I’m Not Gay so I can Buy Cookies

Dude, seriously.

First and foremost, Bionic Mom is being an effing rock star with her surgery, and  I am so damn proud of her. She hurts. Her leg looks like it got mangled by a wood chipper. By all rights her life is hell. She is the most positive I have seen her. She is working so hard to heal and just be awesome in general. It really is wonderful, except her leg, it’s just kinda gross.

(I just had to stop writing this to call her and tell her this.)

I woke up this morning to find a mouse broke ate the corner off of a vacuum sealed bag of coffee. This wasn’t your normal vacuuming sealing either with a little expansion. This is like NASA level vacuuming sealing, so that corner opened up and the coffee poured out expanding into like two cups. I guess I should be thankful only half of the bag opened and spilled out.

At 7:30 am (which is super fucking early for me, by the way) I was using a little hand vacuum to clean up the mess. (In hindsight, I should have made it into a caffeine freak’s zen garden.) Anyway, that lead to me pulling out everything from that quadrant of the cabinets out so I could scrub everything. I’m pretty sure I was inventing cuss words at that time. My kitchen was a wreck, and Dad burst in with his pack of dogs. I’m swearing with fervor, sweating, and scrubbing. The first words out of his mouth are “Did you make my sandwiches yet?”

Dude, seriously?

The thing about the hospital my mom is in is filled with the nicest, most competent, and friendliest people on Earth. Literally every person you talk to is helpful and nice. At one point, I commented in hushed tones about Kool-Aid being the only answer. Now, I just think it is just wonderful staffing. I got settled in at the hospital and the sandwiches incident fell away.

Then I took a nap while my mom was in physical therapy and broke my glasses when I woke up. I fixed them the best I could with what I had.

This is what happens when you break your glasses in a hospital.  Go, go, Gadget medical tape. Also, you can tell I give a grand total of zero fucks about how I look while I'm staying with someone in the hospital

This is what happens when you break your glasses in a hospital. Go, go, Gadget medical tape. Also, you can tell I give a grand total of zero fucks about how I look while I’m staying with someone in the hospital

I felt like a damn pirate. I wasn’t a cool pirate, but the socially inept pirate who poked their eye out with an end of a rope.

Later, I ended up crying to Bionic Mom about how much stress I was under. I was crying to the woman who had her frelling knee cut off and metal put in about stress.

I sat in Mom’s room waiting for traffic to ease off, making lists of all the things I still to do when I got home. I got more and more stressed out. I nearly started crying again in the elevator because that is totally sane. I got more and more pitiful while driving home. Finally, I called the Viking on the drive home, using my Blue Tooth, okay, so no judging, and I felt better enough not to cry in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

I went into Wal-Mart at 8:30 pm in a decent shirt, sweat pants, ballet flats, hair in a messy pony tail and glasses with one half of one lens wrapped in medical tape. I was cranky. I was already pissed at our Wal-Mart because of this bullshit. I found and bought an epic pink tool which kept me from yelling at the older, white gentlemen cleaning the floors, “What, since I’m not gay I can buy cookies?”

I got home, fixed my glasses, the Gorilla Glue I coated my fingers with has almost worn off, and finished cleaning my kitchen. I realized while loading my dishwasher the janitor I nearly accosted was probably the same man who did that to those guys. He was just doing his job, trying to earn a living, and a white trash giantess with a medical tape eye patch wanted to yell at him for hating gay people. I don’t think it would have been the best move for the Equality Movement.

Turns out the dude was fired, and that guy tonight was certainly not the asshole.

At some point, I realized I am ridiculous. I should probably stay with a responsible adult. I also realized, a lot of times, I have to be the responsible adult.

That sounds like a terrible idea.

 

 

 

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I’m Using the Powers of My Birthday for a New Rule.

I believe with everything I am most people have far more things that are wonderful about them than flaws. We just focus on our own flaws than we do our good things. Fuck that noise.

New Rule:

We all practice everyday focusing on two good things about ourselves when we find ourselves focusing on something we see as bad.

Addendum to said rule:

Stop letting bullshit, unattainable standards be our ruler for how we judge ourselves. We are what we are. Try to be healthy, try to be strong, try to be kind, try to be compassionate. The rest is a bunch of bullshit. Having great cheek bones doesn’t make you a great person. It might make life easier because we allow society to judge us on stupid, inconsequential shit, but it doesn’t truly make us better. Maybe it’s time we stop letting society pull that crap on us while we are at it.

Society is the way it is by our consent. We can change it. It won’t be easy, but this stuff has to stop.

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I’ll Get Some Rest in February

Five days until my mom gets one of her knees replaced.  Let me say this before I begin: these surgeries (she is getting the other one replaced after Christmas) will change her life. Everyone I talk to about their knee replacement surgeries tell me after it heals, their pain levels disappear. This is a good thing for my family. She will get her life back.

Right now, I’m daunted as fuck. I can’t show it, but I’m afraid that I won’t be up to taking care of both of my parents.

My father works very hard. He works far harder than any man his age should. When he gets off work, we wait on him. The man never so much as gets up to get his own drink. He leaves his paper plate on the TV tray by his chair. We also all stop whatever we are doing to make sure nothing interrupts his television watching.

Saturday, I had planned on get some work done to prepare the house for Mom’s surgery, but he woke up and announced I was taking him to Wal-Mart. It is a big adventure for him. This time he nearly got in a fight in the parking lot with an old lady over one of those electronic carts, then he spent two and a half hours bitching to anyone who could hear about how closely packed the aisles were. He couldn’t understand why I was less than thrilled. “Girl, are you still all PMS grumpy?”

I love my dad. I just thinks he forgets that I’m a person with things of my own.

I haven’t been to water aerobics in far too long. I got sick. I’m still not at 100%, but I don’t have a choice but to get over it. It is really bothering me. I feel like a failure. I was going to go yesterday. I spent the day working really hard getting the living room rearranged (with my mom’s lovely “tips” from the arm chair), and when time rolled around I was hurting so bad I couldn’t imagine tugging on my suit. My mom’s knee went out which lead to some screaming and wailing during the time I would have been in the water if I had went, so I had to make Dad a quick dinner while taking care of her. Dad ate 5 bites of his dinner and told me he was full.

After I got everyone settled, I still had to get gas in the truck for taking Dad to work this morning and a quick store shop. When I pulled back in our drive way, I sat there silently for a few minutes and started to cry. I was not entirely sure I could handle it all. I got myself pulled together, wiped my eyes, and brought the groceries inside. My dad stopped me in the middle of the living room with the grocery bags still in my hands to ask me to make him peanut butter and toast. I offered him the rest of his salad that had filled him up earlier. Nope, he wanted peanut butter and toast.  All while I still had groceries in my hand.

This is after poor diet choices sent him to the hospital last week… Yeah.

Completely unrelated: these flowers are from the Viking's back yard. They smell amazing. Or did, until my dog ate them.

Completely unrelated: these flowers are from the Viking’s back yard. They smell amazing. Or did, until my dog ate them.

This morning I woke up ungodly early to drive him the 45 minutes to work, drive home, take mom to get a ton of tests done, buy a bed, set up said bed, and then drive the 45 minutes back up to pick him up from work. Oh, and this driving is done when I should be in the water.

Tomorrow, I desperately want to make it to water aerobics. I can’t even tell myself I plan on doing it.

I don’t know if I can handle these next few weeks. People are telling me to take care of myself first in order to be able to take care of others. I’m trying to learn that trick. Right now, I’ll settle for high doses of caffeine and grossly swollen feet.

 

Ugh, sorry for the whine fest. I can’t promise there won’t be more.

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A Funny Thing Happened at the Hospital

So, I woke up this morning to my parents talking about my dad needing to go to the hospital later in the day. It was nothing big and scary yet, but we knew if he didn’t get it taken care of, it could get serious. But, of course, he works a half a day first.

On a completely unrelated note, I got this new nail polish that looks like it should be worn with a side ponytail, a swatch, and t-shirt ring.

On a completely unrelated note, I got this new nail polish that looks like it should be worn with a side ponytail, a swatch, and t-shirt ring.

Yesterday, I was still pretty plague-y. Today, I was still feeling pretty bad, but my dad was planning on going to the hospital. It was just for extreme water retention and Mom was driving him instead of the ambulance. I was pretty keyed up.

I spent earlier today trying to project calm. I was also trying to read what my instincts were telling me. I have a tendency to be very positive. My family is fairly half empty, and I’m more ‘it’s half full, plenty of room for booze now!’ kinda person. Everything told me he would be fine: we just needed to get this taken care of. Deep down, though, there is the part of me who felt him dying under her hands, who remembers the night a few months later that neglect from a nurse and an overdose of blood thinners nearly ended him. That part of me has nightmares that shake me to my core.

My mom took my dad to the hospital. I stayed home, took a shower, sent my boyfriend a few texts, and tried to pretend everything was fine. It worked  for an hour. I took my plague-y self to the hospital. It was my dad, damnit.

The emergency room was insane. Doctors and nurses were yelling at each other. One patient left against medical advice and was very loud about it. We sat in our room and made jokes and waited. Luckily, we got the one good nurse. Finally, after several hours the doctor came in and told us they were going to shoot him up with medicine to make him pee, and if it worked he got to go home.

A knot inside of me released. If he could start pulling those fluids off his body he could go home.

After the nurse loaded him up, Mom got a very serious look on her face and started reading my dad the riot act. My mom does both guilt trips and ass chewing well. Most of my high school friends loved and sorta feared her. She was kind, but if you miss stepped, she let you know.

Well, this particular riot act was very serious. She was very forcefully telling him exactly how things were going to go down. We all sat in the appropriate silence (like sitting still so the t-rex can’t see you, another move learned in childhood) until she said, “You’ve peed before, and you can pee again.”

I couldn’t help it. I started to howl with laughter. With that one unintentionally funny sentence, the fear and anxiety bled out of the room.

He’s home now, and I’ve taken enough flu medicine to make me loopy as hell.

I’ve decided I like being ‘the glass is half full so you can put some booze in it’ sort of person.

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Progress… Sorta

I haven’t really written a true blog in a bit. Things have just been… interesting.

Last week I went to the psychiatrist who works with the facility I’m getting my therapy from. I decided to try something new for my depression and anxiety. Medicine changes are ALWAYS full of fun, and I’m still kind of scared.

A little voice in my head says the Prozac worked fine, and I’m stupid to try other things. Truth leaks in, reads my blog, and says “Sister, you are full of shit.” The Prozac did well enough, but I think there is a chance I could do a lot better. I get annoyed at people accepting “good enough” when they good have better. If nothing works better than the Prozac then I will adapt, but I feel like I need to try.

The fun part is the adjustment period. Mental health medicines take awhile to work. So, I stopped taking Prozac, and now I’m in the awesome duration it takes for the new medicines to take full effect. I started Friday. Starting Saturday I’ve woken up in debilitating pain, and I was afraid if I didn’t clench my jaw hard enough I would just start screaming or crying or both unless I was talking to the Viking. He is the stone I can put my hand on to reassure myself I’m safe. My bravery is much easier to find when I know I can reach back and he will tell me that I can handle anything.

Yesterday was really bad. He called me before water aerobics, and that made it easier, but most of the day I chanted to myself, “if I can make it to the water, I’ll be okay.” My father has always told me Navy SEALs instinctively know where the nearest body of water is because water meant safety. Part of that leaked into me. Just sitting by a fountain makes me happier and more calm. Everyday since I’ve started the classes, I step into the water and calm seeps in. The ladies (and two gentlemen) are wonderful. They accepted me without question or reserve, and I feel safe.

Swimming

I love Minions, and I love inappropriate humor. This picture is perfect.

Last night, though, I was in a bad place, so I stayed after and just swam some laps. I love being underwater. Sounds that are loud and sharp above the water are soft and indistinct underwater. They feel like they mix with the water to be part of the warm diffusion. Because that is what being under water is, a diffusion of everything, thoughts, feelings, sound, light. It all softens and mixes and surrounds you and holds you up. It feels safe and calm.

I felt more like I could breathe when I came out.

Later that night, the Viking and his Tina took care of me. We talked and played video games. They were there for me. They helped me unclench my jaw.

Today, I’m better. I have hope. I’m still in a lot of pain. I have no idea why. I’m still a little edgy, but I’m not angry. I’m not afraid if I open my mouth at the wrong time screaming and crying will come out instead of words. I’ll count it as a win.

As of last Thursday, I had lost 8 pounds. I weigh again next Thursday. If the number is even lower I’ll be happy, but right now, I’m working hard to take care of myself. If the number isn’t any lower, I’ll still count it as a win.

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You Get Out What You Put In

I’m exhausted. I found out today I’ve lost 8 pounds in 3 weeks. After that I went to water aerobics and busted my ass. It is like all exercise, you get out what you put in. I put in a lot energy and I got out a lot of sore. I’mma play video games.

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Oi Vey

Today is a big mess of a day for a lot of people. I said my bit on Facebook and I don’t really intend to say it again here. I will leave it at this: my heart goes out to all the families effected by our government being a bunch of twatty toddlers. They are paying the price for the political theater bullshit, including the two most important people in my life.

Anyway, I’m not going into that anymore. There is enough ranting about that to go around. I’m going to share happy things.

This totally happened Saturday night:

This is me winning the Cheap White Trash Wine Drinking League

This is me winning the Cheap White Trash Wine Drinking League

That is Arbor Mist out of a paper cup. Since it is my league I make the rules.  Arbor Mist is more white trash than Franzia. Franzia might come from a box, but it is actually wine. Arbor Mist is a fine wine product. Seriously, it is a step up from Boone’s Farm, which doesn’t count since Boone’s Farm is a flavored beer and can be bought at the Super Wal-Mart in Oklahoma.

The paper cup just adds to the class.

It was after a long day of trying to get projects done and finding issues at every turn. It was okay though because I was with the Viking and stupid faced in love. It was one of the best weekends of my life, and I am even more in love with that damn strange man than before. I didn’t know it was possible.

Another picture:

A flower

FLOWER!!!

We went for a walk on his land, so of course I picked an example of the flowers I saw, and of course, most of them were my purple since it’s my favorite color.

I felt a little bit like a little kid, but I was happy. I play and laugh when I’m happy. The wonderful ladies at water aerobics were a bit taken aback I think when I started laughing loudly and unabashedly at things that happen in class. It fills my soul.

Thursdays are my favorite days. We take these foam boards down to the deep end and try to balance on them. Getting on one is hard enough. You have to push the board down with one foot then put the other foot on and find your balance. After you get on, you use ALL of your core muscles to stay on. Holy frelling shiv, it is so much fun. I spend the entire time laughing. It feels like play, and I am going to enjoy and laugh at it like it is play.

Also, Friday night I was sitting on the Viking’s living room floor with my legs out in front of me. On a whim, I reached out to one of my feet and touched my toes. I haven’t done that in like a decade. It is a small victory but it means a lot to me. I’ve had so much surgery and reconstruction done on my calf and ankle muscles in my life I will never have normal people flexibility, but man it felt awesome to have that noticeable thing after only two weeks.

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You would be surprised how often that happens with me.

I’m actually off enjoying a weekend with the Viking. But this happened on Facebook. I thought I would share.

I can't make this shit up.

I can’t make this shit up.

I think Tina is on to something about the whole naming my future autobiography “You Would be Surprised How Often that Happens Around Me.”

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I’m Not Psychotic… I was Tested.

I’ve been trying to decide how much of this wacky world of attempting to get my shit together I wanted to share with y’all. People around me freak out a little when I mention writing about something too private. There are some legitimate concerns like what future employers might find. Other concerns make me giggle a bit. “People will know if you write about it.” Seriously? Because I’m pretty sure people can tell I’m a crazy fat woman without having to read this.

Anyway, today, I had a long interview session thingy with a case manager at the facility that I’m getting therapy from. The first interview was to determine if I was crazy enough for them. I passed that one. Today was all about finding out what flavor of crazy I am.

Snozberry crazy, I’m snozberry flavored crazy.

Okay, so, the session was like being twisted up and poked for the sore spots. Honestly, though, it wasn’t that bad. I think it might be because I have the most fucked up sense of humor ever. The people at this facility are kind and share bits of themselves with you while you tell them things, so you don’t feel judged. That is a big deal.

The session starts out with questions about the past 30 days. The past 30 days have been a big ball of fucking cluster fuck fabulous in some ways. I had plenty of batshit crazy to hand him with that. Then we talked about current relationships. Turns out having a stable, loving, relationship with a kind, stable man who treats me well and is like SUPER functional even if he is the weirdest man I have ever man I have ever met feels like I’ve made major strides in my own mental health.

Then we talked about past relationships. Yeah, we don’t need to go there again. I told him about my blog and how blogging about the last douche bag helped me so much, and how I feel like it means something that I’m open here. He seemed oddly impressed.

Okay, now here comes some of the things I find hilarious that probably only I would find funny.

I told him about the time I went to a crisis unit in 2000 because I was self harming. I referred to that period of my life as my super batshit insane period. He laughed at that. Then I told him I was sent to my college counselor, and I immediately realized it was a terrible idea because that woman was not prepared to handle a highly intelligent, self harming, eighteen year-old with a bad attitude and authority issues. It wasn’t really her fault.

Then the fun question happened: past traumas. We discussed the relationship things again and my weirdness with male sexual attention. We discussed how rough this year has been. Then we tried to discuss any traumas further back. I had to sit there and blink at him for a few minutes. I’m pretty sure being the weird, socially inept, fat girl during school is trauma enough. I can’t remember any traumas. This how it went:

Me: I sort of coped by thinking nothing that happened to me was that big of a deal, but still, it’s just weird. (Laugh)

Him: I know. I don’t know what to think.

Let me explain. I have all of the classic symptoms (depression, anxiety, self harming, eating disorders, and strange reactions to sexual situations) of someone who had childhood abuse, more specifically childhood sexual abuse. There was NONE.

Me: Right, I mean no one is as fucked up as I was without something.

Him: Seriously, nine out of ten people who come in presenting with the problems you had had sexual abuse. (Understand I’m laughing because this is how shit happens to me. I can’t be a normal kind of batshit, so he is looking perplexed and laughing at the same time.)

Me: I know, right? No one is that depressed and cuts themselves without something.

Him: I guess you are that one person in ten.

Me: I get that more than you would think.

Later, he asked me what my six month goal was.

Me: I used to be this super kick ass woman. I’ve been losing her. I want to find her again. I don’t know how to put that in shrinky speak.

Him: *Blink then laughs* I’m typing that. I like that. My six month goal is that I want to be the kick ass woman I used to be.

Gold star

We take our wins where we can

Finally, he was talking to himself while typing up my diagnosis. I have major depression something without psychosis and general anxiety disorder.

Me: So I’m not psychotic?

Him: No.

Me: Shit, I’ll take that as a win. That’s a gold star moment for the day.

He laughs for like 4 minutes and looks at me and said “I completely forgot what I was typing.”

Me: That happens to people around me more than you would think.

He typed for a few minutes then told me when I was 18 I had Borderline Personality Disorder.

Me: That’s a special flavor of batshit insane, isn’t it?

Him: Yes, yes it is.

Me: So, I improved?

Him: Yes

Me: Holy hell, not only am I not psychotic, but I’m also normal crazy instead of a special kind of crazy now.

The reason why these people will be able to help me is because he laughed as hard as I did.

I finished my second week of water aerobics, and I love it. I now have a nickname from the regulars. There are days when I tell myself if I can make it to the water everything will be okay.

The fantastic truth is everything will be okay.

Also, I will be that kickass woman I used to be.

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Hit by a Bus, but in a Good Way

So, I’ve done three nights of water aerobics in a row. Next week I’m going to try to do all four. I wake up in the mornings feeling like I got hit by a bus, but in a good way. Okay, it doesn’t feel like a good way, but I still enjoy it.

I never gave it the proper respect. I know better now. I mean, it’s not that crazy stuff on late night infomercials with overly muscular 20 year-old people jumping around and yelling. It’s not Hunger Games (we all know my ass would be dead quick.) But it isn’t the pansy stuff I thought it would be. Or, maybe I just need the pansy stuff to begin with. Either way, I’m enjoying it.

Plus, anytime I have an excuse to pend time in the water, I’ll take it.

I’mma go play video games and sleep for a year.

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