My Happy

Uh, I promised I’d find something positive about myself, embrace it and write about it.  I am a woman of my word.

My kid is one of the coolest people on this planet.  I can say that, not just because I’m his mom, but because of the way other people react to him.

It makes me a little sad, because in reality, he is my best friend.  He is the only person who goes anywhere with me.  He is the only person who I can count on to actually hold up their end of the bargain.

He is my heart, my sould, my love and my life.  I just need to look at him for 2 seconds and then I remember why it is that I keep trying when things seem hopeless.  I do it for him.  All of it.  And I’ll keep doing it until he doesn’t need me to or until I can’t, whichever comes first.

My guess?  He’ll be begging me to knock it off and I’ll just keep right on doing.  Why?  Because.  I already told you – he is my life.  Don’t you listen?

I can’t remember

I can’t remember the last time I went to bed without having teared up at some point during the day. I do know that it seems like it’s all I do anymore. Get up, deal with life and family and work, cry about something inconsequential, suck it up, put on a happy face and move on.

It all tends to come back to me when I try to sleep. All of the hurt, anger and worry wells up and keeps me from getting comfortable physically. Last night, it was 1:00 AM and I was contemplating buying some credits for the stupid BINGO game on FaceBook.

My latest, and, quite possibly the biggest, disappointment at the way my life is turning, is the 36 pounds I’ve gained over the past 2 years. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. I see an overweight woman who just wants that 36 pounds to be gone. Truth be told, I’d be on top of the world if I could lose 20.

When I met my husband, I weighed 160. Still a bit heavy for a 5’5″ gal, but I was on the way down. With the exception of pregnancy, I never got above 170, and while I wasn’t happy with that, it was ok.

I once was at 150 and was over the moon. I felt I could do anything I want. I could go anywhere I wanted. I could wear anything I wanted, and it all felt good.

Here I sit at 186. I am the heaviest I’ve ever been in my adult life without being pregnant. I am miserable. I see a photo of myself and I cry. The tears well up inside and I have a whole lot of anger at my husband about it. “How could you let me get so fat and not say anything?”

He tells me all he sees is beautiful. That just makes me want to punch him in the mouth.

I’m far from the person I want to be. I feel run down and unhealthy. The weight keeps me from wanting to do exercise. The lack of exercise is contributing to the weight gain.

In the past, I’d fall back into doing Jenny Craig. It’s worked wonders for me in the past. The problem is, after I get off of it, I fall right back into old habits, almost immediately. I don’t realize I’m doing that. I THINK I’m eating better. And then those jeans start go get a little tight and those shirts ride up a bit. Then you think, “but I’m not eating a lot!” You realize you’re still gaining weight, no matter what “eating plan” you follow. Is it all worth it? Hell no, it’s not. I pass up ice cream and chocolate and chips and cheese, all in the interest of “watching what I eat”. I eat things I don’t particularly like because they’re good for me. STILL here comes the pounds.

Pack ’em on. At this point, I am ready to give up. I am ready to accept that I’m just going to keep expanding. I don’t want to, but I’m tired of trying to stop it and depriving myself of everything I enjoy just to maintain the level of fat that I have.

“You don’t look overweight”. No? I carry it everywhere. Mostly in my stomach. I think if I could just take a cheese slicer and slice that shit off, I’d be a bit of alright. You know how else I know? For the first time in my life, I have boobs that are closer to a large B than anything. This from a girl who has been an A cup her whole life.

I promise tomorrow after therapy to write something happy. I will write about something that makes me smile. I will not focus on the size of my ass. I will find something about myself to enjoy, and I will share it here because I don’t want to be depressed and lonely anymore. I think the start of that has to be liking myself and accepting my faults.

I don’t think I’m getting very far. Perhaps I should break up with my therapist.

Anonymous messages to others

I cried today because of you. Not because you did or said anything mean or hurtful, but because you weren’t there.

I cried today because of you. My child behaves better than you.

I cried today because of you. You said things that didn’t need saying, and not in a helpful way.

I cried today because of you. Why does it always have to be what you want?

I cried today because of you. When will you stop looking at what’s best for YOU and look at what’s best for those around you?

I cried today because of me. I’m afraid that I’ll never stop crying.

All I Have is Never Enough

I have been processing my anger/control/anxiety issues over the past week and trying to figure out how to get a handle on any of them. As such, I’ve left no room for anything new to creep in. This is a good thing, but it does open up the door for the petty shit to really get under my skin.

This week’s petty bullshit is brought to you by the letters M,O,N,E & Y.

Lately, I have been very irritated that I have to work at all. Not that I’m ungrateful that I still have a halfway decent job. I just envy the life of those around me who don’t have to work outside of the home, or have the ability to make it work with only their spouse working.

A dear friend of mine talks about how it’s difficult for her to cover a $300 plane ticket. I understand that. I couldn’t do that right now if I wanted or needed to. But on the flip side of that conversation, she’s talking about the cruise they took 2 months ago, or one of the other 4-5 huge vacation trips she’s taken with her family in the last year. She doesn’t work. She married well.

I have several friends in the same sort of situation who are able to go here and fly there and do whatever it is they want to do, when they want to do it. Some have married well. Some were born into it. And others, well perhaps they’re phone sex operators or hookers or something.

And then there’s me. I work my ass off. I pinch pennies tighter than a virgin asshole, yet I still can’t get ahead.

Times are hard all around. The economy is shit. There are people in worse situations than me. I get that, I really do. But this isn’t new to this economy. Sure, my situation seems more hopeless these days, but it never was one of not having to worry daily.

I wish I could figure out how to just be thankful for what I do have instead of wishing I could have something else. The grass may be greener on the other side of the fence, but that’s because they have enough money to fertilize and water daily. They also have enough sense to pay someone to take care of it for them.

I need a fucking gardener.

Controlling My Anxiety

Just so you don’t think it’s all negative, we had a nice Saturday together as a family. The husband did what I told him to do on Sunday and made me look good. Perfection. The two days were punctuated by extended family drama and work for an event I put together, but all in all it reminded me of why I got married. More importantly, it showed me why I stay. There is hope.

Today, it’s about me. I’m frustrated that I don’t feel like I could just call up any of my girlfriends – long distance or local. Not because I’m worried that they won’t talk to me. I’m sure they would if they weren’t busy. I don’t feel like I could because I’m terrified of intruding on their lives when I’m not wanted. How silly is that?

I think at therapy this week, I want to start visiting my anxiety. It’s been off of the charts lately. I know the trigger is loss of control of a situation. I suppose if I figure out the control issues, the anxiety would fall into place. The most fucked up realization? If I could just CONTROL my anxiety, I think I might be ok. Aren’t I supposed to be finding a way to let go of that control?

Never is that more clear than when I am a passenger in a car. It seems that it doesn’t really matter WHO is driving. If it’s not me, I feel like they are driving like shit. I get totally freaked out and convinced that we’re going to get in a car accident because of their incompetence. It’s not always the same problem. Sometimes, they follow too close. They change lanes too often. They’re too busy giving dirty looks to other drivers. They’re too close to the line on the left. They’re too close to the ditch. They took a curve too fast. They’re driving too slow. The list goes on – and on.

I joke about starting each day with booze and pills and how it would improve my life, but maybe I’m not that far off. I’m pissed that in all of my efforts to avoid as many medications as possible, the one thing that I think would actually do me good, Xanax, has never been offered. I guess I’ll have to just up and ask for it. Does that make me a drug seeker?

Who knows? Who cares? I just know that when I go back and re-read what I’ve written, I view myself more and more as a basket case. I thought getting it all out was supposed to be helpful. Hmph!

The Cheese Stands Alone

I’ve been feeling rather disconnected from nearly everyone as of late. It’s really difficult to say what’s causing that disconnect.

Am I pushing my friends further away because I think that I don’t deserve love?
Are they pushing me away because they are tired of my constant griping?
Are they just really busy?
Am I just really busy?

Answer: it’s likely a combination of all four of those.

I am a lonely person. Yes, I’m married with children, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not lonely. It just means that I’m not alone.

I’ve been lonely for so long that I have forgotten how to not be lonely. I tend to put up walls and back away from people as soon as I feel I’m getting close to them. This is not a new problem for me, as I think it came from not wanting to be hurt when I was a kid. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I was so tired of moving and changing schools, making new friends, and then having to say goodbye, that I just stopped making friends. It wasn’t worth my effort, especially in high school. After all, when we all finished high school, we’d spread out and go to different colleges, some would move east, west, north or south. I’d just have to say goodbye to those I became close to. Add to this the fact that I am a socially awkward person, and you can see why it didn’t make sense to make friends.

Even when I’m with my family – you know, the ones who love me because they have to, not because they want to – I’m still very lonely. I’ve been away from them for so long that I no longer fit in with them. I can spend a week with these people who I love more than anything and yet leave feeling so completely isolated that I start to wonder why I even bothered going in the first place.

I’ve made some friends here and there, but keep them all at a distance. I don’t like to talk on the phone, so I rarely do. The friends I’ve made are mostly in other states, so I’m able to avoid the social awkwardness of backyard barbecues, girls’ night out, and other things that most women live for. When I do get together with any of them, I have an amazing time. It is perfect and I never want it to end. Inevitably, we have to go our separate ways again and that throws me into a depressing funk of missing that perfect time with those perfect people.

“You need to get out and find friends in your area.” That’s what everyone tells me. But I have yet to meet someone in my area that I would even WANT to be close friends with. I don’t fit here in this area. The people are different. I struggle. Even if I did find someone and accept an invitation to hang out, what would we talk about? My social anxiety would certainly fuck up any chance of a second hanging-out session.

Thus, it continues. I don’t want to be lonely, but I have incredibly anxiety about letting anyone in. For some people I push them away due to my own personal issues. I either avoid their calls, refuse to make plans with them, or I simply don’t make time in my busy day for them. Those I WANT to be closer to are probably drifting because of our differing schedules (read: they have a life and I don’t), or they’re just too busy, or I’m too busy.

Of course, the insecure little bitch in me says, “they just can’t stand you.” The realistic piece of me (my brain) says, “they’re just busy and so are you.” My heart? Forget about it. It’s feeling lost and alone, but is really happy for those who have found ways to fill in the blank spaces of time without having to rely on the internet for fun, excitement and companionship. I envy those people.

Fuck. I really need a hobby. I’m not the Farmer in the Dell. I’m the fucking cheese.

I Did it My Way

I would have had to kick Frank Sinatra in the nuts, repeatedly. However, I love Burger King’s motto. I have control issues.

In therapy, I’m trying to figure out where this came from. I wasn’t always like this. I used to just shrug and say, “I don’t care what we do” and mean it.

Now, I have an opinion about everything and damn it, people around me are going to do it my way or hear about it.

I hate this aspect of me. What I hate even more is that I can’t control when I want to be in control. This makes me feel out of control about wanting to control when to be in control and when to let go. Did you get that?

In my head, I know it’s perfectly OK to not make all major decisions. I know it’s ok for everyone to do things their own way, and as long as the outcome is what was agreed upon, it shouldn’t matter how each individual person arrives there.

But for some reason, I will find one thing in every situation that doesn’t meet my expectations. I will become the buzzard going after roadkill. I will watch it, stalk it and then pick every last bit of it apart. Unlike the buzzard, I don’t go away when I’ve had enough. No. Not me. I have to stick around until someone swoops in and takes the carcass away. Even then, I’m not satisfied.

I will sit around, having little internal conversations with myself, belittling everyone who didn’t get to the carcass before me. I will be angry at those not interested in it – after all, it was a very attractive carcass. When I finally let it go long enough to focus on something worthy of my attention, I’ll see the little bastard who finally took the carcass away. I’ll call them names in my head, (fucking bone stealer), then smile, wave and FINALLY I can move on.

Throughout this whole process, I will not mention any of my negative thoughts to the other players, except for that big-old black crow that hangs out around my house. I’ll fuss at that bastard, because it’s what I do.

I will go through this internal process with everything that I don’t do myself or control. I can give you a date and a time to be at a certain place, and if you deviate from that plan, I’m crushed. Not because of you, but because of me and my inability to find a bit of flexibility within myself. This is mirrored by the non-flexibility of my physical self, but that’s a whole new topic.

How I long to go back to the days of “whatever you’d like” being a common thing heard in my house. I meant it back then. I guess this is the kind of shit that happens when you have to do it all yourself for any length of time. I don’t know how to let go of that control, but I need to learn. The only problem is, I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to accept someone else telling me how to do that.

A Whole Lot of Anger

I am angry. Most of the things I’m angry about, I can’t even put into words.

Have you ever just looked at someone doing something and for no apparent reason, it makes you angry? It’s one of those, “How dare you sit there minding your own business while I’m over here thinking about ways to smother you in your sleep?”

What makes me even angrier is when someone says, “what are you so angry about?”

E.V.E.R.Y. T.H.I.N.G.

My hair doesn’t cooperate with me most days. ANGRY!

I live in a house full of slobs. ANGRY!

I feel like I’m the only person who cares about what other people think of our family. ANGRY!

I’m the only one who ever gives anything up for the good of the family. ANGRY!

I live too far from the rest of my family. ANGRY!

My teeth feel like they have a film on them, no matter how many times a day I brush. ANGRY!

No one will put the fucking toilet seat down, even though I’ve asked a million times. ANGRY!

After perusing the cupboard for my choice of cereal, I settled on the box of Special K with Red Berries. I amped myself up for it. I got out the bowl, pulled out the box and it was empty. ANGRY!

I asked why the aforementioned box was put back in the cupboard empty, and no one could tell me. No one even knows who ate the last of it. ANGRY!

I see lazy people all around me getting things done for them, handed to them. Here I am busting my ass – for what? ANGRY!

My therapist is on vacation next week. ANGRY!

The dogs pant too much. It’s hot outside. Everyone is busy leading happy lives around me. My toenail polished chipped off the day after I put it on. ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY!

I’m not even rational about it anymore. Who fluffed my god damn pillows? Why can’t people EVER be happy with our government? Why are my tampons in the little bathroom, not the big one? WHERE ARE MY FUCKING POSTAGE STAMPS?

My fortune cookie today said, “A thrilling time is in store for you.” Give me a fucking break. You know what’s in store for me? A mountain of laundry, some housework and a 40-hour a week job. THAT is what’s in store for me. Mr. Wong can shove his fortune cookie right up his tight little ass. You know why? BECAUSE I’M ANGRY. Haven’t you been listening?

I Hate Him

OK, hate is really WAY too strong of a word. I think it’s more like I’m no longer in love.

You know how when you first fall in love, you struggle to find something wrong with the other person? If you fall head over heels in love, you sometimes can’t even find a single fault. That’s because he’s (or she’s) on his/her best behavior. For the sake of easier reading, I’m going to pretend that the object of your affection is a man. After all, this is about me and I’m having man issues.

Back to my story. So he’s on his best behavior. Everything is perfect. As you spend more time with him, get to know him, little things pop up. None of these things alone is a deal breaker. Hell, all of them together might not even be a deal breaker when you’re in love.

Let’s see. He’s not as neat as you’d like him to be. He has horrible taste in clothes. He’s not very good at home improvements, but he tries. He’s not super financially responsible, but there’s always money flowing, so that’s OK.

All of these things can be overlooked because he’s affectionate, he listens when you talk, he surprises you little gifts, he’s OK with painting your toenails, he reads, he’s a good conversationalist, and he’s really good at eating pussy.

Now you’re together for a long, long time. Married, kids, the whole shooting match. The affection has been replaced by the demands of a family. He no longer listens when you talk, little gifts are a thing of the past. Paint your toenails? You’d be lucky if he plucked a splinter out of the bottom of your foot and slapped some peroxide on it for you. Reading has been replaced by watching TV shows. Talking? That’s reserved for discussions about bills and *fuck* money. Eating pussy? Do NOT make me laugh. What’s that?

In turn, he’s become a total fucking slob because he’s fucking lazy. He wears the same shit day in, day out – jeans and a polo shirt. In the winter, he puts a sweater over a polo shirt. But you know it’s still there. And when you see these polo shirts in every imaginable color and pattern, you want to just take a fucking scissors to them, cut off the collars, poke holes in them and make them unwearable. That will teach him!

You find that when he starts a project, he gets bored half way through and races through the end of it, doing a piss poor job, leaving a mess behind for YOU to clean up. (See the paragraph above regarding being lazy.)

To top it off, there’s no more fucking money. You’ll be lucky if you can put food on the table for the next two weeks and he’s worried about whether or not he’ll be able to watch the latest episode of Myth Busters.

THIS is what happens when you fall out of love. The little things that irritated you before are now huge road blocks standing in the way between you and happiness. Something has to give because there isn’t enough Xanax in the world to keep you from snapping in the next week or so.

Now what are you going to do with those road blocks? Well, you can ignore them, you can go around them, or you can blow the shit up. You just have to decide which route is right for you.

I still don’t know what’s right for me. There’s history here. There are kids involved. Those two alone make it a difficult decision. Not to mention the fact that there are dogs involved.

Marriage counseling it is. Now, I just have to admit that I can’t fix this and make that call to a therapist.

Mission Statement

Just like a good business, a good blog must begin with a mission statement. What do I hope to achieve? What do I get out of this? What’s in it for me?

The problem is I’m not quite sure. I’m currently in therapy, exploring my control issues, my anxiety issues, my depression issues, and my sincere desire to kick someone’s ass issues. I’ve only had 3 sessions, so it’s not really doing anything for me as of yet.

I thought I would try what a friend is doing, and keep somewhat of a diary. Will I share it with anyone? Fuck if I know. I just know I have to let it all out somewhere, and for now, this is the designated place.

What we’ve got here is a sort of dumping ground for the shit that floats around in my head. You know, those tidbits of thought that are right on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to give them a voice. The problem is I’m far too chicken shit to give them a voice that anyone can hear.

No, that’s not entirely true. What I’m most scared of is telling the people who need to hear it. THAT in and of itself is a major issue. If only I could figure out how to do that and not upset this perfect balance I have of keeping everyone (except for myself) on the better side of happy.

Prepare to read a lot of self-pity. Prepare to roll your eyes and think, “what is wrong with this woman?” Prepare to offer me advice only to have me give you 3 or 4 reasons why it won’t work. Prepare to tire of my “poor me” stance and get pissed off that all I do is sit and gripe.

While you’re readying yourself to want to bitch slap me into next week, feel free to unload your issues. We can pretend to truly care about each other and maybe, just maybe, one of us will find a better way to handle whatever it is that is going on inside our heads.

You better not find your way first, or I’m going to be extremely pissed off. After all, this is supposed to be all about me.