Just for those who maybe don't know me in real life or on Facebook, I thought I should post here that W died earlier this month.
It did not come as a big surprise. It was sad in some ways but not sad in others. It has been a not very well kept secret in our circle that I had been tolerating him the last few years, particularly since we got back together after our separation several years ago. In some ways, I miss him and will continue to miss him. I was used to him being around. I was used to him taking care of certain things so I didn't have to.
On the not sad side, it was a relief. It felt immediately like a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. It feels like freedom. I kept my wedding rings on until a couple of days after the memorial service, and that was that. I took them off. With them on the freedom was incomplete. Also, I half-heartedly signed up with match.com. I'm not paying so I have very limited use of it, but it has given me an idea of who is out there should I decide to pursue a new relationship in the future. Not ready for that now, but maybe in the future. Maybe...
That's it for now. Maybe I'll write more later. Maybe not. Who knows?
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Lethargy, Black Holes, and Meh...
Blah, blah, blah... Life continues... Blah, blah, blah.
I have neglected this blog because I've been posting on Facebook so much, so very, very much. However, all my FB posting has ceased lately. I haven't been to FB to read anybody else's posts. I have been down in the black hole, and so much of what I want to say when I have the energy to post at all is not for consumption by family members or certain friends.
I'm as far down the black hole as I've been in a long time. The trigger seemed to be Robin Williams' death, which happened not long after I felt that I was managing to crawl out of the black hole or at least closer to the top of it. He was 10 years older than I am. He fought depression for years, with some measure of success, meaning he didn't kill himself, until finally that black hole swallowed him whole. Why that day and not any of the days before that one? At what point, if ever, will I, after battling depression with some measure of success, finally succumb to the finality of the black hole's infinite depth?
These are the thoughts that have made themselves resident in my brain the last few weeks. So much has been written about depression since then or at least been reprinted online since then that I have had much fodder for my hunger for information. No matter how many times I read it or how many sources report it, I still struggle with depression being an actual medical disease rather than a moral or character failing. Having grown up in a family that believed and taught that you just have to buck up and deal with it no matter what IT is, I struggle to deal with my IT in any way other than berating myself for my failure as a human being. Not only can I not deal with it on my own, I'm not even succeeding with the combination of therapy and meds that I'm on. I am, in my mind, a complete and utter failure.
I'm sitting so far down the black hole that I don't even see a way up. It seems the only way is to sit here on this very low ledge in the hole (I still think the bottom, if there is a bottom to the black hole, is farther down) and stay as still as possible because any movement might make me fall even further into the hole. I don't, at this moment, see the possibility of making progress upward. I don't see stairs, a ladder, or even a rope. I can't see myself committing suicide, but if I went to sleep and never awoke it seems like it would be a blessing in many ways for everyone. If I just ceased to be... meh, who cares?
Please know that I continue to see my therapist regularly and that I have scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist for later this month even though I wouldn't normally have had another appointment with her until late November. I'm trying to do what I can, but the lethargy that accompanies depression is a daunting foe. Getting out of bed in the morning seems almost too much, yet I manage most days to do so, and to get dressed, and go to work, and take care of the essential things that W and N need from me.
I doubt people around me even really realize the depth of my depression. When I do venture out into the world it is after I have psyched myself up to put on the face of one who is fine. I don't even let my guard down around W or N because whenever I do it upsets them too much, and I don't want to worry either of them. However, when I'm alone -- in the shower, in the car, in the restroom at work, wherever I catch that brief moment to myself -- I cry. I cry, and I cry, and I cry. For the least little reason or no reason at all, I cry as though my heart was breaking.
I have neglected this blog because I've been posting on Facebook so much, so very, very much. However, all my FB posting has ceased lately. I haven't been to FB to read anybody else's posts. I have been down in the black hole, and so much of what I want to say when I have the energy to post at all is not for consumption by family members or certain friends.
I'm as far down the black hole as I've been in a long time. The trigger seemed to be Robin Williams' death, which happened not long after I felt that I was managing to crawl out of the black hole or at least closer to the top of it. He was 10 years older than I am. He fought depression for years, with some measure of success, meaning he didn't kill himself, until finally that black hole swallowed him whole. Why that day and not any of the days before that one? At what point, if ever, will I, after battling depression with some measure of success, finally succumb to the finality of the black hole's infinite depth?
These are the thoughts that have made themselves resident in my brain the last few weeks. So much has been written about depression since then or at least been reprinted online since then that I have had much fodder for my hunger for information. No matter how many times I read it or how many sources report it, I still struggle with depression being an actual medical disease rather than a moral or character failing. Having grown up in a family that believed and taught that you just have to buck up and deal with it no matter what IT is, I struggle to deal with my IT in any way other than berating myself for my failure as a human being. Not only can I not deal with it on my own, I'm not even succeeding with the combination of therapy and meds that I'm on. I am, in my mind, a complete and utter failure.
I'm sitting so far down the black hole that I don't even see a way up. It seems the only way is to sit here on this very low ledge in the hole (I still think the bottom, if there is a bottom to the black hole, is farther down) and stay as still as possible because any movement might make me fall even further into the hole. I don't, at this moment, see the possibility of making progress upward. I don't see stairs, a ladder, or even a rope. I can't see myself committing suicide, but if I went to sleep and never awoke it seems like it would be a blessing in many ways for everyone. If I just ceased to be... meh, who cares?
Please know that I continue to see my therapist regularly and that I have scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist for later this month even though I wouldn't normally have had another appointment with her until late November. I'm trying to do what I can, but the lethargy that accompanies depression is a daunting foe. Getting out of bed in the morning seems almost too much, yet I manage most days to do so, and to get dressed, and go to work, and take care of the essential things that W and N need from me.
I doubt people around me even really realize the depth of my depression. When I do venture out into the world it is after I have psyched myself up to put on the face of one who is fine. I don't even let my guard down around W or N because whenever I do it upsets them too much, and I don't want to worry either of them. However, when I'm alone -- in the shower, in the car, in the restroom at work, wherever I catch that brief moment to myself -- I cry. I cry, and I cry, and I cry. For the least little reason or no reason at all, I cry as though my heart was breaking.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Would You Visit Me in the Loony Bin?
Why does everything have to pile up on me at once? I have been feeling completely swamped by life lately.
- N is having problems at school.
- W is having health issues, again (still?), and spent time in the hospital this week which he wouldn’t let me tell people about so I couldn’t get a great deal of support.
- Work is getting outrageously busy and will continue to be so until around May sometime.
- I’m trying (and failing miserably) to fundraise both for N to go to Europe this summer with his soccer team as well as for me to go on an international mission trip this summer.
- My car, with over 120K miles on it, has decided to become a money pit because it wouldn’t do to just hang in there until after the summer is paid for and over with.
- Plus I was down with strep throat a couple of weeks ago.
It is times like these that I just want to go stark raving mad so they have to lock me up for an extended stay in the psych ward. Wandering around in my pajamas talking nonsense and checking out from reality sounds really damned appealing right now…
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
So Many Dreams
J is on my mind so much lately that he has invaded my dreams on a regular basis, when I'm not dreaming about pythons endangering school children (that's a whole different story, not for today, maybe not ever).
I regularly dream about J and me being together. In all of my dreams, we spend much of our time in bed together... just like real life. In all of my dreams, he and I are dating and trying to figure out if we will be more than that. It's a common theme that plays out in different ways in each dream.
Last night's dream had him spending the night with me at my mother's house. We were trying to be sneaky about it, but he wasn't careful enough the next morning to get out without getting caught. We were all embarassed, but I said to J after she went back down the hall, "Well, I am over 50 after all. She's got to know that I have sex sometimes."
W was nowhere to be found in the dream at all. There was no question from anyone about him. It was though he just didn't exist in the dream. That isn't always true in these dreams. Sometimes W is a factor in the dream. Sometimes not.
On another note, I worry about J during my waking hours. The prison where he works is on lockdown due to an inmate murder. It is so very bad there since they closed the supermax prison and moved a lot of those prisoners to the prison where J works. They moved some of the officers too, and that hasn't gone well. Lots of disgruntled officers. Lots of disgruntled inmates. It is a volatile combination. I want J out of there. He is just a few years from retirement. I wish he could go ahead and retire early, but even if he could I don't think he would. Financially, he needs the work in spite of the risks that go with it.
I regularly dream about J and me being together. In all of my dreams, we spend much of our time in bed together... just like real life. In all of my dreams, he and I are dating and trying to figure out if we will be more than that. It's a common theme that plays out in different ways in each dream.
Last night's dream had him spending the night with me at my mother's house. We were trying to be sneaky about it, but he wasn't careful enough the next morning to get out without getting caught. We were all embarassed, but I said to J after she went back down the hall, "Well, I am over 50 after all. She's got to know that I have sex sometimes."
W was nowhere to be found in the dream at all. There was no question from anyone about him. It was though he just didn't exist in the dream. That isn't always true in these dreams. Sometimes W is a factor in the dream. Sometimes not.
On another note, I worry about J during my waking hours. The prison where he works is on lockdown due to an inmate murder. It is so very bad there since they closed the supermax prison and moved a lot of those prisoners to the prison where J works. They moved some of the officers too, and that hasn't gone well. Lots of disgruntled officers. Lots of disgruntled inmates. It is a volatile combination. I want J out of there. He is just a few years from retirement. I wish he could go ahead and retire early, but even if he could I don't think he would. Financially, he needs the work in spite of the risks that go with it.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Thursday Therapy – Agitation
Agitation was the overriding theme of my session with Freud yesterday. I’m sure Freud would’ve realized I was agitated even if I hadn’t mentioned it to him. My body language was full of tells. I repeatedly stretched my arms over my head. I reached for strands of hair and twirled them. I played with the employee badge on the lanyard I was wearing. In summary, I fidgeted through my entire session. This is so unlike me most of the time. Most of the time I sit back and sit still except for occasionally crossing my arms (when we talk about uncomfortable subjects) or reaching for a tissue (when we hit a nerve).
We discussed my reaction to J’s characterization of me in high school as “promiscuous.” That seems to be at least some of the reason for my agitation this time. J really hit a nerve with that one. Freud said that it didn’t sound to him as though I was promiscuous back then but just a normal adolescent. Let’s say we just have to agree to disagree on that one. Just because I didn’t “go all the way” with anybody in high school, I certainly went pretty far with J and some of the others, Greg particularly. And I certainly was not loyal to my steady boyfriend, J. While I respect Freud’s opinion and get a lot of help from our sessions, this is just one issue he can’t persuade me on. A slut is a slut is a slut whether you physically follow through or not in my book.
Freud kept bringing the conversation back around (oh yes, I deflected a whole lot, tried to meander off onto tangents repeatedly) to what it is that I get from my relationship with J that I don’t have in my life otherwise. What gap in my life am I trying to fill with J?
What I have identified so far:
I have felt very agitated ever since I saw J last weekend. I always feel agitated after J and I have been together. I feel like I can’t sit still and yet I don’t know quite what to do with myself. This usually lasts for several days until I somehow get myself back into my comfort zone. I wish I could pinpoint what it is I need to do to get myself there so I could speed the process along. Perhaps the process is one that can’t be hurried though. I don’t know.
- Physical intimacy – not just sex, even though that’s a part of it, but cuddles and kisses and hand holding and looking each other in the eyes
- Connection to the past and happier, more carefree times
- Camaraderie that is just plain fun, verbally sparring with one another and a sense of playfulness
Is there more? Maybe…
At one point Freud asked me about W and what keeps me with him.
I told him there are two things:
- I don’t know how W would make it without me, and I find it incredibly difficult to take that leap particularly given that his relationship with his grown children is now dead.
- My insecurity about being able to handle things on my own, particularly things like arranging for the multitude of home repairs and maintenance items that are an ongoing part of older home ownership
Could I dump both W and the house? Leave him with the house and walk away from the equity? He couldn’t financially maintain the house on his own. Could we sell the house, split the equity and go our own ways? I hate to do that when the real estate market is still soft. Not to mention the house is a pig sty and to get it in shape to show to potential buyers would be a nightmare.
At another point Freud asked me if I’d ever thought about what it might be like to be married to J. I said yes, lots of times. Then he asked did I think that’s what I would want. I blushed and stammered around and finally admitted that yes, I very much think that I want that even though there is massive evidence of why it would not be a good idea. I won’t go through all those here again. I’ve mentioned them in the blog on various occasions.
Assignment until the next therapy session: continue to identify unmet needs that I’m trying to fill with my relationship with J and start to think about alternative ways of meeting those needs.
Sigh…
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Eh, So Much for That
So my Friday liaison didn’t work out. We emailed back and forth that morning, were supposed to meet for lunch near my work. I suggested 11:30. We agreed. Shortly before 11:00 he emailed asking could we meet at 11:00. I agreed, left work and walked to the restaurant. He emailed back that he couldn’t make it and could we meet at 12:30. I emailed back saying no, I’m already here at the restaurant and have to be back at work in an hour. Could we meet after work for drinks, I asked. Ok, he said, email me when you get off work.
Later that afternoon he emailed and asked when I would be available to play. I told him my weekend schedule and said I still wanted to meet in a public place first. He suggested 6:45 that evening at a local bar. I said sure (not thrilled with the bar he chose but only because it’s way over on the other side of town).
He was very persistent about asking if I was 420 friendly in several of his emails. Yes, I told him repeatedly. I’m not really into it myself so much but have no problems with people who are. I suspect he worried that I was a narc or something. I told him I would partake some but not a whole lot because it’s been years since I’ve even been around it. I figured a few drags on a joint would ease his mind and not be the worst thing in the world I could do.
My plan was to drop N off at the movies for a group date, meet up with the new guy for drinks and whatever, and then go pick N up after the movie.
And then…
I get home and announce my plan, substituting going Christmas shopping in the narrative where the clandestine meeting was going to happen. W wanted to go Christmas shopping too and to take me out to dinner. I said maybe I was going to be shopping for him, and gave him a big grin. He said that was ok, that he would go shop in another part of the store or mall or whatever. He just wanted to go out that night… with me. Internally, I debated how far to push. Was it the guilt over what I was really doing that kept me from pushing back? No, not really though that may have played a part. Mostly what made me acquiesce is that under any other circumstance I would acquiesce to avoid having to deal with the pouting self pity party W would engage in for the rest of the weekend if I didn’t give in to him. I feared it would throw too much suspicion on me if I stood my ground because it is so out of character.
So I emailed the new guy my regrets that I couldn’t get away from W that night, and we’d have to do it another time.
And I haven’t heard from him since. So I figure I blew that one big time. I might try to contact him in the next week or two if I have some free time and see if something will work out, but I’m not holding my breath.
One another note, I’ve had a sore throat for over a week now. I intended to go to the convenient care clinic after work yesterday, but as luck would have it, N needed a ride to a neighboring town for the girls regional basketball tournament. I had forgotten I’d promised to take him (before I knew the sore throat was going to become a long-term condition), but I had and I decided to keep my word. I may do the clinic thing today during my lunch hour… or I may just die weeks or months from now of some horribly debilitating throat disease that was never diagnosed because I couldn’t find time to get to the doctor. :-/
Later that afternoon he emailed and asked when I would be available to play. I told him my weekend schedule and said I still wanted to meet in a public place first. He suggested 6:45 that evening at a local bar. I said sure (not thrilled with the bar he chose but only because it’s way over on the other side of town).
He was very persistent about asking if I was 420 friendly in several of his emails. Yes, I told him repeatedly. I’m not really into it myself so much but have no problems with people who are. I suspect he worried that I was a narc or something. I told him I would partake some but not a whole lot because it’s been years since I’ve even been around it. I figured a few drags on a joint would ease his mind and not be the worst thing in the world I could do.
My plan was to drop N off at the movies for a group date, meet up with the new guy for drinks and whatever, and then go pick N up after the movie.
And then…
I get home and announce my plan, substituting going Christmas shopping in the narrative where the clandestine meeting was going to happen. W wanted to go Christmas shopping too and to take me out to dinner. I said maybe I was going to be shopping for him, and gave him a big grin. He said that was ok, that he would go shop in another part of the store or mall or whatever. He just wanted to go out that night… with me. Internally, I debated how far to push. Was it the guilt over what I was really doing that kept me from pushing back? No, not really though that may have played a part. Mostly what made me acquiesce is that under any other circumstance I would acquiesce to avoid having to deal with the pouting self pity party W would engage in for the rest of the weekend if I didn’t give in to him. I feared it would throw too much suspicion on me if I stood my ground because it is so out of character.
So I emailed the new guy my regrets that I couldn’t get away from W that night, and we’d have to do it another time.
And I haven’t heard from him since. So I figure I blew that one big time. I might try to contact him in the next week or two if I have some free time and see if something will work out, but I’m not holding my breath.
One another note, I’ve had a sore throat for over a week now. I intended to go to the convenient care clinic after work yesterday, but as luck would have it, N needed a ride to a neighboring town for the girls regional basketball tournament. I had forgotten I’d promised to take him (before I knew the sore throat was going to become a long-term condition), but I had and I decided to keep my word. I may do the clinic thing today during my lunch hour… or I may just die weeks or months from now of some horribly debilitating throat disease that was never diagnosed because I couldn’t find time to get to the doctor. :-/
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Flawed People Can Do Amazing Things
The title of this post isn’t 100% a reflection of the meat of this post, but then again it isn’t totally off the mark. It is the thought that keeps popping into my head as I reflect on my discussion Tuesday with my pastor.
As I mentioned at the end of my last post, my therapy session on Monday left me feeling less than settled on anything. I felt like we barely got started before we had to end. I was a mess and spent much of the afternoon at work fighting back tears as I tried to concentrate on spreadsheets full of premiums and claims and admin expenses. My emotions were barely under the surface, so much so that by that evening twice the singers on The Voice that night made me bawl. Since that is hardly how I wish to go through life, and I felt like I desperately needed to talk to someone I turned to my pastor.
Now, please understand that I am not the person that normally goes running to the pastor for counseling. As a matter of fact, I have spent most of my life avoiding such conversations like the plague. I have always felt the need to appear like I have it all together and am a model Progressive Christian around church people. Oh, I’ll fight the fight for understanding and empathy for others who have fallen, but God forbid I admit to having messed up myself.
However, my current pastor has made me feel eminently comfortable in being able to admit to imperfection, to admit to being human and having human failings. It is only because of this that I have been able to confide certain things to her in the past and the only reason I could confide in her on Tuesday.
I started by giving her the synopsis of the 30+ year debacle in which I have put myself. (See previous posts ‘cause I ain’t repeating it again.)
God did not strike me with a lightning bolt when I confessed. Not that I really thought that would happen. After all, God has known all along what I’ve been doing and what I’ve been feeling and the struggles I’ve had with all of this. And deep in my heart I know God to be loving and forgiving. God has always been there for me when I’ve been good and when I’ve been bad.
However…
I know that there are churches where there is no way one could retain a position of leadership if it became known even to only the pastor that an affair was occurring, particularly one that the participant of the affair is not even willing to say she is definitely stopping. I know that my church is pretty much not like that, but there is always that fear that runs through me. So I didn’t know for sure if she might not ask me to step down from the committee that I chair and represent on the church council. She didn’t. When I mentioned that I wasn’t sure I should continue considering seminary given what I am involved in she reminded me that no one is perfect, that we all have sin in our lives and that it doesn’t magically go away just because we attend seminary or become ordained.
So apparently, there is hope for me yet.
All along in this I have thought that if ever J and I were exposed at least it won’t be to a national and international audience. Nobody is really going to care that two virtually unknown nobodies had an affair. We may go through hell with friends and family but at least the media wouldn’t be camped outside our doors. We wouldn’t be fodder for discussion on news shows and jokes on late night TV.
But I’ve digressed. Back to my discussion with my pastor.
The locus of the discussion was really around what would make me feel like a happy and complete person. After some discussion, I said that what I really wanted was to be available for a fully committed relationship with someone that is fulfilling physically, emotionally and spiritually. After that, she kept bringing our discussion back to that point.
I have discussed before with my pastor my relationship with W so she is well aware that all is not rosy in our household. She was very clear with me that from all I have told her W and I no longer have a covenantal relationship between us. It was broken long ago, and the fact that we still have a marriage in the legal sense does not mean that we have anything resembling a marriage in the spiritual sense. The relationship is not fulfilling in either a physical or emotional sense, although spiritually it might be somewhat. It is clear from the past several years that it is not likely to change in any substantial way.
Clearly the relationship, or whatever it is, with J is not fulfilling in any sense. It is something I hang onto because it is the idea of J that is so appealing, not the actual person.
If I want to even be available for the possibility of finding a fulfilling relationship then I have to let go of both of these relationships. Headwise, this makes tons of sense to me. Headwise, I can see that I should let go in both cases. Heartwise, I just can’t seem to make myself do it. Yet I know that the only person who would be [insert derogatory term of choice here] enough to enter into a relationship with me knowing that I am tangled up with those two would not be the quality of person I would want to have a long term relationship with.
Yesterday, after I met with the pastor I was reading some of my old posts about J. Sigh… I recycle these same things over and over and over and over and never seem to make any sort of progress. And in spite of that I remain a relatively productive human being. You wouldn’t know that from what you know of me in my blog, but I am. I do a lot in my real life and occasionally even make a difference in someone’s life. Even though I’m flawed… really, really flawed.
As I mentioned at the end of my last post, my therapy session on Monday left me feeling less than settled on anything. I felt like we barely got started before we had to end. I was a mess and spent much of the afternoon at work fighting back tears as I tried to concentrate on spreadsheets full of premiums and claims and admin expenses. My emotions were barely under the surface, so much so that by that evening twice the singers on The Voice that night made me bawl. Since that is hardly how I wish to go through life, and I felt like I desperately needed to talk to someone I turned to my pastor.
Now, please understand that I am not the person that normally goes running to the pastor for counseling. As a matter of fact, I have spent most of my life avoiding such conversations like the plague. I have always felt the need to appear like I have it all together and am a model Progressive Christian around church people. Oh, I’ll fight the fight for understanding and empathy for others who have fallen, but God forbid I admit to having messed up myself.
However, my current pastor has made me feel eminently comfortable in being able to admit to imperfection, to admit to being human and having human failings. It is only because of this that I have been able to confide certain things to her in the past and the only reason I could confide in her on Tuesday.
I started by giving her the synopsis of the 30+ year debacle in which I have put myself. (See previous posts ‘cause I ain’t repeating it again.)
God did not strike me with a lightning bolt when I confessed. Not that I really thought that would happen. After all, God has known all along what I’ve been doing and what I’ve been feeling and the struggles I’ve had with all of this. And deep in my heart I know God to be loving and forgiving. God has always been there for me when I’ve been good and when I’ve been bad.
However…
I know that there are churches where there is no way one could retain a position of leadership if it became known even to only the pastor that an affair was occurring, particularly one that the participant of the affair is not even willing to say she is definitely stopping. I know that my church is pretty much not like that, but there is always that fear that runs through me. So I didn’t know for sure if she might not ask me to step down from the committee that I chair and represent on the church council. She didn’t. When I mentioned that I wasn’t sure I should continue considering seminary given what I am involved in she reminded me that no one is perfect, that we all have sin in our lives and that it doesn’t magically go away just because we attend seminary or become ordained.
So apparently, there is hope for me yet.
All along in this I have thought that if ever J and I were exposed at least it won’t be to a national and international audience. Nobody is really going to care that two virtually unknown nobodies had an affair. We may go through hell with friends and family but at least the media wouldn’t be camped outside our doors. We wouldn’t be fodder for discussion on news shows and jokes on late night TV.
But I’ve digressed. Back to my discussion with my pastor.
The locus of the discussion was really around what would make me feel like a happy and complete person. After some discussion, I said that what I really wanted was to be available for a fully committed relationship with someone that is fulfilling physically, emotionally and spiritually. After that, she kept bringing our discussion back to that point.
I have discussed before with my pastor my relationship with W so she is well aware that all is not rosy in our household. She was very clear with me that from all I have told her W and I no longer have a covenantal relationship between us. It was broken long ago, and the fact that we still have a marriage in the legal sense does not mean that we have anything resembling a marriage in the spiritual sense. The relationship is not fulfilling in either a physical or emotional sense, although spiritually it might be somewhat. It is clear from the past several years that it is not likely to change in any substantial way.
Clearly the relationship, or whatever it is, with J is not fulfilling in any sense. It is something I hang onto because it is the idea of J that is so appealing, not the actual person.
If I want to even be available for the possibility of finding a fulfilling relationship then I have to let go of both of these relationships. Headwise, this makes tons of sense to me. Headwise, I can see that I should let go in both cases. Heartwise, I just can’t seem to make myself do it. Yet I know that the only person who would be [insert derogatory term of choice here] enough to enter into a relationship with me knowing that I am tangled up with those two would not be the quality of person I would want to have a long term relationship with.
Yesterday, after I met with the pastor I was reading some of my old posts about J. Sigh… I recycle these same things over and over and over and over and never seem to make any sort of progress. And in spite of that I remain a relatively productive human being. You wouldn’t know that from what you know of me in my blog, but I am. I do a lot in my real life and occasionally even make a difference in someone’s life. Even though I’m flawed… really, really flawed.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Tuesday Therapy
Freud suggested that having a private journal where I write about my experiences and feelings pertaining to J, as well as other things, might be a good way for me to work through some of this. Hi there private journal, read only by invisible (not imaginary, very real, just invisible) internet friends and random strangers! Let’s see what tales I can tell today.
Yesterday’s session was brutal. I spent much of my time in tears, some of it sobbing, some just tears rolling down my face. I used many tissues. No wonder therapy is so expensive. Their paper goods bill alone must be daunting. It was bad that I had to go back to work afterwards because that meant I had to find a way to pull myself together and not look like a complete sack of shit, but it was good that I had a 15-20 minute drive across town to accomplish it.
While I have mentioned J, and our affair, in therapy it hasn’t really been the crux of conversation. Why? Well, since I’ve been seeing Freud J has kind of been a background character in my life rather than an all consuming obsession. I’ve had other things to worry about and therapize (not a real word, but I like it so I’m using it) about, such as:
One thing I will say for Freud is that he is completely unflappable. No matter what craziness I spew in session he takes it in stride never letting on that he might think I’ve gone round the bend. Why, yesterday he even told me that he doesn’t think I’m crazy at all. That’s comforting a little I guess, although what would truly be comforting is if he told me I was batshit (apparently this is not a real word either) crazy, and here’s the cure for it. Do this, and all the crazies will go away.
Anyway, I started with a rather detailed background to bring Freud up to speed, and really, it is terribly difficult to tell a 30+ year story in under an hour. You really have to do the Cliff Notes version, which I did, but I was also brutally honest. I figure that Freud can’t help me much if I don’t just put it all out there with as much honesty as possible.
So here, for those who haven’t read my blog in its entirety (And if you haven’t, why not? It’s fascinating and sickening all rolled into one, if I do say so myself), is a synopsis similar to the one I gave Freud. The History of J & me in a nutshell:
1977 – J & I start dating while in high school. (Yes, I really am that old. Shut up.)
1979 – I start college. J stays home with one more year of high school. J remains my “at home boyfriend” while I enjoy dating life on a major college campus
1983 – I graduate the first time from college and am “engaged” to a guy there although nobody knows of our engagement except him and me. I continue dating J when I’m home.
1984 – I graduate from college again, am still “engaged” and still dating J as well as a couple of others in other parts of the country (I travelled for work so it was easy to keep different guys different places).
1985 – Getting a bit tired of the “fiancé” but never broke it off, still dating J as well and starting to put a bit of pressure on J that perhaps we should get married and start a family. J says he’s not ready. I meet W and well, made one of the worst decisions of my life and ran off to CA with him without goodbyes to anybody.
1988 – Marry W after his divorce is final. Shortly thereafter receive letter from J saying that he’s now ready to get married and asks me to come back to him. Cry profusely as I read his letter and as I write one back to him telling him of my marriage. Felt absolutely trapped and unable to get out of the marriage to W because I was halfway across the country, estranged from my family, and totally dependent (at that time) on W financially.
~~~~~~and for many years W and TS live a life of ups and downs, goods and bads, adopted N~~~~~
2000 or so – God bless the interwebs and Classmates.com. I start to reconnect with high school buddies. Email back and forth with J a few times, just general catching up on what all has happened with marriages, children, jobs, and whatnot. And that’s it, for now.
2003 – Moved back to Midwest, within 80 miles of J, but no contact.
2004 – High school reunion. Made plans to go. Contacted J. He still lived in town and wanted to get together. I said sure maybe our families could have lunch together or something. He said no, how about just you and me? I said no. I got scared of what I might do and made up an excuse not to go to the reunion.
2006 – J contacts me, and we start flirting via email, then via phone, then in person, all leading to finally crossing the line “all the way” and have sex with one another for the first time ever (That's right people. We dated several years in our teens and twenties and not once did we have sex. Not that I wasn't willing. He was just terrified of getting me pregnant, which sounds pretty funny now considering how "broken" the female parts turned out to be, like happened to his brother and his brother's girlfriend. Lack of a sex life with J may have played a part in my dating a lot of others during those years. Not that it excuses my behavior, just partially explains it.)
2007-Current – J and I carry on an ongoing emotional, and occasionally physical, affair throughout the BJ years and the W and me "reconciliation" and everything else.
Whew! Even condensed that is one damned long story.
Okay, hopefully in the next few days I’ll have a chance to write more and go into our actual discussion, short as it was. What great insights did Freud have to offer? What suggestions did he have for abolishing the crazy from my brain? What are my plans for Thanksgiving? This and more in our next episode…
Yesterday’s session was brutal. I spent much of my time in tears, some of it sobbing, some just tears rolling down my face. I used many tissues. No wonder therapy is so expensive. Their paper goods bill alone must be daunting. It was bad that I had to go back to work afterwards because that meant I had to find a way to pull myself together and not look like a complete sack of shit, but it was good that I had a 15-20 minute drive across town to accomplish it.
While I have mentioned J, and our affair, in therapy it hasn’t really been the crux of conversation. Why? Well, since I’ve been seeing Freud J has kind of been a background character in my life rather than an all consuming obsession. I’ve had other things to worry about and therapize (not a real word, but I like it so I’m using it) about, such as:
- Getting my medical depression under control
- BJ’s and my breakup,
- W moving back in and my decision to turn martyr by allowing him to,
- My on again off again attempts to lose weight,
- My physical fling with M (Oh how I miss M sometimes, just from the physical release standpoint. A good orgasm occasionally is a miracle drug I tell you.),
- My ups and downs at work,
- My disagreements with W over parenting,
- My Dad’s death within three months after my grandmother’s.
Anyway, J came up occasionally, but never in any substantial way. Yesterday, he was right at the heart of it all.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Lalalalalalalalala
Yes, I am at the point of putting my hands up over my ears and loudly singing, "Lalalalalalalala I can't hear you!"
Denial. Not just a river in Egypt, but a place for me to settle into for a while.
Life is great! Life is grand! Not a care in the world!
Denial. Yep, that's gonna be me for a bit.
Oh, and by the way, happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Aaaaarrrrrrrrr...
Denial. Not just a river in Egypt, but a place for me to settle into for a while.
Life is great! Life is grand! Not a care in the world!
Denial. Yep, that's gonna be me for a bit.
Oh, and by the way, happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Aaaaarrrrrrrrr...
Monday, September 10, 2012
Because Nothing in Life is Simple
Nope. No simplicity here.
Although the mystery, or most of it, was solved it wasn't the end of the troubles. The attorney is now requiring a much larger retainer because of the complications that arose as he dug into the situation.
Because W was in arrears on his payments to Velma when the garnishment was first placed, and because the amount allowed to be garnished was less than the amount W was ordered to pay monthly to Velma, Velma's estate now has an asset of whatever amount is still owed for all those years' worth of support less what has actually been paid. In other words, it is pretty darned big. Now if Fred and Shaggy, as Velma's primary heirs, want to go after it, they can fight W in court when W, through his attorney, petitions to have the garnishment released.
Also, there is some question as to whether Velma could legally assign a garnishment over to her children. If not, it could be that Medicaid will be involved in the whole mess, because Fred may have, as Velma's power of attorney, assigned it so as to bring Velma's assets/income to a level where Medicaid would pay for the nursing home Velma was living in. If that were not allowed, then Medicaid could collect from Fred and Shaggy any money paid to them and attach the asset the Velma's estate has in the receivable from W.
So yeah, on a legal level there are several messy factors, and no matter how it turns out there will be mucho dinero spent on attorneys. So there goes the last little bit of the trust money that was in W's mother's trust since these kinds of expenses were one of the allowed reasons for W to receive money from the trust.
Add to all those expenses, the expense of W changing his will as he now wants to exclude Fred and Shaggy from inheriting any portion of his estate because he is pissed off. This will probably be the least of the legal expenses, but I wonder if he won't incur more expense later on down the road if/when he softens and decides to write them back into the will.
And in the back of my mind, I can't help but think that this won't be over even when W dies. Fred and Shaggy will fight, I'm sure, to get whatever they can out of me and out of W's estate no matter what W's will says. I fear that this is going to be an ongoing battle for the remainder of my life.
After W dies, I'm going to find some old, rich Republican to marry and let him spend all the money he doesn't pay in taxes on me! No, probably not. I don't think I could stand living with a Republican even if he gave me all the jewels in the world. {shudder}
Although the mystery, or most of it, was solved it wasn't the end of the troubles. The attorney is now requiring a much larger retainer because of the complications that arose as he dug into the situation.
Because W was in arrears on his payments to Velma when the garnishment was first placed, and because the amount allowed to be garnished was less than the amount W was ordered to pay monthly to Velma, Velma's estate now has an asset of whatever amount is still owed for all those years' worth of support less what has actually been paid. In other words, it is pretty darned big. Now if Fred and Shaggy, as Velma's primary heirs, want to go after it, they can fight W in court when W, through his attorney, petitions to have the garnishment released.
Also, there is some question as to whether Velma could legally assign a garnishment over to her children. If not, it could be that Medicaid will be involved in the whole mess, because Fred may have, as Velma's power of attorney, assigned it so as to bring Velma's assets/income to a level where Medicaid would pay for the nursing home Velma was living in. If that were not allowed, then Medicaid could collect from Fred and Shaggy any money paid to them and attach the asset the Velma's estate has in the receivable from W.
So yeah, on a legal level there are several messy factors, and no matter how it turns out there will be mucho dinero spent on attorneys. So there goes the last little bit of the trust money that was in W's mother's trust since these kinds of expenses were one of the allowed reasons for W to receive money from the trust.
Add to all those expenses, the expense of W changing his will as he now wants to exclude Fred and Shaggy from inheriting any portion of his estate because he is pissed off. This will probably be the least of the legal expenses, but I wonder if he won't incur more expense later on down the road if/when he softens and decides to write them back into the will.
And in the back of my mind, I can't help but think that this won't be over even when W dies. Fred and Shaggy will fight, I'm sure, to get whatever they can out of me and out of W's estate no matter what W's will says. I fear that this is going to be an ongoing battle for the remainder of my life.
After W dies, I'm going to find some old, rich Republican to marry and let him spend all the money he doesn't pay in taxes on me! No, probably not. I don't think I could stand living with a Republican even if he gave me all the jewels in the world. {shudder}
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
Mystery Solved... Sort of...
Just so you can keep the cast of characters straight for this latest saga:
Velma – W’s ex-wife whom we recently learned died a while back
Fred – W’s eldest son who lives in the same area as Velma did and was kind of main caretaker for her in terms of financial affairs and such
Shaggy – W’s other son from family #1 who lives a rather eclectic life out in the wilds of Montana
Daphne – wonderfully helpful woman at the local (where Velma lived) office of the federal agency involved
Anytime I say “local” in this story it refers to the area where Velma lived and where Fred still lives.
(Remember that names, locations, etc. may not be accurate so nobody runs across this story by accident, but the essence of the story is absolute truth.)
Now, where were we in our story? Oh yes, W contacted an attorney. Right. On with the story…
W talked to a paralegal in the attorney’s office and agreed to an amount for a retainer. He explained the situation, that he wanted the garnishment removed from his monthly federal payment now that Velma was dead. The paralegal took down all the pertinent information, did some research and found some interesting information. It seems that several months ago Velma had assigned the monthly payments from her to Fred and Shaggy. Since then the payments have been going to Fred and Shaggy instead of Velma. The paralegal said to W, “Looks like you’ve been taken for a ride.”
Suddenly, the reason behind Fred’s reactions became clear. Fred wasn’t afraid that W was going to want part of Velma’s estate. Fred was afraid W would find out that he and Shaggy had been sharing those monthly payments from W. Of course, now W had done just that. Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
W has not spoken to Fred or Shaggy since learning this news. He has alternately spent time pacing the floor angrily muttering to himself and sitting at his computer writing venomous letters to his children that he has no intention of sending. W slept little the first week after the big reveal. Now, perhaps out of exhaustion, or perhaps because his emotions are tamped back down a bit, probably a bit of both, he is sleeping better.
What this did to me is send me back to my old worry of having to deal with the children from Family #1 when W dies someday. Oh joy, oh joy. I would almost prefer to “forget” to tell them of their father’s demise, just as they did him with their mother’s. I have spent too much time fuming over this. Almost certainly, after his death they will show up wanting this or that from the house because it belongs to their family. They will almost certainly demand to know how much money W has when he dies because they will expect to share in his vast wealth. (BTW, if you happen to know where this mythical vast wealth may be, W and I would be really grateful if you’d point us to it, because we don’t know of any.) I will almost certainly have to get a restraining order against Shaggy at the very least and possibly against Fred since I can almost guarantee they will do everything in their power to force their way into my house, and W’s accounts and all manner of things they have no right to.
Yes, I’m carrying on. Yes, I am probably exaggerating. I hope so. I hope once W’s gone that Family #1 goes away and leaves me and mine alone… completely alone.
Never before have I hated Fred and Shaggy. They’ve done some things in the past that I didn’t like much but nothing that even comes close to this. Their point of view, and they have told W this many times, is that I have spent the last 25 years sponging off of their father. They don’t seem to recognize that I am the main breadwinner of this family for much of that time. Within a year after we married W became unemployed and has never held more than part time minimum wage jobs since then. What he gets on a monthly basis from retirement and his mom’s trust is not even half what I make. They think I’m sponging off of him?!? Nothing could be further from the truth.
Anyway, W has turned the attorney loose to do everything possible to get the garnishment released and get back as much money as possible that was paid to his children instead of his ex-wife. He has also taken steps to close his mother’s trust since there is very little left in it anyway.
The love of money is the root of all evil… at least in Family #1.
Velma – W’s ex-wife whom we recently learned died a while back
Fred – W’s eldest son who lives in the same area as Velma did and was kind of main caretaker for her in terms of financial affairs and such
Shaggy – W’s other son from family #1 who lives a rather eclectic life out in the wilds of Montana
Daphne – wonderfully helpful woman at the local (where Velma lived) office of the federal agency involved
Anytime I say “local” in this story it refers to the area where Velma lived and where Fred still lives.
(Remember that names, locations, etc. may not be accurate so nobody runs across this story by accident, but the essence of the story is absolute truth.)
Now, where were we in our story? Oh yes, W contacted an attorney. Right. On with the story…
W talked to a paralegal in the attorney’s office and agreed to an amount for a retainer. He explained the situation, that he wanted the garnishment removed from his monthly federal payment now that Velma was dead. The paralegal took down all the pertinent information, did some research and found some interesting information. It seems that several months ago Velma had assigned the monthly payments from her to Fred and Shaggy. Since then the payments have been going to Fred and Shaggy instead of Velma. The paralegal said to W, “Looks like you’ve been taken for a ride.”
Suddenly, the reason behind Fred’s reactions became clear. Fred wasn’t afraid that W was going to want part of Velma’s estate. Fred was afraid W would find out that he and Shaggy had been sharing those monthly payments from W. Of course, now W had done just that. Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
W has not spoken to Fred or Shaggy since learning this news. He has alternately spent time pacing the floor angrily muttering to himself and sitting at his computer writing venomous letters to his children that he has no intention of sending. W slept little the first week after the big reveal. Now, perhaps out of exhaustion, or perhaps because his emotions are tamped back down a bit, probably a bit of both, he is sleeping better.
What this did to me is send me back to my old worry of having to deal with the children from Family #1 when W dies someday. Oh joy, oh joy. I would almost prefer to “forget” to tell them of their father’s demise, just as they did him with their mother’s. I have spent too much time fuming over this. Almost certainly, after his death they will show up wanting this or that from the house because it belongs to their family. They will almost certainly demand to know how much money W has when he dies because they will expect to share in his vast wealth. (BTW, if you happen to know where this mythical vast wealth may be, W and I would be really grateful if you’d point us to it, because we don’t know of any.) I will almost certainly have to get a restraining order against Shaggy at the very least and possibly against Fred since I can almost guarantee they will do everything in their power to force their way into my house, and W’s accounts and all manner of things they have no right to.
Yes, I’m carrying on. Yes, I am probably exaggerating. I hope so. I hope once W’s gone that Family #1 goes away and leaves me and mine alone… completely alone.
Never before have I hated Fred and Shaggy. They’ve done some things in the past that I didn’t like much but nothing that even comes close to this. Their point of view, and they have told W this many times, is that I have spent the last 25 years sponging off of their father. They don’t seem to recognize that I am the main breadwinner of this family for much of that time. Within a year after we married W became unemployed and has never held more than part time minimum wage jobs since then. What he gets on a monthly basis from retirement and his mom’s trust is not even half what I make. They think I’m sponging off of him?!? Nothing could be further from the truth.
Anyway, W has turned the attorney loose to do everything possible to get the garnishment released and get back as much money as possible that was paid to his children instead of his ex-wife. He has also taken steps to close his mother’s trust since there is very little left in it anyway.
The love of money is the root of all evil… at least in Family #1.
Friday, August 31, 2012
More Calls, More Mystery...
Just so you can keep the cast of characters straight for this latest saga:
Velma – W’s ex-wife whom we recently learned died a while back
Fred – W’s eldest son who lives in the same area as Velma did and was kind of main caretaker for her in terms of financial affairs and such
Shaggy – W’s other son from family #1 who lives a rather eclectic life out in the wilds of Montana
Daphne – wonderfully helpful woman at the local (where Velma lived) office of the federal agency involved
Anytime I say “local” in this story it refers to the area where Velma lived and where Fred still lives.
(Remember that names, locations, etc. may not be accurate so nobody runs across this story by accident, but the essence of the story is absolute truth.)
When last we left, W had learned of Velma’s demise through an innocent third party. Fred had a hissy fit over W learning of the death, and W couldn’t figure out why.
After Thursday’s odd happenings, Friday came as Friday often does after Thursday. W and I both set out to find an obituary, or at least a death notice, for Velma. Strangely enough, we could not in spite of a thorough internet search using her full name, maiden name, middle name, no middle name. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. We even checked websites of every funeral home in the area and couldn’t find her death reported anywhere at all.
We thought this rather odd and speculate that somehow Fred and/or Shaggy specifically requested that the information not be made public. Then again, maybe Velma isn’t really dead. Either of these options leaves plenty of questions. Why would you not want her death made public? Just to keep W from finding out? Why would a federal agency believe her dead if she isn’t? Ok, well we still don’t have answers to these questions, but we’re still researching. I’m starting to believe we may have to scour cemeteries for a recently dug grave with her name on it.
Fred called when no one was home and left a message for W to call him. W returned Fred’s call shortly thereafter only to find they were playing a lovely game of phone tag.
W called the federal agency back. Because he gets monthly payments from them, when he divorced Velma she put a garnishment on the payments. He wanted to make sure that with her death the garnishment would end, and he would begin receiving full payments. Daphne told him that the only way to release the garnishment is with a court order. Apparently, the money will no longer be sent to Velma, but it also won’t be sent to W. It will hang out in legal limbo until/unless the court releases the garnishment.
Fred called back to talk to W. Their conversation was not much more productive than the one the day before. According to Fred, because the feds know that he had power of attorney for Velma they should not have ever contacted W. Somehow, apparently, this was W’s fault. We still aren’t sure how, but apparently that’s how it works in Fred’s mind. W asked Fred if he would send W a copy of the death certificate since he figured he would need one to give to the attorney that he intended to hire to accomplish the garnishment release. Fred said he’d have to think about it, that he couldn’t see any reason W should need one. W tried to explain. Fred flew off the handle and hung up on W.
After calming down a bit, W contacted a local attorney. Now, don’t you just know that once you get an attorney involved, that’s when the real fun begins? Oh yeah.
To be continued…
Velma – W’s ex-wife whom we recently learned died a while back
Fred – W’s eldest son who lives in the same area as Velma did and was kind of main caretaker for her in terms of financial affairs and such
Shaggy – W’s other son from family #1 who lives a rather eclectic life out in the wilds of Montana
Daphne – wonderfully helpful woman at the local (where Velma lived) office of the federal agency involved
Anytime I say “local” in this story it refers to the area where Velma lived and where Fred still lives.
(Remember that names, locations, etc. may not be accurate so nobody runs across this story by accident, but the essence of the story is absolute truth.)
When last we left, W had learned of Velma’s demise through an innocent third party. Fred had a hissy fit over W learning of the death, and W couldn’t figure out why.
After Thursday’s odd happenings, Friday came as Friday often does after Thursday. W and I both set out to find an obituary, or at least a death notice, for Velma. Strangely enough, we could not in spite of a thorough internet search using her full name, maiden name, middle name, no middle name. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. We even checked websites of every funeral home in the area and couldn’t find her death reported anywhere at all.
We thought this rather odd and speculate that somehow Fred and/or Shaggy specifically requested that the information not be made public. Then again, maybe Velma isn’t really dead. Either of these options leaves plenty of questions. Why would you not want her death made public? Just to keep W from finding out? Why would a federal agency believe her dead if she isn’t? Ok, well we still don’t have answers to these questions, but we’re still researching. I’m starting to believe we may have to scour cemeteries for a recently dug grave with her name on it.
Fred called when no one was home and left a message for W to call him. W returned Fred’s call shortly thereafter only to find they were playing a lovely game of phone tag.
W called the federal agency back. Because he gets monthly payments from them, when he divorced Velma she put a garnishment on the payments. He wanted to make sure that with her death the garnishment would end, and he would begin receiving full payments. Daphne told him that the only way to release the garnishment is with a court order. Apparently, the money will no longer be sent to Velma, but it also won’t be sent to W. It will hang out in legal limbo until/unless the court releases the garnishment.
Fred called back to talk to W. Their conversation was not much more productive than the one the day before. According to Fred, because the feds know that he had power of attorney for Velma they should not have ever contacted W. Somehow, apparently, this was W’s fault. We still aren’t sure how, but apparently that’s how it works in Fred’s mind. W asked Fred if he would send W a copy of the death certificate since he figured he would need one to give to the attorney that he intended to hire to accomplish the garnishment release. Fred said he’d have to think about it, that he couldn’t see any reason W should need one. W tried to explain. Fred flew off the handle and hung up on W.
After calming down a bit, W contacted a local attorney. Now, don’t you just know that once you get an attorney involved, that’s when the real fun begins? Oh yeah.
To be continued…
Thursday, August 30, 2012
One Little Call
(Certain details have been changed in the following post to mask it so it won't be found easily if someone happens to Google it, but the story remains substantially true.)
It is amazing how things can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, all it takes is one little phone to set a whole set of dominoes falling. Right now we're in the middle of the dominoes. They continue to fall, and who knows when they will finally all be down. We just can't see the end just yet.
Last week, I was at work just doing my job, minding my own business, without too many cares on my mind except the section of roof that was being replaced that day at home. I had no idea that what would soon be on my mind would have nothing to do with my job, workplace, house, roof, or even N. Nope. What I was about to learn left me gobsmacked... a blow from out of the blue... and a mystery to boot. Somebody fire up the Mystery Machine. We've got some sleuthing to do.
Thursday morning W answered his cell phone. He didn't recognize the #, but the area code was one where his eldest son lives as well as a few other relatives. When he answered, it turned out to be the local office of a federal agency calling. The woman on the phone asked if he could confirm that "Velma Wise" had died on a certain day about a month ago. Velma was W's ex-wife. W had heard nothing prior to this about her death, much less that it had happened a month ago. He told the woman on the phone this, and she apologized profusely before hanging up. W wondered why none of his grown children or grandchildren had let him know.
He called the son who lives in Velma's town to ask why he hadn't been notified. When he reached his son, his son was furious that W found out. W was bewildered as to why his son felt this way. His son started ranting about not wanting W involved in Velma's financial affairs and how the gov't agency had no right to notify him. W couldn't make heads or tails about what his son was saying or why he thought W would want to be involved in Velma's financial affairs at all. W asked if assistance was needed with final expenses to be told no that was all taken care of. The call ended with W more bewildered than ever.
Although they were divorced for many years W did grieve her death which I don't find surprising although apparently his children do. Thursday night was spent with me alternately comforting W over the loss and listening to his speculations about what on earth was up with his children from family #1.
To be continued...
It is amazing how things can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, all it takes is one little phone to set a whole set of dominoes falling. Right now we're in the middle of the dominoes. They continue to fall, and who knows when they will finally all be down. We just can't see the end just yet.
Last week, I was at work just doing my job, minding my own business, without too many cares on my mind except the section of roof that was being replaced that day at home. I had no idea that what would soon be on my mind would have nothing to do with my job, workplace, house, roof, or even N. Nope. What I was about to learn left me gobsmacked... a blow from out of the blue... and a mystery to boot. Somebody fire up the Mystery Machine. We've got some sleuthing to do.
Thursday morning W answered his cell phone. He didn't recognize the #, but the area code was one where his eldest son lives as well as a few other relatives. When he answered, it turned out to be the local office of a federal agency calling. The woman on the phone asked if he could confirm that "Velma Wise" had died on a certain day about a month ago. Velma was W's ex-wife. W had heard nothing prior to this about her death, much less that it had happened a month ago. He told the woman on the phone this, and she apologized profusely before hanging up. W wondered why none of his grown children or grandchildren had let him know.
He called the son who lives in Velma's town to ask why he hadn't been notified. When he reached his son, his son was furious that W found out. W was bewildered as to why his son felt this way. His son started ranting about not wanting W involved in Velma's financial affairs and how the gov't agency had no right to notify him. W couldn't make heads or tails about what his son was saying or why he thought W would want to be involved in Velma's financial affairs at all. W asked if assistance was needed with final expenses to be told no that was all taken care of. The call ended with W more bewildered than ever.
Although they were divorced for many years W did grieve her death which I don't find surprising although apparently his children do. Thursday night was spent with me alternately comforting W over the loss and listening to his speculations about what on earth was up with his children from family #1.
To be continued...
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Thursday Therapy: Who is This???
Yesterday I had my first visit with Freud in a month. Usually I go every two weeks but between my schedule and his in July we just didn’t have time for each other. Normally, this would have bothered me. I would have felt a loss and some neediness. Not this time. This time I took things in stride and can’t recall ever having the thought of wishing I could talk to Freud about this or that or whatnot.
Yesterday, Freud said something that floored me. He finds that my depression is well under control, and perhaps even gone. “Really?!?” I thought. Then I thought some more and decided that he very well could be right. I do seem to have a much better attitude lately. I seem to be coping with things in a more positive way.
So I asked W about it last night. Did he see me as having come up out of the black hole? Yes, he has noticed it for some time but hesitated to mention it for fear of jinxing it.
Apparently with the right combination of meds and therapy I have emerged on the other side of the black hole of depression and found the light at the end of the tunnel to be not a headlight from an oncoming train, but sunshine, beautiful warm welcoming sunshine. My problems and challenges have not gone away, but my attitude in dealing with them has. I find myself much more willing to approach things in a sound and reasonable way rather than with negativity and a defeatist attitude.
Life really is good, in the main. I’m not happy with W, but on the other hand, neither am I miserable. I am my own person and can live my own life with him at the periphery. I don’t need a man, whether W, BJ, J or any others, to make my life complete. My life is complete because I am complete. I am a whole person, rather than the broken mass of parts I was before. I no longer go to therapy to bitch and moan and complain about how life is just not fair and what a victim I am. I now go to therapy to work on specific issues, to find better ways to react in certain circumstances, to learn how to take care of me without stepping on others, to just plain work on being a better person.
What a major shift all this is. I feel so very good most of the time now. Why complain? It just is what it is. Things that have already happened are in the past. No amount of worry or reflection can change the past. Therefore, I remind myself to let the past go and hold on only to the lesson learned that can be applied now and in the future.
I know that reading this, it doesn’t sound like the same person who used to write here. I don’t feel like the same person either. And it feels really very good.
Yesterday, Freud said something that floored me. He finds that my depression is well under control, and perhaps even gone. “Really?!?” I thought. Then I thought some more and decided that he very well could be right. I do seem to have a much better attitude lately. I seem to be coping with things in a more positive way.
So I asked W about it last night. Did he see me as having come up out of the black hole? Yes, he has noticed it for some time but hesitated to mention it for fear of jinxing it.
Apparently with the right combination of meds and therapy I have emerged on the other side of the black hole of depression and found the light at the end of the tunnel to be not a headlight from an oncoming train, but sunshine, beautiful warm welcoming sunshine. My problems and challenges have not gone away, but my attitude in dealing with them has. I find myself much more willing to approach things in a sound and reasonable way rather than with negativity and a defeatist attitude.
Life really is good, in the main. I’m not happy with W, but on the other hand, neither am I miserable. I am my own person and can live my own life with him at the periphery. I don’t need a man, whether W, BJ, J or any others, to make my life complete. My life is complete because I am complete. I am a whole person, rather than the broken mass of parts I was before. I no longer go to therapy to bitch and moan and complain about how life is just not fair and what a victim I am. I now go to therapy to work on specific issues, to find better ways to react in certain circumstances, to learn how to take care of me without stepping on others, to just plain work on being a better person.
What a major shift all this is. I feel so very good most of the time now. Why complain? It just is what it is. Things that have already happened are in the past. No amount of worry or reflection can change the past. Therefore, I remind myself to let the past go and hold on only to the lesson learned that can be applied now and in the future.
I know that reading this, it doesn’t sound like the same person who used to write here. I don’t feel like the same person either. And it feels really very good.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
The Sleeping Beast Wakes
Since about the time I turned 50 I lost all interest in sex. Now, if you’ve read much of the older parts of this blog you know that is just about a 180 degree turnaround for me. Somehow my 40’s were my “escapade decade” of lust and lasciviousness. Then almost simultaneously with turning 50 I lost all desire. The sexual appetite went to zero, nothing, nada. It was if someone had finally flipped the switch to the OFF position.
Thus, living with W reached a new level of tolerability. He didn’t want sex. I didn’t want sex. So what’s to argue about? (Well, other than how he treats N, and his hoarding habits, and his incessant time spent playing solitaire on the computer, but other than that...)
So began more than a year of détente. Notice not much blogging occurred during that time. What on earth would there have been to say? I decided that I was a better person when I had no desires of a sexual nature. I decided that since I wasn’t feeling it there was no use forcing it. The vibrator sat idly by. I sat idly by.
Then, within the last couple of weeks, a few urges started creeping back. Sex started to sound more interesting than it had in a very long while. I’ve actually engaged in some playful banter full of flirtation and double entendres while chatting with a couple of people (J being one and an old blogging buddy the other). I am not seeking out opportunities, but if an opportunity arose I am pretty sure I would jump at it. Don’t worry though. Opportunities are few and far between so there is little likelihood that any of us need to contemplate the consequences of that.
Last night I took matters into my own hands. The nightstand drawer was opened for the first time in a long time so I could get out the toys for a little bit of “me time.” It was okay, but it just made me hornier rather than satisfied.
I did discover that I need a new vibe. The old one has a short in it or something because it will work, then not, then with just the right jiggle will work again for a bit. I am considering heading up to the “toy store” to get a new one. I’ve only been there once (or maybe twice) with BJ there to keep my nerves from getting the best of me. Am I adult enough to enter an adult store all by myself? I’m not 100% sure, but I’m going to try to muster the nerve. A girl’s gotta have suitable toys when the real thing is not available. Of course, I know I could order online, but then everybody in the house would ask what’s in the package so I would prefer not to go that route.
Thus, living with W reached a new level of tolerability. He didn’t want sex. I didn’t want sex. So what’s to argue about? (Well, other than how he treats N, and his hoarding habits, and his incessant time spent playing solitaire on the computer, but other than that...)
So began more than a year of détente. Notice not much blogging occurred during that time. What on earth would there have been to say? I decided that I was a better person when I had no desires of a sexual nature. I decided that since I wasn’t feeling it there was no use forcing it. The vibrator sat idly by. I sat idly by.
Then, within the last couple of weeks, a few urges started creeping back. Sex started to sound more interesting than it had in a very long while. I’ve actually engaged in some playful banter full of flirtation and double entendres while chatting with a couple of people (J being one and an old blogging buddy the other). I am not seeking out opportunities, but if an opportunity arose I am pretty sure I would jump at it. Don’t worry though. Opportunities are few and far between so there is little likelihood that any of us need to contemplate the consequences of that.
Last night I took matters into my own hands. The nightstand drawer was opened for the first time in a long time so I could get out the toys for a little bit of “me time.” It was okay, but it just made me hornier rather than satisfied.
I did discover that I need a new vibe. The old one has a short in it or something because it will work, then not, then with just the right jiggle will work again for a bit. I am considering heading up to the “toy store” to get a new one. I’ve only been there once (or maybe twice) with BJ there to keep my nerves from getting the best of me. Am I adult enough to enter an adult store all by myself? I’m not 100% sure, but I’m going to try to muster the nerve. A girl’s gotta have suitable toys when the real thing is not available. Of course, I know I could order online, but then everybody in the house would ask what’s in the package so I would prefer not to go that route.
Saturday, July 07, 2012
Two Dozen
That’s how many years W and I have been married – 24 – as of this past Wednesday.
That seems long enough sentence, doesn’t it?
Apparently not.
Every time I start thinking about giving him the final boot, something stops me.
Finances…
Health…
Fear…
Excuses…
Sometimes it’s just easier to deal with the hell I know rather than the ones I don’t.
Do other people go through life like this?
Is this how life is supposed to be?
I am way too stupid to have the answers…
That seems long enough sentence, doesn’t it?
Apparently not.
Every time I start thinking about giving him the final boot, something stops me.
Finances…
Health…
Fear…
Excuses…
Sometimes it’s just easier to deal with the hell I know rather than the ones I don’t.
Do other people go through life like this?
Is this how life is supposed to be?
I am way too stupid to have the answers…
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
And So She Goes. . .
TS2 told me this morning she has found an apartment and will be moving the beginning of August.
Hallelujah! I think it's all for the best that she is moving out. Tensions have run high between W and TS2. She wanted to be part of the family. He wanted her to just be a tenant. They rarely see eye to eye on things. I can get along with her just fine, but then again, I tend to be an easygoing sort. Things don't irritate me as quickly as they irritate W. N likes her fine most of the time, but he too gets irritated with her at times. She does tend to overstep boundaries and has to be reminded to step back occasionally. Therefore, hallelujah, TS2 is leaving.
Drat! We lose the rental income. It wasn't a lot, and we didn't charge market rate rent because we were kind of doing her a favor letting her live with us while she got on her feet financially. Yet that extra $$ we got sure did help out in keeping the household budget under control. Therefore, drat, TS2 is leaving.
Do we rent out the spare room to someone else now? Living in a university community means there would be decent opportunity to rent to a student or a visiting lecturer or other person associated with the university. If we did rent, we would need to be a bit smarter this time and do some things very differently. I would insist we have a written contract, and that certain rules and expectations be clearly stated in it. I would charge market rate rent.
Through the years we've rented to various people in various situations. We've had good experiences and bad. I kind of like having extra people around. W and N aren't as good about having extra people around unless those extra people do everything their way. I don't know for sure what we'll do.
Sigh...
Hallelujah! I think it's all for the best that she is moving out. Tensions have run high between W and TS2. She wanted to be part of the family. He wanted her to just be a tenant. They rarely see eye to eye on things. I can get along with her just fine, but then again, I tend to be an easygoing sort. Things don't irritate me as quickly as they irritate W. N likes her fine most of the time, but he too gets irritated with her at times. She does tend to overstep boundaries and has to be reminded to step back occasionally. Therefore, hallelujah, TS2 is leaving.
Drat! We lose the rental income. It wasn't a lot, and we didn't charge market rate rent because we were kind of doing her a favor letting her live with us while she got on her feet financially. Yet that extra $$ we got sure did help out in keeping the household budget under control. Therefore, drat, TS2 is leaving.
Do we rent out the spare room to someone else now? Living in a university community means there would be decent opportunity to rent to a student or a visiting lecturer or other person associated with the university. If we did rent, we would need to be a bit smarter this time and do some things very differently. I would insist we have a written contract, and that certain rules and expectations be clearly stated in it. I would charge market rate rent.
Through the years we've rented to various people in various situations. We've had good experiences and bad. I kind of like having extra people around. W and N aren't as good about having extra people around unless those extra people do everything their way. I don't know for sure what we'll do.
Sigh...
Friday, June 15, 2012
Frustration? What Frustration?
Yesterday was too busy for blogging, but I do want to write about my session with Freud the other day.
We talked about how I can handle certain situations where I acquiesce to others to keep peace and don’t look out well for myself. (This aspect of my persona is well documented here on the blog and can be perused by you at your leisure.)
This week’s focus was an episode that happened last week between W and me. God bless W. At least he is consistent about certain things – things that naturally drive me crazy.
Here is our exchange:
TS – W, you don’t need to go with us on Saturday if you don’t want to. I’m just going to drive N’s friend home to LOH and then turn around and come back. [Note to readers: LOH is approx. 3 hours away] There’s no need for you to go if you don’t want to.
W – That’s okay. I’ll go.
TS – Well, to be honest I’d really rather just go alone. I find driving by myself to be relaxing, and I enjoy the time to myself.
W – You can drive by yourself. I’ll just sit next to you.
TS – [quizzical look; perplexed; unsure of next move]
W – [pouty look starts to form]
TS – Okay, if you’d like.
W – Okay.
So I seethed. I wanted to go by myself. N had already told me he didn’t really want to go. His friend was likely to sleep all the way down (which he did end up doing) so there really wasn’t much point in anyone else going. But no. W was going. Now, why didn’t I put my foot down? To protect N from his pouting and anger. Based on prior similar situations I knew we’d be in for several days of pouting until a day or two after the trip. Based on prior similar situations I knew the pouting would turn to anger at least once or twice during that period and would most likely be misdirected toward N rather than me because it’s more dangerous to vent anger on me. So… I sucked it up and took W with us… and, as it turned out, N because N’s friend talked him into going too.
I seethed… on the inside only. I said nothing to W or N about my frustration. I almost called Freud for advice but hesitated. What a silly petty thing to bother Freud about.
And we went on the trip. Three hours down, N listening to his Ipod, N’s friend sound asleep, W offering driving advice (because we all know what an awesome driver he is \sarcasm). We dropped N’s friend off at his house and visited with his mom for a short time. We headed home. I wanted to stop for lunch. W and N weren’t hungry. It was only 1 p.m. after all. Fine. I inwardly seethed some more. If only I were by myself I could have lunch whenever I damned well pleased.
Around 3 p.m. W and N finally acquiesced to stopping to eat. It was a good thing because we hadn’t eaten since 9 a.m., and I was starting to get a headache and feel a little bit shaky. Of course, I was only the driver so no big deal, right? (Oh, the sarcasm is really dripping now, isn’t it? Sorry, hope none of it dripped on your shirt.) I insisted on a sit down restaurant rather than fast food drive through to eat on the way despite the resultant whining from N.
After we got home around 5 p.m., I announced I was done for the day. I’m doing nothing else. Make your own dinner should you want any.
Sigh…
So we all took our turn acting childish.
I related most of this to Freud (actually we never made it to the stopping-to-eat drama, but just covered the who-goes-on-the-trip drama) and told him that I just didn’t have a clue what I should have done differently. He agreed that it was made a bit trickier since N might have suffered from fallout had I just put my foot down with W and said “Suck it up and deal with staying home.” However, he gave me suggestions of ways I might have been able to approach it to lessen the chances of that happening although he couldn’t guarantee success. He also suggested that if I am really feeling a strong need for a “me day” (and I am) then I should tell W that now and offer to work with him to determine a day that will work for both of us. This discussion is now at the top of my priority list for this weekend.
As much as W would like us to spend 24/7 together (he’s told me this oh so many times over the years) I would go absolutely stark raving mad if I had to endure that. Shoot, I almost go stark raving mad now, and we don’t spend near that much time together.
Oh, and let me just share a little tidbit of a recent conversation with a friend. She said (very tactfully I might add), “W can approach things with a bit of negativity sometimes.” She wins the prize for Understatement of the Year.
We talked about how I can handle certain situations where I acquiesce to others to keep peace and don’t look out well for myself. (This aspect of my persona is well documented here on the blog and can be perused by you at your leisure.)
This week’s focus was an episode that happened last week between W and me. God bless W. At least he is consistent about certain things – things that naturally drive me crazy.
Here is our exchange:
TS – W, you don’t need to go with us on Saturday if you don’t want to. I’m just going to drive N’s friend home to LOH and then turn around and come back. [Note to readers: LOH is approx. 3 hours away] There’s no need for you to go if you don’t want to.
W – That’s okay. I’ll go.
TS – Well, to be honest I’d really rather just go alone. I find driving by myself to be relaxing, and I enjoy the time to myself.
W – You can drive by yourself. I’ll just sit next to you.
TS – [quizzical look; perplexed; unsure of next move]
W – [pouty look starts to form]
TS – Okay, if you’d like.
W – Okay.
So I seethed. I wanted to go by myself. N had already told me he didn’t really want to go. His friend was likely to sleep all the way down (which he did end up doing) so there really wasn’t much point in anyone else going. But no. W was going. Now, why didn’t I put my foot down? To protect N from his pouting and anger. Based on prior similar situations I knew we’d be in for several days of pouting until a day or two after the trip. Based on prior similar situations I knew the pouting would turn to anger at least once or twice during that period and would most likely be misdirected toward N rather than me because it’s more dangerous to vent anger on me. So… I sucked it up and took W with us… and, as it turned out, N because N’s friend talked him into going too.
I seethed… on the inside only. I said nothing to W or N about my frustration. I almost called Freud for advice but hesitated. What a silly petty thing to bother Freud about.
And we went on the trip. Three hours down, N listening to his Ipod, N’s friend sound asleep, W offering driving advice (because we all know what an awesome driver he is \sarcasm). We dropped N’s friend off at his house and visited with his mom for a short time. We headed home. I wanted to stop for lunch. W and N weren’t hungry. It was only 1 p.m. after all. Fine. I inwardly seethed some more. If only I were by myself I could have lunch whenever I damned well pleased.
Around 3 p.m. W and N finally acquiesced to stopping to eat. It was a good thing because we hadn’t eaten since 9 a.m., and I was starting to get a headache and feel a little bit shaky. Of course, I was only the driver so no big deal, right? (Oh, the sarcasm is really dripping now, isn’t it? Sorry, hope none of it dripped on your shirt.) I insisted on a sit down restaurant rather than fast food drive through to eat on the way despite the resultant whining from N.
After we got home around 5 p.m., I announced I was done for the day. I’m doing nothing else. Make your own dinner should you want any.
Sigh…
So we all took our turn acting childish.
I related most of this to Freud (actually we never made it to the stopping-to-eat drama, but just covered the who-goes-on-the-trip drama) and told him that I just didn’t have a clue what I should have done differently. He agreed that it was made a bit trickier since N might have suffered from fallout had I just put my foot down with W and said “Suck it up and deal with staying home.” However, he gave me suggestions of ways I might have been able to approach it to lessen the chances of that happening although he couldn’t guarantee success. He also suggested that if I am really feeling a strong need for a “me day” (and I am) then I should tell W that now and offer to work with him to determine a day that will work for both of us. This discussion is now at the top of my priority list for this weekend.
As much as W would like us to spend 24/7 together (he’s told me this oh so many times over the years) I would go absolutely stark raving mad if I had to endure that. Shoot, I almost go stark raving mad now, and we don’t spend near that much time together.
Oh, and let me just share a little tidbit of a recent conversation with a friend. She said (very tactfully I might add), “W can approach things with a bit of negativity sometimes.” She wins the prize for Understatement of the Year.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Frustration, So Very Much Frustration
I know it’s weird, but my mom and W are pretty close to the same age. Yes, that’s what marrying someone so much older than yourself brings – a husband and mother in the same peer group. Fun times.
They are both of similar age, and yet one is so much more active than the other. Neither exercises per se. However, one gets up every day to cook and clean and babysit and teach music lessons. The other occasionally does a load of laundry and plays a helluva lotta solitaire on the PC. Guess which one I’d rather have living in my house?
I have just about had it up to here (picture me standing in front of you gesturing with my hand palm down just above my head in the universal “up to here” gesture) with W. Now that he doesn’t drive he has abdicated even more responsibilities than ever before. Now that he can’t drive N to practice or to the library or to a friend’s house or anywhere else, one might be tempted to think he would have more time on his hands so that he might be able to take on a few additional household responsibilities. Not so! As a matter of fact he now must sit around and wait for me to play taxi driver on my off hours to take him where he needs to go. Not that he can’t take the bus. He can. He does. But sometimes that’s just so much less convenient than having your own personal driver who will take you, wait for you, and bring you back all on your own schedule.
It isn’t his health either. Although he had some bad times earlier in the year, an adjustment of meds and some other medical intervention has him back on his feet again, feeling better than he has in a long time.
So what’s his excuse? Well, he does as much as he can he says. He’s very busy he says. Yet N complains that W is always on the ‘puter playing solitaire. TS2 has mentioned how W seems to spend a lot of time playing solitaire on the ‘puter. I’ve noticed W playing lots of solitaire on the ‘puter.
Sigh. . .
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
They are both of similar age, and yet one is so much more active than the other. Neither exercises per se. However, one gets up every day to cook and clean and babysit and teach music lessons. The other occasionally does a load of laundry and plays a helluva lotta solitaire on the PC. Guess which one I’d rather have living in my house?
I have just about had it up to here (picture me standing in front of you gesturing with my hand palm down just above my head in the universal “up to here” gesture) with W. Now that he doesn’t drive he has abdicated even more responsibilities than ever before. Now that he can’t drive N to practice or to the library or to a friend’s house or anywhere else, one might be tempted to think he would have more time on his hands so that he might be able to take on a few additional household responsibilities. Not so! As a matter of fact he now must sit around and wait for me to play taxi driver on my off hours to take him where he needs to go. Not that he can’t take the bus. He can. He does. But sometimes that’s just so much less convenient than having your own personal driver who will take you, wait for you, and bring you back all on your own schedule.
It isn’t his health either. Although he had some bad times earlier in the year, an adjustment of meds and some other medical intervention has him back on his feet again, feeling better than he has in a long time.
So what’s his excuse? Well, he does as much as he can he says. He’s very busy he says. Yet N complains that W is always on the ‘puter playing solitaire. TS2 has mentioned how W seems to spend a lot of time playing solitaire on the ‘puter. I’ve noticed W playing lots of solitaire on the ‘puter.
Sigh. . .
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Possibly Thinking Too Much
First, I want to say a big thanks to all of you for your condolence messages, here and elsewhere. Hugs, both physical and virtual, have been mighty helpful to me through all of this. No matter the emotional upheaval that can ensue from romantic entanglements (and you know I’ve had plenty of those) it doesn’t come close to losing a parent.
There have been a number of thoughts that have struck me over the last few weeks since Dad’s death, and I am going to share those in this post. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts later, but these are the ones that hit early on and stayed with me.
I was surprised and somewhat amused at something I learned from Mom on the drive to the funeral. As we passed a jogger, I said what I always say, “Run! Run for your life!” Mom told me that Dad never passed a jogger without saying, “He/she must be being chased by somebody.” I found it interesting that, even though different, we both had standard sayings for the passing of a jogger.
I come from a long line of oh-don’t-bother-yourself-about-me types, and I have come to the conclusion that we are just a bit too much that way after Mom told me that she woke to find Dad dead in the wee hours of the morning but didn’t call anyone (including myself or FU) except the hospice nurse until after 7:00 a.m. which she figured was a decent hour for making and receiving phone calls. Really Mom? You didn’t want to bother anybody? Really? Actually, I can kind of see her not calling me as I’m a few hours away and not able to get there very soon, but FU is a few minutes away. I know he would have wanted to go over and sit with her as she waited for the hospice nurse and the funeral home personnel (or whoever it is that comes for the body). But no. She took care of it all by herself and then started making calls once it was acceptably late in the morning. (Though really, if it isn’t a serious situation don’t call me at 7:00 a.m., okay? Thanks.)
This whole oh-don’t-bother-yourself-about-me thing is something I have been dealing with in my therapy sessions with Freud for several months now. He said to me at one point (jokingly), “I do believe if you went to the ER gushing blood from a severed artery, and some guy came in with a possibly sprained ankle, you’d tell the ER personnel ‘no, no I’ll be fine, take care of him first.’” I replied (only half joking), “Well, of course, I could just tie a tourniquet around my arm and wait my turn. I don’t want to be pushy.” And now? I haven’t been to therapy since August. I screwed up, and didn’t get appointments scheduled ahead of time, and he got all booked up for September so I don’t go back until mid-October. Now, some might think that the death of a close family member would be reason enough to call one’s therapist to see if one could get squeezed in for a session without having to wait another month, but not me. Nope. Even though I feel like it might do me some good to talk with Freud I just don’t want to be a bother to him or his office staff by asking for special favors EVEN THOUGH he has encouraged me to do just that in the past when I’ve been going through rough patches. Part of me keeps saying “CALL! You need to talk to someone about this.” The other part says, “Well, you’ve waited this long so you might as well wait until your next scheduled appointment.” I will say that I did call my pastor the morning Dad died, and I did go spend two hours with her that day pouring out my emotions so it isn’t as though I haven’t had someone to talk to although I felt really bad about taking up so much of her time.
W and N were both real torn up over Dad’s death. N’s reaction didn’t surprise me much. Under his tough young teen veneer is a very emotional core. I know this. When he told me, “This is too hard. I can’t live through this.” I was actually prepared. I told him that I understand it feels that way, but that we can and will get through it, that we’ll always miss Grandpa but the pain will not always feel as sharp and the only thing we can do is allow ourselves to feel the pain in order to work our way through to the other side. W surprised me by telling me that he felt that my dad was more of a dad to him than his own ever was. He said his dad was rarely around and seldom did they ever talk. It was the first time I ever heard him say anything about his family that was less than glowing. It took me aback just how much W has grieved and continues to grieve the loss of my dad. I have spent a good deal of time trying to help both N and W through their grief, so much so that I sometimes wonder when it will be my turn to grieve and receive comfort from them, or W at least. In one of my less than stellar moments recently I even said to W, “You know. He was my dad. It would be nice if I could be the one that can be all broken up about for a while instead of the one who has to go around comforting everybody else all the time.”
My concentration level is down to near nothing since Dad died. Also, insomnia has become my constant companion which I’m sure doesn’t help the concentration level. When I do manage to get to sleep I dream wild, vivid dreams like the one a few nights ago where I was doing water ballet and having to perform my first solo. Strange.
I have more thoughts than time right now so I’ll stop. For now. More later. Maybe.
There have been a number of thoughts that have struck me over the last few weeks since Dad’s death, and I am going to share those in this post. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts later, but these are the ones that hit early on and stayed with me.
I was surprised and somewhat amused at something I learned from Mom on the drive to the funeral. As we passed a jogger, I said what I always say, “Run! Run for your life!” Mom told me that Dad never passed a jogger without saying, “He/she must be being chased by somebody.” I found it interesting that, even though different, we both had standard sayings for the passing of a jogger.
I come from a long line of oh-don’t-bother-yourself-about-me types, and I have come to the conclusion that we are just a bit too much that way after Mom told me that she woke to find Dad dead in the wee hours of the morning but didn’t call anyone (including myself or FU) except the hospice nurse until after 7:00 a.m. which she figured was a decent hour for making and receiving phone calls. Really Mom? You didn’t want to bother anybody? Really? Actually, I can kind of see her not calling me as I’m a few hours away and not able to get there very soon, but FU is a few minutes away. I know he would have wanted to go over and sit with her as she waited for the hospice nurse and the funeral home personnel (or whoever it is that comes for the body). But no. She took care of it all by herself and then started making calls once it was acceptably late in the morning. (Though really, if it isn’t a serious situation don’t call me at 7:00 a.m., okay? Thanks.)
This whole oh-don’t-bother-yourself-about-me thing is something I have been dealing with in my therapy sessions with Freud for several months now. He said to me at one point (jokingly), “I do believe if you went to the ER gushing blood from a severed artery, and some guy came in with a possibly sprained ankle, you’d tell the ER personnel ‘no, no I’ll be fine, take care of him first.’” I replied (only half joking), “Well, of course, I could just tie a tourniquet around my arm and wait my turn. I don’t want to be pushy.” And now? I haven’t been to therapy since August. I screwed up, and didn’t get appointments scheduled ahead of time, and he got all booked up for September so I don’t go back until mid-October. Now, some might think that the death of a close family member would be reason enough to call one’s therapist to see if one could get squeezed in for a session without having to wait another month, but not me. Nope. Even though I feel like it might do me some good to talk with Freud I just don’t want to be a bother to him or his office staff by asking for special favors EVEN THOUGH he has encouraged me to do just that in the past when I’ve been going through rough patches. Part of me keeps saying “CALL! You need to talk to someone about this.” The other part says, “Well, you’ve waited this long so you might as well wait until your next scheduled appointment.” I will say that I did call my pastor the morning Dad died, and I did go spend two hours with her that day pouring out my emotions so it isn’t as though I haven’t had someone to talk to although I felt really bad about taking up so much of her time.
W and N were both real torn up over Dad’s death. N’s reaction didn’t surprise me much. Under his tough young teen veneer is a very emotional core. I know this. When he told me, “This is too hard. I can’t live through this.” I was actually prepared. I told him that I understand it feels that way, but that we can and will get through it, that we’ll always miss Grandpa but the pain will not always feel as sharp and the only thing we can do is allow ourselves to feel the pain in order to work our way through to the other side. W surprised me by telling me that he felt that my dad was more of a dad to him than his own ever was. He said his dad was rarely around and seldom did they ever talk. It was the first time I ever heard him say anything about his family that was less than glowing. It took me aback just how much W has grieved and continues to grieve the loss of my dad. I have spent a good deal of time trying to help both N and W through their grief, so much so that I sometimes wonder when it will be my turn to grieve and receive comfort from them, or W at least. In one of my less than stellar moments recently I even said to W, “You know. He was my dad. It would be nice if I could be the one that can be all broken up about for a while instead of the one who has to go around comforting everybody else all the time.”
My concentration level is down to near nothing since Dad died. Also, insomnia has become my constant companion which I’m sure doesn’t help the concentration level. When I do manage to get to sleep I dream wild, vivid dreams like the one a few nights ago where I was doing water ballet and having to perform my first solo. Strange.
I have more thoughts than time right now so I’ll stop. For now. More later. Maybe.
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