Found My Happy

I learn a lot of TV history while care-taking my 90 y.o. patient.  I've seen plenty semi-racist episodes of "In The Heat of the Night," heard enough horrible dialogue from  "Murder, She Wrote" to want to time travel back to punch the writers, and several 1972 porn-staches in "Emergency" to turn me off of body hair for a while.

Way to go, me!

But despite the spate of crappy TV shows I'm watching every weekend, I'm thrilled.  I've been able to find my happy again.  I'm back on track with my meds, had a few weeks of productive therapy, and furthered the storyline in my novel.  I've got more confident, have a better perception of my ability as a mother.  Great friends rallied around me, reminding me that "Those that love you are proud of you; we don't see a prescription, we see a beautiful, funny, and loving woman. . . .for everything you do I am proud of you."

So even though I have to wipe up some drool and other body functions at times, I can do it with a sincere smile, not a faked grin.  I understand now how much better my life is, now that I've made peace with my drugs.   


PS-- A special thank you to The Bloggess for sharing her struggles.  She inspires me daily and I want to give her a big, squishy hug.  "Die Vampire Die!" has become my mantra.

Ugly

I put myself back into therapy last month because I am trying desperately to work out the last kinks in my head.  I've decided that after six years on the bench I'm ready to seek out a relationship, but before I do that I know I've got a few more things to work out.

I don't want to write about this.  But I need to write this out. 

This is the constant chatter in my brain:

• You really don't have friends.  These people tolerate you out of pity.
• No one approves of your decisions and all are waiting for you to admit defeat.
• Your child is going to grow up broken because you are broken.
• You don't have any talent.  
• You're not bi-polar.  You are making it up.  You just need to work harder and stop being lazy.
• Why do you think that person would ever want to have a cup of coffee with you?  They're accomplished/written a book/not two paychecks away from homelessness/done something important.  Do you know just how dumb your daydreams are?
• No one really loves you because you disappoint them and don't do what they tell you to do.

Frustration: Level Six

Up until a week ago, I was fine.
I could write on my novel and write up articles for my social media job.
But two weeks ago I ran out of one of my drugs.
And now I'm off balance.

I can't focus on writing.  I'll sit down and nothing comes.
The waters are muddy.
If I were to peer into my brain, I think I'd find a hollow gray room.

I can't get to the doctor to get a prescription and I can't fill the prescription until I can find the time to drive 1.5 hrs away b/c the closest pharmacy to fill this drug is in Front Royal!

No, I don't have health insurance.  And Obamacare or the Affordable Care Act is just not going to fix my problem.  Seeing as it would cost me $235/mo to be insured.  Fail to see how that is "affordable."

Luckily, I live in a state that won't penalize me for not having health insurance.

I'm so angry.  I want to write and it's just not happening.

Socks

The other day I had the following conversation with my mom :

"I saw someone at the store yesterday and when I described her to your father and siblings, everyone had the same reaction.

This woman was wearing a tiara, black and red striped knee socks, and lime green sneakers.

Everyone asked, 'Is Caroline in town?"

"No Mom, I wasn't in town, but I am wearing pink and green knee socks."

Ahhh, it's good to be me. 

Go The F*ck To Sleep: The Play

Scene:
           Living Room-- Mother and Son prepare to read a bed time story.  Mother is feeling very proud and slightly superior at this moment for she is ENGAGING Son's imagination and EXPANDING his vocabulary and IMPARTING wisdom.  (Large action words indicates that Mother is envisioning the day that when Son accepts Nobel Humanitarian World Record Prize for his works in the field of Neuro-Literature-Artology, he will recall this evening.)

7:15--Aesop's Fables read

7:30--Son tucked into bed, nightly orisons occur.

7:35--Mother begins work plays on Pintrest; Son announces from top of the stairs that he has to clip a hangnail.

7:37--Son pronounces that all toe nails and several finger nails need to be clipped.  Mother makes mental note to sweep bathroom floor as it is now littered.

7:45--Son bounces down the stairs, pleads for Mother to re-tuck him into bed.  Mother pauses video of duck skate-boarding to act in a maternal fashion.

8:05--Mother hears footsteps overhead.  Sighing, she stops looking at food porn and addresses Son.  He inquires as to her nightly routine, as he is unable to sleep without knowing when she will be finished "working" on the computer.

8:07--Son is re-re-tucked into bed.  Mother wonders if any new articles on Cracked have been published since she was on at 5pm.

8:20--Son stomps downstairs, tears trailing down his face.  He is "sooooooooooooo hot!"  And "has a little bit of a headache, especially when I shake my head like this."  Son imitates wet dog shaking self dry.

8:30--Mother updates Facebook status with a sideways frowny face, informs sister that the new family dog will be named Sherlocka as 'Chelsea' is a stupid name. 

8:33--Mother realizes there is nothing to drink in the house which would give her a buzz, so she makes a cup of herbal tea.  House Mate makes pointless inquiry about Son not sleeping.  Mother wishes to roll eyes but refrains by digging her nails into her leg.

8:47--Mother, no longer dreaming that Son will live to see the an award winning future, much less next day, ascends stairs to threaten child with bodily harm if he rises from bed again. Son is re-re-re-tucked into bed.

10:22--Mother finally feels she has earned the right to relax.

Son has gone the fuck to sleep.

 

  

If Wishes Were Horses

Tonight I would give my left foot just for someone to hold and hug me while I cry.
I haven't slept well in days.
Stress has piled up: money issues, car accident problems, trolls and high school drama, doctors bills, health concerns, not making a sale at work yet, Jeremiah's schooling.
I know I have some wonderful friends and I am truly grateful.
But tonight I'm tired of having to depends on myself. And I'm tired that there's no one here to share the burden with me.
I hate being alone in this bed tonight.

Bat Rhymes With Splat

Now that I've been back in VA since June, I'm quite impressed with myself for learning how to get around traffic by taking more scenic routes at times.  And I haven't gotten myself too lost.

"Welcome to...." WTF?

Until the other night.  When I drove 45 minutes south before realizing I was going in the wrong direction.  It wasn't until I saw this:



No big deal, right?  What's a 1/4 tank of gas and 45 minutes of my life besides money (which I don't have) and sleep (which I get very little of).  I had been talking with an old friend which is why I failed to pay attention to the signs on the road.

Oh well, one can always turn around and start the 42 mile drive back towards home.  I'll just crank up some tunes by Dr. House and hum along. 

Nothing but me, the Blues, The Kiddo snoring in the back seat, a clear night sky filled with millions of twinkly stars, and the wide open road.

And a bat.  A fucking bat flew right into the windshield. 

In that brief second, I swear that bat looked at me as if to say, "This is the start of a bad night for me."

At least my shrieks of terror didn't wake The Kiddo.  

Right In The Feelers

Over the past 24 hours I have been bombarded with so many messages of love and support that I can't process everything.  I can't believe so many people have reached out to me with words of comfort.

A friend messaged me, cautioning that I might have some triggers or flashback pop up because of Lord Douche Bag's comment, which I initially brushed off.  But around lunch time I was getting upset because I realized the sheer enormity of awfulness of what he said.

I am so thankful to each and everyone of you who have offered to take care of LDB, however I won't take up your offers for vengeance.  The most fitting punishment is that he has to live with himself, a worm-eaten, rotten, hollow shell of his former self.

I can't write anything more, because I'll cry.  Mostly tears of gratitude.  So I'll leave you with this to laugh at.  I hope my little brother will forgive me for posting this.

All in my head

I went to an apple orchard this week. The weather was beautiful, the fruit was delicious, and The Kiddo couldn't stop laughing. I couldn't ask for a more picturesque setting. Yet underneath my happy exterior I was fighting to keep the voices that whisper mean things to me at bay.

 "You're quite pitiful and pathetic. Look at you, acting like child. What sort of 31 year old woman runs around on a playground, climbs trees, and dives into a ball pit? Do you see the other adults acting like you? The answer is no, dumbass."

When I hear these things, I feel like a fraud, a failure around adults. I don't have a strict 9-5 job, so my paycheck shifts around. I don't have my own place, I don't eat vegetables at every meal, and I take The Kiddo into cemeteries looking for weather-worn headstones. My days aren't planned out and neither is my grocery list.

I know I don't follow the norm, and some days I am fine with that. Most days I secretly hope that The Kiddo's friends will think he has a neat, adventuresome, somewhat quirky mom.

 But those voices can be so mean. I just want to be happy and love being me.