Happy 4th of July!!

Remember what it’s really all about.

Pic shamelessly borrowed from msnbc.com

 

Cat blogging…

My cats eat twice a day with specifically measured portions. Chevelle, my female cat, is in the middle of Kato (the tabby) and Jag (the black one). Jag is a fatass who favors the likes of Cartman and is extremely possessive over his food, shovels it rapidly, and tirelessly tries to steals food from the other two. To keep that from happening, I scoop his two tablespoons of food into his dish and fill it the rest of the way with water. On any given day, this is what breakfast looks like at my house:

 

It feels so much longer than just a year…

Can you believe it’s been a year today my divorce has been final!? Of course, people don’t count the time we were separated or the time we lived together, merely for the sake of convenience, but really didn’t practice playing “house” anymore. But whatever. The divorce has been final for one year. No regrets. No lingering hurts. Just amazed how much has changed in just that year…how much I’ve changed in that year.

It’s funny…I used to be terrified of having the label of “divorced.” I didn’t want to follow in my parent’s footsteps, I didn’t want to be a statistic, I didn’t want to admit to failure. But you know…sometimes shit just doesn’t work. I used to blame everything on Jack, but being with Bill has shown me my faults in that marriage. Sadly, there was too much resentment, too much hurt, too much betrayal, too much dysfunction for me to CARE about my faults and fix them. I hated that marriage. I wanted out days after I married Jack. I stayed in it because, quite frankly, I had no where else to go.

My parents told me to “stick it out.” I kept telling them that this wasn’t just the frustration of being newly weds and adjusting. Jack was a different person. He was committing adultery (I mean, on our wedding night!). I couldn’t get them to understand. They thought I was being melodramatic and basically told me to live with the choices I made. Yes, I chose to marry Jack…the Jack I knew, not the Jack he magically turned into on our wedding day. My parents wouldn’t listen, they didn’t understand. I was only 19 and absolutely terrified.

Bill and I have talked at length about that. I told him that I never want to abandon my child for the sake of “tough love” in a similar situation. Granted, in a case of drug or alcohol abuse, the situation would be vastly different. Of course, Bill and I want to foster good communication and trust with our child and be stable influences in their lives. I didn’t have that in my own life. I really had no where else to turn, or so it felt. I felt trapped…for seven years. Am I blaming my parents for my choice? Absolutely not. I am saying that I married Jack under false pretenses and married a complete and total lie. Because I eloped (we did this because my parents were newly divorced and we didn’t feel they would get along…and his parents didn’t get along, so it was just easier), my parents cut me off. They made me PAY for making a bad choice, because BEING in the situation wasn’t payment enough. I learned to follow my gut and not make rash decisions, but I also learned that I can’t count on my parents to be there when I need them. Then again, I should have known that…because that is how it was in my childhood, too.

Funny how you typically marry what you grew up with. I continued the cycle, unknowingly. I absolutely loathed my home life from the age of 13 on…and I married a guy with whom the bullshit continued. In the last few years of that marriage, I separated myself from Jack so completely and worked on my own issues. He stayed the same. I changed. And we grew to detest one another even more. I was becoming emotionally healthy, well…as healthy as I could be in that situation. I started planning my divorce three years before it actually happened. I had a roommate move in with us to help me save up some money and I made no secrets about my decision to dump Jack once I finished nursing school. He expedited the whole process and threw some wrenches in my plans, but the divorce was inevitable.

Sometimes I think of him and wonder how is doing. Honestly though, I really don’t care. I trudged my way through serious obstacles and worked through some serious psychological issues I had to face and come to terms with in that marriage. I don’t care to revisit it in any way, shape, or form. I don’t wish Jack ill…in fact, quite the opposite. I hope he can rise above the horrible dysfunction that was his childhood and our marriage, get the help he needs to break the cycles, and grow into an emotionally and mentally healthy person. I wish him well, provided he stays the hell away from me.

But enough about that…

 

Defining Moments

Yesterday, Moo tagged me just for looking at her post. Since I’ve up and changed my blog to Commonplace Theory I have lost a lot of readers and haven’t been tagged once. So, I am kinda excited. Shamelessly, despite changing my blog, I have kept my stats counter from my first (and subsequent) blog, Origin of Soul. (Oohhh…yes, I did include the name of my original and most well-read blog). The reason I haven’t changed my counter is because it allows me to know how many visits I’ve had and it keeps me encouraged that my voice…my experiences…have reached people. It reminds me that I’m not alone. You know?

So, back to the meme. My job is to “list the five most character-defining things that have happened to you in your life.” Here goes:

1. My step-dad and my mom getting married. My step-dad was the one who created boundaries, executed rules, established play, and paid attention to me when I needed it. My mother treated me as though I were a nuisance and I felt emotionally neglected. I was an out of control child who needed a firm hand and someone to love me enough to be my parent and not my friend. My step-dad was that person. He gave me love, structure, attention, play, understanding. He read to me. He taught me how to ride a bike. He taught me how to study and earn good grades. He taught me to respect myself and strive for my personal best.

2. My step-dad and my mom getting divorced. I was 18 and had just moved back in with my parents. I had only been living there for a few months when all hell broke loose and my parent’s marriage came to a crashing halt. Something about a trip to a tropical island, cocaine, another couple, jealousy, and the breaking of marriage vows. I was absolutely devastated and emotionally destroyed. I didn’t speak to my mom for a year as I chose my step-dad, knowing he chose to love me when he didn’t have to, so I wanted to return the favor. I lost my step-dad in this divorce. When he divorced my mom, he divorced me too. I lost the one thing that rescued me and had always been a constant in my life. Losing him to death would have been easier than the rejection. We still talk these days, but he’s merely a figment of my past whom I call “Dad.” I miss him more than words could ever convey.

3. Marrying my ex-husband. I was 19 and very raw from my parent’s divorce. My mom and I were just starting to talk and my step-dad and I were talking, but less and less as the days went on. I was in college and busting my ass working two jobs. One night, I decided to explore chatrooms online and I met Jack, a Marine from Colorado, but stationed in California. I had no intention of ever speaking to him again. But he continued to pursue me every time I was online. I ignored him for months. Finally, I gave him my number. But I never answered his calls. Finally, I answered and we talked for hours. He came out to visit me and I was raptured with the man he presented himself as; Christian, moral, family-oriented, goal-oriented, intelligent, funny, kind, and gentle. I married a lie. It turned out he that he didn’t practice any religion, lacked morals, was estranged from his family, had numerous extra-marital affairs — one of which included the conception of his daughter, with whom he refuses to acknowledge, had an addiction to pornography, was emotionally unavailable, had issues with alcohol, and was later diagnosed as bi-polar.

4. Divorcing my ex-husband. I was over the marriage in less than a month into it. We were married for seven years. One night, he quit taking his bi-polar meds a several days prior (his excuse was that he “ran out”), drank nearly one liter of hard liquor by himself, and loaded a Glock and put it into his mouth. Upon me walking in just as he had done this, he turned the loaded gun on me and pinned me to the bed, cramming the gun into my chest. He served time in jail and has three years of probation. He was required to move back to Colorado. He currently lives with his mother and still has no relationship with his gorgeous six year old little girl. I had wanted out of that marriage for years, but I was always hoping to do it amicably. When I walked out of divorce court, I cheered. I had never felt freer and for the first time in nearly eight years, I felt alive.

5. Falling in love with Bill. I had no interest in dating. None. I was focusing on me and my college career. I was finding myself, enjoying my new lease on life, and embracing the beauty of happiness. Bill and I met online (yeah, yeah…I was wary, too) but I never thought of him as dating material. He was simply a good friend. It wasn’t until later that I was telling a friend about him and I said, “He’s the most amazing man I have ever known. I cannot believe girls don’t see him for who he is. Any girl who could catch him would be the luckiest chick in the world.” And then it hit me. I had feelings. Fast forward…now we’re engaged! I have never, in my entire life, known such tenderness, dedication, character, or love. He is, literally, everything I have ever wanted in a partner and so much more. He has his faults, sure…but nothing I would deem as unreasonable. I once told Bill that I would gladly go through my seven years of hell with Jack all over again, if I knew he would be waiting on the other side. I am truly blessed.

So there you have it. Some good, some bad.

What about you?

 

TMFI

I feel gooood….nah nah nah nah….I knew that I would….I feeeeeeeeeel nice….sugar and spice…nah nah nah nah…

Oh my God do I feel amazing. Like…before my thyroid fuckered up and left me on the sofa like a massive sea slug. (I leave the snail trail puns to you.) Bill is keeping me fairly contained and restricting how much I am “allowed” to do so that I don’t push myself too hard and burn out. I detest his “father may I” bull, but I know it’s for a good reason and that he means well. Plus, I can’t really argue with logic. *sigh*

I’ve been using the DivaCup for a few days now and I have adjusted to feeling it when I wipe. I mean, I don’t feel it otherwise, so no biggie. Although, there were a few times I thought that it might shoot from my crotch while taking a crap, but alas, the sucker stayed in there. I do have some mild vaginal itching and irritation around the outside, but I think it’s just from the slight rubbing. I just turned the cup inside out which decreased the length some, but I’m still medium-rare raw. I’ve been running around the house in nothing but a t-shirt all day, so I know air is getting to it. Somehow, though, with this cup in, I kinda feel naughty…like I have a secret stashed inside me. And I get majorly excited (like “I’ve got a new purse” kind of excited) about taking it out, seeing what it collected, and cleaning it off. No odor and it’s cleaner. I like it. Oddly, it doesn’t “absorb” the natural protective mucus that tampons and pads do, so I get a massive load of sticky mucus. Seriously, it looks like someone used my labia as a tissue and blew their nose in my crotch.

So, yeah. Next subject.

I have good news! VERY good news. Every single time I have weighed myself in the last six or seven months, the scale has gone up (drastically, usually). Today it showed a loss of SIX pounds. I cried and hugged Bill so tight I might have shifted some of my fat via osmosis to him. (Yes, yes I know…osmosis refers to water, diffusion is what I should have typed, but whatever…you got the point, right?!) My thyroid is stabilizing and I won’t be a fattassss forever! I am so incredibly excited and overjoyed and relieved. I am beyond thrilled. Of course, as we were cuddling in bed and talking, I moved up and my boob smacked me in the face. You think I’d be used to it, but it still stuns me every time. I certainly won’t be missing that.

Bill and I have decided to move closer to his parents and Grandma the summer after we are married. We’ll still be in Florida, just further South and more tropical. We’ve also decided when we’re going to start “trying.” Yes…as in babies. (I can hardly contain myself!!) We’re getting married on October 24 (yah! I’ll have the same anniversary as one of my favorite bloggers) next year. That said, come the end of that months birth control pack, we’re going to let nature take its course. It’s so odd because I always said, “Oh, yeah…I want to be a mom someday,” thinking that it was so far off in the distance. But being with Bill makes my loins ache with the desire for munchkins. It’s such a deep longing now, to fall into that roll of partner and mother, to experience that joy. I’m almost 29, so we all know it’s not the clock. It’s just how I feel with Bill…how I see him interact with our pets and other people. I just want to share parenthood with him. I’ve never felt that with a man before. I’ve never trusted a man like I trust him. I’m ready.

 

Skipping pebbles…

The doctors had no clue what was wrong with me, really, but they said I probably had a virus. Rheumatoid Arthritis has not been ruled out, although I have no joint pain presently. (I’ll follow up with a Rheumatologist later.) Whatever it was, I felt like death warmed over. I still have some neck and shoulder stiffness and pain, but I’ve been taking Flexeril and sleeping. I feel absolutely void of energy.

I finished my Neuro Psych class with an “A” and began my Learning and Behavior Psych class while I was in the hospital. Luckily, my ASL instructor has been patient with me and is allowing a week extension for me to finish up what I missed while hospitalized. As for my Abnormal Psych class, I cannot earn above a “B” on any of the exams. I am extremely annoyed by this as the exam questions I miss are simple oversights. Either I read and answer the question too quickly or I over-think it. Ah…well…I’ll participate in some psychological studies for extra credit, but I don’t know if it’ll be enough to bring me up to an “A” in the class.

Word of caution: Men or squeamish women, do not read below this line. Y’all have been warned:

I was released from the hospital and a day later I started my period. Ugh. Luckily, my DivaCup arrived in the mail while I was in the hospital, so I was able to try it out. It’s going to take some getting used to..I’ve cut the stem off (since the stem stuck out of me like a mini-silicone penis) and yet, it still sits low in my vagina. Low as in low enough that when I wipe after peeing, I can feel it. For some reason I can’t get it IN far enough. (Although I’ve heard it sits low…but how low is low?) I’m not leaking and it’s not uncomfortable, but I do worry I’m not using it correctly. Is it supposed to be up against the cervix? I’ve tried a few of the folds, but I can’t seem to keep it folded long enough to push it up high enough. Other than getting through the “getting to know you” phase, I love this product.

 

Update

I’m home. Exhausted. Will write more later.

 

Room #2564 squared

As I write this, I am sitting in my hospital bed, in which I will remain for probably the next week or so. Yesterday I felt the same pain in my sternum that I have been feeling in my joints, and breathing was a challenge, so bad to the (different) ER I went. They completed a D-dimer test on me and it showed as being elevated, which led to a chest x-ray and radioactive procedure. I do not have clots in my lungs, but it is highly likely that I have pneumonia (without showing a single symptom). They are still trying to rule out Rheumatoid Arthritis and my sed rate (level of inflammation) is still high. I have very low white blood cell count, meaning I could contract an illness very easily, so I am hospital-bound until things get better on my end. I have several issues going on at once and it has perplexed the doctors completely. In fact, some of the hospitals top residents are working on my case due to its complexity. Whoo!

Thank you to Frizbie who took it upon himself to notify my readers of what was going on. Thank you, love…I appreciate it. And in regard to your comments, very few people comment on my blog and honestly, establishing a readership takes a good deal of time and patience. Hang in there…you’re still finding your voice, too.

I’ll keep you updated as I complete more tests and have more to share with you.

 

I’m a loopy turkey.

No turkeys were harmed in the writing of this piece.

These two Fetanyl patches on my back are quite interesting. I am as loopy as I’ll get out. My body is itchy. Very itchy. Everywhere. I feel like I’m floating. And my emotions are very in-check. I’m collected and thinking…just very slowly. With the decreased pain in my joints, but being medicinally high, I’m walking like a turkey. I can see why druggies initially like the high feeling, but it’s pretty annoying after awhile. And the itching? Seriously. Annoying. But I love the sheer calm and lack of pain. I feel good. Groggy, disconnected, but good. I’m on a two second delay…

Long ago, I smoked pot. The shit knocked me out better than NyQuil. Best sleep I have ever had…and I was sleeping on a hardwood floor, without blankets or a pillow. (Yeah, I was pretty stoned…that was my very first time ever smoking). Growing up, my mom was a pothead and I was VERY against any kind of drug use. When I reached 21 though, I was curious as to why Mom liked it so much. So, I tried it. And I slept. I didn’t get the giggles or the ultra-mellow-calm. I just craved Fig Newtons and strawberries and sleep. I indulged in all three. I smoked off and on for three years…on a social (and seldom) basis. It made me sleepy; my ex horny. Not a good combo. Overall, it just didn’t do it for me. (Then again, neither did he).

Alcohol isn’t my thing, either. My step-father was a functional alcoholic who gave 100% at work and very little at home. I was always weary of drinking because of him and his numerous D.U.I.’s and stupid behavior. He was a goofy, playful drunk, but his game grew old really fast. He would come home from work, pour himself a VERY stiff drink, cook dinner, drink some more and be in bed by 9:00 pm. He was the perfect father until he gave up sobriety when I was 13…an age when a girl needs her daddy the most. I still loved him, but I grew to dislike him. He became more of an asshole tyrant than my dad. I lost respect for him, but still kept him high up on that pedestal until years later.

That said, I’ve done my share of drinking. I’m a lightweight, so it doesn’t take much. I always reached the point of buzzed and then nursed it. Two times, however, I did the whole “drink so much you black out” thing. Yeah, that sucked. Not my best behavior. I’ve never been a big drinker. Maybe once or twice a year, now, I’ll help myself to a glass of wine or margarita. Other than that, I’m just not interested. Bill has merely tasted alcohol given the fact he is allergic to mold, so he refrains from alcohol as a precaution. Given the humiliation my father put me through with his drinking, I was very blessed that the man I want to share my life with doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, or do drugs. (He’s Mister Clean, in every sense of the word).

I know the purpose of the meds I am taking are to reduce pain. Initially, the little rush and “high” feeling are neato, but then it just gets to be a burden that makes getting shit done nearly impossible. I appreciate the pain relief, but it’s at such a high price. I don’t think I will ever fully understand the novelty of social drug use. Slow motion and instant replay are awesome features, but who wants to watch an entire movie that way? Who wants to live life that way? Now, understand that I am not judging. I get the whole addiction thing. Remember, Mom was a pothead (who is three years sober from all substances!) and my step-father is a functional alcoholic. I understand it, but I don’t approve of it, nor do I like it. I think it’s a massive misuse of talent and potential.

I am thankful I have parents who taught me how not to live, by their own example. Sure, curiosity got the best of me, but I have an incredible memory that couldn’t let go of what I witnessed and experienced as a result of my parent’s curiosity-turned-addiction. For years I believed I would never trust my parents with my own children; however, now that my mom is sober and truly bettering herself, I know she will be a wonderful grandparent and bless my children with the love and tenderness I often felt neglected of. As for my step-father, I seriously doubt he’ll be involved with my children, given the extent he is (un)involved with me. Even if he were more involved, I’m not sure I would want him with my children–I don’t want them to learn that the only justification in being funny and having personality comes from a glass.

Bill and I have talked at length about how we would address such issues with our children, given our own upbringing and experiences. We want to teach our future children that there is no shame in enjoying alcohol as long as it is done responsibility and with respect to the potential danger it could cause…just as if checking a nutrition label or reading the pamphlet on a new medication. If it goes in your body, you need to understand the potential benefits and risks. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t want my kids to be paranoid, but I also don’t want them to be lushes without self-control. (Although, if I find out my kid is abusing the privilege of healthy experimentation, I will beat the holy hell out of them).

So, this post started out as “I have no pain, loved the sense of elation, but now I’m sick of it,” and turned into a “my history, opinions, and potential child-rearing practices” post. I’m totally blaming my randomness on the narcotics. Because I’m never random when sober. *ahem* Nope…never.

 

Hospital Room #1–updated

After I wrote my previous post, I ended up in the hospital. I was there for many hours. Bill threw some hospital sheets on the floor and stayed next to me the entire night. I was sent home and I “slept” all day today, writhing in pain. I called Bill and told him, “Honey, it’s getting worse, I can barely move without searing pain.” When he gets home from work, we’ll be heading back to the hospital. I went into the hospital and explained my symptoms and I had a CT scan with contrast and blood work. They were suspecting a kidney infection, but everything came back normal. They did, however, ignore the main reason I was there…the pain in my entire body.

I have bilateral and equal pain in all of my toes, ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, elbows, and wrists. If I move or touch them, the pain is unbearable. Simply walking to the bathroom puts me into a fit of tears. My neck is stiff a nd very sore. My lymph glands are swollen. My throat hurts and almost feels as if it is closing on me. I feel queasy. Dizzy. I have a headache. (I know, Renee…it does sound like Lupus…).

And all of this without health insurance. I’m hanging in there, keeping the faith. I am sick and in pain. My credit already blows major shitty ass because of all of the medical bills I have already accumulated and haven’t been able to pay on (I’m unable to work due to constant pain and fatigue…remember?). I know I sound like a whiny baby, but I have never known such pain in my entire body. I feel like I am on fire. Actually, it feels more like someone is pulling my arms and legs out of the sockets and putting my joints into vice grips. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Please keep me in your thoughts (and prayers, if you pray). I’m scared. I just want the pain to go away.

Update: I’m home…with two Fentanyl patches on my back. My sed rate was elevated. Doc suspected Rheumatoid Arthritis or Lupus, but the ER doesn’t do extensive testing of that nature. I will follow up on Monday with the health clinic (in which fees are on a sliding scale).