Because I'm Inspiring

Since it's probably against all English writing code to start posts or anything literary with profanity I shall restrain. But for that code I would just say, Fuck a monkey.

Classy, I know. Whatever. I'm spiraling and really don't know how to stop it. My therapist doesn't know how to stop it. His advice is basically, "lie to yourself." Hmm.. maybe that is helpful for others, but denial has never really worked for me, so no banana.

I can't seem to find the desire to get out of bed. Lovely. I know. I have an incredible family and life, and I can't get out of bed. No one has died, our life has taken a financial turn for the better. I know, who can say that these days? Us. Apparently. My husband got a new job where he only has to work three days a week and makes more than his last job. Hah. Cry me a river. And yet... my good fortune just compounds my guilt and makes me pull the covers closer. Tighter. I don't open the shades, I don't want to know if it's nice outside. Because it's nice under the blankets, and that's all that matters.

I don't think my husband really loves me. I wonder if he ever really did. This doesn't seem to bother him, but it bothers me. He's the love of my life. I used to think that not being able to love someone in the way they love you, no matter how much you wanted to, was one of the worst feelings to live with. Ahhh, but no. The other end of the stick is much more fun.

We have sex like twice a month, and it's perfunctory on my part. Guilt induced really. Husband doesn't "need" it. He wants it, but only if I do. Hah! Okay then. So we're going the celibate route then. And he doesn't masturbate people. For real.

He's the perfect person. Loving, kind, sensitive, never complains, never says a mean thing. I've see him upset twice in the ten years that I've known him. Once because he couldn't "think away" the hiccups. He doesn't get stressed. EVER. He just doesn't FEEL all that much. He's brilliant. The smartest person I've ever known. And I'm a freakin nut job.

I am Van Gogh, minus the amazing art. Well and I have both my ears. So maybe not so much Van Gogh. Point is, I'm a creator, and as such something of a kite in the wind without string. I love fiercely, and feel everything in extremes. It's like the hooker who married the monk. But I'm not really... yeah, you get it.

My health has been on the shits for months (10) and the depression is just getting worse. I'm seeing doctors. SOOOO many doctors, of whom I'm starting to hate by the way. But what do you do when someone is just well, crazy? I don't know. They don't either.

Annnnd, I peed on a stick. And got a line. Fuck me.

It was faint, and I'm not trusting it. Because I can't right now. Another child in my life right now, that I can't take care of. Yes, that's just what I need. Fuck.

I'm peeing again tomorrow. On a fancy stick. A fancy stick with whistles and bells, and perhaps a dancing monkey. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Hell, it has to better than today. It just has to.

I know, kids are dying, people have lost their jobs, husbands hit their wives, people are starving. I'm blessed. I'm so so blessed. Which makes the fact that I can't get out of bed all the better. How did I end up here? No, where did I go? And will I ever come back?

Sux you Anniversary

One of the worst days of my life. Hands down.

Hubs and I don't normally fight, but boohowdy.

We finally went to bed at three. Both of us crying.

Today I can't look him in the eye.

I haven't hurt like this, well ever.

Anniversarys are dead to me. Forevah.

Annnd, No Cigar.

Husband and I are very different. Very very different. Which is one of the reasons we work so well. Different, different, different.

Sooooo, lest this bitchfest of a blog take on a happier tone, let's talk about that some more.

Today is our four year anniversary. We've known each other for well over ten, but married for four. And we're M0rm0n. So no sex, no living together, etc. etc. before we were married. And yet, I knew exactly what I was signing up for, so why am I complaining about what I already knew? Question for the ages I suppose.

He's a brilliant fella. Like seriously Mensa off the charts wicked smart. And talented. And funny. And hooboy do I love him. But hooboy does he make me crazy.

Romance? Not so much. Ever.

Ever.

He's sweet, and gentle, and kind. And having been in an abusive relationship for years where my significant other was none of those things, why is this not enough?

It's like I'm married to a robot sometimes. He doesn't FEEL anything. Seriously.

I've never seen him sad, or mad, or frustrated, or anxietal. Evah. He doesn't get upset. Which is great because I swear I'm a bi-freaking-polar train, but my hell living with a robot makes you feel even more bat-shit-crazy than you already are. Good times.

I made him plan our anniversary this year. Because we've never celebrated one before. Or birthdays. Or really Christmas for that matter. We SUX hard.

And the only things I had stipulated in my mind (why didn't I verbalize it you ask? because i thought it was so damn obvious i didn't have too!!) is no "Terminator" movie for our night out (You too Wolverine) and no Temple trip. I love the Templo (let's call it this so we're not easily googled shall we?), but it's a 2 hour excursion to get there (traffic) and the session itself is 3 hours. That's five freaking hours, which I usually love. But when we go on dates, you know once every two months or so, that's what we do. We go to the Templo. Again, which I love. But really?! This is our thinking outside the box. And he KNOWS that this is a big deal to me this year. Our relationship has been a bit turby these past few months, and that extra effort was going to go a LONG way in rectifying some things.

So. Tonight we're going to the Templo. And to our favorite restaurant that we ALWAYS go to, and then home. Maaahhhhhh.

I love him. I do. But I'm tempted to go watch a chick-flick with a box of m&ms alone and call it "celebration."

What Might Have Been

Soooo, last night hub and I went to a Ballroom Dance Concert in DC. The top formation team in the United States was performing (a team I danced on less than five years ago) and he thought it would be a fun surprise to go support the troops.

Hmmm. Very sweet hubs, very sweet, but the timing? I feel like our lives right now are in a state of entropy and that perhaps a walk down memory lane of one of the happiest periods of my existence was perhaps a bit, uh ill timed. Unless he wanted me on that tour bus when the performance was over. In which case, smooth.

BUT... I think I've grown. Who knew? We watched the performance. It was fun. The dancing was good. And I re-lived fond memories. But you know, I wouldn't trade one minute of their lives for one of mine. This is richer. Hell yeah it's harder. And there are tears. But the sense of rightness and completion I have with my little family surpasses anything I've ever experienced before. Even with the entropy. And the head banging. (Sophie's and mine)

We watched beautiful movement with sparkly dresses and incredible choreography and it was great. And when it was over, I was ready to go home. I missed my girls. I missed our home on the vineyard, and our dog that pees on everything. Catching a glimpse of what once was helped me realize how incredible my life is now.

It's not sparkly. More often than not there's mucas on at least one article of clothing that I'm wearing. The music plain ol sucks (bite me Elmo). The choreography is constantly changing and I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know the steps.

It's hard. Hell it's hard. But it's better. And it's mine.

Well that was fun

My husband gets home from work everynight between 730 and 800. And I HATE it. HATE. I know, we live in a suburb, the commute sucks, there aren't really any other options, but I feel like there are and he's just NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH. Unfair? Probably. But I still feel that way.

Husband and I don't fight. Or shall I say didn't used to fight, up until about a week ago. My mind has gone bazoo, my body has decided to cease and desist. And well I'm not pleasant company. Yesterday hub said his last meeting was at 330 and that he should be able to leave the city around 400ish. Meaning, he'd be home by five. We could eat together! As a family! I could play with the kids with dad and we could make lasting freaking memories! (expectations high much?) Right. So he comes rollin in around 745. No call. No real good reason.

This happens OVER and OVER and OVER again. And I turn into medusa with snakes for hair and crazy albino rat eyes. (He's a real lucky guy.)

And I lost it. For the first time in our four year marriage I went bat-shit crazy on him. And I said some really really mean things. I have never spoken an unkind word to that sweet man. But I did. And I think I really hurt him. My sweet robot who isn't affected by anything. I've known him for ten years and have never seen him stressed, angry, sad, or upset. (except for that one time he couldn't think away his hiccups. i know.) I hurt him. And I felt like crap.

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Several hours later I'd worked myself into a full on whigged out state. I feel like I can't control my mind. The physical world, yeah it sucks sometimes, but I can handle it. It's mah brain that makes me want to swim out into the sea. (Don't you live in VA you ask? Shut up. I could find a sea if I wanted to.)

And it got ugly. I don't think anyone has ever seen me like that before, and I know it scared him. I've seen myself in "the black" as I call it, and it's not pretty and I'm ashamed of it and I never ever ever wanted anyone else to know what lives inside me. Now he does.

I know he won't leave. But who could love that kind of crazy? I was looking for a sea last night, and hubs was scared. He still is.

Hole

I don't know what to do. I simply do not know what to do. My body is failing me. I've seen three specialists during these past couple of months, have had more things shoved up my hoohoo than I'd like to count, and I'm tired. I'm plain ol sick of it all.

We moved. Our last landlord chased small children with an axe (I am NOT making this up.) and was on 24 hour surveillance by the police. He took a HUGE chunk of our security deposit and now we're suing him. Good times. I am actually a little afraid that he's going to come after us in the middle of the night. Wearing a clown mask.

Our current landlord seemed like an angel sent from above three months ago, but as it turns out he is STEALING from us. We now live on a vineyard, and yes it's beautiful, but he has one of his buildings where all his employees work and saw and build and whatever hooked up to OUR meter. And when we got our first electricity bill for$1000 he played dumb and said he had NO idea why it was so high. What were we doing at our house?! Seriously. Dumbass.

My digestive system has stopped working. Let's leave it at that. I'm 29 and I can't poo.

The depressions/anxiety is crippling. If I could crawl up in a hole and bury myself forever without inflicting pain on my loved ones, I totally would.

My husband lost his job. His company file for chapter 11 a couple months ago and we've just been waiting for the shoe to drop. It has. And since they've filed for bankruptcy there's no severance. Aaaannnnddd since they're disbanding completely in a month, we only have a month of Cobra before that ends as well. With ALL MY PRE-EXISTING conditions. I do not qualify for any insurance on the face of the planet, except for the kind you get ads for in your email and then if you click on them you mysteriously have the ebola virus on your computer. So maybe it'd be best for everyone to re-think that hole option.

And (oh yes there's more) I'm not loving being a mother. What the FUCK is wrong with me?! All my life I swore, oh I'll be a great mom, I'll always let my kids know that I love them, I'll never leave them and make them feel unlovable. It's fun to swear things when you have no effing clue what you're talking about.

My mom left. I get it. It's not okay. But I get it.

My husband is a freaking saint, and sometimes I wonder why I married a saint. I'm not a saint. I don't even want to be a saint. I used to have all these dreams and aspirations and now, well I want to live in a hole.

Half-empty, Half-full

Well hell. Things here are pretty much bazoo. So I'm thinking about approaching it in two different ways. A game! Let's call it glass half empty, glass half full. Not necessarily in that order. It'll be a monthly tado.

Things here are going great! I have two beautiful daughters, who seem to be getting along better each and every day. For the moment we are all in good health, and we haven't been to the emergency room in over a month! Jeff (hubby's alias) has thus far managed to allude working at a firm and we fully enjoy his company on weekends and in the evenings during the week. We live in a beautiful rental home and have enough room for us and our au-pair Marie (?) to exist comfortably. We have great neighbors and find our location to meet out needs perfectly. I greatly enjoy my new job working for the cow people (true story) and Jeff, well he loves what he does too. My mother is coming into town for the inauguration and has hinted to others that perhaps she'll surprise us and pop by. Family visits are always so exciting and eventful! I usually don't make New Year's resolutions, but broke with tradition this year and made two. Fingers crossed!

Good God. If you're still with me let's move on to half empty.

Things here, are interesting. My daughters seem to be exploring the possibility that perhaps they need not be mortal enemies. Or at least full-on hate one another. Up until these past few weeks, things weren't looking so good.

Today Jeff's company filed for bankruptcy. Bitchinn. He will have a guaranteed paycheck (with insurance. oh let's not leave out insurance!) for 35 more days--34 if you don't count today, which I do.

We have law school debt and aren't barred. Heh. heheheheheh.

We paid almost $20,000 in medical bills last year what with my crazy and Sophie's (1 year old alias) hospital vacations. The thought of not having health insurance next month has me paralyzed.

I'm on meds for my crazy and per the suggestion of my health care provider have attempted to incorporate exercise into my routine. I've worked out twice. In two months. I am the Biggest Loser.

My hair is falling out in clumps from stress. But I'm actually pretty okay with it because I've always felt my mane to be too thick. (wait, i think i'm confusing my glasses)

My mother, who is abusive and cruel, is landing on my doorstep next week. (I have elves. They tell me things.) At my request we are no longer communicate. As such this is not part of the agreement and I'm a little scared. We haven't had one conversation in over ten years that hasn't resulted in tears (mine) and vomiting (me again). (too graphic? it's glass half empty people!) That and the timing BLOWS.

I've been looking for alternate rental homes in the area and there are none. Apparently no one wants to buy in this market (i just don't understand!) and so finding something cheaper is proving to be more difficult than anticipated. That and our landlord is giving us a screaming deal on the house we're living in now, and so going cheaper pretty much means putting up a tent in the neighbors backyard. (they have a big dog. we'd be safe.)

I have two goals that I'd set for this year and thus far haven't done a damn thing about either. Bravo.

Erin, my word for this year is breath.