So Now You Know

I'm sticking to my project. 14-18

2012-02-07T11:13:00.000-06:00

14) Fireplaces

It’s awesome to me that there is a hole in my living room designed to burn things. And not only does it burn things but it functions to use the burning as heat for my home. I love the colors and the heat and the smell. I love cleaning out the ashes. OK, what now? Yes. For a few years now, I have discovered that cleaning my fireplace is an incredibly cathartic activity. The fire has done its work. Everything is burned and gone and cleansed or destroyed. It’s left behind the ashes of what used to be. And getting in there and sweeping and brushing and cleaning those ashes has become a deeply symbolic practice for me. I can start over and start new. I can watch the transformation. I can see the chars and the marks but it is ready to start again. It allowed the fire to stay contained and keep me warm and comfort me, and when that is over it gives me a chance to start over again.

15) Employment

I don’t know if I will be adequately able to explain how appreciative I am of having a job. I mean, there is the obvious, I got divorced and needed work and found great hours doing something worthwhile and offering me enough to live on. Obviously I know that finding steady employment is really challenging, especially doing something you love to do, and I have that every day. I get to go to work and take care of other people and make friends and be in public and handle what gets thrown at me. I get to be proud of myself and always remember when I get frustrated or tired how many people would love to trade me places. I am beyond undeserving for that.

But as a survivor of mental illness…as someone who wasn’t even able to drive to the grocery store or go places without my safe person or have any hours in my day that weren’t consumed by my madness from intrusive thoughts and endless compulsions…as that girl…I am speechless. I am employed. By people who don’t even necessarily know of the battle I fought and still fight every day. I am succeeding. And I’m failing. And I’m getting up and doing it all over again the next day. The feeling of liberation is not akin to anything. It’s finding myself in the day to day that everyone else has. I relish the day to day. Sometimes it’s boring. And that is the most exciting part. Sometimes I am doing work and just doing work all day when it hits me like a bitch slap that I am not a prisoner to this today. And I appreciate being employed because it makes me like everyone else.

16) Failure

I want to fail. I need to fail. I hope that many times in my life a get the chance to fail and fail again. Because that means I tried something.

If I didn’t fail then I didn’t try. I didn’t step outside my box and push myself to do something…anything. Sometimes I fail at getting out of bed. Sometimes I fail at liking myself. Sometimes I fail at being happy with who I see in my mirror. But I’m trying. When I quit trying, that’s when it’s over. Sometimes I fail at love, relationships, cooking, running, meeting, learning, stretching, walking, prioritizing, letting go, standing tall, speaking, speaking, being kind, or just accepting life. But I’m trying. And failing makes it so much better when I manage to do it right. And when I fail at the same thing again I can remember what the success feels like and try to go back. Failing is not a disappointment. It’s a motivation. It’s reality. It makes me face the fact that life is real and I am real and no one gets to live in Eden. Failure is God kicking me in the ass so that success is never expected and always is appreciated.

17) Fear

It seems counter intuitive that the girl who has life challenging panic, anxiety and OCD which confounds the very essence of what fear is would be appreciative and even thankful for fear. Fear makes me alive. Kind of like failure. It makes me real. It makes me balanced. It makes me think. It makes me analyze and make choices. It keeps my blood moving and my senses sharp. It forces the primal instinct to the surface and makes me face it head on. There is no hiding. No pretending. I must acknowledge it and chose to let it refine me. Not define me.

18) Laughter

It's this weird primal thing that we do. We just do it. From when we are babies. And we do it before we can talk or anything. It's communication. There's no predicting what will make you laugh. Will you laugh at someone else, yourself, uncomfortable situations? That's me. I laugh in socially inappropriate situations. Like, full on belly laugh. Funerals, church, the middle of a huge fight, presentations, sex etc etc etc etc.

But that is what heals me. It protects me. It gives me a chance to breathe and process and take in the situation around me. It releases chemicals in my brain that God knows my crazy ass brain sure as hell needs. Laughing is contagious (not unlike herpes) and can go on until you forget what started it. I love that feeling of sore muscles after laughing so hard at some one's joke. Or their funeral.

Do I use it as a defense mechanism? Of course I do. You don't need a psychiatrist to tell you that. Yeah. Sometimes I don't want to deal with what is right in front of me. So I look for something funny. Or I find the absurdity in it. I lighten it. And then I can get into it and deal with it. Once it stops being scary because it made me laugh. Once it stops being a threat or a burden or something totally unexpected I can DEAL with it. I can laugh. And I can heal.

There are probably all kinds of facts about how laughing has health benefits blah blah boring so if you want to google that crap go right on ahead. Nerd.

How being a grownup actually worked out for me OR Secret Option 2

2012-01-30T22:03:00.000-06:00

OK. So I waxed philosophical on all things grown up andabout how important it is to never give up and keep putting one foot in frontof the other and all those things I get all preachy about. Then I explored howI was going to go home and cook my own food in my own house with my own abilityand OCD could pretty much suck it because I was going to live life even if itwas harder than I tried to make it look. I didn’t publish that post right awayand thank God I didn’t because let me tell you that the universe had otherplans for me that night. Here’s what actually went down:

I got off work at my usual time andthe drive home was everything normal. I grabbed my mail and went inside. Therewere bills with my name on them and offers to give me credit cards (wow thoseidiots offering me cards have no idea what a bad idea that is) and a friendlycondescending little note from my mail man which was actually a friendlycondescending little poem reminding me not to put my trash bins in front of themail box. A freaking poem. With a little clip art of a trash bin. And I didn’tdo that. The trash people left it there. So in my heels I pulled the bins tothe front and went inside to my dogs.

This is where I should remind you that therewas a hole in my fence that had yet to be patched. Lexi had been through it acouple times but I had it covered with a box until it could get patched. I hadbeen very diligent about standing outside with the dogs so that they would notgo through the hole and onto the busy street on the other side. My back yard isnot only by a busy street but also by a stop light. But I was feelingparticularly grown up and confident and my dogs were trained well enough to do theirbusiness and come back. I was only going to go to the bathroom myself andpossibly change my clothes. It was going to be 5 minutes. And so I trusted mydogs to be as responsible as I was and I changed out of my skirt and into myyoga pants. I decided to check on the dogs and let them in before my evening ofgrown-uppery commenced in full.

I opened the door and called “Dogs!”as I often do because who can be bothered with names. This also works with “Childrens!”and running they do come. Only this time, just the one dog came running. And he was muddy up to his teensy littleankles. So I ventured into my muddy yard and called again. This is when Irealized the box was shoved aside and I was short one terrier. So now I’m justtotally walking around bare footed in the freezing and thick mud. It is cakingon my feet and making some pretty awesome squishing sounds. I hoped she wasclose so I stuck my head through the fence hole calling her name. Only morelike cursing her name. This is happening at 5:30pm when the stoplight was redand all the people in their cars were seeing a disembodied head coming throughI fence shouting “Dammit Lexi!!” Lexi, where are you dammit!!” People are sojudgy.

And now I have accepted that I am goingto have to chase that stupid little hairball down so I tracked mud all insidemyself so I could grab my shoes, my keys, and mutter a little bit more aboutwhy in God’s name do I have dogs. I wanted to make sure one more time that shehadn’t jumped back into the yard so I tracked around the backyard swamp andfully coated my shoes just so that I could make sure that my carpet would be absolutelyeffed when I went back inside. She wasn’t out there. Crap. So I darted throughmy house and got in my car. I drove around to the stop light and turned intothe neighborhood entrance at the intersection. I hopped out of my car andstarted wandering up the street hollering for my stupid ass dog. It was still muddy and the intersection wasstill full of cars and I’m looking like a full blown crazy lady at this point.I walked all the way up the street calling her name and when I got to my fencewith the hole in it, who the hell popped her little head out? Effing Lexi, that’swho dammit! I was not about to walk back to my car and drive home without herbecause odds were strong to quite strong that she would jump back through thehole and be gone again when I got there. So cursing as I could, I reachedthrough the hole and yanked that dog, who knew she was in trouble, out of thatyard by the scruff of her neck and got her muddy little feet all over me in theprocess. I got her back to my car and got her home.

But I think what we need to rememberhere is that I never quite finished changing from work. I had only put on yogapants. So I was still all business on the top side. Jewelry, nice shirt, hair and make-up withpurple yoga pants and black Ugg knock-offs from payless. So basically all thosenice people waiting patiently at the light just saw a crazy half dressed ladywith mud up to her ankles steal a dog forcibly through a fence then yell at it,get in a car and drive away. I would have called the police if I had seen me. Butso far the po-pos haven’t caught up to me yet.

And now, so glad to be back home andso irritated with that dog and the mud, I decide there is still a chance tosalvage my grown-up adultiness. I kickedoff my muddy shoes and started some pasta. While I waited a poured some chilledChimay into a big open glass and took a sip. All was well. I called Boyfriendand told him the tale of how I saved that dog from the clutches of certaindeath at the risk of frostbite and perilous danger and getting arrested. Whichis when my other dog decided he wasn’t done being outside yet. So I turned off the burner with an irritatedhuff (which was entirely necessary because guilt tripping dogs is way moreeffective than you think) and showed that damn dog outside. Where Lexi wantedto be. But of course she wasn’t going out there. So I stepped onto the porch tokeep Lexi inside and Peter outside. But she continued to try and nose her way out. So I shut thedoor. Which locks automatically behind you. Because Boyfriend and I thoughtthat would be a great safety feature. Which it is. There was no effing way Iwas getting back in that house. The house which held my phone and my shoes andmy Chimay and my dignity.

So I that point I was still dressedall half business half trailer park and I’m barefoot and freezing. I had a fewoptions. Wait an hour for Boyfriend to get home, try to break into my ownhouse, or go next door and ask to use their phone. I decided to wait it out.Yeah that lasted about 4 minutes. My toes were frozen mud blocks. I went aroundto the front of the house…no wait…I had to freaking ninja kick the shit out ofmy gate because it was all wedged down into the mud and THEN I went around tothe front of the house. I knew it was useless, but I checked all my doors andwindows anyway. Lucky for me I’m super security conscious! I had to suck it upand go knock on my neighbor’s door. I’m shivering and muddy and looking allcrazy so I don’t blame her and her daughters for answering the door with thephone in hand and barely peeking out the 2 inches they opened it. Again, Iwould have called the police on me had I seen me. We’ve only met one other timeso I was super excited to tell them how much of an idiot I am.

“Um, hi…I’m Angela from next door…I’msuper awesome and went ahead and locked myself out so could I just make a quickphone call to have someone come rescue me? OK, great thanks.” They handed metheir phone which possibly had 9-1 already dialed into it and I called Dual.But he didn’t answer because who the hell’s number is that? So I called againand I don’t think he knew it was me so I’m all “Um, hi…It’s Angela, you know,your girlfriend…I’m super awesome and locked myself out and I need you torescue me.” It was going to be a while before he could rescue my dumb self andthe nice neighbor people were very opposed to me waiting on my own porch whereI might freeze to death so they insisted that I track mud all into theirbeautiful home. During their dinner. So I got to just sit there like a muddyfreezing bump on a log awkwardly pretending not to eavesdrop until rescue came for me. And Boyfriend’s son thought itwas hilarious. I love that kid.

Finally back inside, I finally hadboth my dogs in their appropriate places, I washed all the mud and crap off myfeet, finished that spaghetti and downed that Chimay. Then in a verygrown-upish manner I just called it quits and went to bed. And THAT is how you do grown-up at my house.

Being a grown-up. Don't Give Up.

2012-01-30T17:24:00.001-06:00

Reason why I love being a grown-up: Today, after work, I am going to go home, get in my bed with my laptop and spaghetti and beer and watch American Horror Story. I'm about half way through the season. So, there I'll be. In my house that is paid for with money that I earn, eating food that I bought (or Boyfriend maybe bought some of it) and doing things that I enjoy without any trouble. Normal people have NO idea how big of a deal this is. It's a big effing deal. Normal people will never understand just exactly how amazing it feels to be able to come home to your OWN place after working and driving and interacting with people and using the phone and eating. I wouldn't wish OCD or mental illness on them, but I am so glad I'm not one of them. Because then I would never be able to for real in real life understand how huge the little things are. I had to work hard for those little things. And I continue to work hard. But it's not always perfect...

Let me go back...

Lately its taking a lot of effort to not show myself as an Obsessive-Compulsive. Especially at work. It started with the light switches. I knew that I could get away with checking the switches a couple times with no one looking and then I would feel better and probably it will go away soon because maybe I'm just having an episode or something. Next came my electric equipment in my lab. It needs to be unplugged at the end of every night. So I would unplug, then go back and check it, then I would go back maybe just one more time and touch the plugs and outlets. It wasn't going away. Then it evolved to checking and rechecking and checking again and saying "off" out loud. So far, no one has caught me. It has inched back the time I leave work by a few minutes. I'm trying to get it under control.

I've also had this totally unwelcome upswing in the level of panic and anxiety I carry around. I've struggled with irrational fear and a crippling feeling of not being safe to leave my house. I'm dwelling on this horrible fear that it isn't safe to love or trust anyone. Everyone is dangerous. It's cost me a few fun nights when i could have gone out with my kids or my friends. It has cost me peaceful moments with Dual. The worst was at a basketball game a couple weeks ago. After all the stress and disease in my brain making me act like a crazy person, I had somehow stopped taking my meds. I knew I needed to, but I had just gotten so muddled and confused and irrational and just wasn't keeping up. So anyhow, basketball game with all it's noise and crowded and bright lights...I lost my shit. It was one of those crying, hysteria attacks. And then X came all up in my face. He wasn't trying to do anything. He just has yet to understand that seeing his face reminds me of all the things that never were. Hearing his voice echoes in me all the terrible things that were said at the end. Being near him awakens pain inside of anger inside of heartbreak inside of betrayal. And that's not really helpful when trying to stay normal in front of a gym full of people. I have enough trouble staying calm without any added drama.

I'm doing better for now. I am strong and I am valuable and I remind myself that my disorders do not define me. It just sucks that the disease I have attacks me at my inmost emotional vulnerabilities. Normal people can't get that. If I had crutches or a cast, it would make sense. But my pain is inside and the behavior it results in is socially unacceptable. The energy it takes to stay ahead of it feels like a million pounds and the results are that nobody notices because the goal is to blend in. Normal people will never get that.

When I say I'm doing better for now, I'm doing better at blocking myself from the mental hijacking. I'm still fighting hard every minute of every day. I'm med compliant again. That helps. But when you see me, what you don't know is that all I want to do is make sure my equipment is turned off even though I did it 4 times. I want to repeat all your words to make them feel right. I want to go back and go through that door again because it seems dangerous not to. I want you to answer my pleas to speak to me because the longer I'm ignored, the more painful it becomes. I want to stay inside and protect myself from the world out there because there is too much. Just too much to keep straight and too much to make feel right and too many people who do too many things to my over stressed brain and it's sometimes too much.

So that's why tonight I'm glad I'm a grown-up. I get to do the things that everyone else just does. I get to do them in my own place that I worked hard for and will work hard for everyday of my life. And I wouldn't change that for anything. I wouldn't trade this fight. Because there is too much to be proud of and too much to enjoy. And OCD, in a backwards way, makes it better. Don't give up.

Warning: Do not tempt stairs

2012-01-29T21:57:00.000-06:00

*Disclaimer: I have no proof that anything illegal happened. But also I like this explanation the best.

OK. SO. I think mymom accidently got me stoned. But only just a little and I’m really sure it wasa total accident. Let me go back.

My mom has become all earth muffin and peace and tranquilitywhich totally makes sense because that is kind of how I am too, but I did thinkit was funny/enlightening when she bought Hanukah themed Christmas gifts and mykids wanted to know when we get to light our 8 candles and do we put them underthe tree? So part of her holistic approach to damn near everything (excepting,of course, her boxed wine because everybody needs a grown-up’s juice box) is nochemicals or additives or dyes etc. She got me some great bath soaps and airfresheners and candles of all organic soy and oatmeal which I love. She alsogot me some sage. In case you aren’t a totally open-minded spiritualist, sageis used to cleanse your home or space of negative energy. I already do thatanyway with mental exercises designed to keep the crap out and I was going todo the sage soon I just hadn’t acquired it yet.

A few weeks later I still had not cleansed my home with thesage because it just didn’t feel right yet. I was waiting for the right energyto cleanse with. So after work one night I had around an hour before Boyfriendand I were going to eat with my dad who was in town to sing in a concert. Noone was home, my house was clean, I looked nice, and the energy felt right. SoI lit my sage and started working my way from corner to corner and all aroundevery door.

In about 2 minutes I realized that this sage was a littledifferent. But cleansing I did continue to do. Then it got weirder and thesmokey end got smokier. And I recognized the smell. It was weed. (You know,assuming that I know what weed smells like). And I blessed and I blessed and Ismoked up my house til I got that burn in my chest. (You know, assuming that Iknow what that feels like). Then I’m all “this is not just sage. There is WEEDIN HERE!” But now I can’t NOT finish because I started and also because I wasgetting a little paranoid about the sage getting me into trouble and alsobecause how often does your mom accidently get you weed/sage?!

So THEN I needed to call Boyfriend and tell him that I’meither stoned or over reacting either of which are highly probable. And hecomes over and he’s all “It smells like weed!” and I’m like “I know! What do Ido?!” but there weren’t many options at that point because I already did thesage blessing. I couldn’t undo it. When my dad and another singer arrived at myhouse I’m all “Soooo…what do you think it smells like in here? Literally noreason. Just curious.” And they are all “Weed. It smells like weed.” And so nowI’m thinking well hell; now I accidently got buzzed on some sage and now I’vegiven a contact high to SINGERS. Good job, me. Also my dogs were prettymellowed out that night.

Fast forward to the next day when we went to the actualconcert. I’m not sure that blessing your house with weed disguising itself assage is an effective blessing. We ran a little late for the concert. But we atleast got there in time to slam the top of Boyfriend’s manly truck into the topof the clearance thing in the parking garage. We got into the concert hall justin time to miss the first few notes which meant that we had to stand in theback for about 15 minutes until there was applause so we could move to ourseats. I had on cute boots but no particularly towering heel or anything.

Intermission. We were having a good time. Can you tell?

And then we reached the end. Now Ifeel as though I must remind you of what took place in this specific recitalhall approximately 11 years ago. This was where I was asked to enter into amarriage that was ultimately doomed to suck ass. Which is not ideal. So I was a little bitunhappily reminiscent already. Most ly just that state of irritation that stillfollows me day to day that everyone keeps telling me will eventually getbetter. Neat. Anyhow, as we left the concert hall, it was necessary to walkdown about 6 steps. At the top of the steps I decided to curse the room and itsbad energy by telling it out loud that it sucked at marriage. Do not eff around with rooms. This was when theroom decided to shove me down. The stairs. Head freaking first. But I am a fighter!I grabbed the hand rail and dug my toes into that top step. Boyfriend wasalready at the bottom of the stairs. So as I flew forward he reached out tograb me with the hand I didn’t have on the hand rail. So picture this…My toesare dug into the top step, my arms are flung out to either side hanging on fordear life, my face is about 6 inches from the bottom step but I NEVER ACTUALLYFEEL DOWN. I’m just suspended in the air like a ninja or a hammock. And THEN I had to figure out how to dismountmy amazing aerial feat, so arms firmly holding Boyfriend and the rail, I slowlywalked my legs down to the same step as my face and then ever so gracefullyhoisted myself back upright.

I guess the lessons learned here areif you are going to bless your home with sage, make sure that it doesn’t get anextra special blessing if you don’t want to then be thrown downstairs by theuniverse. At least that’s what I’m taking from this experience. Also, fallingdown stairs makes you feel like you got beat up by angry hookers looking fortheir money. (You know, assuming I know what that feels like.)

100 things is way so many things. This is harder than I thought. Onward.

2012-01-23T16:34:00.000-06:00

10) Lexi
I need no help with understanding how messed up it is that my kids got one listing and my dogs each get their own individual number. But to be fair, I put my kids first and they kind of come as a set anyways. So...Lexi. Dear sweet little ceramic baby Jesus that came with a nativity set that I threw away when moving and had all kinds of guilt complex about throwing away the baby Jesus...that stupid ass little dog may just be the best and worst idea of all time.

She pees in the floor. She poops in the floor. She barks. She has furry, curly terrier hair that has to be trimmed and washed and brushed all the time. She chews fracking everything and cries and cries to get her way. She is the saddest, most pathetic little blob of canine that you ever did see and I couldn't live without her. Neither could Boyfriend. We love her.

She came to me a couple years ago when she was hell bent on getting hit by a car in front of my old house. The neighbor kids were chasing her and her brother dog all over the damn place insisting that they were going to scare the poor dogs to death if the cars didn't get them first. I took them both in and tried mightily to find their homes. Then I gave up on that idea and tried to find new homes. Boy dog found his new home but there was Lexi. I was still just calling her "dog" at that point. I already had a dog and didn't need to get attached to another one. But the kids were calling her Lexi and soon, without ever meaning to, I had a new dog named Lexi. Fun Fact: 2 months later when Lily wanted to invite her best friend to her birthday party I said "OK, what's her name?" and she says "Lexi". So I said "Wait. Hold up. Like our dog?" Of course, like our dog. I had inadvertently allowed my kids to name my dog after a girl in her class. So of course I told her mom that at the party. "Hey you know how your kid is named Lexi? So is my dog. Our dog is named after your kid. But it's meant to be a compliment so it's cool."

Lexi is the best cuddle dog ever if you count laying directly on your face as good cuddling. She has a remarkable ability to turn all of her bones to jello once she lays in your lap. You can just move her all around without any resistance. it's kind of awesome. Also, she can jump about four and a half feet straight up into the air from a dead stand still. And sometimes she can do that while you are bent over getting dog food or picking something up and wail you right in the face and bust your lip or crack your nose. Apparently.

11) Peter
Pete is about 40 pounds of solid muscle situated so close to the ground that you have no chance of staying on your feet if he decided he doesn't want you to be on your feet. He is lab shrunk up into a corgi. He is the dumbest looking dog that you ever did see and not the sharpest tool in the shed either. But we love him. he requires a step stool to jump on the bed at night. And God forbid you lay a towel or hat or any other small object on the stool because that will render the stool ineffective. And he will stand by the bed and cry and cry until you move it. His short little legs make him exactly eyeball height when he hind legs it to let you know that he needs help getting onto the bed so that he may circle around approximately 14 times and unmake all sheets in the process. He also has a disturbing oral fixation that causes him to lick literally everything all the time. And he has an intense dislike of panties apparently. My hypothesis for this stems from the fact that he eats the crotch out of my panties at least twice a week. I'm forever buying new panties. Not that I mind. I have a strange obsession with lingerie so it's not that sad when I must buy more. But if I wore granny panties it would sure cost a hell of a lot less each week. (Yes I realize that by NOT leaving my clothes on the floor this would be a moot point but that just isn't in my nature. Don't judge me.)

As I have mentioned before, Boyfriend has been in the process of renaming Peter. Peter is now Boyfriend's dog and his name is Sausage. Only not just Sausage, but say it like you are on Jersey Shore. Like "SAUCE-edge." And now Boyfriend's son has adopted the name and the dog. I feel like pretty soon ~~Sausage~~ Peter is going to forget me. And holy mother of balls if that dog can't eat anything no matter where you try and hide it or high how you try and put it. For having such tiny legs and wickedly disproportionate body, he is like a cat the way he climbs and gets into things. Except getting into bed. He can't figure that Mensa puzzle out.

12) Beer
I never used to be a beer drinker. I was strictly a wine girl. And even then, just a bit on occasion. Then a branched into some fabulous fruity drinks that require all variety of juice and sugar and make you a fatty fat fat when you drink them all the time. One night, at kickball, beer was the only option. And it was cold. Like freaky butt cold. So I started drinking beer. Because there were literally no other options if you don't count my own urine. At first, I almost would have preferred my own urine, but that's because I was drinking Coors Light. Note to self: Coors Light is like drinking urine. Fortunately I have some decent friends who don't drink piss that allowed me to try some actual beer. I started with Pale Ales and worked my way up.

Now I consider myself something of a beer snob. I'm all about the hops and the tones of the flavor and the color and texture and how drunkity I'll get if I drink enough. Not that the goal is to get drunkity. It's not. Currently I am enjoying the dark lagers and ales. Not much into the stouts. I've discovered some of the Belgian and German beers that make me all happy inside. I'll drink a Mexican beer with Mexican food but none of that "lite" business. I like flavor. I'm also drinking some various wheat beers and always always always will say yes to a Shiner Bock. I'm good with a Stella on draft too. And pretty much any kind of beer that someone buys for me while I'm out is OK. I haven't paid a bar tab since I got divorced. I'm gonna keep running with that for a while. I would love suggestions if you've got them. Hint: Nothing that requires an orange slice.

It's also about time for a real live beer fridge at my house. It seems that my wide variety of tastes has caused there to be very little room left for things like food. Good thing Ramen doesn't need refrigerating.

13) Quiet
Quiet is a funny thing around my place. It used to be more valuable than things that are really valuable. (I'd say gold but that shit is up and down so much I wouldn't bet all my Ramen noodles on it). I have two kids and two dogs. Noise has always been a part of living. I taught piano and voice in my home. I'm a musician. I'm an artist. I'm expressive. I'm outspoken (loud). I'm used to quiet being this rare luxury that left my ears ringing with the sheer weight of the empty space.

Now quiet is too easy to come by. I can have quiet pretty much half of the time. Every other week to be exact. The quiet is hard. It is deafening. I never knew how loud silence could be. It screams at me "What did you do?! What happened in this house?! Why are all the voices gone?! Why are you alone?!" And I don't know. I know that Boyfriend and I keep the house alive with talking and laughing and dogs barking but there is always that quiet that envelops me every other week. It's there in the back when it's not right in my face. It's so quiet that I can't sleep. It's so quiet that I turn on nickelodeon in the bedroom just to block out the quiet. It's so quiet that I talk to my dogs and go out of the house and try to stay away from the mind blowing quiet. There is no quiet like that of having your kids go away because of someone else's choices.

But here it is anyway on my appreciation list. I appreciate it because now the noise isn't noise. It's life. It's the sound of my kids growing up. Growing up is noisy. Getting in trouble, playing games, watching TV, fighting with each other, dressing up the dog, practicing piano, talking on the phone...all those things that they do are so much more important to me now that I have the quiet to compare it to. I can't change it. But I can try and accept it. And I can for sure appreciate it.

Coming soon...more of this. Because there is a lot more.

More of my appreciation/thankful project

2012-01-21T18:24:00.000-06:00

9) My kids
First of all, it gives me the skeeves to start out with that number. Ew. But I am pushing through because ERP and all that. Anyhow, I sound like a complete cheese head being thankful for my kids but if I say I'm not I'm lying and also a terrible person. So...I am thankful for AND appreciative of my kids.

In case you don't know, I've got the two little ladies. Divas. Ball busters. Fireballs. Females. However you want to call it. They were both born in spectacularly awesome ways so check out this post and this one to catch up on that assuming you don't mind hearing lots about my vagina and the various fluids that came whence forth from said vagina. And that is how they came screaming into the world.

I spent the first few years of their lives at home with them. Which looking back on it is the best gift anyone could've ever given me. It was hard and sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out and sometimes I wanted to pull their hair out and sometimes they cut off their own hair and also some of the dogs. But we all survived. Together. So now that I only get to see them every other week I'm hanging on to those early years. Although make no mistake, I NEVER want another baby. I am most appreciative of the fact that they are actually kids now and not little bawling poop bags. It's way cooler like this.

My kids are eerie little blends of me and that one guy that used to live in my house who I don't want to talk about anymore. Grace is my pay back for having a sassy mouth when I was growing up. She is also incredibly intuitive to the point of really creeping a person out when she will just straight up with out warning ask you an incredibly personal question about something that you hadn't even really accepted or dealt with yet. It'll kick you in the brain balls. Also she can kick you in the balls if you posses a pair. She's tough. and very scientific and athletic and determined and inquisitive. Never give her the impression that you think she is too young to understand something. She can probably explain it better than Therapist.

Lily is not just glass half full but glass almost all the way full so let's share it with everyone we know and make them a card to go with it and a song to sing while they enjoy whatever was in the glass because surely it is amazing and wonderful and made of sunshine and unicorns that sparkle and happy wishes. She will draw a picture or make a card for every conceivable occasion for everyone she might meet ever. She has to be bribed/wrestled to the ground if she is going to wear anything other than fancy dresses. Do not interrupt her jewelry and make-up process and if you value your life do NOT try to wake her up before she is ready. Never has there ever been a child who loves her sleeping more than she and you are likely to lose a finger or draw back a bloody stump when waking her.

It's not entirely fair to try and sum up my kids into a handful of paragraphs. I'll just say that my time is now more precious than ever...and if you are one of the lucky ones who get to have my children when I don't...you know my number...shoot me a text or something about them every now and then and don't ever take that time for granted.

I'm moving! But technically not actually going anywhere I hope.

2012-01-20T12:08:00.000-06:00

I'm gonna do it. For real. Probably this weekend. I'm scared to death but I'm just going to have to sack up and do it. I'm going to change my URL.

I've read everything there is to read and explored every option there is to explore. So what SHOULD happen is that once my URL is changed, this site will automatically redirect to the new site where everything should be exactly the same. Followers and all. Let's cross fingers, OK?

In the mean time, I'm here at this old URL full of all kinds of baggage. So after the switch the baggage will be only accessible in my archives and not right in my face everytime I log on. I'm moving on and moving up. Different and better for me. So please be patient. I'll try to make this as easy as possible. And then when it's all said and done, we will all wonder who was that person in that old URL? I like this new, independent one better. Angela Murphree. So Now You Know.

The first of the things that I promised for my project. Yes, I am actually following through. And there are dragons.

2012-01-17T09:53:00.000-06:00

This is the start of my project. Remember? The one where I am going to be thankful/grateful/appreciative/begrudgingly indebted to 100 things? It’s kind of a blogger thing that I kinda copied from other blogs. So if you want to join in, knock yourself out. Do it in the comments or on your own blog. Be thankful for 1 thing or 1000. Either way. The good news is that I already made my list of 100!! So that’s half the battle. I won’t give them to you all at once. It might take me a week. It might take me a year. You never really know. But keep up and stay thankful even when life hands you shitcakes. Especially when life hands you those. I’m going to do them in the order they came to me. It only seems fair.

1) Dragons
That’s why this first one is so weird. I sat down to make a list of 100 things I was thankful for. I cleansed my energy and focused my mind and started writing. The very first thing that came out was “dragons”. And I didn’t even notice until I was done with the list because I tried to do it without stopping. I tried to let it flow out organically. So when I looked back and saw “dragons” my only thought was “the fuck, me?!” But this came from me raw and unfiltered so I’m running with it.

I do appreciate dragons. I think it’s the mystique and the fantasy and the power and the fire. I think there is something uniquely feminine and overtly sexual about the storybook dragons. The dragons in my mind aren’t malevolent so much as protective and fiercely defensive of their reality. A dragon is what it is and only that. And that is enough. It is unapologetic for its fire and determination. It takes flight without asking for permission or requiring the acquiescence of any other creature.

She is beautiful, my mind’s dragon. She is not like any beast or reptile or human or animal you have ever seen. She is shockingly unique and frighteningly stunning. Repulsion or obsession, either way you can’t ever forget her. She owns her power and her responsibility. She takes authority over her fire and powerful body. She is simultaneously infuriating and calming. She is terrifying and exhilarating. She is real and she is symbolic. And that is why number 1 on my list is dragons. Join me another time as I make scrambled eggs and field mice sound terribly exotic.

2) Dogs
It came out fairly generic in my list. Later on I get more specific. But it came out at the top. Dogs. I love dogs. I love my dogs. I love other peoples’ dogs. I love the way dogs smell and feel and how they are warm and cuddle. I love them.

I am going to asterisk this entry and say that I do not love or appreciate the following:
Mean dogs
Biting dogs
Dogs that look at me funny
Dogs that smell like ass
Dogs with bug eyes.
Bald dogs
Teeny little shaky dogs
Poop
Chewed up shoes
Vomit
Yapping
Dogs who have superior attitudes. I don’t have time for snobby know-it-all-dogs.

3) Books
I could make an entirely separate list of 100 favorite books. Maybe someday when my life is in order I will. Don’t hold your breath. I might have books later on in my list. Anyhow, I’m not really into this e-book revolution. That seems counter intuitive since I write a blog which is transmitted electronically, but my sincere hope is that someday my words will be in a book. A real book made of paper and bound with a cover. And possibly not even on the clearance table. And maybe people will even read it and not use it as a coaster.

I love how books look and smell and I love seeing the hundreds of books on my shelf in all different shapes and colors. They are new and old. Some are pristine and some are falling apart. Many have notes in the margins or highlight marks or memories of the pages being folded to mark places. They have names written in the penmanship of a third grader saying “From the Library of Angela Murphree”. There are classics and neo-classics, fact and fiction. And also there are all four Twilight books. Sorry about that. I would like to make it up to my bookshelf with my vast collection of Stephen King and Christopher Moore. I like to look back on my books on my bookshelves and walk back through the places and times where I was with those books. Even the ones designated as “something hard to draw on when playing Pictionary or doing homework.”

Maybe someday you’ll catch me reading a book on a screen. But you can bet on the real pages being on my shelves.

4 ) Hot Showers
I don’t know if I can adequately sum up how I do love a hot shower. Not a warm shower or warmer shower. Hot. I like my shower hot. And I like to take my time.

I like to come out of the shower with about the top two layers of skin boiled to numb. I like to be bright red. I love the feeling of everything washed away. I’m not into all that loofa scrubby puffy crap. I don’t have some long cleansing ritual with all kinds of girly smelling shit and pastel colors. I have shampoo, conditioner, soap, and a razor. And I like to just be in the shower burning hot, letting the noise of the water quiet my racing mind enough to actually think individual thoughts and not masses of ideas all at once. I like the peace.

5) Black

I’m not entirely sure what I mean by this. This is what happens when you make a list while trying to be all zen and at one with lists or whatever. So let me try to break it down. I think I mean the color black. Or also possibly the Pearl Jam song which was the very definition of my angst in about 10^th grade. Eddie Vedder just gets me, you know?

I painted a wall in my bedroom black. Not during my 10^th grade angst due to the oppressive nature of the heartless and callous parents I was slave to. I painted my bedroom in my new home which I bought myself for me. And it is the most soothing room in my entire house. It is home. It is mine. It is cozy and unassuming. By unassuming I mean an ungodly mess all of the time. By cozy I mean there are clothes all over the floor and way too many pillows and dogs and people in my bed all the time. It’s black. But it’s mine.

6) Purple
The other walls in my bedroom/sanctuary are purple. Dark, rich purple. It completes the cozy and unassuming look. BUT…also purple are my purse, my kids’ rooms, most of my clothes, my converse kicks, some Mary Jane pumps, my wallet, my yoga pants, my yoga mat, my business cards, my jewelry, my glasses, my socks, my bra, my panties, my ear buds, my bedding, my pillows, and so on and so on and so on. I have a little bit of an obsession. Who would’ve guessed? Me, an obsession. Weird, right?!

7) Piano

A long time ago in a universe very similar to this one, I played the piano. I didn’t just play it. I lived it. It defined me. I am/was a classically trained pianist. This took me all the way to college where I spent 5 semesters busting my ass as a piano major and gradually coming to loathe everything about being on the bench. So I did what any logical person would do…I got a voice degree and got a job as a pianist. It sucks way less when they pay you and they don’t grade you at the end.

I’ve spent the time since then playing at weddings, funerals, parties, banquets, conferences, retreats, and the one “celebration of life” party. I have experienced all kinds of drunken groomsmen, sobbing families, and unsolicited karaoke requests. I have taught students from 4 years old to so old that I’m not entirely sure they are still counting. I’ve sustained numerous injuries to my thumbs, shoulders and back because I am a hardcore bitch about my piano skillz.

Sometimes I still get paid to play. Most times it’s just for me anymore. But even if no one wants to listen, I’ll still be there, on the bench, for better or for worse.

8) BoyfriendI love that I subconsciously made Boyfriend number 8. Because everyone knows that 8 is the perfect number. Especially to me as an Obsessive-Compulsive.

I used to have Husband. That didn’t really work out so well what with Husband having Girlfriend and me still being Wife. But anyhow, yadda yadda got a divorce and thank you God for Boyfriend. I won’t go over it all again. That’s why I have archives. But to re-cap, Boyfriend is Dual. And I am in love with him because I choose to be. He takes care of me and hasn’t flinched not even once at my crazy. And I did not hold any back from him. He found me at a time in my life when crazy couldn’t even begin to describe me. And I tested his limits. And he found me in there. I pushed and pushed and pushed to try his patience and endurance. And he found me in there. I was completely raw and uninhibited and had no inner monologue. And he found the real me in there. In all that mess. And I think I found him too.

We've walked remarkably similar lives, Boyfriend and I. And also we are from worlds so different that I literally need him to explain to me the things that he references from childhood because they are words and events that I don't understand. We are opposite. But it works. And when it stops working, IF it stops working, we won't lie or hide or make excuses. We've already tried that before with other people and it sucks. We do everything illogically, because the logical "suppose to" order of things hasn't really worked for us in the past. So Boyfriend is number 8 on my list. Not quite as highly esteemed as dragons apparently, but important enough to be number 8.

More to come...

Surveys. Or really just tell me what to do.

2012-01-12T11:45:00.000-06:00

Pressing issue number 1:
Last year I was a speaker at the International Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Foundation's annual conference. It was amazing and liberating and healing and really fun. I already plan to attend the conference again this year fo shizzle, but my dilemma is: Should I submit a proposal to speak this year? I just don't know. What if I DON'T get picked this year and feel like an ass hat? What if I do and the stress for the entire last year catches up to me and it's not that great? What if I panic at the last minute and can't fly? What if I run out of money and can't go? Tell me what to do here.

Pressing Issue number 2:
My blog is a big part of me and part of my life. It is linked all over the place thanks to other bloggers and blog rolls. I have no intention to stop writing no matter what happens in my life. Y'all are like my diary. My secret secret diary that people all over the world read. BUT the URL is kind of balls right now. Go ahead and look. It gives me cold chills every time I have to type it in to repost or log-in. I want to change my URL but I'm afraid I will lose my readers and get lost. Should I change my URL? And if so, how do I go about it? How do I let everyone know where I am? How do I start over?! What happens to my archives??! Someone please help me!

Pressing Issue number 3: I am going to be starting an IOCDF chapter in Oklahoma. Will you be involved? Sharing the word, coming to promo events, supporting the fundraising efforts to obtain our non-profit status, keeping me on task etc? This place has way too many of us nuts to not have an oak tree we can all fall under.

HELP!

I'm going to attempt a project. I suck at projects. Don't hold your breath.

2012-01-12T11:34:00.000-06:00

But first before the project...things that have been happening:

I had this raging beast of strep throat last week. I tried to keep pretending that it wasn't strep throat. I was just tired or stressed or had allergies. That inability to swallow was really a good thing because then I wasn't really eating as much, right? And it hurt and hurt and finally I decided to bite the bullet and look at my tonsils in a mirror. A magnifying mirror. Which is the dumbest thing ever. Because my tonsils could have been in wikipedia as "gross and over exaggerated example of frick nasty infected tonsils. Notice all the white pus and enormity of the entire area. This is possibly grosser than herpes." Blah. It was awful. So I stayed in bed and I'm still suffering through the antibiotics which are awesome and horrible at the same time. Antibiotics are like stomping on your foot so your headache wont be so bad. They make me all kinds of socially inappropriate in the gastrointestinal region ifyouknowwhatimean. I'm socially inappropriate other ways normally so it didn't do much for that either. Anyhow, I'm working on regaining human status. I even washed my hair and everything.

Yesterday at my awesome work, which really is awesome, I don't say that facetiously, I had the BEST complaint. For real. This is a hall-of-famer. I will protect the identity of the complainer but I can say female, older, maybe an accent that inferred that English was not the first language...

I never really had a chance to say much. So I'll just run you down the lecture I got. Honestly, she came in, dropped some knowledge on me and took off. I wish she'd had a microphone to throw down.
I want you to know something. You charge too too much price. I buy sunglasses here for 100 dollar. Then I go to mall and see exact same sunglass for 45 dollar! you are unfair! You charge too much. I do not understand why I must pay 100 dollar here for sunglasses when I go to mall and lady at mall say I can have the same sunglasses for 35 dollar! It is not right. Some people have a lot of money and don't worry about being overcharged. I do not worry how much it cost. I just buy what I want and do not worry about cost. but not all people are lucky to not have to worry about price. You overcharge and you have way too much money. It is not fair how you price. I go to mall and can buy exact sunglasses for 25 dollar! AND HERE IS THE BEST PART: You know, that you and your money cannot go to heaven. When you die and go to heaven you no take any of your money that you overcharge with you. It mean nothing there. In heaven God judge you on if you were fair to other people. You are unfair. God will judge you on how you take money and have unfair price. He will judge you for treating people this way. You needed to know that. AND SHE WAS OUT.

OK, for real?! If that's all God takes issue with me on, then I am good. Pretty sure I have a whole mess of people that have already told Him all about me and brought me up on all kinds of charges for Him to judge. There are probably entire prayer circles devoted to saving me from myself and saving the world from my outlandish influence and poor choices. I hope these groups at least wear cute shoes. I would like to think I have at least bestowed something worthwhile on humanity. I guess I'll just have to trust God when I actually converse with Him myself. Seriously though, I know I'm getting stronger because that might have made a more fragile me cry. But I laughed my damn ass off for like a solid hour. And then sat at my desk and counted my millions with one of those adding machines with the pull handle while admiring my jewels and furs and leather shoes made from the hides of baby seals and poor people.

Also, I almost got my mastiff again. He was beautiful and perfect and 120 pounds. Boyfriend is all "it's expensive and the turds are enormous and you don't have enough money for Therapist why get a big-ass dog and blah blah blah." I hate it when he is all reasonable and then follows it up with "but I will support your decision." ARGGGG! Also, Boyfriend has adopted my Peter as his own. (If you are new, I have 2 dogs, Peter and Lexi. Peter is my black lab shrunk down into the body of a corgi. He is all the color and temperament and bark of a lab but with little squashy legs. And he is powerfully thick. He is a dense ball of strong angled just under your center of gravity so as to wipe your feet right out from underneath you when he runs full tilt around the corner. And if that doesn't get you, the enormous tail is like being flogged on your shins. Lexi is Yorkie/Schnauzer and thinks she might be an actual person. She lays in the bed under the covers with her head on the pillow when we sleep. her favorite things to do are constantly have at least 80% of her body touching you at all times except when she does her other favorite thing which is poop on the floor.) So anyhow, Boyfriend says the Pete is HIS dog and Lexi is MY dog. He and Pete seem to have a very special cuddling relationship at night. It's mildly disturbing. Also he has changed Pete's name to Sausage. And it is actually starting to catch on. Whatever. I'll have my man dog someday. And Boyfriend has to clean up Sausage vomit now.

OK...project...K so a lot of other bloggers have been doing a 100 Things to be Thankful For challenge. I guess technically it was a Thanksgiving thing, but A) I don't like holidays B) I do things on my own time. So I'm willing to try this. But you must try with me! I'll do it in different posts. Leave some of the things on your list in the comments or start your own list on your blog. I might suck at it but remember how it's a new year and I'm gonna be all up with people? YAY! I LOVE THINGS AND PEOPLE! For real. I'm looking for all the good right now while the bad still taunts me from the sideline and wants to come back out onto the court.

So that's that. I'd love to hear from you. My comments are always open.
Later!

I seriously didn't see this coming. He's a charmer that one.

2012-01-05T19:26:00.000-06:00

I would like to take this opportunity here at So Now You Know to introduce you to someone. His name is Dual. And in case you haven't been paying attention closely enough or don't stalk my facebook or you are new...He is Boyfriend now. Yes, I, after not having a boyfriend since 1994 if you don't count that one that I don't talk about anymore, have Boyfriend! He is so cool. So, now you know. (See what I did there?)

I met Dual when he grabbed my arm out from behind me as I sat at a bar this summer. I didn't even see him sitting there when he took my arm, looked at my wrist, and carefully crafted his pickup line..."Did you do that to yourself?!" Which is when I then in a cold panic decided, OK, I've tried this a couple times trying to pretend like I'm totally normal like everyone else, but I'm just not. I'm not like everyone else and I don't like pretending. So let's see how he likes this..."Yes. I did. I did that to myself. Because I am 30 and in the middle of a crappy divorce and I have two kids and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder that I manage with daily medication and sheer will and I'm also every kind of odd and a lot of work. You wanna do this?" And he just says "Yeah!"

And so it went, or really so it goes. It continues to go. Who would've thought that anyone would have the energy for my mouth and my shoes and my clumsy and my crazy. But he does. At least for now. And I love him. It's cool. He's cool when I say that because we talked about it. It's even facebook official. So I'm just going with it day by day and letting myself take chances and see where life goes. because that's what I do. And for now Boyfriend is living life with me. So you'll hear about him. He's also super handsome and makes me laugh.

He is very gentlemanly. Like opens doors and pulls out chairs and does nice things. Sometimes it startles me. Sometimes I'm all "Whoa what the hell are you doing what's this what's going on here don't sneak up on me back off you are freaking me out what is happening here are you trying to rob me?!" But no...he for real is just helping and not even a little trying to take my purse. Right?!

My dogs seem to think he is pretty cool because anytime I move at all they are both all up in my spot cuddling and playing like they are asleep so they don't have to move. And then I try and drag them out of the chair/couch/bed or whatever and they play like they are still asleep and turn into dead weight. Then once I reclaim my spot, they pounce back up virtually ignoring and crushing me with 60 pounds of combined dog all at once. Also, Boyfriend talked me out of getting a Mastiff. FOR NOW. I will have my man-sized dog someday...

Boyfriend is a super cool. Like I said, one day at a time down the road we go, but make him welcome here. Yall are the best.

Conversations with Jesus

2012-01-04T19:43:00.000-06:00

Me: Hey, Jesus? Are you even there anymore? Because sometimes it feels like you have totally left me hanging here.

Jesus: Really? You're going to tell me about being left hanging?

Me: OK. Bad analogy. But hey, there you are! Where you been at? Cause for REAL Jesus, I have been through some shit lately.

Jesus: I know.

Me: Then what is the deal with that?!

Jesus: The what?

Me: Don't play all innocent "I've never sinned blah blah blah I have no idea what you are talking about" You know exactly what I've been through. Don't act like you don't. Except...do you know exactly what I have been through? You never exactly got married and divorced...allegedly. And nobody kicked you out of your own church. Kind of. Crap. Maybe they sort of did, but still about the divorce thing. You don't know. And you've never been a single mom.

Jesus: OK. So why do you think I can't understand that?

Me: My kids are gone half the time. It's not my choice. And I was betrayed dammit!

Jesus: Oh, right! I have NO idea what betrayal and loss feel like. Not even a little.

Me: Crap.

Jesus: So how are you dealing with this?

Me: Well, apparently not like you because I already got un-welcomed at two different churches now. And I fail at relationships. I'm not all Jesus-y enough. We can't all be Tim Tebow, OK!

Jesus: Yeah...that guy sure is something isn't he? I been trying to get him on the line now for a while. I need his autograph! Or just like a handshake or something...I bet he's super strong...

Me: Jesus! back to me. Sorry I mentioned Tebow. But for real, here's the deal...I want to be like you. I feel like we get along pretty well. I feel like out of all the people who have left me, you are the only one who hasn't and I don't think you will. But according to SOME people, I'm not good enough for you. And the places that I go to hang out with you and other people at the same time, they're all "Nope, not here. Not enough like Jesus." which is totally weird to me because I feel like I am doing my best to love and forgive and all that other stuff that is really hard and I don't want to. Why are people douches to me?!

Jesus: You can be a douche.

Me: Really, dude? Did you just call me a douche?

Jesus: and you can be kinda mean.

Me: Got it.

Jesus: and douchy sometimes. And you got a mouth on you woman.

Me: GOT IT.

Jesus: Not that they should. But then again you shouldn't always either.

Me: Right. I hear that. But also I thought I've heard you telling me things so many times before and that ended up turning to crap.

Jesus: Like, what? I mean I know, but I want you to tell me to see if you know.

Me: OK...like I KNOW you called me to different churches. I felt it. I heard it. All the things that needed to happen lined up just right. Then I got kicked in the girl nads. Twice. And then I KNOW that I was supposed to be married and I KNOW that we were supposed to teach newlyweds. But then that failed. And I do everything I can to manage my diseases because I KNOW you gave them to me for a reason but they are hard and why does everything that you set out for me and confirm for me that I am supposed to do turn out like crap?! Was I wrong every time I listened to you and totally misunderstood every time? Am I ruining everything that you planned for me?!

Jesus: I never said I DIDN'T call you to all those things. I never said you messed anything up. I never told you that you DIDN'T follow what I called you to do. At that time...

Me: I might be understanding what you are saying. I mean I think I totally just got nut busted with some clarity from you. But why don't you go ahead and spell this out for me...

Jesus: I called you to the first church on purpose. You were married and divorced on purpose. If you never did it, how would you be getting through it alone this time around. You needed to know what it was like to be hurt in that particular situation. Then you knew you could handle it alone. Well, with me, but you know what I mean by "alone".

Me: Well, I didn't know that I could handle it...I just did. Because I knew you wanted me to...And because I HAD been there before.

Jesus: Right?! And then about the illnesses...how would you have been strong enough to live with mental illness on your own if you hadn't been set up for that period of time to really focus and work on overcoming the disease. I'm not stupid. I know what you need. Because I can also see where you are headed in the future. And you needed some training. And you still will. So I'm gonna put you in tough spots to get you ready. And you will come out on the other side with a choice...keep trusting me to know what I'm doing, or get all bitter and hag like. And douchy.

Me: Damn. I hate so much when you have to spell it out for me. Why didn't I see it like that before?

Jesus: You weren't ready yet. And you didn't ever just ask me. I heard plenty about how pissed and hurt you were, and I was there offering you my comfort. But you never really asked

Me: Thanks, Jesus. I love our talks. I promise they won't be as one-sided as they have been for the last few months. And one more thing.......when you were born were you really 8 pounds and 6 ounces? Because that would rule.

Jesus: Really?

I'm done after this. This is the last time I speak of it.

2011-12-29T13:27:00.000-06:00

To the Man who broke my heart:

We would have been married for 10 years today. I looked forward to this day since the day we got married. Remember how it snowed that day? We should be celebrating 10 years of ups and downs and tragedies and triumphs. We were going to look back at all the things we had done as a team and look forward to everything to come. We were going to build a house on 5 acres. We were going to retire and get an RV and travel the country. We were going to have a lake house and surround ourselves with our friends and family. We dreamed of a life. We lived a life. And suddenly, it all came to an end. What went wrong? Where did lukeandangela go? How did I let this happen to us and to our kids? This wasn't how today was supposed to be.

I keep trying to start at the beginning and walk all the way up to the point where you stopped loving me. The point when my world collapsed. Remember when we were just kids? There was so much laughing. We walked in the rain. We talked about everything from the intense to the inane. So many fun times. We played and honked and ran and loved each other. We really did. Then we talked and shared and became a team. A team that shared everything and always valued honesty and trust. We worked hard and we overcame obstacles that seemed insurmountable. We taught other married couples how to communicate and how to love and how to stay clear of the devastating effects that even a little temptation to stray outside of the team can cause. We built a wall around our relationship to keep it safe. We believed in us. I respected you. You were a man with integrity. You practiced what you preached. And we were happy. Weren't we?

Do you remember all the hours we could spend in a bookstore? I always loved how you devoured books. You could never learn enough. Do you remember how nobody ever wanted us to play on a team together because we had that unfair advantage of thinking each other's thoughts? Do you remember creating our first home and painting pictures and being so excited? And the pictures turned out so ugly but we hung them anyway. You taught me how to open myself up and introduce myself to people. You listened to people and understood them. You were always aware of the people around you. You stood out as a strong leader. And I admired you. You told me once that you never wanted to hear me say the word "can't". I still hear you saying it to me to this day. Even now, when I feel like I've lost everything and I have no hope and no future and no belonging or value and think I can't handle the pain for one more second...I hear you say "I never want to hear you say the word 'can't'. Yes you can." We were installing a ceiling fan in our first home. You wanted me to hold the fan over my head and I said "I can't". And that stays with me everyday. It seems silly, really. The same way a purple surge protector could have been so silly and yet so meaningful all at once.

I know that I was a burden. I have a disease. I will always have that disease. But it was controlling me. I know I didn't pay attention how I could've. I didn't do things right. And that left you neglected. So I worked. I worked so hard to get better mentally. And it was the hardest thing I had ever done up to that point. This tops that as the hardest thing ever. And I started getting better. And better. And soon I was independent which is what you said you always wanted for me. I worked and drove and taught and brought in money and felt like I was renewed. And you said "I have my wife back. I have my best friend back". And it brought tears to my eyes because I didn't even realize how much of me had been missing. But I was back. And then you encouraged me to submit my proposal to the conference only 10 months ago. And I did. And I spoke at the conference! You were supposed to be there though... That was the plan. My original proposal didn't include the parts of the speech I actually ended up giving. The part about how to survive loss and devastation and loneliness. Let alone OCD. But I did it. I did it.

Do you remember that Christmas when we found out we were going to be parents? And we were going to do it differently than everyone else. We were going to do it right. Remember the hours and days and weeks we poured into each other as we decided how and why we wanted to raise our kids the way we would. We had dreams for them and plans for them and we were going to be there to see them graduate and go to college and get married. We named them things that had meaning to us. I was so proud to have your last name and to be able to give that to our kids. Remember the Christmas that we were snowed in? Remember the red and green pancakes? and the PJ's and the smores and the movies? We didn't have that this year. This Christmas was not how it was supposed to be.

Do you remember when we renewed our wedding vows? Remember the music and the posing and the pictures and the gold suit? And we laughed and danced and drank champagne. Do you remember getting that tattoo right after that? It was fun and impulsive. Do you remember when I got the tattoo to match? And then we wanted to do something even more meaningful and we tattooed names on our backs? Do you remember it when you see it? Do you remember loving me then? Was it still there? Or had you already stopped? I meant those vows. "I promise to remain faithful only to you until our days on earth are finished and we meet again in heaven." I meant them the first time, I meant them the second time, and I would have done anything to make you happy again. Because I vowed to. In good times and bad. Under Holy matrimony. And it was just that to me...Holy. It was sacred and real and tangible and spiritual and not something I ever questioned. Until I was too late to question it. It was just gone. I lost my faith in what is Holy. I lost faith in humanity. I lost faith. I lost hope. I lost.

Remember all of the pictures that we had? Remember the scrapbooks and the frames and the program from a recital that you framed and had our kids sign? I look at our pictures...when our kids were born, our birthday parties, the picture from our wedding that was completely candid as we laughed together, the kamikaze bathroom ninjas, our life as we shared it, and I try to figure out which ones are the ones where you had stopped loving me. Because I can't find it. I look at the very last pictures we took as a family. As a couple. "Just be yourselves" she said. And we whispered into each other's ears, and kissed and smiled. Not for the camera, but for each other. For our life. For our kids. And that was only one year ago last month. You were very convincing for having already stopped loving me. I wish it was as easy for me to forget as it seems to be for you. Because those were the best years of my life so far.

Do you remember when I found out about your affair? And I asked you upfront why and how and what did this mean? And you didn't know. "I don't know. I don't think I love you and I don't want to be married anymore" you said to me expressionless. It was flat and horrible and unrecognizable. And then you just climbed into our bed and went to sleep. Our marriage bed. Our room in our home. It was the worst moment of my life. Because for the first time I realized that my teammate, my best friend, the person who always had my back...had been sneaking around behind it. Everything I ever thought about you vanished. All those memories and pictures and hopes became fake. Like they were all a lie. I knew you were spending less and less time with me. I craved your words and your touch and your presence and your energy. But it wasn't there for me. Which makes sense. Because you didn't have any left over for me after spending it all on someone else. The grass isn't greener on the other side, it's greener where you water it. And my grass was all dried up. And you wouldn't let me near your grass. You didn't even tell me that you had needs that weren't being met. But I guess they were because you had someone else doing my job. And if you told me, I didn't understand. And I'm truly sorry. I'm sorry for all the anger and hurt I have directed towards you. I would have done anything to learn how to be better. A better friend, a better wife, a better mom. But you ran the first time it got hard for us. If only you had given me a chance. But you were too busy with someone else by then. I never stood a chance.

What hurts the most is that you never fought for me. Yes, I had always asked you never to lie and never to cheat and if you did please do not make me go through the pain of accidentally discovering it, just tell me about it. So that was devastating when you did lie and cheat and make me find out on my own, but what hurts the most is that you didn't fight for me. You pretended to. You told me it was over with her. She meant nothing. You were going to do anything you had to do to make this right. You were going to save us. And you went to counseling with me. Three times. That's it. And you lied. And lied again. I was desperately trying to get to know you and reach you and talk to you because we were having hard times but we had VOWED to fight through and never give up. I thought it was working. But you were lying. And I looked foolish. You must have thought of me as so so stupid. Because that's how I feel about myself. I am so so stupid. I believed you when you sat in that room and "worked" on communication and healing. I believed that you were done in your other relationship and I was willing to give you time and space to heal as well. But you lied. You were with her the whole time. And you said you told her you loved her. I guess this is just how you treat people you love now. You never truly fought for me. I never stood a chance. I was so humiliated the day I had to go to therapy alone and tell her that I had caught you. Again. That it never had been over. That you never intended to make it right. It was humiliating. Is she nicer than me? Prettier than me? A better mom to my own kids than me? A better cook, cleaner, kisser, flatterer, partner, friend, confidant? It continues to be humiliating every time my family or any of the few friends I have left ask me how I'm doing. It's embarrassing to be a failure. To not be worth the energy for my own husband to even attempt to rebuild what we used to have. I guess it was never really that good in the first place. And I'm too dumb to have noticed. You used me up. You emptied me out. You threw me away.

You told me that you had wanted to leave for years because you were so unhappy. And it was my fault. Then why didn't you go? Why did you make me catch you in the act and force you out? Why couldn't you just leave. I deserved better than being lied to. She deserved not to be kept in secret. You treated us both like a shameful secret.

Do you remember how we traveled? We had so many experiences and firsts and amazing times? Do you remember the last vacation we took together? With our kids? Do you remember how it ended? Do you remember the words you said to me? Do you remember telling me that you hate me? Do you know what your eyes looked like? They were scary and I felt like I was trapped in an out of body experience. Who was that man that said those words? They cut. I still bleed. I am still raw. I am still stunned and overwhelmed and keep hoping that I will wake up from a nightmare where this stranger who looks like my husband said some of the cruelest and most heartless things to me that I have ever had inflicted on me. And I hope this man doesn't treat the newest "love" in his life this way. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Ever. I feel like my husband died. Maybe that would have been easier than you outright rejecting me. I miss him everyday. Sometimes I almost accidentally call him to tell him something funny or amazing. Sometimes I almost call out to him in my home. And then I remember that he is gone. He'll never be back.

I had this fantasy after you left us to move in with her that any day you were going to realize all you lost and come back. And apologize. And tell me how sorry and wrong and awful the whole thing was. And I was going to be angry but I was going to do anything to work to forgive and rebuild. Because I had vowed to. I understand that I have some ownership in this and I was already trying to change. I imagined that we would go back to counseling for real this time and work hard and start brand new because we deserved that chance. Our children deserved their parents to do everything possible to stay together in real partnership. They deserve to have us both, all the time, together as parents and friends and husband and wife, because that is what we were before them and that should've been what we were long after they move out. Not taking turns being a part of the important experiences in their lives. They never asked for this. I even had this wild idea that we would spend all this time working hard and recommitting and remembering why we loved each other to begin with. We would remember that love is a choice not an emotion. We would choose to stay in love even when we weren't yet back in like. And it would get better and we would fix the things that were broken and be stronger on the other side. And the sickest part of that fantasy was that I really believed that today, our tenth wedding anniversary, we would publicly recommit our lives to each other. We would start over. It would be an example for our kids and our families that we never give up. We don't say "can't" because yes we can. Yes I can.

Do you remember the last time you were happy? I do. And that's what I want to hold on to. Do you remember the questions that I asked you? Can you be honest with me just this one last time and give me the whole truth that I asked from you? Can you help me one last time? It may not make sense to you but nothing you have done has made any sense to me for the last year. I want to let you go. I want to be at peace. It's hard. Because I choose to love you. I'm just sorry that you didn't choose that for me. I wish our kids could grow up the same way we wanted them to. I wish that we didn't have to share them. I wish a lot of things. But I guess it's not up to me anymore. I'll just try to deal with the hand I was dealt. And do you remember when I said I would never give up on you? Well, I won't. We can't be together anymore. I don't want to risk the hurt again. But I will choose to always love you. Because that is my choice. And I decide not to stop. It's just different now. It wouldn't hurt so bad if I had never cared.

Do you remember how I told you that you made me want to be a better person? Did you ever know how much influence you had on me? Did I ever influence you? Well, you still do. Help make me a better person that is. You broke me and forced me to discover me inner strength and resolve and worth and power and femininity and ability to love at all costs and desire to never say "can't". You still make me a better person everyday. I just never expected that it would require you shattering my heart to do so. But for that I thank you. I thank you for the chance to step back and see all of the things that I CAN do. Yes I can. I thank you for giving me good times and great times so that when the bottom was so dark and so mean and so isolated I could remember that I have the right to get up again. I even realized that I can love again and I can let someone love me. I didn't expect it. I didn't go looking for it, but it definitely wasn't an accident. I decide to love him. I am in control of that. And the commitments and promises I make to him are my responsibility to keep. Not his to earn. You taught me that I don't have to earn love. I'm better than that.

I have the responsibility to teach my children to love even though it might hurt. I will teach them to forgive even when we want to hate. I will teach them to pick up their pieces and never let anyone else define their worth and never depend on someone else to make you happy. Only you can do that. Hear me, only YOU are responsible for your own choices and unhappiness and how you react in difficult situations. Hear me. You said "I can't". I don't ever want to hear you say "I can't". Yes you can.

You can move on. And you can love again. And you can choose not to hurt any other women in the way that you hurt me and your kids and our families. You can decide to take responsibility. You can be a different person. That's OK. We all change. I expected it. I changed too. I just expected that we would do it together. Like we promised. Ten years ago today. Happy Anniversary.

Okay this is happening. Don't try and stop me.

2011-12-27T19:21:00.031-06:00

Yes. This is about to happen. I'm not sure where it will end up. I'm not sure how to start. It might be incredibly poignant. Or mean. Or cause cringing or maybe applause or maybe just a little understanding. It is what I want to say and need to say and feel drawn to say. I will not defame or belittle or intentionally hurt or be ugly. But I want to tell the truth. I want to purge this story once and for all at the end of this month that would have marked my tenth anniversary. At the end of this year that has caused me more pain and more change than I ever thought was possible to even survive. And I almost didn't. And to be able to start brand new as a new person in a new year in a new life with new people. I hope to get a response. Maybe I won't. Maybe I will. Maybe it won't be at all what I want to hear but maybe I need to hear it. Either way...here we go:

To the Woman who took my husband:

Sometimes I am so angry with you. I want to hate you and curse you and track you down and make you hurt as bad as I do. You knew me. You knew my family. You knew that I loved my husband. You decided to keep pursuing him anyway. You let him continue to feed you his emotions. It hurts. It crushes. It betrays. It is a pain worse than death. It is abandonment and worthlessness and bitterness. It makes me feel like a failure as a wife and mother and friend and woman. It makes me cynical and untrusting of any other man. It makes me cynical and untrusting of other females. I made such an effort with you to reach out and try and be your friend because I knew the two of you had been friends for so long. I didn't want to. But I did. And I got burned.

But most of the time I hurt for you. I cry for you and I am sad for you. Because we are the same, you and I. As much as you think you hate me and think that we are nothing at all alike, we are the same. You have been wronged in your life. I know that and you know that. You have been let down and made vulnerable and put through the experience of marriages that crumble and life that is just unfair. And it is pain and confusion. You have been there. So how could you do it to me in return? What did I do to deserve your influence in my life. A negative wedge that cut further and further into my marriage. I don't know what you were told about our life together. Maybe it was true, maybe not. Probably not. But no matter what, you KNEW he was a married man with children and a wife who wanted nothing more than to make it work with him. And you didn't remove yourself. I realize how hard that would have been for you. I really do. I know you are hurting too and not having him would have meant having no one. I don't doubt there are feelings. Strong feelings that you have for each other. But at that time, he was committed to me or was at least pretending to be. And if you really loved him, you would have backed off and stayed away and allowed our relationship to either thrive or end in a natural and less hostile way. I'm so hurt that another woman could do this to me. A wife to a wife. I'm so unbelievably hurt by that. And it makes me wonder how badly you must be hurting to be able to go through with this and do the same thing to someone else. And that makes me sad.

I hurt for you because I was lied to at your expense. I was lied to about you. You were lied about. I was treated poorly and so were you. You might be still. I don't know. All of the attention and energy that should have been invested in my marriage was turned and invested into you. He gave up on me without trying. And now he has you. Why will you be different? He turned his back on us. I don't want you dealing with this again. I don't want my kids to go through this again. And then there are my kids...I answer questions. Will daddy stop loving me too? Where did daddy go? And I have no answer. Because the answer is that he is with you. And you let him. You let him leave us. And he stopped loving me with no warning. His commitment to me was solid up until the moment that it wasn't. And he didn't leave me. Not technically. For as long and as much as he said he loved you, he didn't leave me. He made me catch him in the act. And said he was sorry and vowed to do anything to make it right. We went to counseling. We went away together. He told me it was done with you and nothing was ever there in the first place. And wouldn't you know I caught him again. And still I had to be the one to file for a divorce. I had to stand up for myself. If you are worth the price of my family and security then make him stand up for you. Make him earn you because you are valuable and important and smart and beautiful. I don't have any question as to why he wanted to be with you. You are witty and kind. And that's the kind of man you deserve. One who doesn't involve you in so much pain.

So I leave this year and I reflect on what would have been my tenth wedding anniversary. I vacillate been hate and hurt. but really it's the same thing isn't it? I am angry because I hurt in every way a person could possibly imagine hurting. I've lost everything and it's hard not to blame you. You couldn't have controlled anyone but you, but with that being said, your choices cost me a hell of a lot. I don't hate you. You are just too painful for me to comprehend. And I make mistakes. BIG ones. And I lash out. I've hollared at Jesus a few times. And He reminds me to love and forgive but it is so hard. I'm sorry. I don't need to be best friends, but a little understanding would be nice. Some revelation that you get how it came to this. I want you to understand how lonely and awful it is to have to share my kids. I never chose to have them part time. I miss seeing them grow and you were instrumental in that situation coming to be. We are women. We shouldn't be divided. We need to believe in our worth. I am working on that. I am proud of what I have accomplished since my life changed. I am trying to love again. I am trying to forgive. And I promise you to the bottom of my heart that I will keep trying everyday to get better and forgive and let go of the hurt. Because I truly believe that it wasn't your intention to hurt me or my children. I don't think you meant for us to feel this way. Either of us. I hope you read this. I hope you respond. Your response would be welcome even if it is something I don't want to hear. I just want to know how you could do this. And then I want to move on and get stronger from the lessons I've learned.

to be continued...

She also talks about herself in third person way more than she used to

2011-12-27T19:20:00.000-06:00

I spent some time today re-reading a lot of things I have posted in the past. It was like this weird little journey into some one's life that I don't know. It was like I was reading about a stranger. Here is this crazy lady with all kinds of mental disorders, like LEGIT mental disorders, but has this seemingly amazing husband who is supportive and understanding. And she teaches marriage classes, at a church no less! She has kids and fun and love and mishaps and laughs. And she seems to have optimism and charming self-deprecation. But then she turns into this like, dark, injured, kinda bitter individual. And hurt and divorced and dating and enjoying some awesome beer. What the hell?

And that's the other thing about these posts from me/her that I was noticing today as I caught up...she curses SO MUCH now. Not so much before...but now it's like a damn sailor. Maybe it's the circumstances. Maybe it's all the trauma. Maybe it's a deliberate act to distance herself from the ideal of perfection that she was trying to be for so long. The "good" Christian and the perfect wife and the best mom and the most musical and creative. Maybe she was stifling herself all these years. And it seems from the progression of these posts and the cumulative nature of this blog that she is changing and growing and experimenting for better and worse, but has ALWAYS been honest. Every time. She was honest about things she believed to be true at the time. And when things changed, she was honest. And when she screwed up, she was honest. And she laughed and hurt and changed and cried and succeeded and failed in front of God and the blogosphere on the off chance that anyone actually was paying attention and may possibly have gotten the slightest bit of peace that they aren't alone. I know that I have realized that I'm not alone and thank God for it. Also, she makes me laugh because she is clumsy.

So go back and check out a few things. It may surprise you. It might make you miss the girl she used to be or understand a little better the woman that she is trying to become. It might make you mad but at least it will make you feel. It might make you cry or laugh or start cursing. Maybe you'll see Jesus as a totally different guy than you thought. Because He is constantly changing things up and I can't keep up dammit! But He stays patient and loyal and is the only one who has never left my/her side which is more than I can say for some other people I know. And damn it all if He hasn't left their side either which is infinitely irritating and also sooooo Jesus.

I don't know what's coming next. But I don't want to forget where I came from. That way when I get there I can appreciate the journey.

I am just the neatest.

2011-12-23T11:22:00.000-06:00

OK, remember how I have OCD right? And because of that I have pretty regular skirmishes with depression and generally unusual behavior? And how also I just got divorced in the most traumatizing way possible? And how that would totally eff up a normal person but seriously does some screwing around with crazy people? And how I have been relapsing and having all kinds of touch sensitivity and anxiety attacks and obsessions? K, well that's happening.

Silver lining first. I promised.

I see new Psychiatrist next week. And dear sweet little 8 pound 6 oz baby Tim Tebow with his little golden helmet throwing passes to the angels, I need this. NEED. THIS. I haven't been able to see Psychiatrist OR Therapist for the last couple months. Scheduling, insurance, fort building blah blah blah all got in the way of that. So the good news is that I have insurance! The good news is that I will be covered for mental health! The greatest news is that I am finally getting help again! The bestest news is that there is help for mentally ill or just extremely damaged people out there. I don't have to suck it up and pretend I'm handling everything the right way. I get to really experience it and live it and feel it and learn from it. Right now it feels similar to having my stomach carved out with a knife and perpetual sleep deprivation and crying and worthlessness and anger so intense that I swear I should not be left alone in the same room with a couple different people. But it feels. That's the important thing. It feels. And I have the opportunity to feel it get worse and then get better and then maybe worse again and then feel like poop problems but that may just be all the pizza and beer and then I get to remember it. And grow. And have a kick ass scar.

One more good news and then we shall move on to the more questionable of my choices lately... I have this boyfriend... I don't know where he came from. I mean, it feels like he just showed up in my life at the exact right moment and just jumped right in and is coming along for the ride. There are very few people with the guts/insanity to get in depth with me. I'm like an onion. A crazy-ass onion that just keeps peeling back layers of what the hell?! So anyhow, the other day he wasn't feeling very good and so because I am so mean and full of hatred (that was sarcasm, see previous post) I wanted to send him a feel better text. Something to the effect of "I love you because you are a kind and good person. I love you because you know just how to make me laugh" and he fires back..."It's easy to make crazy people laugh." And I did. I laughed so hard. My whole day was better because there was not a more perfect response and I didn't even see that one coming.

And in the crazy news...
I have this obsession lately with picking on someone in particular. Someone I may or may not have been legally bonded to for a significant period of time. I just can't seem to stop myself. I need to stop because it is childish, but I don't. I just keep at it. I may or may not involve another female who may or may not have equal culpability in ex's shenanigans. I like to call it shenanigans because then it's not so gut-wrenching devastating having been cheated and abandoned. Shenanigans is way nicer. And then I think of Super Troopers and then I smile. And my seven year old can "meow" anything. ANYHOW...I can not stop. Emails, texts, every form of picking that I can do. I'm pretty good at it though to be fair. For example:

(After the suggestions that I was responsible for all communication break-down and needed to just accept that this whole thing needed to happen and was unavoidable and that he desired my support in his choices and that I should act thusly because the past is over and was unavoidable in how it played out. There was no other choice.)

Stop being so passive-aggressive. I'm sorry I forced you to be unable to communicate and now understand that you have always been nothing but extra kind and honest and all miscommunication has been on my end. On account of the rage. I apologize that my actions have forced you to do and say things that you physically were unable to stop yourself from doing. I'm very powerful. Like a magician. Also I have apparently created a magical world where you are king and everyone speaks as though they are authoring a text book or Nobel prize winning essay. Me and my vagina will try to use our powers of telepathy and telekinesis to force politicians to speak wisely and force murderers not to murder and force Justin Bieber to hang himself. And the responsibility will lie solely with me and my vagina and will in no way cause the speaker or person any ownership.

Aaaaaand there you have my response to being told that I forced another woman to take my place. I know that's not true. I know I deserve better than that. I could have let it go. But no. Not the most mature response, but awesome at least a little. Yes. I know. I shouldn't do this.

I'll edit the next one as to protect the people involved and avoid defamation.

I guess when you told me that you would never accept anyone treating me that way and that I wasn't a piece of shit or a bitch you were just lying. I guess when you told me you would always pick me you were lying. **** is just the one who helped ruin my life which is perfectly acceptable because I'm not really all that valuable as a human apparently. It's cool...because I can handle it. No, I DESERVE it, right? Excellent. ...I wasted the best years of my life with you probably [cheating] the whole time. I only wish I caught your sorry ass sooner...I guess I was really really crazy. Otherwise I would have seen through your bullshit a long time ago.You must be proud when you look in the mirror. You are so proud of everything you've done. Maybe you should blog about it...When you are ready to leave her, man up and do it. Don't overlap it with someone else. That's all I ever wanted. If you don't want me, leave me. But don't replace me. I'm sure you are very emotionally healthy and honest now. Because you are different. You do things your way. No matter what.

Ugh. Ok. I know. I know. It's bad. It's really really bad and actually kind of mean. But I can't seem to stop doing it. It's what Psychiatrist will call "injured behavior". I know that. I know I am hurt and I'm doing the only thing that seems logical which is hurt right back. And I can't seem to make it hurt enough to balance out my pain and humiliation. So this is why I am outing myself. I know it's wrong. I do regret it. After I send it.

And for my grand finale I present you with...

And as for me being "needy"...I've bought my own home, work full-time, took care of all the mess you left behind for me, balance my family and my friends, create, perform, blog, still have demand as a speaker, travel, grow, teach, learn, experience my emotions fully and completely, I laugh and try things and meet people and I'm not scared to cry and hurt and I accept things as they come and have always been fiercely honest, I took the leap of faith to love again despite you, and I am not only surviving, I am a survivor. I am not crazy and I'm not afraid to admit anything about my mental health. I am not needy enough to have to wait for help to come to me, I get it myself. I wasn't needy enough to allow you or anyone else to walk all over me, so if that got me "kicked out of two churches for being unstable" then God bless unstable. I'm not so needy that I can't keep getting out of bed every morning and making choices and living with OCD. I'm not so needy that you were the one who did all the hard work making me better. I'm not so needy that I did it for you. I did it for me... I'm not so needy that I can't continue to work my ass off everyday to build a life for myself. One that I always wanted... I have never waited on anyone to approve of anything i am or what I say or what I believe or how I live. I have always stood strong and stood tall and never backed down even when I stood alone. I suppose that makes you needy enough to make someone do your dirty work for you. And I did. Because I am strong. And worth more than you try to make me believe. I am not needy. I am not scared. I am not going to back down or get pushed around. Never have. Never will. I have more resolve and determination and fearlessness and guts and brains and understanding of who I am then you have ever had. Think twice before calling someone needy. You might just be reflecting your own faults back to yourself.

Right?! What the hell, me?! I'm putting myself on shout because I need some kind of intervention or something. Also it's my backwards way of being a little bit sorry without having to actually say it. Blaaahhhhhh. I hate being grown-up. If this was the playground I could just push them both down and throw dirt in their hair and make them cry. Hopefully Psychiatrist will have some fancy new "Quit being an asshole and let it go" pills for me. Or at least help it stop hurting so much. Either way, I'll take it.

Let the comments commence...

Brilliant ideas that may or may not thinly vail some mild hostility. And impulsiveness. And borderline prostitution.

2011-12-22T15:50:00.000-06:00

Brilliant idea #1:

You may now call, text, email, drop by my house or work, send a carrier raven (thank you Game of Thrones), skype or in any other way contact me for my services which I shall now be offering. No I am not a hooker. Yet. Talk to me in a month and see how my car is holding up. No I will not be cooking or cleaning or basically doing anything at all. I will just be there. In fact, I don't even really need to BE there. You can just do this. I shall now be...drum roll...your official SCAPEGOAT!

It's brilliant, right? Here's why. Everyone I have ever known ever seems to already be blaming me for their problems or their choices or their consequences because somehow I have magically forced them to do things entirely against their will and against their better judgement so yes it is all my fault that everything is going wrong dammit! Not everyone I've ever known. Just a bunch. Church people, friend people, former family people, stranger people, and mostly ex-people. I like to think of it as my magical vagina magical using powers of mind control and conscience removal. Because apparently I magically force people to do things that they feel no guilt for because really, let's be honest, I brought this on myself. Specifically I brought it on myself because I am "mean" "have hatred in my heart" I am "unstable" and "needy". OK. Neat. I can work with that.

So NOW I figure I'll capitalize on my finely honed blame taking skills and take on all of your mistakes, regrets, misspoken words, bad choices, sadness, anger, and hate. I caused it all so I'll take it off your hands. I'll leave you guilt free and consequence-less. You are welcome! And in the spirit of Holidays, and to prove how mean I am I shall be charging you one million dollars. Payable now. Even if you haven't used my services yet. Because I am also very needy. And don't want to be a prostitute. Unless you are a very very handsome man. And also Ryan Gosling. Who I honestly would not charge. I would probably pay him.

Brilliant idea #2
Every time I complain about something I have to balance it with something awesome. Something funny or insane or inspiring. Because I am an inspiration dammit! Here's mine for today...I was telling a story at work and used the phrase "Mrs. Clause had a vibrator" and totally did not mean it the way it sounded but I didn't know if I should point out how awesomely inadvertently funny it was or just keep going so I just stood there with my mouth open like a damn fish and decided to breeze past it and keep talking when another woman in my office goes...huh huh vibrator. And then I remember why I like to work here.

Brilliant idea #3
Since I seem to be in the less than festive and slightly bitter stage of life even though I have the best closet space I've ever had (see...silver linings!), I need blog help. HELP ME! Ask me questions. Throw out some scenarios to better understand how a crazy person would handle that situation. Challenge me. it's like truth or dare but without teenagers and acne and every dare being "you kiss her...on the mouth." Seriously. I'm losing my edge. I watched the Hallmark channel for like 10 whole minutes the other day without throwing the remote through the TV. Then I put on a show about serial killers.

Brilliant idea #4
I want to get a dog. Not just a dog, but a mastiff. Why a mastiff? who knows? I just saw one and thought "you know, Angela. You need another dog right now. A ginormous ass dog that drools and has turds the size of your kids. You need a dog that looks ferocious but actually just lays there like a bump on a log. Just like you are! Ferocious looking but lazy! And also it needs to be black. Why, black? Don't know. Just get on that woman." So I'm gonna do that. because I listen to my instincts. I always have. And so far my instincts have often been really good. Or really really bad. But either way...good stories and lessons learned.

And that is what I am going to do with my brilliant ideas. More to come.

I have never posted about herpes this much and it is actually mildly relevant.

2011-12-14T20:52:00.000-06:00

I'm not going to lie. I'm drinking a cranberry and vodka right now. I probably won't even spell check this. I'm lying again. I totally will and I will read it again and again and again to check for errors and things that might make me look stupid or don't feel right or whatever. That's right...Duh duh duh...

OCD has flaired.

A lot like herpes without the gross. Although sometimes I think it might be easier to explain a herpes flair up as opposed to an OCD flair up. i could just be all "yeah, don't have sex with that guy. lesson learned" instead of "OK, I can't really say this word out loud I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, and i can't get through my inventory right now because I can't seem to write it down right and it feels wrong and everything in this room is screaming to be touched in the right way because right now it feels wrong and I can't clean my house because i might do it with a bad attitude and give it negativity and i can't paint my house because of all the damn touching I need to do and that would give the room bad energy" FYI: extranious touching is also what can lead to herpes which I know now because my mom felt as though I needed that lecture now that I'm single. Another story...another day.

Anywhatever...I tried painting. Didn't work. I ended up just laying around with my awesome friends and boyfriend. Last night, I was going to go out and be all social and meet new people. I dreaded it all day. I was obsessed with the drive and the people and my outfit and what would I say and dear baby Tim Tebow I cannot stop effing touching shit because it all just feels wrong wrong wrong wrong. So instead, my awesome boyfriend (see how much I like that word) dropped his plans, came to my side and gave me the option of doing anything i wanted to do. We could try to go be around people or try and paint. I chose instead to have a creepy little OCD freak out and we went to bed around 7:30. It was definetly the best choice.

And then I couldn't sleep on account of all the crazy flooding in my brain and I obsessed over why it is that i even have friends let alone a boyfriend who may actually really love me and how did this all happen so fast because in case anyone missed it i am a whack job that touches things. although maybe that explains the boyfriend part. MOM: THAT WAS A JOKE AND I DON'T HAVE HERPES.

So these are the days that i remember that i have an illness. I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Like, I have it. Forever. in the past couple months I've been able to call it stress and trauma and the absolute destructiion and rebuilding of my entire life as i knew it. Now, I'm just the lady with OCD again. And there are all these new people seeing it for real for the first time. Not stress, like I said, and not danger and depression and fighting for survival, but straight up OCD. This is how it is sometimes. I'm not like other people. Not really.

And so, tonight I did paint. and I'm probably done for the night not necessarily because of the OCD but because of the lazy that I also am. But I have no medical diagnosis for that. I want to sit in my newly created safe place in my home, MY home, and watch a movie. I want to enjoy my drink and my dogs and my life. I'm going to leave all of the jewelry on the table because i'm afraid that if I put it away it will get lost or have negative energy on it or whatever. I'm gonna allow myself to have OCD but I'm not going to allow OCD to have me. I'm going to take this flair up as a reminder of how far i've come and how successful I've been. i'm going to use this flair up to remember that everybody gots them some problems. I'm going to use this flair up to be thankful that it isn't herpes. because that is contagious if you touch any body part to any body part with out using protection. thanks for that advice, mom. And also for the incredibly disturbing mental images of herpes after your brilliantly crafted explanations. I'm gonna sleep. And tomorrow i'll wake up with OCD. but maybe it won't be so rampant.

I'm Angela. I turn clumsy mistakes into life lessons. Because I am a genius. And I've had so much therapy that I can do that kind of thing now.

2011-12-11T07:59:00.000-06:00

I just shattered that plate in my microwave.

You know, the spinny one that you put things on and it rotates around on that little wheel thing and sometimes it gets all knocked out of line and makes this "whiirrrrrrr.....Thunk...whiiirrrrrrrr...Thunk" and then I'm all "damn, that stupid thing is all tripped out of alignment and I need to get up and fix it or my nachos/frozen dinner/coffee/awesomer nachos are gonna get all dumped and heated all crooked and then I'm gonna get all burned and have a mess to deal with" and then by the time I finally talk myself into rolling off the couch the stupid thing is already beeping that it's done anyway and I give up thunking plate in the microwave. You win!

That plate. I shattered it. And it was spectacular.

I wasn't trying to break it. It wasn't my intention. I just was trying to turn over the defrosting meat because the microwave was literally SCREAMING at me to do so, or otherwise my meat might explode or something (hehehe exploding meat) so I was just obeying orders. And the plate, sensing my animosity towards it, literally leapt from the microwave and hurled itself directly towards my feet. So I jumped and danced around accessing my cat-like reflexing so it missed my foot.

It was amazing. It was loud and musical and art and sparkle and danger and I swear it was all in slow motion. Spec-freaking-tacular. So then, I decided that it needed to be cleaned up. Quickly. Because I am responsible. And everyone knows that doing things quickly is the grown-up way to do things. And I'm a grown-up now. And it was so sparkly on the floor and and it made such a pretty tinkly sound (hehehe tinkle) and damn if smashing things isn't totally cathartic. And the blood made such pretty dashes of color. And even I vacuumed some. But I still kept stepping in glass. I smashed it real good.

So now, what do I do because as true as there is a baby Jesus, I cannot possibly be the only one who has ever done this. I most definitely did it with the most flair, but surely not the only one ever. Should I try and replace it? Right away? Like is this a justifiable expense? Should I just leave it be because I never really liked that stupid thing anyway? Should I use that ring deal with the tiny wheels on it to make some kind of anti-intruder ninja tool? Because I'm a single lady now. There will be no raping up in here in my house. Or stealing or extraneous drinking of my beer, which incidentally is a justifiable expense.

So here's what I decided to do...because I rule...I'm now giving you...a life lesson. Kinda like Jesus. The grown-up version not the baby one.

My life, as you probably know even though I never talk about it, was recently shattered. Suddenly. Spectacularly. In a way that I didn't even know was motherfracking possible. It was sudden and loud and dangerous and bloody and music and art and destruction. It'd probably been making a thunking noise for some time but maybe I didn't notice. So it hurled itself at me with such force as to cause me to completely re-route my entire life.

So what do I do? Do I replace it? Do I do that right away? Do I find something exactly the same or something completely different because obviously the first one didn't work? Do I use the ring to make an awesome ninja tool so that there is no raping. I could probably make all kinds of neat stuff with that stupid little ring. Diamonds are the hardest substance after all.

Right now I'm making due. No permanent plans to replace anything. In fact, I don't think the shattered plate needs replacement...it needs an upgrade. I'm still gonna step on glass every now and then, because that things shattered into every possible corner of my life/kitchen/please keep up with my metaphor. I'll keep picking up little pieces that I forgot, found when they unexpectedly make me bleed. I'll try to keep it safe for my kids so that they don't bleed. I'll probably burn my popcorn a time or two since things aren't spinning exactly the way they were. I'll figure out some way to make it work.

And in the long run, I've learned my lesson. Be careful. Things are gonna break anyway. Clean it up. Move on. And eventually all my nachos will be evenly melted again. This to even better.

I need help focusing.

2011-12-05T20:13:00.000-06:00

OK. So I got all rant-ish and wild eyed. I'm better. Well, you know...like about as better as crazy can be. Because FYI I'm still an awesomely chemically imbalanced individual. On with the show.

I'm in my home. I have no rituals here. Yet. I keep trying to start them. Then I stop. Then I try and do it again. This house is bigger and has way the frack more light switches. And the fun part is that about half of the light switches do something. and the ones that do something don't do at all what you expect them to do. SO it's like a game of friggin' Simon everytime I walk into a room and try to remember what order to turn switches. In other news, I'm getting so good at doing things in the dark. In other other news, no they don't go to the outlets.

I made my first mortgage payments, bitches! Yeah yeah! So I'm starting to feel like this might actually work. Like the whole, grocery shopping and eating on a regular basis and getting out of bed and paying bills and cleaning house. I've discovered that if I clean the house because I want to, it's a lot more satisfying then doing it for anyone else. Weird, right? I'm such a giver. To myself.

I have an appointment with new witch doctor soon! I'm terrified. I've been with the same psychiatrist and therapist for years. They both know me. So now I have to start over. And the same questions are poking me in the cranium...What if I'm a total loss? What if they make me do more ERP? What if I am just too damn charming and witty and they think I'm faking? What if I touch all kinds of stuff in the office? What if I have to re-tell my life's stories? I don't want to. There are some things that I'm just done talking about.

In things you have probably figured out by now unless you are just not paying attention news... I don't go to church anymore. Right now at least. There was an incicident. Similar to the incident at the former church I attended. So what I learned from the last time was, don't fight who I am, just walk away. So I walked away. And that is all. Sometimes I think Jesus is seriously messing with me. Because the only person ever ever who has never ever questioned who I am is Jesus, yet everywhere I go to be around other people who know Jesus, they totally don't get me. And feel as though I need to be made aware of that. Oh really? Me? Not like how everyone else does things? Neat. I know. Maybe your first clue should have been when I opened the door to the building only after molesting it with my wrist multiple times. Or that I can only sit where there are an even number of seats to my left.

I watch scary movies to fall asleep at night. This is probably some kind of psychologically deep rooted wires crossed issue. I don't care. nothing helps me relax like Paranormal Activity.

I think I've lost the ability to make coherent posts. This is how I communicate now. you are welcome.

A month. I've been avoiding you. That better not be your Silver Lining.

2011-12-02T20:07:00.000-06:00

It's been a month since posting anything. Yes, I have been really busy. I moved, I work, I practice, I unpack, I paint walls and fix rooms and take care of kids and drive and try to settle in. But also...

I've relapsed.

And I'm avoiding you because I haven't wanted to talk about it. Because it sucks ass.

So, I've been busy with all those things, but also, I've been quitting at things and fighting with my ex who is now officially my ex as of the 15th, I've been busy being bitter and angry and hurt and crying a lot and having intense mood swings. I've been busy trying not to lose the other job that I didn't quit due to being unfocused and under productive because of all the stress. I've been missing my kids when they aren't with me and hating hating hating holidays. But what's new.

Soooooooo....

I'd like to start a Silver Lining Series. Meaning, I am seriously going to try and find good and positive and funny things to talk about. because APPARENTLY I AM TOO VOCAL ABOUT MY LIFE. Which is one of those stories that I need to tell and find the silver lining in. I'm working on it right now.

So let's start here. I GOT ME A NEW BOYFRIEND! And I love him. I know it seems all fast and unforeseen and what the hell and all that, but then again, that's kind of how my marriage ended so I'm sticking with what I know. He is funny and smart enough to make up his own words. And the awesome part is that I am actually getting to the point where I don't actually even notice that it isn't a real word because I'm used to processing his hybrid English. And usually I can even instantly tell which all words he mushed together to make the new word. AND he doesn't even do this on purpose. It just happens. Which is really keeps me on my toes. And right now, he makes me happy. And makes me laugh. And understands exactly the situation I am in because he has lived it. Except the mental illness part. I'm totally giving him a crash course in that. If I can't make him go "Holy shit!" at least once every couple days then I feel like I need to ramp up my crazy bag!

And this is the Silver Lining to having my life cut off in the middle of where I thought it should be; If I was never hurt as badly as I was, I never would have felt the urgency to run from that marriage, and I never would have met Dual.

But, I am still motherfucking pissed. I am so damn angry all the time. Sometimes I am angry to the point of feeling actually sick. I am not able to string together enough curse words to express how pissed I am at the betrayal. At the childish, selfish, thoughtless, heartless, shit that I was stabbed in the back with. I am angry. Can you tell? So this is what I do...I have these really cool mood swings. Where like sometimes I'm all "Oh, hey the divorce is final and I'm totally cool with him and his girlfriend and everybody is awesome and let's all go get a beer and double-freaking-date." and then like two days later I'm like "I know what would be the best idea ever! I'll write an email because I am sad and I miss my life and I'm hurt and I'll pour out my soul because surely that'll make him feel guilty and awful and he'll totally fall apart, which let's be real here, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for me. He deserves as much pain as I have." and THEN...I turn super super awesome, usually after having been ignored or condescended to or whatever and I'm all "Oh yeah. I'm gonna email that sonofabitch how I really feel. And then I'm gonna text him and then I'm gonna call his worthless ass and completely rip him apart and THEN I'll write another email detailing how horrible he is and also send it to his girlfriend. Because that idea is the BEST" And then Dual goes "Holy Shit!" Winning!

So then I did that. Yep. Hold your applause. Not my best day. But I lost it. And yes, the email went to her too. The texts were only for him, but that's only because Dual being the more rational and less nuts of the two of us pretty much took my phone away. Not really, but he definelty was the voice of reason. So damage done, feelings "vented" and I feel better. Should I feel better? I don't know but i do. What would Jesus do? Probably not call him a fuckass whore over the phone. But I did. Would the two of them breaking up please me to no end? The sweet Christ-like girl in me doesn't want ill will but the dark hurt part of me wants nothing more than to see that "relationship" fall to pieces. I'd feel better. Do I hate him? Feels like it. Do I hate her? ABSOLUTELY NOT. As a female I feel much more inclined to be protective of her, but on the other hand I do hate what she was actively involved in doing to me behind my back. And as a female, I feel more betrayed by her than anyone else. She was a wife. She knows what that feels like. And she pursued my husband anyway. I'm hurt. But I don't hate her. I feel very sad for her. I just feel like I want to punch him in the balls. Did I text him hateful things when I had to leave my kids with him because he was selfish and had an affair so now I only get to see my kids every other week and they were crying and clinging on to me? Yeah. Didn't help a damn thing, but I felt better. Who is selfish now, I guess.

Anyhowdon'tjudgemebecauseImightvomitupcrazyalloveryou...I'm trying so hard to not become a bitter old hag. I'm really trying hard to give my attention to my new life and my progress and my new relationships. I'm really working hard to keep OCD behind that wall. Because it's back there going "Heeeeyyyy...psst...you know me...you know how to be obsessive-compulsive...you are so good at it...you can't fail at OCD because it's the only thing you've ever really excelled at...come back...it's familiar...it's safe...it's what you know how to do..." I'm trying hard to find things to laugh at. I'm trying hard to accept that now that I live alone I talk to myself out loud. All the time. And not talk to my dogs out loud. I talk to myself. It's like my inner monologue just turns off as soon as I get home. Oh, and I'm home. Silver Lining...this is my home. Not my new house and not my new home. It's my home. I belong here.

So PLEASE hang in there with me. PLEASE go back and read things from when I used to be able to find humor. And I'll get there again. Someday this is all going to be hilarious. Especially the fuckass whore part. I'm already giggling about that one right now.

i promise not to avoid you anymore. I'll be here with the good, bad, and wildly foul-language laced inappropriate.

Things I have spilled on myself today

2011-11-01T22:00:00.001-05:00

Coffee

Water

Dr. Pepper

Water

Cheese

Coffee

Face goo from eleven year old glasses

Apparently it was Halloween or whatever and nobody likes preemptive pee.

2011-11-01T15:56:00.000-05:00

If you missed it...I've been moving. I have been moving so hard. Well, I'm not even the one who has done the bulk of the moving. My most excellent friends have been doing the work. And last night...wait for it...the last truckload of my things was finally reunited with all my other things! You have no idea how exciting it is to have all your stuff in one place. I felt like a bag lady or a gypsy for a while there. Just having stuff all over town. I'm all "Well, since I have no panties, I better wear something long. But all my long things need ironing. And I think the iron is on the other side of town. So my option is wear wrinkled clothes or go next door to my new neighbors and ask for their iron because I need it so my vag won't show." Welcome to the neighborhood, me.

And as it was Halloween last night, I was dutifully hiding in my bedroom to avoid trick-or-treaters. Because it is obnoxious. And I have a fear of being raped on account of me being so rapeable and alone in my big new house. So I unpacked, and peeled wallpaper and unpacked some more. And unearthed the gas can for the lawn mower in one of my boxes of clothes. Which will make a lot more sense when I finally get around to the story of how I was basically evicted from my home by a terrible witch of a pint sized woman.

Then I started hearing knocking on my door.

Then the dogs went psychotic.

Then it was pounding.

Then I'm pretty sure I peed a little.

Which was not pleasant due to the not having on of panties or pants.

Which made the dogs go crazier, which in turn made me curse at them, which I was afraid tipped off the rapist, and NOW I've exhausted my defense system because my first plan of attack for whenever someone tries to rape me is to pee on them but I'm about DONE doing that now and preemptive pee is not at all effective.

And there is louder knocking and a freaking shadow man outside my door and I can't find my baseball bat or even a knife for that matter except for the knife my step-mom used to clean hair out of my vacuum a couple days prior which not at all coincidentally was the serving knife from my "wedding". And I don't even know where my phone is and if I walk through the entry to try and find it then the shadow man will know I am home and either demand candy or a raping neither of which I had any of to give.

Then shadow man retreats to the back side of my house at the same moment my phone starts to ring a familiar ring tone and I answer it and holler "Dual, there is someone pounding on my door! And I don't want to get raped!" and he's all "It's me dammit! Open the door!" And it turned out that there was no raping on anyones' agenda although he wouldn't have argued with candy. Instead, he was actually bringing me the last of my furniture and my ironing board and a ladder and some candle sconces. Which was awesome. So I took him to dinner at Twin Peaks.

If you have never been to Twin Peaks, please go right now. It is the most awesome place on the planet. It is like Hooters but without pretending to be classy. And the food is actually so good that I seriously ate until it was painful. Usually, beautifully and surgically crafted women serve food in shorts and flannel tops tied up like bikinis and hiking boots and they are probably the friendliest wait staff of any restaurant anywhere ever because, let's be honest, they know why they are dressed like that. They aren't trying to pretend to be offended when you look at them and mutter about how it's degrading to women when in reality we all wish we could look like that and honestly they make more money in one night than I do all week and probably they are in med school or whatever. Play to your strengths I say. Both of them. But go to Twin Peaks on Halloween...that is a whole different breed of slutty Halloween costumes.

Slutty Gypsy, Devil, Boxer, Ballerina, and then a few that just phoned it in and wore their lingerie. Which is more than I can say for myself right now, although I have tracked down some of my panties.

So that is how I spent Halloween '11.

It's not that I'm doing it wrong, it's just that I'm doing it in such a way as to annoy the hell out of you on purpose.

2011-10-31T16:55:00.000-05:00

So I'm doing this wrong. Apparently.

What am I doing wrong? The fact that I can't find any of my panties (true story)? The fact that I fed my dogs cereal for a few days because I didn't get to the store? The fact that I wander aimlessly around and talk to myself on a regular basis? The fact that I never return my Redbox movies and I might as well just buy them to begin with? The fact that I mispronounce several words due to a crippling exposure to a Southern accent during my formative years?

Yes. All of that would be correct. Because apparently, I do EVERYTHING wrong. Apparently.

Now for the record I would like to state that this is not my personal opinion. Let's just clear the air right here about that. I find that I am a pretty kick-ass person. I do things differently. I do things experimentally. I do things impulsively. But I don't regret it. And I for sure don't think I'm doing things all wrong.

But here's the situation...lately there have been a few people who have taken it upon themselves to be all up in my bidniss. I heard months ago that I was terrible at being a wife, I was a no good housekeeper, I hated holidays and families, and pretty much had a cold black heart. It was my fault that I believed it. So I worked pretty hard to put all that behind me. And now, as it turns out, I'm not getting divorced right. I'm not sorry enough. I'm not sad enough. I'm not mean enough. I'm not vindictive enough. I'm not angry enough. I'm too angry. I'm too vindictive. I'm too rash. I'm too irresponsible. I'm a bad parent. I'm a bad influence. I just generally embody all the ways to not be perfect.

And that totally works for me.

I hear all these things here and there and everywhere, most often backed by extremely good intentions. And recently God wanted to let me in on a few things He felt about me so I had an email that told me exactly how God felt about my decisions. Again, I believe it to be very well intentioned. But what's that thing the road to Hell is paved with...? Eggshells? Crayons? Can't put my finger on it... So anyhow, turns out that I should be standing by my husband through this situation. A good Christian wife would do that. She would stay with him and wait dutifully for him to come home. It also turns out that I haven't really prayed hard enough I guess, or this wouldn't be happening. And also, I'm a boozer. So that's pretty awesome.And probably I've abandoned my children in favor of partying and boozing and being a sex maniac. And God wanted me to know. But for whatever reason, He was really busy and didn't have the time to shoot me an email or, you know, create a pillar of freaking fire or send an angel or whatever because He is freaking God Almighty and that might be a little over the top. And He is busy.

So let's clear up a few things:
First, I honestly appreciate people who care. I really do. You don't have to care about me or my decisions or the consequences. I get that other people have been through similar situations and want to offer their words of advice. I welcome it. However, advice is not the same as judgement and my road is probably really similar but it's still mine. Advice away. I do take everything into account. But I'm kind of a stubborn little ass and might not listen to you. So there.

Second, my choices and the effect on my children have been agonized over at every turn. As for not standing by my man...it turns out he wasn't really "my" man. Or he would've acted like it. You can't spend your life chasing around somebody who doesn't want you. Or deserve you. I would rather my children see me stand up for myself and take action and have a backbone and some pride and walk away with my head held high. I want them to see me succeed all on my own. I want them to see me forgive. I want them to see me respect myself enough to not be a doormat or a second choice. I want them to know that they are still lovable and strong and capable and valuable and life goes on even after someone else's mistakes turn your future 180 degrees from where you thought it was going to go. I want them to know that someone can wrong you, and it's OK to move on and love people and be fearless and trust again and laugh and let go. So that's the kind of parent I am.

Third, Jesus and me are still pretty tight. Pretty much you can't surprise that guy. He's not all "Oh, crap I was so busy making all this wine that I totally didn't even notice that you were derailing. Otherwise I would have stopped you. Oh well, too late now. Want a drink?" Nope. We haven't had the conversation yet, me and Jesus. But we have had an awful lot of conversations. Sometimes I'm yelling and angry and sometimes I'm hurt and sad and sometimes I tell Jesus funny things that happened to me and sometimes we just sit there. But He always stays calm and level headed which is so irritating. And He always gives me the best advice. But again, I don't always listen. But there has yet to come a time when He has told me that I'm unlovable or not worth saving. He talks to me the way I need to hear it. In my language. There's no such thing as a bad Christian. There are just all different kinds of paying attention.

And most importantly, I feel good about my own choices. From what I can gather I'm a pretty smart chick. If I do something stupid or for the wrong reason, I'm pretty good at eventually realizing it. And most likely I'll continue to do stupid and ill-begotten things. But I'll learn and I'll live and I'll have stories to tell. I'll experience and win and fail and experience love and loss again. I'll laugh and eat and run and trip and fall and have to explain just how it came to be that I wound up kinda tipsy with a possibly broken nose. I'll give unwarranted advice and judge and make mistakes. I'll piss people off and they'll piss me off. I'll try to make it right by them. I'll apologize and reach out and be thankful for all of the amazing things I have even though I do everything wrong. Apparently.

Thank you. I am aware.

2011-10-27T13:58:00.000-05:00

So a couple weeks ago it was OCD awareness week like I said earlier. I had lots of plans. But instead OCD had plans for me. I spent the whole week doing all kinds of stress inducing things and really trying to hold myself together. Which I CAN do, it's just that I have to think about it a little harder than most people and take a bit of medication to do it. But I'm capable of maintaining my illness. It's just that the whole week I was all "Thank you OCD. I am aware of you. For the love of the little baby Jesus I am aware of having OCD thankyouverymuchforthesakeofallthingsgoodandholy!"

Yeah. It's been kinda like that. Did y'all have any idea how hard it is to buy a house and pack it all up and still go to work and be a single parent and have a social life and a mental illness because no one told me and it is EXHAUSTING. But the good news, (at the risk of causing it to fall apart because I am writing it down) I am closing tomorrow! Say what now?! They are loaning me money?! And giving me a house for it?! And no boys have to live there?!!!! And I can paint my bedroom purple and black with zebra accents and put really cool art work on the walls and it's nobody else's business!? This is like being a real grown-up. Really.

But since the fun never stops with me, last night I came home after working all day, rehearsing all evening and driving all over God's green earth to pick up my kids on one side of the city and come home to the other side, I pulled in my driveway to discover that my power was shut off. Why? Because since I am extra on top of things, I already transferred service. And already gave a shut-off date. Which was yesterday because my closing was rescheduled and I forgot about that part. So that was neat. Two screaming children, two dogs intent on knocking me down in the pitch black, and me on the verge of a full blown panic attack because I already packed all the candles and I don't have a flashlight right now. So I conferred with the smartest cowboy that I know who suggested that I calm the frack down because it's only electricity. So I did. And then I called the emergency number to the power company and acted pitiful and they turned on the lights within about 5 minutes. I rule at this.

So yes, mental illness(es), I am fully freaking aware of you! But I am winning.

I just...

2011-10-26T13:01:00.000-05:00

I just... I think I need a minute or an hour or twelve. To catch up and think and get a hold of everything. To clean and keep packing and freak out because I am STILL freaking packing and it's been infinity. I have been taking things apart and breaking down the last 10 years of my life for far to long than any person needs to.

I just...I feel like it needs to be meticulous. I need to clear it out. I need to go through each and everything and decide if I want it or don't want it or if I simply can't handle the emotional attachment to it and I need to get rid of it as soon as possible. I feel like I simply cannot take bad energy and bad memories and distorted and twisted remnants of an old life into my new home. A real home. That's mine alone. Not as defined by who lives there and when they live there, but a real live home that is safe and far far away from this old house that carries so much awful. So I'm trying to clean it and sort it and fix it so that my new home is never endanger of the same fate. My new home will be defined by acceptance and love and trust. But that makes for slow and tiring packing.

I just...need to take a step backwards and look around and laugh at how silly at all really is. I need to take into account the fact that I have become the kind of person I always thought I was. I want to be mindful of how happy and free I am. Because, believe me or don't, I really am.

It's just...it's just that sometimes the hard parts are way the frack louder than all the good positive things I haven chosen to accept from this time in my life. I have chosen to accept my inner strength and my value and my ability to succeed and grow. I choose to have no regrets. So it's this weird dichotomy where I'm happier than I've ever been while still being right in the middle of this devastating collapse of my world around me. It's almost like my world was a fabric box surrounding me on all sides. I was so happy there. It was safe and wonderful and everything I wanted because ignorance is truly blissful. Then suddenly, God pulled the cord and the whole thing fell down or opened up or however you want to see it. The curtains to the stage were pulled back, the shades were pulled up and all the lights came on. And holy crap, look at what is really out here. It's taking me a few moments to let my eyes adjust to it all. I never had this hunger for life or this will to have it fully because I didn't even know it existed. So I want to remember that.

I just...I just...I just don't want to be disrespectful to the people or specific person that helped craft that old life. Because I was happy there. I just want to remember that they have had the curtain pulled back too. And all of everything that there is to feel and see and do is lit up and ready for living. I don't want to de-value his role in preparing me to handle all that space and opportunity. What didn't kill me actually made me stronger. But only after it almost killed me.

I just...I'm doing just fine.

It's like I'm Mother Effing Theresa. But so much better looking. And probably I smell better.

2011-10-26T11:29:00.000-05:00

Written October 18th, 2011 not like that changes anything I just don't want to be mis-leading.

Every time I post now I feel like I'm starting all over from scratch because I have been so sporadic. But I have OCD. I have an illness in my brain that is exhausting 24/7. And all that plus the minor irritant of going through the most painful and challenging and gut checking and self-esteem testing and emotional and trust breaking and trust rebuilding and legally exhausting period of my entire life as I know it so far or hopefully ever. You know, kinda like a little mosquito that buzzes in your ear. The divorce mosquito. It's a bit annoying you could say.

So last week was OCD awareness week. And I so had all these plans of taking a different aspect of the illness every day and posting my experiences, triumphs, and challenges with each. I was totally going to be insightful and educational and accessible as a person with mental illness. But I didn't. Because I was busy. And when I wasn't busy I was tired. And when I wasn't tired I was crying. And when I wasn't crying I was probably with one of the coolest guys I know having a beer and checking things off the bucket list. Because the only thing better than checking off life experiences is sharing those experiences for the first time with somebody cool. Who may or may not smell like pine needles. And for sure does not have poison ivy.

So things are happening. Things are being done. Steps are moving forward. I'm gonna get around to my own special OCD awareness week and fulfill all of those great posts. But in the mean time, I rescued a dog.

OK, In case you are new, I'm Angela. I rescue stray things. Stray dogs, cats, children, furniture, cars, boys, etc. ( I don't, however, rescue stray anything to do with birds because EWWWWW and also I don't rescue straying partners who I may or may not know but probably know because it happened to my...friend. Right.) So, I'm driving home the other night and it is just after dark. probably 8:00, again not that important in the grand scheme of things but details give life to a story, I've been told. Providing that those details are NOT about my vagina. I was told that those details give too much life to the stories. Your loss. Anyhow...

In my neighborhood, driving along and my lightening fast reflexes keep me from running over a little Schnauzer in the road. Kinda just hobbling along, so I figured it's hurt or something. No collar so I knew I was taking a risk to find it's owner. I was really hoping to NOT have another dog of my own. But if I almost hit that dog, then someone else was going to for sure hit that dog and the dog seemed mildly unenthused by it's near-death experience. So once I came to a stop, I opened my door and called to the dog and it came right to me and let me pick it up. And it was muddy and shaking and I am a huge sucker for needy little dogs. (Insert divorce joke here because I am too classy for that). Immediately my children were celebrating that we got a new dog and started calling it Patrick. Note learned from past experience: When you name them, you are way more likely to keep them. Which is why I simply refer to my children as Hey! and Cut It Out!. (That was a joke. They have real names. I just forget what they are from time to time.) So I explained that no we are not keeping "the dog who shall not be referred to as Patrick". To which the didn't believe me because honestly, I really do take in lots of stray things.

We make it home and I carry the little thing into the living room where my dogs instantly starting getting really excited that they have a new friend. I set the little dog down and it just stood there like a champ and let Lexi and Pete do all kinds of naughty to it, but it's supposedly not naughty for dogs. That's just how they get to know each other. Still, I am thankful that we do not share the same social guidelines as dogs. Then my kids who have actual names were all "Patrick! Come here, Patrick!" and before I could even say "We do not name strays!", Patrick took off towards the sound of their voice and hit a wall. And then backed up, and stood there, and walked forward again into a box. Then a chair, then another wall, then my leg. Yeah. So, being an eyeball expert kind of, I looked into it's eyes to see massive opaque white cataracts. So I now have not only rescued an old dog, but a BLIND old dog. Crap.

At this point I still refer to the dog as "it" because honestly I just couldn't tell the gender. It had the Schnauzer cut so it's but was super hairy and kinda matted and I was not about to touch it on it's uh-oh to see if it had bits or whatever. So, OK, maybe I can wait til it pees and see if it's a sitter and a stander. Which would have worked except that the damn dog apparently just pees just whenever and where ever. And it peed so much. So, so much pee. I only know because I could smell it. But fortunately I have a super power where the second I put on socks I can be instantly and magnetically drawn to the pee spot with my foot. So that was very helpful.

And so it went throughout the night. Blind dog was literally silent while my dogs were apparently on crack. We all tried to sleep and in the morning I left for work and left Blind dog in the house with Pete. Lexi gets locked up during the day because she chews up my crap and honestly I think she kinda likes her little room. i wasn't going to be able to search for the owner til after work anyway and my house already was saturated in pee, so I figured meh, well, whatever it's not really even my carpet anymore after next week. I've got air fresheners. Screw it. (which is a decision I now regret because I find that I keep explaining why my house smells like pee and swear I didn't do it.)

And then I got a phone call from a friend of mine who said a little old lady was wandering around the neighborhood posting signs about her lost blind dog. She was pretty sure that the lost blind dog currently peeing all over my house was the same lost blind dog, so she gave me the number and I called it. The dear woman had some kind of German accent or something and says "Oh! My KayKay! My KayKay" which I took to mean thanks for finding my dog. And she came to pick up the little urine machine and my kids are all "Bye Patrick!" which eerily could work for a dog called KayKay.

Therefore, the lesson learned here:
I am a good person. That is awesome to all of God's creatures providing you are not a bird. I was in the middle of packing and stress and single parenting and tired and overwhelmed, but I picked up that little dog because it needed a chance. And when that dog found it's mama, they both were happy. So, someday somebody is gonna pick me up off the side of the road and dust me off and help me get on my way back to normal. They are going to take me in even though I got trouble trouble trouble and I'm a mad crazy mess. Maybe they'll help guide me home. Maybe they'll keep me. And to thank them, I'm gonna pee all over their house.

Be funny. Go.

2011-10-04T10:19:00.000-05:00

Today is make me laugh day. Seriously. It's one of those days that is going to be really emotionally and spititually and physically challenging and I've seen it looming on my calendar for a while. Of course, I will run down each excruciating detail to you later.

But now...

I need you to be funny. Make me laugh. Hit me with your best. You won't win anything. But I'll probably mention you here on my humble little blog. Unless you in no way want to be affiliated with me and need to use an alias or something which I TOTALLY get. I've met me.

Be funny...Go.

I'm going to attempt thankfulness again. Even when I feel like a kick in the balls.

2011-10-03T15:48:00.000-05:00

OK, remember how that one time a long time ago I used to do Thankful Thursdays on my blog but I never actually did it on Thursdays because mostly I'm just forgetful and not actually un-thankful but also because as soon as something becomes a deadline like do-this-by-Thursday I instantaneously DON'T want to do it then because I have some sort of problem with authority or calendars or Thursdays and I think everything is better when it happens organically and comes from a place of real life and not an arbitrarily instated day set forth by my own self and then suffering self-inflicted guilt for forcibly manufacturing something or for missing my own deadline that actually has no meaning whatsoever?

Right. OK I think I'm gonna start doing that again. Why? Because I have found lately that forcibly manufacturing positive energy and thankful thoughts actually turns itself into positive energy and thankfulness. Basically fake it til it turns into making it. It's weird, really. I mean, I have had some kick-me-in-the-ass days lately. Actually, like 100 people kicking me in the ass and the girls nads and everywhere else they can find to land those kicks. And then they call me fat and stupid at the same time. And make fun of my outfit just as a bonus. Dammit. It sucks.

So I remembered how I used to try and be thankful for something everyday. Even tiny little things. Even in the darkest of the dark of my mental illness. Even if it is only that I am thankful literally for one more second to breathe. Because God knows how close I've come to not even having those. So I can be thankful for the breathing, but also for the people who hold their breath for me. They breathed in deep and jumped in and stayed in the fight with me even when it wasn't/isn't their battle. I can be thankful that there are still people around me who are next to me.

I'm not gonna always do it on a specific day. I might not do it in specific increments of time. I really hate being tethered to schedules and well... rules in general. The new me loves spontaneity and not knowing what's coming next and not always having to do the same thing the same way in the same places. So I guess I can be thankful for that. For getting in a car on a Friday and not knowing when or where we may turn up. For bubble baths that reach the ceiling and restaurants called "I Smell Bacon". For new friends and for just flat out putting myself right in the middle of social interaction. I can be thankful that I have a desire and opportunity to do it.

I can be thankful for getting kicked in the balls sometimes. Because you never realize how good you have it until your genitals take a beating. I mean, being in the painful lonely places helps me see how awesome things are when I come out of that mess. I suppose I am thankful for that. Weird. And I guess I really like the new me who goes and buys a house and reaches out to people who it seems unlikely I would ever reach out to. I guess I am thankful for the absolute blistering white hot rawness of having every emotion, fear, insecurity, ideal, reality ripped wide open and exposed to the world. Because then I get to start brand new. And new me really likes that. Hurts like hell, but then again so does microderm abrasion and bikini waxing and face lifts and we do all those things just to improve our outside selves. I suppose its worth it in the long run to do sort of the same thing to the inside. I wouldn't have minded a warning countdown or something though first. You know, something like "Hey...I'm about to literally kick your life out from under you and crush it up and throw away parts of it and the parts that I don't throw away I'm gonna give to someone else whether you like it or not" That probably might have been helpful... But I'm thankful that it happened how it did. I guess.

I suppose I can be thankful for things like having a new place to fill with new memories and new decor and the same kids and the same dogs. Because some things never change. I'm thankful I have food and water and electricity and a bed and shoes and a doctor and a car and gas for the house and car and a TV and comfort beyond what most people in this world could never ever imagine. Even though I feel like I am literally cracking from the inside out sometimes, I have so much and so many and so great and so safe and so healthy and so abundant and so free and so strong. Those are the kinds of things I am going to remember to be thankful for.

I am thankful for the times when I cry and cry and cry and thankful for the times I can't cry anymore because it has all turned into numb. Then I'm thankful that there are times when I laugh and laugh and laugh and for stories that start out "Well see...there was this pellet gun...". kyf for that. And I'm thankful for times when I feel attractive again and happy again and for the times that I feel desired and listened to and valuable. Because I can pass that on. I'm thankful that that makes me a better friend and mother and daughter and sister and person and kickball captain. Because I honestly rule at that.

I'm thankful that I am allowed to let go. I'm not saying that I am letting go. But I'm allowed to. And it's not for lack of freaking trying. I'm trying and trying and trying. But maybe someday it'll all just release itself. I'm thankful for that. Or or or...someone needs to just forbid me to let go and then I'll be all "eff you. I do what I want!" and then I'll be all emotionally complete because seriously do not boss me! I am thankful that I will never be emotionally complete because I can always get better at letting go and love is all you need and positivity and peace and all that. No reason to get all perfect at it otherwise whats the point in being thankful for all these breaths I take?

So now you know. I plan to be thankful. When I feel like it. And when I don't. And it will not be necessary to kick me in the girl balls to get me to do it. just FYI.

No actual topic or organization and lots of things that I've been doing and saying and sometimes its sad and sometimes funny so there's that.

2011-09-26T16:51:00.000-05:00

Train of thought/stream of consciousness GO:

I sold my house. The one I've lived in for the last 6 years. I'm excited. I want to be out. I need to be gone. I need to move on. I have about 30 days left to live there. And I'm already packing like crazy. I bought myself a house on the opposite side of town. Yes. I did that. By myself. The girl who 4 years ago picked a therapist based on proximity and my first exposure challenges were to drive to a gas station that was different and get gas there. And now I'm just moving. Like 45 minutes away. I work and got a loan and drive anywhere and everywhere and I meet people and I take care of business. I'm still clumsy and lazy and often really slobby, but I'm totally a different person than the girl who couldn't make it out to the mailbox and couldn't go to bed without hours of ritualizing. I am so rocking this.

But sometimes, I'm walking through my house that I will live in for only 30 more days and I just get kicked in the guts by the universe. I can't breathe. This is MY HOME. This WAS my home. Is it still a home or just a house? I don't know anymore. It's the place where both of my babies took their first steps and said their first words and had their first birthday parties. It's the place where there are loving scars all over the walls from moving around furniture and toddler art and dogs careening around the corner on the tile when they hear the door open. It's the swing set in the backyard that has been a pirate ship and princess clubhouse and grown-up hideaway a long time ago when life was different. It's memories that are tainted now. It echoes dreams of a future that won't ever happen. It's the place where OCD held me hostage. And its the place where I found the strength to overcome it. It's the place I came home to when mental illness was wearing me out. And it's the place where I sat alone in the brand new living room on the day we bought it. No one had ever lived there. It was new and ours and it was our future and our possibility and our life stretching out before us. It was quiet and empty and clean and had not yet been filled with laughing and running and burnt popcorn and screams of little girls trying to chase a frog out the door. And it hadn't yet been marred by the words that broke and changed and re-routed those dreams and promises. It hadn't yet been painted with confusion and brokenness and tears and loneliness.

So sometimes I can't wait to leave that house that used to be a home. I want to be somewhere better and start over and try again. And sometimes I don't want to leave. I want to stay there and re-create the laughing and the love and the family even though my family might look a little different now. I want to dust the bitterness out of the corners and clean the stains of my mistakes and wash the walls free of all the damage we caused to that little house. And I want to tell the house, I'm sorry. You made a good home for us. For me. And for that I thank you. But I'm sorry little house, I can't be here anymore. I'm sorry to leave you with such bad energy and negativity and please please, little house, let the new folks make a home full of all of the good things that you gave us. Let them laugh and mark heights on the wall and play in the grass and chase that frog who still lives on the porch. I'm going to miss what my home was. But I am proud of myself for leaving behind what it became. But it's just hard.

*******************************************************
I built a fort. In my living room. A box fort. Out of empty boxes. I should have been packing but instead I was sitting in my fort drinking beer and watching TV. because I am a grown-up. And this is what grown-ups do, I hear. Actually, I have not the slightest clue what real grown-ups do everyday. I'm probably like the suckiest grown-up ever. Except I have a job and own a house almost. That's for real grown-up. And from my house I'm closer to kickball, which I play with lots of other grown-ups in a league. And then I go home and color. In my fort.

*********************************************************

So this happened...
Caller: Hey is this one of them eye places?
Me: Um...sure?
Caller: Where like they do them eye exams and stuff?
Me: Well yes but let me transfer you to the medi...
Caller: OK good. because my dogs got in a fight and then there got to be a big ol scratch on one of their eyes and now it's all bulgy and sticking out and he might be blind.
Me: Who might be blind? Did your dogs hurt someone?
Caller: No the DOG.
Me: Someone hurt the dog?
Caller: My one dog scratched all up my other dog's eye and now it's all bulgy and pussy and the vet thinks he's probably blind and I want someone to look at his eyes.
Me:...OK...wait...You want to bring in the DOG.
Caller: YES. I need to make an appointment for you to see my dog.
Me:...OK...Yeah...No that's not happening. Thanks.

**************************************************************
I did sell my Wedding Dress. Let me know if anyone has need to buy a beautiful diamond ring, DVD player, Yamaha keyboard, Behringer Amp, or a whole mess of other crap that I really need the money for and don't want to move. Or I ain't to proud to flat out beg. Single mama just bought me a house and I need dollars! I'm working 2 jobs but don't be afraid to support your favorite blog!

********************************************************
I got a new tattoo. I love it. I mean, I had every intention of getting it for a long time. But one night when my plans fell through I thought, OK self, what do normal single mom adult types do after work? And so I headed straight to my favorite tattoo artist. He took my rendition of a treble clef and made it flower and grow and placed it on my ribs on the right side. The process is still just as cathartic as my first one. Although that one is getting covered up soon...

************************************************************
I've developed this habit of meeting people literally everywhere I go. I just talk and talk and talk and I've met all kinds of great folks. I feel like I am making up for lost time. All those years when anxiety and OCD and agoraphobia stole my ability to interact with other human people. To feel them laugh and hear them talk and see their eyes and watch the nuances of people as they interact in a way that only human people can. Sometimes it overwhelms my senses and I stop and just take in my environment. And sometimes I give out a fake number. Either/or.

****************************************************************
Sometimes situations happen that make you question everything you thought you knew. I've been there and back over the last few days. Things happen and people show up that have always been there but somehow you missed it and then they show up right in your face and you're all "Easy Captain Gets-too-Close" but that's a metaphor because it's not their face that actually shows up right in front of you. It's that actual person. And then you go "The Frick Universe?!" And then you realize (and by you, I mean me) how incredible that people can bond to each other over such short periods of time and how amazing it is that bonds can last for decades. And then I remember why I like being alive and meeting people and knowing people no matter how complicated and interwoven our lives can get. Especially when all of our lives are all tangled together in a mess. That just makes us stronger like a big wad of knotted yarn which i use as a simile because I literally threw away like 5 pounds of knotted together yarns as I was packing/fort building.

Thank you. That is all for today.

Sometimes it just hurts. But we have to hitch up our big-girl panties and keep on going.

2011-09-21T15:51:00.000-05:00

I’m back in the game. Well, I guess really, I’m kind of in the game for the first time. Or back in the game since so long ago that should actually be playing in the alumni version with the cracked hips and the geriatric tackles.

OK…backing up.

I’m loving my new job as an optician. I love my store, my office, my co-workers, my patients, my hours, everything. I love helping and being creative and being good at my work. I’m changing things and updating things and when the paycheck comes, I feel proud of myself. Because I am taking care of me and my family and I’m doing well at it. I love that I also get to play piano and sing and do freelance work as a musician. I am taking care of my life and my family and my needs. I support me. I support us. Its really cool.

On the other hand, we just sold our house. (Yay!) I wanted it sold so that I could finally move on with this life. I want a new start and a new life and I want to run with these feelings of strength and pride and accomplishment. But it wasn’t that easy. It never is my intention to just slam people here at So Now You Know. It’s not positive energy for the universe. It’s not Christ-like. But I also need to be honest. I believe that my experiences happen in order to be shared and connected to similar persons. Selling was a battle. My former spouse and I are having a lot of trouble communicating. At all. Ever. For even the tiniest thing. So trying to come together and agree on something as big as accepting the contract was hard. We did not see eye to eye. Figuratively and literally of course because honestly I could tower over him easily in even my lowest heels.

So it got heated. I won’t lie. I started it. I was hurt and frustrated and confused. I feel as though I have been held hostage in the marriage. I just want to be out. That’s what he wants and all I want is to make that happen. But decisions are made and things are said and it gets worse and worse and worse and then it gets personal. I heard that I “never loved him”. And it cut me so bad. I honestly did not see that coming. The pain of hearing that, I mean. He told me that “I never loved him.” Wow. Ouch. It still stings even today. It’s making me feel emotions that hurt. Bad. I’m trying to kick those emotions in the vagina as Danonymous tells me to do. I’m trying to put on the tough girl face and keep moving forward. But for someone that I devoted my life to, and made marriage vows to, and had children with, and respected, and enjoyed, and had fun with, and learned from to tell me that he felt as though “I never loved him. That’ll Mess. You. Up.

Then as fuel to a flame I was reminded that I wasn’t loved either. And that hurts. It hurts so much for several reasons. I don’t know how to describe rejection like that. It’s like everything you every thought about yourself is a lie. All the good things, all the happy, all the triumph just becomes as if it never were. Which made me feel like I never was. It’s insignificant. It’s dust. It’s degrading. It’s unadulterated, unfiltered, raw stabs to your actual self. It’s the loss of all sense of being grounded in reality. Memories are fake, conversations are no longer sacred, there is no nostalgia. Seeing myself lifted out of my entire existence and watching someone new drop into it seamlessly is so surreal. I have a crushing understanding of true betrayal. I feel like a ghost watching my own life. And it’s not that I want that life back. No. because I deserve more. And right now I have more. But it would be nice to at least be missed. Or acknowledged. Or just…anything. It is a pain worse than death. It’s the pain of wanting to be dead.

Before you run to the suicide hotline, let me finish. Yeah. I went back to that dark place that night. I’d been standing on the edge of it for a long time. I have some amazing people standing on the edge next to me. They tell me that as soon as I am ready to back away from that dark dark ledge that they will be out there in the real world with me. And until then, they stand next to me on the dark dark ledge to make sure I don’t fall, or jump, or get pushed in. So I must admit that when they weren’t looking, or took a break to go pee or shift change or something, I tried to get back in there. I got down in there and wasn’t sure if I wanted out or not. But then, I looked up and saw their faces and their outstretched hands and the eyes full of compassion and not judgment and not belittlement. I reached up and I took a hand. It pulled me back.

And then do you want to know the crazy part?! One of those people was me. The real me. The one that knows deep down that I am not worthless and the last decade has not been in vain and the me that does not regret anything I have felt or sacrificed or given for others. Even when that wasn’t reciprocated. It hurts. But I did it anyway. It was the real me that is smarter and stronger and taller and probably more cautious but also much more adventurous. And that me took the hand of the too many pills me and said “Listen, bitch. This is not happening. You are NOT giving away any more power. You had your pity party. Move along sister. These people are here to help.” And they did. They are. They are Danonymously protecting my little armor chinks just until I can get those holes patched back up.

So…like I said, untwist your panties. I’m safe. I’m fine. I’m just vascillating between pain and pride. Love and Loss. Fear and Fantastic. Trust and terror. Life and Living. New and Nostalgic. Fact and Fiction. Truth and Consequence. Action and Reaction. I'm opening and learning and letting other people in. And you know what sucks, they might hurt me too. maybe even worse. But, the good news is that I’m here to tell the tale. And I'll tell whatever new tales come along in the future. I’m here to be blunt and brutal and a little bit scary when I tell you my brain. But, as someone once told me, everything happens for a reason…

D'Artagnan begins to show himself: Lessons I have learned while being unemployed

2011-09-15T14:39:00.000-05:00

Check out an awesome new blog by a friend of mine! Y'all be nice to him OK! Also, don't be fooled by the "showing himself" part. It's not that. I totally thought that too. It's actually some kind of literary reference or whatever. Yeah, I totally acted like I knew that already too.

D'Artagnan begins to show himself: Lessons I have learned while being unemployed: When I was working I used to daydream about what I would do if I ever got fired or laid off. I used to tell myself that I would sit aro...

For real. I mean seriously. Also I like country music now?

2011-09-14T14:43:00.000-05:00

I'm Angela. Angela Murphree. You might remember me from this little blog I used to write this one time called So Now You Know. I'm thinking about getting back into it. What do you think? Also, I am a recovering Obsessive-Compulsive. I am happily a former agoraphobic. I am a maintainer of panic and anxiety. I live with episodic major depressive episodes and OCD triggers. Also, I'm alive now. And a fully functioning, contributing member of society.

Yeah, sometimes I contribute some weird-ass stuff. But I'm here and I'm doing it. The trick was learning that I had to do it for me. Not for everyone else. I control my happy depsite or because of any circumstance I may create (or find myself forced into or dared to or just moments of being retarded and doing retarded things.) I get to decide if I want to be positive or negative about situations. I get to decide to hate or love. I decide to judge or to put myself in their shoes. I decide what words I should use to hurt or to help. I decide if I'm going to wallow like an asshole or look for something I can take away from the situation that is helpful. You know, things like "OK, so lesson learned. When I speed past a cop, don't slam on my brakes because that totally draws attention to you and gets you pulled over." or "OK, life lesson...don't stick your hands down in dark holes. Just don't. Ever. As a general rule. Also don't put your face in there after you decide it's not a great idea to put your hand in there."

Or "OK, note to self...hating someone is only keeping me trapped and bitter and angry and blocking my ability to create a positive energy that draws in positive people and places. I need to be the one to put myself out there and let it go. This situation is for a reason. Somebody's reason. Maybe it's not even for me to know why I have to be the one going through this. Maybe it's for someone else to SEE me go through it and learn lessons from how I handle it. Am I going to be hateful? mean? spiteful? I hope not. Hurt? untrustung for a while? angry? confused? Yeah. I'm gonna be those things too. But I'm going to handle it and maybe someday when someone else is feeling really really crappy I can simply say 'hey. I know what it feels like. It gets better."

That was an awfully specific life lesson.

I'm still in the process of being legally divorced. I know that I have reached a place of acceptance with that. My mind and my heart and my spirit and my intellect are already "divorced" and reaching places of independance that I have never before experienced. When I have these moments of clarity and sheer positive energy and bouyant spirit from doing things like going to work and driving and house shopping and dating, I try to absorb them and feel them and store them and live inside those moments and those emotions and those intellectual thoughts. When I trace the steps that brought me to that moment, I am so aware of God and the energy that He creates. I am literally brain bent at how every mental illness, every breakdown, every job, every contact, every experience shaped me and prepared me to be able to live inside this moment exactly where I am supposed to be. I am overwhelmed that I spent years preparing for an event I didn't know would happen, but was always a part of my life's track. I am amazed that the job I needed, the money I needed, the friends I needed, the family I needed, the patience I needed, were all beginning their track towards this moment years ago. Everything was lining up to converge at the right place and the right time. And I try to soak in that feeling. That emotion. That place where I am supposed to be.

But with the positive does come the negative. Sometimes I find myself brought to my knees with hurt and confusion and abandonment. And sometimes I am overcome by emotion and mental illness and the intellectual understanding of what is happening and the knowledge that there is nothing I could have or should have done to prevent it. And I try to absorb all that feeling. I want to feel it. I live in those moments of grief and anxiety and anger and I close my eyes and I memorize how it feels and what my body feels like and what my mind is saying. I cry or curse or scream or more often than not, I laugh from the sheer absurdity of actually thinking that I knew exactly where my life was heading and how it was going to be for the next 40 years. And honestly, what fun would that have been if I actually had been able to predict my future up until I presumably turned old and grey (which I won't because hello hair salon and face lift). I live in those horribly, terribly, lonely, cold, shitty moments because I need to. That's how we learn. And then I stop and remind myself to breathe. And then I remember that I am breathing. And then it occurs to me that I am using my mind for thinking. And I think about how I have capacity for emotion. And I feel lucky just to be alive to feel it. And then, luckily, I feel happy. And happily I feel stronger and stand taller and feel good about me. Just me being me. And me happily and luckily opens the place where I keep all the positive feelings that I was living in earlier and me being me goes back into that place. And I add to the positivity from having just lived through another experience. A lesson. A dark hole that I stuck my hand into without knowing what was in there.

Life lesson: Don't try to figure out where your future is going to take you. You'll know when you get there. And you'll stay there as long as you are supposed to. But know that everyone and everything and everyplace you encounter is potentially preparing you for that moment. And who knows, maybe you are the person who is going to shape someone else's future moments.

Dress on Ebay! Tell you friends!

2011-09-14T14:39:00.000-05:00

I really need this to happen. Seriously.

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Irritating-reminder-one-time-got-married-Wedding-Dress-Size-12-/120777324134?_trksid=p3286.m7&_trkparms=algo%3DLVI%26itu%3DUCI%26otn%3D2%26po%3DLVI%26ps%3D63%26clkid%3D2780673655605290554

Item number:

120777324134

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Item number: 120777324134

SHARE THIS. For me.

Item number:

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Item number:

120777324134

IOCDF: Dare to Believe

2011-08-22T21:00:00.001-05:00

Check it: Awesome opportunity to promote OCD awareness with the IOCDF. Get involved!

OCD Patients Challenged to ‘Dare to Believe’

International OCD Foundation presents OCD Awareness Week

Oct. 10-16

BOSTON

The International OCD Foundation has launched “Dare to Believe,” a new campaign to challenge the stereotypes of mental illness and encourage OCD sufferers to commit to overcoming the disorder.

“Dare to Believe...together we can beat OCD” is one of the campaign’s signature messages that will be featured prominently during OCD Awareness Week, to be celebrated October 10 through 16, with events across the United States and Canada.

The campaign encourages OCD suffers to “Dare to Believe…there is hope” and “Dare to Believe…treatment works.”

The International OCD Foundation is the nation’s leading resource and advocacy group for sufferers of obsessive compulsive disorder, their families, and medical professionals. The IOCDF funds research, provides access to treatment, educates professionals to treat OCD and annually presents the country’s largest national event dedicated to OCD and related disorders.

Some 4 million Americans suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder. There is no cure for OCD, though its symptoms can be effectively managed through treatment including therapy and medication.

OCD sufferers, their families, and professionals who treat OCD are invited to submit art, poetry, short stories, videos or music for the 2011 OCD Awareness Week live event in Boston on Oct. 15, which will also be streamed on-line. All submissions should reflect the “Dare to Believe” theme. Winners will receive a free trip to the Boston event to showcase their work.

“OCD is the doubting disease; patients find themselves in compulsive rituals because of the doubts in their minds,” said Jeff Szymanski, executive director of the International OCD Foundation. “Through our ‘Dare to Believe’ campaign we want OCD sufferers to confront and overcome those doubts, knowing that there is a larger community supporting them throughout their journeys.”

For more information on OCD Awareness Week and the Dare to Believe challenge visit www.ocfoundation.og. Entries into the Dare to Believe contest accepted until Aug. 31.

How San Diego and Southwest Airlines conspired to keep me hostage in Texas forever.

2011-08-21T21:14:00.000-05:00

I made it to San Diego. Remember? All the way back that far. And I promised you the hellish story of trying to get home? I’m gonna try to remember it now and give it to ya straight.

I did NOT want to leave beautiful San Diego and all the amazing experiences I had there. But I drug myself up and out of my super cozy bed that I was allergic to, packed my bags and headed out. I decided to wear a strapless dress and cute shoes because I wasn’t going to be doing that much walking and the dress was new and I wanted to wear it. Not entirely the most comfortable, but worth it.

I’m not gonna lie, I got a little bit of a late start and may or may not have had a Pacifico before heading down to the shuttle. No sense letting them go to waste, right? My flight wasn’t until 2:30, but I had to be out by noon of course. I waited until the last possible moment to drag my bag and new found sense of accomplishment down to the lobby. Housekeeping was about to have a freaking stroke trying to get into my room to clean it, so I figured it was time to let them have at it. Didn’t show up til 4 both other days I was there, but that day that damn room needed cleaning!

I was feeling like a regular pro as I caught my shuttle and oh so proficiently and tipped my suitcase carrier guy who probably has a more impressive title than that but he carried my suitcase so he is suitcase carrier guy to me. I checked myself in, I swept right through security. Like a pro. No trace of mental illness. I wasn’t even nervous. I DID get selected for a pat down so that was fun. Remember how I had on the strapless dress? When you get a pat down and they pull down along your dress, it pulls your fracking top down. So after struggling to NOT be accidently nude (because I really like to decide for myself when I get naked), I was in the terminal. It was so packed and I wasn’t hungry so I just stayed put for a couple hours. I had my phone and my books and I was good to go.

My first clue should have been the flight numbers. I’m better but I still have freaking OCD and the flight numbers were not sitting right with me from the first day. There was a time in my life when that combination of numbers would have sent me into full scale panic, but I let my rational brain take over. This is gonna be no big deal right? Right. Until they change the gate and I almost miss boarding. Thank you for the heads up San Diego. I mean, I know that you love me too and don’t want me to leave, but there are better ways to handle it, San Diego. You gotta let me go. I’ll return to you someday. But don’t make me almost miss my dang flight. I am a grown-up now and can’t go doing stupid things like that. And that was just the teaser.

And that plane was hot. Packed full, air not working well, only single seats left in between other people who were trying not to make eye contact in a not so subtle attempt to be all “Don’t sit here! It’s crowded and hot!” Yeah, not fooling me. I’m sitting. And I’m bringing all 6 feet of me along so my knees are probably fixin to poke you. Deal with it.

So I read my book (I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell which is so funny I was actually hurting from laughing), and ate my peanuts and drank my Dr. Pepper and was a total pro. And then we stopped in San Antonio to let some folks off. And then more people got on. And it was hotter than in California. And the cabin was melting. And we sat there. And sat there…and sat…and started to get really cranky…and then this “There is some kind of problem with some kind of light and blah blah plane maintainance and scary broken plane words and we are going to check it out and let you know as soon as we know that the plane actual works instead of testing it out in the sky.”

Wonderful.

And so there we sat. And the girl who previously couldn’t drive a car or leave my house or hold a job was now a bonafide traveler stuck on a plane. That may possibly be broken. And now I have officially missed my connection in Dallas. This is the part where the Obsessive-Compulsive girl is trying to show up. This is the part where Anxiety Disorder is all “Know what?! Now would be a great time to start freaking out, OK! Right now would be perfect OK OK! Let’s do this thing. Now. NOW!” But I sat. And I was so effing sweaty and the cute dress was starting to turn into a hot mess and my armpits were sweating like a man’s. So at least I smelled awful and all my make-up was gone. That’s neat.

And now…”everybody off the plane. It is, in fact, officially broken but we have no idea why. We are going to try and fix it but probably won’t be able to but just kick it in this empty airport for a while as we bang on it with tools to make fixing sounds while we actually drink beer and go through your luggage.” But now we are like a family, we passengers. An angry tired family. And the airline decided to perform some sort of sick social experiment and separated us into two groups.”Group A…winners. You get to go get on this not broken plane and we are taking you to wherever you wanted to go. And have fun. And probably you all get puppies. Group B…Surprise! Welcome to San Antonio! You are stuck here. And you need to go re-book yourself for a flight to God knows where we can get you. Oh, but we can’t get you anywhere tonight because, duh, its already 9:30pm and San Antonio is closed. All of it. OH! And also…your luggage just went with group A. We just really like them a lot. Hotel? What do you mean, ‘hotel’? Oh, like…you want a place to stay overnight? Ha! Well…let’s see. That’s a real stretch.” Thus began the movement of our remaining family en masse to re-book flights and try to beg for a room for the night.

After finally finally finally securing myself a ride home the next day and begging a hotel room out of them, I went outside to sit on the bench and wait for the shuttle that was coming. Allegedly. As we were a family now and as I was all independent and normal, I began chatting with a couple guys who also were abandoned like unwanted children at the shuttle station to hopefully end up at a hotel and not at a raping. Nice guys, from Tulsa out for training for their work. At this point I had abandoned my shoes and hadn’t eaten since the Pacifico that morning and I was tired and had no luggage and no hairbrush or toothpaste and I just wanted to relax. The shuttle actually showed up and took us to an actual hotel which turned out to be pretty cool surprisingly. Some kind of modern, artistic place. Exactly the kind of place where you want to walk in to the ultra swank lobby with no shoes on, sweating and tired, with 6 other people who are also looking their finest.

The good news…the bar was open! I made a plan with my new friends to meet at the bar in 10 minutes. You know, after I went to my room and didn’t actually freshen up or anything because I didn’t have any luggage. We were the only 3 people in the bar that night and the bartender was a super cool chick who got me some chips and cheese sticks and Corona. She was my best friend at that moment. OK, but it turns out that one of my other new friends was under the impression that he could get my number and etc and etc and "hey we are at a hotel...". I was not gonna let that happen, but god love the kid for trying. He pulled out all the stops. And by that I mean “had lots of shots” His wingman/friend, the bartender and I had actually reached the point where we were just outright laughing at the poor guy because he was really trying to bring his A game. But it was not even in my periphery of thought. Finally, friend took drunky back to their room as good friends should when the striking out has just become sad. I figured it was time to try and get comfortable in my room with no way to take out my contacts and nothing to change into and dirty hair.

So remember how I just kinda popped up to my room when I first got to the hotel and dropped my little bag of books and my purse and went right back downstairs? OK, yeah. I also dropped the sleeve of the key. That had the room number on it. Which I suddenly realized I had no clue what the room number was. So here’s me: tired, dirty feet, wrinkled dress, nearly delirious and giggling standing in the hall like an idiot with no idea where to start. Which made me laugh. So now I am laughing like an idiot standing in the hall trying to figure out what to do. So I did what made the most sense; I started at the end of the hall and used my key in every door until one of them opened. I think it took about 12 tries. But that is what you call problem solving, everyone. Take the lesson and learn from that. You are welcome.

Morning after a crappy, uncomfortable night of sleeping. Guh. Hot. Tired. Need coffee. Fancy pants hotel charges a kidney for coffee. Didn’t have my meds with me because like an idiot they were in my suitcase. Made it to the airport. Sat around for a few hours. Still have no food because apparently San Antonio only believes in enormous pastry type cakes for breakfast. And I’m cool NOT having diabetes. Finally on a plane. Still internally freaking out a little because, hello, our other plane broke. But this flight number was super OCD compliant so I felt better. Started a new book. Made the connection in Dallas. Got to OKC. Where my luggage didn’t show up.

Great. So I went to the luggage claim place and I was the second person in the line. As I stood behind the guy in front of me, I actually spotted my suitcase in a pile. But the guy in front of me was a good ol’ boy from Yukon and knew the luggage room guy. And knew his parents and grandparents and that ol’ boy down there at the co-op that used to run us out the feed and did you know he got himself cancer and his wife done died? And also, I seen your parents up in church a few weeks ago down in Chickasha and how are they doing and how’s your brother and I gots me a new pick-up truck for running the equipment out to the fields but the wife wants her a new truck too. And so on and so on…

Many inane facts and questions later…I had my suitcase! I was in the city! I was walking to my car! Which I can’t remember where I parked. So now I have a hotel hallway situation only on a much larger scale. So what did I do? Wandered around the parking garage hitting my panic button. It took me about 10 minutes. I knew I was on the 4th floor, because yeah, 4.

Success! In my car! I even loaded up my super heavy suitcase. Did I mention that this particular suitcase is broken? The frame is bent all to hell and the handle doesn’t pull up for rolling so I have to drag it from the top which causes it to bang into my ankles every other step. But I am in my own car with my own music and mess and familiarity. I just need to head home. Exit: that way. OK. Wait, I drove around that way once…wait…how do I get down to the next level?...OK, whoops I’m going around the floor again…I think that was one way…I think I just almost crushed that tiny little parked hamster wheel of a car…stop ducking every time you drive under the clearance bar, Angela, it’s not going to hit you in the head…I am still going around in a circle on the same floor! What is happening here?! I want to leave this parking garage! No, no, no I am still circling…oh oh oh wait…third level! Success! Well, mother eff! How did I get back on the 4th level?! Grrrrr! OK, really now little yellow camaro behind me? You in a hurry to be somewhere Bumblebee? Because maybe you should get in front. I seriously cannot get out of here!!

So that happened. Finally I just went down level by level going the wrong way on the one way entrances. I was getting seriously desperate. But I made it! I made it home! I traveled all the way across the country and back! By myself! I rule at independent. Just not so much with directional capabilities.

Me and my dress with dirty hair and no shoes on morning two of just trying to get back home already!

Untitled because I'm tired.

2011-08-15T20:37:00.002-05:00

I woke up in a good mood today. Really really good. Which is funny, because yesterday was shit. Yep. No other way to classify that. Sucked balls. In case you have not been able to pick up on my subtlety or you don’t actually know me in person, let me catch you up. I am in the middle of a divorce. Yeah. Sometimes your life changes without your permission. Sometimes people hurt you without your permission. And sometimes you let them keep hurting you. And sometimes you stand up and say “no more”. Sometimes you have to force yourself to walk away from things even when it’s all you’ve ever known. And sometimes a brand new person emerges. Sometimes everything is different.

So I think I’ve been doing OK. Really OK, in fact. I didn’t think I could handle this. But to be fair, I never thought I would have to. But I am handling the frackballs out of this. But yesterday was crap. What would be the point of blogging everything if I wasn’t honest? So honestly, yesterday was breakdown day. I have been working so hard and so diligently. I am making choices that I am proud of and choices that I stand behind. I have no regrets. But yesterday. Damn. It’s so frustrating to be misunderstood. To have words put in your mouth. To have your character questioned. To go back to that dark place of questioning myself and my choices and my thoughts. I found myself giving up my power. It sucked. I let my situation start to control me and my emotion.

But then I took a breath. I talked it out. I made decisions. And I trusted my instinct. I’m going to screw up. I’m going to screw up a lot a whole bunch of times. But the lesson here is to take responsibility for myself. I will not give away my sense of self-worth. And sometimes it’s ok to break down because it helps me re-evaluate and forces me to stand back up and dust off and remember that I am, in fact, capable of this.

And today…today was good. Really good.

*and i'm working on the "getting home from San Diego story. it's not done yet.*

San Diego Pictures. From my phone. Because my real camera was recently submerged in water. Don't do that.

2011-08-01T21:35:00.000-05:00

View from my balcony on the 6th floor

More of my view

legit!

The pier that makes me dizzy

So much water and rocks

me on day 2 of trying to get home

Things you don't see in california that welcomed me home

10 miles per gallon. The environment frowns on this. I hear you already!

IOCDF 2011 or How Angela conquered San Diego and Magic Fish and Airplanes and yes there is mild cursing ahead because this story is too big to NOT curse a little so just relax and go with it

2011-08-01T21:19:00.000-05:00

Holy crap y’all guess what the eff happened to me?!

I went all the way across the fracking country all by myself and got all the way back. And I had fun. I had more than fun. I had brand new experiences. I had challenges and successes and a little bit of adventure. I’m gonna try and start at the beginning but mother-of-a-bald-headed-monkey there is so much. I’ll try and break it up into manageable pieces. But you know how I ramble and get excited about stuff.

In case you are new here and I have a feeling there are at least one or two, welcome and let me give you a back story. I was at the International OCD Foundation Conference this last weekend in San Diego. I got to speak. About myself. For an hour. So, you know, exactly what I normally do. I have OCD. I had OCD? I will have OCD? I have a story and I have been on a journey though my life and I got to tell the story as it stands up til now. Clumsy, mentally ill, dead faced, dark, scary, exciting, beautiful, and unpredictable. It was an honor and a privilege to share my life with other people. I am so humbled at all of the people I met who face challenges so much worse than anything I could imagine. Those people give me strength. And it was so special to be allowed to share with the OCD community.

Anysupersappygetotheboobstoriesway, I left Thursday. I was nervous. Nervous started a few days before. By Thursday, I was crazy nuts nervous. I had made a promise to myself that I was still going to put one foot in front of the other for this whole experience and I swear to dear sweet 8 pound 6 oz baby Jesus, there were moments that I was literally only functioning one minute at a time. But just like that…Airport…parking lot (I parked on the 4th floor shut up I’m still allowed a little bit of loony)…security…gate…plane…transfer…2nd plane. Like. A. Boss. And I talked. And reached out just a little. And I sat next to strangers and talked to them and laughed a little and may or may not have banged my head on the overhead bin in front of a whole mess of people. I’m fine. The concussion a few weeks ago knocked all the soft right outta my head so I can take a hit now.

I would like to take this moment to point out a few things:

A) San Diego is un-freaking believable. I was seriously in culture shock within about 2 minutes. It is so unlike anyplace I’ve ever been and so not what I thought. As the weekend moved along I seriously started to love that place. How does a girl from landlocked states love the ocean so much? Except for the damn earthquakes. Crap just swaying around with no warning. That is messed up. I spent all weekend assessing every shake for it’s earthquake probability and determining if I should dive into a doorway or pull covers over my head or whatever it is you do in an earthquake besides pee your pants.

B) I would like to be congratulated for not quoting Anchorman not one time. I told San Diego to stay classy about 14 times inside my head. And I definitely called a few people Tits McGee inside my head. And I was totally biting my tongue to refrain from any references to glass cases of emotion. Particularly during my speech.

C) Also I thought I was allergic to California. Turns out I was allergic to my bed cover. Never trust a hotel bed cover. Wink wink I'm talking about cause people have sex on it.

Back to my trip; I seriously almost didn’t go to the speakers’ reception cocktail party thing on Thursday night. I was so exhausted from all the travel and still writing and re-writing my talking points and holding down my compulsions to a very surprising minimum and all this without extra meds so I just really came close to talking myself out of it. That’s what I know how to do. I talk myself out of experiences. Of risks. Of chance. Fortunately, sassy britches Angela got a hold of scaredy cat Angela and gave a little verbal whopping. “Woman! You cut this bullshit out right now and get your ass down to that party because you have worked hard and you deserve to be there. Suck it up, untwist your damn panties, and get down there!” She can be a total bitch sometimes. I changed my outfit approximately 20 times. Started and stopped walking out the door about 20 times and finally left. And couldn’t find the freaking entrance to the patio restaurant. I could see it. I’m pretty sure everyone could see me wandering around like a fool. Remember how I’m a tall girl? Yeah took me two laps around the place to figure out how to get in.

But they let me in. Budlight Lime in hand (because the froufity bar didn’t have Corona) I tried to eat but literally did not recognize any of the food. The names of the food were foreign to me. I’m not entirely sure if some of it was food. It may have been wet naps or something. So, I put myself out there (up there?) and I talked to someone, then someone else, and another and another and I was laughing and comfortable. There were people exactly like me. There were people who understood me. And that’s why I didn’t argue when I was whisked away into a cab having no idea what the destination was but I was definitely amused by some Canadian accents. It was a fancy pants restaurant. I relaxed. I ate spaghetti with marinara because you know, you can take the girl out of the Olive Garden but you can’t get her to order food she can’t pronounce or afford. And then I took some bold chances. Did things I’ve never done. Took a chance. And lost my freaking ID. It had apparently leaped from my purse onto the floor and tried to be all sneaky with me and crawl away under the table. I think I might have to start wearing all valuable cards/ID/insurance around my neck on a lanyard so when I get found wandering around shoeless somewhere and bleeding, I can be returned to my rightful owners. But the universe had plans for my ID. And I got it back. And some people think that things are coincidental.

The next three days were amazing. Life bending. Mind twisting. Irrational. And completely logical and natural. I went to meetings. I again met people exactly like me. People who got it. People who related. And I also met people who were nothing like anything I have ever experienced before. I allowed myself to open up and tried to soak it all in. One of my favorite quotes from the conference was “Faith is a choice”. I tried to keep choosing. Just keep making choices and keep moving forward. And wouldn’t you know it? Things happened.

I ate fish tacos. Did y’all know that you can make a taco without mild sauce or Taco Bell's permission? It was Mahi Mahi. Fresh and good and I have no idea what a Mahi Mahi is or if that is even a thing. I had ceviche. That’s food, everybody. You eat it. It’s raw fish that actually like cooks itself in citrus juices. It cooks its own freaking self. Like voodoo or David Blaine. And it’s really surprisingly good. Even if you don’t put ranch on it. I saw the water at night. There are boats and this fabulous breeze that smells nothing at all like cows. I walked and walked and walked. There was so much good conversation. I love the energy of a smart mind with experience and life. I tried to pick those brains apart which is actually a disgusting turn of a phrase. I tried to soak that up. And I told boob stories. Because that’s what I do. I'm Angela. I'm loud and inappropriate. And on the third night there were actually freaking fireworks outside viewable from my balcony. Really, San Diego?! I’m already trying to figure out a way to move here and you are seducing me with your magical fireworks and self cooking food!? I get it already! But we have the State Fair and OU Football. Suck it.

My speech felt good. I was so worried no one would come. But then again I would tell my story if only one person showed up to hear it. I figure I’d keep on telling it to myself even if I was the only one there. I’d probably get bored in a room all alone for an hour and end up breaking something because I may or may not have been curiously pushing buttons and flipping switches but that’s your own fault for leaving me alone with AV equipment when you know I am there for the crazy people conference! The room was full. And it felt like my family. I was safe there and I shared to the darkest part of the struggle all the way to the night before . Fair warning: If you ever interact with me you are eligible for my blog/show/speech unless you specifically sign a waiver forbidding me not to tell stories. I’m gonna start carrying those waivers in my lanyard with my ID and my bus money.

At one point in my story/speech I compared my life to standing on the edge of this cliff. My life was on the other side of that cliff. But I couldn’t jump. I needed to be pushed. Kicked. Thrown. I need every experience I have to shape who I am and who I could be. So recently when I was pushed over my proverbial cliff, I surprised myself most of all by not falling. So I found it wonderfully poetic when later that day I found myself on an actual cliff. Looking over water and waves and freaky ass pelicans that have no personal space boundaries. You better check yourself, birds. I was just sort of trying to take a mental image for myself. And also trying to actively NOT die by falling over a cliff. Let's just keep that as a metaphor. I climbed and explored and walked along this pier that made me dizzy. Because of the waves. I felt like the entire thing was moving. The waves actually make a crashing sound. But apparently those “aren’t big waves at all” even though I thought they were “freaking enormous” but no they aren’t that big because it’s “so windy” and I’m all “Yeah when you see your picnic table relocate to your neighbor’s yard, that is windy. This is a breeze.” Moral of this paragraph: I like oceans. Oceans are pretty. Don’t fall off actual cliffs.

One more thing. I would like to submit for your approval another sandwich for admittance into the rapidly expanding “Angela Loves Sandwiches Hall of Fame”. The previous entries are Beach Sandwich and the more recent Hospital Sandwich(es). We shall call this one “San Diego Sandwich” and I rank it above Hospital Sandwich and in a very close tie for first with Beach Sandwich. I might need to try both again at some point in life. The bread was all soft and there were tomatoes and avocado and bacon. Enough said.

And so it went. I like to think that I did my part to bring a little bit of south to California. I ordered a bangload of ranch with my pizza. I drank beer instead of fancy stuff. I tried to stay positive and open. I chopped off the middle of my fingernail. I banged my ankle on something and cut it. I tripped only about like 4 or 6 times. I wandered around lost approximately 10% of the time. I spilled coffee on myself. I lost my ID. I tripped on my iron cord. I watched Jersey Shore in my hotel room one night even though I’d seen it a hundred times before because hello it’s Jersey Shore and the only thing better than Jersey Shore is Teen Mom I don’t care how adamant you are about or how much of a learned scholar you may be. I win. I win at awesome TV. Every time.

And then it was time to try and get home…I can’t even begin to start that right now. It’s…just…Holy Hell. That was a nightmare for another time.

I did this. I made it. And I'm OK. When do we do it again?

Just. Got. Home.

2011-08-01T15:47:00.000-05:00

I was supposed to be home yesterday but I got sidetracked with an "adventure" (please use air quotes). That is a long blog story. The entire San Diego trip is another long blog story and really was an adventure without air quotes. And the stories will be epic. Once I replenish my fluids and get some sleep. Seriously though, BEST WEEKEND EVER! Life changing and challenging and pushing my boundaries and so many amazing things. And then there was the IOCDF conference part too! I'm working on it. But now...bed.

2011-07-30T14:35:00.000-05:00

i totally had this crazy idea that I was going to be able to update through out the conference. Oh right, I'm in effing San Diego!! Anyhow, there is so much happening and people and things and places and seminars and the beach and new friends and life and fun and exciting that I don't think I can fit it all in right now. BUT...never fear. i am definetly taking notes and pictures and all that. I even have a couple scars already because, you know, it is me after all. See you all very soon with lots of stories!

It's conference day! And my birthday still. A little.

2011-07-28T06:46:00.000-05:00

It's San Diego day!! I plan to keep posts and updates and all that coming all weekend. But we all know I'm not much of a follow througher. But, good sign from the universe...Steve Madden black platform pumps with silver stiletto on clearance for only $70 bucks yesterday. UM...YES! Thank you birthday money. And Steve Madden. So I'm on the way to the *gasp* airport *gasp* alone. But here is the post from my birthday that I forgot about/was too lazy to post/messed up my blogger dashboard email and had to curse at it to get it to let me sign in/wrote for your enjoyment/wrote becuase I love my birthday. See you soon!

Sooo…Today is my birthday!!

If you don’t follow me on Facebook then you won’t know that it is actually Day 5 of Birthday week. Birthday week is an annual tradition where I do fun things and hang out with fun people and generally have a blast and get nothing actually accomplished. I figure that this year shouldn’t be any different. In fact, as I am embracing the new independent me, I realize that this year more than any other year I have need to celebrate and move forward and start over and appreciate what I have and love the people around me and find positivity and chose happiness and positive energy.

I am a different person than I was one year ago. This last year has brought me challenges and trauma and difficulty. I brought me to rock bottom. Which was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Because I came out on the other side a brand new person. I worked so hard for the last several years to maintain and overcome mental illness. This last year Jesus decided it was finally time to take away my safety net. And at first it was hard. And I was pissed. Pissed at life. Pissed at the situation that I didn’t ask for. Pissed that Jesus was messing with me. But then I started to realize that all those pieces I had been trying to put together for the last few years finally and suddenly came together all at once. I was balancing on the wire and I didn’t fall. And then the wire turned into a bridge. And then the bridge became this clearly lit solid path that didn’t require a net. And I’m traveling it. I’m doing it.

The path is brand new to me but it feels exciting. I can’t always see what’s up ahead but I know that there are lessons and experiences to be had. I feel focused and determined and independent. I feel like what I have been trying to be for all these years of mental illness. There are new people along the path. There is still pain on the path. But instead of letting it overcome me, I am learning from it and growing and changing. Last week on the path I peed in a bush. For real. I actually did that. Who knew I could do that? I also can drive on this path. Anywhere. Everywhere. I can take care of myself on this path. I’m still figuring out how that works and sometimes I mess up, but I am doing it. I am taking chances and sometimes getting concussions and bruises and sweaty and tired and its fun!

So basically Happy Birthday to me. It’s going to be a great year!

I don't know where this post is headed. I'm just trying to do things. All kinds of things.

2011-07-14T09:51:00.000-05:00

It’s gonna be one of those posts where I have no idea where to start and no idea where I’m going and no idea how to wrap it up and no idea what the point is supposed to be. It’s like stream-of-consciousness that hopefully doesn’t freak out your brain by seeing a little of what’s in mine. I’m not sure that anyone really should be allowed full access to my thought process. For example: Here is part of a conversation I had 2 days ago.

Him: What are you looking at?
Me: Your arm.
Him: Why? Are you looking at my big muscles?
Me: No. I was looking at this spot right here. (crook of the arm where the elbow bends)
Him: And why were you doing that?
Me: I was thinking that your veins are really big and would be easy to stick a needle into.
Him: What?!
Yeah. See? Sometimes when I’m not really paying attention to my mouth, weird stuff comes out of it. And yet somehow people still hang around me. Sometimes I think they are only hanging around because at any moment I could turn into like the best story they’ve ever had to tell people about. I’ll be their go to story when they meet people and are having conversations. I’ll be their “and this one time this chick just totally went nuts right in the middle of the bar! She was like touching things and twitching around and repeating words! It was so crazy!” So you’re welcome. I don’t mind being your ice breaker. At least just use my real name and give me some credit.

OK, so anyhowdoyoudoandwhydoistillhavefriends, I’ve been busy. In case you are out of the loop, my life has taken a dramatic turn in the last month. I can’t give you all my details right now. I was in the psych ward which was probably the best thing that has ever happened to me, and when I got out my life pretty much got pulled out from underneath me. Everything I have ever known to be true for the past many many years is gone and different and changed. But, as is my custom now, I am trying to learn and grow. Which is hard when there is so much that is unfamiliar. But, I am a strong person. I am a smart and determined female. I am going to keep moving and growing and learning. And when it hurts I try to experience the hurt and be inside of it and really feel it. When it feels powerful, I try and experience it and live in it and soak it up and save it and learn how to harness it. I am trying to stay positive and live and experience and be in the moment. I couldn’t have done that 3 years ago. Hell, I couldn’t have done that 3 months ago. So this is for a reason and I don’t want to miss one second of whatever it is that I am supposed to be learning here.

I’ve been doing things. Some of those things suck balls. I hate doing those things. Some of those things are awesome and I want to do them all the time. The point is, I’m doing things. I’m continually placing one foot in front of the other. I am doing things every day. I am learning how to financially manage my own life. I rode a motorcycle. I am doing a certification course and getting a new job. I am performing. I am meeting people and making friends. I am doing things. And in the very wise words of someone who we will call Danonymous, “Doin’ things is good.” And it is. Crappy things and fun things. I just keep doing things. Danonymous also was very excited about “not even needing a roofie” so we will take that one for whatever it’s worth.

I am finding myself accessing parts of my personality that either were never there before or were too afraid to stand up and be accounted for. But I’m moving and learning and praying and sending good energy into the universe and centering and laughing and crying and feeling and teaching and absorbing and doing things. Because doin’ things is good. It’s all part of the process.

Go ahead and try for yourself. I did.

2011-07-05T18:22:00.002-05:00

I just need to take a quick moment to thank whoever googled "peeing ashes". That is awesome in so many ways but mostly because my blog comes up as the number one match on google. My blog=peeing ashes. Thank you. You are why I do this.

Philosophy or Fatigue. I'm still deciding

2011-07-04T16:41:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we are just rolling along living life and then the universe or God or karma or the muses or whatever is all “Hey, everybody who is fixin’ to just keep chillin’ and moving on and living life all happy and normal raise your hand.” And then the universe is all “You…there…with the skinned knees and concussion…not so fast.” And then Karma or the wind or the infinite or whatever just sucker punches you right in the girl nads.

And then you’re all “The frick, universe?! What did I do?” And the wind or the being or the force be with you says “You did nothing. But chill the ass out for a second. You are here for a reason. There’s gonna be lots of crap hit lots of fans and lots of it is going to go backwards into your mouth. Crap does that when haphazardly strewn about. But what you will learn is to keep your mouth closed. And probably your eyes. You don’t want some kind of conjunctivitis.” And hopefully, instead of diseases, you walk away with a lesson.

And then later as you are recovering from mouth poo, the path you are walking gets dark and scary and lonely and mean and the trees look alive and they grab and they pull at you. Kinda like in Wizard of Oz but in a completely non-plagerized way. And some of them are even talking and trying to get you to take this other path. And they want you to give up and walk through the murky yucky pits and sink into the sand because the sadness of the swamp got to you. Kinda like Neverending Story but in a totally non-plagerized way. And you almost head on over, because holy hell…I’m tired and what did I do to deserve this and I need a rest anyway.

But then you remember how you almost got poo in your mouth and you learned a lesson from that, so you decide to keep walking. Mouth firmly closed. And walking. And walking. And along the way there are people. And the first one says “Hey I got that poo all in my mouth too, wasn’t that gross?” And the next one says “I was so sad on the path. I was lonely. But now here we all are together.” And you each share your stories of surviving of living and thriving and grabbing life by it’s own girl nads and saying “There, how do you like me now?” And you realize that you are a different person and they people around you are different because of you and you because of them. And you realize that maybe John Lennon had a good idea about the love thing.”

And then God or the universe or Jesus or your mom or karma or the flying spaghetti monster or whoever it is shows up and is all “See, now that’s why I punched you in the balls. If I had just told you the lesson it wouldn’t have sunk in.” And you are all “OK, I get the method but maybe could we try something else next time?” And the ancestors or the spirits of the wind or the nymphs of the forest tell you “Well, that depends on you. Stupid. Pay attention to every detail. Be thankful for each day. Love to your fullest. Experience to your utmost. Meet people. Learn from them. Teach them. Use your senses and your mind and your emotions and create and appreciate creation and dare to say yes. And you will learn. And sometimes I’ll kick you in the balls again when you get all caught up in the beauty of this life you get to live.” And you’ll be all “Wow. I think I get it. Wait…did you call me stupid?”

And then God pinches you on the arm just a little. And you’re all “Ow! Stop it! What was that even for?!” And the universe or your angel or your conscience is all “I’m just reminding you that I’m here.” Even when it hurts. And is annoying.

I mean, I would laugh. If it happened to someone else. I would laugh so hard

2011-07-04T16:38:00.002-05:00

I don’t think it’s a secret that I am not an athlete. Yes, tall. Athlete, no. Incredibly clumsy, yes. Lithe and agile, no. God’s little sense of humor. But I’m bendy like a Gumby so I can just usually bounce and twist my way out of things.

So remember how I’m seizing life now? I’m living and saying yes and learning and absorbing and not wasting a second of living? Well, one of the things on the list I made was “Play on a social sports team.” And being the over-achiever that I am, not only did I get on a kickball team, I started my own dang team. So now, I literally have no idea what I am doing, I have no skills whatsoever other than being a novelty in the women’s height division, I’ve never actually worn cleats or touched a kickball, and I am the boss of a team. Sometimes I don’t always think ahead.

But, as always here at So Now You Know we focus on the positive and learn our lessons. I recruited some killer kickball vets who also had the ability to be patient with me and my jittery, crazy self. Season got off and running with a great start. Great team, good dymanic, lots of fun, lots of newbies playing on the team just like me. But our vets took it over and made us a team.

So last week, the game gets underway after the captains play paper, rock, scissors. I kicked ass at it and chose outfield for us. Should have just quit right there with that win. By the second inning, we pretty much knew that this was going to be about love of the game and not winning for our team. We were getting picked off one after another.

Our lineup is kind of long, so I didn’t actually get my first at bat until top of the fourth out of a five inning game. I was so ready to stop this shut-out. I kicked that line-drive so solid on the ground and watched it just sail past the fielders. I knew I was getting at least to second. Until everything suddenly went into slow motion. It started when I felt my cleats dig in on my right foot. As I brought my left foot forward, the inertia of my entire 6 foot frame fought against the stubbornness of my cleat and brought my complete body over my leg and down right into the center of my forehead. I didn’t even skin my hands or knees. My whole body just zeroed in on the point in my forehead and forced all weight through my skull in an apparent attempt to knock out my brains.

I remember the ground as it came really close. And I remember making a sound. A really indescribable squeally scream that probably was even more awesome not inside my head. I remember hitting the ground and my head bouncing back up really slowly. As it came up I thought “OK, everything is in multiples. That can’t be good. I think my eyes are in backwards.” And then I remember impact the second time. The very next instant I remember both teams nervously helping me to my feet. I remember yelling “its cool everybody! I’m good!” I remember getting over to the fence and then being repeatedly woken back up by ever vigilant teammates. There was a nurse on our team. It wasn’t like I needed to go to the hospital so they could confirm what we already knew and then tell someone to keep an eye on me. So it made more sense to stay with my friends for a while.

Now for what really happened: (as corroborated by approximately 20 separate accounts)

Yes, I toe picked it into the ground. As my body accordioned up on itself and then on over the top, I did in fact make a sound so insane that Mother Freaking Theresa would have had to stop for a laugh. Even Jesus would be all, “Yeah, I’m gonna come help, but Holy crap woman did you hear yourself?!” So let’s start the clock :10 spent both teams laughing at the noise I made. Then when my head went down a second time, they just assumed I was laughing at myself from embarrassment and stood around and laughed some more. We’re at about :30 now. Then it got all quiet as both teams are all “Hmmm…is she kidding?” Then they saw me apparently trying to get up so they got all laughing again. :60. I went back down to the ground and obviously couldn’t stand up so the crowd hits awkward silence again. Finally, someone suggests that maybe I actually was knocked out and decided to check. :90. Yeah I laid there knocked out for 90 seconds at least. And that’s the part when I supposedly started to assure everyone I was fine and tell them I was going to throw up. Yep. Concussion. At kickball. From hitting the ground. I rule at sports. And also walking.

I am sorry that my knowledge of small puffy animals is not adequate for this post

2011-07-04T16:37:00.002-05:00

When I was in the special home for special people like me who are just kinda special, my dear friend brought me some clothes and shoes and books and all kinds of things I might need in my new safe place with crafts and groups and pudding cups. However…it turns out that among the list of things we special folks can’t have is a blow dryer. Why? Who knows? It’s just “the rules”. And I am the type to always follow “the rules”. So she was forced to take my blow dryer all the way back to her house because they aren’t even trying to have responsibility for my blow dryer. No telling what kinda power that thing could have. Best to get it out of the building.

But here’s the problem, she lives way the booty far away from me. So all was well in my crazy little home and the time came for me to return to my natural environment. However, my blow dryer was not on my route home and I forgot to go get it.

And thus went by a week, and then two, and then three. I just don’t get out there that often. So the good news is that I have curly hair. And when I just let it dry it just dries curly. But I was starting to get really bored of curly hair. Something had to be done. Having learned my lesson from when I previously set my old blow dryer on fire; my hair is too long and luscious to be dried by simply flinging my head around. Also, that is very dangerous and you can whack your head on things. I only need that lesson once. So, I went back to the figurative drawing board (as my own drawing board is dry erase and has been defiled with permanent marker and therefore is no longer useful for hatching plans.) And it hit me…the air compressor in the garage.

So for about a month I dried my hair with high powered air used to fill tires and power hydraulic machinery. Yes, my hair was dry. It was also appeared as though a muskrat had perched on my head. I say muskrat because I am not really familiar with what small furry animal would make a good simile there. Pekinese maybe? 1980’s mall rat?

But good news! I have my blow dryer back! And it is fabulous. Never again will I take something so simple for granted. And by stating that moral of this story I have crafted a motivating and time enduring fable with a precious life lesson. I am like a shaman. A magic shaman. With good hair.

I just can't get into it right now, but I'm still here

2011-07-04T16:36:00.002-05:00

I’m having sort of a blog hiatus. It’s a long story. For another day. For now, please enjoy these few posts. Laughing is how I live. Laughing is how I survive. In the midst of the very serious, I still look at my life and try to find the funny. My only hope is that sometimes you laugh a little too and your very serious becomes a little easier to carry.

Life lesson #242: Never trust a mystery drug cocktail.

2011-06-21T09:01:00.000-05:00

On about my fifth day there, I was still struggling with the stress that had brought me to the crazy ward in the first place and I had a particularly traumatic breakdown. This is normal in the crazy ward as you are expected to dredge up feeling and emotions and thought patterns and history all the time and that can be really hard. So anyhow, I went a little bit looney bin. My new friends helped me up off the floor as I was in hysterics and took me to the blessed nurses who filled up my med cup with all kinds of crazy pills. I think there were some tranquillizers and ambien and all kinds of fun stuff in there. One of the awesomely supportive staff supervised me until I feel asleep. The next day, the doctor crew brought me in a therapist just for me to see as a bonus prize for losing my nuts. So we talked and it helped and we determined that I should try the same drug regimen that night as well.

I stood in line at pill time and took my huge cup of pills. Now, I don’t know what was different about this particular night. Maybe it was the ambient, maybe the stress of a breakdown left my body needing nutrients, maybe it was because I hadn’t really eaten more than 50% the whole time I was there, but to be fair my pill lady did warn me that I needed to be in bed no later than 15 minutes after consuming the pills because they were strong. It’s cool. I got this. It was the weekend which meant extra TV time in the evening and an hour later to stay up. I figure, I’ve got 15 minutes, I’m gonna go check out the movie everyone is watching. I think it had hot boys in it.

Before I could even get two steps from the front desk where we get our pills, I had to pass the community kitchen. And suddenly, I was fracking starving. We get one sandwich as a snack each day. The sandwiches from the day before are also still in there. I literally thought I might actually start to eat my own fingers if I didn’t eat that sandwich. I pulled out the one with my name on it and headed to the TV area. I was completely done with said sandwich by the time I walked the 50 feet down the hall. So then I thought, “Hey, It’s 10:30. Nobody else is going to eat a snack this late” as my head started to spin a little either from the meds or the sheer euphoria of the prospect of more sandwiches.

I started in on them right away. “Hey. You there. Are you eating your sandwich? Then I’m eating it. Do you want yours? I don’t care. Too late. I’m eating it.” Etc. And a meandered in a winding drunkish pattern back down to the community kitchen and started raiding sandwiches. Keep in mind that we are now at about t-9 minutes before I am supposed to be safely tucked in bed and I am definitely feeling the effects. “Oooo, I’m eating hers because she checked out today. His is mine because he is already in bed. That one has my name on it from yesterday so that is for sure mine” and so on and so on.

T-7 minutes before pills knock me out, I weave my way back down to the TV area with, count it, 5 sandwiches in plastic baggies. I sat down aware but completely unconcerned that all of my new friends were literally staring at me mouths agape as I tore the plastic on bag one and ate the sandwich in approximately 1.5 minutes. I knew that I had a time limit working against me here and I needed that sandwich dammit!! I was starving. I didn’t have time to bother with that little Ziploc-yellow-and-blue- make-green-conspiracy-by-the-sandwich-bag-executives-to-deny-me-my sandwich-bullcrap!

T-5 minutes and I am 2 sandwiches down and starting to evoke genuine concern from my fellow inmates. “Hey, do you think you might want me to get you to your room?” “LAY OFF ME I’M STARVING” “How long after meds were you supposed to be in bed?” “She told me 15, so I’m good. Plenty of time.” This was about the time that I either forgot how or lost the ability to chew properly. So using my genius IQ (which I have the papers to prove so suck on that) I logically solved that problem by tearing up sandwich three and placing it in my mouth. I used my hands to make me chew. By sandwich four, the utter bliss of the sandwiches had resulted in me making disturbingly erotic sounds while using my fingers to actually mash up the food so I could swallow it. I was putting the whole sandwich in my mouth and just smushing it around with my hands.

That was when my clock ran out. I was bombed. But I still had one left. My dear fellow patient tattled on me and then the nurses took my arms on either side to lead me to my room. Meanwhile, I am still trying to eat the last sandwich while they have a hold of both my arms. So logically, since my arms couldn’t reach my face, I brought my face to my arms. The last sandwich had been reduced to a balled up mass in my fist and it was puzzling to me why I could get to the fist, but I couldn’t get the food out. Grrr! And that is precisely the moment when I blacked out.

The next morning I awoke with balled up sandwich still in my hand. Also, I was told that even with two adults helping me, I couldn’t figure out just exactly how one gets into a bed. It was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved for all the sandwiches in the world. As my nurse took my vitals the next morning she said “Wow! You slept great last night!” “How do you figure that?” I asked her. “Because your blood pressure is only 80/40!” OK, so item one on the agenda for that day was request a med change. Well, actually item two on the agenda because the first was to wash all that balled up sandwich off my hands and get all the pieces out of my bed.

I got help. I spoke up. I changed my life. I'm proud of myself.

2011-06-21T08:58:00.002-05:00

We arrived at the ER. Of course, I was terrified. Terrified that my brain had cracked beyond repair. Terrified that everyone will know. Terrified that my whole world was coming apart underneath me. Terrified of the damage I had done to myself. Terrified of the process of voluntarily admitting myself to the psych ward. The trauma and stress that had brought me here wasn’t going anywhere either. So I let them ask me questions and poke me with needles and I tried to forget my whole world and just stay in that moment.

After interrogating a crazy person on “SP” (suicide precautions), using whispery voices and talking to me as though I was an irrational child who insisted that Santa Claus is real, the crack team decided it would be a good idea to leave me alone. They left me alone. ALONE. In the ER room. While they got me admitted to the ward upstairs and got my bed ready. Oh, and this was after the part where I was still sobbing hysterically and the admin people stood there and made me write them a check for my co-pay before they continued treating me. So, I’m hysterical, on SP, poor, and crazy and they leave me by myself. So I did what any unlevel headed person would do in that situation; I took more pills out of my purse and swallowed them. Good job, me.

I had this idea that it was going to be like a prison. A prison with no windows and people in white PJ’s and tin foil hats and drooling. I thought “Am I that? Am I beyond repair? But at least if they start drooling I can totally hang with those kids because I drool all the time anyway by total accident.” I have a dead spot on my face from prior surgery. It’s a fun party trick. Anyhow, they make me change into a gown and they take all my stuff. This is because when you voluntarily admit yourself, they still check every last bit of everything you brought with you. It’s humbling. I had a drawstring on my pants. Not cool.

Once I was wheeled up to the crazyville sans all my things, I realized that everyone seemed really normal. And had on normal clothes. And were laughing and friendly. They took me to the evaluation place and asked me more questions and I still didn’t know all the answers. Honestly I just wanted to sleep until I decided to leave. So here’s a fun fact. Just because you voluntarily check in, that doesn’t mean you get to leave whenever you want. You leave when they say you can. Well, crap. Cut forward…I ended up staying 8 days, but I’ll get around to that later. In fact, I did sleep, once I was allowed to change back into my own clothes and had gotten permission to use the drawstring in my pants. You see, I had already lost 20 pounds in the days prior and I think the Dr. realized that I literally needed the drawstring just to stay decent.

I slept probably 15-16 hours, when the captain of the “keep the crazy people busy” team came into my room. Oh, right, you don’t get your door shut on SP. And even after that it always stays cracked and some kind of happiness Nazi pokes in once an hour to scout you out. And I’m all, I don’t even have a pen, or shoelaces, or deodorant. What could I possibly be up to? Which I also found out later what I could have been doing in there that they were checking in on. Anyhow, he’s all “It’s time to eat! Come on down to the commons area! We all eat together! Yay!!!!” OK. No. Maybe he missed the memo that I just needed sleep and not socialization and I still had on PJ’s and hadn’t washed my hair in 3 days. I decided to throw him a bone, you because it’s his job, and sit and the table and go back to bed for the day. As we made our way down the dorm like hallway to the large and comfortable sitting area, I felt like everyone was staring. “OOOooo new girl. Where you awake when she got here? Did you see her come in? Yeah, I heard she just went straight to bed. What is she in for? Is she still on SP??” It was only about 6 people so it wasn’t that intimidating. And some were my age. And they were talking like friends. And it turns out that I wasn’t actually paranoid, they really were saying all those things to each other. Because for the rest of my 8 days, we all pretty much had that same conversation anytime someone new showed up. It was kind of a big deal for us.

I picked at my food and turned in my tray where I was promptly given a 10%. Ok, what now? Yes, I did in fact get graded on my ability to eat and digest food. As I headed back to my room for all day sleeping, that’s when I saw…dun, dun, dun…the activity list. It was something like see the Dr, have a rah-rah session with the whole group, have group therapy, eat (supervised, exercise, have group therapy, make pretty art, play games, eat (supervised), and don’t even think about laying in your bed all day. It didn’t actually say that last part, but I got the idea.

But I figured, hell, I got myself into this mess so I’m going to be a joiner. And I jumped right in. And wouldn’t you know it, I wasn’t the freak. Everyone was just like me. We have different lives and different stories and different backgrounds, but we understood each other. The only people who understand rock bottom are people at rock bottom. And wouldn’t you know it, I shared. I listened. I supported. I made jokes that made other people feel better. I made jokes that made me feel better. I laughed. I hurt. I cried. I learned. I worked so hard on me. Just me. I focused on myself. I made it my mission to make one of our group therapy social workers as uncomfortable as possible each afternoon because she wasn’t super comfortable with all things vagina related. That was her own fault for showing me weakness. I made a connection with people. I changed my mind. I changed my life.

OK. So...this is it.

2011-06-13T20:44:00.002-05:00

I’m not even sure how to start. I’ve been gone a while. I’ve had tough times. I’ve had amazing restorative, life changing times. So, I guess we go to the beginning.

I had what some may call a nervous breakdown. Others might call it cracking under pressure or reacting to trauma. There were/are a lot of things happening in my life. I’ve spent the last few years working so hard to live life and be normal and make up for the all the life I missed out on being stuck in my house like a crazy person. Amongst all these successes came some stress. And it all came at once. It doesn’t really matter what the details are. But I reached a stress level where I made some terrible coping decisions. As in: I did not cope with the skills I have been using for the last few years.

Even regular people struggle under the weight of trauma. Normal people hurt and ask God why and blame themselves and get angry and confused. Mentally ill people do that too. Only on that particular day my mental illness was the boss of me. Not the rational me whom I’ve come to know so well lately. So pain = benzodiazepines. It didn’t work. So pain = take more. And that still didn’t make it stop being so confusing and hurting. So pain = take more. And slap me in my now numb face and call me Suzy, I could not get a hold of myself. So here comes the scary part (But remember that my philosophy in life is to be honest so that I can learn lessons and others can learn too) I blindly walked into my kitchen and grabbed a knife. But to my surprise, it didn’t help either. So I found a pocket knife. And I made a practice cut on my forearm. It was deep. I hit some kind of muscle or something because that litte demon still hurts. And then…I just went for it.

So here is the part I’m proud of; I stopped. I realized that I was making a huge mistake. I was scared. I was shocked. It was like coming out of a fog. And I immediately called for help. And that is my victory. I found my logic and my worth and I stopped. And I knew that I make my own decisions. Not anyone else. And I decided to get help. I called a friend who came right over. I called my therapist. She ordered me to the ER and told me to self admit to psychiatric. And that was scary. But I effing did it. And I am proud of that. And I think that is as far as my story can go right now.

Teaser: I spent 8 days in that ward. All kinds of stuff happened. Some of it is funny.

Sometimes your life just punches you right in the balls and you gotta get up and put some ice on it and learn how to keep living.

2011-05-27T18:45:00.000-05:00

I'm back in case you haven't heard.

And for those of you who didn't know I was gone...

I voluntarily checked myself into a Psychiatric Ward. And they made me stay for 8 days. And the still didn't want to send me home but I was ready. I think they just loved me a lot. Anyhow, apparently that's like a right of passage for the crazies. Hospitilization. And it wasn't even OCD related. It was traumatic events followed by a collasol meltdown followed by really really bad conclusions in my brain that I must not really be worth all that much. So I was dumb. And I did dumb things to combat pain of trauma and confusion. And then in the midst of my stupidity, I snapped to and called for help. And for that, I am very much proud of myself. And not at all ashamed.

8 days in pure therapy will definetly make you see your life in a new way. No phones or internet or electronics or shoe laces or deodarent or shaving without supervision will change how you see things. And I am choosing to see things as a learning experience.

I am learning that:
No one but me controls my value. I am not worthless unless I tell myself I am.
No one but me controls my reactions.
No one but me controls my emotions.
I am really much stronger than I thought I was.
I can choose to love and forgive. It's within my control to love. No outside forces can change that.
I can choose to take each experience and find the positivity inside and soak it up.
I can choose empathy and compassion for other people even when it seems like I shouldn't be compassionate, because we all have struggles and everybody hurts, and we all do dumb things and then we can decide if we want to pick up and move on as a better person or lay down and die.
I am having experiences so that other people can learn too.
I control my happiness. Nobody can "make" me hate myself or not love myself.
I am learning that sticking to a commitment takes hard work and it is so so worth the effort.
And mostly I am learning that holy crap, I have so much life in me to live and I am so looking forward to it!

Happy Mother's Day. You may never look at me the same way after reading this. Don't say I didn't warn you.

2011-05-10T20:52:00.000-05:00

Mother’s Day brought me some wonderful new insights this year.

First of all, I was reminded strongly of that fact that I have actually birthed 2 enormous children. Yes, because I got the cards with the stickers and the hand drawn pictures and the flowers and candy and all that. Yes, I got the hugs and kisses and whatnot. But, mostly I was reminded when Lily wanted me to jump on the trampoline with her. Oh yay! The joy of bonding! But also, peeing a little every freaking time I jumped. Because my dear sweet children have destroyed me. So I’m jumping and peeing and jumping and peeing and thinking sweet dear mother of crap I need Depends just to play with my kid. So, yeah. Happy Freaking Mother’s Day to me. Next year I’ll just have some mushed prunes and watch Matlock on the picture box.

Secondly, it has been one year since I have been uterus free. Woot! I don’t miss that thing at all. But better news than that is I don’t have to go see my lady part doctor every couple months since I passed my one year exam with an A+! I win at hysterectomy. And this is good because (WARNING: GRAPHIC LADY PARTS STORY TO FOLLOW!!!) the last time I was in his office, he put me all up in the feet spreaders. This is always unpleasant but I suppose it is better than being pumped up onto a hydraulic system and having him climb all up in there like at the auto shop. So, being open to the fresh air as he climbs around and tugs on my intestines, he begins dictating notes to the nurse to write in my chart. Things like “Vagina looks beautiful”. No I’m serious. My chart actually declares that my vagina is beautiful. Can’t functionally hold back little pee bursts but aesthetically it is very pleasing. Anyhow, the note dictating became aggressive and that is when spittle landed in my girl parts. Did you get that? Little tiny saliva drops escaped and kamikazied me. And there was nothing I could do about it. This was so way much worse than when someone accidently spits on your arm or face or something. So yeah, no more of that for at least a year. And that is a win.

Happy Freaking Mother's Day.

Learning lessons and living life.

2011-05-10T20:48:00.000-05:00

OK, so yeah. I get it. It has been a while. But I’ve been having one of those ‘episodes’ if you will. Or perhaps we could call it a phase or an extended period of time that has been particularly challenging/rewarding/busy/impossible/teachable/awakening/forced/crazy. So let’s catch up.

I’ve had some tough tough times.

Then I had some really good times.

I did a show to promote OCD awareness and raise money. That in and of itself was exhausting mentally and physically.

I went to bed last night in my own bed. That is a big deal. I went to bed without touching a single light switch or door knob or lock or alarm clock or keypad to the alarm system. I fell asleep without medication (unless half a beer counts as medication). I slept all night. I’d like to think of this as a win. Maybe my brain was finally just shutting down, but I think that it is two steps forward after one step back.

Because the days prior to that I didn’t sleep at all. I took all kinds of drugs. And every disability I have in my brain come roaring out in full force and woke up all the physical disabilities that come along with being crazy. Life kicked me in the ass. Challenges threatened to beat me. Stone cold truths turned to warmish pliable rubber.

But I guess those kinds of things need to happen or I’d never learn anything. I would forget why it is that I am fighting so hard to maintain my illness. It’s all part of that cosmic black/white, good/bad, fat/skinny, yin/yang, tall/short, crazy/sane balance.

And then I woke up and took my pills and got in my car and drove. All by myself.

It's almost time for the show! I'm gonna talk about my boobs a little at the show! In an educational OCD related type of way. Trust me.

2011-05-02T22:32:00.000-05:00

Terribly sorry for the radio silence everyone. I have been hard at work on my show which is the pre-cursor to my speech at the IOCDF convention in July. The show is FRIDAY at 7pm in OKC!! Contact me if you are in the area and need more details. I ain't gonna lie...it's turning out pretty awesome. I'm gonna laugh at it.

So, I've pretty much just been on about my business lately. I did manage to oversleep one afternoon and was awakened by one of my students arriving for a lesson. yeah, you don't play that off like you just didn't hear the bell. She came in and I was still in bed. So that was neat. I win at teaching lessons.

Also, I had someone ask me if my show was child friendly. Of course it is. but she wanted to know if I would be using "that" word that i am so fond of using. I literally had no idea. I was all "The f-word? Crap? Suck balls? Boobs? I literally have a lot of "those" words so you are going to have to help me out here. I'm not saying anything i wouldn't say in front of my kids. Does that help?" And she was like "You know, that one word you like..." And I was like "Oh!!!! Vagina! Yes. I will probably say that." But I legitimately will try to NOT say it. Love you, girl!

Also, Luke's birthday party was last weekend. I'm still trying to process it in my mind so I can turn it into words and write them down. It was a little insane. peace out!

Donuts, BBQ and Being Totally "Normal". For Now.

2011-04-21T17:54:00.000-05:00

I went yesterday and spent the day with people I don’t normally get to spend a lot of time with. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that the occasion doesn’t always call for it. Also it may be that ~~sometimes~~ often I make an ass out of myself. I know, right? But that is what I do. I’m Angela. I say inappropriate things that at least entertain me if no one else. But they tolerated me at least for the day. We ate lunch at the donut shop which was also a BBQ place which I thought was probably a strip club when first seeing it. Small towns are cool like that. No need running all over town to get your food baby. They probably had bait in there somewhere. And I bet that guy would have also done my taxes.

So anyhow, we are sitting and talking as normal people often do. I said idiot things and laughed at silly things. We somehow steered our conversation to how I came to be labeled as “inappropriate” and also female. Remember how I am pro-vagina in everyday conversation? I’m sure they could have assessed my appropriateness on their own and as for my gender, I could see how I might be confused with a really good drag queen. But anyhow, there we were and there I was. And then it just began occurring to me there in that moment how different my life has become.

I rode in a bus. I ate in a place called “Pigskin”. I met people. I talked to people. I maintained my compulsions. I didn’t get trapped in my own cyclical thoughts. I didn’t worry about what I said or did. I was just myself. Medicated, but nonetheless. There was a time I could not do any of those things. There was a time when meeting and talking to new(er) people was practically impossible. I had paralyzing anxiety in social/professional situations. I am a different person.

And then I started really realizing how much my illnesses have cost me. And I was pissed. I am pissed. Mental illness stole so many years from my life. It has taken so many experiences away from me. And not just me, but my husband and my kids and my friends and friends that I never had because I couldn’t leave my house. And I really hate that. My stupid brain has messed up so much. I have so much resentment for my illness. I want to kick it in its stupid face. Four times.

But on the other hand, I wouldn’t turn back the clock and change it. Because I wouldn’t be having the experiences that I’m having now. I wouldn’t have stories to tell and lessons learned. I wouldn’t be aware how great these things are now. I wouldn’t have such unbelievable appreciation for little things. Little things like sitting in the donut/BBQ place and talking. Just like normal. Only it’s my own personal inappropriate normal. And that’s cool.

But side note normal people: check back with me once you've experienced one of my full scale meltdowns. Because that is something special. You have no idea what you have gotten yourselves into.

Band People

2011-04-21T17:48:00.000-05:00

Let me just say for the record that I am aware of my innate nerdish tendencies. I try to use the dictionary.com word of the day in a sentence. I watch documentaries and read text books. Nerd. This probably followed me out of high school where I was a BIG nerd. I lettered in academics. I was in choir. I went to piano camp every summer. We had theory classes and recitals. But all this experience could never prepare me for the world of…band.

OK, so I am (apparently) an occasional accompanist for the band. I mean, I’ve been around band and all that plenty of times but this was a particularly superb experience. I made several observations. Allow me to share:

1) Band people have no problem with bodily fluids. I am mainly thinking of the spit valve things. If you don’t have the opportunity to hang around people who play instruments with their mouths, the brass parts fill up with spit. So they just open it up. And dump it out. Wherever and whenever the holy frick they want to. I saw more spit yesterday then all of my life combined. I feel like they could play one of those Double Dare games where they had to fill the buckets up to the red line with whatever kind of liquid. You know, this would at least give them something to do. And the winner could buy me a pizza.

Also, there are reeds. I don’t know much about reeds. I just know that they have to suck on them. Or something. To like, get ready to play with them. Or something like that. I’m not really sure because I start giggling and quit paying attention right around the words “suck on”. I think I’ve heard a few “moists” bandied about in there also.

2) Band kids/directors have so much stuff. SO. MUCH. STUFF. Like enough that they have to drive a whole separate truck just for their crap. I’m a singer. When I sing, I take a bottle of water. Sometimes a folder with music. When I play piano somewhere. I just bring music. They carry phenomenal amounts of things. Instrument things, reed things, music things, stand things, extra part things, and best of all…lube things. I am serious.

3) Band people are kind of like this underground community. They all seem to know each other. It is so creepy. Like, everyone knows everyone. Also they kind of have their own language and communication skills. Sometimes there aren’t even sentences. Just noises and pointing. I feel like at any minute it could have become that scene from that one Matrix movie where they were in the underground city and that one guy was all “We are alive.” And they were all “RAWR SCREAMING” and then they all had an orgy. It’s like that minus the sweaty orgy. That is a terrible movie.

4) Band people work. Hard. I feel lazy around band people. They’re all “yeah blah blah blah practice at 7am blah blah and then more practice and don’t forget all your crap” I can’t even…Bleh…I just can’t be having all that much music up in my business all the time. Honestly, the work ethic puts me to shame. It's really impressive. My husband doesn't even speak before 7:30 am. And they are all practicing and whatnot. Maybe that's where all the grunting and pointing originates. They are so fracking tired from all the practicing that the language skills have devolved.

Thus concludes my observations of a day with band people. Maybe someday they can hang out with the choir kids. Because that is where all the really cool kids* are. You know, when not at piano camp.

*No, not really.

Hi. I'm Angela. These are my thoughts.

2011-04-19T18:43:00.000-05:00

Hi. I’m Angela. You might have forgotten that.

I’m working without a net here. I have no real plan or direction for this post so it could literally go anywhere. I don’t know how this is much different than my normal day to day life, but I thought I would at least warn you. In fact, that is pretty much how everything that comes out of my mouth works. I never really know where it’s going to end up. And add a couple of glasses of wine to that, and you are in for a very entertaining and self esteem boosting night out. Especially when I have on my red platform peep toe pumps and black Nicole Miller sheath dress. Yes, I realize that is quite specific and no you may not have further details at this time as I do not have the permission of all parties involved. But I was in rare form let me assure you.

I feel like I should also point out that my “J” key is broken. This is because my child could not figure out whatever it was that she was doing on my laptop and decided that the best course of action would be to simply bang on the keyboard like a monkey. I’ve never really kept count of how often I use this key. So I am thinking of this like a science project. There…1. See, I rule at science.

OK, so I have been working my face off lately. More literally I have been working my arms off and sitting on my butt on the piano bench. It is exhausting. Sometimes I’m all “Hey, remember that one time when I went to college and studied voice and got a degree in voice performance? Yeah. That was cool, right? When do I get to do that again? Cause that’s way the freakface easier than some of this accompaniment that the band kids hand me. I think I might as well have only 8 fingers when I play it because at least then I would have an excuse for how unbelievable crappy I am at it.” But, remember that I will be singing soon. MAY 6th at 7:00pm in Oklahoma City. Come see me and support OCD awareness!

I guess that playing this hard is making me stressed or something because all the sudden my face has broken out like a teenager in heat. Seriously, face? I don’t have time for that. Or maybe it’s my hormones. Hormones, is that you making all that noise? Don’t make me come in there and take out the one remaining ovary. Why you just stick to making me sweaty and unpredictably moody.

Remember how I have OCD? OK, right well I am still really not cool with dust. I don’t even understand this. I mean, I DO understand it logically but in the moment it sucks balls. Clean, non-dusty balls. I know how to be crazy. I can count and repeat and touch and ritualize with the best of them. But this new kinda crazy is messing me up. I have had to actually clean all up in my house! This is not entertaining for me. And not the useful cleaning like laundry and putting toilet paper on the roll. No, this is corners and tops of bookcases and all the places that nobody ever sees. Side note: Luke and I like to play this little game of toilet paper roll chicken. We just leave the empty roll on the floor and set the new one on the back of the toilet. The game is lost when you finally can’t stand it anymore and pick up all the rolls off the floor. I think we had around 12 at one time. I know. We are disgusting.

I think this concludes my train of thought. For now. I’m working on focusing on a topic for next time.

Worst. Super power. Ever.

2011-04-10T14:03:00.000-05:00

The bathroom at our house is sizeable enough for two people but it is very skinny. This means that when one of us is ironing and one of us is using the blow dryer we are basically standing literally back to back. That was the formation on a particular day last week. My dear husband was ironing and I was blow drying all 25 pounds of my hair.

In case you are unfamiliar with how a blow dryer works, there is a vent thingy in the back that sucks in air and the occasional pieces of my hair while the blow dryer hot part blows out. So like if a piece of my hair got all up in the sucker it would burn and stink and then blow out hot stinky burnt hair smell. That is all very scientific and don’t ask me to explain it to you further because you would just feel like an idiot. As is my custom, I had my dryer angled upwards so the sucky end was pointed down a bit. That is when I’m all hey did I just suck up a hot dog or something into my blow dryer because something is foul. And then I’m all “Pete! Lexi! (the dogs) That’s gross! Quit!” and Luke is all “hey it wasn’t them it was me.” And then I’m like “K. You are disgusting. Because now I have hot cooked butt air coming through my blow dryer and making my hair smell like that. Thank you.” And he’s all “No problem.”

But it doesn’t end there. Today was the first day that I had actually blown dry my hair since last week. Allow me to explain that I was in fact quite sick and did take showers and wash it but then I just tied it up in a knot and went back to bed due to not having the energy or necessity to fix it or put on make-up. I am very attractive when sick. Therefore, as I am getting ready for church this morning and drying my hair, Luke stood behind me ironing. Or something. I don’t actually know what was happening back there. Anyhow, as I dried:

Me: The frick, Luke!?

Him: What did I do?!

Me: You butt aired in my drier again and made it all hot and cooked and impervious to the laws of physics!

Him: No, I didn’t.

Me: Yes. Yes you did.

Him: It was probably our dogs.

Me: Unfortunately I spend enough quality time with both you and our dogs that I am able to tell the difference between each of you in that particular area. That is really sad to say out loud. And gross. Anyways, it was you. I know that it was!

Him: Well, I didn’t do anything so it wasn’t me.

Me: Ok. Wait… You mean...this is the same one from last week?! It has resided inside my dryer for this whole time waiting to be re-released! Have you actually altered the chemical structure of my dryer with your innards?! That is like a super power.

Him: Yeah, well. You’re welcome.

I think frack balls pretty much sums it up.

2011-04-09T16:22:00.000-05:00

Well mother of holy frack balls. I am tired of germs in this freaking house! Sickness all over and it finally was able to claim my powerful and pristine body. So I am finally sitting up on my couch instead of laying on it like a blob. And I am still getting all weird about contamination dang it! But not in any kind of useful way. My laundry is everywhere but I have a clean backsplash. My floor is growing its own hair but the tops of all the cabinets and door frames are spotless. I spent a whole afternoon doing that. I am particularly freaked out about breathing in dust. Never have I ever been that bothered by air. I even love the smell of cigarette smoke like a weirdo. But the sight of dust that might get in my lungs makes me all wanting to clean it and then touch it and then repeat out loud several times that I cleaned it. What the frick?! Right now, I’m just trying to recognize OCD for what it is and not let it control me. But, I am also trying to use this new found problem with germs to encourage me to clean up my crap every now and then. Also, we are looking for a housekeeper. Because I just straight up suck at it. Plus, its haaaaaarrrrrrddddddd. Boo.

Ok, so I have been hard at work on my speech for the IOCDF. In case you missed it, I am a speaker in San Diego at the annual conference in July. We also have the ball rolling on a fundraising concert/cabaret show set for May 6th. If you are in OK give me a holler and I can hook you up with some details. It will be awesome. And fabulous. And pretty.

BUT I NEED YOUR HELP!

First of all, I am trying to narrow down my speech to some of my favorite/most meaningful stories and experiences. If you have a favorite from this blog or from something that happened in person then let me know! God knows that if I had my way I would talk about myself all the live long day. But I only have an hour. Also, sometimes the stuff that I think is funny, nobody else thinks is funny. I thought getting raped by a toilet seat was hi-larious. And also a bit painful. But not everyone enjoys vagina stories. So what gets your vote for inclusion in the speech? Should I not call any attention to my boobs? Or do you think that will help?What is totally inappropriate? And yes, anonymous, I know you think everything that happens to me is somehow inappropriate, but you keep on reading and commenting so I guess you find something interesting. I’d love your opinion too, anonymous. We’re all friends here.

Second, I need dollars. It costs lots of dollars to go all the way to San Diego from here. And it costs dollars to stay at the hotel even with the IOCDF discount. Also it costs mad amounts of dollars for the extra therapies and pills and whatnot that it involves to get me on an airplane. But seriously, I would greatly appreciate any donations. This money will ONLY be used for travel expenses and all additional funds will go straight to IOCDF. I am not profiting at all here. Besides, even if I did try to keep some of it I’d probably feel so guilty that I would confess it like 2 days later and then offer to pay everyone back double. I’m kind of a chronic confessor. I can’t keep anything a secret.

So that’s that. Hope to hear lots from you all very soon!

Why it is always more fun with me in charge

2011-04-04T19:14:00.000-05:00

I haven’t blogged in like about 100 blog years. Sometimes being able to leave the house without a safe person and have a regular job is exhausting. But that is 100 blog years not people in real life years. That’s probably about a week in regular time. So don’t panic old people. I’m not old enough to try and steal all your social security and hip joint cream yet.

Anywhatevs, I am finally taking some moments to relax and catch up on things. I decided to have a lovely glass of pinot grigio whilst doing the posting. Now that I’m not Baptist anymore I’m allowed to admit I enjoy wine. I even can drink it out of a real wine glass and not hide it in a pop can or anything. So just now I’m trying to open this bottle. I’m only just now becoming a wine aficionado, which means that A) I still think red wine tastes like booty juice and B) I only have this little hand crank opener. Like a chump. My friend Ellen has this ridiculously awesome one that practically pours the wine for you and then does a little dance. Children could use this thing. Not that they should. They definitely should not. Anyhow, mine is really hard to use and I have tiny little muscles. Let’s just say that you should not use all of your strength to pull out the freaking rubber cork with your hand right in front of your face. Also, never be ashamed to open the bottle with pliers.

Which brings me to my story, of the day I got kamikaze ninja choir bombed.

I work at a high school as the accompanist. When the director needs to leave and buy red hair dye for the musical, I get to be quasi in charge. It’s cool. I’m a grown-up. Anyhow, this particular day I had already sewed the butt flap of onesie pj’s closed so it was shaping up to be a good day. I was in my place as quasi in charge which meant that I was barefoot and playing angry birds on my phone while keeping an eye on the masses. Said buttflap-free pjs were strewn about as well as hot glue and books and papers and dog hair and a baby doll on a chain and various other totally normal things.

An office aide came into the choir room followed by a man in a suit.

Him: Hi, I’m Dr. blahblah and I’m from blahblah university.
Me: Ok. Hi.
Him: Are you in charge?
Me: Well, I guess. I mean if there is a fire or something I’ll make sure that no one stays behind to steal my purse. I’m the accompanist. The director will be back in just a while. She had to go shopping.
Him: OK. Well, I had talked to her about bringing my choir in here sometime to sing for your choir. But I haven’t really been able to get in touch with her in the last few days so I was just wondering if she still was planning on that.
Me: Well, tonight is musical dress rehearsal so we have been all kinds of crazy busy around here. But I’ll tell her you stopped by. What date exactly were you guys talking about?
Him: Um…the bus is in the parking lot.

Me: Kay, what?

Him: The bus, with 50 college students, is here. In the parking lot.

Me: So you mean, like, right now?!
Him: Yes. Right now. Apparently it’s not on the schedule?
Me: Well, I guess I’m in charge. And I’m here. And you’re here. So…come on in!

And that is how 50 college kids formed an impromptu choir in the middle of the day on my watch. And trust me, that many people in nice clothes quietly filing into the building does not go unnoticed. And I still didn’t even have shoes on. It was awesome. I am so good at running things.

Probably not my most eloquent effort, but honest if nothing else.

2011-03-27T21:33:00.002-05:00

It always seems to happen like this. I am making so much progress. In the last few years I have gone from completely dependent Obsessive-Compulsive agoraphobic with panic disorder. I have become an actual representative of this community. I’m getting better. I know that I will always be an Obsessive-Compulsive. But I’m learning how to stay in a pattern of maintenance.

And then the bottom falls out. It’s been a stressful few weeks. You know, just life and things and schedules and responsibilities that people who live and work outside of their home everyday deal with all the time. And Luke had a wreck. Among other crazy things. So suddenly, the thing that had most dominated my thoughts for years had happened. He had the wreck and he was fine. And I feel like there is a huge sinkhole left where controlling that intrusive thought used to be.

I noticed little by little at first. It was getting harder to get to bed at night. I just wanted to check the locks just one more time. Just two more. I needed to walk the routine just one more time. I was ticking again. My body ticks when I am fighting intrusive thoughts or the urge to ritualize. It ticks and I have to count those ticks. 4 times with my left hand. 8 times touching my wrist. 4 more twitches in my left hand. And then all those little things turned into real deal panic attacks. I forget just how much those suck. I can handle the attacks. I hate the attention that the attacks bring. Sometimes I am literally stunned at how I was able to hide and lie and pretend to have sort of a life when I was in fully involved OCD and panic. These 2 or 3 a week are wearing me out. How did I do that everyday?

So then OCD decided that it was bored of the little games and hit me with a surprise punch. If you know me or have read my blog a bit, you’ll know that my OCD has never involved germs or contamination. In fact, that is one of the reasons that it took my so long to get diagnosed. Because I thought people with OCD washed their hands and lined things up by color and carried around disinfectant wipes. I have never experienced this particular area. But there I was in the choir room as costumes and props started coming out of the closet for possible use in the musical. And suddenly, it was dusty. It was so so dusty. And I could feel the dust and the dirt and the germs. I could smell it and see it and taste it and it was getting inside me. It was coating my lungs and my fingers and my eyes. I was dizzy and I wanted to run and I couldn’t think straight. I recognized OCD. But the trigger was entirely foreign to me. And that was scary.

After that episode, I let it go. I had recognized the onset of panic and OCD, maintained and removed myself from the situation without a scene. So then when I was full scale hit with a contamination meltdown a few days later, I totally didn’t see it coming. Let me just say that there were multiple high school girls in a dressing room SHARING MAKE-UP. It was like the whole world started spinning around me and I could feel myself going out-of-body. I always forget what the frick that’s called. Depersonalization or something like that. Anyhow, I have always worked hard to keep my freakouts private around younger people and strangers. It’s scary. And really disconcerting. But I was repeating before I could even stop myself. I repeated “That’s not OK.” And I could not stop. And I counted the grouping of how many times I repeated. And my hand could not stop. And my fingertips felt like they were going to fall off. This was a time that I was so grateful for a friend who quickly removed me from the situation before the uncomfortable glances turned into full on stares and murmurs. I went to the sink and washed my hands. 4 times. I don’t even have words for how odd this whole situation felt.

You see, I know how to count and touch and repeat. I don’t know how to deal with contamination fear. I clearly recognized the power of the disorder but it was like an invader in my mind that I couldn’t get rid of. I washed and washed and my fingers still felt dirty. My self-analysis is this: When one obsession and resulting compulsion is starting to really be controlled, another one springs up in its place. I’ve read about this and talked about this with Therapist and other OCDers, but experiencing it is like having your first panic attack all over again.

I don’t know where it goes from here. I guess I just keep it going one day at a time. I acknowledge my disorder and I acknowledge my ability to live alongside of it. I accept my responsibility as a member of the mentally ill community. I agree to keep going and keep working and keep talking and keep sharing. I might just need some hand sanitizer now along the way.

I didn't die. Or get raped. I was just really busy. I got schedule raped.

2011-03-27T12:31:00.000-05:00

So I’m pulling into my driveway last night at about 10pm. As I pull up I see these two high school boys in a truck. So yeah…please no raping. I’m not a fan of the raping. I figure that they are going to haul ass and get outta there because I busted them being weird, but they just still sat there in the truck. Being weird.

So now I’m all freaked out right there in my own driveway with my garage door opened and my car still running trying to decide if I’m going to try and kick them in the balls or squish them with my garage door when one of these kids freaking walks up to my window and knocks on it effectively almost making me pee in my pants. I was really wishing I had a rape whistle or a bat or something but then I realized that the kid still had on his student ID and was very non-threatening (read: Nerd.) I rolled my window down about a half inch. I didn’t even say anything because I was still really jittery and was now thinking of a new defense plan which involved a calculator or throwing my magic potion card or something.

And then he’s all “Hey, um….your door on the truck was opened and I saw that it had brand new tags on it and everything and I didn’t want anything to happen to it because I know lots of cars have been broken into around here lately so I just wanted to make sure it was shut and locked.” And then I’m all “um…OK” because I am totally not sure if I should believe him or expeliarmus him. But he just stood there looking all innocent and nerdy and totally serious. So I was all “OK. Thanks.” And he politely said “No problem. I just didn’t want anything to happen to your truck” and off he went with his friend presumably to for a little kamikaze weed pulling for the elderly under cover of night.

I went inside after making sure the garage door was fully closed behind me before I unlocked my car because I’ve seen Dateline. I know how this crap works. I go in and tell Luke the whole scene what just happened and then as he is hastily pulling on pants and searching for his keys to go check his truck:

Luke: Wait. So they were high school kids?
Me: Yes. The one kid still had on his name thing and everything.
Luke: And they were claiming to be helpful?
Me: I guess. He had this like I’m-a-fourteenth-level-warlock-in-world-of-warcraft kind of vibe so I think he was telling the truth.
Luke: And all he did was just shut the door?
Me: Yes. Because cars have been broken into around here lately and there are new tags on the truck and he didn’t want someone to get in there.
Luke: Well, I’m going out there to see what’s gone. *moments later…* I think they just shut the door on the truck. That’s so weird. And helpful.
Me: I know, right?! Helpful teenagers totally give me the creeps!

I didn't even proof read this. I've got stuff to do.

2011-03-18T21:02:00.000-05:00

I have a perfectly good reason for not posting for a while. Well, not a good reason. But I definitely have the truth. I keep thinking “Well, this is interesting/funny/weird/creepy/disturbing/itchy. I should for sure share this…” And then…Freaking. Angry. Birds.

I have seriously developed a problematic obsession with Angry Birds. Every time I try to stop and do something else it’s all “but wait! You only have 2 stars on this level. Don’t you want 3? You need the eagle. Come on…bash in our stupid little green pig faces.” And then I play it for like about 100 hours. It’s such a ridiculous concept anyway. Like, why are the pigs green? Birds can’t split themselves in thirds. That’s silly. I hate real life birds enough as it is. Imagine if they were actually pissed off and possessed the ability to replicate on demand. No, birds. Just, no.

Anywhateverways, I traveled this last weekend. I’m a performer so we do that a lot. The thing is, remember how I’m crazy? Well, I traveled anyways. I’ll say that I did…alright. For a recovering agoraphobic and current obsessive-compulsive, I’d say I did pretty well. It was really the first time in about forever that I have traveled for that many days to that many different places without my safe person. Here’s the rundown: I drove my own happy self for 4 hours to meet up with the others, we went another couple hours, sang, drove some more, and hoteled it up. I did diva it up a little and claim one of the two hotel beds to myself leaving the other two ladies to cuddle up together. I just seriously can’t deal with people in my bed. I barely like having to share with my husband. I’m all thrashy and occasionally still have nighttime panic attacks which are startling to everyone let alone people who have never been in a bed with me.

The next day we sang, drove and sang some more. In the final concert we had more time so I was allowed to speak unsupervised. I’m trying to take every opportunity I can to speak in preparation for the IOCDF conference in July. (Hint: check out the button at the top of the page and don’t be afraid to show a little crazy love.) Then we stayed in a house with a stranger before driving all the way back the next day including 4 more hours of me behind the wheel.

Of course, I was (as usual) all kinds of medicated. So I hung in there. It wasn’t really until the end of that second day that it really started hitting me in the girl nads. Pills, pills, pills, a pep talk from my man, well-rehearsed relaxation ritual, and a lifetime of hiding all of the weird parts kept my head together. But OCD was all up in my head being all “Ooo girl, no you did NOT just walk past that railing without touching it. And I KNOW you didn’t just let that business right there go all uncounted. Child there could be all kinds of bad numbers up in here. This ain’t right.” So I was like “shut your face, you. Aren’t those pills kicking in yet?” and then OCD was like “No you did NOT give me pil… wait. What was I saying? Hey, that thing over there is shiny! I feel warm and blurry.”

And that is the story of how crazy people travel. And also how they get carpel-tunnel from stupid apps on the stupid iphone.

I'm fixin to mention my ovary so if that freaks you out...too bad because I already mentioned it technically

2011-03-08T18:51:00.000-06:00

In stuff that happened news:

I played for another contest last weekend. And guess what. The band teacher said that I played very well. So yeah. Suck on that for a while other judges who be hatin/jeaallouuuussss/insecure that I’m taller than you.

Bleeeeeggghhhh. I’m having PMS. Which is totally unfair since I don’t even have a uterus. I got the one ovary so I guess my reproductive system is all “What? Just cause you take everything else apart you think I can’t make you all tired and have a headache and have sore boobs and whatnot? Well, think again. Booya” Yeah. That’s because my one leftover ovary is from about 1992 and still says booya. Also I think it listens to Rico Suave. You’re pushing your luck ovary...

I’m still working all over trying to get my fundraisers going for the IOCDF conference. In case you missed it, they are turning me loose with a microphone and some good stories about lots of crazy. And it costs a dang lot of money to get to San Diego and back for two people. So feel free to donate to the cause of helping spread the OCD story far and near.

If a picture of me with my boo-tay all up in the air and my hands all twisted behind my back turns up on some weird interwebz site, let me just say that it was a long day doing show choir choreography. Also, why the frick are you on that site? Perv. Also, I was greeted at school today by a picture of a placenta and it made total sense to me why that particular student instantly thought of me at the sight of a placenta. I think I need boundaries.

Side note: about half the words I use are not recognized by spell check. Spell check is a NERD. Recognized that one didn’t ya?

OK. I’m done. I apologize for having no coherent thoughts left in my brain. I’m claiming mental illness on that one.

Peace out.

Big News!

2011-03-04T09:56:00.000-06:00

Big news! I am officially a speaker at the International OCD Foundation annual Convention!

Pretty much I’ll just be speaking about my journey on the path with OCD. The good, the bad, the hilarious, the unbelievable, the medicated, and the un-medicated. The conference is the last weekend in July in San Diego. I speak at 10am on Saturday. If you are in the area or even not in the area but wanna get in the area then come on and see me! I’ll be the crazy jittery one. Also check out the IOCDF.

But here’s the deal: it’s expensive to get to San Diego from here. It’s also expensive to stay in San Diego. Now I don’t want to be a whore about it, but I’m kinda going to ask you for a favor…IF you can and feel so inclined…you can donate to the “Get-Angela-To-San-Diego-To-Talk-About-Crazy-And-Hopefully-Not-Suck-And-Possibly-Make-People-Laugh-And-Feel-Less-Alone-In-Their-Life-With-OCD fund” then use the ultra handy button I have set up at the top of this page. I am NOT going to profit from this in anyway. If we raise extra money, then all proceeds will go straight to the IOCDF.

We (as in me and whoever else I can rope in to help me) will be hosting 2 showings of “So Now You Know”. A little back story: “So Now You Know” is the cabaret show that I staged a few years ago that eventually led to the creation of this blog. There will be singing, comedy, answers to your burning questions (thus leading me to say “so, now you know.”) and general awesomeness. Once I have more information for you, be SURE that I will tell you about it 444 milliondy times. Again, no profit for me. Just a little help for the cost of the trip and hopefully lots more for the IOCDF.

One more thing, remember how I am awesome with flying on planes. K, well I suck at planes. So I am already sort of processing how that will work. This will be the longest amount of time I have ever been on a plane and the furthest west I have ever been. California gives me the jeebs what with the unpredictable earthquakes and skinny people and all that. I have already become a little bit obsessive about this. When you see me, don’t be surprised if I am wearing my emergency backpack with with water, low fat food, emergency blanket, whistle, etc. I may also wear a hard hat the entire time we are there. Possibly.

Thank you so much for all your support!!

My week of getting knocked down a few pegs. Thanks everyone.

2011-02-28T17:57:00.000-06:00

So apparently I missed the memo, which I like to imagine was delivered in the dead of night by men in hoods and printed on the skin of baby seals and used text visible only under a black light and was sealed with human blood and urine, which was all “hey everybody! Know what would be awesome? Let’s kick Cavett around for the next few weeks. Who’s in? Dibs on her confidence as a musician!”

Evidence 1) I am accompanying high school/Jr. High students for vocal solo and ensemble contest. It’s a total nerve wracking/nerd fest/good experience for all young singers. They get to sing for a judge. Get some positive constructive feedback and receive a score that may or may not send them on to the State Level contest. They don’t compete against each other. Just try and do their best. But apparently one particular judge found much more delight in critiquing me. The adult. Who wasn’t effing competing. Who does this for a freaking living. Old dude decided not only to go ahead and pick apart my general musicianship but then goes on to tear apart one particular song down to the staccatos, the stress marks, the dynamic contrast, the melodic flow. Why don’t you go ahead and pick on my dress while you are at it? Or maybe you don’t have time for that because you are supposed to be judging the freaking singer in front of your face and not me. So aside from just crawling up my hole and irritating the nut outta me all week, it also really attacked my flipping disorder and OCD is all “Oooo girl you suck. See you’ve always sucked. You shouldn’t even be playing. But your earrings are cute.” My confidence was really kicked in the balls.

Evidence 2) I get home a couple days later and there is a note from our fabulous city issuing us a “Warning”. For what? Meth lab? Sex palace? Over grown yard? (not that we have ANY of those things. Really.) No. It seems as though our dear neighbors had filed an “anonymous” complaint because our “dogs bark all hours of the day and night. It has become impossible to even let my children play outside because the dogs bark so incessentaly and rile up our dogs. I don’t know how they are able to sleep through that all night because I know we sure can’t.” What? I would like you to visualize my face looking completely drop jawed and expressionless. Because let’s break down this anonymous complaint. 1) We know exactly who you are. Exactly 3 fences border our fence. One has no dogs nor children. The other has big loud barking dogs and kids that come over to our yard all the time because they are always knocking stuff back there. The other has dogs and kids…using my genius powers of deduction…I know who the frick you are. And we’ve talked. Several times. How ‘bout just come on over and let’s chitchat. I’m not entirely psychotic. You know, providing that I remember to be med compliant. 2) our dogs are a fat little bowling ball and a tiny little cuddle mutt. Not exactly fear inducing. 3) our dogs are indoor dogs. As in they are outside approximately 15-30 minutes total. For the entire day. And night. Combined. I know that my dogs aren’t barking at all hours of the night because they are tucked neatly under my covers in my bed with their heads on the pillow as all self respecting dogs should be. 4) The day after the “Warning” we began counting exactly how many times our dog barked throughout a 24 hour period. Grand total: 7. 7 barks. So, yeah. That must be like water torture for all of our neighbors. Neat.

Evidence 3) A week after vocal contest it was time to play for band contest. Same thing: play for a judge/nerd it up real good/get a score/have constructive feedback. I had spent all week shaking off the bad reviews. Only to have it freaking happen again! I was actually called back into a room after the student had played and told that I play far too loudly etc blah blah. So yeah. Good times.

Evidence 4) I got out of bed and tripped over a box in the pitch dark. I flailed forward and landed with one of the massive 4 posters of our bed right in the middle of my chest, arms out on either side. I plowed my knee into the corner of the post and got a gnarly bruise and stiff knee. How is this relevant? I don’t know. It just totally sucked. And also left a cool battle wound. Because I am nothing if not a badass.

So, yay thanks everybody! Good work this week. I quit piano. Until tomorrow when I must do it again.

It's not how you say it, it's whether or not you are a complete jerk.

2011-02-24T19:14:00.000-06:00

Kay, so Luke and I used to teach newlyweds before our previous church stroked out and decided that we were bad examples and took us off the Jesus list. Anyhow, when we used to mold impressionable young marrieds, we would always include part of a study called 5 Love Languages by: Gary Chapman. It really is a quite fabulous book about communication and interpretation that can have some very powerful impacts relationships. Basically you communicate in one of five ways (i.e. acts of service, words of affirmation, etc etc have I destroyed your marriage/Christianity yet?)

Then a couple of weeks ago at new church which we love and I don’t know if I have mentioned that enough yet, new pastor was preaching from 5 Love Languages. Which is when it occurred to me that yes, Luke and I have characteristics of these 5 languages, but that there is also a secret option 6; sarcasm/being a toolbag. I do believe that we are both primarily fluent in basically being a bag to each other. I don’t know what I would do if he didn’t call my face stupid multiple times per day. It’s like a big, verbally assaulting hug. Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it. Here are some recent interactions of ours:

(facebook)

Me: you make my teeth hurt for your purely irritating voice. Talking to you makes me dumber. You are not my valentine because then I would have to call it valen-craptational-please-club-me-in-the-head-to-release-me-from-your-stupid-tine. And that won't fit on a card. As if you could read anyway. vomit from my mouth, Angela.

Luke: I literally regret every single moment I've ever spent in your presence. Looking back, the high point in my life was when we met at 12 yrs old. My life has steadily gone in the crapper since that moment. Today is the worst day of my life. Tomorrow will be worse. I dream of the day when I can smother you in your sleep and make this world a better place.
(my response to this status) fhashduickaitss - - I just mushed all the curse words together and threw them at you. At your hideous personality.

Luke: I find you less annoying every day... In a couple of years I might even be able to tolerate you!
Me: -Excellent. Maybe by then your face won't make me want to vomit.

(From a text message)

Luke: Training=awful
Me: Sorry baby, (.)(.) There. I texted you some boobs.

Because sometimes boobs just make it better.
And they didn’t want us to be their newlywed teachers?!

I love your stupid face Cavett. You are soooooo lucky.

Thankful: The Ultimate Edition

2011-02-21T21:10:00.000-06:00

I think that the reason I have missed Thankful Thursday for the past several weeks is that I needed to add all of them up for this week. I don’t think there could be more thankful or really just honest punch-in-the-guts-can’t-believe-this-happened/didn’t happen. Here goes the story. As best as I can do:

Tuesday afternoon I’m at school and practicing with the kids for the upcoming solo and ensemble contest. Since I am such a highly dedicated pianist, I didn’t want to answer the phone when it rang during someone’s song. It was sitting on top of the piano, so another girl bless her heart, ran over to turn it off. She ended up accidently answering it, but then started just freaking out and staring at it and then just hanging up. All while I am still playing. She’s all “I think that was your husband. I think I hung up on him.” This of course made me laugh. All while still playing. I finished and decided to call him back just to let him know that I didn’t intentionally send one of my minions to deliberately offend him. He picked up right away and I started telling him this funny little tale when he abruptly cut me off.

Luke: Don’t freak out. I need you to be calm right now. Do not freak out.
Me: OK. You know that telling me that is making me freak out right now.
Luke: Do not start freaking out.
Me: What is the problem that I am staying calm about?!
Luke: I got in a wreck but I’m OK.
Me: YOU WHAT!? Where are you? Are you OK? I am coming there right now. Are you OK? I mean I know you are talking but are you alright? Is the car alright? Was this your fault?
Luke: Stop for a second. I’m hurt but I’m OK. I got hit by a semi.
Me: ?the frick you mean ‘hit by a semi’?! YOU WHAT!? I am coming there right freaking now. Where are you?
Luke: I don’t really know.
Me: How on God’s green earth do you NOT KNOW. Do you have amnesia?! How hurt are you?
Luke: I’m on the highway like 40 minutes away from the city. Oh I gotta go…Highway Patrol is here… (hang up)
Me: Mother of all the things. He hung up. He’s hurt, apparently lost, wrecked, and he freaking hung up on me.

And all of this in a choir room of high school kids so quiet you could hear their hormones surging. I literally grabbed my stuff and went to my car. I didn’t even know where I was going. Lucky for me I have an awesome friend who directs said choir and she volunteered to take care of my kids who were at school. Off I went. Freaking the poo-balls out. Like a psycho. And I had even taken my pills that day. Also lucky for me, bashed-up-husband called me back to fill me in on his location. 40 minutes away. On the highway. So break this down…I, who previously was unable to drive almost at all and definitely not to random locations on highways, was now headed to exactly that place. I, who previously had crippling and debilitating intrusive thoughts regarding exactly this scenario, was now actually involved in this scenario. I, who previously spent hours each day ritualizing and then repeatedly calling my husband to double check the effectiveness of my ritual, was now really fighting the urge to go full scale OCD. But I did not. I think the need to take care of him overrode the disorder…for that day at least.

After driving the wrong direction for several minutes on accident and then turning around, I managed to get myself moving and got about 40 minutes out of town. I wasn’t exactly sure where the accident was going to be. I knew that there were 2 semis, because if you’re gonna get in a wreck with a semi why not make it 2 for a better story, his wrecked up car, highway patrol, etc. I knew it would be on the opposite side of where I was and I wouldn’t actually be able to get to it. So even having prepared myself, I drove by just in time to see his little car being pulled up out of the ditch and onto the wrecker, As it was literally falling to pieces. And he was hit by an oil tanker. A big one. But I still held it together. Because I knew he wasn’t gravely injured and I knew that I needed to keep my crap together or risk an avalanche of my disorder.

It was decided that the Highway patrol would bring him to me at a gas station. And I got there first. I had called our church, which by the way have I mentioned is awesome, and already I had people praying and calling and texting and volunteering to help however they could. I stayed together. Then my dear husband walked into the gas station. His head was sporting an enormous, red knot that actually squished when he touched it. He had cuts on his arm. And then I saw the back of his head. Bloody, cut up, and generally an absolute punch in this-was-an-incredibly-near-miss guts. And my phone rang. I answered to a friend that Luke and I have had since we were kids. And then I started bawling.

Of course, Luke is a man. Which means that when the ambulance came and strongly recommended he visit the hospital, he was all “no. It’s cool. I’m good.” But lucky for me again, I am a woman and also much wiser and more persistent and I was all “Why didn’t you go with the ambulance? That was stupid. Your head is bloody and you might have all kinds of God knows what going on inside your body. We are going to the ER. So just stick that in your gashed face and suck on it.” And he complained…for about 1 minute. Then it was like “Well, I mean I guess I’ll go…for you…I mean I am hurting in my shoulder and back and neck and head and leg…but I’m just doing this for you.” The ER docs checked him over quite thoroughly. The cleaned his head and gave him a tetanus shot. They pushed and poked and asked him questions. And he left the ER with no signs of concussion, no internal bleeding, no broken bones, not even stitches. And that is probably the most amazing thing that has ever happened.

And just why am I that unbelievably awe-struck thankful to Jesus for this miracle of minor injury? Here’s how the wreck happened: The semi in front of Luke blew a tire and slammed on the breaks. This caused smoke and dust and swerving and required Luke slam on his breaks. There was too much traffic to dodge. Unfortunately, the semi behind Luke wasn’t paying as much attention because he just plowed right into my man’s little car. Hard. Hard enough to smush the storage space and the backseat of the HHR into the back of the front seat. Hard enough to bust out all the back windows and and shatter the back of the car into chunks. Hard enough to actually break the driver’s seat and shift it sideways and lay it back. Hard enough to knock him off the highway and down a grassy ditch about 50 feet. Hard enough that logic would expect him to be hurt much worse.

And more miracle: The truck hit him at enough of an angle to push him off the road and not into the truck in front of him. As he left the road he missed the guardrails and the overpasses by very close distances. He didn’t get pushed the other way into the rest of the swerving chaotic traffic. As he left the road, he felt an instinct to let go of the wheel and the breaks and just let the car go. The highway patrol officer said that this is what saved his car from rolling over. The car only spun around instead of rolling. He was alone in the car. This particular ditch was grassy and free of trees or shrubs. Don’t tell me he wasn’t protected.

So that is my Thankful day/week/month/forever. Thank you Jesus.

An amazing blog post that I did not write

2011-02-17T18:13:00.000-06:00

I didn't write this. But I feel like I understand every word. Since I've read this posts (multiple times) I have found myself saying "You really need to read this amazing blog" to everyone from other mentally ill people, family of mentally ill, and just pretty much anyone who will listen. Please read this. And then head on over to her blog

I want you to know this:

A colleague wrote me this morning to ask if I’d be arguing the “pro-Prozac” side of an upcoming article about prescribing medication for children and teens.

I’m not writing either side of that article. I’m not sure I could. I know the pros and cons of psych meds pretty intimately, as they apply to my adult life. But I haven’t had to make that choice for my own kids.

Still, my poor colleague got an earful (actually, an eyeful, as I prefer email to the dastardly phone). He also received this suggested and entirely unsolicited reading list.

I’ll tell you what I told him: if some part of you still believes that manic depression (or any mental illness) is about as valid as Scientology or the bogeyman, it’s time to get that Kindle cranking, or get thee to a bookstore.

Here are four books that say it so much better than I can. If you haven’t been affected by mental illness (either yours, or a friend’s or a relative’s), count your blessings—and then, read. If you have been affected and continue to be affected (what a nice, benign way of putting it, “affected”), then, read.

1) An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness by Kay Redfield Jamison. Unsparing, funny and wise.

2) Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness by William Styron. Sparse, restrained and exquisitely observed.

3) Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression (anthology) by Nell Casey. A potent collection of work by writers who struggle with mental illness.

4) Sunbathing in the Rain by Gwyneth Lewis. I find Lewis’s words soothing, graceful and grounded.

5) If poetry is your thing (as it is mine), then read anything by Jane Kenyon, especially her poem “Having It Out With Melancholy.”

*****

I want you to know this:

Depression is a constant state of churning violence. It is a storm of violent words and self-hatred. It is a maelstrom.

This may come as a surprise to you. You may be irritated by your loved one’s seeming sluggishness, by your perceived assessment of your loved one’s inability to participate, by their mute stillness.

Know that their internal terrain is anything but still. It’s a freaking war of the mind. It’s bloody, it’s loud and it’s ugly. They can’t move because they can’t hear. They are in battle mode, stuck in a trench, with enemy fire zipping overhead.

In this state, it is difficult, if not impossible, to assess what the correct move should be.

*****

I want you to know this:

I believe in the mind, I believe in the soul, and I believe in the body. I think there’s a Venn diagram where the mind, the soul, and the body agree to overlap. But I think the three are ultimately separate entities.

It is fine to disagree with me. There are many debates in the world, and this is an old one. Why shouldn’t we join in?

I happen to know I am made up of three parts. In my case—the case of my significantly insignificant existence—my mind, soul and body have very different agendas. They like to make sure that I understand that. They duke it out, sometimes, and I need to take a step backward, out of the fray.

But I watch. I always watch, to see who will win, today.

*****

I want you to know this:

I have two important men in my life, my therapist, and my psychiatrist.

My therapist couldn’t care less about my “diagnosis.” He and I talk soul, and its mysterious ways and wants. He keeps me on the straight and wide.

My psychiatrist couldn’t care less about my soul’s mysterious ways and wants. He and I talk mind. He uses my diagnosis as a tool to help him help me live better. He prescribes meds. I take them, because in the past six years, I have learned the painful way what happens when I do not take them.

The meds help my mind, but they sometimes harm my body. So, sometimes, my psychiatrist and I talk body. The mind and the body, more often than not, play on the same team. They are wary of soul.

*****

I want you to know this:

In the middle of the line segment that is A/B (therapist / psychologist), there is C (me). I am a point on the line. They stay put. I move. Sometimes, I need to talk soul. Other times, I need to talk mind and its mechanics.

I am okay with this arrangement. I am not my diagnosis, but I’m not stupid enough to kick it to the curb, either.

I am Something, as you are. And some of that Something, in my case, gets away from me. When that some of that Something gets away from me, I get away from myself, and I get away from the people who care about me.

So I have to play close attention to the peculiar interplay of mind, body and soul. Or I might get away, and never come back.

*****

I want you to know this:

I have daughters. I have a diagnosis. These two things are not mutually incompatible, not by a long shot.

My diagnosis—and all the quirks and difficulties that come with it—keeps me on my toes. It makes me, if you can understand, a better mother. Because I am in the habit of paying attention. To my own waxing and waning, and to the ebb and flow of my children.

I was diagnosed after my children were born, which meant I never had to have the argument with myself over whether or not to replicate my dark circus of genes. I wince when I read articles or comments suggesting that people who live with mental illness should not have children.

When you live with a mental illness for a long time, you learn that you will only live if you begin to give yourself a break, if you give yourself credit for all that you are and all that you do, in spite of your illness. You are the moving blur between “handicapped” and “challenged,” the tick-tock between “victim” and “survivor.”

It is difficult to define yourself when your self is always in motion, defying terms easily understood and identified by the world surrounding you.

Children are glorious, because they are not tethered to labels. They can handle shades of gray, if we are brave enough to show them.

My illness nearly killed me. My illness nearly left my children motherless.

These are not dramatic statements. This is merely fact, a fact worth noting.

I have learned this: If you are determined to slay the beast, it will slay you. It is not going anywhere. You may dispel it down a dark corridor for some time, maybe even years. But eventually, it will be back to claim you, well-rested and ready for a fight. Trust me on this.

If you can lay down your weapons and show your open palms to the disease, it will spare you your life. If you can learn to befriend it—the way you might take in a stray dog of fearsome countenance, against better judgment—you befriend yourself.

That’s when some beautiful living can happen. That’s when some beautiful parenting can happen. The energy put into resisting the dark can now be put into creating light, for you and for the ones you must guide.

For now, at least, my children’s eyes are clear, bright and untroubled. They know I struggle, sometimes, and that this is okay, and has nothing to do with them. This gives them room to struggle in their own ways, and to know that it’s okay, more than okay—an intrinsic part of what makes us human.

Our home is a haven for the flawed, the overlooked, the stray beasts (furred, or of the mind).

*****

I want you to know this:

I am a better mother than I was before my diagnosis, although my battle scars show, no matter what I wear.

*****

I want you to know this:

I am in a strange place right now, a place of dissonance.

My soul is relatively content, for a change. There is nothing that I hunger for—at least, I am not starving. I am, for the most part, at ease with my being, with choices I have recently made, although sad.

But my mind is making itself known.

When my mind is misbehaving, I know it. I know it because it feels like I am riding a big, dark horse I have no business riding. I’d hop off if I could, but my brain won’t stop. It thunders along at a terrific pace, splattering mud, trampling anything that gets in its way. There is not much to do but hold on, and pray.

Meanwhile: My soul sits up in a leafy tree, watching my mind gallop and froth and overheat.

I haven’t been sleeping. My soul and my body are aligned for a change; they would both give anything for a decent night’s sleep.

I talked to my psychiatrist. We decided it was time to add back another med, one I’ve had before.

So far, I can feel the side effects, but not the benefit. I am shaking and sick. My mind is outrunning even the strongest medicine. It laughs at my drug cocktail, keeps zooming.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a sense of pride in this, that my brain can resist the effects of a chemical cocktail that could bring down a baby rhino.

I plead with my soul and my body to stay out of the way until I can coax my mind back into a trot, then a walk.

*****

I want you to know this:

If your loved one has had a mental illness, chances are good that they still have a mental illness. This makes your loved one no less and no more than you. We all have our demons. Only you can say what yours are.

If you can’t think of any demons or ghosts that chase you, then thank your lucky stars. Then, thank them again. And again.

If you have a mental illness, chances are good that you are not always as compassionate with yourself as you are with others.

I extend a hand. Trust me when I say that your disease is plenty capable of beating you up on its own; it doesn’t need any help from you.

Be kind to yourself. Be thoughtful to yourself. You are no less and no more than anyone. You can create light where there is none, and you can do it on your own time.

Yes, there is stigma. Yes, putting it out there means that every choice you make, every desire you express, every gleeful or sorrowful moment you experience, will be viewed—by some—as your illness manifesting itself.

There is nothing you can do about this, not ever. Let it go.

Sometimes, you will not be sure what is you, and what is the illness.

There is nothing you can do about this. With time, comes wisdom. Let it go, for now.

Today, you may need your bed, and covers over your head. If you are a parent, the only people you owe an explanation to are your children, a fair and honest and compassionate explanation. Your children are far, far more resilient and far stronger than you know. You just need to trust in their strength, and give them a chance to exercise it.

Talk to them about soul. Talk to them about mind. Talk to them about body. Trust your own words. Above all, be clear that this is your battle to fight, not theirs. Let them know that they are blameless and good, and you alone are the responsible party for your own well-being.

I cannot say this enough: our children want our honesty, in plain words they can understand. They do not need a mother or a father demonstrating self-loathing. The disease can make you more, not less, if you take hold of it even as it takes hold of you.

Be kind. Be kind. Be kind. It is real. It is painful. It is hard not to hate yourself when you are shaking uncontrollably and gaining weight by the day from your meds. It is hard not to hate yourself when you can no longer do the job you used to do—and have no effective way of explaining this to others, without a three-hour conference. It is hard not to hate yourself when the world around you seems to be full of success stories, and you are sitting in a muddy trench, knowing full well if you stand up, you are likely to have your head blown off by sniper fire created by your own mind.

Your experience is real.

Refuse to give in to self-hatred. If you are not in denial about your illness, if you are not running from it and cursing it, if you use what energy you can muster to get help, to care for yourself and to care for your children, you and your children have more than a fighting chance. You have an opportunity to teach and model unconditional love of others, and of self.

I am no Pollyanna. Ask my friends, my family, my kids. I am grim. I grit my teeth. I shake my fist at the heavens.

Mental illness sucks donkey balls.

But if I can keep going, you can too.

If you’re the sporting type, think of it this way: Unnecessary roughness to self will be penalized, and you and your children will be the ones receiving the penalty.

Go easy. Go kind. Learn to be honest. Do less. Let go of those who create drama and conflict. To survive this fight, you need those who understand you are in a fight, a fight that does not go away, as much as you and they would like it to.

Remind them, from time to time, that their innards and your innards are not the same.

Remind yourself, from time to time, that their innards and your innards ARE the same.

Your kids need you. If you are considering taking your own life because the pain is devastating, I understand that.

Consider your own death. Imagine it fully, the details of your chosen scenario: the nausea from the overdose; the moment of impact; the noose tightening; the brain splattering; the sudden recognition that there will be no more breaths of air, not today, not ever.

Now consider your children. No guilt. I know how you got to this place, and I do not judge you. Indulge me. Just breathe and consider, for your children, now. Imagine the details, imagine them, for the rest of their lives, trying to explain your death by suicide. Imagine their every milestone—not as you’d be missing it, but rather as they’d be missing you.

If you can bear even one more day of sticking around, I am here with you and for you, in the trenches. I’d pass you a cigarette, if I smoked.

Stick it out with me. You are good. We are good. (We are also creative, imaginative, smart and funny. The universe likes to make sure it also doles out plenty of the good stuff to those facing depression or bipolar or schizophrenia. You have to have a good sense of humor if your wallpaper or toiletries talk to you from time to time.)

Let us be as compassionate to ourselves as we are to others. Let us be compassionate to our disease. Let us feed it scraps, while we create a life of feasts. Let it know its place, but be kind. The enemy you do battle with is your own mind. This requires different tactics. It will never be easy, but it may become easier.

Give yourself the chance to get to that day.

This is by Jennifer Mattern at Breed 'Em And Weep

Things I done did

2011-02-16T17:18:00.000-06:00

It feels like we were trapped in our house for years. I know that isn’t true, but have you ever been snowed in with a 5 and 6 year old, 2 dogs, and your husband who can’t seem to sit still even when you ~~slip him drugs~~ ask him nicely? Once we were finally released from our prison I found myself extraordinarily busy making up for all the things that had been re-scheduled and all that. Here are some highlights:

I ended up with a weird work schedule last week so I ended up all confused and thought Friday was Monday and I thought that Saturday was Sunday and then yesterday I woke up and I was all “Wear that dress to school today and then you can wear it to church tonight” and Luke is like “Why are you going to church tonight?” and I’m like “Duh, choir.” And he just stared at me. Then he’s all “You know it’s Tuesday, right?” all superior and condescending like he is soooo smart because he knows his days. Whatever.

I judged a piano festival this last weekend. I love doing that. My problem is that I hate just writing on the forms. I want to talk to the students and know them and know their process and give them positive constructive criticism right away. So I ended up running way behind. At one point I actually wrote on the judging sheet. “You know. We talked about it.” So basically I am about like the best comment giver ever.

The day after the festival I did a concert with a group that I sing/play with. Mostly I play the piano. They only let me sing on the one song. And then when I get introduced it’s like “Here’s Angela. We don’t usually let her speak unsupervised.” But it’s cool. Because that is totally true. Just handing me a microphone in front of a captive group of people and then just saying “GO” is about probably the most dangerous thing you can do. I’m not so good with the filter. And it was a church. I think I behaved.

So now here we are at 80 degrees with snow on the ground. That doesn’t mess with me at all.

Soon...once my phone battery dies or someone physically takes it from me

2011-02-14T20:10:00.000-06:00

Hey remember that one time when I had all these blog ideas and plans to write them all and post them but instead I played Sims for like about 100 hours?

Yeah, that was fun.

Communion is not OCD compliant

2011-02-09T17:56:00.000-06:00

I’m not a contamination OCD person. I mean I have a healthy respect for germs and chemicals and that sort of thing, but as far as my OCD is concerned I have zero percent issue with contamination. I’ve fully experienced what seems like about every other single common and uncommon behavior and I even made up quite a few on my own just for kicks. So it surprised me on Sunday when I suddenly became acutely aware of the contamination involved with taking Communion.
I won’t explain it, because for those of you who struggle in this area it would only make it worse, but it for sure made me think. I was thinking, we really do live in a world not aware enough to understand us. So my rambling brain was thinking, should we create more awareness? Or should we just learn to adapt? Should we strive for complete eradication of our mental illnesses? Is asking for separate Communion or asking other people to take part in our compulsions in some way ok? As long as the compulsions only involve our own selves should we keep it to ourselves?

I decided: No. Because I fancy myself the boss of things.

Well, I mean it could be a combination of both. I don’t want to have unreasonable requests for those around me, and I don’t want to spend all of my waking and non-waking moments being Obsessive-Compulsive; however I still am how I am. I have mental illness and I don’t want to be ashamed by it. I’ve been working towards management of my disorders, not eradication. I think that might be kind of like asking diabetics or allergic people to just bring your own food to stuff. No special orders, none of that insulin or epi-pen business up in here. So until people know about your disorder and understand it, they can’t be helpful. And I think we should all be helpful to one other. Providing that we aren’t asking them to just do really weird and/or time-consuming things that may be creepy.

That is all.

Cool things that happened

2011-01-31T19:28:00.000-06:00

Hey what did you do for the last few days I don’t care my days were cooler. I’m just gonna give you the top two highlights.

First. I went to see my gynecologist. Hold on one freaking second while I get to the cool part. So he was all up in my business and he’s all “Hey there’s some blergity blooblah in here. Does that hurt?” And then I’m all “Mother of frick, dude!” and then he’s like “I know what will fix it! Chemicals!” And then he put chemicals in there. He put the chemicals on a stick and put them inside there to “burn off that bloobity blah”. Okay so then he’s all “Oh yeah, and silver might come out of there over the next few hours.” Did you hear that?! My vagina produces silver! I win at cool vagina.

Second. I am sitting at a stoplight on Saturday minding my own business and only partly creeping on the people next to me because who doesn’t do that honestly, when all out of nowhere…BOOM! The building across the intersection flipping explodes. Yes. EXPLODES. So of course I did what anybody would do and immediately pulled in the parking lot to take pictures. It was a strip mall so I was still a safe enough distance away. Turns out that a propane tank on the roof just lit right up and blew straight into the air. Everybody’s fine. I’m not that insensitive. So because everyone is fine it’s now officially cool for me to be like “HOLY FRACK BALLS I SAW THAT BUILDING EXPLODE!”

Can you top that?

It's because I'm so good at being awesome. And not at all a nerd.

2011-01-31T19:12:00.000-06:00

One of my new favorite blogs is Nod If You Hear Me: A Bipolar Blog . I always love connecting with other people like me. So anyhow, she gave me a Stylish Blogger Award! I figure that it is because I am just so darn adorable. So the idea is to share 7 things about myself and then pass it right on. So let’s open up this bag of cats shall we?

1) I don’t sing Happy Birthday. Ever.

I just don’t. I hate it. I hate singing and I hate being sung to. I feel like there is nothing good that can come from Happy Birthday. Literally every person involved is uncomfortable. I don’t know where to look when you are crashing around in 14 different keys with no melody. You don’t know where to look when the song inevitably slows to a painful slow resolution. And then someone always has to add something dumb at the end. It sucks. And don’t even get me started on Happy Birthday at restaurants. Just give me my free sundae and move along.

2) I love run down houses and buildings.

I think that they are super beautiful. It’s like unintentional art. I feel like I can see into the past just for that moment. I like to imagine who was there and what that place meant to them and what changes have taken place around that particular structure. What did it look like in the area at the time it was built? How much history has passed through? I like the idea of slowing down time for a moment to study the decay of a structure. It’s just cool. I am a NERD.

3) I have a few pet peeves.

I cannot stand when married people do not wear their wedding rings on a regular basis. Sure maybe here or there when you are playing kickball or something, but wear your wedding ring. It just feels skeevy not to. Also I cannot stand song lyrics as status updates. Especially when you end the lyric with lots of exclamation points!!!! Like I don’t know if that means you are singing louder or singing off key or what. I just don’t know. It’s annoying. I have others. I’ll think of them sometime.

4) I have a super power

This is one hundred percent truth. My husband and my closest friends will verify this as fact. I’m not clairvoyant or anything. I can’t like see the future or pick who you are going to marry or tell you the lotto numbers. But I do have a very sharp intuition. I’m talking about being able to meet someone or see people interact or hear them speak to each other and figure out all kinds of information about them. My first impressions are often very detailed and almost always dead on. Once I have sized up a person I can usually predict with scary accuracy future behaviors/hidden secrets/life changes. I don’t just run around being all “Hey, I know that you are insecure with your job and you use your children as a surrogate source of unconditional love to fill your self esteem holes. You are going to quit your job in about 6 months because of the stress of being away from home and because the work is unfulfilling.” Or “hey, check your man because he is not entirely telling you the truth about his daily activites.” Or “hey, I know that you are lying to my face. I also know that you lie everyone around you in order to get people to like you. You aren’t really aware that you embellish the truth like that.” But I ALWAYS tell my initial impressions to my husband so that he can always verify later when things happen. I know. Creepy right?

5) Most of my face is numb and held together by metal.

OK, so long story short: I had my face rebuilt when I was 18. I wasn’t in an accident I just had a wonked up face that needed fixing. So now I have metal plates and screws and scars and vast amounts of nerve damage that causes me to drool on occasion. If you see me doing it, it’s cool. Just tell me about so I don’t look stupid. Sometimes I’ll be all “What’s this wet spot on my shirt? Aww, man!” Then later on when I was about 22 I grew me a big ol fancy tumor in my parotid gland (it makes your spit) and I had to have that whole mess taken out. So most of that side of my face doesn’t work and I can’t hear so well. That’s a whole open-my-face-like-a-book-and-then-I-had-a-blood-necklace-and-a-hole-opened-up-in-my-neck-and-chewed-food-came-out-story.

6) I love scary movies.

I especially love to watch them alone, at night, in the dark. It’s awesome. I’m not so much a fan of the slasher films. I like a real live supernatural thriller. One where you think and jump out of your skin a few times and maybe pee a little. The Others is probably up there as one of my favorites.

7) Life as an out and loud Obsessive-Compulsive is better than living in secret and struggling alone.

I wouldn’t trade this disorder. I wouldn’t give it back or push a button to be instantly healed from it. I have learned more from this disorder than any book I could ever read or class I could attend. I have met people and made friends and challenged myself. I was made this way. It’s hard. But I wouldn’t change anything.

And now I bestow this award to…

Shana at I’m a mom. I have OCD.

Lady has mad crochet skills and is just an all around cool person.

Sara at Sara Swears A Lot

Sometimes I wish we could hang out together in real life. I have a girl crush on her I think. And seriously; she curses like an art form.

I did it! I really did it! On an actual Thursday!

2011-01-27T21:41:00.002-06:00

I know! I know! It’s for real Thursday and here we are at Thankful Thursday!

So get to it:

1) I had a better week

2) My husband is fully an idiot and it makes me laugh every freaking time

3) I love my new tattoo

4) I have new blog friends! And a few new blogs that I am following so look for a list of those soon because some are so funny that I want to pee myself.

5) Luke and I are back to leading a Bible Study. It’s just short term but it feels great to be back doing what we love to do. I feels even better that this time around I can be fully female, free to think outside of boxes, unafraid of having an opinion and using logical reasoning, my relationship with Jesus is real, and my personality doesn’t require inhibition anymore.

6) My new meds are kicking in. That OCD flair up is starting to get back under control. It’s not like I’m going to up my meds everytime I have a flair, but this time it was necessary. And it’s working and I’m clear headed again so that I can practice CBT without chemical imbalance screwing it all up.

7) I seriously might get to lay out and tan tomorrow. It will be freaking icy by Monday, but tomorrow is warm and sunny. Bikini time.

8) I have awesome dogs. Currently they are sacked out with me and snoring. We are about to hit up some Jersey Shore. I love Thursday.

New ink and a little bit of me being a creep. Just for a second.

2011-01-22T15:30:00.000-06:00

I got a new tattoo! It is so unbelievably amazing. And here’s the deal. I did this alone. Do you hear me!? Alone. This is the girl who previously struggled to get the mail or go to 7-11 or make phone calls or drive. I did it alone. OK, it did take me a few tries to make the phone call. That is just still something I am working on. But then I did it.

Also, it turns out that my ankles are like stupid ticklish. I seriously almost kicked the poor guy in the face like about 28 times. I mean, yes it hurt. It hurts like a frackin’ cheese grater going over my tiny bony leg over and over. But the tickling was real live torture. It took all of my Yoga skill to stay still and not jerk around or laugh. I had to go way into that grounded meditative place. And even then I had a couple of good kicks that made for some near misses.

I’m becoming one of those tattoo addicted people. He wasn’t even done with this one when I was looking up a design for my next one. But that’s a secret I’m keeping under wraps right now. I love the whole process. I love the art and the design and the meaning and the permanence and the creative process. I love the skill it takes to create the design on skin. The steady hands and the precision are fascinating. My last tattoo was on my back so I couldn’t really see, but this time I was right in there watching the whole thing. It’s an amazing process.

OK, now I’m gonna sound like one of those weird masochists but trust me I’m not all freaky and whatnot. Anyhow, I kind of appreciate the pain. It is cleansing. When you can tolerate the pain to come out on the other side with something so meaningful, that is cool. I love watching it heal. The whole process is seriously cool. And this particular tattoo not only represents both my kids, it represents a freedom that I am deveoping. I reminds me that I am actively managing what could be and has been a crippling disorder and I am expanding my perimeter. I sound like a weirdo. Please still be my friend.

So here it is! What do you think?

OK, I'll go back to being funny tomorrow. And this is the last time I talk about this I promise. Mostly.

2011-01-22T15:09:00.000-06:00

I keep writing posts like this and then I don’t post them. That’s because they often start out with great intentions and an actual point and then devolve into bitter rambling and oversharing. I’m gonna try again. And I am gonna try to do this just the one time. I don’t want to keep picking at the scabs. I’m gonna try to make cogent points and well crafted explanations of my thought process. So…yeah. We’ll just see where this goes.

It’s been nearly 7 months since the ugly and very hurtful confrontations that led to us removing ourselves from the church we had known our whole lives. Let me be clear that this was all for the best. We were done being in that environment. We have found a new church and in fact a new denomination which is exactly where we are supposed to be. It is the place that in just a few months has already shown Jesus to us in ways we never saw before. But…the chain of events that led us there sucked. Like really really sucked. HARD. And I’m really having a lot of trouble letting it go.

Being told that you are invaluable as a leader is painful. Being denied the right to study and share and form my own opinions and apply logic and reason as well as passion and faith to my personal Bible study simply because I am a woman is unfathomable. Well, correction: I was allowed my own study providing that I didn’t try to share with any men and if I disagreed or asked evocative questions regarding the historical contexts and practices of said religion, I needed to be ready to have a man share with me the proper “answers”. Or really I should just know better than to toe the line. Having the leaders of the church that I believed was my family tell me that my actual personality just is not Christian-y enough was a literal kick in the ass. And then when I was down, I was stomped in the guts with the comment that not only am I not setting appropriate “Christian” examples for women, men, or children, but I am supposedly actually damaging people’s marriages with my horrible frankness/sense of humor/inquisitive nature/mental illness/thought provoking questions/general presence as a human. I was breaking the rules. I wasn’t following the pre-cut mold of who I was supposed to be as a woman/wife/mother. I was apparently quite bad at it. And wow…they let me know. They made sure I knew how crappy I was.

Settling in to our new church has been the solid foundation that I have needed. Jesus was there ahead of us making a place for us to fit right in. It’s like we’ve always been there. So the healing process should be progressing. The problem is that throughout these many months I continue to hear the things that are continually said about me. I heard just this week that someone who I thought was a friend, a fellow member of the family of God, was continuing to say disparaging things about me and my family. The general water cooler talk seems to be that they were just trying to help guide me. You know “in love”. But I’m such a heathen that I chose to just walk away from the Truth. I was probably never a Christian to begin with. The Devil must have a hold of me. You know, because of how I’m mentally ill and I just refuse to let go of my sin lifestyle (read: advocating women’s rights and civil liberties among other things) or I would be cured of the OCD and the depression and the anxiety. That kind of stuff happens to people who are fighting God. So I hear all of these things about me through a friend who was being told these things “just so you are aware”. So basically this person was doing my friend a favor by letting her know just how awful I am.

And I wish this was an isolated incident. These faith communites are all inter-connected so my ability to just not know what’s going on is non-exisitant. Plus there are still friends in that place. And they believe in the direction and leadership of the church and I want to be supportive of that. But it means hearing things all the time. There seems to be this schadenfreude that accompanies any conversation about those “Cavetts”. You know what? I get it. I’m trying to move on. You are right. I didn’t belong in your community. That message was received loud and clear when my kids were removed from their class roles. I get it. You don’t approve of me or my life or my kids or my husband or my personality or my relationship with Jesus assuming that I even have one.

So here’s the part where I struggle. Why is it all so hateful and judgemental? The Jesus that I know doesn’t behave that way. And trust me, I know Him. I know Him personally. And I love Him. And I speak to Him and I want to behave like He did. The Jesus I know understands that we are all going to be different. He is not the same to me as He is to you because we are different. Our histories, our lives, our interests, our needs are all different. And that is what makes His church great. But I’m still missing the part where He condones His followers treating one another so poorly. I’m missing the part where any human whether Christian or not, is forced to listen to a list of violations and attacked at the core of their person. My Jesus did not behave that way. My Jesus loves. My Jesus was hurt and angered by the religious judging the less religious. My Jesus loves me and knows me and trust me I can’t get one over on Him. My Jesus tells me when I am acting less than how He would act. My Jesus never turned away anyone. My Jesus is about peace and love. I don’t need other persons (leadership or no) to be my Jesus for me. Guess what? The veil was torn so I get to have access to Him all by myself. I don’t need to be told what my personal choices/convictions/behaviors should be. Because trust me, all I ever want is to be like He is.

And my Jesus also forgave and continues to forgive. And I don’t know how to do that. It’s hard. After having been cut so deeply and so personally, it’s hard. It feels like I would be condoning that behavior. It feels like I would be saying that those philosophies of leadership are the same as mine because we all follow the same Jesus, right? I literally do not know how to stop the bleeding and pick up the pieces after having my idealistic perception of religion shattered. We are in such a good place now and I don’t want to keep hauling my bag of broken pieces in there each week. But I don’t know where to put those pieces. Do I throw them away or try to glue them all back together?

So I guess I am trying to avoid swinging the pendulum the other way and being judgey and mean right back. I am trying not to impose my discernments of right and wrong onto the people who did so to me. That sounds passive agressive. I don't mean it to be. I keep trying to remind myself that I am not defined by other people. I am not even defined by my religious behavior. I am defined by Jesus. And Jesus is defined by love. Jesus loves me this I know.

Blaaaaaaah

2011-01-19T08:22:00.000-06:00

I wrote posts this week I just didn’t post any of them. They felt lame. So I didn’t post them. This is precisely the reason why I am going back to Dr. Happy-Pills today. My current happy pills seem to have lost their pep. Either that or I am actually getting crazier. I am outgrowing pharmaceuticals. Neat. But I did just spell pharmaceuticals correctly on the first try. So my genius is growing in direct proportion to my crazy.

I danced this week. Like on purpose. Newsflash: I am not a dancer but somehow I am choreographing this show choir show for school. Turns out that I have really great things to teach high school kids. I’m a total role model. Yesterday’s lesson was: “Never touch a dead vagina.” I should get like accompanist of the year award or something. Also we did Yoga and I taught them how to roll around on the floor like dirty, gritty, slimy, oozy, insects. In a totally cool way.

I think my dog has pink eye. Can dogs get that? Because mine totally has it. He’s all pussy and gross. But I love him. Luke has this policy about pets. No cats or birds. Because you never want to have a pet where the most ideal situation is that they poop in your house on purpose thus requiring you to pick it up on a regular basis. Also no dogs small enough to fit in a purse. I don’t know what his policy states about pink eye. We might be having a meeting to create an addendum to the policy soon.

Soblahblahanyhowvagina, I think I am still in a Vegas hangover. As in my luggage is still on the floor in the bedroom. I guess I need to get around to working on that soon. But I figure between my packed schedule of being a fabulously crazy musician/artist/generally good influence to the youth of America I just haven’t had time to fit that in yet.

We have a super fun weekend coming up…but I’m going to leave you in suspense. And then maybe in like two weeks I’ll finally post about it.

Just trust me on the peeing thing

2011-01-10T19:55:00.000-06:00

Cold.

Like freaky butt cold.

Like if you tried to pee outside it would freeze midstream.

So today I was home all day. I didn’t have any lessons until later. And I wanted to light a fire. But first I needed to clean out the ashes from yesterday’s fire. I pretty much love having a fire. I scooped them all up and put them in a bag as I usually do when cleaning the fireplace ashes. And then…there were still embers in the ash. Apparently. Because the bag caught on fire. So I stamped on it a little and ash flew all over. Then I grabbed a cardboard box laying in the floor (because at the Cavetts we often have odd bits like that just laying about) and put the now holy smoking bag of ashes in the box. And the smoke was going all in the house. So I stuffed the whole thing in the fireplace. But then I decided that wasn’t working so I filled up a cup of water and threw it on the bag/box. But it was still smoking. So I pulled it out of there and ran it outside while it leaked out muddy ash water. Then when I got outside I was afraid that it would burst into flames or something so I poured a bunch of more water all over it. And muddy ash water went everywhere. And then about 10 minutes later it was all frozen. it is.Which is how freaking cold it is.

Anyhow…

Therapist told me today that I need a med adjustment. Yeah probably. My intrusive thoughts are being all intrusive again. That is just so like them. And that ain’t what you want. After about my third unprovoked panic attack this week, I am kind of thinking that it might be a good idea myself. I am finding it necessary to touch again. Not to the worst extent of my touching. But I’m pretty sure that Luke is ready for me to be done tapping his face before he kisses me. Gak. Just thinking about not doing that gives me the skeeves right now. So I guess I need a med check. Now I just have to pick up the stupid phone and actually call.

I’m gonna go have a glass of wine.

Thankful Day. Why do I even try to do it on Thursdays anymore?

2011-01-08T22:48:00.000-06:00

I guess we are starting off 2011 on the right foot because here I am on Saturday doing my Thankful Thursday. Honestly, I can’t go setting a precedent of doing crap on time because then you’d be all expecting that crap. Pfffttt. I don’t like to get your expectations all high. Anyhow…

I feel like my brain has been processing all kinds of heavy stuff of the last few weeks. Religion and the removal of religion and the necessity of religion and the perversion of religion and the reality of Jesus versus the perceived reality of Jesus…and also nachos. I am so into nachos right now. Anyhow, I’m not really ready to unleash all of my deep theological musings on you just yet. So until then, let’s go classic thankful Thursday. It’s a list. It’s simple. And it’s 2 days late.

1) I have this job that I like

This is new for me. Not having a job…I’ve had jobs. But now I get to be a musician. All day every day. And I get to work with high school kids and younger kids and adults. I get to show them what it means to me to be a musician. Not just as a hobby but as my life. Also, I go to a job every day. That is a big deal. Let me put this in perspective for you. I have never held a full time job ever in my life. As a distinguished member of the mentally ill community, working a full time job was never something that I could even imagine doing. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t leave the house to get my mail. Having a job is a big deal. Having a job where I get to be a musician is even better.

2) Nachos

I don’t even know what’s happening here but I am dominating some nachos lately. I’m, all “What’s that, nachos? Oh yeah…I OWN you.” Suck it.

3) My man is kind of awesome

Yeah, so he’s pretty hot. And pretty patient. You gotta have some serious patience to put up with this business. I’m crazy. I don’t know if you’ve heard.

4) I made it another year. This time things are different

I am ready for my first full year as a productive, maintained, fully disclosed, Obsessive-Compulsive Christian. Last year sucked balls. Let’s not kid ourselves. But in a way it was the best thing that could have ever happened. I have a different relationship with Jesus. A different understanding of myself. A new passion for speaking about mental illness, particularly the mentally ill Christian. I’m ready to do more things I have never done before. I am ready to push the envelope and learn and grow and listen and challenge myself and challenge other people and ask questions even when the answers are scary and dig deeper and stand up for myself and know Jesus better and love and think and empower and expand and be successful as a female and as a person and give a face to OCD. And also eat nachos. I am so freaking into nachos right now.

What are you thankful for?

Those creepy little baby ninjas kept their little baby ninja stars right in their diapers and came at me like horrifying little bats. Stupid baby ninjas.

2011-01-04T17:54:00.000-06:00

Guh! You know how when you wear a wrist brace every body is all “What’d you do?!” and you really wish you had an awesome story like ninja fights, or saving babies, or ninja babies but you don’t have an awesome story you only have the truth and the truth is way less flattering? OK. I’m gonna tell this story once and once only.

I didn’t practice piano much during Christmas break what with the raging bronchitis, stomach explosion virus, Vegas, and general merriment. So for the last two days I spent a lot of time at the piano because I have a freaky butt crazy accompanying schedule between now and March and all of it is brand new to me music. I’m talking about if I just played everything from start to finish without practicing it would take hours but I also need to stop and fix a few things here and there because I don’t want to suck. You don’t get paid for sucking (insert your own joke here. I’m not touching that one…Again, own joke here). So by the end of day two I felt some strain in my right hand from the outside wrist to pinky tip area. I think that’s the medical terms for it anyway.

I decided to chill and let my ligaments/muscles/tendons or whatever other freaky magical neuron crap is in there making pain have a rest. And then since I was feeling all productive after having banished Christmas paraphernalia from my house for another year and I had practiced all crazy like, I decided to do laundry which I never do because I hate it. So I picked up a big ‘ol heavy basket of laundry and then…my wrist sort of just gave out. Not really popped or ripped, just kind of quit. And then a moment later there was the pain. From the tip of my pinky to the end of my elbow pain. That’s like about 16 inches of pain which is a lot.

Now since I am a teensy bit accident prone, as in I dropped my curling iron on my neck just last week in Vegas, my dear husband is a little bit worn out of this whole process. But it really hurt kinda how I imagine it would feel if your bones suddenly turned electric and I really whined. A lot. Because that’s what I do. I couldn’t really bend it and I couldn’t really do anything with just one hand which annoyed him verily because yea he was called upon to travel in dark of night and cold winter’s wind to Walgreens whereupon he would seek remedy for my ills and return thusly with a brace for mine arm. Because he was my serving wench until he got it all patched up.

After 24 hours I am doing much better. Pretty sure I’m gonna pull through and lead a healthy normal and productive life. And now, not only can I say that I sprained my knee in my chair at the movies, I can add that I was also injured by laundry. Bucket list: check.