I lose, I have lost, I am lost, I am a loser. Lost, lose, nasty four-letter words. I have lost so I am lost. Ugh. I am in a mess these days. I have stuffed and stuffed and stuffed, did I mention stuffed, my grief down for as long as I can. And all this stuffing has become un-stuffed. I am a grieving mess.
A word on grief. According to Kübler-Ross model there are five stages of grief. For those of you not familiar with the stages they are labeled as denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Five nice, neat little stages of grief that anyone who has had a psych 101 would be familiar with. Well, you know what? Fuck those stages. Fuck them right in the goat ass. I suppose you could say I am in the anger stage of my grief and just for the shits and giggles how's about let's add a good dose of depression. And you know what. I am angry about it. I am just so damned angry. I am angry that I have to go through the motions of living every-fucking-day and I am angry at the people that ask me stupid questions. I mean who-the-fuck has the right to ask me how long my husband has to live? I mean who does that? It's my husband. I watch his decline. How dare you ask me such a question. How dare you!
And does my grief stop with the chronic illness that is my husband? Oh hell to the no. I am dealing with the grief of all the loved ones I have lost. It makes it pretty handy that all of their birthdays are between March-May. That was one birthday comes and goes just in time for another. Yeah for convenience in grieving. Damn life. Damn grief and dammit. Also, added into this mess is my birthday which (yeah I hear you rolling your eyes) I grieve for all my mistakes. I grieve that I am not who I am supposed to be. I grieve for the loss of my youth and my health. I am a damned grieving fool.
So, I am sure that perhaps I should give a go at seeing a therapy, again, I mean I only failed at it once. And hell, I like to fail at shit at least 60-70 times before I give up. I might be a lot of things but I am not a quitter.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Fluid and other buildup
I have so much to say and I don't know where to start. Part of me thinks that I share too much and the other part of me thinks that if I don't share I will explode. So, I will just start and share and hope that I don't explode because exploding (unless in a intimate way) pretty much sucks.
As everyone that speaks to me in person or reads my posts knows that Tony remains ill. There is no cure for his illness. It will only progress. This is part of life. A really shitty part of life. I guess you can be optimistic and live everyday as if it is your last or you can mourn that your life will be shortened. Knowing that you will suffer in pain and all that suffering will be for naught because in the end, you will still die. You can have hope and reach out to others for comfort. You can have religion, spirituality and peace. Or you can flop around hopeless and lost. I hope that you can choose peace.
Tony, well, he is lost. He can't find peace. He doesn't believe in peace, actually. He doesn't believe in a better place or of a God that loves us. He doesn't believe in much, really. Just that life is full of pain and suffering and people sucking. He embraces this belief, in fact. He will say why put out any effort when people are just going to hurt you, they are going to leave you. They are people I tell him. They are imperfect, petty and self-absorbed. They will lie and cheat and steal but you have to embrace those moments that don't suck. Those moments however fleeting, of happiness and joy. Those quiet moments of peace. But, my Tony, my love, you shouldn't put hurt back into a world that is already full of more suffering than it can possible stand. You put out this hurt and pain and expect rainbows and butterflies. Where does this make sense? What are you thinking?
Tony is pushing everyone away, I think. I assume. I guess? Either that or he is a huge dick with nothing to lose. I want to think he feels that things will be easier if everyone hates him or has been hurt by him? Those are my thoughts but with that pushing he is saying and doing things that is not acceptable. Today he tells me he doesn't love me. He can't love me. When I cry he yells at me. So I withdrawl. I am a raw shell of a person. I didn't think marriage was supposed to hurt. I say, "Tony, you are breaking my heart". He says, "I don't understand what you are saying". Really? Twenty-two years we have been together. Twenty-two and you have the balls to tell me you don't think you love me or that you can love me? I know, my love, I know that you are ill. I know the outcome of life. But I also know that you shouldn't treat people the way you have been treating them. You can't hide behind the excuse that you are sick.
As everyone that speaks to me in person or reads my posts knows that Tony remains ill. There is no cure for his illness. It will only progress. This is part of life. A really shitty part of life. I guess you can be optimistic and live everyday as if it is your last or you can mourn that your life will be shortened. Knowing that you will suffer in pain and all that suffering will be for naught because in the end, you will still die. You can have hope and reach out to others for comfort. You can have religion, spirituality and peace. Or you can flop around hopeless and lost. I hope that you can choose peace.
Tony, well, he is lost. He can't find peace. He doesn't believe in peace, actually. He doesn't believe in a better place or of a God that loves us. He doesn't believe in much, really. Just that life is full of pain and suffering and people sucking. He embraces this belief, in fact. He will say why put out any effort when people are just going to hurt you, they are going to leave you. They are people I tell him. They are imperfect, petty and self-absorbed. They will lie and cheat and steal but you have to embrace those moments that don't suck. Those moments however fleeting, of happiness and joy. Those quiet moments of peace. But, my Tony, my love, you shouldn't put hurt back into a world that is already full of more suffering than it can possible stand. You put out this hurt and pain and expect rainbows and butterflies. Where does this make sense? What are you thinking?
Tony is pushing everyone away, I think. I assume. I guess? Either that or he is a huge dick with nothing to lose. I want to think he feels that things will be easier if everyone hates him or has been hurt by him? Those are my thoughts but with that pushing he is saying and doing things that is not acceptable. Today he tells me he doesn't love me. He can't love me. When I cry he yells at me. So I withdrawl. I am a raw shell of a person. I didn't think marriage was supposed to hurt. I say, "Tony, you are breaking my heart". He says, "I don't understand what you are saying". Really? Twenty-two years we have been together. Twenty-two and you have the balls to tell me you don't think you love me or that you can love me? I know, my love, I know that you are ill. I know the outcome of life. But I also know that you shouldn't treat people the way you have been treating them. You can't hide behind the excuse that you are sick.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Marriage advice and other nonsense...
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...
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...
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.....
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