One Word: Sudafed

I haven’t published in a while. Notice I didn’t say that I haven’t written. I’ve had a lot to say lately but it is very personal and I just don’t see the point of airing dirty laundry. You know the adage, “If you can’t say something nice…” So, I have been keeping it all to myself lately. That probably isn’t the best thing to do. I think that internalizing garbage is unhealthy and that’s what I think has made me sick.

I have felt like shit for a while now. I have this nagging little low level cold that I think is trying to turn into a sinus infection. I have spent the last few days with hot and cold sweats and lethargy. I can’t sleep enough. I finally took Mike’s advice (he’s always right) and went and bought some Sudafed. Wow! Now I know why you have to furnish a license to purchase the stuff. I’m high as a kite and my sinus pressure is gone. Sudafed works on me like Adderall did. My ADHD is pretty much nil today. This is a fun vacation from the chaos that is my brain. My doctor stopped my Adderall because he thought it was adding to my anxiety. I have to say that right now my anxiety level is very manageable. I think it is because I am so focused. Everything is clean and sharp for the most part.

I miss the blistering heat of summer. Well maybe not Summer temps; more like Spring or Fall. I love a nice 85 degree day with low humidity and a slight breeze. I love to lay in my hammock and soak up the Sun’s glorious warmth. I miss that right now. Today, and for the past few days, it has been cool and gloomy. Except for a freaky few hours last night after the rain had stopped when it got really warm and humid. We actually closed up the house and put the air on. I was so looking forward to waking to warm temps and sunshine; figuring that the cold front had passed. Instead I woke to more gloom and a damp sixty five degrees. What a blah day.  I have to try to find a bright spot; something to be thankful for or I will get depressed. So, today I am grateful for the nourishing rain being provided to my garden. There, a silver lining.

Blazing Xmas Trees are Not Just for Rednecks

I’m bored and restless. That’s how I know my meds are working properly. If you’re happy and you know it shake your meds! I breezed through Christmas. It was a simple, quiet day with my love. It was nice that it was quiet this year. I feel peaceful instead of stressed out like last year when I lost it and landed in the hospital for New Year’s Eve. Not so this year. I’ll be right here enjoying a peaceful evening with Mike. Oh, and I’m dispatching. It should be interesting. Guess I’ll be drinking on the job. Like that never happens. I’ve gotten back into drinking beer lately. I really need to lay off because I am gaining weight back. So after January 1^st I’m off the hooch for a few pounds.  

Every year we burn the Christmas Tree on New Year’s Eve. It is a tradition. So this morning I got up, ran some errands and undecorated the tree. She now resides in the fire pit just waiting to go up in a blaze of glory. Mike pours a ton of gas on it and throws a match. It’s quite explosive. Yay! It’s great redneck fun. We truly are rednecks and proud of it. What is a redneck anyway? I guess it’s a way of life but I don’t agree with the bigotry that usually goes along with it. We are a live and let live, love everyone little family. Our group of friends is so diverse. I guess you could call us modern day hippies.

The least wonderful time of the year.

It’s 1 in the afternoon and the dog and I decided to have a liquid lunch. It’s a little chilly today to be drinking beer but it sure is delicious. I don’t usually drink during the day or at all really because Big Daddy is not here to enjoy the party with me. Poor Mike is busting his ass at work and I’m sitting here drinking his beer. I suck. So, it is to my love that I drink. I love him with all my heart.

See now this is the girl that I really am. I’ve leveled off. I’m no longer perched on the edge of darkness. I’m happy girl again. Yay! And just in time too. Nine days till Christmas. Blah! The thing I don’t like about Christmas is the gift giving. I can’t handle the stress to perform. Will they like it? Will it be enough? Of course they’ll like it. It’s a fucking gift card. That’s how I roll. I find that Lowe’s has and awesome assortment of gift cards. They have a nice little section at the front of the store that has any kind of card you can imagine and there are no crowds. The Lowe’s near me is rarely busy. This means my Christmas shopping can be done rather conveniently. Parking is plentiful. The cashiers are stress free and happy. Gift cards are impersonal you say? I don’t think so. I have three girls to buy for. They all have different tastes and styles. It’s easier if they purchase what they want instead of what I think they want. I don’t have the mental capacity to shop for each individual; it’s too stressful. Mostly I just lose my shit in crowded stores. I hate shopping on a good day never mind during this season.

The thing I do enjoy about Christmas is the party. I love a good party. Mike and I cook a huge feast and the booze flows abundantly. People are in and out all day long. I love relaxing with friends and family.

I f*cking heart sunshine!

I used to hate living in Florida. In my old life it was a miserable place. It's not anymore. True unconditional love has opened my eyes and my heart to the beautiful place that is now home. Until I met Mike it didn't feel like home. I can now appreciate the abundant sunshine and greenery and flowers and gardens. It rarely gets cold here. Cold is relative to where you live. I put a sweater on when it's 70 outside; my sister dons a t-shirt. We are currently experiencing a cooler front and that is ok. I get to wear sweaters and fuzzy socks. I get to snuggle really deep under the blankets. I hug on my man a lot more. It will be back up in the low 80s on Monday. Perfect timing as I have some work to do in the garden.

My garden is coming along nicely. We have little jalepenos and tomatoes growing. My lettuce is loving the cool temps. My strawberries are starting to creep. I think it is time to remove them to their own container now, while they're still young. I hear they take over if not constantly tended to. I plan to grab a half whiskey barrel and plant them in there. They will have plenty of room and it will look pretty. I find something to put in their place.

I would love to expand my garden but in its current location that isn't possible. I want to be able to plant a lot more stuff. I have thousands of heirloom seeds just waiting to go. I have some wonderful squashes, cucumbers and corn, etc. I would love to do a huge garden. We have the room in another area of the property but it is currently overgrown with brush. We would need to clear it all out and then rototill it; that is if we don't have to grind stumps. I think just clearing it would be fine and then I could do raised beds. They don't need to be all that level. They would be just like us, a little twisted. How appropriate for my garden.

Bucket o' Blood

I went to the doctor today. He upped my dosage of Prozac. Yay me. I did that a week ago. I feel pretty good actually. Yesterday I bought my Christmas tree. Today I actually decorated it. Yes Mom, it has lights and balls and everything on it. I even have my angel on top of my tree.

The angle was my grandfather’s. I called him Bumpa. He was a great man. When I was little he was my favorite playmate. Seems like the old lady was always getting pissed at us and kicking us outside. We spent many a weekend together. Bumpa is my mother’s father. He was a huge man easily standing 6’4” and built like a skyscraper. He was a master carpenter. He worked construction his whole life. He built shopping malls, the Mass Turnpike and even Seabook Nuclear Plant. He was a hard worker. When he was young he was a hard drinker. Around about the time I came along he had mellowed a bit but that didn’t stop him from throwing a Massachusetts State Trooper through a plate glass window at the “Bucket o' Blood”.

Bumpa’s benders were epic. He would come home on a Friday night after being at work out of town all week and give my grandmother some of his paycheck and disappear with the rest. He would routinely lose his car. Inevitably, we would find it parked outside of some seedy joint. He hung with a rough crowd but he had a heart of gold. He had a habit of bringing home strays. I mean dogs and people. You never really knew who was going to show up for dinner whether it be a stray cat or some dude down on his luck. That was Lou’s (that was his God given name) way. He was always helping the down trodden.

He was one of the best playmates I’ve ever had. We didn’t play dolls and crap like that (although he would of). We played construction site. I used to take his chalk line and snap chalk all over my grandmother’s sidewalks. She would pitch such a fit. He loved it. My Bumpa taught me how to drive a nail into a 2 x 4 with one shot. I practiced that so many times until I finally mastered it. I was psyched and he was all hugs and smiles. I had impressed him.

Another thing we used to do is go get bread for Sunday dinner. Sunday dinner was a big affair where all family members showed up. It didn’t matter that my Nonnie couldn’t cook for shit. We were all always there on Sunday. I’m very fond of those memories. On Saturday afternoons the old lady would send me and Bumpa out for bread. Now mind you the bakery was only 2 minutes from the house but our outings lasted hours. We would stop at Harold’s Package Store and buy a 12 pack so that Bump had beer while we drove around. We would just take rides. We would get lost for hours. I had some of my best philosophical conversations of my life on those rides. Bumpa was a simple man with a very old soul. He taught me many invaluable lessons and left me with many of his witticisms that I still use today.

Girls' Night In

So, I decided to play doctor and adjust my meds myself. I went up 20 milligrams on my Prozac. I started that a few days ago in anticipation of my appointment on Monday where the doctor is going to do exactly what I did, up my dosage. I have to say I’m feeling a bit better. I know that it will take a couple of weeks for me to feel normal again. As it is, I actually feel like socializing again and that’s after only a few days.

It’s just me and Mike’s girls this weekend. We have girls’ nights planned for tonight and Sunday and tomorrow I’m going to the zoo with my mom. Dianna, my oldest daughter, and Jessica, my youngest daughter will be here tonight. I love both those girls. I guess we’ll just hang out and talk and maybe watch movies while Di and I sip wine. It will be a nice time. I love watching the interaction between the two sisters. They are awesome.

On Sunday night I’m going to have a girls’ night with Kat, my middle daughter. Kat has a seriously crazy busy life. She is raising a five year old on her own. Well, actually, we are all raising him. She finally has a night off on Sunday so she is going to come over and hang out. She has a lot of turmoil going on in her life so we are planning for a major bitch fest.

It’s funny having daughters now. Pete and I chose not to have kids. When I got Mike I got a whole slew of them. I love being a mom. I love being a friend to them. They are three very distinct personalities. They are all strong, independent women. I can’t wait to enjoy their company.

I forgot how I was going to end this blog.

I hear the kids in the school yard a couple of blocks over. I can picture them running with smiles on their faces and shrieking with laughter. I find no joy in it. Instead it is just noise to me. It should bring about feelings of bliss and contentment that at least on this block there is joy in the world. It makes me sad that I can't feel that. I'm perched on a fine line right now. I have two choices; keep hanging on to the light or just give in to this depression. It's tiring fighting it all the time. I just want to sleep until it is over.

Sleep comes in clumps of hours. I keep waking up from nightmares. My nerves are raw and tattered from not sleeping peacefully the last few nights. I hate when the dreams occur. They are weird. They are like watching a sitcom about everyday life and it is staring me and Pete. The problem with this is that he looks like he did the day I found him hanging. He's pasty and blue and his lips are black and his eyes are always closed and bulging. It really fucks me up. That's the PTSD kicking in because I'm depressed. Oh joy; not. So I need to do something to knock myself completely out. Fortunately I know how to do that. I'll max out my sleep meds again and I won't dream or remember anything.

I have to send myself text messages so that I remember to do things. I send myself grocery lists, names of books I want to read and names of movies I want to see. I have to because I don't seem to have much in the way of short term memory. My memory sucks. I need to start doing luminosity or some such shit because apparently reading constantly is not cutting it in the exercise your brain department.

I forgot how I was going to end this blog. There was something else I was going to tell you, but I can't remember what it was. Oh, well. Time for another glass of soothing herbal tea.

One down. One to go.

I survived Turkey Day. I don’t really remember much of it not because I was drinking but because I was anxious. Anxiety wrecks everything. I don’t know why I was having a bout of social anxiety. I knew everyone there very well. They were all family. I still had to try pretty hard to be marginally social. I think I did ok. I don’t remember. That’s one of a myriad of problems I have. When I am depressed or anxious I don’t remember things. Entire days pass and I don’t remember them. I have to text myself reminders because it seems like I live a day, fall asleep and wake up and don’t remember anything. I’ve cut down on sleep meds so I don’t think they are the culprit. I think it is just the way I am wired. So, I guess you could say I loved Thanksgiving Day because nobody knows any different. Next up is Christmas. I dread Christmas.

I don’t know why I hate Christmas so much. I always have. Again I think it is a crowd thing except now you have to do gifts which is even more stressful. I hate performance stress. What am I going to get them? Are they going to like it? Is it enough? For many years that part or the holiday was missing from my life. It felt good. For years, when my husband was alive, we had stress free Christmas Days. It was nice. Our gift to our friends was food and hospitality. We used to host the Misfits Christmas at our hours. I would roast a prime rib and put together all the fixings and all our friends that didn’t have anywhere to go came to my house and we had a giant party. It was great; lots of laughs and lots of booze. Now I have a family again.

Mike has a slew of kids. Three of his daughters live in the immediate area and we have my Mom and Dad down here at this time of the year now so we do the family thing. I’ll probably try to cook a rib roast (Mike takes over. I should be grateful that he loves to cook.) And we’ll do presents. That’s where the stress comes in. Ugh! That pressure to perform. I should really not give two shits what they think. They should be happy with anything that I can afford to purchase them. I could really fuck them up and make homemade gifts this year; bath salts and body lotion for everyone, maybe some candles. They might really like that. I don’t know. I think a small gift to open and a gift card will suffice. I wouldn’t be so freaked out by this if my mood were better.

The new/old antidepressant is starting to work, but the dosage isn’t high enough. I go back to Dr. V on the 9^th for an adjustment. He just has to bring me up to 40 mg. I seriously need it and I don’t want to end up in the hospital on New Years again like last year. That was a trip. Dr. V was on vacation and the blow hard that was my doctor threatened to get a court order to lock me up. I had no choice but to voluntarily stay and make the best of it. I was there for six days. I read 7 books. I was in with the really mental people. I was on suicide watch which means they check on you every 10 minutes. That means that every 10 minutes all night long someone opens your door and shines a light in your face. Tell me that won’t make you fucking nuts. I finally started leaving my door open so that there was nothing to creak or worse yet, slam. Nothing like being suicidally depressed and sleep deprived. It makes for some fun group therapy conversations. What they did do was immediately max out my meds and within a couple of days I felt fine. They still wouldn’t let me out. They would not let me out until I was seen by my own doctor. He came in on his day off to discharge me. It was as simple as that but it scared me. I don’t want to ever go back there again. So, I won’t. This year I’ll keep it together somehow. I’ll talk about it before it gets critical and I will try to lighten up on myself about Christmas. After all, I can only give it my best.