Tuesday, September 27, 2005

So, apparantly once again those little issues in the back of my subconscious brain are squirming around looking for a way out. Lovely. I'm absolutely exhausted and I can't sleep, and I'm trying to get my brain to the point where it will calm down enough to rest. So. Maybe my life has just been going too well this past month. I've noticed that before; when everything seems like it's going smoothly and without any major issues my past says "okay, she can handle it now" and dumps a whole new load of memories on me. It wouldn't be so bad, but...

It's harder and harder to blame myself for being raped. It's harder and harder to insist that I was somehow at fault for being molested as a baby when my daughter is laying on my lap, looking at me with bright and happy eyes and smiling at me. I expect her to start laughing any minute now, and I just can't see how I, as a child of that age, could have prevented any of the crap that I went through. I've had umpteen years of therapy on these things. How is it possible that I failed to really understand any of this until now?

Any day now I'm going to get another letter in the mail from my estranged father. And the nightmares will only get worse, and I'll only get more tired. The nights will only get longer over the next several weeks, and I'm going to get progressively crankier. Somehow I'm going to get through this one more time, and it'll only make me stronger for the next round.

But still. It sucks. It sucks most suckfully. Today I was talking to a woman who shares some of my diagnoses, and she said that her shrink has just told her that she's doomed to be a career mental patient and never have a good relationship, because she's so nuts. That she'll abuse her husband and her kids until they won't be able to be around her, because that's just the nature of the illness. I used to think that. Then I decided that hell no, I wasn't going to be doomed like that. So I worked my ass off in therapy and I worked my ass off in my relationship and now I have a happy and decent marriage to a good man.

But this chronic PTSD shit- it keeps me up at nights. That's something else altogether, and comes with it's own warning label. And my shrinks tell me that I can't cure it, because there is no cure for it, and the best I can do is learn to live successfully with it. Like a fatal disease in remission. Not so bad, I guess, except in those awful long nights when I'm scared to close my eyes because I know what's waiting in the darkness for me.
I'm just scared.

Monday, September 26, 2005

There are times when I curse my ability to view situations from both angles. This was never so clear as the other evening when I got mildly buzzed on a small glass of sherry, and thought to myself, "I wish I lived back in the days of Mother's Little Helpers". Of course the devil's advocate in my brain immediately piped up and said "no you wouldn't, because you'd get hooked on valium or some other nifty substance, and neglect Tiffany, and you'd never forgive yourself for that." Which is true. But after a stressful evening filled with fussing and cranky, teething baby, when she had been tucked up soundly in her crib for the night and I finally let all that tension out of my body- man, I could really relate to someone wanting that sort of feeling all the time. Wouldn't it be so much more relaxing to be able to have that floating feeling of no anxiety or an entire day of not worrying about how I'm going to get all the household chores done?

I really shouldn't be bitching about this now. I'll save the bitching for the next time my husband's deployed, when I don't have the luxury of taking an evening off and getting a little buzz like that in the happy knowledge that if Tiffany needs something he'll take care of it. I'll save the bitching and whining for when he's not around and I've got no safety net, and I dream of those Little Helpers on the hard evenings.

In the meantime, my Little Helper will be the way that Tiffany's head smells, all fresh and soft and clean when she's nuzzled up under my chin, half asleep after a bottle and sucking on her chubby little fist. That moment is worth going through all the fussy moments in the rest of the week.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

I was laying in bed last night and thinking about this site. I felt bad because I hadn't written much lately, what with being away from the internet for a while and all... but then I thought what the hell. It's not likely that many people read it in any case. --Hi, if you're reading this-- waving arms wildly. My little girl is nearly mobile now. What the fuck? It seems like just a little while ago that she was a little baby buritto in the NICU, and I was freaking out over her coming home one day. Now she's sprawled out, completely in charge of the middle of the rug, and guarding her prop&play like it's a snow fort. Yeah, the VCR is really going to attack her suddenly... She's tired. She's teething. She's not willing to lay down and take a nap today. For some unbeknownst reason, every bottle I've made her today has gone bad in less than an hour. Not good. Maybe it's the heat? Maybe the fridge is losing it's chill power?

I know that I have to clean the fridge again before it turns into a science experiment to rival Dr Frankenstein's Creation. There are leftovers in there that are so old I don't remember what month I cooked them in. There is a mushy half-cut onion that is starting to smell through the plastic bag. I don't want to discuss the state of the sour cream. It's not so much that I shove stuff in there and forget about it, it's more that I shove stuff in there and then selectively forget that it's there, and I'll see it and plan on throwing it out fifteen times before I finally do that.

I did manage to start budgeting better, and hopefully I can get back to running this household on less than $80/month for groceries. It's not that I have to do it that tight right now, but it makes me feel better about myself for some odd reason. The genetic ghosts of my pennsylvania dutch and scotch-irish forebears are beginning to surface. Before I know it, I'll be adopting the plain dress and covering, just like I thought about doing at a particularly bad part of the pregnancy. Wouldn't that make my husband rip out what's left of his hair?

Friday, September 23, 2005

back from vacation and everything is still going...

I saw a quote the other month and it keeps running through my head right now. "Where am I going, and how did I get in this handbasket?" Very appropriate. Tomorrow is my 2nd wedding anniversary. It's odd; because it feels like we've been together all our lives. I really can't remember how I ever lived my life without my Sailor in it. Tonight we split up the cranky baby-wrangling, and I took the second part. Now she's sound asleep and I'm treating myself to a small glass of sherry. Because I haven't had any in months, and I guess I've earned it today. Things are coming together. The depression isn't so bad this week, and my health isn't so bad, and I'm getting more rest at night which lets me face the day easier, and thus happier all around. I've got more energy to play with the little one, and then she naps better and sleeps better, and she's happier. Which makes me happier. Let the cycle commence!

Soon now I think I can get back into writing again. If I can just find the time /wince. I'm spending too much time getting my house back in order. But I did manage to save a lot of money between costco and sales this week, and that makes my life even happier. For some reason it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to run a house on very little money. And with what we save, we can do fun stuff every month.