Thursday, August 25, 2016

I'm Still Crazy.



Hi there!

Long time, no talk huh?

I’d love to just start writing where I left off with no explanation but I feel like I kind of owe myself an explanation.  I can’t call myself any kind of writer when I haven’t been to this space in 2 years.  I also can’t exactly explain my break.  It was never planned.  I just stopped…which is really sad considering I started this blog as a diary and memory garden for my girls to some day have and for me to look back on as well.  I lost a lot of precious memories by not journaling here daily for them…and for me.

I’ve looked at this space a million times in 2 years.  I’ve tried to write that many times as well but the words never came.  This space and who I used to be in it aren’t the same anymore…and 2 years later – I finally accepted that.

Two years later and my hands feel like typing and my head feels like spilling.

So yah – I’m going to be a jackhole and just pretend like I was never gone and just pick up where I left off.  Pretending is fun.  It’s a lot like taking baths in Skittles, you know?
I mentioned things have changed and boy, have they!  I think I’ll do a little summary of where we are in the fam so I have a starting point.

As for me, I’m different but the same.  I still have one full time job and 2 part time jobs…all at the same places.  I still feel too deep, over-analyze too much and drink way too much Mountain Dew.
Rambo is a whole different man.  If you remember – he was a Correctional Sargent in a super max prison and had been for most of our marriage.  He kinda hated every minute of it and despised that his wife and his girls were threatened almost daily….so he left that job.  Holy batshit, right?  I mean who leaves a job after 15 years!?  He did and we did as a family.  He went a whole 14 days before he found a full time job that he loves more than I love unicorns.  And let me tell you – I love me some unicorns.  He still has his 3 other part time jobs and for the love of God – just got offered another PT job.  The man isn’t bored that’s for sure.

Watermelon is now in high school AND will get her license in a few months.  She’s in 10th grade this year and heavily active in sports and a million other things that I can’t keep track of but she’s a good kid.  We haven’t had any issues with her or her grades/friends/boyfriends/etc….and I’m pretty sure it’s because everyone who knows her knows Rambo and every boy in her class is scared of him.  Last time Watermelon had a pool party he told one guy in her class that he has a collection of knives and he’s so skilled at using them he could castrate a fly with one of them.  Yup – not kidding.  She’s a lucky girl, huh?

Rambo’s will power is being tested pretty often with her though because somehow she ended up being a beautiful girl and there’s no shortage of boys at our house daily.  It’s pretty funny if you ask me.  Payment for the sins of Rambo’s youth I say.

Banana is in middle school now which means she’s in sports now too.  I have officially entered the part of my life where I have two kids in everything and most days I can’t tell my head from my ass.  So far so good with her too though.  Good grades and good friends and stays active.  I wish I could say there haven’t been boys in her life yet but *sigh* - dammit if she didn’t turn out pretty too.  How the holy hell did I get two athletic, pretty girls?  It’s going to be the death of Rambo and I.
As they get older, they are gone more and more and while I miss them, I have enough hobbies of my own to keep me from sobbing in a corner.  I still landscape and craft the shit out of everything.  Got a bug in my ass to paint all the red exterior brick on our house one day and did that.  I decorate and re-decorate the mantel and foyer every month like some old lady with 90 cats.  And I was just recently informed that my house will be in the line-up for an upcoming flower garden tour and a Christmas tour so I’ve been stressing about that for a couple months now.  Let the lists begin!

The best thing though is that my best friend in the entire world is getting married next year and I’m the Matron of Honor.  Best reason ever to lose weight, right?  No way am I going to be the biggest person up there on that altar!  So yah, journaling and working out are part of my daily routine now too…and I love it.

Whew.  There you go…the run-down of 2 years in a few paragraphs.  Kind of sad the things I left out or lost because I just didn’t feel like writing…but I’m here now and committed to continuing this memory journal.

For the record – I still take baths in Skittles.  Daily.  I still fart gumdrops on the good days and more often than not, I still live in Care Bear Land where everything is a puffy cloud and every problem in the world can be fixed with a Care Bear stare and Mountain Dew comes out of the faucets.
I mean you didn’t really think that somehow in just the span of 2 years that I suddenly lost all my crazy and became sane did you?  

That would take way more than 2 years.  Just sayin’.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Be kind....for Robin Williams.

I haven’t felt the need or even wanted to write in a really long time.  Until Robin Williams took his own life.  And now my fingers can’t seem to type fast enough.

What do I plan to say about it that – let’s face it – every magazine, newspaper and blog – hasn’t already said?  Nothing.  I mean nothing new at least.  I honestly have no idea what I want to say about it other than to say please be kind.  None of us really knows who is dealing with mental illness.
When I was 15, I lost the only man that mattered to me to suicide.  I swear to you that up until that point, I was a na├»ve enough kid to not even know that taking one’s own life was something that people could or would do.  Least of all this man that I loved.

I had never known such grief and then anger in all of my life.  I didn’t go one single day without crying for him.  I thought it would never end.  The pain.  The fury.  The questions.
But as my life went on, the pain subsided.  There were many months that I didn’t even think of him or the pain I felt over his death.  But then there are family get-togethers and too much alcohol – which then comes with usually thick walls coming down and emotions coming out and the topic of this man’s suicide always comes up. 

Nearly thirty f*cking years later and his siblings and loved ones still can’t get past it.  30 years later and some of them are still not sad.  They are still just pissed.  I myself, literally just learned more about his letter he left behind.  His state of mind.  The fact that he indeed planned it ahead of time.  And on and on. 
I think it hurts worse now than it did at 15 because now I understand it more.

People can be pissed instead of sad or understanding or empathetic – when never, ever in your life have you suffered from anxiety or depression.  You can judge and say insensitive things like, “Why didn’t he just ask me for help?” or “How could he leave me like this?”
You’ll never get it.  Hell – I didn’t get it.  I asked all those questions and more – every damn day.  I accused, hated, and judged until I was blue in the face.  Had I known that one day – I’d be in the exact same spot as my Uncle – I’d have shut up real quick.

It is inexplicable.  I have never, ever found a way to describe what severe depression feels like.  Had I been battling a drug or alcohol addiction in addition to severe depression….well…I wouldn’t be here today.  As it is – I am amazed I survived.
That’s the thing about addiction and mental illness.  You survive it, tolerate it, treat it and deal with it – but you never, ever cure it or get rid of it.  You can go months and years without a single symptom and then one day – find yourself literally bed-ridden.  Unable to shower.  Or comb your hair.  Or drink water.  Or eat.  Or even open your eyes.

And you spend every single second of your life begging God to kill you – because you don’t even have the energy or fight inside of you to take your own life – so you find yourself pleading with God to do it for you.
The pain is unbearable.  Excruciating.  And you can’t see a way out of the darkness – no matter how many flashlights people keep handing you.  It is worse than any physical pain I have ever felt and it is something I’m not even sure I’d wish on Satan.

Crazy pills and Xanax have become as normal as the word “the” in our society and we laugh about missing a dose or needing a straight jacket….and it’s funny – except it’s not.  Without “crazy pills” I am dead.  No longer breathing.  No longer a mother, sister, or wife.  I am gone from this world.  My own f*cking body will not let me live. 
The job I love, the house I love, the children, husband and family I’d give anything for – cease to exist.  Depression takes away the feeling I have for anyone else.  It turns me into a selfish asshole who literally can only thing of the next minute and how on Earth I’ll ever make it through it.  I can’t remember why I should eat.  What my passions are in life.  Who I love.  Bills I pay.  The car I drive.

Nothing.  Depression wipes it all out – in one swipe.  The next thing I know I’m laying in bed – unable to sleep, eat, move and sometimes even talk – and my mind cannot process anything but dying.  No matter how much you try to get me to eat, sleep, talk or drink – the only thing my mind can feel and say over and over is “PLEASE GOD – let me DIE.  Please.”
You know you’re hurting everyone who has ever loved you and you can’t do a damn thing about it – which only intensifies the need and want to die.

It is indescribable. All-consuming and life-altering.  To feel it and to watch someone else feel it.
So please – be kind.  Don’t ask questions about why he felt the need to end his life – because even Robin Williams doesn’t know the answer.  It only adds to the family’s pain.  I have always said and still believe that the grieving and after effects of suicide are worse than almost most kinds of death.  You go to your own grave still asking why – and that’s a heavy burden to carry.  It’s downright exhausting.

When people say what my Uncle did was selfish or he’ll got to Hell for taking his own life which wasn’t his to take….I have to walk away.  I know right then that the person mouthing those words has never been where my Uncle was.  Where I’ve been.  Where Robin Williams was.
Be kind to people.  And pray to any and every God out there that you never ever have to eat your misdirected words about suicide or mental illness because you suddenly find yourself in the depths of your own mind hell with no way out.

Robin Williams didn’t take his own life.  Depression stole his life.  If you want to be pissed at someone - be pissed at depression.  It took away his very breath and will to breathe.  Imagine such a pain.  And then remember to be kind.  You never know who is dealing with this.
RIP Robin Williams.  My heart aches for you and your family.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Are you important?

What is the definition of a person’s importance?  If you’re loved by one or loved by one million – does that make you important?  I mean – the fact is – we are all replaceable.  Even the people we think are most important – aren’t really.

The Pope, the President, rulers of countries and diplomats and celebrities – are all just who they are for a moment – until the next one comes along and slips right into their little slot that they thought was important.  There’s always someone waiting to take your spot when you’re done – and sometimes even when you’re not.
I struggle with “importance”.  I’m an accountant by nature and I’m good at my job but I’m not stupid enough to think there aren’t a bazillion other accountants out there who can do my job too if I was gone one day.  Quite a few of them would probably even do it better.

I don’t help anyone daily.  I don’t make a difference.  When I balance a general ledger, no one’s life suddenly gets better.  If I were to say I was quitting – no one would sit down in my office and beg me to stay…because I’m not that important.  It’s numbers people.  It ain’t rocket science and even if it were – there are plenty of other rocket scientists out there who could fill my place just the same.
I have a creative mind and a giving spirit but there’s no room for that in Accounting.  So what then?  Move on from a full-time job that I love that pays me well and offers me flexibility and a million other things?  Nah.

It’s the same with the 2 part time jobs.  Accounting.  Good money.  My terms, my way.  But do I make a difference or make anyone’s life better?  Nope.  Not even on a good day.
And even if I had every resource in the world and someone told me to go hand pick my dream job – I don’t know what it would be.  I’ve lived too long and become too cynical for those dreams.  As a kid I could have thought of plenty – writer, farmer, artist, therapist, etc etc.  Now the dream job is the job that pays the bills.  The dream job is the one that I love but could easily let go of.

It’s not important – the “what” that I do…and therefore it’s left me feeling unimportant as a human – career-wise.  I never set out to not be important or non-difference-making.  It just so happened that my skills and talents dealt with numbers and not choosing that path seemed like a silly move out of high school.
I don’t regret the path – I just wish I knew in my heart that I changed some lives or helped more or gave more – daily.

There’s always been a part of me that’s wanted to be more and do more but I can never figure out what that “more” is.  I’ve never had the balls to take the risk to find out.  And 99% of the time – these thoughts aren’t on my radar.  99% of the time I’m at peace and content and know full well that my life is indeed what I’ve made it. 
But 1% of the time something happens and it makes me question where I’m at and what I’ve done and haven’t done.  1% of the time I know that I’m not giving everything I can and I’m just letting life pass me by with the daily grind of jobs.  Good, responsible, stable jobs.  The kind I love but not the kind that make my heart soar.
During this 1% time, I have to take a step back.  Re-evaluate who and what I am and decide if I want to be something different.  I have to decide if I’ll have regrets if I do nothing and just keep going.  I have to decide what is enough for me.  What I’ll accept and what I won’t.

So while this inner turmoil feels kind of icky for lack of a better word – it is good.  Years ago I would have let these feelings just depress me and I would have spent my time just trying to rid myself of them.
Now?  I’m older and I can see the feelings have a purpose.  It’s good to re-evaluate your life and what it is or isn’t.  It’s good to feel a little inner angst because it can be the feeling that drives me to make changes. 

I’m trying to sit with the feelings and decide if they are worthy of action or just a passing thought or self- pity party.  I’m trying to decide if at my core I know my importance or if self-importance really even matters.
I think we all want to feel important though realistically we all know our importance isn’t forever and when we’re gone our space will be eventually get filled.  It’s a catch 22 for me – wanting it and knowing it doesn’t really exist.

I just am who I am – doing what I do – and I want that to be enough.  Though I’m not sure it is.
How do you feel important in a sea of people in your career and home and life?  Does your sense of importance come naturally or do you have to work at it?  Does it even cross your mind?