We had gorgeous weather this weekend. Storms are predicted this week, but I consider that to be gorgeous weather as well. In fact, I’m really looking forward to it and I hope it’s a good one!
This was an exceptionally lazy weekend, I stayed in bed on Sunday until well after noon. Then I got up and went for a family bike ride.
If you noticed the title:
It’s like Dr. Evil and Mini-Me!
There’s no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon!
While I applaud any and all efforts you make to free yourself from the chains of depression, I must really insist that you try to behave sensibly. I know, I know, we talked about it and decided that exercise would be a very good thing and music too, absolutely!
But, was it absolutely necessary to dance naked in front of the bathroom mirror while singing “Love Touch” by Rod Stewart? You do realize that it is possible to get your heart rate up WITH clothes on, don’t you?
I’m well aware that meditation is good for the body, mind and soul, definitely. But, did it have to involve incense and enough chanting for Maggie to ask you from under the bedroom door if you were ok?
And, yes, freedom for all. Free your soul, free your mind, free your spirit, I’m every bit as esoteric as you are darling, but this no bra wearing thing? Really? I mean… the girls have a daily round of gin rummy with your knees!
Oh, and one last thing? Could we master, ummm, I dunno maybe a basic yoga stance before we leap right into tantric sex positions? Hmmm? Maybe? Ya think?
Stepping aside from the sad and depressing for a bit. I don’t know, some one might consider this both sad and depressing, depending on your position where bad hair days are concerned.
You see, Maggie, has naturally curly hair. It’s spiral-ey, wavy, very “flower child” - if ya know what I mean.
I don’t have a curl in my hair to save my life. Sure, I have a few unruly areas that might boink out a bit, but nothing that might be construed as curl. No one else in my family has curly hair. I don’t know where Maggie gets it.
So, I thought to myself, who do I know that has curly hair? I’d like Maggie to have lovely little curls and things but I have no idea HOW to do it. So, I went to a curl pro, none other than Miss Britt.
I rinsed, conditioned, repeated, spritzed, sprayed, diffused, blew, twisted, tossed, fluffed (wow, I just used blew and fluffed in the same sentence and I didn’t even mean it like THAT!) yadda, yadda.
I am pretty sure I followed her directions to the letter…
I just didn’t realize her directions would lead to my daughter looking like an extra from a bad 80’s sitcom.
This is why people don’t talk about this stuff. This is why no one wants to admit they have or are on anti-depressants. I have anxiety and depression it does not mean that I don’t have legitimate reasons to be angry or hurt. And yet, somehow, that’s what it all comes around to.
“You’re so emotional.”
“You’re just overreacting.”
“I don’t understand how you could take it THAT way.”
“I’m just not sure that it’s such a good idea, I mean, with how you’ve been and all.”
“I talk to a lot of people and nobody would take that the way you did.”
That’s why it took me so long to even talk about it and why I have skirted around it but never really discussed it blatantly.
Medication for chemicals that are out of whack = A perfect scapegoat to invalidate every feeling you have.
And, when it is someone you LOVE doing it do you. Well, that just makes you want to say “fuck all of this, I’m done.”
Look, I’ve been through some tight situations. I’ve been in bad, bad spots that have NOTHING at all to do with depression or anxiety. I came through them just fine. But, after years of utter, emotional bullshit and stress… it just finally broke.
But, that doesn’t mean that every thought, opinion, or feeling I have is no longer credible.
I realize now why someone I know just dumped all of their meds. I hear that. I’ve tried it. That thought process makes sense to me and all of this is the very reason why some people don’t want to get the help they need because somewhere out there - someone is going to discount them and invalidate them because they are taking a pill every night. So I get that, “Maybe if I’m not on the medication he/she/they will take me seriously. Maybe someone will LISTEN to me and actually HEAR me. Maybe… maybe… maybe.”
Sometimes feeling better isn’t better. Sometimes you feel better until you talk to someone who thinks you are a little
And, when that person is someone important in your life. It breaks your heart. It breaks your will and it kills your spirit.
I love that so many of you people out there have experienced this type of thing. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy and yet, I’m grateful that someone understands the experience. But, I often wonder if we aren’t all out here for the same reason. You don’t live with me, I don’t live with you, you don’t know about the time I got really pissed and threw a gardening hand shovel at my husband (uh, well, guess you do now) and after reading my posts and my thoughts and maybe exchanging emails, when I bust out with “Oh yeah, I’m on Lexapro, I have anxiety and depression” it might not necessarily be a blow to my credibility with you.
But, for the people who know me and come into my house and see me daily or almost daily - it’s different. I get to hear about how over the last year I’ve really changed.
Well, I’ve been on meds for this condition since early 2005. The changes over the last year? Aside from business stress and being a business partner AND wife to your husband, it’s a combination and ultimately a “straw that broke the camel’s back” situation comprised of:
A.) Not being taken seriously. People telling me that I have panic attacks because I’m “not grateful for the many blessings in my life.”
B.) Being ignored when I am so overwhelmed with stress that I can’t even form a coherent thought stream.
C.) Constant invalidation because of my problem which clearly means that I am not capable of having a rational thought or actual valid complaint or issue.
When you get to the point where you keep trying and trying to talk, vent, discuss and someone blows you off and dismisses you - eventually you start screaming. Hoping that by sheer volume someone will just listen and hear you, maybe even care and understand.
Instead… you look more “off” because you are screaming and no matter how many times you say, “You don’t LISTEN to me! You don’t HEAR ME!!!!” you are just looked at like a freak.
Sometimes, I’m pretty sure that the only energy I have left is what I am going to use to keep my mouth shut and put it all back in the closet because it’s become plainly obvious to me that communication is just a dead end.
Had a post. It was pretty funny, at least I thought so.
But, then some people are worried that other people (non-bloggery type people) will read it and… well, it will totally blow the plans to start a porn factory in the garage. Just wait until my husband sees the guys I’ve hired to re-enact that scene from Pulp Fiction with him!
It took me at least 13 years to get Ethan and Kate to dye PRETTY Easter eggs. Not green or brown or ugly purple because they just HAD to dip the egg “ONE more time!!!” And now with Maggie I’m starting all over again. *sigh*
Wish me luck… we’ve got 4 18-packs of eggs to dye.
Except maybe that I am thinking far too much about the super chocolate chunk bakery cookies in my cupboard right now.
Which reminds me (yes, this IS how my mind works) - I have a confession to make. Although, I am really, really afraid that Avitable just might disown me. That reminds me of something else, now that I think about it. I used to be “one of his favorite bitches” and today I’m referred to as “one of his favorite bloggers.”
I hope I’m not being too sensitive. If I am then that package I sent off to Florida today is a big, big mistake - especially given Avi’s phobia of all things smelly, dirty, and handled with unwashed hands combined with his love for all things tasty and chocolate-y.
OH! Boy, can I digress or what?
My confession… I have not had a single Cadbury egg this year. Not one. I know, I know, if you aren’t a Cadbury egg kind of person then you probably don’t understand. They seem to be a “love it” or “hate it” sort of treat. I happen to seriously them. Seriously.
Doing the diet thing just doesn’t allow for psychotic lapses in judgement certain sugar and carb filled items, no matter how much you madly, passionately, feverishly, disgustingly truly love that certain foil wrapped, creme filled, chocolate egg.
Which leaves you with only two alternatives:
A.) You sacrifice Easter 2008 for the sake of losing weight. All the while knowing that 5 days after Easter when not even a slightly smashed Cadbury egg can be found you will regret it. Not just regret it, but seriously regret it in a way that no amount of Cadbury Fruit & Nut bars will ever be able to even remotely approach. Those cheap substitutes are only worthy of being a “get you through the midway point of the year before the return of Easter” when you have actually had your fill of Cadbury eggs AT Easter anyway! Christmas will find you begging Santa to pimp you out to the Easter bunny for an egg fix.
B.) You buy as many Cadbury eggs as you can get your hands on and you stuff yourself on Easter Sunday until you puke. Then you stuff yourself with more eggs and rinse and repeat until you pass out. By the time you are done there is a good chance you won’t want anything with even a crystal of sugar in it before the 4th of July and you can probably make it all the way until next Easter before really even wanting another Cadbury egg.
I have just finished up some miscellaneous work stuff, my iPod happily blaring in my ears. What used to be filled with Frank Sinatra, Steve Tyrell, and my beloved Harry Connick is now accompanied by the sounds of my youth. Currently, Patrick Swayze, “She’s Like The Wind”
My daughter has brought back memories both good and bad. A local radio station plays 80’s hits in the evening and Kate, as it turns out, loves the stuff. On a fairly regular basis I get, “Hey Mom, give me another song!” And, off I will go trying to clear out the dustbunnies, cobwebs, and ghost of broken hearts past to find songs that Kate might like.
She’s so much like me - the me I could have been. She’s strong, sensitive, confident, and doesn’t let boys even remotely turn her on her ear. I was insecure about everything and if I had known what I know now back then I’d have had much more fun playing with boys. (ok, that came out sounding WRONG!) The point is, I got my heart broken more times than I care to recall. I’m sure I broke a few hearts myself though; if that email I received from my 7th grade boyfriend is any indication.
Somehow along the way I remembered a lot of good songs that remind me of happier times too. Then I went and fell in love with them all over again. (”Out of the Blue” - Debbie Gibson)
Any of these trigger any memories for you?
She’s Like The Wind
I’ve Had The Time of My Life
Hungry Eyes
Break My Stride
1-2-3
Lost In Emotion
Out of the Blue
Opposites Attract (am I the only one who remembers when Paula was cool AND talented?)
I Wanna Dance With Somebody (uh, yeah ditto Whitney on that one)
Please Don’t Go Girl (Yeah, I LOVED Jordan, what OF it, bitches?!?!?)
I’ll Be Loving You Forever (Ok, Joey was cute… but I liked the older guys)
Breakout
Take On Me
Footloose
Let’s Hear It For The Boy
Don’t Wanna Fall In Love
Bad Boys
Nasty Boys
Rhythm of the Night
Endless Summer Nights
Hold On To The Night - (that one is a super bittersweet for me)
St. Elmo’s Fire
Don’t Disturb This Groove
Manic Monday
The Power of Love
Stuck With You
Forever Your Girl
Straight Up
And I leave you with this… me humming and dancing wildly in front of my computer…
“Yeaaaaaaaah, I wanna dance with somebody… I wanna feel the HEAT with somebodyyyyyyyyy”
For the first time in about two years - we were child-free.
As in…
Zero children.
The whole house to ourselves. Peace and quiet.
So we left.
We went out and cruised a couple of nursery sections of what may or may not have been chain nursery/home improvement type stores. Then we went out for drinks.
Not dinner. We were feeling wild and free… we went out for drinks.
We had a couple of dinner salads (need that fiber) and some guacamole (it’s the good kind of fat) and we had a few margaritas. And one or two of these:
A Mauricio’s Slammer
Then we came home and I hopped on my computer perusing Ebay while Mike hopped on his computer and perused the local Craig’s List. We were two wild and crazy human beings!
So we had a couple more drinks and my mind began to run with many splendid thoughts of child-less fun; Drinking, smoking cigars, voting… and then it occurred to me, something I hadn’t done in years… if ever! Yet, this was not the time to lament the past. Nay, this was the time to sally forth, or perhaps it was, “ride, Sally, ride…” either way, it was the time to be wild, reckless, and recover a moment of our youth!
We could *gasp* go out to breakfast!
Yes, YES! It could not BE more perfect! Party all night, get loaded with carbs and grease and go to bed, curl up to the sound of the television murmuring softly in the background (home improvement shows, of course!)! It would be the perfect ending to a wild, wild night!!!
My heart raced, my mind was ablaze with reckless abandon… I felt young, wild, and free… I looked at Mike, sitting there so strong and sexy, silently sipping his vodka gimlet (or tequila? I can’t remember if we had run out of gin by this time) and I knew that it was time to tell him of my wild yearnings. My deep desire was about to bubble forth with my wild and crazy idea when I glanced up at the clock…
It was 11:45pm and suddenly, I was very, very tired.
them. Seriously.
