Scooping up Life’s Shit, Literally and Metaphorically


This blog is going to be uncomfortable for me to write and maybe uncomfortable for people to read. However, I need to get it out.

DISCLAIMER: I have NO plans to hurt or kill myself so please do not misconstrue what I’m about to say. I am in therapy and I’m working on my life and if I was going to do it, it would have been done by now.

My intent is to make people understand why, in my case at least, that sometimes there is no rhyme or reason for not wanting to live. Stick with me until the end though, I might have figured it out.

When most think of suicide, they think that there HAS to be a reason. Maybe someone is in dire financial straits and feel like they can no longer support their family; they can be battling addiction; they can have an incurable illness that will eventually lead to death; they are mourning the loss of a loved one; they have suffered a painful divorce; they are jobless and feel worthless; they are inherently angry and evil and want to cause pain with their passing; they do it to make a stupid theological point; they don’t have family or friends; they were bullied; etc. Something life changing HAD to have happened, right?

I have everything, I am loved, I have family and friends, and despite encountering everyday stresses that we all deal with, I couldn’t ask for a better life. Yet, for some terrible reason, I live most days with a strong desire to end myself. I don’t know why. I’m told that it is mental illness and even though that should make sense, it doesn’t to me because I am truly aware of how blessed I am.

I always tell people that my daughter saved my life when I was 18. I don’t know if they quite understand what I mean when I say that. I know that I would’ve committed suicide had I not had her. She brought pure joy and purpose to my life and gave me something truly important to live for. That is a tall order for a child to be aware of and I hope she will never resent me for it. It’s just the truth. Subconsciously, I must really want to live because I’ve given myself two very important reasons to want to live; my children.

Yes, I have a mother and siblings to live for but it’s easier for me to think that they would mourn for me but eventually move on with their own lives. I know that my children would never be able to move on. Trust me; I’ve researched the hell out of the psychological damages to children who lost a parent to suicide. Not once, have I read that a child got through life unscathed.

I know that I could tell them a million times over that I love them and it’s not their fault but it wouldn’t matter. All that would matter is the heartbreak and loss that they would feel for the rest of their lives. Sometimes I think that if I could just write the PERFECT goodbye letter, they could understand and be okay, but I know that they would never forgive me and become deeply damaged human beings and it would be my fault. If by some miracle, I made it to heaven, I’d have to watch them mourn and be miserable.

I get told a lot that I can’t simply live for other people and I understand that. It’s just not my truth. Not to say that I don’t enjoy being in their lives or in Sam’s life or my mom’s life and that I don’t care about my friends. My point is all of those people, especially my kids, are my reasons to live. I don’t understand it but I need for those closest to me to accept that’s how it is for me and it needs to be enough for now.

I seek meaning in everything. I seek meaning in the sky and the beauty of nature. I seek meaning that there must be a God who put me here for a reason who I should be thankful for. I like to think that ladybugs are a gift from my deceased baby. I enjoy watching birds in the sky and I wonder if my grandparents have sent them to me from heaven just in that moment to say hello. I have many mantras that I repeat over and over in my head to push away the darkness like, “I love you God. Thank you. I love you God. Thank you. I love you God. Thank you” over and over and over again or I talk to my grandma in heaven and I ask her if she still loves me. I talk to my grandfather who passed before I was born because I heard that he was a wonderful man. I like to think that he knows me somehow and wants to protect me.

I try all of these things but I still wish that I could die. Sometimes I get resentful of everyone and wish that they didn’t love me. If they didn’t love me, I could leave this world with a clear conscience. Yes, I know how fucked up that is. It tortures me.

The truth is that these thoughts and this darkness are about nobody else but me and what goes on in my head. It has never been circumstantial. It lives inside of me and that is something that I can never explain because it doesn’t make any sense.

I feel ashamed whenever I hear about someone who killed themselves because I want to know all of the details. What happened? Were they sad? What made them do it? Is it possible that they were exactly like me and had absolutely no reason but succumbed anyway? I read books and I watch documentaries and it seems like everyone had a reason. How can I possibly explain the unexplainable? I don’t have a reason.

AGAIN:  I am NOT in danger of killing myself. I will NOT do it. I am purging my thoughts.

In my quest to understand, I dissect incidences from my past or look to paranormal explanations. For instance, I was once told that my biological father conjured up Satan into his bedroom while we were asleep in our beds, was I cursed by this? I was once told that my great grandfather cursed us all on his deathbed. Did he curse me and that’s why I feel this way? I used to play with Ouja boards and try to speak to ghosts; did an evil spirit get inside of me? I’ve tried to pray all of that away. Sometimes I wonder if there is a person(s) in my life who hates me so much that their negative energy has somehow found its way into my soul and sub-consciousness. I’ve even gone to psychics and paid to have reverse curses done to rid myself of evil energy.

I’ve thought back to abusive incidents from my childhood or the bullying that I endured in school and none of that is cause for me wanting to die. In fact, none of those things made me want to die while they were happening. I dealt with all of that with self-harm which is a gruesome act in and of itself that I work on but none of that has made me want to die.

Back in 2010, I drank myself to the brink of death. I forget what my blood alcohol level was but it was a point away from death. I didn’t do it on purpose, I was just being stupid. I stopped breathing in the ambulance and ended up in the ICU with a breathing tube. Am I glad I lived? Hell yes! What a terrible legacy to leave behind. That’s worse than doing it on purpose.

“Oh no! How did she die?”

“She was bragging about how she’s the queen of doing vodka shots then went outside to pee because the bathrooms are too dirty for her. The bouncer found her dead against a dumpster with her top button unbuttoned and she had pissed herself”

“Wow, how tragic. What a dumbass though”

Yeah, no thanks. What continues to fascinate me about that experience were the hours of darkness and peace when I felt absolutely nothing. There wasn’t any kind of crazy dream or anything; just tranquility and it was one of the greatest feelings in my life. If I was a drug addict, that’s definitely what I would be on the hunt for. The waking up part sucked, I was humiliated, so now I don’t drink like an asshole frat bro anymore.

I think of that darkness a lot and I crave it but I’m proud that even though I know what death could feel like, I’m still strong enough to avoid it.

Through therapy, I’m learning to feel pain and move past it. So I keep saying that there’s no specific reason for me being tempted by death but it’s very possible that my reason is that I don’t like to feel. Feelings hurt and crying is weak and I don’t have time for that. That peace and emptiness that I felt in ICU? That was great, there was no feeling. So although I can’t pick apart my life and know specifically why I would want to die because my life is SO great, there’s probably some underlying shit that I need to put to bed. Even though my outside circumstances are great, my internal treasure trove of angst that I pretend doesn’t exist could be the real problem.

I avoid confrontation and “drama”, I feel like I am above that. When I do lash out or get angry or upset, I get disappointed in myself because it makes me feel weak and I want to be strong. I get overwhelmed during arguments with my son so I give in to what he wants so I don’t lose it. I begin to apologize immediately to people or crack stupid jokes if I sense tension or think that a fight is about to occur. Then I pop a Xanax for good measure. My therapist told me that my coping mechanisms are inappropriate humor and rest and avoidance. I laughed when she said that. It’s so much easier to think that I’m this evolved species that doesn’t have time for the “nonsense” that is life. In the meantime, I numb myself with television and books and finding reasons not to spend my leisure time around other people anymore.

I’m beginning to try to understand myself and I want to let myself feel. It’s easy to only let in the good stuff, but by not letting myself feel the bad things, I’m slowly taking away the life experiences that will lead me to more happiness and peace. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to live, because living is fucking hard. It’s such a cop out for me to say that I only want to live so I don’t damage my children. I hope I can fix that someday. I’m not there yet but I’m going to try.

Recently, a lost friend reached out to me (sort of) and sent me a silly text. I had a dream about that friend the night before I got the text. Then, when I got into my car to go to work, a song on the radio came on that reminded me of that friend. I burst into tears and I cried all the way to work. Then I continued to cry in the parking lot until I was done. I never would have done that in the past. I would have told myself, “this is stupid”, pushed the sadness away, and walked into work seemingly unscathed. Instead, I let myself cry it out and holy shit! It felt good when I was done. After that, I reached out to two of my dearest friends and my daughter and let them know what happened. They chatted with me about it for a bit and then I felt better. There were no more lingering feelings of sadness. It was done.

Yesterday, I was feeling awful and I got on my treadmill because I know that I need to make a serious attempt to start exercising regularly. I was angry the whole time I was on that stupid treadmill. Sam came into the room and I ranted and raved about how unfair it is that I have a mental disorder and why can’t I just be normal and blah blah blah. I had planned to do the mandatory 30 minutes of exercise that experts on bipolar disorder say you should do but time went by quicker because of how angry I was. When I finally stopped, I didn’t feel so angry anymore. I let myself be angry and yell and bitch even though none of it made any sense. Instead of rationalizing that my anger didn’t make sense, I just let myself feel angry and pissed off until it subsided. I don’t understand why I have myself convinced that there’s something wrong with that.

I’ve recently started scooping up the dog shit in our yard. Anyone who knows me well knows that’s a big deal for me. I hate poop and the smell makes me gag and throw up. My son is supposed to be the shit scooper but he never does it. A couple of weeks ago, I came home from work feeling stressed and something compelled me to go outside and scoop up all of the dog shit from our yard because it was disgusting and out of control (instead of yelling at my son about it which would have stressed me out even more). We have two big dogs. Anyway, I was hot and sweaty and irritated with my son but I just got to shoveling all of the shit from the yard and put it all into a garbage bag. I gagged a lot but I just kept with it. It took me about an hour but I was damned and determined to get rid of every scrap of poop from our yard. Bizarrely, I felt less stressed and felt a weird sense of accomplishment when I was done. Wow! So now I’ve made myself the designated poop scooper, much to my son’s chagrin.

I can’t help but feel that my newfound chore is a metaphor for my life. Life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows, it can be shitty and sometimes you just have to deal with it instead of pretending that it’s not happening and wish it away.

I hope to stick around for as long as God lets me.





Say what Clinton?


I was browsing through Facebook as I do way too often nowadays, and a Fox News and Friends post popped up with a video of Bill Clinton getting booed by a crowd of Black Lives Matter activists. This uber Democrat was celebrated by an ultra-conservative media forum because of his remarks.

“I don’t know how you would characterize the gang leaders who got 13-year-old kids hopped up on crack and sent them out onto the street to murder other African American children,” Clinton said. “You are defending the people who killed the lives you say matter. Tell the truth.”

His message seems to be that black people who live in communities where drug dealers and gang bangers regularly kill innocent people shouldn’t expect any better from law enforcement.

I don’t know if he was dissing the black lives matter issue completely because I did not hear the whole speech but the post seemed to focus only on the fact that he “called them out” on black on black violence. The conservative crowd is all over this message and Mr. Bill Clinton is the hero for the day.

Here’s the thing, he is comparing apples to oranges. The black lives matter issue is about police brutality and a skewed justice system that tends to support law enforcement when they murder unarmed black individuals or harass them with “stop and frisk” rules and bogus traffic stops. It is no different than 50 + years ago when the concern was lynching and crowds of people getting fire hoses turned on them because of unfair Jim Crow laws and segregation. Regardless of its own transgressions, a race of people do not have to relinquish their right to fair treatment by law enforcement because they deal with criminals and gang violence in their communities. It’s is not difficult to distinguish the two. The actions of criminals should never compare to those of law enforcement who are meant to serve and protect, not kill unarmed individuals. As Miles E. Johnson from Slate magazine stated in a recent article, “Say what you will about “black-on-black crime,” just don’t pretend it has anything to do with unfair killings at the hands of the state”.

I am an employed white woman living in the suburbs so I don’t pretend to fully comprehend the injustice and bigotry that minorities deal with on a daily basis. I am simply stating my perception and the facts as I see them. I do not understand why a lot of white people feel such negative emotions regarding the black lives matter message. Instead of berating and judging, white people should try having some sympathy and LISTEN to their fellow Americans. A large portion of the population in our country feels mistreated and distrustful of the system that we are all a part of. They shouldn’t disagree and argue and claim that racism is no longer a problem and brag about how many black friends they have and how far we’ve come and there’s a black president, etc. People just need to listen and try to look a little deeper into what is going on and understand why black people are reacting so strongly to something that most white people have probably never experienced.

Some people argue that just as many white people are killed by law enforcement as black people but keep in mind that the black populace is a mere 13% across the nation. The percentage of non-Hispanic white people is 63%. From data I retrieved from, police killed at least 102 unarmed black people in 2015, nearly twice each week. Nearly 1 in 3 black people killed by police in 2015 were identified as unarmed, though the actual number is likely higher due to underreporting. 37% of unarmed people killed by police were black in 2015. Unarmed black people were killed at 5x the rate of unarmed whites in 2015. 16.1% of unarmed white people were killed in 2015. The federal government does not currently keep a comprehensive record of people killed by police. Instead, the FBI runs a voluntary program to submit numbers of “justified homicides”. Therefore, I’m not entirely sure how accurate my numbers are but damn, it’s bad. Damn, there’s a problem. A systemic problem unrelated to black on black crime.

It truly breaks my heart when police officers get murdered and I have mad respect for them and their families and I cannot imagine the thought of leaving my house every day not knowing if I will return. I think that anyone who murders a member of law enforcement should be put in jail for life. What I don’t understand is why a police officer killing is compared to the killing of an unarmed civilian. Maybe I’m taking it the wrong way but when I see some (not all!) posts on social media about the men and women in blue that have lost their lives, the intent comes across  as a counter defense to anti-police brutality. Police officers choose their profession fully aware of the risks involved. A 12 year old boy gunned down on a playground in Cleveland for running around with a toy gun is not cognizant of any risk to his life.

Trayvon Martin did not leave his house wearing a hoodie to buy iced tea and Skittles thinking that he might be murdered by a psychotic vigilante. No, George Zimmerman was not a cop, but he was protected by the judicial system for his brutal, unnecessary harassment and murder of a 17 year old boy. Artago Howard didn’t think that a trip to the pharmacy would be his last. 25 year old Lavall Hall was mentally ill and shot and killed while waving a broomstick handle around in his underwear. This happened in front of his mother who called for help to manage him. How does that make sense? Thomas Allen ran away from his car after he was pulled over by police for making an illegal turn, he was shot and killed in front of his 5 year old daughter. 27 year old Anthony Hill suffered from bipolar disorder and was running around an apartment building NAKED; he was shot and killed. I could go on and on and on with similar incidents but there are way too many to note. They were all black.

How can we all live in the same country and not be upset by this? How can we deny that the majority of victims of police brutality are black? Why can’t we understand that black people are fed up with this treatment, therefore initiated the black lives matter movement?

Black on black crime is wrong and should be addressed but you know what? It IS!! Many black leaders acknowledge the problem and grass root community organizers across the country are doing their best to educate young people to help them find ways to live their lives beyond drugs and gangs. Some of these young people do not think that they are capable of any more than what they have witnessed all around them and lived their whole lives. The black on black crime problem needs to be addressed at a community level. Black Lives Matter participants are civic activists, not respected high-school teachers or social workers or reformed gang members who can influence youth in poor, crime ridden areas.

I found an article that I think clearly supports what I am thinking. It is a discussion between Glenn Loury, the Merton P. Stoltz Professor of the Social Sciences and Professor of Economics at Brown University and John McWhorter, the Merton P. Stoltz Professor of the Social Sciences and Professor of Economics at Brown University.

McWhorter stated:

“The reason Black Lives Matter has a lot of eyes rolling is not because people don’t care about black people and don’t understand the problem with police. The problem is that the typical black man in a particular kind of community is at much, much more risk of being killed by another black man. And you can’t argue it away. There are all these sophisticated feints such as saying that there’s a difference between the state murdering and citizens murdering. But none of it goes through.

This high indignation about one white cop doing a terrible thing looks incongruous given that in these same communities, hundreds of black men are killing each other every summer. And so I think, in short, Black Lives Matter is very important. It could make a very important difference in modern black history. But for it to be a movement that resonates historically, it has to add a new wing where it firmly says and stands behind the idea that black lives matter when black people take them too.”

Loury’s response was:

“I don’t personally disagree with the sentiment that you just expressed. But here’s what the rebuttal would be, I think. First people would say, “Yes, there’s violence in black communities in low-income urban black enclaves. Homicide rates are very high. But this is a consequence of the structural racism that has played out over history and continues to play out today: that confines people to racially segregated neighborhoods; that denies people an opportunity to develop their talents and to live decently with legitimate jobs and so forth; drug trafficking is flourishing; people are concentrated in public housing; gangs are proliferating; young men are idle, so there’s a structure that accounts for the behavior, and it’s unfair to ask a movement demanding justice from the police to be responsible for patterns of behavior that are deeply embedded in a system over which black people don’t exercise any control.” Another rebuttal would be, “These are two different subjects all together. Why are you changing the subject? We came here to talk about police brutalization of black people. And you tell me about something else: that young black people brutalize themselves. I can agree with you and stipulate that the latter is a problem, but it’s not the subject I’m trying to talk about. Why are you trying to change the subject?” Those are two possible rebuttals to the position that you just stated”.

Yes Professor Loury! They are two different subjects!

I think shame on Bill Clinton for reverting to the black on black crime excuse to defend himself against a crowd of protestors. He has since regretted his rant but the ugly truth that lies deep within most white people’s psyche got unleased; that ugly truth being that black people are at fault for any unjust action taken against them; that they don’t care enough about themselves to matter to anyone else.

Honestly, I never did understand Bill Clinton’s appeal to minorities nor do I recognize anything he has done for civil rights in general. I hope that any minority supporters of his wife have changed their minds in lieu of this ugly slight. I wouldn’t doubt that she would spout the same rhetoric under a stressful circumstance, given her term “super predator” that he was defending.

This is my opinion on one issue that I wanted to purge from my thoughts. It’s important that I more than anyone understand that everyone has their own perception of circumstances and what I see as truth may not always be what others believe.




So, this is a blog


I have not blogged since October. I’m a little disappointed because it’s something that I wanted to commit to at least weekly. To be honest, I didn’t have much inspiration. I’m sure that hearing about my overwhelming depression gets old after a while. It was pretty bad, it got especially bad over the Holidays. I did some things that I’m not proud of, self-harming things but the good news is that I have finally given in and have started to go to cognitive therapy. I went kicking and screaming but you know what? It’s actually pretty great now that I’m in the right mind-set. I wish that I had started going and taking it seriously many years ago but the good thing is that I am finally there.

Depression sucks more than anything. It makes me very reclusive and sad and I don’t have the strength for anything, even the things that make me feel happy and alive. I know it’s hard for some people to understand unless you have gone through it but it’s a real mother fucker. I cannot say that I’m a 100% better but I’m getting there.

Writing is something that I really think will help me but I don’t know what to do when inspiration doesn’t strike. I really admire my friends who have stuck to a goal and write about the good things that they are doing and their inspiring messages like physical fitness and their love for family. I also admire the stories of strength and perseverance. But what do you do when it’s just not there?

My therapist is helping me make and stick to goals. Some of the goals are common sense things like being able to show up to work on the hardest of days, or pushing away thoughts of suicide and helplessness with positive thinking and relaxation exercises. It should be easy but it’s not. I’m taking it one day at a time and some days are GREAT. The bad days are getting fewer and far between but still happen. I just need to push through! That’s life.

On the job front, I haven’t always been on time but I’ve made it to work more in the last month than I have in the last year and a half. I missed this past Monday because I wanted extra Easter time with my family. The Monday after Easter is an Italian Holiday called “Pasquetta”, meaning “Little Easter”. It is a picnic holiday and usually when Italians do their Easter egg hunt and the focus is less religious, and more about fun. I didn’t celebrate all of Pasquetta with my family but we had a fantastic breakfast and I got some great bonding time in with my mom.

What can I say about my mom? She is an amazing woman. We do not always agree on things, especially political and psychiatric issues but we don’t have to agree with everything with our loved ones. I know that she only wants the best for me and it breaks her heart to see me hurting. One thing that I did say to her that she really needed to know is that none of this is her fault. All of this darkness inside of me belongs to me and me only.

I have suffered a huge loss, gone through two divorces, and have had trouble coming into my own moral compass to be the good person that I really want to be. No matter how hard I try, the guilt and regret never seem to go away. The rational side of me knows that it is impossible to change the past and in doing so, I could miss out on the good that has come into my life like my children and Sam (the love of my life). I know that if I could’ve stayed married the first time, I wouldn’t have Max. If I stayed married the second time, I wouldn’t have Sam.

I think if my ex-husbands were monsters, it would be easier to accept. I married two times on a whim knowing that it was wrong and I never fought for either relationship as hard as I should have because my heart was not in it enough. It wasn’t until I got into my early thirties and well into my relationship with Sam that I grew up and realized that you have to work on relationships and they are not always going to be easy. You have to stay dedicated and loyal and put your ego away at times to make something really stick. Yes, I know they were not right for me and I was not right for them so it’s easier with Sam. I just wish I had taken marriage a lot more seriously. I wasn’t in that place at 19 and I wasn’t in it at 25. I am now.

Sometimes I want to reach out to my exes and apologize but there’s really no point now. All I ever wanted after those relationships ended was respect and to be able to co-parent well for Kelsi and Max’s sake. Unfortunately, life isn’t that easy and I can’t control someone else’s philosophies about how to handle divorce and parenting. There are a lot of things that I wish had turned out differently. I just need to LET IT GO!! SERIOUSLY, I want so badly to JUST let it ALL go.

On my worse days, I feel like the biggest stereotypical piece of white trash in the world; a woman with two children and two baby daddies who has been shacked up with her boyfriend out of wedlock for the last ten years. But that’s not how it really is. As hard as it is for other people to dig deeper and look at my life for what it REALLY is, it’s just as hard for me. The truth is that my children have suffered but they are loved and taken care of. They have had to learn some hard lessons at a young age but Sam and I have tried our hardest to create a household of love, peace, and support. If you look into our home on an average day, it’s a little messy but what you would see is happy people who love each other and laugh together and feel comfort and peace. Our home is a sanctuary. There is not a lot of fighting and we try to talk all of our issues out and keep everyone’s self-esteem intact. Believe me, it’s not always sunshine and rainbows and tempers flare at times but it’s the best environment that I could ever wish for myself and the kids.

They have been on this bipolar journey with me and it’s not always easy to understand why I get so sad or all over the place at times. I try to explain it the best way that I can and let them know to never be afraid to ask questions or tell me how they feel about anything. Sam is the glue that holds us all together and the kids trust him whole-heartedly.

He helped Kelsi with her difficult Math assignments, taught her how to drive, got her ready for college and helps her make major life decisions. In the beginning of our relationship, he was very careful with her feelings and understood that he needed to wait for her to warm up to him. We never pushed her and for the first year, we were very careful about our physical contact as to not upset her. Kelsi is a mama’s girl and it wasn’t ever easy for her to share me with anyone. Luckily, Sam loved her enough and was patient enough to earn her trust and they are extremely close to this day.

Sam has raised Max since he was three. They have the most beautiful relationship I have ever seen between a child and a step parent. Sam encourages Max with his football and never misses a game or practice if he doesn’t have to. He is involved with his teachers and has the patience that I don’t have when it comes to keeping up with his school agenda and chores.  He has given Max a love of outdoors and takes him on fun camping adventures, etc. He has even started to take Max to the gym with him to help him stay strong for football.

The ugly truth is that I haven’t had the energy to do everything that I’m supposed to do as a parent. I try to be there as much as I can but thank God for Sam. He is there to hold us all together and takes such good care of us. We are so blessed to have him and I will never understand why he does it. Maybe I don’t have to. I just need to accept the love and support and stop questioning it and thank my lucky stars that this man is in my life.

I know, SAPPY blog!!! I just need to remind myself that I’m not my past and it helps putting it in print. I’m not the piece of trash that I have consistently tried to convince myself that I am over the last 22 + years. I might be broken but I’m a decent person who cares very deeply more than people could ever know. It’s my job to get out of my own head and be present for those who deserve it.

So, this was my boring blog. It’s like I’m starting all over again. Thank you for reading if you did. Therapy is helping me a lot and I look forward to sharing FUN stories in the future that aren’t so Debbie Downer all of the time.

One more thing, my dad is trying to help me become healthier and we’re checking in together once a day to tell each other what we ate, how much exercise we did, and how much we weigh. He’s the best. BTW, he’s my stepdad but he is the only father that I know so if you ever hear me say, “My dad”, that’s who I’m talking about. I struggled with that for a long time because I didn’t know if he would be okay with that. I felt too undeserving. I know that he would tell me I’m silly for thinking that.

We started to do this on Tuesday. I did fairly well until last night while I binged on a huge plate of Mexican food while I watched the Hateful Eight. Man, that Quentin Tarantino, he never lets me down. Anyway, I ate WAY too much and was still full and in pain this morning. It’s my own dumb fault and a lesson learned. Don’t watch Quentin Tarantino movies and eat Mexican food at the same time. I mean, that’s the real lesson here, right?

I love you friends!

BTW, I hope to lose 75 pounds eventually. I plan to post a pic after 40 pounds lost. Wish me luck!!

My Redheaded Warrior Princess



Today is not a great day historically. 12 years ago today, my best friend was taken away from me. She did not die in the physical sense but she was taken away from me nonetheless. One of my biggest hopes is that she will come back and we can pick up right where we left off.

Heather and I met in the 8th grade (1989) and clicked immediately. Her version of the story paints me as being somewhat of a douche but I’m pretty sure she made it up. She says that I told her that I love New Kids on the Block and that I said that a boy we went to school with was “fine”. I never liked New Kids on the Block and I never called anyone fine. So, my best friend ended up being a liar. Whatever, that’s “fine”.

My version is that we met because our lockers were near each other. We were both painfully shy but somehow managed to introduce ourselves. Honestly, I can’t remember all of the details even though I know her version about NKOTB and the word “fine” is false. All I know is that we are soul mates and became instant besties. We were both considered “odd balls” because we were new to the area, she had lived in England and I came from Italy before moving to St. Mary’s so we didn’t quite fit in (not that we cared). Looking back at it, I don’t understand what was so strange about us. First of all, she is absolutely beautiful. She was then and still is. I really loved the movie The Little Mermaid at the time and she was a real life Ariel with long curly red hair and beautiful blue eyes. She didn’t know how pretty she was and just acted like a goofball. It was a match made in heaven. I remember when she had her first boyfriend in 8th grade. I can’t remember what the kid’s name was or anything but he asked her out and she said yes then she proceeded to run into the bathroom giggling every time she saw him walking down the hallway. She claimed to be very hurt when he broke up with her but how surprised and outraged could we be when the kid never even got a “hello” from her? Never mind the fact that she never held his hand or talked to him during recess like most 8th grade boyfriends would expect. Funniest middle school romance ever.

Basically, from 1989 until 2004, we were always together. If we weren’t together, we were talking on the phone. We had another friend who was a part of our trio, Valerie, but unfortunately Valerie’s parents didn’t let her spend a lot of time with us outside of school the way that our parents let us so outside of school hours, it was just the two of us. We’d spend whole summers lying around each other’s homes eating ham sandwiches and oatmeal cream pies.

Favorite Lori and Heather past times:

· Watching MTV and providing hours and hours of commentary (we were the original Beavis and Butthead except less violent). One of our favorite videos to pick apart was November Rain because we’d picture each other walking down the aisle in a wedding dress that barely covered our “geens” (nickname for vagina). She was skinny and could pull it off but swore her thighs were way too fat for that dress. I was just all around chubby with terrible short haircuts. So for whatever stupid reasons, we’d watch that video and crack up laughing every single time imagining ourselves in that dress.

· Tormenting her poor cat, Kiki. Kiki was a very “skittish” cat (her mom always used that word, “skittish”) and he always looked shocked and pissed off. We liked to press our palms against his flat face and ask him why he was so skittish. His response was to always scratch us and run away. Poor Kiki. R.I.P.

I remember the day that her mom bought Kiki. The cats were all caged in a house that reeked of cat urine. It was such a sad, pathetic place but Heather and I couldn’t stop laughing because we couldn’t understand how anyone could live with that stench day in and day out.

So Kiki was picked to live with Heather’s family. I think Heather secretly wanted a dog instead so she was never able to bond with him like most kids do with a family pet.

· Swimming in the lake behind her house during the summer. Every year, she would connive me into getting into the lake first because she was always too afraid. After I would suck it up and be the first to jump in, she’d promise that she would be the first to do it the following year. It never happened. I was always first. Every time we got into the lake, we’d squeal about how nasty the mucky floor of the lake was until we could swim out far enough that our feet didn’t touch the bottom anymore. There was always a big raft floating in the middle of the lake that we would laze around on while swimming.

One year, we entered into a stink pact to see who could go the longest without bathing after swimming in the lake every day. I think it lasted about 10 days until our stench was out of control and we had to shower. I know it’s disgusting and doesn’t make sense but we were just weird like that. The best part was locking each other into a head lock and forcing the victim to smell our nasty pits or one of use would rub a palm under our arm and wipe it across the other’s face when we weren’t paying attention. We had to eventually throw out the shirts that we were wearing during that time. She wore my cool Peace Frogs shirt. I was sad to have to throw it out but there was no washing out that smell. I’m pretty sure our mom’s would’ve puked if we tried to put them in the laundry basket.

· Prank calling the 97.7 radio station at all hours of the day and night. We’d call and complain about songs we hated like Beds are Burning by Midnight Oil. We hated that song and would tell the DJs that it sucked and to never play it again. Sometimes they’d humor us and chat with us for a bit then we’d flip the script and ask them if they were pedophiles because they were talking on the phone with 15 year olds at 3 o’clock in the morning.

· When one of us was sick, the other always got sick. We’d lay in bed together miserable with boxes of Kleenex and Sprite and Vick’s Vapo rub. We’d fake having smoker wheeze laughs that we could only pull off when we had colds. Then we’d call the 800 number from the Kleenex boxes and plead with the person to understand how sick we felt. As soon as they’d want to hang up, we’d tell them that we loved their Kleenex’s so much and we’d probably be dead without them. The whole point was to keep them on the phone for as long as possible.

· Our families went to the same Catholic Church where the masses were painfully long and boring. We obviously weren’t allowed to sit together because we’d get loud and stupid so we’d ask to go to the bathroom and then meet up in the graveyard. We’d walk around and read the graves and try to figure out who we should try to contact on our Ouja board. Our favorite was a boy named Michael Cabbage who died at fifteen.

· At one point we convinced ourselves that we were natural witches because she was a redhead and I was Sicilian. We would try to have séances in a dark room with lots of candles and became a little obsessed with the Ouja board. We tried to order magic spells that were advertised in the back of magazines but we got caught and had to throw everything away when it came in the mail. We eventually decided that our Ouja board was possessed by evil spirits and set it on fire.

· Heather had an older friend named Shane who had a car. We’d sneak out of the house and drive to cemeteries at night or to Point Lookout to look for ghosts. We’d even swim in the water at Point Lookout at night and marvel at all of the phosphorescence. We thought it was “magical”.

· It was always just the two of us but we didn’t care. In our opinions, we were the coolest people on the planet.

· We skipped a lot of school. We’d spend the day walking around Wildewood in sweatpants. We would scrounge around for enough money to buy snacks like fruit and cream pies and Nutty Buddies and sit and eat behind Safeway on a hill. We never ever ran out of things to laugh and talk about. Sometimes we would sneak out at night and get rides to Donut Connection in Lexington Park. We’d make friends with the bums who hung out there then we’d walk over to the “Book Store” and try to convince the owner to let us in. We knew what the Book Store actually was but we’d feign innocence and ask the guy what he was hiding and beg him to tell us. We’d promise that we’d never tell what was going on if he would just let us in to see the place. He never let us in. Then we’d head back over to the Donut place to drink coffee and eat glazed donuts and try to make friends with more bums.

· I daydream a lot. If Heather was talking to me and I wasn’t paying attention, she’d slap me in the face. I couldn’t stay mad at her because my reaction always cracked her up.

· We could always read each other’s minds. It only took a split second glance and we both knew what the other was thinking.

I could go on and on and on about the dumb stuff we did. We loved each other so much. I think that one of the reasons that we clicked so easily was because we had a lot in common. We both had deadbeat dads and were used to a lot of disappointment in life. We were each other’s life lines. There were no secrets between us. Amidst all of the laughter, there were some hard times. Once, Heather ran away and got sent to juvie when we were 16. I was very lonely without her.

After I got married at 19, we didn’t see each other as much but we still talked on the phone every day. She didn’t like my husband at the time and I don’t blame her. He could be a real jerk and wasn’t very nice towards her. I hated him for that. He only did it because he knew how much she meant to me. We still met up for picnics and stuff but it wasn’t the same. Then I got divorced at 23 and we became attached at the hip again. We were both over 21 at that time and could get into bars. Our favorite bar pastime was karaoke. We would sing karaoke at Friendly’s Tavern all the time. We loved karaoke so much, it was ridiculous.

Every once in a while, we would treat ourselves and go out together for a nice dinner (usually to the Roost). It was a tradition. We’d always get the broiled seafood platter and share a bottle of wine. The food tasted good when it went down but after the amount of drinking we did sometimes, it wasn’t so great coming up. Heather held her alcohol much better than I did back then. I was the puker. I’m surprised she stayed friends with me. I have puked in her car and on the floor of her house too many times to name. One of the worst fancy nights out was followed by us sneaking a 5th of Jägermeister into a bar and drinking the whole thing. Yuck! This was in like 1999 and I haven’t touched it since. Same with Mai Tai’s, never ever again; I won’t get into all of our bar and drinking adventures together because there are too many to mention but we always had fun. Heather wasn’t much for dancing but she would bust her way onto a dance floor and proceed to do the Hammer Time crab dance just to make me laugh. People would look at her like she was insane but she didn’t care. She was my weird hippy princess.

One night that will always stand out in my mind is after doing a certain something that I won’t name, we decided that it would be a good idea to go for a drive and look at the Christmas lights at Knott’s farm. At one point during the drive through the huge driveway and barn, we got super paranoid and started to freak out. The lights were too bright and it felt like all of the animated characters were staring at us and mocking us. We felt trapped and panicked until we finally got to the end of the driveway and were able to drive away. It was ridiculous. Once we got away, we felt fine and couldn’t understand why we freaked out so badly.

We went to a few HFStivals together and always had a blast. When the crowds got to be too much for us, we would sit as high up in the bleachers as we could and imagine that all of the people in the mosh pits below were mindless insects.

I keep wanting to tell other stories but there are so many. SO Many. Okay one more, once we were in gym class and some of the girls were doing acrobatics like one handed cart wheels and other stuff that I don’t know the name of. This was our freshman year in high school. Heather got in line acting like she was going to do something amazing; instead she ran fast down the rubber mat then stopped abruptly and got down on her hands and knees and did a somersault. It was so funny. That girl always had me laughing.

After I had Max in 2002, I was going through bad post-partum depression. After being with him during the day, I would leave sometimes after he and Kelsi went to bed and I would go visit Abell’s Tavern where Heather worked as a bartender. I just needed my best friend to talk to. She always cheered me up. I never stayed for very long but just long enough to chat and maybe have a glass of wine. Sometimes I would bring Tarot cards and give readings to all of the pathetic drunks who hung out there regularly.

Then, on October 3rd, 2003, something horrible and tragic and life changing happened. This event ruined everything. I still have Heather in my life and my heart but she was taken away from me and it will never be the same. Somebody robbed her of her sweet innocence and trusting nature.

Heather worked as a bartender because the hours were convenient and the money was decent. She could be with her kids during the day and make money at night. She was good at it and was always very sweet to everyone. I wouldn’t say that she loved it and wanted to do it for the rest of her life; I also wanted more for her, but it worked for her at the time. She wasn’t some kind of lush who wanted an excuse to work behind a bar. She might’ve sipped on some Merlot while she worked but she didn’t get drunk. I bring this up because it becomes relevant later on. She treated everyone with respect and was always kind, even to the people that I felt were beneath her. She never judged and just liked to make people smile. She trusted people who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

The weather was cold and very rainy on October 3rd, 2003 and Heather was finishing up her shift and locking up the bar. Before I go on, what kind of establishment leaves a woman alone to close up a bar at 1 am?? One of her regular customers who lived within walking distance behind the bar asked her to give him a ride home because of the rain. This man was a regular, she saw him all of the time. Being the kind person that she is, Heather agreed to give him a quick ride home so he didn’t have to walk in the cold rain.

Heather gave me permission to share her story because she is very brave and she’s not a victim anymore, she’s a warrior.

The man she gave a ride home to turned out to be a monster. After she drove up to his driveway and stopped to let him out, he pulled a knife to her throat and dragged her into his house where he proceeded to torture and beat and rape her for hours. All night long, he tortured her and broke her down. His plan was to kill her when he felt like he was done with her. At some point early in the morning when he fell asleep, she managed to escape. She escaped wearing only her underwear in freezing weather and hid in the woods while this monster chased her on his bike and rode around the area for hours with his dog looking for her. She hid for so long that her toes became dark blue with frost bite and her toenails fell off. Once he finally took a break from looking for her, she ran for over a mile to a group of homes and banged on doors begging for people to let her in and help her. It wasn’t until she knocked on the door of the third house that someone let her in and called the police and paramedics.

My poor beautiful friend changed forever. Gone was the twinkle in her eye and her trust and her happiness. Despite being so terrorized, she did not let this man get away for what he did.

When we went to court, the defense lawyer tried to blame her for what happened to her. They had witnesses who claimed that she was drunk all of the time and wore revealing dresses to work. They even had witnesses claim that she did drugs all of the time. The rapist claimed that he simply invited her into his house to do drugs together and that she had sex with him willingly. Disgusting; some of the witnesses were regulars from the bar and one of them was even a co-worker. They are disgusting human beings and most of all, they are LIARS. I was able to be a character witness for her and I have never felt so much hate towards people in my whole life. I was around the bar sometimes, I knew what went on and it was nothing like they tried to portray.

The rapist and potential murderer was sentenced to life in person but my poor friend had to sit in a courtroom and get questioned about being a drunk or a drug addict and have her character dragged through the mud. It was like she was the one on trial for letting herself get raped. She was a sweet person who agreed to give someone a drive home because it was raining and cold outside. That is something that most of us would have done because we are kind hearted human beings.

As soon as the trial ended, Heather moved away because she was afraid for her life from possible backlash from the man’s family. I lost my best friend and I knew things would never be the same.

3 years later, in 2006, the monster was able to get a retrial because he claimed that his defense lawyer did not do his job. My dear friend had to come out of hiding and go through the whole trial process all over again. She had to sit in a courtroom and have the devil try to destroy her reputation and make her relive everything all over again. Thank God the judge did not fall for it and he was sent back to prison where he belongs and where I hope he will soon die. He doesn’t deserve to live after what he did to my best friend.

She tried to hide from the world. Gone were the long phone calls and hanging out and random visits. She was in too much pain and I was a part of the place that she was running from. There were way too many years of silence. That silence broke my heart but I understood.

So today is a very sad day and it brings back a lot of bad memories. Heather will have to suffer through every single minute today as her PTSD goes into overdrive and she remembers every horrible thing that happened to her that night.

What I can say now after 12 years is that Heather is a fighter and she is the one who has come out on top. We may not have seen each other in a long time but she’s back in my life. She’s connected to me again and I finally feel like she’s not hiding anymore.

Healing has been a long and painful process for her and I know it will be with her for the rest of her life. She has fought hard though and she is living the life that she deserves. The monster lost, Heather is alive and she is thriving.

She will be graduating from college soon, she finally married the love of her life after 20 years of not being able to be together because it was always the wrong time (it’s finally the right time!), and she has 5 amazing children. Two of those children are brand new twins! Her children are beautiful and sweet just like their mother.

Heather is a strong and fierce woman who protects her children and she’s beating major odds by finding happiness and peace after everything that she has endured.

I might even get my best friend to move close to me again and hopefully we can pick right back up where we started. That is my dream anyway. No matter what, she is always in my heart and I will always love her. I will always be in awe of her strength. She’s still standing and has fought hard to keep her life and her sanity intact. She is a hero.

I miss you so much Heather.

Road Cracked with Good Intentions



Bear with me please, I wanted to blog on Wednesday and make that my regular blog day but much like a lot of commitments I made to myself last week, I missed my blogging day. So I’m forcing something out today, not sure what it will be so here goes.

So last week was much better than the week before. Sam left on Friday to go to Erie for a race. I stayed home with Max. He had a friend over on Friday night, a game on Saturday night, and then he stayed at his friend’s house. I was feeling good; I had been hitting the treadmill regularly and trying to practice positive thinking and breathing techniques.

Aagh, I just had to trim my pretty square manicured nails because they got too long and it was making it hard for me to type.

My energy level was pretty decent last weekend because of the regular exercise and I think my citalopram was kicking in. I actually looked forward to the drive to Waldorf for Max’s game, usually I hate driving somewhere new and it gives me panic attacks. I was a tiny bit on edge but Max and his friends kept me distracted enough that I wasn’t dwelling on getting lost. Keep in mind that I have a GPS built into my van. The software hasn’t been updated since I got it though so I still get worried about getting lost.

It was pouring down rain when we got to the field. My stupid ass forgot to bring an umbrella even though I knew that rain was highly likely that afternoon. I found an old towel in the trunk of my car so I walked around with that covering my head. I’m sure I didn’t look crazy or anything. AND I was wearing cushioned Nike flip flops so my feet felt super squishy as I was walking. What I did notice was that I wasn’t as tired as I usually am. I’m so out of shape that I get exhausted walking short distances but it was like a fog had lifted and I felt energetic and ready to watch Max’s game. Luckily, his friend Sean was in the stands with me to explain what was going on. I still don’t understand football. They ended up winning 38 to 0. We went to Red Robin to celebrate afterwards. Max and his friends always make me laugh so it was a fun evening. Then I took Max home to shower and he left for his friend’s house.

I thought about calling someone and doing something that night but it was already 9 so I decided to just chill out and watch a movie. I ended up watching a depressing movie on Netflix called Mississippi Damned. It was a huge bummer. It’s one of those movies where you keep hoping for something good to happen and it doesn’t. It was just sad and awful. Max was worried that I’d have trouble sleeping in the house by myself so he felt guilty about leaving me. It was funny. I actually like sleeping by myself sometimes. I get to hog the whole bed that way. I probably hog the whole bed when Sam is in it too but I don’t feel guilty when I’m by myself. I did miss Sam though and was worrying about him and his long drive home the next day after running such a big race.

On Sunday, Max called me to tell me that he was going kayaking and riding on his friends 4-wheeler, so not only was I worried about Sam’s drive, I was worried about Max. I had to do something with all of that worry. You would think I’d clean my house which still really needs to be cleaned but I jumped on the treadmill instead. I watched an episode of Extreme Weight Loss while I was walking (hey! I even jogged for a short bit but freaked out and stopped because I’m still afraid of falling). I had hit four miles and was running out of steam but wanted to push myself some more but the treadmill Y2’K on me at 99 minutes. I know, only 4 miles in 99 minutes, don’t judge me. I was trying. Baby steps.

After my workout, I jumped online to see how the contestants from the episode I watched are doing now (it was a father/daughter team). It looks like the dad is still slender and enjoying a healthy lifestyle but from her Facebook photos, it looks like the daughter put all of her weight back on. That was a bummer, I was super proud of her. I usually think that Heidi from the show is a bitch but she was pretty gentle and kind since this girl was only 16. I don’t think I could’ve handled her usual attitude with someone so young but she reined it in.

Finally Max got home and Sam got home shortly after. Big sigh of relief. They both got home safe. Kelsi had tagged me in some Facebook posts so I knew that she was okay. I’m always thinking about the three of them. My world would get turned upside down if anything was to happen to them. I know it’s silly and useless to worry like that but I can’t help it.

My week had started out great; I got to work on time on Monday morning ready to go. It had been a long time since I actually showed up to work on a Monday. My depression and anxiety seem to be at high alert at the beginning of the week. I don’t quite know why. But anyway, I got to work ready to get shit done. I even made it in Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday (albeit late). Then I was burned out by Friday and woke up exhausted and depressed and couldn’t get myself out of bed. I think this happened for 4 reasons:

1. I didn’t work out that week except for a couple of power walks around the parking lot at work.

2. My stomach was killing me on Wednesday night and I couldn’t find my stomach medicine so I took a Zyprexa out of desperation (it calms my whole body so helps a lot with stomach pain). My stomach medicine knocks me out too (in a bad way) so I don’t know which one is worse to take except the stomach medicine doesn’t make me want to binge on food after it wears off. Sam ended up finding my Reglan (the stomach stuff) but I had already taken the Zyprexa.

3. Even though I dragged myself to work on Thursday after taking Zyprexa the night before, I was exhausted. I drank a Mountain Dew and ate a bunch of mini Snickers bars to wake myself up. That gave me a little bit of energy but made me feel worse once it wore off.

4. It’s the beginning of my PMS week when my whole mental/digestive/nervous system gets whacky and makes me feel cruddy.

We’ve been very busy at work. Normally I thrive on staying busy but the stress got to me and I was spent by Thursday night. I’m sad that I missed work on Friday but plan to make up for it next week. I don’t like to be the person that nobody can depend on but that’s where I’ve put myself over the last year. It sucks and I’m going to continue to fight this stupid depression.

I read a book this week called “Fast Girl: A Life Spent Running from Madness”. It’s about an Olympic runner who suffers from bipolar but didn’t get diagnosed until after becoming a very popular high end Vegas escort. She did this while her husband and daughter lived in Wisconsin. She lived some of her life in Wisconsin and eventually bought a condo in Vegas where she would spend most of her time escorting. I won’t ruin the story but some events in her life caused her to become super manic. But here’s the pathetic part, I ENVY her. She was 43 years old and had the energy and stamina to become a real estate agent, motivational speaker, a Vegas hooker, AND continued to run. Not that I want to become a prostitute or anything but I’d much rather deal with mania than depression. I mean, it’s still destructive, OBVIOUSLY, but I miss those super high energy days. It ultimately results in some kind of self-destructive behavior but in my pea brain, I’m jealous. I want to be manic and efficient and energetic instead of depressed and slow and fat, etc. The one thing I don’t envy her is the guilt that hits when the high ends. She says she’s dealing with it and recognizes that it was not her and but her disease that caused her to become so self-destructive. If that is true, good on her; I still can’t deal with my guilt from the past. Oh, and also, I get thin when I have a long stretch of mania. Miss it even though it’s bad.

After looking back over my life, I think that I can pinpoint my earliest manic experience.

I think that I was nine. My memory is very choppy but I remember waking up feeling like I needed to take a vow of silence and that I needed to read the bible from front to back. It was in the summer and everyone had their own thing going on so I doubt anyone noticed that I decided to stop speaking for half of the day (yes, it only lasted half of the day). I walked around outside very solemnly and stopped every few seconds to read passages from the bible. I felt very connected and pious. But that got old fast, I don’t even remember what passages I was reading when I decided that I was one of God’s chosen and invincible. I felt the need to test that theory so I hopped on my bike and I rode it up a huge road that ran along the side of our house at almost a 90 degree incline. It probably wasn’t that steep but it is in my mind. There is a part in the road that curves then immediately slopes down. It was also very narrow. Thinking that I was chosen, I sped around the curve as fast as I could and continued to pedal as I coasted down. In my mind, I was daring a car to come out of nowhere and hit me. The thought was terrifying but also extremely appealing. If a car HAD come along, there’s a good chance I could’ve been hit. There was nowhere to swerve because there were concrete blocks on both sides of the road. I made it down in one piece and felt an elation that only lasted a few minutes but I felt a thrill I never experienced before. I walked to our house and entered into the bottom floor where steps lead up to the rest of the house. The area around the staircase was high and carried a bit of an echo. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I almost died!!” I yelled several times but nobody heard me. Then I felt disappointed because nobody had seen me cheat death.

I had such high hopes for last week and hit a wall on Thursday and I didn’t work out. I’m pretty pissed at myself. I’ve been eating like a pig since Thursday and have fat Zyprexa face. I didn’t go to Max’s game today because I didn’t have the energy to try to find something to wear that fits. All of my clothes are too small. I was hoping some things would be a little loose by this weekend. Nope! It’s back to the drawing board for me. My road is always cracked with good intentions.

It’s hard for me to bounce back after I screw up. I want to get on the treadmill but part of me thinks it’s a waste of time. I’m still going to try though. We’ll see. In the meantime, I smoked a couple of cigarettes and popped a Xanax to help me “think”; like this blog requires any real thinking. I’m just stalling and making excuses to start my healthy habits over again. I’m probably the biggest asshole that I know. Seriously, if I knew me as another person, I wouldn’t be able to stand me, which sucks because I was doing well at improving my self-esteem for a while even though I was struggling mentally. I refused to be down on myself and just tried to concentrate on my mental well-being. I need to get that mind-set back. I need it in order to be successful in life. My house is a mess and I get to where I ignore my surroundings because I’m too overwhelmed to tackle everything. I wish I had a life coach, or a maid, or a nanny (for me). Sam can’t do it all on his own; poor guy. If I was rich, I’d totally have a personal assistant whose only job would be to keep me on track. I’d also pay them extra to clean my house. My house really isn’t that big, although I’d probably get a bigger house if I was rich. I don’t know. I like it here. I’d save the money from getting a big house and just stay here and give money away to other people and pay the assistant extra to put up with my bullshit.

My blog is over now. It wasn’t great. Let’s hope next week brings amazing news. Let’s hope I get off my lazy ass and take action to get control of life.

There were some political issues I wanted to discuss but I just can’t right now. Too much.

Great is the guilt of an unnecessary war – John Adams



Once again, I am down for the count, holed up in my room, waiting for relief to come back.

WARNING: This blog is a downer.

I thought that I was doing great. After my last blog entry, I exercised on my treadmill every day except for Sunday. I didn’t feel the need to take any Zyprexa, I felt energetic and got a lot done at work for two days. My mood went to shit on Sunday and I’ve been struggling ever since. I’ve missed two days of work again and feel like an absolute asshole. I had to pop a Zyprexa in the afternoon yesterday and it’s a 24 hour pain in the ass but provides the relief that I need from the extreme agitation and depression. Then it makes me eat like a pig. I haven’t left my room today and it’s already 10:35 a.m. I so badly want to be done with that stuff for good. I know that it will happen. I’m fighting it and refuse to give up. I even got on the treadmill yesterday. I was disappointed that I didn’t get the euphoric feeling that I had been getting after working out. I looked in the mirror at my big fat face this morning from yesterday’s binging and feel like it has all been for nothing. That nothing is going to work. I’ll get through this, it’s just been a shitty couple of days. I don’t know if I’m still experiencing withdrawal symptoms from the Pristiq. Who knows? I’m ashamed to admit that I bought a pack of cigarettes last week. I’ve only smoked 4 though. Leave it to me to pick up working out and smoking in the same week. I haven’t had a cigarette since Sunday night though and I didn’t even finish it.

Max’s birthday was on Friday. We got some Anita’s cupcakes and pizza so I ate too much junk. We took Max and his friends to the drill hall for a while, then he had a sleepover. My favorite people, the Bonds (Kim and Steven and their daughters, Makayla and Gabby) came over to hang for a little while. Kim is one of my best friends (number two from my timeline) but I think of them more as family. It always brightens my day to see them. Gabby is my Goddaughter and she is one of the coolest kids on the planet. She and Makayla are both beautiful like their mama with fantastic attitudes to boot. Unfortunately, my dog Louie was behaving terribly. I tried bribing him with bones filled with peanut butter and treats but he whined and begged for attention the whole evening. Luckily, my friends didn’t mind too much. Before I move on, I have to give Steven love. He is one of the funniest people that I know. He’s an amazing father, husband, and friend. I know that I will get into how terrific they are in future blogs. It’s hard to fit 25 years of greatness in one paragraph.

After the Bonds left, a couple of Max’s friends wanted to watch a horror movie so I bought the Ring. Max saw the first scary scene and was DONE. He retreated to my room with Sam to watch some football. I felt bad but his friends wanted to finish the movie. One of them, Dominique, fell asleep. I was impressed. Who can fall asleep during a horror movie? After that, they all huddled up in my spare room before falling asleep. Max, Sean, and Joseph all slept on the floor and Dominique took the queen sized bed for himself. It was funny. They usually hole up in the basement but I think they were a little freaked out. Surprisingly, they didn’t stay up until 5 in the morning like they usually do. I think the drill hall might have worn them out.

All in all, I would say that Max’s 13th birthday was a success even though he got a little bratty when he got home from school. I gave a speech about being grateful and starving children in other countries and poor kids fleeing terrorists in war torn countries. I went a bit overboard but he snapped out of his mood and gave his friends the greenlight to come over. I think he was grouchy because his b-day gifts hadn’t come in the mail yet. He waited too long to tell me exactly what he wanted. Shoes ended up being one of his gifts, of course. Him and his ridiculous “shoe game”. Smh.

Kelsi and her boyfriend Max came to visit on Sunday for a few hours. It was nice. I miss my daughter but I’m so proud that she is a college student and doing well. I gave Louie a sedative so we could enjoy our dinner but then I felt super guilty about it. It only worked for about two hours anyway.

Ugh, I want a cigarette right now but I’m scared to go outside and Sam is bringing me a salad from Panera. I’m not even hungry and I don’t want to speak right now. That’s a shitty part of depression; sometimes everything feels laborious, even speaking. Having someone asking you what is wrong but not being able to verbalize it is rough. I feel so bad for Sam; he tries so hard to help me. I hope he knows that just being here for me is enough. The last year and a half has not only paid its toll on me but Sam as well even though he’s always the strong one. Anyway, I don’t want to talk right now and I know he’s going to make me when he gets here. I don’t know if that is a good thing or not. The thought makes me nervous because I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I took a Xanax to try to take the edge off. Xanax, so many rescues from a little pill: Friends forever Xanax!!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately and have realized that guilt is my biggest problem. It’s my unnecessary war with myself. I feel so guilty about so many things and it creates a great deal of self-loathing. Rationally, I know it’s ridiculous. I know that I can’t change the past but I get stuck on it often. Here are the things that I can’t let go of (keep in mind, most of these things happened over 10 to 20 years ago):

  • Being twice divorced (the first marriage was annulled but I don’t quite understand the point in that).
  • Having two children who have had to deal with divorce (my daughter had to go through two). Divorce is awful for children. I hate that I put them through it and Max continues to deal with the dysfunction of it.
  • Not trying hard enough to save either of my marriages (I realize that is dumb because I wouldn’t have Sam. I just wish I met him sooner somehow and could still have Kelsi and Max without the divorces). I know, impossible.
  • Drama from divorce that I tried so hard to avoid but couldn’t prevent.
  • My manic moments when I’ve done terrible things while not thinking straight. Like not sleeping for 4 nights then passing out after slamming a bottle of gin (it’s been over ten years since that happened but it still makes me feel guilty. When I was on lithium, I had martinis for breakfast. I’ll never understand the craving or logic in that). Again, that was a long time ago. I can barely drink now.
  • Not being faithful like I should have been and letting manic behavior dictate my actions. Letting the mania make the un-excusable feel excusable. Doing things to excess like drinking and shopping. Failed marriages and bankruptcy, I’m awesome. Although the bankruptcy comes off of my report this year. I can’t wait. Sam helps me keep my finances in order but I still binge once in a while. Internet shopping is so hypnotic. In a manic state, I even shoplifted for the rush. The guilt from that is horrible. I will never ever do that again.
  • My depression keeping me from living life and disappointing my family, my friends, and confusing my kids. How do you explain not being able to leave your bedroom for a week to a young child? Now it’s more like 2 or 3 days but still, humiliating. I’ve lost large chunks of time and the opportunity to build upon important relationships because of it. My Goddaughter is a person that I should have cultivated a closer relationship with and it makes me feel like a major asshole. She’s ten now and doesn’t know me as well as I’d like her to. Part of me always felt like I wasn’t good enough or interesting enough anyway. That is stupid and we have both missed out because of it. I should’ve been a better Aunt to my niece and nephew also. And a better daughter and sister and girlfriend.
  • Being a bad housewife and a messy person. I wish I could be a domestic Goddess like my mother but I look around me and fixing the mess feels impossible. I get very overwhelmed easily.
  • Work, I’ve been a terrible employee lately. I have missed a lot of work. It’s humiliating and I feel like I can never make up for it at this point. I promise myself that I won’t miss another day but then I fall into another dark depression and it’s impossible to be present like I should be. I let a lot of people down. I’m such a driven person when I’m healthy and I hate losing that.
  • Losing my son Nicholas. I should’ve been able to save him somehow. It’s been 14 years and I can’t get over it. I should’ve taken better care of myself and demanded better treatment by doctors. I should’ve let them taken him in the ambulance to Children’s instead of letting him die in my arms. I will never ever get over that for as long as I live. I was afraid he would die in route (blizzard conditions making it a 4 hour+ drive) and never hear my voice or feel my touch. They told me that he only had a 20% chance to live but maybe I lost the chance for a miracle and he could be with me right now.
  • Feeling suicidal more often than I should. It’s selfish and makes me feel guilty because I can’t make the thoughts go away when I’m in a bad place. The thought is often tempting and seems like the answer to everything but I know it isn’t. I would break my children’s, Sam’s, and my family’s hearts. Also, some of my friend’s hearts.
  • Getting so fat. Sam deserves better than a big fat girlfriend. I was cute when I snagged him now I let him down even though he swears he still loves me.

Damn, I’m being such a Debbie Downer but I promised myself to blog at least once a week. I wish I could be funny and witty and write about something positive but I just can’t right now. I’m putting myself out there because for some reason, it feels somewhat cathartic to do so. I need to unburden right now.


I started back on citalopram for depression and I thought it was working but it’s only been a week. I see my psychiatrist again tomorrow to talk about my plan to better health and meds that will work like they used to. My mom is going to lecture me about seeing a psychiatrist and taking psychiatric drugs because she doesn’t believe in them. I hope she’ll just trust that I know what I’m doing and I’m trying my best to get better and my medications help me more than they hurt me, except for Seroquel and Zyprexa which I hate. God, I hate those drugs. I’m so mad at myself for taking one yesterday. I was just desperate. Anyways, I hope all will be well once the citalopram really kicks in. At least I can say with all honesty that I’m doing other things to get better as well, like exercising and writing and trying to socialize more.

I suffer from bipolar disorder, I am not bipolar. I hate saying, “I’m bipolar”. I know it’s a common saying that people use but I have to take it seriously. It’s my health; it’s not just a matter of being moody or learning to appreciate what I have. I suffer from bipolar disorder and it’s been BAD. I want to get it back under control and meds and healthy living are the way to go for me. Even though I’m having a horrible few days (weeks, months, and year) right now, I know I will get better eventually. It’s a huge let down when I’m having great days then having it all go to shit. When I’m feeling good, I get myself convinced that I won’t fall again. It SUCKS when I do.

I want to live life and not deal with this hell. Hopefully, I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be gone and what I’m feeling today is just residual. I never want to be hospitalized again. That’s where I got put on Seroquel. I felt lonely and frustrated while hospitalized. All the antipsychotics do is make you blissfully unaware of your surroundings and out of it. I don’t want that again.

Things I’m grateful for right now:

  • My treadmill and streaming videos
  • My soft bed
  • Sam and my kids
  • My mom
  • My new lenses for my Ray Bans that should be coming soon and my new Michael Korrs (sp?) prescription sunglasses.
  • My dogs who know when I’m sad and stick to me like glue
  • The supreme court ruling on marriage equality
  • Kevin Bacon
  • Xanax
  • Air conditioning
  • God and forgiveness
  • Captain Crunch
  • Lamictal (I got put on it 11 years ago and it has put a stop to the major manic episodes, just not the depression)
  • Anyone who will continue to read my blogs after this one. I know it’s dreadful and depressing
  • Anyone who suffers from depression and might feel less alone from reading this
  • Sam telling me right now that this feeling of sadness and fear isn’t going to last and it’s okay to have a bad day or two and I am going to get better
  • Cheesy potatoes
  • O.N.E Coconut water (great after workout)
  • Watermelon
  • Perrier fizzy water
  • My paper white Kindle and voyeuristic books about the porn industry (not erotica, the mechanics and emotional toll)
  • Pedicures even though the pedicurist bruised the bottom of my foot on Friday
  • Dr. Laura and her terribleness (she’s so terrible, it’s amusing)
  • Sam didn’t make me talk while he was home. Just his presence cheered me up

Things I’m not grateful for:

  • Teenagers and social media
  • The lack of viable presidential candidates for 2016
  • My dogs sticking to me like glue, they mean well but it’s suffocating
  • Dog farts
  • Dead beat fathers
  • Craving cigarettes
  • Humidity
  • My depression
  • Zyprexa
  • My messy room
  • My son’s even messier room
  • Missing work
  • Dishonesty
  • Disappointment in myself
  • Getting lectured by someone I love and respect about being on medication and for letting myself being diagnosed with bipolar disorder
  • Sea World (poor animals)
  • The poor refugees looking for safe homes
  • Having a bad body image when I’ve been working hard at loving myself no matter what (I weigh over 200 pounds, it’s gross)
  • Mass shootings
  • Being scared to leave my house right now
  • Being out of ranch dressing for my salad
  • Dr. Laura (yes, she is on both lists)
  • Not having clothes that fit well

So, I put a lot out there this week and I’m sorry. I hope that next week will be filled with positivity!! If you read this whole thing, thank you. I’ve always wanted to write but felt too afraid to expose myself but letting it all out feels good.

I’m all about transparency. I am who I am and don’t want to hide from it. Love me or hate me, this is it. Although I’m sure that my cheerful blogs will be much more enjoyable.

My Creativity Went to Shit



I created this blog site over a year ago but never used it. I don’t know why I never used it, I guess I could never think of anything worthy to write about. I still don’t have anything worthy to write about but somebody that I love and admire has been writing a blog and it makes me happy. She has a purpose to her blog… it’s fitness. My blog will never be about fitness. If I could get off of my lazy ass, it might be someday. I walked on my treadmill for an hour on Saturday, that’s my fitness update.

I need to lose 70 pounds. It sucks. I gained that much in a year. I have a lot of excuses for gaining that much weight, the biggest being medication that I put on to treat my bipolar disorder but the truth is that I’m lazy and I eat too much ice cream… still, the medication didn’t help. The medications in question are Seroquel and Zyprexa. If you want to buy into that excuse, Google those bitches, they are the devil. Anyway, I’m hoping that having a blog will inspire me to work out and diet so I’ll have something positive to share when I blog. I’m also hoping that keeping a blog will help me with my commitment issues. I can’t commit to ANYTHING. I can’t commit to anything other than breathing and even that gets hard sometimes. Especially when I’m stressed, I try to remember to take the deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. I mostly do it at night when I’m trying to fall asleep. Poor Sam (my SO), he probably feels like lying next to an asthmatic pig.

So back to the commitment stuff, it’s also hard to be committed when I’m fighting depression which is pretty much all of the time. It got super bad about 3 years ago. I don’t know why. I kind of know why but it pisses me off because the reason is stupid because the only way to fix it is probably therapy but I can’t do therapy. I went twice and once again, I could not commit. Besides, it just feels so awkward for me. I never know what to say and it feels like the only way to fix me is by erasing about 60% of my life from my memory.

Three years ago, I got a phone call from my bullshit father. During this awkward conversation, that fucker asked me if I remember anything good about him from when I was a child (he became an absentee parent when I was 10. I saw him over a couple of summers after that but not after I turned 14 and the visits never lasted more than two weeks because he’s an asshole and his wife is a cunt, sorry about that word but if there is ever an appropriate time to use it, it’s in reference to her).

When he asked that question, I became silent and I finally responded with, “I remember that time you kicked my ass for getting my Easter dress dirty” then he said, “I was hoping you forgot about that”. Well I did until now fucker!!! THEN the memories came flooding in and they have been since that stupid phone call (I told him to never call me again and I told him that his wife is a bitch. I should’ve said she was a cunt. HA!). I don’t remember what he said in response, I hope he cried or something and when his wife asked him why he was crying, he told her that he’s crying because I called her a bitch but in his honest opinion, she’s actually a cunt. Don’t get offended, people in England use that word all the time, it’s no big deal.

I’m truly working on my commitments though and I’m trying to be a more creative person, hence my blog. A more positive person. A HAPPY person. I hope it works out because I have a lot to be happy for, blah blah blah. Yes, I know this. I really fucking do. On my quest to honor my commitments, I agreed to step outside of my comfort zone and go to Wine by Design for my best friend’s birthday (I have four best friends btw, in varying degrees of time invested, commonality, sense of humors, and most importantly – putting up with my shit. Sam and family don’t count as my best friends because they are kind of obligated to put up with me). Timeline wise, this is best friend number 3, Melissa. Sam was unable to accompany me to Wine by Design because my son, Max, had a football game. We didn’t find out about the football game until after I bought my tickets. I’d be lying if I said I was broke up about missing the game. I’m a terrible mother. Another friend of ours who is absolutely fabulous, Michele, agreed to take Sam’s place so good to go! I bought tickets, I’m doing this thing!!

We started the evening out with dinner at Outback. It was as good as Outback gets except the waitress was literally humping Michele’s leg. It was figuratively but I like to picture it literally because it was kind of ridiculous. She complimented her from head to toe, literally like almost licked the bottom of her sandals. Melissa made a stupid joke about us being lesbians when we first sat down so maybe that was why? I don’t know. Maybe she wanted a big tip but the fat chick (me) had already made it clear that I was paying the bill so she could’ve thrown some compliments my way, like, wow, your gray hair blends in so well with your bad highlights! Nope, no compliments for me. Melissa thinks it’s funny to insinuate that we’re all gay in public sometimes. She’s weird like that but I think it does confuse people sometimes. Especially when she implied it at a gay couple’s engagement party once. Melissa is great at making very stupid things hilarious. For instance, she kept making jokes about the salmon on the menu being labeled “perfectly grilled” and as we were ordering our food, everything had to be grilled/seared/cooked PERFECTLY. You had to be there, she’s a nut and she cracks me up. Like I said, she makes stupid shit hilarious and we end up looking like assholes but who cares. It’s funny. Her husband is great, if he’s not cracking jokes himself (great jokes), he just smiles at her silliness.

Once we got to Wine by Design, we got these adult color by number pictures. One was a man and the other was a woman. I let Michele paint the woman picture and I took the man one fully intent on being my creative self and turn it into a woman. The place is run by a May/December married couple and their eyes started to twitch when I asked for a pencil and started drawing on top of their paint by numbers template before they had even started the class. My drawing looked great! I should’ve taken a picture of it. I had such lofty goals for my creation. I am ORIGINAL!! I paint OUTSIDE the lines! I’m a goddamn rebel!! NOPE!! The class began and then shit hit the fan. I want to blame Melissa because she kept making fun of my “extra” touches like my unnecessary eyebrows, she asked me if I was trying to draw a Younique customer. Jerk. So I colored over the eyebrows. Then she told me that my nose looked like a pig nose (it did), so I colored over the nose but I can’t blame her. I kept messing it up.

Keep in mind that we were drinking wine while we were creating our masterpieces. Wine by Design. Duh. It’s been a long time since I’ve imbibed so I admit to getting a little silly.

OH!! And please note this: at the beginning of the class, I told Melissa’s husband, John, that he should make his painting look like David Bowie. Clever right? When the dude kick started the class, he decided to make his painting David Bowie’esque with a pink splatter across the face and pretended like it was his idea. John opted for a KISS look instead which was great. I forget the name of the member though, the one with the star on his eye. Maybe that guy really did come up with the David Bowie thing on his own and he does it all the time but I’d rather think that I’m cooler than him.

So I’m getting silly and we’re rocking to some mindless painting music (it was a pretty random playlist like that American Pie song and Single Ladies) and I realize that I’ve repainted over my character’s face like 4 times because I kept screwing it up. Also, there was a dumbshit sitting at a table behind us who would not shut the fuck up. Remember the kiss ass waitress? This guy wanted to take the two instructors home with him and his wife for some major swinger action. I don’t know if it was the wine or wine combined with new meds and paint fumes but he was grating. The really sad part is homeboy and his wife had already taken a class earlier in the day and decided to come back for round 2. I get really obvious sometimes, especially when I’m tipsy so I started to nudge Melissa’s knee  (I hope I made her mess up her painting a little but no) and snicker and randomly yell out, “Oh my God Shut up!”. I even reverted to texting Melissa about the annoying banter while we were painting. I’m a child.

The teacher with the young wife was overcompensating for being old and his wife kept yelling out “that happened before I was born!” every ten minutes. For the record, he has seen every band known to man in concert but that is irrelevant and I’m being a hater. I might be hating on them for giving my painting “I knew she’d fuck it up” side eyes the whole time while everyone else got compliments. I refused to ask them for help though, this was MY creation and I would make it awesome.

I didn’t though. I didn’t make it awesome at all. My big creative moment went to shit.

But guess what?? I committed and I spent time with great friends and I laughed my ass off. What can be better than that?

So cheers to me!! And also, Michele painted ME and it looks lovely. I hung it up at work. Mine will probably go in the trash or I’ll hang it up on our ceiling to look at while Sam and I make love.

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Here’s to a start to a great new way of life for me and an end to sadness and dwelling on the past. At least for right now.

P.S. I’m really sorry for using the C you Next Tuesday’s. Also, this blog is all over the place but it was fun to write!

Peace and Love Everybody!

This blog thing seems like a good idea – but my ideas are not to be trusted

I have a lot of thoughts and opinions but they tend to be offensive to my social media friends. The problem is that I do not take myself seriously, EVER, so I don’t expect people around me to take me seriously either.

So why not just write in a private journal you might ask. Because that is boring and I have a sick thrill of knowing that my thoughts and my words are out in the internet universe for complete strangers to possibly discover and judge. Although the likelihood of that is slim, it’s a thrill nonetheless.

My brain never stops working, it goes non-stop but not in a productive way, it’s my ADD. I’m the asshole at the conference room table who says “that’s what she said” under my breath during business meetings every 5 minutes. I live for witnessing awkward word exchanges and everything makes me laugh. The more that I realize it’s inappropriate to laugh, the harder it is for me to stop.

I love making fun of white people (even though I’m white because I am white). I’m excited that I just used that strike-through thing for a witty reason instead of for editing some dumbass work document. My thoughts are random and stupid but I want to share them, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings in the process. Facebook is my private hell.  I can never comment with the first thing that comes to my head because people think I’m being rude. I guess it’s rude but it’s funny to me.

A couple of years ago, I watched a Michael C. Reilly skit called ‘Brules Rules Genders’ – check it out first before reading on for context:

My sister was going through a bad time and posting a lot of sad emo stuff about her life. I thought that it would cheer her up to say, “just be happy with your vagina! you got it already, you don’t need another one”. She got super pissed off over it. An ex-boyfriend from high school was posting sad stuff and I wrote the same thing to him. He got furious as well.

I tend to ask vaguebookers to specify what they are talking about and they ignore me. It’s also hard not to call out all of the martyrs who write about how they work their ass off every day and don’t expect a handout like “most people”. Who the fuck is “most people”? I have a job too fucker and I’m pretty positive that I’m a lot more successful than you are. Do you want a gold medal? Okay, here’s a good one:

Some guy I barely know but he wants to be my Facebook friend because we went to the same high school. We never spoke or hung out… but anyway, he posts this:

“IF you are going to send me a message or tell me you want a free cross necklace cause you really cant afford it then I am going to send it to you cause I believe you.  then you post you are going to get a new tattoo a few days later.  Pretty funny……..”

So of course everyone congratulates him about how kind he is (he makes $5 bracelets) and that “you don’t deserve to be taken advantage of”, blah blah blah.

My response was this: My two cents- Why don’t you just blatantly ask for the money now? You shouldn’t attach strings to acts of kindness, it defeats the purpose, no matter how undeserving the person seems after the fact. Lesson learned, right? (kind of like, you’re not as nice as you think you are if you’re going to post passive aggressive shit on Facebook about it.)

Then he says – “Nah, wont ask for it  cause its not important.  It is surely no strings attached.  Just found it ironic.  Her cross is actually still sitting in my car, cause I have some I have not mailed yet, and I was gonna pull it but didnt for that reason.  I will follow through with what I promised regardless.  I am sure there is more who do the same, just was kinda in my face.”

What does that even mean? I doubt she even wants your stupid bracelet now. One of his sympathizers stated that: “Wow! That’s almost as bad as saying you can’t afford child support and alimony but you and you’re new wife get matching tattoos while you are on vacation across the country without your kid for a week!” No No No No No! It’s not almost as bad as that. Not even close. a $5 bracelet and child support are not similar.

Now I’m being a dick. He’s a nice guy and I’m sure he’s being genuine. Just an example of how Facebook can be annoying.

I’m just now thinking about the stuff that I wanted to blog about but it’s late now and I have to go to sleep. Poop. I have a great list of things that I do and don’t miss from the 90’s. Hopefully I remember them.

First blog DOWN. Boom, nailed it. Not really. It’s okay, I’m sure this will feel more natural eventually.