Adjustments

I don't always find myself talking about good things that happen in my life.  I'm not completely sure why, but maybe it comes from a fear that people will think I'm trying to make them jealous, or just the fact that I lack a positive outlook on life.  But I need to focus more on the happy events that make life livable, know what I mean?

So, I feel bad that I haven't blogged about this before, but about 5 days ago my family adopted a new member of the family!  He's a sweet little chihuahua-dachshund mix, rescued from the animal shelter as a stray.  He's under a year old, but not quite a puppy.  Very energetic at times, but much quieter than my Pomeranian!  Hahahaha!  He's a cutie.  I'll post a pic next time I blog, since I don't have any on my computer right now.  But he has an amazingly complicated expression sometimes, like he's imagining himself in another world or something.  Just staring out the window or through the backyard gate seems like a porthole to a fantastical journey.  Other times, he has the naivete of a baby.  Just a bee flying through the air will puzzle him, and reflections in shiny objects surprise him and catch him off guard.  He wakes up in the best mood, tail-wagging and bouncy.  Maybe he dreamed of being back in the shelter or on the street, and awoke to the good news of having a real home.  I wonder sometimes.  He already learned his name, the clever boy:  Quincy.

The house is a little lighter with him here, making my other dog less lonely, and giving me something positive to focus on and enjoy, most of the time.  My medications are being adjusted, honestly.  We'll find out where to go from here, in that regard.  But it's a process, so in the meantime I'm moody and introverted.  Hopefully that will change soon.  I've been losing weight as well, but slowly.  At least I'm losing.  And I'm eating much healthier, fresher foods, and a mix of fruits and vegetables like I have never eaten.  Lots of home cooking, for a change.  And vegetarian meals, not really thinking about it.  I feel good about the changes, and I'm not really missing anything since I've added so many new things to my menu.  And I know I can have anything I want, as long as I control the rest of my meals that week, and as long as I don't do it as often as I was before.  Only one cupcake as opposed to the four or more I would have eaten in a day before.  Yep, I was out of control with food. 

So, good things happening, even though my mood isn't there yet.  At least I didn't wait for my depression to lift completely before making these changes, since I could have been waiting forever.  I am trying not to let it determine my life.  It takes effort on a daily basis.  Extreme effort.  But I am doing it, most of the time.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I like watching "House".  It's a good show, well-written, well-acted, and always with a creative script and storytelling.  I've noticed through the course of the show how often the song "You Can't Always Get What You Want" is featured during the show's closing, especially in the first season.  I know it's meaningful when it's played, and ever since my recent trip home I've been thinking about it.  Especially the line, "If you try sometimes you find/You get what you need."  Maybe because I haven't noticed it to be true.

I'm sure it's because I'm depressed quite often that I don't see it.  Maybe if I were to sit and think about it, it's true, that I'm really lucky with the things that really matter.  But sitting here--maybe even moping--tonight, I feel like there's always something missing that I truly want, that I don't think I'll ever get.  What hurts the most is that I'll keep waiting for it, knowingly in vain.  And I'll put myself in a position to get hurt over and over and over again.

My mother has never been very demonstrative with emotions or encouragement or the like.  She's funny, she's genuine, and practical.  But not warm and fuzzy really, and there were times in my life when a bit of sensitivity from her would have gone a long way.  I have come to realize that's just the truth about her, and a survival strategy she had to develop as a young child with alcoholic parents (adoptive parents, to make it worse) and abandonment issues.  She tells me stories that bring tears to my eyes.  But she survived, maybe by distancing herself emotionally, maybe by surrounding herself with people who would depend on her, so they wouldn't leave . . .  My father was that sort, troubled and unreliable.  And so am I.  Maybe that's why she has such a hard time relating to me, and why she eventually left my father.  Trying to get something emotional to grow out of seeds sown in the wrong soil. 

I think I can deal with that, the fact that my mother loves me and doesn't show it.  What I can't deal with is that she doesn't love my son.  It breaks my heart into so many pieces that the shards hurt, too.  I always thought that she would get to know him and love him.  That they would spend time together and he'd be proud of where he came from, and I'd be proud of my family and my hometown.  But the last time I visited, the part that is still stinging from the slap across the face of my dreams, is how she treated him, how distant she was, and the delusions she came up with to feel the way she did.  She said she saw him "pushing her buttons" and trying to get a rise out of her, why I do not know.  I mean, why would he push her buttons when she's already being so abrasive?  And he doesn't even know her.  I didn't see it at all.  I saw a boy being polite and trying to bond over common interests.  He saw that she liked video games and wanted to talk about them.  My mother likes reality "competition" shows, and so does my son.  He tried to watch them with her.  But she just became annoyed with everything he said and did.  And she really and truly believes those things she said.  Which I don't get.  It hurts that she would believe that, that my son is just a brat.  No one else says that about him.  He gets along with other adults so well, who knows?  Maybe she's threatened by him?  Not sure.  She said she knew she was pulling away when he was a baby, and she watched him, and he cried.  She said she only dealt with it when we were babies because she had to, but now she can't.

She had started the conversation with me by saying, "You know I don't deal well with people."  Yeah, I know.  What I can't forgive is that she won't even try.  Won't get help.  Anyone else, I can understand.  No one likes to get help.  But it's the reason she's always given for leaving my father, that he wouldn't get help for his problems.  And now the tables are turned, and she doesn't see it.  Time is passing, and it will be too late.  He probably wouldn't even cry at her funeral, since he doesn't know who she is.  I constantly have to remind him that he has two grandmothers, since she's never acted like one.  And it hurts that it's my family acting like this.  And what would happen to him if something happened to my husband and I?  Where would he go?  There are no family members I trust, on either side of the family.  That hurts, hurts so so so much I can't bear it. 

I'm starting to think I shouldn't even go home.  I get hurt every time I do.  Maybe I didn't realize it at the time, but maybe that's why I left in the first place, to save myself.  I miss my home, but I miss the way it used to be.  It's not the same place anymore, not when I see everything and every relationship falling apart.  I feel more lost than I have in a long time.  No home to go to, and no home where I am.

Stress Reliever

Haven't blogged in a while, mostly due to the fact that I've been too distracted to think about writing.  My husband and I were sued in small claims court for breaking a lease just over a year ago, something we felt very justified about doing.  The landlord had even left a voice message the day after I had declared my intentions to move, and told me to do that very thing.  The day after we moved, however, we received a message from him saying that he had told us to move, yes, but he had never said he was letting us out of our lease, so pay up.  We felt cheated about all of this, like he had deliberately deceived us about everything up to this point, and this latest message was no exception.

So we went to court, well-prepared, found child care for our son for the morning, made sure he got to school okay, found time off work for my husband during a busy time, and showed up early.  But the plaintiff never showed up.  It's rotten, but he never has to show reason why he didn't, but if we had missed our court date, we would have lost our case immediately.  His case was simply dismissed "without prejudice" so he could file again.  And that he did.

So we prepare again, find child care, go to court early, and wait.  This time the plaintiff shows up.    Nerves begin.  I start shaking.  Hoping it will all turn out okay.  This time we had also filed a counter-claim, which we figured we had good reason to.  But the judge saw otherwise.  He didn't see that our reasons for moving, or that the landlord's obvious deceit had been all that serious.  So we lost our claim.  Now I am nervous.  What if we have to pay this guy even MORE money?  He already has our security deposit of one month's rent, and an extra month's rent we paid while a lawyer reviewed our case.  We didn't feel like he should get one more dime from us.  Not one more cent.

The judge asked him if he had advertised the apartment for rent anywhere, in the paper, on the internet, with a rental agency . . .  The landlord said he hadn't, but he had a sign out front!  It had a phone number, where anyone who saw it could call and someone would answer, he asserted.  Wow.  I'm underwhelmed.  Luckily, the judge was, too, and said even though we were liable for the rent, the landlord had to make reasonable efforts to rent the place and limit his damages.  He had not.  So 2 month's rent was reasonable for him to have received from us, and that was all we owed!  So we didn't need to pay him any more money!!!  Woohoo!!

So even though we lost our counter-claim, it was a win for us, as far as we were concerned.  We just didn't want to pay more money to him after all we had been through.  And that's just what happened.  It's hard to believe after months of stressing over this, that it's finally over!!  We can relax a bit, and hopefully enjoy living here now, as much as I can anyway. 

And that's the basic outline of what happened.  That's probably all I'll write about the whole debacle since I'm sick of thinking about it.  Time to move on.  :)

Lessons

Went to therapy today, and wanted to put some thoughts down on paper.  So, why not share that with the whole damn freakin' internet, I asked myself?  So here I am.  All the better to blog ya with. 

So there have been a few "breakthrough" moments I've had lately, but a couple of the major ones were today.  For one, I realize I've been considering my mood to determine how I'm doing.  I mean, I am supposed to monitor it for therapy and to help regulate my medications, but I've let it completely determine everything.  On an average day, I would say I wake up, ask myself how I feel, then make a decision as to how productive I'm going to be.  Right now, I'm not doing too badly, depression-wise, but I've been lacking in motivation--and motivation to become motivated, for that matter.  It's led be back down the slippery slope, regardless of my medication, to then feel bad about myself for not fighting it more, and then to feel even less motivated than before.  Next, I grow to hate myself, do nothing, and nothing changes. 

My therapist reminded me to do my best to let my actions determine my life, not my mood.  My actions are my life, and if I'm depressed or doomed to be so for the rest of my life, I need to learn to live with it in some form.  I've done so little of the things I've always wanted to do, and my life is absolutely FLYING by so rapidly.  I've become hyper-aware of my birthday only a few days away, and I'm close to 40.  Not that life is over at that point, but I'm reaching stage where I had always expected myself to have done more as I looked into the future at whom I thought I was going to be.  And, even worse, my attitude, lack of motivation, and even my self-loathing are rubbing off on my son!  It's a worst case scenario, as far as I'm concerned.  I couldn't be more disappointed in myself, honestly.  I hear him say I'm boring, that he hates himself when he does something he regrets, or even say he wants to hurt himself, something I've never done or said, but he seems to take to heart.  It hurts me deeply.  I think I was so caught up in how the medication was doing, how I seemed to be feeling better, although slowly, that I kidded myself as to how critical the situation really is.  It's serious.  Time to take it seriously.

Not that I expect to pretend.  I am lousy at just burying my feelings deep inside and play-acting that everything is fine.  Won't do it.  But if I am busy living life, I'll have less time to feel lousy, won't I?  So that's what I'm going to be working on.  And no more self-insults.  Even the "clumsy me's" I tell myself when I drop something or stub my toe.  No more "what an idiot's" when I forget something and have to go back home.  Not going to do it anymore.  My son hears that, and does the same.  I'm not an idiot because I forgot something.  Everyone does it.  It's an inconvenience.  But I don't want to teach myself to hate myself.  Or teach my son to hate himself.  That's it.  The end.  No more.

Lastly, I took a lovely phrase from "Dirty Jobs" and Mike Rowe.  He said, "Don't follow your passion, but always take it with you."  So I don't have to think that my childhood fantasies need to have been fulfilled to have a fulfilling life, but I can be passionate about my life.  Everything I do can be worthwhile.  I can bring that passion to anything, and do it well.  I just need to try. 

So here's an outline of my pact with myself, to work toward happiness, a better life, and becoming a better role model for my son.  I sometimes fool myself into thinking he won't imitate me, that he isn't learning everything unless I intend to teach it to him, but that's not true.  He's learning a lot about life from me, and how to deal with it.  It's time I started to deal with it.

I'm not the droid you're looking for . . .

I haven't been feeling well.  Not just mood-wise, but I've been coughing and sneezing and fatigued.  I'm not saying I'm sick, but I'm not necessarily thinking about blogging, either.  So the other day, I jump in the shower right after I've dropped my son off at school, just to make sure I have time to nap before I pick him up, and make sure it's a GOOD nap, too.  Then I hear an engine outside, car doors, then footsteps to my door, knocking in a somewhat jaunty and confident fashion . . .


My dog is barking at this point, and I wonder for a few moments if I can wait it out, and these people I probably don't know will leave, when the doorbell rings, my dog goes ballistic, and I know the nap is officially postponed.  When I see the outline of a badge on someone's chest through the glass in the door, I know for SURE the nap is postponed. 

I answer, and it's two BOUNTY HUNTERS!  WTF?  Right?  I mean, I am the most BORING person you could meet, so I know there's no way they are looking for me.  They ask if I know Blanky Blank, and I say no, then ask if I've ever seen her, show me a picture to which I answer no.  They look confused, sure I must know this person, but I tell them I don't.  They ask who I am, how long I've lived here, if I rent or own, and realize I'm telling the truth, I don't know the woman they are looking for.  And she drives a similar car to me, to add to the confusion.But then it dawns on me that I get tons of phone calls for the woman who used to live here, and even though they must have had a different phone number, mine is now associated with this address and prone to having bill collectors find it.  So apparently she's in some kind of financial difficulties.  I ask the last name again, and it matches.  It's her sister!

So I give them every detail I know, even give them old mail that wasn't forwarded, tell them the house I saw them walk over to, everything I can think of.  They say her sister is wanted in three states and in Canada for identity theft and fraud.  Wow.  Hope they catch her.  The men also warn me to check my own credit, that she's just that crafty.  And her sister doesn't sound so trustworthy, either.  Great.  Just great.  Did I pick the right address or what?

But I tell you, I had the most interesting Facebook status update for the day!  ;)

Pick me up . . .

Know what's funny?  I am probably one of the few people in the world who does NOT enjoy soda or cola of any kind.  Really don't like it much.  I can easily pass it up.  I know people who are hooked on Diet Coke, and rarely drink anything else, even water!  But it really isn't any treat for me.  I can pass.  Coffee I like.  Tea now and then.  But not soda.

At the moment, though, I'm hooked on ginger ale!  Yum!  Maybe it's the ginger zing, I don't know!  :)  I really like ginger, and ginger lemonade is the best!  I found I like the Jamaican style ginger ale more than regular Canada Dry, but I'll take it anyway!  :)  Just something that's been a little pick me up lately.

Other than that, I'm pretty friggin' lonely.  Waiting for some new friendships to build on.  But I'm also nervous about jumping in and opening myself up for more disappointment and putting my son through emotional commitments that don't pan out.  It's hard for him because he makes friends with MY friends, and it's sad when they disappear.  He doesn't get it, why mommy just thinks someone is nuts and needs to be out of our lives.  So when my most recent close friend decided she was angry at me for something I didn't do, I was fine with it.  Good, bye-bye.  Not to say our friendship hadn't meant anything to me, because that's not true.  But she had made me feel like I was never good enough, and for someone with low self-esteem, that's never good.  Just made me feel good long enough for her to take her frustrations out on me, then apologize enough to do it all over again.  When I finally got out from under that spell, I was relieved to say the least.  But now I want to be careful when choosing someone to build a friendship with, and I know it's hard to do that in such a technical, non-emotional manner.  I just can't take "crazy" right now.  Crazy as I might be, I'm all I can handle right now.

I used to think I related to people with mental problems more than "regular" people.  But I've since recognized that probably EVERYONE has some sort of mental problem, some just aren't diagnosed, and some are probably just not severe enough to interfere with their normal functioning.  So that former distinction doesn't seem to apply right now.  I just need to find people to bring close to me who don't bring me down but build me up.  I'm at a state where I need to do some serious healing.  And I've put myself off way too long.

Thanks for reading.

Ponderings on Insanity

Didn't I say I was a bad blogger?  I did, didn't I?  Well, yeah.  I'm just not very consistent, am I?  Maybe inconsistency is my consistency, if that makes any sense!  Ha!  Life intervenes, usually.  I seldom participate in my hobbies anymore, but a lot of why I think I CAN'T is probably in my head.  I could if I made the time somehow.  I think I usually think I SHOULD be doing something else, so I don't do the things I enjoy.  I often feel guilt when I make time for myself.  I'm not trying to rant and berate myself, it's just something I've been working on, to realize when my feelings are justified and when they are not. 

At the moment, I've been fighting depression.  I am starting to wonder, however, if it is more than that, or an entirely different problem altogether.  I just assumed it was depression, since the worst part of it all was the sadness, the unyielding unhappiness . . .  But as I think back to my childhood, and then to my adolescence, I remember being more than just sad.  I was . . . quirky, even WEIRD.  What if it's a personality disorder I've been fighting all these years, and I just didn't know it? 

I've been reading about schizotypal personality disorder recently, mostly trying to see if I could find a label for what my sibling's problems might be, but even though I didn't exactly identify with the symptoms, I wondered if some of my behaviors and personality quirks from prior to my "medicated life" might have been more markedly schizotypal or related to another disorder.  I stop short of saying my belief in the paranormal is a symptom, mostly because I am so extremely skeptical.  I believe in the possibility that energy can exist in some form after death, but I don't believe in demons, orbs, UFOs, SLI, or things like that.  Even psychic powers I have a tough time with, since what people see could so often be mistaken hallucinations or psychotic delusions.  I have at times felt I was psychic, when I was about 10-12 years old, but that was also at the height of my quirks and alienation from society.  At that age, it was the first time I really remember wanting to die.  I was so depressed day in and day out, nothing helped.  I dressed differently (very geeky, in fact) and excelled in school, because I felt like I was supposed to, but also because I didn't have the distraction of friends or a social life.  I believed I had psychic ability, that I could see ghosts.  That's when I had my first paranormal experience, that I've been unable to shake my whole life.  I wonder now if it was real.  But the recordings and evidence I've gathered since then help to reinforce the belief, as well as meeting so many experts in the field out here in California.  But that possibility it's "mental illness" that is responsible for that core belief still nags me.

I wonder if it was the situation that made me what I was, or if I was who I was.  Even into college, as much as I wanted to make friends, I could say things that someone took the wrong way, not knowing how far to take a joke, not knowing exactly how someone would read something I said.  Often I would come away from a situation with a different take than those around me.  For example, I took a class where the professor took us to his home and to his studio as a sort of field trip.  The idea was to show us how working artists lived and worked, what kinds of things he did to keep his office organized, software, etc.  At the time, I remember being extremely annoyed that he had done this, thinking it was an overtly conceited gesture, showing us what a "big shot" he thought he was, and thinking his way was the best way . . .  My boyfriend at the time (now husband) told me he thought it was just because he had access to his own studio and office, that it was easy, and it made sense.  I blew off what he had said, thinking he just "didn't understand" the B.S. that existed in the art world, and therefore didn't know what he was talking about.  But now that I think back, I think he was right.  And I wonder if those kinds of events are common for schizotypals.

I'll discuss all of this with my mental health professionals.  But it's been on my mind, so now it's on my blog.  Time to find out what's wrong, so I can fix it.  And maybe, by extension, my sibling.  I worry so much that he/she isn't getting the help he/she needs.  So I can only live by example, can't I?