A full year?

It’s been a full year since I’ve posted anything. Really? A full year?

Sadness fills me when I think that nothing significant has really changed. I still work for the same job, live in the same house, with the same people. My days drift, blending together, with the same result, a mirror of yesterday.

So, I must endeavor to look a bit closer at these 12 months. Really, something has happened, no?! My children have grown older, wiser. I’m thankful for that. I may still live in the same home, but I still live in the same home. I am thankful for that because I could be homeless. I still work the same job, but I still have a job. I’m thankful for that.

And although I have not changed much, I have tried a couple of new things. The first was belly dancing. Oh goodness, what a disaster. Imagine a thirty something tripping over her own feet, a clumsy duck wanting to be a swan. Let’s just say I won’t be returning to that any time soon. If ever.

My other adventure has been fictional writing. That’s right people, I’m trying to write a book. It’s been quite the adventure. I’ve had some success but only some, as I find dialogue difficult. It’s hard for an antisocial gal to even pretend to understand another human being’s thought process.

Perhaps this blog will become a record of my attempt at finishing it. So far, I have 35,000 words, give or take. For comparison’s purpose, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling, has about 77,000. That means that my work is about halfway to a fair size story. Only one, small problem. I’ve stalled. I have no idea how it ends.

Surely, they’ll have a happy ending but I have no villain. My eldest and I constantly talk about how critical a good villain is. Imagine Once Upon A Time without Rumpelstiltskin or Regina?!

The story bounces in my head… A puzzle with missing pieces. Bits of the story come to me and then drift away, often before I have an opportunity to get it down.

Well, I’ll do my best to keep this posted on how it goes. Wish me luck!

Self discovery

Everyone’s life journey is one of self discovery, even if it happens accidentally.

Today was an eye opener. I went to my old job to visit my old colleagues and their warmth was almost overwhelming. They missed me, they wished I were still there. For a moment, I felt wanted and needed. Most of all, I felt valuable.

The insane voices in my head pipe up far too frequently, especially when someone opens the door wide open by saying “you don’t have to go” when planning a get-together. Why, thank you for saying that I “don’t have to go” repeatedly. Yes, I understand, I don’t need to go because my presence has no value. The experience will not be enhanced by my presence, nor will my absence diminish it either. Or perhaps my presence isn’t really wanted. Is that why you’ve told me that more times than I can count?

The bottomless pit of despair.

So many thoughts, so many doubts. Unending need to just run.

On my drive back from my daughters swim class, I sped. This is not unusual for me. I began to wonder why anything less than 40 mph was too slow, regardless of the speed limit posted. I began to analyze my thought process and came to the conclusion that I want to run away. Leave the job, the family, even the kids. Just run. Never to look back.

What am I running from? The job, although annoying, is not bad at all. The family loves me and I love them, so there’s no need to run from that. The kids are wonderful, again, no need to run from them, either. That leaves me. I’m running from myself. My thoughts. My doubts. My need to be the center of the world. Which disgusts me.

I want to look in the mirror and just tell myself to get over it. I hate being such a needy bitch.

Ugh.

Awake

It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m wide awake. Most likely due to the two servings of caffeine I had today, one of which was at dinner time. So now I lay in bed, my mind wandering.

In case you were wondering, Miss K was born on December 18th, healthy and well. She’s now home with her parents who adore her. And although labor was long, it was uneventful. I didn’t bleed to death after all.

As the copy-cat that I am, I volunteered to pump breast milk for Miss K because that’s what a friend of mine did. It is good for both of us. It helps her for the many beneficial qualities of breast milk and it helps my body return to normal faster. Unfortunately, it also leads to pumping every three hours (aka sleepless nights) and tender breasts. This, my friend, gets old very quickly.

Two days ago, I decided I had had enough. I quit. This resulted in painfully swollen breasts and another, far longer, sleepless night. Which led to a very cranky me. Emotional and weepy, I tried to stay busy and distracted.

Tonight, as I lay in bed not sleeping, I have a bit of an epiphany. I feel loss. Not for Miss K, because she’s not mine, never was. But loss that I will never again do what I felt I was born to do. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I have easy pregnancies and deliveries. Quite text book. And although I say I’m 29, I’ve said that for 8 years. At this point, I’ve reached “advanced maternal age”. Additional pregnancies run higher risks.

Before this pregnancy, my husband and I had talked about making our family officially complete, so he had a vasectomy. At the time, we were both very happy with that decision. Right now, with my maternal hormones running through me, I feel sadness and loss. I will never have another child. I will never feed my milk to another child. My usefulness is gone.

I understand this is a result of my hormones but it doesn’t make it any less powerful. As I lay in my bed, I begin to wonder who I can sleep with to get pregnant. Okay, so it would make things a little awkward. “Yes, I’m pregnant again. No, my husband isn’t excited.” Followed by visions of me in the delivery room. “Yes, this is my husband but this other guy is the baby’s father, so he needs to stay, too.” I imagine the looks I would get from the hospital staff. “Don’t judge me!” Perhaps a dog would be a better way to go.

My maternity leave will last for another couple of weeks. It is my hope that when I return to work, I will become myself again and this need for a child will pass. If not, I will babysit my three year old niece. That will take care of it. Cute as she is, I don’t want to go back to that stage of parenting. I like my 10 and 13 year olds. They’re quite self sufficient.

Stay tuned…

Crazy ass bitches…

Why is it so difficult for some to understand emotional pain, emotional scars? Perhaps a point of reference is necessary.

For folks who don’t want to deal with “crazy ass bitches” please understand, we don’t want to BE crazy ass bitches. We’re broken. And yes, some of us have gone through therapy. For years, in fact. But there is no official manual for dealing with broken people, only a guide. And though the people who work in the field do the best they can, sometimes you can only put a bandage and say “I hope this helps.”

I am logical enough to say that my pregnancy hormones are making things far bigger than they should be, a pebble becomes a boulder, a single drop becomes a tidal wave. Yet, these issues, small though they are when I’m reasonable, are still issues.

My personal nightmare, my personal “horror” if you will, is being excluded.

I’ve been picked on when I was a kid, not full on “bullied” per se, but enough that when I see others being bullied, I feel their pain and can say “I’ve been there.” Ironically, my own crazy mother taught me not to care about that and to stand my ground. So, call me whatever names you will, and though it hurts, I can analyze and grow from it.

I don’t know what it feels like to be completely abandoned by those who are supposed to love you. I would assume its what I feel when I’m excluded times 100. Or a 1,000.

I was suffocated by my mother, trapped. To me, seeing others being invited and doing things that I want to do but being excluded (whether by accident or on purpose) is my personal hell.

Today, I blew up on a friend of mine via IM because she asked if my husband and eldest daughter would like to go with some friends to a haunted hay ride. Being used to being ignored and excluded (even if it really hurt) I only focused on my youngest.

To be fair, I must mention that this person loves my girls and would never intentionally hurt either one. But when I read the invitation included only my husband and eldest, my heart started to pound, my hands started to shake.

I calmly told her that he would probably ask the youngest if she’d like to go, too. “The exclusion thing, you know.” I don’t remember the exact words but her reply was something along the lines of “life isn’t fair and they should be individuals, not always together.” And that’s when things went down hill. Again, to be honest, her only thought was that perhaps it would be too scary for a 10 year old. Which is perfectly reasonable since the youngest doesn’t like scary things.

The point was the lack of invitation. Years of “you can’t do this because… you’re a girl, because you’re too young, you’re not enough this, enough that… Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not cool enough…” flooded over me. Years and years of being excluded from parties, events, for example. Not only in childhood but as an adult. Repeatedly having the door closed on my face. Not only metaphorically but literally, as well.

How does one explain this to someone who is constantly looked for? To the point that she gets annoyed by it? How can someone explain the emotional pain that comes from being shunned???

Judgmental, maybe?

So it’s been a little bit since I’ve been here. I’m 24 weeks now and looking forward to delivery. Baby is growing healthy and it’s quite a normal, uneventful pregnancy. Nothing less than what everyone expected.

What I hadn’t expected was the constant emotional turmoil. Constant crying, constant aching. I’m fully aware that it’s my hormones but I wonder if these thoughts/emotions aren’t the “truth” that I push aside with logic. Similar to my thoughts on people who are drunk. Being drunk turns off the filter, so words spoke are truth, actions taken are actions wanted, without the filter to make it stop. It’s hard core truth.

There is someone in my life whom I love very much but we don’t always see the same side. I am a firm believer that you shouldn’t do anything behind someone’s back that you wouldn’t do in front. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. There are plenty of times when I say that I’d love to beat someone with a baseball bat. And I certainly wouldn’t say that to someone’s face, but I would find a way to soften my words and get my point across with truth.

So to hear that “what he/she doesn’t know, won’t hurt him/her” makes me wonder what goes on behind my back. I have my suspicions on how many lies I’ve heard, how many misdirections. What kind of ethics (or possibly lack of…?) does this person have? Is this someone I want in my life? In my family’s life?

But then I wonder “who am I to judge?” Are we not all marred with imperfections? If the overall package is good, then perhaps I should enjoy the good and ignore the bad…? Maybe?

The choice may not be mine to make, considering how my family has embraced this person. But the separation may be quick in coming, considering how less frequent visits have become. Perhaps it’ll go from a few times a week, to once a week, to every other week until no more. The separation would be easier, right? Begs the question: is slow withdrawal better than cold turkey?

What frightens me is whether this separation will take place before the delivery or after. After, I’ll be able to use logic to bury my emotions. Before… Would be far more painful. Each emotion is on the surface, difficult to control. After all, despite flaws, I still love…

Moving along

So it’s been a little bit. The pregnancy is moving along, 13 weeks now. Baby is due December.

I’ve dropped the evil estrogen pills, which is wonderful. I feel more like myself again, but even so, now I have to deal with the regular pregnancy hormones. Most days, the world is shiny and bright but I still have the urge to get in a car and just run away. My husband hates me so withdrawn but there’s really nothing he can do about it. I just need my space sometimes.

Tomorrow will be our 15 year wedding anniversary. It doesn’t feel like its been that long, yet at the same time, it feels like its been my whole life. He is a wonderful, amazing man. I’m beyond lucky to have him in my life. Our two girls are also a blessing that I’m so thankful for.

Sleep has been a challenge for me and I know that it’s partly related to the various bathroom trips I need to make during the night. I’ll never tell him, but he sometimes hits me in his sleep, so I wake up because of that, too.

Last night, I woke up at four in the morning and wondered what would happen if I hemorrhaged during labor and bled to death. My family would be so devastated but… I had a selfish moment and enjoyed the idea of just going to sleep and not waking up. It would be a wonderful way to go. My last delivery, I has a small one. I remember losing my eye sight because I didn’t have enough blood to flow there. Ironically, I just calmly noted that my sight was gone, even though my eyes were still opened. There was no pain, no panic. Just a peaceful, relaxed notation. Nothing wrong with that.

So I think I’ve decided on a DNR order. I should tell the family, but he’d just panic and think I’m being suicidal. I’m not looking for death, but if it comes knocking, it’ll just say “come on in.”

Ah, the life of a reject.

There are days when the truth smacks you in the face and there is no way to pretend it’s not there. Today is one of those days for me.

I have tried not to lie to myself, even though I continually lie to others. Everyday, I reach out to people, make jokes, stay friendly, but at the end of each day, it’s no different from the day before. More often than not, I acknowledge the fact that I’m only spoken to when I initiate conversation, but today, it’s hitting me kinda hard.

Once again, I’m thrown aside, as the reject that I am. Today, I wonder if I were to die, if anyone would really care. Oh yeah, no doubt people would come and say “hey, she was kinda funny,” and then they would move on, not actually feeling any true loss. And that is beyond depressing. So I sit on my bedroom floor, trying to hide and shrink into the nothing that is my existence. Hating the world, and hating myself.

Cold from the outside in… Freezing from the inside out…

Random thoughts…

In my first post, I mentioned that when I was in school, I didn’t really know how to behave since my mother always told me what to do and what to say. I started to copy what others around me were doing. This behavior has followed me into adulthood. I never considered doing anything like this until I found out that someone I know does this. I’ve read her stuff and found it to be very enlightening.

After much thought and consideration, I came to the conclusion that I lack my own identity. How pathetic to be, or attempt to be, everyone else around me, never getting it quite right. I think the part has been played well since no one has ever called me on it. I’ll take it as a compliment to my acting skills. It’s not that I don’t know this, I did take an intro to psychology course in college. Freud would have a field day with me.

If I see someone fall, I look at it (the fall) as an observer might look at stars through a telescope, out of reach to control. I hope that makes some sense. Anyway, it wasn’t until people around be began to behave and comment “OMG, are you okay? Let me help you!!” that I realized my behavior was inappropriate. Normal people help other people, they don’t just watch.

It took time, but I began to think things through for myself. Actually, that’s an untrue statement. I came across people whom I thought were really amazing, with many friends, and wanted to be just like them. So I began to mimic their behaviors. (Did I mention this blog came about because a friend of mine had one?)

I don’t have many friends because I don’t have the social skills to be charismatic and captivating, but I do appreciate the ones I have. They are, as Simi would say, “quality people.”

Another bipolar swing… Sigh…

What you think about, you bring about. I’ve heard it from different people in different ways. It always leads to the same thing, focus on good things so you get more of those good things. I don’t know if I believe it but at least there’s no harm in trying it.

Took a trip to mother’s today. I saw her laying there in her bed and felt shame over what I’ve typed here. She isn’t evil, just not what I think a warm and loving mother should be. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t post lies. She is manipulative and verbally abusive but she did the best she could with what she had.

The woman who gave me life didn’t give me hugs but did help me get through four years of college. She didn’t give me the best toys a kid could have but she kept me fed and clothed. A friend of mine (who has heard stories of my experiences) tells me that, had she experienced what I did, she would never speak to Mother again. And there are moments when I don’t want to see her but…

She did the best she could with what she had and, at the end of the day, my childhood was a lot better than some. So I’ll quit bitching and appreciate what I had. It lead me to be the person I am today.

And, for the most part, I’m very happy.