Open Wounds

Today at 3pm I finished the last of my neuropsychiatric evalution (read: guinea pig water boarding). After the math questions, spelling tests, arranging blocks, counting change, "repeat after me, in alphanumeric order, then backwards" mind-boggling exercises spanning over three sessions - 3-4 hours each - was a series of questions about life history and experiences. Where have I lived, how did I do in school, what have my relationships been like, etc, etc, etc.

So, my biological father wasn't allowed to be involved in my life in any way and, now deceased, never will be; we moved a lot; my mother (whom one of my many therapists labeled as borderline a couple years ago) had several drug addictions and took her issues out on us at times; my dad hid from us when things were bad; my parents divorced; spent a good part of my childhood parenting my siblings and mother; was molested at age 13 by a friend's step dad who had been raping her repeatedly and she never thought to tell me; moved back and forth between parents; used drugs, wild hair colors, hidden tattoos and piercings to feel in control when I otherwise was not; have always been a workaholic or a total slacker, straight A student or skipping classes, am either a shiny, happy person or a cutting/depressive person (sound a little bipolar?); lost all sense of self-esteem after a horrible string of breakups and spent a year sleeping around trying to get it back; had a beautiful baby then got married and divorced; spent two years in debilitating pain after a work injury the insurance fought; lost my brother to drugs though I spent years trying to save him; attempted suicide; moved away from all of my friends to start over; remarried; spent a year trying to get pregnant again and have achieved nothing but constant pelvic pain; lost my mother who already stopped living when my brother died from the guilt and grief and finally busted my fucking senses in a car accident I caused that has my husband in legal trouble. I think that about sums it up.

It's really a lot worse than I thought. Thanks, Dr. P. for reminding me. I'm lucky I'm only half bat-shit crazy. If alcohol wouldn't make my headache increase ten-fold, I'd down a sixer of Oberon right now to forget it all again.

I'm totally worn out from the whole thing, and being on suicide watch at work, home and with every doctor I've come in contact with in the last 2 years. I usually try and keep that shit to myself. Now I'm in the spotlight wearing a sign that says "Handle with Care" and all I want to do is sleep. Forever. I'm not planning to kill myself though. Thanks to Lamictal and the shoulders of a few really great people, I'm on the upswing (I think) and don't want anyone getting hurt.

I don't want to be someone else's scar. Life is hard enough.


My sister is on her way from out of town and my husband should be home from work soon. Time to rest a bit and put on my happy face.

"Dear mum, couldn't stand the solitude any longer. Gone off to see the world. Don't be worried, I'll be back soon. Love Bilbo xxx"

This was the note supposedly left in the first record of  a garden gnome gone missing. I didn't realize this idea has been around since the time I was born; seems fitting. I'm thinking of leaving it myself and busting out of here but don't know where I'd go and it's hard to take a 6 year-old boy around the world when he should be in school. Twelve years and it's on!


I'd love to travel the world but here's the problem - there's really no place on Earth a person can spill the beans about EVERYTHING without getting into some sort of trouble and I've got some stuff to get off my chest. Where's the best place to hide? Right out in the open.  

This is not a challenge. Please don't try to find me, because you might, and that would be very unfortunate because I'd have to filter through all of this to take out anything inappropriate. No fun. Game over. 

Don't search for who loves Modest Mouse and Chuck Palahniuk, works in dialysis and has a Step Mother-in-Law who thinks "Bipolar" is an adequate cause of death. (It probably is but she has no idea and needs to keep her fucking mouth shut.) Don't look for a person who is shiny and happy (more than you could imagine) one minute and wants to throw herself off a cliff the next. This person does not exist. This is all a dream. Pretend that everything you read here is someone's fiction and we'll be cool. Oh, and as one of my blogging sisters likes to say, "don't be a dick".


This blog is likely to be short lived and probably just something to do in place of all the other things I should be doing (read: laundry, dishes, "mom stuff", work). It's been a rough year and I'm out of my mind with boredom from being home. I've managed to use 160 hours of PTO in the last 3 months between a small surgery for endometriosis, my mother dying and a car accident that ROCKED my brain. I'm currently dealing with the brain thing. And supposed to write myself notes like the Memento guy, only not so bad. Not really bad at all, if it doesn't bother you not to remember what you were planning to do or what word you were looking for. :( I don't feel like writing myself notes though. Talking to myself is getting old.


I'm taking 3 medications for the headache, which is comparable to when I had dry socket from having wisdom teeth extracted and refusal to obey the (what's the word?) "golden rule" of not smoking afterward. One of them is rough on my stomach and kidneys (indomethacin), the other is incredibly addictive (percocet) and the last isn't doing anything, as far as I can tell, aside from making me a little dizzy (propanol). I probably should be taking  mood stabilizers to get through the crap I've got to deal with. It'd make my husband happy, though he doesn't know it, and I might miss less work due to chronic pelvic pain and now a near chronic post-concussion headache and maybe even smile more but we're trying to have a baby (10 months of nothing so far), the one that I know works for me (lamictal) is horrible on the liver and I refuse to take lithium (read: denial, denial, denial). Usually, I can maintain a stable, happy psyche with yoga and good food but I keep getting knocks that hold me back. I spent 2+ years virtually incapacitated by a back injury a while back that still flares up from time to time, my brother died, now I've got pelvic congestion and endometriosis, a dead mom and a massive fucking headache. There's nothing more depressing to me than being mentally unsettled and physically inactive. It kills me. 


Seriously.


I need out. Out of the house. Out of my mind.