9 posts tagged “family”
I've been gone. It's been bad.
There was a relationship. And a break up. A bad, bad, bad... bad, bad, baaad break up. And lots of drinking. There was also moving twice, and losing two family members, and getting another tattoo, and a couple more piercings, and losing a couple piercings, and spraining an ankle, and having a birthday, and making new friends, and honestly - no, honestly - laughing more often then crying.
Maybe I'll do this again. The vox, I mean. Definitely not doing the last six months again.
While on holiday vacation in Philadelphia, went with my brother and favorite cousin to the Dark Horse Tavern on South and 2nd. After several drinks, he decided to make up a shooter. My cousin came up with the name first: Virgin Monkey Anus. Then we decided on the components: it had to be tropical, somewhat creamy, a little brown, and completely disgusting; I suggested Malibu (coconut rum), my cousin added Bailey's, and my brother finished it up with Jack Daniel's whiskey.
Here's the before, during, and after. Especially love the looks on my brother's face (far right), and how unaffected my cousin (middle) seems to be. (Fun fact: In the third shot, it's coming out my nose.)
Joy is waking up to find Lula has snuck under the covers while I was sleeping and has her face next to mine, snoring softly.
It's love, knowing that she wanted to be near me; that she wrestled to get under the covers and next to my body; that she tucked her nose under my chin; that she puts her paw on my arm when I go to get up out of bed.
For some reason, the last four nights I've woken up at four a.m. on the dot. Ka-ree-hee-pee. I've also been dreaming about wandering inside tall, old, dark buildings.
Gordon ended up going to the ER last night too, after a bike messanger who'd been hit by cars 30 times warned him about slipped discs and whatnot. He was most concerned about his elbow, since he's a musician and it would affect his ability to continue playing. They took X-Rays and he's fine. What a stud.
I, however, waited seven hours to see a doctor and only when the agoraphobia kicked in (what with all the people running around, the screaming baby, the angry yelling guy, the meth head who thought she was at an NA meeting, the nurses talking about zombie movies, etc) and I tearfully told the psych nurse to just "give me my f*cking medicine so I can go home." There was a Brazilian tourist who came in for Xanax (Xanax! ZAN-f*cking-AXE!) and she was in and out with her meds in three hours. Wish I'd known asking for the good stuff was the ticket to speedy service - because I love nothing more than a shot of Atavan.
Instead, we have Lady Sovereign.
My brother Gordon was hit by a car last night while riding his bike in Cambridge, but is doing okay. It was dark and rainy and sans sidewalk so instead of riding in the street he tried to get on an MBTA bus, but the bus had no bike rack and the driver wouldn't let him take it on board. Riding home, a car driver didn't see him, struck him from behind and apparently (according to what our half-asleep mom was able to tell me this morning) the bike swung around, he flew off and onto the hood of the car. Because God likes my brother (as well He should), an ambulance was driving by at that f-ing moment and stopped: Gordon has no head injury nor broken bones - just a serious injury to the knee that took the brunt of the hit - and declined to go to the hospital. I'm hoping to go see him tonight. After I go find that bus driver and shove the remants of my bro's bike up his ass.
In other news, my depression has been getting progressively worse over the last couple months... probably because I wasn't taking the full dose of my medication because I was trying to stretch it out as long as possible because I don't have health insurance and the meds cost $385 for a month's supply. I'm almost out, and called the DMH. Apparently, Massachusetts takes their policy of universal healthcare for every resident actually seriously, and I'm supposed to go to an ER with pay stubs and proof of residency and say "I have depression and panic disorder; I make less than $19,000 a year; I have no health insurance, am out of my meds, and this close to banging my head against a wall until my skull cracks." Okay, well, I wasn't instructed to say that last part, but let's mess with the hospital staff anyway. They'll sign me up for MassHealth Universal and give me meds on the spot. Thank you Massachusetts for helping take care of me.
In summation, today's to-do list is: crazy (literally!) fun at the emergency room; remnants of bicycle up bus driver's ass; big hug to little brother.
From Dooce
I have become depressed again. Almost as depressed as I was two years ago when I had to check myself into the hospital, and it has everything to do with stress, recent stress that has threatened to change and devastate our lives. I have often described depression as the complete inability to cope with stress, and although I think my own depression is manageable with medication — medication that I am still taking every day — it tends to flare up in a debilitating way when I’m thrust into very stressful situations. I keep trying to claw my way up out of this, but for the last month I have found it almost impossible to make it through the day without putting my face into a pillow and screaming until I cannot sense the world around me.
You deserve better than this, better than the look of absolute desperation I carry in my eyes all day long. I should be more playful, should sing more songs, color more pictures, but I’m sometimes afraid that if I attempt any of these things you will see through it and know that I am lying. Right now I can’t see the world in anything but shades of very pale gray. I had hoped that I would never find myself this low again — I would not wish this crushing emptiness on my worst enemy — but now that I am here I’m not quite sure what to do this time, except trust that you and your father will stick by me, will be here when I do feel better.
Two years ago, I became dangerously ill and my then-husband said, "I didn't sign up for this" (guess he missed that part in the vows about "in sickness and in health") and it cemented more than a decade of fears about my depression and my personal relationships. Usually I hermit - something that would be impossible when one has children - and hide away; when I was twenty, my best friend would show up in the middle of the night if she hadn't heard from me in a week just to make sure I was still alive and ticking. It's the worst thing: knowing that sometimes the depression will unavoidably, uncontrollably flare-up; knowing it won't be fair to my loved ones; fearing they will go away because of it, and not being able to blame them.
Let's make a list. What are 20 things in your life that you're grateful for?
Inspired by wyndslash.vox.com.
I never do the Question of the Day, but this is a good one. I have Major Depression, peppered with some anxiety issues, and there have been a couple times through the years when I've come undone. There were times when I'd wake up in the morning and the first thing I'd do is count all the things for which I'm grateful. There were times when that list was what kept me from stabbing myself in the face.
Here's right now's off-the-cuff list of Things That Prevent the Crazed Face-Stabbing:
1. Lula Dog, always.
2. Finally having the strength to end my marriage.
3. Good friends like Jill, Cynthia, Marc, Jennifer.
4 Family who are proud of me and who never think I'm a screw up no matter how bad I screw up.
5 Zombies aren't real.
6 No, seriously, the fact that the world is zombie-free. Sans zombies.
7 Red tulips and purple irises.
8 Japanese horror films.
9. That no matter how bad the cut, hair always grows back.
10 Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network.
11. Cadbury Creme Eggs
12. Again, let me emphasize how awesome it is that zombies don't exist. You have no freakin' idea.
13. I've been fortunate enough to see and experience so many different places in this country, and meet so many amazing and diverse people.
14. City Point in South Boston
15. South Street in Philadelphia
16. I survived college and actually got that degree.
16. I've never gone more than three months without sex since I was 18 years-old.
17. Those moments when I first hear a songbird in the spring.
18. I still have full use of all my appendages.
19. My art - however amateur and recreational.
20. That the cop yesterday only gave me a ticket for not having my registration card on hand, and let the expired inspection slide.
Bad idea: a lot of alcohol, Ani Difranco, and tear-inducing family photos.
Good idea: hour long, long-distant phone conversation with equally intoxicated best friend.
Possibly disasterous idea: consuming more alcohol and cutting own hair while watching zomie horror flicks.
Holy crap, I need more friends.
I haven't slept in 42 hours and I'm not even tired. That's probably not a good sign. At least I'm painting.
Henry Rollins said, "Sleep deprivation makes everything really neat."
