.... and so it goes...

The Woodchuck Limited Edition Fall Hard Cider is in and currently being consumed... the TV is off... Fiona Apple is on... and I think I am ready to continue where I left off the other day. I began my little story in the third person... why? No clue... it just flowed out that way. But this next bit isn't gonna come out the way. It's just not.

I can not count the number of women that I know, have known, have read about, have seen that have experienced a loss of pregnancy. It is one of the most emotionally painful things that can happen to a woman I think. It was for me. Each and every woman's loss is different. Circumstances are never the same. To compare one woman's loss to another is unfair. That said, my personal loss was like a scene from a really horrible Lifetime movie. I felt like I was in a movie. A very bad surreal movie with crappy acting. It began with the ultrasound guy who said nothing as he poked and prodded and the crease between his brows grew. I knew, I just knew something was horribly wrong. He excused himself from the room. He returned. He continued to say nothing. Being young and inexperienced we sat there... not asking anything for an eternity. I saw them. Two heads face to face on the screen, and yet this guy was saying nothing. I couldn't take it anymore. I asked if it was twins. He said yes, but there is no heartbeat. None. He ended the exam and promptly sent me to the doctor who, after reviewing what he saw, explained that there was indeed no heartbeats, and more than... worse than that... worse than anything I could have possibly fathomed in my entire lifetime.... they were conjoined.

Things from that point on became very blurry. I believe several explanations were given. Discussion over what would happen next occurred. I can't remember exactly, because I was somewhere else asking God... what did I do wrong? I was consumed with that one and only thought. It was the Friday before Mother's Day. They sent me home with the hope that my body would do what it needed to on it's own. It didn't. I got a Mother's Day card in the mail. That I remember very clearly. Monday I had a procedure done, to prepare me for Tuesday.... and on that Tuesday in May I delivered my twins, conjoined, and stillborn and too tiny to even know if they were boys or girls. They were joined at the chest and shared all their vital organs. It was undoubtedly for the best. That is clear. It is known. But that one little thought took up room in brain... What did I do wrong for this to have happened. There was heartbreak. There was unbelievable indescribable pain. The next day my husband went to work. He seemed resigned to it all like nothing had happened and continued his routine. To this day I really don't know what he thought or how he felt or even if he grieved. And this, my dears, was sadly the beginning of the end of a marriage that had barely begun. And with the beginning of the end looming, it was the start of some serious depression, weakness, vulnerability, and in a way.... abuse....

I gave so much brain-space to that one question.... that one thought....

In the beginning....

Giving toddlers ice cream and then promptly leaving.... that is what awesome grandparents do. I am beyond happy that this day, no, this week is over. There were tantrums, and tears, book reports, science projects, sick children, sick pets, a heated argument over money with the Sgt. Dad (he's still seething I think- while he sits in a random tent in a random base in a random part of a war zone). There was a general feeling of crazy each and every day. I've been experimenting with herbal supplements too- not such a great idea I discovered. And then... there was the PMS. So... all in all... epic craptasticness abounded. But I fought, and I muddled, and I cried, and kept moving forward, and now it's Sunday night, and I need wine. So cheers!

There was also what my friend and I decided to call... an 'un-anniversary'... this week. When you're a SAHM sometimes you lose track of the days, the dates, but earlier this week, I noticed the date, and I stopped short and sighed. A sad sigh. There was both a feeling of relief mixed with a bit of grief.

If I had stayed married to my first husband, it would have been our 14th wedding anniversary.

And here is where the real story is. I am beyond relieved that I do not have to spend my days walking on eggshells and feeling like I'm not enough for someone else, and being told that I'm not good enough. I have enough trouble feeling like I am enough on my own. But the grief? The grief kind of took me by surprise. It was the first year that I can remember feeling like that. The marriage was short, but the divorce was... messy. Not celebrity Mel Gibson custody messy, but it was tough and cruel, and painful for everyone involved.

And so begins... a slight biography... a glimpse to the past... something I've wanted to write for a really really long time....

In the beginning there was an awkward young girl that had had her heart broken, and had been led on and played more times to count than fingers on your hands. It was the summer after graduating high school and she was desperate for love. In hindsight it seems silly to be so focused on a notion that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. More than love, really, she just wanted to be wanted and to be looked at like she mattered to someone.

Enter, Slick Rick. That's what we'll call him. Because he was incredibly slick, and well, it rhymes. (I like rhymes.) He watched. He waited. He hid his interest behind friendship. He spent time with the guys that were interested in the young awkward girl, and he convinced them to leave her alone. She wasn't worth their time. And once he had cleared this path, he struck. Flowers, compliments, jokes, being available when no one else was. He quite took the awkward girl by surprise. And the awkward girl's friends said- what are you waiting for, he's so into you. Even her mother was wowed. And so, she gave in. 

Fast forward a year.... Everything was grand. They rented an apartment together. They worked hard and paid there bills and planned a life together.... and then he wanted out. The girl, perhaps not so young and awkward now, begged and pleaded that he stay. That they could be happy. That the other girl wouldn't treat him as good as she could. He relented. He stayed. He worked. Every night, every day, seemingly every moment, and this girl became increasingly lonely... and being so young... and immature... her eye wandered. There was a fling. Not an affair, just a not so innocent relationship with another friend that could have led to something, but never really did. Slick Rick caught wind of this relationship. He questioned and accused, and the girl was honest, and repentant, and once again she was the one begging him not to leave. He didn't. He stayed. Resentments built.

Fast forward another year... A beautiful wedding was held. A fairy tale wedding with all the bells and whistles. All the friends and family. The bridesmaids wore purple, the brides favorite color. It was an amazingly beautiful fall day. It was perfect. Who could ask for more? Two months later, this young girl found herself pregnant. She was excited and scared and Slick Rick, her now husband, seemed sort of apathetic to it all. They began house-hunting and planning and there was optimism and old resentments seemed to blow away with the wind. But they didn't. They were hiding under an area rug. That is certain now.

They found a lovely home, and began the whole home-buying process and prepared for their first ultrasound. Folks teased the happy couple, afterall, the young woman was only five months along, and already, she was quite large, it must be twins.

The ultrasound revealed the truth. It was indeed twins. But something was terribly, horribly, disturbingly wrong...
There was no heartbeat....

I'm gonna stop here. This next part may or may not be easy for me to write.... and folks may or may not like it. This was my life. The way I saw it anyway, and I've wanted for so long to sit down and write this out. You wanna read it? Great. If not... I totally understand. I'm thinking this is more a catharsis for me anyway. Perhaps tomorrow I will continue... or the next day....

Right now though, wine! Cheers my deary dears!

I AM ________???

Usually I am not one to follow the curve so to speak. I don't buy into fads, and I don't jump on the bandwagon... unless it's serving fruity drinks. I stay just on the fringes of most clique-y type things. Always have. Some things never change. So today when You Know It Happens At Your House Too issued a little challenge to folks in bloggy-land, initially I shied away from it, because that's what I do. I even started working on a blog entry about painful social awkwardness... which is on hold now. After seeing post after post from her today on my FB wall and reading blog after blog... It hit me... I NEED to do this. To put my inner dialogue down on paper for 5 minutes. To write a few affirmations that I can come back too and say yes... that's me. This is who I am.
So here was the challenge:

"Set a timer for five minutes and write. Write using the prompt I AM __________. Don't edit, don't proofread, don't change it. You are not required to share it with anyone, even though I hope you do, but keep it close by so that on those days when you are feeling really horrible about yourself (we all know that we have those days), you can look back and remember all the things that make you wonderful."

and here goes:

I am a mother to 4 amazing intelligent funny children.

I am a wife to the most amazing man. He saves me daily even though he's on the other side of the globe.

I am a survivor of emotional abuse from my first husband. I still have the scars but I am stronger for it.

I am Stronger than I ever knew I could be. Walking away from abuse, surviving pregnancy loss, living without my love so he can provide for our family.

I am funny as hell. This is a given. I come from a long line of funny albeit depressed people.

I am suffering from depression, but get up and keep moving every day because I have love in my life.

I am introverted and antisocial and socially awkward and- you know what? That is ok! Because it makes me who I am and I have people in my life who accept me the way I am and that totally rocks!

And POOOF.... my 5 minutes are up! Seriously. I did proofread... I do that. I make no apologies for that. Now that this is done and I'm feeling pretty dang good about it... I'm gonna go back to my Litany of Social Awkwardness which will be coming soon to computer screen near you. Take this challenge... even if you don't blog. Take the challenge on paper with a pen or hell... even a crayon... maybe a sharpie. Affirmations that make you proud will also make you smile, and smiling is good (said the depressed girl whose antidepressants aren't working so great!) DO IT!

Awkward & Awesome!

p.s. I am out of cigarettes... and that is not good.....

Let's Make Some Noise!!

"Scars remind us of where we’ve been, they don’t have to dictate where we’re going." -Criminal Minds, Agent Rossi

I borrowed that quote from an amazing FB page: https://www.facebook.com/CSP.Angie. It is a page created by a very brave woman- Nova Scotian author Angela Hartlin. She's written a book 'Forever Marked: A Dermatillomania Story'. 

I am sure you are sitting there thinking, what the hell is that? Is that even a real thing? I could bore you with medical mumbo jumbo and statistics and whatnot, but that would make for a ridiculously boring read, and that is not what I'm going for here. In plain terms it is a struggle. For me (and many like me) it is a constant battle for control over insane amounts of anxiety. Basically, I am super happy it is getting colder out and I will no long be miserable hot because I feel like I can't wear tank tops and pretty dresses because of the scabs and scars on my arms from picking my skin.

Ewwww... right? I know. I look at myself sometimes and think wow.... did I do this to myself? Yep, I sure did. When the world is off kilter and I feel less than stellar about myself I do it. I pick. I pick at every bump, lump, spot, knot, blemish... whatever. On my face is one thing, usually make-up can hide the damage and that is good. But my arms, and even my legs bear the brunt of my anxiety in a very physical way. I started this when I was very young, but in recent years it has gotten much worse. I'm an adult now, and one would think I would leave this sort of thing behind with acne and puberty and junk. But no. I'm still at it. Currently I am sporting any numbers of scabs on my arms. Someone recently said to me- the mosquitoes must love you, and I agreed because it was easier than explaining what I do to myself when no one is watching.

There are over 12 million other people in this country fighting this type of illness, and yes, it is an illness. One my doctor thought the meds I am taking would help. They don't do much really... the meds that is. Doctors don't either for that matter. It wasn't until recently that it was actually recognized as a mental illness. And yet here I sit.

It is a release, a means of controlling something when everything else seems completely out of control. It's a high, it's a low and it's something that a lot of folks just don't understand and no one wants to talk about it. When I'm having what I call a 'bad day' and my feelings are low and I feel bad.. I pick... a lot. I already have several scars, and there will be more, no doubt. I am trying like hell to get a grip on it, but now the cooler weather is coming, and that means long sleeves and camouflage, which means an excuse to pick... because no one will see.

So here is written another post lacking my usual wit and sarcasm because this is serious shit, and I'm hoping by writing about it and ending my own silence that it will help me. You all who read my posts have been genuine and kind and non-judgmental, and basically you're totally awesome, and I appreciate that... and hopefully I can get back to some wit and humor soon... cuz this shit blow giant snot bubbles....

Until then... the wine cup is empty... and my bed is calling to me..... Cheers!

Sing to me, and let me tune out the world John....

Picture somewhat unrelated-altho-he is beautiful

John Mayer is singing sweetly in my ears tonight. I needed him tonight. We are old friends. We go way back. Okay, maybe not way back.... like 10 years or so ago I saw him singing on MTV and I thought gee, he's quite lovely. I have always loved music. At one point in my young life I did the choir thing... think 'Glee' but with less cool song choices. Music, lyrics, rhythms... they speak to me, they take me to certain moments of my own life. In John's case- he got me through. Through divorce. Through pain. He soothed and I love him for that. He's always there too, like an old blankie or your favorite sweatshirt. I just turn him on, and tune out. Tonight, I am tuning out somewhat. Tuning out from the news, tuning out from the quiet of another night without my love. Tuning out after walking out of the grocery store today and finding out that the man in the car 2 spots from mine in the parking lot... killed himself... in his car.

Suicide. Aside from my own grandfather, who gave up when I was only 2, I have never known anyone personally that has given in and ran away permanently. That said, I have been close to those who have known someone personally that took their own life. My husband, for instance, walked into his buddies house as soon as the gun went off and sat on the floor holding a rag to his friend's head until the rescue squad came. Of course it was too late. It changed my husband forever. It made him feel helpless and angry, and he is neither of those things. I could go on listing folks, but it's sort of pointless and perhaps a bit too much for a blog.

I thought about my husband and about his friend and about all the other souls that left us too soon, and those of us left behind. All this while the kind firemen loaded my ridiculous amount of groceries into my truck for me in a great hurry. They wanted me to wait back at the store and bring me my car, but I was already there, and the twins were too busy ooo-ing and aaahh-ing at the firetrucks and such to care about what was actually going on. I put the kids in their seats and we beat feet out of that parking lot and left it behind. But I didn't. I've been thinking about that poor man all afternoon. Was he in the store? Did I walk past him? Did I smile at him or not if he was even there? If someone had shown him a moment of kindness, would he have changed his mind? How does a person get there? I battle depression daily, but I am also aware of that fact that there is so much good in my life. Much to live for. Lives to care for. People to love. People that love me. I've hit rough patches, really rough patches... the rough patches I hit about 10 years ago were like huge gaping bottomless potholes. But there were people in my life loving me and supporting me and caring for me and I never went there... I never thought of it. My only thought was that I had to make it through, for those people that love me, for those people that I love, and mostly for myself.

And there was John singing sweetly to me every night as I went to sleep. Helping me tune out the world.

So no random rambling tonight about curtains that are the wrong color, and curtain rods that are not available in the size I need, and how my kids manage to make the bathroom look like New Orleans after Katrina when they shower. Just some quiet introspection... and John. And tell those that you love... that you love them... because you never know who may need to hear it the most.....

Full circle... with cursing....

Shite... it's like shit only a little bit more P.C. Some people say crap, poop, feces, it's straight up SHIT, and that's what I feel like right now. Serious pent up angst and shit. And worry. Sickening amounts of worry. Not hearing from someone for several days when they are living in a war zone and the world has gone mad... it's making me freakin nuts. I am constantly saying to myself.... well no news is good news right? I figure if someone had something bad to tell me they would have told me by now... I'm hoping that's the way of it anyway.

Aside from that there's been drama stewing with the x and the step-mother, which basically boils down to this- #1 son is turning into a teenager. In his awesome teenagey angsty way he wants to live here when they piss him off and there when I piss him off. Pissing him off can include things like, telling him to do any of the following- laundry, dishes, cleaning, taking out the trash, letting the farking dog out, or even not picking on his younger siblings. Are you freaking serious? Yes, yes I am. Damn, was I like this as a teen? Cuz if so, I kinda want to punch myself right now. His attitude and the hefty chip on his shoulder are making me freaking nuts.

And don't get me started on the twinados.... terrible twos times two is no freakin joke folks. Please stab me in the foot, but use a spork, k? I have a low threshold for pain. I am also finding that I have a lower and lower threshold for losing my mind when mini-man tells me- No and I can't. Did that sentence even make sense? It did in my mind, but now that I've written it... ahh screw it. Ya'll know there is vodka in my cup. 

I had it in my mind to write something more eloquent and witty and blah blah blah. But sometimes the word vomit just has to come out like this. There is nothing I can do about it . It is what it is. I have been fairly antisocial of late. Which basically means I'm lurking around my FB pages and reading blogs but too lazy to say anything of value. I haven't been out of the house much at all aside from the grocery store and the dang blasted Target... where I buy tons of shit I don't need and then feel guilty about it, but not guilty enough to take it back. These are the highlights of my week. That and if a toddler has pooped or peed in their 'potty-dance pants'. How incredibly intriguing am I, huh? So exciting, I know.

So here's the bottom line~ I am a frustrated mother at my wits end with children, chores, and the constant worrying of having a husband overseas. That is the long and the short of it. The 20 lbs I've gained and the worry lines on my forehead are not helping matters. Good Lord, I feel older than I ever have, which technically I am at this moment, but when I look in the mirror... I'm all- Damn- who the hell is that crazy bitch staring back at me? She's got a huge zit on her chin! Someone should... oh fuck... that's me. Well shit. And now we're right back where I started. Shite! 

Did I mention... the curtains came... but were the wrong freakin color and now I have to ship them all back? Perhaps I didn't. But now you know, and knowing is half the battle....

Today's tiny little victory... and it has nothing to do with the toilet!

I am just so uber excited, I wanted to share my uber excitement and by doing so, you will see just how incredibly lame I am.

 Finally a decision! Finally, after weeks and weeks of deliberation... it's done. I am beyond excited! What am I excited about?
I am excited about curtains.
Curtains.
You did not misread.
I bought curtains for my living room today. Ordered them online. This was the highlight of my day. You are all ready to click to another blog, aren't you? That's cool. You do what ya want. I'm still gonna write this bitch.

I'm sure that you all may not be aware of the gravity of this situation. We have been living in this house for the last 4 and half years and the curtains in this living room were whatever I grabbed at Wally World when we moved in, just to have something on the windows. They are now dirty, dusty, and some are ripped in places because, well, they were prolly made in some sad foreign sweatshop. So, Sgt. Dad and I discussed window treatment options via Google Chat... for months. Like, since he left for his second trip overseas. I mean, we've discussed other things of course. Unpleasant things, hopes, fears, dream, stories about the kiddies etc etc. But always back to the curtains. The curtains were a safe topic. We compared and shopped and looked. It was a bit of fun for us. However in recent weeks it was becoming obnoxious and annoying. I know he was reaching a breaking point. Today he admitted- it was much like picking out paint- and he was thinking- just pick something already. He has been such a good sport about the stupid curtains.

Aren't they just awesome?!

It seems stupid. It seems lame. But I think there must have been something deeper here. I'm certain there was actually. Whatever it was, I have failed to see it. Perhaps if the antidepressants weren't fogging my brain I could find some way to turn this weird obsession with finding just the right freakin' curtains into some sort of emotional epiphany. Am I reading more into it than just my general propensity to be a perfectionist in some way? They are just curtains after all.
Now... I must find curtain rods!!