Monday, April 6, 2015

I am?

Sigh. So much has happened and changed in the last 16 months that I am not even sure I know where to start or if I should even bother starting. I have lost so much that is me that I don't know who I am anymore. And I don't know where to start to rebuild myself.
Tony, my spouse of 20 years, my support, friend and foe died 10/28/13. And along with him a lot of my identity. No longer am I allowed to call myself "wife". I used to fuss because everyone around the AC knew me as "Tony's wife". No name, ever. No separate existence. Just "Tony's wife". Used to make me so mad because dammit, I am a person. I am one-of-a-kind just like the rest of you fuckers. I am Angie. I am. I am. I am "Tony's wife". Damn. Ah, but they don't tell you after your spouse dies that you are no longer allowed to call yourself a wife. You become a widow. I even wrote about it. Now, I am not ashamed because I am a widow. I fulfilled my vows. Till death, bitches. I roll hardcore. But after about a year, I started figuring out, not everyone likes the word widow. It makes them uncomfortable. It makes them look away. Or even worse it makes them look at me with pity. I don't need their pity or your pity or anyone's pity. I do need some understanding, however. See, I haven't been this person before. I haven't been this widow. I have only been "Tony's wife" and I lost that title when he died. Now, when I fill out forms, I am not allowed to choose married. Most forms don't even have the choice widowed, oddly enough. Like it's not a word or a thing. Either you are married or not married or don't fucking exist in this damn world. I usually still choose Mrs. because dammit that is what I am. I am a Mrs. I am too old to be a Ms. and I don't have a ding-a-ling so I am no Mr. I gave up my Ms. at a very young age. I don't identify with a Ms. But even then I think people believe I am mistaken because I have to choose single on the rest of the paper so I end up being Ms. in the end. And I don't even want to talk about emergency contact information. People, the struggle is real. The first time I went to the Dr and had to change my emergency contact I cried. Now, I am usually numb and can save my tears until I am alone. Tony promised me when I got old and had to go the the home he wouldn't let them tuck my feet in or feed me foods I didn't like and make them understand I am a night owl and like to sleep late. I like a fan for noise and all the lights out. He promised me those things. But, well, that's just not how life worked out. He also promised me he wouldn't leave me but I am pretty sure he didn't have much control over leaving.

I had a vertical sleeve gastrectomy in the last part of June. I had decided it was time to do something about my weight. I had gotten so big that I couldn't really do anything. Walking killed me. Sitting killed me and it was time. So, I chose to remove my stomach. Well, I lost that identity too. I no longer can eat and eat and eat until I die. Well, most foods I can't eat and eat and eat. There are those few foods I can hoover up a good amount. But I lost my fat girl status I thought. But then maybe I didn't. I just traded it in. I am an oxymoron. I am a fat girl that can't eat. I am an anomaly. I'm still grossly over-weight and I can't freakin' eat. I snack and graze a lot because I make all the healthy choices. But eating, nope. On a good meal I can eat 1/4-3/4 a taco. Or about 3/4 a hamburger bun with soft meat on it. Hard, heavy meat about 1/2 a burger. Sometimes, I can eat a decent portion of food. I eat more like an average sized girl but I am still fat. I lost the ability to comfort eat. I am 127 lbs down. I lost the oslen twins. It's hard for me not to compare my journy to everyone elses. Today I read about one of the girls that had lost 200 lbs in 7 months. I want that kind of weight loss. 200 lbs and I would be close to my goal. Sigh.

And in Sept my hospital closed. 10 years of work and it closed. 10 years of laughter and tears, gone. Gone in 2.5 hours and I haven't recovered. A lot of my friends haven't either. I mean we have new jobs or other jobs but that feeling, that loss, well. We still struggle. We loved that stupid hospital. Our hospital that was, what we thought, too dumb to die.

I have a lot of good things in my life. In July, I started seeing someone and eventually it turned into tender feelings and from there love. So, now I am a girlfriend. Haven't been one of those in a long time, really, never, ever. It's a learning experience for sure. Tony took the lead when we dated. He had dated a lot prior to me and knew what he was doing. So, I just followed his lead. Now, well, Robbie and I just kind of fumble along and hope for the best.
I am a new employee with a nice new job but I haven't been new in a long time. It's hard to be new and not be new at the same time. When I was new at my hospital I was still young and eager. Now I am sad and have my own ways of doing things. My confidence is shaken and I am having growing pains. I don't know the inside jokes and who works well with who. Mostly, my new job has been a blessing. I needed a job and it's basically a place that I am used to working. It's small and I already know some of the staff and patients but it is still new. And I am trying hard to find myself.

So, now I struggle with who I am. Who is this Angie person. What does she like, dislike and want to do with her life? No clue. None. Do I like skulls and metal-ish type music? Am I really a gamer and a nerd or just a poser? I have no clue really. None. Am I still a nurse now that my hospital closed? Am I still a fat girl if I can't eat? Who am I?

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Witch's Brew

AS I sit here crying and wondering where I went wrong in life, I stopped crying and started thinking why do I feel that I went wrong in life. I mean is that a thing? I'm not saying I have never made any bad choices, lied, hurt someone or any of the things that make "bad" people "bad" in societies mind. But I don't know why I feel the need to blame the bad in my life or the wrong in my life on Karma or a vengeful God or myself and my wrongness.


It's weird thought process really. Hell, if I get a  zit on my nose, it's Karma because last week I was snarky about a co-workers less than perfect skin. My best example would be, ummm, I was not a very nice person in my early 20's and made lots and lots of bad, bad decisions. Rash decisions for that matter. Bad decisions in the fact that they were harmful to my already delicate self-esteem and worth. Well, after several of these bad, bad decisions, I had the red-blotch of whoredom on my face. I kind of just accepted the blotch as punishment for being less than perfect and pissing Karma off. Well, that was fucking stupid. I carried this stupid red blotchy bullshit on my face probably for a year until I finally went to the Dermatologist who was like ummm that is stress induced and caused by an addiction to steroid cream (which I was using by the vat on my face). He gave me some cream and in a few weeks, my face was all back to normal. I didn't even see Karma in his office.


I wonder sometimes how I got to this belief. Why when something bad happens it is automatically Karma, God's pissed off or bad luck. When in reality it is just life. Sometimes life is good. Things are grand and should be enjoyed but in my case they aren't because I am always waiting for the bad Karma, the bad luck, the bad and bad and bad. It ruins the good. And life is so good sometimes. So very good.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Chuck it in the bucket

Well, life has been so weird right now that I would need a huge fuck it bucket to chuck all that is fuck-it worthy. It's not terrible awful like things have been in the past just annoying as shit awful and I just love to be annoyed.


I finally took a huge leap and decided to do something about my weight besides letting it slowly kill me. Now I am flipping out because well, slow suicide by fat was the only real plan I have ever had in life. Stuffing down my feelings with food has been my way of life since I was old enough to start saying I'm hungry and want more. My depression and my fat are best of friends. My weight keeps life at a short, fat, arm length. Not letting anyone or anything close enough to hurt me. Well, at least that is what I think happens. But in fact I still get very hurt and still don't understand humans or life or anything but hurt.


What will I do without fat to hide behind? I don't fucking know. I really don't know. I am really good at avoiding life and being overly passive so I will probably lose some weight, figure out how to cheat the system and cling to my old habits because change is so painful. Being fat is the only thing I know, my only coping mechanism. And there are times that I think it is my only choice.


I have such a huge support system of family and friends that really do love me and want me to be successful no matter what it is I choose to do. They want me to choose happiness and love and health. Even when it is not what I want to choose. If I had my choice I would stay in bed with the covers up over my head to keep out the monsters and just let what happens, happen. 


But I don't. You know people always say "don't give a shit what others think or what they say" or some crap like that. It's true, I am not going to argue it's validity but if it wasn't for people and their thinking and their feelings I wouldn't go on. I wouldn't be. I don't want to put anymore hurt out there in the world than there already is. I might not feel worthy of love or life but I don't want to purposely hurt those that love me.


And it's time like this that I miss Tony so damned much. He loved me, fat, crazy, sad and mean. He loved me in spite of me. It might not have been the healthiest marriage or love but it was always there. I took advantage of it. I ignored it. I didn't let it blossom because of the hurt or maybe it was the hurt that wouldn't let the love blossom. What kills me the most is we were working on things and the last month I had with him was one of the happiest I had in a long time. He seemed more at peace and I was more in tune to his needs. Even when he was in the hospital and I couldn't make any noise or turn on the light because he felt so bad and I was annoyed for a second it would go away and I would touch him, rub his legs or his back or just lay my hand on him. He loved gentle touches like that and I was stingy with them because of the hurt. Maybe the touches would have healed some of the hurt? I don't fucking know. All I know is now, right now at this second, I would stuff my fat ass on his lap and wrap my arms around his body and kiss his fuzzy head and I would never, ever let go.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Date, say what?

It's been 7 months since Tony died. Time to move the hell on. Oh hell, who am I kidding. I'm lonely and odd curious about dating. I am fascinated by the fact that I can date and talk/flirt with men. It's stupid and crazy really. I think it is just something to take my mind off what is really going on in my life. A new obsession, of sorts, and damn I suck at it.


Now, I haven't gone on any dates. Not sure that I will ever make it too that point to go on a date. I have only chatted with men through text or messenger and let me tell you it has been one crazy week. I was chatting with one man for around three weeks. I was suspicious of a few things and that helped me out. But the story goes he asked me for $1400. So yeah, can we say scam artist?


The other guy I have been texting. Well, I like him. I felt like he liked me right up to the point he asked my sister out!! Yeah. I know. Thank goodness she told me so I didn't get all wrapped up and hurt.


And my third chatter. Well, he thought seeing his mom naked was hot. And that was that.


So, I am going to tuck my tail between my legs and say "fuck it" and go lay in bed and feel sorry for myself.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Poor Widow's Brain

Well, FFS there is that word again. Widow. Widow, widow, widow. I said it, I typed it, I look at it, and I am it. And I am still pretty pissed off about it. It is not something I chose it was a title thrust, unfairly, upon me. While I don't love my new title of Widow, I refuse to shrink from it. It's the new me. It's my new life. I wear the pain of Widowhood and I will do so with dignity. As much dignity as I can muster when I am crying for no real reason other than I am having a day or when I have Widow Brain and can't remember what the hell I am doing.


Widow brain you ask? Yeah, Widow Brain. It's a very real thing. It occurs after a traumatic loss to protect the mind. It's like helpful amnesia. A protection of sorts.


 I thought right after Tony died that I finally had lost what was left of my mind. I knew I was doing weird shit and I couldn't help it. I couldn't string together a complete sentence and I sure the shit didn't know what I was doing. I would just walk away while people were talking to me. I couldn't concentrate and  I was dangerous to be around. I could only accomplish things that were automatic or routine and it was a hardship to accomplish those things. I am amazed at this time that I made it through those first weeks without a huge disaster but I did. Thankfully, I have wonderful family and friends that helped me through and continue to help me though.


It's seven months out and I still suffer from Widow's Brain. It's almost amusing at this point. I never really was someone who had their shit together on a good day. Now, oh hell, I am just a mess. I laugh at myself a lot because I do stupid shit. I still will just up and walk away when people are talking especially when I start getting upset or bored or look there's a squirrel. My memory is horrible. HORRIBLE. It wasn't good to begin with but it is bad now. I actually forget that I forgot something. At least before I knew I was forgetting. Now when I am in the laundry room looking around I am just like "fuck it" and sit back down. I figure I will eventually either remember what I was doing or smell smoke. Either way it will work out. I am still alive, mostly and other than a plant that died no one has been harmed.


I guess I really have no point to this blog today other than if you see me and you know I am lost please return me to someone who knows me. Don't ask me though if I know them because all you are going to get is a blank stare. And whatever you do, don't turn your back on me for a minute because I will wander off.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Days and weeks

Today as I sorta sorted through this massive pile of mail I have collected, I came across the last two bills you filled out to pay. The dates on these, oddly enough, medical bills is 10/13/13. You died 10/28/13. And you were sick in the hospital 2 weeks prior. So basically these fucking bills were the last thing you felt good enough to do prior to your death. And it makes me so fucking mad. And in case that doesn't cause enough grief and pain, I came across my insurance bill which now I am so clearly labeled widowed. Widowed at 40. How did this happen? Why did this happen?


I will have a few days or at one point it was even a week that I feel OK. Not great because I never feel great because I am a fucking Eeyore. But I will feel OK maybe like I will live through this and walk out the other side of this journey better and whole and healed. I don't really think that is how grief works. I think I will limp along waiting for someone to save me from drowning in this pain and when that doesn't happen I will still continue to limp along. I am good at limping along I have had a lifetime of practice.


I am not going to wax poetically about how great our marriage is/was or whatever because that is just bullshit and the world is full of enough bullshit without me adding to it. What I am going to say is we did tragedy and suffering well together. It was our "thing". The world knocked us down and by God, one of us pulled the other one up and we dusted ourselves off and we survived. We made it through my family's multiple screw-ups, the loss of friends and the year we lost Grandpa, Gran and Gertrud. But we always had each other. Now, I am alone and it sucks.


It's been 26 weeks and 3 days since you left me. I replay your illness and death over and over and over in my mind. I have a lot of anger. A whole hell of a lot of anger. I failed you. Medicine failed you. Ego's failed you and ignorance failed you. And I am sorry.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

I want

I sit here with tears running down my face and that heaviness that hangs around my neck and runs up into my ears. It's a weird feeling, like I need to breath and can't or can breath but shouldn't. And I have this 100 pound weight on my shoulders and this pain under my right shoulder blade. I have social anxiety and at the same time a big case of the I Don't Give A Fuck. I feel like I have had a good day if I shower and make it to work. Luckily, I am on autopilot when it comes to showering and working because if it was any trouble at all, I just wouldn't screw around with it. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it right now. I have a tiny bit of I cans and a whole lot of I can't. My tolerance for anything stressful is low at best and days like these, well, no tolerance is an understatement.


I wake up dead and go to sleep awake. I never feel rested. I want to dream about you because I want to hear the sound of your voice, I want you to tell me it's going to be OK and that you love me. I have a whole fucking list of wants, I want to see your smiling face, I want to come home to you snoring softly in our bed. I want you to tell me goodnight and be safe. I want to call you when everyone is driving me crazy so you can tell me that we can't starve and we like electric. I want to cry on your shoulder and tell you how bad I hurt. I want you to go through this with me because we did tragedy well together.


I want to know you are OK. I want to know you are at peace. And I want you to know I love you and I miss you like crazy.