Author Archives: Krissy Gibbs

About Krissy Gibbs

Just your average hippy white trash incest survivor stay at home mom. Is there an average for us? No? Oh well.

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Most of what I have been doing since we got back is house work.  Very exciting.  Or something.  I left the house in a heightened state of chaos compared to normal and I am slowly repairing the damage.  In the process I am discovering that we still have too much stuff.  I am also trying to spend more time directly interacting with the kids in what feels like potentially “educational” sorts of ways.  I’m encouraging Shanna to help more and talking to her about what I am doing, why, and the finer points of how.  This is most interesting out in the garden. She is starting to talk about water permeability and that just makes my heart soar.  It’s a good thing that I have a number of friends with formal science education backgrounds so they can fill in the gaps I’m leaving.  I’m starting to think I need to acquire child-level plant biology books.  I would love suggestions of favorites if you have any.  We’ve been working from the gardening books I read (I’m still on Gardening When It Counts) and I have a few others that talk more about the specifics of care.  It has seemed silly to talk about seasons when we came home to a very chilly July.

I’m also daydreaming.  My birthday party is 7 weeks away.  That’s not actually that long considering that Sarah is moving in during the middle of that period and my garage is no where close to ready for the party.  Partially I’m waiting on the inspection on the water heater.  Partially I’m trying to decide what I want to do about painting.  I know what I want to do very intensely.  I really really really know what I want to do… but it would be a very difficult paint job and I’m not sure that it is within the realm of reasonable for the next 7 weeks.

Food is a religion

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I think that pretty much everyone has their own personal food religion.  Your pinnacle of how people should feel about/eat/think about food.  Big note: I am not trying to convert anyone to my religion.  So here is my basic approach to how I want to be eating.  My ideals.  The tenets that provoke my guilt when I fail to meet them.

First: eat local and seasonal.  To me, if you are eating what is in season and grows where you live… you’ll do fine.  People survived eating the local stuff for a long time and I think that’s a good basis.  But I’m a spoiled brat who lives in an area with the best damn food in the world.  Privilege much?

Second: I try for organic and/or grass/pasture raised.  My chickens shouldn’t be vegetarians and my cows shouldn’t eat corn.  I have some stupid bias that the food I eat will be healthier for me if it had the best life possible.  However from what I understand it isn’t actually possible for everyone on the planet to eat “organic” produce.  So, err… yeah.  Not sure how I feel about that.

Third: I try to avoid processed food.  But I also try to not beat myself up for eating some.  It’s a balancing act.  Processed food usually means less work for me.  I’m usually skimping on work because I am out of spoons.  (I’m sorry for co-opting that terminology given that I don’t like using it given that I am able-bodied.  But I’m specifically using it in a mental health way so uhm… I’m not sure how else to phrase it.)

Fourth: I’m trying to grow food.  I want to get to a point where I am raising and preserving a reasonable percentage of our produce (like 25% would be AWESOME).  I’m thinking that I might shoot for reaching that by the time that Shanna is 15. Obviously I am not taking this gardening thing real seriously.

So part of the reason that I’m writing this is because I read books on urban homesteading and I find them terribly inspirational.  Or rather, I find them terribly guilt inducing.  I have all the time and ability in the world to really pursue this as a lifestyle choice.  So why don’t I?  Well… honestly… it’s a lot of work.  And I’m kind of busy.  And it is way down there in fourth place on my food priority list and food is way down at like spot number fifteen on my personal life priority list so… yeah.  I just don’t care.

BUT THE CRUNCHY GUILT IS EATING MY BRAIN.  *ahem*

Want to know why I’m doing this much gardening?  Because I’m trying to find ways to learn about new interesting things without having to interact with other people.  Because I’m trying to find hobbies that make me feel good about being a creepy shut in.  Because it’s a G-D science experiment!  I don’t know any of this stuff about plant lives.  It’s really awesome.

Because I’m an unschooler and I want to take this opportunity to learn about life.  This may not be the way that someone else thinks I should learn this topic, after all I could do it way more efficiently if I took a class on gardening.  But I now have a very good idea of why I shouldn’t plant my tomatoes so close together.  I’m trying to decide how I want to resolve my current gardening conundrums.

Have I mentioned that my garden is rad?

tomato patch of doom

Catching up

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I left off on the 6th, then we started traveling and I lost internet. That was entirely for the win because we are now home. Yay! Technically we have been home for a few days, but now I am feeling a little better.

7th: I got to think about how much I love assholes. Hear me out. Specifically, by asshole, I mean large and intimidating and aggressive men who are generally considered to be assholes by everyone who knows them. They like to pick fights. They like to troll on the internet (sometimes), etc. I just like these guys. Not every single one of them, of course. But I tend to like that genre of man. They are frequently abusive to me or other people. I’m not in denial about that. So I carefully limit my relationships with them so that I can deal with the level of harsh they are and I revel in seeing them when I do. Because man I like them a lot. On the 7th I met up with a friend who falls into that category. I was reminded that a lot of the reason I like those men is because they were hurt in some way as a kid. They recognize that pain in me. They speak directly to it in a harsh and direct way that will keep me from killing myself no matter how dark my days get. They have looked into the eyes of monsters too. They know what it means to survive. I don’t like all of their social tools but they have very important lessons for me. I’m glad that they understand that I might need tools that look like a set of brass knuckles some days. They understand why that has worth. I don’t want to be that full time, because frankly I see what it does to their lives. Even though I don’t want to end up like them day-in, day-out… there are days when that is better than any of my other options and if that keeps me here, well ok. I’m grateful to be handed permission to be absolutely savage in defense of myself. I need that.

8th: I was grateful to be home home home home home home.

9th: I was grateful to actually catch up on sleep. I don’t get to do that often. 🙂

10th: I was grateful I made it to the bathroom before projectile vomiting. And later I was grateful Calli confined her projectile vomit to me, my hair, and my clothes while missing the couch.

11th: I’m grateful for a return to food I love. <3

I’m baaaaack

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And of course the first thing I do is plop myself down in the middle of a big thought process around priorities.  I’m thinking about my priorities in life because right now I have to start acting on them in terms of living my life.  I no longer have a brick wall event coming that forces a reordering into crisis mode.  How do I actually want to live?  Priority number one: deciding my priorities needs to not become an obsessive thing that disrupts my life.  (Here I will make a side note: I have already had multiple funny asides I wanted to make but I can’t remember the code for how to create a footnote and trying to think about how to make them is derailing my thought process.  I’m annoyed.  I may have finally found a motivation for learning how to code.)

It is 10 pm and my entire family is asleep.  Seems quite reasonable.  Only… the kids and I went to sleep at 1pm.  We are going to have an interesting adjustment from jet lag.  I’m up thinking about the patterns of our days and unschooling and my mental health and getting the house ready for Sarah and food and gardening and…

So I am thinking about priorities.  Sarah will be in our house within 20 days.  I am so excited I can barely sit still.  But that’s not a hard dead line in any negative traumatic way for me.  I don’t have to have the house to a certain “readiness”.  She could move in today and it would all be handled.  I can do work before then that will make the integration process easier, and I’m doing that.  But it’s not an emergency.  It can happen or not in whatever time or order I want.  I’m done with the scary bits of that project.  I just get to anticipate having Sarah here.  Everything else is gravy.  So right now I really am at the place where I get to sit down and think about how I want my life to look just because I get to start making it real now.

While I was on the trip I spent an obscene amount of time on Mothering.com because I was stuck in hotel rooms.  I don’t have any idea how much I posted and I don’t want to think about it.  I also wandered around the net looking at other parenting websites.  I learned that I need to stay on MDC.  I do not have the time or energy to go find a new forum.  My story is long and complex.  And I can’t tell people little comfortable sound bites that ensure that they feel comfortable enough with me for me to say things without being attacked.  I have a long posting history on MDC.  Folks recognize me.  It feels like a community to me.  I have noticed it becoming more close knit after the recent mass evacuation.  A whole bunch of people have reached out to me during the decline of the site.  I feel increasingly seen there and I like it.  I suppose that means I am moving up the hierarchy of the clique?  But in a war of attrition I will lose.  I have too many other things to do and I am going to go do them.  I don’t want to prioritize the kind of time it takes to stay popular on MDC.  I have a life to live.

I started this blog because I wanted a place to feel accountable to so that I could document my life.  I am not good at staying productive in a vacuum.  I need a boss.  Which isn’t to say that I think I owe accountability to anyone specific on the internet.  Y’all can kiss off.  (said with love)  But I am choosing an unorthodox path for my family.  I want to prove to myself that I am actually doing what I say I am doing.  I don’t know another way to give myself the motivation to keep working without trying to produce some result.  I want to talk about what I’m doing.  I miss the camaraderie of having a job.  Raising my kids is my job.  And sweet sony Jesus don’t make this into a stay at home mom versus a work out of the home mom thing.  That’s not what I mean.  I mean that I have decided to not only stay home, but I am educating my kids.  That’s a separate job as well.  I am responsible for preparing them for the world.  Every parent is responsible for raising their children, and we all get help along that process.  Each parent chooses a different amount of help.  There is nothing wrong with that and I’m not judging how much “time” people spend with their kids.  I’m really not.  I’m trying to figure out what parts of raising them, educating them, preparing them for the world, entertaining them, etc. I actually have to do on a day to day basis and what parts of that can I and/or should I farm out?  There is no need for me to be a martyr.

My other job is being me.  Being me is high maintenance.  Being me (near as I can tell) is a lot more work than it is to be someone else.  I can’t get good trade in value, so I’m sort of stuck with being me.  If I want to be me well I have to put a lot of work into that.  I am trying to get to the point where I respect and like myself enough that I feel good about all the time and effort I put into me instead of feeling ashamed that I require so much effort.  That is complicated.  Since we got home I have been doing a lot of emotional eating.  I can tell.  I can feel it.  I can look at what I am eating and see why it is making me physically feel bad.  But I can’t seem to motivate myself to deal with it because of all the complicating factors around being exhausted from the trip.  But tomorrow we have a local farmers market.  And I’m working on giving myself permission to make specific choices that are short term suboptimal in favor of preparing for the marathon.  It’s weird.

I don’t know if I am making any sense.  I am also, once again, able to medicate for my anxiety.  Thank you California for recognizing that I should be able to have control over whether or not I have to feel that upset all the time.  I haven’t yelled since we got home.  And my stomach isn’t hurting all the time.  I’ve been able to slowly start stretching out the muscles in my head and neck and I no longer have a headache.  I had that headache for a month straight.  I’m fighting with my guilt to allow me more than the absolute bare minimum to be not full of rage.  It’s 10:23 and my kids are likely to wake up in the middle of the night.  So I will be on duty and that requires being mostly sober.  But then I will get edgy.  Ah fuck it.  It is better for me to ensure that my stomach stops hurting.  That requires more than the amount that takes the edge off of my anxiety.  Tonight, that is the right decision.

I worry about putting things on the internet because I worry that I will only put the bad things.  Or only the bad things will be true.  I need to get back to a place where I am loudly doing the good things too.  That’s the only thing that will allow me to feel safe.  And in order for me to feel like I am doing the good things loudly… I need to figure out what doing the good things are so I can know if I am actually doing them.  Seriously.  Do other people have to stop and think about this stuff?  Do you just know?  Ugh.

I don’t think that today’s noodling counts as a binding agreement.  Just so it has been said.  But I want to give my boss a status update.  I’m like that.

I think that it’s time to set priorities.  What things actually matter to me.  And I need to act like I really do believe my priorities.  And if I can’t act like I believe them… I need to decide how I feel about not believing them anymore because I need honesty.  I can’t deal with hypocrisy.  But it’s complicated because sometimes it isn’t about hypocrisy, you just aren’t meeting ‘x’ priority because you are still stuck on ‘g’ and it is more important.  I want to be very clear with myself about when and where I am stuck on g and when I have simply stopped believing that x is important.

For example.  The local food thing.  Wait, no… I want to back up.  I want to start at the beginning.  It’s my story.

So I spent a lot of time on MDC during the trip.  One of the best things I got out of it (and the side track over to Trolls With Wooden Spoons) was to examine some of the ways in which I really did drink the Kool Aid at MDC.  And some of the things I have gotten from the experience have been good for me and I’m thrilled, and others suck.  But I’ve been forcing myself to take it as a package deal.  It’s not.  No matter how rabidly people on the internet berate me for not meeting one specific point on a checklist… dude.  Really.  I’m not failing at life if I stop doing something perfectly.  Uhm… not that I have been perfect at any step on this journey.  I think I need to stop making perfection a goal or part of the conversation.  I just need to figure out what it means to be me and do that.  How pretentious is that?

I feel about as self-involved as an adolescent.  Shanna and I are at the same space in development, and in some ways that’s true.  As I am discovering myself on the journey to recovering from incest, I really am starting in about the same place Shanna is.  I am reparenting myself.  But I’m far harder on myself than I am on Shanna.  Maybe I should be a lot more gentle with both of us.  My daughter is already a shining example of vitality.  I need to stop acting like I need to feel guilty for neglecting her.  I’m not neglecting her.  I am treating it like my only job is to educate her and she’s blossoming.  Ok, she’s weird… yes.  But she’s trying things out.  None of what she is doing is for keeps.  Geez, she’s only three.  But why can’t I have the same latitude?  Why can’t I be just figuring out who I am too?  That’s also my job.  I didn’t get that when I was a small child the way normal kids do.  I was too busy keeping secrets and trying to be the person other people wanted me to be.

The thing is, part of who I am is a responsible adult.  I need to ensure that I am meeting the specific priorities that actually matter to me and to the people and community around me.  I am quite literally responsible to and for the people and things around me.  I have obligations.  I have no interest in walking away from my obligations.  I really don’t want to leave.  I have a wonderful life.  But it is work.  I have many jobs there.  I have been hiding at home for a long time because I haven’t been up to the work of being in a community and being me and being a parent all at the same time.  I’ll be frank and say that I worry about that decision.  I worry about that decision partially because I know that I describe my life on the internet in ways that make some people worry about my children.  I want witnesses.  That sounds awful.  I want there to be no way in the world for me to get away with doing anything bad to my children.  I want there to really and truly be no way at all I could hurt my kids and it would be invisible.  And that means a blog is not the whole answer.  That means people who interact with my children a lot and watch them.

Side note: this blog post about being queer just made my day.  I struggle a lot with queerness as an identity.  I feel pressured to engage in homosexual sex in a way I don’t feel pressured to engage in heterosexual sex.  It’s self-imposed.  But that is part of me figuring out who I am.  So maybe this isn’t a side note after all.  I’m crying because I know I am begging for permission for spending time on thinking about myself.  I want to believe it is ok for me to take up as much space as I need to take up in my day.  That’s part of my job!  Damnit!

Another side note: the more I think about Lady Gag’s The Edge of Glory video the more I think that woman is a fucking genius.  In most of her videos she hands you a fully fleshed out STORY and you are not allowed to project your own stuff.  There is no room for you in her stories.  She is sharing her fantasy.  Not this time.  In this one there is a lot of room for the argument that she isn’t presenting a story at all.  For once… she’s just … on the edge of a story with you.  And this time you get to tell it.  “I think that at this point in the video I would do…”  And yet you can’t get away from the fact that it is a Lady Gaga video because even when she is downplaying all the stuff that is her normal trademark she is still so very her.  So in this video she is inviting collaboration.  I don’t think she made this video so simply because she is a cheap bastard.  I think she wanted to give her fans a place to project themselves into a relationship with her.  I think she is that willing to be vulnerable.  And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  Seriously.  This video is a love song to each and every fan.  She didn’t want it to be a big dance number song.  This is how she feels about every person and she wanted it to be one on one.  This is how she wants to fuck every single one of her fans.  I think she is a genius.  She wants to feel like she is in love with each person.  She is Mother Monster and she wants to be lover as well.  I really think I should take the trouble to learn more about her and become more of an actual fan.  Because only in talking to other fans will avoid sounding like a lunatic.  ha.

I need to not focus on what other people should or shouldn’t be doing outside my family.  That needs to drop off my priority list entirely.  So when I notice at 11:22 that I am no longer able to coherently write I need to go to sleep instead of trolling the internet.

Gratitude bandwagon

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Today I am grateful for my friends. I pinged a friend on facebook because he mentioned that he was going to be in London tomorrow. We are meeting up to talk. I haven’t caught up with him in a long time so this will be great.

But above and beyond just tomorrow’s social plans, I am truly blessed. I have trouble determining who my “best” friend is most days because I have so many people who are special in very different ways. They support me in ways that I didn’t know anyone received support. I am about to do the “extra parent” upgrade on my family. That’s not an option that I thought was open to me (for a wide variety of reasons that are outside the scope of this post). But I get to have it because I have a friend who wants to do that with me.

Shanna has had three extremely well attended, fun, exciting, wonderful birthdays. Because I have friends who have been willing to step up and be her family. I have spent my entire life feeling alone and unimportant. I don’t think that any of those feelings have entered into Shanna’s consciousness. Because of my friends.

When I have been just about as low as I can be all I have to do is call someone and they will do anything within their power for me. Sometimes it takes more than one call because my friends have lives too… but that’s ok. Really. If I spread the load out in a way that is reasonable… my friends can carry me. That’s not what I want full time for the rest of my life. I like being the supporter a whole lot more than I like being supported. But life is a balancing act, right? It’s not reasonable for me to expect that I only take one of those roles all the time with everyone.

And my friends taught me that.

Gratitude bandwagon

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Today I am grateful for being the mom. I’m not every day so I thought I would note it today. (full disclosure: I am always grateful for my kids, but being the mom sucks rocks a lot of days.). Last night Shanna asked to sleep next to me. She doesn’t cosleep anymore so we had to maneuver a bit. Some time in the middle of the night she woke up, sat up just long enough to look for me then she threw herself across my chest to snuggle. She’s a cuddly kid in general but that instinctive “where is my mommy” in the middle of the night feels different. That is primal. I am the one she wants and needs and loves the most in the world.

Calli has been resisting napping alone. She wants to be on my lap. I haven’t been willing to give her this for most of her life but I’m doing it on vacation. Sometimes she wakes up just a little and starts to panic, then she notices that she is on me and her whole body relaxes. Oh Mommy.

This is why I had children. I wanted this. I want this so much that I ache with it. And I have it. It’s a gift. I constantly feel like I don’t deserve these amazing kids, but they think I am perfect. I am so grateful that I get to be Mommy.

Gratitude bandwagon

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Day one was yesterday, I was too busy being happy to post. I was thrilled to discover that we were leaving Glasgow the day before a big sectarian protest. I will be checking the news today because when we were warned about it I got the impression it might turn into a riot. I’m very grateful that we left before that.

Day two I am grateful that Noah has been gracious and helpful because all day my anxiety has been up in the 8/9 range for no reason. And he’s been very patient and accommodating. Wonderful husband.

Moving forward

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I am finally up early enough to talk to my Sarah.  We haven’t been able to synch up in a while.  It’s really interesting for me to think about my part in forming a multi-adult household.  So far in raising our kids I’ve mostly been the boss.  Noah defers to me most of the time.  I think Sarah will too.  But I’m not sure that’s a good thing.  I don’t want to be a boss.  I feel uncomfortable as a boss.  But I’m a control freak.  I get very anxious when I am not in control.  I’m not sure how to own that and deal with it and yet not have everyone in the house be required to do what I say when I say it.  However my biggest objection to poly households with children (hello judgment!) is that kids need to have structure and it needs to not be wishy washy.  Most of the time I see poly arrangements where the adults all want to be equal and then no one puts their foot down because they don’t want to be the boss/mean.  That hits all of my buttons.  Which isn’t to say that every poly family fucks up their kids, but that isn’t a system I can live in.

So how are we going to do this.  Sarah has far more experience raising kids than me (she’s the oldest of 6 and there is a gap before the second kid) but these are my kids.  At the end of the day, Noah and I are the ones responsible for our children.  But Sarah is much better than me at remaining calm in a crisis and she has better scope for which problems are worth getting upset about.  One of the things I am most worried about is me backing off and giving Sarah too much control because I feel like she is “better” than me, and then getting angry and wanting to kick her out because how dare she act like she is in charge of my kids.  I can see me being that kind of stupid. Ugh.  
Right now Plan A is that we need to have really frequent check ins about every teeny tiny irritation.  I’m thinking that I should probably start charting my moods over the first few weeks.  It’s nit picky and annoying but I don’t want to be blaming Sarah for the fact that I’m crazy.  That’s a pre-existing condition.  

Calli is 10 months

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It’s amazing that the time is going so fast. She’s talking. She constantly says “hi” and waves. The sign for “up” is her favorite, of course. She occasionally will say “all done” and “yay” and she still calls me da da. I keep telling her I’m the other one and she doesn’t believe me. Rarely she will will sign potty or milk but mostly she just slams her face into my chest. If she wants something and we don’t hand it to her she has a tea kettle piercing shriek to announce to the world that we suck. We get to have another girl with Opinions. My ear drums aren’t thrilled but overall I’m telling myself that I want opinionated children because they will be more likely to be successful adults. Right?

As of yesterday she can hold on to a grown ups hands and walk all the way across the room. Before yesterday she would only take a couple of steps before sitting down and crawling because it is faster. She is very concerned with getting there faster. She loves Shanna but her affection is shown with slapping and hair pulling so I try to keep them physically separated most of the time. Shanna really likes to manhandle Calli so I play referee constantly. As I write this she is cruising around the chair I’m sitting on. And yelling at me because I’m not on the floor chasing her.

Calli is still nursing, as I grit my teeth. I’m not sure how long I will make it through. At this point I am praying I make it to a year before I lose my mind and run away from home. I am so done nursing. I really wish I would be able to make it to two, but I’m not sure I have it in me to do another 14 months of this. She’s not polite about nursing. She yanks, twists, hits, kicks, pinches, and scratches. Not to mention that she is physically incapable of being still for more than 1.2 seconds. This kid has energy. Another thing that I am telling myself I will appreciate in the long run even if it is hard right this minute.

She has been teething for a long time. The corner of a tooth will pop out then retract and not come back for another week before it pops out and … retracts. This has got to suck. She still doesn’t have one fully through and I have to say I’m thrilled. I think this one will bite more. Ugh.

She is fairly good natured all things considered. She really loves to play peek a boo. If you say “I’m gonna get you” she starts shrieking with joy and crawling away before she stops and checks to make sure you are chasing her. Then she keeps going. It’s lovely. She is very cuddly in a painful way. She likes to sit up and then dive bomb my chest (with or without exposed breast) over and over again. She giggles the whole time. She loves to lie next to me and burrow into my arm pit. She very much likes me more than other people, but she really likes people. She’s not a mama’s-girl and for this I thank God. She gets along with Noah really well and she is good at letting him comfort her.

She is not a fan of being carried in any baby carrier. Or stroller. She likes the wagon because there is normally a big kid in it with her and food and toys. She wants to be down crawling. No matter where we are or what we are doing she will scream and whack me in the back/head telling me to let her down. It’s festive.

This all sounds bitchy, but she is a really sweet baby. She smiles all the time. She’s just much more physically aggressive than I remember Shanna being. She has places to go and things to do and she’s bloody well going to go do them no matter who is in her way. Once she’s an adult I am going to be so happy she is like this! It’s going to be a festive childhood though. 🙂

I’m not taking enough pictures of her because I am lame about pictures. It’s dramatic how much smaller she is than Shanna at the same age. She’s got a little bit of chunk on her thighs, but just enough that she is capable of growing. She never does the rolls of fat thing. She has a little bit of jowls right now because she is closing in on a growth spurt but she actually has a rather narrow face.

She *loves* food. She is often really into meat. That’s interesting. She likes bread, but she gets uhm, backed up. I have learned that she has to have 2-3 prunes every day or she just can’t poop. That seems so very odd to me because my plumbing doesn’t work that way. (For the record, she does eat a lot of vegetable/fruit in addition to the bread and meat, but she’s less enthusiastic.) She can’t have dairy *at all* or she gets an unpleasant reaction. I’ll stop there because most people don’t want to hear it. 😛 I’m hoping that she grows out of that. Right now my plan a is to introduce goat dairy products at a year and pray. So far I am still sticking to my fascist regime of no sugar/processed foods (like potato chips/juice/soda) until a year. Only a few people have looked at me funny this time. 🙂

She takes two naps a day, the first around 9am and the second starting some time between 12 and 1:30. The first nap is 30-45 minutes and the second is usually 2+ hours. Night time sleep is rougher. She often won’t go to sleep with me. She wants to play. Often we have to let her fuss herself to sleep alone or she won’t sleep all.night.long. Of course people on the internet tell me I am causing brain damage and I am an abusive parent so I have a lot of guilt. But neither of us sleeping = big problems. When we get home I am going to get a mattress for the bottom of the bunk bed (it’s the floor) and start trying that. We’ll see how it goes. I feel awful leaving her in a baby jail to cry.

So far she seems to be growing happily and thriving, so for all of my angst I don’t think I have permanently fucked her up yet.

dreams

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Last night I dreamed about my dad all night.  I was a kid and he came up to Aunt Vonnie’s house to visit (which never actually happened).  I asked Auntie to stay with me and never leave me alone with him.  In front of him she said, “Stop being so nasty to your father.”  Then she walked out.  It was bad.

And I was awesome about sticking my fingers in my ear and going “lalalala”.  Jenny’s wedding coincided with the 13th anniversary of Tommy’s suicide.  And my brother Jimmy’s oldest son turned 10.  I will never know him because it is all my fault that Jimmy’s kids don’t get to have an uncle or a grandfather.

I suspect I will have a bad day.

And my Jenny is married.

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Yesterday was the wedding!  It was glorious.  I was so happy to be part of the ceremony.  I was even the official witness signing the marriage contract along with the Best Man.  Jenny was gorgeous and cheerful and elated.  I have never seen her so happy.  It’s hard not being able to see her much, but I leave her in such good hands that I know she is in the best place in the world for her.

I was amazed that several times she sat down and took moments out of her insanely busy schedule to help me deal with my anxiety.  I felt so very loved.  Then I discovered that I had made some suboptimal choices with regards to planning… but folks helped out and I think that we will actually enjoy the changed plans more.

Traveling is challenging, but it’s a lot easier with wonderful people.  I feel quite blessed.

More introverted than I think

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Noah and I tend to read different things.  Sometimes he sends me a link that I find really interesting.  Today’s link is about Introvert/Extrovert stuff.  I’m shocked by the fact that according to his definitions:

Introverts
  1. require a minimum period of isolation every day to survive psychologically
  2. are energized by weak-link social fields, such as coffee shops, where little interaction is expected
  3. are energized by occasional, deeper 1:1 interactions, but still at arm’s length; no soul-baring
  4. are energized by such 1:1 encounters with anyone, whether or not a prior relationship exists
  5. are drained by strong-link social fields such as family gatherings
  6. are reduced to near-panic by huddles: extremely close many-many encounters such as group hugs
  7. have depth-limited relationships that reach their maximum depth very fast
Extroverts
  1. need a minimum amount of physical contact everyday, even if it is just laying around with a pet
  2. are energized by strong-link social fields such as family gatherings
  3. like soul-baring 1:1 relationships characterized by swings between extreme intimacy and murderous enmity
  4. are not willing to have 1:1 encounters with anyone unless they’ve been properly introduced into their social fields
  5. are made restless and anxious by weak-link social fields such as coffee shops unless they go with a friend
  6. are reduced to near panic by extended episodes of solitude
  7. have relationships that gradually deepen over time to extreme levels
From the Introvert list I have: 1, 3, 4, 5, 6.  From the Extrovert list I have: 3, 6, 7.
What does that make me?  I have always thought of myself as an extrovert and yet, I tend to feel like larger groups don’t like me.  I don’t feel safe when I have to figure out how to relate to more than one person at once.  I used to love big groups.  I was good at them.  Not anymore.  Anxiety has pushed me towards isolation and it really sucks.  I often feel better connecting briefly with a stranger because I don’t have to worry about offending them.  I don’t have to worry about them learning to be disgusted by me.  I’m trying to cobble together a mental support team without overly depending on any one person.  Because if I depend too much on one (or three) people I will exhaust them, they will get sick of me, they will move on.  If I can get bits and pieces from many, many people, I can pretend that is enough.  
I think that a lot of my conflict with Noah is because I swing hard between the sort of energetic transactionalism this essay talks about.  What an interesting thing to consider.  I can’t decide if we should have one “bank account” or separate accounts.  I suppose it makes sense that I gravitate heavily towards folks with Aspergers and I am absolutely terrified of being codependent.  I would rather learn Aspie coping mechanisms because they make me feel safe.  They make me feel less vulnerable.  I wish every single day that I could take my extrovert needs and burn them out of me with a poker.  It has been the work of a lifetime to stop being an extrovert.  Being an extrovert is dangerous.  It’s not safe.  I can’t depend on people.
I can go weeks without talking to people I don’t live with.  Most of the people I depend on heavily rotate in and out of my life.  My friends all have their own mental health issues and they will go radio silence for months or years.  I poke at them every so often to see if they are still around, but almost none of them come back to me.  I’m too hard.  When I lose contact with people it is because *I* stop forcing a relationship.  That hurts.  That hurts a lot.  I don’t have many people who reach out to me unless I post excessively on the internet about how I may not make it to tomorrow.  Otherwise people just don’t have room for me in their lives.  I’ve never been able to figure out what to do about that. 

pictures

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Everyone goes through life with a picture of his or her self.  Sometimes these pictures are elaborate paintings, sometimes they are stick figures, sometimes they are swirls of color.  People vary.  What is consistent is the sheet of glass over the picture that is protecting this core of self.  For most people, when they are children their parents carry this picture for them.  That’s the purpose and work of parenting.  It’s to protect this tiny little person as they go through the early parts of life.  My parents dropped my picture.  Many times.  They shattered the glass.  They did their best to scatter it to the winds so that I had no protection left.

On my bad days I feel like I am on my knees in the Sahara frantically digging, looking for the lost pieces.  There are some very large shards missing and I don’t know what to do about them.  My picture isn’t protected.  I’m not protected.  I’m scared.  I’m vulnerable to being destroyed.

On my good days I look at the missing pieces and I think, “Well… all I’ve got is a five gallon bucket of dry wall putty.  It’s not really the best thing to use to fix glass, but it’s what I have.  Maybe if I add some neat Rit dye it will at least look interesting.”

I don’t know who I was meant to be.  Yes, that hurts.  I often wonder what I would have turned out like if I had been loved and protected appropriately when I was a child.  But that’s a door forever closed.

Today my Jenny told me that if she can read my story and feel bad so that I can feel a little better, it’s worth it.  Because I’m worth going through some pain for.  I’m not sure how to believe that is true.  How could it ever be ok for other people to hurt because of me?  How in the world could I ever be worth enough that other people should suffer just to lighten my load?  My brother made it very clear that I was to shut my mouth because it is more important that other people not hurt.  I have no right to make other people hurt by telling my story.  The therapist I saw once before this trip told me that I have to be very careful about sharing my story because sharing stories like this traumatizes the listener and I shouldn’t do that to people.  It’s why she is completely against support groups.

Shouldn’t I just shut up?  Shouldn’t I try to pretend I’m just like everyone else?  Isn’t that the right thing to do?  Thing is, I have these really big pieces of my protective coating missing.  I’m not like everyone else.  It is harder to know me than it is to know other people.

And I’m not sure how to believe that is ok.

Lesser evils.

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Alright, so when I left off I was freaking out in France and desperate to get out.  It was festive.  We checked out of the hotel 3 days early and asked to speak to the manager about why.  Turns out he was the guy who had located the ethernet cable.  Ha.  When I explained my issues and told him we were leaving he offered us fastpasses.

The taxi driver took us to the wrong train station and told us to take a bus to the correct one.  We missed our train.  I lost my shit and hysterically sobbed on the floor for a while.  Then once Noah dealt with stuff the customs lady yelled at me a lot because I didn’t have access to Jenny’s address yet.  She told me that I shouldn’t be so disorganized because I am a mother.  Great.  Thanks.

What I’m leaving out of that bit is the awesome Armenian guy who sat down with me and talked to me and tried to cheer me up.  He was pretty rad.  He also hates the French but he has to work with them so he is submissive to the system and recommended that I do the same.  No thanks!

Once we got to London a porter found us, noticed that we had first class tickets, and whisked us away to the first class lounge.  He all but washed our feet for us.  I was ebullient!  A country with customer service!  Thank you!!!  The train ride to Edinburgh was smooth mostly because Shanna slept a lot of the way.  We found a random hotel there for one night because we missed the last train to Inverness.

So we woke up the next morning and set off.  There was fuss with not eating but I wasn’t completely psycho.  Luckily for the last bit of the trip this wonderful old couple in their 70’s came into our car and regaled us with fun stories and anecdotes.  They played with my kids.  They smiled at me and were nice.  I was so very happy.  We got to Jenny’s and enjoyed seeing her.

Thing is, by the time we arranged the hotel situation for the unexpected three extra days (literally the only family room available in the city–lots of phone calls) and dealt with all the other stupid bumps I wasn’t really functional any more.  I ended up sitting on the grass outside in the garden for I don’t know how long sobbing hysterically.  It sucked a lot.  I was crying about my mom and my family and feeling bad and feeling like I can’t deal with life because I am such a loser and…

I came back inside when I realized I was walking around the property trying to examine my options for killing myself.  I was at the point of walking towards the street looking for a bus.  It’s really bad.  But I slept 8 hours before commenting on someones facebook that I don’t think she is going to change society into finding overweight submissive men visually appealing on a mass scale.  Of course I was told I am vitriolic and nasty and I don’t care about anyone but myself.  Right.  That started today so well.

But I went off to Jenny’s house.  And I got to spend the whole day with her.  And it was wonderful.  Both Shanna and Calli are sick (running fevers, runny nose, not to mention that Calli is teething and constipated–it’s a banner day) so the day was a bit whiney.  Luckily that means they slept a lot. 😛  Unfortunately they slept in turns so I still didn’t get time off.  But that’s why I’m up now.  It’s not even 8:40 yet so I don’t feel too guilty yet.

I am titling this lesser evils because I decided after losing my shit last night that I need some other tools for dealing with my shit right now.  So I sent Noah to the pharmacy for sleeping pills and razor blades.  I need to sleep.  Period.  And I need a hand grenade size stress relief that doesn’t require me to be alone for more than a few minutes because I am only allowed enough privacy to pee.  And sometimes not that.

I’ve been a cutter for over 20 years.  It’s not going to kill me.  I was not the one responsible for buying the sleeping pills so there are not enough in this room to kill me.  I’m not happy about preplanning cutting this way, but I need something.  Anyone know someone in Scotland who smokes pot? 😛  We’ve debated going to Amsterdam but I actually think that a week in the Orkney Islands will be more relaxing.  There really isn’t that much to do but rest.

Today was good.  I need more like today.

Not sleeping

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I realized tonight that part of the problem is, I’m still grieving and freaking out. And I don’t get *any* time to sit and process during the day.  So as soon as the kids are safely in bed all of the thoughts come out.  I spent a lot of time in the hotel in London in the middle of the night trying not to be very aware that we were 8 stories up and our window was definitely big enough for me to go through.  I’m really glad the window in this hotel isn’t big enough.

I’m not doing well and I don’t know what to do about it.  Pretty much the only reason I am typing instead of jumping is because I can’t do it to my kids.  But I’m running very low on reserves of desire to live right now.

A few hours later and a whole lot of crying.  I looked into it and I think we will be leaving France tomorrow.  It’s not going to be a financial hardship, really it’s about the same price as staying the whole time.  I’m done.  I can do something about feeling shitty in France.  I’m going to.  I don’t have to be a victim.  I’m not trapped.

Why did I come to France?

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Ok, to be fair I came to Disneyland Paris, not really France.  But the thing is, I came here because I wanted to have the Disney experience while dealing with the time change.  I figured that here my kids crying wouldn’t be that big of a deal.  To be fair, that part is fine.  But when I have to make 8 phone calls (many to an outside company because Disney doesn’t want to be involved?) and go down to the lobby and throw a HUGE temper tantrum and tell them that I will check out of the hotel if they do not find a god damn ethernet cable longer than 18″ so that my husband can actually usefully work… that’s not the Disney experience.  If I had called from a room in California and said, “Hey.  Our internet isn’t working and my husband has to work remotely.  What can be done about this?”  The problem would have been fixed.  Pretty much instantly.  They would have brought me a 30′ cable in 10 minutes and said, “Oh Ma’am!  I hope this is adequate!”  And I would think, “Whoa.  Overkill much?”  And *that* dear friends, is why I pay for Disney.

But this is France.  And here you have French people.  French people who when you are wandering the hotel in the middle of the night and you say, “Hey, because you are behind the bar putting away stuff can you hand me a glass so I can help myself from the tap?”  They tell you to go to the restaurant.  At 3 in the morning.  When the restaurant won’t open for 4 hours.  Bitch.  Seriously.  Fuck you with your fucking broom you petty bitch.  Because she understood enough English to communicate.  I had to seriously browbeat the shit out of the staff before we got an ethernet cable and when we did, most of the staff was maintaining a stone wall that there was nothing they could do for us.  Some random bellhop went and found a cable and brought it out.  Then of course reception tried to act like they had been great.

In the park people keep staring at me.  Ok yes, my hair is AWESOME.  But when you stare at me with a sneer on your face so intense that your upper lip never comes off your nose?  Fuck you too.  And throughout the park I swear to God people are getting whiplash because when one person from a group spots me they say something and then the whole group turns to stare at me with fairly hostile expressions.

I feel the need to point out that I’m being oversensitive and such right now, but no really.  They aren’t subtle.

Of course I’m meeting a lot of fun British and American people.  I suspect that part of it is, this is the *cheapest* time of year to be here.  So you have fancy International people who can afford to travel (even with the discount it’s still expensive) and the cheap ass local assholes.  I am not seeing France at its best.  But right now I believe I will never set foot in this country again and I will talk a lot of shit about it.  At this point I’m frustrated with a lot of things.

But you know what?  I’m really enjoying the time with the girls.  That is quite lovely.  Shanna and I are getting along really well.  Even with the massive sleep deprivation.  Calli is cutting two teeth while massively jet lagged.  We’re having *fun*.  Actually we are.  🙂  She thinks that Disneyland is the coolest thing EVAR.  She loves all the rides.  A few employees have tried to discourage me from putting her on rides and I tell them to back off and she laughs through the whole thing.  It’s wonderful to be near.

I’m really struggling with my feelings.  I feel like everyone in the world hates me.  Noah and I have been having a hard time finding the right balance of needs.  In the past 4 nights (it is currently 12:40am) I have had ~12 hours of sleep total.  And I can’t sleep.  I’m listening to “Born This Way” on repeat.  It’s not really a great song.  But I’m really struggling right now.  I’m closer to the edge than I want to admit out loud.  I don’t feel like I’m at 50% right now and sleep deprivation doesn’t help.

Yeah.  But I love my hair.  Even if the asshole French people are sneering at me.  🙂  I don’t know how I’m doing.  The good moments are starting to outnumber the bad but the bad are still really intense for me.  I kind of feel like right now I’m a plant that was blown flat in a storm.  I’m not ready to push up straight again, but I’m growing in any direction I can.  It has to be enough because I don’t have anything else.

Oh, and we couldn’t stay in the hotel I booked in London because we showed up and were told that when we went from 3 to 4 people in our party we had to be bumped to a 6 person dormitory.  If we wanted privacy we could pay for all 6 bunkbeds.  Uhm, no thanks.  So poor Shanna had to be drug out into the freezing rain again.  Other than that London was ok when I wasn’t being overly anxious.  But then again… we weren’t there 24 hours.  Obviously, not sleeping.  Oy.