Nobody’s Fault

Some people celebrate their dating anniversary. Some people celebrate their wedding anniversary. My husband and I do neither, though that is not to say we let the days go unnoticed. They’re both in September, which is convenient because then we just really have to remember the month. But in March, we have the Usiversary. That was when we truly made a commitment, instead of just screwing around like our 20-something selves. I am pretty sure I have written about it before, so if this sentence is highlighted, that is true. Really, it is just an anniversary for us and no one else, and that has always made it more special.

Anyway, this year we were going to go to the movies and see Cocaine Bear. I had tickets and I had a gift certificate- it would have cost me nothing for an evening at the movies, and I had been saving these items for this special occasion. So, of course, when I went to get them from the drawer yesterday, they were not there. Immediately, I accused Mark of moving them, and he replied that he did not touch them. So then, I considered it was the hoodlum children, but I have no evidence. I looked everywhere, to no avail. I was pissed.  Suffice it to say, we did not go to the movies last night. Not that I could have if I wanted to.

Around 1:00 p.m. I got home and it had started to snow. I texted my boss to see what weather conditions were near school, and she said the north was clearer, so I decided to give myself 10 extra minutes and headed out at about 1:45. I slid down the street, was unable to break at the corner, and slid around it. I thought “okay, side streets are no good-” but I kept driving, because that’s how I am. We know how to drive in the snow here in Buffalo, and a little slip at the corner only means I need to pump the brakes. However, by the time I got to the stop sign at the next corner, the visibility had become worse. And when I pumped the brakes to stop…I did not. I almost got t-boned by pickup truck instead, and my life flashed before my eyes. Instead of turning right to go to work, I turned left, and drove 15 miles an hour around the block to get back to my driveway. I texted my boss and told her I would not be in, which really made me mad. Everything kind of came to a head then, and I started bitching and yelling at myself.

See, I felt like a failure somehow, like I had screwed everything up. Fortunately, I have been steadily taking my meds so Sane Brain was able to make an appearance and tell me that I was being ridiculous. It’s not like it was my fault that I couldn’t go to work- it wasn’t my stomach or anything, it was nature. And it wasn’t my fault we weren’t going on a date, because I know *I* did not misplace those tickets, and also it ended up snowing so how would we even have gotten there? None of the things that were making me mad were anybody’s fault, really, so I realized I was really being mad at no one-not even myself.

I went and took a nap. When I woke up, I didn’t feel crappy anymore- well, correction, I felt sort of crappy because I always do after a nap, it’s why I don’t nap. But I just needed to reset yesterday, and I think it did me good. When I woke up, I felt better. I got a good night’s sleep, I woke up in a decent hour today, and I am feeling fairly positive at the moment. It is my day off, and the house is unexpectedly quiet because unfortunately the kiddos are not here- they’ve got the ‘vid at their house. Which is terrible, but I know I will at least see the girls next weekend for the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. So today, I will welcome the peace, because the only thing I really need to do today is some light housekeeping. My Usiversary did not turn out great this year, but this morning Mark and I took a drive and talked and laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. And that’s what matters about that day- 12 years, and we’re still talking, and laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. Nothing else matters.

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The Letdown

Let’s talk about some mental health shall we?

One of the things that really bothers me is what I like to call “the letdown.” I’ve been feeling this emotion quite a bit lately, so I’d like to talk about it with you. Now, we all know, or at least the common reader does, that I live with obsessive compulsive disorder, severe anxiety disorder, and major depressive disorder. That’s a lot of disorders – and I have written about all of them. But something I have only ever touched on is the letdown. The letdown comes after any attack from those three foes of mine. Yesterday, all three were at play, ergo all three caused a letdown situation.

First, there is the general depression that I am feeling which has been heightened by recent traumas regarding the death of my mother. I started the day already feeling depressed about my circumstance, which immediately led to a mild letdown, and caused me to sit on the sofa for several hours feeling frozen and angry at myself. I used my coping mechanisms to push myself to do something that would make me happy-so I decided to make pancakes. When I got to the kitchen, I discovered I have three boxes of pancake mix and they were all past their expiration date. When I got to the refrigerator, I found that the milk had spoiled. I then spilled rotten milk and pancake mix all over the floor. That is when the OCD part of me jumped out and stormed out of the room. I had to sit down and take deep breaths in an effort not to launch into a panic attack. When I did finally call myself down, I had a mess to clean up and a lot of regret for yelling at my husband.  The letdown, again.

Then I went to work, which was a good day, and I would have thought I’d have been fine- until I got to the car after and started to cry. I don’t know why, probably my mother, but whatever it was caused a large amount of anxiety to well up inside me. I really wanted to go to that workshop, but I couldn’t. Instead, I drove to my sister’s house and sat on her futon and tried not to cry more. Then, came the letdown. This one was worse than the others, because this one affected my life in a way that I do not have control over. Yes, I could have forced myself at work to go do that workshop, but I might not have absorbed anything since I was not in my right frame of mind. Instead, I chose the self-care option, which is what I know I am supposed to do. Still, I have regrets. I am disappointed. I have a feeling like I am not good enough, like I am broken in some way and unable to do the things I want to do. This, this is the letdown. So how does one get out of it? Earlier, I tried to make pancakes. When that didn’t work, I tried meditation and deep breathing. And then, like building blocks, I found myself feeling even more let down at the end of the day, unsure how to rattle myself out of these feelings. Now it is the next morning, and I am still feeling disappointed in myself, even though my logical brain knows I made the right choice for me at the time. But sometimes the right choice is not the choice we wish to make. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done. Sometimes it means it definitely should. So I tell myself that I made the right decision, and I hope that my feeling of failure fades. Maybe by tomorrow.

Anyhoo. The big workshop starts next week. I will start psyching myself up for that one now. Happy Thursday.

Lost Weekends

Well, this weekend was a total wash.  I spent both days in the ER getting hopped up on zofran and morphine.  I did not get to spend time with the kiddos.  I did not get to work on the things around the house I wanted to work on.  No projects were completed, my house is messier than it was before, and not a single plan was followed through with.

I walked into my office to find the lamp on the floor, papers everywhere, and my desk drawers open.  It looks like I’ve been robbed.  I know that at one point L asked if he could take home a computer game and I told him it didn’t work.  I wondered briefly where he had found it.  Now I know.

However, someone found a photo of me and Mark and taped it to my computer.  So that’s adorable.  But why…WHY is the lamp on the floor??

Having gastroparesis downright sucks, but what I find to be the worst part (after the pain and vomiting, that is) has to be how it saps your life of time.  I planned on taking the kids to the zoo this weekend.  That clearly did not happen.  I just got bunk beds for the girls and was going to help Mark set them up.  We couldn’t, obviously.  I was going to make a nice dinner on Saturday.  They had Little Caesars, I had a lemon ice.  All our plans got delayed or cancelled, and I feel like I am ruining everyone’s weekend, not just my own.  My poor father, who sat with me both days at the ER!  I’m sure that’s not how he intended to spend his time.

Next week is my sisters 22^nd birthday.  I missed her 21^st as I was in the hospital, and I really do not want a repeat of last year.  We’ve made plans for the weekend, to go see our cousins band play.  Bernie was born on Halloween and there’s going to be a costume competition, so that’s appropriate.  On Saturday, I intend to go to Pumpkinville with Jaime, to buy cider and feed goats.  And on Sunday either we will go to my parents for dinner or I will make some chili and watch the game with Mark but either way I will have a lovely Fall weekend and I will NOT GET SICK.

Or so I tell myself.

I woke up this morning, and as I was laying in bed I thought to myself, Am I ok?  How’s my stomach?  These were my first thoughts.  They are always my first thoughts.  When I felt confident that I was not going to puke, I got up and made my way through the house, past the bunk beds waiting in the dining room, passed every single board game we own stacked on the coffee table for some reason, into the office with the lamp on the floor.  I have so much to do today and I don’t want to do any of it.  I probably won’t; I just don’t have the energy.  However, I am glad to sit at my chair among the mess, and type on my keyboard, and update my blog, because it means that time is not being stolen from me.  It means that I am here.