B is for Birthday

b floralThe past few weeks have been difficult. Not as difficult as the last few years but difficult enough to keep me pretty depressed. Thank god for meds!

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you may have noticed that it’s been awhile since I posted. That’s just because I don’t want to write any more “I’m so depressed” posts.

I feel a bit better today because I’ve finally been given a job! It’s a part-time job cleaning a local business. It doesn’t start until the end of May or beginning of June, which doesn’t help right now. Soooo… my car may get repo’d. Which sucks because not only do I love my car, but I live in an area with limited public transportation. And most of the well paying jobs are not accessed by public transportation. Sigh.

That said; let’s move onto something more fun.

birthday

My birthday’s coming up! I’m gonna be 41 years old. Honestly I never thought I’d make it past 30 much less 41, so every birthday is a triumph.

Here’s what I want for my birthday, from need to want to fantasy:

Needs

A job. Preferably one that doesn’t involve a lot of manual labor and pays more than minimum wage.

$3-12. For laundry. There’s nothing worse than not having clean clothes.

TP and other personal care stuff you can’t buy on food stamps. Because stealing TP from public restrooms is morally wrong and lowers my self esteem.

Money for gasoline. So I can go on job interviews that the bus line doesn’t go near.SONY DSC

Enough money to keep my car from being repo’d. For obvious reasons.

 

Wants

Some going out money. Cause I haven’t gone out to eat or the movies in forever.

Some craft supplies (or money for supplies). I love craft stores and craft supplies. Crafts make me feel creative and I love the stores for all the possibilities there. They make me happy!

Books! They’re another thing that makes me happy. I can spend hours in a bookstore. One of my lifelong dreams has been to become an author (of fiction) but I struggle with motivation and writer’s block.

 

Fantasy-land

A new laptop with a printer. I don’t have a printer right now and my computer is on its last legs.cat laptop

My car paid off. That would be a huge weight off my shoulders.

A year’s worth of car insurance, license renewal fees, and gasoline. Another weight that would be lovely to lose.

All my student loans and medical debts paid off. Let’s just say I owe people more money than I’ve ever made in my entire life.

A new home, including money to spruce it up and pay for a few years of property taxes. One of my dreams is to own my own home and be able to decorate it however I want. I’m so sick of sharing bathrooms/kitchens with roommates and not being able to paint my walls.

Pets. As ya’ll know, I’m a crazy cat lady. But I haven’t been able to have pets (due to landlord restrictions) for years. I want at least two cats and maybe a dog.

The bad part of this wish list is that I’m probably not going to get anything on it. My family is not big on birthday gifts unless you’re a kid. Normally this doesn’t bother me, but this year is different. Just cause I’m in such a low place financially and personally.

However, I’m planning on celebrating my birthday anyway. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing at the time, but if I’m alone I’m gonna live it up anyway. Because my 41st year has got to be better than my 40th!

cat with dress

Blessings to you all.

Be well.

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R is for Resentment

r white woodI love my family. I do. But I also resent them. A lot. And lately it’s been really bothering me. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe because the weather’s changing and I’ve been thinking about how nice it would be to take a stroll with my sister-in-law. Maybe because I went a few days without a phone and realized that no one would have known if I hadn’t posted anything on Facebook about it. Or maybe it’s just time to get over it.

So, like I always do when I want to do something, I warmed up my favorite search engine and looked for anything I could find on resentment. I came across this quote:

resentment2

This pic was created at brainyquote.com.

It stopped me in my proverbial tracks. One of the things I truly value (and I know this cause I’ve gone over my values a couple of times in the last few months in counseling) is trying to do God’s will and grow spiritually. The fact that I’m disrupting my values by holding onto resentment gives my bone marrow frostbite.

So I sat there and thought about it. Why was I so resentful of my family? Here’s why…help

Somehow growing up I picked up the conviction that getting help by asking for it means less than if someone figures out that you need help and offers it. I’m not quite sure why I picked up that conviction, but I did. What’s worse, I typically don’t ask for help until the last possible second, usually right before disaster strikes. Like right before I slit my wrists.

Unfortunately, most of my family doesn’t think the say way as I do. Especially my brother and sister-in-law, the ones I feel most resentful towards. You see, I needed a lot of help the past year or so. As you may recall from this post, this post, this post, and this post, I was suicidal and went through a major traumatic injury. My brother and sister-in-law are the only family members who could help me (everyone else lives too far away) during those times and I resented it when they didn’t help me more.

What was I expecting from them? Well, when I got home from the psych ward, both times, I expected them to check in with me once in a while. By phone if nothing else. If I didn’t call or stop by, I expected them to call me or stop by my place (I live less then 10 minutes away from them). I didn’t receive any check ins. Ever.

After I broke my arm and was in a cast from my armpit to wrist, I expected a daily visit until I was able to do things fat ladylike pull up my pants up one handed and cook myself dinner. I got daily visits the first two days. I couldn’t pull up my own pants one handed for a month after I was released from the hospital (they kept getting caught on my fat rolls. Remember, I’m circus-fat-lady fat), and I couldn’t cook for two months. In addition, I was on pain killers for six weeks. Pain killers and a history of suicide…not a good thing.

The part that I hate most about how resentful I feel is that I knew I wasn’t gonna get any help from my family unless I asked for it. My brother works too much to be able to help me (he works twelve to eighteen hours a day, typically seven days a week. He’s been known to go three months without a day off). So it was my sister-in-law, a “Domestic Engineer” (aka housewife) who would/should be checking in on me. Now, don’t get me wrong. I adore my sister-in-law. She’s the best thing to ever happen to my brother and a wonderful person. She just believes that it is a person’s responsibility to ask for help; that one shouldn’t just help a person without that request. Her belief comes out of her own past of domestic violence and addiction. And that works for her. It just doesn’t work for me.

Why? Because when I’m deeply depressed, suicidal, traumatized, and in pain, I don’t ask for help unless it’s an

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli 1781

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli 1781

emergency (like gotta call 911 emergency). I can’t. And I mean that in an almost physical sense. I spent hours lying on my bed keeping myself alive by telling myself over and over that if I just stayed in bed, I would be able to resist the impulse to kill myself. That if I got up, took that step closer to the drawer where I kept my medications, I would take every single pill I owned in an effort to die. The thought of calling someone for help did cross my mind, and, in occasional moments of logic, I tried to get myself to do it, but I couldn’t. I remember the words piling themselves up at the back of my throat. And I couldn’t get them into my voice box and out of my mouth. No matter how many times I tried to get my hands to pick up a phone, they wouldn’t move. It was almost like psychological paralysis. It sounds dramatic, even soap opera worthy, but it’s true. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything other than breathe and fight the impulse to kill myself. All of my energy was used up in that fight. I had nothing left to ask for help.

So I didn’t get any help from my family. And the only family member in any position to help me was not pre-supposed to help without being asked. And I knew this. I knew it and yet it still hurt when I didn’t get the help I couldn’t ask for. It still hurts today. And so the resentment grows. And grows.

I haven’t spoken with my family in any way other than through social media in about two months. And I hate it. I miss them so much. I want a hug from my sister-in-law. I want to tease my brother and see that twinkle in his eye that makes him him. I want to hug their dog and chat about NCIS and their grandchildren. I want to find out what home improvement plans they are gonna tackle this summer. I want to see my brother and sister-in-law laugh and kiss and hug in that way that is their own.KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

But I can’t do it until I let go of this resentment that I know is totally irrational. I know that they were never going to be able to help me in the way that I wanted, or even needed, to be helped. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I knew it. And yet I still expected and wanted it from them.

I suppose that ultimately what’s preventing me from letting it go is that I can’t forgive myself for expecting the impossible from them. I can’t forgive myself for needing help. And if I can’t forgive myself, how am I gonna be able to forgive them?


 

Blessings to you all.

Be well.