Struggle Bus

I had a rough week.

I know that it happens, and I guess I was hoping that the wave I was riding after my impromptu Momcation in the city a couple of weeks ago was going to take a little longer to crash. But it did and it feels like everything is upended.

My kid is going through pacifier withdrawal, which looks and feels a lot like crack withdrawal (as if I know anything about that). It is really, really one of the more challenging phases of development we've faced so far. We had been trying to phase it out for at least a year, but we hit a patch where she was depending on it more and more so finally, we just stopped cold turkey. I looked at the calendar and noticed how close we've come to her third birthday and then made a choice--either we make progress on potty training or we dump the pacifier.

I assure you that those choices are on the same level. Of course that means I have a child who I'm still trying to potty train after a full year and have yet to make any real progress.

I have had other issues, and since I'm in a confessional mood, I keep having the same argument with the Hub that keeps ending in the same stalemate. This has gone on for far too long. And despite my hope that he finally got me this week when he finally made a statement that sounded every bit like he has been paying attention...he backslid.

I am feeling very unappreciated by my friends. VERY. And so much so that it triggered a lot of anger that dredged up all of the same emotions I dealt with last year with my brother. So I am angry and sad and depressed (but this time around, I have no appetite for anything other that coffee or soda). And writing about being depressed and sad and angry again.

So I'm not quite sure if I am riding at the back of the struggle bus, driving it, or running after it. But I am still going. And oddly enough I feel a little more in control by having written this all down. Even if I stay on this course, and things stay the same it feels better to admit that things suck right now.

Mom Ashamed

I am just going to admit that yes, I write a lot about my struggles as a mother, which might suggest that yes, this is pretty much a Mommy blog...which is consistent with most things about my life, totally the opposite of what I want.

I had a meltdown today in response to my daughter's meltdown. I threw her pacifier out of the moving car when it failed to keep her from screaming at me about whatever it was she wanted. I yelled. I cursed. I cried. I detoured to a nearby playground to get her to walk out her frustration (and to do the same for myself) and she refused. So I walked off and paced the tennis courts. When I decided that my "walk it off" idea wouldn't work, I drove us home.

I am so tired. She's only two. I am not going to make it if things continue the way they have.

I felt this way a few years ago when I reached a similar frustrated boiling point with my Mom. I had tried everything I could think of to interact and engage her, and everything was met with her treating me like she hated me. The worst period of her treating me like shit were during my pregnancy. She was so mean-spirited, and it seemed like no noticed or cared. Until the day I stormed out of the house after a particularly nasty exchange when I asked her to allow me to do something and she refused. My brother must have overheard, and finally came upstairs, but as far as I'm concerned, his concern was for my Mom and not much for me.

That's pretty much how I feel all the time during this Toddlersaurus phase (and honestly, since I was six months pregnant). No one gives much of a shit about me.

I do all of the heavy lifting, but if she has an unusual bruise on her leg, the entire world has to come to a stop to determine if we need to spend the night in the ER. When I was swollen and retaining fluid during her first month (steadily pumping myself with vitamins and bleeding and everything else to breastfeed and just adjust to everything), I was sent to the doctor (not taken, but sent on my own). Her discomfort is met with concern. Mine is met with indifference.

I fucking hate everybody right now. EVERYBODY.

I hate my Mother for being sick. I hate my Dad for being helpless. I hate my brothers for being men. I hate my sister in law for being so distant. I hate my other in-laws for living in New York. I hate my friends for never offering to do anything for me or my daughter. I hate how motherhood has isolated me. I hate my husband, period.

And I hate myself for not being the person I had hoped to be. I hate that the only way I can express myself is through writing that no one ever reads. I hate that I won't publish this (on BBW where I started writing this) because I am chicken shit and am more nervous of people judging me. I hate that the anxiety of not wanting to be judged has made it nearly impossible for me to ask for help.

Screaming at the Top of My Lungs

I promised myself that I would not use my BBW blog to air my dirty laundry, and for the most part I have kept that promise. That's why I keep this blog, and why I am grateful that I decided not to continue writing this post over there. Because I am feeling kinda crappy right now.

WHEN AM I EVER GOING TO BE HEARD?

In an argument. By my toddler. By my family when I have a legitimate point of contention. By my friends? By anybody?

Do you know how frustrating it is to feel like NO ONE gives half a crap about you unless you are fucking up? How it feels to think that nothing you do ever matters because to some folks it is just your job? That you aren't even remotely special?

I feel like that right now. Right now, just as I want to eat my feelings (which was something I never did before this year). Right now as I am really thinking about running the fuck away and not telling anyone where I'm headed. Right now when I want to reach out, but don't think anyone has the time to understand why I am just feeling hopeless and useless and perennially frustrated by life.

When is it my turn to be first? Why can't I make demands and someone feel obligated to meet them just because? Why am I being high maintenance when I want something done a certain way? Why can't I have expectations? Why don't I ever feel appreciated? Can I get some flowers that someone actually took the time to look at to make sure that they weren't dying (instead of buying the cheap ones because they were cheap)? Can I not be given the lecture that I ought to be grateful for being an afterthought instead of not being thought of at all (which is the definition of afterthought, n'est pas)? Can someone call me and reach out to check in on me from time to time, instead of reaching out to ask for a favor? Why can't I be needy? Why does my loneliness feel more like normal the older I get?

Why so many questions, you might ask because from your perspective, I should be happy. And I get the green grass theory, which is true when you realize the reason why their grass is greener--someone waters and cares about that other lawn. If I am not watering my grass, it should be brought to my attention so that I can do a better job. I don't have a problem being told that I am doing something wrong. I have a problem with always being told that I am doing something wrong in response to telling someone else to modify their behavior.

I have a few other issues, but I will get to my laundry instead.

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

Depression for Dummies

Depression is real. Depression is not just in my head.

NO, I CANNOT JUST GET OVER IT.

Happiness may be a choice. Depressed people try to choose happiness. But something makes that choice seem impossible in any number of circumstances. It would help tremendously if people understood that. I can be happy in a moment. I have moments of joy. But I can still suffer from depression in those moments.

One analogy I can think of is getting dressed during the winter. I can put on layers of clothing to keep warm, but if any skin gets exposed, I can still get cold. With depression, I can participate in a joyful celebration but if something goes wrong, it can ruin the experience for me. (And not necessarily the entire experience, just that specific aspect.) Most people would argue "Everything else went great, why can't you just get over it?" Because that is how depression works--I just can't get over it.

I just had yet another very futile "conversation" with the husband wherein his understanding of my issues boils down to his fundamental misunderstanding and, as far as I am concerned, his unwillingness to try.

I understand that it is hard to invest the emotional capital in someone who suffers with chronic depression. It is much easier to just walk away and leave them alone. I know because get left alone all the time. I am not suggesting that loving someone with depression is futile. It just means that you have to find a way to love that person to reassure them that no matter what, everything will be alright. I know that my family prefers to keep me at arm's length because it is easier for them. I just wish someone would make the effort to love me through my depression instead of in spite of it.

I didn't intend to spend this much effort on this topic, but I really needed to vent. I am going through another debilitating episode that has kept me pretty much confined to the house for the past month. I have gone out, but only as necessary. I have been trying...I bought some new lipstick and drastically cut my hair. I also admitted that I am going through something to others, which is rare because I never talk about my issues with others. I stopped short of telling people that I was depressed, but I was honest that I am dealing with a lot of drama that has left me anxious, frustrated and emotionally exhausted. People are a little more encouraging when you can offer specific terms to describe your feelings.

Just know that telling me to feel better is counter-productive. Telling me to pray is not offering a solution. Neither is expressing frustration that your efforts aren't helping (because my depression is not about you, it is about me). It would help if you stopped to listen, really listen without always trying to offer a fix. It is nice of you to pray for me, but how about inviting me to pray with you? If I cannot express exactly what is wrong, there might be any number of reasons why, but getting annoyed and giving up on me will only hasten a shutdown.

If any of this sounds familiar because you recognize yourself or someone else you know, I hope this gives you a primer on depression (not a clinical one, but a personal one). Maybe it will help you to become a better friend to someone who cannot always muster up the energy to be bothered with life beyond a self-contained bubble. I want to get through this, but I need help.

Self-Pitiful

I have been blogging a lot lately, which is great. Except I need to be packing right now for Chicago. So I am blogging as a new way to procrastinate.

I am also here to vent after a monologue with my husband. I went to talk to him about something and I guess I cut into his podcast time because he had to actually listen to me. Or he just had to fake like he cared.

I am so over this.

Am I so inconsequential? Actually a better question is when did I become so inconsequential, but since my answer is as far back as I can remember...

I am not in the mood to bare all. But let's just say that I am always alone except when I'm with my daughter, but even then we are always alone. I was telling the hub my feelings of isolation and suggested that I might try (again) to connect with one of those exclusive membership organizations. He responded in his usual manner of telling me how I would find fault and be turned off by the pettiness, and I left feeling like he missed my entire point.

I am lonely. And I think my loneliness and isolation will have an impact on our kid.

I don't wish to bemoan the state of my life because it should be rather obvious since I write about this topic at least a third of the time. I found some great photos of us from a few years ago when I did not feel this way and they make me sad. When did this happen?

Herding Cats

I'm angry, and in order to avoid saying in person what I want to say (go f*** yourself), I am here.

There was a lot I intended to say to someone, and earlier I thought that it would be therapeutic to write it all down in an email.  And I had every intention of it being one of those no holds barred emails--fueled by red wine or vodka that is so clear and direct and raw.  But those emails never have the desired effect since it is still Groundhog Day.

I am tired. I am spent. I am blown. I hate fucking dementia and the havoc it has wrought in my life.

For the past two years, I have been offered the "call me if you need me" kind of back up whenever people have learned of the situation, but that is bullshit and they all know it.  Because if you really want to offer me help, you would call up and tell me what you intend to do and wait for me to say yes or no.  You do not ask a drowning person if they need help.  You jump in or you throw out a life preserver.

I am fed up with the Monday morning quarterbacking that goes on when folks offer belated suggestions of what I should be doing.  I am beyond tired of the foot-dragging and delays that have prevented any movement forward on anything.  I am exhausted by playing multiple roles in this soap opera--the overbearing mother, bad wife, nagging big sister, attentive aunt and devoted daughter.  I am frustrated that I am failing and can't get a retest, a do-over or even a fucking break. I'm mad that every time I get to cry, I have to do it by myself while writing a weepy, overly sentimental blog because none of the a$$holes in my life want to deal with how I'm feeling.

But when I get angry, the sky sometimes opens and I get small reprieves. Today I made an appointment to meet with a professional.  As someone once told me, prayer is good but people are better.  So maybe if I keep praying, I'll get better people.

Sunshine and Rain

Earlier this summer, a local politician was featured in an article about his wife's early onset dementia. Yesterday, he gave a radio interview about her and the ordeal his family has gone through since 2010.

When I first read his story, I could not help but to think about the parallels.  The origin of my mother's odd behavior began sometime in 2009, and as it continued, we struggled to come up with answers.  I too had to trick her into going to a doctor, eventually tricking her into seeing a neurologist when nothing improved.  And just as was the case for Mr. Baker, within 15 minutes after we left the office with a preliminary diagnosis, my mother did not seem to acknowledge that he had just told her that she had dementia.

But unlike Mr. Baker, I have been hiding in plain sight when it comes to discussing my mother...only talking through the blog or to friends. Or not at all.  For a time I retreated from this when I felt that I was revealing too much.  We had an opportunity to be featured in another radio interview, but we arrived late and left early so that I could avoid an embarassing over-reaction. 

I am grateful to Mr. Baker for speaking out because people need to know the private hell it has been these past few years.  I came back to write about it because I need to tell others in my own way and on my terms.

I will try not to dwell so much on the negative, but at times, it will be impossible not to...I need a release.  It cannot be a release that is tied to physical exercise or drinking or staying busy.  I need to have a space where I can scream and cry and question God about this.  I need a place to turn after having the same argument with my husband for the 103rd time.  I need a refuge from biting my tongue and not telling my family that I am not Jesus yet, I am essentially putting my life on hold so that everyone else can live theirs with minimal inconvenience.  I need a space to bitch after someone has said something insensitive or mean to me so that I can resist the urge to tell them where to go.  I need a place to bury my disappointments and broken dreams.

Today there is rain. Tomorrow there may be sunshine. I'll try to take each day as I find it.

A Fine Mess

A theme that has been discussed ad nauseum on this blog is the total mess of a life that I have.  With the recent twist of having a sick mother added, this piss cocktail is just perfect.  I'm fugmangled (still working to keep that Lenten promise not to curse).

I had a bad argument with the husband last night, fueled by a very good Belgian beer that loosened my tongue to express my sentiment that the husband is, in many ways, just as selfish as the members of my family that he is so fond of casting himself as more supportive than.  My proof was his declaration that if a certain deadline was not met, then he would not participate in the activity.

I told him that he was putting me in an uncomfortable spot.  He felt that his decision was going to help.  We disagreed.  The discussion continued in the car and again, I stated that it just seemed that whenever these ultimatums are made, my feelings are not generally considered.  That while I am critical of my family for acting in a way that places me in a very uncomfortable place (because their denial, selfishness, obstinance, etc. rarely considers the impact and toll this is all taking on me), it does not help that he expresses his discontentment in ways that put the blame on me as well.

I will not recount how the argument ended, but I will focus on how I feel today.  Because for the life of me, I am sitting here trying to figure out why I have not walked out on everything--my family, my obligations, my marriage--EVERYTHING.  Clearly since it would take extreme overreaction on my part to get anyone's attention anyway.

Two months ago, there was some drama at a meeting I attended and as a result, the event at issue was a smashing success.  And it should have been, but for my stuff, not nearly the same type of response.  Even if I did cry (which I did over another matter), my tears move anthills, not mountains.  And I show up and do my very best, often ALONE without much help from anyone else.  I don't want a parade.  I just want someone to know that I give it the best that I have without the manipulative theatrics, and just would like for it to mean more than just the occasional pat on the back.

Take last year when my mother-in-law passed.  I never said a word about how I felt completely slighted by my in-laws, but especially my own husband.  I took the bus to New York to be with him.  I stayed up half the night packing for him.  I wrote his mother's obituary and planned the funeral program.  I had to miss most of the repast because I had to take my brothers to the ferry.  And I spent that night alone in her apartment because he went out with his best friend.  NOT once has he even asked how I felt about any of this.  He just took it for granted that I did not mind.

And here is the kicker--I feel guilty about even expressing how I feel. 

And that is the story of my life.  I do the best I can to be present, to give it my best and I have nothing to show for it.  I am supposed to be content with a warm fuzzy glow or with the illusory promise of heavenly reward.  What crap.

I don't even know how to be selfish.  What else would I do if I were not taking care of my mother?  I'd be sitting around writing pieces like this about feeling guilty that I left her care to someone else.  As much as I need professional help to tackle this house, I would feel guilty about having to pay someone to clean up after me.  I love my niece, but I want my own family; clearly that is not going to happen for me at 38 years old and counting without the miracles of modern medicine.  And since I'm being so honest, I need the help of modern medicine because things are not working the natural way at all.  I want to make my own money, but I have failed at every turn--jobs and businesses alike and for the same stupid reasons.  Because I always have work to do for the things that need to get done, there are not that many invitations that come my way. 

I am a miserable.  I am a failure.  I am a miserable failure.  That is something I do well, but again, no one notices.

Now That I am Done Baring My Soul

I just posted three old unpublished posts.  I wrote them last month and while I had very good reasons for not posting them at the time, I reconsidered those choices and posted them. 

I am still very depressed and could write another post about all the things that are contributing to this week's episode, but I won't.  I am tired of reading the never-ending litany of depression posts.  So either I am going to stop writing this blog altogether to focus on building Busy Black Woman, or I am going to archive all of the sad stuff and start all over again.  Of course, that does not mean that I will not continue to be depressed.  But it might give me some space from all of the negativity that just never stops flowing--no  matter how many fingers and toes I use to plug the dike.

I am so tired and exhausted from feeling like this.  And everytime I pray for change, it comes and things get even worse.  Now my mother is sick.  So exactly how I am supposed to handle that? 

I don't remember what stage of grief I am supposed to be in right now, but I am depressed and sad and so I am going to stop writing, get cleaned up and head over to the Shrine to just sit.  And maybe I'll go for a walk to clear my head.  And then maybe I'll have enough courage to go visit my mother without feeling sorry for myself.

A Bit of Clarity

Early August, posting it now.

This afternoon, I heard a radio interview that turned on a light bulb for me...I have been in mourning since April.

I was listening to a program about emotions, and a caller shared a story about her difficulty with processing grief while going through a certain period of stress on her job.  And the psychologist on the panel suggested that her emotional issues on the job were somehow related to the lingering, unresolved grief she had experienced.  And then it hit me like a ton of bricks that my current situation is very similar.

I wrote about my mother in law on the other blog, and I wrote a little bit about the oddness of it all here a few weeks later, but I finally accepted the fact this morning that I have been in a fog of unacknowledged grief for weeks.  I realized it yesterday while in New York because her absence at my niece's shower was obvious.  I've thought of her in small ways when the husband mentions her, but it has been very strange.

But I really felt a shift today while listening to this program.  I realized that in the lead-up to her passing, I bottled everything up because the husband did not want to talk about the inevitable.  Then I went on total BBW auto-pilot to get everyone through the funeral.  We returned to DC and I tried to go on with life as normal, only to be confronted with the reality of my mother's situation.  And I wrapped myself in trying to find solutions to that, and continued to do my BBW stuff and just generally wore myself down to where I was this past Friday.

This past Friday, I missed a college fair because I misread the logistics and did not plan appropriately.  I could blame the circumstances of the night before, when I spent the entire say watching my Baby Niece, but I will not go there.  Then I missed the event that I was planning to attend on Saturday, which would have been my cover story for being in New York.  I have a few other undone tasks on my to do list and in general, I am distracted and unfocused.  I did not go out with my friend at all during her month off from work, and I skipped hanging out with my sorors because I was feeling sorry for myself.

This level of lethargy is so not me, and when I heard a semi-plausible explanation on the radio today, I claimed it because I know it is at least partially true.  I have been on auto-pilot for months, and it is not working.  I need to deal with my grief, but I do not have an outlet for it.  I have been angry a lot and I know it has a lot to do with keeping a lot of my emotions bottled inside. 

The truth is, I cannot talk to the husband because she was his mother and he would rather not talk about it.  That is how the men in his family *deal* with things (which is to avoid them), and while that is totally unfair to me, that works for him.  And a lot of the resentments about a lot of things I have kept to myself over the years are starting to percolate.

I am not good at sharing with others because I don't feel that I can really talk to anyone about anything.  I spend a lot of time by myself, so that means I generally have no one to talk to except through the blogs.  How sad is that?  And most of the time, no one is reading...

Babies Booming

From the archives of unpublished posts. I wrote this the day before I declared a September reset on the Busy Black Woman blog.

Beyonce is pregnant.  Tina Fey is pregnant.  Fantasia is pregnant.  Jennifer Garner is pregnant.  Hillary Duff is pregnant.  Plenty of random crackheads are pregnant.
 
I am not.

I hesitated to write this particular article because it is so personal and I think that no one really cares that much about how it must feel to watch all of these celebrities and crazy people have children when you are staring at 38.  And have been married for ten years. 

No one cares because there are tons of women out there who are not married who also do not have children.  Instead of applauding their responsible act of sacrifice, they get treated to a media onslaught of articles that question whether they are being too picky since that is the only reason why an accomplished woman in her 30s/40s/50s would still be single.

Married women without children get a lot of pity.  And face a lot of uncomfortable questions.  Yes, I have thought about fertility treatments, and I pass.  Yes, I have thought about adoption, and I am still thinking about it.  Yes, I have considered just giving up.

Here is my dilemma...my life has no space for a child anymore.  When I was willing to make space, there was no time.  When I was willing to make time, something else occupied it.  Now, it is just too hard to think about having a baby when I have older parents to think about.  We just went through the loss of my husband's mother...and I feel bad enough that I failed her on the grandchild front.  Now I've got other crap to deal with, so maybe that ship has sailed.

It hurts to say that, but I think that ship has sailed.

So if that is truly the case, then I need to make other plans.  The George Bailey arc of my life will ensure that I will either never get to leave DC or I will have too many children.  Well, seeing as how I believe that ship has sailed, then it is time for me to get out of dodge.  I have been toying with the idea of going abroad for years now...I decided yesterday that it is no longer a dream.  I need a way to restart my life from this current state of duldrums.

Inside the Mind

I have been thinking a lot about the Rutgers student who jumped off the George Washington Bridge a couple of weeks ago.  His name was Tyler Clementi.  A lot of media attention has been focused on the fact that Clementi's roommate had been secretly taping and broadcasting video of his homosexual encounters.  A lot of people have focused on the role of technology, the apathy and possible culpability of the roommate...but what about the suicide?

I was thinking today about how difficult it must be for the family to understand how humiliation or embarassment led to this since there is no indication that anything else contributed to Clementi's decision to jump off that bridge.  I believe the humiliation was not the catalyst, but it was the tipping point...unfortunately, no one knew how deeply hurt this kid was.

I've been there.  Not suicidal, but deeply hurt enough to believe that if I just disappeared, life would go on just fine without me.  I felt that way a lot in high school--the cruelest time of my life (actually, middle school was the cruelest, but I hadn't developed the ability to brood about it yet).  In high school I was invisible to most of my peers.  Actually, they saw me quite clearly, but they determined that I was too young, too weird, too awkward, too unattractive, too eager, too talkative, etc. to be bothered with me. 

And that awkwardness followed me to college where I fell into pretty much the same pattern of disconnectedness.  I made friends, but we were not close and while they were off dating, I was in my room listening to Prince and Sade.  The difference about being away from home was that I did not have a family around to distract me from my peer isolation.  Luckily because there is a clique for everyone in college, my loneliness was temporary and I eventually found other friends with whom I connected.  But as an adult, I have had recurrent struggles with feeling alone, and I often think that people don't notice.

I feel badly for Tyler Clementi because instead of finding his niche in college, he encountered yet another predator who mocked him at his most vulnerable state.  Without knowing more about him, I am sure that Clementi was bullied in high school, but because he had his music and a family to counteract the toxic deluge of teenage ridicule, he built up a fragile immunity to his pain.  But once he went away to school, the protective cocoon of family was gone and he just could not see a way out other than to take his life.

What I hope will happen in the aftermath of this tragedy is that other people see and intervene before the darkness obscures the light of living.  In my experience, teenage depression is written off as moodiness, but there is an intensity to the darkness that is anything but typical.  Teenage angst feeds on insecurity and it is inside that darkness that a person can become vulnerable to the temptation to give up. 

-----------------------------------------

As I think about the darkness that overcame Tyler Clementi, I also thought about the other relevant fact about this tragedy which is the closet.  How hard must it be to live a lie because the light of the truth might place a bullseye on your back?  Of course, the LGBT folks totally understand that angle of the tragedy, but how much hatred and intolerance we can accept before someone else gets killed?  How many people shrugged this incident off because their belief system condones ridicule of homosexuality?  I thought about the standing ovation Bishop Eddie Long received when he addressed his congregation and how his extreme stance against homosexuality was essentially defended even as he stands accused of sexual abusing young men.  Or how the ridicule and harassment heaped upon another college student in Michigan gets defended as free speech by his boss.  Or how a group of protesters will get to argue the indefensible act of protesting homosexuality at the funerals of American soldiers at the Supreme Court.

I am afraid that I know what was in Tyler's head when he jumped...but what about the rest of us when we do not speak up to the bullies of intolerance?  Are we just watching more kids like Tyler take the plunge?

Tired of Being MIA

This is not aimed at anyone in particular, but I really am tired of not being invited out to things other than conference calls on Sunday nights, planning meetings, trips out of town for family events, or other work-related activities. I want a life too.

This self-piteous lament is simply my way of saying that I want to have fun, but I rarely do. I have obligations that make it ever so easy to overlook me when it comes to issuing social invitations. I am married with no children and no job to speak of, so I should be free as a bird, right? NOT!

I hate seeing photos and status updates on FB that just reaffirm that I am still as socially awkward and alientated as ever. I know this is whiny and silly, but sometimes I want to see my smiling face in a photo where I was invited to participate...sometimes I want to be able to say yes to a social invitation without feeling guilty about leaving the husband-brother-parent-family member-organization-client in a rut.

What about me?

As the World Turns

So in the time since I last wrote, Barack Obama was elected, inaugurated, feted, and damn near crowned King of the World. His life has changed.

Mine, alas, has not.

I am here because I had no where else to turn. I had a big fight with someone close to me and it has been days since we last spoke. I was okay until today when the reality of everything hit me like a ton of bricks. In my initial anger, I assumed that I would simply take a time out for a few weeks and then slowly work things out. Now in my despair, I am beginning to realize that I must not be even worth the effort to this person, that it might be just fine never to speak to me again. And that upsets me because I would like to think that I am not that disposable.

(By the way, I am being vague on purpose. I know that no one reads this blog, but in an abundance of caution it is best to keep things as generic as possible).

I thought to write about my feelings after I saw a blog post by someone else who seemed to be writing from inside my head. Certain relationships are complicated, and apparently I am not alone. Inside my heart though, I am alone and it hurts worse than anything I have ever felt. To make a long story short, I will say that I am not at fault, it is over something very silly, and I could just take a dive on this one to make everybody happy again. Well, maybe not happy, but civil.

But then nothing ever gets resolved when one person always throws in the towel. (I can't even come up with an appropriate metaphor to explain this...I am just so tired and demoralized.)

So now for the dramatic cliffhanger: This only makes the depression I've been suffering from even worse. If I don't fix my life soon...

Feel free to write your own conclusion.

OK, So I Lied...Again

I have not kept up with my blog. I said that I would come back, posted an entire message about coming back. Thought many times about what I would write about when I came back. And it took me three months to actually come back.

My life is a mess. I am seeing a doctor every six to eight weeks. These are not always related ailments, there is typically something new that sends me to a different office where someone tells me that this could be a big deal (and it then somehow it isn't). But I've had a succession of illnesses this year and I feel like an 80 year old woman. Today something else erupted and so I need to make another appointment for yet another doctor (mind you, I have a referral that I need to follow up on for another ailment I developed in August).

Yessiree, I am a walking disaster. I have new responsibilities on my little job, yet I won't get paid for them until March 2008, by which time, I might be dead or unable to enjoy my largess. That book that I was supposed to be finishing this year is still in the pending stages. I wrote something over the weekend, and I know that when I sit down to re-read any of it, I will hate it. So I will be exactly where I started--unfinished chapters that make no sense because I have yet to string them together.

I had something called Mondor's disease in January. I woke up one morning with a soreness on my chest, which everyone said was all in my head until the cord of blood vessels emerged and pulled a fold across my boob--then people started to believe me. I am not making these ailments up to get attention, even though in the grand scheme of things, no one really cares anyway. The latest is plantar fasciitis. Same side of the body. I must be cursed. Actually, let me take a step back to admit that my neurological issues were concentrated on the other side of my body, so there is some equity here...

Yes, I am falling apart, and while it worries my parents that I refuse to see a doctor that I last saw years ago (because it isn't as if she can cure me), I figure that when I visit my fifth new doctor this year, someone should throw me a damn party. Thank God I have health insurance.

I am done complaining, because I really should count my blessings. Today I went to a Rite Aid and bought $40 of worthless crap (anti-cellulite lotions, nail polish, and an FM tuner radio), which means that in the grand scheme of things, I have nothing to be upset about. There are people who spend that much on a single prescription, and even if I did incur such an expense, I could afford it (even on my paltry salary). I really am blessed.

And of course, this is all made possible by a really delicious (and full) glass of pinot noir...

Ciao!

New Year, New Drama

I haven't blogged in a while, and I am not sure if I will continue to blog in the future. I saw a piece on Keith Olbermann a while back that said no one reads anyone else's blog anyway...

So all of this effort is for naught. I will not be discovered. I will not garner any significant traffic or attention to my writing through this space. This was a failed experiment.

But it was useful. I am a decent writer, and with practice, I might become a better writer. No chance of my ever becoming great because I have a very short attention span and I am too much of a perfectionist. Writers are perfectionists, but authors are people who accomplish things, like publishing...

I am both unaccomplished and largely unpublished. I had a shot at being more, but I blew it because I was overwhelmed, and frightened, and burnt out, and I was getting married.

And now I am miserable. Happy New Year to me!