Hurt feelings

 Last night T revealed something. Several months ago I shared a provocative picture of myself. I think it was me in some lingerie, a bra and panties. He made casual remark of feeling uncomfortable knowing that someone else has this picture of me. I shrugged it off and explained that I figure they probably have lots of pics of different women. Didn’t think of it again. Last night it came up again. Apparently he had never been sent a lingerie pic before, that’s not something his previous partners did. That was his first and he had to reckon with the idea that I’m more worldly than he is. And that made me feel some kind of way. He’s not used to being with someone who openly enjoys sex and intimacy like I do. Now I’m trying to figure out why I feel the way I do. 

Is it shame? Adrian says shame statements start with “I should have” - i.e. I should have waited longer to have sex with him. I should have used a condom. I should have held out on intimacy. I don’t want to feel shame. Maybe I did jump into this too quickly, as evidenced by the fall out from Valentines Day. I thought I knew him well, or at least well enough, but apparently i don’t. 

But why am I feeling shame? Why do I have this instinct to withdraw? Is it feeling of judgment? He adamantly insists that he isn’t, that he doesn’t want me to change anything about myself, that he loves how open and free I am. 

A few days ago I shared with him how I’m excited to buy new swimwear and I’m looking forward to wearing my bikini and thong on the cruise. He shared a skeptical face emoji, and apparently he doesn’t like the idea of something that is “his” being made available to the public. That some things should only be available for him, to include my butt cheeks. I don’t agree with that, it seems silly/foolish to me. Who cares what ppl look at, what’s that got to do with me? I’m not talking to these ppl, I’m not interacting, and I definitely don’t wear bikinis for the gaze of an unknown bystander. 

I could fall down a rabbit hole wondering how many men feel that way. Is that common, for men to expect some sort of say or censure in regards to what their partner wears? Willie never gave a damn but he didn’t give s damn about me either. Craig didn’t seem to mind when I went to the beach with him. T said that it doesn’t matter if I’m with him or not, he doesn’t like it. We talked, and I’m not changing anything, but it bothers me to know he has that mindset. 

And now this. 

I’ve decided, if he makes any attempt to shame me or make me out to be loose or harlot or anything - I’m leaving. I love myself more than anything and anyone (other than William). 

16 Apr 2023

 I wish someone could come save me. 

Someone to swoop in, capable and confident, to resolve my shortcomings and conflicts. Easily wrapping each problem in a neat bow.  Then pull me in for a hug, and tell me that everything is going to be okay. 

Once again I'm in a situation where I could use help, but have no one to turn to. Even though I ostensibly have a man in my life. For all his shortcomings as far as personality and manipulation go, Craig would have been here to fix my a/c. He would have had the know-how and knowledge to be able to talk me thru what I need to do, and he would have driven down to fix it. Even if he had to bring his kids with. Taffy... is only an hour away. I don't want to compare, because its' apples to oranges, but it's a reality of what being with him is like. I'm with a man who offers nothing to me.  Why? 

We went to New Orleans. He booked the flights: American, with a layover in Miami. I booked the hotel. I booked the tour ($55 each). I booked the party bus ($20). He paid for dinner; We both had gumbo ($14) and a drink each (?), and he bought our alcohol for the party bus. He paid for breakfast. Yes, I'm keeping tabs because it feels uneven. It feels imbalanced. Why? 

I have a lot to offer. I'm attractive, I'm affectionate, I'm worldly, I make good money, I'm passionate, I'm adventurous. 

He is tall, he is moderately attractive, he is affectionate, he is kind, he is spiritual, he is thoughtful, he is empathic. He has potential... 

Does he inspire growth? No, he is seeking to grow. He doesn't even know what he doesn't know. So where can he take me... ?  

Real time: what is he doing for me right now? He makes me feel good, he says loving things, gives physical affection, is someone to talk to. He offers an empathic ear when I'm frustrated or overwhelmed, but he doesn't offer anything else. I'm very much on my own, and that rubs me the wrong way. I feel that if someone is my man, he should show that he can shoulder that responsibility. 

He hasn't shown beyond a reasonable doubt that he is THAT dude. And I need that kind of certainty before I can really dedicate myself to being with someone.

On another note: I don't like how down I get when faced with adversity. I look to others for help or guidance, and on a certain level I do feel like I wasn't meant to be here on my own. But the fact of the matter is that I am on my own. Yes, God is my co-pilot. Yes, My family and ancestors cheer me on from beyond - but can they cashap me money to pay for Williams' camp or AC repair or fixing my car? Nope. 

I should have dropped him in February. Why didn't I? Because Petey prophesized him. She said God was bringing me a man, and I'd know he's the one because of his relationship with William. They're really going to bond well. And he's going to be a God Fearing man. And he's going to want to take care of me, and I have to let him. 

Everything tracks except for the "take care of me" part. He wants to... he professes that he does. But he doesn't. Is it worth my time? My energy, my effort?

13 April 2023

 It's 5:43 am, on a Thursday morning. I have a headache already. 

Something is wrong with me, and I'm not sure what. I feel powerless and unable/unwilling to do anything. There's so much that I'm avoiding, it doesn't make sense and I don't know why, so in an attempt to make it make sense I'm writing them down and the feelings I associate with it. 

1) Italian documents: in February Rapisardo emailed me several documents to sign, scan back and mail back... I haven't. No good reason. It's so easy to print out, sign, scan and send back to him. Not only have I not, I've been avoiding his messages and his phone calls. I'm also now avoiding Nonna's calls, because I suspect that he has reached out to Alfredo who has then reached out to her. Why... why am I avoiding this. 

    Feelings: Guilt, discomfort, shame. I want to pretend like it doesn't exist, and don't want any reminders of it. Out of sight, out of mind. IF I ignore it'll go away.

2) OPB - it's time for the Officer Performance Brief, the new version of the OPR. I hate OPRs, I always have a hard time with them. 

    Feelings: Dread. Shame. Inadequate. I'm not good enough. Avoidance, if I ignore it'll go away.

3) HOA - This one is confusing. There's HOA fees, and then there's this Vesta fee. I set up automatic withdrawal for one, but I also owe for another? I'm very much confused. It slips my mind, but then they send letters to my house saying I owe - but I'm still not understanding who or what I owe for. 

4) Working out - I know I need to. I want to be fit and trim for my birthday, which is coming up in August. All I'm doing is the weight loss medicine. No kind of organized diet, my nutrition is no good. I know I don't eat enough protein, not enough veggies, not enough fiber. I'm not sure what I'm eating honestly, it's quite haphazard. Not to mention that my fitness test is coming up in August, and I'm not training at all. 

5) Birthday planning - it is now April, my birthday is Aug 1. I have nothing planned. No notice, no save the date, no air bnb, nothing. Why. 

These are all big things. Why am I acting this way? It is not in my best interest to do this. But I don't want to do anything. I feel dread, I feel shame, but I just want to lay in bed and sleep or lay in the sun. I don't want to be productive in any way, I'm content to just lay here and avoid thinking about it. I can't do that. I need to get out of this stagnant energy. 

Not to mention that my house is a mess. Dirty plates in the kitchen since Monday. Clean clothes piled up in my chair waiting to be put away. Suitcase from the weekend on the floor, still full of clothes. 

I'm going to reach out for an emotion code balancing, I feel off.

Overwhelmed and Frustrated

 Today was another frustrating day. 

First, trying to rush William out the door this morning. Despite prepping him yesterday, making him go to bed early at 20:00 and waking him he still dragged his feet this morning. At one point I found him laying on the couch in the dark. I yelled at him, and he got up and went upstairs ostensibly to find socks - stayed up there for 10-15 minutes, doing what I will never know. Either lying down or playing with his legos. I was infuriated. I dressed, fixed his lunch, took Luke out, fed Luke, fed Kitty Baby all in the time it took him to get dressed. I think stood and watched him brush his teeth and brush his hair. He has no sense of priority, no rush, no hurry. I wanted to thrash him. It's so frustrating to see. He's old enough where he understands the idea of consequences, of cause and effect. He understands the words I'm saying, and the directives, but he doesn't translate it to action. My words mean nothing to him, he just doesn't give a fuck. Oh he'll act like he's sorry, he'll droop his shoulders and look forlorn and bruised but he doesn't change his actions at all. Nothing changes. 

This afternoon on the way home after picking him up from aftercare I asked if he had his math studyguide. His math teacher, Ms. Austill, sent parents an email yesterday giving us a heads up that she would be sending the students home with a study guide to prepare them for their math test tomorrow. You know this boy told me he left his blue math folder at home. Said that he didn't hear Ms. Austill tell them to take it home. I'm so sick of his scholastic laziness. Sick of it. I've yelled, I've fussed, I've guilted, I've lectured... he gets upset, he cries, and says I'm so mean yet here we are... not giving a fuck. I've already restricted ipad use to only weekends. So I kept him home from soccer. He was supposed to have soccer practice today, and I told him that since he doesn't take school seriously he doesn't need to be playing soccer. That school is more important than soccer is, and that since he left his math folder at school that he'll take the time he would have been at practice to practice on his math. Logged him into iReady and he did 30 minutes of math. After that I made him read for 30 minutes. That's an hour. He was sad about missing soccer but I told him that school is a priority. If he wants to do fun things he needs to be more serious about school. I hope that works. I can't afford him to be stupid like his daddy. My greatest mistake in life was pairing with that man. I cannot fathom how much my association with him has tainted and soured the promise of my life path. 

 I don't want him to grow up to be yet another useless ass man. A liability. 

This single mom shit is hard. There is so much to do and not a lot of time available to do it. Paying bills, homeowner shit, william school shit, extracurricular shit, work shit, taking care of my self shit, housework shit, yard work shit, car shit, dog shit, cat shit. Hell it's been a year and I still have boxes that need unpacking!! I don't have the available resources to confront each thing, I. am. tired. My default is tired.  Even if I get a nice day of relaxation to myself, by Tuesday I'm exhausted again. When will I get my feet under me, when will things straighten out? 

Sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm tired of complaining. I'm exhausted and fed up, exasperated. I don't even want to talk about it, because whyyyyy. To what end? It isn't going to change anything. My life isn't going to improve by dumping my thoughts and worries and mental burdens on someone else. They can't help me. I don't want to be someone to pity or feel sorry for. Yeah, single mom life is kicking my ass but this is temporary. The turn is right around the corner, things are going to improve. Things are going to change. How? I don't know. William will become more responsible - he'll be proactive in his things, completing his chores and doing his school work/studies. His grades will improve, so I can stop paying for a tutor. My car a/c will get fixed. My HVAC system will be cleaned and maintained. I'll get new flooring in my bedroom so the ratty carpet will begone. I"ll get someone to pick up this damn dining room table, clearing space out of the dining room and giving me room to tackle those boxes of books. I'll promote to major, giving me a raise. Mom's 401k. The Italy house stuff. 

I dream of having someone to share these responsibilities with, but I honestly can't imagine living with someone. Having another adult in my house with me, sharing my space with them? All my secrets, the weird shit I do in the evenings before bed when no one else is around to see. I haven't met that person.

Dual parent homes

I finally caught up with my BGs on Marco polo. We hadn't talked in a few weeks, since valentines day really. I've been kind of in my hermit kick, holing away until I feel better. 

Courtney is looking to slow down her career, is stepping down from her director position and she announced her and Paul's plan to launch his full time photography career. She shared how he wants to be home more, and the Post Office is hard on his body. Not to mention it's a dead-end job. Jamie has been voicing his desire to have his daddy around, and Paul doesn't want to miss out on these core memories. Jan shared how she appreciates that Lew works from home and is readily available, and hopes that he is able to continue doing that for some time. 

Courtney then shared some childhood memories of having her dad around, at games and picking her up from school, and just his ready availability when her mom was getting her masters degree and both Jan and her shared their decision making process. It was beautiful hearing about how they sat down with their husbands and planned what they want their future to look like. Those kids are so blessed to have two parents with a shared vision of growth and aspirations for their family, and I can't help but to feel like someone on the outside looking in. 

I can't imagine what that must be like, to have a Partner to plan my life with. Even when I was married, there was no planning. He didn't have any aspirations, why would he, he was already living at his peak. I cannot fathom being with someone and growing together, tangibly. Establishing a goal and working toward that, for the mutual benefit of our family. I think I'm screwed. 

From what I've seen so far, it's not promising. I haven't met any man who wants to grow with me, or is growing, or interested in a "us" as a family. I'm not sure that exists, or if it exists I'm not sure that I'll find one. 

Adrian says to remember God is my co-pilot, I'm holding on to that. God wouldn't leave me hanging. I'm not alone in this. Although I feel very alone. I don't know how my mom did it, but then again she also made a lot of mistakes so... that's probably how. 

I feel so incredibly lonely. 

Journaling - March 15

Usually I prefer to physically write my journal prompts, but I feel that I'm going to have a lot to write this time around and I don't want my hand to get tired and I get lazy. 

Adrian says that anger helps us see where we are being violated/trespassed and where we need stronger boundaries. I've felt a lot of anger lately, towards Willie and towards Tavarean. She says I still have a lot of unprocessed grief related to my divorce and failed marriage, and encouraged me to do some journaling regarding that. I also need to do some journaling regarding Tavarean, and my anger and grief and indecision regarding him. First Willie - 

I havent' been on Blogger in probably years, and the first post I saw was one dated January 2020. I think it was an unsent text message. I read it again, it seemed like the for the first time, and it brought back so many memories of loneliness and gaslighting. I read more entries, and remembered just how miserable I was with him. How poorly he treated me. How alone and isolated I felt. The man who was supposed to take care of me, treating me like common garbage. Adrian says that I get so triggered by him because there's still unprocessed feelings. I don't know how to process those feelings. 

Old pictures of us get to me. I'm 39 now, I was a few weeks shy of 21 when I met him. He turned 36 about 8 weeks after we met. I remember when I was 36, and realized that I was the same age when we met... and looking at 21 year old as ignorant kids. You couldn't pay me to hang out with someone under the age of 25. I have one friend, Maya who is 10 years younger than me... and that's only because we were roommates in COT. Otherwise I don't think I would have befriended her because she's so friggin young. Yet this man met me, and thought I'd be a good choice of a wife. 

Why did my mom encourage it? Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to date, she didn't think twice of the age difference. I guess she thought he'd be a good pastime for the summer, but I was 20... what made her think that I knew anything about having a "pastime"? And why didn't she ever sit me down and talk to me about the relationship, the inappropriateness, the lack of a fruitful future? She knew, there is no way that she couldn't see the fat-ass bold writing on the wall, but she let it happen. Why didn't she love me enough to re-direct my future? Why wasn't she proactive in directing my life trajectory? I shouldn't have had to learn all of this from first-hand experience. I can also recognize that I had never seen her with a "quality" partner, none of her partners were ever on her same social level or professional level. It never occurred to me to look for that in a potential partner. 

Our wedding pictures sicken me. 

I see my bright youthful optimistic face full of hope for the future, and in his face all I see is avarice and greed. I feel like he used up my youth. He drained me of vitality and opportunities, while he stalled with his lies and obfuscations, demanding to be the "head" of a household he didn't have the wherewithal or savvy to lead. He took from me, took advantage of my mother's love for me and my son, of her desire to see us happy, and had no intention of ever being able to support or provide the lifestyle he knew I wanted. He had no issue with taking from my mom, from me, from my nonna - he never hesitated to take a handout, with no plan to reimburse or reciprocate. 

Now looking back he has so many qualities that I abhor in a man, but I don't know if that's because of my experience with him so now I'm super sensitive.

It's the lack of return on investment. I believed him for so many years. Promises of applying for programs, degrees, Personal Training, always followed by excuses and reasons why he couldn't. I believed him because I loved him, he was my husband so why would he lie to me? But he did. He never showed any vulnerability to me, was never willing to indicate that he didn't know or wasn't sure or was worried about anything. Even when he blew his knee, he was always adamant that it's not because of old age, that it's an injury that could happen to anyone at any age. I never understood why he would repeat that over and over again, he would get so offended if anyone suggested it was because he was old. Now I know that he was insecure about it. The one thing he had was his physical strength and prowess, and here he was approaching 50 and his knee gave out on him. 

I don't know what to write - but he disgusts me as a man. He's the ultimate example of a failure, he's CAT (lacking courage aspiration and truth) the basics of what a "man" should be. TAke gender away, he lacks the basic building blocks of what a good person should be. He is all talk, no action. He makes promises but doesn't uphold. He holds more importance in image versus substance or reality, and will go to great lengths to portray the image of a Good Man and a Beautiful Family but doesn't seem to grasp the reality of what that means. 

 When I think of the marriage - I feel anger. Anger at Willie for using me and ruining my future, and anger/sadness at myself for allowing myself to be led down this path. Granted, how could I have known. I'm angry for that young girl not having any guidance. I'm angry at the adults around her for not giving her guidance, particularly her mother. 

I Just rented Adult Children of Emotionally Unavailable Parents, going to listen to the audiobook, that's another issue altogether. 

I tried really hard for that marriage to work. I had a vision for a future, and his insecurities and ignorance hobbled us from day one. I sought a partner to lead me, and he was too ignorant to even know what he didn't know.  

Now I have to be my own leader, which is fine, but it isn't easy. I'll follow-up with another post about dating and seeking a partner. 

Willie disgusts me at because although my expectations are pretty basic/Mickey Mouse, he still consistently fails. I don't know what his baseline is, and thus I continuously overestimate his abilities and subsequently am continuously disappointed by him. That disappointment triggers remnants of disappointment from my own father, who did nothing but fail as a dad. I so hoped to have found a "better" father in Willie than I had, and in some ways he was better. He didn't' do drugs, and he didn't run off to leave me to raise 2 daughters alone in a country where I didn't speak the language well ... but he's still a shitty father and husband. That triggers my anger, because I'd hope/expect him to do better by William. I can understand not giving a damn about me or my desires but at the very least do better to provide a good life and childhood for his only son.

January 2020 writing prompt

January 2020 writing prompt

"Write about a time someone talked you into doing something you didn't want to do"


Candles flicker against the dank stone walls of a basement, outlining the periphery of an elaborate pentagram chalked onto the bare concrete floor.  Deep cold seeps through the fabric of my jeans, numbing my legs at the pressure points.  Droplets of a dark sticky substance are spattered across the floor but when I try to focus my gaze on them my head starts to swim.  I'm so tired. The air hangs heavy with the mixed scent of beeswax and old damp, and something else that I'm afraid to name.

Why is that so important? I get the nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something important, something vital but what?

At that moment a faint scuffing noise draws my attention to the darkest corner of the room, which the faint candlelight refuses to illuminate.  My disorientation worsens as I try to decipher the shadows in that dark corner, as if my eyes refuse to focus no matter how much I concentrate my efforts.  They refuse to dwell there, I can't see a thing, only a hazy darkness. What am I doing here? Where am I?

"Julien? Is that you?" A small familiar voice calls out from that corner.

The bile rises in my throat as chill bumps spread across every exposed surface of skin on my body. That voice...

"Julien!" The child's voice calls again, "I'm scared. What's going on?"

Julien... in a rush my mind is flooded with clarity. I am Julien LeFleur, and the last thing I remember is.... dammit I can't believe I'm this stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!!

Family legend claims that the LeFleur clan are Sensitives. That we have a closer tie to the spirit world and to the unseen.  All my childhood I grew up hearing stories about great aunt so-and-so who claimed to have had a conversation with the devil at a crossroads and left with her soul intact, or big daddy such-and-such who was able to predict every birth and death in the family down to the day.  Grandmere professed to hear angels up until her dying day, and my little sister... sweet little Faustine.

What was I doing? Grandmere is probably rolling in her grave right now, she taught me better than to mess around with this kind of Foolishness. That's is what she called dark magic, Foolishness. As if negating the damned and making it out to be silly would somehow lessen the danger.

A wave of nausea rocks me back to reality. Cold sweat beads on my upper lip and brow despite the cold. A susurration of voices in my head.  Out of reflex I raise my hands to my ears and scream.

"STOP!"

Deafening silence, like the muted stillness following snowfall. Or the expectant silence indicating the presence of a predator.

"Brother, help me" The plaintive voice calls out. I can't see her. What is she doing down here in this godforsaken hole? My baby sister. I was supposed to protect her! Keep her safe!

Soft sobs erupt from the darkness "I'm scared... where are you?"

Why can't I remember? The soft dripping of liquid hitting the concrete floor snags my attention. This... is wrong, there shouldn't be this much blood. I feel so weak. No, I'm not supposed to. Can't remember why, but there's the nagging feeling that I'm only safe within this circle.

"W-who are you?" I call out to the darkness. Silence fills the air. Angry now, "Who are you!". It's not Faustine, not my little Faustine. 

My Faustine died months ago, struck by a speeding vehicle just outside of our house. It was a crisp autumn afternoon. She was outside, as usual, trying to convince me to play hide and seek with her. Somehow she got too close to the road just as a delivery truck sped by, and apparently lost her balance. If I was out there with her, instead of inside the house ignoring her... my stomach knots with the remembered anguish of that day.

A small girlish voice calls out "Please help me... I can't go on. You called me here, and now I can't go on. It's dark... and scary." She pleads "Please brother".

Protective instincts take over just as guilt rears its ugly head. Is this my fault too, am I causing her pain in death? How? "'Tine, what do I do? Don't be scared, I'm coming to get you". I drunkenly shamble to my feet, shoes slipping in the blood and wax that has accumulated on the floor beneath me.  My limbs feel heavy, I'm gasping for air. So much blood...

The whispering is back. Telling me exactly what to do. This isn't right. I don't want to, but I have to save my little sister. That's my job,  I'm her big brother, her protector, that's what I'm supposed to do.  I stand to my full height, square my shoulders, and fix my gaze to that dark corner as I step over the faint chalk outline.  I can almost see her face, just as darkness envelopes my consciousness.

******

on Loss

Mom passed away on Wednesday, the 4th of September in the year of our Lord 2019.

I was blessed with the opportunity to be with her as she transitioned from this life to the next. She had been at Tampa General Hospital since the preceding Thursday, was admitted after having a cardiac stent placed during what should have been an unremarkable cardiac catheterization. None of her prior tests indicated anything amiss, but the cath found a 75% blockage in one of her major coronary arteries, so of course they had to do something about it.

I stayed with her that Thursday night, and again Friday night. Saturday her husband drove down and spend the night in the hospital with her. He had to leave Sunday afternoon. Sunday night I slept in the recliner next to her, spent Monday with her. Monday night was rough. She kept losing oxygenation.  She would get coughing fits, and her oxygen rate would drop to 50 or 60%, and then it would take forever to get back up to 90%. They had her on heated forced oxygen, so the oxygen was being pumped into her nostrils and into her lungs so she didn't even really have to use any effort to get it. That still wasn't enough to keep her going.

Wednesday morning she called for the surgeon because she wanted comfort care. She was tired of fighting, tired of the interventions and feeding tubes and x-rays, and couldn't go on any further.  Her final moments on this earth were spent in a hospice suite.

I'm forever grateful to have been with her in those last days and moments.  I thank God, and our angels, and our ancestors, for giving us that time together.  As I lay in the hospital bed with her, I talked to her. I told her all my silly secrets. I confessed my ugly thoughts and resentments, and forgave her for her shortcomings. I'd like to believe that she heard me, that she felt me holding her hand, and kissing her forehead. That she appreciated the petty secrets I shared with her, and shook her head at my foolishness.

A year ago I imagined what losing her would be like, and I must say I was pretty spot on. The world kept turning. People continued on with their lives. They woke up in the morning, drove to work, ate lunch, went home. Nothing changed. Yet my entire universe is slightly tilted off center.  Like when you get a new pair of glasses but the prescription isn't quite right and everything looks just a bit distorted. Things appear larger, or closer, or further away than they really are. Like seeing the world through funhouse mirrors. It's all wrong.

As long as I'm preoccupied I don't notice. Life continues, task after task. Planning ahead, making lists, crossing them out, go to work, household chores, take the dog out.

But the silent moments are deafening. The space that she took up is empty, the quiet crushing. It sits like an elephant on my chest, weighing me down, making it difficult to breath, causing my feet to drag and my shoulders to slump.

I try to keep my memories of her alive. I think of combing and braiding her hair while she was in the hospital. Her chubby little fingers, nails clubbed from chronic lack of oxygen. Her eyebrows, the fleshy mole she had underneath one. Her cheeks and sideburns. Her nose. The beetle-shaped birthmark she had on her leg. How pale and yellow her skin had become from lack of sunlight. Her funky little feet, and how they had a permanent arch to them. Her propensity for ill-fitting bras. Her sharp little smile and vicious wit.

No one will ever love me like she did.

That's something to think about - knowing that your greatest champion, the one person who had your back no matter what, is no longer here.

So now I have this loss, which feels like a solid, real thing. There really isn't any way to describe it so that others can understand. It's like depression, but sticky and adheres to everything it touches. It will always be there. There isn't a pill I can take, or alternate coping mechanism that will get me through this. She's gone.

I'm at a loss. How does one move forward from this? I've always been Princi's daughter, from day 1 that's been my identity. What am I now?

Holiday Recap aka the worst Christmas of my life

This Christmas was another shitshow. I say this as if I've previously made any kind of mention of shitshow holidays. Just know that Christmas has always been hit or miss for me, and that did not change once I got married. If anything, it got worse. Christmas 2017 wasn't bad if I'm recalling correctly, but Christmas 2018?

It doesn't help that my marriage is already falling apart, okay? It starts every year, a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Every year we fight over where we are going to spend the holidays. He always wants to stay home, he never wants to travel anywhere.  Thanksgiving - the kid was off of school for the entire week.  I tried to convince him to drive up to Mississippi to see his folks. He'd be able to stay at his brother's house, and spend all day out in the country without having to worry about me getting bored. He probably sees his mom twice a year, and she's old. I firmly believe in appreciating people when you have them, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Apparently Willie has a different philosophy, because he opted to stay here.  Did nothing all week long. IF he had gone, he'd have spent several days with his family members and with his mom. If he had spent thanksgiving with them, we could have a stress-free Christmas with my family.  But that's too much like right. 

My mom is big on being with family for Christmas. Now that she has a terminal progressive disease and doesn't know how many more Christmases she'll have, she's ever more determined to have us with her for the holidays. So determined that she paid for our plane tickets to fly in to see her.  Initially I told her to just buy tickets for the kid and myself, because Willie had a job interview coming up and if he got the job he'd probably have to work Christmas. Frankly, I was looking forward to getting away from him. He had become a toxic presence and I just didn't want him around me.  Then he got all pissy because he wasn't going to spend Christmas with his son, and he felt that I did it out of spite to hurt him. Which is not true at all, and quite ironic seeing that he chose to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning with his family and wasn't there anyway. 

So we got to my mom's house after 10 pm, spent Friday with her. Or, the kid and I spent the day with her. Willie spent part of the day closed up in the bedroom watching Narcos on his phone, and part of it out doing whatever (I don't know where or what, he just wasn't around). He wanted to drive down to his mom's Saturday morning, and then return to my mom's house Monday afternoon. So after accepting paid plane tickets, to dip out for the entire weekend and come back Christmas Eve? Where they do that at? Not only using my mom's husband's vehicle, but add to that the additional expenditure of gas (because that damned Jeep got 14 mpg) but also a hotel room because his mom lives in a nursing home. If it wasn't for my mom buying the tickets he wouldn't be there to see his mom. Well I wanted to spend time with my mom, so I told him that we could meet up Saturday afternoon. His folks live about 3 hours south of my mom, but we were planning on doing some shopping Saturday so that worked out fine. Naturally he gets pissy about that, I guess because I wasn't enthusiastic enough? I'm not sure.  We tell him to come get me around 2:30 - 3:00, I'd call and let him know where exactly. 2:00 rolls around, I call him and he says he's still an hour away. He claims that he didn't know what our plans were. 😑 (I see you Passive Aggressive/PA) He meets us at my mom's house close to 4, which I'm upset about because now my mom has to drive back to her house by herself in the dark - which is why I specifically wanted to be picked up earlier. But anywhoo...

We ride back down to the nursing home, with a stop by Dollar General and Lee's Chicken for his mom. Take her back to the home, and we go to the hotel room. The next day, Sunday, we only saw his mom for maybe 20 minutes because she had dialysis that morning and wasn't feeling well. We did eat at his aunt's house, and we dropped by his brother's house for a few hours before going back to the hotel.  He claims that he only really wants to see his mom, he doesn't really care too much about other folks and really doesn't like his brother (some interfamily mess) so really Sunday was a waste. Then Monday morning we were supposed to meet up with my mom at 0900 for her to take The Kid (TK) and myself back up to her house. Mr PA strikes again, we didn't get there until 10.  He stayed down with his folks until Christmas Day, he drove back up to my mom's and ended up going back down to see them again (with TK this time) on Wednesday for a full day (left in the morning and came back at midnight).

Of course my mom had questions, and what could I say? I'm over coming up with vague excuses and reasons for his stupid behavior. We've been together 14 years and still he hides out in the bedroom to avoid being around people? Really? Sir, you are damn near 50 years old. What is the issue? And then he wants to portray the good family guy around his own folks. Get outta here with that bull.

2019 is  the year of big changes in my life. Everything has a reason and a season. Some seasons last longer than others.  This is the last time I allow someone to ruin Christmas for me.

God has been showing me for some time that this is not fertile ground. Does that make sense? Nothing more can come of this marriage.  It's taken me so long to face this because I held so much hope despite the obvious signs being thrown my way.  One doesn't get married lightly right?  I guess I hoped that I could make it work.  It took the literal in-your-face diagnosis for me to get the message, and I have no one to blame but myself for that. I can't help but wonder, if I had listened to my gut the first time would I have 3 kids by now? What would my life look like? Who knows.
 

Never sent...

Copy/Pasted from my phone. I typed this out one day at work when I too much on my mind.  Initially I intended to send it via text message but eventually decided against it.  I'm to the point now where I don't have the patience.  We've done this so many times before: Things go wrong, I type out a long ass message only for him to tell me that he didn't read it.  So why bother.  I'm posting here for my own posterity. So that one day I can look back and read this, and remember what it's like to be lonely and to feel unloved.

****************************************************************************** 

This is long, and you don’t have to read it all - But I’m not going to tell you what I sent. So either read it, or not. It makes no difference to me.

It’s disturbing to me that, as much as the word “divorce” has been thrown around between us lately - your only reaction has been anger. You haven’t shown shock, or sadness, or grief.  Nothing to suggest to me that you’re sad about how our relationship has gone downhill. You’re mad at me, and you lash out and want to hurt me. But the thought of losing me doesn’t make you sad. You’ve made it clear that you’ll be fine starting over because you’ve started over twice before. When you say start over, what does that mean? I think it means financially. Finding a place to live, starting over. No concern at all about losing your Wife, the person you vowed to have and to hold for the rest of your life.

Do you remember when I used to ask for a hug? Or tell you to put your arms around me in the kitchen? I used to ask because if I didn’t ask, you’d brush me off and tell me that you’re busy doing this or that.  Once I started asking, you’d get offended and fuss about it because asking made it seem like you never did it and you didn’t like that. So I stopped asking. And so I’ve learned to stop looking for and expecting affection, outside of the rare times when you feel like showing it.  Do you have any idea how painful that is?

I try to ignore it, but it hurts. Especially when we’re around other couples and I see them sitting near each other, or the man with his arm around the woman, the casual affection indicative of love.  I remember back in 2012, at the one prenatal class we attended, Nick and Candace where there. Nick was constantly touching Candace. His hand on her shoulder. Rubbing her upper back. Hand on her belly. And I remember feeling so alone, even though you were there physically, I still felt alone. You didn’t think to touch me. I didn’t get my lower back rubbed, or my hand held.  I had to help myself up off of the ground. That was 6 years ago.

Since then, we’ve had bright patches and stretches of time when things were good but it always seems to go back to your normal.

Like in 2014 when William and I went to Italy for 2 weeks without you.  On phone calls you couldn't even say that you missed me, you'd always say "I miss y'all". There's a difference you know, words mean things. And even when I called that out, you still didn't correct yourself.  After the trip, I came back expecting maybe some demonstration of how you missed me, some indication that being without me was difficult. Instead you went on and on about how you painted that damned fence, and got mad at me when I pointed that out. I guess I wasn’t appreciative enough.

Even this past month, with the situation of the plane tickets. The only time I’ve seen you express hurt was at the idea of being away from William for Christmas. Not about being away from me. If I were to not come home, if I were to disappear from the earth, you wouldn’t miss me - Marisa.  At least as long as you have enough money to make sure the bills got paid.

I still can’t get over how, as I sat next to you on the bed crying my eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably- you couldn’t bring yourself to comfort me. That’s when I knew.

And I know what you’re thinking - I'm never satisfied, right? No matter what you do it's never enough.  You're right, it isn’t enough. The little bit of affection you provide (when you feel like it) is not enough. That is not what I’d call a Good Relationship. It is not enough for me.  I need more than what you have been giving me, and its not fair for either one of us. You have proven time and time again that you cannot give me what I need in order to be happy.  And it's evident to me that I am not the person you need to make you feel happy and satisfied as a man. THAT is what I mean when I say we aren’t good for each other. I want more than what you can give me.



AND I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY!  I would have been content working and being the financial foundation if this relationship were based on anything substantial, but it isn't. What is our relationship based on? What do we have?

Love and affection should be given freely, naturally and without second thought. I don’t want to live the rest of my life hungering to feel loved. I don’t want to be an afterthought, only to be considered until all other tasks have been completed.  People should take priority over things.  I ought to be more important to you than household chores/cutting the grass/cleaning the kitchen/watching tv.

You do the same to William. He talks to you, and you ignore him and talk over him as if he hadn't said a thing. He'll ask you to do something, and you ignore him until you feel like addressing it.  You keep him at aftercare until 6 pm so you can finish tasks and chores - nevermind the fact that he spends more time at school than he does at home.

I need to be cherished. I need to be loved. I want the kind of marriage where we can do fun things together - take walks in the evening, ride bikes together, go to the pool together.  Have fun family traditions that we do every year.  When I suggested taking family walks together you immediately shot me down, came up with all kinds of reasons for why it couldn't happen.  We've been married for 11 years and our only "tradition" is the annual argument about travel over the holidays.

 In a marriage, husband and wife are supposed to have their best interests in mind. Decisions should be made together, and should work toward the same goals. We don’t have that.  You don't have my back.

So no, this isn’t about 3-4 days of not talking to each other. This isn’t just about you being upset about moving on base. Our marriage isn’t just now sliding downhill. It’s at the bottom.

If this is married life, I’d rather be alone.

Okay I'll say it

It's the 7th day since my surgery, my third day back to work. Today was a little better than yesterday. I didn't cry at all. I told a male friend at work about what happened - I like to be transparent, mainly because I can't hide my feelings for anything. So rather than leaving people wondering why my behavior is weird I prefer to let them know what's going on. Obviously not everyone is privy to my personal life, but there are several people at work who know. So I told L, not that we're particularly close but we've known each other for several months and he's one of the first people I befriended here. He was sympathetic, and opened up about his own struggles with infertility. His child was conceived via IVF, so he is the second IVF success story that I'm aware of.

I've had a hard time concentrating at work. I'm not really interested in much, I don't even care to catch up on my reading despite knowing that it'll probably make me feel better. Lunch is spent in my office, with the lights off and the blinds drawn, lying on the ground trying to take a nap. I think I'm doing an alright job of maintaining at work. I do my job, I'm polite and smile and joke. It's exhausting but I manage.

All I want to do is curl up in a blanket by myself and sleep. I want to take a Tylenol 3 and drift off and dream and not have to worry about anything. I don't want to be bothered. There aren't any tears. Just numbness.

There are things I can do that may help make me feel better. I can get back to exercising and working out. Well, probably just running. The endorphins will make me feel good, and seeing the resulting weight loss will help. Achieving personal records and running distances will give me a sense of accomplishment. I don't anticipate getting to the gym for weight training anytime soon. Not that I don't want to but ever since hubs started his courier job I've been stuck with picking up the kid from school most evenings, and that just doesn't leave any time for the gym. Now that the time has changed it's already dark by the time I get to the school, so running outdoors isn't really an option at that point.

I can immerse myself in reading - hahahahhaah, yeah right. I barely have time to focus on my life and work responsibilities.

What's dangerous about this depression is that I don't really care about a lot right. Obviously I care about my career, and I care about my child, but....that's about it. And that's a dangerous place to be. No that I'm in danger of harming myself at all, but I'm more so concerned that my lack of giving a damn may irreparably harm relationships with those around me. I may not care right now but what if that's the depression affecting me?

Coping

Today was my first day back to work since having surgery and I very much regret not taking the day off. I couldn't concentrate worth a damn. The first hour or so of work was spent trying not to cry, but then I got into my workflow and was good for a while until lunch time. That's when I shut off the lights in my office, locked the door and hosted my very own pity party.

I've been torn between wanting to tell people about what's going on and not wanting to relive the story over and over again.  On the one hand I want to share my pain to release all of these feelings of frustration and impotence but on the other hand I can't help but think - these people don't care, why open up to them? Why do other people need to know? What can they offer me besides pity? 

I don't even want to talk to my Friends about it. I've told them the basics but I don't feel comfortable sharing my secret feelings: how I feel purpose-less, like everything I've worked toward is gone now, how I'm second-guessing my marriage, and how I wonder if maybe this is a sign telling me that this relationship is fruitless and should be pruned.

I've spent the past 4 years preparing for another child.  I've gotten healthier, lost weight, eaten better. Got a new job,  moved to another state, and found a better employer that provides paid maternity leave, I've held on to my son's nursery furniture and stroller with the intention of using it for the next one.  Those plans have been blown away by cruel reality.

I can't believe that I'm only going to get the one kid. I love him more than anything, but I had always planned for him to have siblings. Years ago, back in 2010 when I was pregnant, I wanted 3 or 4 kids. Can you believe that? I don't even like kids all that much, but I wanted a large family. I still do. I feel that having a solo kid is unfair, that people learn vital lessons by sharing their lives and growing old with brothers and sisters.  I have one sister, and growing up it was always a competition between the two of us. The adults around us pitted us against each other unfairly.  She's this way, therefore the other is this way - like we were a dichotomy or something. I feel like that unfairly molded us in ways that we wouldn't necessarily have grown on our own.  Having three or more kids would remove that tendency to polarize, it just isn't as easy to do when it's more than 2. Plus I was thinking ahead to my retirement. It's easier/cheaper to take care of an elderly parent when the cost is split between 3 people right? I'd imagine spending my elder years surrounded by my grandchildren,  sharing stories of how the world worked when I was their age.

This is so unfair.  At least it isn't an issue of having waited too long to conceive, that's a common concern for women in their 30s. I've had the testing done, I've got the ovarian reserve, my eggs are fine. It's my chewed up uterus that's the problem. Thanks a lot Dr. Welch!! (I know I shouldn't blame the Obstetrician, but she's the one who cut up my uterus and caused the scar tissue. Let me be childish in peace).

You know what, I haven't really talked to my husband about it. I asked him how he feels. We were in bed, had just turned off the lights. I find it easier to initiate deeper conversations when the lights are out. He told me that he was sad, and disappointed, but that's about as far as that conversation went. I wish he could communicate his thoughts better.  I didn't delve into the matter. Prior experience tells me that I'll only get annoyed and angry, and I don't have the energy for all of that. I could write an entire blog about the lack of communication in our relationship, but I won't go there.  I'm just going to say that it would be nice to share this with someone and to have my feelings validated. Maybe I'd like to know what his point of view is and how he feels every thing.

Well this is enough for tonight. Let's pray that tomorrow is better than today was. I wish I had an antidepressant on hand that I could take, but even if I did it would probably take a few weeks for it to take effect. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Secondary Infertility

Do you know what the term secondary infertility means? Everyone knows that infertility is when someone cannot achieve a pregnancy.  Secondary refers to the fact that it's a new onset condition . I have conceived before, back in 2012 but have not been able to conceive a pregnancy since then. Not even a false positive, no miscarriages, nothing. For the longest time I've chickened out of investigating why.  It took us 2 years of trying before being able to conceive the first time, so initially I wasn't too concerned about it.  I had some difficulties with the delivery; my water broke at 35 weeks, and I had to have a c-section. After I was discharged from the hospital I had to go back due to my blood pressure being too high.  My child was small-for-gestational age, and my placenta was really small. I blamed the doctor for not monitoring me closely enough.

At the time I was in a terrible work environment that just wasn't family friendly, so I told myself that once I was out of that situation I'd try again. Well. Here we are, after 4 years of trying unsuccessfully. I finally revisited the problem. Had my hormone levels checked which indicated that I'm ovulating like normal, so that's was reassuring.  My NP ordered an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram), which indicated that there was a blockage of some sort. That really threw me for a loop. As far as I knew at the time, blockages could be caused by scar tissue and I had never had any kind of infection that would cause scar tissue. I went to see a specialist and had a surgical procedure done. This procedure is called a Tubal Dye Study, where they basically inject dye up through the cervix into the uterus while at the same time watching to see if the dye exits the fallopian tubes.  I just had this done 3 days ago, and haven't yet spoken to the surgeon since that morning.

Apparently both of my fallopian tubes are occluded.  Excuse the lack of details, I received this information second-hand from my husband. The surgeon came out and talked to him, and I guess she'll talk to me directly when I see her for my post-op visit. He tried, but he doesn't have much of a medical background and a lot of it went over his head. She told hubs that I had a lot of scar tissue in the area; some from the c-section I had in 2012 and some from an appendicitis that had healed on it's own (and I wasn't even aware of, weird).  The occlusions are such that my only option for pregnancy is in-vitro (IVF).

In all of these years of trying to conceive, my line in the sand has always been at in-vitro.  I've tried Clomid, I've tried letrozole, I was willing to try intra-uterine insemination (IUI) which is when the sperm are collected and inserted into the uterus just in time for ovulation. I'm not interested in in-vitro at this time.  I've known several women who have gone through IVF, not all of them resulted in viable healthy pregnancies. There's so many medications and injections to take, ultrasounds on ultrasounds. The mood swings, the cystic acne, it just isn't worth it to me. I firmly believe that if it is God's will for me to get pregnant I will, without strong-arming my body into it.

This is so unfair. Apparently as much as 30% of women who have had a c-section are not able to conceive again due to scarring of the uterus. I've always held conflicted feelings about my first OBGYN, and my entire peri-natal experience but this really takes it over the top. I was not aware of that. Even as a health care provider I wasn't aware of that statistic. I don't think many people are aware of it either, if they were I'm sure that the c-section rate would be much lower than it is now in the U.S..

Is it not ironic? At work I see patients with fertility concerns and I order testing for them before referring them to a specialist. Now here I am, infertile.

I'm trying my best to not dwell on it too much, while at the same time giving myself room to grieve.  This is beyond difficult. I just want to stay in bed and mope and cry but of course I can't.  I don't want to talk about it. Some of my friends know, but not all of them.  I've said it out loud and via text messages several times already. I don't need any more sympathy or prayers. I don't want anyone's pity. That's all they can offer, sympathy and pity.

God, thank you for giving me my son, my favorite person in the world. As much as I've wished for another baby, as much as I've desired a baby girl that looks like me and my dreams of mommy-daughter outfits and hair styles and first birthday parties - I see now that this is not my path, not at this time or in this way, and I accept your will. Please let me be a good mother to my son, I pray for the wisdom and discernment to make the best decisions for him, so that he may grow up to be a good person and to live his life in a Christ-like way (Looking out for the poor, the disadvantaged, the widowed, etc).   Maybe I can have a bunch of grandkids some day. That would be nice.

It's all temporary

Talking to my mom today, when the topic of death came up. Specifically we were talking about Pixie, her 14 year old Yorkie. Poor Pixie can't see or hear much anymore. She has cataracts in both eyes, and I'm pretty sure that her vision is better than her hearing.  She's missing teeth and her breath smells like rot. Mom can't really do much about her oral hygiene because her mouth is so small. Pixie is only about 5 lbs. Mom was telling me how Pixie must have thought that the bedroom nightstand was Mom, because she was reaching up trying to be picked up by it. Pixie has been Mom's baby for ever. So we were talking about Pixie, and how she's slowly breaking down and is likely going to die soon. I started thinking about how Mom will cope when Pixie dies, and then started thinking about how Death impacts the lives of those it takes but for everyone else nothing changes. I'll be honest, I was thinking about how it'll be sad when Pixie dies but that it won't really be a loss for me even though Mom will be devastated. Then of course I started thinking about when Mom dies, how my life will be forever and irrevocably changed but the rest of the world will continue on as always has. Death is a normal and natural part of life. People die every day, every hour. Every second someone loses their mom, their child, their sibling, their friend. That's just the way life is.

I can't yet tease out how that makes me feel: is this coming to term with my own mortality? Is recognizing your parents' mortality a checkpoint in life? I'm to the point where I know my mother is going to die early, much earlier than I had ever thought she would. And I will be devastated.  I've spent most of my adulthood away from her but I've always known that she was there as a safety net in case things didn't work out.  Soon I won't have that anymore.

She was diagnosed in January 2017. I imagined myself as a kite without it's string, tossed around by strong winds and no way to get back home. What would I even consider "home" to be without my mom. She's always been home base. Without her, where do I go? Where do I belong?

And what of her? She has lived this life, she has had these experiences, she has sacrificed and worked so hard and yet has not been able to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Any dream of indulgent twilight years has been slowly smothered by an insidious persistent cough.

She's getting worse. I can tell. We talk every day, and I ask how she's feeling or how she's been and her response is always "I'm alright". She's not alright.

So, just as Mom is going to mourn Pixie's death one day and the world won't blink. I'm going to mourn my mother's death, and the world won't blink. 

Hello Stranger

Well well would you look who’s here. I forgot this thing was still here! The very last post was about finding out that I was pregnant. Wow. Funny how things change. Don’t worry, I’m not interested in condensing six years worth of life events.

I had shared an interesting news headline with a friend, it was about “singing” coming from polar ice as it melted. The notion resonated with me and I imagined that the melting ice was uncovering a prehistoric remnant that would bring harm to humanity. I think there was an episode of x-files with a similar premise; something frozen in ice that was unleashed and started killing people. I sent the story to him, and we started talking about writing. He’s a writer, or he ought to be writing but he doesn’t. And I am an imaginative person, but not a writer. But I think it would be fun to chronicle my ideas. So here I am!

Well, not right at this moment. I’m too sleepy to attempt anything right now.

Happy News!!

Sorry for disappearing there. I'm still getting used to this whole "blogging" thing, and it's really hard to come home after work and write something coherent and interesting.

I had a great weekend. My mom flew in this weekend, and we got to spend some time together. I haven't seen her in person since early September. Even though we skype almost weekly, it's still difficult. Skyping helps, but it's still not seeing her in person. We didn't do much, really, just kind of hung out at home. I showed her my crochet creations, and the painting I'm working on. I shared some great news with her, which I'll share here...

Book Review: Green Rider, by Kristen Britain

I've recently started attending a "book club", held by a locally owned bookstore. The rules are simple; read what you like, and then talk about it. We meet up once a month, sit in a circle and one-by-one we review whatever books we may have read since the last meeting.  I think I might start sharing some of my book reviews here as well.

 

Green Rider is fantasy genre. I hate to call it YA, just because of the recent slew of lackluster YA books that have come out recently, but call a spade a spade.  I'd say it's appropriate for 6th grade and up, but it's cleverly written so that it isn't too dull or simplistic to satisfy an adult.
 

It tells the tale of Karigan G'ladheon, a young girl/adolescent running away from school (I don't know why apostrophes are so popular in fantasy.) Karigan comes from a merchant family, and had a run-in with a kid from an aristocratic family. Said kid pulled some strings, and Karigan ended up wrongfully suspended from school. She's upset, decides to run home from school to tell her father in person what happened.