Bubble Girl

Today I feel like a girl trapped inside a snow globe.  You know the ones with little villages inside, and glitter for snow, that when tipped over creates the most magical scene right before your eyes.  Sometimes there is a wind up music element in the bottom of the globe.

I'm in my snow globe, my bubble world, today; and I feel so completely trapped here.  I feel like I can't leave.  But I know logically that the doors open.  These keys fit right into the ignition of my van.  I know the way into town.  I even have errands to run that I have been putting off.  My dog needs a walk.  My guinea pigs need litter.  My paycheck needs depositing.

My bubble world is sealed tight.

Sure I can look at this whole living in a snow globe deal as if I am trapped here, or... there is another way to see this.  I am safe.  Here I don't have to talk to anyone and pretend.  I don't have to get dressed and worry.  I don't have to smile and fake.  If they only knew how hard it is...

But my bubble world is transparent.

They still look in.  They see me even when I think no one is looking.

When I was a little girl I used to sit and stare at my gramma's snow globes for hours.  I wanted to reach in - to crawl inside one of them.  Just to inside for a minute, a day.  I thought it seemed so quiet inside that bubble world.  So peaceful.  So safe.

Today, I'm nothing but a little girl again, who got her wish.  Living in a bubble.

In Case I Don't Make It Out Alive...

Soon I am going to Target with one of the very FEW women I would ever trust enough to do this with.  She is kind of private in things of the *world wide web* so I don't know how to refer to her to protect this privacy.  She has been a loving and constant friend for a few years now, and I trust her with my panic.  She is one of the few people I can risk "let" seeing me, the real me, breakdown... and not feel shame or embarrassed.

I need a swimsuit.

Not want.  Need.

I am a different size than I was last year, and the year before - and well, we are leaving in 2 days to take our brood of kidlets to California.

I think this has been the source of my anxiety and subsequent insomnia over the last few days.  So... here I go.  Off to get a swimsuit.  Regardless of my size or its size.  Because I refuse to let my fucked up body image ruin or steal a moment of my time with my kids on this first, amazing family vacation that S and I are taking them on.

Or at least that's the plan.

So as my Middle, S's "twin-separated-by-32years" would say:  Let's do this thing.

My Wedding.

Actually... I couldn't really say it better than my best boy BFF right now.  So I will direct you right here for now...


READ THIS.


Let that settle in for now... I'll post something in a while...

Ask and You Shall Receive

Motherless has been renamed Freckles.  Obvious reasons.  She’s no longer a motherless soul and if you’ve ever seen her, then you too would be in love with her Freckles as I am.

Now, on to business.

I’m worried.

Freckles is in trouble.  She is very sad.  Depressed.  Seeking an escape.  I see it now.  She just wants to feel something.  Or nothing.  I’ve been there.  I even go *there* sometimes still, shamefully.  So last night I tried to be as brave as possible and a little after midnight I ATTEMPTED to have a convo with her dad.  It went like this:

Me:  “Has Freckles ever mentioned being depressed to you?”

Him:  “Are you saying I’m making her depressed?” (I shit you not.  Exact words.)

More conversation about what depression is and isn’t and how it IS about her and IS NOT about him…  More conversation with him trying to get pats on the head for being such an involved father… Then he tried to tell me that he thinks she only “gets this way” for about “three days a month” and it’s “around the same time each month.”  I have never wanted to scream at him so much more than I did last night. 

Then I told him, “Are there drugs in your house?”  He repeated the question before saying no.  Liar.
He asked why I was asking, I said, “A couple of the kids mentioned seeing …. Hey, do you think Freckles is doing drugs?”

Him:  “I know for a fact she is not.”  OMG.  REALLY??  She is going into high school.  She is fourteen years old.  Quit pretending she is a toddler.  I want to fucking shake him.  It won’t do any good.

Anyway.  Enough of that.  This morning I talked to her and told her about what he and I (tried) to talk about.  I told her I think she has a lot of anger, and anger is okay, even anger towards me—I will always love her.  But she needs to get it out.  Anger held in is just more depression. 

I can only imagine how hard it is for my kids to have a lesbian mom-- or two lesbian moms.  The divorce was hard enough.  But I made it clear to her that I have to be myself.  I can’t pretend to not be gay because I have already “done that” for years and it wasn’t healthy.  I promised her to love and fight for her always.  That means getting her healthy in all ways.

I spent the better part of the afternoon searching for psychologists specializing in adolescent / family / LGBT sorts of issues.  I feel very good about who I chose.  I think Karate Kid (my 11yo daughter) will get some much needed help too.  

And that brings me to where I am right now, near panic attack.   Karate Kid.  My other little soul that I am worried about.  When I was telling the therapist my concerns about her, I mentioned her pulling (trichotillomania), anxiety, and eating issues… She stopped me short and wanted to know “more” about the eating issues.  Out of nowhere I just admitted I have an eating disorder and then I started to stumble, mumble, and literally choke.  Finally settling on, “I don’t want to talk about it.  So you can see why I am worried about her.  I am not in a good place myself.”

What. The. Fuck.

How… Why… am I oversharing like this?  I don’t want… I don’t need… to talk about ME.  It’s my kids, they need help.  I certainly don’t want to fucking talk about the ED.  Because talking about it means having to let go of it.  And I can’t let go…  Why can’t I let go of it?  Just admitting it is a part of letting go of it, did you know?  Well, it is.  And I’m not ready.

So, this was a random ball of shit.  But I’m writing.  Today at dinner S told me I need to write not just when I’m “down here” … but every day.  Regularly.  I assume she means I only write in a therapeutic manner – when I am “down.”  That made me hold back tears.  Christ.  I didn’t see myself as *that* kind of writer.  

So, I’m really going to force myself to write every day.  I know there are sources out there that provide writing prompts, and I am going to take advantage of them.  She’s going to play her guitar and I’m going to write.  Every day.  I have another blog now, a private one, so that helps a little.  Between this one and that – it will be a release.

And yes, I got married.  Not to make light of such a serious event – but really, life goes on, and it has – as you can see.  And just as I thought, S is right here by my side.  Wedding photos will be posted when I get them from our photographer, then I will write a nice little synopses.  xo  It was truly a beautiful day.

10

10 days left.  That is all that is left until the big day... and there is so much to do.  Too much.

There is like major house cleaning to do.  Major.  I have standing water in my basement and mold.  A lot of each.  I am trying to not even *deal* with that right now... and trying to focus on what I can... like the gazillion of fucking finger prints on every single wall.  Would it be unrealistic to start painting?  Probably.

I am stressed.  Can you tell?  Everyone else can.  How does this translate?  I started to parent S this weekend and she had a tantrum in return.  Full on stressful weekend.  I fell into what I *do* when I am stressed.  I did housework, did the laundry, and I organized shit...  you get the picture.  I noticed that much of the time when I spoke to S, it was with parental undertones.  I winced, "I'm sorry."  She admitted that she also noticed it, but graciously forgave me and pointed out that I don't do it when the kids aren't with us.  Only when I am wearing my mom hat, I s'pose.  Still... I don't think this should be an excuse.

But it was good for us.  It's not all rainbows here at the Love Shack.  There isn't always a pony ride at the end of the day.  But - here we are, still together - working it out.  Still communicating.  Still loving.

We got to yell at each other.  (Well, I didn't really raise my voice.  I don't think I did.  I try not to do that anymore.)  We got to be really mad at each other and walk away - without the fear that the other person was walking away.  We got to cry  and allow each other that space for those tears.  Some of us took longer to stop crying -  I won't say who...

In the end, I think we are stronger.  Because we know that truly, when there are hard times, when we are really feeling our shittiest - the other person is still going to be right there waiting.  I'm not going anywhere.  Neither is she.  Well,  I might like go out back... and she might like go to the basement... but eventually we find each other and ... well... the making up part is definitely worthwhile.

So I guess that is all for tonight.  I haven't felt this exhausted since childbirth (no exaggeration) and I have DVRed a Criminal Minds marathon.  That, in addition to my nicely poured Merlot and a very quiet - kid free home - should make for a perfect ending to a roller coaster weekend.

A Commencement

S and I went to the 8th grade graduation for Motherless last night.  Her father and his new girlfriend were there, of course, as they should be.  But my other kids were not.  I had to ask Motherless where they were and she informed me that her father took them to her aunt's house.  I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with sadness.  I tried to push it away for her sake.

Next I saw Motherless give her father The Packet.  It was The Packet that I saw every other 8th grade mother walking around the gym with.  The Packet, I assumed, held the contents of what consisted of an 8th grader's portfolio.  I had to assume because I was never shown The Packet.  I waited for him to show me.  He didn't.  I know - I could have went over and asked to see it for myself.  I just couldn't do it.  I just couldn't bring myself to even speak to him last night.

Seats were assigned last night, 4 per student, but her dad took the bleachers and S and I took the back row.  I couldn't handle sitting inside all of those people.  I hope she understands.  Before the ceremony S asked if I knew any of the people there.  I knew almost everyone.  It is a small, farm community.  Motherless has gone to school with these kids for years.  I've talked to these moms at school parties, softball games, church, via Facebook, and even on the phone.  She seemed surprised that I knew people there - then I realized that no one was talking to me or had even said hi to me.

The ceremony was nice.  Sweet.  Cute.  It made me teary.  I remembered her little Kindergarten graduation.  Motherless is smart.  The kind of smart that doesn't get straight As.  The kind of smart that doesn't care about GPA.  The kind of smart that will assure she will  really be happy in life because she is going to do whatever the fuck SHE wants to do.

I felt so disconnected last night.  There was a point in the evening where I looked at where I assumed our 4 empty spots were and I got a little sad.  The thought that crossed my mind was, "Right there - that was the reason I stayed married."  And it wasn't enough.  I started to feel so low last night.  Low like I haven't felt in a long time.  The guilty feelings all flooded back.

I broke up the family.

I needed more. 

And I felt as empty as our 4 reserved seats were.

Then I put my hand in S's and I realized my family is still here.  It just looks different.  I'm not empty.  I'm finally whole.

Change is Good, Right?

First of all this is a little test blog from my iPhone. Probably would be going smoother with an iPad but... I'm super poor and trying to pay for braces, a wedding, and soon my student loans.

The point, I know I had a point... Oh, I'm thinking of changing my layout/design/template to something that is more mobile device friendly. What do my readers think? Good idea? Bad idea? Indifferent?

I don't know if I am even savvy enough to figure this out (S and I jokingly refer to me as "tech support" in the relationship, but I don't really know why)!

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Thanks!