What's been going on?
After being fussed out by a couple of peeved friends, the most recent one being Jenn, who called me “Little Miss Hasn’t Blogged in Months”, I’ve wisely decided to toss up a blog. Andy got the internet working on the laptop, which means I can blog from bed instead of the uncomfortable computer desk. Enough to have me posting here tonight.
Wasn’t sure where to begin, but it seems the question everyone keeps asking is the same: What’s been going on? A lot. It’s easier to look at when it’s compartmentalized and neatened up. So we’ll start. If you can’t keep up, that’s okay. Normal. I can’t either.
1. Pills and Bills:
We are, like everyone else in this grand country, in financial duress. We are finding that we can’t pay our bills on time, and it’s a landslide. It’s stressful, but hey, it’s just money. We have a home. I have family and a job, I have my dogs. I have more than most.
I went to the doc’s…some of that I’ve already blogged about. The upside: I’m doing my injections without a problem. It’s just another part of the day at this point. And I’m actually a little proud of myself. I never thought I’d be able to do it. Guess we all surprise ourselves sometimes. I actually like my doc, and the NP that I see on a semi-regular basis, and that’s another shock. I’ve never liked a doc, much less two, and no way under the hot sun I’d have ever trusted one. But these guys are cool, and they’re in it to help people. They want to help…and they know how. It’s a nice change of pace. It’s still a little unnerving, the medicines. It’s still crap, the way I have every side effect under the sun. Half the time I make up side effects that nobody knew about until me (lol). But…not the point. I’m currently taking fifteen pills a day, not including sleep aids, and two injections. I try not to think about it, because when I do…I get the strange impression that I’m broken beyond repair. In so many ways. So I don’t hesitate. I just swallow the pills. Well, except the sleeping pills. Still don’t like those. Still don’t take them like I’m supposed to. Do I feel better? Sometimes. I’m a long way from ‘fixed’. My body is still refusing to take on any semblance of normalcy, and I tire far too easily. I ache a lot lately…apparently fibromyalgia. I got a little excited when the doc said I had that—not because it’s good, but because if it has a name, maybe it has a cure. Maybe it could stop. As it turns out, though, fibromyalgia is the name given to unidentifiable and unexplainable chronic pain. In other words, they may have named it, but they still don’t know jack about why it hurts. Depressing, isn’t it?
2. What did he do to me?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things in my past…the skeletons in my closet, if you will. Mostly about a particular skeleton. I looked him up on the Virginia Sex Offender Registry. Why? Hell if I know. But now I know. I know where he lives, I know where he works. I got chills up my spine looking at his picture. My stomach turned as I read the convictions against him, the words identifying him as a violent offender. I read the list of convictions and wasn’t shocked by what I saw, but by what I didn’t see. Three charges. Three different convictions for one victim. And no more. Why did no one else come forward? Why didn’t I?
I’ve tried to remember what happened. I get small snippets, flashes of memory. Not like the movies. Just little pieces of memory that don’t fit into anything else. Most people say they wish they could just forget. But it isn’t right. It’s there in my head, somewhere…and if I could just know… I need to know. Why doesn’t anyone get that? Apparently this is a crazy desire, to remember the horrible things that happened to me in the blank spots. It isn’t a rush that I’m after, it’s not some desire to prod a healing wound to make it bleed again. But this is me! MY life, MY mind, MY body, and MY screwed up leftovers. I have to deal with them, but I can’t remember what he did! The small pieces that I do remember…are they the worst of what happened? Or was the worst the first to get buried? How far? What did he do to me? What did he do?
No, I can’t just let it go. This poison is twisted into every crevice of my life, tainting my thoughts and my loves, shaping my fears and my rage. I have to know, because I don’t think I’ll ever be me until I know.
3. Baby Season
Okay…so we all know that Cristy wants to be a mommy more than anything in the world. But is it necessary for nearly everyone with a uterus to get pregnant at the same time? Good grief, people.
The doctor said something quite ironic a few months ago. He wants me on birth control. I laughed. Wouldn’t you? Six years we’ve been trying to get pregnant…six years. And now, birth control? Nah. I trust my God…and He knows I can’t do it…give up what may be the only chance? No. And so a simple prayer…if it’s not supposed to happen, don’t let it. If it is, we’ll be ready.
It still hasn’t happened. I’m starting to truly think that it probably never will. But I don’t think about that too long. Because then, I can’t seem to breathe.
There are rules to this. Rule #1: No holding babies. Ever. Rule #2: No daydreaming. This one’s harder. No imagining her face, his hair, the way it would feel to hold the tiny body in my arms. Rule #3: No lingering looks. Don’t watch the families. Don’t stare at the kids. Don’t think about it. Rule #4: No baby stores, magazines, books. No church nurseries, no Toys-R-Us. Rule #5: Do NOT get your hopes up. Ever.
These are the rules. These rules keep my heart in one piece. And for the most part, they work well. No, I’m coming down with something…I shouldn’t hold the baby. It’s harder and harder to keep the rules, and sometimes they get tricky. Playing with a friend’s four year old…not a baby, should be safe. But somehow it wasn’t. My niece falls asleep in my arms and for a brief moment I’d give anything not to have to give her up. Sitting at a restaurant when a family with a newborn sits directly in front of me. Waking up from dream where I finally held my little girl.
Usually, this “baby thing” will go away after a while. A few torturous weeks of desperately wanting, and then I put the walls back into place and the rules are strictly followed…soon it’s bearable. But not this time. This time it won’t go away.
A friend of mine thought she was pregnant, and neither she nor her boyfriend were terribly thrilled about the idea. So she offered me the kid. No, really. My heart stopped when I realized what she was saying, and even then I found it hard to believe. I was mixed up. Confused. She was in trouble, worried. I was ecstatic and felt insanely guilty about it. And then she found out. Not pregnant. Off the hook. Disaster averted. I rejoiced with her as she told me in giddy relief that condoms were going to be her best friend from now on. I pretended well. But it was too late. I’d broken the rules, nearly every one. I’d imagined what the baby would look like, what it would be like. My hopes soared without my permission or intention, and my thoughts refused to be swayed. For a few short hours, I was almost a mommy. Almost.
4. One crutch to another
I quit smoking over a year ago. Know what? I miss it. Seriously. I’d love a cigarette even now. Sheer stubbornness and the hopes of a baby keep me from it. A few months ago, though, without the cigarette, I fell back into another crutch. A ‘coping mechanism’, technically. Eh, I don’t want to talk about that though. Maybe another time.
So, does this mean that I’ll start blogging regularly again? I hope so, but no promises. J I’m crazy, ya know?
Wasn’t sure where to begin, but it seems the question everyone keeps asking is the same: What’s been going on? A lot. It’s easier to look at when it’s compartmentalized and neatened up. So we’ll start. If you can’t keep up, that’s okay. Normal. I can’t either.
1. Pills and Bills:
We are, like everyone else in this grand country, in financial duress. We are finding that we can’t pay our bills on time, and it’s a landslide. It’s stressful, but hey, it’s just money. We have a home. I have family and a job, I have my dogs. I have more than most.
I went to the doc’s…some of that I’ve already blogged about. The upside: I’m doing my injections without a problem. It’s just another part of the day at this point. And I’m actually a little proud of myself. I never thought I’d be able to do it. Guess we all surprise ourselves sometimes. I actually like my doc, and the NP that I see on a semi-regular basis, and that’s another shock. I’ve never liked a doc, much less two, and no way under the hot sun I’d have ever trusted one. But these guys are cool, and they’re in it to help people. They want to help…and they know how. It’s a nice change of pace. It’s still a little unnerving, the medicines. It’s still crap, the way I have every side effect under the sun. Half the time I make up side effects that nobody knew about until me (lol). But…not the point. I’m currently taking fifteen pills a day, not including sleep aids, and two injections. I try not to think about it, because when I do…I get the strange impression that I’m broken beyond repair. In so many ways. So I don’t hesitate. I just swallow the pills. Well, except the sleeping pills. Still don’t like those. Still don’t take them like I’m supposed to. Do I feel better? Sometimes. I’m a long way from ‘fixed’. My body is still refusing to take on any semblance of normalcy, and I tire far too easily. I ache a lot lately…apparently fibromyalgia. I got a little excited when the doc said I had that—not because it’s good, but because if it has a name, maybe it has a cure. Maybe it could stop. As it turns out, though, fibromyalgia is the name given to unidentifiable and unexplainable chronic pain. In other words, they may have named it, but they still don’t know jack about why it hurts. Depressing, isn’t it?
2. What did he do to me?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things in my past…the skeletons in my closet, if you will. Mostly about a particular skeleton. I looked him up on the Virginia Sex Offender Registry. Why? Hell if I know. But now I know. I know where he lives, I know where he works. I got chills up my spine looking at his picture. My stomach turned as I read the convictions against him, the words identifying him as a violent offender. I read the list of convictions and wasn’t shocked by what I saw, but by what I didn’t see. Three charges. Three different convictions for one victim. And no more. Why did no one else come forward? Why didn’t I?
I’ve tried to remember what happened. I get small snippets, flashes of memory. Not like the movies. Just little pieces of memory that don’t fit into anything else. Most people say they wish they could just forget. But it isn’t right. It’s there in my head, somewhere…and if I could just know… I need to know. Why doesn’t anyone get that? Apparently this is a crazy desire, to remember the horrible things that happened to me in the blank spots. It isn’t a rush that I’m after, it’s not some desire to prod a healing wound to make it bleed again. But this is me! MY life, MY mind, MY body, and MY screwed up leftovers. I have to deal with them, but I can’t remember what he did! The small pieces that I do remember…are they the worst of what happened? Or was the worst the first to get buried? How far? What did he do to me? What did he do?
No, I can’t just let it go. This poison is twisted into every crevice of my life, tainting my thoughts and my loves, shaping my fears and my rage. I have to know, because I don’t think I’ll ever be me until I know.
3. Baby Season
Okay…so we all know that Cristy wants to be a mommy more than anything in the world. But is it necessary for nearly everyone with a uterus to get pregnant at the same time? Good grief, people.
The doctor said something quite ironic a few months ago. He wants me on birth control. I laughed. Wouldn’t you? Six years we’ve been trying to get pregnant…six years. And now, birth control? Nah. I trust my God…and He knows I can’t do it…give up what may be the only chance? No. And so a simple prayer…if it’s not supposed to happen, don’t let it. If it is, we’ll be ready.
It still hasn’t happened. I’m starting to truly think that it probably never will. But I don’t think about that too long. Because then, I can’t seem to breathe.
There are rules to this. Rule #1: No holding babies. Ever. Rule #2: No daydreaming. This one’s harder. No imagining her face, his hair, the way it would feel to hold the tiny body in my arms. Rule #3: No lingering looks. Don’t watch the families. Don’t stare at the kids. Don’t think about it. Rule #4: No baby stores, magazines, books. No church nurseries, no Toys-R-Us. Rule #5: Do NOT get your hopes up. Ever.
These are the rules. These rules keep my heart in one piece. And for the most part, they work well. No, I’m coming down with something…I shouldn’t hold the baby. It’s harder and harder to keep the rules, and sometimes they get tricky. Playing with a friend’s four year old…not a baby, should be safe. But somehow it wasn’t. My niece falls asleep in my arms and for a brief moment I’d give anything not to have to give her up. Sitting at a restaurant when a family with a newborn sits directly in front of me. Waking up from dream where I finally held my little girl.
Usually, this “baby thing” will go away after a while. A few torturous weeks of desperately wanting, and then I put the walls back into place and the rules are strictly followed…soon it’s bearable. But not this time. This time it won’t go away.
A friend of mine thought she was pregnant, and neither she nor her boyfriend were terribly thrilled about the idea. So she offered me the kid. No, really. My heart stopped when I realized what she was saying, and even then I found it hard to believe. I was mixed up. Confused. She was in trouble, worried. I was ecstatic and felt insanely guilty about it. And then she found out. Not pregnant. Off the hook. Disaster averted. I rejoiced with her as she told me in giddy relief that condoms were going to be her best friend from now on. I pretended well. But it was too late. I’d broken the rules, nearly every one. I’d imagined what the baby would look like, what it would be like. My hopes soared without my permission or intention, and my thoughts refused to be swayed. For a few short hours, I was almost a mommy. Almost.
4. One crutch to another
I quit smoking over a year ago. Know what? I miss it. Seriously. I’d love a cigarette even now. Sheer stubbornness and the hopes of a baby keep me from it. A few months ago, though, without the cigarette, I fell back into another crutch. A ‘coping mechanism’, technically. Eh, I don’t want to talk about that though. Maybe another time.
So, does this mean that I’ll start blogging regularly again? I hope so, but no promises. J I’m crazy, ya know?
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