Guess who's not going to school this term, AGAIN?
Yeah, me.
Freaking sucks. I'm trying to be positive about it... sometimes. I don't have to pay insane amounts of money. And I don't have to stress about grades.
I'm trying to keep busy with a few other outlets. I've joined a group for amateur writers that meet twice a month. I have enjoyed the meetings and left feeling good about myself.
I am also signed up to be a SMART reader at my son's school. I will be reading stories to children once a week.
I have also joined the school's PTO and am volunteering once a week to run the store where students get to spend school money. I'll also be helping with special events and attending meetings once a month.
And I am also trying to go to karate more often. Three weeks ago, I attended a class and vowed to go at least three times a week. That's been my only class since then. :p I'm working on it though!
AND I've volunteered to coach my son's soccer team.
So far, it's going ok. I do feel that mourning and loss associated with the decision not to attend school, but it's less severe than it was before.
I guess I think the key to not losing yourself in your marriage and kids is to try to get out around other people more, no matter how socially awkward or tired and run down you feel.
Once I have attended these meetings and events, I've told myself that I'll duck out early. But once I am there, I ususally end up enjoying myself and staying to the end. Now to figure out how to motivate myself to GO more often.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Mental Process --> Deterioration Throughout the Day
Hope this helps someone. Depression/anxiety is a funny thing. Maybe my
encounters with insanity and depression will help someone realize that
it's just the little, everyday things that add up over time to push you
over. Maybe they'll read and see "oh crap, that's me. Maybe I need to
talk to someone or get some medicine before I become that crazy girl."
*~*~*~*~*
Today started out sucky, but I managed to make the most of it. I woke up to go to the bathroom sometime in the 4 O'clock hour and never fell back asleep. Husband's alarm went off somewhere around 5:45 so I had pretty much given up by then, but I still had hopes that I'd get to sleep between then and the time when I had to get up at 7 to get the oldest ready for school.
Unfortunately, the youngest woke up at 6:15 so I had to get up.
He was an emotional wreck, that cheered up slightly with his brother woke up. After the oldest went to school, the youngest was an on and off emotional wreck- lots of crying and tantrums when not getting what he wanted. Throw in the mix repeatedly spitting out his drink or spilling his Cheerios on the ground, and it was a great day to be a mom.
Weather was gloomy. Bright enough that I could open the curtains in the living room and not rely on artificial light, but gloomy enough to put me in a funk. Not to mention that my hands were ice cold and I could barely bend my fingers.
Found that the cat peed on the floor of the laundry room on my way to get the space heaters from the garage. The toddler was throwing a fit and also at risk of playing in the cat pee, so I brought him too. Juggling him and the three space heaters, I made it back inside with a clang. I was frustrated at this point, and remembered that I needed to take my anti anxiety medication, so I did.
Laundry, picking up, vacuuming. Oldest came home right before laying the toddler down for a nap. Crap. It's Wednesday. There goes the hour and a half I was planning to have to myself.
Let them play, lay the toddler down for a nap. Check oldest's grades online and see he has been doing poorly in music class again this year, a repeat from last year. Have to sit down with him and make him write an apology letter to the teacher, a frustrating event.
Toddler wakes up. He's emotional. I'm strung out. More tantrums. I lay my head down on my desk out of boredom and frustration. Husband comes home, changes the baby, sets him up with food, spends 5 minutes with me, then hops on the computer to play a game with his friends.
Find ants on the floor. More sweeping and vacuuming.
Big toddler sitting on his small older brother. Asking him to get off, louder and louder. Go in and remove toddler from brother. Few minutes later: repeated "ow ow ow" but no "stop". Finally lose it. Stomp in there and see toddler pulling brother's hair. Make him let go.
More crying. Can't take it, come back to my computer, put on headphones, turn up music. Start crying. Husband's game ends, and he turns on the TV for the kids, then resumes playing.
Things I've discovered make me feel better when I am down:
Sunbathing
Listening to music (good music)
Watching a show I enjoy (not likely to happen with the kids home and awake)
Going for a walk, which is not always ideal due to weather or situation/health of the kids
Hot coffee or tea
Things I've discovered that set me off:
crying
screaming
yelling
older child's inability to manage himself sometimes
younger child's constant hurting himself, then looking at me like I did it
Expecting to listen to good music and get garbage instead (screw Pandora radio)
When listening to good music, my speakers decide to take a crap for no apparent reason (bad sound quality)
clouds
messes
ants
meowing cats / barking dogs. New cat still won't freaking understand that howling gets him splashed with water. Slowest cat I've had so far.
things to note: bad items are all lower case. Don't care much for them even in text to use proper sentence structure, except in regards to music.
*~*~*~*~*
Today started out sucky, but I managed to make the most of it. I woke up to go to the bathroom sometime in the 4 O'clock hour and never fell back asleep. Husband's alarm went off somewhere around 5:45 so I had pretty much given up by then, but I still had hopes that I'd get to sleep between then and the time when I had to get up at 7 to get the oldest ready for school.
Unfortunately, the youngest woke up at 6:15 so I had to get up.
He was an emotional wreck, that cheered up slightly with his brother woke up. After the oldest went to school, the youngest was an on and off emotional wreck- lots of crying and tantrums when not getting what he wanted. Throw in the mix repeatedly spitting out his drink or spilling his Cheerios on the ground, and it was a great day to be a mom.
Weather was gloomy. Bright enough that I could open the curtains in the living room and not rely on artificial light, but gloomy enough to put me in a funk. Not to mention that my hands were ice cold and I could barely bend my fingers.
Found that the cat peed on the floor of the laundry room on my way to get the space heaters from the garage. The toddler was throwing a fit and also at risk of playing in the cat pee, so I brought him too. Juggling him and the three space heaters, I made it back inside with a clang. I was frustrated at this point, and remembered that I needed to take my anti anxiety medication, so I did.
Laundry, picking up, vacuuming. Oldest came home right before laying the toddler down for a nap. Crap. It's Wednesday. There goes the hour and a half I was planning to have to myself.
Let them play, lay the toddler down for a nap. Check oldest's grades online and see he has been doing poorly in music class again this year, a repeat from last year. Have to sit down with him and make him write an apology letter to the teacher, a frustrating event.
Toddler wakes up. He's emotional. I'm strung out. More tantrums. I lay my head down on my desk out of boredom and frustration. Husband comes home, changes the baby, sets him up with food, spends 5 minutes with me, then hops on the computer to play a game with his friends.
Find ants on the floor. More sweeping and vacuuming.
Big toddler sitting on his small older brother. Asking him to get off, louder and louder. Go in and remove toddler from brother. Few minutes later: repeated "ow ow ow" but no "stop". Finally lose it. Stomp in there and see toddler pulling brother's hair. Make him let go.
More crying. Can't take it, come back to my computer, put on headphones, turn up music. Start crying. Husband's game ends, and he turns on the TV for the kids, then resumes playing.
Things I've discovered make me feel better when I am down:
Sunbathing
Listening to music (good music)
Watching a show I enjoy (not likely to happen with the kids home and awake)
Going for a walk, which is not always ideal due to weather or situation/health of the kids
Hot coffee or tea
Things I've discovered that set me off:
crying
screaming
yelling
older child's inability to manage himself sometimes
younger child's constant hurting himself, then looking at me like I did it
Expecting to listen to good music and get garbage instead (screw Pandora radio)
When listening to good music, my speakers decide to take a crap for no apparent reason (bad sound quality)
clouds
messes
ants
meowing cats / barking dogs. New cat still won't freaking understand that howling gets him splashed with water. Slowest cat I've had so far.
things to note: bad items are all lower case. Don't care much for them even in text to use proper sentence structure, except in regards to music.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Dear Whoever You Are,
I meant to document my fall into insanity, but when you've lost your marbles, you don't exactly have the bearings to write it all down.
While I am still in the pit and trying to figure out how to get out, I do have some recollections and time to write it out.
So, whoever you are, have you ever been to the point where you just can't?
That was me. I've had two serious mental breakdowns in the past month and a half, and two semi-minor ones. Two (one big and one small) have rendered me unable to move, incapable of anything, really. The other two have filled me with a fury I find unfamiliar.
I've known for a while that I have been slipping. I've known for some time that I was going to a place that I may not come back from, and that I was teetering on the edge of something greatly terrifying.
So, about a month, month and a half ago, I had my first mental breakdown. The toddler was sick. Or teething. Or something. He'd been crying ALL the time for like a week. All day. Every day. 14 hours a day. Crying.
And then one day, he was crying at me. And I was trying to make him a drink or a sandwich or something in the kitchen. He was on the other side of the baby gate, hopping up and down, crying AT me. Still.
So I felt the hysteria welling up. And then I started crying. And then I started bawling, and then I started screaming. And then the next thing I knew, I was hiding in the laundry room with the door shut, curled into a ball, calling everyone I knew to get the kids, and no one answered. I didn't know what to do.
Finally, my mom came and got them. But that's not the point. The point is that long before, I knew this was going to happen. I knew I was unhappy, or overwhelmed, or.. or something, and I couldn't get help. Didn't have mental health insurance. Didn't have the money to go. Didn't have a way to get out of the house, out of my "role". Most people have jobs or hobbies or something they like to do out of the house, but I have been trapped.
I'm not sure if it was the trapping or what, but something - or maybe everything - was just too much.
I'll probably go over the rest later. Maybe.
I meant to document my fall into insanity, but when you've lost your marbles, you don't exactly have the bearings to write it all down.
While I am still in the pit and trying to figure out how to get out, I do have some recollections and time to write it out.
So, whoever you are, have you ever been to the point where you just can't?
That was me. I've had two serious mental breakdowns in the past month and a half, and two semi-minor ones. Two (one big and one small) have rendered me unable to move, incapable of anything, really. The other two have filled me with a fury I find unfamiliar.
I've known for a while that I have been slipping. I've known for some time that I was going to a place that I may not come back from, and that I was teetering on the edge of something greatly terrifying.
So, about a month, month and a half ago, I had my first mental breakdown. The toddler was sick. Or teething. Or something. He'd been crying ALL the time for like a week. All day. Every day. 14 hours a day. Crying.
And then one day, he was crying at me. And I was trying to make him a drink or a sandwich or something in the kitchen. He was on the other side of the baby gate, hopping up and down, crying AT me. Still.
So I felt the hysteria welling up. And then I started crying. And then I started bawling, and then I started screaming. And then the next thing I knew, I was hiding in the laundry room with the door shut, curled into a ball, calling everyone I knew to get the kids, and no one answered. I didn't know what to do.
Finally, my mom came and got them. But that's not the point. The point is that long before, I knew this was going to happen. I knew I was unhappy, or overwhelmed, or.. or something, and I couldn't get help. Didn't have mental health insurance. Didn't have the money to go. Didn't have a way to get out of the house, out of my "role". Most people have jobs or hobbies or something they like to do out of the house, but I have been trapped.
I'm not sure if it was the trapping or what, but something - or maybe everything - was just too much.
I'll probably go over the rest later. Maybe.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Madness
I feel like I could very easily become an alcoholic. Like, I'm just a step away.
I had a mental breakdown last week. Full on curled in a corner, crying, covering my eyes and ears. I didn't realize being a mother would be so harm. Being a stay at home parent is probably the most difficult job anyone could ever have. I wanted to quit.
It got to me. Your toddler is sick, he cries. Your toddler is hungry, he cries. Your toddler is sleepy, he cries. Your day is filled with the sound of a child crying. Add that on top of trying to pick up, vacuum, do dishes and laundry, school work, and your actual job (that you do from home), your sanity slips - more and more with each passing day.
So I lost it. All of it. My mom came and got the kids. I laid down in bed. I went to the doctor and she told me to sleep more. I guess 2-3 hours of sleep every night isn't a good mix on top of all that either. So I am taking sleeping pills every night. I also have a prescription for anxiety, to use as needed. I've used it once so far. Not sure if it worked or not as the little one went to bed shortly after I popped it.
I've been wanting to drink. For a few nights there, I NEEDED a beer before bed, just to take the edge off. It's scary to me to need something like that, to depend on it.
I sought mental counseling too, but my options are limited as my insurance doesn't cover mental health. Both of the doctors I contacted are out of their office for the next two weeks. So we'll see then I guess. And in the meantime, hopefully I don't lose it again.
I had a mental breakdown last week. Full on curled in a corner, crying, covering my eyes and ears. I didn't realize being a mother would be so harm. Being a stay at home parent is probably the most difficult job anyone could ever have. I wanted to quit.
It got to me. Your toddler is sick, he cries. Your toddler is hungry, he cries. Your toddler is sleepy, he cries. Your day is filled with the sound of a child crying. Add that on top of trying to pick up, vacuum, do dishes and laundry, school work, and your actual job (that you do from home), your sanity slips - more and more with each passing day.
So I lost it. All of it. My mom came and got the kids. I laid down in bed. I went to the doctor and she told me to sleep more. I guess 2-3 hours of sleep every night isn't a good mix on top of all that either. So I am taking sleeping pills every night. I also have a prescription for anxiety, to use as needed. I've used it once so far. Not sure if it worked or not as the little one went to bed shortly after I popped it.
I've been wanting to drink. For a few nights there, I NEEDED a beer before bed, just to take the edge off. It's scary to me to need something like that, to depend on it.
I sought mental counseling too, but my options are limited as my insurance doesn't cover mental health. Both of the doctors I contacted are out of their office for the next two weeks. So we'll see then I guess. And in the meantime, hopefully I don't lose it again.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Girl to Woman
A question occurred to me the other day while I was writing the brief description of this blog ("The blog of a modern woman who may (or may not) have lost herself along the way"): When did I start addressing myself as a woman? It was only recently (within the last year or so) that I've changed from addressing myself as "girl" to "woman." Like.. "I'm a WOMAN from Southern Oregon".. those kinds of things.
I'm 26 years old now. Shouldn't that change have come a lot sooner? When does one go from girl to woman? Is it "Bam! I'm 18 so I'm a woman"? Or "Yay! I'm 21 so I'm a woman"? Is it "hey, I'm married now, so I'm a woman"?, "I have a child/children now, so I'm no longer a girl" Or "I'm sick of this partying shit now, so I'm a woman".
For me, I guess it's probably one of the latter three. I've been feeling in the last year or so that "I'm too old for this shit." I've noticed that at parties, I'm always tired by 10 and in bed my midnight. I've noticed that my children seem to suck my very life's essence from my bones. I've noticed that when my husband's in a bad mood, mine also goes out the window. Do I associate lack of energy and excitement with being a woman? Is that what my life is really turning into?
I'm not really sure. But either way, I'm a woman who, for the first time, attended/hosted a party and really just did not want to be there. I'm not sure if it's me, or the way that my friends view me now that I'm a "woman", but things seemed different. Something that I've done for going on 10 years now and has been hilarious, light-hearted joke, suddenly warrants me a very hard hit on the head and a forceful "bitch!". Or that I request a BYOB and suddenly my party guests aren't so sure if they have plans that night or not.
Either way, I realized last night that my priorities have changed - a LOT. I feel like maybe I'm holding on to the friends that I have simply because I am afraid that if those friendships fade, I will have no one else. And sadly, it's true. All my friends have either moved away (and thus friendships have faded), gotten girlfriends and stopped associating with me, or just plain chose different paths than me. I feel like if I let my last couple friends go, then I'll lose a piece of me, but if I try to hold on, I'll lose a different one.
So which piece of me do I want to let go? The one that feels awkward and taken advantage of, or the one that feels so desperately alone?
I'm 26 years old now. Shouldn't that change have come a lot sooner? When does one go from girl to woman? Is it "Bam! I'm 18 so I'm a woman"? Or "Yay! I'm 21 so I'm a woman"? Is it "hey, I'm married now, so I'm a woman"?, "I have a child/children now, so I'm no longer a girl" Or "I'm sick of this partying shit now, so I'm a woman".
For me, I guess it's probably one of the latter three. I've been feeling in the last year or so that "I'm too old for this shit." I've noticed that at parties, I'm always tired by 10 and in bed my midnight. I've noticed that my children seem to suck my very life's essence from my bones. I've noticed that when my husband's in a bad mood, mine also goes out the window. Do I associate lack of energy and excitement with being a woman? Is that what my life is really turning into?
I'm not really sure. But either way, I'm a woman who, for the first time, attended/hosted a party and really just did not want to be there. I'm not sure if it's me, or the way that my friends view me now that I'm a "woman", but things seemed different. Something that I've done for going on 10 years now and has been hilarious, light-hearted joke, suddenly warrants me a very hard hit on the head and a forceful "bitch!". Or that I request a BYOB and suddenly my party guests aren't so sure if they have plans that night or not.
Either way, I realized last night that my priorities have changed - a LOT. I feel like maybe I'm holding on to the friends that I have simply because I am afraid that if those friendships fade, I will have no one else. And sadly, it's true. All my friends have either moved away (and thus friendships have faded), gotten girlfriends and stopped associating with me, or just plain chose different paths than me. I feel like if I let my last couple friends go, then I'll lose a piece of me, but if I try to hold on, I'll lose a different one.
So which piece of me do I want to let go? The one that feels awkward and taken advantage of, or the one that feels so desperately alone?
Thursday, August 1, 2013
So That Would Make This Page Two
Picking back up where I left off with my post a couple days ago.
Ben proposed. I said yes and postponed my plans to go to Mexico until the next year so we could plan our wedding. My son would be another year older and would be established with Ben as a parental figure, so it was probably for the best anyway.
In June, I started summer term at my school. It wasn't Mexico, but I was learning and taking classes with a friend so I was happy. Ben and I giddily made plans for a wedding that September - just 10 1/2 months after we'd started dating. However, it turned out that a co-worker had that week off because he too was getting married that weekend. We wanted to take the honeymoon immediately after the wedding, so Ben printed out a vacation schedule that showed us our options.
It turned out that there wasn't too much available that corresponded with a cruise (our preferred honeymoon), but there was one in July. We checked with our venue and it was available for that date! So there we were, a mere 3 weeks before our new wedding date. My mother almost had a heart attack, but in the end it helped all of us stress less.
The wedding was wonderful. Actually, I don't remember much about the wedding. All I really remember was that my dress was too tight around the bust and my boobs were spilling out (probably my fault for pulling them up in the lacing process, but oh well!), and Ben. I'd never seen Ben that handsome. He was in a standard black and white tuxedo, but his tie was also white. The way he smiled when he saw me reassured me, and I knew mine did the same to him. Our wedding was incredibly short, as we had a plane to catch the next morning in California.
It turned out that my summer term professor had a very strict attendance policy and that my honeymoon would knock my final grade down 20%.. that meant that the very VERY best I could do was earn a B, and that was assuming I earned 100% on all my quizzes, my midterm, and my final. So I withdrew from the class.
Our honeymoon was an incredible blast. I've never had an experience like it, and I'm so excited to go again.. hopefully sometime soon. We sailed the Caribbean and ate and slept and ate some more and did things newly married couples do: we tried to make a baby.
So the honeymoon ended and 3 weeks later when it was supposed to be "that time of the month" for me, I waited. It didn't come. I took a test. It was positive. I rushed to Planned Parenthood. It was positive. I rushed to Ben. We laughed and I cried and jumped and giggled: we had made a baby. We told our family. We told our friends. We got many congratulations.
Then a week later, while visiting my father's house some twenty miles away from town, I got pains. I'd had them all day and was sometimes reduced to tears from the pain, but I guessed I ate something very nasty the night before and really didn't want to miss the dinner with my father. Then, about dinner time, I had the pain. I went to the bathroom. There was blood.
There's not supposed to be blood. I'm pregnant. Why is there blood?
I wasn't even aware of my sobs and gasps before Ben, my father, and my stepmother were at the door asking what's wrong. I flushed. I didn't want to see it. Washed my hands. Opened the door. "There's blood"
It was a frenzy. Daddy packed me some of his famous pizza to go. Ben drove. I was in the passenger seat and the pain was getting worse. I clutched my side and cried. Half a hour later, we were at the emergency room. He dropped me off and went to find a parking spot. I went inside.
"What's your problem?"
"I think I'm having a miscarriage"
"Let's get you checked in"
So they did. Then told me that they'd call me when they were ready for me. I Laid down on the floor because it hurt so much. I cried, I worried. People in front of me with common colds. A kid with a broken ankle. I felt bad for him but they don't set casts in the ER. He was doing ok, so I guessed that he was already on pain pills, and that's about all they can do for him. So I waited for them to sift through everyone else ahead of me. I was there for 6 hours, I think, before they got me back for an ultrasound.
It was a tubal pregnancy they said. They said that it hurt because my tube was about to burst. They would have to remove the embryo to save my life. I was rushed back to the OR about 5 AM that morning. Ben waited outside. The doctor was very nice and kept him informed.
It was over. Our baby was gone.
It was in these months that followed that I became a very dark person. Someone I not normally am. I hated people. I'd never hated anything. I intentionally hurt my sister's sister in law. Bad moods of others seeped into me and took root and manifested and became something sinister.
I walked a lot in those months. I would spend hours on the track near my house, with my head down. I would walk miles in that great oval and I would follow the painted line as if it were my rail, my lifeline.I would walk and I would cry, silent tears. I would hate myself more than anything. I would hate myself because it was MY fault I lost the baby. It was because I was fat that I'd lost the baby. It was because I was unhealthy that my body couldn't carry the child. We'd only known about that baby for a week, but it was enough. It was long enough to love it. It was long enough for me to feel a loss so profound.
Ben and I almost divorced. Four months after we were married, we got in a fight. A mental, emotional, verbal, physical fight. We went to counseling.
I had become someone I wasn't. I lost a baby I desperately wanted. My marriage of less than a year was on the rocks. I decided to go back to school, opting for a writing class in a different campus with a professor I adored. I also got a puppy, thinking it would help take the place of the baby I lost.
The puppy chewed everything. It pooped on everything. It cried. When it pooped and I swatted it, it would whimper. And that monster I became after the loss of my baby liked that sound. It liked the sound of something else weaker than me hurting, and that scared the crap out of the real me.
Not to mention we were pregnant again. I couldn't handle the emotional taxation of a puppy (and never will again I'm positive) and a pregnancy. We rehomed the dog and waited to see if this was a tubal pregnancy. I had weekly blood draws. When my hormone levels were high enough, I went in for the ultrasound. It was a healthy pregnancy!
We were so happy. The monster in me was gone. In its place, us. Healthy. This child that I wanted, loved, needed, and lost had come back to me. That was the only way I can comfort myself from grieving further, to think that somehow it's the same spirit as the one we'd lost.
Our marriage was ok. We were fine again. We were in love again.
But, the morning sickness was awful. They had me on 3 different medications for morning sickness. I couldn't drive all the way to the other campus twice a week anymore. So I withdrew from that class and that professor that I loved so much.
He was a planned C section and Ben sat by my side and held my hand and we heard him cry and we cried. We held our boy. It was the happiest day of my life. I knew my family was complete. I had my tubes tied after he came because I knew that he was all I needed. I had my two boys and my husband and we were in love and it was perfect and he was perfect and everything was perfect.
So the next summer, I registered for another class: a fitness class. I wanted to lose the baby fat. Ben was graduating so maybe this time it would be easier. But then he got offered a job, even before he graduated. So here he was, working 6 hours graveyard shift then going straight to working 8 hours at his new job, then coming home and sleeping. We fell out of touch but that was ok because he had gotten a new job doing something he wanted to do (and got his degree in) with better hours and as soon as his old job found a replacement, it would be over.
Having a babysitter worked for a little while, but mostly it didn't. I dropped out of school again.
So here is this pattern. This thing. Every time I try to go to school, something knocks me down again. This term I wanted to take two classes. I had to withdraw from at least one (and preferably two) for financial reasons. I almost did, but at the last minute I decided to hell with fate, I was going to school this term.
So I did. I feel as if I am doing well this term. Midterms are due on Tuesday, so I have the whole weekend to sit on it and work it out, but so far so good I think.
So I planned on going to go to school in fall, but felt guilty about money. My best friend just had a baby too. She needs to go back to work but can't afford daycare, so I am going to take her baby for a reduced fee in exchange for construction work with her baby daddy. So, yet another time fate has smote my dreams of school.
I suggested taking evening classes, since my friend would be off work and picking up the baby around 4:30 every day, it would be easy for me to attend evening classes. But Ben told me that we would not have any time together if I took evening classes.
Meek little Jenners laid down her head, cried and said "it's ok, it's for the good of the family. For one, I won't need to pay for school. For two, I won't need to pay for daycare. For three, I'll be MAKING money providing daycare." I de-registered for my classes. Ben agreed, and I quietly mourned inside for my future that would never be.
In writing my blog a couple days ago, the "to hell with fate" attitude was re-ignited. I told Ben I wanted to go.That it wasn't fair that he could work two jobs and attend school. While that doesn't sound FUN, what it DOES sound like is having a supportive partner who picks up the slack in every other area in life and the household.
What I didn't tell him was this:
When we married, we had agreed that I would be a housewife. I wanted to stay at home with the kids, maintaining the home, cooking. But after being together for almost 4 years, it has become apparent that I don't get that. I need to work ON TOP of these duties. And while Ben works all day, he at least gets to work in the field he desires. He enjoys his work and gets to use the degree while he paid for.
So not only do I not get to be a housewife, but I didn't get to choose my job. Ben chose his job. Mine was thrust upon me; the one option available to the woman that needed to stay home with her kids AND work.
My freedom to choose had been... taken from me.
So, this is why I mourn. I mourn for the education that is so difficult to get. I mourn for the position I put my adult self in when I was a teenager. I mourn for the job I loathe. I mourn for the hard work I feel I do on a daily basis and receive little recognition for. I mourn for the fact that I didn't get to be the housewife I wanted to be, the one that can do the chores and still have time to make a hot meal for her husband and kids. But mostly, I mourn, grieve, and hurt for the me that I've lost along the way - the me that has had to be pushed back, neglected, or buried.
Ben proposed. I said yes and postponed my plans to go to Mexico until the next year so we could plan our wedding. My son would be another year older and would be established with Ben as a parental figure, so it was probably for the best anyway.
In June, I started summer term at my school. It wasn't Mexico, but I was learning and taking classes with a friend so I was happy. Ben and I giddily made plans for a wedding that September - just 10 1/2 months after we'd started dating. However, it turned out that a co-worker had that week off because he too was getting married that weekend. We wanted to take the honeymoon immediately after the wedding, so Ben printed out a vacation schedule that showed us our options.
It turned out that there wasn't too much available that corresponded with a cruise (our preferred honeymoon), but there was one in July. We checked with our venue and it was available for that date! So there we were, a mere 3 weeks before our new wedding date. My mother almost had a heart attack, but in the end it helped all of us stress less.
The wedding was wonderful. Actually, I don't remember much about the wedding. All I really remember was that my dress was too tight around the bust and my boobs were spilling out (probably my fault for pulling them up in the lacing process, but oh well!), and Ben. I'd never seen Ben that handsome. He was in a standard black and white tuxedo, but his tie was also white. The way he smiled when he saw me reassured me, and I knew mine did the same to him. Our wedding was incredibly short, as we had a plane to catch the next morning in California.
It turned out that my summer term professor had a very strict attendance policy and that my honeymoon would knock my final grade down 20%.. that meant that the very VERY best I could do was earn a B, and that was assuming I earned 100% on all my quizzes, my midterm, and my final. So I withdrew from the class.
Our honeymoon was an incredible blast. I've never had an experience like it, and I'm so excited to go again.. hopefully sometime soon. We sailed the Caribbean and ate and slept and ate some more and did things newly married couples do: we tried to make a baby.
So the honeymoon ended and 3 weeks later when it was supposed to be "that time of the month" for me, I waited. It didn't come. I took a test. It was positive. I rushed to Planned Parenthood. It was positive. I rushed to Ben. We laughed and I cried and jumped and giggled: we had made a baby. We told our family. We told our friends. We got many congratulations.
Then a week later, while visiting my father's house some twenty miles away from town, I got pains. I'd had them all day and was sometimes reduced to tears from the pain, but I guessed I ate something very nasty the night before and really didn't want to miss the dinner with my father. Then, about dinner time, I had the pain. I went to the bathroom. There was blood.
There's not supposed to be blood. I'm pregnant. Why is there blood?
I wasn't even aware of my sobs and gasps before Ben, my father, and my stepmother were at the door asking what's wrong. I flushed. I didn't want to see it. Washed my hands. Opened the door. "There's blood"
It was a frenzy. Daddy packed me some of his famous pizza to go. Ben drove. I was in the passenger seat and the pain was getting worse. I clutched my side and cried. Half a hour later, we were at the emergency room. He dropped me off and went to find a parking spot. I went inside.
"What's your problem?"
"I think I'm having a miscarriage"
"Let's get you checked in"
So they did. Then told me that they'd call me when they were ready for me. I Laid down on the floor because it hurt so much. I cried, I worried. People in front of me with common colds. A kid with a broken ankle. I felt bad for him but they don't set casts in the ER. He was doing ok, so I guessed that he was already on pain pills, and that's about all they can do for him. So I waited for them to sift through everyone else ahead of me. I was there for 6 hours, I think, before they got me back for an ultrasound.
It was a tubal pregnancy they said. They said that it hurt because my tube was about to burst. They would have to remove the embryo to save my life. I was rushed back to the OR about 5 AM that morning. Ben waited outside. The doctor was very nice and kept him informed.
It was over. Our baby was gone.
It was in these months that followed that I became a very dark person. Someone I not normally am. I hated people. I'd never hated anything. I intentionally hurt my sister's sister in law. Bad moods of others seeped into me and took root and manifested and became something sinister.
I walked a lot in those months. I would spend hours on the track near my house, with my head down. I would walk miles in that great oval and I would follow the painted line as if it were my rail, my lifeline.I would walk and I would cry, silent tears. I would hate myself more than anything. I would hate myself because it was MY fault I lost the baby. It was because I was fat that I'd lost the baby. It was because I was unhealthy that my body couldn't carry the child. We'd only known about that baby for a week, but it was enough. It was long enough to love it. It was long enough for me to feel a loss so profound.
Ben and I almost divorced. Four months after we were married, we got in a fight. A mental, emotional, verbal, physical fight. We went to counseling.
I had become someone I wasn't. I lost a baby I desperately wanted. My marriage of less than a year was on the rocks. I decided to go back to school, opting for a writing class in a different campus with a professor I adored. I also got a puppy, thinking it would help take the place of the baby I lost.
The puppy chewed everything. It pooped on everything. It cried. When it pooped and I swatted it, it would whimper. And that monster I became after the loss of my baby liked that sound. It liked the sound of something else weaker than me hurting, and that scared the crap out of the real me.
Not to mention we were pregnant again. I couldn't handle the emotional taxation of a puppy (and never will again I'm positive) and a pregnancy. We rehomed the dog and waited to see if this was a tubal pregnancy. I had weekly blood draws. When my hormone levels were high enough, I went in for the ultrasound. It was a healthy pregnancy!
We were so happy. The monster in me was gone. In its place, us. Healthy. This child that I wanted, loved, needed, and lost had come back to me. That was the only way I can comfort myself from grieving further, to think that somehow it's the same spirit as the one we'd lost.
Our marriage was ok. We were fine again. We were in love again.
But, the morning sickness was awful. They had me on 3 different medications for morning sickness. I couldn't drive all the way to the other campus twice a week anymore. So I withdrew from that class and that professor that I loved so much.
He was a planned C section and Ben sat by my side and held my hand and we heard him cry and we cried. We held our boy. It was the happiest day of my life. I knew my family was complete. I had my tubes tied after he came because I knew that he was all I needed. I had my two boys and my husband and we were in love and it was perfect and he was perfect and everything was perfect.
So the next summer, I registered for another class: a fitness class. I wanted to lose the baby fat. Ben was graduating so maybe this time it would be easier. But then he got offered a job, even before he graduated. So here he was, working 6 hours graveyard shift then going straight to working 8 hours at his new job, then coming home and sleeping. We fell out of touch but that was ok because he had gotten a new job doing something he wanted to do (and got his degree in) with better hours and as soon as his old job found a replacement, it would be over.
Having a babysitter worked for a little while, but mostly it didn't. I dropped out of school again.
So here is this pattern. This thing. Every time I try to go to school, something knocks me down again. This term I wanted to take two classes. I had to withdraw from at least one (and preferably two) for financial reasons. I almost did, but at the last minute I decided to hell with fate, I was going to school this term.
So I did. I feel as if I am doing well this term. Midterms are due on Tuesday, so I have the whole weekend to sit on it and work it out, but so far so good I think.
So I planned on going to go to school in fall, but felt guilty about money. My best friend just had a baby too. She needs to go back to work but can't afford daycare, so I am going to take her baby for a reduced fee in exchange for construction work with her baby daddy. So, yet another time fate has smote my dreams of school.
I suggested taking evening classes, since my friend would be off work and picking up the baby around 4:30 every day, it would be easy for me to attend evening classes. But Ben told me that we would not have any time together if I took evening classes.
Meek little Jenners laid down her head, cried and said "it's ok, it's for the good of the family. For one, I won't need to pay for school. For two, I won't need to pay for daycare. For three, I'll be MAKING money providing daycare." I de-registered for my classes. Ben agreed, and I quietly mourned inside for my future that would never be.
In writing my blog a couple days ago, the "to hell with fate" attitude was re-ignited. I told Ben I wanted to go.That it wasn't fair that he could work two jobs and attend school. While that doesn't sound FUN, what it DOES sound like is having a supportive partner who picks up the slack in every other area in life and the household.
What I didn't tell him was this:
When we married, we had agreed that I would be a housewife. I wanted to stay at home with the kids, maintaining the home, cooking. But after being together for almost 4 years, it has become apparent that I don't get that. I need to work ON TOP of these duties. And while Ben works all day, he at least gets to work in the field he desires. He enjoys his work and gets to use the degree while he paid for.
So not only do I not get to be a housewife, but I didn't get to choose my job. Ben chose his job. Mine was thrust upon me; the one option available to the woman that needed to stay home with her kids AND work.
My freedom to choose had been... taken from me.
So, this is why I mourn. I mourn for the education that is so difficult to get. I mourn for the position I put my adult self in when I was a teenager. I mourn for the job I loathe. I mourn for the hard work I feel I do on a daily basis and receive little recognition for. I mourn for the fact that I didn't get to be the housewife I wanted to be, the one that can do the chores and still have time to make a hot meal for her husband and kids. But mostly, I mourn, grieve, and hurt for the me that I've lost along the way - the me that has had to be pushed back, neglected, or buried.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Pretend This is Page One
Dear Whoever You Are,
I am starting this blog over. Whether you know me or not, pretend that you do not. Empty your mind of all preconceived notions you may have of me. You do not know my face. You do not recognize the sound of my voice. You do not know how old I am, where I live, or whether or not I have a family.
So let me tell you. Empty your mind and let me paint you a picture of my current self (the past is too much for me to tackle at present).
I am 26 years old. I address my age as "over a quarter of a century old", as this is how I often feel. Why? I am a mother of two energy-sapping tykes: both boys. Christopher is 7 and Nicholas will be 2 in October (I never could stand the mothers who would measure their baby's age in months. I suppose if you WERE one of those people, my son would be *counts* 21 3/4 months. If that is not accurate enough for you, I don't know what to tell you).
I have brown hair that is an inch shy of being shoulder length. I keep it layered, and I trim it myself. Some people will swear that I have blue eyes and others will promise they are green. I can only tell you that I think they are neither, and a rather pleasant hue somewhere in the middle. I feel I am decent looking: I may even be pretty. I rarely use the word "beautiful" to describe myself in my head, but maybe I have a few times when I am all dolled up. I am "overweight" for being only 5'5. While I certainly am soft in some areas, I'm just about comfortable with my weight, thought I do wish I were more toned.
I suppose that's all you need to know about my physical appearance for now. Those of you that know me, the description may seem familiar, however the way I have described myself may be new.. so if I am boring you, perhaps take a look instead at the way I view myself rather than the facts I have presented.
So back to the top. Why am I starting my blog over? Because I originally founded this blog for the intents of connecting with others that knew me; keeping my friends or family in the loop. Partly also to vent. I'm sure there are about 100 other smaller reasons why this blog was created in the first place. However, I am re-creating it for one simple reason:
Myself.
This blog is, first and foremost, a self-help journal. I was diagnosed with the beginnings of carpal tunnel a few months ago and I can no longer hold a pen or pencil and write in my coveted notebooks. You may notice the plural. I love to write. I always have. When I was in 4th-7th grade (and probably even longer), I would write for fun. Not just blurbs or journals, but poems and stories - books. I even bound my notebook paper with yarn so the pages were attached like a book, all down the spine rather than just stapled at the top (though some of my stories consisted of too many pages to be held together by a simple staple).
I re-created this blog not caring who - if anyone - would read. I honestly don't care if I have written something about a friend or a family member that may hurt their feelings. This may sound cruel, but everyone has feelings. If I have known you for any period of time, I have probably at one point been hurt or mad or offended by you at some point but if you know me, you know that I forgive and love my friends unconditionally... or at least I do now. I expect the same of my friends, family, and readers. I do not like drama, and I am honestly tired of dwelling on things. Regret, shame, anger, sadness... these things are too heavy a burden for a heart to bear.
Which brings me back to the purpose of this blog. If you happen to find something that you feel is negative about you in here (you likely won't unless you happen to be my unfortunate husband [I love you, dear]), please know that it is because whatever you have done to hurt, offend, (etc.) me, I no longer wish to carry the burden associated with those actions, and need to release them somehow. As I wish to have a clean friendship with you, I may blog about them instead of bringing them up to you personally unless they are serious offenses. I will NEVER hide behind a computer monitor about something that I genuinely feel deserves our attentions.
So now that we are done with the Who and How, it is time to address the Why.
Why do I need a self-help journal? Well, as my newly written blog description states: "I am a modern woman who may (or may not have) lost herself along the way. The way of what? I'm not certain. Maybe we'll find out together.
So. The night is Tuesday. It is 10:23 PM and if it were a school night, it would be past my bed time. As it were, I have spent the last few hours putting things away, re-arranging the hallway, cleaning the kitchen, throwing away trash, and washing the dishes. Let us not forget creating a blog.
What should I be doing on this marvelous Tuesday evening? I should be reading. I am currently enrolled in a literature course at my local community college. On Thursday, not only our take-home midterm questions handed out, but we also must have finished a novel, Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston as well as three new short stories. I can tell you that I have not read any of the short stories that were assigned to me this morning and are due the day after tomorrow. I also have about 90 more pages to read that also need to be read by the aforementioned date.
So why am I sitting here blogging? Partly it's procrastination. I get that wonderful habit from my lovely mother. Mostly, however, it's because during all these chores listed above, I couldn't stop thinking and feeling. Thinking about my life. Where it's been, where it is, where it's going. Normal thoughts. It's the feeling that drove me to write.
The feeling of loss; grief.
The inability to deal with it.
The uncertainty associated with it.
There is so much that you don't know, I can't start from the beginning. Neither of us would have enough time. So I'll just skim the top and maybe later we can delve into the past or see how I am dealing with it in the future (which will then be the present!).
School.
This is where this feeling of grieving comes from. When I was 16, I dropped out of high school to pursue my college career. I thought it was amazing that I could have my master's degree at the age of 20, and wanted to get started on life. On my path to help others. I did not know then what I wanted to do, simply that I wanted to help others. I figured I would probably wind up in healthcare, so I started with French and First Aid/CPR.
I made one very grave mistake: I forgot that I was a teenage girl.
Each term, I registered for one class after another. And each term I would get halfway or 3/4 of the way through and "have" to drop the class. Why? My boyfriend thought I didn't need to go to school. Or that my next boyfriend and I had broken up. Or that the next guy I was pining for didn't want me. Or that this guy, that guy, this GIRL liked me but I didn't like them.. etc., etc., etc.,
Do you see the trend? I was caught up in the drama of relationships that is SO important to teenage girls. I was so caught up in my teenage life that I screwed my adult life over. I lost financial aid, but I found a way to go. September 2009, I started going again with a friend, paying my way only because I was living for free in my uncle's guest house, working for him from home. At this time I only had one child, a 3 1/2 year old.
My friend and I decided to take Spanish together. We made an awesome team and stuff. Then, in October 2009 my world changed completely.
I attended a Halloween party at a friend's house and became attracted to her roommate and ex-fiance, Ben. We hit it off, and by the end of the night had a very awkward drunken encounter. A couple days later, we'd made plans to play a dancing arcade game. A week later, we were hooked. He spent every day with me, watching movies, dancing at the arcade, going to dinners, driving, talking, laughing. Then it was officially Halloween and he showed up at my door to take me to another party. When I opened the door, he was there. He got down on one knee and brought out a dozen red roses and asked me to be his girlfriend. Of course I said yes. for all intents and purposes we were already dating anyway.
Our relationship had an awkward start. We broke up a couple weeks later, but remained friends. In that period of friendship, we got to know each other in ways we didn't as a couple. Through that friendship, we decided to give it another go, and it was great. Then we broke up. Then we got back together. Yeah. We're special.
So, though we were back together, I did not know for how long or how serious. You see, Ben is bipolar and was not on medication at the time. He was not violent or angry, but couldn't seem to make up his mind. Because of this, I made plans. I was going to spend the summer living in Mexico, learning the language in the best way possible. I was going to travel, to see the world. Do one thing I had always wanted to do. So, there I was filling out the forms for my passport and I was just a few days shy of turning them in when Ben asked me to marry him. I said yes.
This is where the best story of my life begins. It is also where the trouble and grief begins.
I'm sorry to stop here but I am finally feeling exhausted. I must sleep now to have a clear head tomorrow so I can study for my midterms and quizzes that will be presented to me on Thursday! I will likely post tomorrow, but if not, please do not panic. :)
I am starting this blog over. Whether you know me or not, pretend that you do not. Empty your mind of all preconceived notions you may have of me. You do not know my face. You do not recognize the sound of my voice. You do not know how old I am, where I live, or whether or not I have a family.
So let me tell you. Empty your mind and let me paint you a picture of my current self (the past is too much for me to tackle at present).
I am 26 years old. I address my age as "over a quarter of a century old", as this is how I often feel. Why? I am a mother of two energy-sapping tykes: both boys. Christopher is 7 and Nicholas will be 2 in October (I never could stand the mothers who would measure their baby's age in months. I suppose if you WERE one of those people, my son would be *counts* 21 3/4 months. If that is not accurate enough for you, I don't know what to tell you).
I have brown hair that is an inch shy of being shoulder length. I keep it layered, and I trim it myself. Some people will swear that I have blue eyes and others will promise they are green. I can only tell you that I think they are neither, and a rather pleasant hue somewhere in the middle. I feel I am decent looking: I may even be pretty. I rarely use the word "beautiful" to describe myself in my head, but maybe I have a few times when I am all dolled up. I am "overweight" for being only 5'5. While I certainly am soft in some areas, I'm just about comfortable with my weight, thought I do wish I were more toned.
I suppose that's all you need to know about my physical appearance for now. Those of you that know me, the description may seem familiar, however the way I have described myself may be new.. so if I am boring you, perhaps take a look instead at the way I view myself rather than the facts I have presented.
So back to the top. Why am I starting my blog over? Because I originally founded this blog for the intents of connecting with others that knew me; keeping my friends or family in the loop. Partly also to vent. I'm sure there are about 100 other smaller reasons why this blog was created in the first place. However, I am re-creating it for one simple reason:
Myself.
This blog is, first and foremost, a self-help journal. I was diagnosed with the beginnings of carpal tunnel a few months ago and I can no longer hold a pen or pencil and write in my coveted notebooks. You may notice the plural. I love to write. I always have. When I was in 4th-7th grade (and probably even longer), I would write for fun. Not just blurbs or journals, but poems and stories - books. I even bound my notebook paper with yarn so the pages were attached like a book, all down the spine rather than just stapled at the top (though some of my stories consisted of too many pages to be held together by a simple staple).
I re-created this blog not caring who - if anyone - would read. I honestly don't care if I have written something about a friend or a family member that may hurt their feelings. This may sound cruel, but everyone has feelings. If I have known you for any period of time, I have probably at one point been hurt or mad or offended by you at some point but if you know me, you know that I forgive and love my friends unconditionally... or at least I do now. I expect the same of my friends, family, and readers. I do not like drama, and I am honestly tired of dwelling on things. Regret, shame, anger, sadness... these things are too heavy a burden for a heart to bear.
Which brings me back to the purpose of this blog. If you happen to find something that you feel is negative about you in here (you likely won't unless you happen to be my unfortunate husband [I love you, dear]), please know that it is because whatever you have done to hurt, offend, (etc.) me, I no longer wish to carry the burden associated with those actions, and need to release them somehow. As I wish to have a clean friendship with you, I may blog about them instead of bringing them up to you personally unless they are serious offenses. I will NEVER hide behind a computer monitor about something that I genuinely feel deserves our attentions.
So now that we are done with the Who and How, it is time to address the Why.
Why do I need a self-help journal? Well, as my newly written blog description states: "I am a modern woman who may (or may not have) lost herself along the way. The way of what? I'm not certain. Maybe we'll find out together.
So. The night is Tuesday. It is 10:23 PM and if it were a school night, it would be past my bed time. As it were, I have spent the last few hours putting things away, re-arranging the hallway, cleaning the kitchen, throwing away trash, and washing the dishes. Let us not forget creating a blog.
What should I be doing on this marvelous Tuesday evening? I should be reading. I am currently enrolled in a literature course at my local community college. On Thursday, not only our take-home midterm questions handed out, but we also must have finished a novel, Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston as well as three new short stories. I can tell you that I have not read any of the short stories that were assigned to me this morning and are due the day after tomorrow. I also have about 90 more pages to read that also need to be read by the aforementioned date.
So why am I sitting here blogging? Partly it's procrastination. I get that wonderful habit from my lovely mother. Mostly, however, it's because during all these chores listed above, I couldn't stop thinking and feeling. Thinking about my life. Where it's been, where it is, where it's going. Normal thoughts. It's the feeling that drove me to write.
The feeling of loss; grief.
The inability to deal with it.
The uncertainty associated with it.
There is so much that you don't know, I can't start from the beginning. Neither of us would have enough time. So I'll just skim the top and maybe later we can delve into the past or see how I am dealing with it in the future (which will then be the present!).
School.
This is where this feeling of grieving comes from. When I was 16, I dropped out of high school to pursue my college career. I thought it was amazing that I could have my master's degree at the age of 20, and wanted to get started on life. On my path to help others. I did not know then what I wanted to do, simply that I wanted to help others. I figured I would probably wind up in healthcare, so I started with French and First Aid/CPR.
I made one very grave mistake: I forgot that I was a teenage girl.
Each term, I registered for one class after another. And each term I would get halfway or 3/4 of the way through and "have" to drop the class. Why? My boyfriend thought I didn't need to go to school. Or that my next boyfriend and I had broken up. Or that the next guy I was pining for didn't want me. Or that this guy, that guy, this GIRL liked me but I didn't like them.. etc., etc., etc.,
Do you see the trend? I was caught up in the drama of relationships that is SO important to teenage girls. I was so caught up in my teenage life that I screwed my adult life over. I lost financial aid, but I found a way to go. September 2009, I started going again with a friend, paying my way only because I was living for free in my uncle's guest house, working for him from home. At this time I only had one child, a 3 1/2 year old.
My friend and I decided to take Spanish together. We made an awesome team and stuff. Then, in October 2009 my world changed completely.
I attended a Halloween party at a friend's house and became attracted to her roommate and ex-fiance, Ben. We hit it off, and by the end of the night had a very awkward drunken encounter. A couple days later, we'd made plans to play a dancing arcade game. A week later, we were hooked. He spent every day with me, watching movies, dancing at the arcade, going to dinners, driving, talking, laughing. Then it was officially Halloween and he showed up at my door to take me to another party. When I opened the door, he was there. He got down on one knee and brought out a dozen red roses and asked me to be his girlfriend. Of course I said yes. for all intents and purposes we were already dating anyway.
Our relationship had an awkward start. We broke up a couple weeks later, but remained friends. In that period of friendship, we got to know each other in ways we didn't as a couple. Through that friendship, we decided to give it another go, and it was great. Then we broke up. Then we got back together. Yeah. We're special.
So, though we were back together, I did not know for how long or how serious. You see, Ben is bipolar and was not on medication at the time. He was not violent or angry, but couldn't seem to make up his mind. Because of this, I made plans. I was going to spend the summer living in Mexico, learning the language in the best way possible. I was going to travel, to see the world. Do one thing I had always wanted to do. So, there I was filling out the forms for my passport and I was just a few days shy of turning them in when Ben asked me to marry him. I said yes.
This is where the best story of my life begins. It is also where the trouble and grief begins.
I'm sorry to stop here but I am finally feeling exhausted. I must sleep now to have a clear head tomorrow so I can study for my midterms and quizzes that will be presented to me on Thursday! I will likely post tomorrow, but if not, please do not panic. :)
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