When Logan first left, the pain of it all felt like it came in constant waves. Like I was on the coast during a horrible storm. The wave would take me under, flip me around and spit me out. I’d barely catch my breath before it did it again. It was brutal. It was non-stop. After awhile it dissipated a bit. A large wave would come and smack me every now and then, but it wasn’t constant. It was almost as if the storm had passed. Most of the time now, it’s not that bad. Even when the waves come, they are little. Lake waves maybe.
There’s that saying that you can get used to anything? I never believed it to be true, but I suppose it is. I did. I got used to this new life. Most of the time at least. This weekend was rough though. I’m not even sure I can adequately put it into words. The best I can probably say, is there was a big storm. I made it out okay, but I felt a bit wrecked.
I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this bad. Maybe not really forgotten, but I’d pushed it far back. It’s hard to feel so alone. To feel so lonely and know that no one cares to hang out with you. To feel like you’ve lost everything. I spent a lot of time wishing I could turn back the clock this weekend. Wishing I could turn the clock back to a better time. A time where my house was always loud. A time where I was married. A time where my kids were always here. A time with friends to talk to and do things with. I miss that.
This weekend I missed that so much. This weekend my depression and anxiety beat me. This weekend I felt super sorry for myself. I was convinced that I’d always be alone. I’ve been through so much in the past few years and most of the time now, I feel like I have a handle on my life and on myself. I wish he could have just waited. Just given me more time to find my way.
This weekend I felt like I’d never be happy again. What can I say, I’m over dramatic when I have one of these moment. However, it happens.
Yesterday after completely loosing my shit and sobbing to one of my best friends for a good hour, I started to feel better. I still feel pretty wrecked though. Dumb too. I always feel like a dumb failure in the aftermath.
Last month at some point, I had a conversation with one of my friends. About how right now is just one chapter in our lives. It’s not the whole book. It may be a shitty chapter, yet eventually it will end. Then a new one will start.
I’m ready for that new chapter.
He loves to spring the hard stuff on me at random times. My brother, he’s good at that.
We’d been hanging out at his house for a few hours. I’d played with his dog and kitties. My step-sister had come and gone. We were getting ready to go out to eat when he said it. So…I know more about our brother. Which brother I asked? (Legit question. As we have a brother that we don’t see (his family is his drugs) and a step-brother monster that I choose not to see.) The brother we have never known, was his answer.
*silence*
Oh that one. The one my dad helped create, yet never cared a second for. The one my step-mom said had been given up for adoption at birth by his mother, in Sweden no less. That brother. Huh. For a minute I considered just changing the subject. Of course, my curiosity never lets me do that. Okay dude, tell me.
What she (step-mom) told us was complete bull crap. He wasn’t adopted. His mother kept him.
I am not surprised by any of those things actually. You’d think I would have been. But no. I know my step-mom is a liar. Even in a drunken rampage of everyone’s emotions she can still pick and choose what she says.
But then he dropped the bomb. He lived in the Valley his entire life.
For those who don’t know? The Valley is the San Fernando Valley in California. It’s a large part of Los Angeles. Mere miles from where I grew up. Say 15 at most. I have relatives who live in The Valley. I spent a lot of time there as a child. Apparently my little brother lives there. Always has.
Here’s the thing though. My bro and I? We’ve (since finding out ten years ago) always wondered how we could find him. Now, we know where he lives. We know people who knew his mother back then and all logic tells us that they know her now. At least they could tell us her name and we could search her out.
I’ve spent ten years trying to remember her name, as I do remember her. She was a passing figure in my dad’s life for a month or two when I was five years old. Yet, I can’t seem to remember.
We talked about this the entire walk to dinner. We talked about finding him. About knowing him. About the probability that he’s the spiting image of my dad. We wondered how tall he might be. If he has other siblings. What he’s done with his life. All valid questions.
Except for one thing. He’s 25 years old. (Or maybe 24. Hard to know exactly.) He’s never come looking for our dad or for us. There is a very good possibility that he was raised by a man who he believes to be his dad.
While we know that in time we could get the right people drunk and find out his mother’s name and locate him…the true question is, how do we ruin someone’s life like that? Just because we want to know him, doesn’t mean he’d want to know us.
We have no answers. We may never do a thing. Maybe just knowing he was raised in the same area as we were, is enough. That he wasn’t given up in Sweden. Maybe knowing that he’s alive and could easily locate us if he wanted too, is enough.
I know how to be a good sister to my bro. We were raised together. I know what he means when he says something odd. I know he’s the only person more stubborn than me and that’s saying a lot. I know that when he calls me late at night, he’s lonely. I know that he’s one of the hardest working men in this world. I know that he tells everyone he doesn’t want kids, but will make an amazing dad one day. I know him. He knows me. We are very close.
We decided to sit on this decision for awhile. Maybe a few years. We both said, we’d let it go for now. Until we have an answer to the question, if it were us, would we want to meet us? Would we want two adults showing up and claiming to be long lost siblings, if we’d never been told our dad wasn’t our real dad? If we knew nothing, would we want two strangers ruining the life we thought we had?
Until we know, we wait.
Last week was amazing. A much needed break from the nightmare of the past few months.
There was sushi and cake. Lots of cake. Cupcakes and whipped cream too. There were days spent shopping. Hours spent laughing. There were long conversations with my best friend. Many, many dinners out. There were visits with friends and family and best yet, friends who are like family. There were dozens and dozens of amazingly sweet birthday messages from all of you. There was a plane ride where I talked to the nice lady next to me for two hours straight. And the plane ride where I read Ree’s new book for two hours straight.
At home after five days gone, there was happy kids. Chocolate and jelly bean day. Stuffing and hiding plastic eggs for three kids who managed to find them all. There are parents who just moved to the state after three years of planning. A grill sitting on my back patio compliments of my step-dad. And plans to paint my bedroom this coming week.
For nine full days, I had a break. A glorious, amazing, fabulous break. A much needed break. I was able to breath. I was able to laugh. The constant pain between my shoulder blades went away and my ulcers went back into hiding.
Last night as I walked toward my sleeping sick son’s room to re-dose him with Motrin, I ran smack into a wall. Yeah, I’m slick like that. It felt like being hit with reality. This morning I’m sure of it. I’ve been smacked with reality.
Today is very real. A harsh, non-fun reality. One with a job I despise and the knowledge that I need to start looking for a new one yesterday. Today there is the knowledge in how much work comes with that. How tired the very thought makes me. Today there is a sick boy who has a doctors appointment in an hour for what I know is an ear infection. Today I need to start exercising again and set down the jelly beans. Today I need to pay bills.
Yes, today is real. Today seems a bit grayer and much more lonely.
When I close my eyes though, I remember last week. I remember the smell of the moisture in the air in California. I remember the smile my dad had when I showed up to take him to lunch. I remember good food and great friends.
Hopefully it will carry me through for a while.
I know that I can’t do the Shred anymore. I’ve screwed up my knee royally. I badly pulled/strained/pissed off my meniscus ligament. Thankfully it’s not torn. I get to wear a brace for a few weeks, but it will heal in time.
I know that in a few weeks when I can do something again, I will find another from of exercise and start that. Something less hard on my knee.
I know that it sucks to start something, especially with other people and then have to give up on it. I should let it go. I know that and I will. But in this moment, it feels cruddy. I feel like I let my friends down. I sorta feel like I let myself down.
I know that tax season sucks. The amount of work I have to do each day is insane. It’s draining every last brain cell I have. It’s making me forget stupid things. Important things. Things like, where are my keys? Did I take my medication? Did I pay this bill already? (Answers: in the bathroom, yes and yes, but I paid it twice. Yay me!) It’s okay. It will be over in less than 5 weeks. Until then though? I may not be around as often. My blog reading has already dwindled to nothing. I’ve stopped being able to respond to most emails except for a sentence or two. Answering comments may not happen as much. I’ve not really been on Twitter much, which makes me sad. I’m just too tired though. Just know it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that I honestly have no time or energy right now.
I know that as much as the time change has kicked my ass this week, I’m seriously loving the sun in the evenings. I’m loving warmer temperatures. I’m even trying to love my allergies, because it means spring is coming.
And that my friends, is what I know. How about you? What do you know today?
Having kids is a lot of work. We all know that. A lot of times, I have things I’d like to complain about, however I feel like I shouldn’t complain, because I only have mine half the time. I’ve been told as much by people. Oh I’d love some time off, my cousins say. You should enjoy the break.
Yeah. It’s not that simple. We all want a break. You, me, everyone. We deserve breaks. But this is different. I still should be allowed to complain at times. They don’t want to hear it. So I stay silent. I listen to them complain about every day life. I know I used to be allowed to complain. Why am I not now? Why are my words not as important now? I didn’t choose this. I didn’t decided to leave myself. I didn’t ask to only have my kids 50% of the time. I liked my life the way it was.
I still feel like I should be allowed to say what I want. I’m going to start here. Maybe then, I’ll learn to say it out loud to others. Here has always been a safe place for me. Lately though, I’ve stumbled on finding words. I’ve hesitated when I wanted to speak for a long time. Maybe because I’m afraid that none of you think I should be allowed to complain either. It’s made me resort to doing meme’s non-stop. Which I’m sure are boring as hell to read.
*deep breath*
Being divorced with kids is hard. Being alone when they are gone is hard. It being one against three when they are here is hard.
Things get ignored. I don’t bake for the school events. I buy stuff. In fact a lot of the time I don’t bother signing up. I haven’t volunteered in my girls classes a single day this school year. I won’t be able to either.
Some days I yell about really stupid things. Things like people stalling on bedtimes. Stupid things like finding out that Disney shows were recorded instead of something I wanted to watch. Things like getting in the car in the morning and realizing that someone forgot to brush their teeth. I get impatient, because I feel like I’m constantly behind.
I despise the endless birthday parties because it takes away from my time. However, my daughters are very social and way too dam popular, so there are always parties to go to.
I took the girls out of dance and gymnastics until tax season is over, because my work is so crazy that I just can’t handle one more thing to remember.
My house is never really clean. I don’t remember the last time I dusted. I clean bathrooms only when looking at them starts to gross me out. I can’t keep up with the dog hair and the toys. laundry is rarely ever put away. I have stacks of art projects that I need to go through and toss 90% of. There are still 9mo baby clothes in Harrison’s closet. He’s wearing 2T. In a few months, when I can finish paying off credit, I will hire a house cleaner, even though I’m at home all the time. I am working when I’m home. I can’t do both during the day.
I rarely take photos of my kids. As keeps being reminded to me by the misc grandparents. Here’s the thing though. It’s not worth the fight for professional ones. They always come out shitty, they are way too expensive and honestly I don’t have the time. Cell phone photos are just going to have to cut it right now.
I can’t (nor can my ex) afford to take a week off during spring break. In fact at this moment neither of us can afford to take off any of the multitude of days our children have off of school. Thankfully his parents asked to keep them that week. It sucks though. We can’t afford to take our kids on vacations. I hate that. I am grateful to my mother and his parents. So very grateful that they adore our kids and do amazing trips with them. But as their mother? It hurts that I can’t. That the best I can do is a weekend getaway into the mountains, or a trip to a relatives house for Thanksgiving.
People I’m not even allowed to take a sick day until after April 15th.
I’ve gotten better at cooking, but we still mostly live on grilled cheese, cereal and Chipotle. Work right now is insane and at the end of the day? I just don’t have it in me to do better than this.
I still miss Logan. Some days more than others. I’ve just learned to be quieter about it. Its not so fresh anymore. I manage just fine without him (except for that Blu Ray surround system he graciously set up for me last weekend). I do fine without him. But I miss him. I miss us. And it still some days hurts as much as it did the day he left.
I’m still broken hearted me.
Those of you you are single parents understand this. Heck, even those of you who aren’t probably get it too. I know my best friends do. Parenting is hard. It’s hard in the best of situations. Parenting three kids is hard. Some nights when they aren’t with me, I miss them so much that I cry. Some night when they are with me? I still wish for a break. I wish for help with dinner and dishes. Homework and baths. I wish for someone to help me when I’m sick, or when they are sick. I wish for days when it wasn’t one against three.
I wish that when I needed parenting advice I could ask their father (which technically I can, I just don’t often, because talking to him still hurts a lot of the time), instead of asking my best friends. I could not thank my best friends enough for always answering my parenting questions. For always listening to me. They are amazing. Yet, I feel sometimes (often) like I’m pestering them. They all have families and work too. Just as crazy of lives as I do. Yet they always listen anyway.
Some days I feel like I’m floundering. A lot of days I feel like I’m barely treading water.
I feel like my words should be just as important as someone else’s. I feel like I am allowed to say, this is hard. I feel like I should be able to complain like other people do. Without judgment. Without being told, my words aren’t as important, because I get breaks.
I’m tired and sometimes I just want to complain too.
Monday. It seems to come every dam week, no matter how much we all try to avoid it. This one showed up way to early this morning. A Monday after a busy, full, crazy weekend can be harsh. I’ve been thinking that the word Monday sounds a bit too pleasant. Maybe we should re-name it. Make it sound how it feels.
How do these sound?
Un-funday
You’ll be late for work day.
Hitting the snooze four times too many day.
It will all go wrong today, day.
Not enough coffee in the world day.
Jerky day.
Screams a lot day.
Welcome back to hell day.
Suck day.
Too much work to do day.
Behind by 9am day.
Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one who wants to junk punch Monday. What say you?
-About my son asking to pee in the potty this morning. However I’m sure it’s a fluke. Also? I’m not touching that issue until summer. Winter and layers and pee soaked clothes? Nope.
-About the snow. However, it’s snowing in 80% of the country and no one cares to hear about it anymore.
-About my possibly having PCOS and being scared shit-less. However, until I know for sure, that seems dumb.
-That maybe after doing this for five years, I’m out of things to say. **Which after an hour, I realized I may have stolen the exact words that my friend Jodifur said last week. Oops. Sorry Jodi.
-About the fact that I’m considering taking down BlogHerAds, just so that I didn’t feel like I need to post more than once a week, if I don’t want too.
-That winter is really getting to me. That all I want to do is sleep.
I listen to the same song all day. It’s what I do when I find a new one I love. Then on day two, I add it to a play-list. A play-list of songs I’m in love with. The current one has about twelve songs on it. It varies, depending on my mood. Music is on in my house, from the second I wake up, until I go to bed. (Except when the TV is on in the evenings.) Music is as important in my life, as breathing. In fact, it helps me breath. I could live without a lot of things, but not without music.
*************
On a morning like today, after a night of almost no-sleep, I tend to get panicky. It happens after over-thinking all night long. This morning, I reached for my iPhone before I got too far. An email. A photo. A few texts. I instantly felt the panic subside. I am not alone. This morning, in my house, in my bed, I was not alone. Even though, no one else is here (except the dog), I stopped feeling so alone.
********
Walgreen’s near my house has Slurpee’s. There is something so off about that.
*********
There is a job interview tonight. Will it be the one? Will it be what I need? Can I get my own health insurance, since they don’t offer it.? I don’t know. What I know is that after work, I have a job interview. Even if it’s not right, at least I know I’m moving forward. I could really use some good thoughts tonight, if you have any to spare.
I feel it creeping in. Like a cold, it shows up so slowly that it takes a while to notice it’s there. It starts out in my chest making it feel a bit heavy. I can explain that away at first. Maybe it’s just part of the cold I had last week. Maybe it’s the cold windy weather. I try to explain it away.
Next it creeps into my limbs making them tired and sore. I get tired all of the time, yet I have trouble falling and staying asleep. We did too much this weekend, I think at first. Yet I know that’s not really it.
By then it’s in. It starts to attack my head. It makes me tired and grouchy. It makes me sad. It makes me over question everything. I start to worry about nothing. About everything.
It does this to me. Depression does this to me.
I’m fighting it. I feel like I’m fighting it tooth and nail. Some days, I’m not sure I’m going to win. Today it has won. Depression 1, Issa 0.
My mind moves a million miles a minute. It always has. I’d bet that I’m as close to having ADHD as one can be without actually having it. Or well with being as lazy as I tend to be. What was I saying?
Ah yes, my mind. It’s fast. It moves miles a minute. I do things all day at a mile a minute. I work all day, yet I also manage to email my friends, to talk to people on Twitter and to play games on WWF. I can do it all at once. I am a multi-tasker extraordinaire. If there were such a title on Wikipedia, I’d bet they’d have my photo on there.
People always ask me, how can you keep up. In reality, I can’t. I just am able to do enough at once, that it seems like I can. It’s the appearance that I give off, I suppose.
The truth? Is that it’s exhausting. I’m a speed reader, but the more I try to do, the less I really catch. My reader is constantly out of hand. I have blogs in there that I don’t even like anymore, but I feel obligated to read them. More and more, I am closing, opening and closing Twitter, without saying a thing. The more I try to keep up, the less I am able to keep up.
It doesn’t help that there is Christmas to deal with and relatives to deal with. It doesn’t help that my kids will be off school for two weeks and I still have to work 80% of that time.
I’m getting too scattered, because I’m trying to do too much. In the end, I’m getting nothing done. Nothing at home, nothing online. I still get my work done….but you know, they pay me. Blogging for me is a hobby.
Do you know that I can’t tell you what happened in 75% of the TV shows I’ve watched this season? I can’t tell you, because I’m also playing on Twitter, or trying to read blogs while I watch TV.
I need to start to slow it down. To learn to do one thing at a time. To be on Twitter, if I want to be on Twitter, not while I’m doing 72 other things. I need to read blogs when I want to read blogs, not because I feel obligated. When I read them, I need to just read them, not also be playing on Twitter.
I am exhausted right now. I’ve taken on too much. I do too much. It’s time to slow down some. It’s time to learn to do one thing at a time.
I have, in the past six months or so, stopped being online much the nights and weekends that I have the kids, except for the occasional tweet sent from my phone. This has been good for them. For me too. Yet, I also need to have nights where I just sit and do nothing for me, when I don’t have them. I need to watch TV more. It sounds silly, I’m sure. The idea of me saying I need to watch more TV. It’s not just that though. I never just relax. I never just sit and do nothing. Even when I’m doing something like playing Angry Birds, I generally am doing three other things. It’s that I’ve let this become a second job. One that I do not get paid for. One that I probably put as many hours a week on, as I do with my paid job.
I dearly love blogging. I love this online world. It’s saved me this past year. It’s helped me learn to be okay this year. You all have helped me more this year than I can even begin to tell you.
But for myself, for my sanity? I have to slow it down.
Next year? I want to write a book. A full book. One that I don’t trash halfway through. That is my goal for next year. To write the novel that is swimming in my head. The only way for me to have time to do that, is to slow down my online life a bit. I’ll still be here. I’ll still write. I’ll still read. I’ll still even be on Twitter. Just not as much.
Hopefully I can learn to do this. This slowing of my life a bit. Hopefully you all will still visit me, if I start posting one less time a week. I can hope. I’m sure it’s a silly fear, that you all will forget me. I have that fear though. I still have to try though. For me. I have to try for me.
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