The last few days have been trying to say the least. I have actually cried so much that my eyes hurt! They hurt. Who knew that eyes could hurt from crying?! As you all know, I have had a horrible case of the blues for about, well, about 37 years now. OK, maybe that is pushing it, do babies get the blues? So, lets give me at least a good 32 years, sound better? Happy now? OK, great. Why all the tears? Has tragedy hit the house of blues? Umm, nope. Just the crazies and in case you didn't know crazies+blues= crying.
The holidays are not the best of times around here. I still mourn the loss of my grandparents and mother in law. Tony, well, he hates holidays and all things that revolve around anything that involves the mere glimmer of happiness, so holidays have always been an issue. He actually did well this holiday season, I was the one that had worn myself to a frazzle, so worried and caught up about how he was going to act or not act that I made myself sick. Sick dammit, what kind of asshole worries themselves sick? If something doesn't change I am going to be dead before I am 40. And my gravestone will say, "Here lies a life wasted, Worried instead of participated." (pure poetry, right there...) I don't want my gravestone to say that, hell, I don't really want any gravestone, well, not yet anyway.
But on to other things. If you were a friend of my hubby on FB, you will notice that he has, yet again, deleted his account. Why? Well, who the hell knows why. I am sure in all his ranting and raving he gave me some sort of reason that didn't make any sense but I have learned to turn a lot of that off. I have to or I would lose my mind. There really isn't that much mind left to lose. It is very hard to live with someone who is mentally and physically ill.
Oh yeah and on to the advice! I forgot I had advice, it was good advice even. But I can't seem to remember the advice!! Damn. Oh yeah, listen more than you talk and hold on to the good times. They will be what gets you through the bad. Or some happy shit like that...
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Bedsores and Bullshit
Today is the 5th day I have lain in bed most of the day. We are talking at least 18 hours if not more a day, in bed. Not sleeping, just laying there, no TV in my room (not that I would have the oomph to turn it on), no reading, no talking, no nothing, just laying in bed. Dozing at times and having weird dreams about my worse fears but mostly we are back to the just laying part. I do make sure to flip and flop every little bit as not to get a bedsore because damn I really wouldn't want to explain to my non-existent family Dr. (long story) how I managed to get a bedsore. The conversation would be brutal: Dr. Non-existent "umm and why are you here today", Me "umm, I have a stage 4 ulcer on my ass", Dr. N.E. "how did you get a stage 4 on your ass?" Me "well I haven't been out of bed for 5 days or so" and well, the conversation goes to hell after that. I have been to the Dr. before and been like "Dude, I am depressed" and they just look at me...like looking at me helps my depression. "What makes you think you are depressed?" Well, you stupid unhelpful asshole the fact that I can't drag my stupid ass out of bed for more than 2 hours at a time and I cry all the fucking time and never mind the sighing and feelings of worthlessness. I am a walking commercial for an anti-depressant. Hello! And then the Dr. says in all doctorly fashion, "have you considered therapy". To which then I fall over dead from the brilliance of that suggestion. Or from the stress of thinking about how well me going to the therapist went last time.
I really hate my depression. I don't like wallowing in self-pity. I don't enjoy being all up in my head about things. But I really don't know what else to do about it. It is not as easy as just snapping out of it or any of that shit. Love yourself or live in the moment or it is what the fuck it is! Well, to me it isn't and it is hard and I know logically that I make life more difficult for myself by wallowing in my pity party. But wallowing is what I do best.
I really hate my depression. I don't like wallowing in self-pity. I don't enjoy being all up in my head about things. But I really don't know what else to do about it. It is not as easy as just snapping out of it or any of that shit. Love yourself or live in the moment or it is what the fuck it is! Well, to me it isn't and it is hard and I know logically that I make life more difficult for myself by wallowing in my pity party. But wallowing is what I do best.
Monday, November 7, 2011
I can't, I can't and why can't I?
I suffer from the I can't syndrome. Not familiar with said syndrome? Well, let me let you in on it, you just might suffer from it, too and lord knows misery loves some company! I can't syndrome is the voices in your head (or sometimes even out of your head) that tell you, you can't do that, whatever "that" may be for you. My "that" varies from "I can't walk that far" or "I can't stand one more day of this shit". It has became the mantra in my head even invading my sleep at times. Well, most of the time. The voices in my head are not kind to me. They are full of self-loathing and doubt. They are full of questions that have no answer and they are full of "I can'ts".
In reality usually when the "I can'ts" come out it is because I am feeling insecure, unsafe, overwhelmed or just not good enough, so pretty much every-fucking-day I wake up alive (damn, how much would it suck to wake up dead? Talk about a crappy Monday). They start as soon as I open my eyes "I can't get out of bed" then make it to the chair for a "I can't go to work tonight" then to work "I can't do this one more night" then again to home for a "I can't walk in this door". Now, usually, I make it out of bed, to the chair, from the chair to work and back from work into the house. Repeat on any given day.
A rather unhelpful family member used to say "I can't did nothing". Seriously? Well, I can't all the damn time and I do stuff. Sometimes, I even save people lives. So, where, am I going with this blog today? Well, I dunno really. Just wanted to say to all the "I can'ts" out there, that in reality, you aren't an "I can't" you are an "I can".
In reality usually when the "I can'ts" come out it is because I am feeling insecure, unsafe, overwhelmed or just not good enough, so pretty much every-fucking-day I wake up alive (damn, how much would it suck to wake up dead? Talk about a crappy Monday). They start as soon as I open my eyes "I can't get out of bed" then make it to the chair for a "I can't go to work tonight" then to work "I can't do this one more night" then again to home for a "I can't walk in this door". Now, usually, I make it out of bed, to the chair, from the chair to work and back from work into the house. Repeat on any given day.
A rather unhelpful family member used to say "I can't did nothing". Seriously? Well, I can't all the damn time and I do stuff. Sometimes, I even save people lives. So, where, am I going with this blog today? Well, I dunno really. Just wanted to say to all the "I can'ts" out there, that in reality, you aren't an "I can't" you are an "I can".
Friday, October 21, 2011
Without title, see within
Today, I have no title for this blog beside fuck this shit which seemed a tad vulgar for face book posting and well, I am cleaning my titles up, being more classy these days. I am not getting any younger and I don't want to use up all my vulgarity now. Who knows how much vulgarity I will need when I get older?! I don't want to be one of those sweet old ladies, hell no, I want to be the riot of the bunch, the pinch the ass of the cute Dr. bunch. I want to laugh wickedly and live life to the fullest when I get older. You know, funny that I say that...laugh wickedly and live life to the fullest when I get older, yeah that, funny, because why don't I do those things now? Where did I go. Why don't I live my life to the fullest, now. When it matters. Life matters now, not tomorrow, not yesterday but now. And dammit, I lost the ability to live it.
What happened? Well, shit. How long do you have? What happened? Well, life happened to me. I am one of the unfortunate many who can't quite shake off the woes of life. The flashes of a crappy childhood where I never fit in, almost, sometimes but just not really, an incomplete puzzle piece that wasn't cut close enough to fit perfectly but almost fits if squeezed enough. Then the horrible, awkward affair, the shitty-teenage years. Walking to the beat of a different drummer is not an easy thing, especially when all you do is want to fit in. Damn. What about fitting in means so fucking much to me? Really does it matter if I fit in? If I wear the "right shoes" or "drive the right car" and lord knows I would never date the "right" guy because they never looked twice at the fat girl. I never had enough respect for myself during my teenage years, those stupid, stupid, years. If I could pass on anything to any woman young, old, in the middle, hell just anyone for that matter is RESPECT yourself because if you don't, no one will. Corny, girl, I know but true. You can't just go around giving out your good stuff because well, it becomes not good stuff, it becomes painful and sad and good stuff should never be painful and sad. It's not called painful-sad stuff, it's called good stuff and if you treat it as such it will one day become great stuff. Awesome stuff even. Save that stuff, save it for someone who gives a shit. Save it because you deserve it and you are worth it!
Now not all the good stuff in life is the a romp in the bedroom (or car, truck, van or where ever you may romp) sometimes the good stuff is the you part. The part of you that is kind, good, caring, loving, strong and stronger still. Sometimes it is the part of you that can't keep a secret (dammit) and is a tad bit jealous because these are the things that make you up and you are good. We all are good. OK, so that was some sappy shit right there but I think you are all with me.
Tonight, well, tonight has been a trying night. It is my last night before my last night at work and I have had time to dwell on the many mistakes I have made at work. I have had time to think about the past and how I let things get too painful and overwhelmed and I walk away and I think, "is this what I am doing now? Walking away?" Crazy thoughts really because it is time. I can't explain it more than that. I have to do this. I know that the next job is going to come with it own set of problems and mostly those problems will be my lack of control around my lip area. My insecurities. My imperfections. And the fact that in general, work sucks balls. Sorry, work, but you know you suck. It is true, that is why work is a four letter word. All the bad words are four lettered, common knowledge, man. But as a few friends of mine have told me recently I guess I just need to get over myself. Whatever that means.
What happened? Well, shit. How long do you have? What happened? Well, life happened to me. I am one of the unfortunate many who can't quite shake off the woes of life. The flashes of a crappy childhood where I never fit in, almost, sometimes but just not really, an incomplete puzzle piece that wasn't cut close enough to fit perfectly but almost fits if squeezed enough. Then the horrible, awkward affair, the shitty-teenage years. Walking to the beat of a different drummer is not an easy thing, especially when all you do is want to fit in. Damn. What about fitting in means so fucking much to me? Really does it matter if I fit in? If I wear the "right shoes" or "drive the right car" and lord knows I would never date the "right" guy because they never looked twice at the fat girl. I never had enough respect for myself during my teenage years, those stupid, stupid, years. If I could pass on anything to any woman young, old, in the middle, hell just anyone for that matter is RESPECT yourself because if you don't, no one will. Corny, girl, I know but true. You can't just go around giving out your good stuff because well, it becomes not good stuff, it becomes painful and sad and good stuff should never be painful and sad. It's not called painful-sad stuff, it's called good stuff and if you treat it as such it will one day become great stuff. Awesome stuff even. Save that stuff, save it for someone who gives a shit. Save it because you deserve it and you are worth it!
Now not all the good stuff in life is the a romp in the bedroom (or car, truck, van or where ever you may romp) sometimes the good stuff is the you part. The part of you that is kind, good, caring, loving, strong and stronger still. Sometimes it is the part of you that can't keep a secret (dammit) and is a tad bit jealous because these are the things that make you up and you are good. We all are good. OK, so that was some sappy shit right there but I think you are all with me.
Tonight, well, tonight has been a trying night. It is my last night before my last night at work and I have had time to dwell on the many mistakes I have made at work. I have had time to think about the past and how I let things get too painful and overwhelmed and I walk away and I think, "is this what I am doing now? Walking away?" Crazy thoughts really because it is time. I can't explain it more than that. I have to do this. I know that the next job is going to come with it own set of problems and mostly those problems will be my lack of control around my lip area. My insecurities. My imperfections. And the fact that in general, work sucks balls. Sorry, work, but you know you suck. It is true, that is why work is a four letter word. All the bad words are four lettered, common knowledge, man. But as a few friends of mine have told me recently I guess I just need to get over myself. Whatever that means.
Monday, October 17, 2011
The wind of changes...or some stupid crap like that...
Tonight is the perfect night to write about change, as the wind is blowing and the moon is glowing and the words are flowing....hahahaha I kill me sometimes but seriously, change it is a-coming and I am freaking-the-hell-out.
What kind of change? Well, a life-changing change, of course. At my age, you don't blog about your hair color as being a change, unless it turns ummm, green and it was on accident. I am changing jobs. There I said it, it is written down. No turning back now. I am leaving the ER and going to the VA. Why? Well, that my friends is a story indeed, however, a story for all of the world to see, when I have not been secretive about who I am or where I work? Eh, I will save that drama for my book I will one day write. And hopefully, someone decent will edit it because my English is for shit man. And maybe you all will buy a copy or three.
So, here I sit, sighing and sniffling. No, for once I am not crying, I am sniffling because I again, have the Karma cough that tried to kill me in August, about the same time my therapist decided I was not good enough to waste time on, even though I have insurance and I am pretty damned funny. You know what to hell with her. What the hell does she know? That clutter makes you feel burdened? That it is not smart nor healthy to ignore your mail and not pay your bills. Well, hell, really Einstein, I would have never figured that out on my own, thanks for all your wonderful insight. Bitter? Bitter me? Never, I forgive easily, I just never forget.
However, in all seriousness, changing jobs has been painful, not only for me but those around me as I am an asshole and not afraid to share my misery. I am awesome like that. As dramatic as it sounds, taking this job is a huge leap of faith. Of it will all work out and things will be OK. And you all know, that I really don't believe any of that crap. What's the deal with this job? Well, it is part-time, yeah, 40 hours every 2 weeks and the insurance because of the part-time, well, it is 280ish bi-weekly. Yeah, I was shitting puppies when I read that, also. But with the house of sickness Tony and I live in, living without insurance is not smart or really doable. I have to have insurance. Have too. And it sucks. And I am stressed and worried and wondering WTF am I doing taking a job I can't afford to live on?! Protecting my sanity I hope. Refreshing my love of nursing. Taking a break. Doing the right thing for me. Shit I dunno, really, what the hell I am doing beside getting out. All I feel is this extreme need to get the fuck outta dodge right now. Run, Angie, Run. And it has to stop. I need it too stop. I need a break. So, I keep telling myself, yeah things will work out. Things will be OK. Two small dogs=a few days of meals.....
What kind of change? Well, a life-changing change, of course. At my age, you don't blog about your hair color as being a change, unless it turns ummm, green and it was on accident. I am changing jobs. There I said it, it is written down. No turning back now. I am leaving the ER and going to the VA. Why? Well, that my friends is a story indeed, however, a story for all of the world to see, when I have not been secretive about who I am or where I work? Eh, I will save that drama for my book I will one day write. And hopefully, someone decent will edit it because my English is for shit man. And maybe you all will buy a copy or three.
So, here I sit, sighing and sniffling. No, for once I am not crying, I am sniffling because I again, have the Karma cough that tried to kill me in August, about the same time my therapist decided I was not good enough to waste time on, even though I have insurance and I am pretty damned funny. You know what to hell with her. What the hell does she know? That clutter makes you feel burdened? That it is not smart nor healthy to ignore your mail and not pay your bills. Well, hell, really Einstein, I would have never figured that out on my own, thanks for all your wonderful insight. Bitter? Bitter me? Never, I forgive easily, I just never forget.
However, in all seriousness, changing jobs has been painful, not only for me but those around me as I am an asshole and not afraid to share my misery. I am awesome like that. As dramatic as it sounds, taking this job is a huge leap of faith. Of it will all work out and things will be OK. And you all know, that I really don't believe any of that crap. What's the deal with this job? Well, it is part-time, yeah, 40 hours every 2 weeks and the insurance because of the part-time, well, it is 280ish bi-weekly. Yeah, I was shitting puppies when I read that, also. But with the house of sickness Tony and I live in, living without insurance is not smart or really doable. I have to have insurance. Have too. And it sucks. And I am stressed and worried and wondering WTF am I doing taking a job I can't afford to live on?! Protecting my sanity I hope. Refreshing my love of nursing. Taking a break. Doing the right thing for me. Shit I dunno, really, what the hell I am doing beside getting out. All I feel is this extreme need to get the fuck outta dodge right now. Run, Angie, Run. And it has to stop. I need it too stop. I need a break. So, I keep telling myself, yeah things will work out. Things will be OK. Two small dogs=a few days of meals.....
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Suck it blues
I have the blues. Not the good kind of blues from my youth that comes with powered yellow cheese-like stuff and noodles but the stab yourself in the fucking eye kind of blues that comes when you are in your thirties and have suffered through them a time or three...The why can't I just lay here and to hell with the world blues. The who the fuck cares why are you so whiny blues. Yeah, I got the blues. And this time I even paid for them.
Yes, your eyes heard that correctly, I paid for the blues. How stupid am I? Well, how much time do you have? Let me explain. I decided after a horrible vacation and an lashing of misery on some innocent (or not so innocent) people that I perhaps needed some therapy. So, I made an appointment and wouldn't it know it has been rainbow and unicorns ever since?! Oh, wait, back to reality, I made an appointment and met this wonderful lady, who immediately put me at ease, like I wanted to crawl up in her lap and surround myself in her warmness, who after speaking to me for an hour said "Ummm, I don't think I am going to be able to help you, so I am going to refer you to another therapist". Knock my crazy ass over with a feather?! WTF are you kidding me?! You just asked me about my life story and now you say "Umm no thanks crazy bitch" and pass me on?! Well, deep breath, I didn't freak out too bad over this news and actually just laughed, as I thought well...shit. What now? Well, I was referred to another therapist who finally called me back and said "UMMM, you have an eating disorder and those are not my specialty, so I think I am going to send you to another therapist". I am like huh, when did I get an eating disorder and damn if I have one I am surely not very good at it. Binging, hell yeah, I got that shit down, but the rest of it, not so much. Have you seen me?! Hello...but back to the story, so after speaking with the lady and telling her, I want to have the lap-band but I am an emotional eater, could she please help me with that issue, that I feel like if I can get my emotional mess of a self straightened up, I won't have to eat till I am sick then "hello, new me". Well, she agreed to see me. I think I should have been more leery at the shaky start because three sessions later and now I am in a mess. And I think I am going to need more therapy to get over the therapy I have had. Shew!
My therapist, well, she is a nice lady. We live in a very rural, limited resource kind of area and as much as an asshole as it makes me sound, I think I am smarter than 99% of her patients and I am not totally sure I am not smarter than her. Yeah, I know, what an ass. If someone came into the ER and told me that, I would be cussing them for weeks. But, eh, I think it's true. Tony, however, thinks it is me. Which, boy is that ever helpful. I am already struggling and asking for help, then my therapist calls me, tells me, "You suck, the work you have done is not good enough" and Tony says, "yeah, she is probably correct". Oh yeah and the work that isn't good enough?! You all ready for this life changing bit?! Boxing up my mail and getting rid of some of the clutter in my house. No, I did not accomplish this. I didn't. If I could accomplish this I wouldn't be paying you $120 a session for you to tell me to clean my house, in fact, I would PAY a fucking maid $50 and keep the difference...Seriously! Mail and clutter the root of my problem? Really?! That is what makes me want to Thelma and Louise it daily? I think not. Now maybe, just maybe, she is on to something and could be on the next best-seller list, "Box up your mail and your life will follow" or some shit. Maybe this is life-changing advice I am blatantly ignoring but I have my doubts on this.
So, now what? Another snack? More naps? Deep breaths? No, no, not that, cleaning?! A fate worse than death for the dust bunnies. Well, no, not cleaning, hello. That would be progress and we don't believe in progress here.
Yes, your eyes heard that correctly, I paid for the blues. How stupid am I? Well, how much time do you have? Let me explain. I decided after a horrible vacation and an lashing of misery on some innocent (or not so innocent) people that I perhaps needed some therapy. So, I made an appointment and wouldn't it know it has been rainbow and unicorns ever since?! Oh, wait, back to reality, I made an appointment and met this wonderful lady, who immediately put me at ease, like I wanted to crawl up in her lap and surround myself in her warmness, who after speaking to me for an hour said "Ummm, I don't think I am going to be able to help you, so I am going to refer you to another therapist". Knock my crazy ass over with a feather?! WTF are you kidding me?! You just asked me about my life story and now you say "Umm no thanks crazy bitch" and pass me on?! Well, deep breath, I didn't freak out too bad over this news and actually just laughed, as I thought well...shit. What now? Well, I was referred to another therapist who finally called me back and said "UMMM, you have an eating disorder and those are not my specialty, so I think I am going to send you to another therapist". I am like huh, when did I get an eating disorder and damn if I have one I am surely not very good at it. Binging, hell yeah, I got that shit down, but the rest of it, not so much. Have you seen me?! Hello...but back to the story, so after speaking with the lady and telling her, I want to have the lap-band but I am an emotional eater, could she please help me with that issue, that I feel like if I can get my emotional mess of a self straightened up, I won't have to eat till I am sick then "hello, new me". Well, she agreed to see me. I think I should have been more leery at the shaky start because three sessions later and now I am in a mess. And I think I am going to need more therapy to get over the therapy I have had. Shew!
My therapist, well, she is a nice lady. We live in a very rural, limited resource kind of area and as much as an asshole as it makes me sound, I think I am smarter than 99% of her patients and I am not totally sure I am not smarter than her. Yeah, I know, what an ass. If someone came into the ER and told me that, I would be cussing them for weeks. But, eh, I think it's true. Tony, however, thinks it is me. Which, boy is that ever helpful. I am already struggling and asking for help, then my therapist calls me, tells me, "You suck, the work you have done is not good enough" and Tony says, "yeah, she is probably correct". Oh yeah and the work that isn't good enough?! You all ready for this life changing bit?! Boxing up my mail and getting rid of some of the clutter in my house. No, I did not accomplish this. I didn't. If I could accomplish this I wouldn't be paying you $120 a session for you to tell me to clean my house, in fact, I would PAY a fucking maid $50 and keep the difference...Seriously! Mail and clutter the root of my problem? Really?! That is what makes me want to Thelma and Louise it daily? I think not. Now maybe, just maybe, she is on to something and could be on the next best-seller list, "Box up your mail and your life will follow" or some shit. Maybe this is life-changing advice I am blatantly ignoring but I have my doubts on this.
So, now what? Another snack? More naps? Deep breaths? No, no, not that, cleaning?! A fate worse than death for the dust bunnies. Well, no, not cleaning, hello. That would be progress and we don't believe in progress here.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Know me?
You say "what happened to the girl I married, I don't know you anymore."
What happened to the girl you married? Life happened to that girl. She grew up. She wasn't quite grown when she married. She was still a child at 19, full of dreams. Dreams of children running in the backyard, of backyard BBQ's and of everlasting love. Life made her realize that dreams are for suckers and she isn't a sucker anymore.
You didn't want children. She gave up that dream. You had no hopes, no aspirations to better yourself. She obtained her BSN. You wanted to stay in the AC, although the AC holds nothing. She stayed. You changed. She changed, too.
Life happens and things change. She has seen a lot in her time. People born into this world and people leaving this world and the aftershock of both. She has been the bearer of bad news, "I am sorry, this pregnancy wasn't meant to be" or "They didn't make it". Yet she still chooses to believe.
The past? Well, us, we seem to be stuck there. Fearful and hating but unable to affect a change. Why? Well, even a fool knows the past can't be changed. And instead of living for today, we both dread tomorrow. Thankless and full of hate and bitterness.
You, you say "you don't know me anymore" and well, dammit, all you have to do is ask.
What happened to the girl you married? Life happened to that girl. She grew up. She wasn't quite grown when she married. She was still a child at 19, full of dreams. Dreams of children running in the backyard, of backyard BBQ's and of everlasting love. Life made her realize that dreams are for suckers and she isn't a sucker anymore.
You didn't want children. She gave up that dream. You had no hopes, no aspirations to better yourself. She obtained her BSN. You wanted to stay in the AC, although the AC holds nothing. She stayed. You changed. She changed, too.
Life happens and things change. She has seen a lot in her time. People born into this world and people leaving this world and the aftershock of both. She has been the bearer of bad news, "I am sorry, this pregnancy wasn't meant to be" or "They didn't make it". Yet she still chooses to believe.
The past? Well, us, we seem to be stuck there. Fearful and hating but unable to affect a change. Why? Well, even a fool knows the past can't be changed. And instead of living for today, we both dread tomorrow. Thankless and full of hate and bitterness.
You, you say "you don't know me anymore" and well, dammit, all you have to do is ask.
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