G is for Go

Let me start this post with a serious disclaimer: I am not suicidal. Don't worry about me. That being said, I really want to go to the hospital. I want to lie on the metal bed in a glass room in the ER while they stare at me. I want to lie huddled under a sheet and bawl. I want to soak the sheets. I want the social worker to come in and ask me stupid questions to see if I merit a stay in the psychiatric ward. I know how to answer those questions to gain admittance.
                           
I want to be taken upstairs in a wheelchair as if I have suddenly lost use of my legs and sit there while they go through my little bag of things. Shoes with elastic so I can wear them instead of slippers. I know I can't have shoelaces. A book. A few changes of clothes. I want to be pointed to a bed in the middle of the night; it's late, because the intake process takes forever. I want to lie in a bed in a room full of strangers and cry myself to sleep.

I want a nurse to wake me up and give me medication and take my blood and then let me go back to sleep. I want to be called to the cafeteria for a breakfast brought in a huge silver cart. I want to be able to go back to bed and lie there and cry. I want someone to tell me what to do. Eat. Sleep. Take this pill. Come to this group. Watch this show. Take a shower. Rest.
                              
I can't go. I can't afford to board my dogs, and I'm going to visit my family in a few weeks, so I can't miss work. I need the money badly. I don't really need to go. I'm not going to kill myself. I just want to rest for a little bit. I think I will take a tranquilizer and go to bed, set my own alarm, get up later than planned in the morning, tell myself to take my medication, find my own breakfast, drive myself to work, get through the day somehow. It is all so hard.

F is for Floor

I find myself drawn to the floor again lately. I do not think this is a good sign. Right after Ex kicked me out, I would sleep on the hardwood floor in front of my couch with a blanket and sometimes a pillow. Usually, Little Woof would steal the pillow during the night and be curled up on it while I woke with a cramp in my neck. Or she would sleep on the back of the couch. Robbie would sleep on the couch and look over the edge at me. Both of my dogs were more concerned about creature comforts than I was.
                     
I laid on the floor of my therapist's office on Monday. I was sitting on the couch and somehow melted down onto the floor and just stayed there. I don't think she quite knew what to do with me. I was really sad and not motivated to even breathe. I get like that sometimes. I will make an effort to stay on the couch for my next session. I think.

The months of sleeping on the floor in front of the couch were not healthy, nor should they be repeated. Lying on the floor in front of my therapist's couch reminded me of those nights. They were not fun. They were sad and lonely and desolate and filled with despair and sorrow. And every other synonym for "sad" that you care to insert here. ______________
                        
I don't think my attraction to the floor is healthy. I am trying to not lie on the floor at work right now. It is not easy. The floor sings a song of comfort and solidarity. I like the floor. The floor likes me. I really want to lie on the floor.

E is for Eventually

Eventually, I will not cry at a therapy appointment.
Eventually, I will not need to go to therapy anymore.
Eventually, I will find a job that I like.
 

Eventually, I will succeed at something.

Eventually, I will get to see my little niece again.

Eventually, Jailbird will just be Bird and I will be able to see him again.

                                                                                         

Eventually, I won't remember so many horrible things about Ex.
Eventually, my hair will turn gray.
Eventually, someone will read my book
 

Eventually, I will be able to send money to my mom.

Eventually, my house will be livable.

Eventually, my house will be paid off and it will be all mine.

                                                               

Eventually, I will move.
Eventually, all of this will happen.
Eventually, I will die.

Eventually, I will realize that, in order for the list to happen, the last thing on the list has to happen right where it is - last.

D is for Dreams

I have had series of nightmares for my entire life. They rotate; the rotation starts off as memorable dreams that are only slightly disturbing. I will "remember" running into someone I don't like at the store, or something minor like that. Then they get worse. Memories of my childhood home. I was scared of the door leading from the house to the garage, and I will dream that, no matter how hard I pull, I can't get the door to close all the way, and there is something on the other side that is going to come and hurt me.
                         
When I went to see the energy healer, she asked me about my dreams. I told her they start out mild and progress to those that wake me up screaming and crying. I said this very calmly. It is part of my life and has been for as long as I can remember, and it isn't a big deal to me anymore. She looked at me with sorrowful eyes and told me she was sorry that life has been so hard.
                        
That almost made me cry. I am generally okay until someone else feels sorry for me, and then I want to join them in their pity of me and bawl. No, my life has not been easy. No, not a lot of good things have gone on. Yes, a lot of bad things have gone down. I don't want to do this anymore.

Last night, I dreamt of nothing. It was nice.

C is for Chakra

I did something completely out of character today and went to see an energy healer. I don't believe in that stuff. I don't. Well, apparently, I do. Or at least, I believe in it enough to make an appointment and then actually go to the appointment. It was weird. I was incredibly uncomfortable and felt nauseated at first. She got me talking about training horses, so I kind of forgot why I was there, and she said she did "work" on me while I was distracted. Okay.

Something must have gone on, because she left the room to get a booklet for me and I got so dizzy I had to put my head between my legs. I seriously thought I was going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Luckily, I did neither, but I'm home on the couch (shocking!) now, and my stomach is really upset. So she did something. Or something. Whatever.
                
She did have a lot of interesting things to say. She showed me a picture and explained the chakras to me. The lower three, I learned, have to do with body stuff (She used far better terminology, but this is what I brought home with me). Then there is the heart, the mind, and the soul, also called the third eye. When trauma happens, the lower three chakras close up. She compared it to a large wound in your arm: you are hurt and have to apply a tourniquet in order to stop the bleeding and survive. Trauma is injury, and closing the chakras is applying the tourniquet. That makes sense to me.
                
Then she said, matter-of-factly, that the lower chakras also shut down when a person dies. Bingo. If I buy into all of this, here is what I get: I have had trauma thrown at me my entire life. I muddled through until marrying Ex, who managed to inflict so much damage that I was forced to shut down my chakras in order to survive. They have been so severely shut down and for so long a time, that now they are in the same state as if my body was actually dying. So when I told my therapist that I feel dead, this could explain that.

Do I believe this? Or did I just throw my hard-earned money down the drain? I don't know, but I do know I don't feel well. And I can kind of feel my feet. Which, when you've been disconnected from your body as long as I have, is kind of cool.

B is for Blurry

I was driving home from visiting Jailbird yesterday when it suddenly occurred to me that my anniversary is IN JULY. Not June. July. The anniversary of my divorce, then, is also in JULY. Not today. I'm not sure what this means. Am I an idiot for being sad on June 19th for no reason whatsoever, or an idiot for being sad on what I thought was my anniversary. Idiot for wrong date, or idiot for caring?
                       
I wonder. And you know what? I really don't care. I am vaguely curious, but that is all. It doesn't matter anymore. Another thing I realized on my long drive was that the best way to get back at Ex is to get over him. Just not care anymore. This is not something I can make myself do; not something I can choose. It just happened. I mean, I do still care. I do. But to forget the exact date, and to not get upset that I forgot, and to be driving nine hours (round trip) to see another man, that is revenge.
                       
I still worry about Ex's new wife. I still worry about the possibility of Ex having kids, because he is not father material. I still worry about Ex's mother. But I don't worry about Ex anymore. I used to be sad on his birthdays, because he had no one to care. This year, it passed through my mind, and I wondered if his new wife cared as much as I used to, and tried as hard as I used to try to make it a great day. But I didn't care.
                     
The past is blurry now. I'm okay with that.

A is for Another

True confession time: there is another man in my life. What? Gasp! Can this be true? Well, not in the most technical sense of the word "in" as it pertains to "in my life." The dude is in jail, which is over three hours away, and I rarely talk to him and visits are even more rare. So is he really in my life? Well, yes, in the darkest sense of the word "in." I miss him. I think about him. He is still in my life.

He asked if he could parole to my house.

Show of hands, all who think this is a good idea? Anybody? Hello?
                       
Yeah, I thought not. I agree - not a good plan. Another man moving in with me may not be such a bad idea, but this man? I mean, dude is in jail, and not for robbing a parking meter. Why am I mentioning him now? Well, I'm going to visit him tomorrow. It is his birthday. We celebrated his birthday in fine style the first year I knew him. The next year, he was in jail, and this year, his dumb ass is still there. He actually did get out, but violated his parole and went right back in. Happy birthday to you, my fine friend.
                       
I know how to pick winners. All of the men I have ever seriously dated (or married, oops) have spent time in jail. Most for one or two nights, two for over a year. I think maybe I should try another hobby...

Z is for Zilch

It is a funny-looking word: zilch. It also sounds funny: zilch. If one could feel it, one would expect it to feel funny. It's not. It is the opposite of funny. To feel zilch is to feel empty, alone, and desolate. Hopeless. I would say bland, but that word isn't strong enough to convey the absolute blankness of zilch.
                           
I couldn't get up again today. I didn't go to therapy group last night and I barely made it in to work by 10:15 today. That is the latest I have ever been. I try to get here by 8:00. Ha! I usually make it by 9:30. I hate it here. I comfort myself by looking for a new job, but I know that I really, really, really need to keep this job right now. No, I'm not doing anything worthwhile. No, my job does not matter. No, I do not enjoy this job. But no, it does not matter if I am late. What am I saying - I can't be late when I have no set hours. Late does not exist in this job, therefore, I must stay until I can gather up enough inner strength to get out of bed at a reasonable, regular time every day.

I woke up at 5:30 this morning so I could meet a friend for spinning class. I didn't make it. This is not the first time I have not made it. I am lucky she is still my friend. I hate being undependable, but most mornings, my ability to function is zilch. All I can do is lie there and stare at the ceiling and wish I had died in my sleep. The thought of another, long, lonely, boring, endless, stupid day is too much.
                         
My psychiatrist is gradually putting me back on a truckload of medication and I am complying, because, at this point, I either need to have help or just give up and die. So far, the medication is not helping. I also have an appointment with an energy healer. If someone would have told me that I would be seeking help from an energy healer, I would have died laughing. I don't believe in that sort of thing. But it's worth a shot. Zilch sucks. Zilch is all I am right now. Zilch is not a long-term option. Hi, I'm Marcy, and I am zilch.

Y is for Yesterday

Yesterday, I cried for about two hours. I spent one of those hours crying in my therapist's office, half an hour crying in the car outside her office, and another half hour crying at home. Today, my eyes are puffy and my cheeks are still red. I look ridiculous.
                                    
Yesterday, I came face-to-face with the realization that no matter what I do, nothing will change. No matter how hard or long I cry, my mother will never love me. No matter how long I weep, Ex will never magically come back and the past will never change. My husband didn't love me and never will. No matter how many tissues I soak through, I will never matter on this planet. I could go to therapy the rest of my life, and the only thing that will change is my perspective. I could learn to not care that no one loves me. Learn to accept that there is no happy ending for me. Learn that my dogs are the only beings to whom my existence makes a difference.
                                    
Yesterday was rough. Somehow, I managed to come to work today. I do not matter here, either. I'm processing progress notes from May 2013. They have been sitting in a pile for over a year. Yesterday, I processed over 200 notes, and today, I am sitting here playing games on Facebook. It does not matter that I am here. I could go home and it would not make a difference. I could leave and never come back and it would not matter.

Yesterday, I realized that nothing I do matters. What is it that keeps me here? What keeps me going? I don't have an answer to that question.

X is for X Games

The last winter Ex and I were married (as if there were so many of them...), Ex was working in Colorado. He was happy to be there (this is where he lived with the couple and I'm pretty sure he was sleeping with the wife) and spent his weekends sleeping with the wife or out on the mountains. Or both. Who knows? Who cares?
                           
The X Games were in Colorado and he got to go to watch in person. I was at home, talking to him on the phone and watching the games on television. He wanted me to be able to see him, so he found a camera and stood beside it. Um, I can't see you, Ex. You have to be in front of the camera. So he went around the ropes and stood beside the announcer's stand and waved at the camera. I never did see him. But the thought was nice and it made me feel closer to him.

Ex spent a lot of money while he lived there. He owned a snowboard, so at least he wasn't renting that, but the lift tickets were a luxury we really couldn't afford, considering he had been out of a job for months before getting this one. Now that I think about it, I wonder if some of that money went to entertaining the woman he was sleeping with. That never occurred to me until right now. Excellent.
                         
I still watch the X Games when I can. But I don't sit there crying and missing the thought of Ex standing beside a camera and expecting me to be able to see him. What an idiot.

W is for Wedding

My wedding was exactly six years ago today.

V is for Version

When someone tells you a story, you are getting only their version. You have to consider the source while you listen to them and decide what to believe. Even if the person telling the story is 100% trustworthy, you still have to take into consideration the fact that you are hearing their version. 
                       
This blog is my version. I would love to hear Ex's version of this. I think it would go something like this:

"Marcy was crazy and overbearing. I had to walk on eggshells around her. She would yell at me for no reason and cry at the drop of a hat. (Ex was full of clichés.) She was needy and clingy and there was nothing I could do to make her happy. Life with her was a living hell."

Ex frequently told me that he was walking on eggshells around me, and I put in so much time trying to figure out how to make living with me more bearable. I let so much slide. There were countless times when Ex did something that I rightfully could have reacted to, but I didn't, because I was afraid of those eggshells.
                       
I think living with Ex did immense damage to my self-esteem and, finally, killed my soul. I have never thought of myself as special - never thought of myself as lovable. Ex fed that insecurity and nurtured my hatred of myself. I married a man who did not love me and constantly told me how awful it was to live with me. Ex hated it when I breathed.

Watching movies was a favorite pastime of his. I was rarely granted the honor of watching them with him, but on the few occasions I did, we would sit at opposite ends of the couch and I would hold my breath and not move for the entire time. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I left him and watched movies alone and wondered why I didn't get a horrible backache. It was only then that I realized my back hurt through those movies because I had been frozen in place. Ex would get so mad if I sighed, coughed, or moved. He didn't want to be reminded of my presence. He did want to "discuss" the movie afterwards, however. I used quotation marks because it was never a discussion; it was just me agreeing with Ex.

I wonder what Ex would tell you about something so simple as watching movies together. I don't think I want to know his version.

U is for Understand

I get it now. I have been overly moody, irritable, sad, weepy, and not been able to get out of bed lately. I thought it was due to the issues with my therapist, which I still believe play a big part in my mood, but I just had a revelation. I understand now.
                                         
In six days, it will have been six years since Ex and I said "I do." Six years is a long time, yo. Which means we have been divorced for four years. Yes, I was only married to Ex for two years and ten days. Yay, me. I still think I would have been better off if I had stayed with him, not that I really had any choice, considering he kicked me out of the house, refused to speak to me, and then called eleven days after I left, asking what we were going to do about our taxes, since we were getting divorced.
                                           
June has historically been hard for me.

• June 19, 2008: Wedding Day
• June 25, 1975: Ex's birthday
• June 29, 2010: Divorce Day

It seems like there is something else, too, but I can't remember, and making a concerted effort to remember trauma has never been my thing. This year, June snuck up on me. I didn't see it coming. I didn't know it was already here. At least I understand why I haven't been able to get up lately. I'll try to be nicer to myself for the next few weeks. I am my own worst enemy.

T is for Therapy

This post is in two parts: Therapy Past and Therapy Present. Therapy has played a big part in my life recently, so some acknowledgement is due. I guess.

Part One - Past

Ex and I went to marriage counseling. I honestly don't remember our therapist's name, so I will randomly name her Megan and hope that isn't her real name. She was that memorable. We would go sit in her office and she would giggle and say how quiet we were. I didn't talk because I was scared of Ex and also wanted to give him the opportunity to say, finally, why he was so mad at me so I could fix it.
                                  
That's all I wanted - to know what I was doing wrong so I could stop doing that and everything would be okay. I was so naïve. Ex said very little in therapy. He complained about me wanting him to put our dog on a leash on the rare occasions he took her for walks. Well, she was deaf and almost blind and would wander into the middle of the street, and then he would yell at her for not staying with him. That, my friend, is what leashes are for. Megan was no help on this issue. She pointed out flaws in his arguments and he agreed to use a leash from then on. Which means that he just stopped taking her for walks at all, which was fine by me.

We only saw Megan about three or four times. Ex lost yet another job, which meant we had no insurance, since I was still in school and three part-time jobs do not equal insurance. It was no loss.

Part Two - Present

I'm still seeing my current therapist but things are still very strained and I don't know if I can keep seeing her. She doesn't get me. Like, I told her I couldn't make a decision on whether or not to keep seeing her, and she said I didn't have to. So then she texts me the very next morning to see when I can reschedule for next week because she will be out of the office Monday night. Um, I just told you I can't decide. You said I didn't have to. And now you are asking me for a DECISION. Not cool, yo.
                                  
Also bothering me is what my ex-friend said. (She claimed to be my friend and then, when she found out I was upset about her saying rude things to me, decided to just stop calling instead of apologizing.) She said that working for therapists would be good for me, so I could see there were people worse off than I am. Um, no. One, I don't sit around feeling sorry for myself and thinking that everyone else has a better life. And two, I think the world is a horrible place and most people are awful (point in case) and have no regard for anyone but themselves. So reading hundreds (thousands, really) of progress notes detailing people's horrible lives is NOT good for me. It only reinforces my opinion of humans.
                                     
Sometimes I think about just walking away. The problem with that plan, though, is that wherever you go, there you are. I need a new plan.

S is for Sedentary

I am sedentary. That is the best word to describe me at this point in my life. I had made a commitment to go to the gym this morning at TEN and could not get out of bed. I bailed on a six a.m. spinning class, too. I'm afraid my friend will give up on me. She has every right to.

At work, the guy who shares my office gets too hot, plus he is a talkative guy and has figured out that I am not his best audience, so he takes his laptop downstairs most days. I take this opportunity to lie on the floor. I'm that sedentary. That lazy. I can't even sit at my desk sometimes.
                                        
Tomorrow, my therapist will text me a confirmation: "I'm confirming your 6:30 appointment tomorrow. See you then!" I don't know what to say. "Okay." "Yep." Or, "No, I've decided you are right; we need to see other people."

I'm currently blaming my sedentary state on the lack of trust and stability in my therapeutic relationship. I will have to come up with some other excuse once this is straightened out, but it works for now. Excluding the fifteen minutes spent letting my dogs out several times today, I have spent the entire day either in bed or on the couch. I'm on the couch now, trying to work up the energy to get up, let the dogs out for the last time, and then go up to bed. I've been trying to work this energy up for about 84 minutes now. It's not happening.
                                      
I am fatter than I have ever been. Right after the divorce (and also in dental school), I dropped 23 pounds and was too skinny for a long time. I've regained all of those pounds, and they all brought friends, and now I can barely fit into any of my clothes. I'm enormous. I'm gross. I feel disgusting. But I'm typing this while lying on the couch, where I have been all day, and, chance are, will be all day tomorrow, too. I suck.