What would you do for sugar?

When you really need sugar and by accident find these under your bed! They weren’t all chewy sweet tarts though.

Can you find the ibuprofen hidden in the chewy sweet tarts?

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Crystal Lynn enters, stage left

I said in my last post, first one in a long time, that things were getting better because I’m learning and putting into practice ways to cope.

There is still so much drama in my life it is unbearable at times, like last weekend.  I can’t even write about it because the anxiety still bubbles up and fills me.  I was so depressed it wasn’t looking good for me.  My medicine is working, I know the difference between meds screwing up my mood and other depression caused by rejection, fear, feeling, lonely, confusion and stress.  My narcissist ex-husband the cause of all of it. It was bad.

I was doing that pathetic crying again., Where you don’t make a sound or move and the tears role down your cheeks.  I tried not to give in to it.  I knew I should try all the “tricks”, but I couldn’t even do that.

Sunday morning around 11am it was either this or me.  Dead serious.

So I got into bed, watched reruns of “The Big Bang Theory” and waited.

I’m not sure how long it took or why it started to happen, but I started to come around a little bit.  Nothing like a phoenix rising from the ashes, but clawing out from under the earth and reaching the surface.  Very dramatic, but that is how it was feeling.

Just that little breath of air from the surface began to clear my head.  I meditated for 5 minutes, crying.  I read a little book I have about 50 mindful ways to calm.  And then I remembered, Crystal Lynn.

Crystal Lynn is my alter ego that I developed to stop being so, well, being me.  She doesn’t have a job, sits on her porch all day surrounded by cars on cinder blocks, smokes and does what she wants.

I needed her because she says things like “Who cares?” and “Fuck you!” and “Fuck that”. If she says it enough it feels real, I stop caring and I can breathe a little more. When she’s thinking for me I reach that calmness.  It’s amazing how she can practically soften blood pounding in my head, pain when I breath in and my pounding heart.

In my already delicate mental state, a teen age transgender daughter/son (I’ll tell that story sometime) working two jobs, narcissist ex-husband that despises me…I’ve got to stop writing about it again, my chest is beginning to constrict.

On top of all that…I made my self-crazy with anxiety, because trying to be the best at everything and usually failing I fell into that vicious cycle.

Crystal Lynn doesn’t handle the bigger situations as well, but I cause almost the same symptoms with the little things as well as big things.

Example of a little thing that I made into a big thing:

My son’s college graduation. I knew my ex-husband would be there and then I found out the night before that my ex-in-laws were coming as well. I started trying on outfits, using it as a way to redirect my anxiety (didn’t realize that was what I was doing).  I tried on all my clothes and shoes. Nothing fit because I’ve lost so much weight, but still lumpy in places.  Worrying about where I was going to sit, what time should I arrive, where were they sitting, what if I saw them, what if they were there for pictures…. spinning out of control as usual.

Enter Crystal Lynn,. She said, “Just wear something you will be comfortable in, John knows what you look like and there isn’t anyone else that you have to impress or even cares what you are wearing.”  Now anyone could have already said that before, but it’s a magical feeling to feel it and do it with absolutely no second thoughts, almost as if I came up with it myself!

I think people with anxiety and/or PTSD reactions will totally understand how a small thing, or in my case, all small things connected to John start to get on that endless circle only picking up speed with each pass.

I wore my comfortable outfit that fit. White jeans and black cardigan. At the last minute my dad said he was going with me.  I fought the physical reactions, took half a clonazepam, parking no problem.

We sat with my son’s wife’s family, didn’t look around and I don’t think I was spotted. Took pictures with Tristan.  In laws and John showed up.  I was aloof and took the high road (hate that road).

Thanks, Crystal Lynn, please come again.

It’s a new day, it’s a new life….

I began writing my blog from a need to accept my newly diagnosed self with Bipolar II.  At that time, except for my marriage, that seemed to be my biggest struggle.

I wrote mostly about everyday things with a little humor.  Those were good times.

My posts changed with my mother dying.  The trauma of those two weeks coupled with my broken marriage wreaked havoc with my delicate emotional balance.

The next years became fraught with major life changes.  My youngest daughter’s seizures, my narcissistic ex husband’s affair and the divorce.

I was thinking back to the last year and a half (which I try very hard not to do).  My relationships with my children were falling apart. I was emotionally falling apart.  During this turmoil I was still able to work full time and part time on the weekends, put on a happy face to the world.  I had some bad moments where I was responsible.  I had terrible moments that I was not.  I was out of my abusive co-dependent marriage, but having withdrawals from the tiny crumbs of love that was all I had received for the last 27 years. I was 25 pounds overweight. My medicine was causing trouble and I was drinking a bottle of wine every night.  To add to this pile of misery was my constant drive for perfection in everything from work, family and even the speed of my recovery.  I was a mess.

Now to the present. I am 25 pounds lighter, no more drinking wine every night, medicine stable and relationships repaired.

I’ve still got a ton to fix, but I’m finally coming out the other end and I can tell my stories with humor again.  I can write how I fixed and am fixing so many things.

The most important indication of my new found hope was changing all my passwords to happy words with exclamation marks!

My Men

I’ve come to the conclusion that the men I choose in my life suck.

The first man to suck was the father of my oldest daughter.  I was just 20. He abandoned us when I gave birth.

The second man, the main man, was John my husband of 28 years.  He is a narcissist.

Unbelievably, I fell in love with the third man just this last July, Rick.  We had known each other since we were teenagers.  He popped up into my life and manipulated me to such a degree even the likes of John and the other guy had never seen.

When the lies were revealed to me I deleted all his texts, photos, etc.  He has only tried to reach me once the next morning and haven’t heard from him since.  There is so much more to this story than the few sentences I have written.  I am so upset by his betrayal that I’m not even able to write about it fully.

My therapist warned me to go slowly.  I honestly tried.  At first I thought I was.  I think my perception of slow is different from other people’s.  It must have something to do with a lifetime of running my four-day ultra-rapid cycling pattern.

I was going slow for me.

In addition to the hate for Rick,  and all the lies he told, I feel used.  I feel violated. I know that word it tossed around and has made us all insensitive to it, but I was in every sense of the word.  The situation this man caused was so horrible it made me miss John.  The night that the bottom fell out of this short relationship I stacked up my pillows in bed and tried to hug them like they were John.  That is so sad I’m tearing up remembering it.

For all the trash I talk about John, I miss him.  He always protected me.  Half the time he was what I needed protection from, but that’s how I felt even though it might not have been true.  It’s normal to still miss him.  I have a crazy unrealistic healing time schedule in my mind.

The advice I’ve been given is to feel what I’m feeling.  It doesn’t mean I want him back. I’ve cried on and off since last Monday.  I don’t even seem to be able to hold tears back even when I want to.  I cry because I miss John, I cry because Rick broke my heart.  I cry because I’m lonely.  I miss my oldest daughter and my son.  I’m crying now.  I’m just so sad.

I’ve got a long road.  I thought I could make it shorter, but it doesn’t work that way.

 

 

Another One of Those First World Problems

I feel complaining about insignificant things and labeling them “FWP” exonerates me from being a whiny spoiled person living in the best place in the world.  I’m also a jaded ex-catholic, so there is already a layer of guilt underneath everything I say and do.  

I want to post this for another reason.  With the hell I’ve been going through for the past year from medication side effects, divorce, being ostracized by my children and doing all of this in a delicate mental condition, I welcome superficial trivial problems. 

Here is one now:

Well, so far this is a very good day! I colored my hair this week from an online hair color boasting it is just like the professional color. I don’t know why I bother. The brown of my hair turned out beautifully but the white came out a light brownish reddish. Anyway……I used the last of my root concealer two days ago (forgot all about covering my roots on Tuesday and was out doing errands for four hours). Luckily I wasn’t aware so had all of the confidence of a good looking person. Back to my roots (pardon the pun) I was even debating wearing one of Allison’s hats to hit the Walgreens early before too many people were there to get a new can of concealer. In the bathroom I took one more last ditch effort, fingers crossed, to look in the bathroom closet.  There it was buried under cold medicine…..half a can!!!  Halejuha!

Dear Life:  please keep bringing on those kind of problems.  I really need a break.  xoxo

Narcissist Until the End

I have been trying to leave John on and off for about the 27 years we’ve been together.  It has been an unhealthy codependent relationship since I was 23.  He loves me, he hates me, he loves me again.  He’s nice, he’s mean, he’s nice to me again.  It was constant cycle.  And then throw in my Bipolar II four-day cycle, what a nightmare it was to live like that.

Wednesday the day I have been trying for arrived.  I am officially divorced from John!

At first I was elated and bouncing around at the news because I had needed the signed decree to close on a condo I am buying.  I was cutting it really close, the closing is this Tuesday.  That’s all I had been concentrating on for 3 weeks

“That means we are divorced,” I said, “we’ve been together for 27 years and now it’s over.” Without wanting to I began to get a bit misty.

“Do you want a hug?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t give me a hug when my mom died and now you want to give me one, “I asked, “it’s too late for that.”

My tears dried before they hit my cheeks.  Thank you, John, for reminding me so quickly and so clearly why I didn’t give in this time.

 

Good Samaritan or Crazy Person?

Recently, I was minding my own business driving to the library when something caught my eye. Two people were making unnatural movements on the sidewalk along the side of the library.  It took a minute for my brain to translate what my eyes were seeing. First, two women fighting.  Second, a lot of blood.

I don’t know what other people would’ve done, but after the last realization it all clicked and I stopped the car, almost pulling to the curb. As I got out, the other women ran and got into the passenger side of the truck in front of me and sped off (she must’ve heard of me and my bad ass reputation)!

I got to the bleeding woman and asked her what I could do, not realizing the severity of the situation.  She sat down on the grass and said call 911.  She didn’t even say it sarcastically or with a condensing tone with which I would have expected from such a stupid question.

I ran back to my car to get my phone and called 911.  I ran to the hatchback and grabbed the wipes that had been left by Emily on her last visit.

I applied pressure to the deep gash above her eye.  Blood was everywhere, it was pooling on her chest. The 911 dispatcher asked me a lot of questions and I relayed the information between the girl and her. That is how I found out the reason for all the violence.  Amanda said the weapon was metal, like a pipe or a wrench.  She had broken up with her boyfriend and the new girlfriend had accused her of stealing clothes.  Sounds like a solid reason for attempted murder to me.

I continued try to comfort her, telling her the ambulance was on it’s way and then she would be okay.  I said we should listen for the sirens (exactly what I was saying to Allison the night of the seizure). She seemed to be breathing strangely.  I told her over and over to breath slower and deeper.  Every baby wipe I applied to the wound filled right away.

10 minutes and 100 bloody wipes later, I finally heard the sirens.

Revealed, I left her to the EMTs.  I picked up the blood soaked wipe and her purse and carried them to the ambulance.  Then I had to run back because I realized I had put my phone in her purse.

I didn’t realize how shaken I was until I started to write a statement and my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. I was writing illegible nonsense.  I told the police officer I wasn’t making any sense.  He was really kind and asked if I just wanted to take it home and he would pick it up.  The thought of the police coming to my house and having to prolong this nightmare propelled me into tough mode and I said I would start again, but first let me melt into a pile of tears.  It took me a few minutes, I recovered, stopped shaking and wrote down what I had witnessed.

A little bit of reflection…no one stopped to help us in the ten minutes we waited for the ambulance!  We couldn’t have been missed!  Amanda with blood pouring down her face and me, propping her up with bloody tissues surrounding me on the grass. I really could have used the help.

I was back home telling the story to Allison when I realized something.  What if when I jumped out of the car, the woman with the weapon came after me?  What if the driver of the car jumped out with a gun and shot me? The list of bodily injuries that could have been delivered on me was massive!  It was like the time recently when a woman and her dogs were being attacked by a pit bull in the street.  I did the same thing! Stopped my car and jumped out to help. Just what the hell was my plan?  Get ripped to shreds along with the dogs and their owner?

If a situation like this happens again, I am going to try to park, STAY IN CAR and dial 911! I may have gotten away with being a good Samaritan this time, but next time I might be a dead person.  I hope it doesn’t take me being killed to realize this.