I have a confession to make. I hope y’all will still like me after I’ve told you. *Deep Breath*

Lately I have had the worst attitude…second only to the AP political columnists.

I’ve been crabby. I’ve been put upon. I’ve been “wronged.” And I’ve been annoying as hell, even to me.

Sure, I’ve also been right, on occasion, but that doesn’t mean that it’s doing me (or anyone else) any good by griping nonstop about the unfairness of life. Because, um, HI, LIFE IS NOT FAIR!

Several years ago, before I discovered the wonders of a good therapist and non abusive relationships, I always thought that my feelings were wrong.  If I felt badly, I had no reason to. I spent my life second guessing myself, and downplaying my anger, grief, disappointment, and even happiness because I didn’t think I was entitled to feel any of those things. (It’s like that episode of the Simpsons where Homer (or Marge?) tells Lisa to stuff her feelings deep inside, where they can’t hurt anyone else.)

Obviously, that wasn’t such a healthy place to be. I ended up off and on various prescription medications from antidepressents to antipsychotics. I cut myself. I took risks, hoping I’d be injured, just so I could then be brave, and have people praise me for it.

Now that I’m aware of what utter bullshit all of that was, I’m much healthier, and happier. I’m able to express my feelings in a normal way, such as screaming at Tonks that I WILL SO TRADE YOU IN FOR A FISH IF YOU DON’T STOP SNIFFING THAT SNAIL AND PEE ALREADY.  So now it’s a fine line between wanting to allow myself to feel whatever it is that I’m feeling, but NOT allowing myself to wallow.

Today I decided to stop wallowing; and that simple decision has made my outlook so much brighter already.

Of course, that could be the early glass of wine I permitted myself for being so emotionally mature.

Technorati Tags: Life, Depression

Today was one of those days. You know the kind I’m talking about.

Today was one of those days where it seemed like a great idea to crawl back into bed after my shower.

Today was one of those days where concentration of any sorts took too much effort and made my head and eyes ache.

Today was one of those days where, instead of taking a lunch break, I wanted to quit for the day.

Today was one of those days where my creativity and words got stuck someplace between my brain and the page.

Today was one of those days where tears were always lurking below the surface.

Today was one of those days where the sadness actually took on physical pain, right below the shoulder blades. Like a knife. Or just behind the lungs, like a balloon about to burst.

Today was one of those days where it felt like the edges of my mind were beginning to fray, like a dog’s rope toy. But just enough for me to notice, and not anyone else.

Today was one of those days where it seemed as though I’m doomed to fail, before I even try.

Today was one of those days where I could think of a thousand things I’d rather do than what I’m doing. Of a million things I’d rather be than who I am.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow will not be one of those days.

Tomorrow will be one of those days where my smile comes easily, and the dog makes me laugh, instead of shout.

Tomorrow will be one of those days where work gets done with time to spare.

Tomorrow will be one of those days where my book seems to write itself.

In short, tomorrow will not be today. Tomorrow will be a good day.

Technorati Tags: Life, Depression, Random

Dramatic much?

I’m really quite alright over here. I had a bad day, on Tuesday, and I’m probably still a little hormonal from adjusting to birth control, but I’m OK. I actually considered deleting Tuesday’s post and pretending like it never happened. But I’m lazy, so thar’ she blows.

Yes, I’m broke. Who isn’t? I got emails and comments from people in the same boat. People just like me: late 20’s, single, childless, with decent incomes. People who are older and younger. Married. Pregnant. Mothers. It sucks ass that life is like this, but it is. And we all deal. I made some plans to be more fiscally responsible. Plans I can keep. So there’s something.

Plus, sometimes life’s just too expensive and you take help where you can get it. I’m lucky enough to have a loving person to help me, instead of ONLY relying on banks and credit agencies. I should be happy about this, not sad and teenage-angst ridden.

As far as the other? That thing I promised y’all I’d stop talking about?  That’s really OK, too. Yes, sometimes it’s hard and I get sad and cry. But it’s OK. I’m OK. Yesterday, actually, was really rough, and I ended up sobbing to JS for over an hour about just how horrid I felt about it all. There was something in the air, and it felt like the miscarriage happened days ago, rather than weeks. But, JS and I did talk. A lot. And it helped. A lot.

Maybe it’s because I’m not used to being in a mature, adult relationship, but I was surprised at how theraputic it was to just ramble on and on about my feelings, and have someone else listen attentively, saying nothing more than “It’ll be OK,” or “I don’t mind that your nose is making snot bubbles, really, just let it out.”  We talked about all the things that happen, internally and externally, that contribute to That Thing  being such an emotional ordeal…and how letting it be a Big Deal is GOOD and NORMAL and GOD, Lady, just give yourself a fucking break!  But also, we talked about how we’re doing, as a couple. How we’re helping each other; how it’s good to be there for each other through the shitty times as much as through the good times.

We also talked about what’s next. When we might start to entertain thoughts of tiny little socks and tiny little feet that can fit, wholly, into your mouth. And before he could say “please don’t eat my imaginary baby,” I felt 100% better. Because I’d had an adult conversation about my feelings, and someone had listened to me and responded positively to my feelings. And we came up with a “game plan,” as much as one can for life.  No, I won’t tell you what it is, because I’m incredibly superstitious.  And also because it’s fun to have secrets.

Even though the grief is near; even though nothing will replace the life that almost was, but wasn’t,  I’m letting myself feel excited about what the future holds…uncertain as it may be.

Technorati Tags: Relationships, Life, Miscarriage, Pregnancy

There’s a lot I don’t remember about December 30th and 31st of 2006. In fact, it might be a shorter list of what I do remember. I had gone home to Alabama for Christmas and spent a nice, quiet week with my parents and brothers.  On the 29th I came back to CA for our annual Family Christmas Party, a big to do with lots of relatives I hardly ever see. I spent much time out back playing with the various and sundry kids. I remember the drive home, and having a headache.

On the 31st I declined a few invites to parties, because I was exhausted. I unpacked during the day. I remember that. I remember how nice it was to be back in my apartment. Family and friends told me later that I had been very excited to catch up on TiVo and watch The Little Mermaid, which one of my brothers had given me for Christmas. I remember being on the couch, and having a glass of white wine.

I woke up on January First with my roommate in the bed with me. I felt very groggy. I thought maybe she had come home from her party a little tipsy and we had decided to have a slumber party; but I was a little disturbed that I couldn’t remember her coming home. I took a shower. I was sore everywhere. My face hurt with the pressure of the water. I had cuts on my hands and long scratches on my chest. There was a knot in the back of my head and a patch of hair that was oddly shorter than the rest in the back.  The soap suds were mildly pink when they rinsed off from between my legs.

When the water started to turn cool, I really didn’t want to get out of the shower. I was terrified. I stayed in the steamy bathroom as long as I could, and then I sneaked back into the bedroom to dress without looking in the mirror. I sat on the edge of the bed and woke up my roommate. By now my eye was almost swollen shut, and I had a nasty fat lip and could taste blood.

My roommate asked me what I remembered, and I said nothing. Nothing since the party two days before. I started to cry, which made my face hurt even more. She said that the night before, around 12:30, I had called her a dozen times or so, leaving her incoherent voice mails. We finally connected, and she said I had begged her to come home. When she came through the door I was lying on the floor and our living room was dishevelled. She tried to wake me but I would barely stir.  There was still a huge party going on the courtyard outside. She found a lock of hair lying next to me on the floor. She said I kept repeating “I got him with the scissors. He said sorry. The Christmas tree was watching.” I also said that there were toothpicks in my drink. She called her mother, and they helped put me to bed and went out to question the party guests.

Her mom came back on the 1st, and we all went to the ER. I tested positive for GHB and pot (which, if you know me? Uh, no). I had a pretty bad bruise on my temple and eye;  the doctor was worried that I’d fractured my cheek bone. The police were called automatically, and they encouraged me to have a rape kit done at a different police building. I, unfortunately, do remember most of that. It was horrendous.

The piece meal scenario that everyone came up with from my distorted memory, cell phone records, and police interviews is that about 9:00 on New Years, a neighbor invited me to come up to the party. I had tried to say no, and was even in my PJ’s already, but I went just to be polite. I brought my own drink with me, and didn’t take anything from the party. My wine glass was missing the next morning, so the cops assume that whomever attacked me slipped the GHB in my wine. One of my male neighbors saidI got drunk and he brought me back down to my apartment, leaving the door unlocked. He said that we kissed goodnight. He said that no one else went in my place until my roommate came home. Officially what happened to me was an “assault with intent to commit rape” because the test was inconclusively, most likely because of the drugging. But there were some small tears.

I never went back to the apartment once I finished with the police and the rape test. (To this day I’ve never even been back to that part of town). My mother flew out and my family packed up the apartment and moved us out in a day. Our landlord tried to sue us for breaking lease, but as the neighbor who was the mostly likely perp was their employee, they dropped it rather quickly.

And now it’s been a year. There have been some horrible times. Times when I couldn’t stop sobbing. Times when I couldn’t eat without throwing up. Times I couldn’t sleep, or couldn’t stop sleeping. Times when I couldn’t breathe because there was a vice like grip on my lungs. But I got help right away. I found a wonderful counselor. My friends and boss were incredibly supportive. And so was my family, mostly. My roommate and I ended up having a lot of problems. Still do, even though I now live alone. I try not to think about that.  

But even so, even though I’m estranged from part of my family now as an indirect result of this crime, life is so much better. I’m happy. I like my life. I feel that I’ve come a long way. I’m sure of my self, of what I can handle. I was shown so much kindness and love that I managed to come away without being jaded about all humanity. 

It’s been a long year, but I refuse to call it a bad one. And I refuse to believe that the ones to follow will be anything less than extraordinary. 

Technorati Tags: Life, Rape, Recovery, Post Traumatic Stress, Depression

Tags: 80, 87

Y’all? I know, I know. It’s been a while. It’s not ONLY cause I’m a jerk, though. It’s been very busy! I’ve been recovering from vacation! I’ve been buying doggie supplies! I went to Colorado to see my friend Jen and her wonderful family! (OMFG, toddlers are adorable. Probably, I’m sure, cause he’s not mine, but still, ADORABLE. Me want.) I’ve been working! See? Am busy!

I’m beginning to think that my cool TV Blog might be a titch ambitious at the moment. I’m running out of time, ya know? I mean, I love watching TV and I love writing about it, but even a self imposed deadline is making me freak out a little. I may have to nix that blog all together and just write about the shows I watch all nilly-pilly like on this blog. But, I promise to warn y’all when I do in case you haven’t watched it yet. (See, am busy but NICE!)

Speaking of dogs, I can’t wait to get mine. Seriously. I spent a shit load of money at PetCo this weekend on all kinds of neat toys, good (non recalled) food, treats, matching leash and collar (purple!) and a super soft doggie bed that JS crammed himself into last night to make sure it was up to par for the little prince/princess. Of course, JS also pointed out that it’s not like the dog will ever USE the dog bed, since I’m a big softie and will totally bring it to bed with me at the first sign of a whimper. He’s totally right. All I really need to get now is a crate and a baby gate. Oh, and also the dog.

I’ve put some calls in to various shelters and people who’re moving and can’t keep their dogs. I found one that I’d just LOVE to get, but the ad was listed in August (when the HELL did it get to be October? I mean, JUH?!?!) . I’m slightly paranoid that all of the good dogs in SoCal will be taken and the only options I’ll have left are Boxers who want to rip my face off just for looking at it and also might point out the extra padding around my tummy and thighs. I really just couldn’t live with a dog like that, ya know?

In other news, I’ve cut my Lexapro dosage in half. I’m very excited about it, because of the whole weight gain thing and also because I don’t like being dependent on medication for too long (just a personal thing, I know lots of people who need meds long term, so I’m totally not passing judgement). Since The Incident (apparently calling it “the night I was drugged, raped, and beaten” is a little too blunt for my family) last New Years, I’ve actually been doing quite well for some time. I don’t burst into tears for no reason. I’m sleeping without my Ambien (though I have saved a few for the Big Family Event this Christmas; I’m not stupid). I’m eating regular meals (OK, and some extra meals). The Black Cloud is gone most of the time. So I think it’s time to start coming off of the meds. Slowly. And under doctor supervision. I am having a few withdrawal symptoms, mostly at the end of the day when the chemicals are leaving my body from the night before. I get a little nauseous and lightheaded. I’ve also noticed that I’m a tad bit anxious sometimes, but nothing that I can’t deal with. It’s good to be aware of it, I think, so I can keep tabs. I’ve also let JS know so he can let me know if I start acting all unhinged. If I ever feel too down to get out of bed, or I can’t stop crying and it’s not PMS, or I begin to think about hurting myself in anyway, or have nightmares about That Night, then I’ll call the Dr. back and say I need to up the dosage again.

But, so far, so good. Although, the pounds aren’t just melting off…what’s up with that?

I’ve found some place I’d love to volunteer for. It’s a Christian group, but not a missionary sort of thing. It’d be either “babysitting” kids from the shelter while their parent(s) is at some sort of class (life skills, mostly), or tutoring students from the shelter. It’s the sort of thing I did in college and loved. I love working with kids, and there are far too many kids who get lost in poverty, abuse, and neglect. It’ll be nice to be able to make a positive difference in the world again. I really miss it. They have an orientation/informational meeting in a few weeks that I’ll go to and see if it’s a good fit.

I also start class again next month (and here I thought my “break” would leave me bored…where the HELL did it go!?!). It’s my last class in this MFA program before my thesis! I can’t even believe it! I’ve taken it one class at a time, not looking at the big picture because I knew it would overwhelm me. But here I am, 1 class and a thesis away from my Creative Writing degree! What I’ll do with it, well, that’s another matter. My thesis will be to write a novel or a collection of short stories. I’m leaning more towards the novel. I have a few ideas…nothing too concrete, but a few solid ones. I like the idea of self discovery and also mystery…and, natch, these have been done to death, so I have to really think about what makes my story unique. I’m not lacking for fodder, that’s for damn sure.

So those are my updates. I’m sorry it took so long in coming. I’m not planning any more trips for quite some time, so I’ll be able to get back to my regular schedule…of posting whenever I feel like it. But a few times a week has been my overall norm, right?!?! I mean, I’m pretty good at it, aren’t I? AFFIRM ME, PLEASE.

Tags: 15, 17, 31, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 59, 61, 69, 75, 87