No one likes a stupid girl. This is the argument I am constantly having with Jayden. She is absolutely convinced that she would rather be beautiful than smart. I try to tell her she can be both, she tells me she can't. She has it in her thick ass head that she needs to be beautiful. Part of it is for attention. James gets a lot of it because of his behavior. Izzy gets a lot of it because he's "the baby". Jayden may feel like she's being left out in the cold.
That girl infuriates the hell out of me. She doesn't do her school work correctly, or just doesn't do it all. She brings home papers that are obviously wrong or not all the way filled out. Today she is learning a hard lesson. She is inside, working on her uncompleted and obviously wrong work while her brothers are outside playing. She is crying and throwing a fuss, which of coarse annoys me even more.
How do I know it's obviously wrong? Because she KNOWS how to do the stuff. It's simple stuff, like count the circles. She can count the circles, however she writes a random number in and expects it to be accepted as is. Here is the part that really frustrates my children where their homework is concerned. I will tell them what they got wrong, however I will NOT tell them the right answer. I know, I'm HORRID! :-D
My darling blonde beauty just asked me "do you think I'm smart?"
"Yes, when you want to be, when you try." To which she responded with more crying. I really HATE the crying. It's just so whiny and pointless. Buck up and do it already! No, I'm not a sympathetic person I guess. Call me heartless and cruel. I really don't care. Crying will not get those circles counted, not matter how much she does it. All it will do will infuriate me, which may lead to a spanking, and then having to sit there and count them all the same.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
It's SPRING!!!!
Spring has sprung around here! This afternoon I spent a couple of hours digging and planting and moving. I'm dirty, and so is Jayden, though she really didn't help much. Izzy napped, the nice guy that he is. James is at respite. I have to work at Wal-Mart tonight, oh well. When Jason gets home from work, I get to hop in the shower and then head off til midnight..blech. However the increased hours are certainly helpful to our own personal economy. I'll have jason do a little more digging before he clears up the tools and what not. I'm digging beds for flower seeds out front. I'll take pics of the progress and post them in the next couple of days.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
My Living Nightmare
I have to apologize to my readers in advance. This post isn't going to be nice. It's not going to be sweet and endearing. It's not going to be even remotely funny. There is something that I need to do. I need to write it all out. I am going to warn you that it will be graphic. If you are upset easily by things you read, please don't read this. This all has been IN me for so long, I really have to get it OUT in some way.
My living nightmare was from the age of about 4 to about 7. Preschool to 2nd grade. This will probably be a little jumbled. It's how I remember the events. I was very young. So I don't remember them all. I don't remember surrounding circumstances. I only remember bits and pieces. The more mild bits and pieces I'm sure, and after you read, you'll understand why that is a scary thought. I'm putting this out there in an effort to get it out of me. In hopes that by getting it out, I can heal.
I warn you again, this will be graphic and very unpleasent. Please don't read it if you may get upset. And don't leave me nasty messages if you do read it and get upset. I warned you, you proceed at your own risk. You may think I'm kidding now, when I'm done, you won't anymore.
My mom married again. She had divorced my dad, and was with a new guy. His name was Gus. He had 2 kids, Teddy and Lynette. They lived with their mom and they were teenagers. The age I remember Teddy to be was about 16, when I was about 6, and Lynette was right around 14 at that same time.
We had to call him Dad. I feel like it was forced on me to do it, though I think my mom would say it was our choice. I feel like it wasn't. Like it was what we were told that we would do.
He always smelled like beer. To this day, I STILL can not tolerate that smell. I know that's partially why Jason doesn't drink more of it. The guy was an alcoholic.
I was a little kid. I had trouble with wetting the bed. To remedy this problem, Gus made me wear a diaper, at the age of 4. I couldn't take it off. He had to do that for me. It was embaressing to say the least. To this day I ask myself "what business did a grown man have doing that?" When I say I couldn't take it off, I mean I couldn't take it off, at all, ever. Not to use the bathroom. HE had to do it for me. I was completely potty trained by that time. I just had the occassional accident at night. Yet, here I was, being required to wear a diaper. I have a sense that something more took place. Something "inappropriate". I can't remember for sure though.
I have a lot of that about this time in my life. A lot of impressions, but no memories. It's like the shadow of a memory. I want to say "this happened" however, I question whether that is my actual memory, or me imposing my thought on to it. I do have plenty of actual memories however.
I vaguely remember the wedding. My mom and us three kids. Gus. Country music. Feathers in our hair. Maybe my new step-siblings were there.
We lived in a lot of different places. A few that I actually remember are in the same area that I live in now. Around the corner and down the street.
I remember a time from when I was in pre-school. My brother, sister, and I were goofing around in the car. I accidently pulled the nob off of the radio. I started crying. I knew what would happen because of that. Gus had NO understanding of the word "accident" and he especially didn't care about young kids just goofing off. He ALWAYS wore a leather belt. And he used that belt on us, A LOT. To the adult I am now, it seems like he liked it, as a child then, there is no way I could have associated that with the situation. I did know that doing ANYTHING wrong, real or perceived, would get you beaten with that belt. And he ALWAYS made it hurt. He ALWAYS made you scream and cry.
We always thought Lynette was so nice, she was the only one who was nice to us. My mom, come to find out, didn't like her. She wasn't honest. Maybe she stole things? Mom has only ever said "that girl sucked. She would climb out the window to go screw her boyfriend when she was supposed to be at home with you guys". I think that sums her up.
Teddy wasn't around much, at least not that I remember. When he was, he was cool. He'd play with us, wrestle around with us, that kind of thing. However, Teddy had a secret. One he shared with me. One he completely denied when he was confronted with it as an adult. He liked me. He liked me in a way that wasn't appropriate at all.
I was about 6 or 7. We lived in a 2 story house. My walls were butter yellow. To this day I can NOT have yellow walls in my home. The outside of the house can't be yellow either. I think the house we lived in was yellow at the time, but we lived so many places, I can't be sure. Yellow and brown. With a long staircase and a railing. A railing that Gus would have us lean over and beat us with his belt.
It was summer time. Or at least late spring. It was warm out at least. The paint that was peeling on my wall was shaped like a witch, pointy hat and all. The room had some weird shapes to it. Slanted ceiling over the closet. I had bunk beds. I had the top bunk.
Teddy would climb up on my bunk and lay down with me. I liked Teddy, so it was ok. I wasn't supposed to tell he was up there, I'd get in trouble and Gus would beat me. And I liked Teddy, so I wouldn't tell. Teddy would pull out his penis and have me touch it. He'd kiss me. I liked him, and I wanted him to be happy with me. I wanted someone to be happy with me. I remember the weight of him laying on top of me. I remember the pain of him inside of me, at least part of the way. Teddy never put himself in my vagina, I don't know why, it was always anally. I'm sure there had to of been blood, but I don't know how that was remedied.
Gus had this thing about us girls going to bed without our panties on. If our panties were dirty, we couldn't wear them, and we were to go without. This horrified me for some reason. I remember putting on "dirty" panties after being told to not wear any. The panties were ones I had been wearing during the day. I got beaten very severely for wearing those "dirty" panties.
Gus didn't just use his belt. He liked his hands and fists too. If he got too frustrated, or just didn't have time to "set us up", he'd just smack us. My mom told me that I once got smacked so hard across the head that I flew across the room. My crime was simply unfolding a piece of folded bread and butter. That's all. To this day, I don't eat my bread and butter folded.
Gus used to bathe my sister and I. He wouldn't allow my mom in the room, or she was at work, or something like that. He'd close the bathroom door. He'd soap us up really well, making sure to wash ALL of our bodies. To this day, I don't like taking a bath.
One night, I was allowed to fall asleep downstairs in the recliner. It was hot and the recliner was in front of a fan. It was MUCH cooler. In my sleep, I knocked over a bird cage with my foot. The bird cage was next to the recliner. The bird got out and flew out the window. I was severly beaten for that.
I shoved my brother off of my top bunk. He wouldn't get down. It was my special place, and he was supposed to get down if I didn't want him up there, but he refused. He leaned over and fell head first on to the floor. Mom had to take him to the E.R. for stitches. Gus tried to get me to show him how I had shoved Jack off, but there was NO way I was going to put my hands anywhere on him and shove like that. I was severly beaten for that as well.
My life for 4 years was one beating after another. Sometimes I somewhat deserved it, like shoving my brother off of my bed. Most times, I really didn't. There was a time I was sick. I was in either 1st or 2nd grade. My sister brought home my home work. I looked at it in the car on the way home. I was a kid who LOVED school. It was an escape every day. I was eager for my school work. I got beaten for looking at that school work in the car.
There was once, where my mom was gone. She was at work, or shopping or something. My sister and brother were around, but I'm not sure where. It was shortly after Easter, I think. I wanted some of my candy, and it was warm outside. I went upstairs to ask Gus, who was in his bedroom, if I could have my big swirly lolipop. I knocked and he grunted, so I opened the door. He was laying bed, with a magazine, and masturbating. He didn't yell. He just looked at me and kept on doing what he was doing. He asked me what I wanted, and I told him I wanted my sucker. Amazingly, he said I could have it. I expected yelling and him throwing things at me for interupting him. I enjoyed that sucker like it was the last I'd ever have. I was certain I'd be beaten for walking in, though I don't remember if I was or not.
There are things I do now, as an adult that I don't understand. I must sleep with my feet covered up and tucked in, and the rest of my body, up to my arms, covered. It doesn't matter how hot it gets outside, I will use a sheet if I need to, but I must do it. When I've asked myself why I do this, I just get a sense of "hiding from them". I have no idea who "them" is.
I'm deathly afraid of being suffocated. I can't have anything on my face, ever. No blankets, veils, hair, nothing. When Teddy would wrestle with us, he'd like to cover me up in a blanket and hold me under until I would cry and beg to be set free because I couldn't breathe well.
My living nightmare was from the age of about 4 to about 7. Preschool to 2nd grade. This will probably be a little jumbled. It's how I remember the events. I was very young. So I don't remember them all. I don't remember surrounding circumstances. I only remember bits and pieces. The more mild bits and pieces I'm sure, and after you read, you'll understand why that is a scary thought. I'm putting this out there in an effort to get it out of me. In hopes that by getting it out, I can heal.
I warn you again, this will be graphic and very unpleasent. Please don't read it if you may get upset. And don't leave me nasty messages if you do read it and get upset. I warned you, you proceed at your own risk. You may think I'm kidding now, when I'm done, you won't anymore.
My mom married again. She had divorced my dad, and was with a new guy. His name was Gus. He had 2 kids, Teddy and Lynette. They lived with their mom and they were teenagers. The age I remember Teddy to be was about 16, when I was about 6, and Lynette was right around 14 at that same time.
We had to call him Dad. I feel like it was forced on me to do it, though I think my mom would say it was our choice. I feel like it wasn't. Like it was what we were told that we would do.
He always smelled like beer. To this day, I STILL can not tolerate that smell. I know that's partially why Jason doesn't drink more of it. The guy was an alcoholic.
I was a little kid. I had trouble with wetting the bed. To remedy this problem, Gus made me wear a diaper, at the age of 4. I couldn't take it off. He had to do that for me. It was embaressing to say the least. To this day I ask myself "what business did a grown man have doing that?" When I say I couldn't take it off, I mean I couldn't take it off, at all, ever. Not to use the bathroom. HE had to do it for me. I was completely potty trained by that time. I just had the occassional accident at night. Yet, here I was, being required to wear a diaper. I have a sense that something more took place. Something "inappropriate". I can't remember for sure though.
I have a lot of that about this time in my life. A lot of impressions, but no memories. It's like the shadow of a memory. I want to say "this happened" however, I question whether that is my actual memory, or me imposing my thought on to it. I do have plenty of actual memories however.
I vaguely remember the wedding. My mom and us three kids. Gus. Country music. Feathers in our hair. Maybe my new step-siblings were there.
We lived in a lot of different places. A few that I actually remember are in the same area that I live in now. Around the corner and down the street.
I remember a time from when I was in pre-school. My brother, sister, and I were goofing around in the car. I accidently pulled the nob off of the radio. I started crying. I knew what would happen because of that. Gus had NO understanding of the word "accident" and he especially didn't care about young kids just goofing off. He ALWAYS wore a leather belt. And he used that belt on us, A LOT. To the adult I am now, it seems like he liked it, as a child then, there is no way I could have associated that with the situation. I did know that doing ANYTHING wrong, real or perceived, would get you beaten with that belt. And he ALWAYS made it hurt. He ALWAYS made you scream and cry.
We always thought Lynette was so nice, she was the only one who was nice to us. My mom, come to find out, didn't like her. She wasn't honest. Maybe she stole things? Mom has only ever said "that girl sucked. She would climb out the window to go screw her boyfriend when she was supposed to be at home with you guys". I think that sums her up.
Teddy wasn't around much, at least not that I remember. When he was, he was cool. He'd play with us, wrestle around with us, that kind of thing. However, Teddy had a secret. One he shared with me. One he completely denied when he was confronted with it as an adult. He liked me. He liked me in a way that wasn't appropriate at all.
I was about 6 or 7. We lived in a 2 story house. My walls were butter yellow. To this day I can NOT have yellow walls in my home. The outside of the house can't be yellow either. I think the house we lived in was yellow at the time, but we lived so many places, I can't be sure. Yellow and brown. With a long staircase and a railing. A railing that Gus would have us lean over and beat us with his belt.
It was summer time. Or at least late spring. It was warm out at least. The paint that was peeling on my wall was shaped like a witch, pointy hat and all. The room had some weird shapes to it. Slanted ceiling over the closet. I had bunk beds. I had the top bunk.
Teddy would climb up on my bunk and lay down with me. I liked Teddy, so it was ok. I wasn't supposed to tell he was up there, I'd get in trouble and Gus would beat me. And I liked Teddy, so I wouldn't tell. Teddy would pull out his penis and have me touch it. He'd kiss me. I liked him, and I wanted him to be happy with me. I wanted someone to be happy with me. I remember the weight of him laying on top of me. I remember the pain of him inside of me, at least part of the way. Teddy never put himself in my vagina, I don't know why, it was always anally. I'm sure there had to of been blood, but I don't know how that was remedied.
Gus had this thing about us girls going to bed without our panties on. If our panties were dirty, we couldn't wear them, and we were to go without. This horrified me for some reason. I remember putting on "dirty" panties after being told to not wear any. The panties were ones I had been wearing during the day. I got beaten very severely for wearing those "dirty" panties.
Gus didn't just use his belt. He liked his hands and fists too. If he got too frustrated, or just didn't have time to "set us up", he'd just smack us. My mom told me that I once got smacked so hard across the head that I flew across the room. My crime was simply unfolding a piece of folded bread and butter. That's all. To this day, I don't eat my bread and butter folded.
Gus used to bathe my sister and I. He wouldn't allow my mom in the room, or she was at work, or something like that. He'd close the bathroom door. He'd soap us up really well, making sure to wash ALL of our bodies. To this day, I don't like taking a bath.
One night, I was allowed to fall asleep downstairs in the recliner. It was hot and the recliner was in front of a fan. It was MUCH cooler. In my sleep, I knocked over a bird cage with my foot. The bird cage was next to the recliner. The bird got out and flew out the window. I was severly beaten for that.
I shoved my brother off of my top bunk. He wouldn't get down. It was my special place, and he was supposed to get down if I didn't want him up there, but he refused. He leaned over and fell head first on to the floor. Mom had to take him to the E.R. for stitches. Gus tried to get me to show him how I had shoved Jack off, but there was NO way I was going to put my hands anywhere on him and shove like that. I was severly beaten for that as well.
My life for 4 years was one beating after another. Sometimes I somewhat deserved it, like shoving my brother off of my bed. Most times, I really didn't. There was a time I was sick. I was in either 1st or 2nd grade. My sister brought home my home work. I looked at it in the car on the way home. I was a kid who LOVED school. It was an escape every day. I was eager for my school work. I got beaten for looking at that school work in the car.
There was once, where my mom was gone. She was at work, or shopping or something. My sister and brother were around, but I'm not sure where. It was shortly after Easter, I think. I wanted some of my candy, and it was warm outside. I went upstairs to ask Gus, who was in his bedroom, if I could have my big swirly lolipop. I knocked and he grunted, so I opened the door. He was laying bed, with a magazine, and masturbating. He didn't yell. He just looked at me and kept on doing what he was doing. He asked me what I wanted, and I told him I wanted my sucker. Amazingly, he said I could have it. I expected yelling and him throwing things at me for interupting him. I enjoyed that sucker like it was the last I'd ever have. I was certain I'd be beaten for walking in, though I don't remember if I was or not.
There are things I do now, as an adult that I don't understand. I must sleep with my feet covered up and tucked in, and the rest of my body, up to my arms, covered. It doesn't matter how hot it gets outside, I will use a sheet if I need to, but I must do it. When I've asked myself why I do this, I just get a sense of "hiding from them". I have no idea who "them" is.
I'm deathly afraid of being suffocated. I can't have anything on my face, ever. No blankets, veils, hair, nothing. When Teddy would wrestle with us, he'd like to cover me up in a blanket and hold me under until I would cry and beg to be set free because I couldn't breathe well.
I've talked to my sister about these events in my life. She has confided in me the things that took place with her. Teddy never did to her what he did to me. However, Gus did similar things. My sister has told me that she walked in on Gus masterbating as well. Instead of telling her to leave, he had her "kiss it".
My mom didn't know these things took place. She knew about the beatings, but not the other parts. When she was first told when I was 15, she didn't believe me, she thought that I had made it up as a way to get attention, to get out of being in trouble. I feel like my mom has always felt that I'm an "attention seeker" and that things with me were always blown out of proportion so that I would be more likely to be noticed.
My brother also remembers some of these things. He never was assaulted sexually, however he did witness the assault on occassion. He is almost 3 years younger than I am. My sister is a just over a year younger than I am. We were all so young to have such crappy lives already.
If you've made it this far in this post, I'm sorry you've just suffered through reading that. I'm sure I'll go back and read it myself, looking for typos or the like. Life events as children do shape who you will be as an adult. It's that simple. I've never shared any of this with an audience of more than one. There are very few people, up to now, who knew of all of the details that I have written out here. I've been thinking of doing this for a few days now. And now that I have, I need to hit "Publish Post" before I go back and erase it all and just type in "never mind".Saturday, April 12, 2008
Girls and Horses
And other stuff too. However, I started reading another blog and it's about a woman who lives out on a cattle ranch with her cowboy hubby and their four kids. It got me thinking about girls and horses and their absolute attraction and fascination with those majestic creatures.
It's usually young girls who have the obsession with horses. They find them sleek and beautiful and muscular and strong and tender and caring. Which they are. I think this attraction to horses carries over to our (women in general) attraction to the opposite sex. It's what we look for in our men. Read that list. Doesn't it sound familiar to you? You had a list similar to that when you were looking for "The One". I know you did, I did too.
So even as pre-pubescent, pre-hormonal children we are already setting ourselves up for our "ideal". Wow. Talk about deep. And a HUGE letdown.
Look at your spouse/significant other now. How close are they to that list? Did you settle? I don't think so. I think something else happened. You fell in love and realized that there was so much more than that list. And THAT is what being a grown up is about.
It's usually young girls who have the obsession with horses. They find them sleek and beautiful and muscular and strong and tender and caring. Which they are. I think this attraction to horses carries over to our (women in general) attraction to the opposite sex. It's what we look for in our men. Read that list. Doesn't it sound familiar to you? You had a list similar to that when you were looking for "The One". I know you did, I did too.
So even as pre-pubescent, pre-hormonal children we are already setting ourselves up for our "ideal". Wow. Talk about deep. And a HUGE letdown.
Look at your spouse/significant other now. How close are they to that list? Did you settle? I don't think so. I think something else happened. You fell in love and realized that there was so much more than that list. And THAT is what being a grown up is about.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Funny Thing About Depression.
All right, I admit it, there really ISN'T anything funny about depression, however that's how the statement goes. "The funny thing about..." and then you fill in your word of choice. Depression isn't a feel bad all the time never ending kind of thing. It has highs and lows. Sometimes you are at a high and you feel pretty damn good and then you are at a low and wonder what the hell was the point of waking up.
Right now, I'm in a mid to mid-high range. I think the weather break has helped. I also think just accepting it and taking it a day at a time has helped too. I just want to be "better". However, I don't even know what "better" IS. What would I do if I were better? How would I behave? Would the things that matter to me now still matter? What about the people? Would they still be as important to me?
There are so many fears associated with being "better" that I resist it. I know many people do. It's why you put off going to the doctor for as long as possible. You don't know what "better" will bring, and being as you are now isn't so bad. You adjust yourself to the "issues" associated with whatever ails you and you keep on going about your day.
So I've been told that exercise will help you feel less depressed. So I've been trying to exercise regularly. I know that losing some weight (a good 75-80 pounds at least) would really be beneficial to my health. I HATE exercise. It sucks. It requires so much effort. I have yet to see any actual benefits from it. I'm not really feeling "better" and the scale certainly isn't moving down. In fact, that horrid scale is moving UP. UGH.
I haven't reached 300 pounds yet, but it is slowly creeping up on me, much to my disdain and fear. Jason still finds me sexually attractive, which I completely don't understand. I feel like a big blob. He wants to jump my bones however. I ask him how he feels to know that I've gained about 50 pounds since we've been together. His response is "well, that's fine. You should work on it though, so you can be healthy. That doesn't change my attraction to you however." Damn man is so thoughtful and considerate. He won't even call me a blob.
I'm messed up, I acknowledge that fact. Now, how do I get to the point where the messed up isn't so directly influencing my life? What steps do I take so that a healthier and happier me has control of the reins? Do I read that horrid self-help book that that one therapist kept trying to shove on to me? I HATE self-help books. I honestly feel that if you need to read a book on how to help yourself, you should be locked up somewhere. Why read about it when you can go out and live it? Self-help books are so droll and boring anyway. How can a person actually get through one? The one that was being recommended to me even had a an accompianing workbook. How silly is that?
I don't know if I'm upset with Jason or not and his HUGE reluctance to go back to school. He wants a job where he can make more money, better support his family. Yet he is so unwilling to do the one thing that would make that a possibility. A reality. The degree he has now, while it IS a Bachelor's Degree, it is also pretty useless. He didn't learn how to make money taking photos, he just learned how to take photos. Which he does very well I might add. However, it's certainly NOT something he can support a family on.
My step-dad had a stroke about 3 weeks ago. It was a "minor" one. How you can have a "minor" anything when it comes to the brain I don't know. He is recovering well. Going to OT and has started back on his meds (the ones he should have been on all along). Generally taking better care of himself. My mom is tired. So very very tired. To her, my step-dad is like Jason. He was for her. She started dating him for herself. Not because she wanted someone to parent her kids. Not because she was alone. But becuase she wanted to. That is exactly what I went through with Jason.
Jason was for me. He was my friend with benefits. My get to know you guy. My one to go out and have fun with without the responsibility or worry of anyone else but myself. When he and I started dating, I kept the kids away from him. I didn't want him to get attached to them before me. If we were to seperate, I didn't want him to stick around because of them either. Slowly it developed in to more. I fought it too. I fought it like no other. The absolute dedication he showed to me frightened me. He didn't care. He wanted me, he needed me, he LOVED me. Truly, honestly, completely.
NOONE had EVER done that before. It had always been for getting me in to bed. Getting attached to my kids. That's what kept them around. It was never real and honest. I was always in control of myself. I knew I could let them leave and I would heal. I would cry and mourn their loss, but I would get over it. However, Jason was and still very much IS different. My biggest fear is losing my husband. I know he'll never leave of his own choice. So if I were to lose him, it would be in a very permanent way. I don't know how I will be able to keep going if that were to come to pass. I hope every day that it doesn't.
Depression is a crapper because it makes you not care. Not care about your life. Not care about what happens to your loved ones. Not give a flying rat's ass about a damn thing. You quit your job. You blow your money on crap. You sabotage your life. After all, what does it matter? Life is crap anyway.
I'm trying so very hard this time around to not do those things. I am trying to look at it all and go "now wait a minute, what the hell are you thinking?" I don't really like my job, after all, no one grows up to say "I want to work at Wal-Mart when I grow up". However I STILL have my job, which is a big difference than previous depressive boughts. I still have my husband because I haven't gone out and done things to sabotage our relationship. I still have my kids because I haven't sent them off to bum fuck egypt because I screwed up my life.
The depression is residual from the crap I went through as a kid. It is also genetic. So I'm fighting it on two fronts. How is that even fair? On the one front, I don't know if I'll ever be ready to face those demons. On the other, there is no facing anything, it's just how I am. Like James. He's "programmed" the way he is, no fighting it. He can take meds to help with it, but there is no real changing it.
Why don't I do depression meds? I could, I supposed. Aside from the fact that I'd have to pay for them out of pocket because I have no insurance, I don't like how they make me feel. I don't feel "better" while taking them, I just feel more tired. I've almost fallen asleep while driving when I was taking those meds. It was about 3 in the afternoon, and I had slept the night before, so that wasn't an issue.
So now I keep writing and working through it all. It's going to ramble. It may not be consistent in the frequency of posting. However, I'm going to try to work it out. Every day is a new day. I just need to take advantage of the new day as much as I can.
Right now, I'm in a mid to mid-high range. I think the weather break has helped. I also think just accepting it and taking it a day at a time has helped too. I just want to be "better". However, I don't even know what "better" IS. What would I do if I were better? How would I behave? Would the things that matter to me now still matter? What about the people? Would they still be as important to me?
There are so many fears associated with being "better" that I resist it. I know many people do. It's why you put off going to the doctor for as long as possible. You don't know what "better" will bring, and being as you are now isn't so bad. You adjust yourself to the "issues" associated with whatever ails you and you keep on going about your day.
So I've been told that exercise will help you feel less depressed. So I've been trying to exercise regularly. I know that losing some weight (a good 75-80 pounds at least) would really be beneficial to my health. I HATE exercise. It sucks. It requires so much effort. I have yet to see any actual benefits from it. I'm not really feeling "better" and the scale certainly isn't moving down. In fact, that horrid scale is moving UP. UGH.
I haven't reached 300 pounds yet, but it is slowly creeping up on me, much to my disdain and fear. Jason still finds me sexually attractive, which I completely don't understand. I feel like a big blob. He wants to jump my bones however. I ask him how he feels to know that I've gained about 50 pounds since we've been together. His response is "well, that's fine. You should work on it though, so you can be healthy. That doesn't change my attraction to you however." Damn man is so thoughtful and considerate. He won't even call me a blob.
I'm messed up, I acknowledge that fact. Now, how do I get to the point where the messed up isn't so directly influencing my life? What steps do I take so that a healthier and happier me has control of the reins? Do I read that horrid self-help book that that one therapist kept trying to shove on to me? I HATE self-help books. I honestly feel that if you need to read a book on how to help yourself, you should be locked up somewhere. Why read about it when you can go out and live it? Self-help books are so droll and boring anyway. How can a person actually get through one? The one that was being recommended to me even had a an accompianing workbook. How silly is that?
I don't know if I'm upset with Jason or not and his HUGE reluctance to go back to school. He wants a job where he can make more money, better support his family. Yet he is so unwilling to do the one thing that would make that a possibility. A reality. The degree he has now, while it IS a Bachelor's Degree, it is also pretty useless. He didn't learn how to make money taking photos, he just learned how to take photos. Which he does very well I might add. However, it's certainly NOT something he can support a family on.
My step-dad had a stroke about 3 weeks ago. It was a "minor" one. How you can have a "minor" anything when it comes to the brain I don't know. He is recovering well. Going to OT and has started back on his meds (the ones he should have been on all along). Generally taking better care of himself. My mom is tired. So very very tired. To her, my step-dad is like Jason. He was for her. She started dating him for herself. Not because she wanted someone to parent her kids. Not because she was alone. But becuase she wanted to. That is exactly what I went through with Jason.
Jason was for me. He was my friend with benefits. My get to know you guy. My one to go out and have fun with without the responsibility or worry of anyone else but myself. When he and I started dating, I kept the kids away from him. I didn't want him to get attached to them before me. If we were to seperate, I didn't want him to stick around because of them either. Slowly it developed in to more. I fought it too. I fought it like no other. The absolute dedication he showed to me frightened me. He didn't care. He wanted me, he needed me, he LOVED me. Truly, honestly, completely.
NOONE had EVER done that before. It had always been for getting me in to bed. Getting attached to my kids. That's what kept them around. It was never real and honest. I was always in control of myself. I knew I could let them leave and I would heal. I would cry and mourn their loss, but I would get over it. However, Jason was and still very much IS different. My biggest fear is losing my husband. I know he'll never leave of his own choice. So if I were to lose him, it would be in a very permanent way. I don't know how I will be able to keep going if that were to come to pass. I hope every day that it doesn't.
Depression is a crapper because it makes you not care. Not care about your life. Not care about what happens to your loved ones. Not give a flying rat's ass about a damn thing. You quit your job. You blow your money on crap. You sabotage your life. After all, what does it matter? Life is crap anyway.
I'm trying so very hard this time around to not do those things. I am trying to look at it all and go "now wait a minute, what the hell are you thinking?" I don't really like my job, after all, no one grows up to say "I want to work at Wal-Mart when I grow up". However I STILL have my job, which is a big difference than previous depressive boughts. I still have my husband because I haven't gone out and done things to sabotage our relationship. I still have my kids because I haven't sent them off to bum fuck egypt because I screwed up my life.
The depression is residual from the crap I went through as a kid. It is also genetic. So I'm fighting it on two fronts. How is that even fair? On the one front, I don't know if I'll ever be ready to face those demons. On the other, there is no facing anything, it's just how I am. Like James. He's "programmed" the way he is, no fighting it. He can take meds to help with it, but there is no real changing it.
Why don't I do depression meds? I could, I supposed. Aside from the fact that I'd have to pay for them out of pocket because I have no insurance, I don't like how they make me feel. I don't feel "better" while taking them, I just feel more tired. I've almost fallen asleep while driving when I was taking those meds. It was about 3 in the afternoon, and I had slept the night before, so that wasn't an issue.
So now I keep writing and working through it all. It's going to ramble. It may not be consistent in the frequency of posting. However, I'm going to try to work it out. Every day is a new day. I just need to take advantage of the new day as much as I can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)