Wear. Your. F*&^ing. Mask.

 Let me just say that the first thing you should know, is that I am not "feeding into the fear."

This pandemic is a very real thing. Obviously.

I just found out last night that my family went to Arkansas AND LIED TO ME ABOUT IT. My sister decided it would be best not to tell me because several weeks back when I found out that they planned to go, I said that our father was definitely not allowed to go because of his kidney status. Or that our mother shouldn't be going either. OR ANY OF THEM FOR THAT MATTER. 

So they went. Right behind the back of the voice of reason. But what would I know? None of them have had symptoms of Covid-19. So that makes it okay. Neither my aunt or uncle who were with them have had symptoms either. So that definitely makes it okay. OKAY?

My father is in end-stage kidney disease and requires thrice weekly dialysis. Once upon a time my dad was a very robust man. Chunky in all the right places and loved to work outside on our house. Then diabetes caught up with him and sent him down dialysis boulevard. Never mind the fact that his brother died from kidney disease after refusing dialysis. We (as in the rest of the family) have decided that "it's not that serious." My favorite thing is "corona won't get me." NO DAD IT WON"T. It will weaken you to the point that your kidneys shut down and then it's game over. But guess what? It will still be because of the virus. 

But again, what do I know? I diligently wear my mask to work and in public. I socially distance whenever possible. I haven't been in my parents' house (2 blocks up the street) in 5+ months. I am literally all alone with my dog in my house because it isn't safe for me to be near other people because I am in contact with patients all day long. And it's entirely possible that one of them currently has it.

Yes I think I've already had it. I had nearly every symptom listed at the beginning of the pandemic. I even still worked, but stayed away from everyone cause that's just what you do when you are feeling crummy. But that doesn't mean I can't get it again if I did for sure have it before. So I'm still taking every precaution I can. And people close to me have had people close to them contract the virus. My best friend has already lost people to it. It's a very real thing folks.

I found out this week that I lost two long time patients who I was very very fond of, to Covid. R was 62, and one of the most physically fit seniors I have ever known. At the gym every day, running and swimming, weights, you name it. Someone who still had so many miles left on him, taken way too soon because of this. And JP, he was in his 90s, but he sure was active. Always bringing food straight from his garden into the pharmacy whenever he was gonna be in the neighborhood. Yes he was old, but he was still taken from us too soon.

So I beg you, wear your mask. Our county numbers are on the downhill slope and can keep going that way if you would just shut up and do it. I assure you, none of us like wearing a mask. Nobody thinks it's easy to breathe in one. Nobody wakes up hype about doing it. So you aren't special. There are those of us required to wear one longer during the days than others, and those of us who benefit from not being in situations where we have to wear one at all.

But for the love of all things holy, WEAR YOUR FUCKING MASK.

The Mental Health Rest Stop

Let me be honest. I can talk about mental health positivity until I am on the next Avatar movie. But let's be real, some days are purely me just talking out of my ass. Because if we are being truthful, my mental health has been significantly lacking lately. Here lately, no amount of sage, stones, well wishes or prayers have been able to lift my spirits. 

And I am so anxious all the time. Today has been one of those days where it's hand-shaking kind of bad. And here's something else that never happens. I can barely look anyone in the eye because of it. That is not something I usually have difficulty with. I generally have no issue staring someone down, but that is definitely not something I'm super strong in anymore. And I don't have any real reason to shy away from people, unless my hormones are going crazy and I'm about to embarrass myself in front of a gentleman. 

So how have I all of a sudden turned into a meek person? And no, there is nothing wrong with being meek. But I am not a shy, submissive person by any means. I am out, proud and loud about having straight up jacked up mental health issues. Am I skittish because my cup feels empty lately? Or did my subconscious discover something about me that I haven't realized yet?

I'm definitely gonna pray on it. 

I spent a long period of time being treated in an unkind matter by someone who promised to love and support me forever. I was super in denial for a long time about it. But I dug myself out of that hole and stayed on an upward trajectory with my mental health. And I will stay on the positive path. But no journey is ever perfect. There are many rest stops, and this is just one of them. I need to gas myself back up and get my cruise control back online. I can't stay in this funk forever or I will just be all the things I swore I would never be on purpose.

Chronic Pain

What do you say to someone who doesn't appear to have a disability? Why do people have the need to 'diagnose" disability based only on what they see? If I can't see someone look sick, then what should I believe? Never mind all the medical maladies that can't actually be seen. 

Like nerve pain. Severe nerve pain.

NON-DIABETIC neuropathy. The kind you get bestowed upon you when your B-12 levels drop out from under you. Not from eating garbage and having high glucose. The kind you get when you still eat plenty of red meat, oodles of greens, and supplement your diet with oral and injectable B vitamins and folic acid. You know, the kind you get when your own body just gives up on you in your mid twenties. 

Have you ever ran your hands under super hot water by accident? Definitely in a "not what I was expecting temperature-wise" kind of situation? Remember that sensation creeping into your soul for a moment and shitting on your spirit? Yes? Now imagine that as a constant feeling. Working it's way up from the tips of your toes and making its way in the only direction it has to go. If the water analogy is too wet for you, try this. Remember getting a blistering sunburn? Remember getting a horribly painful and dry one? Now imagine the dry sunburn on top of the blistering one. So there's that. It's been active and consistent from the tips of my toes to my middle thigh. And new to the game is the neuropathy developing in my upper extremities as well.

And it's difficult to walk most days. Like I have to will myself to let my feet touch the floor first thing in the morning. I stare at the floor while my feet hover above it and I have to count to three and then it's roll out autobots. Once my feet hit the floor I have to be in constant motion until I can mentally wrap my brain around the pain. No amount of pain meds or compression stockings or anything else I've been doing seems to help. 

Every day lately seems like one of the worst days of my life pain-wise. Sometimes I have to sit in my car for several minutes when I get home because I need to psych myself up to walk the 30 feet from the car to the door. Then drop everything and take old girl out to potty. Then I have to accomplish everything I absolutely can in a short period of time, because once I sit down, THAT'S IT. 

So this is what life is sometimes. Constant pain, depression, loneliness, and books.

You done MESSED UP, A-A-RON

Okay okay, I told myself I wasn't gonna get mad about stupid shit, but come-fucking-on.

So here we are.

Divorce is a train wreck. Now I can't speak for everyone, but I can say with confidence that the majority of divorces do not end on a positive note. Yes it might be a blessing to no longer be married to the person who made my life miserable, but I won't say that I ever found joy in making moves to end my marriage. I grew up in a generation of parents who married during the time of "if it's broke, fix it" when it came to matrimony. However, a good percentage of my generation seemed to be missing the gene that aided you in repairing a marriage. Several people I knew from school were married, kids, divorced, in custody battles and remarried by the time they were thirty. 

I am sad to say that I am a semi-partial statistic of my high school. Married at twenty, divorced at 32. Fortunately no kids. While I have always had desire to be a mother, I would never have forgiven myself for bringing a child into the world with someone who was as abusive and as selfish as he was. This is a catch-22 in my feelings sometimes. I'm childless, which crushes me, but I'm also free from physical and mental abuse which I'm happy about. 

I was the one to file for divorce. And while I already knew my marriage was over, I filed first to protect my physical and mental well-being. But of course he was the victim. Always going on and on about how I never had anything (material of course) without him. How I'd never be able to survive on my own, etc. I'm not even sure why he threw a tantrum (aside from having to pay spousal support). He was already with her. They were already a family. This asshole had THE BALLS to brag to me that he "does yard work now". Thanks for that. Can I get a retroactive payment on all the yard work I did while YOU were playing video games OUR ENTIRE MARRIAGE??

So anyway. We got divorced, went our separate ways, didn't try to contact each other. Even about our dogs. I found out (not on purpose) through a mutual friend, that they got engaged. Good for them. Looking forward to hearing about their divorce in a few years. She'll take half his shit like she did her two previous ex-husbands....

Here's the part that makes me upset. He spent all this time during divorce sending me hateful text messages and emails. Even mentioning to his attorney that I had significant mental health issues and need to be institutionalized because I made up all the times he "allegedly" beat me. That he was the victim in our marriage and he feared for his life all the time. Okay WHATEVER. The state we live in is a no-fault state and if you don't want to be married, then you don't have to be. You don't get extra credit for being a good OR a bad human being. Get your un-matrimony on. Then move on. Don't you dare tell me how horrible of a person I was during our marriage. I wasn't the one standing over you, while you were beaten and bloody. 

He told me (more than once), that he would NEVER legally bind himself to another human being because being married to me was so TREACHEROUS. That he would never put himself in a situation where he would have to give up half his shit (which he didn't with me). Needless to say I was not surprised that he got engaged to his girlfriend. If he went back on his promise to himself, to be married to the "love of his life" then who am I to stop him? He absolutely deserves to forget how much hell he put me through. He deserves to have himself a clean slate of a life because he fancies himself an upstanding human being. 

Now here's the part that just plain pisses me off.

On my 30th birthday, after a very stressful day at work (on a Sunday, nonetheless) I came home already emotionally defeated. So he decides to tell me ON MY BIRTHDAY that he has decided not to be with me anymore. So then cue the start of a very long 2.5 years of getting divorced. 

So my 34th birthday was a couple weeks ago. Pretty uneventful day, stayed home, did NOTHING. Flash forward to this week, and my friend accidentally spills the beans that the ex has remarried. Good for him, congratulations ahead of time for your shit inevitably falling apart at the hands of your wife.

AND THANKS A-FUCKING-LOT FOR GETTING MARRIED ON MY BIRTHDAY.

I mean, who does that? Who deliberately gets married on their ex-wife (who "wrecked their life")'s BIRTHDAY?

So needless to say I AM PISSED. I can't have anything anymore that is my own, and now I won't be able to get wasted and crash their wedding with my BFF cause we both (not secretly) HATE THE BRIDE. 

It is what it is.

The Red Table Talk

I don't know who added me to the Red Table Talk group on Facebook, but I wish I did. So that I can THANK them. For letting me view what I personally consider to be some of the pettiest bullshit ever. And yes I do realize that people are entitled to their own opinions. 

But GOD DAMN. Some of the shit people say in this group is just. plain. stupid AF.

So let's discuss mental health for a minute. Or two, or five. 

Someone on this group asked if other people would be willing to date someone who had "mental health issues." And much to my surprise (just kidding) most people stated that they would absolutely not date someone who had these issues. Well lemme tell you somethin'. WE ALL GOT PROBS, BOB. Jesus fucking Christ, how in the hell are people such as myself supposed to find a potential mate? Now mind you this group is 95% women, who think that crazy belongs with crazy. But I imagine a healthy amount of men believe and state rather proudly that they would never date a "crazy" girl. I'm pretty sure that nowhere (or nowhere that I am aware of) does there say in any mental health provider's text, that there is such a thing as CRAZY. We're all a little messed up in the head. I'm out and proud about being a mildly depressed, counselor attending, slightly off her rocker kind of girl. But that doesn't mean ANYTHING about my future as a potential life mate. I survived one of the worst domestic situations ever. And no I'm not okay. And no I didn't just suck it up like I was kindly advised to by people close to me. But you know what? I'm over the most of it. Yes it destroyed my self esteem, my self worth, MYSELF in general. But every day that I wake up, I'm that much better. And I spent a very long time alone in my marriage, and alone on my own. And you know what? I'm my own person. I'm still definitely working on self esteem and self image, but those things don't go away overnight. I fancy myself a relatively fabulous human being most days. And some days I feel like crap about the world. And if you tell me that you NEVER feel like that, YOU ARE A LIAR.

Let's talk something else about mental health. Medication.

One of the most hilarious comments I read in this thread was that a person (well more than one) believed that anyone, and I mean ANYONE who takes prescription medication(s) for their "mental health" issues, hides their medications. Maybe because you're a judgmental asshole?!?!? A person hiding anything doesn't necessarily hide something in shame. And some do. But that's their choice. I take a very small dose of antidepressants to take the edge off. During 2.5 years of treacherous divorce (yes it took that long), I needed something. And I still take it. Because it takes the edge off. I don't hide it. That shit is on the kitchen table. There is nothing for me to be ashamed of, and I'm not. Dear God I'm sure someone is out there that has on their Oh No No list (thanks Tom Haverford) that a potential life partner absolutely cannot take allergy meds. Or vitamins. Or Kool-Aid. 

I'm not a smoker. Don't do recreational drugs, however yes, I am pro-marijuana. Not for me to use it, but for economy and revenue. There are so many worse things I could be into. Like Barbies. (BARF)

I hope that the next person who looks for me, looks for ME. I'm not just someone's ex-wife. I'm not just a big girl who used to not be. Whose body isn't the prettiest when it isn't covered. I'm just me. 

An out and proud member of a group of people who deserve to be taken seriously and supported in my endeavors to better myself. Whether it's depression, bipolar disorder, PTSD, schizophrenia, anxiety/panic disorder, or whatever. We deserve way better than those people. We don't need someone to own our problems. They're definitely ours. 

6&7

The blue dot.

I was driving to work the other day and noticed a freckle on my right forearm. To be honest, I don't know if that's the first time I've ever noticed it, or if it was a new discovery at that moment. However, a freckle is as freckle does, and there was a (possibly) new one on my arm. 

I've got freckles all over me. Not in that adorable fair-skinned redheaded kind of way, but in a "here lets put freckles in random places all over my body" kind of way. No rhyme or reason, just random ass freckles. 

I've got more scars from cuts and scrapes than I'd like to admit, but the stories behind them are just plain hilarious. I won't bore you with all the details, but here's some of the highlights.

Left two toes: Near toe amputation. Filleted open my big toe, almost chopped off my index one. LOTS OF BLOOD. NOT lots of fun.

Right foot: Tore off my big toenail, tore open the nail bed.

Right foot: Stepped on the dog de-shedder blade. Cut the bottom wide open.

Right calf: Motorcycle burn. 

Right knee: Kneeled on a broken mirror, lots of stitches.

Okay.... So my lower extremities have been through a lot. I have a lot of scars, and I have a lot of freckles. That's all there really is to that.

So back to reality.

I was laying in bed with my folks and sister earlier tonight after work (not the first time) and we were just visiting about work and live in general. For those of you tuning in for the first time to our show, let's catch you up on what you've missed. I'm getting divorced. It is not my choice to end my marriage, but his. He finally has realized that you can't have your cake and eat it too. Except he chose the skanky cake. But it is what it is. Anyway...... So while I was at my folks, we were visiting about how I had recently discovered this new freckle and how EVERYTHING reminds me of my husband and generates a feeling or memory of what was instead of what is. 

He had a blue freckle on one of his knees. Don't judge me for not remembering which one. I still have to pull my pants down sometimes and look in the mirror to see which hip my birthmark is on. It may not have even been a freckle. (Did I mention it was blue?) It was really a dot. I don't know. All I know is that I've known it was there for forever. And what makes me sad is that once upon a time we used to sit and poke each other in the scars, and joke about how anything needing more than 5 stitches definitely warranted immediate amputation. We celebrated all the little scuffs and scratches that we each had, that made us unique and wonderful. And now we don't anymore. All of my little blemishes are ugly to him. It's terribly sad that he looks upon divorce as the best thing that will ever happen to him, and that I will never be gazed upon by him ever again. And I sit here and miss the blue dot on his knee. Or the scar on this thumb from a piece of sheet metal. Or the scar on his hand he picks on constantly, and has as long as I've known him. 

I still look at the two scars on the back of my right hand and remember how scared I was of ruining our wedding photos because they had barely healed by the time we got married. 

What a waste of time that was apparently...

6&7

I don't even know what to call this feeling.

So let's preface this whole thing by saying that I started back on my anti-depressants today. Against what I have wanted to avoid for months, I finally realized that it's okay to have something to take the edge off.

So take a trip with me, if you will, back to yesterday. Not far, but far enough. In the neighborhood of 9:30AM CST, if we're aiming for something more specific. I had my feet IN THE STIRRUPS, with the doc doing the "peek and poke" in my lady bits. So during the routine 150 point inspection, we are having the usual conversation about everything else going on in my life. So once again, for the umpteenth time, I told my doctor we didn't need to have the "making babies" conversation. Not my total choice that I'm not having/or haven't had kids, but more so a lack of interest from a husband who promised me forever, but has spent the last two years entertaining women who do have young children. 

I've gone both ways regarding having children. I love being an aunt. I have the best nephew that God could give me, raised beautifully by a mother and father who love him like nothing else. And his mother (my sister-in-law) has always welcomed me to spend what time I can with him. And he's so smart. I would be proud if he were my child, as his mother is proud that he is hers. I've had other friends "loan" me their kids when I need to satisfy my craving for fun kid activities. And I've enjoyed all the time I have spent with all of them. While I am not a mother, I can at least be someone they can look up to. Even if for a short time. But I am most definitely not a mother. I'd like to think that I'm the "mothering" type, and my group of friends can definitely attest to that. With respect to little ones though, I have gotten so used to the idea of being on my own, that I don't feel the need to be a mom. I've been married (so far) for 11+ years, and no babies. Most of the people I went to school with are already parents to 2.5 kids, and some divorced, remarried and even more on the way. So I really don't know. I truthfully feel like there is nothing constructive for me to teach a child of my own. So far, how I've experienced the world as an adult has kind of sucked. I don't think bringing a baby into this world is the right thing for me right now, or possibly ever.

Let's continue our time machine excursion to 7:30PM CST, yesterday. Visiting my folks, dropping off meds for dad, and mom is sharing with me a babysitting story. She was watching my sister's friend's little one, and they were watching the Olympics. They were having a dandy time apparently, and while sharing this story, my mom thought it was a good time to bring up how I haven't graced them with a grandchild yet. Now mind you, I'm the middle of three girls, my younger sissy is special needs, and probably won't be producing an heir, and my older sis and her hubs don't seem to be making anything happen on their end. (Not trying/not preventing I think they call it?) So that leaves me. To continue the family bloodline. I've expressed many times to my mom how I feel regarding having kids, and EVERY time I'm met with "you're just going through a phase" or "you'll change your mind" and "you don't need HIM to have a baby". She tells me that I should have hurried up and gotten pregnant when I had the chance, or to hurry up and find someone new to produce grandkids with. Never mind the fact that I'm still married. I don't know how long, if ever, it will take me to be healed from the inevitable divorce. I'm not in a hurry at all. IF EVER. But no matter how many times I've said that I don't want to have this conversation, it still happens, and it still ends in tears. And then I have to shake if off and move on.

So today, after sleeping my feelings away and reminding myself that I'm a dog-mom, and that's good enough for me right now, I popped a pill, went to work and had a great day. Made a delivery to a patient who is very special to my heart, who has one of the most fabulous moms ever. Then when I get home, I notice a box on my porch. Nothing big. Two-thirds of a shoebox maybe. Wrapped in plastic, with a fake bow printed on the box. Nothing came to mind, I wasn't expecting anything. Maybe it was dropped at the wrong house, probably for the same address on the next street over. So I picked it up and had a look.

It was samples. Of Similac BABY formula. Addressed specifically to me.

WHAT. THE. HELL. 

I don't click on ads for baby stuff. I don't buy baby stuff. I don't look at baby stuff online. Not to mention the fact that the last time I PRACTICED baby making was at least 18 months ago. Somebody PLEASE explain to me how I ended up with samples of baby products? Is someone playing a joke? Did my husband get his latest tramp pregnant before he left? I'm so angry that I haven't even cried. I skipped right past upset and am now tremendously PO'd. And if it wasn't deliberate, why is the universe doing this to me? I don't need any more reminders that my life has gotten to where it was. I already know that according to the smartest (or so he thinks) human being on this earth, that I am not one worth cultivating any type of future with. Especially a future that includes children. 

Pardon my explosion of negativity. Nobody wants to hear about baby formula. Like I said, I really don't know what to call this feeling. If you figure it out, let me know. Thanks. 

The End.

6/7