M* A* B*-H*

Fuck this. Went to the head doc today- Pills for depression aren't working. Fall asleep at 3am, sleep for 10 hours, no drive, no ambition.

No ambian, wouldn't have minded clonopin. Got generic for ativan and that not doing shit. Took one, nothing, took another, nothing.

Shrink appt in 3 weeks.

Fuck at some point you have to let go of the person you're holding onto. I need to get my head on straight and figure out what's going on.

Pushing through school work, getting stuff done.

My soul, that place in your chest that feels so good when your in love and hurts like a m'fucker when it's broke. It's wilted. No get up and go.

For my reader(s) in Germany- thank you.

My great-great grandfather was Prussian. He came to the states around or after the Franco-Prussian War. He married a Protestant lady and our future contact with our Jewish roots ended. Emil Block. My great-grand father was first generation. And my maternal grandmother second generation. I miss my grandma quite a bit. It was always great to be around her. She was this force who spoke her mind, but was still caring. She went through a lot in her life, experience that hardened her. She always seem more optimistic than not and quick with a laugh. F' do I miss her.

So, there was a saying that her grandfather taught her and it translated to - you're some so dumb the geese would eat you.

I wish we would have written down the German words.

Although we're European mixed, we seem to run more UK and Germany.

Slightly dustier with a chance of panic.

It’s late, I’m awake. I could work on homework. Blah. Taking three on-line classes and it’s kinda kicking my butt. I hate writing papers. The end. And I hate memorizing. That’s why I was a good art student. Projects, make pretty things.

Now though, 35, unemployed, back in school. 100 level business class. Reading dry, boring textbooks. Unable to form complete sentences.

Seeing a psychiatrist next week. I need a touchstone. Not that I don’t love it here, but here won’t solve any problems.

So, I would like a family of my own. A nice, comfortable family consisting of a few furry beasts and a man. I don’t want that right now, but at some point in the medium future.

My hands are showing my age. Actually I think they look older than I actually am. My mom had these hands when she was in her late 40s and now I have them 10 years too soon.

Draw a horizontal line. Label it content. Somewhere above the line is manic, way down below is severe depression. I never get above that horizontal line. Let’s say severe depression, the worst is a -10. I average a -2. Right now I’m a -3, sometimes almost -4. Occasionally I get on the positive side.

Used to be, in my early 20s I held onto pain and anger, afraid that if I let go, then I would float away. Now, it’s different. It’s age and experience weighing me down. Oh, and present situations. Now, I float between -2 and slightly over zero. I float wrapped in a blanket. I warm cozy blanket that induces sleep. Want to crawl into bed and stay there.

My bed is my safe place. My happy place. The world does not exist when I am in my bed. A floating raft of safety and calm. Can’t hurt me in my bed. That’s not true, but I like the idea.

Funny that because I can’t fall asleep during normal sleepy hours. Bring on the daytime sleeping. I feel safer falling asleep in the day. My mind isn’t as noisy. At night too many not all together content thing wander through my head. Slightly dustier with a chance of panic.

Old Enough

I’m old enough to learn from my mistakes- I will do that.

I am old enough to know that reacting the same over and over again to the same situation will not change the outcome.

I am old enough to know that my love for myself must be more important than my lust for anyone.

I am old enough that sometimes a door must stay shut. Nothing has changed behind that door. The contents are the same. Repaint the door, put on a kick plate, a fancy door knocker. The contents are the same.

Growing up sucks. I will do my best to have as few regrets as possible. If I love, I will be honest in my love. At some point having too many regrets about the same thing is just douchery. Dumbass-ness.

No good can come of that.

My id has a nemesis and last night my ego decided to dream about this person. If I were to see this person out and about, I would try to beat the crap out of her. My hatred runs that deep. Strange since I was willing to forgive her co-conspirator.

My last boyfriend cheated on me with his best friend’s girlfriend. Thinking about all of that makes me sick to my stomach. The fact that I accepted his excuses makes me even sicker. And it took me two and a half years to leave him. I didn’t try to convince him or myself that I was in love with him after he cheated. I carried on because I didn’t have it in me to uproot my life. Sad but true- I stayed for my dog and cats. Staying meant a bigger apartment instead of moving into a hole in the wall by myself or moving back to the Midwest.

When the sh*t hit the fan, I had three cats and my dog, my sister, who I now live with, had two dogs and a cat, plus husband. I couldn’t do it. But over time I gathered my strength. I kept track of his assery. Each time he was a douche, I filed it away in the folder marked, “this is why I’m leaving.” Moving out sucked, but I remembered all those times he was an ass.

Funny, now the nemesis has a kid with her then boyfriend and from all f*cebook stalking accounts, they are still together. She got pregnant 3-4 months after the cheating.

So, last night I dreamt about this chick. And it’s a vivid dream with lots of emotion and he’s there too. Anger, betrayal. Not having the full ability to kick the crap out of both of them. Now because of the dream she’s in my mind eye and it makes me sick. I wish a could mentally vomit her out of my mind. Thank god she was never a friend of mine.

The last boyfriend and I were together for four years. My longest continuous relationship. Walking away and staying quiet is a challenge. I want to yell at him, but calling him is a can of worms that needs to stay shut. No good can come from that.

So, what do I do? I dig up older skeletons.

From One Side to the Other

At a meeting about meetings. Today I'm in the audience- two months ago I was sitting behind a drape behind a computer wondering how much time was left. Clothes are different, attitude not so much. I'm so used to moving around and putting out fires that sitting in one spot for longer than thirty minutes isn't easy.

Now I'm on a train to head home.

My sister will probably make the decision to put her dog to sleep today.

We went down to my mom's this weekend. If anyone has any experience dealing with parents and mental illness I'd love to get some advice.

Usually I have pretty bad nightmares after visiting her. It's stressful seeing how she's not taking care of herself.

There's a woman on the train playing a game that making mustard squeezing noises. Or very crudely wet farting noises.

One month until hopefully I'll see fisher. Driving to and from my mom's we came within 45 minutes of where he lives. It's probably best that I don't have the money to visit him. For one he's in rehearsal for the show that opens soon. Second, because I've been a little crazy in the past and having set the time to visit me is just better. I'll have to decide to pining for him is worth it, if he decides he can't visit.

Later that same night-
K* lived a long and happy life. My sister gave her the best life possible. It is a sad day.

Let go of your anger. It will not save you. Anger eats at you from the inside. Enjoy life and be happy.

Exposition

By all accounts I should be asleep right now or at least attempting to fall asleep. Failing on both counts.

Within the next few weeks, my sister will have to decide when to put her dog to sleep. As you can imagine we are all very sad about this. The decision to end a pet’s life is not an easy one in our family. I hug K* and try to commit to memory her soft fur and regal look. She’s lived thirteen wonderful years, my sister has rightly spoiled her. She’s a great dog. For being a large full bred dog she has lived fully into her senior years.

A year ago I had to make that decision for one of my cats. She was my first pet. Not a family pet, but mine. It’s a terrible decision to make and one based on mercy. The thought of an animal or person not existing any more upsets me. Since my dad’s death I’ve thought a lot about my existence and what to do with it. The mindset of martyrs and those that are willing to sacrifice his or her own for a cause is not something I understand.

For what would I trade my life?

Death is always moving closer. Taking those around me until it finds me. Here I am doing my thing, getting older and one day I won’t. I keep thinking that somewhere inside my brain that I know what comes next. Knowledge that is locked away.

More evidence should exist that life is precious. It should not be spent fighting or filled with anger or hate. We are here for such a short amount of time.

Time needs to slow down. When my dad was my age his life was half way over.

This is all so depressing.

Tomorrow my sister and I will drive south to visit my mom. Bring on the depression.

Bunch of random crap knocking around in my head. And I’m sitting still making no progress.

This is so not interesting to anyone, not even me.

Seeking Nirvana

So, there’s some stuff that I need to get off my chest and face before the soul mate visits…

In the winter of 2000, while visiting my family at Christmas, I visited Fisher in College Town, USA. When I got to his apartment he had a rose for me. He was outwardly in love with me.

I freaked out. At least on the inside. Any feelings, love/hate, went away. I felt nothing. We talked and I couldn’t get nearer than five feet to him. I was numb. Finally getting what I always wanted, being the object of his affection and I couldn’t return the favor.

We hung out, talked, listened to music. I think I may have even spent the night there. As you could assume, nothing happened. Somehow he ended up driving me to the airport when I left to return to grad school. I asked him to visit me in the desert. I wanted him to show me that he loved me. Fisher drove three days to the desert. When he got there and I couldn’t kiss him. In bed I rolled away from him.

He never kissed me and I wish he would have. Maybe it would have broken the spell.

I’m freaked out that I’ll do that again.  Somehow I have to get my mind right. Usually that involves visualization. Used to be that I would always picture myself in the future. In my mind's eye I would already be gone, but still physically sitting in a chair.

I’ve learned to use it as a tool. Off to do something unfamiliar- like moving in with my sister. I pictured myself living in her house. Soon after picturing myself there in my minds eye it became a concrete memory.

I had a crazy dream last night. How is that in your dreams the id and ego exist separately? Or is that conscious vs subconscious? Anyway there was a person in my dream that I connected with on a very deep level. The connection felt real. I’m always amazed at the realness of dreams. Crying in dreams and waking up crying. The physical manifestation of dreams.

Some might say that I over think my life. The Buddha did a lot of thinking and look where that got him- Nirvana. I’d like a piece of that.

A nice inner calm. No matter what, everything will be ok.

Herp-Derpy

First off, thank you for the comments of encouragement.

And secondly, I am giddy with anticipation. For those of you that know me, I’ll give you a moment to picture that.

(moment)

For those of you that don’t know me outside of this, my friends would not describe me as usually giddy. Even after several drinks.

Talked to Fisher this afternoon. He called me (yay.) And he’ll be able to visit during the dates that my sister and her husband are out of town.

No, I’m not giddy. Anxious. Herp-derpy? Lack of coordination because I’m nervous and have butterflies in my stomach.

Overcome. Being able to talk to him face-to-face about all that has happened. Being able to share what I went through watching my father die. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will be attentive.

Since forever, all I’ve wanted is for that special someone to kiss me on the forehead and tell me that everything will be ok. Neither of my parents told me this. Early on my mom told me that life wasn’t fair and my dad told that boys and girls are different. Masters of advice and comfort, not so much. I’m pretty happy with how I’ve turned out, so my mom did a decent job setting me forth on my path. My dad just wasn’t meant to be a dad, much like I’m not meant to be a parent. Neither my dad nor I are very patient.

I have a terrible habit of interrupting people in conversation. Like what I have to say or ask is more important than anything they could possibly be discussing. Aware and working on it.

Back to make it all better, please- I want everything to be ok. For me that means unconditional love. A person that will hug me at the end of a crappy day and be my happy place. For better or worse- we’ll be ok. There’s something solid about being ok. More like all right, but it doesn’t fall off the tongue like “make it all ok.”

Unconditional (except for major acts of stupidity) love. Cheating not ok. Despite how long a stuck around in my last relationship- it’s never ok to cheat. Maybe if I was in a coma, never to recover or incapacitated in a major, not gonna get better kinda way.

I’m having a case of the herp-derps tonight. I am beat. Tired. Kapoot. And I need to clime into bed, turn out the light and sleep. No thinking or playing games on my i-pod, just give into the sleep.


I have sleep anxiety. Have I mentioned that?

Later

Id vs Ego

I just geeked out by making a mix cd for the Fisher King. Mix tape sounds so much better, but then I remember tapes and how much went into making a good mix tape. There was no drag, drop and burn. More like a bunch of curse words, mixed with forward, reverse, pause, flip tape, get more tapes…

Anyway, I had fun putting together the play list insert and cd design. I always get a little manic when I’m being crafty. Sewing, photoshop, paper- manic. I guess it’s those creative juices bubbling over.

I don’t know why I go over the top and out of my way for guys that I’m not even dating. For all I know, once again, this will not work out. Six hours away, he’s too busy, I’m taking classes and broke. We lived together for about six weeks about ten years ago. Have a lost my mind? I’m talking about a guy that I lived with ten years ago for a whopping six weeks, not even two months. Go ahead, shake your head, it’s ok.

But here’s the rub- My id keeps putting him in my dreams. Yes, I know dreams are a lot of times a bundle of gobbledy-goop that has no real meaning. For me dreams seem to be a mixture of stuff that went into the noggin during the day plus memories and some fears and desires mixed in for good measure. However, there are two people outside of my immediate family that are reoccurring figures- Fisher and a cousin.

In my dreams both Fisher and the cousin are destinations that I’m trying to reach. Only they can save me or with the Fisher sometimes I must save him. More often than not the cousin is salvation, a person to protect me and the Fisher, a victim that I must save. You see, Fisher isn’t happy. Happy on the outside, picture of vaudevillian health to all around him, but brooding inside. Makes me wonder if all comedic actors are that way- tortured.

The cousin- let me explain. In my formative years I spent a great deal of time on my uncle's (by marriage) farm. My uncle has five sons, my cousins. The youngest, five years older than me, was my nemesis, but also kinda my hero. I was a tomboy and he was able to do all the stuff that I wanted to do. He once took me for a ride on his dirt bike- highlight of my childhood. We played doctor where the object wasn’t sexual exploration, but testing reflexes and inflicting pain.

Up until my grandmother’s funeral a year ago this past December, I hadn’t seen him in 28 years or so. However, when my dad’s mom died in Feb of 2007 I started to dream about him, consistently. So here’s this person that I haven’t seen in ages and he’s become a central figure in my dreams. And I knew that the next time I would see him would be at my mom’s mom’s funeral and to boot- it would be the last time I would see him.

And I did see him at my grandmother’s funeral in Dec ’10. He had changed quite a bit and I wouldn’t have recognized him if he hadn’t been pointed out to me. Growing up he was very cute, I was infatuated with him. As a grown adult he has lost most of his hair and the boy-ish good looks. I gave him a hug and that was it. No life changing moment by seeing him again, seeing him for what I know to be the last time.

And I still dream about him. He’s older, but with his boyish good looks. The dreams aren’t terribly sexual, but I guess he would be described as a romantic figure in my dreams. Side note- my mom thought that something had occurred between me and my cousin- nope. I hope she believed me when I said that it hadn’t. Yes, she asked me. I went through I really tough time when I was in middle school, bad case of agoraphobia. Not getting into that now. However, my mom has her own demons, that aren’t under control and she likes to form her own reality.

F*ckin’  Midwest weather patterns are killing me. Allergies mess up sinuses, sinus pressure causes headaches that may or may not be migraines. Regardless of classification, they suck and I’m getting them almost every other day. I took a muscle relaxer a little bit ago, so soon I’ll get loopy from that. Nice.

I am giddy about Fisher visiting. He’s in one more show the ends next month and then my sister and her husband will be out of town and I’m hoping he’ll visit then. Of course my head could do me in and I’ll see him and not feel a thing. That’s happened twice, his visit to the desert and and four years ago when he came down to see me when I lived by the ocean. Please, for the love that is all holy and sacred, let me look at him and want to jump him. You can pray for me, too, I won’t be offended. Dear Lord, let this anonymous blogger be attracted to her soul mate, let her want to rock his world.

Was that too much info, dear friend who knows about this site?

Dear good friend, who needs a name- my Buddha? Yes, you will be my Buddha.

This is plenty for tonight, gentle readers. 'night.

Variations on a Theme

Listening to Neko Case- Middle Cyclone (album)

 The Fisher King, my obsession. He probably pushed me away because I was a little over the top and well, would’ve been the typical crazy ex-girlfriend. Surprisingly I never had the cops called on me. Did some stuff that deserved a good stern talking to by some authority figures. I couldn’t stop myself; it was like a train wreck that couldn’t be stopped.

I get like that when I’m angry. The angry part takes over and I have to do what my mind is set on doing. Most of the time the doing is not healthy or helpful. Right now, I must do this right now. It feels like tunnel vision and I have no alternative. Once the spell is broken, usually by finally reaching the object of my bullet, I feel really stupid by having made such a big deal out of it.

I once asked the Fisher King to drive from College Town, USA to the desert to see me. A three-day car trip in the winter. When he got there I was a complete putz and had to tell him that I didn’t love him. I was so enamored with him finally admitting that he loved me that I ignored the fact that I didn’t have feelings for him. He wanted so much to kiss me and I put him off. There were so many days when we first dating that I wanted him to say that he loved me. He would push me away and I would wait and wait, hoping that he would say it was all a mistake. So, maybe I needed him to drive there and back, but it wrong.

I used him to make me feel better. And all I did was hurt him and I felt lousy.

The relationship I just ended, too soon to talk about. I hope he finds happiness. I hope he finds the girl, the one he’ll actually be in love with and not me, who he settled for.

I think I’m better at being introspective late at night than at dinner time.