Don't Be Mean to Me

Well, it's Whack-job Wednesday.  You know what that means, I gotta talk through my therapy session with the Rug Doctor.  Tonight I had much on my mind. I've been tied in knots and I needed to get it out there.

I shared my drama and told the Rug Doctor that I was so frustrated by life's path right now that I just could not see any way out of it all.  Well, except death.  And that's not to say I'm suicidal, that just means, that is the only way I see things being different and even in death I didn't know if it would truly be different.  I mean, would I be one of those people that end up in purgatory? Or, would I have so much unfinished business that I wouldn't be able to "cross over" and so I would have to haunt people?  That would be my luck.  Everyone else is up there in heaven relaxing, wearing white robes, eternally, blissfully content and here I am scaring the shit out of someone that deserves it.  Or, maybe it is someone that doesn't deserve it.  Maybe I'm like Patrick Swayze in that movie Ghost and I am trying to get someone to see how life murdered me with its bullshit.

It was at that moment that I felt the total impact of my depression.  I was so depressed, I didn't even see death as an escape.  Like, I cannot see an end to it.  It's eternal. Forever.  No one knows what happens when we die for sure, except the dead people, and most of them don't talk.  I mean, some people think they see and talk to dead people, but do they or are they just crazy?  Or, are the dead people making them crazy?  I really don't know.  The Rug Doctor asked me what made me think that I would never get an escape, and that I deserved to be eternally miserable in the afterlife.  I shot back, "what makes me deserving of being miserable in the present life?"  Sometimes I really do believe I exhaust her.  She then quoted something from Buddha or the Dalai Lama about there being two days that we can do nothing about; yesterday and tomorrow.  Only today can we impact and be invested in and some may say that is why they call it the present, because it is a gift.  Well, friend, I just got the white elephant gift.  It's bullshit.  And don't even say life is what you make it, blah blah, blah.  I don't care if it was Buddha or the Lama, those two meditating beings can come up with all the Hallmark greeting cards they want, this girl has a different outlook.  I don't get to sit around in a bathrobe all day and think about clever stuff and self-actualize and shit.  I got stuff to do.  These bills don't pay themselves, Dalia.

I think I've been struggling a lot recently because life does seem out of control in many ways, but the one thing I have always been able to count on is my people.  I'm lucky to have a great support group.  But what happens when one (or more) of those people is hurtful?  Well, it sucks and it hurts.  I like to think that most people accept me for who I am and what I am and understand that my journey in life is often turbulent and I'm vocal about it. I'm sarcastic about it and I try and make fun of it so that it is easier to bear and I talk about it so that others know they are not alone in their struggles.  Lord knows, not everyone puts it all out there on the regular like I do.  They also understand that the physical form I exist in seems like a major ordeal for me, but isn't something that most of them focus on.  My people don't see me like that.  My friend, One Eyebrow Betty, always says, "I wish you could see you how we all see you."  Most people aren't focused on my size, they are focused on who I am as a person.  They want me to be happy and they cheer me on when life is going well and offer empathy when it sucks.  But when one of the fold kicks you when you are down, how do you deal with that?  I've dealt with it my entire life when it comes to my weight, however, less so as an adult. Most people aren't assholes about it. We all have struggles of our own in life whether they can be seen or they are internal struggles.  No one is exempt.  Except maybe Mariah Carey.  Nothing gets that diva down.

I've always prided myself on being strong and not giving a shit what people think, but right now, I know where I stand physically, emotionally and in health.  It isn't where I want to be.  I'm so insecure for the first time in a long time.  I don't like it one bit. So this one person, why do they get the power?  I don't know. Why do people think it is okay to make digs at me when I'm down?  Is it to feel better about themselves?  Is it to make sure I don't forget I'm unhealthy?  Is it to punish me?  To shame me into making decisions that they approve of?  What part of their being makes them think it is okay to do that to me or anyone else?  Look, I'm not perfect, I've criticized other people for stupidity, for being inconsiderate, for being blissfully okay with being self-centered.  And yeah, I've made fun of people wearing unicorn poop t-shirts to job interviews.  But, I don't see a person struggling and say hurtful things to take them down (unless that person is pushing a door that clearly says "pull."  I'm probably going to mock that person. Karma will catch up with me and I'll do the same thing some day).  

So, I'm just going to say it, fat shaming is not okay.  If you think for one minute I don't see this body in the mirror, you're wrong.  If you think I don't feel the strain on my body, you're wrong. If you think that riding my horse doesn't make me feel self-conscious, think again.  I know who I am and what I am.  I know where I would like to be and I know there is a long road to get there. I haven't given up, but I do struggle.  I always have and I always will. I don't need the hurtful comments.  I don't need to be reminded.  There isn't a moment in any given day that I don't think about my size.  And, just so you know, it doesn't raise you up on a pedestal in my eyes (or anyone else's) when you put me down. It doesn't make me think you are better than me.  It doesn't motivate me.  It hurts me.  And, if you truly care about me, you shouldn't want to hurt me.  It's not a game, it isn't a joke.  Words hurt.  I'm a 45 year old woman saying to you, "it's not okay for you to treat me this way."  How sad that as an adult living among adults that I have to say, "build me up, don't tear me down."  I thought that was common knowledge.  It's how I try and treat people (unless they shit all over the bathroom and  pee on the seat.  Ain't nobody got time for that).

Anyway, writing is my therapy.  I needed this off my chest. I don't want it to fester. I want to let it go, but I say to you, I'm a little delicate right now.  I'll get strong again.  I'll be okay, but if do die anytime soon, if you were mean to me, I will haunt your ass FOREVER.  The only thing that may circumvent that from happening is if I  get Dalai Lama FMLA and take some time to sit in my robe and contemplate the universe and self-actualize or some sort of shit like that.

I leave you with this:
 

 

"I believe all suffering is caused by ignorance. People inflict pain on others in the selfish pursuit of their happiness or satisfaction. Yet true happiness comes from a sense of peace and contentment, which in turn must be achieved through the cultiv" — Dalai Lama  

Linus, Wonderwoman and Meth

I think I mentioned a few months back that I had stopped going to Therapy Thursday as I felt I needed to take a break and just figure some stuff out on my own.  Or, maybe I didn't mention it.  I don't know, I can't remember.  At any rate, I decided to go back since I've had a lot of drama going on and I felt it was time for some support.  This means I have to start all over again getting a good spot on the Rug Doctor's schedule.  My primo Thursday spot has been taken by another likely unstable person and so today I went in at noon.  I have now re-named it Wack-Job Wednesday. 

As luck would have it, the drama to my Wack-Job Wednesday started before I even got out of the parking lot.  I was in my truck and I see this homeless guy come out of the bushes a few parking spots away.  I start to back out having plenty of room and the guy was not near me.  I lost track of him for just a second and then there he was right behind my truck.  Like RIGHT BEHIND my truck, like grabbing the tailgate.  Where the hell did he come from?  Just a second ago he was two spots away and he could clearly see what I was doing, why would he walk into me? I was cussing about what a dumbass he was and he just keeps walking with his blue blanket slung over his shoulder.  Look, Linus, if you want to get hit so you can get some money, you better pick someone that owns a fancy sports car and that didn't just win the lottery when she found nine dollars in her change compartment of her wallet.  You aren't even going to get a luxury refrigerator box out of your settlement with me. 

I proceed on to the office where my appointment was and I ran across a woman on the sidewalk in a superhero outfit, a backpack and some worldly belongings in tow.  She was having a hilarious conversation with the wall.  Hilarious to her anyway.  I have no idea what the wall was saying, but she was thoroughly involved in the exchange.  It's not for me to judge what was happening there, because honestly, sometimes my voices are hilarious, too, and they deserve the acknowledgement of laughter.

I finally made it to my appointment and sat down with the Rug Doctor.  We had our normal banter about what has been going on with me, what sucks, what doesn't totally suck and then stuff that will eventually suck and then a little bit about the good stuff I'm missing while I'm thinking about all the stuff that sucks. We talked through a scenario where she was at the airport and that sucked and she was getting angry about it, but then she asked herself if it was worth it to get upset because this standing in a long line to get through security was just temporary and if she can just consider that, it wasn't so bad.  Soon she would be through security check and things would be so much better.  When she finally got to her loading gate and she was waiting to board her flight, she took some time to people watch.  Some people were still grumpy from the trials and tribulations of traveling, but others were happy.  Maybe if those grumpy people could look at things as being temporary, life might be easier for them.  So she tried to lead me through my scenario and said, "...and what could help you deal with that is....?"  And I answered, "Meth...and drugs."  This was not the correct answer, for the record.

I don't really say anything that surprises the Rug Doctor anymore, but none the less, I took the time to explain my answer to her.  I told her that today, out of the blue, on the way in to work I started thinking about how Shark Bait and I would grow old.  Would we be living on the street like Linus and Wonder Woman?  Would we be in some assisted living home arguing about who should have won the 2016 Presidential election?  What if Shark Bait died first?  Would I be alone knowing no one?  Would I just die of sadness?  What if I died first?  Would Shark Bait be sad?  He's so social, he'd probably be okay.  It's decided, I should go first.  But what if we couldn't afford assisted living?  What if we were living on the street like my new friends, Linus and Wonder Woman?  I've kind of digressed here, but what I'm trying to say is, some of these people living on the street do drugs because life sucks.  And, if I end up homeless, I'm going to do meth if I can make some friends that will share with me, because then I won't care that I'm homeless, cold, hungry, haven't brushed my teeth in months, have a cooter that would make a petri dish blush and shoes made out of squished 1-liter plastic Coke bottles with some string I found.  We talk about drug abuse and homelessness, but the reality is, I'd rather be high and cold than aware that I am miserable and that my big toe just fell off due to hypothermia or some fungus I got from fighting a scrappy possum for cold fries out of the McDonalds garbage bin. 

You all might not be considering this kind of future for yourselves, and I think that is great.  I applaud you and your ability to have faith in your golden years.  My inner pony voices call bullshit on the potential for "happily ever after." Life isn't all The Notebook.  But hey, the whole reason I'm going to therapy is that I'm trying to get the pony voices to just let me enjoy today and not fret about tomorrow.  It's hard not to think about the darkness that awaits when there are so many people on the street.  It hurts my heart.  I talked to the Rug Doctor about it and there are many reasons people are out there.  We can't possibly know why each person is out there.  I just know that I'm really good at this self-fulfilling prophecy stuff.  I remember thinking, "What if I have weight loss surgery and don't lose weight? What if I have the surgery and I gain it back."  Nailed both of those things.  Gold star, dumbass.

Now, before you say something all logical like, "Why don't you create a positive self-fulfilling prophecy?"  "Why don't you believe the good will happen and then it will?"  Last time I checked, my life isn't a freaking Disney movie.  Look, that's why I see the Rug Doctor.  If I could reprogram my brain that easily, I would have.  Instead, I'm busy worrying about how I'm going to fit all of my stuffed ponies in that one shopping cart.  I'm going to need multiple carts.  Should I get them from multiple stores over time, or just go big and take them all from Safeway right up front?  What are they going to do? Have me arrested?  The jails are too full.  I guess I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.  (Look, I said "if" instead of "when."  If that isn't a therapy win, I don't know what is.)

Anyway, as long as I still have a truck and a home, I'm going to just try not to hit any homeless people and save my pennies.  I'll probably also try and stop self-fulfilling with cookies and maybe work on fulfilling with positive thinking.  That's funny. Ha!  That's probably what Wonder Woman was laughing at the wall for.  She probably thought she had her shit together at one point in her life and then, poof, she got that cape and the backpack...sigh.  I'll just make sure I keep my pink pony magical pj's, maybe add a cape or tarp to it.  And then I can tell everyone about the power of the pajamas.  In case you forgot about the power, here is the blog about them: http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-power-of-pajamas.html.

Well, I think that's a wrap.  I'm going to go self-fullfill my spot on the couch and watch TV.

Thanks for the gift, Mother Nature...You Bitch.

As I write this blog entry tonight, I am wrapping up celebrating my birthday weekend.  I just turned 45 years old.  In my head I don't feel that old, but in my joints and muscles, I do.  When I look in the mirror I'm seeing the changes gradually taking place.  I feel like I am okay with it, but nature is providing me a special gift this year that has me questioning what I am really okay with.

About a week or so ago, I started experiencing rage beyond what I normally experience.  Rage to the point my boss said, "Why don't you go home...as a matter of fact, GET OUT.  I say this with love, GO HOME NOW."  Hmph. Wimp. The height of my rage is when shit gets solved and world problems are discussed in an open and honest forum.  This was no time to go home.  THIS was the time to hash some shit out.  However, there is this whole workplace appropriate thing and honestly, you really can only use variations of the phrase "Mother Trucker" so many times before people get all sensitive.  Not everyone is as hearty as me and frankly, it's a damn shame.

Anyway, I did what I always do when my bitch switch is stuck on high, I checked my Period Tracker app.  Well, turns out things were late.  I'm never late.  Not since I was 10 years old have I been late.  That's right, you wonder why I'm such a bitch, I've been dealing with this shark week thing since I was 10 freaking years old without a misstep.  My uterus sheds its wall with utter joy every month like clockwork. Suddenly, I was being mocked.  It was suggested I was either pregnant or I was perhaps beginning menopause or peri-menopause. Well, I know for a fact I'm not prego unless it is divine intervention.  I'd like to think God would make a better choice than this vessel for bringing a new savior onto this planet.  I mean, find a virgin, if you can, but I digress. Next, I reached out to my Mom, who is as good, if not better than WebMD, and I asked her.  She advised she started menopause when she was 45 years old.  Well, right on schedule, here it was.  What the hell?

I considered what this means to my life as I know it now.  What it mostly means is that I am old. I'm dried up. I'm pretty much waiting to die.  Best years of my life are gone.  I mean, in a nutshell, that is kind of the big picture. Of course, the only way to truly know what all this means to me, is to Google menopause.

First things first, if you are going through menopause or think you are, DON'T Google it.  Just don't.  I am more depressed now than I was before.  Turns out this is what I have to look forward to:

• Irregular periods
• Vaginal dryness
• Hot flashes
• Night sweats
• Sleep problems
• Mood changes
• Weight gain and slowed metabolism
• Thinning hair and dry skin
• Loss of breast fullness

That is FANTASTIC!  Periods, gone, okay, but now they are going to be "irregular?"  Like, I won't be able to predict them?  My Period Tracker app is worthless now! What if I don't have supplies? What if I am randomly bitchy (oh, wait, false alarm, that is not a new symptom)?

Vaginal Dryness...my girl bits are going to be dry?  One "friend" said, "oh yeah, you're going to be dry, dry, dry...so dry it will hurt to pee."  Another alleged friend said, "KY and Vodka, problem solved."   Seriously?  I don't need to maintain a slip-n-slide environment down there, but sweet Maryanne, I don't want to have a dried up raisin vagina.

Hot Flashes and Night Sweats?  Yeah, I have already been experiencing that.  I woke up like three times last night stuck to the flannel sheets like fruit leather.  Sometimes at work my face and neck are bright red and I'm on fire for no reason.  I thought I was just pissed about the stupidity of humanity, but now I know there is an actual medical reason.

Sleep Problems?  Got 'em.  That is what Benedryl, Nyquil, alcohol and Xanax is for, I guess.

Mood Changes?  I asked Shark Bait (Shit, do I have to change his blog name now? Will the madness never end?) how he felt about me becoming more moody or bitchy.  He just scoffed and said, "I've been in training for this our entire relationship, I don't see a problem with this."  I think he just called me a bitch, but on the other hand, I'm thankful I've put the time in preparing him for these alleged Golden Years.

Weight Gain and Slow Metabolism?  FUCK YOU.  That is all.

Thinning Hair and Dry Skin? One person advised me that my hair will thin, but then I will get rogue thick hairs in places I never had them before and likely do not want them now.  I'm going to be scaly and hideous. I'll look like some sort of river monster they find in the deepest rivers of Africa.

Loss of Breast Fullness.  This is a joke right?  I'd have to have breast fullness before I can lose it.  If I don't have it now, what will they do?  Invert?  Dry up? I mean, this really could not be any crueler.  I'll have to put two cutlets into each bra cup instead of one?  Should I just wear nipple covers and tape them against my chest?

I just don't know what to make of all this.  I know this is all survivable.  I know a bazillion women have gone through this.  I mean, I'm probably going to be okay.  I'm already unstable, so I can't see there will be much the general public will notice, but I can't help but feel like this means I am saying goodbye to my youth.  I get that my youth is long gone, but this just affirms it.  I can be in denial as long as shark week comes each month.  I also wonder, why did I waste my 20's and 30's not being a whore and living life and running amuck and living la vida loca?  My friend, Hearty Babe, pointed out that the level of activities in my 20's & 30's does not make up for anything that is or isn't happening now.  I guess that is true, but I'd have the memories.  My then slippery vagina would have memories.  Now, the old raisin vagina is just gonna be like, "is that another tumble weed? I remember when the river flowed through this valley..."

Sigh.  So, anyway, thanks Mother Nature.  I appreciate your gift this year.  I'll just be over here feeling tired and bitchy with my dry skin, male pattern baldness, four forehead hairs, some unsightly two foot long wire-like chin hairs, saggy water balloon boobs, fatter than ever body sweating while my vagina feels like someone glued it shut with super-glue.  I'll be fine.  I'll just cut out coupons for KY jelly and hit up the booze aisle at the grocery store.

I will say this, one thing that menopause cannot take from me is my love for chocolate.  You can't take that from me, Menopause.  You can take the hair and the moisture from my body, but you will not take my love of chocolate!  I will live my days out as comfortably as I can.  Chocolate will be there for me, even when my skin flakes off on a windy day and my wiry chin hair stabs me in the eye.  I got this.  Me and Chocolate. Together forever.  Fighting menopause...one day at a time.

I leave you with this parting advice, my friends... If you have youth, enjoy it.  If yours already left you...go buy some chocolate and seriously, if it hurts to pee, get some lubricant.

45 and holding...until I dry up.