Monthly Archives: July 2013

Jul 31 2013
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mental illness

Unearthing

On the Thursday night of the glorious week of vacation I took earlier this month, my brother texted me to meet him at the hospital to help him admit our mother.  She was talking very openly about slitting her wrists. She’s never talked about killing herself before.

So, after a wonderful week focused on rest and wellness, the landslide that is mental illness once again enveloped light and happiness and left me covered in muck and debris.

Debris in the form of things that children should never hear: “I want to cut my wrists,” and things children should never learn: “I don’t know why [my kids] love me. I don’t know if I love them. Is that weird?”

Oddly enough, it’s not the debris that poses the biggest and most devastating problems.  The real fallout is the guilt that coats everything like mud.  And for anyone who has used a purifying mask or worked with clay knows, mud will adhere like a second skin and it will suck you dry.

For the past week, I have been unearthing myself from the guilt. Guilt that I don’t want to spend time with my mom. Guilt that I don’t do enough to fix her mental health. That my younger brothers are doing much more than I am. That my mom had a horrible childhood, and married the exact type of person she didn’t want to, and that she doesn’t have any friends or hobbies, and that she’s so lonely she wants to die, and so on and so on.  I feel heartsick or guilty about things 95% of which I can do nothing about.

Thanks, Catholicism.

I love my mom. Or at least I love who my mom was. I am loyal to this person who’s mental illness has overcome her. I will be loyal to that person until the end of my life, but I’m not certain I love this person.  How can you love someone from whom you get nothing back?  I’m so desperate for anything from my mom – for any sign of who she used to be, that’s it the greatest thing in the world when I can get her to chuckle like she used to.

Thanks, mental illness.

Thanks to Kent cigarettes as well. You sure shit on my life September 26, 2008. I’m not saying that my mom didn’t choose to smoke 1-3 packs a day – that’s on her. But it is on Kent (and mental illness for that matter) that she’s addicted and she had a stroke.

I feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere, covered in mud, and no one will help us help our mom.

 

Jul 16 2013
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cancer

The Eye of the Shitstorm

While expected thanks to the Zelboraf, this is likely a temporary status.  The drug typically works for five months. So T minus three months.

NED

Jul 09 2013
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Uncategorized

Ooh Big Tough Guy

While not dyslexic, I often interpose numbers. Today, I misdialed a number and ended up speaking to this exceptional example of manners:

man: hello?
me: Hi! Is Shawnie available?

[long pause]

me: Hello?
man: You stupid little fucker. If you ever call this number again, I’m going to beat the fuck out of you.
me: Okay. Is this the number for Shawnie or not?

[long pause]

me: Because if it’s not, I’m sorry for calling, but if –
man: No man!

Immediately tempted to post his phone number to every text and solicitation call out there, it reminded me of the best prank.  My oldest friend – meaning our moms went to high school together and then we grew up together – played a prank on her husband that was glorious.

cat-facts-prankShe’s much more creative than this prankster. Her husband received anonymous texts like Did you know that cat fashion is a $1.2m industry? MeeWOW!

I laughed so hard I cried when she was telling this story. I’m really tempted to enact a similar nuisance to the man who so rudely answered the phone earlier.

But, alas, I’m better than that and this type of genius is best used on someone who deserves it.

However, I not saying I didn’t sign him up to receive calls about a Communications degree from the rumored relentless sales team at the the University of Phoenix.

Jul 02 2013
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Ants in My Pants

One of TB and my mutual friends said to him the other day, “I’m really impressed at how patient xxxx has been with [your unemployment]. I don’t think my wife would have been so nice.”

I know TB was quietly thanking me when he passed this along.  Unfortunately for him, it caused me to look at this from another angle.

TB and Lanky have been friends since high school. Every job TB is handed, he somehow gets Lanky involved.  TB’s brother had a client, Money-Bags, who wanted to start a company. TB and Money-Bags were introduced and RS was born.  Soon enough, Lanky was folded in. TB and Lanky paid themselves handsomely. They didn’t develop a business plan or a budget and neither of them could sell water to the parched.  So, one month before TB and I were married, Money-Bag’s $100,000 dried up.

Lady Lanky was pissed and it only got worse as time marched on and Lanky and TB pointed the finger at each other and Money-Bags and everyone else for the failure of RS. Lady Lanky had worked hard through grad school to become a speech therapist and now had to carry the financial load in her marriage.

TB and I have always been 50/50.  Last week, I was cleaning the basement (as he played video games and napped – but that’s a whole different story) and stumbled upon his credit card statement.  He owes $5,400. He long ago took the steep penalty and cashed out his only 401k.  He now works 30 hours a week stocking shelves on the weekends and uses his inherited monthly oil royalties to pay his half of the bills.

I’ve surprised myself in that I haven’t reacted like Lady Lanky.  In fact, with the exception of a few eruptions, I haven’t reacted at all – at least that I’ve recognized.

But I think it’s starting to boil up. TB has been unemployed for almost two years.  There has to be an endpoint, but I can’t see the light behind me or the light ahead and I’m really restless.