God that I didn’t have to take prozac even occasionally. I wish I weren’t so afraid to dream. I wish I had someone to hold me tight (if only for one night, heh). I wish that someone would understand that sometimes it’s so fucking hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other and that you do it because you don’t know what else to do. Not because you want to or have to.

Because you just don’t know anything different.

Updating...

I'm still here.

Still hanging in there.

But...

Not as depressed... Yeah, scary right? Been a long ass time since I've not written about depression, depressing thoughts, oh-my-God/oh-woe-is-me shit.

I'm actually feeling pretty good on the regular now. And it's not due to medication either because it's rare that I remember to take it. I dunno. Maybe God shined His benevolent light on me. Maybe I'm too busy with other activities to even become depressed. Maybe, just maybe, I just got sick and tired of it and said No More.

Let's go with that last one.

I'm on a healing road to wellness. I'm gonna try and drop some weight for real and get out some aggression at the YMCA. I'm back in school and I'm really enjoying my classes. I decided to double major in History and Psychology and I have a renewed interest in my classes. I'm not going to school for my job, I'm going to school for ME. The fact that it'll likely help get me promoted on the job is just an afterthought. I'm obsessed with my grades and thus far I've been maintaining a *drumroll* 4.0 GPA.

The girls are happy and healthy and spoiled fucking rotten. Jaalyn has gotten straight As on every single report card that's come home and is sailing right along into the 3rd grade this August. She's a dork like her mother and has requested that I purchase her third grade textbooks on Ebay so she can study them over the summer and be ahead when she goes back to school.

Trinity will be 3 this coming Sunday. Unfuckingbelievable. Time flies.

I've gone on a... um.. how to put this? Well, I've gone on a sex strike. No more sex with married men, period. No more convenience sex. I really just got fed up with getting short changed. I deserve better. Those dude's wives deserve better. Not every man out here is a lying, cheating sack of shit. It's just that all the dudes I ever come into contact with are lying, cheating sacks of shit. Some day, one day I'll meet my guy. Hell, I may even meet my gal. I'll probably write more about this another time. Right now I just can't get my words together to describe the hows and whys of why I did what I did. All I can say is that I've never felt better about any decision I've made recently than I did that one.

I have really decided to try and focus a little bit more on me. The girls take most of my energies and so does my dad. But I've been trying to take time out each month to do things that I alone enjoy. Tours with the history museum, visiting other museums, bookshops, festivals, etc. I'm going to try and mingle more not with the intention of finding a mate, but simply to enjoy other people's company and learn more. There's a vast world out there for me to explore and so far all I've discovered is a sliver. So my interest in other things has overshadowed that awful depressing feeling I had. I still have some bad days but they are far less frequent than before. I still have a lot of personal issues to work out, but things will fall into place in time.

My mom is still bat shit crazy, still annoying as fuck, still doing her best to keep my spirits low and keep me under her thumb. I turn a deaf ear to her, write in my journal in my purse and keep it moving. I will not let her get me down. It's a crabs in a barrel thing with her I think. Then again maybe she's just a mean hateful woman that's become bitter in her not quite old age.

My dad still worries me. He lives with me full time now and yeah I do feel cramped and smothered sometimes but I feel it's for the best. Deep in his heart I think he thinks so too. He's come to rely on me to provide happiness for him and I just cannot do that. He's depressed, I was depressed you can imagine what kind of household this was. But... I've gotten him a membership to the local YMCA as well so hopefully he'll take advantage of it and maybe even meet a nice lady there. He needs to feel loved and appreciated just like any other person and he needs someone to kick him in the ass and get him back on the road to happiness. I'm just not that person and it took a lot for me to realize that.

But all in all, things are lookin' up.

Just taking it day-by-beautiful-day.

Repetition...

I am honestly sick and tired of writing about depression. I feel that there's nothing more that I could possibly write about it. I wish it would go away but it never does. At least, it doesn't go away for very long before something triggers its inevitable return.

If I'm not depressed about money (and it's usually money), then I'm depressed about my weight. If not my weight, then life in general. If not life in general, it's back to money issues. Ugh, so many fucking money issues. Always. I work to live, live to work and it's like there is nothing in between except this irritating factor called consciousness.

I hate money. I hate not having it. I even hate having it because I never have enough of it to do the things I need to do. And I don't want to do extravagant things. I just want to pay my fucking bills. I don't want to live above my means, I just want to live period. In this economy I am extremely thankful for my job. I'm lucky and blessed and I know it. But damn damn damn it's still fucking hard to make ends meet. I give and I give and I swear I can't give anymore. Morning, noon and night I sit and worry and fret. The worry causes me to eat, which causes me to gain weight, which further sinks me into the abyss of depression and self loathing.

I'm sick of it all. I'm at the point (again) where no mom should ever tread. The point where you really give serious thought to giving up your kids to someone else in hopes that they can do a better job than you can in providing for them. I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so tired of weeping, waking with sore and swollen eyes and telling everyone "Oh it's just allergies." Bullshit. I'm knocking my head against a brick wall trying my damnedest to find a way around it, under it, over it, ANYWHERE but where I am now.

I just don't know what else I can do.

And then I think of people like the Spohrs and GB and I look at my kids and wonder how blessed I am, that I shouldn't complain, I shouldn't be ungrateful, that I'd give up a week, month, year of my life if it meant those two families could have that much more time with their precious babies. I look at my two and think that I have to do this, I have no choice, they deserve a mom that can do the best that she can to better their lives.

But sometimes I feel I just can't do it. I feel helpless and hopeless. Always. No amount of Prozac takes away the feeling. And truthfully, something that I'll admit here and nowhere else... I'm developing a habit with the pills. Oh not the prozac, that does nothing really. But combined with percocet, oxycontin, hydrocodone, codeine, anything else it numbs me so that I can't really focus on my problems. It gives me dreamless sleep and peace of mind. I don't overdose, up my dose, combine or anything like that. If I feel that one drug loses it's effect I'll go off it for a week, two and try something different afterwards. Guess it's no worse than people that smoke weed to put themselves in another place and forget their problems. I could never understand why people got high.

Now I do. And I hate that I understand so fucking well.

Humbled...

I was all set to write about my sorrows. Bitch about my weight, the ills of life, woe is me...

And then...

I read this...

Which led me to this...

After which I read this, this, and this...

And by the time I sat down and viewed this I was in tears...

Nothing matters anymore. All the shit I would've complained about and whined about; all the injustices and things weighing heavy on my heart... none of it matters. My heart could explode for all the sadness I feel for these two families.

I sat and I stared at my two beautiful blessings and thought of how crushed I would be if... if... if the unthinkable happened. Never to stroke their hair again, breathe in their lovely scents, hear their laughter, feel their hugs.

My God.

I Resolve...

Doesn't the whole idea of making resolutions for the new year just suck? It's like some sadistic form of setting yourself up in advance for failure and disappointment for the next 365 days.

Resolution #1: Be more positive

Yeah, so, um... 2008 wasn't exactly the year of sunshine and rainbows for me. My overall attitude stunk and I hated that. My friends hated it. My mother hated it (but I didn't and still don't care). I used to be the one with the positive outlook. Actually, I still am when it comes to other people. For my own situations it's been straight pessimism and that should stop. I have always treated others better than myself.

It's time for fair treatment. I can and will be more optimistic, more positive but I absolutely refuse to be fucking chipper.

Resolution #2: Be Patient

Again, normally I am patient. Times of stress bring out the absolute worst in me. The kids wear on my already frayed nerves and I morph into a shrieking demon of terror. Even as the words spew from my lips I'm shocked at my own tone of voice. Every parent has days like that, I know. But my days are becoming more frequent.

Patience also isn't my strong suit when setting/achieving goals either. I want things done right now. I do not want to wait. I do not want others to "help" me. I want what I want when I want it right. NOW.

Case in point: I'd like a companion, male or female, in my life. Now. But it's just not happening. And upon reflection... that's most likely a good thing.

Resolution #3: Humor

My mother once remarked that the most unusual things seem to happen only to me and she sardonically suggested I write a book about it. Well, she's right (please don't tell her I said so because I will never hear the end of it). The thing is instead of taking the negative approach to it, I ought to highlight the humor of the situation the way I've normally done in the past.

Exhibit A: Disasterous holidays are a habit for me. Dinners I prepare for holiday meals are no exception. Let the record show that under normal circumstances I am a good cook. However, three year or so ago on Thanksgiving day disaster struck. Water would not flow to the kitchen sink (for the life of me I can't remember what happened to cause that), so all water for boiling potatoes, washing hands, dishes, meats, etc had to come from the bathroom sink or tub; the ceiling in the kitchen just to the right of the sink exploded from a water leak that I'd been complaining about to maintenance for about three months but they refused to admit was there despite this growing bubble in my kitchen ceiling. So, heh, I guess that is what caused the pressure to go kaput in the kitchen sink. Add to that mess that I blew up the ham. That's right. Blew it to bits. No idea how it happened or why it happened. I remember using one of those baking bags that I'd used hundreds of time before. Cut slits in the bag, flour it, insert ham and tie it loosely. Blam. Now granted I was upset. But the entire situation was so damned funny. I mean who blows up a ham?!

And this Christmas... sigh. Really, I blame the turkey. The bird was cursed from the start. My mom, the woman that grosses like 70k a year took not one but FIVE turkeys from a local church that was giving them away to the poor. I was appalled and disgusted as were the people she gave the turkeys to. I may be struggling financially but I would never, ever take food from the needy. As a matter of fact despite it all I regularly toss extra non-perishable items into my grocery cart to donate to the Daughters of Charity so that they can distribute it to those less fortunate. So when mom showed up glowing at the thought of pilfering 5 frozen birds to give to herself and a few family members I was upset but figured eh, she thinks she's doing good so I'll cook it anyway.

Ladies and gentleman, the turkey caught fire.

Twice.

I have no idea how it happened. Turkey is supposed to be the leanest meat next to fish right? Evidently the bird was a fatty one and the drippings rolled off the foil tent and onto the burners below the rack. The second time the bird caught fire I got pissed off, turned off the oven, put out the flames, aired out the house, beat the ever-loving-crap out of the smoke detector, and let the bitch sit in the oven overnight. I was so mad I couldn't even bear to take it out. The next day I tossed it into the garbage and went to Food Lion and bought another. It turned out beautifully. Best bird I've baked in a long time. It was so lovely I wanted to take a picture of it.

But still... how the hell?

Resolution #4: Take out the trash

Literally and figuratively. I want the negatives out of my life. That means negative thoughts, negative actions and negative people. I've made this resolution before and I did gain ground a little bit in 08. This year I plan to purge big time.

And all this clutter and bullshit in the house? Going. Out. NOW.

Resolution #5: Make Me Over

Not only do I need a character makeover, I need a physical one too. I need to lose weight, eat healthier, become more active and have some pride in my appearance. With that pride comes confidence which has been a stranger of late.

I have a 5 month short term goal to get into physical shape. I plan to race and complete the Susan G Komen Race For The Cure on May 9th of this year. I've lost relatives to breast cancer and a close friend has been battling it for about two years now. I can... I WILL do this.

If you are in the area, join me. We can huff and puff together for the cause.

And... I've got to fix lunch for the kids so I'll continue this later.

Distance...

So...

I took a little vacation from blogging. That's not entirely the truth but it'll do for now.

I hadn't realized people were still checking up on this blog. Hadn't realized people still cared. Some do; most don't.

Half a year since I wrote last. I didn't stop writing, I just stopped writing here. I've dozens of abstract thoughts, angry rants, depressing missives scattered throughout my house on scraps of paper, in notebooks, on both my home and work computers.

So much has happened and so much has changed. I have changed.

I've lost my joy, lost my zest. I've become gray (grey? always got the two confused). Aside from the kids very little matters to me. I've developed medical problems galore; I've one of those rolling backpacks that I haul with me everywhere just to carry all my medications. A med for ulcers, a med for pain, a med for migraines, a muscle relaxer for back spasms and a sprained knee; countless other medications to counter the side effects from the others. I've a pill to sleep, another to keep me awake; one more to give me a mental "boost"; another for excess stomach acid.

It's nothing new. I've been at this point before. Times when I was so stressed I'd come home and just lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling or simply roll over onto my stomach and cry. Finances, stress, drama. I'm sick of it all. Jaalyn and Trinity get me through each day. At night, my assortment of prescription pills make me sleep and keep me from dreaming. Even in my dreams my worries haunt me. On the rare occasions I do dream in drugged sleep the dreams are so hilarious that they resemble a really bad sitcom. And then... when I wake and shed the thick veil of sleep that shrouds me and I once again pick up my usual packages: Stress, worry, anger and bitterness are my garbs of late.

I hate feeling like that. I hate being that way. The medications my doctor prescribes don't make my financial struggles end, they don't make the weight fall away. All it does is mask what's just beneath the surface.

At times, I feel the whole world is against me. I'm torn because I know I am blessed in so many ways: healthy kids, a good job, roof over my head, etc. And yet... bad things continue to happen. Unusual what-are-the-odds type of things. I try to remain positive. I try to keep my head up.

I'm tired. Of trying. Of everything. Of everyone.

All I want for Christmas is...

Peace.