Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Chicken, Fried

I cry most days now, pretty regularly.  When I am not crying I am focusing much of my energy trying to NOT cry.  I got fried chicken at the grocery store today and ate until I felt sick.  I was doing pretty well on my healthy eating routine.  Hey, just because one is depressed, doesn't mean one has to indulge in an unhealthy lifestyle.  Shawn and I had words last night.  I don't remember a lot of it.  I was fairly drunk at the time.  I am a little drunk right now.  I do faintly remember waving my hand in a circle and saying something like, "It's all about yooooouuuuuuu...."  Though I cannot be sure.

I was going to ask at my yearly exam if the gyno would prescribe me a mild, inexpensive antidepressant.  My application ran out with the women's health program so I had to reapply.  This meant getting two months worth of birth control and sending a BUNCH of forms and documentation proving Shawn's income as he has been self employeed. 

I pay taxes.  I pay for young women to get a pap smear & free birth control.  Two sixteen year old girls (who do not yet pay taxes) walked in while I was at the clinic.  No problem for them.  They should be spreading herpes right about......now.

However I am required to send a huge envelope of papers to Austin in order to (hopefully) be seen and continue on my birth control, which has done a lovely job of controlling my 9 days periods and severe cramps.  It has also saved the state money as I have not become pregnant & asked the state to give me WIC and food stamps and free housing.  I pay taxes and therefore I am saving other tax payers money by not having children, all by my own choice.  If only everyone were so vigilant. 

I am a little concerned though.  I have no idea what a gyno visit would cost me out of pocket with no insurance.  I am hoping that whoever is looking over our tax return from last year will be just as confused as I am when I look at it that they'll just pass my application.  That's pretty much what happened last time.  It's not as though Shawn made a lot of money last year, nor is he making a ton right now.  I feel if we are working so much with so little to show for it and I still have to stay in my nightmarish hot, dirty job, then the least the state could do is give my birth control with a substantial discount.  But who am I?  I do not have 7 kids, nor a history of back or heart problems like most of the fakers out there.  meanwhile, everyone who actually deserves disability waits for 3 years before anyone ever glances at their application.  But I digress....

I started an essay about my uncle in order to enter a contest where the top prize is $2000 to be delivered next March.  I started it.  Then I lost interest.

I have decided that if we are ever rolling in ridiculous amounts of money that I would like to seek out & pay for clear skin.  I'd like to take up jogging.  I wanna be one of those women who jogs every morning.  I want to learn to paint and I have always wanted to take boxing lessons.  Yes, boxing.  Maybe if I can hit something with gloved fists, I won't cry so much.


Friday, July 18, 2014


I thought it might help if I started wrinting.  I don't think so.  I feel trapped.  Stuck.  Unmoving.  Trapped, more than anything.  I cry a lot these days.  Most days.  I spend a lot of time trying not to cry.  Angry because I should be allowed to cry, to release some of this anguish.  I do not think I have ever been as unhappy as I am now.  For months.

I do not know what to do.  I am not where I want to be.  I am not who I want to be.  I sometimes wish I were dead.  I sometimes wish I was someone else in a different time & place. 

I'm tied of living like this.  Living?  This is not living.  This is dying slowly in a hidden manner.  I cannot share it.  I want to be alone.  I want to live my own life, to make my own decisions.  But I am trapped.  Bound.  Shackled forever.  I cannot change any of this.  I am a slave to all fo this.  I need to find a way out but I cannot find the opening.  I don't know where God has gone.  He's on vacation I think, at least from me.  Why do I still ask him for help?  He doesn't seem to hear me, or care or notice m,aybe even.  I am unsuyre.  I can't talk to anyone about this.  If I talk to God about it I may as well talk tot he wall.  I get no answers, no reassurances.  Nothing.

Still trapped.  I hate this, I hate all of this and everything that I ahve to do.  I want to be free.  Why can't i just be free?

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Whiskey River

As soon as I got home, as soon as I opened the door I fell to my knees.  And cried and cried.  I held my dog who licked my eyeballs and cried some more.

Maybe this is why I've started drinking again.

It's a funny thing about alcohol.  The thing is, whenever anyone in my family gets anywhere near it, they are immediately, instanously, an alcoholic.  I've seen it happen too many times and therefore I was terrified of alcohol until I got drunk for the first time on my 27th birthday.  I could've sworn I was walking straight for the door, but apparently Shawn had to guide me all the way down the street to the car.  I could swear we parked closer!

I'm proud to say I've never operated heavy machinery while drunk (I can barely operate the DVD player while drunk) and I've never once had a hangover.  I've never once lost entire hours either.  I remember everything right up till I fall asleep in a drunken stupor.

It began when Shawn and I were setting up the equipment for Hot Torch Designs, his new business.  I'd get up at 4:30 AM for my job, go to work, run the errands, do the chores at home.  We'd go to the shop and work till around 10 PM and do it all over again the next day.  I could not sleep and I needed to wind down quickly so I could get in a quick 6 hours sleep so I began with a shot or two of whiskey or rum.

Then I gained ten pounds without even trying.  "It's because of a big dose of calories and sugar right before bed," said our friend Richard, who is a professional drinker with LOTS of experience.

So I switched to Benadryl.  It's low in fat and has no calories!  Beginning sometime in December, around the time that all this fuss with Don began, I began to slip in a little whiskey after I'd already taken Benadryl.  Don't know if this is considered safe and quite frankly I don't care anymore.

Another funny thing about alcohol is that women get drunker faster than men because of higher fat content and lower muscle content.  I'm five feet tall and I have plenty of fat to quickly absorb the whiskey so it really doesn't take much.  Last night I timed it.  I poured a shot, not quite to the top and downed it.  Made a sour face (because it's like $6 a gallon) and I was plenty toasted within four minuets.

Ah, sweet river of whiskey.  Within no time, my problems had fallen by the wayside.  My worries cast aside, I watched a DVD of "My Name is Earl" and chuckled slightly until I fell into a silent doze.  Not that I intend to become an alcoholic (who does?) but I can certainly understand why one would turn to drugs or alcohol to make everything go away.  My problem is that I care about my dogs getting fed, having food around, even if it's only Ramen noodles and electricity.  I really like electricity.

So I drink before bed to force myself to become as dumb as a doorknob and relax.  Naturally, it's always in the back of my head of what has happened with other close family members and their drug and alcohol usage, of course there's always that lingering worry that I may not be able to save myself in case of fire, flood or tornado.  But the whiskey washes most of those worries away.  They're barely there.  And then I become very sleepy.  And hopefully I can sleep in a very deep stupor until midnight, at which point I'll get up and pee as if I were peeing for the first time ever, then literally fall into the bed and sleep like a dead thing till that awful hatred sound of the alram clock goes off again in four and a half hours.

So today wasn't good and I'm very much looking forward to bedtime and my whiskey river.  Hey, at least I've got something to look forward to.