Explanation of Silence

So, I’m not sure if anyone on Facebook noticed but for the last few days, I’ve been sorta on the missing in action side.  I guess my reason is that I don’t really have much to say publicly anymore. 

I found out a few weeks ago that I tested positive for Lupus.  A few days later she called back and said no, it wasn’t Lupus but pretty much 24 hours later I was called back and told, yes it is Lupus, they just don’t know what kind. 

Normally this would say to me, Dette, you need to get a second opinion.  But I couldn’t do that because even though my paperwork was refilled in March, Social Services still hadn’t reinstated my Medicaid which, until I can get a better job that comes with health benefits, that’s my only way of seeing a doctor or getting any of my ever growing number of prescriptions.  I have been fighting with Social Services now for months and only yesterday when I could hide behind my dignity and broke down and sobbed in front of pretty much everyone in Freedom Ave. DSS, did anyone do anything.  And before any one of you say it, NO, I did not use tears to get what I needed, I just wasn’t capable of dealing with the form answers that I’ve been getting lately indicating that I’m still getting nowhere.  It was only when I lost pretty much any shred of dignity I had left did anyone understand just how bad off I am right now. 

I can’t do this anymore.  That is simply what this boils down to.  Strange things have been going on with my body for almost a year now yet anytime I try to discuss it with a good number of my friends, it turns into them telling me about what wrong with them.  I have come to hate the phrase, “Yeah, well…” because it has come to ALWAYS without fail, mean “Enough about you, time to put the spotlight on me.”  The sad thing is, I’m not sure that any one of the handful of friends that do it even realize that they do it.  And I’m partially to blame for them not knowing that they do it because I tend to switch right back into supportive friend mode and comfort or just listen.

But lately I haven’t been able to do it.  The voice in my head starts screaming things that I have to hope and pray don’t come out of my mouth so I just don’t put myself in those situations anymore.  I’ve begun to distance myself from everyone.  I come home from work and I drink.  And I mean drink to the point where I used to be the one that my job called when they needed someone to come in and help out but they can’t do that anymore because within twenty minutes of getting home, I am no longer legal to drive.  I wake up, I play my Facebook games, and I get off the computer and I read.  I went back to writing again but I found that every time I did, whatever I was writing began to take on my real life or rather the real life my inner self wants where I blatantly scream, “It’s not about you!”

Believe me or don’t but I have even tried praying but the voice inside of me alternates from “If your friends won’t listen to you, why should God?” to “If there really was a God, why would he let this happen to you?”  This leads me back to drinking because I know there is a God and I know that he cares and he only give you what you can handle even if you feel like it’s crushing you.  So I try to shut the voice up because I was raised by a good Christian woman and loving Church family and I know that God is God.  I am not His only concern here on earth and He did not give me Lupus.

Those of you that think I’ve been shying from them and leaning only towards the man that I’ve been seeing, I can tell you that you too are wrong.  I haven’t said anything to him as well.  As a matter of fact, if he reads this he’s probably going to say WTF because I’ve become such a good hider that I haven’t said anything to him.  The truth is, I don’t want to run him away because he’s one of the few things in my life right now that make walking into traffic look like a really stupid choice meaning, he makes me want to live.  When I’m with him, I smile.  When I talk to him, I smile.  Hell when I think about him, I smile.  I like smiling.  I like feeling happy.  If not telling him about the crap in my life makes the happy continue, I’m going to try hard to keep that.

And I realize that it looks to some like I’m keeping him a secret but what some people, okay a lot of people have to understand is that I’m actually being respectful.  I don’t say his name of put up pictures of us because I’m not sure that we’ve reached that stage.  I’m not sure if he wants that.  He knows that it’s one of my secret desires to be able to say on Facebook that I’m in a relationship with and actually be able to say a name.  I would love more than anything to be able to tag him in my relationship status but I don’t want to alienate him.  I would love to introduce him to my friends but sometimes I feel like the third degree he’d get from them might be worse than an FBI probe and then off he’d go and I’d hate my friends who would unerringly say, “He wasn’t good for you, anyway.”

Yes I know I’m a worst case scenario kind of person but most of you know this about me already so whatever.

I’m posting this on my blog because I still don’t feel like going back to Facebook right now.  I just don’t.  I don’t know when I will.  But right now, I need for the voice in my head (Which for better or worse is and has been for awhile now, Meredith Grey) makes some of the comments I want to post turn really nasty and I don’t want to lose any friends because my views aren’t their views which will lead to a debate of why they are right and I am wrong on Facebook, So I’m not bothering.  I’m watching my Facebook slowly degrade into a highly charged political arena with a little God thrown in every now and then.

So yeah, if you wanted to know why I’m silent lately, there’s why.  I can still be reached by messenger and text.  If I don’t respond, I may be at work or just not in the right mind frame to speak.  But I’m here, I’m living.  Don’t worry for me, I’m doing enough of that on my own.  I do love you all, I just have to figure out how to be outside of my own head and shut Meredith up.

Ta.  I’ll be around.

Rotator cuff issues...

So last night was fun... I lifted a stack of Medium sheet outs and my left should screamed no.  Not just no, but NO!  NOPE!! NOT HAPPENING! Very nearly dropped the sheet outs on the floor but managed to get them back on the sheeter table because honestly, I'd be damned if I was going to have to sheet out more because I dropped them on the floor.  What followed were two hours of some of the most excruciating pain I have had to endure for the last few years.

I couldn't even raise my left arm above my head and when I did... OMG...''John wanted to send me home but what it took me about an hour to be able to say through my pain and fighting of tears was that if I couldn't stand to get the thing over my head, there was no way I could drive home.  And I was not kidding.  Hooptie has some fine points and she lets me get away with a lot of crap I should not be doing while driving her, but driving her with intense pain in one shoulder is not something she would let me do.  The trip home would have been probably similar to labor pain just up top.  And I would it would have taken me forever because I would have had to pull over onto the side of the road to cry... a lot.

Somewhere around eightish, I raised it and put enough pressure on it to get that pop that I am sometimes rewarded with if I flex it out enough and ignore the tears.  Believe me this happens about once a month, it's not something I can do every time this pain returns.  But anyway, I was rewarded with the pop and the pain almost magically dissipated for the moment.  Think... orgasmic like relief.  Yes I said that and yes I meant that.  If I had been alone in the store at that moment the sigh and moan that would have left my mouth unchecked would have made passerby think I was getting pounded in there.  But I wasn't alone and only a faint moan left my mouth.  I do have some class... I may not show it often but it's there.  But don't tell my mom or she'll think her lessons on how to be a lady stuck and I'll be expected to show class from now on.

I know it's my rotator cuff because about a month or so ago I went to an urgent care clinic and they looked at it enough to tell me it was that but they couldn't do any more because my dr was denying permission to be seen outside of her office.  But here's the funny thing... I can't get an appointment with Lewis because her office counts that as my yearly visit not a sick appointment.  I have already used my yearly visit for 2014 and will have to wait until 2015 to see her again.  Cause you know, being in a massive amount of pain for months on end isn't something that your doctor should care about when you are on medicaid.

I looked online and it said something about taking ibuprofen and naproxen to relieve swelling and pain.  I took a motrin 800 last night and was able to sleep without waking up in pain.  Usually when I pull it the wrong way, the following five or so nights result in broken sleep because I roll over on it or lift my arm above my head in my sleep and wake up immediately crying.  The fact that the night of the pain coming back full force I was able to sleep with ibuprofen means that it's not torn as badly as I thought it would be and that if I go to the er (Since Lewis is denying that this needs to be looked at )they will give me more motrin 800 or naproxen and most probably put me in a sling to keep it still.

I have been dealing with this pain for almost five months now.  To say it comes and goes would be wrong.  The pain is ALWAYS there, it just depends on how bad the pain is.  When I do something stupid like oh say... my job... and try to move a stack of sheet outs  Or try to lift a pizza from the oven (Seriously I couldn't lift the XL's to save my life last night and a works pizza... fuggetaboudit...) it comes roaring back.  Usually I'm able to hide how bad it hurts, last night I was not.

Hey, I'm not always wearing my superwoman cape... It clashes with my new Howies shirt...

So I have to get dressed and get something to eat so that I can take the motrin and or aleve.  Can you take those together?? and get to work.  The getting dressed thing is going to take the longest because of the motion over my head.  Like I said, if this pain goes into tomorrow I'm just going to say fuck it and go to the er.  I wonder if Mommy can drive me.  I will have ask her.  Or the ex I can ask the ex to take me and come back for me.

Also I just found my flixeril and I'm hoping that the muscle relaxer will take some of the edge away for tonight.  We will see.

That being said, I have three hours to get ready... Better get started.. Yay!

Stay frosty bloggers.

I can honestly say

That for the first time I think I KNOW for a fact that a manic period is about to make an appearance.  If it doesn't, I will be highly surprised.

How can I say that?  Well aside from morning sickness with my pregnancies, today was the first time that being a mother made me physically sick.

Have you ever had a premonition of foreboding?  Something that says to you, do not get up?  I had that this morning.  I knew I should get up at eight, I always get up at eight on Sunday mornings.  Except for the rare Sunday mornings that I'm not going to be going to church I am always up at eight.  This morning when my alarm went off I hit the snooze.  And I kept hitting the snooze until eight thirty.  Something said.  Don't get out of bed.  I really should have listened and told the kids forget it, I will take Omi to church and to forget it.  It probably would a good idea to not go today.  I don't know why but I just had that feeling and from the moment my feet hit the floor this morning, things went from bad to catastrophic.

First off, this kids had been up since six am.  They had to take showers. This is actually nothing new for them.  I could tell that only wash ups had been taken.  Very vigorous wash-ups, but wash ups none the less.  Second.  I got up at eight thirty.  Between seven and then no cleaning of the living room, kitchen, or dining room had been done and no eating of breakfast had been done suggesting that they had not actually gotten up at six like they were supposed to.  Olivia's excuse was that after her shower, she went back to sleep.  Translation.  She just got up.  Period.  They had also not gotten their clothes for church ready.  At ten, eleven, and twelve nearly thirteen years old, by now they already now this is to be done before breakfast, yet they looked at me with blank looks.

With an hour and  half left in the morning before we left, I commenced to getting clothes and doing Olivia's hair.  her hair I had actually planned on doing this morning so there was no hitch.  The clothes took time away from what I wanted to do to her hair so instead of curls she ended up with a stank ponytail.  Straightened, but still a stank little ponytail.

Kayla then informed me that after much banging around in her room she could not find anything to wear with the pink shirt i laid out for her.  I told her to look again.  She said okay and ten minutes later when I found her in the kitchen drinking milk and watching tv I assumed she had found her skirt and put it in the dryer with the other clothes. (I am the mom who uses her dryer as an iron... sue me) I learned long ago not to actually assume anything with my kids fr too long however and actually asked her if she found something and she casually told me no... with a smile!!!!!  A freaking smile!  I kinda cracked a little then.  Told her to get upstairs and keep  looking.  Threatened with the belt.  The boy was sitting on the couch watching cartoons while the living room looked in shambles.  Told him to clean.  HE told me it was clean.  Another crack.  This one I think was the first to reach my brain because all I saw was his sketch book.

Let me explain about the boys sketchbook.  It is full of trains.  Not trains in general.  The number 6 train in New York City.  In perspective.  It's coming.  It's going.  Here it comes.  There it goes.  There it was.  Off in the distance, here it comes.  Always the same train.  Always in perspective.  Drives me insane.  different stops along the line but always the same damn train.  He wants to live with his grandmother.  So not going to happen.  His father is not a bad guy.  Randy is actually a very good guy but only because the good guy that Randy has become is because Randy made himself.  The person that his mother raised... yeah... not very many people like that guy.  That guy is a bit of an ass and a momma's boy.  I'm sorry but he is.  The Randy that exists today, I like him.  Not enough to love him, no but I like him enough to be very good friend with him.  If my boy ever lived with his gram in NYC he would be someone I disliked because she does that to people.  She's is someone I dislike.  My sister in law, I love.  She is awesome.  How she turned out so different I have no idea but... hmmm

Anyway, I saw the sketchbook and threatened to take each page and put it in the garbage disposal.  I'm so tired of the same train in perspective.  I am also tired of their things being left downstairs.  It's bad enough their rooms look like crap, must they leave my downstairs looking the same?  I barely live outside of my room because I can't stand they way they leave my outer rooms looking.  On his way up to his room I asked him if he had everything he needed for church, he said yes.  He clearly said yes. 

So ten to ten rolls around and I say get dressed. Olivia gets dressed.  Kayla gets dressed.  I get dressed.  And we're all waiting.  The boy comes to be at 10:25 with no sock and no shoes and says he can't find his other Sunday shoe.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!  I told him he has five minutes and I quietly sit on the coffee table while he walks around the house looking for the shoe.

Now about a year ago, I built a three shelf bookcase for them to put their shoes in.  Every day/night I say to put their shoes away.  He wears his Sunday shoes one day a week.  you would think, they would would be the easiest to find but no.  Because he wears them to take out the trash, he wears them to go play, he wears them to clean out the garage.  He wears the backs down, he wears them untied, he walks on the sides of them.  He treats them like his tennis shoes.

Ad as I sat on the coffee table, all this mornings little cracks finally came together and shattered the fragile shell that I was just piecing back together after my last manic period with thankfully ended last Thursday.  And I unloaded.  I couldn't stop it. 

I remember what I said, it's not important but bloggers the worst part was I meant every word.  I'm tired of living for them.  I'm tired of being mom.  People tell me every blessed day that being a mother is a gift but at the moment I'm looking for my receipt.  I want to return them and walk out of the store with a brand new vacuum. Living for them, is killing me.  I am so busy buying snacks for them that I have nothing that I like to eat.  So busy buying food for them that I have nothing really tht I like to eat.  If I cook it, they tell me Mmmm it's so good but I open the pantry door and there it is sitting on top of the trash.  They beg me to buy stuff like Oreos and then at the first opportunity they get, they steal them instead of ask for them.  If I tell them they've had enough chicken wings and to save some for tomorrow, I look in the fridge after they've gone to bed and there's significantly more because they're nicked some and taken them up to bed.  They constantly run out of juices because on nights when they are to be having water, they are sneaking into the garage and taking lunch juices instead.  IF I say get a half a cup of water before bed, they fill it up and give me a stupid smile and say oops.  If I say clean your room, they bump and bang and pretend to clean for about thirty minutes and then swear it's clean and go outside.  Or fart around in there all day playing swearing they are cleaning.  They hang no clothes, they fold no clothes.  They lay them on the floor until they have ben walked on and trampled a sufficent amount of time for me to think that they've been worn again and wash them again.  They take my hangers into the great abyss known as th bedroom and then i never see them agsin but god forbid I go buy yet another pack of hangers and they ask for them and i say no.  Then they give me the hang dog look like I am denying the a kidney and walk away.

I can't do this anymore.  I really don't think  can.  Mother hood has no rewards that I can see.  Nothing can be worth the pain that I am going through.  Nothing...