Crazy Bitch

Apparently I am going off the deep-end and don't even know it. Well, actually I do know it and I try to suppress it, but I am not doing a very good job. For the most part, I am physically feeling pretty good these days. Not too many electric pulses and not too many migraines. I still get both, but not several times per day.

My sleep patterns are all fucked up and that really bugs Tom. I don't know what to do. I've tried to be as respectful about it as I can, but laying in bed staring into the dark doesn't work for me. So, I am relegated to the guest room for now. Until I can get things figured out with my circadian rhythms, anyway.

Once again, if you are ever to consider going on an SSRI/SNRI, do it very carefully. It seriously screws with your system.

much love
the lunatic

One Week....

...and I am finally feeling really human again. I am still getting horrible headaches, but I think I have found the proper thing to manage them. The shocks only seem to come when I am tired, which I get easily.

I didn't feel the overwhelming desire to curl up and hide from the world today. I didn't need to cover my eyes and pray for the nausea to pass.

I am really feeling like I am coming back.. it is like this weird rebirth process or something.

hoping this finds you well

Binks

Day Three, attempting to climb out of hell...

hahahaha.... well the side-effects are still there, but they are waning. I haven't taken ANY Effexor since Thursday, when I took about 1/8th of a 150 pill. I've figured out the only way to make things better is with orgasms and sleep. So, guess what? I am going to go nap... lol

luvs
binks

Don't hit the kids...

it f*cks them up later in life. hahaha! Like you didn't know that, right.

It's funny. I spent my whole life denying the shit that I went through as a kid. Now, let's get some things clear about this. I am not whining. I am just talking. My childhood wasn't fabulous, but it sure wasn't terrible either. I just forgot to deal with any of the bad shit until I was 30 years old. Up to that point, I just pretended that everything was honky dory.

I've spent the last two years working through some shit. I am learning how to like me. I am realizing that my self image is totally fuc*ed up and that I need to fix that. I don't need to see myself through rose-colored glasses, but I don't need to see myself through the fun-house mirror, either. It's funny, I had to get fat to realize that I wasn't fat. Now I just need to get back to not being fat again...

I went to shrinks, I talked with friends, I thought, and thought some more and more and more... you get the picture. I spent the last two years of my life processing the first 25ish of my life. It was hard work. It got the better of me a lot of the time. It made me cranky, cantankerous, and I often self-medicated myself into an oblivion. In the end, I got through it.

I am learning how to take care of myself. If you read the "broken" blog, you will understand where I am at mentally. So, I've been making appointments, seeing doctors and getting some things taken care of. Because I am worth it. I am slowly weaning my way off of the Effexor that I was on. It is hard. Shit, let me rephrase that. It sucks balls! I just really don't think I need it though. I think it was a band-aid that I used when I was looking for a quick fix cure to my brokenness.

So, I went to the doc yesterday. I had seen an otolaryngologist about a year ago and he was a total prick to me, so I never went back. This new one seems to be pretty nice, and he explained a lot to me.

When I saw the ophthalmologist last year, she told me that I would have to have surgery on my brow because of the damage done to my forehead by blunt trauma. She asked if my husband beat me. Of course he doesn't. So then she wanted to test me for Bells Palsy. Well, when I told her that I had been hit repeatedly upside the head, but it was just a long, long time ago. She told me that is why I needed the surgery on my forehead. Anyway, so it tore me up. I was so angry and so bitter with my father. I cried. I screamed. I got drunk. I got more angry. I called my gramma (his mother) and told her that she should tell him what he had done.

So, I keep digressing, I am sorry. Here's the thing: He f*cked up way more than just my eyebrow (my eyebrow is slowly falling over my eye). He f*cked up my nose and my ear, too. It is all fixable, thank goddess. Anyway... these things we do in the heat of the moment, in the throws of anger, they last a long, long time. These are wounds that heal very, very slowly.

I really think that I have gotten myself to a good place. I think that allowing myself to be angry and sad about all of these things is good. I was never allowed to be emotional about any of it before. Either I was expected to be a grown up (at 4 years old) or I wouldn't allow myself to feel things. I was uncomfortably numb.

So, May 14th, they are going to hack up my nose. Hopefully it will stay mostly the same in appearance. I actually kinda like my nose. They are going to fix my septum and shave my turbinates. Then I should be able to breath normally again. The end of next month, I have my consult with the occuloplastics surgeon about my forehead/eyebrow surgery. They will make two small incisions in my hair line and inflate my forehead with saline solution. Once they do that, they will attach sutures to the back of my eyebrow and they will put titanium anchors into my skull. They will attach the sutures to the anchors and that should stop my eyebrow from falling into my eye. As far as my cochlea goes, that should be fixed through medication. It was shifted (probably from being smacked upside the head), but that cannot be fixed. However, there are three small water sacks in there and the middle one is f*cked up. Apparently this medication that I started taking will help make that function properly again. Then, maybe, I can hear normally.

So, I am going to document the whole process through pictures. I want to be able to see any changes clearly, if there are any. I also want the healing process documented. I plan on sending the pictures to my father. I want him to *see* the hurt he caused so many years later. I want him to know what he has done. I also want him to know that it is almost the exact same case with my mother. He right eye, ear, etc. Hers didn't start being affected until she was my age now, though. My face was f*cked from the get-go.

Oh well... I think I've rambled enough today. This blog is really poorly written, and I am sorry, but I am not going to edit it. This one is written just as it poured out.

luvs
binks

Holy Hormones, Batman!

Wow! We spent the last two and half days out in the dessert with 7 boys and a dog. Tom and I apparently had a momentary lapse in reason and asked 5 neighbor boys to go camping with us, our two boys and our dog.

We went to Agua Caliente in South East San Diego County. It is out in the middle of no man's land and has a small hot spring. They've piped this hot spring into two pools and built a camp ground around it.

If you've read Tom's blog, then this is a repeat, but... oh well...

hope you're all well,

loves,
bink

The Red Tent

Goddess, I love this book. It's been two years since I read it, but it still has a profound effect on me. Tonight, Tom and I went to bed early (9) and I slept fitfully, at best. So, I woke up a few minutes ago compelled to talk about this book. I am sure a lot of the desire comes from a long conversation that I had with my Mom today, and the rest of the desire comes from some very strange dreams I had this evening.

If you have not read this book, please do not read this blog. I am not going to tell you the story, per se. I am going to talk about my take on the story. The reason I don't want you to read this is because Anita Diamant does such an incredible job of taking you on this strife-filed journey through the dark ages, all the while giving you all of the pieces to this puzzle. At the end, she amazingly puts all of the pieces together and shows you the glorious things that this strife-filled journey can result in. So, if you haven't read it, go on to something else, please.






I started reading this book, at behest of one of my dearest friends, about two years ago, just prior to my wedding. I read it through the time we spent in Vegas for the wedding and then on the trip from the chapel to my Grandmother's bedside at the hospice. I finished the book whilst sitting with my Memee the last day of her life. I knew when I finished that book that something much greater than myself had directed me to read that book during this transition in my life. I would not have appreciated the time I spent with Memee prior to her death without this book by my side. I would not have realized what Memee *gave* to my life without this book. I am glad I realized that gift before she past, when I could still thank her, face-to-face.

Men carry the names, the land, the jewels, the livestock, the businesses, the public legacy of the family. From generation to generation they create an identity for the family. Women carry something much different. We carry the history, the love, the strength, and the pain. Our legacy is often that of darkness, something so intangible.

I know nothing of the hardships of being a man, so everything I am writing is based solely upon assumption. A lot of what I am going to say is very much a generalization and probably not so applicable in today's society as it was in aeons past.

Men often function on their own. They don't rely specifically upon other people to get them through certain events. Women have to have other women in their lives. When a woman gives birth, she has to have someone to help care for the other children, look after the house and the family, etc. etc. If there were a problem during childbirth, we rely upon another woman to care for our child.

We are a piece of every woman we ever spent time with. Our mothers, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, sisters and daughters shape us into the women we are. Sometimes our stories are not told, but that is OK. Our stories will always live on in the women whose lives we help form. My grandmother's strength will live on in me until I am able to pass it to another woman, and so on, and so forth.

So, all of the land, money, jewels, and names can go to the men, that is fine with me. What I have inherited is much more valuable. The strength to carry my head high and cherish my life is worth so very much more, to me.


** This all sounds so very biased. It isn't. I don't mean to downplay the very important role of men in our families, lives and histories. Especially today, because men have assumed many of the roles that our sisters and mothers would have assumed just 50 years ago.

I think I might like this...

Writing that is. I used to do it a lot, but haven't in years. It feels good. It releases stuff. Things I dwell on and obsess about can get out of my freaking head this way. I think it is much more cathartic than anything else I've been doing lately. So, maybe this is the beginning of a blog? Maybe not. We shall see.

I am feeling really good about things lately. I feel like a lot of weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I am really focused on getting off this medication and getting my body back to a semblance of normalcy. I think working out and looking for a part-time job are things that I need to concentrate on. Working out especially because it raises the endorphin levels and that will be important for me when getting off of the anti-depressants.

As far as a job goes. I have no clue what I should look at. I know the skill-set that I have, but I don't want to do anything in lending. I think I would like to do something simple. Maybe work at one of the little stores on base or something. Maybe find a job with a landscaper or working outdoors? I dunno. I would like to think I can do that, but I am not sure about my knees.

Anyway, I think I might keep doing this writing gig. I am feeling really good about the direction of my life and my goals.