Everything's Been Great: . . . and that's bad.

I'm sure some readers "get it."  I finally did a couple of days ago.  Finally.

I'm cycling again.

How exactly is this a bad thing?

• I combined my girls' bedrooms and renovated one of the rooms to make a kick ass office space for myself (with a lot of help from S really).

• I finished an exorbitant amount of course work, including three large exams in two days.   

•  I read 18 chapters of material for a primary care course I am taking - in one sitting - at 2 in the morning.  

• I changed my specialty track in my master's program from nurse midwifery to family nurse practitioner.  I was hesitant to list this as a "result" of a manic episode... but after a long and honest contemplation, I do think that the chemicals in my brain had something to do with me making the switch.  It is a switch that I WANT to do.  But, I may not have had the courage and follow through if I weren't under the influence of the chemicals.  Maybe I'll blog about that.  I am on Spring Break after all.  (Any of my classmates reading this are laughing right now.)

•  I'm up at dawn.  Who needs to sleep?  A few times last week I woke up around 0230 and couldn't fall back to sleep for the life of me.

• Speaking of not needing to sleep -  we can also remove eating from my list of daily requirements.  (Because let's face it, eating and sleeping are just going to slow me down.  Or, I'm just not hungry or tired.  I'm not sure which because I at this point it is really getting hard to keep my thoughts...)

• Increased sex drive - check!

• I am the funniest woman who has walked this planet.  Everyone must drop everything they are doing and listen to my hilarious stories that may or may not have any relevancy whatsoever to a thing that we are doing at the time.  (I hate this part.  It's the most embarrassing.  This part and the food-eating part.)

• I feel like I overspent this week... but it was all stuff we needed for the house.  (I'm not sure we needed two mops.  Even though they were different mops, for different jobs, for different floors.  I don't know.  I can't tell.  Frivolous spending?)  And part of that really large Target bill was my daughter's birthday present.  (See upcoming birthday post next week!!)  Then there was a large Amazon.com purchase that may or may not have been for my upcoming school term.

• Overly sensitive - CHECKCHECK!! We have a puppy now.  A 13 week old standard poodle, baby girl, we have named Andie.  Anyway - S is like a dog trainer/animal whisperer.  I'm not being an asshole, really, she is good at it and so that is her "role" - to basically train up this puppy.  I feel like I am doing NOTHING right with the puppy though.  Every time S tells me what to do with Andie I get defensive.  I feel like crying.  I am now starting to withdraw from even wanting to do anything with the doggie.  Irrational and overly sensitive.  I think there are other examples.  This is all I care to mention at this point.

So next I get to look forward to the crash and burn.  S is leaving in the morning for a trip.  I'll be alone most of the week.  I'm working an all nighter tonight.  I fear I don't know where my emotions are going to be.  Will I be up or down?  I am interviewing with a preceptor for my clinicals early next week.  I really need to be level.

That's all.  Sorry I haven't been blogging.  I've been busy, cleaning, buying pure bred poodles, taking an entire 11 week course's exams in one week, shopping for mops that are JUST RIGHT, organizing the books in my office by very (I mean extremely) specific categories, having afternoon sex (sometimes in the shower and sometimes alone), ordering medical supplies that may or may not be required of me for school (like otoscopes and opthalmoscopes), and basically feeling like I could crawl out of my own skin at any given moment.

I think S loves me now more than ever.

I Lie.

I lie to my shrink.  Well, she's not technically my shrink.  She is the PA at my psychiatrist's office.  I see her and not the actual Crazy Doc because it seemed at one time easier to get an appointment with her.  That's it.  The only reason.  The availability.  In my state she does have prescriptive authority, so it seemed like a true win-win situation.  (I don't know how the PA thing works in other states and I just don't care enough to look it up- I'm looking up enough shit for grad school.)

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When I did see a shrink though, there were times when he and I would have what I called "The stare down session."  This would be where he and I would sit in uncomfortable leather wing back chairs (much like the ones I found for sale on the Internet and posted here).  However, our chairs were on opposite corners of the room.  

During "Operation Stare Down" I would look at my hands or my feet, his desk, try to figure out what book he was reading.  I would look at his shoes.  I would look around the room for the tissue box, because when I did need it I could never find it.  I think he moved it each week on purpose.  Occasionally, I would look up at him and then he would give me a grin.  Or was that a smirk?  Was he smiling at me to reassure me?  Was he smirking at my uneasiness?  I hated those sessions.  WHAT THE FUCK was he doing?  I think he could have let it go on for an hour like that... if I hadn't started talking about something.  Anything.

That's when I started with dream analysis.  I would tell him my dreams that I remembered from that previous night or throughout the week.  I am a vivid dreamer.  He seemed very excited about that and would literally spring from his chair and hop to his desk to grab a notepad to take notes.

The note taking made me more nervous than "Operation Stare Down."  Was I talking too fast?  Is he recording verbatim?  Is he taking personal notes?  Is he just making a grocery list for later?

All in all I liked that therapist the most, and I lied to him the least.  You have to understand... it's not that I enjoyed lying to previous therapists or counselors.  I wasn't ready though.  I was not ready for the realness behind a true therapeutic relationship and a true therapeutic session.  As soon as I stopped lying in therapy, I stopped lying to myself, I stopped lying in my relationships with friends and loved ones. 

I lied for a long time.  To myself.  To my husband.  To my kids.  To my friends.  I'm not just talking about my sexual identity.  I really lied.  About everything.    Sometimes I would lie about things I didn't need to lie about.   Sometimes I lied because it was easier than the truth.  Sometimes I lied just because it's what I had always done.

Currently, I do not.  I have found that the statement, "Honesty is the best policy" (or whatever the fuck that statement is) kinda is true.  If you can find a way to be appropriately honest, in the appropriate time, it is always best.

Old me sometimes tries to tap me on the shoulder.  On Wednesday of this week I had a phone conference appointment with one of my instructors at noon.  S and I were all wrapped up on the couch in a blanket loving on our Josephine and loving on each other.  S had to leave on a trip at 2... I got busy pressing her uniforms, making sure her suitcase was packed right, etc.  When S left a little after 2 I realized I fucking forgot my phone appointment with my instructor!  Goddammitmotherfuck!  Immediately, I thought, "just call her and tell her you've been sick and just woke up.  Or email her and tell her you've been sick...."

Whoa.  Whoooaaaa.  Wait a minute.  Uh huh. 

I called her immediately and apologized.  I told her I got very busy with "things around the house" and if she needed to reschedule... if this was a bad time... She stopped me and with a laugh said she completely understood and this time was just fine.

Phew.  Okay.  So while I feel like an idiot for completely forgetting my phone appointment, at least I don't feel like shit for lying about it.

Yep.  Very simple, very basic things like that.  Things that maybe everyone else takes for granted.  But I actually make a conscious effort to do.  Because I find it part of my authenticity.  In fact, last year Motherless threw it in my face that I "am a liar" and that she "cannot believe anything I say."  It might not be fair to quote that, bit it was something very similar to those words.  It stung and she was right.  I told her so.  I told her that I had lied to her and to a lot of people, but that I was working hard to not do that anymore.  I told her I would just have to prove myself to her ... I just wanted a chance.  I wanted her to give me a chance.

based on that fucking paper?  I just feel good.  Here, Give me it back.  I'll change a few to 50.  That was their sole basis.  The paper.  I was sleeping, eating, concentrating well, anxiety was in check, etc.  Ugh.  I just didn't want them fucking with my doses so I thought... well... I thought I needed to be 100.

Apparently 100 is bad.  I have never made that mistake again.  Now, I write in numbers I make up... 65.... 80 (careful now... don't get too close to 100).... sometimes 55....

With the anxiety part of the form the goal is lower numbers so I write in numbers like... 15.... 30.... 8.... buwahahahahaha.  I refuse to use the 0, 25, 50, 75, 100. 

At my last appointment this week, I realized I am the only asshole filling this paper out.  Is this the PA's tool?  She's a tool.

I finally get in to her office after waiting in the waiting room for 45 minutes, and I realize I need a refill for my anxiolytic of choice.  We have to talk about my anxiety.  Really - truly - the only anxiety I am having right now in my life is surrounding her, her office practices, and the fucking Depression and Anxiety Tool she is making (what appears to be) only me fill out in the waiting room.

So I lied.  I told her how much better I've been doing since last time we met and she gave me all those really good ideas about time management and list making and how now I feel a lot more in control of my worry and anxiety and ..... I can see her chest puffing as I am talking.  She is smiling too.  I'm trying not to roll my eyes as she gets out some special notepads made specifically for list taking with little check boxes so you can check off what you've completed.

Oh that's what I need.  Check boxes.  That will help me, a busy working mom of five kids in grad school.  A FUCKING LIST WITH CHECK BOXES.  How about you just fill my Rx for that Ativan just in case these little check boxes don't work?

I leave her office and look at my Rx in my hand.  She wrote it wrong again.  My antidepressant is an XL not an SL.  Which, by the way dumbass, there isn't an SL... it's SR.  

I have 90 days to find someone new.

A Photo Journal Through my Paris Journey

What. A. Whirlwind.  

Seriously.  We were watching some movie (I can't remember which... and I don't want to waste time trying to remember...) where the setting was France, WW II.  I don't know what it was about the movie, yes I do... it was FRANCE... we were just suddenly inspired .... we HAD to go to France.

S and I had talked about going to Paris several months ago, but the timing with work, school, and kids was never quite right.  With her job at The Company getting a flight there is nearly free and not too difficult at this time of year.  So, it was decided, on Sunday evening around 9pm that we would go to Paris - the next day!  Our flight left Monday evening at 6:30pm.

It seemed okay at first.  I'm an online, distance learner.  As long as we found a place to stay with internet access, I could take my exam that was due on Tuesday at 11pm CST.  That's right, we hadn't had a place to stay.  We were just getting on a flight.  To another country.  With no place to stay.  With no guarantee of internet access.  And I had to take my first exam in nearly 24 hours... with a 7 hour time difference.

I started to freak a little on the ride to the airport.  I got a little queasy.

I was very relieved to have my nausea pills on the ride there.  And after about 18 of them I started to feel better.

S did okay drinking fizzy water - that was so very Parisian of her.

We laughed because we were practicing our French Accents by pronouncing the name of the water: LaCroix.  I don't speak French really... but I speak French Accent.  That's basically English with a really snotty French Accent.  Turns out that S and I travel really well together.  We both like to laugh, a lot.  Mostly at ourselves.  And it's mostly things that I'm sure no one else would laugh at.  Sometimes I blog about it... I wonder if anyone else gets a chuckle.  But there is a LOT I just keep to myself.

So on the flight there, I got an upgrade to Business Class.  I declined it, of course!  I did not want to fly for like over 8 hours up there in Business Class by myself!  The point of the long, overnight flight, I thought, was being inappropriate underneath the little airplane blankets.  I even wore a dress.  ~Shrugs~

I mean... Don't those First and Business Class seats look like weird Alien Pods?  I'm actually afraid of them a little.  On our flight home, I was upgraded to FIRST Class, and I declined that too, and I thought S was going to either A.) have a heart attack or B.) cry a little.  Both would have embarrassed me, so I'm glad she refrained.  She said no one else in her life ever would have done that "for her."  Isn't that ... ... ... I don't know what that is.  Maybe sad.  Who wouldn't want to sit next to their wife?  She said, "Give it a few years.  You'll take the upgrade eventually."  I don't know about that.
Once I explained all of this to her, the under the blankey cuddling, a smile widened across her face.  Another "a'ha moment" I think Oprah calls it.  (S loves Oprah... it's a source of contention between us at times.)

What can I write about the flight?  It was long.  Boring.  There were a few flight attendants that S knew, and of course I made fun of her... until we got a First Class blanket and a First Class dessert from one of them.  I studied Pharmacology for like 3 hours.  I have never studied anything that long in my life.  I watched two in-flight movies.  Oh!  I'm almost leaving out the best part.  The very sour looks we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our left... and the blatant stares we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our right.  It was funny at first.  I wanted to photo them.  Then it was annoying.  Then I think S just got pissed by the end of the long flight.

 

We found a super-affordable place to stay in a neighborhood only a block or two from the train station.  Very convenient.  Here's a little peak at the view from one of the windows.  Nice right?  Mhm.  Fucking noisy as hell.  The second night we asked the owner for a room on the other side of the building.  Off the street.  Where our window faced the courtyard.  Much wiser.

It was a pretty modest place.  But I really did not care!  We were in Paris.  No work.  No kids.  No school.  OH FUCK.  It's TUESDAY!  (And I left my nausea pills in S's car at the airport.)  Yes.  School was waiting for me.  But so was the bed... I needed a nap in the worst way.  And nap we did.  S woke up twice to yell at 

1.  The maid.

2.  Some worker men doing electrical work in the hallway.

When it was just starting to get dark out, we got up and I decided I really needed to finish my Pharmacology studies.  The hotel claimed to have "Wi-Fi" in the "lobby," and S went to check to make sure it was reliable.  We were both in desperate need of coffee.  I asked her to bring back something... latte... espresso... anything...  And apparently the only thing you can get "take away" (that's French for "to-go") is at McCafe.

I am not even laughing kids.  

This is serious shit.

My first fucking night in Paris, France and I'm in a fucking "modest" hotel room, studying Pharm, and drinking a goddamn McCafe

The lobby's Wi-Fi service proved reliable, and I was able to log into my school's secure server and access my exam.  I scored an 86% even though there were Frenchmen smoking cigarettes, eating smelly sandwiches, and watching French news programming at a volume level that can only be described as MORE THAN DISTRACTING.

The next couple of days and nights are a blur.  We mostly slept all day (thank god we got the quieter room after the first night) and would stay up all night fucking.  We tried really hard to do cultured things like go to museums.  But I found a way to make even that inappropriate.   

Exhibit A:  The loo and Le Louvre:

I thought it would be nicer.  Although, given the other public toilets I visited on my trip... this one was suitable.

Exhibit B:  Extended Breastfeeding.  

I think this kid needs to wean.  Seriously.  And that girl in the photo wouldn't smile and almost ruined my shot.

S wanted to get those headsets so we could have that guided tour in English.  I said no.  Instead I made her pretend we were at a gallery picking out things for our new home we were moving into.  She agreed at the end my way was more fun, but incredibly inappropriate.  I tried to get her to climb on top of the Winged Victory of Samothrace for an incredible photo shot.  She wouldn't.  She's so shy!  

Anyway... it was a good time.  We laughed until our sides hurt.  We stayed until we were bored... and thirsty (not long).  

The wine was fabulous.  We enjoyed this little refreshment in the park right before we caught the train to Pigalle, which is Paris' red light district for anyone unaware.  Yes, I did see Moulin Rouge.  It's like if one goes there... that's what one must see... like when one visits the Louvre one must see the Mona Lisa.  LOL!  It's the Mona Lisa of Pigalle.  

What did we do in the Red Light District?  

1. Buy lube of course.

2. Buy amazing mini cupcakes filled with delightful, creamy goodness.

3. Eat snails.

4.  More wine.

5.  Visit Sacre-Coeur Basilique.  We lit a candle for our very special friend Bebe's sister who is very sick right now.

6.  Shopped like tourists.  We bought - socks, hats, magnets, a watch, chocolate, a bottle of wine... 

7.  Ate a Panini sandwich while walking to the train.

8. Asked a waiter to cork our wine because we had no opener in our room!

9.  Brought a small Greek pizza back to our room, with our wine and chocolate and had another amazing feast!

 

10.  Tried our lube.  All night long.  We weren't disappointed. 

Afraid

There I said (typed?) it.

I just opened the syllabi for my classes for the next term.  Winter term 2011.  It hasn't even really began yet.  I still have two more weeks of "break" yet.  After pouring over the course instructions and the module readings (not to mention in one course the instructor was kind enough to make a checklist for us ... to keep us on track... this is a 5 page Word doc) I will admit I am afraid.  

I am still feeling foggy brained at times and disorganized.  Online learning is a lot harder than traditional learning from my experience.  I'm already feeling overwhelmed.  The one thing I feel good about is S's support.  She's very good at that.  

Also, I've got my resume out to 2 different facilities.  I need more steady income.  I won't let financial stress affect my health again.  I'm already getting that burning in the pit of my stomach feeling once in awhile.  I haven't felt that in almost a year.  And I'm afraid.

So I'm trying to let this fear be a motivator.  

Why does everyone think that if I am a nurse... I'm assured a job anywhere and at anytime?  Where is this fucking nursing shortage at?  If I hear one more time, "Oh you're a nurse... you can go anywhere and do anything with that degree" I just might snap.  Because right now I feel pretty worthless and penniless.

Anyway... venting.  And now my stomach's doing that burning thingy again... so this may not have been the right outlet.

Fear: Does it motivate you or paralyze you?

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

I find that most of my life has been filled with fear.  'Bullshit,' my friends are thinking.  My friends that read this.  I think that they see me as this totally brave woman.  A fearless woman who just goes out and does instead of sits and says.

If they really knew how afraid I am.  How afraid I've been. 

I think we are all afraid and I really don't feel special in this.

I have looked fear in the face though, and I have used it to motivate me.  But I do admit that there is a lot more that I feel is paralyzing about fear.  There are a lot more fears and anxieties that I have than confidences.  I'm just a really good fucking actress.  Maybe.  Or maybe people really can see right through me.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Leave him.  Hurt him.  Admit that there is no other way.  In admitting that I am a lesbian, I could not stay married to him.  For a long time I tried to find ways to leave him without hurting him.  I tried to will him into leaving me, thinking he would hurt less.  I never wanted him to get hurt.  I don't want anyone to hurt.  I was afraid, so I got married.  I was afraid, so I stayed married.  I was afraid, so I got divorced.  Fear was paralyzing and motivating. 

Fall in love.  Not use my body as a tool, as a way to avoid real communications or real relationships.  It's easier to fuck than talk.  It hurts more to be rejected for my thoughts than my body.  Talk.  Listen.  Share.  Even this blog, its' all fear based.  I get afraid.  I get quiet.  I come here and write.  It's bullshit.  To those who've told me it's so brave... bullshit.  It's not.  So... I try to make this as an authentic place as possible.  At least I can do that.  These, my friends, are the truest of my thoughts and feelings that I can share.  This is as close to me as one can really get.  My body is not involved.

Forgive.  Them.  Me.

At one time in my life I was afraid of failing, and that fear did NOT stop me from becoming a nurse.  Again, though, the fear is back.  I don't think it's a fear of failing this time.  I don't know what I am afraid of.  But the fear is there, on the surface and I have two simple choices.  Stay in school.  Quit school.  I really feel like I am meant to be a midwife, or rather, I am a midwife.  But I made choices and now, continuing my education at this point seems questionable. 

I chose myself over the lie of my marriage that was killing me.  I chose loving my kids fully over struggling to fight the resentment that was building daily while parenting them on an empty tank.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Play the guitar; Tailor my own clothes; Buy a real camera and learn to use it; Audition for community theater; Interview for a per diem RN job; Return at least one creditor's phone call; Learn how to make sushi; Cut my own hair; Wax my own bikini area;  Apologize; Forgive; Own a pet that I can't just flush down the toilet if it dies; Continue an unplanned pregnancy; Terminate an unplanned pregnancy; Talk without shame about those hard choices; Tell a friend the truth instead of biting my tongue; Write this blog as if no one ever reads it; Let myself cry and not stop; Admit that I am afraid...

There's a lot.  Too much.  So much.  But I have to keep moving forward and I must keep facing my fears.  At the end of the day I want to say, "I did all I could.  I did my best."  Some days, I wonder if that's true, sadly.

Press 0 to speak to a sane person.

A day that just kept getting better:  I dropped and then retrieved my iPhone from the TOILET, Click and I tried to look up how to resuscitate it.  Apparently other iPhone users have had near-drowning experiences.  I am not comforted.  I feel sick.  I never realized how fucking connected I am until I have to disconnect.  That bothers me.  Suddenly it was like I didn't know how to live.  All joking aside... what is wrong with me?  I need to be able to check my email constantly?  Really?  Good god.  It's like I can't make it through an afternoon without Twitter tweets and Facebook updates getting pushed right to me through the phone.  WTF IS WRONG WITH ME???  In a simple way, I've let this piece of machinery intrude upon my life in the most intimate way.  I type this because I also thought of my connection to "Her"... my New Friend.  I thought about how much I enjoy being able to look at my phone and see Her name, knowing that She's thought about me at the same time I've thought about Her...

Whatever.

I'm so annoyed with it all. 

****

I went to pick up my kids from school and while I was waiting for the bus, I wanted to know what time it was.  The clock on my CD player in the van needs to be reset... so I reached for my phone.  It wasn't there.  I cannot even fucking tell time without my damn phone?  Really?  Lame.  So I'm sitting there waiting and waiting and waiting... and I realized... I am never alone with myself anymore.  There's a constant influx of tweets, texts, emails, etc., etc., etc., and to just SIT there and WAIT felt so foreign.  I nearly had a panic attack.  I am not exaggerating. 

I'm feeling a bit pathetic tonight, that I've let something like this start to run my life.

Or not.  Maybe it isn't running my life.  I don't know.

So things get worse, I pick up the kids and M and  L (unknowingly) hurt my feelings very badly.  I tried not to, but I cried in front of them on the way home.  

****

Tonight is "pick up" night and my oldest daughter was with my ex when he came to pick up my kids.  She is a photographer, and I get magazines sent here for her.  So I go to give them to her, in her dad's truck... because you know, she won't come in, and she ignores me.  Won't look at me.  Won't talk to me.  Won't acknowledge any part of me.

Now, I realize I am the adult here.  I understand where her pain is coming from, I really do!  But dammit it hurts so much for me too.  I feel so rejected and to be rejected by one's own offspring feels like the ultimate.  For so long now I've wondered and worried about her feeling rejected by me.  DAMMIT.  Who the fuck cares how I feel?  I know I am acting childish.  I'm just hurt.

It feels like I'm in a vacuum.  It hurts so bad I can't breath except for shallow tiny gasps.  It hurts so bad I can barely see past my tears.  It hurts so bad I can't hear anything except for the beating of my own heart inside my head.  My senses are making it so that I'd rather be rendered senseless. 

****

I talk to "Her" tonight and I want to thank her for caring.  In a gentle, quiet way she is responsive to my emotional needs.  

I needed that tonight.  I always take care of everyone else.  If it's not their physical needs (like with my children or patients), it is their emotional needs.  It's the way it's always been for me.  I've been the one my friends have come to for emotional nurturing.  It's okay, I think I gain from it too.  But... but... tonight (or rather lately) I've been feeling so uncared for.  Not uncared ABOUT, but uncared FOR.  I can only give others what I have to give, and I haven't gotten much lately.  I've never noticed myself complaining about it before, and I think it's because I've never in my life been this self aware. 

I'll get back to myself.  I am used to taking care of myself and a million other things and people.  It's what I do, what I've done, and really... honestly... truly... it's what I feel most comfortable with.  I think.  Is it?  Maybe it's just what I've known, but not really what is best for me.  Maybe.

New Friend calls me "lady" and often writes it or texts it.  Previously I was called "baby" and it made my skin crawl.  Perhaps I got used to it, and perhaps I thought it meant the Ex Girl wanted to "take care" of me.  But when I think about it with real honesty in my heart, I never really liked it.

I'm not Her baby.  I'm not Her anything.  It's the little things like that, that make me think about Her with curious wonder... and smile.

Time for some RAINBOWS!

My life has been very sad lately with "processing" this breakup and I really just needed a laugh today. Instead I got a trip to the Emergency Department of a hospital that was miles from my hometown. To put it mildly, it sucked. I can't tell you what anxiety can do to a person's body. It can do almost anything it wants. Fucker. There might not be enough ativan in the pharmacy for me this week. I am going to need to phone in some back up.

I am properly dosed with my little friends now though... so... let's blog shall we?

I was reading another blog today and the question this author posed was "who would you go gay for?" Firstly, I don't believe it quite works that way. But I understood his lighthearted meaning at the blog posting. Quite truthfully my friends and I have played similar games like this.

Anywoo... He had listed among his male choices that he may go gay for Jeffrey Donovan:

 

I said in a most kidding fashion that I might go straight for him! He's a looker!! But my real passion is for his partner Fiona (Gabrielle Anwar):

Yes. She's very hot. I'm totally not into femmes at all, but something about her makes me want to throw her down and ... well... yeah. Don't know where that came from. Sorry.