Sunday night hubs and I watched the final episode of Enlisted. Apparently, not enough people saw the genius of this show and it was canceled. I’m infuriated by this because many shows that were awesome suffered the same fate, i.e. Firefly, The Secret Circle, My So Called Life, and now this one.
I’m mentioning this because after it was over last night, I sat there and cried. Normally, Enlisted is just full of hilarious, but tonight in addition to the wit, it had a poignant tone. Maybe it’s because it was the last episode, or maybe it’s because it was the natural progression of the story, but either way it got me. It was about one of the 3 main brothers nearly losing his life in Afghanistan 1 year ago on the day this episode occurs. The whole theme of the show was celebrating his Happy Live Day. I have a Happy Live Day. October 8th, 2013. I could have easily died that day. Looking back on it 9 months later, I still get very emotional. I think about what it would have put my husband and daughters through. I think about how my parents and extended family would suffer. And I think about the people who do die every day because they couldn’t get help or had reached a point where they thought there was no other way. My heart aches for them. I was lucky. I got help at the last moment, and I’ll be forever grateful to my family for helping me get professional assistance in the wee hours of that morning. I’ll never forget the looks of shock as I finally said out loud all the different ways I had thought about ending my life; but I’ll also never forget those last hugs and whispers of encouragement from my loved ones as I was “processed in”. Watching my hubs walk away while I was led in the opposite direction was probably the loneliest I’ve ever felt. I wish I didn’t have a Happy Live Day, but the fact that I do can’t be changed. I have to accept that this is part of my history, and I need to focus every single day on celebrating the life that I almost lost. It’s easier said than done. But here lately, I’ve been gaining ground. I have exciting times ahead of me, and I’m looking forward to them very much. I’ll always stop and pause on 10/8 to reflect on the importance of the day. It was a day that I fought the ultimate battle and was fortunate to come out on top. So if you have a Happy Live Day, too, embrace it. We are lucky, determined, and fighters. Because we're still here.
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Among many things, I am a perfectionist. Sometimes this is good and sometimes...well, not so much. In the home world, I get super critical of how I've wrapped a gift, whether a card says exactly the right thing that I am feeling, if my floors are clean enough...because somehow if my floors aren't clean, then nothing is clean. I'm a perfectionist about my hair, my outer appearance, my makeup, writing, cooking, and tons more. Maybe this is a touch of OCD? I don't know. I've never been diagnosed with that particular disorder, which is good because I've got enough of 'em to keep me plenty busy. But sometimes, this trait is helpful. I can find damn near anything that somebody has lost in the house. It's my special gift. If I can't find it, then it's either so lost that it will never be found, or it's not there. I don't give up. This was a really good thing to have when my grandfather passed away, and the whole family was looking through his closet where he kept all his genealogy records, important documents, pictures, etc. We were looking for his honorable discharge papers so he could be buried with the United States flag being presented to Granny. We looked all day, and after hours pretty much every one else had given up, but not me. I opened every envelope, dug through every box, looked at every single piece of paper in that closet. And I found it.
It's also really helpful at work, though I used to not think so. But because I am such a perfectionist, I keep really great records, which helps me at work. For years I've had manager after manager tell me I'm too hard on myself, I do a great job, but I let myself get too stressed out. I've finally been able to let go and admit something...I'm really good at my job. But when I have to work under pressure? I'm even better. I find this weird. With the struggles that I battle, one would think being under pressure would send me into orbit with anxiety. But it doesn't...not anymore. I get even more confident about myself. Isn't that strange? It's strange. But I'm happy and thankful that with everything I do freak out about, it's no longer work related. I am good at what I do. I'll be marking this day on my calendar, because I hardly ever say something like that. I used to think about perfectionism being a bad thing, but not anymore. I think most things, even those with a negative connotation, can be good as long as it doesn't get out of control. That's the hard part, and I'm still working through how to monitor it. But, I'm proud to say I've made significant progress the past 6 months. I hadn't put this out there publicly yet, but I think I'm ready. I have a Facebook page for this blog. If anyone is interested in liking the page so you'll know there's a new post, I'm going to give you the site address:
https://www.facebook.com/MissSassBlog I've been greatly touched by the messages I've received from people, and the comments left on this blog. It makes my heart sing that I'm accomplishing, a little a time, what I set out to do. I hope ya'll will stick with me as I continue this journey and perhaps recommend to any friends you have that might be interested, as well. So, thank you so much for the support, guys! I probably would have quit a while back thinking I was not reaching anyone. I've heard people say it and I've read articles and watched interviews about it. What I'm talking about is the belief out there that Mental Illness, i.e. Depression, Bipolarism, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Anorexia, Bulimia, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Schizophrenia, and all the rest, are just a myth. Depression doesn't exist, it's just a person who is sad. Bipolarism isn't really a mental disease, it's just a person out of control. You know what I think? I think a large part of society is so freaking terrified of the subject, that the only way they can deal with their fear of it is by denying its existence. Well guys, I'm here to tell you that simply being sad doesn't land you in a mental hospital for attempting to hurt/kill yourself. Anorexia is not just a person who isn't hungry. Body Dysmorphic Disorder is not just a person fishing for compliments. These are real, true, mental diseases that claim lives, destroy families, and cause more grief than most "normal" people (I really hate that phrase, but can't think of an alternative) can even imagine. And because so many people are afraid of facing the reality of it, mental illness is still very much a taboo topic. Those who suffer with it are ashamed and scared to let anyone know they have these feelings, thoughts, and behaviors because suddenly everyone talks in hushed tones when you walk by them. People laugh at the "weird" person because they have to turn the light on and off 5 times before they can leave a room. Other people shame you or demean you if you can't just "perk up". Or, even worse, they just stop talking to you like you don't exist anymore. And those of us who suffer shrink down into a ball and most of the issues we have become worse.
So guess what? I've begun sharing my struggles with anyone who is curious and asks. I started this blog in the hopes that someone will read it and feel a little bit better about their situation. I want people to know they are not alone. I welcome those who want to ask the scary details but are afraid to. I am not hesitant to talk about it anymore because part of my struggles were made so much worse because I hid how bad it had gotten in my head. I'll tell you why I decided to stop eating for 6 months. I'll share with you how I ended up in the mental hospital and 6 weeks of intensive group therapy. I will tell my story as many times as it takes to help generate awareness and acceptance of these very real problems. Is mental illness a curse? I would say, in some ways, yes. Nobody wants to feel like their own mind is against them. Nobody wants to feel like they are the only person in the world who is falling apart on the inside. And nobody wants to feel out of control or the utter sadness, shame, fear, and sheer fury that overwhelms you and drags you into this dark pit of mental, and sometimes, physical pain. So, in those ways, yes it is a curse. But... I've worked really hard to see the good that has happened because of my illness(s). When I've stopped and really focused, I can find some. Luckily, I got help at the most critical time, and prevented the most devastating event I can imagine from happening. Instead of destroying my family, it's made us closer. I've re-opened doorways with people that I thought were closed forever. It made me want to talk about my feelings and tell people what it's like to live with this. It has helped me re-discover my love for writing, and the most important thing it has done is get me back in touch with my faith. For years I questioned God why I was made this way. I got angry at him for creating me like this. And then one day I was feeling so beaten down and I just wanted answers. That's all. This may sound crazy, but I swear to you it happened this way. Suddenly it felt like I had a ray of sunshine shining down on just me and it clicked. I was made this way so that one day someone will share their own struggle and I can say, "It's okay. I understand completely because I've been there. And I survived". I have had it with the back pain. I've already mentioned to you that I have issues with him, and now I'm going to tell you what he said and then YOU can probably agree with me that he is, indeed, Dr. Asshat.
I underwent a series of three spinal injections, two weeks between each injection. After the 2nd injection, my pain had increased to almost unbearable levels. I called the office a couple of times and kept being directed to the nurse who assists with the procedure, but he's one of those people that sounds unsure of everything he says. You know what I mean - he ends every sentence like it's a question. That alone doesn't give you warm and fuzzies that he actually knew what he was talking about. So I insisted that I be given an appointment with the doctor to discuss things in person. I will NEVER forget that visit. He actually said to me the following, "You are the kind of patient that doctors don't like to treat". Followed by, "You call too much, and you're one those people who blame everything wrong that happens on the procedure I perform. If it rains 6 inches over there, you blame it on the procedure." I literally sat there dumbfounded. I just couldn't even respond because I was in such shock. He then passive aggressively pressured me into having the 3rd injection. Today, I had an appointment with a doctor that I have previously seen and he's amazing. The reason I didn't go to him in the first place is because my primary care physician referred me to Dr. Asshat. I told him about the comments the other doctor made and he asked me who I was seeing. When I told him, he said, "I've never been impressed with him, and what he did was just downright bullying". He did his own exam first, and then read the MRI report. Bottom line? The spinal injections were not necessary and he's not surprised one bit they didn't help. Vindication! I don't know why I question myself. It's that "bad Alison" that sometimes takes over. But, I have a history of having awful things needing to be done because I trusted my gut and didn't give up on finding the root of the problem. And you know what? I was proven right every single time. I knew something was off when I ended up having a hysterectomy because of recurrent large ovarian cysts and endometriosis that wouldn't respond to treatment. I knew something was wrong when I ended up with neck surgery for a prolapsed disc and torn cartilage because I wasn't getting any better with physical therapy and muscle relaxers. I knew something was wrong with the chronic pelvic pain that took me almost a year to finally find the correct doctor and get the proper treatment. And I knew those damn injections weren't working, and Dr. Asshat made me feel like a jerky liar. Ass.Hat. So, today I learned a good lesson. Stop questioning my intuition, especially when it's something going on with my body. I spent 5 months feeling bullied and demeaned by Dr. Asshat, and I could have skipped all that mess if I'd just gotten a 2nd opinion sooner. I refuse to berate myself for making the mistake of not following my gut - which is what I would normally do. Maybe it's because I just don't have the energy to scold myself or maybe, MAYBE, I'm beginning to realize that I'm not such the loser that I often feel like. I won't lie, I'm not believing the second theory too much. I've been working my ass off at work, and I'm so mentally tired I can hardly think. But no matter the reason, it feels good to go to bed tonight not being mean to myself. Vindication is truly sweet. This past week has been a crazy one. I'm exhausted, but my mind just won't shut down. Aside from work kicking my ass mentally, my baby girl had her Pre-K graduation ceremony last night. Friday was her last day at her school because she is going to spend the summer with her sister and Nana. So, she had to say goodbye to most of her friends and teachers yesterday. The ceremony was really well done by the school staff, and the moment I saw L's picture on the slideshow they were playing as we settled in, I started crying. I didn't really stop until after we got back home. It's so hard to believe she's already starting Kindergarten in a few months. Where did the time go?
Lately, I've been considering giving up on my blog (who wants to read the ramblings of a crazy person, anyway?), my fiction writing...basically everything. However, I finally let my parents read the story I'm writing. I was not expecting the feedback I received, but it was very much needed. Their comments have energized me to take this seriously and keep going. I've only let a select few read it, but I've gotten such complimentary feedback from everyone that I can't help thinking maybe I've got something really good here. I've been listening too much to the "bad Alison" in my head telling me I'm worthless, ugly, boring, untalented, and an all around terrible person. I wish it were easier to block that voice out because the basic message I tell myself is that I'm garbage. What makes me sad is that I had a brief stint last year where I did have self confidence...but it didn't last. I'm going to tell you a secret. That confidence popped up when I was starving myself. Literally not eating more than about 200 calories a day, if that. And because I felt good about myself back then, I've been thinking it's time to try it again. I feel out of control of everything around me. The only time I have ever felt truly in control is when I was depriving myself of food. I miss that feeling and I want it back. I know my friends and family are going to be outraged by me even thinking about it, but I can't stop. Although I don't really need to lose all that much, I want to be thinner because that means I'll finally be pretty. I can't be pretty until I'm tiny. Those two things are firmly linked together in my mind, and they always have been. It's challenging trying to raise two girls to feel good about themselves when I can't stand looking at myself in the mirror. I don't want them to learn to be self critical by watching me. So, I try to hide my negative thoughts from them and I constantly tell them how beautiful they are, both inside and out. I may be screwed up, but I'm going to do my damndest to ensure they carry a healthy self confidence with them as they grow. It's one of the best gifts I can think of to give them. It's too late for me, but it's not for them. Now is the prime time to re-enforce their wonderful qualities so they can feel content, satisfied, and dare I hope, happy. ...read the news.
...try to have nice things. ...expect people to actually show up to meetings. ...be surprised at how rude people are. ...be surprised at how stupid people can be. ...continue to be surprised at how different the school curriculum is since "my time" and being unable to figure out 4th grade math. ...be surprised, basically. ...mention "maybe" plans to kids before said plans are firmed up. ...keep trying to get my kids to try something new for dinner. ...get so attached to animals. :( ...stop trying to get up at 4:30am. Today was a super busy day. One of those days that just mentally exhausts you to the point you get physically whooped. Woke up to find that Emmy the Terror had torn up a second section of carpet in the living room. I had a ton of meetings that didn't really accomplish anything and taking up time I could have spent accomplishing stuff. Read about another school shooting during lunch and got super sad and then mad about it (more to come on that topic later because I have a LOT to say about it). We had an "emergency situation" at work where we all smelled something burning for about 10 minutes, then started seeing smoke, only to be told by the fire marshall or whoever he was that he was still "sniffing around" to figure out where it was coming from and we didn't need to evacuate. Okaaaaay, not making me feel very safe right there. Five minutes later we're being evacuated and standing around in the parking lot for 20 minutes. Finished my day with more meetings, raced to the grocery store to grab emergency dinner makings, raced home to make dinner, discovered upon arriving at home that Emmy the Terror had eaten a hole in the middle of the seat cushion of the couch, and then officially turned our remaining guinea pig over to his new owner. I didn't even like Scotty (Tiberius was the sweet one), but dammit if I'm not sad now. Tomorrow has to be better, right? So, this weekend will go down in the record books as one that I never - and I mean never - want to repeat. We had great plans for this weekend, and zero of it was accomplished. Instead of going to Houston to visit the in-laws, which is always a good time (so there was a lot of disappointment on everyone's part), we started our Friday evening out, just minutes before leaving, by discovering one of our Guinea pigs dead. As one can imagine, and as I previously posted, the girls were distraught...particularly H. We buried him, had a short "service" for him, and then promptly discovered that Emmy the Terror, aka. our Manchester Terrier rescue, had fleas. After close inspection of our other 2 pooches, I determined they ALL had fleas, which then prompted Operation Alison OCD Panic Attack and De-Flea The Entire House and Both Cars to commence. This has been an all weekend affair, minus one brief break where we took the girls to a movie (Maleficent was awesome, by the way). It has involved topical treatment of the dogs, shaving and brushing of the dogs, baths for the dogs, an emergency visit by our pest provider (they are incredible) to treat the house and outside, washing of everything fabric that I could get in a washing machine in hot water and drying on high heat, another OTC spray for the carpets, rugs, and upholstered office couch, and shit tons of vacuuming. In case you haven't gathered by now, I'm sort of a loony toon when it comes to pests. I cannot rest until I feel like the problem is firmly under control, which has meant NO rest this weekend. I don't know if it's psychosomatic symptoms or the real deal, but I'm itching all over, too.
My husband and both girls have gotten used to me going sorta nuts about this kind of stuff because about 3 years ago, the girls came down with a raging case of head lice and I was an even crazier person that time around. They've also watched me wage war on fruit flies, so really, they've taken this whole weekend in stride. It's me that can't rest imagining the little bastards in my carpets. You'd think our house is filthy or something reading all this, when in actuality it's pretty darn clean. We have a cleaning lady come every 2 weeks, our kitchen and bathrooms remain clean so as not to attract any more fruit flies, and head lice actually prefer clean hair so clean kids are more at risk of contracting those nasty little things. We have our pest control company out 4 times a year, and I've actually never seen a bug in our house except for the above referenced pests. But it makes me FEEL dirty, and seriously, I'm not the kind of person that deals very well with that feeling. So, when I say this has been a madhouse this weekend, that is no exaggeration. Lucky for me, it's really only me that has a hard time coping. The rest of my family just sort of rolls with the punches and watches me with a "there she goes again" look on their face. Okay, I gotta go check my hair again and take another Benadryl. Tonight was a very traumatic evening in our house. One of our guinea pigs died, and the girls took it very hard. It's really difficult watching your child's heart break and not be able to make it better. You hug them, wipe their tears, and whisper "It's going to be okay" and "Just let it out", all while your heart breaks right along with theirs. The only thing worse than that is telling your child that death is a part of life and hearing their response "I hate life".
I hate life. It's 3 short little words that can't be unsaid or unheard once the words are spoken. I'm in a rather unique position where I appreciate the feeling all too well that is causing my daughter to lash out with those dangerous words. But I can see the damage hearing those words can do to anyone close to her, who loves her, and wants nothing but happiness for her. I had a few friends at work approach me after reading Thursday's rather bleak subject matter offering hugs and encouragement because they didn't know what else to do to help me. My hubs just held me as I cried that night because that is all that he could do for me. The bottom line to all of this is that I stumbled upon some clarity with the loss of Tiberius the Guinea Pig. When you are struggling like I have been, lashing out with all the anger I had building up inside me, you can't turn a blind eye as to what effect you are creating on your loved ones, family, friends, and co-workers.To hear my daughter tell me she hates life with tears in her eyes...that nearly broke me. It put me on the flip side of myself when I'm hurting. And it's made me stop and think. When I started this blog I promised myself that I would be open, honest, and hold nothing back. Looking through my previous posts, I can feel satisfaction that I have done just that. I’ve been an open book for everybody to read and peek inside the crawlspaces in my head. In keeping in line with that promise, today I’m admitting that I am beyond angry. I’m mad, I’m confused, and I’m downright exhausted. I’m tired of fighting this fight. I really am. I just want to lay down and give up. I just want the Lord to come and take me. It’s not just a tired that sleep will cure. It’s a bone deep, aching, fatigue that only not being here anymore will fix.
I have a friend of a friend who is battling cancer. She has a husband and small kids and she’s fighting a fight that breaks your heart and makes you proud at the same time. I think her time may be near, and as much as this is going to sound weird, I almost envy her. She gets to go to Heaven, be healed and made whole, and be with her Lord. I can’t think of anything much better than that. I’ve thought a thousand times about how to fix myself. But I’m just so fucking pissed off that I need fixing in the first place. I’m so angry about it that sometimes I have to focus all my energy on this one imagery exercise to get myself to calm down. Imagine a room that is full of nothing but glass. Glass cabinets, mirrors, glass figurines, crystal, just glass and the most fragile and beautiful things you can dream of. I go into that room with a baseball bat and smash every single thing in there. I scream. I throw that bat, I swing that bat, and I stomp on everything until there is nothing but a fine powder left. I’m angry because I’m failing as a mom. I’m sure my daughters are going to be so screwed up by the time they’re old enough to recognize it. I’m angry because I feel like I’ve wasted the love of my life’s time by being stuck with me. He deserves so much better than me. I’m mad because I’m stuck in a job I cannot stand but the benefits and pay are too good to just walk away from. I’m mad because I drive 2 hours every day in a commute to get to and from this job that I despise. I’m angry because I still look in the mirror most days and want to claw my own face off and throw something at the mirror so I can’t see myself anymore. I’m mad because I can’t be the carefree, fun loving person that makes a room light up by being there. I am angry because I have to take a fistful of pills every day just to be quasi-normal, and let’s face it, IT’S NOT WORKING. I’m mad because it would take another 6 months to change medications and figure out if something different would even work, and I’m just too damn tired to even think about doing that. I’m mad because my body is structurally screwed up and I feel like an 80 year old at 38. 38! I’m angry because I had to have a hysterectomy at 35 and now if I don’t take a hormone pill I’m a complete mess ON TOP OF the complete mess I already am. I’m angry because I’m sad for no reason other than that’s what my brain is wired to be. Sad. Hi world! I have the perfect life, really. But I’m sad! And no amount of telling me how great my life is changes that! I’m mad that people today still don’t understand that depression is a disease and look at you like you’re just being dramatic or having a pity party. I'm tired and I'm mad. When does it end? |
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July 2019
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