sueeeus

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!)

…that would be the high road…

~*~*~*~*~

My boys spent Saturday night and all of Sunday with their dad.  Their coats were forgotten.  Sunday night, night, I repeat, I got a call from Gadget.  The truck won’t start.  I’ll have to pick them up directly, rather than meeting in the middle.  Fine.  I repeat the address back to him, that he’d given me, in order to comply with visitation rules, only to learn that he’d given me a bogus address.  WTH.  WTH. Armed with the correct address, I set out to collect my boys.  Of course I took a wrong turn and ended up way the hell away, deep in the heart of parts unknown, parts where it’s best not to pull over, parts where it’s best NOT TO BE.  He doesn’t exactly live on the nice side of town…   But I eventually got there, collected my boys, and returned home.  I think it was well past 10pm when I finally returned.  Pissed off, on many levels.  I simply don’t get why he would give me a bogus address.  In what universe does it do any good to do such a thing?  I’m flabbergasted, to say the least.  And grateful to have gotten divorced. Grateful.  Who is this stranger that I spent the last nine years with?

~*~*~*~*~

Now the boys are sick.  Pneumonia.  Nice.  It’s hard not to point any fingers.  They could just  as well have gotten sick while under my care.  Even so.  They are on antibiotics, and we caught it early, so we’re nipping it in the bud.  My beautiful little boys.  I want them to be WELL!

~*~*~*~*~

I, myself, am disoriented.  Having trouble with names.  What are my boys’ names, what is my name (Sueeeus Maximus, I’m not completely gone yet), what is Skills’ name?  It’s so strange not to be able to hold my own thoughts, and somewhat disconcerting.  So much so that I came home from work, just in case.  Had a hot eucalyptus and peppermint bath, a two hour nap, and a small salad, but still feel like my brain is not quite connected to the rest of me.  So strange.

~*~*~*~*~

Skills has a psycho ex.  Nice.  Does everyone have at least one psycho ex?  She’s throwing the STD card, among other things.  Noice. Maybe I should introduce her to Gadget.  They could be very interesting to one another, leaping about in the quagmire of all their tales and deceptions.

~*~*~*~*~

Oh, did I forget to mention that Gadget’s roommate L and her son C have moved out, and he is now entertaining a new woman roommate, who has three kids.  Gadget told me he was tired of the drama and tantrums on L and C’s parts, and that he was looking for a new roommate.  According to BB, and this has to be taken with a grain of salt, as he is just 5, the new woman shares a room (bed) with Gadget.  Just like the last woman, L.  Nice.  I really don’t care if Gadget sleeps around or goes through women like bubble gum, but I do care what environment he presents to my children when they are in his care.  I need to know that any other people, whether children or adult, who are living there are being decent and good to MY boys.  This, in addition to the crap address bit, makes me inclined to refile the visitation papers to remove further rights until adequate responsibility can be shown.  It’s asinine, that he would behave like this.  He loves his kids and wants to be a part of their lives, yet he pulls this $#!t.  And I want the kids to grow up with respect and admiration for their dad, if at all possible.  Can he not see this?  Is he so immature that he would make these piss-poor life choices that ultimately do nothing but hurt himself more?  I shake my head in utter consternation.  I need to talk to him about these things, but have to collect myself and my thoughts before I do.

But I am just. Too. Tired.

~*~*~*~*~

Apart from the scorned lovers’ drama, I had an incredible weekend.  Incredible!

~*~*~*~*~

I hired a sitter and went OUT on a Friday night.  Out!  Skills took me to his ‘club house’ where an AC/DC tribute band was playing.  I actually had a couple of drinks.  Drinks!  Me!  And loosened up commensurately.  Wink wink.  We danced and laughed and laughed and danced.  He’s a people magnet, is Skills.  It was fun to see him in that element.  Master of all he surveys.  Kind of like me.  Queen of all I survey.  (In our own worlds.)  Ahem.

Saturday night, after Gadget drove off with my kids, Skills arrived to whoosh me away.  We drove into the city, where he’d secured waterfront view reservations at a fine seafood establishment.  He fed me steak, asparagus and king crab legs.  So, so nice.

We slept.  (Minds out of the gutter people.  We truly just slept!)

Sunday I made pecan and apricot waffles, and we went for a two hour walk along a nearby trail.  So, so nice.  We enjoyed each others’ company for the rest of the day, until it was time to collect the kids.  After which everything went to hell in a handbasket.  See above.

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.

My friend Skills.

~*~*~*~

I am from the old rusty bicycle dragged home from a ditch.  From Hai Karate and Bubble Yum, my mouth packed full to make sticky grape bubbles as big as my face.

I am from handprints in the sidewalk by the little yellow house hewn from my dad’s own hands, down a long country drive, empty, quiet, save garish green plastic tiles.

I am from the jade plant in the orange clay pot, ancient and dusty, perched on an old plate over a water-stained doily; from daisies that grew wild, Oregon berries and purple vetch, rolling fields and ripples of color.

I’m from Christmas at Grandma’s, home made candies, wild poker games, and turkey with all the trimmings; from mechanical aptitude, Smelly Shelley and Birgetta.

I’m from good-natured one-upmanship and preoccupation, from you are grounded and your hands are your tools, take care of them.

I am from Jesus in a white robe above Grandma’s door, arms outstretched in heaven’s holy light.

I’m from philanderers, Staples, Nixons and Knapps, from Kraft macaroni and cheese and hotdogs with sauerkraut.

From the gas-powered helicopter that Uncle George brought, carried away by the slipstream after Dad made it better, from birds nesting in Grandma’s old tea kettles that were hung from the eves, from monarch butterfly swarms and ladybugs covering the trees.

From Patton Valley Cherry Grove and Grandma’s museum once bursting with treasures from an era gone by, artifacts from pioneer days -now gone, scattered by dissent.  Lost, forever.

It’s really great to have friends out there who are so kind and supportive.  You know who you are, and I thank you.

~*~*~*~

It’s interesting how one’s hopes and dreams change through the years.  Some things remain constant, some simmer in the background, some are dropped completely.  There were certain hopes and dreams that I had dropped, because they couldn’t or wouldn’t be shared or realized.  I rearranged my thoughts to embrace a future without that set of hopes and dreams.

We never truly know what tomorrow will bring.  The twists and turns that life gives us.  And here I am, making a new start, realizing that if I wanted to, I could rekindle the hopes and dreams that had no place in yesterday’s version of my future.  There’s a whole new canvas before me.  The possibilities are endless.

It’s thrilling, really.  Thrilling!

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.