Blue Chair Musings

What I Really Want

2012-02-11T01:16:00.001-07:00

The other day I was driving the Kid home from his Judo class when I started thinking a lot about my life, and where I've been versus where I had planned to be. I started to feel overwhelmed and sad because I was feeling like I haven't done anything. I don't have a career, I've made a mess of trying to get a degree, I got sick, I gained weight, I can't get pregnant - just all kinds of thoughts about how I've messed up with my life, how it's not what I envisioned, how I've failed. The worst was thinking about the difficulty I've had getting pregnant again. Watching the Kid play with brothers after Judo, I started to think about what he's missing in his life since I haven't given him any siblings. I mean, since I'm an only child myself (as is the Husband) I know that the Kid will be fine if he's an only for his whole life. But I didn't want that for him. I don't want that. And our family doesn't feel complete yet.

It's something I don't talk about much with anyone, not even the Husband a lot. I have friends who also can't get pregnant again, so I know I'm not the only one. I'm not alone. But there are times I feel a lot of guilt for not being able to give the Husband another child. I feel guilt for not giving Luc a sibling. And it seems my options are really limited as to what I can try to do because of having bipolar II disorder. The fertility drugs can wreck havoc on a healthy woman; on me it could end up with a stay in a psych hospital. And that's not me being dramatic.

What makes it worse is that I have a feeling things may be easier if I lost this weight I've gained. So why not just lose it? Well, one reason is the classic cycle of me feeling guilty, getting depressed, and eating crap to 'feel' better. The other is that I hate facing what I've done to myself, and that would be thrown into my face when I start to workout. I know, I know, lame excuses. It's my own psychosis to deal with, especially when I start to feel guilty for letting myself get to this point. But what if I lose the weight and still can't get pregnant, I don't know what I'll do.

Anyway...

Later that evening I tried to reason with myself, telling myself that I have accomplished two things I've always wanted: I have a husband who loves me and has stuck by me through all of this craziness, and at least one healthy child I longed for for years. It helped in a way, but it wasn't until tonight that I realized what is my greatest goal, what it is I really want. I was watching a movie called, "The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio" starring Julianne Moore and Woody Harrelson. It's based on the true story of Evelyn Ryan, a housewife in the 1950s who entered and won quite a few jingle contests. She seemed to be a highly intelligent woman who got stuck the way women did back then in having to accept that all she would do is get married and have children despite her longing to see the world. And while the prizes at times were trips, she could never take them since she was trying to raise 10 children while her husband, who loved her a lot, battled alcoholism, so she would cash out the prizes. But what seemed to come across is that she worked so hard to be happy with what happened in her life, to spread that to her children, and loved them so much that it seemed they all fiercely loved her in return.

The end of the movie showed her actual children all grown up, and even at that point, where Evelyn was gone, they loved her and remembered her fondly. It really struck me, and made me realize what I really, really want at the end of my life: To have been loved and still be loved. I know that it's not something that will just happen. I have to love too. I have to work on myself so I can deserve the love, if that makes any sense. Because if I live my life as if I should get that love automatically, well, it makes me seem like a selfish bitch doesn't it? But when I think about the end of my life and think about what I would want to have accomplished, I would want to know that I did my best to love my husband and my son, and to place a knowledge of love in my son to pass on.

The rest of the shit I got worked up about won't matter when I stare death in the face. Didn't get a degree? Who cares! Didn't lose weight? Who cares! As long as I can be confident that I did all I could to make sure my loved ones know I love them despite all of the crap life flings at us, and that my son knows how to love so it can be passed on, that is a legacy I'd much rather have than anything else. Anything else that happens will be a bonus, and I'm not going to stop trying to achieve other things too, but what's most important to me is love.

I don't know if any of this rambling makes much sense to anyone outside of my head, since words can sometimes fail to really convey my thoughts, but I felt a need to try. To put this out into the world, even if it's not noticed. Maybe it's so I can declare it out loud, so to speak, so I can come back and remember what I'm feeling right now when I hit those days where I hate myself for things that really shouldn't matter a whole lot. Because all of those things are so hollow if I haven't accomplished what matters most to me.

Emotions on the Run

2011-11-02T15:59:00.000-06:00

So.

The post before this one.

Yeah...

A perfect example of one of my bipolar mood cycles.

It's very slightly embarrassing, yet for the most part I'm okay with it. I do appreciate very much the comments I received, and for the most part, when my mood is level, I'm fine with not caring if people like me or not. Yet when my mood cycles, any small insecurities I have in the back of my mind get pushed to the forefront and intensified beyond what is reasonable.

It took me a few days to recognize that I was cycling again because fortunately the medication I'm on keeps me level most of the time. But there's been some pretty stressful things this past summer that I buried down to handle them, and when one more stressful event took place, it set my mood cycling off.

So that's that.

Feel Free to Share Your Thoughts

2011-09-17T23:18:00.003-06:00

I welcome any comments to any of my posts, even if it's to tell me I'm wrong or am, in fact, being irrational. (Though if you're going to tell me to get over myself, don't bother. Why waste your time and mine?)

Delusional? Perhaps...but maybe not.

2011-09-16T23:00:00.002-06:00

I don't know if I'm just finally having an emotional response to some really crappy news I got today (not life threatening, so not worth going into), or if it's reality smacking me upside the head again, but I'm pissed. And hurt. And confused. Mainly, I guess, at myself.

Plainly put, I suck at making friends. I'm an introvert and shy by nature, which means it can take me awhile to open up to people, not to mention to even slightly trust them. And I guess I suck at keeping them too. I act like myself or make a mistake and do something stupid, and that's it. I'm branded with some label or left by the wayside or both because, hey, I'm human and I do stupid things sometimes. I also have Bipolar II disorder, which means at times my emotions have gotten out of hand irrationally. (The Husband says that's the case right now, but I'll get back to that.)

Instead of sitting here going back over my experience with trying to make and keep friends from my childhood, I'm just going to address the main thing that's getting to me tonight.

Since the Kid was born, I have been involved in online forums of various types, mainly parenting ones, because when I had him I had zero local friends. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. It was mainly due to the fact I wasn't working and was going to a local community college to work on my degree, and all that was there were either a bunch of teenagers fresh out of high school, or old people. So I tried out these forums to connect with other people and to have somewhere to go for help in this crazy thing called parenting. I got really involved in one particular area of a website's forum because they seemed like a good fit for me, especially because they seemed like reasonable, intelligent people. I tried to fit in despite having a few moments where I wasn't at my best in terms of posts I wrote and the like, but in time I felt involved. When the website the forum was on changed it's format completely (in 2007), some from the group made a completely new forum and invited a lot of the people over. I didn't go at first because I was still involved with the original forum, but eventually made my way over.

It was good at first since it was a lot of the same people with the added bonus of having a completely open and free space that wasn't controlled by moderators that worked for a website. But at the same time I had some rough patches there too because my bipolar wasn't completely under control yet, and I would have emotional outbursts and freak outs.Mind you, I'm completely aware now that my moods are under control that those outbursts were probably annoying and stupid on my part. I had those same outbursts in real life too, and I know that it made me look like the crazy person I was. But I also had an uncontrolled mental illness that affects mood at the time.

So I had wrote some stupid things and reacted to other things in stupid ways, but at the same time I was being very open and intimate with these people. I grew to trust that I could be myself (online) with them, and I wouldn't be branded a nuisance or a freak or annoying.

Or so I thought.

Also, I met some of these people in real life, talking to them face to face. I began, in short, to consider these people actual friends.

Or so I thought.

In the fall of 2009 I was finally put onto a mood stabilizer medication for the bipolar, and once it kicked in I felt like myself again. My mood cycles stopped, my extremes in moods disappeared, and I felt *human* again. But it was then I also started to notice that when I was on the forum, it seemed as if I was more of an outsider than someone considered a part of the community. It started to seem like any posts I made were either ignored or else barely noticed by others. I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, wondering if it was just me overreacting to something that wasn't there. In the spring of 2010 I made a trip with the Husband and the Kid to a large gathering of several of the people to get to see them face to face for the first time. A couple of them even came in from foreign countries to meet us Americans. I did have a lot of fun, but that uneasiness was there pretty strongly. I kept wondering if I was missing something, or like I was the awkward cousin in the background. Again, I tried my best to push it out of my mind, though I did bring it up with the Husband at least once. Again, it was dismissed.

So I've been trying to keep up with the forum and the people because to me they're friends. I care about their lives and what they post about. Some people moved away from the forum for various reasons, and it made me sad, but I've still tried to keep on. Yet over and over the same feelings keep coming out. My posts seem more like background noise than worth anything. Threads I start quickly die. I even have killed some threads. I did have an outburst with one of the people that was in charge at the time (I can't recall exactly what it was about, but my response was a bit irrational), and I've gotten the vibe since then that I'm not her favorite person in the world. I have the near constant feeling that I have labels hanging over my head, that unfortunately the impressions I made back before I was fully treated are all there will be. I feel like an outsider, something that I've dealt with my whole life, and that breaks my heart again to have.

I try to push these feelings aside, I try to make my way into the pack, but once again in life I'm not one of the 'popular' people. Where some have pages and pages talking about something like a haircut, my threads where I try to share deep feelings because one of the few things I've ever wanted is to have a place to share that with others die a quick death. Hell, even inane things I share are too boring to notice.

And the worst thing is, I don't know anyone there I could bring this up with. Who I could confide in about these thoughts and feelings without worrying that yet another label will be put on me. I have approached a couple of people before, but don't get too into it because who wants the label of being immature and self-conscious, or worst, being annoying?

I guess I have to face the fact that I'm not a likable person. Maybe I'm too quirky and, at times, too emotional. Maybe I'm just a giant bitch and I don't see it. I'm just one of those people who was born not to fit in, anywhere, with any group. I have great dreams and ideas that I would love to do, but because of my own actions, don't.

I think perhaps I just need to stop trying so hard. Though I care about those people and want to know what they're doing in their lives, maybe I need to walk away. It won't be noticed. It never has been before. I don't want to cause any type of scene because who wants to think about people rolling their eyes at you, thinking you're a drama queen? I don't mean to be. I really don't. But I always end up being that in people's eyes. Even the Husband, just now, has told me that I'm again overreacting. I guess I am. What else can I say? All I know is the impression I get every time I've lost friends. Every time I feel less than likeable.

For the most part, as I live my day to day life, I do an okay job of not caring if people like me or not. But that's usually with people I don't know. When it's people I care about, I do care, and that sucks. I care too much. I don't want to be someone who disconnects with the world, but as the years have gone by and this happens over and over, it just feels better to stop caring. It prevents moments like this where I'm emotional and being told I'm overreacting. It becomes easier and easier to separate from the rest because it sucks so much to be a disappointment, or to be unlikable and not fully understand how or why.

It would be nice to get the truth about what I do wrong so I can fix it, but then I realize that I'll just get too comfortable again and fall back into old habits.

Ugh.

It's taking time, but in the end I hope I'll be able to live my life knowing I'm just one out of seven billion, and I'm not a special little snowflake. In the meantime I guess I'll have moments like this where the suckiness of it all spills out because I'm not a robot.

Overemotional? Irrational? Fine, I'll live with that in the meantime. If I could disconnect emotions and irrationality, I would.

Until then, again, ugh.

What This Day Means to Me on the 10th Anniversary

2011-09-11T20:08:00.003-06:00

Ten years ago today, I was stationed in Naples, Italy. I was a new sailor in the United States Navy, on the last day of 72 hours of duty, in the last three and a half hours, and looking forward to a nice 72 hours off.

Close to 3pm I was sitting around with the others, nothing going on, when a woman from another area came in. She was pale, paler than I'd ever seen someone, and she told us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. We all thought for a second that it was a joke (since we all played practical jokes on each other when bored), but her paleness and the look on her face quickly squashed that thought. I stood up, thinking to myself that maybe it was an accident like the plane that hit the Empire State building back in the 1930s, and walked into the Watch Officer's office, the only spot with a TV. I told him what happened, and he quickly switched over to the Today Show, which we got live over the Armed Forces Network (AFN) in the afternoon. Immediately my thought (and perhaps hope) that it was an accident due to weather were destroyed as I saw it was a clear, sunny day in New York City. How could a plane crash when visibility was perfect? Still, as I stood there with the growing crowd in the doorway of the office, I continued to hope that it was an accident. We watched the TV in near silence for a time, when I turned my head to make sure there wasn't a phone ringing or anyone needing me. As I turned back to the TV, a plane came into the shot from the right, flying straight for the towers.

It exploded.

We all gasped.

For a moment I was wondering if that was video from earlier, but then my brain processed that the first tower hit was still smoking.

And I knew.

I knew it was no accident.

The US had been attacked, with the WTC the target for the second time.

I don't know what others thought. I do recall telling those that were voicing disbelief that it was an attack. I looked at the Watch Officer and told him that. I think I walked away from the TV for a bit to get away from the footage, trying to get a grip on what I'd just seen.

Some time later, the word got out that the Pentagon had been struck. All I could think was Holy fuck, when will this end?! I got up to look at the TV again, but there was no footage to be seen on the Today Show yet, though they were confirming the reports. I kept going over in my head that we were under a full scale attack, and I hadn't signed up for this. I didn't want to go to war. I signed up for the Navy as a last ditch effort to get money for college. I wanted to get in, do my time, then get out. The USS Cole attack had happened only two weeks before I left for boot camp, and at the time I wondered if we would go to war over that, but when nothing really happened with the government afterwards, I didn't worry anymore. But I *knew* that with this attack that worry would become a reality. An attack on civilians, in our borders, was a guarantee of war. It made my stomach burn thinking about it.

Then word was passed around that another plane was hijacked.

Where the hell would it strike this time?!

What was next?!

How many more planes?!

Would attacks take place all over the world at American bases and embassies?!

At the same time, word came down that the base was on lock down. Anyone who lived on the economy or over at the Support Site base would be stuck, meaning that the entire base was packed full of people. There was also the rumor that those of us currently on duty wouldn't be leaving for the night, even if we lived in the barracks on base. I wish I could say I wasn't pissed off about that too, but I was. It had been a very long 72 hour stretch, and though I would have 12 hours between the 12 hour watches, I was still exhausted. We all were. (And when the Day Workers - those that worked from 7am to about 4pm - started to bitch, I wanted to smack them!)

Suddenly rumors went around that the hijacked plane was down, but no one knew where until several minutes later when it was said to have crashed in Pennsylvania. After that, when no more reports of hijacked planes or crashes came out, it seemed as though everyone and everything was slowly calming down. We all hoped it was over, that it wouldn't get any worse. It sure seemed as if it wasn't. I spent that time talking to others or being quiet, trying to let everything sink in. I got up to look at the TV again, asking if anything new had happened. Nothing had, so I just stood there watching the screen.

Movement in one of the towers caught my attention.

Down it went.

The tower was gone, though at the time the TV was saying a chunk had fallen off. But I could see through the smoke from the other tower that there was only sky. Then a closer shot showed the building collapsing in on itself. I think I tuned out everything at that point, just watching, but thinking how strange it was that the people on TV sounded so calm about what had just happened. I stayed where I was, watching, as they continued on about everything, getting reports from Washington DC about the Pentagon, looking at the shot of the tower left standing, looking at it's antenna. A cut away shot of smoke in DC, then a return to New York, where the antenna was surrounded by a cloud of dust, going down.

Silent horror.

A hope that the buildings were empty by then.

I don't know how long it was before I went and plopped back into my seat. But I do remember how silent the whole area was, which was something I'd never heard before. Where I worked was a major communications station for a large portion of the world. There were always phones ringing, radios going off, beeping from computer systems, and talking. But at that moment, it was silent. A crowd continued to stand in the Watch Officer's doorway. Elsewhere it seemed like no one was talking. The radios, phone, and machines were quiet.

Then all at once everything went off.

Highly important messages started hitting the systems, setting off alarms. The beeping seemed to be every where. Everyone dispersed from the doorway to handle everything. Phones started ringing.

The rest of that watch was a blur. I think I returned to glance at the TV a few times, but didn't stand there for very long. The whole base was on lock down and high alert, though eventually those living off base were allowed to leave, and those coming on base to start their watch were allowed on after sitting in line for up to an hour. Word passed around that we would be changing our shifts from the 72 on days/72 off/72 on nights/96 off (in hours) to something much tighter. My anticipated 72 hours off were gone. I was told to expect going back in much, much sooner than I hoped. All leave was canceled. Those on leave were called back.

I walked back to my barracks room that evening with the base nearly deserted. Fully geared Marines stood on top of all of the buildings, their eyes watching the base and the area around it. It was then I heard something that would terrify me the rest of the night: A plane coming in to land at the Naples airport, which sits right next to the base, the main runway running a mere 500 feet or so from where I worked. My room faced that building and the runway, so all night, as I watched AFN to get more news about the attacks, I clutched the armrests of my recliner every time I heard a plane take off or land, hoping it wouldn't crash into the base. It wouldn't be until late that night when I would be able to sleep, long after the airport had closed and the planes stopped going. The next day I was informed I would be going to back to work the day after that, now working a 24 hours day/12 hours off/48 hours night/24 hours off schedule so that the watches would have twice as many people working. This continued until January 2002, and it was exhausting for everyone, especially for those with families. Several ships that were in the area were sent back to the east, including one that was about half way home after over six months at sea.

Some time after the attacks (I believe sometime in 2002), there was a large group of Chiefs (E-7s) that were sent to the command. Included in this group was Chief Brown, a nice guy who I liked as a Watch Officer. During watches he would come out of the office and bullshit with us, and wasn't one of the Watch Officers with a stick up his ass. Yet every time he would smile or laugh, it would never reach his eyes, and I always had an urge to ask him what was wrong. Of course I didn't, and I couldn't, because it wasn't the right thing to do and because it was none of my business.

It wasn't until late 2003 that I mentioned it to another Chief who was the Watch Officer at the time (they changed sections all the time) about how it seemed something was wrong when Chief Brown smiled or laughed. I think I brought it up because that Chief told me they had been stationed together before coming at the same time to Naples.

Either way, that Chief said, "You don't know?"

Know what?

"Chief Brown's son was on the plane that crashed into the Pentagon."

I was stunned in disbelief.

It turned out that they had made the rank of Chief at the same time. In the military, making the rank of E-7 is a big deal, because you become an upper enlisted rank who is now in a major leadership position. (The highest enlisted rank is E-9.) In the Navy those who are chosen for E-7/Chief are picked based on their service record, and when selected are put through an initiation by other Chiefs. The morning of September 11th, 2001, saw Chief (select) Brown and the other Chief at the golf course near the Pentagon working as caddies for other Chiefs. They all heard and saw the plane as it went over them and crashed into the very offices they would've been in that day had they been at work. They all raced to the Pentagon to help.

What they didn't know was that Chief Brown's son, Bernard Curtis Brown II, was on that plane. He had been selected with other Washington DC students to fly to California as part of a National Geographic trip, and they had left with their respective teachers that morning. The very plane 11 year old was on was the one chosen by the terrorists to be crashed into the Pentagon, an action that would've killed his father too if it had been any other day.

Of course this explained what I had noticed in Chief Brown's eyes that whole time. I had heard about the students and the trip they were on, but I never knew the names of those children.

I never talked to that Chief again about it, and I never even thought of bringing it up to Chief Brown.

In 2004, Chief Brown volunteered to go to Iraq. The last time I saw him was when he was on leave before going out. We talked a bit about him heading out there, and I had thought he was assigned to go, but he told me he offered to. He almost seemed excited about it. I don't want to say that the look in his eyes were crazed, but it almost seemed like it. But who could blame him? He had a chance to go to a place where a branch of the terrorist group that killed his child were becoming very active. What parent wouldn't have that drive inside of them to try and destroy those who had done that to their kid?

I don't know what happened to Chief Brown. I imagine that it would've been news if he had been killed in Iraq, but I don't know if he was injured, I don't know if he's still in the Navy. But his story made the horror of that day even more real for me. Perhaps on purpose I had avoided learning about many of the victims, mainly the children, and suddenly I was face to face to one of the victim's father. All I could think about is how much it must take for him and his wife to make it day to day.

Every year I think about Chief Brown.

I think about the loss of his son.

Of the loss of so many sons and daughters.

Of the desperation of those trapped by the fires in the towers.

Of the selflessness of those who worked to help others.

Of the terror of those stuck on those planes.

Of the courage of those on Flight 93.

I remember how much I hoped, with everyone, that there would be more survivors pulled from the wreckage, and the despair when I saw the empty stretchers outside the hospitals as the medical personnel waited in vain.

I think about everything that has happened because of those attacks, from the nine and a half year manhunt to the completely unnecessary war in Iraq.

I think about the young guy who called me back while I was on watch once things were fixed simply to hear a female voice.

I think of family members sent out to the war zones.

I think of everyone sent to the war zones.

I reflect on fanaticism, and how it needs to be dealt with, no matter what the cause of it is.

And I remind myself how fortunate I am. My family is safe. None of them perished on September 11th, nor did they perish in the war zones. Considering how big my maternal family is alone, with twenty-plus cousins, several of which have served or are serving, that is very fortunate and I am grateful that they are okay.

I am also grateful that the many people I met in the military, and who I know who are still serving or have family serving, that none of them have died because of the wars.

I mentioned the other day to the Husband that September 11th defined my life, and he asked me how. I couldn't answer him at the time, but I think I understand now.

September 11th changed my life because the reality of what I signed up for when I joined the Navy hit home. Having grown up with my dad in the Air Force where the biggest thing was the Gulf War in the early '90s. While it was serious, it wasn't a full blown war lasting years. There was also the situation of the Cold War, but again, it wasn't a full blown war. So I thought when I signed up, Hey, there aren't any major enemies right now, so it should be a breeze to do four years!

Ugh.

I imagine that's what a lot of American military were thinking before the Nazis and Japanese started their invasions.

But with September 11th I became a part of those wars. I wasn't in the combat zones physically, but my whole job involved helping to maintain the communication lines for those out there, for all branches.

I think it also defined me because I was like all other Americans, thinking that being back in our borders I was safe. Living in the UK when I did, I witnessed the IRA bombings that took place there on top of the worry of living in an off base American housing area during the Gulf War. (Would someone try to bomb our houses since we have no security or gates? Not fun to think about when you're nine.) There was the attack in Oklahoma City by an American, but that was a fluke in my mind, something that wouldn't be repeated nor something that would involve a foreign group inside our country. Yet all of that was shattered by the attacks. The reality that there was no place safe in the world was a lot for an eighteen year old to swallow. I guess I could analyze it further by saying that my parents having gotten divorced only the year before on top of my dad's alcoholism didn't help how that all sunk in.

Lastly, I simply mourn the crazy amount of life lost. I know there's a lot of tragedies in the world happening every day, yet no one can focus on every single instance and expect to be able to live their lives. So I've focused on this one that I witnessed and the first I fully understood while it happened. I mourn every year because this act, for me, represents all of the hatred in the world and the loss of innocence as a result. It's the day I give myself to shed tears for all of the heartache and loss that happens all the time. I don't only mourn for those that died in that one tragedy, I mourn everyone affected by tragedy and loss. I reflect not only on the attacks, but everything that led to this even happening.

Phew.

That's a lot of soul searching.

I know this probably doesn't make sense to anyone, but that's okay. Different events affect people differently, and this is me.

Anyway, it's been one hell of a decade since that sad day, and I hold onto hope that the next ten years will be better than the last. I hope that for all of us.

A boring pathetic fuddy duddy at 28

2011-06-11T21:24:00.001-06:00

How pathetic is it that at 28 years of age I'm a boring old housewife with no topic of conversation other than my kid? Or sometimes not even that, so I bore everyone around me?

Yes, this is a mopey, feeling sorry for myself post.

It seems like I have little to contribute to social gatherings, even small ones, other than general conversation or talking about my kid. I have no life outside of him. And on one level I'm okay with that. I decided long ago that I wanted to be at home with him, watching him grow up. I tried working one summer and lasted all of two weeks before I quit. I also have wanted to homeschool him since before he was born, and I'm excited about that. But all of this leads to a very boring life to those outside of it. It doesn't help that the people I know fall into two categories: Fellow moms where the connection is our kids and people who are childless or part time childless. With all of the other kids from the moms group going into Kindergarten in schools this fall, I will not be surprised if those friends fall away, because I'll be the only one with a kid still at home and they'll be doing a lot more with their free time. I mean, already I feel like I don't have a whole lot in common because they either have a job or a very active social life, and I don't work and I'm an introvert, so I don't go out a lot. Then with those that are childless, or part time without kids, or those with older kids I feel like I don't have anything other than my son to talk about. Or I'm severely limited in what I can do because I stay home with my son.

I just hate feeling like such an outsider. I feel like I've been an outsider my whole life. An outsider while living in the UK because I was American (though I lived immersed in the British culture), then an outsider in the US because I lived in the UK. An outsider in high school because I didn't do drugs, then an outsider because I did. An outsider because I didn't have sex, and then an outsider because I didn't sleep with a bunch of different people. An outsider because I didn't want to party all the time while in Italy, and an outsider in Italy because I'm an American. An outsider because I'm into intellectual things. An outsider because I'm an introvert. An outsider because I'm older than fellow college students. An outsider because I haven't finished college. An outsider because I have a kid. An outsider because I don't have a life. An outsider because I can no longer drink alcohol. An outsider because I have to sleep and can no longer go without it. Hell, I'm even an outsider online in the forum I'm involved in.

Most of all an outsider because I have a huge label stamped on me: Bipolar. Now that's a big one that I'll never live done.

Damnit.

I'm tired of being an outsider. I'm tired of being boring.

But at the same time, I'm tired of feeling like a fake. I faked it all through high school after I endured the lesson of the things I did wrong in middle school. By the time I was in the Navy and living in Italy, I was so worn out from faking it that I shut down and shut myself away. And I think I would've stayed that way if I hadn't met my husband. Having my kid made it imperative that I didn't shut myself away again because he needs to learn how to be around others. It didn't help that my mental health turned into a disaster his first few years. I feel like I'm still trying to make up for that time to those that were involved in it. I still see the effects that time created in people.

It sucks.

Is there anywhere on this planet where I belong?

Is there anyone I don't bore?

Is it possible to live without having to fake everything?

Can I be me?

Or is that too boring?

And worst of all, is there going to be a point that even my son no longer can stand me? Will I have to fake it for him too?

I Can Haz No Kid?

2011-06-07T13:37:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a day where I really didn't want to be mommy anymore. The Kid had been assigned to clean his room, and what would've been between ten and twenty minutes of work turned into an all day event. As in, 9 long hours of repeating, "Clean your room!" and "Pick up your toys!"

Oy.

Of course I know that it would've gone by so much quicker if I had stood in the room and directed him the whole time, but I'm committed to getting the little monster to learn that he has to do what he's told when it comes to chores. So it was a very long day, to say the least, with the Kid making one excuse after another to leave the room or why he couldn't clean, ending with him crying over the whole thing. And I was doing very well to be calm with him (for the most part), so I have no idea what lead to him crying.

Needless to say, I wasn't very mommy like yesterday. Boredom, annoyance, and a nagging headache all contributed to a major zone out and wishing I had the old freedom back, just for one day. And it's not as if I could have that if I had a job outside the house, because I would still have the mommy alert system going plus my own biological and emotional bond to the Kid making me miss him. I guess a day without him would help if he was in the trusted care of the husband, but since in this house I'm the one up with the Kid every day because of the Husband works late so has to keep a late schedule, I would still not be able to sleep in as long as I would like, which at this point would be all day for several days. Last Spring the In-Laws did take the kid for a week to their house out of state, but again the mommy alert system was on overload along with the missing him, plus I didn't want to squander the free time.

So it's a catch-22. I love this kid to death, but there are plenty of days where I yearn for the child free days again. I know every parent feels like that at times, and I don't believe anyone who says they don't, because being without a kid is so free. Sleep as late as you want so you can stay up as late as you want, eat when you want, not have to follow any schedule but your own, do what you want whenever you want, with the biggest thing being that when you're sick, you're not also caring for another person, so you can be miserable all day.

Ahhh, just remembering those days makes me long for them!

But at the same time I wouldn't trade those days for my son, because I remember the biological drive I was feeling to have a child. For me it was something that started when I was 16, and went into overdrive when I got married. The desire to experience pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood was so strong I would fantasize about it all the time. And even though my post-pregnancy emotional state went crazy, I wouldn't trade the Kid for the world, not even for a few days back in a child free life.

I guess that's just part of being a parent who loves their child, who truly wanted their child; the ultimate parenting dilemma. Every day when things get rough, where the kids are driving us crazy, and we desire so much to be completely free again, we chose to stay the course of parenting these kids, of loving them, of making it through the rough besides them. On the truly maddening days where we feel so overwhelmed we want to shake, scream, and hurt, we decide instead to control ourselves and not cause harm or run away forever.

I can understand how there are times when a parent does realize that their desire to be child free is too strong to be a good parent, and so they leave. I used to have fantasies of just driving away and making a new life for myself during the most sleep deprived days of babyhood, and in the worst days of my untreated bipolar I fantasized about the ultimate escape. But something stronger than that freedom kept me around, and I'm glad it did. It's something very strong that keeps all loving parents around, even during the most stressful of situations such as having a child who has a disability or has a life threatening illness. It's something more than simple love. It's indescribable, but it's the It that helps us make it day to day despite the fun and freedom of childlessness calling to us, to stick around to see these children fulfill everything they're meant to.

So I guess in the end, yesterday was just a bump on this whole parenthood trip. I did end up sitting in the Kid's room this morning, entertained by my iPhone, directing him. I did yell a bit when he kept trying to make excuses why he couldn't go on, but eventually he finished and now everything is calm again. I hate yelling at him, but he's 4, so it's going to happen, and I'm going to have to do plenty of things I hate while hanging out with him, but I guess it's not too bad being a mommy. Little arms wrapping around my neck helps. Just a bit.

Antibiotics good; Stomach cramps bad

2011-06-01T20:32:00.000-06:00

I've been gone for a few days both because I've been busy this past weekend (I love those busy, fun weekends!) and I'm dealing with stupid stomach cramps that happen whenever I eat. It's been happening since the halfway point of taking horse pill sized antibiotics for a nasty ear infection. And it's annoying. I'm hoping a regime of yogurt filled with live cultures and some probiotic chewable wafers will help since that's the only thing I can think of causing so much ickiness in my gut. And I'm still tired and sleep deprived thanks to these pretty painful cramps that are strong enough to wake me from my Seroquel coma.

Wheeeee!

Too much? Too little? Nah, it's just right.

2011-05-29T19:39:00.001-06:00

How boring am I? I'm sitting here while the kid is outside somewhere (I'm hoping he's still around...), the husband is at a friend's house, and I'm trying to find activities for the kid to do this summer. Not playing Grand Theft Auto 4, or the Sims 3, or even Facebook games. I'm stressing out, thinking I need to get the kid more involved in stuff, to get him out of the house.
What I would really love is a summer long day camp, but the ones that go all summer won't take a 4 year old, or they're expensive one week camps. Bleh. I guess I'm feeling like this because we're home a lot, and last summer we didn't do much of anything, plus I feel this guilt if I'm not "socializing" him enough (which is rooted in our upcoming adventure into homeschooling). But I guess I should chill out, because the truth is he does get around kids enough, especially since he's only four. There's the (few) kids on our street who will be out more since it's summer. There's the moms we've hung out with once a week for the last 4 1/2 years that we'll probably see more of this summer. There are two homeschooling groups we're members of, plus another three playgroups that offer things. And there's other friends to hang out with, plus a large number of parks we can spend the day at and the chain of YMCAs in town since we just joined up.

Wow. That's actually a fair amount of things, huh?

I know why I worry though. The kid is an only child at the moment (fingers crossed that gets changed at some point!), and he's reaching the age for Kindergarten, so a lot of kids he knows will be disappearing into schools come August. We're very firm in our desire to homeschool the kid, but the omnipresent question of "socializing" hangs over us because of outsiders' worries. Plus the kid is simply a very outgoing kid, and I don't want to do anything to stop that since I'm such a shy introvert myself. And it's not like I'm thinking that I could change such an inborn trait, but I want to fulfill that part of him as much as I can.

Maybe I'm just worrying about nothing, though. Nowadays, since he's older and I'm fully medicated, there's rarely a week where he doesn't get a day or two out of the house and around other kids. Winter and illness hinders that once in awhile (like the plague we all had to fit off earlier this month), but that's something that happens to everybody during those times. But I am a natural worrier, so this is going to be something I'll probably worry about for the rest of my life, but typing this all out lets my rational mind have a bit of a louder voice over the irrational side, and I can put it all into perspective. The kid is all right, and I'm not going to mess him up because he stays home sometimes without another kid to play with. Myself and the husband are both only children, left to entertain ourselves a lot, and we're fine. My husband never lost his natural outgoing and friendly personality, and the kid won't either. And if I'm honest with myself, the kid will be okay in terms of "socialization". Just leaving the house and going to the grocery store gives him socialization skills, he'll just be around mom to guide him a bit more than kids in school. Not that I'm a helicopter parent. The kid gets sent off to deal with other kids by himself and he's had experiences socializing without either me or his dad around, but we'll be around more to help him handle new situations and issues.

Yeah, the kid will be all right.

Strange Day

2011-05-25T19:09:00.003-06:00

Yup, today has been a strange day. Which means that I'm feeling a bit out of it mentality. To anyone stumbling upon this blog, I have bipolar II disorder, a milder form of bipolar disorder. I have hypomanic episodes instead of manic ones, and I've been in treatment for it for 3 1/2 years now. This means that though I'm pretty good mood-wise most of the time, I still have off days, and today is one of them. It's my own fault really. I've gone to bed at 1am the last two nights, and lack of enough sleep always knocks me for a loop. It's an extremely bad habit of mine that I haven't stopped yet, that I've been lectured to about by my therapist the whole time I've seen her. I can't fully explain why I still do it.

Anyway, because I stayed up so late for the last three nights, I'm sleep deprived and out of it. I'm agitated with the world right now, though mostly at myself because it wasn't until 6pm that I realized how gorgeous it was outside and how much the kid needed to be out there. To be fair, it was cloudy like the last week earlier today until (I guess) 3pm. So I just didn't think about it, though mostly it was because my body was still trying to wake up. One of my drugs, Seroquel, has major sedative effects, and if I don't sleep long enough to get through the worst of them, I am a zombie for several hours after I wake up. Seriously: Aside from not eating brains, I am numb and slowed down. I don't feel pain at a normal rate, my reaction time is very slow, and I can barely form coherent thoughts. Fun, huh? I would probably moan as communication if I didn't need to form words to take care of the kid, and could end up dragging a limb or two since I could break an ankle or something without noticing for a good hour or so. (I've honestly ended up with bruises and cuts I didn't notice were there until I go to bed.)

I also have a tendency to ramble when I'm this tired. Can you tell?

So I'm agitated with everything and everyone, including myself, for having missed a good day to go out and do something like I'd planned; two activities with a homeschooling group I've recently joined as we prepare to "officially" start homeschooling the kid next school year. I'm also mad at myself for yet again falling into the pattern of staying up late, for being lazy because of it, for not being the mom I want to be (since the kid has been driving me up the wall today), and because I have these limitations now on my life. Most of all because I *know* *better*. I feel awesome when I go to sleep at the right time. I know I do. I get so much done, I'm way more social, and I'm happier. I'm also mad at myself because I know I get much better sleep than just about everyone because of the Seroquel, and that is a very fortunate thing. (You sleep like you're a kid again, that blackout sleep where hardly anything would wake you.)

One theory my therapist and I have discussed as to why I keep depriving myself of sleep is that sleep deprivation became my new 'normal' when I joined the Navy. Boot camp is all about sleep deprivation because prepares you for the sleep deprivation of active duty. (Last I recall, the Navy regulations state that you must get two hours of sleep for every *20 hours* you work.) Then I got used to the deprivation of having the kid, who woke up at least once every night to eat for 13 months (if not more). Then I adapted to being sleep deprived because of the horrible quality of sleep I had when my bipolar was at it's worse, which was from the time the kid was born until he 2 1/2 (when I started the Seroquel). Being sleep deprived has been my 'normal' state of being for a good ten years now, hence our theory of why I still put myself into that state.

It's a pretty good idea because to be honest, I distrust it when I'm feeling very good after sleeping enough. I know that sounds so off and weird, but it's true. It may very well be connected to the fact that for several years, me feeling 'good' meant I was reaching a hypomanic (or even manic) state, and soon I would crash hard into depression. So the whole day I feel so good, in the back of my mind is the nagging worry that it's too good to be true. Can I really feel good without feeling horrible the next day? Or even the next hour? (Oh the joys of rapid mood cycling...) I've truly forgotten what it feels like to be well rested and mentally balanced.

Ugh.

Writing this out, I know I need to resolve myself to get enough sleep so I can learn to trust feeling good again, so I can shape a new 'normal' for myself. So I'm simply happier and healthier. Getting as sick as I did recently with nasty cold virus, which also resulted in a nasty ear infection, I realized that I'm not as healthy as I need to be, that I can go so much better. That I have done better. Even if it means not getting to talk to the husband when he gets home after work (he works 12pm to 12am), then it has to be that way.

This has to be my first step in reorganizing my life. In making it better. If I can reform my sleep habits, I can reform anything about myself.

(I will become the Little Engine That Could, damn it! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!)

"Top 100 Newborn Essentials" Which Aren't All That Essential After All

2011-05-24T14:20:00.006-06:00

So I frequent a website called Babble.com, which is a parenting website. I like it because it typically has a bit more than the same boring things places like Babycenter.com have, and without the drama of the boards that Babycenter.com has. So I came upon their list of "Top 100 Newborn Essentials" and perused it since it's been my experience that a lot of these lists end up having things that really aren't needed, but make the website's sponsors happy. This one was no different, and I felt a strong need to post a long ass comment about those things that aren't actually essential, especially for newborns. I post it here to share. What do you think?

There are some items I disagree with as being "essential" for a newborn (babies from birth to three months), and are a either a complete waste of money or are something that shouldn't be bought until later.

1. Crib bumpers - No, no, a thousand times no! There is *no use* for a crib bumper. It is a SIDS risk for younger babies, and an easy foothold for older babies trying to climb out. The only thing needed in the crib is a mattress, a crib sized sheet, and the baby. Maybe a wearable blanket if it's cold. There's a reason why SIDS cases have dropped by 90% since the Sleep on Back campaign, both because of putting babies on their backs, and removing all things from a crib that are hazards. A crib bumper is one of them.

2. Moses basket - Nice, but *not* essential. If you buy an infant seat it can be used for newborn if the seat is deep enough and there's a buckle. If you're low on money, I recommend the infant seat instead of a moses basket.

3. Changing table - Again, nice but not essential. Think about it: Once your baby is mobile, it is easier and safer to just change them on the floor on a changing pad because they will turn over and take off the second you glance away! You're also left with a big, huge piece of furniture that usually doesn't serve any other purpose than being a changing table sitting around. My husband and I never had a changing table, using changing pads on the floor, and it was so much easier and convenient.

4. Disposable changing pads - If you have the money, go for it, but otherwise a typical folding changing pad works great. But buying so many changing pads gets very expensive very quick, especially for a newborn since their schedule is: Eat, poop, sleep, eat, poop, sleep. You are changing them constantly! Plus, a typical, plastic covered changing pad is easily cleaned with soap and water if poop gets on it.

5. Diaper pail - I include this only because those things can A) be a pain in the butt to empty out, and B) expensive in terms of buying those special bags. We struggled with a diaper pail for months until I realized an easy solution: grocery bags. Throw the diaper into one (that doesn't have holes), tied it up, and into the trash it goes! No more shelling out money for special bags, and no more struggle trying to empty them (or to put in an especially big diaper for that matter).

6. Hand sanitizer - Including this because I don't agree that it's essential. Overuse of hand sanitizer is causing super bacteria to develop (it's evolutionary science at it's best), and because they only handle bacteria. Colds and the flu are caused by *viruses*, something anti-bacterial hand sanitizers and soaps *don't* touch. It is far better to minimize use of a hand sanitizer to something used when it's really needed. I typically use mine only after we pet animals (like at the zoo), or before we eat if there's no wipes or sink with soap around. Washing your hands with soap and water touches all types of germs, and doesn't add to the super bugs. Even wipes are better than overuse of hand sanitizer. (Wipes are a godsend in terms of the best baby product!)

7. Special Laundry Detergent - So not needed unless your baby has skin allergies that react to normal detergent and to the unscented ones (such as a rash or eczema develop). We used Tide the whole time my son was a baby (and he has sensitive skin while I have severe eczema), and it was fine. It's another product that's nice, but not essential, especially if you're trying to save money.

8. Feeding Log - If you want to use one, great, if not, that's fine too. It's not "essential". Basically put, if your baby is growing, pooping a few times a day, and the pee is a light color, they're good. Dark pee singles dehydration, and constipation in a newborn should be reported, but it's not necessary to keep a food log. Especially when you're so sleep depraved you're lucky if you remember your own name!

9. Bottle Drying Rack - Really?! This is "essential"? Um, I don't think so. You wash bottles, them put them on a towel upside down, or any type of rack, including the top rack of the dishwasher. A special rack for drying bottles is so not necessary.

10. Mirror for Car Seats - Not "essential", but again are nice if you have the money.

11. Receiving blankets - In my opinion, a total waste of money. They're typical so small that all you can do with them is lay them on top of the baby for maybe a month or two. They do make great emergency burp cloths though! Investing in a good collection of bigger blankets and swaddling blankets is better idea.

12. Sunscreen - Last time I went through sunscreens, they all say not to use on babies until 4 to 6 months old. They're just not formulated for newborns' skin. Hats and covers are the way to good until they're a bit older.

13. High Chair - A high chair is "essential" for a newborn? No. High chairs aren't recommended for babies until they can sit up on their own, let alone for a newborn. I've never met someone who put a newborn in a high chair. It is essential, but for several months down the road. *Not* essential for a newborn! I recommend waiting to buy this until there's the need since it'll just use up money and space for nothing until then.

14. Booster Seats - same as the high chair; so not needed for newborns, so save the money and the space!

Ugh...again?

2011-05-23T15:03:00.004-06:00

For the last two years I've tried to start a blog. And three times I've started over.
My problem is that I don't think to come back often and actually blog. I think about things I want to write about on here, and I think and think and think. Then when I get on the computer I instead hang out on Facebook. I thought I could fix this by using an iPhone app, but I haven't found one for this particular site yet. There's one for WordPress, and they're okay, but it's a pain in the ass to format the page the way you want to. A huge pain in the ass. I just spent two hours trying to find a format I like, but no go. I like my happy little page over here too much.

Another issue is I can't ever decide what to ramble on about on here. I thought at first I could make this blog about living with bipolar II disorder, but that got boring quick. Plus I got some criticism over talking about my personal life/sex life with the husband on here. And stupid as it was, I let it get to me.

Bleh.

So once again I'm here, trying to start over. Honestly I don't feel too weird about doing this again. I'm just debating now how I continue on. What do I post? Should I focus on one area of my life? How much information do I share?

Hmmmm...

I don't know. I guess that's why I'm just going to leave this to be my ramblings, especially if I need to vent somewhere.

Random for the day: I really need a shower.

Numero Uno

2011-05-11T15:00:00.000-06:00

I’m sitting in a McDonald’s, fighting the urge to start coughing because I’m afraid I’ll become a pariah among all of the other parents here in the play area. I’m trying to enjoy a reprieve from the sick house (my house) that I’ve been a prisoner of for the last week, victim of one of those late winter viruses that holds on to its host like there’s no tomorrow, trying in vain to survive the coming warm weather. It’s been a few years since I’ve had one of these monsters invade me, and I was enjoying that break, thank you very much. The Kid, my 4 year old son, is still coughing here and there, but a coughing kid doesn’t seem to draw the scrutiny a coughing parent does. If I cough I know the thoughts flying through others’ minds will include the ever present, “She should *know better*!”

And yes, I do, but at the same time when it’s between starting to scream and pulling my hair out because I can’t take the white walls one. second. longer., and spreading the plague, I’ll spread the plague in a heartbeat. Yet I’m still trying to avoid spreading it because it is a particularly evil virus this time around, so I’m sitting here having fantasies of running to the bathroom to have a coughing fit.

My wants are simple, what can I say?

And this, dear reader, is my introduction.