We are less than a month away from celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary. I know that's a big deal to most people, but for us it's HUGE!
As is always the case, I'm going to be brutally honest. Two weeks ago, I packed a bag and left my husband a detailed letter about how I needed a few days away from him to decide if I still wanted to be married.
There were a couple issues plaguing me. He had been gone the week prior and I had gone days with only 1-2 hours of sleep. I needed rest and sleep desperately. My days had become filled with little more than laundry, cleaning, cooking, taking care of dogs and repeating. My exhaustion only exacerbated the feelings of being a single wife. My husband had gotten so focused and wrapped up in his job, that he had little interest in or focus on anything else. I have certainly done that and maybe you have too. It is easy to let the most stressful issue in our lives consume us and for the ones we love the most to suffer.
Regardless, I'd had enough and needed a respite from it all. I needed things to change or I needed the strength to accept it. Needless-to-say, I came back home the same night and we left the next day for a weekend away. No cleaning, no cooking, no working, no email, no time spent apart. It was just what we needed. I know, packing and leaving was extreme but it certainly led to our quick realignment.
As terrible as that all sounds, it is NOTHING in comparison to the months leading up to our 1st wedding anniversary.
OK, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. Our first entire year was pretty miserable. He had lived on his own for well over five years. He had his routine, his stuff, his ways and I was an intruder! I had no stability prior to moving and was a bit more free and loose with time and routine than he was. We clashed in big ways.
My grandma had died three days before our wedding. I didn't have time to grieve and I certainly didn't know how. On top of that, I had moved two hours away from everyone I knew. My husband, who I didn't like much that first year, was literally the only person I knew. I left a town of 2,000 people with only 1 gas station and a Pizza Hut and moved to a huge suburb of KC. My entire life had been turned upside down.
Because my husband was so regimented in his routine, we made the trip back to his parents EVERY weekend. No kidding! We spent not one weekend at home that entire first year. We also made six trips back that first year for more funerals. Our families both suffered lots of loss that first 12-15 months of our marriage.
Heading into our first anniversary, I was fairly certain that I didn't like this guy enough to stick around. I had gotten a marketing job that I loved though. So, I decided to at least stick it out through our first anniversary.
If you know my husband, you know he is a kind, quiet guy who would do anything for anybody. He wasn't always that way. He went through some major thyroid issues prior to our wedding that didn't moderate until several years into marriage. That made him moody and easily annoyed. He was kind of arrogant and had the "I've got the world by the tail" mentality. I cringe even typing that because he is nowhere close to that today.
One month before our anniversary, his company downsized and he was let go. My $8/hour marketing job had become our only income. That job loss was the turning point for my husband. It had brought him to his knees. Crushed him in a way that forever changed him.
He was only out of work for about 45 days, but it took us months and maybe even years to overcome. The days, weeks and months following our first anniversary were a blur, but we obviously survived it.
This year certainly has nothing on that first year or many of the past 14. But here we are, still together and heading into our 15th anniversary.
With all that we've been through (and there's a whole bunch of ick that I haven't mentioned that's even worse), we are still together. We've beat the odds. With my background and all that we have endured, there was little hope we'd still be together today. We are about to prove the statistics wrong.
That feels good! It would be great if the next 15 were perfect, but I'll just be happy if I can look back and say "These past 15 were easier than the first 15."
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
Glitter and Girly Stuff
This past year has been one of the toughest for me in regards to dealing with my infertility. At one time, I had over 20 friends and acquaintances who were either having babies, pregnant, just had babies or having grandchildren for the first time. Everywhere I looked around me, there were babies. Probably the hardest were people my age having babies. Happy for them, but it stung a lot worse than my younger friends having babies.
I have been quietly sitting in my own anguish while skirting around as many baby showers and hospital visits as possible. There have also been a few times that I've taken a leap out of my comfort zone and held babies. I had not held a baby since the day an ER doctor asked me if I wanted to hold my own stillborn baby boy. I found that it wasn't quite as painful as it had once been.
It was during my ride home from a friend's house today when I realized that I really am fortunate to have friends with small children.
Over the past year, I've had the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful, young mama of two little girls. Until baby sissy arrived a few weeks ago, I got to spend time with the nearly two-year-old almost every week. Besides my nieces and nephews, she's probably the only toddler I have spent much time with.
Let me tell you, I absolutely love this little girl. She's such a doll. When she says my name, which isn't easy for a kid, it just melts my heart. She's got a huge imagination and is so well-behaved.
I got to spend some time helping with the prep work for her upcoming birthday party. It was fun to spend time with my dear friend and I wanted to help her out as much as possible. A hungry newborn who has an internal feeding clock that is timed with absolute accuracy keeps her pretty worn out.
I realized today that I wasn't just helping my friend. This has been an opportunity to do something I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. Purple princess birthday decorations for a little girl are full of glitter and shine and fluff and fun. Something I will never, ever get to experience on my own. But, thanks to my dear friend, I got to be surrounded by all of it. My life would never offer me a chance to be covered in glitter, glue and tissue paper scraps. It was so much fun!
It might not always be easy. In fact, there are going to be lots of times which are down right painful reminders of what I don't have. But, those experiences like helping with 2 year-old party decorations make it so worth it!
I have been quietly sitting in my own anguish while skirting around as many baby showers and hospital visits as possible. There have also been a few times that I've taken a leap out of my comfort zone and held babies. I had not held a baby since the day an ER doctor asked me if I wanted to hold my own stillborn baby boy. I found that it wasn't quite as painful as it had once been.
It was during my ride home from a friend's house today when I realized that I really am fortunate to have friends with small children.
Over the past year, I've had the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful, young mama of two little girls. Until baby sissy arrived a few weeks ago, I got to spend time with the nearly two-year-old almost every week. Besides my nieces and nephews, she's probably the only toddler I have spent much time with.
Let me tell you, I absolutely love this little girl. She's such a doll. When she says my name, which isn't easy for a kid, it just melts my heart. She's got a huge imagination and is so well-behaved.
I got to spend some time helping with the prep work for her upcoming birthday party. It was fun to spend time with my dear friend and I wanted to help her out as much as possible. A hungry newborn who has an internal feeding clock that is timed with absolute accuracy keeps her pretty worn out.
I realized today that I wasn't just helping my friend. This has been an opportunity to do something I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. Purple princess birthday decorations for a little girl are full of glitter and shine and fluff and fun. Something I will never, ever get to experience on my own. But, thanks to my dear friend, I got to be surrounded by all of it. My life would never offer me a chance to be covered in glitter, glue and tissue paper scraps. It was so much fun!
It might not always be easy. In fact, there are going to be lots of times which are down right painful reminders of what I don't have. But, those experiences like helping with 2 year-old party decorations make it so worth it!
Sunday, June 16, 2013
A Father's Day Unlike Most
Usually, Father's Day would be a tough, tough time for me. Between having no reason to be thankful for my sperm donor and not being able to make my husband a father, I usually sulk the day away as I dutifully make the trip back to see my father-in-law.
Today has been a bit different in some respects. Sure, I am still angry and hurt over what is not. But, this year I have held onto something a little better than years past.
During our recent trip to Branson with my brother's family, I had a chance to have a short yet sweet conversation with my little brother.
We introduced them to our favorite dessert diner on the strip. My nephew threw a giant size fit during our time there because his parents refused to buy him his own dessert. The desserts average about $7.50 per plate and are huge! I usually end up with just a piece of cake or a scoop of ice cream because I can't even finish one of their speciality funnel cakes. These things are massive with strawberries, two scoops of ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry.
My brother made the right decision, the kid couldn't have finished an entire plate right after we had just eaten ginormous burgers from another diner. Regardless, my nephew showed his more childish side and caused a scene.
The next day was the day they went trout fishing. That gave them several hours of father son time together.
After they arrived back at the condo, my brother and I sat at the table while everyone watched tv and busied themselves with other things.
My brother shared with me that he had talked to my nephew about his behavior the night before. He said he made my nephew use his lawn mowing money to pay for his fishing permit. He said he had planned to pay for it, but knew it would mean more to him if he had to sacrifice for it.
It took my nephew a long time to catch a fish and they got fairly close to giving up before they caught anything. He said he asked my nephew what it would have felt like to him to have paid for the permit and not caught anything. My nephew's response was that it would have been a waste of money, like throwing it away. My brother said he told him that if he'd have gotten an entire dessert and not been able to eat it all, that would have been like throwing away money.
To you, that might seem like a simple thing to teach your child. For my brother, it's a big thing. My brother finished our conversation by telling me that he had to teach his kids that kind of thing because nobody taught him that.
He's right! Nobody taught any of us about money or savings or check writing. We saw a good example of how to get yourself in debt or steal or write bad checks.
Both of my brothers had problems with writing bad checks. Two days before my wedding, I drove my then 19 year-old little brother around to 21 places to pay for bad checks. Some were written for $100s and others for under $5. My grandpa covered it all. Bad check fees, bank fees, check cost...he paid it all. One by one, we picked them all up and got his name removed from humiliation lists of bad check writers.
That was probably the first experience he had with anyone teaching him the difference between the right way to handle a checking account and the wrong way. I by no means have gone unscathed in this area, but I haven't ever written a bad check.
I thought about that conversation today, repeatedly. My brother isn't a perfect dad. He may not even be a good dad by any stretch of the imagination. But, he's a better dad than he was ever taught to be. He's the best dad that he can be given the examples he had growing up.
I am so thankful for all of that. I'm thankful that in so many ways, he is breaking the cycle he came from. It's not perfect, but I at least got a perfect glimpse at the progress he has made. I am thankful today that he is worthy to be celebrated on a day like today even though his role model is not.
With any luck, he will continue to mature and become less and less like his dad. That's all I can ever hope for him and his children.
Today has been a bit different in some respects. Sure, I am still angry and hurt over what is not. But, this year I have held onto something a little better than years past.
During our recent trip to Branson with my brother's family, I had a chance to have a short yet sweet conversation with my little brother.
We introduced them to our favorite dessert diner on the strip. My nephew threw a giant size fit during our time there because his parents refused to buy him his own dessert. The desserts average about $7.50 per plate and are huge! I usually end up with just a piece of cake or a scoop of ice cream because I can't even finish one of their speciality funnel cakes. These things are massive with strawberries, two scoops of ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry.
My brother made the right decision, the kid couldn't have finished an entire plate right after we had just eaten ginormous burgers from another diner. Regardless, my nephew showed his more childish side and caused a scene.
The next day was the day they went trout fishing. That gave them several hours of father son time together.
After they arrived back at the condo, my brother and I sat at the table while everyone watched tv and busied themselves with other things.
My brother shared with me that he had talked to my nephew about his behavior the night before. He said he made my nephew use his lawn mowing money to pay for his fishing permit. He said he had planned to pay for it, but knew it would mean more to him if he had to sacrifice for it.
It took my nephew a long time to catch a fish and they got fairly close to giving up before they caught anything. He said he asked my nephew what it would have felt like to him to have paid for the permit and not caught anything. My nephew's response was that it would have been a waste of money, like throwing it away. My brother said he told him that if he'd have gotten an entire dessert and not been able to eat it all, that would have been like throwing away money.
To you, that might seem like a simple thing to teach your child. For my brother, it's a big thing. My brother finished our conversation by telling me that he had to teach his kids that kind of thing because nobody taught him that.
He's right! Nobody taught any of us about money or savings or check writing. We saw a good example of how to get yourself in debt or steal or write bad checks.
Both of my brothers had problems with writing bad checks. Two days before my wedding, I drove my then 19 year-old little brother around to 21 places to pay for bad checks. Some were written for $100s and others for under $5. My grandpa covered it all. Bad check fees, bank fees, check cost...he paid it all. One by one, we picked them all up and got his name removed from humiliation lists of bad check writers.
That was probably the first experience he had with anyone teaching him the difference between the right way to handle a checking account and the wrong way. I by no means have gone unscathed in this area, but I haven't ever written a bad check.
I thought about that conversation today, repeatedly. My brother isn't a perfect dad. He may not even be a good dad by any stretch of the imagination. But, he's a better dad than he was ever taught to be. He's the best dad that he can be given the examples he had growing up.
I am so thankful for all of that. I'm thankful that in so many ways, he is breaking the cycle he came from. It's not perfect, but I at least got a perfect glimpse at the progress he has made. I am thankful today that he is worthy to be celebrated on a day like today even though his role model is not.
With any luck, he will continue to mature and become less and less like his dad. That's all I can ever hope for him and his children.
Friday, June 14, 2013
TGIF
Oh my word am I glad it is Friday. I don't work, so I usually don't get excited for the weekend. However, this week is different.
The two weeks prior to this one were hellish at times and quite physically and mentally draining. I had been looking forward to this week for several days, if not weeks. I knew it would bring me some rest and relaxation that I desperately needed.
Oh but I was so wrong.
The most dreaded phone call you can get from your spouse while they are on their way home from work is the "Honey, don't freak out but I've been in an accident." I've gotten a few of those in the past 15 years. The 2nd most dreaded call you can get at that time is "Honey, don't be mad but I have to leave town...in the morning!"
Damn it!
Literally, my husband booked his flight at 7 pm and left at 7 am for the entire week. Completely unexpected and certainly the curve ball in my week.
Things usually fall apart while he is gone, especially me. Things break. I don't sleep. This week was no exception.
Tuesday things went well and I was sure this time would be different, despite the sleep deprivation. My goal this week was to repaint our patio table and chairs. I got them painted no problem. One minor problem though. The paint is oil based and doesn't come off anything easily. No husband, means I have no way of knowing where the cleaners are for the paint. No problem, throw the cheap brush away and life is good, right? Well, yes except I've been sporting white paint splatters on my legs and feet all week like a trophy. Oh yea, I can't forget to mention the giant mess of paint that I got in my hair. How does that happen? I know it's quite trendy to have color streaked hair, but I'm not much into it. So, curly styling it has to be for now until I can get it all picked out. Goodness, that stuff is like hair concrete. With the curls, it's a bit harder to see...but I KNOW!
As I sat inside on Wednesday morning, I heard a giant swoosh outside. Hmm...that wasn't the mailman. A peak out the window and I saw the culprit. A giant limb had broken and fallen to the ground. My neighbors were of little help. One of them exclaimed, "That made me crap my pants!" The other stated, "You know you need to get that out of the street."
Well the darn thing was barely in the street and they both watched while I unsuccessfully tried to move it. Have I mentioned what classy neighbors I have?
So, I headed to the backyard to water plants since we've had some really hot weather this week. My spray nozzle was stuck, so there was no soaker hose watering. My super strong husband always puts those things on so tight.
Before he left, my husband asked me to pull the wooden forms off the concrete patio so that it would finish curing. Yea right! After I failed with the sprayer, I knew the forms were far beyond my scope of ability. Let's face it, I don't have a lot of upper body strength and I think that task might have been outside of my pay grade.
Thankfully, a couple friends of ours came over and took care of the manly tasks that needed done. Whew! Only half way through the week and I surely would be able to relax the rest of it.
Wait just a minute!
Have I mentioned that I don't sleep while my husband is gone? Yes. Have I also mentioned that one of said classy neighbors picked this week to install a pool? No. Oh my. Starting on Wednesday, every morning there has been large equipment running right outside my bedroom window by 7 am. Fun, right? What's more exciting is that these are the heavy drinkers who often have parties (not loud, just late). How much more fun is that going to make the summer for us? Ugh!
Thursday night finally came and I knew I only had one more night alone. Usually, I find comfort in that and can cat nap my way through the night. Oh but wait....not this time.
As I folded the 10 loads of laundry I had ignored since last week, I heard strange noises come from the front of the house. With a large kitchen knife in hand (that's all I had), I searched the house. Nothing! Every time I would step out of the bedroom, it would stop. The dogs were exhausted and unphased by it, which was odd since they often fuss and bark when a car door shuts a block away.
Needless to say, I stacked and piled and pushed furniture in front of all the doors. Yea, because nothing says safe like potentially blocking the exits for an intruder to leave if they are hiding in my house.
The noise never stopped! I never slept! Ugh!
This morning, I was digging in the mess of tools in the garage looking for the stapler. Ok, I know you are probably thinking that at this point I probably shouldn't be operating anything potentially dangerous, but that's just the kind of risk taker I am. Ha!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furry thing jump from a box. OY! The worst thing we've ever had in the garage is a mouse and a baby bird. This ain't no mouse. I don't know what it is, except furry.
No problem, I'll back my car out and turn my dog loose. She's part Cocker Spaniel and often hunts. She's got quite a record of dead mice, bunnies and birds. I knew she'd be all over it. I tried to get the little critter stirred up so she would jump right on it.
Nope! She plopped down on the concrete floor cocking her head from one side to another. I'm positive she was saying, "I'm tired. You kept me up all night long. You chase that stupid critter while I sit here and laugh at you."
Finally, my husband will be home sometime around midnight. Goodness, I cannot wait!
The two weeks prior to this one were hellish at times and quite physically and mentally draining. I had been looking forward to this week for several days, if not weeks. I knew it would bring me some rest and relaxation that I desperately needed.
Oh but I was so wrong.
The most dreaded phone call you can get from your spouse while they are on their way home from work is the "Honey, don't freak out but I've been in an accident." I've gotten a few of those in the past 15 years. The 2nd most dreaded call you can get at that time is "Honey, don't be mad but I have to leave town...in the morning!"
Damn it!
Literally, my husband booked his flight at 7 pm and left at 7 am for the entire week. Completely unexpected and certainly the curve ball in my week.
Things usually fall apart while he is gone, especially me. Things break. I don't sleep. This week was no exception.
Tuesday things went well and I was sure this time would be different, despite the sleep deprivation. My goal this week was to repaint our patio table and chairs. I got them painted no problem. One minor problem though. The paint is oil based and doesn't come off anything easily. No husband, means I have no way of knowing where the cleaners are for the paint. No problem, throw the cheap brush away and life is good, right? Well, yes except I've been sporting white paint splatters on my legs and feet all week like a trophy. Oh yea, I can't forget to mention the giant mess of paint that I got in my hair. How does that happen? I know it's quite trendy to have color streaked hair, but I'm not much into it. So, curly styling it has to be for now until I can get it all picked out. Goodness, that stuff is like hair concrete. With the curls, it's a bit harder to see...but I KNOW!
As I sat inside on Wednesday morning, I heard a giant swoosh outside. Hmm...that wasn't the mailman. A peak out the window and I saw the culprit. A giant limb had broken and fallen to the ground. My neighbors were of little help. One of them exclaimed, "That made me crap my pants!" The other stated, "You know you need to get that out of the street."
Well the darn thing was barely in the street and they both watched while I unsuccessfully tried to move it. Have I mentioned what classy neighbors I have?
So, I headed to the backyard to water plants since we've had some really hot weather this week. My spray nozzle was stuck, so there was no soaker hose watering. My super strong husband always puts those things on so tight.
Before he left, my husband asked me to pull the wooden forms off the concrete patio so that it would finish curing. Yea right! After I failed with the sprayer, I knew the forms were far beyond my scope of ability. Let's face it, I don't have a lot of upper body strength and I think that task might have been outside of my pay grade.
Thankfully, a couple friends of ours came over and took care of the manly tasks that needed done. Whew! Only half way through the week and I surely would be able to relax the rest of it.
Wait just a minute!
Have I mentioned that I don't sleep while my husband is gone? Yes. Have I also mentioned that one of said classy neighbors picked this week to install a pool? No. Oh my. Starting on Wednesday, every morning there has been large equipment running right outside my bedroom window by 7 am. Fun, right? What's more exciting is that these are the heavy drinkers who often have parties (not loud, just late). How much more fun is that going to make the summer for us? Ugh!
Thursday night finally came and I knew I only had one more night alone. Usually, I find comfort in that and can cat nap my way through the night. Oh but wait....not this time.
As I folded the 10 loads of laundry I had ignored since last week, I heard strange noises come from the front of the house. With a large kitchen knife in hand (that's all I had), I searched the house. Nothing! Every time I would step out of the bedroom, it would stop. The dogs were exhausted and unphased by it, which was odd since they often fuss and bark when a car door shuts a block away.
Needless to say, I stacked and piled and pushed furniture in front of all the doors. Yea, because nothing says safe like potentially blocking the exits for an intruder to leave if they are hiding in my house.
The noise never stopped! I never slept! Ugh!
This morning, I was digging in the mess of tools in the garage looking for the stapler. Ok, I know you are probably thinking that at this point I probably shouldn't be operating anything potentially dangerous, but that's just the kind of risk taker I am. Ha!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furry thing jump from a box. OY! The worst thing we've ever had in the garage is a mouse and a baby bird. This ain't no mouse. I don't know what it is, except furry.
No problem, I'll back my car out and turn my dog loose. She's part Cocker Spaniel and often hunts. She's got quite a record of dead mice, bunnies and birds. I knew she'd be all over it. I tried to get the little critter stirred up so she would jump right on it.
Nope! She plopped down on the concrete floor cocking her head from one side to another. I'm positive she was saying, "I'm tired. You kept me up all night long. You chase that stupid critter while I sit here and laugh at you."
Finally, my husband will be home sometime around midnight. Goodness, I cannot wait!
Monday, June 10, 2013
The Alzheimer's Elephant
Up until this weekend, I had always considered myself to be patient and compassionate with those afflicted with an illness. I think this weekend showed me that I am actually neither of those things when it comes to Alzheimer's.
This wasn't the first time I have spent extended periods of time with my mother-in-law since her diagnosis last year. It wasn't even the first time I had spent multiple days with her since then either. It was just worse this time.
She was initially given a general dementia diagnosis in January 2012 with her first visible signs showing up in November 2011. We were told she had an early onset of a rapidly progressing dementia. She spent over a year going from one medication to another, while the family struggled to accept the diagnosis for what it was. All the while, her memory and mental stability was nose diving.
Last month, she finally had an appointment at a memory clinic with a doctor who specializes in dementia. After a day of testing, he determined that she had a mild case of Alzheimer's. Keep in mind, of the family who attended the appointment with her nobody asks questions and nobody really understands what the doctors say. Not to mention, most of them hadn't really accepted she couldn't make a full recovery from this. So, it is my humble opinion that they heard what they wanted to hear and failed to get all the information they could. Regardless, they were told the kind she has is not hereditary and that she would remain stable for the next several years.
Let me tell you something, this woman is not stable. She continues to deteriorate mentally. This doctor hasn't watched the last 18 months and the continuous decline. He didn't see in that one day how much she has changed over just the past two months. In fact, I didn't even have to be there to know that the family wasn't even completely honest about her behavior.
During times when she isn't around or people are alone with my father-in-law, he slowly begins to open up and share the part of life that nobody knows. He confided in my husband several things this weekend that probably should be shared with everyone in the family. It's a huge concern that there maybe financial issues (which my husband and I saw hints of clear back in 2011) and there is some violent behavioral issues.
This weekend was so difficult. She, the Alzheimer's, it was the giant, big fat elephant in the room that nobody really wanted to talk about. You could see it on everyone face. You could feel the thickness of it in the air. It was the source of so much anger and hurt. But, as a group they couldn't bring themselves to discuss it.
It was almost textbook grief. Each family member in their own way was exhibiting some stage of grief. Every one of them could see that she is becoming this empty shell and they all were grieving what they are slowly losing. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. I saw all of it except acceptance. I've never watched this slow process of grieving, but I'm guessing the acceptance must come with the physical loss.
Yes, I get to go through it too. Regardless of the relationship we've had in the past, she is still my mother-in-law and she's been in my life for nearly 20 years. For me, I realize that I am firmly into the anger phase of this process.
I would much rather have her be the crabby woman who only tolerated me instead of how she is now. I was beyond frustrated with her this weekend.
The questions....oh my, they never stopped. She continued to ask what things were. A fly on the window; owl statue in the garden; blanket on the couch. She would ask if she could use the restroom. That was all after she argued with me over who here son was.
If it hadn't been for the questions, she wouldn't have spoken at all. She mainly sat. She would shuffle from inside to out. She work a t-shirt, under a sweatshirt with a giant heavy hooded sweater over it all. When she was outside, she wore the hood on her head. It was 75 degrees outside and she sat in the sun.
She spent an enormous amount of time in the bathroom and barely ate anything. She wasn't sick, this is evidently a routine thing for her. She doesn't know what is happening or what to do, so she goes to the bathroom. From my observation, I believe she goes a lot to avoid accidents because she really doesn't know when she has to go.
She wore the same clothes two days in a row. I know this is a small thing, but it makes me angry that nobody will correct her. I'm sure nobody wants to deal with the behavioral side of it when she doesn't deal well with being told what to do.
I'm angry that in the past 18 months she's lost the ability to have a rational conversation. It makes me mad that someone has to physically watch her all the time. I'm angry that she has to be told over and over who I am and that she constantly asks where my kids are. Not angry with her or at her, but at the situation.
It is aggravating to watch it all happen and here the excuses and see the denial. There was a point toward the end of each day when she would finally just go sit in the truck. Usually at least 90 minutes prior to leaving, she would go sit in the hot truck and stare into the sky.
If this is mild, I hate to see what worse is for her. If this is stable and how she will be for the next few years, it's still going to be hard on everyone.
A friend of mine often says "Alzheimer's Sucks." I believe she is right.
This wasn't the first time I have spent extended periods of time with my mother-in-law since her diagnosis last year. It wasn't even the first time I had spent multiple days with her since then either. It was just worse this time.
She was initially given a general dementia diagnosis in January 2012 with her first visible signs showing up in November 2011. We were told she had an early onset of a rapidly progressing dementia. She spent over a year going from one medication to another, while the family struggled to accept the diagnosis for what it was. All the while, her memory and mental stability was nose diving.
Last month, she finally had an appointment at a memory clinic with a doctor who specializes in dementia. After a day of testing, he determined that she had a mild case of Alzheimer's. Keep in mind, of the family who attended the appointment with her nobody asks questions and nobody really understands what the doctors say. Not to mention, most of them hadn't really accepted she couldn't make a full recovery from this. So, it is my humble opinion that they heard what they wanted to hear and failed to get all the information they could. Regardless, they were told the kind she has is not hereditary and that she would remain stable for the next several years.
Let me tell you something, this woman is not stable. She continues to deteriorate mentally. This doctor hasn't watched the last 18 months and the continuous decline. He didn't see in that one day how much she has changed over just the past two months. In fact, I didn't even have to be there to know that the family wasn't even completely honest about her behavior.
During times when she isn't around or people are alone with my father-in-law, he slowly begins to open up and share the part of life that nobody knows. He confided in my husband several things this weekend that probably should be shared with everyone in the family. It's a huge concern that there maybe financial issues (which my husband and I saw hints of clear back in 2011) and there is some violent behavioral issues.
This weekend was so difficult. She, the Alzheimer's, it was the giant, big fat elephant in the room that nobody really wanted to talk about. You could see it on everyone face. You could feel the thickness of it in the air. It was the source of so much anger and hurt. But, as a group they couldn't bring themselves to discuss it.
It was almost textbook grief. Each family member in their own way was exhibiting some stage of grief. Every one of them could see that she is becoming this empty shell and they all were grieving what they are slowly losing. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. I saw all of it except acceptance. I've never watched this slow process of grieving, but I'm guessing the acceptance must come with the physical loss.
Yes, I get to go through it too. Regardless of the relationship we've had in the past, she is still my mother-in-law and she's been in my life for nearly 20 years. For me, I realize that I am firmly into the anger phase of this process.
I would much rather have her be the crabby woman who only tolerated me instead of how she is now. I was beyond frustrated with her this weekend.
The questions....oh my, they never stopped. She continued to ask what things were. A fly on the window; owl statue in the garden; blanket on the couch. She would ask if she could use the restroom. That was all after she argued with me over who here son was.
If it hadn't been for the questions, she wouldn't have spoken at all. She mainly sat. She would shuffle from inside to out. She work a t-shirt, under a sweatshirt with a giant heavy hooded sweater over it all. When she was outside, she wore the hood on her head. It was 75 degrees outside and she sat in the sun.
She spent an enormous amount of time in the bathroom and barely ate anything. She wasn't sick, this is evidently a routine thing for her. She doesn't know what is happening or what to do, so she goes to the bathroom. From my observation, I believe she goes a lot to avoid accidents because she really doesn't know when she has to go.
She wore the same clothes two days in a row. I know this is a small thing, but it makes me angry that nobody will correct her. I'm sure nobody wants to deal with the behavioral side of it when she doesn't deal well with being told what to do.
I'm angry that in the past 18 months she's lost the ability to have a rational conversation. It makes me mad that someone has to physically watch her all the time. I'm angry that she has to be told over and over who I am and that she constantly asks where my kids are. Not angry with her or at her, but at the situation.
It is aggravating to watch it all happen and here the excuses and see the denial. There was a point toward the end of each day when she would finally just go sit in the truck. Usually at least 90 minutes prior to leaving, she would go sit in the hot truck and stare into the sky.
If this is mild, I hate to see what worse is for her. If this is stable and how she will be for the next few years, it's still going to be hard on everyone.
A friend of mine often says "Alzheimer's Sucks." I believe she is right.
Friday, June 7, 2013
The Patio..duh, duh, duh...
I am sitting here in what feels like the 98th hour of a blackhawk helicopter hovering over my head. Ok, that might be a little over dramatized but you get the picture. It has been about 10 hours over two days of a jackhammer running just outside my backdoor.
My husband, his two brothers and his dad are busting out a patio and it's noisy! It's the latest ordeal in our money pit. Our house really isn't a money pit, it's just reached "that age" where everything likes to fall apart.
The year of drought followed by winter and spring of abundant moisture has left us with a basement wall which has a growing crack. The wall itself has begun to buckle and press in toward the basement. Evidently we will have a hefty job to do still, but first the flow of water must be altered. The only way to do keep the abundance of water flowing down into the wall is to tear out our sloping patio and repour it.
I'm not sure what that jumbled mess sounds like to you, but to me it sounds like more money we don't have needing to be spent on the house to prevent a catastrophe from happening. Thankfully my husband's family is full of guys well versed in concrete, so most of them have agreed to help. Still expensive! Is there ever anything that happens to your home that is urgent or emergency that is cheap? NO!
Heavy lifting and dust and jackhammers aren't my thing. Really, that can't be. I'm not physically cut out for that kind of stuff. No joking. So, I have assumed the role of dutiful wife.
That's no joke either. I've prepped and cleaned and cleaned and prepped for the past several days for the deluge of people who will be in and out the next few days. We rarely have guests, so it's a big deal. An even bigger deal is planning for a round up of people who definitely without question do not like me.
It's hard to get pumped for that. It doesn't feel like a labor of love when you know it won't be good enough. The food I cook won't taste right. The house won't be clean enough. I won't be social enough.
I have and always will be a white trash girl from a dumpy little town who stole the heart of their first born son and big brother. I will never, ever fit the bill for what they had hoped for in a daughter-in-law. But, this is one of those times I am supposed to forget about that and pretend as though I'm one of them.
Really, I suppose that doesn't matter. What matters right now is that most of my husband's family is coming together to help him out. They are all working together for a common goal and for that I am thankful.
There is one very twisted up/down side in all of this. My once very opinionated mother-in-law is now much more mellow. It is hard to believe. On her first trip to our house as a married couple, she completely rearranged our kitchen drawers and cabinets because I hadn't been smart enough to do it correctly. Now, she sets on the couch with a blank stare and an occasional question.
It might be the questions that are the hardest. She questions who the guys are working on the patio; all her sons and husband. She asks where the kids are; we don't have any. She asks me how work is going; I haven't worked in three years. She asks how long it's going to take; I don't have a clue. She asks again how long it's going to take; still don't know. She asks if we have moved the bathroom; no we have not. And....repeat....
Again, I'm so thankful that the guys are here to help their brother and son. He needed that. He needed his family and I am glad they are here with him. I am grateful that tomorrow will bring a rare opportunity for me to have his niece and nephew. And well, since I'm a "feeder" I'll have a chance to feed a large group of people.
My husband, his two brothers and his dad are busting out a patio and it's noisy! It's the latest ordeal in our money pit. Our house really isn't a money pit, it's just reached "that age" where everything likes to fall apart.
The year of drought followed by winter and spring of abundant moisture has left us with a basement wall which has a growing crack. The wall itself has begun to buckle and press in toward the basement. Evidently we will have a hefty job to do still, but first the flow of water must be altered. The only way to do keep the abundance of water flowing down into the wall is to tear out our sloping patio and repour it.
I'm not sure what that jumbled mess sounds like to you, but to me it sounds like more money we don't have needing to be spent on the house to prevent a catastrophe from happening. Thankfully my husband's family is full of guys well versed in concrete, so most of them have agreed to help. Still expensive! Is there ever anything that happens to your home that is urgent or emergency that is cheap? NO!
Heavy lifting and dust and jackhammers aren't my thing. Really, that can't be. I'm not physically cut out for that kind of stuff. No joking. So, I have assumed the role of dutiful wife.
That's no joke either. I've prepped and cleaned and cleaned and prepped for the past several days for the deluge of people who will be in and out the next few days. We rarely have guests, so it's a big deal. An even bigger deal is planning for a round up of people who definitely without question do not like me.
It's hard to get pumped for that. It doesn't feel like a labor of love when you know it won't be good enough. The food I cook won't taste right. The house won't be clean enough. I won't be social enough.
I have and always will be a white trash girl from a dumpy little town who stole the heart of their first born son and big brother. I will never, ever fit the bill for what they had hoped for in a daughter-in-law. But, this is one of those times I am supposed to forget about that and pretend as though I'm one of them.
Really, I suppose that doesn't matter. What matters right now is that most of my husband's family is coming together to help him out. They are all working together for a common goal and for that I am thankful.
There is one very twisted up/down side in all of this. My once very opinionated mother-in-law is now much more mellow. It is hard to believe. On her first trip to our house as a married couple, she completely rearranged our kitchen drawers and cabinets because I hadn't been smart enough to do it correctly. Now, she sets on the couch with a blank stare and an occasional question.
It might be the questions that are the hardest. She questions who the guys are working on the patio; all her sons and husband. She asks where the kids are; we don't have any. She asks me how work is going; I haven't worked in three years. She asks how long it's going to take; I don't have a clue. She asks again how long it's going to take; still don't know. She asks if we have moved the bathroom; no we have not. And....repeat....
Again, I'm so thankful that the guys are here to help their brother and son. He needed that. He needed his family and I am glad they are here with him. I am grateful that tomorrow will bring a rare opportunity for me to have his niece and nephew. And well, since I'm a "feeder" I'll have a chance to feed a large group of people.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Festival Yuck
Isn't strange how your subconscious is clearly aware of something long before you are?
This weekend was miserable. My husband was in a bad mood, but so was I. My mood was already in a nose dive long before he admitted his own crabbiness. I had no clue why. The only thing I could come up with was knowing my weekly routine was going to be non-existent. And sure, that's always enough to cause problems for me.
As I listened to a commercial on the radio this afternoon, I realized this weekend there is a festival in town. I've seen the signs, but it just didn't register. It's a festival that we used to attend and have a great time.
Unfortunately, that brings my parents to town for several days this week. I can't go into details on his part of it because I would hate for anyone to be looking for them.
I purposely don't go to the town they live in and I hate it that they would ever come here. I also know in years past, my dad has taken advantage of the opportunity to harass me and generally cause me pain.
How do you prep for that? He knows what he's doing. He doesn't put himself in positions where he could get caught, so we have no grounds for an order of protection against him.
There's no way to prep. The disgust, anxiety and anger over it just has to ooze it's way out while I try to keep it all together. I would struggle with that even with my regular routine and support, but this year I'll have to do it alone.
This weekend starts a pattern of them being nearby several times a month until fall, but this is certainly the closest they get. Thankfully!
It's just not what I needed in an already difficult week.
This weekend was miserable. My husband was in a bad mood, but so was I. My mood was already in a nose dive long before he admitted his own crabbiness. I had no clue why. The only thing I could come up with was knowing my weekly routine was going to be non-existent. And sure, that's always enough to cause problems for me.
As I listened to a commercial on the radio this afternoon, I realized this weekend there is a festival in town. I've seen the signs, but it just didn't register. It's a festival that we used to attend and have a great time.
Unfortunately, that brings my parents to town for several days this week. I can't go into details on his part of it because I would hate for anyone to be looking for them.
I purposely don't go to the town they live in and I hate it that they would ever come here. I also know in years past, my dad has taken advantage of the opportunity to harass me and generally cause me pain.
How do you prep for that? He knows what he's doing. He doesn't put himself in positions where he could get caught, so we have no grounds for an order of protection against him.
There's no way to prep. The disgust, anxiety and anger over it just has to ooze it's way out while I try to keep it all together. I would struggle with that even with my regular routine and support, but this year I'll have to do it alone.
This weekend starts a pattern of them being nearby several times a month until fall, but this is certainly the closest they get. Thankfully!
It's just not what I needed in an already difficult week.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Day Like Today
Today was one of those days that makes me feel happy and sad all at the same time.
It started early, way early. Three of us took off for a giant tent sale at 5 am. The shopping was overwhelming and fun and exciting. It just wasn't the best part of the day.
Early and me as co-pilot doesn't work well, so we started off going to Kansas but ended up only adding a few minutes onto the trip. Nobody got mad, we laughed and checked out the sites.
When you are in line with 30 and then 50 and then eventually a couple hundred other women, what is there to do? We talked, enjoyed coffee and pastries and talked some more. It is so rare for me to have time with a couple ladies I don't know well and genuinely enjoy the conversation.
We all embarked on a unique shopping experience after our three hour wait. Regardless of what we said or did, we will forever be bonded by our experience and the multiple layers of craziness we witnessed. As we picked through the tables and tables of stuff, some things were very clear. We all three share some similar tastes and some very different ones. We also agree that next year we will arrive at least an hour earlier so that we too can unleash our inner level of crazy and get even better deals.
After we had scoured every last inch of the tent, we paid and loaded our new prized possessions and headed to shop the rest of the stores. It was nice to stroll through the stores without taking an elbow to the chest or smashed toes.
We sat down for lunch at a cafe and again, the conversation was richer than the food.
It was such a great day.
It's hard for me to not have a touch of sadness about it. I know not everyday can be this way. But, I only get a couple days like this a year. It is so rare for me to get to spend time with multiple people when there isn't an expectation or it doesn't involve completing a task.
What is far more rare for me is to have an extended period of time when I get to feel normal. Like just one of the girls hanging out with the girls.
Again, I know that everyday isn't that way. Most people are busy enough that they only get this type of interaction once or twice a month. I'd just like to have it more than once or twice a year.
Oh how I long to have more days like this. Days when just being me and being with other people can collide and feel so normal.
It started early, way early. Three of us took off for a giant tent sale at 5 am. The shopping was overwhelming and fun and exciting. It just wasn't the best part of the day.
Early and me as co-pilot doesn't work well, so we started off going to Kansas but ended up only adding a few minutes onto the trip. Nobody got mad, we laughed and checked out the sites.
When you are in line with 30 and then 50 and then eventually a couple hundred other women, what is there to do? We talked, enjoyed coffee and pastries and talked some more. It is so rare for me to have time with a couple ladies I don't know well and genuinely enjoy the conversation.
We all embarked on a unique shopping experience after our three hour wait. Regardless of what we said or did, we will forever be bonded by our experience and the multiple layers of craziness we witnessed. As we picked through the tables and tables of stuff, some things were very clear. We all three share some similar tastes and some very different ones. We also agree that next year we will arrive at least an hour earlier so that we too can unleash our inner level of crazy and get even better deals.
After we had scoured every last inch of the tent, we paid and loaded our new prized possessions and headed to shop the rest of the stores. It was nice to stroll through the stores without taking an elbow to the chest or smashed toes.
We sat down for lunch at a cafe and again, the conversation was richer than the food.
It was such a great day.
It's hard for me to not have a touch of sadness about it. I know not everyday can be this way. But, I only get a couple days like this a year. It is so rare for me to get to spend time with multiple people when there isn't an expectation or it doesn't involve completing a task.
What is far more rare for me is to have an extended period of time when I get to feel normal. Like just one of the girls hanging out with the girls.
Again, I know that everyday isn't that way. Most people are busy enough that they only get this type of interaction once or twice a month. I'd just like to have it more than once or twice a year.
Oh how I long to have more days like this. Days when just being me and being with other people can collide and feel so normal.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Fun Filled Weekend
Despite the few little emotional things, our trip to Branson with my brother's family was a success.
We all arrived in Branson way earlier than originally planned, which allowed us to have the afternoon and evening together.
The kids decided they wanted to have chicken from the giant chicken place. After dinner, we headed to the Landing to walk around. For the end of May, it was incredibly cool but the kids enjoyed some snow cones while we watched the fountain and fire show.
Our condo was a large two-bedroom that had all the amenities and gave us access to the resort pools and hot tubs. The kids were super excited to hit the pool after we returned to the condo. Point Royale resort in Branson is top notch if you ever get a chance to stay. The property manager we rent from is super reasonable on rates too.
Saturday we headed to Silver Dollar City. The kids spent the first half of the day riding one roller coaster after another. We met back up for a BBQ lunch, giant strawberry pie and followed it all with a train ride. The kids took off for more rides while we wondered through the shops.
On the way back, my brother stopped at a nearby dam area where men were fly fishing for trout. They ran into a nice older man who promised to help my nephew learn to fly fish the next morning and guaranteed him he would catch a trout. A big promise for a kid who easily gets disappointed.
That evening, we headed to Mel's Hard Luck Diner for dinner. The burgers are huge and the wait staff all take turns singing. We split up after dinner. My brother took the kids mini golfing while my husband took the ladies shopping.
We all met back up at Cakes N Cream for some giant sized funnel cakes covered in ice cream and strawberries.
By the time we got back to the condo, everyone was exhausted. No swimming, we all went straight to bed. What a long day.
Sunday morning, my nephew and brother headed to the fishing hole. We checked on them several hours later and found them disappointed. The man hadn't shown up and they had not caught anything. Shortly after we left, the man showed up and my nephew started catching trout. He was a happy boy.
Meanwhile, we hit the landing one more time and Fuddruckers for lunch.
Later that afternoon, they all left and we took a nap. Whew! What a whirlwind weekend.
There's certainly more I could share. There was so much talking. It's hard to fit 6 years all in one weekend. Overall, it was a good weekend. Hopefully it will happen again. I think we have a tentative plan to go again in the fall.
We all arrived in Branson way earlier than originally planned, which allowed us to have the afternoon and evening together.
The kids decided they wanted to have chicken from the giant chicken place. After dinner, we headed to the Landing to walk around. For the end of May, it was incredibly cool but the kids enjoyed some snow cones while we watched the fountain and fire show.
Our condo was a large two-bedroom that had all the amenities and gave us access to the resort pools and hot tubs. The kids were super excited to hit the pool after we returned to the condo. Point Royale resort in Branson is top notch if you ever get a chance to stay. The property manager we rent from is super reasonable on rates too.
Saturday we headed to Silver Dollar City. The kids spent the first half of the day riding one roller coaster after another. We met back up for a BBQ lunch, giant strawberry pie and followed it all with a train ride. The kids took off for more rides while we wondered through the shops.
On the way back, my brother stopped at a nearby dam area where men were fly fishing for trout. They ran into a nice older man who promised to help my nephew learn to fly fish the next morning and guaranteed him he would catch a trout. A big promise for a kid who easily gets disappointed.
That evening, we headed to Mel's Hard Luck Diner for dinner. The burgers are huge and the wait staff all take turns singing. We split up after dinner. My brother took the kids mini golfing while my husband took the ladies shopping.
We all met back up at Cakes N Cream for some giant sized funnel cakes covered in ice cream and strawberries.
By the time we got back to the condo, everyone was exhausted. No swimming, we all went straight to bed. What a long day.
Sunday morning, my nephew and brother headed to the fishing hole. We checked on them several hours later and found them disappointed. The man hadn't shown up and they had not caught anything. Shortly after we left, the man showed up and my nephew started catching trout. He was a happy boy.
Meanwhile, we hit the landing one more time and Fuddruckers for lunch.
Later that afternoon, they all left and we took a nap. Whew! What a whirlwind weekend.
There's certainly more I could share. There was so much talking. It's hard to fit 6 years all in one weekend. Overall, it was a good weekend. Hopefully it will happen again. I think we have a tentative plan to go again in the fall.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Count Down to Breakdown
Today is the first of 11 days that are going be very different for me and unlike any span of time I have had in the past 3+ years.
My primary support (aside from my husband) is leaving town on vacation. I do not begrudge her the time away at all, she deserves it. We often coordinate vacation times so that I don't have to go days and days without counseling or the support she gives.
I can't tell you what will happen this time, but I can tell you what has happened every time she's left town for the past 5 years. I absolutely breakdown. I absolutely revert back to total self dependence. By the time she gets back, I've convinced myself that I don't need any help from anybody and we usually spend weeks trying to develop a routine again.
This time is a little different than times past. There are usually times when she will call or email to check in on me. Even with that I fall apart. This time, those things won't happen.
I suppose a couple weeks or months from now, I will be able to look back at my posts and think wow that sucked but at least it's over...till next time.
Unfortunately, this really stirs up the internal need I have to push everyone away and be dependent on nobody. It makes me want to take care of myself completely and not need anyone.
Ugh...how many more days?
My primary support (aside from my husband) is leaving town on vacation. I do not begrudge her the time away at all, she deserves it. We often coordinate vacation times so that I don't have to go days and days without counseling or the support she gives.
I can't tell you what will happen this time, but I can tell you what has happened every time she's left town for the past 5 years. I absolutely breakdown. I absolutely revert back to total self dependence. By the time she gets back, I've convinced myself that I don't need any help from anybody and we usually spend weeks trying to develop a routine again.
This time is a little different than times past. There are usually times when she will call or email to check in on me. Even with that I fall apart. This time, those things won't happen.
I suppose a couple weeks or months from now, I will be able to look back at my posts and think wow that sucked but at least it's over...till next time.
Unfortunately, this really stirs up the internal need I have to push everyone away and be dependent on nobody. It makes me want to take care of myself completely and not need anyone.
Ugh...how many more days?
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
She's TOO Young
So unlike the last post, I am going to start off by saying this one is going to be judgemental. It maybe filled with disgust and a full blown eyes blazing red rant.
I had a very uncomfortable and unsolicited conversation with my brother's wife this weekend. I can't even tell you how it started because where it ended had me completely focused on what was said.
She told me it was probably about time for her to take my niece to get on birth control. My niece is 12. She is 12 years-old. TWELVE! She is a very immature 12 year-old.
When I asked if it was for health reasons, I was told NO. This is the explanation I got. "My mom never talked to me about that stuff. Your brother was having sex at her age and I don't want her to get stuck like I did. I didn't have any choices. I don't want her to have sex but I don't want her to end up like me."
WTF!!!!!!!!
So, teach your daughter the value of abstinence. Don't put your 12 year-old daughter in situations where she is faced with the decision to have sex.
Just because she had two kids by the time she was 17 doesn't mean her daughter has to follow in her footsteps.
I am positive that there is still a hole in my tongue and I still have steam seeping from my head. I was frankly pissed off that she would consider this as an option.
My brother started having sex at a young age because that's what he was taught. He was taught it was ok and normal. Both my brothers learned this.
I cannot claim to have held onto my virginity since it was stolen from me long before I knew what it was. However, as far as it had to do with me, I waited until I was 19 to have sex willingly for the first time. I was able separate what was forced on me and what I willingly did. There is no way I could have chosen to do that any sooner than I did.
I still cannot wrap my head around 12, 14, 16 or even 18 year-olds choosing to have sex. In fact, I didn't even get on birth control until I was 20.
If not for health reasons, why would you want to put a 12 year-old on birth control? If you want your child to not make the same mistakes you did, why wouldn't you try to teach them better? Teach them to not do what you did.
My niece and nephew are just entering puberty. They have so much growing up to do. They are still kids. I know they are going to grow up and there will be little anyone can say or do about it. This isn't about not wanting them to grow up. But it is about wanting them to have a fighting chance at holding onto their innocent minds and bodies for as long as possible.
The only thing I could say to this was...I think if my parents had put me on birth control at 12 I would have taken that as permission to be sexually active.
What else do you say when all you can do is restrain the physical anger that wants to jump out of you and take on the form of the Incredible Hulk?
I had a very uncomfortable and unsolicited conversation with my brother's wife this weekend. I can't even tell you how it started because where it ended had me completely focused on what was said.
She told me it was probably about time for her to take my niece to get on birth control. My niece is 12. She is 12 years-old. TWELVE! She is a very immature 12 year-old.
When I asked if it was for health reasons, I was told NO. This is the explanation I got. "My mom never talked to me about that stuff. Your brother was having sex at her age and I don't want her to get stuck like I did. I didn't have any choices. I don't want her to have sex but I don't want her to end up like me."
WTF!!!!!!!!
So, teach your daughter the value of abstinence. Don't put your 12 year-old daughter in situations where she is faced with the decision to have sex.
Just because she had two kids by the time she was 17 doesn't mean her daughter has to follow in her footsteps.
I am positive that there is still a hole in my tongue and I still have steam seeping from my head. I was frankly pissed off that she would consider this as an option.
My brother started having sex at a young age because that's what he was taught. He was taught it was ok and normal. Both my brothers learned this.
I cannot claim to have held onto my virginity since it was stolen from me long before I knew what it was. However, as far as it had to do with me, I waited until I was 19 to have sex willingly for the first time. I was able separate what was forced on me and what I willingly did. There is no way I could have chosen to do that any sooner than I did.
I still cannot wrap my head around 12, 14, 16 or even 18 year-olds choosing to have sex. In fact, I didn't even get on birth control until I was 20.
If not for health reasons, why would you want to put a 12 year-old on birth control? If you want your child to not make the same mistakes you did, why wouldn't you try to teach them better? Teach them to not do what you did.
My niece and nephew are just entering puberty. They have so much growing up to do. They are still kids. I know they are going to grow up and there will be little anyone can say or do about it. This isn't about not wanting them to grow up. But it is about wanting them to have a fighting chance at holding onto their innocent minds and bodies for as long as possible.
The only thing I could say to this was...I think if my parents had put me on birth control at 12 I would have taken that as permission to be sexually active.
What else do you say when all you can do is restrain the physical anger that wants to jump out of you and take on the form of the Incredible Hulk?
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
My Great Escape
This post will come across very judgemental, but truly is meant to be one about being thankful.
The weekend with some of my family made me realize how I take for granted my escape from my hometown.
My hometown is known for some of their more pure, Christian traits. They boast about it. Hold onto it as if they have it right and everyone else has it wrong. Each year they hold a biblical parade, which is unique and the oldest in the US. They have dozens of churches for the 2500 citizens with over 95% having church membership. Their town slogan is "Little town, bit heart." They have a progressive school district with much success in sports and academics.
It sounds like a great place to live, right?
You might even be thinking....Wow, this place has really evolved from the dysfunctional mess of the 70s, 80s, and 90s.
It probably started with a conversation about my cousin. Keep in mind, my brothers, cousins and many others did not come out unscathed. The deep depravity of my family was certainly not contained within the four walls of any of our homes.
The oldest of my female cousins has always been a bit difficult. She, like me, struggled with relationships and fertility and understanding how life worked. She has always been competitive and jealous of what others have (a trait that permeates my family). Prior to my husband, she destroyed nearly every relationship I began with a guy by sleeping with them. As soon as we set a date for our wedding, she got engaged and scheduled hers for a month earlier.
She may have been the first one of our generation to get married, but she was also the first to cheat on her spouse. A passed out drunken newlywed husband left her a hot mess and in bed with a relative of his. Evidently that behavior by both of them has tainted their entire marriage and has finally taken them to divorce court. Her husband takes care of their adopted child while she spends her nights at the local watering hole.
A couple of my other cousins and their wives are caught up in drugs and swinging. They have multiple children who they truly do not know which person is the father. Weekends are filled with parties where they drink themselves into oblivion and then swap partners with other town folk for a night of sex and immorality.
Like I said, it isn't contained just in my family. These also aren't the people from the less than 5% of unchurched people. The people involved in the sex swap are pastors, deacons, elders, teachers, officers, school administrators, business owners and so many more.
The immorality is not just found in weekend sex parties. It is found in the government and schools.
Last year, a business owner escaped charges for taking pictures of young boys in the pool changing room. I am not sure why, but it could have something to do with the amount of money he donates to the town.
More than one teacher has been arrested over the past couple years for having sex with or being indecent with students. One of them divorced his wife, married a former student and is now in jail for having sex with a different student.
A woman I know often posts on facebook about the wonderful kids she teaches in Sunday School. Days other than Sunday are usually full of posts about getting drunk and one-night stands.
There are so many more stories.
I am sure there are good people who have a strong moral compass in this town. I'm just not sure where they are.
It breaks my heart to know so many of these people are following in the footsteps of their parents. In school, they were filled with potential. Great athletes. Incredible talents. Amazing intelligence. They could have done many things. Instead, they stayed and fell into this trap of dysfunction.
But I, like a few others, got out. It took me 32 years, but I got out. Moving away wasn't enough. I had to completely divorce myself from it to break the bonds. It was so painful and hard. Despite how badly it needed to happen, it hurt me more than anyone else.
The first five years I could not see through the pain. I could not see what a good thing it was. I could not believe I had done the right thing. Sure, I accepted that breaking ties with my parents was right but I couldn't get there with everything else. But it was. It was the right thing. I could not see that I had escaped a long life of constantly being bound to these people and this place and the immorality and the dysfunction I was sure to perpetuate within my life. I could not see that the amount of pain in broken ties was minimal compared to the pain which would surely come if I never escaped the web.
It has taken me this long to accept that it took a lot of strength and power that was not of my own to escape the old life. It has never been easy and will continue to be painful. But, I have to embrace that it was the right thing for me. Even when it hurts the most, I have to remember that I am still much better off.
Any of those stories could have been me. I am by no means saying I am better than them, but I am saying I am thankful to have escaped. I am saying I am sad the others haven't found that strength. I am saying I have never been more mindful that I need to pray my nieces and nephews escape it too.
The weekend with some of my family made me realize how I take for granted my escape from my hometown.
My hometown is known for some of their more pure, Christian traits. They boast about it. Hold onto it as if they have it right and everyone else has it wrong. Each year they hold a biblical parade, which is unique and the oldest in the US. They have dozens of churches for the 2500 citizens with over 95% having church membership. Their town slogan is "Little town, bit heart." They have a progressive school district with much success in sports and academics.
It sounds like a great place to live, right?
You might even be thinking....Wow, this place has really evolved from the dysfunctional mess of the 70s, 80s, and 90s.
It probably started with a conversation about my cousin. Keep in mind, my brothers, cousins and many others did not come out unscathed. The deep depravity of my family was certainly not contained within the four walls of any of our homes.
The oldest of my female cousins has always been a bit difficult. She, like me, struggled with relationships and fertility and understanding how life worked. She has always been competitive and jealous of what others have (a trait that permeates my family). Prior to my husband, she destroyed nearly every relationship I began with a guy by sleeping with them. As soon as we set a date for our wedding, she got engaged and scheduled hers for a month earlier.
She may have been the first one of our generation to get married, but she was also the first to cheat on her spouse. A passed out drunken newlywed husband left her a hot mess and in bed with a relative of his. Evidently that behavior by both of them has tainted their entire marriage and has finally taken them to divorce court. Her husband takes care of their adopted child while she spends her nights at the local watering hole.
A couple of my other cousins and their wives are caught up in drugs and swinging. They have multiple children who they truly do not know which person is the father. Weekends are filled with parties where they drink themselves into oblivion and then swap partners with other town folk for a night of sex and immorality.
Like I said, it isn't contained just in my family. These also aren't the people from the less than 5% of unchurched people. The people involved in the sex swap are pastors, deacons, elders, teachers, officers, school administrators, business owners and so many more.
The immorality is not just found in weekend sex parties. It is found in the government and schools.
Last year, a business owner escaped charges for taking pictures of young boys in the pool changing room. I am not sure why, but it could have something to do with the amount of money he donates to the town.
More than one teacher has been arrested over the past couple years for having sex with or being indecent with students. One of them divorced his wife, married a former student and is now in jail for having sex with a different student.
A woman I know often posts on facebook about the wonderful kids she teaches in Sunday School. Days other than Sunday are usually full of posts about getting drunk and one-night stands.
There are so many more stories.
I am sure there are good people who have a strong moral compass in this town. I'm just not sure where they are.
It breaks my heart to know so many of these people are following in the footsteps of their parents. In school, they were filled with potential. Great athletes. Incredible talents. Amazing intelligence. They could have done many things. Instead, they stayed and fell into this trap of dysfunction.
But I, like a few others, got out. It took me 32 years, but I got out. Moving away wasn't enough. I had to completely divorce myself from it to break the bonds. It was so painful and hard. Despite how badly it needed to happen, it hurt me more than anyone else.
The first five years I could not see through the pain. I could not see what a good thing it was. I could not believe I had done the right thing. Sure, I accepted that breaking ties with my parents was right but I couldn't get there with everything else. But it was. It was the right thing. I could not see that I had escaped a long life of constantly being bound to these people and this place and the immorality and the dysfunction I was sure to perpetuate within my life. I could not see that the amount of pain in broken ties was minimal compared to the pain which would surely come if I never escaped the web.
It has taken me this long to accept that it took a lot of strength and power that was not of my own to escape the old life. It has never been easy and will continue to be painful. But, I have to embrace that it was the right thing for me. Even when it hurts the most, I have to remember that I am still much better off.
Any of those stories could have been me. I am by no means saying I am better than them, but I am saying I am thankful to have escaped. I am saying I am sad the others haven't found that strength. I am saying I have never been more mindful that I need to pray my nieces and nephews escape it too.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Happy Holiday
I am sitting here in a beautiful Branson condo with little more than family on my mind. Earlier I smashed my finger in a car door. My ankle is throbbing tonight. I have really not been getting along with my husband. Nothing physical nor emotional can tear my thoughts away from family, my family.
For once, I am not dwelling on or thinking of the past or the bad things, but I am fully living in the present. Really, that would be present as in gift.
My youngest brother and his family met us in Branson for the holiday weekend. Not just a once a year shuffling of children, but an actual vacation style trip. We are staying in a two bedroom condo. I feel a bit like a hen with her chicks all back in the nest. It is overwhelming to consider how big this is for me.
We have spent the evening having dinner, window shopping and enjoying one another. It has been far from perfect and yet it has been perfect for me. It's the first holiday I will be spending with family in 7 years.
So many nights I cried myself to sleep with the grief of knowing I had lost all connection to my family. Tonight, I could probably fall asleep with tearful joy.
This is the safest and healthiest contact I have with any family and it has taken 6 years to establish that. I will take it. I will hold onto it tightly and cherish every moment.
Now off to bed I must go. I have a full day ahead of amusement park and BBQ and ice cream and mini golf and swimming and whatever other activity we can possibly do.
For once, I am not dwelling on or thinking of the past or the bad things, but I am fully living in the present. Really, that would be present as in gift.
My youngest brother and his family met us in Branson for the holiday weekend. Not just a once a year shuffling of children, but an actual vacation style trip. We are staying in a two bedroom condo. I feel a bit like a hen with her chicks all back in the nest. It is overwhelming to consider how big this is for me.
We have spent the evening having dinner, window shopping and enjoying one another. It has been far from perfect and yet it has been perfect for me. It's the first holiday I will be spending with family in 7 years.
So many nights I cried myself to sleep with the grief of knowing I had lost all connection to my family. Tonight, I could probably fall asleep with tearful joy.
This is the safest and healthiest contact I have with any family and it has taken 6 years to establish that. I will take it. I will hold onto it tightly and cherish every moment.
Now off to bed I must go. I have a full day ahead of amusement park and BBQ and ice cream and mini golf and swimming and whatever other activity we can possibly do.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tornado of 1990 Something
No doubt, I love sitting in a group of people who are sharing stories about their families or childhood. It is so awesome to hear the funny and the dysfunctional and even the trying.
As I often search my memory bank for something to share in those times all I hear are crickets. Big, fat, awkward, crickets chirping in place of anything that might be appropriate to share. There's so very, very little that would ever be appropriate to share in those times. So, I always feel a tad bit alone in a group of people.
Each time I hear people talking about tornadoes, which is a lot right now, I remember my own brush with one. Again, it would be totally inappropriate to share the story in it's entirety with a group of people. To leave out the worst parts of it would not allow all of the pieces to fit together in a way that made sense.
It is hard to remember the exact year, I just know I was in high school. I lived in a town full of fools, no surprise I am sure. Even though it was in the heart of Tornado Alley, they placed a firm belief in an old wives tale. It was said that a town with a fork in the river on the east side of town would never be touched by a tornado.
Because of this foolishness, it was rare for anyone to take a tornado warning or siren seriously. Rarely did we ever head to the basement for safety. In fact, most people set on their porches and watched storms pass by.
My parents had a police scanner, as did most people in the small town. It was a way to perpetuate town gossip, but I digress.
The night the tornado hit our small town was a windy, stormy night already. As was the norm of so many of nights, I had endured hours of being beaten and raped. I had barely gotten the energy to throw on a shirt, one that barely covered me. My dad had opened my window and blind before he left my room. Not out of kindness, but because he loved to torture me with things I didn't like.
Just a side note...the shirt I put on was a Bart Simpson one that said "I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?" My mom thought it would be funny for me to wear that to school my freshman year to see if I would get in trouble. She succeeded. If anyone were to question my memory, I'd offer them a list of irrelevant details like this. I retain a gross amount of vivid details for years and years.
Amidst the roar of the winds and through my physical pain, the background noise of the scanner began to blare into existence. I still remember the first conscious moment I had of what was being said. "The son-of-a-bitch just jumped the river." The siren was already going off, yet we were all oblivious.
Everything from that point on seemed to happen in slow motion. I heard the roar, more than the wind. My blinds rattled as I heard my mom run to my brothers room, herding them down to the basement. As my dad ran past, he pulled my door shut. The pressure inside the room built as I heard neighbors running through the house to the basement. Our house was one of the few on the block with a basement.
For what seemed like hours, I tried to open my door. I could hear it coming. Since I had just been tortured for hours, I was fighting the wind and my own exhaustion. I barely got through the doorway as it slammed again behind me.
Ever the self-proclaimed hero, my dad had run outside to help a young lady into the house. We were all headed to the basement, even though I could see the disappointment in his face. I knew his looks. He was surprised I got myself out of the room and disappointed I would find my way to safety.
We watched out the small window of the basement as the tail of the tornado twisted down the street. It was early in the morning and we waited what seemed like forever for the all clear siren. One by one, we filed out of the basement to a dark and eerily calm world. It wouldn't be clear until daylight what damage had been done.
Our tornado was tiny compared to what you see on the news these days. The damage was minimal. No loss of life and only minor injuries. The property loss was small with a few camping trailers turned over, roof parts ripped off and broken windows.
I think the worst loss was the security the town people had in their urban legend.
Me, I lost nothing that night that I hadn't already lost years prior to that. The lack of caring my parents had for me, that was gone long before. That night was just a sad reminder that my life was meaningless to them, I was not worthy of being saved.
I can't go through tornado season, a severe thunderstorm, a newscast about tornado damage or a storm forecast without thinking about that night.
Not long after that night, the town was full of "I survived the ..... tornado." I never had one. Maybe because my shirt should read, "I survived a tornado and a whole crap load more in my crazy life."
As I often search my memory bank for something to share in those times all I hear are crickets. Big, fat, awkward, crickets chirping in place of anything that might be appropriate to share. There's so very, very little that would ever be appropriate to share in those times. So, I always feel a tad bit alone in a group of people.
Each time I hear people talking about tornadoes, which is a lot right now, I remember my own brush with one. Again, it would be totally inappropriate to share the story in it's entirety with a group of people. To leave out the worst parts of it would not allow all of the pieces to fit together in a way that made sense.
It is hard to remember the exact year, I just know I was in high school. I lived in a town full of fools, no surprise I am sure. Even though it was in the heart of Tornado Alley, they placed a firm belief in an old wives tale. It was said that a town with a fork in the river on the east side of town would never be touched by a tornado.
Because of this foolishness, it was rare for anyone to take a tornado warning or siren seriously. Rarely did we ever head to the basement for safety. In fact, most people set on their porches and watched storms pass by.
My parents had a police scanner, as did most people in the small town. It was a way to perpetuate town gossip, but I digress.
The night the tornado hit our small town was a windy, stormy night already. As was the norm of so many of nights, I had endured hours of being beaten and raped. I had barely gotten the energy to throw on a shirt, one that barely covered me. My dad had opened my window and blind before he left my room. Not out of kindness, but because he loved to torture me with things I didn't like.
Just a side note...the shirt I put on was a Bart Simpson one that said "I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?" My mom thought it would be funny for me to wear that to school my freshman year to see if I would get in trouble. She succeeded. If anyone were to question my memory, I'd offer them a list of irrelevant details like this. I retain a gross amount of vivid details for years and years.
Amidst the roar of the winds and through my physical pain, the background noise of the scanner began to blare into existence. I still remember the first conscious moment I had of what was being said. "The son-of-a-bitch just jumped the river." The siren was already going off, yet we were all oblivious.
Everything from that point on seemed to happen in slow motion. I heard the roar, more than the wind. My blinds rattled as I heard my mom run to my brothers room, herding them down to the basement. As my dad ran past, he pulled my door shut. The pressure inside the room built as I heard neighbors running through the house to the basement. Our house was one of the few on the block with a basement.
For what seemed like hours, I tried to open my door. I could hear it coming. Since I had just been tortured for hours, I was fighting the wind and my own exhaustion. I barely got through the doorway as it slammed again behind me.
Ever the self-proclaimed hero, my dad had run outside to help a young lady into the house. We were all headed to the basement, even though I could see the disappointment in his face. I knew his looks. He was surprised I got myself out of the room and disappointed I would find my way to safety.
We watched out the small window of the basement as the tail of the tornado twisted down the street. It was early in the morning and we waited what seemed like forever for the all clear siren. One by one, we filed out of the basement to a dark and eerily calm world. It wouldn't be clear until daylight what damage had been done.
Our tornado was tiny compared to what you see on the news these days. The damage was minimal. No loss of life and only minor injuries. The property loss was small with a few camping trailers turned over, roof parts ripped off and broken windows.
I think the worst loss was the security the town people had in their urban legend.
Me, I lost nothing that night that I hadn't already lost years prior to that. The lack of caring my parents had for me, that was gone long before. That night was just a sad reminder that my life was meaningless to them, I was not worthy of being saved.
I can't go through tornado season, a severe thunderstorm, a newscast about tornado damage or a storm forecast without thinking about that night.
Not long after that night, the town was full of "I survived the ..... tornado." I never had one. Maybe because my shirt should read, "I survived a tornado and a whole crap load more in my crazy life."
Monday, May 20, 2013
Insecurity Monster
Now that the upstairs of our house is done, it is time to tackle the basement. My husband started the process last weekend by bringing up a Rubbermaid container and cleaning it out. Inside the tub were varies items from the the past, more his past than mine.
He found his junior college diploma, old Boeing paraphernalia, newspapers from his time as a sports photographer, and a couple photos from the first month we dated.
We met January 1994, so these photos are nearly 20 years old. Honestly, I didn't recognize the teenager on the 8x10.
I was so small. My hair was terrible. My face was so skinny that I look sick. The worst part of it was that I was so ugly. I was physically ugly. In all fairness, the photo was taken less than a month after I stopped living on a combo of illegal drugs. I had lost 80 lbs in 6 months because I drank, took drugs, never ate and rarely slept. It wasn't the weight loss that made me ugly, it was just me.
What I remember about that time was how often my boyfriend (future husband) complimented me on how I looked. Whether we snuggled on a couch together or on the truck tailgate, he always pulled me close, kissed my forehead and told me I was pretty.
Here we are now nearly 20 years later and so much has changed. I certainly don't look like that ugly teenager anymore, but I do feel the ugliness.
I have so many other issues that I don't usually think about appearance. It is rare for me to feel insecure about my looks, but it does creep in once in a while. I'm definitely going through some of that right now.
For the past three weeks or so, I have tracked my calories and watched what I have eaten. I have been careful to not surpass my daily calorie count except for special days. While it has been slow and hard sometimes, I have lost 11 lbs to date. What's sad is that I have to lose 20 lbs or more for anyone to notice, especially my husband.
It is really hard to continue pushing yourself on a diet when there is no encouragement. The encouragement motivates you to keep pushing yourself even when you don't want to. I know, I know...you should want to do it for yourself and I totally do. It's just that encouragement makes it easier.
Is there anything worse for your self-esteem than feeling fat and ugly at the same time? I think not!
We watched "This is 40" last night. I laughed and cried. It is supposed to be a comedy, but it is so real. I think getting away from those endearing dating days is something we all eventually do. But, why do we have to?
Do we really just drift so far apart and let so much of life get in the way that we can't still see the beauty in the person we married? This year will mark our 15th wedding anniversary. There isn't a lot we don't do around each other and not a lot left to the imagination.
One scene of the movie was the couple having a serious conversation while the man is farting through the whole thing without missing a beat. He blames it on the mattress while the wife is talking through the gagging. Ladies...I'm sure most of you have experienced something similar. Life just gets that way after a while. But does it really have to?
I contend that it does not. I just don't know how to stop it. I've fallen into that sad, pathetic housewife whose self-esteem floats on the bottom of the barrel.
That picture was a slap in the face for me. How could he call that ugly teenager beautiful when he barely knew me? How can he know me so well now and yet go years without so much as a compliment? Have I gotten even uglier as I've aged? Does he know me so well that the most beautiful part of me was the mystery?
I'm not sure what the root of the problem or the solution is for us. What I do know is that if you haven't complimented your spouse lately, STOP what you are doing right now and go do it. Whether you know it or not, your spouse wants to be encouraged and loved and complimented just like they were before marriage and life and kids and jobs and homes and so much more came along.
He found his junior college diploma, old Boeing paraphernalia, newspapers from his time as a sports photographer, and a couple photos from the first month we dated.
We met January 1994, so these photos are nearly 20 years old. Honestly, I didn't recognize the teenager on the 8x10.
I was so small. My hair was terrible. My face was so skinny that I look sick. The worst part of it was that I was so ugly. I was physically ugly. In all fairness, the photo was taken less than a month after I stopped living on a combo of illegal drugs. I had lost 80 lbs in 6 months because I drank, took drugs, never ate and rarely slept. It wasn't the weight loss that made me ugly, it was just me.
What I remember about that time was how often my boyfriend (future husband) complimented me on how I looked. Whether we snuggled on a couch together or on the truck tailgate, he always pulled me close, kissed my forehead and told me I was pretty.
Here we are now nearly 20 years later and so much has changed. I certainly don't look like that ugly teenager anymore, but I do feel the ugliness.
I have so many other issues that I don't usually think about appearance. It is rare for me to feel insecure about my looks, but it does creep in once in a while. I'm definitely going through some of that right now.
For the past three weeks or so, I have tracked my calories and watched what I have eaten. I have been careful to not surpass my daily calorie count except for special days. While it has been slow and hard sometimes, I have lost 11 lbs to date. What's sad is that I have to lose 20 lbs or more for anyone to notice, especially my husband.
It is really hard to continue pushing yourself on a diet when there is no encouragement. The encouragement motivates you to keep pushing yourself even when you don't want to. I know, I know...you should want to do it for yourself and I totally do. It's just that encouragement makes it easier.
Is there anything worse for your self-esteem than feeling fat and ugly at the same time? I think not!
We watched "This is 40" last night. I laughed and cried. It is supposed to be a comedy, but it is so real. I think getting away from those endearing dating days is something we all eventually do. But, why do we have to?
Do we really just drift so far apart and let so much of life get in the way that we can't still see the beauty in the person we married? This year will mark our 15th wedding anniversary. There isn't a lot we don't do around each other and not a lot left to the imagination.
One scene of the movie was the couple having a serious conversation while the man is farting through the whole thing without missing a beat. He blames it on the mattress while the wife is talking through the gagging. Ladies...I'm sure most of you have experienced something similar. Life just gets that way after a while. But does it really have to?
I contend that it does not. I just don't know how to stop it. I've fallen into that sad, pathetic housewife whose self-esteem floats on the bottom of the barrel.
That picture was a slap in the face for me. How could he call that ugly teenager beautiful when he barely knew me? How can he know me so well now and yet go years without so much as a compliment? Have I gotten even uglier as I've aged? Does he know me so well that the most beautiful part of me was the mystery?
I'm not sure what the root of the problem or the solution is for us. What I do know is that if you haven't complimented your spouse lately, STOP what you are doing right now and go do it. Whether you know it or not, your spouse wants to be encouraged and loved and complimented just like they were before marriage and life and kids and jobs and homes and so much more came along.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
No Margin for Failure
As I have said on occasion, things are about to get very real. If you don't want to read through my pain tonight, then this is your chance to head on out.
I did something tonight that I haven't done in over two years. I tried to go to an evening bible study. It has been two years because of the incredible amount of pain I went through during the last several times I attended.
A few times, I disappeared for hours before anyone knew I was missing. It is all part of my disorder. Mostly, I had a very dysfunctional person who made those times very difficult and painful for me.
I had been thinking for a while that it might be time to try again. In fact, I had someone say to me in the past week that "time heals everything" and suggested I try again.
With great trepidation, I decided to try. It was a colossal failure. People came in, sat beside me. I felt as though the room was getting smaller. I was in complete sensory overwhelm with the voices and people. I couldn't handle it, I walked out before it ever started.
I understand that most people are going to consider the effort a success, especially since it was the first time in two years. I don't. It was a failure. I failed to make it through even five minutes of something I used to love doing.
I didn't have a choice but to leave. There was nobody there who would have understood my anxiety. Nobody. In a room full of people, I was completely alone.
The failure. The overwhelm. The crushing memories.
Honestly, I came home and crawled into bed. Why? Because I want so badly to stop this horrible pain I feel. I am doing my very best to not resort to cutting myself.
I know that is going to sound absolutely crazy to most people. However, the pain I feel is so deep and so overwhelming that I want to replace it with physical pain. That is what cutting does for me. It gives me a physical pain to feel instead of this emotional pain that I am so tired of feeling.
I have already tried a scalding hot bath with no relief. The hurt is still there. Night after night after night of this is wearing on me and wearing me out. I don't want to cut myself, but I don't want to be in emotional pain even more.
The rest of the night will be a fight. I'll fight the urge (NEED) to cut until I finally fall asleep or I start thinking of the bigger picture. The bigger picture always leads me down a road of hopelessness. I hate this and this is my life. This is how the majority of my nights go, tonight just started earlier.
I did something tonight that I haven't done in over two years. I tried to go to an evening bible study. It has been two years because of the incredible amount of pain I went through during the last several times I attended.
A few times, I disappeared for hours before anyone knew I was missing. It is all part of my disorder. Mostly, I had a very dysfunctional person who made those times very difficult and painful for me.
I had been thinking for a while that it might be time to try again. In fact, I had someone say to me in the past week that "time heals everything" and suggested I try again.
With great trepidation, I decided to try. It was a colossal failure. People came in, sat beside me. I felt as though the room was getting smaller. I was in complete sensory overwhelm with the voices and people. I couldn't handle it, I walked out before it ever started.
I understand that most people are going to consider the effort a success, especially since it was the first time in two years. I don't. It was a failure. I failed to make it through even five minutes of something I used to love doing.
I didn't have a choice but to leave. There was nobody there who would have understood my anxiety. Nobody. In a room full of people, I was completely alone.
The failure. The overwhelm. The crushing memories.
Honestly, I came home and crawled into bed. Why? Because I want so badly to stop this horrible pain I feel. I am doing my very best to not resort to cutting myself.
I know that is going to sound absolutely crazy to most people. However, the pain I feel is so deep and so overwhelming that I want to replace it with physical pain. That is what cutting does for me. It gives me a physical pain to feel instead of this emotional pain that I am so tired of feeling.
I have already tried a scalding hot bath with no relief. The hurt is still there. Night after night after night of this is wearing on me and wearing me out. I don't want to cut myself, but I don't want to be in emotional pain even more.
The rest of the night will be a fight. I'll fight the urge (NEED) to cut until I finally fall asleep or I start thinking of the bigger picture. The bigger picture always leads me down a road of hopelessness. I hate this and this is my life. This is how the majority of my nights go, tonight just started earlier.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Sins of the father are where it all begins....
I don't usually do this, but I am going to share a story with you that is not mine. It is a convoluted story that is going to be hard to follow for some of you. Even though it isn't my story, it is going to help explain a post I am planning to post soon.
This ordeal (and believe me, it's an ordeal!) with the murder of the young man I used to babysit has stirred up a lot of memories for me. Not only that, but it has brought a flood of info from back home that I don't want or need. Small town drama is something I left behind years ago and I cringe at the mere thought of it.
Not that I am trying to set up some kind of stereotype, but I babysat for a whole block of welfare moms. There was a certain level of trashy-ness. Most were single moms, a couple were married. The single and married ones caravaned to the bar on Friday and Saturday nights. They would often straggle home with a variety of shady characters and rarely the same ones week to week.
One of the moms would come get me and then the last one home would take me home, provided they weren't passed out by the time they hit the doorway. There were plenty of times I walked the 14 blocks home at 3 am.
There was a married couple who often were the last ones home, leaving the husband to take me home. The couple had 4 children all under 7 years old, the youngest was just a baby. The two oldest boys were fathered by two different dads who were not involved in their lives. The two youngest were a boy and girl fathered by the current husband.
On several occasions, the ride home I got from the husband included being molested and raped. Yes, I had abusers outside of my family. The danger in having abusers outside the family is that the abuse is so normalized in the home that you fail to see it as wrong.
Looking back, I know that the sexual abuse was not limited to just me. I saw behavior in everyone of the four children that would have indicated many levels of abuse.
In my late 20s, I heard from friends that this man had been put in prison. He had been found guilty of molesting several children. Obviously he had more victims than what anyone knew. A few years ago, I came across his obituary. He had died within months of his release from prison. I remember feeling a sense of relief.
This weekend, I learned that his youngest son is now serving time in prison. Earlier this year, he was arrested for stealing drugs from another man. I'd just like to say....who in the world reports stolen illegal drugs! Anyway, during his arrest, he was not told why he was being arrested. When the police began to question him, he confessed to molesting multiple children. That wasn't even what he had been charged with and it is unlikely he'd have gotten busted for that. In fact, it is unlikely he'd have served any time for stealing illegal drugs.
So, this young man whose dad served time for molesting is now serving time for the same crime.
The reality of this is that the young man was likely molested by his own dad. He grew up in a dysfunctional home where abuse was the norm. He lived a rough life. I know this will sound strange to most, but it is unlikely anyone ever told him that it was wrong to sexually abuse children. He truly became a product of his environment. He became who his dad taught him to be.
Although it does not excuse his behavior, you can certainly understand where it originated.
When a child lives in unfathomable circumstances, they have limited choice in how they cope. Please understand, I am not talking about living with parents who yell a lot or an alcoholic dad who gets mean. I am talking about living in constant turmoil and torture. I am talking about the situations where the abuse happens in consistent patterns, includes sexual, physical and mental or surviving potentially deadly circumstances. That is what I lived through, so that is the only kind of abusive background I can speak about fairly.
Children do NOT escape those families unscathed. It just does NOT happen. Probably the most common way to cope is to repress until they are old enough and then self medicate with drugs and alcohol and failed relationships, while coping with various bouts of depression, anxiety and PTSD. Some cope by conforming to the ways of the abusers, which was the case for this young man. In some cases, much less common, the child develops ways to cope with the violence against them. Their coping mechanism is the key to their survival, but is truly a mental illness which will hinder them as an adult.
That is where I fall. Over the next few weeks, I hope to share more with you about who I am and why I am the way I am. It is a big step for me to be transparent about something so personal. As I embrace the idea of not hiding who I am, I must also acknowledge that I too am a product of where I began.
This ordeal (and believe me, it's an ordeal!) with the murder of the young man I used to babysit has stirred up a lot of memories for me. Not only that, but it has brought a flood of info from back home that I don't want or need. Small town drama is something I left behind years ago and I cringe at the mere thought of it.
Not that I am trying to set up some kind of stereotype, but I babysat for a whole block of welfare moms. There was a certain level of trashy-ness. Most were single moms, a couple were married. The single and married ones caravaned to the bar on Friday and Saturday nights. They would often straggle home with a variety of shady characters and rarely the same ones week to week.
One of the moms would come get me and then the last one home would take me home, provided they weren't passed out by the time they hit the doorway. There were plenty of times I walked the 14 blocks home at 3 am.
There was a married couple who often were the last ones home, leaving the husband to take me home. The couple had 4 children all under 7 years old, the youngest was just a baby. The two oldest boys were fathered by two different dads who were not involved in their lives. The two youngest were a boy and girl fathered by the current husband.
On several occasions, the ride home I got from the husband included being molested and raped. Yes, I had abusers outside of my family. The danger in having abusers outside the family is that the abuse is so normalized in the home that you fail to see it as wrong.
Looking back, I know that the sexual abuse was not limited to just me. I saw behavior in everyone of the four children that would have indicated many levels of abuse.
In my late 20s, I heard from friends that this man had been put in prison. He had been found guilty of molesting several children. Obviously he had more victims than what anyone knew. A few years ago, I came across his obituary. He had died within months of his release from prison. I remember feeling a sense of relief.
This weekend, I learned that his youngest son is now serving time in prison. Earlier this year, he was arrested for stealing drugs from another man. I'd just like to say....who in the world reports stolen illegal drugs! Anyway, during his arrest, he was not told why he was being arrested. When the police began to question him, he confessed to molesting multiple children. That wasn't even what he had been charged with and it is unlikely he'd have gotten busted for that. In fact, it is unlikely he'd have served any time for stealing illegal drugs.
So, this young man whose dad served time for molesting is now serving time for the same crime.
The reality of this is that the young man was likely molested by his own dad. He grew up in a dysfunctional home where abuse was the norm. He lived a rough life. I know this will sound strange to most, but it is unlikely anyone ever told him that it was wrong to sexually abuse children. He truly became a product of his environment. He became who his dad taught him to be.
Although it does not excuse his behavior, you can certainly understand where it originated.
When a child lives in unfathomable circumstances, they have limited choice in how they cope. Please understand, I am not talking about living with parents who yell a lot or an alcoholic dad who gets mean. I am talking about living in constant turmoil and torture. I am talking about the situations where the abuse happens in consistent patterns, includes sexual, physical and mental or surviving potentially deadly circumstances. That is what I lived through, so that is the only kind of abusive background I can speak about fairly.
Children do NOT escape those families unscathed. It just does NOT happen. Probably the most common way to cope is to repress until they are old enough and then self medicate with drugs and alcohol and failed relationships, while coping with various bouts of depression, anxiety and PTSD. Some cope by conforming to the ways of the abusers, which was the case for this young man. In some cases, much less common, the child develops ways to cope with the violence against them. Their coping mechanism is the key to their survival, but is truly a mental illness which will hinder them as an adult.
That is where I fall. Over the next few weeks, I hope to share more with you about who I am and why I am the way I am. It is a big step for me to be transparent about something so personal. As I embrace the idea of not hiding who I am, I must also acknowledge that I too am a product of where I began.
Don't Ignore the Signs
“But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.”
― Albert Camus
Honestly, sometimes I don't have that much courage to live. However, I have failed to have the courage to die during those times of desperation. There are times when it isn't a lack of courage but something far bigger than me which keeps me alive.
I found myself in an awkward, yet enlightening, conversation this week that made me think through this all again. Not necessarily how the fate of my life teeters on destruction, but how others react to suicide and suicidal thinking.
One thing is clear, those who have never been in such despair, such anguish, well....they really don't understand. It is unfathomable to them because they have never been in the shoes of those who have contemplated suicide or followed through.
Some of the ladies who were talking knew a young man who recently committed suicide. The overwhelming consensus was that most could not really understand it. In fact of all the women in the conversation, only two people said they got what suicide was about. Both admitted that they had at times been so low that they considered it. They both said they reached out for help, which turned their lives around or saved their lives.
A public public figure recently lost his son to suicide. This quote came from a press release in the days following the loss. "He had a brilliant intellect and a gift for sensing who was most in pain or most uncomfortable in a room. He'd then make a bee-line to that person to engage and encourage them," he continued. "But only those closest knew that he struggled from birth with mental illness, dark holes of depression, and even suicidal thoughts. In spite of America's best doctors, meds, counselors, and prayers for healing, the torture of mental illness never subsided."
I love the gut-wrenching truth of this.
Those in pain often do have a sense about others who are in pain. They can often see what your average person cannot. They often find strength to encourage others even when while they are slipping away.
Only those closest... Oh how true this is. Only the closest ever know and even sometimes they don't. There is rarely anyone who knows just how bad things are for me until the time has passed. I don't reach out to anyone because the few times I have ended in total disaster and loss of trust.
Despite all the best help possible, this young man still lost the fight. Believe me, struggling with a mental illness is an everyday fight. It is torture. Unfortunately, I have one of those illnesses that will be life-long. In fact, my illness has such a high morbidity rate that it is nearly impossible for me to purchase life insurance. While it isn't a death sentence, it is a life sentence.
Over the past few months, I have shared quite openly with anyone who has asked that I am so depressed I constantly want to die. Through text, email, phone call, facebook, I have very honestly shared my suicidal thinking. Never did I share that as a way to shock anyone. I was being honest! Since January, I have shared that very open and frankly with over a dozen people, maybe double that by now. Only 1 person has ever followed up with me or asked any questions about me getting help. Not one person contacted my husband nor made sure I was ok the next day. That's a hard one to swallow.
I share that with you again, only as a plea. Not necessarily a plea for me, I know I'll survive until I don't. But, I share this as a plea for anyone around you. I know I have shared something similar to this before now, but please hear me out again.
If someone says to you that they want to die, do NOT ignore it. Step outside of your average life for a moment. Step outside of your world where most days the worst thing that happens to you is that they don't fix your latte correctly. If someone is sharing with you that they are in such despair that they are considering suicide, you have an obligation to not ignore it. Contact that person the next day. Contact their spouse. Contact their neighbor. That person is obviously stuck in a life which is out of control and possibly so far out of control that they will die.
Please know that I do believe suicide is a choice made by the person doing it and nobody can bare any guilt over that. However, you have to know that someone sharing that deep, darkness with you quite possibly is their one and only attempt to ask for help. Don't ignore it!
― Albert Camus
Honestly, sometimes I don't have that much courage to live. However, I have failed to have the courage to die during those times of desperation. There are times when it isn't a lack of courage but something far bigger than me which keeps me alive.
I found myself in an awkward, yet enlightening, conversation this week that made me think through this all again. Not necessarily how the fate of my life teeters on destruction, but how others react to suicide and suicidal thinking.
One thing is clear, those who have never been in such despair, such anguish, well....they really don't understand. It is unfathomable to them because they have never been in the shoes of those who have contemplated suicide or followed through.
Some of the ladies who were talking knew a young man who recently committed suicide. The overwhelming consensus was that most could not really understand it. In fact of all the women in the conversation, only two people said they got what suicide was about. Both admitted that they had at times been so low that they considered it. They both said they reached out for help, which turned their lives around or saved their lives.
A public public figure recently lost his son to suicide. This quote came from a press release in the days following the loss. "He had a brilliant intellect and a gift for sensing who was most in pain or most uncomfortable in a room. He'd then make a bee-line to that person to engage and encourage them," he continued. "But only those closest knew that he struggled from birth with mental illness, dark holes of depression, and even suicidal thoughts. In spite of America's best doctors, meds, counselors, and prayers for healing, the torture of mental illness never subsided."
I love the gut-wrenching truth of this.
Those in pain often do have a sense about others who are in pain. They can often see what your average person cannot. They often find strength to encourage others even when while they are slipping away.
Only those closest... Oh how true this is. Only the closest ever know and even sometimes they don't. There is rarely anyone who knows just how bad things are for me until the time has passed. I don't reach out to anyone because the few times I have ended in total disaster and loss of trust.
Despite all the best help possible, this young man still lost the fight. Believe me, struggling with a mental illness is an everyday fight. It is torture. Unfortunately, I have one of those illnesses that will be life-long. In fact, my illness has such a high morbidity rate that it is nearly impossible for me to purchase life insurance. While it isn't a death sentence, it is a life sentence.
Over the past few months, I have shared quite openly with anyone who has asked that I am so depressed I constantly want to die. Through text, email, phone call, facebook, I have very honestly shared my suicidal thinking. Never did I share that as a way to shock anyone. I was being honest! Since January, I have shared that very open and frankly with over a dozen people, maybe double that by now. Only 1 person has ever followed up with me or asked any questions about me getting help. Not one person contacted my husband nor made sure I was ok the next day. That's a hard one to swallow.
I share that with you again, only as a plea. Not necessarily a plea for me, I know I'll survive until I don't. But, I share this as a plea for anyone around you. I know I have shared something similar to this before now, but please hear me out again.
If someone says to you that they want to die, do NOT ignore it. Step outside of your average life for a moment. Step outside of your world where most days the worst thing that happens to you is that they don't fix your latte correctly. If someone is sharing with you that they are in such despair that they are considering suicide, you have an obligation to not ignore it. Contact that person the next day. Contact their spouse. Contact their neighbor. That person is obviously stuck in a life which is out of control and possibly so far out of control that they will die.
Please know that I do believe suicide is a choice made by the person doing it and nobody can bare any guilt over that. However, you have to know that someone sharing that deep, darkness with you quite possibly is their one and only attempt to ask for help. Don't ignore it!
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Waiting for Fall
I am doing my absolute best to not focus on all that is lost today and on what is good. I have even tried to be mad at random things, but that's not working either. The tears consume me as I just let me heart sit in the heaviness of life.
Commercials, email, facebook, blogs, stores....they are all focused on today and the love that most people naturally feel. I can't escape it.
Cleaning out my email earlier, I came across a quite extensive back and forth written conversation I had with a Christian man a few years ago. To summarize, he was firm in his belief that I needed to honor my father and mother as the bible says. I stood firm in my belief that the bible does not say to honor evil, which is what my parents are without question.
My mom (notice, I would NEVER call her a mother as that would indicate she deserved some measure of respect) is not worthy of being honored. In fact, Matthew 18:6 is far more adequate for my parents. "But if you cause one of these little ones who trusts in me to fall into sin, it would be better for you to have a large millstone tied around your neck and be drowned in the depths of the sea."
She doesn't deserve honor, but she doesn't deserve my tears either. My heavy heart, grieving tears are far too precious for her either. When I was young, crying was usually a sentence for more punishment. My parents couldn't stand crying. Like hitting us more would really make us stop crying any faster!
Frankly, these tears are for me. They are for what I've missed. They are for the days the past couple weeks that I've been in excruciating pain and didn't have my mom to call for comfort. They are for days like today when all the miscarriages weigh so heavily on me and I have no mom to encourage me. They are for all the beauty I have in my life that I have no mom to share it with.
Thankfully there aren't too many of these big days during the year. Thankfully, there's only one more and then I get a reprieve until fall.
Commercials, email, facebook, blogs, stores....they are all focused on today and the love that most people naturally feel. I can't escape it.
Cleaning out my email earlier, I came across a quite extensive back and forth written conversation I had with a Christian man a few years ago. To summarize, he was firm in his belief that I needed to honor my father and mother as the bible says. I stood firm in my belief that the bible does not say to honor evil, which is what my parents are without question.
My mom (notice, I would NEVER call her a mother as that would indicate she deserved some measure of respect) is not worthy of being honored. In fact, Matthew 18:6 is far more adequate for my parents. "But if you cause one of these little ones who trusts in me to fall into sin, it would be better for you to have a large millstone tied around your neck and be drowned in the depths of the sea."
She doesn't deserve honor, but she doesn't deserve my tears either. My heavy heart, grieving tears are far too precious for her either. When I was young, crying was usually a sentence for more punishment. My parents couldn't stand crying. Like hitting us more would really make us stop crying any faster!
Frankly, these tears are for me. They are for what I've missed. They are for the days the past couple weeks that I've been in excruciating pain and didn't have my mom to call for comfort. They are for days like today when all the miscarriages weigh so heavily on me and I have no mom to encourage me. They are for all the beauty I have in my life that I have no mom to share it with.
Thankfully there aren't too many of these big days during the year. Thankfully, there's only one more and then I get a reprieve until fall.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Not Technically
I have been on this roller coaster lately that has tossed my fragile heart around like a rag doll. No kidding, I've cried like a baby watching tv shows or over silly things.
At first, I blamed it on my husband traveling. However, it wasn't as bad a normal. I had a couple dear friends that made it so much easier this time.
Then I realized it is all about Mother's Day, but not the usual way.
Everything has changed this year. But that's not even it. We made a trip back to visit my mother-in-law. It was awkward and miserable and completely not enjoyable whatsoever. It is probably one of the few remaining days we can celebrate her when she actually has some clue we are related to her.
I still have no mother to celebrate. But that's not even it. I have long come to the realization that God did not give me a mother to be celebrated. I am just one of those people. You know, the one whose mother is only deserving of a garage sale, coffee-stained, cracked mug that says "World's Worst Mom."
While I headed painfully into the card isle with my husband last night, a woman asked me why Hallmark didn't make "Mom-to-be" cards. My response, "I'm sure they do, they have a card for everything!" A few seconds later, I pointed her to the right area. Happy to help!
As I scanned the cards, I found so many. From Mother to Daughter. From Husband to Wife. Mother to be. Like a Mother. From Son to Mother. To Sister from Brother. Religious. Funny. Singing. Sappy. Sparkles. Plain. Money holder. Yes, it was ALL there....almost.
You know what is missing? Almost a Mother. There is no card to acknowledge a woman who has tried and failed by no fault of her own. Nothing to commiserate the countless mornings of puking only to never hear a babies cry. Evidently, the only thing that makes you a mother is actually delivering a live baby who gets a name and thrives for at least a certain amount of time. Going through all of the hope and promise of motherhood only to lose it all leaves nothing to be celebrated.
Yes, that is exactly what has been so hard this week. For all that I have been through, all that I have done to become a mother, all of the failures....it's meaningless to the rest of the world.
At first, I blamed it on my husband traveling. However, it wasn't as bad a normal. I had a couple dear friends that made it so much easier this time.
Then I realized it is all about Mother's Day, but not the usual way.
Everything has changed this year. But that's not even it. We made a trip back to visit my mother-in-law. It was awkward and miserable and completely not enjoyable whatsoever. It is probably one of the few remaining days we can celebrate her when she actually has some clue we are related to her.
I still have no mother to celebrate. But that's not even it. I have long come to the realization that God did not give me a mother to be celebrated. I am just one of those people. You know, the one whose mother is only deserving of a garage sale, coffee-stained, cracked mug that says "World's Worst Mom."
While I headed painfully into the card isle with my husband last night, a woman asked me why Hallmark didn't make "Mom-to-be" cards. My response, "I'm sure they do, they have a card for everything!" A few seconds later, I pointed her to the right area. Happy to help!
As I scanned the cards, I found so many. From Mother to Daughter. From Husband to Wife. Mother to be. Like a Mother. From Son to Mother. To Sister from Brother. Religious. Funny. Singing. Sappy. Sparkles. Plain. Money holder. Yes, it was ALL there....almost.
You know what is missing? Almost a Mother. There is no card to acknowledge a woman who has tried and failed by no fault of her own. Nothing to commiserate the countless mornings of puking only to never hear a babies cry. Evidently, the only thing that makes you a mother is actually delivering a live baby who gets a name and thrives for at least a certain amount of time. Going through all of the hope and promise of motherhood only to lose it all leaves nothing to be celebrated.
Yes, that is exactly what has been so hard this week. For all that I have been through, all that I have done to become a mother, all of the failures....it's meaningless to the rest of the world.
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