And all through the house, the A/C was stirring …
I’m not even going to try – because all I can think of right now to rhyme IS actually mouse, and I don’t think we have one.
We did it. Nic boards the plane tomorrow for his adventure.
So, tonight, we’re sitting in our pajamas, all washed up for bedtime – neither of us wanting to go to sleep.
Doing what we do best – being complete dorks together.
Watching funny YouTube videos and me … snapping silly pictures of us.
This next month or so … prepare for my descent into madness as I document life in the house sans Nic.
I’ll share his photos, his news and my increased bonding with the dog.
I did something today I haven’t done in the two years I’ve been at my current job. I called in sick. Well, I emailed in sick to be accurate.
While the frequency of my mouth pain has substantially subsided, it still comes out of nowhere and WHAM! Instant debilitation.
I did not want to stray far from my heating pad and, until the antibiotics kick in, am only finding relief ultimately from pain pills that I should not be taking and driving.
Nor should I be making calculated decisions, sitting upright or operating heavy machinery (like a work computer – my home one doesn’t count, if I type something wrong here, it’s not going to affect the outcome of a home purchase.)
I’m also in a bit of a dark place.
I think when we’re not feeling well, we’re more susceptible to letting our demons in. I’ve been cranky and sad, bitter and broody. I counter every thought in my head with a chastising and put myself in a time-out. I’m aware of the bullshit that is going through my head and I know that it stems from not feeling well.
It’s still scary though.
I do not like not feeling like ‘myself’. Funny, considering this is the same body that craved that exact result for so many years.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that funny and happy are much more appealing topics than serious or sad ones.
To healthy people anyway.
So instead of feeling slighted that when I got few responses to the posts that only consisted of updates about how miserable I was feeling – I should be ecstatic that I have healthy people in my life.
Turn it around.
That’s what I’ve been doing during some darker moments.
I felt like a monster yesterday and this morning when I could imagine putting a bullet through my dog’s head as she barked non-stop out of the window.
I had to pick through that. I know I could never – would never do such a thing. I walk around bugs on the ground for crying out loud!
But as I lay on the couch, trying to rest – trying to gain some ground on my return to ‘me’, I didn’t want to hear one more yap.
Turn it around.
She’s guarding her family. Albeit, from an innocuous car driving by the house or perhaps a feral rabbit hopping by the fence, but for all intents and purposes, she is barking for good.
So I gave her a squeaky toy and a chewy treat, not a bullet.
I’ve also been scared.
That first night – the worst night – I knew there was no one to turn to. No one to step up and take the lead. No one to take care of me.
This is by my own choosing, I know this. But the older I get, the harder it is ‘going it alone’.
It’s not fair that my son had to play that role.
He put his arms around me on the couch as I sobbed out in pain and rocked me back and forth.
It reminded me of the book ‘Love you Forever’. When the grown man comes to his ailing, old mother and sings her the song she sang to him so many times.
He is not a grown man.
But he intuitively knew what was happening was no joke – and I needed comfort.
This past weekend he went to the grocery store for me, he brought me soft food and he was kind and sweet and loving.
A friend stopped by, not even knowing exactly where I lived – but she found my car after driving around.
So, I know there are people I can reach out to – but it’s very, very hard for me to do.
I can’t look someone in the eye and say “I need help”.
I use my words. My written words – to express how I’m feeling.
It’s cathartic and feels safe. I don’t have to watch body language or facial expressions and have my warped sense of pride spit out an inaccurate reading.
My written words I trust. I’ve always been able to say what I want to say on paper – or now, a screen.
What I want to say is, I need people. I am scared of doing everything alone and I can’t do it all. I don’t want to.
My pride has got in the way for years.
I know this. But I don’t know what to do about it.
I had multiple people offer to loan me the money for the dental procedure – but I turned them all down. I didn’t want to owe my friends money. And when something isn’t hurting, it’s very easy to prioritize something else.
I’ve come a long way. But there’s a hard-wired need to take care of things by myself. Not depend on anyone. Who knows why. That’s a whole couch session. Let down in the past, abandonment, or – letting someone help me and having it lorded over me. A number of reasons.
But, I have proven I’m self-sufficient to a point of selfishness.
Something to think about.
I need to decide to let people in. There are so many amazing souls in my life that I keep back behind a line I have drawn in my sand.
I didn’t just build a wall, I built a tower. I locked myself inside of it and only rapelled down to go to work or fetch supplies.
I kept my son in there too – sheltered and watching me guard my self-imposed prison – Queen of my castle.
You know, in dreams, teeth represent anxieties and problems. Perhaps in ignoring my anxieties until they hurt so much and knocked me on my arse, I’ve finally got the chance to fix them.
Once I have this problem pulled, I’ll work on getting the rest of me healthy.
Indulge me – and my foul mood.
You know, I read a friends blog who has Aspergers, and a common thread that I pull from her carefully woven words is that she is trying to process the world around her and her place in it. But what I feel from her words to a degree of envy, is that she knows herself.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I feel, right now, like a bundle of contradictions – my muscles and my gut tight with the many facets of me that don’t play well with one another.
I despise liars, cannot stand to lie – yet lie to myself.
I cry at romantic movies, and a part of me yearns for the fairy tale ending, while the rest of me knows no one could possibly scale the walls I’ve built around me.
I abhor child abuse – and yet, just this afternoon I spat ugly words over the phone at my son after I perceived that he lied to me, when he was suddenly ‘not hungry’ after I asked him what he wanted from the shop for dinner rather than a drive thru. The sudden, let down, it’s-not-good-enough tone of his voice hit me where it hurt. I seethed. Thinking, ‘Ingrate’. And let him have it.
I might as well have slapped him, because I know how painful venomous words are.
I am impulsive and ugly. I am better alone.
I am always so desperate to please, then resentful that people take so much from me.
I am contradiction incarnate.
And now I am home – and the door to my sons room is closed, and the light is off. And we may as well be a thousand miles apart.
And we are.
I’m in my self-hatred and he is probably letting a nap take him after licking his wounds.
I won’t open his door.
I am stubborn. I am grateful for every day and painfully aware of how, without warning there can be no more days – and yet I squander them.
I don’t plan for the future.
I am content with ‘enough’, yet also settle.
I work hard – I give and I give all that I have. And I am tired. I am not well.
Somedays I only know what day it is because my pill-box reminds me.
I count my blessings, and neglect them.
I am 43 and responsible – and inside right now I just want to curl into the smallest ball I can muster and sob my soul right out of me.
I’ve never felt so alone, and yet have so many friends.
I say I’ll bare it all on my blog and yet, almost every post I find I edit in some way.
Well not this one.
The day after Christmas reminded me of the way my house used to feel after a party. Back when I had such things. Rooms peppered with gift remnants, me stepping over boxes and paper, dessert type foods left to dry out on the counter tops. Hoping everyone had a great time and dreading the task of taking down the decorations and cleaning up. A part of me glad it’s over for 1 more year.
3 days after Christmas and all I had the energy to take down were the cards. My advent calendars stood baring their empty molds through wide open doors.
I cleaned up this weekend. I have another holiday affording me time off to do so – New Years.
A lot has happened this year … I think of the highlights. My son got his driver’s license, I started this blog, I got a new-to-me car, my son had his first accident in aforementioned new-to-me car. There was Homecoming, ‘end of the world’ survival and right around the corner is 2013.
2013 is going to be a big year. Nic will turn 18, there will be prom and graduation (omg … GRADU-Flipping-ATION!). I’m not ready. I shall cling to this remaining day of 2012 like a toddler on its parents leg.
The unknown is waiting. I don’t do well with ‘the unknown’.
I had a another taste of things to come last night. Nic spent the night out and I was finishing a disturbing book. I squinted at the clock on my bedside table and it was nearing midnight. I’m not afraid of the dark (anymore) and I’m not afraid of ghosts (anymore) but there’s something about ‘the strike of midnight’ that makes me feel like I should have my eyes squeezed shut and not witness it. A macabre Cinderella complex if you will.
I wanted to finish my book though – so I did. Butters growled at something I hadn’t heard. That’s always disconcerting – the low rumble of concern from a creature with hearing much more than you’re capable of picking up.
I was alone in the house and at the tail end of a cold. I had spent the better part of two days thinking when I wasn’t reading.
I even wrote a letter to a friend. A real one, you know, with a writing utensil and paper.
I’m feeling nostalgic about the past 17 3/4 years and while I’m grateful and mostly content – there’s something in me on the verge of panic.
I’ve been looking around me lately and finding things I feel are lacking. My furniture is sparse, even in relation to the small rectangle I call home. Anything I had of value I sold. I don’t regret it, but there’s nothing here I’d pass down through my family.
I think about my job – the job I am blessed to have. But I have no health insurance, no 401K. Am I destined to be a greeter at Wal-Mart when I’m into my 60’s? Never being able to retire?
I thought about being alone. Yesterday I noticed my left front tire needed air and a fleeting thought ‘I have no one to ask to do that for me’. It’s always me – doing everything. Alone.
I thought about my health.
I thought about just about everything.
Have I done enough? Have I provided enough? Have I taught enough?
With 2013 looming I’m coming a little unhinged. Not losing my marbles, just examining them.
I cleaned my sons room last night – found remnants of his childhood in the form of Pokemon cards and old school work. Clothes that used to fit him are now in a box for Goodwill.
No one explained this part of life to me. I’ve heard countless times about worrying when your child is sick, worrying when your child is not home. No one mentions how it feels when your child is on the cusp of no longer being a child.
Yes, I’ve heard of empty nest syndrome. But, I didn’t realize how all-consuming the weight of that impending life event could be.
I’ve always had one constant – being Nic’s mom. I still will be. But it won’t define me. Perhaps it never should have. But it did. That was my thing that I treasured. My role I never once wanted to give up. My drive. My Raison d’être.
A part of me wants to press pause – to stop time. That part of me is selfish. Nic has so much in front of him to look forward to. I’ll be a part of it, God willing. I’ll cheer him on from the sidelines – always be there should he need me.
As for me? This marble examination will pass. I’ll find my center again – I always do. I have faith, gratitude, hope and love in my heart. Those things, once planted, don’t stop growing because time passes. I won’t let them.
Tonight I’ll ring in the New Year with sparkling cider and savor the last “3, 2, 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!’ with my ‘boy’.
Next year – who knows? He may choose to spend the 3,2,1 with me instead of being at a party, or with a girlfriend or … OR maybe I’ll be at a party? Who knows.