I'm stressing out..and everything is going so well

Why am I stressed? Things are going so well so now I am quite worried that the floor will drop out and I will be devastated again. Isn't that sick? I even know it is sick and now my thoughts stress me out too! But I do know it is irrational and that is a good sign.

So things I am stressed about:
1. Therapy
2. Flat tire
3. Money
4. Applying for schools
5. GRE
6. Raising a teenager
7. Blackjack interacting with Alex
8. Being tired all the time
9. My weight
10. Answering the question what do you do all day? With the undertone of-you should be working or doing something-I immediately start feeling guilty.
11. Not having a plan. I feel like I should have a plan.

A list of 11 is pretty good! It is usually 200 or so...

Teaching

I am not going back to teaching full-time in the fall. I might sub and I might go back eventually but I just don't have any desire to teach at this point. When I was in college the first time, I was totally paralyzed about my future. I was interested in English, History and Religion. I did not, though, want to be a teacher, a lawyer or a minister. Where did that leave me?

When I went back to school, I was a widow with two children to support. I did what I felt was the grown-up thing to do and got a teaching degree in English and History and hoped I would enjoy it. I had always planned to teach for five years then go back to school for history. I have discovered, though, that I just can't do it. I still struggle with the fact that I might not be doing what is right for the kids but I think seeing me further my education and explore my career options will be good for them. Also, frankly, I have thirty-five more years of working and ten more years of them in the house. My wants and desires matters at some point. And this is my point.

I liked teaching but I don't think I was particularly good at high school, full-time teaching. I am not organized enough, not strict enough and not focused enough. I struggled with the pressure of the fitting everything in an semester and struggled with trying to do a great job because the kids deserve it. So, I might return again for it or I might not. Who knows?

I have already gotten strange looks when I say I don't know what I will do with a history graduate degree with an emphasis in Religion. I always have the teaching degree to fall back on and I just kinda think I don't need to know. I just need to do. I have always lived with a goal in mind and a planned future. I am done with that. It just creates more pressure. So, I am just going for the quest of knowledge and because I love history.

The future scares the hell out of me. But I have hope and I have loose plans. It will be fine.

How much is that doggy in the window?

Rick expressed a childhood desire to own a puppy that he has never fulfilled. Instead of listening like a wise girlfriend, nodding and letting it go, I took his desire and ran with it. As usual, my impulsive behavior had ramifications and ripples that I did not even consider. His desire for a puppy meant he was opening his heart, he was ready to commit to something and he might even, one day, commit to me. In other words, it became less about the dog and became All About Me.

I called around and found a bassett hound puppy. I told him and Rick agreed to look at it. The puppy, named Amos,  was absolutely adorable.

I was determined not to get attached. I mean, Rick was not going through with it. He would find an excuse to not to purchase it. Rick looked at Amos-Amos looked at him and it was love at first sight. I started to feel hope. Then, I picked Amos up. He laid his head on my shoulder and his big ole ears flew out and I fell in love. I immediately had images of putting UT sweaters on him and walking him and stroking his ears. I pictured BlackJack bullying him and Amos sitting on him. Rick said he would come back on Sunday. I felt good. Really good. He even discussed names in the car. He worried if Amos was retarded. All good signs.

Then, Saturday, he said he forgot to even consider getting a dog. Uh-oh. Sunday, he decided Amos was too big (and look at him-he is a chunk and a half) and it would not work. I called the breeder then cried for an hour. I felt like, by rejecting Amos, he was rejecting me. He couldn't even love a dog. How could he love me? Ever commit to me fully?

Rick agreed to keep looking. Next, we looked at Corgis. Same pattern. I was shocked I liked the Corgis better than Bassett Hounds but I did. I picked up a puppy and thought it was sweet. I didn't like it as much as Amos but the Corgi pup was far more practical. It was also more lively and better looking. I imagined Blackjack and Corgi herding each other and playing with each other. I imagined the puppy at Rick's feet and walking with him.

Rick thought about it for forty-eight hours then rejected it.

I am disappointed. I am sad. It has become bigger than owning a puppy and I am trying to keep it in perspective. I just keep thinking, "if he can't commit to a dog-a dog he obviously wants-how will he ever commit to me?" But, it is not fair to pressure him in such a way.

Also, my dogs bring such joy in my life. I adore Blackjack. When I am at my blackest, just playing with him helps my soul. Walking him has helped bring me back into the world and being with him gives me something to focus on besides myself. There is just something special about a connection between a dog and a human and I want Rick to experience that type of love, loyalty and joy. I want him to experience the happiness a dog feels when his owner comes home, the delight in watching your dog play in the snow or bark at a leaf, the proud feeling when your dog sits for the first time at command. I just want a dog to help him with some of his wounds and help him begin healing like Blackjack does for me.

Notice all the "I wants..." I am so narcassitic at the core. I need to care about Rick wants.

So I am stepping back. I am going to quit pressuring, quit nagging, quit trying to force him into a decision. If Rick wants a puppy, he will get it. He doesn't need my help. He can find a breeder, he can do research, he can pick it up. I just can't any more. Everytime I see him with a puppy, I see the child that wanted a puppy and could never have one and my heart just breaks. It is up to Rick to decide how to reconcile that child with the adult. Not me. I can't fix it. And I should quit trying.

January is almost over...

January has been a very hard month. My children have not gone a full week of school since December and we have all had the flu. It has been cold, dark, dank and cold. I love snow but by the third round I was over it. I am done being romantic about snow. I need my children in school. I need to be on a schedule. I need the house to myself for even an hour.

This week it is suppose to snow Wednesday. I would sacrifice a squirrel to prevent this from happening. I would really like warm weather-maybe a hint of spring but apparently mother nature hates me. Or us.

The one thing that has kept me from going insane is this:

And my anti-depressant. I have discovered I need my anti depressant to function even somewhat normally.

I did achieve one goal. I have a date to take my GRE. Now I have to apply for my FASA. I'm waiting for my PIN to be authorized.

I am such a bad blogger

My therapist suggested I find better coping mechanisms then writing. Apparently, writing is too much a fall-back. Of course, this was the therapist that quit me so I am going to ignore her advice.

My goal for this month is to prepare for the GRE, apply for graduate school and apply for my FASA. I am going to graduate school for a graduate degree in religious history. No, I have no clue what I will do with it and it is scary but wonderful. One of my major problems in my first round of college was I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Guess what one of my major problems is now? Yep. I am still at a loss. I was always interested in English, religion and history but I did not want to teach, be a minister, or be a lawyer. So, I am going to do it as a quest in knowledge and quit fretting. I have not told anyone-just my mother who was strangely supportive. My father will freak.

I am enjoying being home. Blackjack and I walk about a mile and a half a day. I volunteer, sprodiacally write and think of business ideas. Right now, I have not been alone much since the kids either have snow days or the flu. Tis awful. Very awful.

I will try to write more regularly. I am starting to have panic attacks again and it is making me nervous. I also have accepted that I have really odd sleep patterns and always have. In the morning, I am very sluggish and right now-9:00 at night-I am wide awake and raring to go. I am going to quit fretting about it. It is OK to sleep differently than other people. I am home and I can sleep however I want right now.

If I have never said thank you to you guys, well....thank you. I have gone from wanting to end my life to actually wanting to live it. I can't imagine depriving you guys of my fab presence!

The Hunger Games

I finished The Hunger Games today. The last one, which got some violently bad reviews (but a great one from one of my readers!), really spoke to me. I have never been in war or had to kill anyone but her breakdown was very realistic to me. A human's brain and body can only handle so much. So the thought that she simply shut down and was numb for much of the book really spoke to me.

Today, I felt like a deflated balloon. Therapy yesterday took a lot out of me. She hit some sore spots and I spent some of the session crying. Today, I watched TV then I watched the snow then I watched Blackjack play with his ducky. I spent the majority of the day numb to the world. Taking out Blackjack was the most contact I had with the outside world and I really enjoyed it.

My therapist says I am very alone and guarded. I keep myself isolated as a protective measure. I know I do not have many friends and I do not go out very much. I do think the relationships I have outside my family are deep and strong and emotional. I do not have many because friendships are hard work and I don't need many friends. The ones I have, though, are wonderful.

I don't like to think I am alone, though. What is alone? I connect to people every day--children and life force those things. Do people talk to their friends every day? Do they go out every weekend? Or do we keep ourselves from isolation through our family units and work (and facebook?) I don't know. I believe I should have asked for clarity. It has bothered me. I don't like to think I am a hermit like the unabomber--soon to be hairy and living in a 300 square foor cabin. I won't survive. I also like to think I am friendly and in the world. Maybe, realistically, I am not.

While I related The Hunger Games triology back to me, I will say it is a really great book. It is realistic (in a sci-fi way), powerful and gut-wrenching. I love that it starts out as a romance and quickly becomes a fight for survival-survival of a society and survival of self. Romance no longer matters. Feelings become squashed through trauma. People die. Decisions have to be made. Loss becomes a way of life. The direction it took was totally a surprise and completely understandable after thinking about it for a couple of hours. This triology will stick with me.

Read it.

It's 2011, bitches

I know this year will be better. If it is not, I just might kill myself. Kidding but too soon, I'm sure. Let's see, this year will be better if:
1. I don't get my passport taken away in a foreign country
2. I don't have a suicide attempt
3. We don't have a flood
4. I don't break my foot
5. I don't go to a mental hospital

I think those goals are doable. Well, the flood is beyond my control.

It is certainly starting out fairly good. We have a new adorable puppy named Blackjack. He is so cute and he was the hit of Pet Smart today. I had an employee say he was the best behaved puppy she had ever seen and asked how I taught him to sit when he gets petted. I acted like I did but he just does it naturally.

He has been helping the household immeasurably. Mom has fallen in love and walks him quite a lot. Zak comes out of his room to play with him and Alex runs with him (actually, he is herded by the puppy). I take him out to play ball and walk and potty. He is making me go outside and exercise which is great. 

He is an minature Australian Sheperd so he is a ball of energy. Good thing the boys are balls of energy. We wore him out today and he fell asleep in the car today. I am going to put him in agility training when he gets older so we can release some of that energy. It will also give me something to learn and meet new people. Of course, now he is chewing the keyboard and trying to catch my hand so I am not bragging on him anymore.

I am now a professional therapy patient. I am greatly loved because my mother and my boyfriend (I realize calling him The Boyfriend sets up distance from him) because they have agreed to go to therapy with me. So, I go once a week to a professional pyschologist, once a week to a church therapist, once a week with my boyfriend and once a week with my mother. The pyschologist also wants to see the kids and I together. Who has time to work? I have gone from never talking about my feelings to talking about my feelings all the damn time. I need to start creating family members to talk about because the therapists are going to get bored of mine!

Here is my New Year's prediction: Since birds are falling out of the sky and fish are dying, I predict zombies are next. Blackjack will save the boys and I! My boyfriend already told me that I live on the wrong side of the city to save. That's OK. We can save ourselves.

Sorry I have not been posting. I'm taking a break until the kids go back to school! Things are going ok. I'm a little unsettled but it's going be all right!

Quick update

The therapist quitting did cause more panic than I thought. I have a new one, though! I actually went to her in the past so I am quite relieved.

I also had a strange, strange interview today. More later when on computer not the Ipad!

December is the cruelest month...

Not really but it is a hard month-Christmas dealing with family, the loss of my husband on the 27th, the dealing with family issues over stressful holidays and the damn cold weather. I am not a cold weather person. My answer to cold is to lay in the bed under covers and watch my cat sleep, watch 24, read or sleep. I become very hermity. Of course, in the summer, I lay on a lounge chair by the pool and read so really same difference.

My mood is much more level. I have started taking my antidepressant at 5:30 instead of 9:00 and it is making a huge difference. I am not sure why but I am not quite as tired. I have not had any panic attacks, crying or suicidal thoughts. All good. I still have a certain amount of lethagry but it has been only about six weeks since the attempt and since I got back from my misadventures over seas. It might just take some time.

I have still been going to therapy with my mother and it has been fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. It is like I thought I was in this certain landscape my whole life and I realize I was actually in a different one. I have resentment and anger and hurt more than I ever knew and I also have learned my childhood was not the way I thought it was. My social worker at the hospital said I had to have been abused somewhere in my past and it really scared me. I have never been physically abused. Never sexually abused that I remember but I do feel I was emotionally abused.

I have discovered that both of my parents were emotionally unavailable. When I tell people my parents are divorced, they kinda wince and say "Lots of fighting, huh?" Actually no. My parents never fought. We were a household of ice and silence. Feelings were not allowed. Anger was definitely not allowed. My parents just froze each other out and also, by extension, my sister and I. Even now, when I get angry or one of the kids gets mad, my mother leaves the room. She simply can not handle it.

I was reading a website this evening about emotional abuse: http://eqi.org/eabuse1.htm#Minimizing and it has been fascinating. I match many of the characteristics of adults of emotionally abused and I feel absurdly guilty already. Emotional abuse is nothing. I have never been molested or hit. I didn't have parents that drank or did drugs in front of us. I am luckier than many but....I did have parents that could not handle emotion. They could not handle love or personal interactions.

One of things they talk about is denial. With my father, there is no real discussion. He just ices out anything he doesn't want to hear. He shuts you down and that is that. With my mother, though, she says horribly cruel things and then denies she says it. I always thought I was going mad as a child. She would just say things and then deny she ever said it or I took it wrong. When I was pregnant with my second child, she said, "I can't believe how selfish you are-to bring a child in this world when his father is going to die!" Yet, she denies she ever said it. It is so. Well, I am wordless. Imagine being a child and thinking you might be going insane because your mother denies her own statements.

I finally talked to my sister about it and she admitted that she felt the same way. She finally has just stopped Mom about some things because Mom would never admit to her part in the discussions. I don't know why it took so long for us to even talk about it but it so freeing to know it was not just me.

So, finally as an adult, I am starting to realize none of my feelings of personal rejection were valid. I was being rejected because they simply could not do better. They couldn't give me what I needed and, as an adult, I no longer have to take that rejection personally. I can look at it objectively and free myself from that scared 8 year old that needed to know why no one talked about anything in the house. I can free myself from the child that couldn't understand why her parents weren't like other parents or wasn't allowed to express herself. I can free myself from the anger and confusion and sadness I felt when I realized our family was different but couldn't quite figure out why. I am not like my parents. I am doing a better job parenting emotionally than them (I am sure my mother would disagree). I am no longer a scared, frightened, confused child.

Our joint therapist has said my mother is very limited. My other therapist said she will never change but she is manipulative and emotionally cold. My job is to accept that. I am not sure why I was in such angst about it. I think it is because I thought she was rejecting me but it might be that I was changing and she was staying the same. She wasn't rejecting me. I was rejecting her way of interacting with me. I need more. I don't want to relive my childhood and I honestly feel like I am living with her. I have retrained myself not to look for her approval or worry about her moods or accept her criticisms as valid. It is so difficult and so hard. I sometimes feel like my eight year old self wanting to cry out, "Just tell me what is going on? Why don't you love me?" My task is accept the eight year old self but move on. Talk to her like an adult and realize she simply can't love me the way I want. It is not my fault but hers. Totally hers.

It is really hard to write that sentence. My mother is suppose to love unconditionally and deeply. When your own mother can't love you like that, then it has to be you right? No. It has to be her.

She told me she felt I was being possessed by Satan or at least hounded by demons. This is not the first time she has said this to me. It is weird because we are Methodist. We don't even believe in Satan! OK. I'll stop trying to use humor to deflect. I didn't even get mad. I just snickered quietly to myself. She would rather me be possessed by Satan than admit there might be actual mental problems with me-some stemming from childhood. She wants to cure me-exorcise my demons-but not have it be messy with feelings and emotions. And you know what? My heart aches for her. What is a world where you repress your feelings to the point that your child is suffering and you still can't reach out? How bleak and scary is that world? Desolate and frightening? I really can not imagine and I am so glad I can not. I feel. I feel too much sometimes but thank God I do have feelings and express them. I am sad today. Yesterday, I was content. Tomorrow, I will be frustrated Christmas shopping. My mother could never admit any of the previous three sentences.

I will talk more at length about this but my therapist quit today. It is so frustrating. Damn frustrating. I am going to try to go back to a former therapist but I already miss her.

Decisions, decisions...

I was just checking stats on the blog and noticed I had readers in Malaysia, Canada, UK and Australia. I thought it was strange and it was because of the image of the reindeer cake I had on the blog. So, I have been doing some editing. I took out the image and also did some editing with the kids names and locations. Hopefully, that makes it less personal. Who knew one image could have my blog be in Google so easily? Live and learn.

I am thinking about getting a minature Australian shepard. I found a reputable breeder in Clarksville and they have three male puppies left. I talked to Mom about it and she is totally against it. Totally. The vet bills will be too much, the house is too chaotic already, the kids don't need it and puppies are hard work. It is one of my coping mechanisms and I don't need a puppy. I think it would be good because we can't go anywhere for Christmas, it has been a hard year, Alex lost Tess (I gave Tess, our dog, to Camie because we moved to the UAE) and it will give me a reason to go outside and walk. Plus, I just want something for myself and the boys. I really don't think it effects Mom that much since she does not have to take care of it. I did discuss it, though, as a courtesy.

So, I don't know.

Today, Dec. 7th

I believe I am a 24 addict. I am now on Season 7 and it is so good and intense. I stay up until 2 or so watching it then I am so tired the next morning. It doesn't help my sleep but, at least, I am not up worrying about me. I am worrying about Jack Bauer.

I talked to one of my old therapists tonight. It was really nice she called me. I had called her before the suicide attempt trying to reach out for help but she was moving. I had worked with her intensely for two years and really liked her but then she moved practices. I told her what had happened and explained my medication and my exhaustion. She said the meds might be causing the exhaustion and that she did not agree with the borderline personality disorder or the bipolar diagnosis either. She felt my main problems were anxiety and unresolved grief. Since this is what my new therapist believes, I feel I am on the right track.

I have an appt in two weeks to discuss my meds. I am so tired of being exhausted all the time. It is not like a tired you can push through but a I can barely keep my eyes open exhaustion. Like bone-tired haven't slept in two days exhaustion. It is a side effect of depression to sleep alot but this is a new one. I was actually sleeping great before the suicide attempt which is weird.

Anyway, I am freezing, cold and sniffly. I hate this weather. I was hoping to go somewhere warm for Christmas but no such luck. I'll settle with going somewhere at this point. I just don't want to deal with the stress of dealing with my family. Did you hear that voice just now? That was my therapist saying "You are running away, Kristi." Yep and it's self-preservation. Christmas is insane. I have to do Christmas with Mom, Christmas with my aunt, Christmas with my father-in-law, Christams with my Mother-in-law and Christmas with the whole Galligan family. It is way too much Christmas and I feel powerless to put my foot down with the in-laws. They deserve to see the grandkids but it is me running around like a headless chicken trying to please everyone. So, I just want out. It is like the mafia, though. You think you have set a boundary then one of the in-laws says, "They are my last memory of Devin" and I am sucked right back in.

There's a therapy discussion. Totally.

This week..Dec. 6th

I had an emotional discussion with my mother at our therapy session. The bottom line is that she can't talk about her feelings and she can't support me the way I need to be supported. She feels it is my problem to deal with and she doesn't want to wake up at 2 AM to talk to me when I am stressed out. Now, if this was repeated to her, she would say that I totally misunderstood her and take everything out of context. Thank God for the therapy session so I don't think I am insane.

This was on Friday. She still has not talked to me about it since I told her I simply can't live with her and recover from this deep depression. It is a toxic living arrangement and I can't keep worrying about her mood and her feelings on top of mine. The easy solution is to not worry about her. Right. I have spent 35 years reading her moods. I don't know how to stop.

I did go on a job interview. I have not heard anything. I am really relieved. I don't know if I am ready but I do have goals and plans which is more than I had in October. I am starting to feel more focused and more in tune with the world.

I am sleeping all the time. Major sign of depression. I literally have to fight to stay awake and I don't like it one bit. Last night I was up until 2 AM and woke up at 5 AM then again at 7: 30 to take the kids to school. I fell asleep again at 9 and slept until 11. It is killing me. I just want one night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep and I don't know if I ever will get it.

So, things are progressing. I am no longer suicidal but still anxiety-ridden and depressed. That is good. I feel bad for A because he worries like me. I have to address that with his therapist. I hate to see him tie himself in knots like I do. But, he does talk to me about it. Progress.

Panic Attacks

I am starting to see a trend in my panic attacks. I have them at night. I am in the middle of a slight one right now. I guess I start thinking about my day and the next day and it gets me all riled up and there you go. Panic attack. I probably need to buy some reflective gear and start running. The therapist said I have to start talking to people or running to make sure I cope better. No writing. Of course, what am I doing right now? Writing.

I am going to the therapist tomorrow. Banner week for me-four therapy appointments but I have had a level mood this week. I have also felt more able to cope. We are going to discuss the job situation. I really don't know if I am ready. I feel our family is quick to push down emotions and lose ourselves in something else. Is working my way of pushing down emotions? Will it cause me more anxiety? Or will it give me some direction and help me rebuild my life.

I really wanted my life to change when I came back from the UAE. I have felt that it hasn't. Even the suicide attempt did not really change it. I am dating the same person, living in the same place and working the same job. On the other hand, though, my father and I have a deeper relationship. We also talk more. I am starting to draw boundaries. I am working on the living situation and I will be changing to middle school if I decide to take the interim. I also have plans to return to school and try to get out of the classroom and more into a support role. So, things are changing but slowly.

I have not heard from the job yet and part of me is very relieved. I was up all night worrying about it. Am I ready? Will I ever be ready? Is one month after a suicide attempt too early to go back to work? My mother has been making this push to hospitalize me for a month but she is all about me working too. It is a dictomochy I can't figure out. I can't handle life in her mind but I can handle teaching ninety 7th graders. It makes no sense. So, that will be discussed on Friday in joint therapy.

Anyway, it has been a week. I feel distant from everyone. I went to dinner with a friend and that was great. I have held myself off emotionally from my mother and from my boyfriend this week and it has been hard. The boyfriend is dealing with a death in his family and it has been very traumatic and stressful for him. He doesn't need my stress too.

Hard to believe it is December.

A is pretending to be a zombie.  Again. He is clawing the door and making zombie sounds. He just pretended to bite me. A and I bond over the love of zombies...

Jury Duty

Oh, and I got out of jury duty. When it asked if I had any mental or physical disability, I explained I was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital after a suicide attempt. Evidently, that works! And I am out. I am very glad. I am not sure if I could have handled it. Heck, I am not sure if I can handle the interim position with teaching.

Nov. 30, 2010

Today has been a month since my suicide attempt. It is amazing to think that it has been so long. In a way, I feel that I have made great progress and, in a way, I feel I have floundered. I have had two great days, though, and that is amazing.

I was exhausted all day. It is rainy and cold and blah. I was worn out as soon as I got up so I took two naps today. Wonderful. A came in and laid down with me for awhile and said, "Mom, now I understand why you do that! It is so relaxing." I laughed.

I had a job interview today for an interim teaching position at a middle school. It's seventh grade for a teacher on bedrest with a twin pregnancy. I have mixed feelings about it. For one, it could be greatly chaotic and also it might not have a firm end date. I have decided, though, if offered, I will take it. I must admit, interviewing without desperately needing a job is greatly relaxing. I was not nervous. I did feel slightly off and I was, perhaps too honest. I guess I will know by Friday or so.

Tomorrow, I only have one thing to do then rest and writing. Yeah!

Nov. 29th, 2010

Where did November go? Oh yeah in a haze of self-remore and pity.

Today was an awesome day. Yes, read that again. Awesome. I had a lovely night with The Boyfriend, great conversation with my friend Kira and did not feel responsible for my mother's feelings.

I am also baking up a storm. This is scary but I am not a great baker. I enjoy cooking but desserts always get me. Today, I decided to make Christmas cookies. I cheated and got the store bought sugar cookies. Then, I got Christmas cookie cutters, wax paper and a rolling pin. First problem. I couldn't tell what the cookie cutters were. Alex patiently explained that I was not looking at a snowman because snowmen don't have feet. It was a gingerbread man. Then, he lost his patience when I thought Santa's sleigh was a deformed dove. This really should have been my sign that I was not cut out to make decorative, cute cookies. I had dreams of ornaments with white and pink icing, christmas trees with cinnamon dots as ornaments and santa all perfectly red and white. I got giant blobs of nothingness. I did manage one Christmas tree and one gingerbread man. He, though, suffered a tragic amputation when taken off the cookie pan. I also blinded my huge ass Santa Claus with the M and M eyes. That is OK because tomorrow I am doing it again. I have three packages of cookies and all the time in the world to perfect it. So there all you Martha Stewart types.

I also cooked brownies with M and M "I Love You" written across it and a quiche. I am contemplating strawberry cake cup cakes with cream cheese icing and sprinkles. I am still trying to lose weight so I can eat none of it (well, three sugar cookies). I would like to make cake pops too but they require dowels and edible pens. That seems high tech. Bakerella  had really cute reindeer pops but mine will never be that cute. They had pretzels as ears and little dots for noses. Ruldoph has a cinnamon dot. I think mine will be the reject reindeers in the back of the reindeer barn.

So, anyway, if you want strawberry cupcakes or deformed Christmas cookies or brownies, just comment or email. Cooking is relieving stress and I am just cooking away when I have time. I have fixed chili and made chili pie. Kids did not like. I loved. I also made Chicken Tortilla soup. Kids disliked. I loved. I am considering meatloaf even though I have bad memories of it from childhood. Also, maybe caramel pie or pecan pie. I am trying to fix stuff I have never fixed before. I almost got brave and thought about cookies from scratch but I am not a masochist. So frustrating and irritating. I tried once and had such a goopy mess that I had nightmares that night about a blob attacking me. Of course, the cat was sleeping with me too.

So, let's hope between cooking and writing and therapy that I keep getting better and things keep improving. I have been told by my lovely kick-ass therapist that I must stop running away and must verbalize my feelings. I can't write about them. I have to verbalize and use words. Oh ouch! That is why she is kick-ass--very direct. Very funny. Very sensitive. I like that. I have a friend that has agreed to listen to my verbalizations of my overwhelmedness and a back up friend. The whole situation is ironic to me because I constantly tell Z to use his words but now I do too.

The boys have therapy in the morning. I hope it goes well. A wrote me a note that said that when Z and I argued with each other, it messed up his life. Poor child, his life is going be messed up. Z is fourteen. We are going to fight. And I am not responsible for A's feelings. I don't even need to call my overwhelmedness partner to know that. He is responsible for his own.

Progress.

Devin

I married Devin knowing he was dying. I still struggle with why I did it. Did I love him? Feel sorry for him? Feel obligated because I had a child with him? I knew, if I didn't marry him, my eldest would never meet him. His family would have scooped Devin up and isolated him from me in a New York second. They were already trying when we started dating and after he found out he had a brain tumor. So, I don't know. I have never really dealt with it. I figured I did it and that is what counts. No reason to analyze the past. I do know, though, after all this chaos that I have never dealt with it and neither has my in-laws.

I have very few memories of the night I tried to kill myself. They say I walked to the ambulance. No memories. They say I yelled at the ER doctor and told him I would do it again. I do remember, though, yelling at my Father-in-Law. I remember screaming and begging not to take my children. I knew, if I survived, that there might be a move to take the kids from me. So far, no one has. I keep expecting it. He was shocked and he was frightened. My aunt said later that he was raising a child (his fourth wife is twenty-two years younger than him) so why would he want two more? One of the many reasons I love my aunt. She is so sarcastic but truthful. Anyway, relations are bad right now between my FIL and I. Looking back, I think they always have been. He always felt I was not good for his son. I think he got over as Devin died and he was proud I went back to school etc. But now, I am scared him and he realizes I am not dependable and I have issues. And he even told someone Devin and I didn't have a good relationship. That hurt.

But it's true. In our early marriage, we didn't. We had so many stressors and we tore and bit at each other. I know, without the cancer and without Zak, I never would have married him. I also know I never would have stayed married without those factors. I filed for divorce once and it was the same day that he found out that his tumor returned. I stayed with him for many reasons. I did love him but I am not sure it is the deep abiding love people think we had. It was not the great romantic story of the ages. There was violence. There was tears. There was vindicativeness and there was yelling and screaming. It was not the best atmospere for anyone. Thank goodness, after the removal of his temporal lobe, things got better. And we learned to support each other. But, honestly, those first years were a train wreck.

Lately, I think about my past-usually at 3 AM-when I can't sleep. I think about what I would have told myself at twenty. I know what it would have been. Go back to school. Don't marry Devin. And it makes me feel guilty. I never would have had Alex. I never would have had many things but I also would not have this pain that has become a part of me. Of course, if I had gone back to school, maybe he would have followed me and we would have gotten married anyway. I think, though, the perception was that I forced him into it. I just wish I had more independent. More willing to try to explore me. Instead, I hid in him just like I would love to hide in my boyfriend. And he enabled me to stop thinking and just put one foot in front of another until now. I hid in his cancer. I hid in his pain and I matryed myself into his dying. I didn't like myself. I didn't love myself but I could love him. I could like him. Who needed to be me? I would just be the servant to his cancer. The dutiful wife. The loving wife. The woman with the weight on her shoulders. And it worked for years. Until now.

I was driving last night to the boyfriend's house. He was sick and I was bringing him some stuff for his throat and I just started bawling. I was so angry-angry that I hadn't died. Angry that Devin left me with this fucking mess. Angry because, if I had died, Devin would have remarried. Angry because I always think he would have done better with the kids, with my parents, with his parents then I do. Angry because I was left behind. Angry that I married him. Angry that I had my children young. Angry that I am at cross-roads again at the age of 35. Angry at the world and furious at myself.

 I looked up and saw a sign through my tears. It was in rememberance of a man that died from cancer. Like Devin. Did his wife feel guilt? Feel anger? Feel the desperation that I did after he died? Where will she be seven years from now? I doubt she will a complete mess like I am right now. I also felt guilty because he tried to live while I tried to destroy myself. A man told me in the ward that he often wishes he could take someone else's cancer on because he wants to die and they don't. I shivered at the thought. That is a dark, desperate, pitiful, terrible thought. One that shouldn't be vocalized. And I looked at that sign and thought why did I live? Why did he die? Why did Devin die? Why is life so fucking random and painful?

I wish I knew. I know I have talked about it before but I don't believe anymore. And it is things like this that make me not believe. I am in so much pain that my brain causes. Every day is some sort of different torture but it is internal. It is brought on by my actions and my choices and it is hard to describe. Praying more, going to church more, believing more doesn't stop it. And, to be honest, I'll struggle with it for the rest of my life. Why would God do that to me? Why would God take people that want to live away so painfully? Babies, teenagers, fathers, mothers? Maybe because God doesn't. I haven't felt God or God's love in so long that I find his existence impropable at this point. And honestly, the day Devin held Alex for the first time and I knew Alex would only have him a short time, I realized I had no belief in God. My God doesn't take away loved ones. Therefore, my God doesn't exist.

Anyway, I have such complicated feelings about Devin that it will take forever to sort through them. I torture myself with the feeling that he could have done better than me. Maybe by forcing him to marry me, I stopped him from finding true love..from living to his true potential. Maybe his parents were right. Maybe I did a diservice to myself by marrying him. And the truth is, I know I did. God, that hurt. I just told the kids my eyes were watering. They know that is bullshit but giving me space. I took away so much from myself when I chose to marry him. And I do regret it. I wish I could have stood up for myself more and made better choices. I could have gone back to school, could have taken some time to find me before submerging myself into him. And I didn't. And now I am floundering. It hurts and it, like the cancer thought, is such an evil, despicable thought that I feel awful admitting it. We were the Great Love Story to those on the outside. Truth was...we never were. Not really.

And I don't know if I will ever be capable of loving someone truly. Can you love someone else when you loath yourself? Can you love someone else when you wake up every day with a undefined feeling of anxiety and resentment? I don't know.

For me, love always feels like a sacrifice. I sacrificed for Devin. I sacrifice for the boyfriend now. I sacrifice for the kids. I sacrifice for my in-laws and my parents and I sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice. I don't even trust what I want anymore. Do I really want to go to grad school? Do I really want a puppy? Do I really to never have anymore children? Do I really want to write a book? Do I really want to teach? I have no idea. Maybe I just want a puppy, grad school, book writing and teaching to occupy my time. To give myself something to do-something to take care of-something that will make people happy with me. Why do I sacrifice so much for everyone else? Mom would say that what love is...Is it? Mom would say that it was being  a wife, being a daughter, being a mother is. I just know sacrifice has gotten me to where I am today and it is not a pretty sight.

One of the things I admire most about my boyfriend is that he is so clear about his boundaries. So clear about his limits and his expectations. I wish I could be that way but I am not. I have very nebulous boundaries-one of the reasons I will never be a great teacher-and I have very few limits. I believe love is about sacrifice and he believes love is about making himself happy. I wish I was more that way. I wish I could be more willing to draw a line in the sand and stick to it. Maybe I will learn from him. Love should be about making yourself happy and making sure your boundaries are respected. Even when writing this, I am cringing. Isn't that selfish? But, how different my life would have been if I had set boundaries and expectations with Devin instead of sacrificing my whole existence for him.

My week

It was OK. I tried to talking to my sister again and that was a bad mistake. She started in about how I took her words out of context and I just said, "red popsicle stick." See, I thought we should have crafts in the mental ward and make popsicle sticks painted red and green (see, my educational background has come in useuful). When I can't talk about something, I can hold up a red popsicle stick. When I want to talk about it, green popsicle stick. Brilliance! So, my sister is just one big red popsicle stick. Perhaps I could just make a giant stop sign out of pipecleaners and glitter just for her.

Anyway, I just told her to stop talking and it really helped. I also completely avoided Thanksgiving activities. I had to give up my no lying pledge to get out of it-Mom thought I was with a friend but it was totally worth it. I sat on the couch, ate nachos and watched 24. It was great. I dozed. I stayed in my PJs. It was wonderful. So, I feel like I am gaining more control.

I keep feeling flashes of anger and resentment. Eventually, I will probably need to vocalize them but I don't really want to. I feel like I have caused so much anguish and so much pain to my loved ones that I don't deserve to be angry with them. I am mainly very angry with my sister, with Devin, with my boyfriend and my mother.  But, my boyfriend has been so supportive and so loving that I can't be too mad. I am very fortunate to be loved so much. And to be able to love someone else again after Devin.

 Anyway, all in all, it was a good week. I still am having fits of anxiety and I was very teary and very upset yesterday but I got over it with no self-destructive behavior!

Willie (Entertainment in the Mental Ward Part 2)

Willie was an older, grizzled, black man. He was exactly like one of the homeless men that stops people in Nashville and asks for money. Throughout the day, I would hear "Willie, stop it!" "Willie is at it again!" "Willie, stop yelling!" He was like Dennis the Menace of the pysch ward. He would get upset and yell at people or rant at them but it was only people that deserved it. He never yelled at the women in the ward or the nice techs.

He took a deep, personal dislike of one of the techs and would call him "the African" and just annoy the hell out of him. It would make me laugh. I could always tell Willie was getting started because he would get a glint in his eye and then off he went. He would start by circling the tech then ask where he was from then start in about how he was not even an American. The tech really was useless-sexually harassing the women techs, making comments about some of the patients and generally was an ass. I couldn't help but laugh. Willie would start quizzing him about being an African and Thanksgiving and etc and we would just be dying with laughter. "You can't celebrate Thanksgiving..no turkey for you. You from Africa." "Why do you talk in that weird accent? You from Lewisburg? Oh that's right, Africa." Of course, the guy had to take it because we were all watching.

So, I liked Willie. He was smart in his own way. We had another girl there named Tammie that voluntarily put herself in the hospital. She had black outs and couldn't remember anything and it scared the hell out of her. Willie found out she was from Lewisburg and decided they went to school with each other. Then, decided they were married. He would bring in laundry for her to do (like you can do laundry in a mental ward) and write her love notes. He also created a whole history of their high school years. She helped him with homework and they began dating their sophomore year. It was hysterical because they had literally never meet before the ward. We thought he believed it but sometimes that glint in would start in his eyes as he would begin to weave stories.

He would also wear layers of clothes. We would play a game called "How Many Layers will Willie be wearing Today?" I never guessed correctly. He would wear two pairs of jeans and that had to be uncomfortable. The jeans also had writings all of them. He would sign them with markers. We never quite figured it out. Maybe he was scared people would steal them.

I finally couldn't stand it so I asked him what he was in for. It was a bizarre story-typical in the mental ward but I was crying from laughter at the end of it. Another reason I will go to hell.

Here's the story from Willie:

Some whiteys told me to go to the store and get some gum. They told me there was a giant rat there so be careful. I went and it was really dark. I got the gum and then I heard some noise. It was the rat so I ran then a pit bull was chasing me. I got a stick and started yelling at it. All of a sudden, these policemen jumped me and found a gun on me and lottery tickets. I don't know what happened to the gun. Then, I ended up here.

Ok. What got me was three things-the rat, the pit bull and how the police just end up jumping him and he has a gun. This poor man stole two packs of gum and lottery tickets and is now in a mental ward. It was so sad but so funny too. Who steals lottery tickets? And somehow jumps from a pit bull to policemen.

I really lost it though when, the next day, he showed me lottery ticket numbers that he had written down. He had a list of like ten. It was hard not to laugh cause Willie got offended when someone laughed at him. But, he really did steal the lottery tickets! I thought he had made it up.

Willie also loved Suduko and David would give him some of his. Willie just liked filling in the squares and never really tried to do it. He would have like 5 fours in one square. David tried to show him how to do it and finally gave up. Willie would hand it to David and David would pretend to check it and give it back. Willie was so proud that he would complete them and get them right. I must admit I would laugh again because David would just shake his head when Willie turned away.

Willie did steal my marker on my last day but I decided he could steal it. He needed to write more stuff on his jeans and he was busy writing a love note to Tammy.