The restaurant at the end of the Universe

I think we've officially reached the end, the point where no matter what happens, things won't - can't - ever be the same again.

Husband came to visit for the Bear's third birthday this weekend, and within twelve hours he had brought up divorce. I've turned into someone that even my own husband, my only link to sanity, can't love.

I don't even recognize myself when I look in the mirror, or when I look inside. I'm a stranger in my own life.

It's come to the point where I don't know what to do. I can only think of one way out, and it's not the way I want to take. Still, I can't think of anything else. I don't know how to fix this.

A start:

I'm going on a diet. Because, seriously. Damn.

I'm going to take my meds every day, all of them.

I'm going to be completely truthful about how I feel and what I think. All the time. No more covering things up or hiding.

I am going to think myself well. I spent a weekend with a family friend who is dying of cancer just last week, and she was absolutely convinced that your mind has control over your body. I mean, she woke up every morning and told her body that it did not have cancer, that it was not sick. I'm going to borrow a page from her book, and tell myself every day that I *am* a happy person, that I *do* have a good life, and that I should celebrate my life as it is, instead of bemoaning the fact that it's not what I want.

It can't get any worse than this. It can only get better, or end. And I'm not ready for the end to come yet. I want to feel things. I want to live, like people do. I don't know if things will get better, but I know I have to try.

The one where my head explodes

So, I know that I posted something [insert link here to post from last month that I can't link to because my system keeps crashing - you can go find it if you really care] about our living situation and how life in general is just the worst it could ever possibly be, blah blah negativity, blah blah bad coping skills, yada yada I hate everything. Remember that?

I think I may have finally snapped. I've reached the point where I contemplate things that are very, very bad. I can see no hope, ever. I am very, very angry (angry is the only alternative to sad). I take out my anger on those I love. I am one scary bitch sometimes. My in-laws think I'm certifiable. My husband is worried. My mother is worried. My children are terrified.

I'm actually thinking about giving my other meds another try (the ones that made me so groggy that I was still tired and therefore intensely angry the next morning). That's how desperate I am to make this stop. I can't control this on my own, through sheer force of mind. I've tried. My willpower is no match for chemistry. I've tried to think positive. Really I have. It's not working. All I want to do is scream, or cry, or throw things, or hit someone. Everything makes me angry. I'm so worried, and scared, and I have all of these terrible thoughts that I can't stop from coming into my head. I have thought, and said, and done things that I can't even post on the Internet. And I'm anonymous, here. So, technically, I *could* post them here, but I'm too ashamed to do it. It's that bad.

At the same time, I'm strangely detached. I can see, as if from a distance, some harried looking woman screaming at my children. She honks and screams at strangers on the road when they don't drive to suit her. This lady makes rude comments to people who care about her. And all the time, *I* am sitting over here thinking, "who is this crazy lady? why doesn't someone lock her up? or at the very least shoot her a tranquilizer dart?" She looks like me, and she sounds like me, but I don't *feel* like her. Sometimes, I can't feel anything. For days on end, I walk around like a zombie, impervious to anything - I can't feel pain, but I can't feel joy either. Then, suddenly, all I can feel is this crushing despair, the kind that makes you need to stick your head in the oven. It's overwhelming - I can't breathe, can't think, can't see past the fact that this is my life, and it's never going to get any better, and it will always be this miserable, pathetic thing that I never wanted in the first place. All the weight of all our problems just presses down on me like - something cliche, I'm sure. And in those moments, my whole life is just one big disaster, closing in on me, and it's going to be that way forever. And it's killing me. And then it's gone, and I'm numb again.

Reading this over, it sounds pretty melodramatic, I think. It takes a special gift to write well about things like tragedy and sadness and anger without sounding trite or overdone. That's a gift that I don't have, as you can see. However, it makes me feel better to get some of this out there and off my mind. It's for me. I'm going to try upping my anxiety meds a bit (you think?!) and possibly going back to my antipsychotic*. Or maybe even trying something else. I'll be doing some serious research just as soon as I get my ass out of this sling. Something has to work, at some point. They say the meds can only take you so far, and you have to do the rest on your own, which is totally true. You have to *want* to get better, and you have to actively work at it. But at the same time, there is a chemical component, which is exacerbated by the situation at hand, and if that's not resolved first, I can't even *want* to get better, much less take steps in the right direction (the right direction being *away* from the oven, for those of you still reading).

So, yeah.

life=shit
+me=crazy
--------------
things=bad


*That makes it sound so awful! "Psyhcotic" has such negative connotations. It's actually very useful for bipolar depression, or so the survey says...

Peeving the Pets

I have, like, three major pet peeves in life. Okay, maybe four. Or five. I don't know. Things bug me. A lot of things. A sampling:

1) Kids who misbehave in public
B) Parents who let their kids misbehave in public
7) People who try to tell other people how to parent their children
F) When more than one pet peeve occurs at once, compounding the effect until you just need to gnaw off your own arm and throw it at someone.

Guess what happened to me tonight? (I bet you'll never guess. That's me with the subtlety.)

So, we went to this "event," right? It's big, loud, smelly, kind of overwhelming. We went to the same place yesterday, and the girls had a great time. Today, the Bear didn't get her nap out, and she was being very whiny all afternoon. Like, seriously whiny. And I told her that if I did take her to this event (not a guarantee, with her behavior), that we would only stay there until she started to whine, cry, or throw a fit, and then we'd have to leave. I always try to set rules before we go, so she knows what I'm expecting of her. Then, I set out the consequences for not following the rules. And I follow through with them. Even if it means I have to leave the pool or the park or a restaurant in the middle of a meal. I'm a stickler. I can't handle when my kids misbehave in public. Can't take it. Gives me an anxiety attack, makes me feel crazy.

So, naturally, twenty minutes into the "event," the crying begins. Followed by whining, flailing, defiance, and an attempt to get lost in a crowd of strangers. So, we left. Those are the rules. End of story.

Well, we went to say goodbye to my MIL before leaving, and she about had a heart attack when I told her that we were leaving, that I was following through on my plan, that the girls couldn't stay. We had a small... chat, shall we say about the issue.

So, yeah. Multiple pet peeves. All piled up in a big steaming heap. Urgh. For the record, the Bear was asleep before we hit the driveway, and she was in bed for the night by 7:15. I moved her from the car to the couch to the bed and she never woke up. Kid was seriously wiped. My MIL? Still kind of pissed that she tries to subvert my parenting. She actually said, "But you *always* follow through" in a whine. I was livid, but I maintained my calm, cool, collected front, which is not necessarily my strong suit. I was kind of proud of myself. But seriously. What is *wrong* with people?

Quoted

The Bear, as we went to the restroom at a restaurant last night:

'See these hearts on my skirt, Mommy?

That's because I think about you in my heart all the time.'

It's times like this that make up for the sass. And the tantrums. And the general almost-three-ness.

Live Earth

So, while I'm totally appreciating some really awesome acts at the Live Earth concerts from the comfort of my couch, the whole concept has me a bit miffed, really.

Having explained three separate times what the concept of the concerts is, I got started thinking about the environment in general, and about global warming in specific. I have some plans to change several aspects of our lifestyle once we're moved and settled, and so I've been doing a lot of research (and soul-searching) on environmental issues. Which brings me to my bone of contention with Live Aid: isn't it sort of hypocritcal to hold a concert to promote the awareness of global warming (sorry, "climate change") using many of the things that *cause* global warming or are damaging to the environment in and of themselves? For example:

ALL that electricity
transportation for all these millions of people, including rock stars, who don't usually travel in biodiesel jet planes
the waste produced by all those concertgoers - much of it non-recyclable!

It just seems a little counter-productive to stage this huge event to convince us all to save the earth, while using up valuable resources and contributing unnecessary pollution, etc. I mean, sure, they're making an effort, but it's not 100% effective. These concerts, like it or not, will have a negative environmental impact. They can't help it. And all to raise awareness of something that WE'RE ALREADY AWARE OF! So, yeah, I think that's a bit hypocritical. And yeah, it irritates me. Did I still watch Pink Floyd and the Police?

Hell yes.

Mishmash

Witnessed at my (in-laws') hometown fourth of July parade:

a marching regiment of veterans, calling out their wartime service in a cadence (think every Army movie you've every seen). It was kind of eerie - I can't quite explain why, and I feel a little silly saying that, but there it is.

a low-rider pickup truck full of Mexicans, blaring "Born in the USA." I thought that was really cool - the total opposite of everyone's perception.

more fat people than I think I've ever seen in a single place in my life. We're talking fat, people. A woman claiming to be nine months pregnant with a belly that didn't look noticeably bigger than the rest of her, a man whose belly hung between his knees, people wearing clothes that they totally should *not* have been wearing. A true testament to the American dream. Ew.

dozens of people standing *in* the street, not on the grass or sidewalk, but in the street, with big plastic bags to scavenge candy. Since when did people start going to parades just to scam the free stuff, instead of enjoying the celebration of drunken hometown patriotic Americana bullshit like the rest of us red-blooded Americans? Pissed me off.

the Bear's first sunburn. Oh, God, I'm the world's worst mother. I let her get a sunburn. I'm going to hell. What if it hurts her? Both of my parents have had skin cancer, and I'm firmly convinced that I will, too, but I swore they were going to be safer. They've got tans, don't get me wrong, and they play outside, but it's the burning that will kill you. And I swore I'd never let them burn, not as long as I was in charge of their well-being. And I failed. If she grows up to get skin cancer, it will be all my fault.

In related news, it's interesting to watch how the girls are growing by how their bodies change. Not in an Are You There, God? kind of way, sicko. They're just transforming from babies into real little people. When they were tiny, I used to love how smooth they were, how soft, how unblemished. Perfectly whole - no scars, no tan lines, no calluses, just perfectly smooth, round, soft babies.

I was putting them to bed last night after their bath, and it struck me how much they've grown. They've left that stage behind, even Tank. The Bear has a killer skinned knee, complete with crusty nasty scab all over. Her legs are so long and skinny, she looks like a daddy longlegs. Tank has cuts and bruises everywhere, as usual. They both have farmer's tans in odd places, and raggedy fingernails. Bear's toenails are painted a garish sparkly pink, and Tank's are a shocking metallic greenish-blue. It's funny, but the colors seem to suit their personalities. But still, babies don't wear fingernail polish! Where are my babies?!

We're off to laze in the pool and eat steak. Hope you enjoy your celebration of our independence from the British, those tea-drinking pansies. Go blow up some Chinese pyrotechnics in honor of the occasion.