Currently Lacking a Muse
I will never understand death. It just doesn’t make sense. One second someone is here and they are full of life and the next second…they just aren’t here any more. And you can’t get them back no matter how hard you try. The worst thing about losing Bob is that this could have been prevented.
I’m mad at him. He knew he had pneumonia, he knew he should have been in the hospital, but instead he stayed home and got mad at every one around him that tried to reach out and get him to do what he needed to do to make him healthy again. He was only in his fifties and he had years ahead of him. He was the happiest he had been in a long time. He redid his house, was able to buy himself whatever he wanted, and had his dog by his side. He was a really simple man but he was so good hearted. Sometimes when I went home I would avoid going to visit him for various reasons…he talks a lot, I was tired, etc. But I know how much he cared about me. He was truly part of our family. Since I never grew up with a big family the people in my town became my family. Close friends were my family. He came to my graduation and Nestor’s. He sent us a Christmas present of $100 dollars and told us to go out to dinner with it.
I talked to him last month to thank him for the gift. It was a short call but I am so glad I made it. He was so happy to hear from me and I could tell he was happy in general. But I could hear the cough. I asked him about it…asked him if he had gotten it looked at…he said yes. I told him about a friend that had a really bad cough and the doctors were just telling him to take cough medicine. Bob said that’s what he was doing. He had had a heart attack several years ago, he drank a lot of bud light, and he didn’t really exercise. He was definitely the type to gamble with his health. I remember when he was in the hospital and almost lost his leg because of diabetes.
He spent his life taking care of others as a fire fighter and would give his left arm to help someone out. As I said, he was simple but I think that’s just what we need more of in our lives…simplicity.
I keep wishing I could go back. I wish I would have visited him every time I went home. Made him feel even more that he was part of the family. I wish I had known that the cough was an ongoing thing. I wish I had payed attention when my dad told me that it was getting worse. I wish I had called him and maybe tried in my own way to get it checked out again. I wish that the doctor hadn’t been an idiot and waited three weeks to call and tell him he had pneumonia. I wish that Bob hadn’t been so stubborn. But that’s what made him Bob.
I’ve experienced death before. Both unexpected and expected. But this is a new variety…a death that was so preventable. Just a couple different decisions would have made all the difference in the world.
When we get married he won’t be there, physically at least. I guess I kind of took for granted that he would always be around. I have so much fear of people around me dying but some people I tend to think are invincible. I never would have imagined that this could happen and all I want to do is hit reverse and stop this from happening. I can’t accept it and I don’t feel like it’s real.
They haven’t told his kids he died yet. I have never met them but from what I’ve heard of them they weren’t involved in his life and don’t deserve to be involved in his death. All they wanted was his money. They treated him like crap and never tried to see the good in him. I know everyone has their own stories so I don’t know what went wrong with that relationship but what matters is how they treated him after.
I’m hoping to go home for his wake and funeral. I feel that I need that in order to make this real. I was addressing save the dates and I couldn’t bring myself to delete the label with his name on it. I wish he would just come back.
Posted on 26 January, 2014
So I may be inconsistent but that’s only because I’m holding true to myself and avoiding writing this.
This should interest Lis if she somehow gets a magical email telling her I wrote this.
The other day I had a really fucked up dream. I have a lot of fucked up dreams but this one was more fucked up than usual. And I remembered it though I’m sure some details were lost.
So the dream was this: It was the day of my (soon to be non existent, I think) wedding. Everything was moving so fast. I hadn’t even finished getting ready and people were arriving and they were seeing me and I didn’t want to be seen. The DJ started playing music like it was the reception but we hadn’t even had the ceremony yet. (okay so the not being ready part resounds with me because I have an obsession with perfection and just want to look perfect on the day of my wedding- I know this is unattainable in my eyes but people seeing me early wouldn’t be cool). So then everything is in fast forward- Randomly Whitney is there with a ton of girls with gamma phi shirts and as my wedding present they are going to let me into gamma phi again- for some reason this makes me really emotional but I’m still upset because this isn’t the time for that!
By now, everything is going wrong. For some reason, I’m supposed to be brought up to the aisle in a white horse and carriage but this doesn’t happen. I just end up down at the aisle. Nestor doesn’t comment on how I look or anything like that (significant because he shows barely any affection towards me anymore. doesn’t tell me I look nice or beautiful like he used to. Wasn’t even excited to see me at the airport the other night). Then we start talking, softly, to each other. A memory flashes into my dream at this point of me sitting on some guys lap- Nestor is upset about it (possibly significant because of me messaging Pat and feeling guilt about it?). We decide right then and there that we shouldn’t get married- in front of everyone (symbolic of my embarrassment at having to tell people the wedding is off). Then I run down the aisle to my room…it’s like my room at the Florida house except it has carpet. I pour every single pill I own onto the floor and just start grabbing them by the handful and putting them into my mouth. Swallowing like 50 pills at a time with only a small amount of water. I start to get really really lethargic like I do when I take my night meds and I start trying to look for help but I’m moving really really slow. I keep telling people that I’m dying (or something like that) and I worry about the pain that I will be in when they pump my stomach (I’ve heard it’s very painful). Finally someone gets me help and the next thing I remember I’m in a psych ward. I don’t feel threatened or scared there but just accept it. And that’s kind of the last thing I remember.
There was so much going on in this dream it’s crazy. It really freaked me out though mainly because of the swallowing pills part. I’m not feeling suicidal. In fact, I’m not even feeling as ambivalent about life as I usually do. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have minded if I died in some freak accident. I care about the people in my life too much to do anything to myself…but if something accidental happened it wouldn’t be my fault. But I’m not in that spot right now though I find it odd that I’m not.
I just couldn’t understand why I would want to swallow so many pills- but it was interesting that I sought help. Being so analytical, if I were to make the decision to kill myself I would be sure. I wouldn’t go seeking help after.
I decided to tell my dream to my therapist not knowing where she stood on dream interpretation and taking a calculated risk, hoping she wouldn’t think I wanted to off myself.
She pointed out something I said to her during the description- “everything was wrong from the very beginning.” It stood out to her and I didn’t even realize the meaning of what I had said. She said this could by symbolic of everything- meaning maybe our relationship was wrong from the very beginning. It was definitely something to think about.
Yesterday I stopped tiptoeing around my house as I’ve become accustomed to doing and finally brought up the relationship. I don’t want to come off as pushy but I honestly can’t keep on living like this. Living with the man that I thought, as of a month ago, loved me unconditionally is not so easy when he’s not showing much love at all toward me any more. I was hoping I would get to spend some time with him on Wednesday night but he went over to Carlos’ and played some stupid game and didn’t come home till 11. It’s funny that he’s able to stay up late for that game but every other night he wants to be in bed by ten. All he does is complain about how tired he is. He bought a new nintendo handheld thing and he’s been playing it constantly. He hasn’t even looked into the books I suggested to him about depression and hasn’t attempted to look for a therapist again.
I’m just so drained. Here I am forcing myself out of bed, trying to look nice, trying to keep the house clean, doing the laundry, keeping up with the pets, doing everything he asked of me and I can’t even get him to make an appointment or read a 48 page book for me. My heart is broken but I still have some hope for the situation so I just go along with it hoping that something will change. We left on good terms so that’s what I though I would come back to.
So last night I poured my heart out to him (again). I cried and cried. I told him that I can’t do it any more, that his is unfair to me, and that I only asked him to do two things and it hurts that he isn’t even making an effort to do them when I am making every effort to change for him. I don’t even know who I am any more. I hate when I’m the girl crying over the guy- something about that reduces me to something I never wanted to be, something pathetic and weak. Side note- tonight we were eating dinner with friends and I said something about not crying- he told me to stop saying that I’m so tough, stop saying I never cry, because I do have emotions. And I looked at him and said, you’re right I do- but you’re the only one that makes me cry. And it’s true, I cry over deaths and broken hearts.
He tells me he knows this isn’t fair to me. He’s confused. He doesn’t feel the same for me any more because of the role he put himself in to take care of me. My depression has taken a toll on him. I realize that now. Depression is a selfish illness- I didn’t realize the effect I was having on him and that’s not okay. But I see it now and that’s why I’m trying to change and get out of the negative pattern I’ve been in.
I told him that I haven’t seen any effort on his part. It leads me to believe that he’s already done with this relationship. If he’s done then I need to know. I can’t keep waiting in limbo. I will need to start picking up the pieces of my life and rearranging them. Create a new future for myself without him in it. He tells me again that he’s going to find a therapist, he’s going to read a book. I’m waiting with bated breath.
I’m giving him a week. If I don’t see any action on his part I’m going to suggest a trial separation. He will need to find another place to live. He will need to live without me and see if this is really what he wants. I only cry when I talk to him about this. Otherwise, I am solid. I’ll be a statue and I won’t let my guard down. But I can only take so much before I crumble so I need answers from him. I’ve given him everything I can give and now the question is whether he can give back…or more accurately, whether he wants to give back at all.
I am an avoider. I avoid everything. People, school, work, confrontation…and writing about myself. Probably about the only thing I don’t avoid are my pets. They’ve never hurt me…not emotionally. An accidental nip or scratch is nothing compared to how people impact me.
And there I go- whining about my life. I can truly say with all honesty that I dislike myself. I’m not going as far as self hatred but I might as well. My mind constantly wanders, wonders, and lays blame. It’s an endless cycle of negativity and I am at the center of it perpetuating it all. And I can’t forgive and no, I won’t forget that I am the only person at fault. Though the funny part of this is that the majority of this judgment comes from me being in a constant tailspin thinking about what I have done to make others dislike me. I don’t even know that they dislike me. I just assume they do. Why has no one texted me this weekend? Do people care? Are people talking about me? No, I’m not that interesting. They wouldn’t waste their time. BUT if they ARE talking about me it must be negative- it has to be! And god forbid I do anything worth being liked for…my brain is a freaking magician…it will turn it into a negative faster than you can say abra cadabra.
These realizations are always with me. I could go on and on about them. But they were never more apparent than last week in therapy when I was discussing how I manage to make every accomplishment I ever make into something someone else or something else achieved for me. Getting into grad school? I would be silly to say it was luck. Going to the school for undergrad? benefit. Having professors that liked me? benefit. Writing my personal statement with the assistance of fantastic editors like my mom, dad, and Nestor? benefit. Again, a subject I could go on and on about. The one thing I will never process is that somehow I achieved this myself. That there is something about me that made them say yes. During this discussion, my therapist asked me to name one achievement that I was proud of- proud of doing- and felt that I achieved. Thus began the most awkward 3 minutes of my life. I could not think of anything. Not one thing. I named something eventually which I can’t even remember at the moment…but thinking back on it I don’t think in totally honesty I felt like I had achieved it. Always someone or something else. How someone comes to feel so negatively about themselves is beyond me and I can step outside myself and realize how ridiculous it is- but that doesn’t change how I feel. I have infinite insight and it doesn’t do me a damn thing.
Another question that prompted some thought on my part…what do I want to get out of therapy or something like that. I answ
I answered simply at the time and I don’t know that the answer was really pertaining to me at all but more about what I expected of my therapist. But here’s what I want:
I don’t see any good in myself right now. But I know I know how to love other people and I know I care so much about them it hurts and I end up on the ground. But that isn’t enough to stop me from doing it. I see this rant as selfish. I’m talking about myself but obviously other people are part of this and have dealt with the consequences of what I do and how I behave. And I’ve ignored it. Maybe not ignored it but by the end result- I must have.
So, at the risk of sounding sappy: here it goes. I have fought depression for too long. At first I put up an okay fight but in the end…I avoided, I excused, I ran. I’m done with that. I’m done waking up and getting through the day with a pasted smile on my face and sadness in my eyes. I’m an expert at this. According to my old journal I’ve been doing it since at least 2003. My whole life to anxiety and nine years of it to depression. I’m not taking it laying down any more. I’m going to therapy twice a week, I’m going to write, I’m going to process, maybe I’ll exercise, I’ll force myself out of bed, I’ll eat more, I’ll do what I need to do to survive because in the end…I want my eyes to show what my mouth falsely expresses.
Posted on 31 August, 2013Reblogged from confessionsofabrokegradstudent
Most guys do not have to deal with the world of women. They’re born from us, they live around us, but for the most part, we take care of our own shit. We buy our own tampons. We deal with skeevy guys who catcall us. We deal with crappier work situations. We deal with getting told we suck at things because we have a vagina, and that we need to be prettier.
Even when these guys married, they still married someone who dealt with this stuff solo. There might be stories and gripe sessions, but they tended to try to equate some part of their experience to the woman’s. Sure, you’re told to be beautiful, but I’m told to lift heavy things! Same, right?
Then, they had daughters.
Kids are very good at not dealing with their own shit. It’s not their job. It’s yours. Suddenly, you’re shoved into a toy aisle where there’s nary a Lego or car or building block, but instead, rows and rows of dead-eyed dolls. You realize how hard it is to find play clothes for a girl, because everything seems to be optimized for ‘cute’ rather than ‘comfort.’ You hear people compliment your daughter only on how pretty she is, and never on how smart or clever she is.
The girl goes to school, and you watch how she’s never called on. You hear someone insult someone else by calling them ‘a girl’, and it stings. Your little girl is awesome! She’s brave and smart and funny! Why would anyone use that as an insult? Then, you remember all the times you did it.
And then, you realize that, all along, you’ve been a part of the problem.
So, it’s not a perfect way to get men to be more aware of feminism. It would be better if they were raised into it. But it’s still a way."
Said most often by people of my parents’ generation. I’ve literally heard this over a dozen times, it’s absolutely the weirdest response to “I’m getting a PhD in clinical psychology” I can imagine, and I never know what to say.
Posted on 18 August, 2013Reblogged from psychologistproblems
Posted on 6 August, 2013Reblogged from howdoiputthisgently