Depression takes a lot out of you. Not just emotionally, but physically. My eyes are literally trying to close on me as I type this, but I need to get it done for my own sake. I've really been battling depression for a couple of weeks now. Like, the low kind that comes from bipolar disorder. Yes, there really is a difference. I'm tired and frustrated, and discouraged, because of the physical struggles I am going through. The possibility of cancer returning does scare me. The fact that my CEA cancer tumor marker level is elevated does make me angry. The simple truth that I don't have enough financially yet to make it to that next specialist appointment (and struggling to keep a roof over my head simultaneously) does cause me to just sit and stare at walls for hours on end sometimes.
Mostly, I just concentrate on breathing. I know that sounds a little weird, but I feel like if I DON'T concentrate on breathing sometimes, I might just stop altogether. Not intentionally, of course. No ideations here. Just exhaustion. Pure, total exhaustion.
I've definitely been crying more than usual, which actually makes me cry even more, because I hate that I'm crying so much in the first place. What a silly little vicious cycle I put myself through, albeit not on purpose. Depression is like floating in the water, just beneath the surface, and while you are there, holding your breath, you can see everyone else just above the water, walking, talking, breathing, smiling, laughing, moving.. and you can't move at all. You are in a completely different world, and though you aren't physically drowning, you feel like your mind is. You choke, spit out metaphorical water in your mind, gasp for air. You have that special kind of hearing that only occurs while under water, like you are in a tunnel and everything around you is just a muffled echo. You know that the sounds you hear should mean something, something you can make sense of, but none of it makes any sense at all.
This is where my mind falls apart. It goes from a whole brain of depression and just explodes, and all the little pieces go in every opposite direction you could possible imagine. Thoughts are too many, too deep, and unwanted. I struggle to pull it all back together, but the more I fight, the faster the pieces of my brain spin, like little spin tops set into motion on a thin sheet of glass. The fight is in me, it's just sleeping. Much like I should be right now.
That's what I'm going to do. Get some sleep. Worrying is getting me nowhere. Fear is a prison. Living is a decision I've already made to do. Dreaming is hoped for. Sucking is optional.
Don't suck. Just be Batman.
(yes, this is my arm... after back flow from an IV infiltration during hospitalization. #staystrong)
I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. I remember them, you don't have to keep reminding me. You may remind me directly or you may remind me indirectly, like a screwed up ninja bouncing around in the dark leaving subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints everywhere that I'll never be good enough for you. I'll never be good enough for anyone.
I don't believe that. I believe I AM good enough. But, damn. What is the breaking point, exactly, between my past and my present that certain people just cannot, or refuse to, see? I constantly hear people say, "leave the past and your mistakes behind you, you can do nothing about them, you can only concentrate on today." I wonder if those people have any clue whatsoever how difficult a task that is when you have a few monkeys swinging by on branches constantly throwing "past poo" in your face. Swinging through life on branches coated with feces of the past is a monumental task at times. No, all the time. Personally, I'm sick to death of it. It makes me wonder if ANYTHING I do matters at all.
Please stop the world. I want to get off now.
It's only Monday and already I feel like my week has been crushed. My kids mean the world to me, and even though only 2 of them are talking to me right now, when one of those two is enthusiastic about having a relationship with me and asks for my help specifically with something that is special and important to her, it brightens my entire life. My circumstances make it difficult for me to get around and get certain things done, but I literally do everything in my power to make my kids happy, including walking the 5 miles to or from their dad's house, if need be. Turns out, I'm not even "allowed" to do that.
Want to know what a heart of gold looks like from the outside of a body that belongs to a beautiful strawberry blonde 18-year-old? There you go. To say that my daughter is amazing would be the understatement of the decade. She has been through so much, and continues to struggle, in her life; but the way she deals with her struggles astounds me. She doesn't let her Aniridia get in her way. Not if she can help it, anyway. She faces adversity head-on. Her compassion for others overwhelms me completely. I have watched this girl spend more money on other people simply because the desire of her heart is to see the ones she loves happy, than I've ever seen her spend on herself. She's completely unselfish, has more love than she probably knows what to do with, is an inspiration to more people that she probably realizes, and always, ALWAYS gives of herself without expecting anything in return, yet I know she has a yearning to be loved; and she is. She is loved so much. I'm biased, of course. I'm mommy. I mean, what mom wouldn't love a child as incredible as this one? Actually, sadly there are some pretty shitty moms out there. I'm not perfect AT ALL, and definitely far from a perfect mom, but no one can ever say I don't love my children. Even in the dadgum middle of my biggest and most harsh mistakes, I've proven I love my children in ways that many parents, or people, will ever know or understand.
Important note: I DON'T CARE IF YOU UNDERSTAND. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. I'M RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT I LIVE AND HOW I EDUCATE YOU. I AM NEVER, EVER RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU DO AND DON'T UNDERSTAND.
Last year, she would leave me notes all over the bathroom mirrors when I was still living at the farm. I forgive you for ruining and using up my favorite red lipstick. How could I possibly be mad about lipstick when my mirror says "Best Mommy Ever" written by an 18-year-old? I wish you could see the amazing stuff she wrote to the right of that. I have no idea what happened to that picture. I wish I did. It was the most encouraging message she ever could have left me. I'm sure it's wiped clean now that I'm gone. It was all about not giving up and that my scars mean something, especially to God. I can feel my eyes burning just remembering that moment when I saw it for the first time. She had already left to go back to her dad's house.
Her dad. One of the biggest reasons I am writing this right now. I don't bash. I don't like to bash. I will write about what I don't understand, though, and at the moment, that's quite a bit. I'm boggled, if you will.
My daughter has something very special planned for someone this weekend. There are several food items that she wants to prepare. She knows I'm creative and also love to cook, and do a darn good job at it if I must say so myself, so who did she ask to help her on Friday night with these things? Me. Unfortunately, I don't have a vehicle at the moment. However, I will find a way to get around, even if it's my own 2 feet, in order to make things happen. Originally, she was going to come over here so I could help her cook things. She can be dropped off. Our concern is getting her back home. Then we thought of the possibility of me making my way over there, by whatever means necessary, to help her get this stuff done. Apparently, neither will happen. 1) Her dad doesn't want to pick her up from here when we are done. Not can't; won't. 2) I can't go over there because her dad and step-mom won't be there and I can't be there when they aren't.
Are you kidding me right now? Am I being Punk'd? No, I'm not being Punk'd. I'm evidently just still in a vicious cycle of someone else's narcissism that I that had improved and was just bitch-slapped via text from my daughter (who felt really bad about having to tell me that) by someone that is so self-righteous, that I've got to be going to hell if I'm really that much of the bottom feeder that I just got portrayed as. I'm still reeling a little bit and trying to come up with SOME kind of valid reason why this was just said. I have nothing. If I recall correctly, I've been at the house plenty of times when they weren't there, even BABYSAT THE CHILD THEY HAVE TOGETHER FOR THEM, and it's never been a problem. Why suddenly is it a problem now? I'm more confused than a chameleon in a bag of Skittles. My imperfectness has just become too much? Afraid that I'm actually better than you in some small way? That sounded pretty self-righteous for ME to say, but really; I feel like I'm being punished because my daughter loves me. This is the same man who has told me on more than one occasion that my children need their mother and that he would always encourage them spending time with me and never hinder it.
Houston, we have a serious problem. One that NASA cannot fix.
So, here I am writing when I should have been sleeping at LEAST 5 hours ago, will now be sleep-deprived for work, none of this is helping my head pain at all, because I've been trying to come up with every single feasible way I can to still help my daughter on Friday night; and I'm super sad because I'm currently at a loss. At a loss of thoughts, a loss of further words, a loss of the one thing I was looking forward to the most this entire week, a loss of mind, a loss of ideas. I'm a canvas waiting to be splattered by any type of art medium; get to splashing!
There is no point in trying to contact her father. He never responds to my texts, emails, or messages. Ever. He will have one of the kids respond, or I will suddenly get a random text from their step-mom. I'm sorry, but did I have any of my children with your help? I think not. Step off. I tried my hardest to be friends with both of them, but they both have such a tight grip on my past and every single one of my transgressions that I have ever committed, that they can't even concentrate on the issues they have between them. Trust me when I say there are many, and why I seem to be the focus so much instead of each other is more than baffling. Anything to take the attention of history repeating itself, I guess. Sometimes I feel sorry for her. Sometimes I just think, "Bitch!"
What I do know, is that I need that pretty face smiling right there. We were in Maine together when I took that picture of her. At least we have those memories, and hopefully more to come.
Parents: If you truly want to be a good one, don't interfere with your children's development of a relationship with the other parent. Don't talk bad about them to them. Don't call them names or be accusatory in front of them. If you truly want to nourish and enrich your child's life, let them love who they need to love and allow them to be loved in return by the people that matter the most, whether you have a problem with them or not. The only case where I would state otherwise is in reference to child abuse, and I don't abuse my children. I've never wanted anything but the best for them. I screwed that up plenty and owned up to every single bad decision I've ever made. It's time to move on.
Just move on, already. If you don't, you might be the one wanting to spend time with them one day... and they are going to be able to make their own decision that they aren't interested.
I've taken care of you physically. I drink a lot of water; way more than I ever did before. I eat much better as far as food choices go. I do my best to completely stay away from processed foods and would much rather cook my own meals from scratch, with lots of veggies. I love fruit, too. I love Paleo. I try to base my diet on it whenever possible. Organic is amazing. I never thought I'd say that, but I'm loving eating natural, and even spending the little extra when I can to get farm-raised or grass fed meat. I will probably never not eat meat, so deal with it. I very rarely drink soda anymore. Fast food is practically obsolete, aside from the occasional Chick-Fil-A sandwich or extremely rare burger from Five Guys, because I'm an addict and there should be a 12-step program for both Chick-Fil-A and Five Guys. I even drink Almond Milk in place of dairy now. If someone had said that I'd do that a year ago, I probably would have thrown up in my mouth a little. I'm doing the best I can. Overall, I can honestly say I have that sense of "health" that I didn't have before beginning to change the way I eat. I'm also beginning to get back on track with exercise, too. I miss dancing, but at least my walking is becoming more frequent, and the more frequent it becomes, the longer I walk. Yet still, I'm so fatigued. My GI system is beginning to yell at me a little again, as if to say, "Remember me? Yep, I can still f&#$ you up! You can run, but you can't hide, little girl." Screw you, GI system. I'd beat you with a stick if you weren't part of my actual body. My lymph node reminds me daily that I might have something substantial to worry about. It teases me, whispering "You're so screwed. You can't get me biopsied so you don't even know what's in here. I might be wreaking all this havoc and you don't have a clue!" Whatevs, lymph node. I curse thee. My throat has been hurting for about 48 hours now. That's new, and when I say new, I mean literally 100% new since I was 9 years old new. The last time I had a severe sore throat was when I had excruciating tonsillitis as a child and subsequently had my tonsils removed when I was 9. I NEVER get a sore throat. I've never even had Strep throat. It's weird. The slight cough does not help much, which is also weird. Then, today I woke up with the worst headache I've had in a really long time. It took 6 Excedrin to even get it slightly under control. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't take that much. But, my head. It was yelling at me so loudly, I couldn't even understand what it was saying. Shut up, head. Calm down, throat. I've been so good to you, and this is how you repay me.
Mentally, I keep you in check. I try, anyway. I give you the medication you are supposed to have to stabilize you, yet you still insist on going nuts on me sometimes. Actually, that infers I'm crazy, which I'm not. Okay, I am. Not. Whatever.
I do realize you aren't getting ALL your medication right now or the complete rest that you need, but do you really have to go into overdrive at the moment? Do you have to be repetitive in your incessant silent questioning of everything and everyone around? Obsessive, even? Worry much? Pfffffft. Did I say obsessive? Oh yes, I see it now. I said it. Typed it. Lalalalalala. O.o
You are beginning to tell me lies again: That life isn't worth it. The pain is more than you can bear. I am a burden to everyone I come across. I'm getting fat again or still need to lose at least 20 more pounds. I'm too screwed up to ever allow someone to love me; besides, I'll never trust anyone EVER anyway. I'm not lovable. What's love got to do with it, got to do with it? I'm going to fail. I'm totally about to be homeless again. I have cancer again or any other horrible diagnosis I could possibly come up with right now. FEAR. Anxiety. BLAH. B-kawk.
You are thinking way too much and forgetting that thoughts are the first step to just about everything in life, and will dictate whatever comes after a thought if you let it. Medication or not. You are not letting go of the person who hurt you completely, because you are being completely idiotic. You aren't cooperating when I talk back to you and tell you that everything is going to be just fine; eventually. It will totally help once you get all of your belongings out of narcissist #2's "house," but until then you really just need to chill out. As the memes and t-shirts say, KEEP CALM. (laughing out loud)
Spiritually, do I not feed you? I pray every day. I have faith. I believe in God and know who He is to me, and better still, what He has done for me. I read my scripture every morning and journal my devotions, just like I journal my life. I get my worship on, turn my music up, and totally live in abandon for those moments when it's just me and God. No distractions. Music.. the one thing that helps eliminate outside distractions when trying to talk to God, because for me, music itself is never a distraction. So why do you still feel a little lost? Unheard? Forgotten, even? You know it's not true. You know you are nourished; are you just refusing to absorb. Is it because you've missed so many Friday's of Celebrate Recovery at church in a row now that you are beginning to feel detached? I'm not going to give up on you. I'm not going to stop what I'm doing. To completely lose my faith would be to completely sink a floating ship.
My head. If it would just stop pounding. Maybe I could think more clearly. I need anesthetic. Nothing is helping me.
This post is so jumbled, yet organized at the same time. I'm not going to proofread it, either. My body is protesting against me and I just don't have the energy for editing. For me to say that, actually says quite a lot.
Some pictures from the visit with my 18-year-old daughter I just talked about. She convinced me to let her twist my hair up in paper towel strips and let my hair dry like that... anything to make my kids happy, no matter how old we get! Then she let me do a new hairstyle on her. <3
The last two times I have sat down in front of my computer to write something, I've gone blank. I'm still blank, but the words will come. It's the chaos and I'm overwhelmed. All the "little things" and simple happenings all rolled up into one giant "something." I feel like I don't know what to do with myself, but I know what I don't want to do. I don't want to end my numbness by turning to the one thing that's always made me feel.
I like being by myself now. I like having my own space. I still feel hesitant to say my own place, because technically it's temporary; but, maybe I should. Maybe I should just go for it and say, hey.. this is my place. This is my little one-room apartment that I pay for by the week. If you don't like it, take a hike.
It's what I meet when I open the front doors of the place that I don't miss. The rushing of images past and memories buried. The ignorance, naivety, stupidity, hint of danger, and temptation. When I lived here in 2006, I was still an active drug addict. Cocaine was my bitch; or I was hers. Either way, we had a relationship. I have no desire whatsoever to go out with her again. That's not what this is about. It's the emotions that come along with remembering all of that crap. I was in Room 111. Take the stairs down two flights, take a left, go right at the hallway, and the door is on the left. At first, I thought, "wouldn't it be kind of neat if I lived in the same room again?" No. No, it wouldn't. Not with the way I am feeling right now. I can only imagine the multiplication of images in my head if I were actually in the same exact room. There was a slight hint of nostalgia to the idea; then it was gone. I did coke in that room. I lived in that room for 6 months. That room holds other unpleasant memories. It holds some great memories with my kids visiting, but the good crashes into the bad too roughly. There was a guy who lived on the second floor, almost just above Room 111. I didn't recognize him at first, but he turned out to be someone my family knew from Altamonte. From the hood. He sold crack. Not to me, I never smoked crack. Plenty of people here did, though. Mostly on the third floor, where I am now. Thankfully, I haven't seen any crackheads (that I'm aware of). He used to feed me downers (Xanax) all the time when I was on coke, so I could function for work. He eventually got thrown out of the hotel because his son was advertising to people they sold crack and what room they were in. Idiots. There was a lady from the third floor who used to talk to me out front while I smoked cigarettes all the time. She was a lot of fun to talk to and wanted to come to my room. It was all laughs and games until she whipped out a crack pipe and asked if I minded. Noooooooo, I don't mind. I mean, I do coke in my room, what's the dif, right? I'll never forget the smell. It was horrible. Like burning nasty candy. I have no idea how else to describe it. She never came to my room again and I distanced myself as much as I could after that. Every time I'd walk to the corner store there was this other lady sitting in the grass. She'd have a different story every night about why she needed money, as if she'd never remember she'd talked to me a few days before. Either her mom was in the hospital and she needed money for the bus; or she had just gotten out of the hospital and needed to get back to the other side of Orlando. I'd tell her every time I barely had money to take care of myself. The internet was always an issue that year. I worked online then, too. I've been a medical transcriptionist/medical documentation specialist for 10 years now. I had more issues with internet connection during that 6 months than I've had in my entire life. I was ALWAYS late for work, unable to work, or struggling to work. Always having to convince them to let me pay late because of their internet service interrupting my work. Of course, it wasn't only that interrupting my work, but it had a lot to do with it. They ended up giving me my very last 2 days here free because of their internet.
I don't do drugs anymore. That's one huge difference from when I lived here 8 years ago. I don't really see too much evidence that things have changed here, though. A little, maybe. I don't see crackheads; not obvious ones. I haven't seen any noticeable drug dealers, except the one that tried to get me to get in his car. I do smell occasional marijuana as I'm walking down the hall. I just roll my eyes, because I know that's one thing that is never going to stop here. I'd rather it be nothing, but I'd rather it be marijuana than any other drug. I am on the smoking floor because I have a cat. The smoking floor is also the pet floor. I understand, kind of, their logic; but on the other hand, I kind of think it's unfair, as well. But whatever. I'm not giving up my precious kitty. I feel like she's all I have left sometimes.
So far, I've had the crazy barking dog, who has quieted down considerably. Actually, I very rarely hear it anymore. The guy next door turned out to be bipolar, as well, and was taken away for a day. Since he's been back, I'm not sure if he just hasn't left his room, or if he takes the dog out a lot. It's kind of weird now that I think about it.
A couple of nights ago I went to walk to the store for a bottle of water. The inevitable was bound to happen. I'm heading through the parking lot toward the corner store and a car stops in front of the entrance, still a good 150 feet from where I am, with the passenger door open and he's yelling "excuse me!" Nope. I dart to the right and cross between two cars to the next section of the parking lot and make a left toward the store again. He just pulls forward and blocks me there, too. "Excuse me." Screw it. I approach the car and the conversation goes something like this:
Him: "What are you doing?"
Me: "I'm working, but I'm walking to the store real quick." "You need a ride somewhere?"
"No." "You work from your room??"
"Yeah." (inaudible and unintelligible)
"What?" (again... seriously, I'm not leaning into your car any more than I already am, so speak LOUDER.)
"I can't hear you." "What you do?"
"Medical transcription." "What room?"
"Really?" "Okay. You got a friend?"
"Yeah, I got a friend." "You need another friend?"
"I have enough friends." "Alright then."
I walk away, he drives away. Seriously? I am not stupid. I know what you want. I know what you want to offer or sell to me. I know what you want for payment for your offer. That is not my life anymore and I'm glad that my tone of voice, facial expressions, and the way I answered your questions finally relayed that message to you. Get out of my face. I will not get in your car, I do not want what you have, and I do not need you in my life, nor will you be coming to my room. Again, I AM NOT STUPID. Do you know what is super sad about this scenario? If it had happened in 2006, it probably would have went completely differently, because that would have been an easy step to not only getting high, but getting my room paid for. Do you know what that tells me? I AM NOT WHO I ONCE WAS.
MY PAST: I DON'T LIVE THERE ANYMORE.
Last night, I had trouble with the internet. First time since I've been here. It's hard to believe I'm going on week 3 of being here already. My days are flying by. I don't feel like I'm living. I'm just surviving. Thankfully, it was a one night thing, and I think had more to do with a password switch (first of the month) than anything else. So far, so good.
More than anything, I look around me and just want to see more of my things. I'm in a battle of the dumbass right now and can't seem to get anything that's mine. I've only asked for a few things that are still at my ex-fiance's farm. My journals, my comforter, the Wii, my coffee mugs that have my children's pictures on them, something my grandma sent me for the kitchen... and preferably my keyboard, because music and writing are the only two things I can use passionately to express myself and I really need to play badly. I don't think that's too much to ask for right now. I can't afford to get a storage unit yet for everything else. I wish I could. Believe me, it would make my life so much easier if it was ALL out NOW. The responses I get: Blame for his financial issues, blame for his depression, blame for his loneliness, blame for his alcohol and drug usage, blame for his anger issues, saying he loves me and wishes things were different but..... There are no "but's". You did what you did. You wanted me to be responsible. Does anyone see me having a problem with that? Nope. He says he needs to be responsible now and learn how to be by himself. You've had 5 months so far and I see no progress. I don't know what to tell you, except for stop ignoring me when I ask for what belongs to me, stop waiting to answer until it's only convenient for you, and give. me. my. things. Move along, move along. For the love of God, move along. He tells me that because I've moved the date back on getting all my stuff I've prolonged his recovery time. Are you kidding me right now? Let me read that again. Yep. Yes, that's what it says. No sir. I've had to move the date back for two reasons. 1) You never answer me when I ask when I can pack my stuff and start getting it together. You never answer me when I ask when a good time would be to do anything at all, so what do you expect? 2) I'm being responsible for myself and have rent to pay, so I've had to postpone getting a storage unit for stuff I thought I would never have to move again, because you made a false promise to me 3 years ago. If anything, YOU have postponed MY recovery time. I'm not the one playing the blame game and treating someone else like a piece of invisible trash.
I wish you had NEVER texted me again and just left me alone after the first time we split up.
So, yes.. the numbness is coming. The chaos, the memories, the current situation; it's all balling up like a giant wad of gum I've stepped on and it's now stuck to the bottom of a shoe that I can't take off. The laces are knotted and my fingers are cramping from trying to untie them. My mind is like a tornado, yet blank. My ability to function feels like it's slowly dwindling.
Yet I can still write this blog.
How these words came out, I have no idea. I'm staring at paragraphs that I don't recall forming.
My numbness is pitchy, and a little off-beat; but, I will leave you with this very raw and un-edited piece of me:
