WORDS

I am a self-proclaimed WORDY. I love words. I love to talk, I love to listen, I love to read, I love to write (not well, but it’s for me so ….), I love song lyrics. I want to wow and amaze people with what I write. I want my words to start conversations. I want my words to invoke a feeling. Even if you hate what I write, hate is still a feeling – right? I want to use big fancy words, but that’s just not me. I like big fancy words. I love learning the meaning of words that are new to me.

I love writing a note in a card, or sending an email or text to someone that makes them feel special. It is my hope that they feel special because of the words I have carefully chosen to give them. The words aren’t always eloquent, but they are always heartfelt and sincere. I have used my words to write poems and letters to loved ones that have passed. I have used my words to write speeches for special occasions. I just love using words and seeing people respond to my words.

Three songs hit me in the face this morning with the lyrics. First, Macarthur Park by Donna Summer. The lyrics for your reading pleasure. What do they say to you?

Spring was never waiting for us, dear
It ran one step ahead
As we followed in the dance

MacArthur’s Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
‘Cause it took so long to bake it
And I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, no

I recall the yellow cotton dress
Foaming like a wave
On the ground beneath your knees
The birds, like tender babies in your hands
And the old men playing Chinese checkers by the trees

MacArthur’s Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
‘Cause it took so long to bake it
And I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, no

MacArthur’s Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left my cake out in the rain
And I don’t think that I can take it
‘Cause it took so long to bake it
And I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, no, oh

The second and third are from my girl crush. Seriously. P!nk (sigh). First would be the song Happy. Again, lyrics for your reading pleasure. I swear she read my mind. Can you relate?

Since I was 17
I’ve always hated my body
And it feels like my body’s hated me
Can somebody find me a pill
To make me un-afraid of me?

Seen every therapist, but I’m a cynical bitch
Don’t like to talk about my feelings
I take another hit, I find another fake fix
‘Cause it’s easier than healing

I don’t wanna be this way forever
Keep telling myself that I’ll get better
Every time I try, I always stop me
Maybe I’m just scared to be happy

Since I was 22
I’ve been with somebody who loves me
And I’ve been tryna believe it’s true
But my head always messes up my heart
No matter what I do

Seen every therapist, but I’m a cynical bitch
Don’t like to talk about my feelings
I take another sip, I swear it’s my last fix
‘Cause it’s easier than healing

‘Cause I don’t wanna be this way forever
Keep telling myself that I’ll get better
Every time I try, I always stop me
Maybe I’m just scared to be happy
I don’t wanna be this way forever
Keep telling myself that I’ll get better
Every time I try, I always stop me

Maybe I’m just scared to be happyMaybe I’m just scared to be happy
Maybe I’m just scared to be happyI’m so scared of having something to lose

I’m scared of being somebody new
I’m so scared of all them seeing the truth
‘Cause right now I’ve got nothing

But I don’t wanna be this way forever
Keep telling myself that I’ll get better
Every time I try, I always stop me
Maybe I’m just scared to be happy

Maybe I’m just scared to be happy (Maybe, yeah)
Maybe I’m, I’m scared to be happy

And the final P!nk (sigh) song. True Love. If you have been in a relationship for any amount of time, this fits, PERFECTLY! Don’t you agree? Lyrics for your reading pleasure. I know I am smiling as I sing along off key with my girl P!nk to this one!

Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say
Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face (whoa oh oh)
There’s no one quite like you, you push all my buttons down
I know life would suck without you (whoa oh oh)
At the same time, I wanna hug you
I wanna wrap my hands around your neck
You’re an asshole but I love you
And you make me so mad, I ask myself
Why I’m still here, or where could I go
You’re the only love I’ve ever known
But I hate you, I really hate you
So much I think it must be
True love, true love
It must be true love
Nothin’ else can break my heart like
True love, true love
It must be true love
No one else can break my heart like you

Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Just once tried to wrap your little brain around my feelings
Just once please try no to be so mean (whoa oh oh)
Repeat after me now R-O-M-A-N-C-E-E-E
Come on I’ll say it slowly (Romance!)
You can do it babe
At the same time, I wanna hug you
I wanna wrap my hands around your neck
You’re an asshole but I love you
And you make me so mad, I ask myself
Why I’m still here, or where could I go
You’re the only love I’ve ever known
But I hate you, I really hate you
So much I think it must be
True love, true love
It must be true love
Nothin’ else can break my heart like
True love, true love
It must be true love
No one else can break my heart like you

Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Think it must be love (I love you)
I think it must be love (I love you)
Why do you rub me up the wrong way?
Why do you say the things that you say?
Sometimes I wonder how we ever came to be
But without you I’m incomplete
I think it must be
True love, it must be true love
It must be true love

Nothin’ else can break my heart like
True love, true love
It must be true love
No one else can break my heart like you

Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

No one else can break my heart like you

Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

No one else can break my heart like you

So, having said all that. As much as I love giving words, I love receiving words. I need words from those around me. I need words to really believe how and why you need me. I need words to really believe you want me and no one else. I need words to really believe you will always be my side. I need words to believe you truly love me and only me. Maybe you can’t find your own words, and that’s okay. Poems use words, songs use words. Is there a song you hear that makes you think of me? Why do I need words so desperately? I’m honestly not sure. I just do. Maybe the words give me something I can hold onto or I can reflect on when I’m doubting myself. Does that make sense?

I just need your words.

Self – part III

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

Good Morning Campers! Did you ever stop and think about why you are the way you are? I don’t mean the genetics of eye color, height, etc. I mean things like personality. Are they part of the genetic package or are they part of the way you were reared as a child or does your personality change and grow with life experiences?

I wish I had that answer for you and for me, but I don’t. I’m sure there is some type of study out there that would say it’s genetics, another one that says it’s the way a child is reared, another will say it’s life experiences and yet another that says it’s all of the above. So what’s my point? I’m not entirely sure! However, recently I have been scrutinizing why I am the way I am. Why do I react to stuff the way I do? Why do I feel the way I feel? Deep shit, right?!

I’ve previously written about growing up in a house with a perfectly beautiful sister and how that impacted me. I felt I had to become flirty and funny to get attention. I did and still do have to be careful that I don’t cross the line with the funny part of my personality. I never wanted to be the funny fat girl that over did it and became the obnoxious fat girl that is just trying to get attention anyway she can. Although, I will admit here that I do feel like the obnoxious fat girl in many social instances.

I have also been questioning how my personality affects how people perceive me. And perhaps how they feel they can or can’t approach me, talk to me, etc. Who cares, right? I do.

I was recently cleaning out some drawers at home and came across folder. I knew what was in the folder. I told myself not to open it. I told myself to burn it in the fire pit. But I opened it. And it hit me, like a slap in the face. I was pissed off, hurt, scared, embarrassed, humiliated, fucking irate. It’s a folder filled with notes, cards, letters and emails from a person who was first my co-worker and then my supervisor for 26 of my 32 (and counting) years of employment. Why do I blame myself for this occurring? Why did he think he could share his feelings for me? Why did he think I would be interested? Why, why, why? What did I do to make that happen? Was it because I am too flirty? But I’m that way with everyone. Was it because I talk to much and share too much? But there are people at work I have talked and shared far more with. What gave him the right to create an uncomfortable work environment for me? Why did I allow him to perpetuate a relationship to others that didn’t exist. Why did people believe this? What did I do? Why didn’t I try harder to stop it? Where was the #metoo movement when I needed it. Why did I let the political “good old boys” scare me into not pushing harder? Why was I threatened with “PA is a fire at will state”? How is that okay? But what was it that I did to make this happen? Why didn’t I govern myself differently? How is it fair that I let it impact personal relationships? Christ, some days I really question every decision I ever made. What do I do about it? Higher ups knew and did nothing. My job was threatened. I needed my job! A young family, a mortgage, three kids, two of which who have/had medical issues and needed insurance, family members that were too close to see what was happening, small town politics – I let it all control me and I did nothing. I sat back and took it.

I know this “experience” enhanced my overall lack of self-esteem. My God, I was fat and this person was pursuing me. Part of me thought I must be imagining it. I am not or was not a person who was pursued, certainly not being a fat, flirty girl. So, I got fatter. But it still continued. I was pregnant three times, but still it continued. I changed how I behaved, what I shared, what I allowed people to see – but still it continued. I don’t think I can explain in words or otherwise how this seriously changed me. But it did. It will always be with me, it will always make me question me.

fan-fucking-tasitc

Basically the only word that I can currently come up with to describe how I’m feeling. And when you say it, say it in a very sarcastic manner because that’s how I meant it.

The girl child (big sigh – like huge, ginormous sigh if you could sigh for like five minutes sigh). As of last week, she was kicked out of her individual and group therapy because she missed too many sessions. She now has no therapist and no psychiatrist. I know she is not taking her meds as prescribed, if at all. At this point I guess it doesn’t matter. The fallout will happen. I can see it coming, but I don’t have an answer or even a clue as to how to proceed from when it happens.

This constant feeling of living with a feeling of …………………I guess it just living with the unknown in general that is so exhausting. Nothing I haven’t said before. I’m a scratched record and the needle playing my song is stuck in a deep scratch. That needle keeps trying to skip over the scratch, but the scratch is just too deep.

Self – part II

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

I feel like talking about personal relationships, like very personal relationships. There might be sex talk. Correct that, there will be sex talk. So be warned.

I am currently 50. My significant other is 51. We have been together since 1987. That’s a loooooooooooong time. We have been married 29 years. As with everything in life, relationships change with time. And I think that’s supposed to happen and it should happen.

We basically grew up together. We learned from each other, we hurt each other, we grew apart, we grew stronger, we learned what buttons to push and when to stop pushing those buttons! We had loved ones pass and shared the miracle of child birth. We have shared life’s triumphs and life’s failures. And we continue to love each other.

It’s a love that changes and grows with us. One day it’s the rush I feel when he walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. One day it’s the feeling of wanting to throat punch him because I’m tripping over him while I’m trying to make dinner! And it’s all those feelings in-between.

So, I will admit that it has been way too long since we have….you know. I don’t know about you, but there are so many words and ways to describe “it”. In my humble opinion, being intimate doesn’t always have to be about sex. There are so many different facets to both intimacy and sex.

The intimate side of the relationship is a feeling for me. It can be his hand on the small of my back. It can be a look that makes me feel desired. It can be a kiss that makes me warm in all the right places. It can be his arm draped over my hip when we are laying in bed.

Now, the sex part – there are just so many directions I could take on this topic. I think that in any adult relationship there various types of……….you know. We can have sex. To me, that is when we are both into it, let’s go, and we go from point a to point z. We might skip some points, but we are both getting what we need. We can fuck. That would be the wham, bam, thank you ma’ma. That might be one of of us just needs that release – NOW, and the other is more than happy to oblige! It’s really a win/win for both participants, again, in my opinion. Who doesn’t want to have their lover look at them with that wild desire?! And last but not least, we can make love. That slow, touching, feeling, tasting, licking, love making. We pick the pace, we pick the way, we are one. It’s like I can’t get close enough to him. I need to find a way to crawl inside of him to get just a little closer. It’s languishing in the afterglow. It’s complete togetherness.

Let’s not forget about self-love. Why this is a taboo topic for so many people I don’t understand. Who knows you better than you? Who doesn’t occasionally need the release without all the extras? It is okay to say the word – masturbation. It’s not a bad word! Now, I will say that solo play should not take the place of or have a negative impact on your relationship togetherness. I mean, if you are having alone time multiple times a day and there is nothing left for your partner – that’s not cool. And don’t pretend it doesn’t happen! What is hotter than (again, in my opinion) hearing from someone that they were thinking about you and just couldn’t help but touch themselves?!

And yes, I know there is much more to a happy, healthy sexual relationship. I think I could honestly write page, after page, after page on the topic. It’s something I enjoy doing, as much as talking about it and writing about it. I have written many stories for my significant other. And I will tell you, they are damn good. However, here is where I ALWAYS fuck up my mind regarding sexy time. Try not to get lost in my mind on this one! I wish you all the best.

Let’s take last night, for example. I have been feeling particularly amorous recently. As I stated before, we have had a bit of a dry spell. It’s no one’s fault, there is no blame – it’s just life. Anyway, in my mind I create this scenario of what/how I would like to seduce him. Who doesn’t want it to be like a movie scene, what could go wrong (LOL)?! Last night was just one of those nights where I felt like I needed a shower before bed. I know TMI! But, it gave me a great scenario in my mind. So I shower, smell nice and I am squeaky clean. I didn’t dry my hair, I let it wet, and sexy in my mind. I put on a men’s v-neck white undershirt and nothing else. That would certainly get him! In my mind it played out like a soft porn. In reality I looked like a wet manatee in a white undershirt. And nothing happened. Which is okay.

I keep overthinking this and trying to delve into why things aren’t happening. This is where my self-doubt enters. It has to be me. I’m not appealing to him anymore. I am too fat for him to want me. I am too ugly for him to want me. My super short haircut makes me look like a she-man. (This is no joke – prior to my shoulder surgery I had my hair cut very short, like basically buzzed short. I needed it to be something easy. I have always had short hair, but not this short. Negative comments from people made me so self-conscious that I paid to have eyelash extensions put on the week after my surgery so I would look more feminine. The joke is, I had more positive comments than negative) And then my favorite go to thought is that he found someone else.

Am I seriously the only person who undermines their own sex life?

I have earned

I have earned every gray hair and thinning spot on my head

I have earned every frown line and furrow on my forehead

I have earned the crows feet, bags and dark circles around my eyes

I have earned the creases around my mouth and the start of jowls

I have earned the turkey neck

I have earned the slump in my shoulders

I have earned the saggy, droopy and sad boobs

I have earned the bat wing upper arms

I have earned the tattered and bleeding cuticles

I have earned the two belly rolls

I have earned the c-section scar and all the stretch marks

I have earned the dimples and cellulite on my ass and thighs

I have earned the floppy lady bits

I have earned the varicose veins running down my calves

I have earned the calluses and blisters on my feet

I have earned my scars

torture

A friend used the word torture to describe how I am letting my girls mental illness affect my life. It is true, so very true.

The torture starts when my alarm goes off. Did she hurt herself overnight? Is she dead or alive in her room? Do I go check or do I check to see the last time she was active on Facebook Messenger? I check her social media accounts that I can see and scan her posts. Is she depressed? Is she happy? Is she fighting with drippy? Does she hate me?

The torture continues at work. When the radio is keyed up and the dispatcher sends officers to a house because someone is suicidal, or someone just found a loved one dead, or someone is having a mental crisis. It all reminds me of my girl and what her illness has created in my life. I continue to check her social media throughout the day for hints of what my evening will bring. I wait for the cameras we installed to notify me that the dogs have been left out. That means she is alive and actually out of bed. Or the driveway camera captures her leaving. Where is she going? Who is she going to see? Will she come back? Why doesn’t she tell me where she is going? Would she even tell me the truth?

On the drive home the torture continues. What will I find when I get home? Will she be in her room? Will she be dead or alive in her room? Will there be dog pee on the floor because she couldn’t get out of her room to let them out? Will there be dirty dishes piled in the sink that she finally got out of her room? Will she be in a decent mood? Will I have to walk on egg shells? Why don’t I want to be in my own home with her there? Why don’t I have a save place? Will she show her face to eat dinner? Did she eat at all today? Did she drink anything today? Did she take her meds? I can’t ask her because it might set her off.

Late evening/overnight is much of the same torture. She says she is leaving to go to a friends house. Is she? Does she go to drippy? Will she crash because she is upset or high? Will she come home? I wait for the cameras to notify me that she pulled into the driveway. I wait and listen for her to come up the stairs and go into her room. I fall into a restless sleep.

The torture continues when my alarm goes off.

The stress makes me itchy. My hands itch, my face and head itch. I talked to my family doc. There is no physical reason for the itching. I feed my stress, which creates additional stress. I am not enjoying my life. I have wonderful friends who I love dearly. I am lucky to be sharing my life with my soulmate and I love him. I have two other kids who I think feel sorry for me and I see their relationships with my girl changing. I can’t blame them for that. They get caught in the wake of her illness. I have the most beautiful granddaughter. She brings me happiness. Her innocence, her laughter, her unconditional love. But I know I could give her more of me if things were different. I will soon have a grandson. I can’t wait to meet him and snuggle him. It will be another milestone in my life. But will it be overshadowed by my girl? Why do I have to worry that something will create friction during a time that should be full of love and happiness.

How do I stop the torture?

why

The last month has been challenging, to say the least. If I remember correctly, somewhere in my last post I mentioned a shoulder injury and that my girl had been diagnosed with bi-polar as well as BPD. I am going to do my best to to stick to a timeline of recent events, but I make no promises.

Late July, I had an appointment with a surgeon to review an MRI on my shoulder. I was told I had two different rotator cuff injuries and would need surgery as soon as possible. Surgery was scheduled for Monday, August 3rd, which gave me about five days to get my shit together before my dominant arm would be in a sling for six or more weeks. There was lots of cooking and freezing, cleaning, washing – all the stuff I felt had to be taken care of.

The Friday before surgery my girl was at work. She was supposed to be working 12PM-8PM. I remember she sent me lots of messages that day complaining about the job and how much she hated it, etc. I had honestly encouraged her to quit numerous times. My reasons being: 1) she was working at this job because drippy dick thought this is where she should work and I want her as far away from his control as possible 2) her mental status was not stable and the added pressure of the job was creating issues that she didn’t need. Anyway, she ended up coming home early. As soon as she came in the house I could tell she was upset. We actually sat and talked for probably close to an hour. She was upset about her relationship with drippy. She told me that she is scared of him. He has made threats towards her and our family if she left him. She admitted he controls her life and decisions. She also said he works at the same store she works at. This was NEVER mentioned before. He isn’t there every time she works because he is a “manager” and goes to various places. He does not support her efforts to try and better herself through therapy and medication. He even told her if she leaves him she owes him money for the food, gas, gifts and things he did for her during the relationship. Oh, and she also would owe him money for his legal costs, since his arrest for Terroristic Threats was all her fault. I did my best to gently explain that fear isn’t love, control isn’t love. I used as many examples as I could and felt like I had finally crossed the finish line. She knew she had to end it, she knew she would be supported by her family and if need be she could get a Protection From Abuse Order to keep him away. I told her I would be home for at least a month with her and it would be okay. She could do this. She can live without him. Her life would be better without him.

Monday, August 3rd, I had my surgery. It wasn’t/isn’t fun. Right arm is in a sling 24/7, except when I shower. I have to sleep in a recliner because it hurts to lay in a bed. I have one more week of the immobilizer sling (a sling that has a waist band to prevent the arm from being lifted away from your body), then two weeks of a regular sling and after that I can start therapy. I returned to work on Monday, August 31st. It was too soon. I am lucky to have disability insurance where I work, but it pays less than half of my actual salary. Let’s be honest. In this crazy world where prices of groceries, gas, basically all necessities are sky high – half my usual salary started to take it’s toll on the back account. So, I’m back to work in an office with one arm and it hurts.

Let’s now fast-forward, one week after surgery. At some point during this week I noticed a very fresh hickey on my girls neck. This meant she lied to us, again, about being with a friends and was with drippy. Drippy just loves to put his mark on her. It’s like a big fuck you to anyone who truly cares about my girl. It disgusts me. I asked my girl about it and got the silent treatment. I started noticing more and more irritability in my girl, more unstable behavior and actions. I talked to her about it. She was put on new meds when the bi-polar diagnosis was made and she felt the meds were making her worse and she felt extremely suicidal. She was very proactive in calling her psychiatrist and talking to him about it. She even made an appointment to go see him. He actually increased the frequency of the meds and asked her to give it another few weeks to work.

Two weeks after surgery – I’m going stir crazy being in the house, confined in a sling. I make plans with a couple to hang at their house on Friday night. Me & hubby are there, my girl is working a 12PM-8PM shift and will be stopping at their house after work. Around 6PM I get a call from my girl. She is crying. She said she is done, she can’t work there anymore and drippy just broke up with her. I try to convince her to stay there and we will get her, she said she needs to get away from him and she will drive to our friends house. She gets there and we talk and talk and talk. I am fortunate to have this friend. She has, unfortunately, been through a similar situation in a past relationship. She talked to my girl about the PFA, made a list of the good and bad parts of the relationship with drippy and just made sure my girl knew she wasn’t alone and it wasn’t her fault and she could get through this. We talk about the possibility of getting an emergency PFA. Because of my employment, I am all to familiar with the process and start making calls to put things in motion. After my girl is calmed down as much as possible, we leave our friends and go home. It’s decided we will talk about the PFA and other issues the next day.

The next day, Saturday. My girl decides she doesn’t want to do the emergency PFA and we will wait until Monday morning and file for a PFA at the courthouse. No one will be shocked to know when Monday comes she decides she doesn’t want to do it. She tells me she hasn’t heard from drippy at all and she has him blocked in every way possible.

The following week or last week. My girl was sad, but seemed to be kinda okay. She was supposedly with friends almost every evening. And then on Friday afternoon I saw the hickey. And of course when I called her out about it, it’s turned around on me. I don’t understand, I don’t get it, she has a mental illness, she is fucked up. The past week has been very hard for me and I try not to make it about me, I swear I don’t. I started back to work on Monday, and I hate being at work. I have been the recipient of my girls anger and hatred and resentment and everything for the past month. I have been lied to and deceived. I have been hurt.

Last night. Got home from work and could immediately tell my girl was in a downward spiral. We went to a local restaurant for a quick bite. We being me, my husband, my girl and a very dear friend who has seen the bad side of my girls illness. We order, my girl doesn’t order any food. My girl typically always drives herself when we go somewhere so she can leave if she feels overwhelmed. While we are sitting at the restaurant I can just feel my girl falling into her black hole. I try to get her to talk and she just gets teary eyed. She leaves, promising me that she will get food for herself at some point. Oh, I should have probably mentioned this earlier, but over the last month my girl rarely eats. She may eat every two days. I have to watch her and what she eats. She tries to eat and her mind/body fight her. She will get a few bites in and the nauseous feeling hits. Anyway, after we are finished we head home. My girl is sitting outside and we sit with her. Conversation starts and it’s not a good conversation. I lost count how many times she told us she doesn’t want to be alive, she doesn’t want to wake up anymore. She is tired of fighting and of everything. At one point my girl and I go inside and we continue to talk, like real feeling talk. I am trying desperately to get her to agree to finding more help, going in-patient somewhere. I felt raw and exhausted as we were talking. And then my husband comes inside and asks my girl why drippy is on a motorcycle in front of our house. My reaction was stunned silence. I had no reaction except to walk away from everyone. I went upstairs to my bedroom, but I couldn’t believe what I had heard and had to see it for myself. I walked out the front door and there he was on his new motorcycle. He stared me down. So many words were waiting to pour out of me. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t say anything. I turned around and went back inside leaving my husband and dear friend to watch over my girl. At some point my girl and drippy decided to go for a walk around our development. I went back to my room and crawled into bed and cried. After a short time my husband came into the room. I heard him rustling around and knew what he was doing. He was getting his gun. Drippy has a few guns, illegally of course, and has threatened our family. No, my husband didn’t go outside waving it around or threatening anyone. It was a precaution. But I couldn’t stand it. I went back outside and told my husband I couldn’t lose him because of something stupid drippy did. It was enough that I was going to lose my girl, I couldn’t lose them both. We decided enough was enough. We closed/locked up the house while my girl and drippy were on their walk. My girl knows how to get in the house if she decided to and she did come in about an hour later.

I don’t know when the last time I cried myself to sleep was, but I did last night. I am beyond drained and exhausted. I have nothing in me to give anymore. I can’t save my girl. I can’t make her want to live. I can’t keep taking on the weight of her illness, as well as all the other family drama. Some of the family have seen the ugly side of my girls illness, some haven’t. Until you see it and experience it first hand, you can’t understand it. It’s ugly and cruel. I need help in a way I have never felt I needed help before. Help deciding what to do from this point forward. Today is therapy day for my girl. I have no clue if she will go. She skipped her group therapy two weeks in a row, but did individual therapy. It’s just not enough. If I commit her based on her comments, she will play the system and be out within 3 days. How do I figure out how much guilt I can live with? If I kick her out and she kills herself, will I really be able to not blame myself? If I kick her out and she gets beat again, will I be okay with that?

I have nothing left. When I am home and my girl is home I don’t want to be there and I hate that. When my girl isn’t home, I feel I need to stay home because I don’t know what might happen. I am lost in a never ending cycle.

Where do I turn, what do I do? Is my girl alive right now? What will I find when I go home from work? Did she decide she can’t do it anymore? Every fucking minute of every fucking day these are the questions that loop in my brain. It never stops.

Self – part 1

I have been mulling over many different and personal topics about myself, but I never see a worth in putting those “things” into actual words. My mind is so full of baggage right now and I need to free up some valuable space in my head.

We all hold onto shit that we shouldn’t. Maybe a comment made by an acquaintance, or a co-worker that really shouldn’t matter, sometimes hits hard. I find this to be especially true when I am already feeling vulnerable and when I’m doing all I can to keep my shit together on a daily basis.

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

When I think about myself, I always try and see what others may see or think about me. Is it wrong? Yep, but we all do it. At least I think we all do it and if you don’t – I commend you and give you the biggest high five EVER. So, I ask myself – what’s the first thing that pops into my mind that describes me? FAT. Fat is the only word that pops into my head and it’s flashing on a giant marquee shining bright for all to see and it’s flashing directly above my head. Why? I dunno. I have chatted about this topic numerous times in various ways. I’m going to attempt to break it down, for me and you.

foodhappy foodcomfort foodhappy foodcomfort foodhappy foodcomfort you get the picture. It has always been that for me.

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? I honestly don’t remember tons from my very early childhood. Is that normal? I have no clue. If I try to think back, I get bits and pieces of different stuff. One memory that kinda starts my love/hate relationship with food is being at my great-grandmother’s house over the summer. She was my person, my Nana. Mom worked full-time so when summer vacation came, I was dropped off at Nana’s each weekday morning. My sister was dropped off at our grandparents house. This is where and when I started to realize families had favorites. The grandparents house was much different than Nana’s house. At the grandparents house things were…..sterile and unemotional. My sister was their princess. Another family fact I realized very early. She was/is beautiful, smart, thin, great hair, great skin, etc. Nana’s house was for me was learning how to scrub a kitchen floor on your hands and knees. Learning the feel of making pie dough from scratch, the smell when a cake is almost finished baking. Nana’s house was food and comfort. I know Nana saw the favoritism, I know Nana felt sad for me, I know Nana loved me unconditionally and that is why Nana fed me and hugged me and kissed my cheek. Now, in no way am I blaming Nana for my weight at any point in my life. There were numerous other adults that played a part. It’s kinda like the family was divided (even though it is a tiny family). One side was my sister’s “people” and one side was my “people”. And like kids do, my sister and I each played our role.

I was absolutely a chunky kid. No doubt about it. But when your older sister is a bean pole, even a slightly chunky younger sister sticks out like a sore thumb. I would say I was average through high school years, maybe a few pounds shy of above average. Remember, I’m talking the 80’s. Typically only the “druggies” were stick thin, or the “goths”, but that could have been from all the black they wore. In my circle of friends I was again, average. Our group of friends shared clothing, although my mom hated when I shared clothing because it would inevitably come back damaged in some way. But whatever!

I remember I always felt that I had to or at least wanted to have a boyfriend or someone that was interested. Didn’t matter who they were, what social group they were from, as long as I felt that someone……….accepted me. Yes, very pathetic. If I had all the time back that was spent trying to do things and look a certain way or act a certain way to get noticed, I could have been an all A student! Midway through my junior year in high school I met the boy that would become my husband and my soulmate. He actually liked ME, not a friend, not my sister, but ME. He was quite and shy, I was not. He was inexperienced, I was not. He was skinny, I was not. He made me happy, he still does most of the time. BUT, let’s not forget what my brain and happiness equals………….FOOD!

We had a totally fun filled dating life. Did all the stuff teenagers do. Went to the mall, we ate. Went to the movies, we ate. Went out with friends, we ate. We stayed home, we ate. He didn’t judge me, he didn’t mock me. He just loved me and we ate.

As the years went by, my weight steadily increased. I can’t sit here today and put my finger on exactly why it did, but it did. I was active, we were always doing something. I just don’t know.

We were married in 1991. I was 21, he was 22. First baby boy in 1993, second baby boy in 1996 and surprise baby girl in 2000. And yes, with each pregnancy came higher numbers on the scale. There was also TONS of family drama and fighting through those years. His family, my family. It was absolutely crazy. But we know what makes drama and fighting better (say it with me) FOOD! Yes, of course FOOD! The sweeter the better, the bigger the better!

I will say that through the late 1990’s and into the 2000’s I tried numerous different diets. I tried Weight Watchers, Deal-a-Meal, I went to Jazzercise classes. I would always manage to lose about 50 pounds and everything stopped dead. I would continue to try for a bit and then become hopeless and turn back to my good old friend – food.

Then I started to hear talk about weight loss surgery. I stuck my nose up at it; no way would I ever consider that. That’s for other people, not me. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

December 19, 2011, I had gastric bypass surgery. I went through the 6+ months of classes. Learned more than I could ever hope to learn about food and nutrition. I was so very fortunate to find a absolutely phenomenal weight loss group and surgeon. I followed every rule and guideline before and after surgery. I was proud of myself for a change, and that is very hard for me to say. But let’s talk numbers. That’s what we are all judge by – numbers. Our age, weight, clothing size, credit score, year of our car, cost of our house, etc.

When I actually had the surgery I was 305 pounds. I was morbidly obese. At my absolute lowest weight, I was 150. That was about 2-3 years after surgery. That was an impossible weight for me to maintain. I felt awful and did not look healthy. I know that’s a great excuse to gain weight, but it was true. I held fast at 165-175 for the next like 3 years. And then the numbers started climbing. I will not use my girl child problems as an excuse, I will say those issues certainly didn’t help. I stopped taking care of me and devoted time and energy to her. I will NOT ever regret doing that. I still don’t.

I am ultimately the only person that controls what goes into my body. I learned a new lifestyle in 2011 and I need to find it again and embrace it. I am currently holding around the 200 pound mark. It makes me cringe, it makes me feel like giving up, it makes me feel like a failure.

I have recently started to change some stuff. My husband and I got bikes, like the hybrid ones. There is a great rail-to-trail in our town. We went on three bike rides, increasing the distance a little each time. The third ride was 8 miles, we rode four miles out and turned around. One minor problem. Lady luck was not on my side. I honestly have the rhythm of the Jackson 5. I can dance, like really dance. My balance is another story. As we are turning around, we are also stopping for a water break. After all, we just rode 4 miles in the blazing sun and 90 degree heat! I have no clue what happened, but I am fairly sure my shoelace got stuck in the pedal and as I tried to get off the bike I kinda got thrown. Landed on both knees and my right elbow. I rolled to my back, arms up and told my hubby to help me up. He did. We had some water and I got back on the bike. He asked me about a million times if I was sure I wanted to continue, of course I didn’t want to continue but I NEEDED to continue! So I rode the 4 miles back to our car with blood running down both legs and my arm. I did notice my right shoulder getting stiff. I thought I might have jammed it or something and was seriously contemplating asking my hubby to give it a good yank to get it back in place. Glad I didn’t do that.

By the next morning I could barely move my arm. I was freaked. I drove to a local Orthopedic Urgent Care. X-rays were taken, physical exam completed. I have a fracture of some outer bone on my shoulder and the doc felt sure a “traumatic rotator cuff injury”. He never actually said the word surgery in my presence, but mentioned it would most likely need to be fixed. He ordered an MRI and set me up with an orthopedic doc in my town to follow up with. I go to my orthopedic doc tomorrow afternoon and got my MRI results today. I’m not a doctor, but words like “moderate full-size thickness tear” was used numerous times. I am assuming it is either the rotator cuff or other tendons. I decided not to be a Google doctor and wait until I see the professional tomorrow. Does my arm/shoulder hurt – YES. It is sore and feels heavy and gets very tired and achy. It sucks. Surgery will suck worse, but if it has to be, let’s get this shit going. I want to get back on the bike and feel proud for riding and not want to shove a donut in my face because I rode 8 miles!

Now, there is obviously stuff I let out. Not on purpose, just because gastric bypass surgery is very involved. During my recovery I started on liquids only and moved slowly through each phase of food. I exercised regularly. I will not say religiously because I think I had a good handle on what I could handle and what my body could handle. It had an effect on my relationships with friends and family. But please know that I am an open book when it comes to weight loss surgery. If you have questions, ask. I will answer honestly.

Thank you for reading. This is my therapy for the time being. Thinking about the possibility of surgery, recovery, not working and no paycheck, a new baby blessing our family in October, my girl child and her mental health journey (oh, she now has a dual diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar Disorder), the COVID crisis, the racial crisis, things are just so fucked up people! Where’s the food???????????????????????????? Just kidding, I hope.

I don’t know

I just don’t know anymore. I don’t want to stress anymore. I don’t want to worry anymore. I don’t want to care anymore. I just don’t want to anymore.

My girl went to her therapy yesterday. It was the first in-person session with her therapist since the virus. She also had her first group therapy. I will admit I was very worried that she would not go. I will also admit I was very scared that if she did not go, I would have to do something about it. I’m not sure what, but something would have had to happen. While my logical brain tells me it’s time for her to leave, my emotional mom mind tells me that is the worst possible thing at this point. And there really is no in-between, at least as I see it.

Back to the therapy. We, me and my husband, were sitting outside when our girl got home. It was later in the evening and she was hungry so she went in the house to get some food. She came back out and I began asking about how things went. It is a very slow process to get her to talk at times and I know I’m not always getting “the full story” so to speak. She didn’t seem overly thrilled about either the individual or the group therapy. She told me she promised her therapist she would commit to three months of the individual/group therapy. She promised not to go ghost. One thing that seemed to especially annoy her about the group part, is that the participants are not allowed to engage in any personal contact. She said it could create drama in the group and what if two people in the group are in crisis mode at the same? I won’t pretend to completely understand all of it. I get that they don’t want or need additional drama in a therapy setting. I don’t completely understand not being able to talk with someone that has been in the group therapy for support. But I’m not a therapist, so what do I know.

As we were talking drippy came up in conversation many times; many, many, many times. The short version is she wants us (mom & dad) to try again to have some type of relationship with drippy. According to my girl, drippy also wants this. Now, she also said she knows that he is not “ready” to try again at this point. I wish I could have recorded the conversation so I could go back and replay what was said. There was no fighting or arguing. I have said before that I refuse to do that with her, but she did not get mean, nasty and she didn’t shut down. Conversation went from therapy to drippy, back to therapy, to life in general.

My girl has a thought in her mind that since she is now 20 she should be at a different point in life. She should be independent, not relying on mom & dad for everything, have money for a car and an apartment and living expenses. I talked again about looking into in-patient places. Like actually look at them, not just talk about them. She gave the typical reasons why she didn’t think she wanted to do that. Family and missing the babies that we have been blessed with, leaving therapy and still having nothing because she can’t work and make money (still not sure where this money thing is coming from – but I have my ideas). I countered each reason the best why I could. I just really want her to consider it.

The conversations that dealt with drippy were the hardest. She wants our approval to be with him, she wants him to be included, she wants to talk about him with us. I don’t know how to deal with that. HE BEAT HER. She defends him and she admitted she knows she does. She said we only know the bad about him and their relationship because that is all she has shared. She wants to talk to us about the good parts, how he treats her (?), how he is what she needs right now and she wants him in her life. She reiterated these thoughts and feelings quite a few times and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Right now drippy is holding the trump card, and it’s a red ace of hearts – he has my girls heart whether we like it or not. I don’t mean to make it sound like this is a game and my girl is the prize. It’s just the best way I can explain a really shitty situation. I am scared what this will mean for the future. I am scared choices will have to be made and none of the choices are good. I am scared that the immediate family will pull away from her, more than they already are.

And this is why I just don’t know anymore.