Category Archives: ME

I Really Don’t Want to be a Whiny B*$ch, But…

Things are just not looking up.

I’m not just suffering from PCOS.  I’m actually going into pre-menopause.

When I turned 25, I bitched nonstop about being “almost 30”.  Seriously.  I thought I was “old”.  And “old” meant I wasn’t married and I was going to die alone with 89 cats.

I didn’t realize that what actually was going to happen was that I was going to have severe ovarian failure.

I’m on some medicine (via my endrocrinologist) that causes birth defects and have to stay on it for 6 months.  I then have to test for 3 months to make sure that I am no longer at risk of passing it on to my children.  But, see, with the pre-menopause (which obviously doesn’t mean it will be over that quickly, it just complicates things) and the lack of ovulation, my gyno wants me to act faster than 6 months if I want a better chance of a natural pregnancy.  The two docs are like the jets and the sharks, but my ovaries are the streets in dispute.

We can’t afford to get pregnant right now.  We can’t afford goldfish.  Nonetheless, I am so so smashed emotionally.  I actually was driving around aimlessly on Monday, looking for an insane asylum (I’m serious) but I couldn’t figure out what it would look like.  Luckily, there was a Nar-Anon mtg I could go to so I just went there.  Sometimes, being the spouse of a recovering druggie has it’s perks.  4 or so days a weeks, I get to go to mtgs where people seriously don’t judge me and will listen to me cry.  It’s nice.

I know that things happen for a reason.  I do.  But in the last calendar year, both D and I have lost our jobs, my mom nearly died, D went to rehab, I was diagnosed with a bevy of medical issues…oh, and we got married.  So I am a little overwhelmed.  I am looking at the medically imposed time (medicine that causes birth defects, remember) as a time to not stress about having kids but rather to work on really getting healthy, mentally and physically.  And to finally organize my house.  That way, no matter how we come by children, I will be a little more ready.

As we say at Nar-Anon, thanks for letting me share.

Home, Sweet Home

I just reread my last post.  OMG, my grammar leaves a lot to be desired.  I was beyond stressed.  I still am, but two weeks in is a lot easier.

The long and short of it is that we are at the beginning of a long journey.  People with systemic lupus don’t die of old age.  Luckily, her internal organs (well, not her eyes/ears) but kidneys, liver, etc look okay.  If the infections that enter her body due to a crappy immune system continuously go to her metal, we are lucky.  In a week or so, they will decide if she gets to keep her knee.  If not, they will take out the knee permanently, and she will be in a wheelchair.  My siblings, our spouses, and I will then have to decide how to take care of that situation.

I am just unmotivated right now.  I don’t want to leave the house.  I am tired, and worn out, and just need a break.  I haven’t showered since Thursday.  It is Tuesday.  That is disgusting.  I don’t know what to do.  I know I should call my shrink, but I keep putting it off.  I don’t even know if I am depressed (ok, maybe that is stretching it…) so much as I just need to zone a bit.  I am anxious to get into a schedule, but the first step is SO FREAKING HARD.

Someone Get This Girl a Drink. Or Something Stronger.

Three years ago this week, I was in a hospital room watching my grandma die.  It was exhausting and tiring and draining.  And that is the nicer things I can say.

Two days ago, I got a call that my mom was sick and going into the hospital.  She has lupus, and most of her joints are artificial now.  Apparently, one of her knees got a strep bacteria in it and had to be cleaned today.  She will be on an IV from home for 8 weeks, and between my sister and I will have to take care of her.  I live in another city from my mom, so yesterday I jumped on a plane.

I don’t know why, but this is KILLING me.  I am so exhausted.  Maybe it is the correlation of timing…maybe it is the stress of worrying about my mom.  But in 24 hours I have become a zombie.  Oh, and also, they are weening me off of my anti-depressants in hopes that I can try to get pregnant this summer.  So all around, I am a wreck.  I went to the gym today and worked out for an hour…I cried on the treadmill the entire time.  Times like these make me so furious that my mom is sick.  She doesn’t deserve to be in the pain she is in.  She never complains, ever, but yesterday with tears in her eyes she told me she was scared.

Last week, I was sad thinking that I am turning 30.  Today, I am feeling 60.

Let’s Get Going, 2010!

I  am one of those people who HATES endings.  Every summer at camp, I dreaded going home, but even more, I hated the last few days…knowing it was going to be over, and sad, and mopey.  I am notorious for ducking out of parties and not saying goodbye.  Not because I’m rude, but because I hate the whole “goodbye” thing.

But 2009?  Can bite me.

Yes, I got married, and that was fabulous.  But as any of you married people know, marriage isn’t enough to make for a spectacular, end-all, be-all anything.  I mean, I LOVE D. and our wedding was amazing…and our marriage is great.  But the other things that have happened this year?  OY.

And, to top it all off, I am turning 30 in 2010!

I dreaded 30 for a long time.  Hell, I dreaded 15.  I have always hated becoming older.  But in the last few weeks, I have realized that 30 is going to be great.  Why?  Because my 20s were insane.

I had: 11 jobs, 8 boyfriends, several idiotic boyfriend moments (not going into numbers!), lots of “discovery”.  Not all bad.  But definitely the kinds of things that are much more enjoyable when looking BACK, rather than enduring.

So, whereas I am not eager to rush through anything, I am thrilled to say goodbye to this year.  And…to celebrate, D., his best friend, and his best friend’s fiance and I are all going to Disneyland for New Year’s Eve!

May 2010 be as magical as we all deserve!

Ho ho ho!

I had a funny holiday flashback today, so I thought I’d share.

My father converted to Judaism right after he met my mom.  He grew up in a Irish Catholic home.  That being said, they weren’t really observant, save for Christmas.

Growing up, my mom’s mom (who I blog about a lot) got us for all of the “good” holidays.  We were with her for all of the Jewish holidays, and Thanksgiving.  So we usually visited my other Grandma the week before Christmas.  (Because Christmas was for Chinese food and movies, and no one could take that away. :))

One year, we were visiting and my grandma took 4 or so cousins and my little sister to the mall.  My mom pulled my grandma aside and asked that no matter what, my grandma not take my sister to see Santa.  Being 3, my sister was too young to really understand, not to mention the fact that my mom was petrified of us sitting on strange men’s laps if she wasn’t there to supervise.  (Seriously.  Wonder where I get my anxieties?)

So the mall went okay.  Or so we thought.  Later that night, we were all watching tv when the news panned to a shot of my sister, screaming bloody murder from Santa’s lap.  You could hear her screaming, “I don’t know you! I’m Jewish!” on the top of her lungs, and the reporters were trying not to break up into hysterics.

And that, my friends, was the last time my grandma was allowed to take us to the mall around the holidays.  Come to think of it, I doubt she would of wanted to after the fight my sister put up!!

Rhymes with Look Schmields

Sorry I have been MIA.  I may or may not have gotten laid off (I did) and I was finishing up a paralegal course…yay for yet another job!  (Someday…gotta get the certificate first!)

Yesterday, however, I read something that inspired me to post again.  (Insert edenriley.blogspot.com here…if I knew how).

I used to live in Los Angeles.  I lived in Brentwood, the fancy part of town, where people pretend that they care about the earth and can walk everywhere, because all of the ridiculously expensive boutiques are all close to each other…but in real life they drive big SUVs.  Anyways, I frequented a bagel shop that also had a lot of stars there.  It was little and unassuming, and it wasn’t a big deal.  It wasn’t like I talked to anyone, but occasionally you would start to become familiar faces to them, and they would smile at you everytime they saw you.

Anyway, a few years ago, right after that whole crazy Tom Cr.uise and Matt La.uer interview happened, I remember thinking, “I wish that I could call Look Schields (name different to protect the famous) and thank her for speaking out”.  She basically stood up and said that being depressed and being on medicine isn’t a big deal, and that Tom had no business in attaching an even bigger stigma to it.

A few weeks later, I walked into the busy  bagel shop, and the cutest little girl said, “You can sit with us!” I smiled and said, “No, I’ll just wait for someone else to get up”. She persisted and her mother said, “You better sit, she is pretty insistant!”  It was then that I realized, um, I was talking to Look Schmield’s little girl.

I sat down, and complemented the little girl on her tutu (which, apparently, she refused to leave the house without.  “When I was your age, I wanted a dog so badly that I would eat only underneath the table and crawled on all fours for three months straight,” I told her.  Look smiled and said, “Sometimes I want to eat underneath the table, too.”

Encourage by her comment, I felt like I could say what I wanted.  Very carefully, I thanked her for speaking out.  I told her that when Tom made those statements, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Let him come to my house for a week, I’ll go off of my meds.  Let him look anyone in the eyes and say that depression is easily curable by diet and Xenu and whatever else he preaches…”  She was so sweet and flattered.  I was so careful not to overstep any boundries, but it was so important to me to make sure she knew that it MEANT SOMETHING.  Her using her voice, when so many use it to speak on something that they don’t understand, to say, “Hey.  Depression is real, and it hurts…and it takes courage to get help, and to fight.”

Living in LA I had a lot of bizarre, wonderful things happen.  It is where I met D.  And it’s also where I got to say thank you to someone who helped to free me, even just a bit, from the ties that bound me to feeling like I was weak.  Because I am not.

What They Never Tell You

They never tell you…that sometimes you are going to feel empty, even if on the surface your life looks full.

They never tell you…that depending on someone for your happiness is not worth it.

They never tell you…that going from happiness to sadness to happiness all in one day is not called depression, it’s called LIFE.  So don’t feel isolated.

They never tell you…is that you can get whatever you want, but the key is wanting what you get.

For the first 20 years of my life, I lived in constant fear that I would die alone.  You know, as a hoarder with 900 cats, one-legged dogs and a spider collection.  I would take to the moldy food in my fridge and lose all of my teeth, and keep the wedding cake from my lost love in the family room a la Miss Havisham but not as interesting…just pathetic.

Then I found love.  I got married.  And I am happy.  But I realize that even with D. in my life, I still have to have a life.  And that is where my confusion lies.  I have lived in this city for over a year, and literally know 4 people.  Most of my friends are spread around the country.  D and I have little to no money of our own…and I feel isolated.  I don’t like to talk about the fear of never having being able to make enough money to survive comfortably with my friends, because I don’t want my friends to think that D. is not pulling his weight.  I have no idea why, but I don’t want my friends to judge our relationship just yet.  I don’t lie, but I don’t go into the detail that I used to.  Maybe, I guess, because I know he is a permanent fixture and our life is our life.

The last week has been really hard on me.  My paycheck wasn’t automatically deposited because my boss didn’t have the money.  I have been having anxiety attacks about that, which is of course to be expected.  Then D. decided we needed to come to his home town to see his old back doctor for him to get a back procedure done (why now, I will never know, he has needed it for over a year).  So I have now been at his folks for two days.  So between the paycheck and the mother-in-law, and D’s new habit of speaking like Snoop D-oh-double gizzle, I need a nap.

And just FYI, if I couldn’t afford a personal assistant, I would be nice and just fire her.  Because it is even LESS considerate to have her drag her miserable ass to work everyday and then not get paid.  But that is neither here nor there.