I think it's working

I think that the crap I am taking to combat my shitty mood disorder is actually working!

I went back to the Doctor after my last little crash when he told me that my blood work doesn't show anything REALLY wrong with me I nearly collapsed because I just cannot seem to kick this depression in any significant way even though I am always on some kind of (expensive and uninsured) medication. 

He suggested two things.  I try to limit my processed foods because there is some kind of link between people who eat crap all day and people who are insane (not the medical terminology he used) and add Abilify to the crap meds I am already taking.

The things a girl will do to feel normal...

I objected, of course.  I LOVE ME some easy frozen dinners and lunch meat, but he insisted.  Plus, he told me that sometimes adding Abilify to a drug that isn't really effective creates a reaction that makes it work better.  And I told him that since that he didn't tell me I needed to exercise more, I was on board. 

Two weeks later and I feel like my mind is clear for the first time since I had Lila.  HOLY SHIT.  This must be how normal people feel.  I even tried to take a little nap yesterday and wasn't tired at all!

Of course, this is opening up a huge rift inside me that I have done a fantastic job of denying until now.  My relationship is a mess, and I am starting to see that my anger may not be a side effect of the depression after all.  I think that my depression comes from me numbing my negative feelings and allowing them to fester. 

A part of me is worried about what this is going to mean to the state of my family.  Luckily I have a therapist who can hopefully help me to work all this out and not allow me to make any decisions until I am sure that I know what the hell is going on.

It feels good to be free!

Its' a "Fuck You" Friday!

There are no where near enough angry link ups out there. 

I am not going to sit here and pretend I have any idea how to do a link up or whatever, but I highly recommend that on Fridays, you take about 5 minutes and scroll a little note about something that happened this week and say to it "Fuck you...I'm on to my weekend."  I also want to say that I KNOW it's Thursday. But I really hope that you guys will join in because it's nothing if not totally liberating!  And if you want to leave a link to your blog saying that you did it (or are going to do it) in the comments section, please do.  OR do it on facebook. 




Fuck You Fridays photo courtesy of Johnny Cash.


Today's Fuck You Friday has to do with an old boyfriend turned buddy who I gave up on as a human being this past week.

Joe was one of those guys who I fell in love with when I was like 13 years old even though he was like 18 at the time.  He ignored me back then but as soon as I turned 18 we got together and did that whole "You're my soul mate" thing until he finally told me like 5 months later that: a) he had an 18 month old son by his last girlfriend and b) that he was going to go back to her so I should forget he ever existed.

Now, at 18 I am pretty stupid. I admit as much.  I would say that emotionally I definitely rode the short bus.  So when I run into him randomly, like, 9 times in the following 2 weeks, I am convinced that "the universe is obviously telling me something" so I hold my breath and just "know he'll come back to me."  I go on with my life and date (a billion) other guys but I always believe that some day we'd randomly meet up at some fruit stand in Morrocco just like they do in old movies and we'd fall in love and live happily ever after.  I told you I was a fucking idiot. 

A few years pass and we meet up again.  This time he claims he has left that bitch for good and did all the things he was supposed to do to keep contact with his kid and minimum drama with her (custody arrangements and all that).  So I think "now's the time!  We'll be together forever," right?  WRONG.  First he fucked some awful fat girl who I THINK is my friend but turns out to be a whore.  Then he tells me about how there's this "young chick" at his work who keeps (and I quote) "sticking her ass in my face".  I tell him he's an asshole and think that if I avoid him for a few days to prove how angry I am he will feel bad and come running back.  It doesn't work.

When I try to call him a week later, the phone number is disconnected.  I go to his apartment and it's empty. I stop by his work and it turns out he quit.  That fucker vanished into thin air. 

But dumb me, I run into him again and again and every time he professes his undying love to me and then would end up going back to the girlfriend with the ass gone wild.  At one point, he moves into my apartment for a few weeks and when the larger apartement downstairs opens up, he tells me to tell the landlord we're going to take it.  He never shows up to give the landlord the security deposit and again disappears into thin air.

Around this time I become aware that he is seriously using drugs.  Bad drugs. Crack, Heroin, Meth.  I feel so sad and helpless to do anything for him.  Soon after this, I move to Arizona, start intensive psychotherapy and begin to understand just how fucked up the whole situation actually is.  I plan a trip back to Syracuse and a week before my trip he magically finds me on the internet.  He tells me he is fresh out of rehab and would love to see me when I come home. I tell him that's awesome since I happen to have some things to tell him!  I go to see him and tell him that he's an asshole for treating me like some stop-gap for half of my life, and that he can basically go fuck himself.  I don't give him a chance to respond.  I drive away feeling like I did the right thing.

Three years later I move back.  I am in Wal Mart (of all God-awful places) in my sweats and I run into him.  He looks awful but tells me he's been clean since the last time I saw him.  He still looks at me the way he used to and I realize now why I always fell for his bullshit.  I try to make small talk and he lays into me about how much I hurt his feelings that day and how he hasn't been able to get me out of his head since then.

I fucking feel bad for some reason.  But I am honest.  I have a family now.  I have a guy who is everything he never was.  I would never leave them and I would never take him back.  He is okay with this.  I tell him to keep in touch and we do on the Facebook.

One day he wants to see me and we meet for coffee and he looks like total shit.  I suspect he's using agian but he swears he's not and he tells me about his latest girlfriend and how she got pregnant on purpose and he just "isn't feeling it" and so they ended it amicably but now he is seeing a new girl.  He tells me she's 21, which is young because he's almost 40.  I laugh and offer him my advice which I know he won't follow. But I tell him the truth.  He's an idiot.  He needs to get his shit together and stop hooking up with dumb chicks and making babies.  I am brutally honest and it makes him irritated with me. There is no weirdness.  No sexual tension.  We are friends and I am fine with this.

A few weeks later I find out from a mutual friend that he OD'd on something or other and was in the hospital for a few days and is now going to rehab.  I feel awful.  Could I have helped him?  Was he trying to kill himself?  He must have been so sad!  Why wasn't I more understanding?  Why do I always have to tell people exactly what I think?

When he gets out I call him and I see him and he tells me that him and his girlfriend are trying to have a baby.  That her parents are okay with his age, which prompts me to comment on her being 21.  He tells me she's 18.  And that they're in love and they're going to get married.

I laugh.  "Really?" I say.  Because obviously LOVE is all that matters.  I tell him that he is in NO POSITION to be making this kind of decision and that no child should have to suffer with a young and obviously insane mother and a junky father.  He tells me he is in love.  I tell him that he already has 3 kids by 3 different women and that never worked out to keep them together.  He tells me he's in love.  I tell him that if he really loves her he would let this fresh out of high school child go out and figure things out and not try to tie her down with a fucking kid because after all, he IS the adult.  He tells me he's in love.  I tell him his son is a year older than his girlfriend.  He tells me he's in love.

He doesn't get it.  He refuses to even acknowledge that the facts are correct.  He just keeps telling me that he is in love with her and wants to marry her.  I get mad.  Then he makes a stupid statement.  He says "I am going to marry her.  So speak now or forever hold your peace."  And it fucking hits me.

He wants me to beg him not to do it.  Not just because it's stupid but he wants me to beg him to be with ME!  HAH!  I laugh.  Is he fucking insane?  Is he seriously fucked up?  I know the answer is yes.

So I tell him that he's on his own.  I refuse to worry about him anymore.  He obviously has no concern for himself and has no interest in functioning like a normal person.  I tell him to knock himself out: go smoke some crack, knock up some 12 year olds, and sleep under a fucking bridge.  I tell him that I am done and that I was fucking stupid to think that we could be friends because the old pattern of "I beg for you, you choose someone else" is like a drug in itself for him.  He thought I would fall right back into that role.

But the truth is that when I saw how fucked up and ugly the drugs and misery he chooses has made him, I was no longer even remotely interested.  That part of me who felt anything like a lover to him is dead and buried.  I only wanted him to be okay in the way that I would want anyone I have known for (I can't believe I am going to say this) 20 years to be okay.  I want him to choose fucking happiness.  To make a decision that isn't completely fucking self destructive.  But he thinks I still want to fuck him. 

And for that, Joe- for that I say a big, long-time-coming

FUCK YOU!!!

Selfish Mommy fucks it up again

Ben had a car accident yesterday.  He was driving home after picking up the kid because I had an appointment to see a therapist after work.  We got a monster thunderstorm yesterday which flooded the highway and so traffic was absurdly backed up all over the surface streets.

About 15 minutes into my session, my phone rang with Ben's stupid ringtone and I turned it off because HE SHOULD FUCKING KNOW I AM IN MY SESSION trying to get myself together so that I don't have to be a total bitch who screams at him about shit he already knows all the time.

When I got out, I looked at my phone and there were 2 text messages from Ben.  The first said, "call me as soon as possible."  The second said, "I totaled my truck".  Now, perhaps you understand that my first reaction was kind of like, "THAT SEEMS LIKE AN UNDER-REACTION!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! IS EVERYONE OKAY???" And then I thought, "What the fuck!!!! Is my kid okay?"

So I called him immediately and he assured me that everyone was okay, not a single scratch or bruise, and that the seatbelts did exactly what they were supposed to do.  By that time he had gotten home and Lila was resting on the couch watching Pingu (if you are unfamiliar with Pingu, think weird Japanese Penguin Gumby who doesn't talk but has some jibberish language).

I rushed home and was met at the door by an angry and obviously traumatized 3 year old who said, "We tried to call you because Daddy crashed and I was crying and you DIDN'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE!"

"Mommy was in with her doctor and didn't have my phone with me," I tried to explain. 

"I was scared and I cried and I wanted you and YOU DIDN'T ANSWER!!!"

Yet another failure under Mommy's belt.

Rationally I know that it wasn't my fault and I could never have known.  In my mind I assume that if I had a CAR ACCIDENT or some other emergency, that I might call more than one time knowing that the liklihood that a person would answer the phone when they were in therapy is pretty slim.  But hey, I'm the insane one going to therapy, right?

But a part of me feels sad that I wasn't there.

Later that night, I tried to talk to Lila about it to figure out just how upset and traumatized by it she really was.  And it turns out that she was more concerned about the thunderstorm and the fact that lightening is made of electricity (which scares the shit out of her now that she knows that...thanks Cat in the Hat Knows a lot about that) than she was about the car accident.

Before she drifted off to sleep, she asked me if Daddy was going to get a new truck and I told her we didn't know yet.  She said she would be sad if he didn't have that old truck anymore because he had it when she was a baby.  And I told her that we would all be just fine.

ABC's for lazy bloggers.

I totally stole this from Just Plain Jayne who apparently stole it from someone else who stole it from another making this a kind of chain blog.  Shit.  What a great idea!

A. Age:  I never understood why women lied about their age before.  Now I realize it's because if you don't say it out loud, it isn't as real.

B. Bed size:  Our bed is a KING.  It's too fucking big for our house (let alone the bedroom) but Ben refuses to get rid of it.  And God forbid should I get more than 2 feet on my side at any given time.

C. Chore you dislike:  ALL of them.  Except I kind of like watering plants. 

D. Dogs: People who call their dogs their kids make me want to stab them in the face with a plastic butter knife.  Seriously.  I cannot stress enough how having a dog is NOTHING like having a kid.  NOTHING.

E. Essential start to your day: 4-5 cups of coffee and then a Xanax.  I don't do it often enough.

F. Favorite color: It was purple until Lila took the love of purple to a whole new level.  If you look at my closet you would assume it was either gray or black.

G. Gold or silver: I don't really care either way.

H. Height:  If I say 5'3" then I am only about 4 lbs from being "obese" according to the chart in the doctor's office.  I will say..5'6"  (wink wink)

I. Instruments you play(ED): Would it be wrong for me to say "skin flute"?  Bwahahahahaha!

J. Job title:  Part time Acquisitions Clerk at the library.  Full time bitch at home.

K. Kids: I was never someone who KNEW I wanted them.  And I don't.  One is enough, thanks.

L. Live: Yes.  I would like that.  Thanks.

M. Mom’s name: Sue.  OR Susie.  I really wanted to name my kid after one of my parents but Sue or Susan or Susie wasn't going to work....I settled for her middle name as Lilas middle name but it's not really the same.

N. Nicknames: I never really had one that stuck.  Because my name is SELENA, I got Saliva sometimes...Oh, and Norman Bates.

O. Overnight hospital stays: Only when I had my C-Section.  I was terrified to go home.

P. Pet peeves:  Stupidity.  It's fucking rampant.  That and people who say "supposebly."

Q. Quote from a movie: "IIIIIIII'm Picking out a thermos for you!!!1"  (Steve Martin in the Jerk)

R. Righty or Lefty: Righty tighty.

S. Siblings: One brother who is nearly 10 years older than me, lives in Florida, and who basically disowned me because he thought I was acting slutty when I went to Florida for his wedding because I hooked up with a couple of his friends.

T. Time you wake up: Whenever Ben leaves for work, which varies.  But ideally? noon.

U. Underwear: OK...

V. Vegetables you don’t like: I have to admit, I haven't TRIED a lot of vegetables outside your typical ones (green beans, broccoli, carrots, peas, corn, cauliflower, shit you put into salads..)  I am working on it though.  So far I am sure I hate artichokes...

W. What makes you run late: I am a procrastinator who doesn't care enough to try?

X. X-rays you’ve had: Broke my arm when I was 10 when I was hit by a car...

Y. Yummy food you make: I never considered myself someone who can cook.  But everything I try seems to come out really good.  So I will go with EVERYTHING!

Z. Zoo Animal Favorites: SLOTHS!!!  I love the sloth.  I relate to the way they are all sleepy and matted and slow.  If I could be a sloth, life would be good.

Seriously, what could be better than this?

Eat What?

I am going to let you all in on a little secret that I don't like to talk about because it makes people want to slap me.  I only need to get this off my chest because it is causing me some serious problems in adulthood that I have no real experience with, even if I do "know" in an intellectual way how I am supposed to deal with these things.

I have never been on a diet in my life.

Go ahead...let the disbelief wash over you.  And now for the "I'm gonna slap this bitch" part.

Up until I was about 25, I was a naturally skinny girl.  In my teens, I just COULDN'T gain weight and was often accused of having an eating disorder.  Sometimes, I just played along and said I did so that people would leave me alone.  When I was 20, I developed really bad hypochondria (and all kinds of anxiety problems to go with it), convinced that I had a tapeworm or cancer or AIDS and I became obsessed with fat people and how their bodies looked compared to my disgustingly skeletal frame.  I also believed that I was allergic to wheat, eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, milk and Chinese food.  Do the math on that one...it doesn't leave much.

When I got to be about 23, I finally started to fill out.  I assumed my metabolism was just slowing down and LOVED the fact that I was finally able to fill out a bra. 

But it never stopped.  Between 23 and 27, I had gained 25 lbs, which wasn't bad except that I really didn't have the money to clothes shop and my shit generally didn't fit for long.  Oddly, when I had Lila, I had little problem taking off the baby weight, losing all of it in about 8 months (I didn't breastfeed and the anxiety of being a new mother meant I had no appetite either).

But something happened when we moved back to Upstate NY.  In 2 and a half years, I have gained another 35 lbs.  I gained 20 lbs in one 6 month period and that alone made my doctor order tests. 

But there's nothing wrong with me physically causing this.  It's other things.

I hate to exercise.  I NEVER liked sports or sweating for that matter and I really don't get it when people talk about "the runners high".  What I DO enjoy is napping.  Oh, and sitting.  I spend a lot of time sitting and even more time snacking.  In fact, after 33 years of eating whatever I want whenever I want, I think it's pretty much a part of who I am. 

So recently, after another round of tests and a depression whose most tedious symptom is this God-awful exhaustion, I have decided that something has to give or I am going to die.  Literally. It turns out that I weigh RIGHT NOW what I weighed when I was 9 months pregnant and I am really pissed that I got rid of my maternity pants because my jeans DO NOT flatter my overflow at all.  Looking in the mirror the other day, I realized that my belly sticks out further than my boobs ad that is TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE for someone who isn't pregnant, but it DOES allow me to park in the "Expecting Mothers" space at the grocery store (who's dumb enough to start that argument?).  And I keep hearing that belly fat is particularly deadly and I swear, its ONLY my belly (since I can't see my ass I am going with that, mmmkay?). 

It's kind of like this guy...

I have never been a believer in diets because I have never known anyone who really enjoys them or keeps healthy when it's over.  And I am just way too exhausted for a total overhaul of my life right now.  But I can tell you that I eat A LOT of bad foods.  Seriously.  Really bad stuff.  And a lot of it.  So I decided that in order to help my energy level (which will make it possible for me to not sleep all the time, which will then make exercise perhaps possible, if not totally fun!) maybe I should start watching what I eat.  Baby steps...right?

I am Bill Murry in What About Bob...

So for the last few days, I have been trying recipes from "healthy cooking" cookbooks and websites and have discovered something astonishing about myself.  Apparently my body knows the difference as soon as it goes in.

Let me explain.  First off, it is impossible for me to be "full" eating shit like skinless chicken breast with herb-roasted vegetables and whole grain pasta.  Isn't there some rule about how whole grain stuff is "more filling" than refined crap?  Because I am pretty sure that when I did the same meal with vegetables cooked with oil and butter and a whole chicken with the skin, I felt full after.  I didn't make my portion smaller (remember, baby steps) and yet I found I was hungry after like 15 minutes.

The other thing is that I am hungry ALL DAY.  Grazing doesn't really work either because I will literally EAT ALL FUCKING DAY.  Apple:  not filling.  Wheat toast with peanut butter: not filling.  10 almonds (because that's a serving size...): Not filling.  14 Oreos are filling.  A giant-size Snickers bar (serving size 3...according to the package) is filling.  4 slices of pizza with pepperoni is filling.

So to those of you who have had some success with changing your eating habits, please tell me...How do you fight being hungry all the time?

On a side note...After a nice dinner of turkey burgers, roasted potatoes and a spinach salad I felt full...for 10 minutes.  Then I found myself picking at the rest of the potatoes while I was supposed to be cleaning up and I am fucking DYING for anything sweet for dessert.  Is there some trick to this or is it really a matter of me never developing any will power?  Because I may just have to choose to be fat forever if I will just feel pissed off and hungry all the time. 


(Images courtesy of google images...they're not really mine)