My therapist said I was a caregiver. He said I'd taken care of my parents and everyone else in my life that I never learned how to take care of myself.
When I hang out with my friends, I always tell them to drive safe when they leave. I tell them to take care in our goodbyes. If something happens to them, if they die in some sort of freak accident-I'll have closure. I will have gotten to say goodbye. My friends would know I love them.
When I talk to my dad, we always end the phone call the same way. We say we love each other at the same time and then we laugh at it, take a moment to remember we only have each other. We wish each other a good day and say we love each other again, this time without the jinx. If something happens to him, if he dies in some sort of freak accident or because his heart is just...done-I'll have closure. I will have gotten to say goodbye. My dad would know I love him.
When I am alone with myself, I feel like I'm not always worthy. I feel ugly sometimes. I've felt sad, angry and small. I don't tell myself to take care or to ride safely when I get in a car. I eat badly most nights and ignore the things I don't want to deal with about myself. If something happened to me, if I died in some sort of freak accident-I wouldn't have closure. I wouldn't be able to tell myself that I'm gonna be ok. I wouldn't know I loved myself.
Take care Lindsay.
Walk home safely.
I love you.
It's time to start taking care of me.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The 45th Blog-A Ramble
My little cousin just posted about "Moves Like Jagger" and now that song is in my head.
I feel like I could put a bakery out of business today. Cream cheese danish? Yes, thank you. A doughnut? That depends, is there some sort of unidentifiable filling? Cookie? I'll have 2 please. Red velvet cupcake? Well, if you insist.
Goddammit.
Something's not right. I feel like there is something off with me and I can't figure it out. I don't want to psychoanalyze myself either.
It's feeling a little psycho and analytical. I think I've just accepted myself a little more. I feel a bit...subdued. That's how a coworker described me today and that's a perfect description. Subdued and a little cranky. My temper seems a bit short lately too.
And I feel a little sad. Like I might cry any second. I feel sad at the stupidest things. I cried at a Toddlers & Tiaras episode the other night. And while it's devastating that some mothers are doing that to their children, I can usually see the humor in their behavior.
I feel like I could sleep forever too.
All of the above are very common symptoms (and now I can hear myself slip into Retail Voice) of PMS (dog food allergy)
PMS? Ok, yeah.... I'll buy that. But it's not the right time for such a thing.
And they are also common symptoms of depression. No stranger to me. It is a vile enemy. I am constantly making sure it's not behind me, waiting to pounce and engulf me with sadness. I watch myself and I know myself. I know when it's nature is taking it's course and if it is my mental state, altered with self induced anxiety. I call it a 'chemical imbalance spill.'
How does a woman tell the difference between depression and PMS symptoms?
I'm sitting in a chair, my back and neck killing me when I remember, this chair has roll-y things in the back that massage at the flick of a switch. So I do and it starts purring, kneading my shoulders. I remember when I got this-a present for my birthday from the ex-boyfriend.
That's twice I've thought of him today.
I almost picked up the phone and texted. Texting is so helpful when you want to communicate but not really communicate. We didn't communicate very well anyway. A friend at lunch one day suggested that maybe he never really liked me to begin with. He was affectionate to his new girlfriend, she said. And now I wonder if maybe he bought me this massage chair thing just so he wouldn't have to touch me because he really never did.
Three times.
I don't want to text him anymore.
I want to eat the cinnamon roll that is calling to me from the kitchen counter. I want to eat the fuck out of that cinnamon roll.
So I'm gonna.
I feel like I could put a bakery out of business today. Cream cheese danish? Yes, thank you. A doughnut? That depends, is there some sort of unidentifiable filling? Cookie? I'll have 2 please. Red velvet cupcake? Well, if you insist.
Goddammit.
Something's not right. I feel like there is something off with me and I can't figure it out. I don't want to psychoanalyze myself either.
It's feeling a little psycho and analytical. I think I've just accepted myself a little more. I feel a bit...subdued. That's how a coworker described me today and that's a perfect description. Subdued and a little cranky. My temper seems a bit short lately too.
And I feel a little sad. Like I might cry any second. I feel sad at the stupidest things. I cried at a Toddlers & Tiaras episode the other night. And while it's devastating that some mothers are doing that to their children, I can usually see the humor in their behavior.
I feel like I could sleep forever too.
All of the above are very common symptoms (and now I can hear myself slip into Retail Voice) of PMS (dog food allergy)
PMS? Ok, yeah.... I'll buy that. But it's not the right time for such a thing.
And they are also common symptoms of depression. No stranger to me. It is a vile enemy. I am constantly making sure it's not behind me, waiting to pounce and engulf me with sadness. I watch myself and I know myself. I know when it's nature is taking it's course and if it is my mental state, altered with self induced anxiety. I call it a 'chemical imbalance spill.'
How does a woman tell the difference between depression and PMS symptoms?
I'm sitting in a chair, my back and neck killing me when I remember, this chair has roll-y things in the back that massage at the flick of a switch. So I do and it starts purring, kneading my shoulders. I remember when I got this-a present for my birthday from the ex-boyfriend.
That's twice I've thought of him today.
I almost picked up the phone and texted. Texting is so helpful when you want to communicate but not really communicate. We didn't communicate very well anyway. A friend at lunch one day suggested that maybe he never really liked me to begin with. He was affectionate to his new girlfriend, she said. And now I wonder if maybe he bought me this massage chair thing just so he wouldn't have to touch me because he really never did.
Three times.
I don't want to text him anymore.
I want to eat the cinnamon roll that is calling to me from the kitchen counter. I want to eat the fuck out of that cinnamon roll.
So I'm gonna.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
$76,000
"The hospital called me a week or so after your mom was dead."
Dead. Sounds like a book hitting the floor of an empty room. He never says it like that-its' always, 'when Vickie died'. He uses mom's name always. Except this time.
"...a week or so after your mom was dead...and they told me I owed them $76,000."
Instant rage. Seventy-six thousand dollars? A week or so? He owed them?
"I-you know what I did? I fuckin' I said, 'I owe you? You killed my wife! I don't owe you shit! You can all go fuck yourselves!' And then I hung up on 'em. Never heard from 'em again."
His voices changes as he tells the story. He goes from dad to widower and the sadness, hurt and still present anger is so strong over the phone, I feel it. I instantly regret calling, bringing this up.
"Dad, I-"
"That's why I had to do what I did. That's when all the shit started. Couldn't finish the house.....now I can't go fishing....got it all fucked up."
His voice belongs to someone else now. A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone. He blames himself when things aren't perfect and suddenly he sounds like someone I know.
I remember the day in the courthouse. He's in a suit-I'd never seen him in one until mom's funeral. I watch him stand as they read his story, his head slightly bent and naked from his trademark fisherman's cap. They asked him if had anything he wished to say.
"I know I made some mistakes. I just...I'm glad my wife ain't here to see it."
Mom laying in a bed that wasn't hers, hospital gray blankets covering her to the chin, nothing is bright in here. Her reaching out to me, leaning up for a kiss goodbye, smiling sadly. She hated it there. She wanted to come home they kept saying she couldn't and it pissed her off. It made her feisty and proud for a little while. Then she got worse and she was in the hospital. Why is everything so gray? She doesn't know I'm there for a few days, but when she does, I know. I'm the last to say goodbye and later when walking to the car, I know I'm never going back in there again.
Dad handles everything else. The urn, the service, the day, time, place to go after, all of it.
I slept.
The Facility calls him to demand her things be picked up and then later to tell him there is a bill outstanding of $1200 and they expect immediate payment. The creditors from bills long past due sue d when mom's catalog orders catch up.
"....a week or so after your mom was dead and they told me I owed them $76,000."
"That's when all the shit started."
A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone....
Go fuck yourselves.
Dead. Sounds like a book hitting the floor of an empty room. He never says it like that-its' always, 'when Vickie died'. He uses mom's name always. Except this time.
"...a week or so after your mom was dead...and they told me I owed them $76,000."
Instant rage. Seventy-six thousand dollars? A week or so? He owed them?
"I-you know what I did? I fuckin' I said, 'I owe you? You killed my wife! I don't owe you shit! You can all go fuck yourselves!' And then I hung up on 'em. Never heard from 'em again."
His voices changes as he tells the story. He goes from dad to widower and the sadness, hurt and still present anger is so strong over the phone, I feel it. I instantly regret calling, bringing this up.
"Dad, I-"
"That's why I had to do what I did. That's when all the shit started. Couldn't finish the house.....now I can't go fishing....got it all fucked up."
His voice belongs to someone else now. A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone. He blames himself when things aren't perfect and suddenly he sounds like someone I know.
I remember the day in the courthouse. He's in a suit-I'd never seen him in one until mom's funeral. I watch him stand as they read his story, his head slightly bent and naked from his trademark fisherman's cap. They asked him if had anything he wished to say.
"I know I made some mistakes. I just...I'm glad my wife ain't here to see it."
Mom laying in a bed that wasn't hers, hospital gray blankets covering her to the chin, nothing is bright in here. Her reaching out to me, leaning up for a kiss goodbye, smiling sadly. She hated it there. She wanted to come home they kept saying she couldn't and it pissed her off. It made her feisty and proud for a little while. Then she got worse and she was in the hospital. Why is everything so gray? She doesn't know I'm there for a few days, but when she does, I know. I'm the last to say goodbye and later when walking to the car, I know I'm never going back in there again.
Dad handles everything else. The urn, the service, the day, time, place to go after, all of it.
I slept.
The Facility calls him to demand her things be picked up and then later to tell him there is a bill outstanding of $1200 and they expect immediate payment. The creditors from bills long past due sue d when mom's catalog orders catch up.
"....a week or so after your mom was dead and they told me I owed them $76,000."
"That's when all the shit started."
A vulnerable man that has tried so hard to do right by everyone....
Go fuck yourselves.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Perspective
I'm cranky. I don't want to be but there it is and yeah, pretty sure it has something to do with what time of the month it is but fuck you for thinking it.
Ok, no. I don't mean that.
Sigh.
I am extremely blessed that I am loved and have good friends, a job, a roof over my head and food in my fridge. I'm not sick with disease or crippled from injury. I know I'm going to be ok.
But tonight I'm cranky and the whole damn apartment smells like cat piss. I can't find all the places that are soiled and I'll be honest, sometimes I don't even care. I have stains on my carpet from cat puke, shit and the aforementioned piss. I should have the carpets cleaned but I can't afford a cleaner, either to rent or buy and truthfully when I actually find myself with a little extra cash I wanna buy a book or movie for myself not rent a fucking steam cleaner.
I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas. Awesome right? Except I can't use it because I don't have a router (wi-fi) and you know what? I don't even know what that means. I only know I need one to make the neat new gadget work.
A coworker gave me an aquarium that he didn't need anymore. Just a little one, big enough for a betta fish. It's got a lid so it's cat proof, comes with rocks and even a little castle. The only thing lacking is the fish.
I met this really nice guy. He was sweet and kind to me, told me he liked me and showed me he liked me too. I freaked out and then second guessed myself. Despite assurance from friends that I did the right thing by saying I didn't want a relationship, I feel like crap that I might have hurt him.
Jesus, isn't that what I always bitch about? Being lonely and not having anyone to share my time with? I meet someone and it's still not right? How the hell is that fair?
I know, I know. Life isn't fair. I get it. No one ever said it was. No one said it was going to be easy.
But why couldn't it be? Why couldn't I actually make enough money to support myself and still have the things I'd like to have without bill collectors calling more than my friends? Why couldn't I meet a guy that has baggage that goes with mine? Why couldn't I just admit that things like happy endings don't exist?
It feels like all these....things, these pieces of my life, are incomplete.
Dad says I have high standards and that there's nothing wrong with that. True. Unless they're not met and then you spend a lot of time being disappointed.
So how do you change that without compromising what you actually want? I feel that I'm mostly realistic-with a good healthy dollop of optimism. I like to believe there is good in everyone, that the world is not ugly. But it really kind of is.
I guess that's not bad, it's just....real.
And sometimes it really fucking reeks of cat piss.
Ok, no. I don't mean that.
Sigh.
I am extremely blessed that I am loved and have good friends, a job, a roof over my head and food in my fridge. I'm not sick with disease or crippled from injury. I know I'm going to be ok.
But tonight I'm cranky and the whole damn apartment smells like cat piss. I can't find all the places that are soiled and I'll be honest, sometimes I don't even care. I have stains on my carpet from cat puke, shit and the aforementioned piss. I should have the carpets cleaned but I can't afford a cleaner, either to rent or buy and truthfully when I actually find myself with a little extra cash I wanna buy a book or movie for myself not rent a fucking steam cleaner.
I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas. Awesome right? Except I can't use it because I don't have a router (wi-fi) and you know what? I don't even know what that means. I only know I need one to make the neat new gadget work.
A coworker gave me an aquarium that he didn't need anymore. Just a little one, big enough for a betta fish. It's got a lid so it's cat proof, comes with rocks and even a little castle. The only thing lacking is the fish.
I met this really nice guy. He was sweet and kind to me, told me he liked me and showed me he liked me too. I freaked out and then second guessed myself. Despite assurance from friends that I did the right thing by saying I didn't want a relationship, I feel like crap that I might have hurt him.
Jesus, isn't that what I always bitch about? Being lonely and not having anyone to share my time with? I meet someone and it's still not right? How the hell is that fair?
I know, I know. Life isn't fair. I get it. No one ever said it was. No one said it was going to be easy.
But why couldn't it be? Why couldn't I actually make enough money to support myself and still have the things I'd like to have without bill collectors calling more than my friends? Why couldn't I meet a guy that has baggage that goes with mine? Why couldn't I just admit that things like happy endings don't exist?
It feels like all these....things, these pieces of my life, are incomplete.
Dad says I have high standards and that there's nothing wrong with that. True. Unless they're not met and then you spend a lot of time being disappointed.
So how do you change that without compromising what you actually want? I feel that I'm mostly realistic-with a good healthy dollop of optimism. I like to believe there is good in everyone, that the world is not ugly. But it really kind of is.
I guess that's not bad, it's just....real.
And sometimes it really fucking reeks of cat piss.
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