A random, eclectic mix of thoughts, feelings, observations, and experiences – LIFE

Posts tagged ‘sad’

Crying the Parking Lot

I’m a crazy lady. This post comes to you from the driver’s seat of the car I’m using. I’m sitting in the parking lot of a restaurant, crying. Really. You know why?

1. I had some not-so-nice thoughts last night. I realized that I don’t have much support in my life. I was used to it, but then people came along, and I trusted them. Against my better judgment. It was better when I had walls up. I did everything on my own, needed no support, and definitely needed no approval or congratulations. I’m headed back in that direction. This way makes no sense. I do not deal well with disappointment. I refuse to talk to people who will use my words as ammunition. Against ME. I do not need anyone to tell me what I can and can’t do. I don’t need to be belittled or put down. I don’t need negativity in my life. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m too afraid to make things happen (by the way, all the evidence says the opposite). Or that I will not wake up at the time I say I will. Or that a relationship with me is “trying.” Or that I have too many goals. Or that I’m not smart enough. Or good enough. To hell with everyone and their wretched negativity toward me and my goals. Screw them all. I WILL do whatever I want, whenever I want. However I see fit. And I do NOT see the need to talk about it. It just gives people more to throw in my face. I’m not having it. Not when I know that I am capable of doing what I want. And capable up living in my own little world with 20 foot walls up, all around. Is it the healthiest way to live? Maybe not. But emotional abuse isn’t healthy either. I had enough of it when I was a child, and now, as a grown-ass woman, I will not allow it.

2. I forgot my lunch at home.

3. I ordered lunch at work. Clearly, no one got my email. My lunch was not ordered.

4. Woman at work sent me a ridiculous accusatory email. Shortest version I can tell: I went to her for a cheque (which I emailed her about). She waved me around because she was on a call. I called someone else for permission to pay cash b/c the messenger is in a rush and waiting only on me. (he was doing me a huge favour seeing that he wasn’t supposed to be on the road at all today.) We need to pay for, pickup and deliver something urgent that I only found out about this morning. I’m thinking I solved the problem. She emailed me to “come get the cheque and get things organized.” I reply that I sent cash after getting authorization. Reply: “It would have been nice if you had told me so I wouldn’t write the cheque.” Oh. First of all, the messenger came for the cash right as a scheduled call came through. An overseas call. I was dealing with the call while dealing with him, and he even ended up calling me while I was on the other call. I really couldn’t send an email right then. There is more (expaining why I didn’t/couldn’t), but whatever.)

5. I drove to the restaurant to get what I ordered for my damn self. Of course, they’re all out. I don’t want anything left on the menu. So I walk back to the car. CRYING. My breaking point was a spicy pulled chicken wrap with black beans not being available for my lunch.

This sucks. I LIKE Mondays. *wipes tears* I will be fine. I will find something to have for lunch, and I will be fine. I just really needed to get that out.

I hope your week is off to a great start! 🙂

EDIT: I am now back in my office, after some fresh air. I am currently putting a hurtin’ on a footlong turkey breast sandwich from Subway. I also got a Coke and a chocolate chip cookie. Because I can. And I deserve it. 🙂

Therapy Post

Never too many flowers for Grammy. The wreaths completely covered her grave. But we'll keep her memory uncovered. Never to be forgotten.

It’s been a while, I know. I’ve had quite a rough time. I would like for it to end. I really thought that Saturday would bring it to a close, and I would go to sleep, and magically, on Sunday morning, all would be right with the world. No.such.luck. I woke up, yes. But nothing was right. I felt out of it. I still had a killer headache. I curled up on the couch and just slept. I read a little, but mostly? I just slept. I woke up when it was past the time that I should have been on the road, on my way to the weekly FamJam. I refused to be early. I didn’t want anyone to talk about it.

I didn’t want to hear how beautiful the service was. I didn’t want anyone to mention how “good” she looked. How good could she look, laying in a box? I mean, there’s no denying that she was a beautiful woman. Beyond beautiful. But don’t insult me. Or her. Don’t say she looked good, laying there, dead, in a really expensive, beautiful box. No. I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear people tease about how my mother went up with her twin brother to read a responsive prayer, but didn’t actually read anything. I didn’t want anyone to jest about anything. It was a funeral. It was somber. It was a rough time for everyone. There is really no need to rehash it.

I didn’t want anyone to comment on the fact that a lot of dignitaries were present. My uncle is kind of a big deal here, so yes, ministers of the gospel and ministers of government departments were there. I didn’t want people to say how good the Prime Minister looked for a change. Or how nice it was for the Deputy Prime Minister to attend, although he was on crutches. Or how the political divide was absent as the leader of the Opposition was also there. I didn’t want anyone to go on and on about how respected my uncle must be, to have so many people in their uniforms there, in support of him. Or my sister’s coworkers who were also there in a large number, uniformed. Or my mother’s friends who were not in uniform, but were there, nonetheless. They were there to help me from the graveside to the car. To tell me that things would be okay. To remind me to be strong for my mother. To give warm hugs. To assure me that I could call them any time. How kind, to be there for her, and for me too. How kind. What true friends.

I wanted to hear no talk of the beautiful solos. That lady really sang. She saaang. Like there would be no tomorrow. The words she sand penetrated my body, and seemed to fight to get out of my system, but they were trapped, and my body shook. I didn’t want anyone to bring it to my recollection. I didn’t want to think about it, or experience it again. The way I cried with no control. I didn’t want to hear, even in my mind’s ear, the sounds that escaped my mouth. Knowing that I’ve never cried like that before. Not at a funeral. I’m accustomed to crying quietly. No one around me would ever know I was crying unless they saw my tear-stained face. But not that day. That day, people saw the vibrations of pain and grief move my body, beyond my control. People heard the sounds of anguish and struggle exit my mouth, surprising even me. When that lady sang the second solo, I could have curled up and died. Great is thy faithfulness? Who’s faithfulness? Who was more faithful than my Grammy? WHO?! GOD?! God has been faithful in watching and letting us suffer through her illness with her, and taking her away from us, leaving us to continue to suffer without her. Yes, she’s out of it now. But only after immense pain. Maybe she was holding on for us? I don’t know… Maybe His faithfulness is great. I just know that hearing her sing about it… It was almost too much for me to take. I saw my mother, two rows ahead of me, shake, similar to the way that I shook. I saw my father wipe his face with a handkerchief. I remembered that Great is Thy Faithfulness was my grandfather’s (his father’s) favourite song. A priest sang it at his funeral. And the church became a forest of waterfalls.

I didn’t want to fall victim to looks of pity. Or questions like, “How are you doing?” Especially knowing that it was written on my face. My swollen, red eyes told the story of my day. My constant squinting was evidence of the seemingly eternal headache. My tight mouth was an indication of the fight I was in, against myself, to keep from crying. My nose, red and chapped… My hair, unkempt. My dress, unthought of. My legs, unlotioned. How was I doing? As well as a pauper on the street, perhaps?

For all those reasons and more, I refused to go early. I ate in a rush and left the table. Avoiding all conversation. All questions. All eyes. I left. I curled myself up on the couch, and mindlessly watched television. Dragons Den came on. I was pleased. Something that I could watch with the right amount of thoughtfulness and the right amount of thoughtlessness. I watched two episodes. Then there was nothing. I moved into the room without a television. I curled up on the couch with my new nook and read a little. My mother’s friends came to visit her. How nice! I wondered to myself, Will I ever have friends like hers? (Can you tell? I don’t have many friends. At all. There are just a few. I figure I have a lot of family, so no need to pile my life up with useless people. I choose friends carefully.) They drove all this way (my great-grandmother’s house is rather far) to come and see her. They brought her one of those giant greeting cards. Everyone from work signed it, along with nice little messages, telling her they missed her, and hoped to see her back to work soon, and that she needed to get well soon. (This card was not one of sympathy, but a Get Well Soon card, from she was out sick.) Along with the card came a letter-sized envelope. Cash. They took up a collection. I didn’t count it, and at the point, I don’t think she had either. Maybe they told her how much it was. After greeting them, I didn’t pay attention to their conversation. But I’m sure it’s enough to cover her next round of medication. Blessings. Finally. A reason to smile. A little less stress for her. And for me.

I was ready to go home long before it was time. I left my laundry in the washer. I couldn’t take it any more. I was ready.to.go. I got about halfway home before the tears started coming. I found myself intrigued by the way the tears dripped and dropped. Down the sides of my nose, around my mouth, and then DROP. Right onto my chest. They didn’t roll down my chin, down my neck to my chest. They just dropped. Like a jumper off of a cliff. That’s the way I wished my emotions would act. Just jump off of a cliff, never to be seen again. Over the edge, to the point of no return. Instead, they stuck around. Possibly driving me to the edge. Lord knows that if I take the plunge, there won’t be any return. I see the edge. It’s in sight. But I just.can’t.go.there. There would be no turning back.

I hope everyone is having a great week so far. I’m working at keeping busy. Lots going on at work. I haven’t been able to read any blogs. WP wouldn’t let them load. Lots of catching up to do. Those of you who miss my comments, I have not abandoned or unfollowed you. WP has been punishing me. I’ll be back. If you’ve seen any cool/fun/funny posts that I may have missed, please leave links. I could really use some good reads for my spare time. Many thanks!

Happy Holidays?

Hey Bloggedies,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? It’s not that I haven’t had things to say. There’s been lots to talk about. At some point, I’ll catch you up on things that still matter by the time that I have the time. And the presence of mind. I also need to catch up on the lives and writings of my favourite bloggers. It will take me a while, but I’ll read up on all of your Christmas and post-Christmas excitement and adventures.

The holidays have been difficult. This is the worst holiday season I have ever experienced. I’ve had over a month of stress and drama.

I can’t think of many positive things. Just one really big one that I can’t talk about (yet). The thing that’s heavy on my mind is that my grandmother died. Yesterday morning. I am so sad that I can’t even put it into words. I’m glad that I got to talk to her, and we got some good laughs earlier in the week. I’m glad that I had the week off, and I was able to spend time at her house, waiting to see her. She slept a lot, so it was a waiting game. I’m glad she’s out of that horrible pain. It was terrible. Just to watch. But it’s over now. It’s only for selfish reasons that I’m sad. And also that I find it hard to see my mother this way. It’s really hard. *sighs*

I’m stuck at my aunt’s now. I’ve been keeping mum company. The car broke down yesterday. Right when my mother was on the phone crying, telling me to come right away. It went to the mechanic today. Got a new part. It’s still not working. Great. So now here I sit, waiting for a way to get home. I think my dad will come get me when the restaurant closes. Doesn’t look like it’ll be a busy night, so I’ll lay around until about 9:30pm. I wanna get home in time to order some pizza and chillax with my Babe. My happy place. Home.

Is This Hell?

Sad. Confused. Lost. Useless. Helpless. Tired.

This seems like a good time to warn my regular readers. This isn’t my usual Happy Monday or WHOOP-DEE-DOO! Life! stuff. I’m going through something. You may not want to read this post. It’s a bit much.

I am exhausted. These past few weeks have been torturous. I feel like this is a little bit of hell. I mean, really. If there is a hell, it doesn’t mind coming to earth. When it comes to earth, it visits people. It’s the guest that was never invited, and doesn’t ever want to leave. Apparently, it’s my turn to house it. Hell.

My mother had a multiple sclerosis crisis a few weeks ago. She was in the hospital for two weeks. She’s now staying at my grandaunt’s. I’m glad that she is now able to walk with a 4-prong cane instead of the friggin’ walker. And she’s moving much faster. She still has to pace herself. She can’t do too much. It seems that she’s getting better, and will make a full (but slow) recovery. This is fine. For now.

Mother was discharged on Monday. I believe it was Thursday that my grandmother was admitted. Seriously?! All I could think was, Seriously, can this stop now?! Apparently not. Things just keep getting worse. There was a family meeting last night. Really, it was my mother and her siblings. Plus my sisters. They weren’t invited, really. But they were there. Everyone needed to be told what was going on. I think my uncle was the only one who knew. And maybe my aunt. The other 5 brothers didn’t. Actually, one of the brothers is in New York with his daughter who just had a baby. I guess he still doesn’t know.

My uncle is the primary contact and my mother is the secondary contact (that the doctors have for my grandmother). The doctor couldn’t reach my uncle yesterday morning, so they called my mother. She called my sister to take her to the hospital. They needed her to sign the discharge form. They went on to explain things. Things my mother knew nothing about. But she pretended. She wanted to get more information, so she kept saying the “Yes, yes, okay” stuff but all she really wanted to do was scream. I talked to her this morning. She still wants to scream.

They’ve decided to keep things quiet. Everyone knows that Grammy has been having problems breathing lately. About 2 years ago, they had to get her an oxygen tank. Her shortness of breath was crazy. It’s still crazy. And not getting better. Sometimes, it seems like she has to fight to catch a breath between her words. Even talking is difficult now. There’s some type of pulmonary fibrosis and something-something else. That’s the story everyone has agreed to stick to. There will be no mass dissemination of new information. It’s scary. That word. That one word with six letters. Everyone dreads it. No one thinks it will happen to them, or anyone close to them. Least of all, their 80-something year old grandmother. The sweetest lady in the world.

Last night sucked. I find out this stuff from my mum and then I drove home. To an empty house. Babe was out, hosting a thing. I couldn’t bug her. I still wanted to speak to her. Just to say, “Hello,” and maybe possibly send some sort of wordless message that I needed her. Not that it would have done me any good. She was busy. So I sat on the couch. I stared at the wall. There was no music. She had the computer and the iPod with her. I didn’t know what to do. I got my new book. I didn’t feel like reading. I didn’t even open it. I text messaged a friend. A good one. Vanessa. I didn’t want to lay my burdens down, so I just kinda said, “Hey, whassup?” We chatted randomly. Then she asked about my mum. I told her. About my grandmother. And that I really wanted to go for a drive, but it was far too dark and sketchy. She offered to come get me, but I declined. It would have been too much. Too far for her to drive. And for what? To be stuck in a car with me? I couldn’t do that to her. Plus Babe went out with no keys. I couldn’t leave. I wanted to have a hot shower. But I couldn’t. What if she came home? I got no answers to my phone calls or text messages. I was pissed that I had no idea when she’d be back, or even if she was okay. No communication. That always pisses me off, but I was really on another level last night. The day and night just sucked. And it was no one’s fault.

I didn’t even have feelings. I was just numb. I sat there. With thought. Thoughts. Too many of them. Lungs. Liver. Spleen. Hospital. The unspeakable word. Quality of life. Future. Stupid, stupid Christmas. Eventually, I got a notepad. I scribbled some words. When I was done, I rested it down. Then, all of a sudden, I felt. And it was a lot. I cried like I don’t remember ever crying in my life. It was like I couldn’t breathe. I could get no air. It was horrible. I wondered if that’s how my grandmother feels when she talks to us. I told myself that I deserved it. To feel that way. That I was too selfish. Too mean. Too focused on ME, ME, ME. Babe was right when she said it in her own way. I was right to hate myself a little bit more than usual. I was a terrible person who was not nice. Maybe I caused this. Maybe, somehow, my overall crappiness as a person caused this. Maybe I’m the link. I’m the one bringing all these enormous heaps of awful to the people around me. It was me. And I cried. And then I saw the selfishness in that. I was pitying myself.

Babe called, finally. She said she was 10 minutes away. I took that time to go in the shower. Of course, 3 minutes later, the doorbell rang. Out of the shower and onto a towel, I shuffled across the floor to unlock the door, and then back to the shower. I finished up. I calmed myself. Straight to bed, I went.

I’m exhausted. Did I mention that? I can’t seem to catch myself. No matter how much I sleep, I’m not feeling rested. At all. This has to be more than a physical exhaustion. Mental and emotional too, I bet. There is too much happening. Too fast.

What will tomorrow bring? Hell. What will the next MINUTE bring? I have no idea. I don’t even know if I have any hope left. *puts hands in pockets, and takes them out. Empty*

Rough Day

Rough day, y’all. I spent a lot of time trying to decide whether or not I should post about it. I ended up in between the two, so I’m going to be kind of vague. By the end of this post, I may spill all of the beans. You may piece it all together, depending on the way that I say what I say. Clearly, I have no idea how I’m going to do this yet. I AM going to do it though. Therapy.

  • I’m not talking about this with the appropriate party because it’s futile, and likely only to serve in making me a lot more upset than I already am. That annoys me to start with.
  • It is completely inappropriate, random, and stupid for a person to demand (or even request) that someone else MAKE and BRING them something to eat. Seriously?! Who ARE you?! You take that type of request to a parent, spouse, life partner, or personal chef. What.the.eff?! If someone asked that of me, I would let them know, straight up, that it’s not my job, it’s not okay to ask me something like that, AND making a meal for someone is a very personal, intimate thing. You don’t just make sandwiches for random people working in your building, or casual acquaintances.
  • If someone with a husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend ever made and delivered food to me, I’d question their relationship. Not gonna lie. I’d wonder if the significant other was aware, and how he/she felt about it.
  • People only treat us the way we allow them to treat us. People learn from the way we interact with them how to interact with us. Really, we train people to deal with us. We reap what we sow.
  • Somehow, I pick up things about people. Sense things. Nothing freaky. I just know in an instant whether or not a person is genuine, sort of. I can’t really explain it. Anyway. I’ve never been wrong about it. There have been times when I’ve ignored it for whatever reason, and got kicked in the bum. I know a freak/weirdo/extra-need person when I met one.
  • Yesterday, I ordered a loaf of bread from one of the restaurants that deliver here. Olive loaf. I figured Babe would love it. She loooves olives. $8 for a loaf, y’all. $8. I figure it would be worth it because she’d really enjoy it, just like we enjoyed the $8 asiago loaf I got last week.
  • There are a lot of things that I have not done and would never do because I refuse to disrespect myself, Babe, or our relationship. I know that the people in the relationship set the standard. Everyone else just falls in line/follows suit. That’s the way it is.
  • I turned down a ride home from someone because I know it’s someone Babe isn’t comfortable with, and doesn’t like knowing is around (or in contact with) me. I found alternatives. Why do something that obviously makes her uncomfortable?! And, I mean, for WHAT?! What would be the purpose of that? For her to feel every single minute that I’m stuck in box with the person on the way home? No. Not happening.
  • I hate it when I express my point of view on something, and the person makes me feel like my feelings are not valid. Or my thoughts are crazy. Or I’m some extra sinister, cynical, horrible person. Or I’m frickin’ crazy. Especially when I really do my best to validate their feelings, and be understanding of points of view. We all know that all emotions and all thoughts are not rational, and we won’t share them all. Does that give us the right to disrespect or ignore those that are not in alignment with our own?
  • It really bothers me that this has been bothering me for the ENTIRE day, even though I’ve been actively trying to put it out of my mind (except for the time I spent wondering if I should post about it).
  • This isn’t a conversation that’s going to be finished later. It’s not something I intend to bring up again. Meaning today, or any other day.
  • I haaate when I have those 13-year-old-rebellious-young-person moments when I wanna do something just to prove a point. I refuse to give in to that inclination. I will NOT.
  • I fell behind in some work things. I’m disappointed in myself. I could barely look at my work peeps in a meeting today. I really could have cried a few times in those 2 hours, honestly. They didn’t get upset with me or anything. I just felt like I could have had more to offer today.
  • I haz a sad.
  • I sort of don’t wanna do anything this weekend (any more). Weird, I know.

It’s Thankful Thursday. I need to be thankful. I will in my next post. I was supposed to post pictures of my Denmark goodies today. I don’t feel like. Maybe tomorrow (again)? We’ll see. I’m gonna do Thankful Thursday. Just as soon as I’ve sat on the floor in the corner of my office and had a moment. I’ll wash my face and pat it dry like it’s a new day, come to my computer, put in some work, and be THANKFUL. Stay tuned for that one.

When you’re expressing the way that you feel, how important is it that the person you’re confiding in understands you? Do you necessarily need someone to agree with you when you’re upset about something? How do you get past something that you can’t/won’t address? I know you may be lost with my bullet points, but from what you can tell, am I being a crazy person? Do you think that meal-sharing is intimate?