The thoughts in the brain go round and round...

I read a post by Gwendomama the other day that resounded in a spot deep within me. I followed it to Violence unSilenced, a website dedicated to stories submitted by abuse survivors. I'm not just talking about sexual abuse or physical - there's also mental, emotional, and psychological abuse. There are stories from men and women, with all varying degrees of horrifying.

But this post isn't really about the website. It's about me, and what I've realized, and I believe for the first time I'm posting a little bit on this and my thoughts. I am not posting the whole story. Maybe one of you will have some insight for me.

When I was younger I was molested by the old man who lived near us. My mom found out and put a stop to it. There wasn't any talking about it, except a few times she asked me if he had started again. I just don't think she knew what to do with it, or how it would later effect me. Hell, I'm still not sure just what effect it has on me, how much of my issues can be blamed on him or the things that followed.

My first real boyfriend was a controller. Mom knew it, tried to tell me, I wouldn't listen. I thought he was sweet, always wanting to know where I was and if I was home yet - that he missed me and wanted to talk to me. When I went to college, there was another boyfriend - this one was mentally manipulative. Then John, who cheated on me and I still stayed. My ex-husband, who was controlling in every way, shape, and form. My ex-fiance, who was emotionally unavailable and made me feel like I was an emotional wreck.

I exhibit some of the classic victim signs, especially if someone is angry with me. I fall into the "it must be my fault. I didn't do right. If I had handled it better, it would all be ok and they wouldn't be angry." Even when it's not my fault, they're just taking it out on me or being a prick...I still fall into that. I spent my first marriage apologizing A LOT. I noticed last night after a personal confrontation with a guildmate that I thought was a friend that I do this. I never REALLY realized it until then, after reading Maggie's site and seeing the stories of behaviors.

The problem is: What do I do with this? How do I NOT react like that when, as I think back, I've been doing it for over a decade? Maybe longer, but I am not sure of that. I know my parents didn't abuse me in this manner, although my father was also mostly emotionally unavailable (which explains most of the men in my life being that way as well) and my mother had MPD when I was a kid (one of which was a very angry person). So...who knows? I just don't know what to do with this. I haven't yet decided if I want to submit my full story to Maggie or not - the whole thing is "mild" compared to what I've read, and yet they repeatedly say that abuse is abuse is abuse - mild, severe, and in between. I just...don't know.

My mother, My sister, and Me

(cross-posted to Colorful Medication)

I got a call from my dad last week. My sister had her annual mammogram and an ultrasound of her only remaining ovary ( I don't know why the latter was done). They found a lump in her breast and a cyst on the ovary.

Fuck.

The tech told her to just wait 6 months and get tested again. In an uncharacteristic move, my sister actually disobeyed and went to her regular doc. Given family history (which her doc knows all about), the doc has decided to give it a few weeks and do the tests again. So...the Monday after Christmas, my sister is having another mammy and u/s. If the cyst is growing, they're just going to remove the ovary completely. My sister said she's not willing to risk a single cell remaining and have it come back like it did with mom. Of course, they did a total hysterectomy on mom too...but I won't point that out. I don't know what they're going to do about the lump - I guess it depends on size. If it's small enough, perhaps they can just remove it and biopsy it like the did with mom's.

I...can't go through this again so soon. Or ever. But really - it's barely been 13 months since mom died. I simply cannot deal with the fact that my sister might have cancer. And what if she DOES? What if it becomes not a "might have" but a "does have"? I can't go down there like I did with mom - my sister lives 8 hours away. Then there's the whole "I'm not exactly THAT close to my sister" factor. We're sisters, but we're not best friends. We've spoken...4 times? since mom died. Maybe. That's being generous. We just don't talk that much. We're 10 years apart, we didn't grow up together - I was 8 when she got married. We got closer when I moved out on my own, but still - we're not close. She didn't even bother to tell me any of this - I had to hear it from my father. And when I asked how she was holding up? She just told me about the appointment. I don't understand her in the least. She also has more than just her husband to take care of her - she has two sons, at least one of which will help out. The youngest...he's taking the route of my brother, so I don't count on him. But still. I just can't do this. I can't fathom the possibility of losing another family member to cancer. I...

Can't. Won't. Don't want to. The idea makes me want to go into a full-blown panic. I want to run screaming. I want to cry. I want to throw things. And this is all before I even have any answers.

I feel bad...

I just went through my blog reader and deleted some blogs I've been following. Some because they never update anymore and some because they've simply gone in a direction that just doesn't work for me. The ones that don't update...well, I kept them around for a long time because if they DID ever update I wanted to know about it. There's one still there like that, because I'm really hoping that she'll come back. Really, really hoping. The rest...well, I don't know. I didn't really read them that long, so there isn't really a big connection. I still feel bad, though. I don't update that often, although I do at least update more often than once ever 6-8 months. I know I still have at least one reader (hi Jess!) and probably more than that, if statcounter is to be believed. That could just be people stumbling by, though. I know the people I removed probably won't miss me - it's not like I'm an "Iron Commenter" or anything, and I doubt many people look very often to see who is following them and who has stopped, and it's not like they're going to contact me to find out why I stopped and it's not like they follow me. I still feel bad.

As for those who went in a different direction...that happens. What started out as IF blogs turned into mommy blogs. Which is GREAT - don't get me wrong. That's the WHOLE idea - If turns to treatments turns to baby...right? Right! Most of the time, hopefully. And baby means mommy blogs. And some mommy blogs I can handle and I'm fine with and I like reading. But some I just can't. It's all about writing style. I think these bloggers lost me a long time ago, I just wouldn't admit it. I felt...obligated? to keep reading, because I started reading while they were in the middle of IF (or the beginning) and I owed it to them to keep supporting them until the end, whatever the end was. I just...don't fit anymore. *shrug* And I doubt they'll miss me. Again - not a big commenter. And they have LOTS of followers, so I don't think one will be missed.

I still feel bad. I feel like I should keep reading.

Restless Legs

I appear to have developed Restless Leg Syndrome on top of everything else, if my suspicions are correct. The last few nights I've been unable to sleep in bed because my legs are twitching so much. I've had to sleep in the recliner, where it takes me about an hour and a half to finally get my legs to calm down. Every 15-30 seconds they twitch and jerk - feels like I have something under my skin, or they're trying to cramp.

My father called while I was writing this and I told him about it (mistake, I know). He tried to tell me it's because of the work the chiropractor is doing, that because of the adjustments I can now feel the nerves in my legs. Um, dad? It's not like my legs have been dead for the past 32 years. They're just fine - I feel pain just fine, believe me. This? Not PAINful, just really uncomfortable. I feel like a marionette!

RLS isn't uncommon for people with fibromyalgia. According to this site, "Many people with fibromyalgia suffer from restless leg syndrome symptoms. RLS causes unpleasant sensations in the lower limbs, so much so that the limbs have to be moved in order to reduce the pain. RLS occurs mostly at night, between the hours of 10:00 pm and 4:00 am, though it can also occur throughout the day in severe cases. It is thought that somewhere between 20% and 40% of fibromyalgia sufferers also have RLS." Consider now that I get off work at 9:30 at night, go to bed at about 1:30 or so, and start having issues as soon as I lay down.

It seems odd that it cropped up at the same time I started taking meds for a UTI. I've looked into it and that's really not one of the side effects...so I really think it's just coincidence. I have at least another 3 days of the meds, so we'll see what happens when I stop taking them. If it continues I'm going to have to go talk to the doc.

Joy. I needed another syndrome. I wonder if that's my superhero name: Syndrome Girl

Safe spots

It looks like I might be posting more, maybe. Yeah, yeah, I know - I keep promising I'll write more and I never do. It's not because I have nothing to say, it's because it takes energy to write and I never remember when I'm already sitting here. I think about it when I'm at work, or laying down to sleep, or something.

So what's different this time? Well, Facebook has been a place where I could say things about certain family members and not have to worry about it. I could vent that my SIL is being a PITA, or my MIL is making me batty...and all was ok. My FB has become overrun with family. MIL, SIL, BIL, Chuckles, my BIL's sister, my MIL's BF and her DH (I am LOVING all these abbrevs!) and one of their daughters... there is no longer a place for me to vent.

Which means I just might have to end up back here for my own peace of mind! Provided they don't find THIS too...

Catching up...or not

I haven't written lately because there isn't really much to write about. I have a new job, working in a call center. I don't particularly like it, but I don't really hate it either. I realized last night that I may very well end up there for 5 years or something because I'm too lazy to look for a new job right now...and I really don't want to be there that long. Beggars can't be choosers, though, no matter what my father may think. I need a job, I need to pay the bills. Should we ever somehow become independently wealthy, I'll think about quitting. *snerk* Like that will ever happen.

I have stuff to rant about, but I'm not sure I really want to. It's more hashing about our sex life, and how angry I am concerning it, but really...it won't do anything to fix it. It's not something I can talk to DH about without making him feel guilty and I don't want to do that...and it's an old argument anyways, one we've been having in one form or another since we got married. I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of being upset about it, and I'm tired of him feeling guilty or abnormal. I wish we could resolve it, but I fear that will never happen.

Dad has finally stopped calling me every day, for the most part. It's down to every few days usually, and never anything to really tell me, he just wants to talk. I guess I'm ok with that...if only he'd listen when I say anything, instead of blowing me off or glossing over whatever it is. That will also never happen, as he's always done that to me...I can't decide if it's because I'm a girl, his daughter, or just younger.

I'm feeling a little off-center the past few weeks. Like something is wrong but I can't quite figure it out - not REALLY wrong, just off. I'm pretty sure it's just me, which means I can ignore it and it will go away eventually.

Other than all that, there really isn't anything going on. I'll write more about dad on the other blog, as it deals with mom too. I just wanted to let y'all know I was still alive and kicking, there just isn't really anything going on.

Job! OMG!

I didn't want to post about this until it was for sure, but...

I GOT A JOB!!!

Yes, you read that correctly. After 8 months of unemployment and 6 months spent looking for a job, I finally have one! I'll be working as an in-bound tech at this company, working on this company's products. It's not something I've done before, but I'm willing to try something new...as long as they're paying me, which they are. :)

I start in 6 days. My training schedule is just scary - 5:30 in the morning until 2:30 in the afternoon, for three weeks. My normal schedule, though? Absolutely peachy - 1:00 in the afternoon until 9:3o in the evening, with weekends off from the start. It couldn't get much better than that. DH is going to change his schedule once we know for sure when my real one starts (they mentioned a protected week, where I have lots of help available, but didn't tell me which schedule that was on) and he'll work 11-7. So we'll each have a few hours of "me time" every day (which he's been missing terribly) and yet still get to see each other every day too!

I'm so excited - we'll be all caught up financially in no time flat. The plan is to put some in savings every paycheck while still working feverishly to get our credit card paid off. Of course, even if I threw almost my entire paycheck at the credit card it still won't be paid off until next year (ouch!) but at least there will be breathing room. We also have a request in for a loan modification on the house and I'm going to be deferring my student loans for a while. Ok, so maybe things aren't going to be as easy as I'd initially thought (damn you, typing, for putting into perspective!) but still WAY easier than they are now.

But! I HAS JOB NAO! (yes, lolcat speak - deal with it, it only happens sometimes)

I've been reading...

a rather interesting web novel of late. It's not for everyone - I suggest only going if you are very open minded. But I thought I'd give it a shout here, just in case some of you want to go and read it too. :) I promise that I'll get around to making a real blog post some day - some are brewing, I'm just trying to ignore them.

Prologue | An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom | MeiLin Miranda

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Pocket Pet anthem

Anything that amuses me and cheers me up is a good thing, yeah? As such, I present to you "Nom! nom! nom!" - the anthem of Pocket Pets everywhere! The first time I watched it I thought "aww...cute!" And then? I watched it again...and again...and again...and, well, you get the picture. I bebop to it in my chair, it brings a smile to my face every time, and I catch myself humming it at random. Without further ado:

And the fun starts....*edited*

I remember taking 1500mg of Met before, and getting "fire butt" as someone from my old TTC/ITSG boards used to call it. What I forgot about? The nausea that strikes as soon as I up my dosage to a proper level. Why did I forget? Probably because I haven't been at the proper level since the first time I was dx'd.

Nausea. In my chest. Not my stomach - that feels fine. But...it's like my esophagus is nauseated. I breathe in just right and I can make it go away.

I'm going to go lay down and try to sleep. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Probably not - I have a feeling the fun is just beginning.

*edit* I was both right and wrong. The nausea wasn't just in my esophagus, and it wasn't just nausea. Not 5 minutes after I hit post on the first part of this, I went to bed. Within 2 minutes, I jumped out of bed and threw up 3 times. So...perhaps no eating right after taking the pills. I don't remember that part from before - I hope this means that the met is going to work better. I was right about the fun just beginning though. Stay tuned for more Met drama!

Oh the irony...

History: DH and I got together 6 years and 4 months ago. Roughly 6 years ago I started a BCP called Cyclessa. DH and I got married 5 years and 7 months ago. I went off Cyclessa 5 years and 2 months ago. We started TTC, because we knew it might take a while due to family history. Sometime between then and a year and a half after starting our TTC journey, I was dx'd with insulin resistance and put on Metformin (hereafter referred to as Met). At the year and a half mark, I went to an RE. She did the wandy thing and said "Hey! You have PCOS! OH! And you're insulin resistant!" She upped my dosage of Met and we went on to a treatment that didn't work (that was 2 years and 8 months ago). Since that point, DH and I have been giving it the college try...and eventually I resigned myself to living childfree. I have been at that stage now for about a year or so.

Yesterday: I read this article which says PCOS women also have an increased endometrial cancer risk. The risk of ovarian cancer is increased 2.5-fold, particularly among women who had never used oral contraceptives. Breast cancer risk is not clearly increased with polycystic ovarian disease. Just what I needed - another thing that will give me the kind of cancer that killed my mother almost 6 months ago.

Today: I go to the doc for a med check. I've managed to gain 10 pounds since he saw me a month ago and the only thing that has changed has been my meds. He upped my dosage of Met to 1500 (bring on the fire butt, baby!) to see if it will work a little better. When I mentioned the article to him and explained the whole "PCOS and all appeared when I went OFF bcp last time", he put me back on Cyclessa.

You read that right. The woman who can't get pregnant...is on birth control pills. Not for cycling reasons, not to suppress my ovaries for a stim. An infertile woman...on bcp. I think the only thing more ironic would be if I GOT pregnant. *looks at the sky and waits for karma to come bite her in the ass*

Pour me, Poor me

I started typing this for Mel's Lushary but it took on a life of it's own and I decided to move it here instead. Some of this may be familiar, but I'm going into more detail because APPARENTLY it needs to come out. *Warning: this post may be viewed as a pity party. I just need to vent.*

I have fibromyalgia. Not severe, but enough to interrupt my life and make it next to impossible to do things - like stand for more than 5 minutes, lift stuff repeatedly, have energy. It's centered in my hips and lower spine, and there doesn't seem to be much docs can do. I'm on a new med for it, but don't know if I'll stay on it as I've somehow managed to gain 10 pounds in less than a month. I've already got about 60 extra pounds I can't manage to lose - another 10 does not make me happy. It's centered in my hips and lower spine, which makes moving difficult from time to time.

I also have scoliosis - abnormal curvature of the spine. I curve slightly left to right, but I curve severely from front to back. I have a large ass - and most of it is because my spine bends much farther in at the base of my spine, making my tailbone (and thus my "black girl booty") thrust out. I figured out last night that in order for my spine to appear as straight as most people's, I have to bend at a 135* angle. Having a double-curve makes life...well, interesting. The curves are not static - they are always changing in degree. It's painful, but I'm used to it - my back has been like this since I was 10 years old. Or at least, that's when I was dx'd with it. Mom thought I was just experiencing "growing pains", but when it didn't cease she finally took me in. The curves have never been severe enough to warrant a brace, but that may be changing. Unfortunately, I can't exactly afford to go to an orthopedic surgeon type person to get inspected. I don't think it's coincidence that the curves are worsening in time with the fibromyalgia and where IT centers. I think they're feeding off each other and there's natch I can do about it.

Before anyone says "if you exercise, the weight will go away", no - it won't. Go back and reread the previous paragraph. See that whole "not standing, not lifting, no energy" part? Yeah, that includes "no exercising", which requires some energy, the ability to lift something, standing, biking, aerobics. All of which cause pain and lots of it and I'm not talking about your normal "man I worked out yesterday and I'm sore" pain. I'm talking about "I can't get out of bed, I feel like I've been stabbed repeatedly, I can't move" pain that lasts for weeks. One day of trying to do yard work and not listening when my body warned me to stop wiped me for 3 weeks.

Aside from that, I have mild PCOS (just enough to fuck with me, not enough to actually warrant anything in the way of treatment) and am also glucose intolerant (since they usually go hand in hand). The doc I finally get to go back to now that I've graduated college and don't have to use their health center anymore is a wonderful, wonderful man who trusts me when I say "would you please up my dosage of Met because we both know that 500 doesn't do jack shit?" He upped me to 1000 at the same time he put me on the new med for the fibro (also at my request). I didn't have the s/e's that I expected, although I am finally hungry for the first time in eons. I'd say that's why I've gained weight, but everyone keeps telling me I need to eat more...and now that I am, I've managed to prove my theory that eating makes me fat.

I haven't worked since October, when I quit my job (that was dying) to focus on school and mom. I graduated in December and started looking for a job on January 2nd. I still don't have one. I had work through a "temp" company for 3 days, and the guy was supposed to have me come back, but he never has. That was in March. I had an interview about 2 weeks ago for a company that works with mentally ill people, but that didn't pan out either. The job market sucks monkey balls right now and it's seriously frustrating. I got this damn degree that all the companies wanted and now I can't do shit with it. I'm qualified to work in any office, if they'd just hire me goddammit. I've always been qualified - somehow I think 14 years in an office qualifies me - but couldn't get the "good" jobs because I didn't have a degree. Finances are tight - very tight. If anything changes (the SIL & BIL move out, my student loans come due) we're royally fucked. If things stay exactly as they are until I find a job, we'll make it. We've made it for the last 7 months...we can keep making it. That's not likely to happen, though. Loans are due in about 2 months, and the SIL/BIL were planning on moving out in August. One royal fuckage, coming right up!

When I envision my future right now, all I can see is myself becoming my MIL. Sitting around all day on the computer, watching TV, whining because I can't do anything without hurting myself, and generally being worthless to the household. I don't want to be like that. If I sit around on the computer all day, I want it to be by my choice...not because I don't have anything else to do. I never thought I'd get tired of spending 14 hours a day playing WoW, but I'm at that point. I miss being face-to-face social with people, laughing and joking and flirting. I feel broken - infertility aside. I have a brain that's always in a fog and a body that can't do what I want it to. At least I have a husband who loves me, and friends that support me.

Angry? It's all in your head....

*looks at the last post*
*reads about "getting anger under control"*
*falls down laughing*

I love how I can deceive myself so well. It turns out that the only reason I was calmer was because of the Cymbalta. I got off schedule with it during March and ended up just quitting. Within a week I was raging again, picking fights, being stubborn and ending up getting hurt. Getting so angry with my husband that I actually cornered him in the kitchen, screaming so loud I'm surprised the neighbors didn't hear us, and slapped at him a good half-dozen times. He easily fended me, of course, and it didn't hurt him...but...it's not good.

As a result, I marched my ass into the doctor, told him I was crazy as all fuck, and he needed to get me on something I could take at night. See, my morning schedule is never the same - I don't get up at the same time, I don't eat at the same time (or hardly ever, for that matter). My night schedule is the same though - take pills, go to sleep. So adding an additional pill to that routine is no big. Enter the amitriptyline again. I've been on this before. It works well for depression, chronic pain, and usually sleep. Only...after about a week or two, it stops helping me sleep. Not sleeping causes the pain and depression to worsen, thereby rending the pill almost worthless. So I quit taking it when I stopped sleeping. I have since decided that was stupid idea, and got the doc to put me back on it. That was March 26th - and as of 4 days ago, I stopped sleeping again. Ugh. At least I have some stuff to combat that now, so I'm going to keep taking "amy" and hope it helps. Huh...never did I think I would reach the point where I actually begged a doc to medicate me so I didn't "have a nutty" as Wilma puts it.

On a funny note: When I was leaving the docs office, he told me (semi-joking) that I am not allowed to commit any violent crimes between then and the time I next see him. That leads me to believe that I am allowed to be violent as long as it's not criminal, and I can commit crimes as long as they aren't violent.

So far, I think I'm ok. I did completely lose my temper the other night during a raid with my guild in WoW and bitch out a 13-year-old because he was doing stupid shit. I also happened to do that over voice, where everyone in the run could hear me. Talk about embarrassing! Of course, his father (who is our guild master) reamed me and then tried to offer an olive branch. I warned him I was in no head space to accept anything, but he kept pushing. I finally told him to f*ck off and put him on my ignore list. Not that smartest thing to do to your GM... *head desk* Lucky me, he knew I was on a tear and didn't boot me. I apologized to his son and everyone else who heard me the next day, and the GM when I later saw him. As I was talking to DH that night, while having a complete meltdown, we came up with the perfect mental image of what it's like when I'm angry: picture an octopus, sitting on it's underside, spinning rapidly in place with the tentacles flying everywhere, striking anyone in distance. DH has gotten very good at ducking and avoiding - says he's had a lot of practice.

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Request for information: I have a forum friend who is not quite 2 months pregnant. She sent me a message the other day that said "Can you think of any reason intercourse would HURT LIKE HELL right now, cuz of cramps? Like menstrual cramps, until I orgasm and then it's more like contraction cramps...moves from left-center to just center. Also, doesn't hurt much if I'm on top." I told her I'd put a call out for information, knowing that my readers (those die-hards who still check on me from time to time) are wonderful people who might be able to help.

Finding Me

I know I've been quiet. My other blog has been quiet too. There's a lot going on - a lot of it internal. My temper is finally getting under control. I realized this the other night when I intentionally lost it and yelled at someone. Not screaming, not raging - but I was seriously pissed off. Enough that I got out of bed, stalked to the kitchen, and yelled at my SIL to shut the f* up because we were trying to f*ing sleep and that it was after mid-f*ing-night and DH had to get up for work at 7-f*ing-o'clock in the morning and she should just f*ing shut it and take up the argument she was having with her s/o in the f*ing morning when they were both f*ing sober. I haven't cussed that much in a single sentence in a long time! (To her credit, she showed more brains than I would have when I was like her - she shut up. I? I would have transferred my rage.) As I was talking to DH about it afterward, I realized that I don't rage like I used to. I don't scream, I don't throw things. I still slam doors when I'm mad, but it's more like "shutting really hard intentionally" than "I have to do something or I will explode so I will SLAM this door as HARD as I can and make the windows rattle in their sills".

I was remembering many years ago and a conversation I had with my mother about tempers. She said "when I was younger, I had a nasty temper...much like you have now." I looked at her askance, having rarely ever seen my mother lose her temper and trying to reconcile that with someone like me, who rages blindly. Mom said "No, really. I used to go ballistic all the time. It wasn't until I was in my 30's that I started to get a grip on it. Now I'm ok - most of the time." I figured my mother was yanking my chain. I mean..c'mon. I was a RAGER. There's no way to stop me, just let me wind down and run out of steam. I'd apologize once I calmed down. Don't take me personally unless you KNOW it's to do with you. I threw things. I developed a boxer-fracture in my right hand, which I broke in the same spot 22 times between the ages of 17 & 22. Only one of those breaks involved another person - most of the times it was walls, trees, dumpsters, benches... you get the idea. There was no WAY I was going to get a grip on this - I was sure I'd always be like this.

Now? Well, it occurred to me that here I am, in my 30's. (seriously? how did I get here?!) I'm calmer than I used to be. I spend a lot of time irritated, but not angry. My temper is, however, well established. Most of the time a look suffices to make people cooperate with me, at least with those who know me. Dh says I'm more in control than I used to be too. But how? I have no freaking clue. I'm assuming it's an age thing. :)

I miss me, though. Not the anger, oh no, but the person I was BEFORE the anger. Even the person I was, during the Raging Years, when I wasn't actually raging. I used to be fun. I used to have fun. I used to have sex several times a day - now I haven't the energy for it. I used to go out dancing - now it's painful. I used to be skinny - I've gained 100 pounds in 12 years. I miss me. Where did I go?

Anyways, the title of this post (and what prompted me to write here again after almost 5 months) is a song I just heard on Pandora radio. It's called Inner Glow , and it's by Finger Eleven. Watch, listen, read. (video sucks, but...well, at least you can hear the song)

Happy Anniversary to Us....

Friday was our 5th anniversary.

Wow.

Have we really been married 5 years? The marriage certificate says so, so I guess it really must be true. So much has happened in the past 5 years that they've just flown by. We've weathered several moves, in-laws, house buying and remodeling, 3 years of school, 3 bouts of mom's cancer, two jobs for me, four (almost five) years of TTC and all that go with it, and a whole host of other things that seem small but were really big at the time.

When we got married, we only owned the truck. No house, and the second car that we had was being paid on. I was working for a steel company and DH had JUST started working in IT three weeks earlier. We had a ton of debt, including credit card and student loan. Now? We own a house, the truck, and a new car. Our debt is less, although not gone and about to get bigger in June when my 6-month grace period is up for loans. I will hopefully be starting a new job at the beginning of the year as well, which will mean another adjustment for us.

I worry. We've done well so far, but I read somewhere that the 5th year was the hardest. That's the point where you usually have kids, and they're in the toddler stages (which is rough, so I hear), and life is really starting to kick into full gear. For us, we have no kids and are still sorta coming to grips with that. The in-laws have been out for 4 months, so it's also still being adjusted to - we didn't really realize what his parents did, or how much crap that was here was theirs that we don't have now (wheelbarrow, post digger, soy sauce) and have to go buy. It's just "always been here", according to DH. So we're spending more money and I'm worried about that. Death of a loved one is also high on that stressor list and I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while now - the waiting is killing me. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath. I worry about DH, because I know it's going to be hard on him too and he's going to shove it aside to help me, which really ISN'T a help because I need to know that he's hurting too. I want to be able to cry together, to be strong for him and have him be strong for me, to get through it together - but I know better. I'm just hoping that it doesn't end up being too much for us.

OY! Time for class! I gotta run...thanks for checking in with me!

Such a BITCH

I know, I know - it's been too long. I'm a little caught up in my own world these days with the inclination but not the motivation to write. Over the 4th of July weekend, we painted the living room and hallway, back living room and bedroom. The following week we replaced the carpeting in all of those rooms too. I still haven't managed to get things put back together. Go ahead...talk to me about lack of motivation!

It doesn't help that mom is getting worse, and I've been working 6 days a week between my two offices. Not long days, necessary, since I'm still getting between 20 and 30 hours, but still...6 days where I am somewhere other than home all day, 6 days where I don't want to get anything started in the morning because I have to go to work later or don't want to do anything when I get home because I've been up since 5:30am.

However, I had to tell you what happened when I went to my parents house two weeks ago. My sister was there that same weekend (joy!) so I got to see her too (more joy!). My sister and I....well, we're different and yet the same. We're 10 years apart and weren't raised together. I was raised by both of my parents - she was raised mostly by her father and his series of women, and mom for the first few years and the last few of her teens. So...very different lives. I don't see her very often - maybe a few times a year - so she's not used to the way I act, or interact, with my husband. She doesn't give a rats ass about any of my medical issues, and claims to understand my infertility. I suppose she has a small right to that, since it took her a long while to get pregnant with both of my nephews...but she never went to a doc, never did treatments, never did a blessed thing but keep trying and get her endo cleared every few years. So while she's familiar with the "Dammit I want this" feeling, she still has no idea.

ANYWAYS: All day that Saturday my dearest, most wonderful husband had been poking me, pestering me, and being generally a literal pain in my (name a body part). No hard pokes, but I was hurting hard between the trip down, a lack of sleep and an abundance of stress...the heat didn't help either. This means it was painful to be touched and I'd repeatedly told him to STOP POKING ME all day. That night we were getting ready to watch fireworks and he poked me again, and I once again told him to stop poking me please. I saw the playful gleam in his eye and amended "And don't pinch me, tickle me, or lick me either." My sister EXPLODED. The words out of her mouth? "God you are SUCH a BITCH! No wonder you can't get pregnant if your husband can't even touch you."

.....

To my credit, I did not kill her. I spun to her and said "If it didn't hurt so much, I wouldn't tell him not to." What I should have said, and realized much later, was "huh. And you call ME a bitch."

I still have not spoken to my sister about this. My mom tried, telling her that husband obviously doesn't mind - he DID marry me, after all, and has stuck around. If he minded, he wouldn't do it. It's a form of play (sort of....) and it's just the way we are. My sister maintained that I'm just a bitch.

Huh....

Birthdays

Tomorrow is mine. I will be all of 31 - and I'm not sure what to do with that. Unlike Mel, I don't particularly like celebrating my birthdays anymore. I don't really hate them, but I'm not overly fond of them either. People keep asking me what I want - I don't really want anything and I don't really need anything either. I hate it when other people buy me clothes, which is usually what I "need" most often. I prefer gift certs, so i can go get my own stuff on my own time. Right now, I want gift certs to Lowe's or Home Depot so we can get paint for the house. Totally practical, I know, but no one seems to understand that THAT is one of the best things they can get me right now. THIS is what I want, to get the smoke and pee out of my house.

When I was growing up I always had birthday parties and I couldn't understand why my parents didn't have them. I remember asking mom about that one year and she said "Someday, honey, you'll realize that birthdays have lost their importance. You have so many that they just don't matter anymore." To my child brain, this made no sense - how could you NOT have a celebration and get lots of gifts and cake and stuff?! I think I understand. I don't want my friends and family to feel compelled to get me stuff - I know how rough money can be, how hard it can be to find time to go shopping, what a pain in the ass it can be to find the right gift. (Yet another reason why I like gift certs - the person can get what they want and I don't have to figure it out!)

I was thinking the other day about what I truly want (besides gift certs) for my birthday and realized that it's actually pretty simple, although not likely to happen:

I want my family and friends to remember it's my birthday without me having to remind them, for the umpteenth time this month.

I want them to listen to me when I tell them what's important - for me to get my house fixed.

I want to be able to enjoy my birthday for the first time in a long time - I'll actually be able to drink if I feel like it. And we're going to the beach...although it's supposed to rain all weekend. So I guess I want the weather to cooperate for once as well.

And now...although I DON'T want to...it's time for me to go to work. Blech.

"Best Day Ever"

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In Memorium

Methos went outside Thursday morning, never to return.

Methos Trouble Underfoot came into our lives 2 1/2 years ago, when he was a 6 week old bundle of white fur. Within 3 hours of his arrival, he had the house completely under his control. He was fearless then, and he'd stayed that way. When yelled at, he didn't run...he'd just hunker down as small as possible and look up at you with those blue eyes and meow, as if to say "See me? I'm small and cute and cuddly and I purr really loud. You know you love me. Don't me mad. I'm cute!" I've always had trouble keeping him inside - he came from outside, and that's where he wanted to be. After a year of fighting him I started letting him go when he'd sneak out and in the past six months I've been letting him out when he asked. This...this was my downfall.

For you see, he went outside Thursday morning when the in-laws left. Before I went to bed that night, I went outside and called for him because I don't like him to be out all night. I also figured he was hungry, as he ALWAYS comes home to eat. There was no answer, but I didn't think much of it since he does sometimes stay out all night...but he comes in when FIL leaves in the morning. When I got up, he wasn't in. I called for him again, but no answer. A few hours later I tried again...and that's when I began to panic. Every hour I'd go out and call for him. When Aaron got home, we went to look for him. I just knew he'd be in the patch of tall weeds across the street and that he wouldn't be alive. I was right. He got clipped by a car, or at least that's the best we can figure.

Methos has a special place in my life. I guess you could say he's my infertility pet. When he showed up on my doorstep, I felt as if God was saying "I'm sorry you can't have children. I know you want a little boy...so here, have Methos." Methos was a very different kitty from Winnie, who I believe God gave me because I wanted a little girl. They are definitely as different as boys and girls. In human years I think Methos was reaching his whiny, angsty teen years recently. These two cats are more human that some people I know - so full of personality and love and talk. When Aaron told me that Methos was gone I felt a stab and twist deep in my body - as if my uterus had been stabbed. Not only have I lost a pet, I've lost my child. (This is not meant to be a direct comparison to the loss of a child - nothing equates that, nothing.)

I am back to living in the land of "what ifs" and wishing that I could have the innocence of my youth once again, when I could allow people to comfort me with platitudes and believing the lies we tell each other. "I'm sure it was quick and he didn't suffer" or "He's in a better place now" or "there's nothing you could have done." I'm busy tormenting myself with "did he get hit because he was running to me when I called him? Why didn't I hear his yowls of pain? Why didn't I know he was hurt? Why didn't I go looking for him Thursday night? If I had found him just after he was hit, could I have saved him? Who did this to him and why didn't they stop? Why did God take my boykitty away from me? Why did I let him go outside, especially when I knew the dangers?" I know that there are no answers and I expect none. I imagine I'll stop looking and listening for him eventually. But for now, the house is too quiet without Methos the Monster and his purring and talking.

Deep thoughts

This post on BlogHer that was written by Mel really got me thinking. Enough thinking that I actually signed up for an account just so I could comment. My comment almost turned itself into an entire blog entry, so I thought I'd bring it here and expand on it a bit.

My comment there reads:

When we first started TTC, I went shopping crazy. Well, crazy for me, anyhow. I bought anything and everything Tigger related I could find: toddler toothbrushes, crib and twin sheet sets, pillow to match the sets, bibs, a rocking tigger (like a rocking horse), a car window shade. If it was Tigger and I saw it, I bought it.

We're going on four years now with no luck. We're no longer actively ttcing. Two years ago I put all the Tigger items into a storage unit,for use at a later date (theoretically). After reading this article, I realized something that I have no answer for and that makes me slightly panicky: My inlaws are moving out, and all my things from the storage unit are going to be coming back into the house. That means that all that baby stuff I've stashed is coming back too. I have to find a place to hide it where I will never come across it again. Why don't I get rid of it? I can't bear to. If I do, I feel like I really AM giving up.

I can understand the no-longer-in-the-trenches women who feel hesitant to buy things. I can understand those who have and are now terrified. It's as if by purchasing something you're just tempting karma to come get you. But if you don't, then those who don't understand you guilt you. I really don't think there is a win on any side to this whole deal.

I thought about my comment the entire time I was taking my lab exam. I thought about it while I read the paper during lunch. I'm sitting here in the computer lab, thinking about it again. I read Mel's response to my comment and thought some more. I thought about all the room we're going to have when the in-laws move out and yet I don't seem to have a place to hide something. Having it in storage is one thing - I rarely go to our storage unit. Putting it somewhere in the house where it could leap out and get me at any moment, or cause me to look sideways at the closet where I put it every time I see it doesn't sound like a good idea to me. I can only think of one thing to do with it - use it.

You see, the current space plan is this: Aaron and his friends are going to use the back living room as a place to game every Saturday. This means that Fred and Wilma will be coming over and bringing their children. Attached to the back living room is the room that MIL & FIL are using for their bedroom, complete with a closet. We're planning on putting the spare twin-sized bed back there and turning that room into a place for the children to play. It will give them a place to play, and they'll have to get past everyone to get into another part of the house - which is forbidden, because the house is not child-proofed and I have no plans to make it so. The bed will give them a place to crash if it's time for bed. So...perhaps I'll put the twin sheets on that bed, put the rocking tigger out for the oldest to play on.

Perhaps being confronted with things on a daily basis will make them lose some of their power. It's the fear of the unknown that gets us, I think. No matter how much we know, we still can't control or know everything and it scares us. We allow things to have power over us, such as I have with these toys. Yes, I bought them for my someday child. There might still be a someday child...but in the meantime, shouldn't these toys be loved for and used by children, even if it's not mine? Why am I so afraid of these items?

I knew a girl long ago on the WebMD JSO forums who used to try on all her clothes with one of the big salad/mixing bowls strapped to her tummy so she could see what the specific clothing item would look like when she was pregnant. I remember thinking "Why would you torture yourself that way?" and that was BEFORE I ever knew I was infertile (or subfertile, according to one doc). About a year ago or so, I went shopping for shirts and a comfortable bra. I knew that, given my body shape, maternity clothes are actually fairly flattering on me...so I went to Motherhood. When I went to try on a shirt, there was a foam "belly" in the dressing room...presumably so you could see what the clothes would look like when you started showing a little more. I debated with myself, and then put it on and tried on my shirt. I showed my husband, then took off the shirt and belly and left the store. Why did I torture myself that way, knowing what I do? I don't have an answer, except that my brain said "This is the only time you're going to see yourself this way."