When the pain doesn't abate - a long inner monologue

I will preface with a typical warning: the subject matter of this post is not cheery, nor quirky, nor humorously crass.  You will likely find the topic downright depressing.  So, if you have started (or ended) your day on a good note, you might want to wait to read this, or just skip it over altogether.  I will say this is something I have never really written about publicly.  (Well, as public as my semi-anonymous blog can be.)  It's not a story I've ever shared with strangers in person or across the internet.  It's very personal, and painful.  But my therapist says I need to be able to talk about it, and one of the first steps is to be able to write about it (yes, she really did tell me this.)

Tomorrow marks a day that will undoubtedly fucking suck. (See how I threw an F-bomb in there so you wouldn't be disappointed?)  If I didn't have the kid, I'd already have planned some activity to take my thoughts away and make the hours pass as quickly as possible.  However, I now have adult responsibilities, and no longer have the pleasure of wallowing in pity, misery and grief for 24-hour stretches.  Tomorrow would have been my dad's 58th birthday.

Would have been.  Damnit I hate those words.  I have to use them far too often when talking (thinking) about my dad.  He would have been at my wedding.  He would have been there waiting for the kid to be born.  He would have come to visit us on her birthday.  He would have been there when I came out of lifesaving surgery nearly a year ago.  But he is not.  He never will be.  And that is the most unfair thing in the whole damn world.  He isn't gone on vacation.  He isn't coming home.  He isn't. That makes me so fucking mad.

If you've read this far, it doesn't take much of an IQ to figure out my dad is dead.  Dead. Passed on. Deceased.  All those ugly words you never want to say or hear.  Just reading them now, you probably had a little internal cringe.  Usually, if I have to speak about my dad, I just say he's "gone", and trail my voice off a little, letting people know not to ask more.  I don't like talking about it. Even my own husband doesn't know all of the details.  But I am sure that no matter how compassionate a person you may be, there is a little tiny part of you that wants to know how. Admit it to yourself.  It is a natural reaction.  You hear: "Cousin Sally's neighbor passed." You counter with: "Oh, that's so sad.  How did she die?"  I won't begrudge you a little human nature.  In fact, to some extent, sharing the "how" is why I am writing this post.  So here it is.

He committed suicide.

No, I will not go into the details.  Any suicide is horrific, whether by overdose, self-inflicted injury, intentional vehicular accident, etc.

I am a suicide survivor.  And talking about it is the only way I can help other survivors, or people who may be considering taking their own lives.  According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (www.afsp.org), in the US someone commits suicide every 16 minutes, and every 17 minutes someone is left wondering why.  I will always wonder why.  I will always be left with this hole in my heart.  Some days that hole is bigger than others.  Today, all of me is that hole.  When he made the decision to leave me behind, it broke my heart, and I don't know if I will ever heal.  The pain is unfathomable to anyone who has not experienced this kind of loss.  I hope that no one else will ever know what I am feeling.  Sometimes, it is unbearable.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever overcome it, or if I will always feel this way.  I have good days, too, but right now it's hard to remember what those are like, even though they happen often.  It is a proverbial rollercoaster of emotion from one day to the next, but always you feel that a part of your life is missing.

It's difficult for me to imagine what could have made my dad choose the way he did.  I've had bad days. I mean B.A.D.  But never could I ever make the decision to leave this world behind.  Just the thought of making the kid feel the way I have felt these last 6+ years makes me sick to my stomach.  I will always do everything in my power to protect her from feeling anything remotely close to that sort of grief and loss.  I know my dad loved me, more than anything, but on days like today, I may forget.  I find myself caught up in the sadness and anger over not being able to call him, or visit, or just send an email. I can't send him a birthday card, even.  Can't tell him how important he is to me.  I wish he would have known, then maybe we would still be celebrating the way we used to.

I do have many good feelings and memories of my dad.  I looked up to him; I am like him in so many ways.  The kid is, too, though he died almost 4 years before she was born (coincidentally she was born on the 15th anniversary of my grandpa's death, another very important figure in my life.)  My dad was everything.  He was smart, funny, strict, strong, loving....everything.  He shaped my life more than any other influence.  He gave me a passion for what would later become my career.  I hope he is proud of me.  I hope he is proud of the kid.

I wish he'd been here to hold my hand and comfort me while I fought my battle against cancer.  I wish he'd be here to teach the kid how to ride a bike.  I wish he could build her a dollhouse.  I wish he could have met my husband.  I wish we could pick on each other and correct other people's grammar together. I wish we could spend summer nights drinking Corona on the lake.  I wish we could sing Broadway songs together on roadtrips again.  I wish I could hear him curse out the trailer when it wouldn't level on a campsite.  Or yell at shitty drivers.

But instead, I am just left with this emptiness.  I don't really know what I will do with myself tomorrow. Probably just a lot of aimless wandering about the internet.  Maybe a few drinks after the kid is in bed.  Watch some movies.  Listen to some of our favorite songs.  Wallow a little.  Miss him a lot.

So sorry for the ramble.  If you get a chance tomorrow, raise a glass to my old man.  I will be walking in a couple of Out of the Darkness walks this year in memory of him.  Join me by walking in a community walk near you.  Help us prevent tragedies like this.  May no one else in this world ever know the pain I know.

Vanity and Ego Stroking

I'll admit, sometimes I am a bit vain.  But what's wrong with wanting to look decent every once in a while?  OK, so my wardrobe needs a LOT of help, but sometimes, I can rock it.  And even if I look like shit to everyone else, as long as I feel like a million bucks - that is all that really matters.  Today, I was having one of those good days.  The hair flipped and waved just right, I got my nails done, and I'm generally just feeling good about me.  Sure, there are probably about 10 lbs I could lose, but overall, that's not a terrible place to be.

And then tonight I got a wonderful email from a client.  I nearly cried, she was so incredibly sweet and genuine.  It is so rewarding to be appreciated for something you put your heart and soul and energy into.  Especially when it is a volunteer project.  I am sure my client has no idea how much I needed that right now, but I did.  And it is an amazing feeling.  When most days I wonder why I still participate in this particular organization, today I knew WHY without a doubt.

Here's hoping that tomorrow is just as fulfilling.

Confessions of a Hoarder

We've all seen the shows on television.  The woman with 94 cats that have taken over her house. The man who hasn't thrown away a single thing in 30 years.  Houses so disgusting and full of junk and filth, they should be burned to the ground, except that the fumes would probably kill everything in a 30 mile radius.  I admit that every time there is a marathon on of ANY hoarding show, I can't turn it off.  It's a trainwreck I can't turn away from, and it makes me feel ever so slightly better about myself.

But I have a confession of my own: I am a Scentsy hoarder.  That deliciously fragrant wax that melts and fills my home with wonderful goodness....I can't get enough.  I know it's meant for "consumption", but there are times I find myself rationing it, as if it were illegal and I needed just enough to get my fix.  And with the exception of the handful of retired bars, there is always opportunity to get more.  It's cheap, too.  So what's my problem?

I have a box of approximately 50 bars and several bricks tucked away in a cupboard.  When the kid drags it out, she likes to stack the bars to build a "castle", and I find this extremely unsettling.  Why? I don't know.  But don't touch my "sniffers".  In every way, I appear to be a pretty regular gal.  I have a regular house, that is actually probably much less "lived in" than most.  I do need new furniture, but not until after the kid is a few years older.  I don't have phonebooks stacked on the front porch.  The grass isn't too long.  I generally have my shit together.  But for this one little problem.

Hmmm, suppose it could be worse.

Random Parenting Vent

Yes, I'm gonna bitch again.  If you don't have kids, don't feel obligated to read any further until you do have offspring.  Unless you've offered me an opinion on my parenting.  Then read on, and be warned.

Oh, and at some point, I'll stop bitching so much.  I hope.

So, the kid is going to be starting preschool next month.  Thank gawd.  I love the kid, and I love my time with her, but damnit if I don't need a break once in a while so I can work or shower without a damn audience.  And what the EFF is wrong with needing a break?  I'm freakin' mother of the year, and I know it.  And I'm better when I can get breaks here and there, especially when my husband goes on vacation for a year at a time for work.  (If you get my drift.)  I'm trying to run a business, homeschool the kid, and keep this house from falling into a cesspool of ick of our own making.

I belong to a few mothers' groups online.  And a few remarks lately have pissed me right off.  All the way from other moms who put their kids in preschool getting criticized, to the "I don't NEED a break from my kids." or "My kids just go to get social interaction with other kids." or "We just do it so that she gets a chance to do fun artwork."  Well aren't you fucking Mother Universe 2011?  Needing a break once in a while is not a bad thing.  I'm tired of people making it out to be.  I feel sorry for people whose only definition of themselves is MOM.  What kind of favor are you doing your kids?

Oh, and don't get me started on the whole "homeschooling is bad, how will the kid learn to be social???" Um, my kid is more social than pretty much ALL of her peers and most adults.  I do NOT want her socialized....in other words, wearing skimpy ass skirts, showing off her butt cheeks and having sex in an alley at the age of 12 like a lot of other kids these days.  I do not feel like being a grandmother in my 40s (or 50s, for that matter. Dear Kid, keep your pants on. Love, Mom.)  Also, I like the fact that my 2.5 year old speaks like an adult, TO ADULTS and kids alike.  She is (the majority of the time) respectful, well mannered, and polite.  And she even knows what sharing is!!!!!  GASP!

Anyway, that's all for now.  I'm off to dust my plaques from years 2008, 2009, and 2010.  I'm also using my first preschool-break for mommy day to write my acceptance speech for AWESOME KICKASS MOTHER OF THE YEAR WHO CAN ROUNDHOUSE CHUCK NORRIS' FACE IN .02 MILLISECONDS 2011.

Where has the Glamour gone?

I just watched a new Chrysler commercial asking that question.  Being a girl who basically owes her family history to Chrysler....I thought it might be a question worth pondering.  (But at heart, I'm a foreign car girl. Just for the record.)

So....what happened to the glamour?  That life where we were invincible and gorgeous.  The untouchables.  Life was one unending soiree.  We were fabulous, fun, flirty.  Nothing slowed us down.  We were our own personal idols.

Why mourn the loss of that person/time?  Is it/they really gone?  No.  Just changed.  And why shouldn't we embrace that change?  What's wrong with who we are now? Not a damn thing.  I'd like to think now we are wiser, well-informed, more experienced.  Can you imagine if the people we were never grew, aged, matured, learned?  Change is necessary, and not unglamorous.

Two Brutally Honest Confessions

Number 1:
I have a really great life, and a perfect kid (that does the usual kid stuff).  But don't think for one second I don't work my ass off at it.

Number 2:
I'm really glad the kid is an only child.  I couldn't have said great life if I had two.  I wouldn't even know HOW to juggle all of that.  Kudos to anyone with more than one kid.

Yup, I'm gonna bitch....

Warning...language ahead that is not for the faint of heart. I like F-bombs.  They like me.  It's probably the only 50-50 give and take relationship I have with anything.

I'm fucking exhausted.  Maybe because it's Monday (and I hate Mondays with a damn passion), or maybe it's because I really am hitting my wall. But damnit, I'm fucking tired.  TIRED.  Tired of people thinking that I have it so easy, because I'm a "Work at Home Mom".  You know what WAHM really means?  You're busting your ass day in and day out to balance a home, preschooler, and a business that is essentially being rebuilt from the ground up every few years.  (and I'm in month 3 of the rebuilding process.  Bear in mind, it took me 2 years to even get a footing last time.)

Wanna know what my average day is like?  Sleep like shit.  Get up a million times with dogs and/or child in the night.  Wake up really early.  Stumble to coffee pots (yes, we have 2) and hope that something comes out of them that can help me shake off the "wanna go back to bed" feeling.  Listen to the kid whine.  Listen to the dog whine. Respond to about 20 work emails, while kid is whining because she, too, is tired.  Get the kid set up with a TV show and some breakfast while I (GASP) check out Facebook and check in on my message board for 10 minutes.  Breakfast is over, so I clean up the syrup that is all over the floor, table, dog and kid. Oatmeal is a bitch to get out of dog fur.  It's now about 9:30.

Play with the kid.  Kid gets tired of me, so she goes and does something alone.  Great, now I have time to do some marketing, or maybe client work. Kid gets bored of being alone, so we read/color/do school stuff. Or alternately get out of the house for an educational field trip. Kid starts whining again, so we go back home.  Kid refuses to eat lunch and throws it ON the dog. AGAIN. Somewhere in here, I need to find time to work in some professional development. It's now noon.

Kid is tired, so she's vegging on the couch watching something on Nick Jr. while I pick up more messes.  Phone has rung about 10 times by now.  I have an urgent project to work on, so I sneak in 30 minutes while she becomes a turnip on the couch.  Shit, I realize I haven't showered yet.  Oh well.  Keep working.  Kid gets whiny, AGAIN.  Give her milk and turn on a movie while she drifts off to nap. Hopefully. She naps about 60% of the time.  Maybe for an hour or two.  Which is my chance to shower, put sweatpants back on, deal with the dogs, and get about 5 minutes into another work issue before she wakes up.  Kid wants to know about dinosaurs.  I don't know a damn thing about dinosaurs.  Google.  It's now about 4:30.

Fuck, what's for dinner? Have I eaten today? No, but there are about 3-4 coffee cups littered across my desk.  Damnit, kid threw her dolls and their shoes everywhere, and the dogs are now chewing on them. She wants a lollipop.  The doorbell rings, its UPS. Remember that I have a shipment that HAS to go out today, and pick up is in about 15 minutes. SHIT.  Urgent client email coming into the cellphone.  Batteries die in kid's favorite toy. Change batteries.  Kid sets up camp in my office where we practice writing her letters.  I blog, before I lose my sanity.  Whether for work or play. Floor needs to be mopped, but the damn mop does a shitty job.  It can wait for tomorrow.  DAMNIT.  I still haven't defrosted anything for dinner.  It's now about 6:30.

Husband comes home, drops his gear and disappears into my office.  I get frustrated because it's not really MY office any more.  Office accumulates more shit as the kid drags her entire bedroom in.  Dinner still isn't started.  Guess we're eating out of a box.  I'm a shitty cook anyway.  Eat. Kid needs a bath.  I need to place an order for a client ASAP.  I have a fucking headache.  Need to do laundry so kid has clean underwear and socks for tomorrow. Wait, do I have clean underwear and socks?  Email a client about a meeting.  Email another client about their product. Snuggle my dog, because we both need it.  Finally get the kid in the tub.  Let her play while I squeak in some more marketing stuff.  It's now about 9:30.

Kid fights us about bedtime.  Either I lay down with her and risk falling asleep with undone tasks on my list, or I let her play with her iXL until she passes out.  More work. Then bed. I lay in bed for at least an hour trying to fall asleep.  Then the dog wakes me up to go outside.  Come back to bed.  Kid gets in bed with us, then proceeds to lie sideways pushing me out.  I get up and sleep with my 100 lb dog in her bed. Sleep like shit.  It's now about 2:30 a.m.

Working from home isn't nearly the cakewalk anyone thinks it is.  At least if my rugrat was in preschool, her messes through the day wouldn't be my problem.  The constant interruptions wouldn't mean I have to stop mid-email or tell a client I have to call them back later.  I would never run out of milk/frozen waffles/beer/fruit snacks.  (Diet essentials.  At least I am never, ever, ever out of coffee. Thank you, Amazon.)  My home rarely is "perfect".  I hate clutter and chaos, but I've learned that some is just unavoidable.  If you visit my home, most likely there will be dog hair on the couch and milk rings on the coffee table.  I'm currently seeking a method to remove Bendaroo wax from the TV screen.  Suggestions  appreciated in the comments, but please keep your "time management" techniques & parenting suggestions to yourself, especially if you don't have kids.  Thanks.

Dear Monday,  F YOU, TOO!

Little Pearls of Wisdom - more or less

I couldn't sleep last night. I had (have) a very sick furchild on my hands, and anyone who truly knows me is aware of the fact that I absolutely love this dog and would do anything for him.  Including potty trips outside every 20-30 minutes all night long.  (and other gross things I will not go into detail over.)  So, what happens when you can't sleep?  You think.  And when you are that tired, the things rambling through your head can be genius or incoherent, or somewhere in the middle.

I'm still chewing some of the more intelligent thoughts over, or I'd go into detail here.  My mind was truly all over the place. It's amazing what happens when you are just past the point of no return.

Feeling Human

I admit, I haven't been feeling much like a human lately.  More like a slug, on the path to a goal, but largely unaware of what that goal is.  Just making slow progress each day.  It doesn't help that I've been sick, as has the rest of the family.  The metaphorical fog I was living in was only complicated by the literal fog I was trying to see/breathe through.  Add in the complications and dangers of actually being human, and I didn't feel much like one.

Today, I am somewhat on the mend.  The sinuses and sore throat are starting to abide, though I'm not running at my usual capacity.  My husband did something wonderful and much needed for me, and sent me off to get a little bit of pampering.  I'm not one to put myself first ever, at least not since becoming a wife and mother, so today was a nice little unexpected indulgence.  I treated myself to a very cliche trip to the nail spa, for a deluxe manicure and pedicure. I'm still slightly surprised at how much better those small little things can make me feel.

Anyway, what I'm getting to, in my rambling way, is that I can't recall what exactly triggered the change, but at some point, I stopped taking care of myself.  OK, I still bathe, color my hair (gasp), buy new clothes when needed, take care of my teeth, etc., but I'm talking about really taking care of myself. The occasional attention paid to my soul and rejuvenation.  Almost anyone who finds themselves in the position of being the primary caretaker of a household/family/loved one can probably identify with the feeling that they just don't get the attention that they used to, from themselves.

What I should be doing, is making time for myself.  And whatever form that time takes: a trip to the spa, shopping, a day at the beach, a drive, or even a 20 minute solo trip to the coffee shop, I need to make it count. I think this means setting aside all the other bullshit I am working on, dealing with, listening to, and just going and doing it.  Hell, it doesn't even mean I have to leave the house, though I will admit that I probably get a little bit more benefit of my time if I step out of my "element".

I promise myself to try to do this a little more.  It doesn't have to cost me anything.  I can even drive five minutes from home and find myself up in the mountains, seemingly thousands of miles from civilization.   It would be nice if that 5 minute drive included a massage and facial, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

Why are we here?

Wow.  What a way to lead in, right?  Well first off, let's get the housekeeping out of the way.  On your way to this link, you had to click the little box that advised you of adult content ahead.  Now, I'm not going to be writing things that you might think should be censored, but I will be typing out honest, occasionally sensitive, thoughts.  And we all know my language can get a little dicey when I'm emotional.  So you've been duly warned that it probably isn't all rainbows and unicorns ahead.  But then again, that's why we are here.  Honesty, reclaiming ourselves, looking at the good and the changeable. Don't worry, this isn't going to be some gloom and doom type boo-hooing.  It won't be some uber-inspired self-help endeavor, either.  Just me, catching up with me.


So, why are we here? Recently, I've been struggling with the thought that I've lost my identity.  Caught up in all of this that we call life, I've forgotten who I was.  No, who I am. I still have to remind myself of that spunky, vibrant person I used to be. Still am.  The writer, the dreamer, the girl who could party until the sun came up, take a nap, and do it all over again the next day.  I think a lot of people in my life are missing that person.  I know I am.  And damnit, it's time that I did something for myself.

Right now, who am I?  I truly don't know how I would summarize myself.  This used to come so naturally to me, as I am sure it did to many of you.  "Who are you?" "Oh, I'm a senior, business major, member of XYZ sorority, and I volunteer part-time at the ASPCA."  etc.  Or after college: "I'm a Marketing Director for Acme Products.  I own a condo in Old Town, and have a labrador retriever.  In my spare time, I enjoy mountain biking and long walks on the beach."

So why is it so hard now, at age 33, to define myself?  Sure, I'm a wife and mother, and I have a career. I live in a beautiful home in Southern California, drive a nice vehicle, and enjoy my volunteer work.  But none of that is who I am. What is?  Someone asked me this week, "What do you enjoy doing?" and would you know, I couldn't for the life of me think of an answer?  Yeah, I like to take pictures.  I like to go off-roading in my SUV.  I like to write. Go to the beach. Explore mexican cuisine. Watch the clouds. Lots of things. But at that moment, I couldn't answer. Why?  What the hell is wrong with me?  And if I could have answered, I can guarantee I would have been completely non-committal.

Before anyone jumps to the diagnosis of clinical depression, allow me to offer an alternative: We're in that "grey area" of life.  (Yes, grey with an "e".  I'm worldly. Deal.)  So much of our life is defined by milestones and expectations, but right now (and many of my friends will surely agree), I'm at that point where the next step is unclear.  College: check. Get married: check. Have a baby: check. Move across the country: check. So now what?  THAT, my friends, is what I intend to find out.  I'm done just living one day to get to the next, waiting for something to happen.  Because when you wait for something to happen, it is never good.  You have to make good for yourself, and I'm tired of bad things happening to me and those I love.

So here we go.  Get ready for bumps, tears, laughs, F-bombs, and more.

-G