I can’t keep all these balls in the air forever. I’m going to lose my mind. I’m tracking so many disparate things with regards to the remodel, like how many people I have to keep track of and talk to: new contractors, old contractors, lawyer, engineer, evaluator for arbitration, roofing company and companies for ordering parts. That’s a lot of keeping folks organized. We should sit down and write up more for the lawyer this weekend. Sigh.
My medical stuff sucks. I’m tracking a lot of appointments and a lot of kinds of medication. I start first thing in the morning and have a growing-in-intensity night time routine and stuff I have to do in the middle of the day. Taking care of my body is kind of a job and this isn’t even including exercise, meditation, or eating/bathing/general body care. Oh god.
Death sounds so restful.
Homeschooling continues on. Both kids are making dramatic progress scholastically lately. Eldest Child has erupted onto the reading scene and Youngest Child said, “Hey I don’t want to be left behind” so I think that the kiddo will be caught up soon. Handwriting is improving in a variety of ways. The form is neater, the lines are straighter, and the content is growing so fast I can’t keep track of what she knows.
Younger Kiddo doesn’t want to write yet. I’m told “I’ll start when I’m seven.” Ok. I’m down.
I sure as heck didn’t make your sibling start before she was ready and look at her go. She has caught up on years of school work progress in about three months. I would guess that at the beginning of seven she could write on par with the average kindergarden graduate. At this point her writing looks second/third grade. I think she caught herself up. I haven’t tried to formally evaluate her to count the word rate or anything and I’m not an elementary school expert… but based on the standards and her content… she’s plugging along.
It’s really cool to watch.
Noah and I are touching a lot all day long. We are trying to reestablish our bond. I can feel why he was so anxious. No, I didn’t really do this when I came back from the road trip. Yeah. I am just coming home. That’s gotta suck.
Who am I and what can I be? I don’t know.
Who am I allowed to be?
I think I figured out the last bit of transportation I was worried about with regards to the upcoming trip. I found a very economical way to get the ten of us around. No problem. I think I was sorta hoping someone else would do the scouting but they are busy as fuck too. So I did it because I wanted a better idea of how to handle this.
I’m not going to show up in Florida with a group of ten and try to wing it on transportation. We’ll end up spending an insane amount of money. Nope.
I’ve had an interesting thought lately about why folks don’t like white men. They pay for everything. They have the money. So everyone resents the shit out of them. Because when someone is paying for you, you don’t generally appreciate it you resent the fuck out of it. It’s not just white men though. It’s anyone who pays. But in terms of overall society… white men have the most money. Period. So it’s mostly them. This is occurring to me as I am the one who can pay now. I’m hated for it too.
I think that has to be ok.
I have reached a point in life where I have an obscene amount of privilege and money. It’s ok that people hate me for that. I understand. It isn’t about me. It is about how fucking unfair this life is. It is that I am a fucking bitch and I don’t deserve to have an easier/better life than anyone else.
It’s ok to hate me because things are easier for me than they are for someone else. That’s ok.
Even if it hurts me. Clearly I am not the person who matters in this exchange. I get that. I actually do. There are ways in which I can lean into that and ways in which I need to just stand still and let you do your thing. Because I’m not going to fuck up my life such that I lose the money and power I’ve acquired. Oh hell no.
I’m as selfish as the next.
I’m going to squirrel that shit away. I’m going to get more of it if I fucking can. I’m going to continue to invest. I’m going to continue to try and accrue a fortune that will keep me and Noah safe come what may in the future. I owe my provider that because he has provided so god damn well. I could squander the money. I could give it all away and damn us.
You know who won’t help me in the future? The folks who fucking hate me because I’ve had this period of time having more than them. I’m going to be on my own.
I won’t be on my own. I’ll have Noah. And…. yeah that boy was born with fucking privilege and an attitude and an ability to acquire more privilege. God damn white men.
I swear I didn’t pick him for that. I didn’t know where he really came from until after he asked me to marry him. He’s smart.
Noah started off in a better-than-average place and then he had ten years of being married to me with me kicking him to do better. He’s tripled his salary in ten years. Our net worth has… I think more than tripled. We are a good damn team. Neither of us could do apart what we do together. We work very symbiotically.
I don’t stay because of the money though. I just want to be realistic about it. I want to figure out how *I* think I should behave because of the money. I don’t want to be unthinking. I’m ok with being an asshole. I just want to do it on purpose instead of through unconscious behaviors.
I stay because of how he listens to me. I know that I get very angry when the talking doesn’t create the changes I want (ahem) which isn’t… fair? Appropriate? I don’t think I explode all over the place when I don’t get my way on minor matters. I am pretty darn sure I’m flexible about most things.
Not my cunt. Not ever again.
It’s so complicated.
Shiny change of topic: my garden is gorgeous. This is by far the most beautiful year my back yard has ever had. I fall more in love with my sanctuary by the day. And I’m not spending very much time out there because I’m working inside. Life is Not Fair.
Apparently being told I’m not allowed to direct energy outside the house is what needed to happen to get back to reading. In the past threeish weeks I’ve read six, seven books? Fiction and nonfiction. Some rereads, some new.
Three on ADD. I’m convinced my whole house has it. Why has this never hit my radar before?!
I’ve typed this super slowly. I shouldn’t be typing at all. Not being on Twitter sucks. I feel existentially lonely. But also relieved. I took Hangouts off my phone so I’m only sms typing. That’s helping.
I have a gorgeous milkweed plant this year. So I’m sharing seeds with neighbors. My neighbors all seem to be very happy I’m back and they wish I was feeling more sociable with them. Ugh and urf. I love you all.
I’m so tired.
Why can’t I sleep? My body just felt icki. Anxious and fussy. I’m sad and I’m not.
I am thinking about my sister all the time. I saw her in a restaurant recently. Both of us had prepared plates of food before we saw one another so neither of us walked out. We just carefully looked at the floor instead of making eye contact.
She lives in an RV and rides a motorcycle. She’s aged a lot. She looks 20-25 years older than me instead of 13 years older than me.
Do I really get to complain in any way about the hand I’ve been dealt in life? My sister has had it much worse.
As an adult, I mean.
I guess this settles the question of what I will do if I run into a family member: look down.
I didn’t start a conflict. I kept my mouth shut and didn’t draw attention. I was a grown up.
I hope that counts for something. I am not trying to cause a big scene. I just want to get through my life without being abused. I am beginning to hate this word. What does abuse mean anyway?
It means my sister telling me I was unwanted and my life makes the lives of everyone around me worse. And then her telling me again. And again. And again. Until I believe it like I believe my eyes are brown.
Noah and my kids wrap themselves around me like clinging vines. And still I cannot shake this pervasive, permeating belief that I should die because I hurt everyone near me just by existing. I do not know what could change this feeling in me.
Over and over in my life I have evaded this feeling by falling backwards into the arms of a new person to see if I damage them. It has got me far. It has gotten me to here. It is how I try again and again and again with people.
But doing it now hurts Noah. So it isn’t doing what I want it to do. The well is poisoned.
I don’t know how to change this feeling and I must if I am ever going to break the suicidality I live with.
I don’t think this is something a pill can fix.
Latuda is the current anti-psychotic I’m taking. After four? nights of taking it I would say that it is making it so that I have less energy to do anything about my suicidal/self harming thoughts but they are sharper and clearer.
Yes. I am a disgusting whore who hurts everyone. But folks knew what they were getting into so fuck ’em.
I’m not sure this is improvement?
I feel more numb. Woo.
Love. My. Brain.
I kinda feel like I don’t deserve the relief of cutting. It would distress other people and I’m not allowed to be selfish like that.
I’m not sure this is an improvement.
The last several years of medical treatment attempts all seem to be aimed at schizophrenia. Are a series of doctors trying to tell me something very slyly? How many schizophrenia medications have to make me sick before doctors stop acting like that is the way to treat me? Apparently all of them. And they are always coming out with new ones so it’ll never stop.
27 days until we leave for the cruise. I now have bags that are exactly the right size for carryon for this airline. We are bringing clothing that we recently paid an arm and a leg for. We aren’t checking tens of thousands of dollars of stuff. Not with the TSA. Oh god no.
We don’t live in a world where such a choice is smart. I’ll keep my stuff on my person or in my sight, thank you.
It really isn’t like Noah and I to spend this kind of money on clothing. It’s downright out of character. But we are going to look ever so cute and now we have impetus to do enough exercise to be able to wear these clothes for the rest of our lives. I had mine made so that I can wear most of it through a fifty pound increase from where I am. Hell yeah.
I’ve been in this body a while.
We will have to find places to wear this shit. I will plan the rest of my life around getting to wear pieces of this dress.
It’s kind of ridiculous. But whatever.
I guess we’ll have to learn Regency dancing?
I’m down. We can be terrible together.
Noah wants me to get all of my feeling of love and acceptance from him. He gets it from me and I’m enough. I feel really bad that I don’t… get enough from him. This feeling is so so so so much bigger than him. I feel like if I tried to use him to fill this hole I would consume him and he would die and then where would I be?
I like Noah. I like being around him. Except when I need to go talk to myself. Hi, self. How you doing? Better than when I started, thanks for asking.
Thankfully today is Saturday. Fewer people I should pester. I’m so tired of this forking remodel. It is so depressing and demeaning to keep pressing on. But we really have to. The permit expires soon. Have to make progress to extend the date. Shit.
The kids said since we have unexpected days with them we should have dates. Sounds lovely. We are, once again, Team Virgo. Kiddo wants to pick up Subway (“I haven’t had any Subway in so long“) and go to the park. Sounds like a lovely date. I can do that.
Team Gemini will be eating sushi and playing Minecraft. I like my date much better.
Eldest Child spends a lot of time drawing pictures of all four of us sitting at computers and writing impassioned pleas like, “My dream come true would be all of gaming together.” Snort. I don’t need new computer hobbies. No.
Ow. Must stop on that note.