I have a very close guy friend; I’ll call him Jerry here. We have online connections that mean he may or may not know about this blog and the last thing I want to do is humiliate him by outing him right now. I don’t mean “out” as in of the closet; that may be traumatic for some but people are just people to me, not sexualities, so I wouldn’t consider that a real crisis.
Jerry and I “click” somehow. We get busy with life and a lot of the time he winds up spending more time with Brian than with me, but we both know that our kinship is what ties our families together. He’s funny and sweet; my children adore him. My mom considers him family-one of the two friends I have that she looks at like her adopted children. He has a strong faith and he tries to talk me through my stumbling through trying to establish mine. He supported me when I decided to leave Brian, and he supported me when I decided to get back together with him. He tells me when he disagrees with me, but he is always respectful when I give my explanation for my choices.
He’s battled depression in the past. I think he just feels things more deeply than a lot of people. I am a pretty emotional person, but I get caught up in field trips and problem clients and discipline issues with my own kids and projects around the house and so forth and I have to sometimes just choke down all my feelings just to cope and get through the day. It’s not healthy, by any means, because when you cram down emotions, they tend to erupt as anger. But I have to function, day to day. I have too many people depending on me. Maybe if he had children he would find himself distracted from the intensity of his emotions. But that’s just me wondering (aloud? on paper? how the hell do you term wondering in a blog post?).
He is just an extremely intense person, and honestly, it pains me to say this in light of recent events, but I think sometimes I steer clear of him because it’s hard to handle being around someone that intense. It’s exhausting. As much as I love him, I found I was absolutely incapable of spending time with him after my trips up to visit the Boy because I just didn’t have the emotional energy to communicate with him. He never means to be demanding-I don’t even think he recognizes that in himself. I know I have a hard time seeing myself clearly without MUCH thought and introspection, and I’ve been depressed….it’s all you can do to put one foot in front of the other when you are deeply entrenched in a battle for survival with yourself.
Tuesdays Brian has some friends come over for Dungeons and Dragons. (Shut up. He works hard; if he wants to be a geek in his spare time, so be it. I spout off monologues on a blog. We all have our hobbies, lol.) It used to be just a few of them, but now it’s grown to almost ten players. The younger kids play the Wii and the teenagers game with the adults. It’s good clean fun. But last week, Jerry didn’t come. And then we didn’t hear from him all week. We didn’t think too much of it; with Christian just coming home, and some other serious issues with Kristopher happening, we’ve been pretty occupied. Plus we are in the midst of final inspections on the mobile home in Citrus County; moving furniture up there, rearranging furniture here, blah blah blah.
Today we found out that last Tuesday Jerry, a recovering alcoholic, got a bottle, and drank it, and drove his car in the woods at a dead end at 70 mph trying to kill himself.
He somehow managed to survive with little physical injury. He was Baker Acted, which basically means he was deemed in a mental health crisis and was temporarily institutionalized until determined to no longer be a threat to himself or anyone else. He likely has violated his probation, and will probably be serving some jail time. Not that it matters as much as the rest, but he did $6k in damage to he and his wife’s Ford Focus-less than a year old, I believe.
Clearly he’s in crisis. I don’t understand how I could not have seen he was floundering. This isn’t the first time a close friend has grappled with suicide. Several years ago our friend and one-time roommate, John, whom we all called Photon, shot himself in front of our friend’s home where he had been staying, with her gun. We had no idea he was that desperate. He had come to visit us just days before, making amends after a rift that I can’t even remember the root of. I wondered after if he was saying good bye. We went to our friend’s home to offer support, and the police or authorities hadn’t even hosed off the sidewalk into the house. We had to step around his brain matter to get inside. It really traumatized all of us in our social circle. The guilt we all felt for not doing something; for not seeing something; for not saying something…..it still hurts. And it almost happened again.
What do you do? I’m angry, and sad, and I don’t understand, and I am one that NEEDS to understand things….they HAVE to make sense. And this makes no sense to me-yes, he has had a hell of a time finding a job after a layoff. Our county has one of the worst unemployment rates in the state right now…it’s really bad. But he doesn’t have kids he can’t feed. He isn’t facing foreclosure or eviction. He has a gorgeous wife who is sincerely as beautiful inside as she is out; she’s smart and honest and faithful and works hard and loves and stands by him, no matter what. He has nieces and nephews who adore him-including the children of his friends like us. He has friends would be happy to hold his hand through a moment of weakness, no matter the hour or circumstances.
But no matter if I understand or not, this is how he feels. He felt like he had no other option. And as painful as it is for me to think my friend thought he couldn’t come to me, my heart breaks for his lovely wife who has always been there for him, who believes in him and supports him through anything he throws at her. And it hasn’t been easy-alcoholism, DUIs, unemployment…but she never wavers in her faith that they will get through it all. What torture *she* must be going through.
I wish there was a bandaid for the hearts of everyone who has struggled with depression. I have never felt suicidal, but I have been in a place where I didn’t want to leave my bedroom because I couldn’t face the mess my life had become. I found a stockpile of photos recently of the kids during that time, and my house was a disaster….that’s not me. But that’s what the shell of me let happen while it was holding in the chaos; inside I was so busy surviving that all non-essential tasks were left at the wayside. It was a dark, scary time, and i wonder sometimes if the fog I was in during Faith’s first year is what is driving this baby fever I have had lately. I can’t say for sure, but what I do know, is that I have to go put my arms around my friend, and tell him that whether I understand or not, I will be there to help him dig himself out of the hole he is in. Because that’s what friends do.
So, we are just about a month away from the conference that has come to be known as THE conference for blogging women, BlogHer. Last year I was new to blogging, and I wanted to go SO FREAKING BAD that I tried for days to rearrange my finances to allow me to go. Unsuccessfully, I might add. *chuckle* But I told the Huz back then that I *would* get to this year’s conference, and it looks like all systems are go! I would not be able to attend, however, without the generous sponsorship of my favorite hair accessory, HairZing!
I’m going to be telling you more about this versatile product in the coming days and weeks, and probably months because I have to tell you, I use it almost DAILY. I’ve worn it to staff meetings, home visits, doctor appointments, playdates, the beach, the Renaissance Festival-just about everywhere, and it always stays in, always looks like I spent a lot more time and money on my hair than I actually did, and it always, always garners compliments. It is versatile enough to dress up those days you must be perfectly coifed, to hold your hair back when you work out, or to hide slept on hair if you have to run out of the house quickly. Seriously, if I could only have one hair accessory for the rest of my life-HairZing would be it!
I’m going to have some samples to trade for business cards at BlogHer, as well as hosting some giveaways here for those of you who can’t join us in Chicago. I’ll be posting some videos to show you just how easy HairZing is to use, and to share some of the ways my girls and I use them. I know if you have hair, you will LOVE this product!
PS If you use the promo code ANGEL at checkout, your shipping will be “sponsored,” too!
I have some new visitors here lately that I’d like to welcome, and also, if you haven’t read my archives I suppose you wouldn’t know *why* my son was away. I have a 15yo son. He started to get in trouble in February of last year, and in January of this year he was sentenced to four months in a residential program. It has been the most difficult thing I have experienced as a parent, but it is over now.
Christian came home Thursday. Things have been wonderful; he’s helpful and respectful and pleasant and funny…all the things I was missing about him before he even went away, because he had changed into this sullen, angry boy who hated everything about his home and family. We went out for dinner to celebrate his return; he choose our favorite wing spot in town. We rented a movie and spent the evening just hanging around.
Friday we had to go see his Probation Officer. Because of budget cuts, the aftercare program he was supposed to be under lost their contract and now he just has a standard Juvenile Justice PO, but it doesn’t really matter in terms of the plan they set for him. We met with a stand in PO since his assigned person was out fo the office, but state regulations require they meet with conditional release clients within 24 hours of release. It seemed that they were going to be reasonable and supportive, so I was pleased.
He has been online, getting back in touch with old friends, most of whom I like. There is one in particular that I don’t feel will respect the path Christian is trying to turn towards, so I’ve told Christian that I only want him spending time with that friend here where I can keep an eye of them. He said that friend doesn’t like to come here, and I responded that of course he doesn’t, there is parental supervision here and the things he wants to do won’t pass muster. I explained that the single biggest indicator of whether he succeeds in his goals to make these changes is the company he keeps. Peer influence can cancel out even the strongest intentions of staying straight and sober.
He seems to understand, but is sad that he is having to let some friendships go. I understand that. I think it is making it a bit easier, though, because not a single one of his friends got in touch with me while he was gone to check on him or send a message or anything. And these kids are on my Myspace and have my number. So, when your friends kind of abandon you in your time of need, it makes it a little easier to walk away from them.
I’m hopeful, but I am absolutely freaking terrified at the same time. After our first dinner, he confided that it will be harder than he thought to stay away from drugs now that he is out. Brian was wonderful; he said he knew, and it was hard for him, too, everyday. He said that Christian could come to him anytime to talk, and he hoped he could do the same when he had a rough day.
I don’t know what the future holds. But for right now, I am happy. My family is whole. My son’s laugher fills the halls again. His jokes are aggrevating his sisters again. He is hogging my computer again. He is eating us out of house and home again. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I have a *really* good relationship with my mom. I’ve lived with her for nearly two years now and we’ve had maybe one disagreement-and that’s even throwing four kids into the mix. It wasn’t always this way, but thankfully we have become the best of friends.
Sometimes I think that may mean we are a l-i-t-t-l-e too open. Case in point…
I was coming out of the bathroom for the twentieth time today, as I have a dry, hacking cough that is rough on my post-3-c-section bladder, so I have to keep it pretty empty or risk an unintentional auto-erotic golden shower. Ahem. Anyway, she called out to me and passed on a part of the paper with two articles she found interesting-one about the smallest school in Florida, and the other about Dr. Stein, who performs a large portion of the vasectomies done in Florida.
I figured she was making a thinly disguised reference to the fact that we have been after Brian to get snipped since before we got pregnant with Faith, heh. So I reminded her that now that I am on the pill for my PCOS, (At $60 freaking dollars a MONTH! But how much would YOU pay to avoid heavy bleeding for four months on end? Right, me too.), so the snipping isn’t necessary anymore. Plus I have this biological alarm clock clanging around every time I see a beautiful baby, and him getting snipped means permanent snooze. Not quite ready for that.
None of that defensiveness for my zygotes’ future turned out to be necessary, though.
“He did your dad’s surgery.”
“Oh yeah? Because he had that crooked urethra problem?”
“No, the pump thing.”
?????????
“You know, a penile implant!”
!!!!!!!!!!!
“Oh! I had no idea!”
“Yeah. We told everyone he was having a hernia surgery.”
We all have our hot buttons. I have whole hot *panels* I think.
Some of my pet peeves are pretty minor, like droning, repetitive noises. (SpongeBob’s laughing, or sobbing, alarm-like screeching can sometimes set me off. But I still love the little yellow guy.) But the one that *really, really* gets to me is being ignored. It makes me irrationally angry, and I still haven’t figured out why.
At first I thought maybe it’s a result of being the youngest of a brood of 8, including my step-siblings. But, I am 9 years younger than my youngest brother, who moved away to live with his Dad when I was just 5, so I was pretty much raised as an only child. Then I thought maybe it is because I felt invisible as a child; not to my family, but to my peers. I had Daddy-issues that affected my self-esteem pretty strongly until I was an adult. But you would think I would be comfortable fading into the background after years of practice.
I can’t explain it, but when I say something to my husband, and he not only doesn’t answer me, but doesn’t even acknowledge that I spoke, I want to claw his eyes out. Maybe not quite literally, but I do get really freaking pissed off. Sometimes I’m all, “HELLO?” and he’s all innocent eyes, “What?” and then I ask again with a major attitude, and he’s all like, “Whoa, I’m sorry I can’t hear so good!” and I’m all, “I’ve been asking you to go see a hearing doctor for FIVE FLIPPING YEARS!” And it’s just all bad.
Other times he knows I spoke, but just didn’t catch what I said. Usually it wasn’t that important, so I get all huffy and don’t want to repeat it, because I know I’ll get even more pissed off then. But he BADGERS me until I tell him again, which makes me ten times more pissed than if he had just let it go.
I have a good friend that is kind of like a sister to me. She calls me a lot to talk about various issues that arise, and I will tell her what I think about them, and suggest this or that to prevent it from happening again or to do damage control after the fact. But she *never* listens to me. And when it happens again, she’ll call me again, and part of me wants to just scream at her, “If you would just try my advice ONCE you could stop this from happening! And if you don’t care enough about stopping it to try, then STOP CALLING ME TO COMPLAIN ABOUT IT!” But I can’t, because she’s my friend, and the last thing she needs is someone else treating her like shit. So I tried just listening, and not saying much back. But then she kept asking if I was still there. *sigh* I’m not a phone talker anyway. I ABHOR talking on the phone unless it is purposeful. But add to having to talk on the phone in the first place, having to talk on the phone about the same things you have talked about a hundred times with the same person who doesn’t seem to listen to what you are saying, and you get a grumpy girl.
I thought maybe it was that common issue you see in men and women-where women just need to vent and men want to solve. I’m a problem solver; it’s my nature. So I don’t really fall into that typical scenario; if anything, I’m the man in that picture. Tell me about your problem, I can think of a way to fix it. I guess the usual issue with that is that women know they are going to figure the problem out, but they need an emotional release. In my case with my friend though, apparently she can’t figure it out herself because the same friggin’ thing keeps happening. On second thought, though, she is perfectly capable of figuring out what needs to be done-she just isn’t consistent in following through with that. It’s not just advice she seems to disregard, either. If I tell her something like, “Brian is taking me out for my birthday,” she’ll call me back a few hours later and ask me if I’m doing anything for my birthday. Or I’ll say, “I can’t really drive a stick and talk on the phone yet,” and a few days later when she calls and I say right off the bat that I am driving, she’ll keep talkign until I say, AGAIN, that I have to get off the phone so I can drive.
My kids have been the absolute worst though. I have always struggled with my stepson respecting me, and we all know the issues I’ve had with my son for the past year or so. But my daughters were pretty well-behaved kids. Until the last two months or so. Now, I tell them to do something, or not do something, and it is as if I didn’t even speak until I am screaming because I have told them three times already and WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOUR EARS because it CAN’T be that I have kids that are THAT disrespectful towards me?!?!?! I’m used to that from Kris. Well, used to is the wrong word; I EXPECT it. I am definitely not used to it. But my girls? It’s making me C-R-A-Z-Y the way they are ignoring most of what I say. I feel like not speaking to them for a few days in protest-some kids would LOVE that, but my girls would absolutely hate it. Or maybe I should try ignoring their requests until the third or fouth time for a few days to show them how it feels. *shrug*
With my kids, I know it bothers me because of the lack of respect in not paying attention to your parent’s instructions. With my friends and Brian, I think it may be more in the way it makes me feel like what I have to say, and therefore who I am, does not have enough value to give attention to. So maybe it does go back to my Daddy-issues and my childhood lack of self-esteem. To be honest, though, understanding WHY it bothers me so much won’t change the fact that it does. I just wish that the people in my life realized how devalued it makes me feel when they don’t listen to me.
I am in love with the Seminole Hard Rock in Tampa. Mainly because the club in it is open until 6am, but my dance-o-philia is irrelevant. The first time I went was with my friend Dee to an event that a few sponsors had put together for their associates and affiliates, and I felt like an imposter, driving there in my beat up t-bird that required more oil than the Middle East can produce in a day. But we were lookin’ sexy and we skipped valet parking for the regular lot, so no one was the wiser to our true trailer trash circumstances, heh.
Before dinner, there was a mixer in the bar by the entrance. I saw a few people I had previously met at other events, so I made the rounds, introducing my friend to those I already knew and both of us to new faces. Everyone was friendly, but, being the only chubby girls and being nervous, after circling the bar the two of us ended up sitting by ourselves, chit chatting about who did what for which company. As we sipped our drinks I started to get h-u-n-g-r-y. Like, that belly rumbling, weak in the knees kind of hungry. I spotted a bowl of little green speres in a bowl on the other side of the cocktail table in front of us, and I asked Dee what it was.
“What is in that bowl? Mints?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
“What if it’s ashtray sand or something? I don’t want to be the fat girl who ate the ashtray sand.”
*laughing* “Me either.”
“I’m just going to try it.”
So I grabbed a few of the little pea-like balls and tossed them in my mouth as inconspicuously as I could manage.
“I don’t think I was supposed to eat that,” I managed to choke out from behind watering eyes and a sour face.
“What? What does it taste like?”
“Like cardboard. And then….HOT cardboard..”
*cracking up*
And such was my one, and hopefully ONLY, encounter with wesabe.
I had a really cool surprise this evening. While I was wallowing in snot and self-pity in my pjs on my sofa playing WildTangent games because I am sick as flipping hell, the house phone rang and the little caller id on the tv popped up with the name of one of my oldest friends that I haven’t seen in probably four or five years. (I am in my pjs pretty much every evening by 7pm, playing computer games on the sofa, but being this sick at the very least gives me an excuse to be a total bum.) I ran to find one of the handsets, because with a teenager in the house, you know how they are rarer than the freaking crown jewels, which freaked my whole family out because, well, let’s just say that Mama doesn’t run unless someone she gives a shit about is on fire, or she sneezed and peed her pants. *ahem*
When I answered, she said who she was and I squealed that I knew, so she said, hey, I’m in the front yard, come out! I looked out the kitchen window, (I have no idea why-I just sat here for five minutes trying to figure out if I actually thought she may have been fucking with me or if I just am destined to make no freaking sense), and saw her, along with another friend that I hadn’t seen in even longer. Bri and I were really close with him and actually were just talking about him a week or two ago, so I called him.
“Hey Brian!”
“Yeah”
“Danielle is here!”
“Cool, babe. Are you gonna go outside or just look at her through the window while you talk to her on the phone?”
“……..” (Where “……..” means I gave him a dirty look.)
“Anyway, asshole, I think Eddie is out there, too.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Unless I’m crazy.”
“Then you are crazy.”
“……..”
“Oh my God, that IS Eddie!”
“Well, are you going to stare at him through the window or go outside?”
“Bitch.”
“I know.”
So anyway, we ended up bullshitting on the front porch for almost two hours. We exchanged numbers and promises to get together soon, and I am actually going to shrug off the social anxiety and follow through. Just the night before Brian and I met up with another old friend we hadn’t seen for six years up at Applebee’s, where two other friends wound up joining us, and it was such a good time. I really need to suck myself out of myself sometimes and connect with people in a face to face format because after avoiding it for a while, it becomes absolutely frightening to think about it and I psych myself all out. But I always have a great time if I just choke it down and go for it. Sometimes I really am my own worst enemy, but I am going to try to work on that, baby step by baby step.
When oxygen becomes more abundant than mucus in my body, of course.
So, I want to talk about one of my best friends. Her name is Letti, and I’ve known her since I was 14, like many of my closest friends, when I moved back to Spring Hill before high school. I was actually close with her aunt, Tina, who is my age-about five or six years younger than Letti, but as I grew to become like a part of their family, and as we found ourselves knee-deep in adulthood, we became closer friends than I ever was with Tina.
We were friendly throughout the years, but we became very tight when her husband left her and their two children for a woman he worked with. She had fallen back in with a mutual ex-boyfriend of both of ours that was trouble with a capital T, more out of the need for comfort than anything else, and he basically stole her van. She called us to see if he had stopped by another mutual friend’s whom we were visiting for the evening; he hadn’t, but when we headed home we stopped by to see if he had turned up. She did get her van back the following day, but from that point on Brian and I started trying to look out for her a little. Brian would do odds and ends around her place for her; we gave her our ADT signs to scare off the ex-jackass in case he thought of coming back around; and we just visited with her more often.
She was there for me throughout so many troubled times, too. When Brian was put in jail on back child support, I had our two boys, Emily, who was 2, and a newborn Faith to care for while recovering from a C-section. She packed us all up and took care of us all at her house until we could get Brian out. (That child support mess is a whole other story, and one that I will be telling very soon, because my face will melt off if I don’t get it out of me soon.) When my father grew very ill in Pennsylvania and I had to rush up to be with him as he approached his passing, she was a source of much comfort. When I went into labor with Faith and discovered Emily had head lice pretty much at the exact same moment, she came over and helped me get rid of the bugs and deal with the contractions. She’s always been there for me. Always.
We’ve only ever had one disagreement.
See, long before I even met them, Brian and Letti had a little fling. They were kids, and when you grow up in a small town like this one was, it’s pretty common to have convoluted circles of friends and lovers and exes of both. It was never a concern for me, because I knew both loved me far too much to risk our relationships, individually and as a part of a group-we socialized often with her current husband and her family and our kids consider themselves cousins. But we had this friend who caused some conflict, and stirred some trouble, and I didn’t know who was doing it all for quite some time. I suspected either one of two girlfriends, neither of which was her, and it caused me to mistrust my friends. I don’t want to get into the details in this story, but I do want to say that I regret not trusting her implicitly. I should have known better.
About eight months ago, we found out she had a brain tumor. A fucking brain tumor. My best friend-actually, more like a sister than a friend had a fucking tumor growing in her head. She already has a form of leukemia called Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, (which she bizarrely was diagnosed with at 21 years old-she’s 36 now and it has a median survival rate of 4-5 years after diagnosis!), and severe, life-threatening allergies to a myriad of substances ranging from mold to caramel. Like “my favorite bitch” needs one more single fucking thing to deal with!
So she had brain surgery. The words feel so bizarre to even type. And she survived. She did well, except for a head bump on the bathroom wall that caused some worrisome swelling. It took a while for her verbal connections to get back to normal. But she was doing exceptionally well. I’d expect nothing less, as she is the bravest, toughest person I’ve ever known.
But recently we found out that there was an infection brewing at the surgery site. It was dangerous-so close to vital brain tissues. And she already has a healing disadvantage because of her other medical issues. She had yet another brain surgery. So far, so good. But I’m scared for her. And her children.
If you are a blogger and you aren’t a part of One2One Network, you seriously need to sign up, like NOW. The coolest opportunities come up, and for an example, I am going to see Yanni Voices in concert, in Tampa, and I get to tell you all about it! Which is killer, but the best part?
I get to give away a set of tickets, too!
The show is this Saturday at 7:30pm in Tampa, so if you are a local, leave me a message and I’ll announce the winner Thursday which means there are only two days to enter-chances of winning are HIGH, so drop your name in the bucket and let’s go enjoy Yanni’s amazing compositions enhanced with the gorgeous vocals of four fresh young talented upcoming stars!
Oh, that crazy girl! She is mothering four children, attending college, working full time, and surfing the net late at night when everyone is asleep.......and blogging about it all.
