I wasn’t always the anxiety-ridden control freak that I am today. When I was young, I was very laid back. It was something that most likely drew Brian to me throughout the years of our pre-romantic friendship. The irony that the way our relationship fell to pieces is what catalyzed my journey into anxiety and controlling behaviors is not lost on either of us. I was easy going and carefree, even while raising my son alone and balancing college classes here and there with working full time and running a home and family. I had a child-like faith that everything would turn out okay, and, no matter what kind of mess I got myself into, it typically did, for the most part.

But the years of never knowing what to expect..or, rather, knowing what to expect, but having the either faithful or stupid hope that things would be better than I expected..created a familiarity with anxiety and fear that I wish I had never known. I was never hit, or threatened, or verbally abused, or kept under tight control, or cheated on, or anything truly awful like that. But sometimes I feel like I survived a war, anyway. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t have some mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder, because when I look back, all I see is a vast period of mere survival. There was no thriving..there was no personal growth..there was little room for intimacy in my marriage, and I don’t mean sex, although that suffered as well, I mean *trust*. There were no family traditions or routines or vacations or outings or sleepovers or…anything. At least not much that I can remember. All I remember is despair. All I remember is insecurity and mistrust and feeling like my life and family were completely out of control. All I remember is putting one foot in front of the other, loving my babies, and all the while knowing I was not providing everything they needed.

When I got separated while I was pregnant with Faith, I made great strides to put that insecurity and chaos of the first years of my marriage behind me. I found FlyLady.net, and I followed that system like it was my religion. I was pregnant, working full time, raising an 18 month old and an 8yo, running my home, and grieving the loss of my marriage and the dream I had for my family, all on my own. And I did it better than I did when I had help. My house was always clean, aside from the toys the kids would pick up each night before bed, and we always had a home cooked meal. I managed my life and my family with routines that made me forget all about the tension that day-to-day living had before. I never had to think about a thing…we all knew what to expect and what to do because we just made habits of the things we had to do.

Then I gave birth to Faith, her father and I got un-separated, and within a month, friends of ours needed someplace to go, so we had a family of four plus a dog move in. That was one of the worst years of my life. Our friends are good people, but with the household going from two kids and myself to four adults, six kids, including a newborn, and a dog, and them being more accustomed to clutter and a less organized home…..it was very hard to maintain the system I had honed. I felt like I was the only one who gave a shit about the house staying clean and uncluttered, and really, I was probably right. I was let go from my job six weeks after returning to work, for missing work because the baby was sick, so by Christmas, I practically lived in my bedroom.And while you would think that my room would be the one clean oasis in the house of junk, the opposite was true. I was in such a depression, that it was a wreck, too. It was all I could do to make sure the kids were clothed and fed and loved. I did laundry, but rarely folded it and put it away. I gave up on cooking because the kitchen was always such a mess that I would have a baby panic attack just walking in it. Even after our friends moved out, I was so far gone that I didn’t know how to pull myself out. I became a social recluse; unwilling to go out because I was ashamed of myself, and unwilling to have anyone over because I was ashamed of my home.

But all of that is over now.

I know the limitations of my disease, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and I know what exacerbates it and what eases the panic that feels like a million buzzing bees are inside me, getting louder and louder as they swarm and swell in order to break out of my skin and consume me and everything I care about. And being in a chaotic environment literally damages my spirit. I need order..I need routine..I need security..I need to know what to expect, and I need those expectations met most of the time. I don’t handle surprises well, or plans that keep changing, or travel, just because of the sheer amount of the unknown, and how little control I have over flights and airports and planes.

It seems to be the lack of control that sets me off the worst.

It’s not that I am controlling because I just feel like being a prima donna and expect the world to kiss my ass. It’s that for a long time, if I wasn’t in complete control over every aspect of our family, something would always go horribly wrong. I couldn’t trust Brian with much of anything for those years. If I left him with the kids so I could work, he wasn’t as attentive as he needed to be, or he took them places they weren’t safe. If I depended on him to provide financially, he would often quit jobs or switch jobs or spend all his money on pot or whatever teh fun thing seemed to be for the moment for him..end result being me scrambling in a panic to pay our already late bills by begging for help or worse. It all boiled down to the fact that I couldn’t trust him for shit. I couldn’t trust him to provide, to be honest, to keep the kids safe or clean or fed…I couldn’t trust him to make our family his top priority, so I ran around like a maniac trying to clean up the piles of shit his unreliability created for me.

And now, I have to trust him.

I have to have faith, (Anyone seeing why I chose that name for my youngest yet? It’s SO hard for me to trust anyone but myself.Her name reminds me that sometimes I have to let go, and have faith.), that he will be able to make our family his priority..over the friends that I battled for him so many years..the faces have changed but the situation remains the same, over the partying that is admittedly more fun than raising a family, over everything that was more important than us for all those years.It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time….just letting myself be vulnerable….just handing trust over to someone who has not proven to be trustworthy….giving over complete control over whether this family survives or not. I’m afraid. I’m an anxious mess. I am second guessing myself every single day over whether I am doing the right thing, but now I’m in school, and dropping out now would mean it would be next to impossible to ever go back again, thanks to financial aid suspension and academic suspension, both of which I am on and only attending school on account of an approved appeal. So, when the fear and anxiety and OMG THE SHEER FUCKING TERROR that everything will go to shit faster than I can clean up the mess start taking over, I am having a glass of wine or a klonopin (which are amazing for anxiety attacks!), and reminding myself that the strongest thing I can do right now, is just have faith.

Just trust.

Even though sometimes I’ve been wrong to trust. Right now, I have to trust, and just do my part, and believe he will do his.

I am surrendering to the forces of good in my life, and having faith they will protect my family from the forces of evil.

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So, I fucked up royally at work and lost my job. I don’t want to talk about what or why or how, and some of those questions I couldn’t answer anyway because I just don’t know…let it lie with I screwed up, and the natural consequences of that suck, but are necessary, and deserved.

I’m actually relieved. I haven’t been effective for months. And the guilt and pressure of KNOWING I was falling short of not only what others expected from me, but what I expected from myself, was like a concrete block tied to my ankle as I sank deeper and deeper into the mess I created.

So, that’s over. People are disappointed in me; I am disappointed in myself…..but it’s over. Now that I am jobless, I will qualify for medical coverage and I can see a therapist, which I have desperately needed for at least all of 2010. The irony that I couldn’t get help that may have saved my job *because* I had a job is not lost on me.

Like anyone, my next thought was, what do I do now?

I spent a bit of time job hunting, getting a resume sorted, etc. And when I did not get the job I was most interested in, I realized that my options are severely limited in my county, which has the highest unemployment rate in the state, and with my educational background. After much thought and prayer and discussion, the next step was decided.

I’m going back to school. I have 22 credits. An A in every class I’ve completed except one B, that *should* be an A because it was a 90, but the damn professor died before I could discuss my grade with him. Fucker. (I’m not that big of an asshole..just trying to breathe some levity into the situation.) But, I also have LOTS of F’s because I kept dropping out when I was younger, and though I have two fantastic terms in 2008, when the Fall term began, it was just a month in when the troubles with Christian began. I was missing classes every week…for court, or lawyer appointments, or Juvenile Justice meetings, or psychological evaluations, or school conferences, and so forth and so on. So I dropped out again. I didn’t know until last week that I could have asked the Dean to grant me late withdrawals. So, yet another round of F’s on my transcript.

Only this time, I was already on a financial aid and academic suspension appeal, so I was actually dismissed from the school for the spring term.

This decision was made less than a week before summer term started. I felt like the chances of getting both re-appeals approved AT ALL were slim, much less in under a week, when everyone and their sister is scrambling to get things sorted for their own registration. So I went up to North Campus in Brooksville with a folder crammed with an inch thick pile of documentation of ‘The Trouble,” some samples of my papers, two appeal letters pleading my case, and a heavy heart. Five or six hours and one run home to get my ’08 tax return, and I walked out with two approved appeals, a Pell Grant, part time classes for summer and two textbooks. Providing that I do well in these two classes, I can go full time in the Fall.

I’m a student again. I can’t hardly believe it! I should be graduating PHCC with my AA in May of 2011. And then on to my BA.

And in the meantime, I will be developing a business idea I have had for over a year now.

PS As much as I have bitched about Brian’s lack of responsibility for this family in the past, I want to make it clear that I couldn’t do this now if it weren’t for him. It’s hard to depend on him, as that never panned out well when we were married. But to be fair, he’s been reliable with child support for years. So I’m trying to think of that when the panic sets in, and have Faith (hee!) that he will be similarly reliable now. So far, so good.

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So, my ex-husband and I are still pretty close.  I do his taxes, he fixes my car, and we take the kids on family adventures together.  It’s a decent set-up…a lot better than I see most other families that live apart working with, anyway.

But.

See, Brian forgets things.  LOTS of things.  And sometimes, I feel like he is still forgetting anything that has to do with me, which is probably a little dramatic, but whatever. Divorce IS dramatic, anyway.  So, the latest thing he forgot is to put oil in my car.  My car burns oil and now and then we have to replace it.  No biggie…but that’s HIS job.  Just like how we divided up the puke and the shit..he cleans up any shitty messes and I clean up any pukey messes.  So, anyway, yeah.  He forgot.

Well, I stopped to get gas on my way to a training (one I REALLY wanted to go to) in Gainesville at the UF HR building, which is two and a half hours away, and I called him to see if he had ever put the oil in like I had been asking him for three days.  When I didn’t get an answer, I just figured I’d check it myself.  So I did. And there wasn’t even any oil on the dipstick (heh, that word makes me giggle).  That’s bad.  So, I grabbed the oil and funnel from my trunk and started adding oil….a LOT of oil.  Because, you know, no oil on the dipstick means you need a LOT of oil…..and you might have thrown a rod on the trip to Gainesville if you didn’t bother to check up on the ex-husband who FORCES you to be a bitchy nag.  Or something.  Ahem.

I was looking all cute, in a pair of piped Old Navy denim trousers, Old Navy flats, a red and white ditsy print Old Navy top with a ruffled top that made my boobs look amazing, and my favorite white open front cardigan…from Old Navy.  Holy shit, I just realized I was a walking, talking Old Navy ad this morning.  I think I brought bad karma on myself by wearing head to toe from one ‘designer.’  Anyway, alas, the cuteness was not to last.

I somehow, because I am amazing at finding the one possible way to fuck something up, managed to puncture the bottom of the five quart bottle of oil on something under my hood.  But, I didn’t realize it right away, because I was occupied with the pour-wait-pour pattern my tiny funnel forces me to perform.  So, by the time I realized oil was pouring from the bottom of the bottle, it was all over the side of my car..all over my engine….and all over ME.  I frantically put the cap on and held it upside down while I internally had a mental break, then I put the puncture hole over the oil hole and let it drain in there, which took about ten freaking minutes because the hole was even smaller than the damn funnel hole, while I said a few choice words and called Karl, because, yanno, I needed moral support to mop the oil up.  Or something.

So, once he talked me down from the proverbial ledge, I went home and threw my clothes in the washer.  I was too late to make my training.  So, out a training on project management, which I NEED.  Out the nearly hundred bucks in mileage.  Out a super cute outfit including my favorite cardigan evah.  Angel = REALLY not happy with Brian, who would have circumvented the entire disaster by just, you know, putting oil in my car.  Like I asked him to.  Three days straight.

And then, everything changed.

A s I ran around my house in my underwear, realizing that my windblown hair looked like ass so I needed a decent outfit to make up for it, I realized…it’s the 16th…review day for the puppy I had applied for at Hernando County Animal Services.  And I wasn’t in Gainesville.

So, I drove there.  Well, after I got dressed.  Again.  I was so sure the little black pup with the white star on his chest and stripe down his nose wouldn’t be there.

But he was.  And then I was so sure I wouldn’t be the chosen applicant.

But I was.

And this little guy right here:

….made me so happy, I forgot all about planning a torture chamber to extract revenge upon Brian’s soul.

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It’s not even 9:30am, and my day is nearly shot already.  Nothing major has gone wrong..just a dozen little annoyances or repeats of yesterday’s annoyances that have dug their little craws under my skin and plucked away all but my last nerve.

• I woke suddenly at 4am.  I couldn’t get back to sleep until almost 6. My alarm went off at 7.
• My daughters *also* awoke suddenly at 4:30am, which may or may not have had anything to do with me not sleeping again until nearly 6.
• When their Dad came to see them in the morning and saw how tired I was, he told them to get started picking out clothes.  At 7:30am. At 8:30, they STILL had not picked out appropriate clothes and obviously were not dressed. We leave at 8:45. Not good. Also? Yesterday Emily took so long to get ready that I actually left her with Dale and took Faith so at least one of them wouldn’t be too late to eat breakfast.  So this is already “an issue.”
• They also had knocked all the laundry I had just done off my bed. And if clean clothes are on the floor for more than a few minutes, I have a compulsion to wash them again because they don’t seem clean to me anymore. I did two MASSIVE loads yesterday. I did *not* want to redo them.
• I’m on my third pair of underwear for the day already. Thanks, Mother Nature.
• One of the boys left a candy wrapper in the front yard.  Not a big deal in itself, but it was probably Kristopher, who consistently disrespects me and my home, so it just freaking irks me.
• Getting buckled in the car was a three ring circus this morning.
• I’m STILL sick. Not horribly so, but still snuffly, mild cough, constant headache, and my voice is disappearing steadily.
• My cats? Are freaking insane. They were tearing around the house like their asses were on fire. And they kept almost knocking over the vase on my dining room table. Not cool.

That’s pretty much it. Just a shitty start to the day.  I just keep trying to keep a good attitude and be thankful….thankful that I have these usually amazing children and that they are healthy and safe, thankful that my periods aren’t lasting 5 months anymore, thankful that I am getting better, thankful that Kris doesn’t live here anymore, thankful that I have a washer and dryer to wash our clothes, thankful that I have a car to drive them to school, and so forth.  Some days it’s hard to be thankful, but I’m going to keep trying.

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The Good:

• One of my broken friendships is on the mend.
• My cash flow situation is much improved.
• I accidentally got pants a size smaller than I actually wear now and they fit. They will look better with another 5-10 lbs lost, but they fit without muffintop or cameltoe.
• I’m starting a healthy living collaboration blog with some awesome people.  (If you are interested in contributing, let me know. Whether you are in weight loss, maintenance, or just care about your body, I would love your input.)
• The 50 inch plasma tv that I got, brand new, for $420 is being delivered tomorrow.  Unlike my current tv, it has a pc input, so I can work on bringing that media center pc idea into fruition.
• I booked a Mother’s Day weekend getaway for my mom and I.  She’s always wanted to see Cher, so Vegas it is.

The Bad:

• I have what I have dubbed #snotcopalypse. Very, very unpleasant.
• Valentine’s Day. ‘Nuff said.
• Still haven’t heard from the school board about the staffing for Christian. It’s been two weeks, people.
• My pretty new comforter is falling apart at the seams.
• The heater in my car started making a weird noise this morning.
• My daughters’ bedroom is *still* carpeted in feathers. *sigh* So much for the carpet getting pulled up this week like we planned.

The Ugly:

• The other friendship? Gah. Just trying to let it go and move on, and whenever I think I accomplish that, somehow it seems to just pop up again like a zombie.
• My dear friend is experiencing a fuckload of a lot more drama than he deserves or needs to be dealing with.
• Betches.
• My mom was denied COBRA. I have no idea how that is even possible, but now my 62yo mom, with diabetes and hypertension, has no health coverage.
• My roomie had to be taken to the hospital last Saturday night.  We were leaving Monster Jam.  The cold and the long walk got to him and he had a pretty bad asthma attack.  Was scary.
• I’ve had heartburn pretty much daily for over a month. I’m taking Pepcid daily, and it keeps the symptom manageable, but the potential implications freak me out, since I have no health coverage, either.

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Not a bad day, really.  Except for how freakishly close I came to have the Burning Bed happening in my room thanks to a wonky outlet behind my bed, and the amazing laptop that randomly shuts itself down without warning.  Oh, and the puss The Ex wore before he passed out on my mother’s loveseat this morning. Not sure what that was about, but at least FAKE like you’re happy I invited you to be there for Christmas morning with your girls, mmm’kay?

But otherwise, all was well.  The kids were thankful for the few things they got from us, which was nicely supplemented by extended family.  I had a great time visiting with my mom in her place, and enjoyed the company of my cousin and her husband Christmas Eve for our big dinner.  Their daughter plays SO well with my girls that we adults can just relax and enjoy the flow of conversation.  Even Christian wasn’t being an ass, a Christmas miracle in itself.

I’m missing some important people in my life tonight…friends both old and new, family far and near, and someone very special to me.  But I’m thankful that they are safe and well wherever they are, and I look forward to seeing them all sometime soon.

Merry Christmas.  I hope your holiday was filled with laughter and both the sharing and making of memories.

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