sueeeus

Words of wisdom uttered by my mother. I don’t remember the context of those words, or why she’d use them, but she used them enough for me to associate them with her, even though it is a quite common phrase.

I am ultra sensitive. I always have been. I am happiest when those around me are happy. Like a chameleon, I reflect the moods of those I am near. It’s not necessarily a good thing. I’m empathetic. It can be a good thing, but it’s not always constructive. It could be constructive if I would remain vigilant and understand but not react to the emotions around me. But often, I’m not vigilant, and when that happens, then it doesn’t serve me (or anyone) well at all. My own fault.

It would serve me better to be a beacon. A light shining brightly, impervious to its surroundings. I have light within me. A fantastic light. I should let it shine brightly. As the children’s song goes. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

In so doing, I might just shield myself from the misperception of words and emotions wielded by those around me. And for the onslaught of words and emotions that are deliberate and not misperceived, I can just consider the source, and keep on shining.

Oh, if only I had the presence of mind and discipline of emotion to hold on and ride the wave of effervescent new love, never to let go. If only. It’s so glorious, to be distracted from the confines of everyday life and whisked away to new levels of thrill. Such a fantastic high.

I wish I knew how to hold on to that, and not let the other things take root. The nits, the picks, the responsibilities, the obligations, the necessities. Not to mention the blind sided attacks of emotion, mood swings, embittered exes. The small things that turn into monumental things, like missed communications and mis-communications. Assumptions here and there. Careless! Taking things for granted. How deftly these things can creep in and take hold! One must remain vigilant, in order to keep the home fires burning strong.

Picture a potter at the wheel. The wheel spins, and the artist has the clay under control, taking shape, a beautiful form. Such a fine, fine balance, because if the artist falters for even a moment, what was a work of beauty, exquisite in form, is suddenly ruined. Ruined, in the blink of an eye. Thank God my life isn’t necessarily that extreme, and nothing is truly ruined. Oh, but there is often much damage control to be run, and the running thereof is nothing short of exhausting.

These are the four agreements. Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best. These are the things I try to remind myself, to keep myself in check.

I’m trying to be a good parent, a good role model, a good example, a good friend, a good partner, a good person. I don’t make everybody happy all of the time. I wish I could. It makes me happy, for those in my sphere to be happy, and to know that I contribute to their happiness.

Happiness should be easy. It’s all about love.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem easy at all.

Sometimes.

Maybe it’s because I am just. so. tired.

Orchids - Commissioned for my birthday by one sister and lovingly arranged and delivered by the other. Exquisite.

• Here’s the TMI bit.  Still bleeding.  I guess you can call it spotting, but it’s still annoying.  Thirteen days, but who’s counting.
• I’m feeling crabby today.  I’ve had three meltdowns in less than one month.  I’m not used to this, and I’ve barely recovered from the last bout.  It’s exhausting, not to mention wholly unpleasant for me and my loved ones, and it just plain sucks.
• So here goes.  I’m going to proceed with another long discourse that attempts to sort things out.  It helps me, and yes, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the point of my blog.  I blog for me. You know the drill.  Run along now.  (Oh, she IS crabby, isn’t she?!)

I think I may just draw the conclusion before I even go anywhere.  I’m a sore loser.  I don’t handle criticism well, in any form, constructive or destructive.  The inability to handle criticism reflects the following character flaws:  insecurity, inflated ego, pride, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and inordinate people pleasing (which may be better stated as too much concern or regard for what other people think).

Of course, acknowledging these character flaws only prompts immediate self-flagellation.

Now that’s helpful.

If I could only stop my brain from short circuiting to the least constructive place to be, and take that split second needed to squeeze the question, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus think of this?” out of my exploding head.  If I’d answer that question for myself, I’d be much more centered and balanced.  I’d see the forest and the trees.

Also, if I could take a moment to recall or realize that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, maybe, just maybe, I’d not bother wasting any time at all with it.

It’s like exercise, and requires serious training and effort.  Why can’t it just be first-nature, and easy?

~*~*~*~

I can put together a complete string of events that contributed to my funk.  Having already drawn conclusions, this may actually prove constructive.  We shall see.

• After receiving a good report on my bill of  health STD-wise, I sent a message to Skills’ ex to let her know that I didn’t have the thing she claimed he gave her, and that he wasn’t the carrier.  I also responded to some of the things she’d said about him.  She’d written some things from her perspective, and I replied with my own observations.  I was cordial and not trying to stir anything up.  In retrospect, however, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  She sent me a curt reply, and left him a voice mail calling me a psycho and telling him to tell me to leave her the hell alone.
• Gadget said he won’t take the kids for my birthday weekend.  I don’t know why it is, but there is something about birthdays reminding me of a lifetime of disappointments.  Sort of like the holiday blues that people get around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.  All this hype of love and gratitude and joy and life is great and life is beautiful and oh the love, nothing but love, love is all around,  swirling about while inside the reality is there is turmoil and travail, and it’s just such a relief when January 2nd rolls around and all that focus of unfulfilled life and love is behind you.  The thing about birthdays, though, is all this internalization of “why am I here?”, “who is glad that I’m here?”, “who cares that I’m here?”, all compounded with a “don’t look at me!” self-conscious complex.  The battle between wanting attention and not wanting attention.  Maybe psycho was apt.  Because in reality?  I am loved.  Loved by many!  If I stepped outside of my ego for just a moment, I could see that.  “You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved!”  Loved by my fine and beautiful friends.  Loved by my sisters.  Loved by my children.  Loved by my nieces and nephews.  Loved by my mother.  Loved by my brothers (at least some of them).  Probably even, in some as yet to be comprehended way, by my father.  Loved by my coworkers.  Loved by almost everybody I’ve ever known.  (Probably.  I’m lovable.  What’s not to love?  Apart from the psycho bit.)
  • Loved by Skills.  [pause; she stops, smiles, thanks God for this man]
• Every time I talk to Gadget, without fail, he cries about money and how he has to make sacrifices to make ends meet.  I’m so tired of hearing it.  I want to scream at him to just man up and shut up.  I don’t know Skills’ financials, and I don’t care, really, but I’m guessing his may be in the same ballpark as Gadget’s.  Yet, in comparison, he supports himself, his two boys, pays child support for his daughter, which is more than Gadget has to pay for his daughter, and doesn’t say a word about “I want, I want, I want”.  I respect that, in Skills.  But I digress.  Gadget has been waiting for an insurance claim check to arrive, and he asked me to open his mail to see if it had.  He went so far as to ask me to deposit it for him.  He has no problem asking me to go out of my way to do something for him, yet turn the tables?…  I told him I wouldn’t forge his name to endorse it, so he said forget it, he’ll come by the house and get it.  When?  Probably Saturday morning.  I mentioned this in my last blog post.
• The irritations with Gadget mixed with the drama from the STD-ex and a houseful of four children to keep entertained –all this energy being drawn out compels me to want to regenerate, and how do I do that?  Pester Skills for attention.  Now, consider a tired and drained after a long week boyfriend, also subject to the drama of the STD-ex, and now accosted by a needy girlfriend.  He called me selfish.  Said my attitude reminded him of her and the games she used to play.  A night that could have been restful turned toxic, and he had to leave.  So I managed to take a low point and drive it to even deeper depths.  Insane.
• So I have to run damage control.  Again.  I have to pick myself up from the pit I’ve managed to put myself into, and I have to grovel and redeem myself and somehow explain that no, I’m not playing games, nor do I want to play games, ever, nor do I want to come across as being needy, nor do I want to be needy, ever.  All I want is to love unconditionally and to be loved unconditionally.  Do I know how?  I don’t know.  I’m aspiring.  And at the same time, the prideful part of me who won’t just sit still, rises up with indignation that I would grovel in the first place.  That person will defend me and say, “There there, if he really understood you, he wouldn’t say things like that, that are so hurtful and cut you to your core.”  But that’s pride speaking, and the sore loser speaking, and the one who doesn’t want to take responsibility for not taking that split second necessary to squeeze the question and thought, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus really think of this? and any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear” out of her exploding head.
• He left, and I didn’t know whether or not he’d read my last blog post, so didn’t know if he knew that there was a possibility that Gadget would show on Saturday morning.  But since he was gone, it seemed moot.  If Gadget showed, he wouldn’t be here anyway.  And Gadget didn’t show.
• Damage control.  A bit of regrouping.  Some talk.  [The part he keys on]:  You silly girl, why don’t you get it.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.   [The part I hear] If I’m not meeting your needs, we need to nip this relationship in the bud, and not waste our time.   Me [jumping to wrong conclusions]:  I don’t want to end this relationship because of some potholes that I’m not smart enough to avoid before I go crashing through them.  Me [trying to explain myself, not feeling understood]:  So maybe I appear desperate when I’m all whacked like this, but this isn’t the real me.  Please, let’s not jump to conclusions when I’m not in my right mind.
• There is much to be said about the healing power of sleep.  When he’s rested, and when I’m rested, there is calm and clarity, and the static and craziness of other days is put away.  He’s very good about knowing this about himself.  He can’t process properly when he’s tired.  He knows he needs to be rested and recharged before he can think seriously and clearly about things.  I need to learn from this and follow this more, too.  It would save a lot of grief.  Yet I so stubbornly cling to the words, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”  I could follow that scripture by putting away the wrath without resolving it.  It’s a personal choice to hold or release the wrath.  The resolution can come with the dawn.  There.  Thinking outside of the box.  I just gave myself the means to let things rest.  Win win.  Because, with the dawn, there is renewed energy, and things can be seen in clear light, for what they are really worth.  Then we can see if we do or do not have a real issue to contend with.  And if we do, we take it from there.  In truth.  In honesty.  With humility.
• I feel so much better.  But I’m not done.
• So we repaired and continued our Saturday.  It was such a special day, because he got to have his daughter again, and this time, for an overnight.  We had her, my two boys, and my niece and nephew.  We went to the park and had a picnic, and lo and behold, one of his sons was there with his friends, so we had even more family together.  We had a football, a soccer ball, and a frisbee to play with.  We walked along the dock and watched people fish.  We enjoyed the fresh air.  (Okay, the kids claimed boredom, but the grown ups had a nice time.)  Later that night we watched movies and had a taco bar dinner.  It was a nice day, a nice evening, and a nice night.  Morning came and I made some quick bread cinnamon rolls and we lounged about.
• And then Gadget showed up.  With his fiance.  Unannounced.  I assume he came to get the check, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure.  Maybe it was like an ambush.  I definitely could have handled the situation better.  She was fashionably dressed, very tall, wearing high heels.  She has long long dark hair, and is pretty.  She seemed nice enough.  Skills was still in his jammies.  I guess that was awkward.  He wasn’t completely pleased that I hadn’t told him that Gadget might show (scroll up a few bullet points).   We made introductions all around.  I’d just put LB down for his nap, but told Gadget he could go say hi since he was here.  I shouldn’t have let him, though, because then LB didn’t want to go back to bed, and he ended up crying.  And it seemed like Gadget and his fiance were upstairs quite a while, which made me sort of wonder what they were doing.  Was he showing her around at all the things he’d done to improve the house — installing the ceiling fans and changing the light switches — or whatever?  Or snooping in the rooms?  Looking at my rumpled bed?  (Good, I hope it looked like there was all kinds of crazy love and acrobatics going on very recently.)   And of course Gadget made comments about the kids being sick and odds and ends in general that in retrospect are the same old $#!t button presses that I’m not savvy enough to recognize before I say things I shouldn’t say and get myself all upset.  Because I am the one who ends up frustrated and upset.  He’s just pushing buttons because he can.  And I totally let it happen.  Idiot. IDIOT.
• What does Skills say after they leave?  “It seems like you still have feelings for him.”
• WTH
• Seriously, I don’t get that.  Words like that send me straight to defense mode, compounded with frustration and general consternation.  Feelings?  Yes, I have feelings.  Feelings of frustration.  Feelings of anger.  Anger at myself for wasting so much of my life with somebody who is so polar opposite.  Anger at Gadget for being such an ass.  Anger at him for being such a buffoon.  (But really, that’s not warranted.  I can’t hold against him his own mental and intellectual limitations.  That’s on me, for not honoring my own standards.)  Anger at him for not being man enough to end a dead relationship civilly.  I can love Gadget as I can love any other human being on the planet, but no more.  I can have compassion for him as a human, if and when I can see through the prickly crust he lives behind.  But love?  As in, love between a man and a woman?  No.  That love waned long ago.  That love only burned brightly for a very very short time, and then remained as sorry embers that I tried valiantly to tend for far, far too long.  If I were to be brutally honest with myself, I should never have married him.  I should never have taken him in at all.  But I jumped in like a fool, and then, as a more stubborn fool, tried to make it all work.  Square peg, round hole.  Whatever.  Water under the bridge.  It’s over.  OVER.  So yes, I’m still harboring much anger at myself for letting things be what they were, and for so long.  Much self disdain and anger.
• I think that we, Skills and I, are both somewhat affected by ex-drama, whether we admit it or not.  His ex has tried to plant some seeds of question and doubt, and to generally stir things up.  We’ve both exhibited anger and frustration at our respective situations.  The bottom line?  It’s emotion.  Granted, it’s negative emotion, but any investment of emotion to things past does disservice to things present.  Truly.
• We are here and now.  We are blessed with this opportunity to be completely free to love and be loved.  We are blessed to be able to laugh and rejoice in the life we are living at this very moment. We need to recognize that, remember that, and not let things past place shadows over our brightly shining present.
• I am in love with him, this man called Skills.  We have pasts.  We’ve made poor decisions in our lives.  Some of those decisions helped us learn and grow into stronger people.  Nobody is perfect.  I have a hard time stepping up when the finger is pointed at me.  I squirm and feel uncomfortable and defensive, but truly, I accept full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.  What can I do about it now?  I can only learn and try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes.  I can try to grow and become stronger and better and just a bit wiser.  In so doing, I honor myself and those whom I love.
• So.  My goals.
  • Honor myself and those I love by practicing more humility, by taking that moment to remind myself that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, and dismiss it before it can take hold.
  • Be a better mother — be more attentive to the effect that my actions, words, and emotions have upon my children.  Take the time to steer them in the right direction, to encourage them, to bolster them, to give them what they need to grow up to be fine people.
  • Listen with an open heart and an open mind, rather than react and become defensive or make assumptions of criticism.

I had a rough night yesterday and flipped out emotionally with a bunch of stuff that ultimately made Skills feel bad so he ended up going home, after which I cried my eyes out.  I woke up with horrible leg cramps (charlie horses) in both my calves, and the front ankle/shin area.  I’ve had gosh awful charlie horses during pregnancy that knotted both glutes, hams, quads, and calves concurrently, which is hard to fathom and harder to relieve, but that little muscle down the front of my shin where it attaches to my ankle and foot is a whole new experience, and they were all knotting at the same time.  When I tried to gently and carefully flex my feet to pull the knots out of the calves, those front muscles would knot more, so I was basically screwed.  Ouchie.   I’m wondering if it’s the IUD, tipping the hormonal balance just enough to send me to Planet Crazy.  I found a site with SO many side effects that it’s alarming and best not to dwell there too much, lest I fill my brain with hypochondriac tendencies.  I hope things settle down soon, because this?   Is awful.

I’m going to give it a few months to see how things settle.  I’ll monitor my moods and symptoms and see if they follow any patterns.  If my emotions stay whacked, I can either go on Zoloft or Wellbutrin or something to try to stabilize, or I can just have the IUD removed and try something else.

I try so hard to make sense of things, because I want to understand what’s happening.  It’s why I’m leaning toward the thought that it’s seriously something hormonal.  I’ve recently learned that the first thing a therapist asks is if you have thoughts of suicide.  I never do, but last night when I was melting down, I tried to curl up fetal as small as I could and kept wishing I could disappear or something, crying uncontrollably, and trying to make myself as small as I could, and I thought that this must be what they’re talking about, when a person gets so miswired that they do that.  It’s like an out of body experience, to see that and wonder who on earth that person is and why is she acting like that.  No wonder Skills went home and couldn’t be around me.  The problem is, what I need most when that happens is to be held and somehow coaxed back to reality.  Not his job, though.  Good thing passing out with exhaustion causes things to rewire so I can be okay when I wake up.

I hate to think I need something to make me cope.  I would like to be able to handle it on my own.  I will monitor myself for the next couple of months and see how things are, and see if I swing like this much more.  Hopefully it will settle — it’s a vicious cycle to introduce a hormonal imbalance with the IUD, then have to add Zoloft or something to counter that.  It’s craziness!  But I’ll do what I have to do.  I wrote it all out on my blog last night, just to get it out.  It helps.

That’s a whole hell of a lot of preamble to get to the point that I was trying to reach.  I like to think that there is a reason for everything.  Walk a mile in someone’s shoes…  Not that it’s a pleasant mile to walk, and clearly it’s depression with a capital D.  But one of the things weighing on my heart is the inability to reach or help someone who I love dearly, who is struggling with emotional matters.  And this?  Perhaps this equips me just a little bit.  Maybe what I’m experiencing is something she can relate to.  Maybe I can help her to make sense of it, as I help myself to make sense of it.  Maybe we can find a way to recognize the demons before they strike, and stand tall and ready, armored up.  Maybe we can armor up without mind-altering medical intervention.

And no, I would never check out of this life, no matter how strongly I might in moments like last night want to disappear.  And yes, my brother DID check out of this life, for whatever his reasons were, and yes, perhaps and most likely there are genetic tendencies with which we are faced, but I know not to let that terrify me (so I can try to help her not be terrified as well), or give me any reason to think that I or any of my beloved family are powerless in these circumstances.  It’s just data.  It’s information.  The more we can know and understand, the better we will be able to face whatever may come.

Each day is a brand new day, and the sun will shine.

We will be okay.

We are okay.

I’m going to be a published author soon.  It’s crap, really.  A technical article in a technical magazine, and it’s been revised and edited so much it’s barely discernible as anything I could really put my mark on, but nonetheless, it has to do with the project that consumed my professional energies for the better part of the last year.  So in a way, it’s kind of a big deal.   A culmination of sorts.

There was some talk of pulling the plug on one of my other major projects today.  That’s a bit disconcerting.  We’ll work it out, I’m sure, and all will be fine.  Even so, it’s sort of a shocker.

Ex-spouses had various things to say today, both his and mine.  His?  Some squabbling over child support.  That’s always a sensitive subject, for either party involved.  They’ll figure it out.   Mine?  Is getting married.  In October.  I’m happy for him, truly.  I want him to have happiness in life, so I’m glad he found somebody else.   It seems sudden, but it’s his MO, so I’m not all that surprised.  I wish him well.

The bride to be is going through a divorce that is under contest, and a guardian ad litem has been appointed to see to the best interests of her three children.  The GAL wanted my number to inquire about Gadget, since the new family will be living with him soon.  Of course she can have my number, but he wanted to know what I was going to tell her about him.  He thinks I’m vindictive and will say things to spite him.  Shows how much he knows me.  He said she was going to ask about what went wrong with our marriage.  What went right? Not a whole hell of a lot.  Two beautiful boys.

My 84 year old dad has had his driver’s license revoked, so now he thinks he wants to move to an apartment in the city.  There is much family debate on how to accomplish this.  The logistics alone are daunting– he has a staggering collection of books.  His main complaint is the inconvenience of senior transportation.  I’m sort of cold, I guess, because time is all he has, so if it takes a bit longer to get from point A to point B because public transport is involved, what is the big deal?  It’s far better than being behind the wheel when you’re practically blind and you can’t feel your feet to know whether or  how much you’re braking or accelerating.  He would still have to deal with public transportation if he lived in the city, and it might even take longer since there is more population and with that, more stops.  He might be better off to stay put.  He lives in a mild climate.  Either way.  There is drama, discussion, mixed up communication, and bruised feelings.  Why do I think it’s my job to sort it out so that there is peace within the land?

There is the matter of my niece – she has a sadness that I don’t know how to reach or address.  It hurts me, for the people I love to be hurting, and for me not to know what to do about it or how to help it, when all I want is for them to feel joy.

There is the matter of my sisters being protective of me, and cautioning me to believe more in myself and acknowledge or give more credence to that which I have to offer, which is a lot.  This translates to ‘he better be good enough for you’.  They speak it out of love for me, not out of disregard or disrespect to Skills, yet there he is on trial, defenseless, guilty until proven innocent.  So unfair.

To compound it all, my emotional state is railing.  I had the Mirena installed yesterday, so a foreign object, extra progesterone, cramps, headache, nausea, and constipation all add to the already prevailing PMS which only exacerbates all of the above.

I can only take so much at any given time.

These are some of the things that filled my head today and spilled into my evening that had been set aside to be sweet and magical.  I totally blew it.  Had I had my wits about me, I could have taken a moment to assess each thing as it crossed my day, and said, hey, do the thoughts I have about this particular thing serve me well?  And if they don’t serve me well, then adjust the way I think about them — either dismiss them completely, or find a way to look at them in a positive light.

But no, I didn’t do that.  Guard down.  Reactionary all day.  I brought him down, I brought myself down.

And all the while, I’m frantic, because I have only the tiniest window of time in my life that I can carve out for togetherness and I want so much for that time to be rich and full.  Watching it vanish in a split second rips me to shreds and I feel so frustrated that I’ve wasted time, when time is so, so, so precious and I just can’t afford for this to happen.

Recognizing that destruction only serves to make things worse, because then I berate myself for not being stronger and more vigilant and more prepared, and there’s nothing left to do but go home, try to regroup, get some sleep, and hope to God things look better in the morning.

It’s tragic though.  I can’t get back wasted time.  It’s gone.

I can’t get out of myself.  I can curl up in fetal position and cry my eyes out, but I can’t get away.

So here I am.  Hysterical.  Untouchable.  Alone.

I could have sworn I’d posted at some point or another about the stranger I sometimes become when ravaged by the imbalance of things hormonal.  Or maybe not.  I’ve been on such a fantastic high for the last few weeks, so am completely caught off guard by this.  I have no other explanation, which in itself makes me crazy, because I need explanations for things to be settled in my universe.

Having an irregular cycle and general lack of ovulation has somehow given me the benefit of a very stable emotional state, in general, for the better part of my adult life.  Granted, it made the possibility of motherhood quite challenging, but now my motherhood dreams have come true, and those fertility challenges are no longer important.  A continued non-existent or barely existent cycle would suit me just fine, at this stage in life.

However.   The trauma and torment of the latter part of 2009 tipped me into the type II diabetes arena.  It was always lurking there as an eventuality, given the genetic disposition compounded with two cases of gestational diabetes.  The first line of treatment is metformin, which is actually a wonder drug of sorts.  It affects endocrine function, and prevents the liver from over-producing glucose, blah blah blah.  The other thing it does is induce or assist in ovulation.  The problem is that my blood sugar is doing fine now, but this whole business of possibly ovulating and at least cycling more frequently is not good for my mental state.  Plus, it re-introduces the potential need for some measure of birth control.  You know, that is, if this girl has any intentions of getting busy.  Which she does.  [snicker]  [blush]

Ahem.

I’ve been consulting with Doctor Google to try to figure out what’s going on with me, and have come up with PMDD.  It could be PMS, but the good doctor says that five or more symptoms from the symptoms list makes it PMDD.  In a way, just reading it helps me get a grip on things and pull myself out of the funk, but it’s no easy feat.  It’s so hard to describe what happens in an emotional crash, and how hard it is to pull oneself out of it.  It’s HARD!  And the damage control.  Good Lord, I have to run damage control, because the way I behave affects those nearest to me, and leaves them shaking their heads in wonder at who this stranger is and where in the heck did that fine and wonderful person known as Sueeeus Maximus go?

Meanwhile, I’m on the brink of getting fitted for the Mirena IUD.  Tuesday is the day.  I’ve had it before, and didn’t really like it much, but after the fact decided that my problems with it were mainly psychological.  This time around, given my age and other circumstances, it seems to be the only viable option I have, apart from having my tubes tied.  But I’m presently terrified at the prospect, because the wormhole I entered when consulting with Doctor Google led me to read about some horrible experiences for women with PMDD and/or PMS.  Mainly that the Mirena exacerbates the PMS or PMDD.

It’s hard enough to find myself facing this onslaught of emotional torment at all, and then to find that I am on the horizon of potentially making it even worse.  I am in a quandary.  I absolutely can’t stand to lose myself like this.  What is the recourse?  I’ve read that one can take low level Zoloft to address PMDD.  Great.  I’ve been through the Zoloft phase before, and it served me well, but I have such a hard time wrapping my head around the thought of needing something like that for the long haul.  And besides that, Zoloft isn’t particularly kind to the libido, and, um, I’m kind of looking forward to establishing and maintaining a healthy libido.  [blush]

What else can I do?  Become an exercise freak?  Mark the calendar for when I think I might be approaching the ‘window’ and then schedule myself to work my @$$ off so that I can keep the endorphins up and my wits about me?  And how on earth can I maintain the motivation needed to carry that through if and when I’m in the grip of the demons?

I’ve read about supplement therapy, but I already take calcium and B6 supplements, which are on the recommendation list.

One saving grace is, however insane I may become during the day, once I sleep and reawaken to a new day, I have a fresh outlook, and can try to be vigilant and not let the demons in.  The other saving grace is that this is only temporal, and if I can at least recognize it for what it is, I can remind myself that it will be OVER soon, and life can go on in its peachy splendor.  But the damage control.  Oh dear heavens, it’s no easy thing.  Here I am, in the infancy of building what could be a beautiful relationship with this fine man, Skills, and look what in the hell I’m putting him through now.  I hope he doesn’t run!

(Please don’t run.  I’ll be okay soon!)

In the stars His handiwork I see

On the winds He speaks with majesty

When I was young, I clung to those words, and many like them.  They gave me great comfort, and grounded me.  They came from spiritual songs and they planted a seed within me that eventually took root.  In a way, I think they formed me.

~*~*~*~

I’ve been thinking a lot about my life path.  I know I’ve written about it before, when counting my blessings and contemplating gratitude.  When I put my mind in that place, I realize that every moment of trial and tribulation was a moment well spent, because each of those moments contributed to my life path that put me here, now (or there, then).  I have so much!  I have my children.  It was by no means an easy journey, and I suppose accomplished more by brute force than by faith, but accomplished just the same.  It was the dream of all dreams.  Granted, it didn’t come in the packaging I’d envisioned, but I can see now that even that near decade of a life less lived still placed me here, now.  And here, now, at this moment in time, I am effervescing with the thrill of seeing a future with endless, magical possibilities.  Here, now, at this moment in time, I am bursting with the delight of this very moment.  This.  Very.  Moment.  It takes my breath away.

~*~*~*~

I recall contrasting my marriage to the relationships of others I know, and marveling at the friendships they shared.  I recall thinking, how is it that something so simple and divine as friendship can be seemingly so readily had by all these others, but not by me?  Am I so imperious that there is no place for a meeting of the minds?  Why is it out of my grasp?  It ripped at my heart, and completely confounded me.  Ultimately, it jaded me.  I was resigned to doing what I could to make my marriage work, so I was resigned to accepting the fact that that level of intimacy was not written in the stars for me.  I was defeated.

Until.

My life path changed.

The epiphany and ensuing flurry of events that brought me here, now.

~*~*~*~

I believe in miracles.

~*~*~*~

The universe conspired so that my life and that of another collided.  We are thrilling in the joy of discovery.

~*~*~*~

We are speaking.

We are listening.

We are hearing.

We are laughing.

We are crying.

We are learning.

We are understanding.

We are smiling.

We are healing.

We are treading ever so softly, Skills and I, to gently tend this garden we are growing.

We are thanking God, and bowing down in humility, reverence, and gratitude.

Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning.  Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be.  Mostly, they spin.  I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.

One.  He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments.  I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time.  Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.

Two.  Why did he not love me?

Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life.  I don’t want a half-lived life.  I want to live fully.  To joy, and rejoice.  To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts.  To love and be loved.  So we’re all better off this way.  Truly.

But I think that I am also angry.  Angry that he didn’t love me.  He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them.  Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight?  So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?

The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique.  Different.  Sometimes we don’t mix well.  It’s just the way it is.

He’s angry too.  He wants nothing to do with me.  He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.

~*~*~*~

BB wanted to see him this weekend.  He kept asking about his dad.  We called and left messages.  We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by.  Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers.  “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.

My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me.  It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt.  It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced.  I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there.  And I’ve been watching him ever since.  Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me.  Watching the way he plays, the way he acts.  He seems fine.  And yet.  Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said  he didn’t feel well.  My aching heart.  I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look.  Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV.  But this time it was different.  Or else he’s learned a new trick.

I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling.  I want to chase those demons away.  Be gone!  Leave my boy alone!

~*~*~*~

Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life.  Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience.  We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new.  More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause.  I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole.  Eat sensibly.  Exercise regularly.  Get enough sleep.  And so on and so forth.  I know these things.  Doing, that is the problem.  I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing.  Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Yes, there’s a pattern.  Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep.  I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter.  And how can I let him cry?  What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself?  Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?

Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need.  This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start.  Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself.  Yes, I even know how to do those things.  But what I don’t know is why I don’t.  Other than, because I don’t feel like it.

I’m starting to come to the realization that if only is no solution to anything at all.

The easiest trap I allow myself to fall into is the ‘if only I were thin’ trap.  If only I were thin, I would be happy.  If only I were thin, I would look good, and if I looked good, I’d feel good, because I wouldn’t have any reason not to like myself, so, I’d be happy. And besides that, if I were thin, others (say, significant others) would love me more.  Because nobody likes fat people.

I conveniently forget that there was a time when I was smokin’ hot (never thin, but I was a cutie), and even then, I still found fault with my looks and wished I could be thin.  I’ve always had something to hang ‘if only’ on.  If only I could get through school.  If only I had a reliable car.  If only I had my own house.  If only I were out of debt.  If only I had somebody who loved me.  If only I had kids.

If only.

It’s nothing but a trap.  An excuse.  A crook that distracts me from the beauty of this moment that I will never get back.  Robbing me of my very life.  Tricking me, disarming me, incapacitating me, making me not like myself, making me think I’m not worth liking.  What’s not to like?  I’m nice.  I’m caring.  I’m friendly.  I’m even half-smart about some things, and can hold a reasonable conversation (depending on the subject, that is).  So I’m not thin.  WHO CARES?  Seriously.  Who?  And if anyone besides me, then why?  Why would anyone care what I look like?  Do I care if someone is tall or short or large or small?  No.  NO!  Well, I do have a little trouble with over-cologned people in close proximity, but I have chemical sensitivity and it’s nothing personal.  I’d love it if I could wear cologne myself.  And I don’t particularly like to be around loud people, because I have noise issues.  Loud pleasant people are okay.  I just don’t stand too close so that my head doesn’t ring.

It may be time to break out the zoloft.  But first I will try some more small changes, and give them a chance.  I’ve been going to the gym four days a week.  I need to make that a part of my day, so that there’s no questioning whether or not it will happen.  It just needs to be part of my life.  And I plan to revamp the menu towards more whole foods, and less cheese and meat.  Definitely less cookies.  I’m a cookie fanatic.  And somehow, more sleep.  I put the kids to bed an hour ago, and struggled between grabbing a little bit of me time, or just joining them.

I wish I had a little more time to blog.  It’s so good to take time to collect some thoughts.  But now I hear the baby crying, so off I go.

*~*~*~*

Being the stellar mother that I am, I took just long enough to reread my post that the baby soothed himself back to sleep.  So I have a little more time.

*~*~*~*

Part of me struggles with taking any time to blog because of Gadget’s accusation that I spend all my time on the computer.  When we argue, it invariably comes up.  To which I say, I WAS PUMPING.  Because I did spend 4 hours a day strapped to the breast pump (and hence, on the computer), back when the dairy was in operation.  Since weaning, I’ve spent very little time on the computer.  (Or so I claim.)  I shouldn’t allow false accusations to make me feel guilty.  So here I am, blogging.  (He’s not here, though, otherwise, I’d have stopped at ‘If only I had kids’.)

*~*~*~*

Well hell.  I might as well come out with it.  I mustered the courage to tell Gadget that even though he was back, I realized that I wasn’t happy with ‘us’, whatever ‘we’ are, and don’t want to try to patch things together any more, because all we’ve ever done is sweep things under the carpet and not one thing between us has ever, ever been resolved.  We’re more like oil and vinegar than yin and yang.

So, he left immediately, a week ago Saturday.  And I’ve not seen or heard from him since.

I’m not letting myself manufacture any assumptions about what he’s thinking or feeling.  How can I have any real idea what’s in his head?

I will just feel more peaceful when all the turmoil is a thing of the past and we’ve settled into whatever our new lives will be.  If only this were all behind us…

*~*~*~*

A coworker’s son was died yesterday.  He was killed by a hit-and-run drunk driver.  He, the son, had been in a coma for the last few weeks, and there was much hope and things were looking promising, but when he finally came out of the coma, there was no neural response.  He drifted away yesterday.  He was 29.  It rips me up, that my friend and her family have lost a child who could have had so much life ahead of him.  It’s so, so wrong.  The order of the universe is all messed up when we lose our children.  We are supposed to go first.

*~*~*~*

It’s tragic that someone with so much potential for a beautiful life has no choice; his life was taken from him, and here I am, alive, and wasting precious moments making excuses for myself.  I’m making changes, and change is hard.  Oh GOD, change is hard.  But I owe it to myself, and it would be criminal for me not to.  It’s time to wake up and do what I can to love each and every moment that I get the privilege of living.

Obviously, I missed the most obvious.  Like I said, a bit slow on the uptake.

So, the whole oldest profession thing has sort of been gnawing at me, and after another sleep cycle to let my brain rest, it occurred to me that the point may very well be that I don’t have to compromise myself.  At all.  Ever.  (I just thought I did, being caught up in everything, and all.)

Duh.