It's baaaaaack......

The nausea. The headaches. The unrelenting sadness. The beat-you-down, tear-you-apart, leave-you-begging unrelenting sadness. It's back and I don't know why. WHY? I do everything I am supposed to do. I take my mobile pharmacy of medicine. I go to my weekly therapy sessions and can honestly say they're working. Or at least, I leave and am feeling better about things, but maybe it's because talking about things is abstract? It's so easy to talk isn't it. It's so easy to guess at why things are happening in life. Why the people in your life are behaving how they are behaving toward you or why are you exhibiting certain behaviors? Well, it could be a million different things all of which are so easy to talk about. All of which are hard as hell to implement change in real life.

Maybe it's not the stuff I talk about though. Maybe the stuff killing me is the stuff I don't talk about. Even in the room I pay for to talk about anything and everything in. The room I can dump my darkest secrets into and there they stay locked up. But, like people, maybe I just don't trust the room. I don't trust the four walls to keep my secrets. Why not? I wish I could answer. It's like there are things I need to get off of my chest, but I don't know who to tell. Who do you turn to when there's no one to turn to? Maybe if I just stood in a room and just said it out loud? Maybe just purging it would make me feel better. I don't have to keep it all inside where it's ready to burst out almost all the time. My secret is not life altering. No one is going to want to hurt someone. It's probably the stupidest thing ever. But I've blown it up completely out of control.

So, for now I'm losing my footing. The ground is slipping from under me. The darkness is again descending upon me at possibly the worst time.

What the hell is wrong with me?

'Til death do us part, eh?

Which of us will go first?!?!

Mama Kat's Losin' It Writing Prompt September 1, 2011: Write about a time you disappointed yourself

2.) Write about a time you disappointed yourself.


Well, this isn't a difficult writing prompt is it? I write about it all the time. My life seems to be a constant disappointment to myself. The more difficult prompt might be "write about a time you were proud of yourself". But, I digress. Most recently, I suppose, I've been obsessing about something. There really is no other way to describe it. Obsession is kind of what I do. I get it into my head and then think about it until it's all I can think about and then I've blown it completely out of proportion and what it began as was nothing more than a passing comment or a glance or a touch and now I've thought it to death. What the hell is wrong with me? I really do want to be like normal people. (Though, who gets to decide what's normal, right?) I just can't get this out of my head and I can't write it down and I can't talk about it because I don't think my family or friends would understand. Or they probably wouldn't understand what I've blown up a nothing into. They would probably understand the nothing. How funny. But I can't go back to the nothing. It's already gone. I occasionally think about when it was nothing, but my brain has the incredible, surprisingly super-fast ability to fast-forward to what everything has exploded into and all of a sudden I can't even see what all of this began as.


So disappointed in myself, yet again. Just one more thing to add to the rapidly increasing pile of things I do or have do and probably will do to disappoint myself.

The last 8 months...

So, it's more than half way through the year and I thought I would update what I have accomplished this year so far....

(1) I lost my job.
(2) I sent my baby to preschool for the first time.
(3) I have been keeping my weekly therapy appointments and really feel like they've been useful.
(4) I've lost about 20 pounds. (Go ME!)
(5) I've cut some unhealthy people out of my life. Painfully, but necessarily.
(6) I've said goodbye to one of my best friend's, Kaiser.
(7) I've had surgery twice. (My insurance company must love me.)
(8) I've watched my beautiful baby grow into a beautiful, grumpy, active, fussy, funny, firecracker of a toddler.


In all, when I think about it, it's been a pretty uneventful year. Boring even. Painful.

When Lord? When's my time?

When is everything going to make some sense? My brain is constantly running a mile a minute about everything and is making sense of nothing. Since I last wrote, my body has been through a plethora of pain and indignities, but even that has not bothered me nearly as much as not being able to make sense of what is going through my head. What happens when you think about the same thing literally a million different times, in a million different ways and it doesn't matter because the likelihood of any of it mattering is so infantile, so miniscule, so remote that I would likelier be a can-can dancer in Tijuana before any of it ever happened. (Which is to really say, never.)

Why must I do these things to myself? Why can't I just let it go? Obsession is not the same thing as determination and determination can sometimes be useless when you can't really make sense of the ridiculousness of what is happening anyway.


I feel like I am completely losing control and getting better at the same time.

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

Guilty as charged

[...] If I were better at physics, I could probably create an equation for this: It is not so much the piano falling; it is the constant potential that the piano will fall. It is an imagined piano, endlessly falling, waiting to take shape the minute I stop looking for it. As soon as I relax, it will form out of the air molecules. I am guilty of the happiness that comes from feeling good, from not craning my neck. That loose space, the space unwatched, the life lived."

- Aimee Bender, "House of Love and Bragging", The Modern Jewish Girl's Guide to Guilt

So, as it turns out, this book isn't as funny as I thought it would be. No, indeed. It's far more serious and thought-provoking which is exactly what I WASN'T looking for. Alas, I'm reading it because there is something compelling about it that urges me to read on. The passage above by Aimee Bender is just one of many I could have quoted as though the writers were writing just for me. I realize, though I think I have always known, as I was reading that I live my life waiting for the next bad thing to happen because bad things always happen. The piano is hovering above me waiting to fall and the moment I think things are okay, or I stop waiting for the piano to fall, it crushes me like a pancake. Bender says the guilt is from happiness, of not waiting for the piano to fall and that this is our lot in life. I long ago accepted that this was my lot in life. The piano mercilessly hovering, waiting to crush me. I need no prompting to feel guilt. Guilt is like a weight around my neck and though there are moments I feel as though I can see rays of sunshine, I am dragged back down into the bog by this mass slowly pulling me down and drowning me in the mud.

As it turns out, this book is totally enlightening in a totally heavy and depressing way. It's telling me what I already know, but much more eloquently and with beautiful prose, as if that makes the pill easier to swallow. Oh, the guilt I feel. About everything. Even about being happy.

Swallowed

Shattered, Battered and Weathered

Remember when?

Your broken mirrored promises

tied knots in ribbons long ago frayed and a

Broken heart left

Swallowed.

Promises, so many

Patience, so little

Crushing pain and despair

A seeming disconnect

A knowing hurt.

Endless waiting

hoping

wishing

Now, years in shambles

WHY?

Different than me has always been an enemy.

Mama Kat's Writing Prompt 7.5.2011:We just celebrated America’s Independence! Write a poem about what freedom means to you.

We just celebrated America’s Independence! Write a poem about what freedom means to you.

Freedom is...

Freedom

A double edged sword

But expected

respected?

Freedom to believe, hope and love

It fits me

But

Horrific War

Death and Heartache

Patriotism in every form

Given to every American when their born

But are we free

Certainly

Compare your lives

To those who strive

to live

Oppression

www.mamakatslosinit.com

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!!!!!!

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!!!!!

Lightning Crashes

Not again. Please, not again. Darkness descends upon me and once again I find myself being consumed by it. In shocking flashes of light, I see my life passing me by as I continue to fall so deep into despair, there is seemingly no chance to escape its grasp . I close my eyes and I am reeling into a cavern so deep, sunshine does not touch its walls. Smooth and cold, there are no footholds. There is no escape. A prisoner in my own mind. Why can't I forget? Why can't I escape the pain, the fear, the heartache, of this aching and numbing depression? Why can't I emerge from the storm?

Mama Kat's Writing Prompt 6.25.2011: A Country you would like to Visit--FRANCE

4) A country you would like to visit: FRANCE

France brings to mind so many things for me. The Eiffel Tower. Love. Art. But let's be honest, what it really makes me think of are open air markets. Of fresh baguettes. Of delicious vintage wines. Roadside cafes. Fresh produce. Fields of lavender. For me, this is France. The Louvre? Lovely. The Mona Lisa? A must see. But the true France is in it's taste, in its smell and in its soil. France is more than monuments and galleries and haute couture. To love France is to feel it coarse through your veins and let it wash over you encompassing you mind, body and soul.

This brings me to my most secret of secrets. Can you keep a secret? It's my biggest dream of any dream I've dreamed.... I want to sell nearly (I mean there are some things you just can't part with) everything I own, pack up my family and pets and move to a quaint stone house in a field in Provence. Oh my gosh, I can't believe I told you! It's my "crazy dream" because it will probably never happen, but in my mind its beautiful.

My quaint stone cottage sits near a beautiful lavender field. There is enough yard for Sadie and the dogs to be happy romping. In the mornings, Sadie and I will enjoy our breakfast (weather permitting) on our patio in the gorgeous Provencal sunshine. After washing up, we will ride our bikes into town to the open air market where we can buy our fresh produce, fresh breads, beautifully baked goodies, fresh flowers for our table and stock up on our wine selections. We can chat with our neighbors and enjoy small town French life. With our baskets full we ride home and prep for lunch and dinner before maybe taking a nap or doing some reading. Our afternoons are filled with enjoying the outside air, playing ball with the dogs, taking long walks through the seemingly endless fields of lavender or perhaps joining the neighbors on a mushroom hunt. Regardless of what the day entails, in my mind, it is all quaint and perfect and beautiful and utterly mine.

My Provencal life is calling to me. Perhaps I should get ready for quite a yard sale?

Stick a fork in me?

I was sure it was never going to happen to me. How could it, after all? I love my little Bug beyond measure. Her infancy was a breeze. She was an easy and delightful baby. But, this....this, "toddlerhood"..... is like a punishment for something I did that was very, very, very bad. I'm exhausted. I'm snappy. I'm not even close to the Mommy I want to be. I am.....a Mommy burnout. I know, I know. It's terrible. I'm so embarrassed. But, the screaming, the throwing, the tantrums, the talking back, the whining, the demands, the touching, the grabbing, the pushing, the..... terribleness of age two.... it's so overwhelming. Where is my darling, curly-haired, angelic baby girl? It's like something has invaded her body and I feel the need to call an exorcist.

Do they have Mommycations? Is it okay to take a break from your child? I mean, I feel so guilty for wanting to do so. I mean, billions of Mommies have survived the terrible two's and come out without much permanent mental scaring, I'm told. But, I need a break! I'm gonna snap! Since my unfortunate unemployment, the stress of the Sadietude had only gotten worse. Now, we spend all day, every day together. And, I mean that pretty literally. Since she doesn't sleep through the night, she usually wakes up next to me in bed, no matter how hard I try, we spend every moment together until her nap time (yes, that includes bathroom time--apparently, I can't do that on my own--Sadie, the dogs and cats need to supervise), then I'm here when she wakes up and we're together until she goes to bed. And I go to bed roughly an hour or maybe two after that--I try to take time for me--tv, reading, computer...etc, but really I just want to sleep without a little body scooching me off the edge of the bed because she has to sleep on Mommy's pillow.

Just a few days? Please? Wouldn't you think I'd be a better Mommy? Or does it make me a worse Mommy? Stay at home Mommies do it all the time, right? All day every day...and a lot of the time with more than one kid! Maybe I'm just not made of tough enough Mommy material? I feel myself floundering...

Mama Kat's Writing Prompt 6.19.2011: What's your number one [writing] pet peeve? Develop a punishment for anyone caught in the act.

Okay, Mama Kat. I've had to slightly modify your writing prompt. Because, really? Narrow my pet peeves down to one, single, biggest pet peeve? Yeah. That's a task of, like, epic proportion. Supercomputers at NASA or Microsoft or somewhere SUPER smart like that would be necessary to start to break down the complicatedness going on inside my brain to even begin to come close to narrowing down my pet peeves to just one biggest pet peeve. If you ask those in the know, they'd probably tell you that I hate everything, but that's SO not true! I'm just a ridiculously picky snob. ;)

However, dear Mama, it was so simple to pick my number one writing pet peeve that I just added one little word to your otherwise brilliant prompt. So, let me break it down for you.

IMPACT

and

AFFECT

Fellow human beings of the world-- these words are NOT interchangeable.

An impact is a collision of some kind. A force of two things coming together: BOOM! Impact.

An affect is the result of something, but not something that hits you .

For example: The overwhelming sadness of the move to Oregon had a significant impact on the boy's developing social skills.

NO! NO! NO! NO! Did the poor boy get physically hit by his move to Oregon and an invisible force went ninja on his future social skills? I'm going to say that's doubtful.

The overwhelming sadness of the move to Oregon had a significant affect on the boy's developing social skills. Ahhhh. Now, doesn't that feel better? It sounds better and, more importantly, you're using the RIGHT WORD!

Now let's get to punishment...I've had to really think about this...You get to be a crash test dummy. Be part of crashing a car right into a wall so you can tell me how the impact affected you. :)

www.mamakatslosinit.com

Is this thing still on?

I know, I know. Where have I been. It seems so like me though, doesn't it? To just completely abandon a project and then come back over a year later and just expect it to be here, ready and waiting for me to resume. And, of course, I assume I remember how to resume it. That is the easy part of talking to yourself though. Can you forget how? Doesn't everyone have an internal monologue? (I'm told, yes everyone has one; no, not everyone is annoying enough to expect everyone to read it. Noted.)

So, here's the skinny. I now find my self among the 9.1% of Americans that currently count themselves as unemployed. (Okay, so that's a May 2011 number, but it's gotta be in that ballpark the new numbers don't come out until July 8, 2011.) Yes, friends, I have been "shit-canned". We talked about it, we freaked out about it, we panicked about it, we even joked about it...and then it actually happened! Who saw that coming?! I am, as one would expect in these difficult economic times, devastated. And then again, not. Did I even really like the job? No, I hadn't for a long time. Was I happy there? No, it was slowly crushing what was left of my withering soul. Then what the heck is wrong with me?? Well, honestly, most of it, is a little bit of pain at the rejection. Our program had only recently been taken over by a new director and regional manager. They don't know us. They don't know our students. They don't know how well we operate. But there's not enough money (but they don't have their budget allocation for the year yet...), there aren't enough students (okay, they can have that one, enrollment is down across the entire college system), but here's the kicker: my students don't show enough academic progress. Well, you know what that means, don't you? It can't possibly mean that I teach low level students who test in at grade school levels and have a myriad of learning disabilities, not to mention their sporadic attendance and, literally, mental health problems. It means I'm not a very good teacher. Why, why, oh why, did they have to go there? Could they not have left it at attendance and budgetary issues and not added that extra kick in the teeth by alluding to the fact that it's my fault my students can't make progress. Like I'm somehow sucking the knowledge out of them. Ouch, ladies. Very ouch.

So this is where I've been. At least for almost the past week anyway. Throwing a pity party. Party of One. For those of you who know me very well, you know I am like the best of pity party hostesses. I am Queen of pity party planners. Seriously, take notes. So, of course, any weight loss I had previously accomplished? Yeah, kissed that goodbye. Doughnuts. I needed doughnuts. Glazed and raspberry filled doughnuts. I bought "some" for me. (Well, leave it as "some" so I can leave this blog post with some "self-respect"...) My mother-in-law even bought some for me. Powdered and raspberry filled. (See a pattern? Direct line to my heart? Raspberry filling.) Muffins. Fig Newton Thins. Magnum Ice Cream Bars in the Double Chocolate, Double Caramel and Almond flavors.... I could go on and on, but why? You get the general idea. Gluttonous. Gelatinous. Gross. Delicious adult beverages. I have no boundaries and as I think about it, I haven't done anything worth anything this week. Laundry? Yes, but that's like a HAD to be done. Sweeping? Yes, but that's because I don't want to be buried alive under pet hair. I don't want people to think I hoard cat fur. I mean, I love it, but more ON the cat. I slept whenever possible. If you called/ texted/emailed and didn't get an answer, that's probably why. I can only assume this indulgent, disgusting behaviour will continue at the detriment of my mental health until something snaps inside, my clothes no longer fit, or I have to go to rehab.

I will overcome? (Yikes.)