Fear of Falling

I have had control issues from a young age.  I am that person who always has the last word, who always has to be right, who always wants things done my way. I've always been like that, and I know it's deeply ingrained in my soul.  My mother is the same way, and so is my sister.  When I was in high school, I never drank and still don't.  I used to say it was because I didn't like the taste of alcohol, but I think it was my fear of losing control.  I would go to parties on Friday nights, sit around and watch my friends become idiots, and on Monday mornings back at school I would be the one telling them how dreadfully stupid they behaved because they couldn't remember.  I didn't want to be like them.

It's been a recurring theme in all my relationships- with people, with work, with strangers, with road rage.  It's one of the reasons I make tedious to-do lists even when I'm home alone all day.  It's why I make elaborate "itineraries" when we go on vacation.  It's why I spend an hour on MapQuest before I drive anywhere new (I can't even let myself trust a GPS). It's a character trait/flaw I've long wanted to change, but I have a tremendous problem dealing with it.  It makes others around me unhappy, and in the end, it stresses me out more than I need to be.  I made a promise to myself over the weekend that going forward, I was going to actively work on this.

J and I had a bit of a tiff over the weekend, on the way home from buying the new house.  We rarely fight, and I wouldn't even call this an argument, but we spent a few hours in stony silence afterwards which is horribly unlike us.  All because J said he wanted to buy a particular piece of furniture for the new house, and I immediately shot down his idea because I didn't think we needed it.  And I do that all the time.  I know it, but I can't help myself, the words come spewing out of my mouth before my brain engages.  Most of the time I wish I could suck them back in, but that's never possible is it?  Once we were speaking again, J said he is so tired of me being that way.  J rarely speaks negatively towards me, and for him to do so, I know he truly is upset with me.  And if my easy-going husband is upset, then this is something I need to work on.

I know part of it is the control.  But part of it is also how badly I deal with change.  Any change.  Every year my company had the same boring questions and categories on our annual reviews.  No matter what department, no matter what job, no matter what boss- when it came to the question about how does this employee deal with change, I got terrible marks.  It was always always the one category I failed, every time.  And if people I worked with saw it, how bad was I behaving with the people I lived with?  Because I did it with my ex as well.  It was a different situation with him- because of the abuse and disrespect and mutual hatred, I always thought I had to "fight" for what I wanted, that I always had to be ready to defend myself and my way of thinking.  In that relationship, we were always combative. It was dog eat dog, and if I didn't speak up first or speak the loudest, I got trampled.  If I didn't get it my way, then I was crushed under the weight of W's decisions.  

W was selfish and angry, his choices were meant to hurt, to demean, to dominate.  J is not like that, he always bends over backwards to please me.  He is willing and happy to make compromises for me.  Why can't I do the same for him?  Why can't I loosen my grip on the rope?  It's not as though he will take it all and use it as a noose on me.  Right now I seem to always be in a tug of war against him, but he doesn't want to play.

If we planned to go to lunch before we go to the garden center, but J decides to go to the garden center first, I instantly start listing the reasons why I think we should go to lunch first.  And I do that ALL THE TIME.  With everything.  No matter how small or insignificant the issues.  It's like I never allow the man to make decisions.  For me, it's a (bad) reaction to a change. To J, it's me telling him he's wrong and proceeding to point out the reasons why.  If he has an idea about how to do something, I almost always find a way to "correct" him, and come up with my own version of how we should continue.  I usually end up sounding like a smarty pants, and even I see that.  Why do I assume he doesn't know how to use a certain tool, pick a restaurant, buy his own clothes?  Do I try to control all the decisions in order to feel needed, to feel necessary in his life?  If so, that's going to backfire eventually.  No man wants to constantly feel like a child, married to his mother.

I don't want to do that to him, and I don't want to make him feel bad or belittle him or make him, as he said he does so often during these conversations, just give up and "let" me have my way because he is worn down and it's easier just to give in.  "Yes dear."  Back when we were dating, I half-jokingly told J I was high maintenance, that I was raised a princess and a daddy's girl and was used to being spoiled.  And J has always treated me the same way.  It's one thing to be spoiled and showered because the giver is freely doing it, entirely with an open heart.  It's another thing to get your way because you have demanded it and browbeaten your spouse.  There is a fine line between being a princess and being a spoiled brat.  I don't want to be that way, but sometimes I think I am.  I am worried that J will become resentful eventually.

J told me this weekend that it is tiring and it is easier to let me get my way than to argue with me.  That makes me sound like a bitch.  I know he wasn't calling me a bitch, it just makes ME see myself that way.  I know J meant to open a meaningful dialogue with me, but I snapped at him about how I won't be a doormat, I have opinions, I won't keep my mouth shut.  I realized with a painful stab to my heart, that in my mind I was arguing with my ex-husband.  It was like I didn't even see J standing there in front of me.  Why can't I get that awful fucking waste of a human out of my head after all these years!

I tried to explain it to J- that when I say "no we can't do that!" I sometimes mean "that idea scares me" but I don't know how to say it the right way.  I don't know if he understands or not.  J just sees it as me being negative.  He said he deals with that all the time at work, his ideas are always met with resistance and negativity. People will say "we can't do that" or "we've always done it this way we don't want to make changes"- and he said he really doesn't want to hear more of it at home.  I tried to let him know that- whether or not he thinks it's a big deal- things scare me sometimes, but of course he doesn't understand that either because he is my protector and my support and my white knight.  He is always telling me not to worry, not to get upset, everything will turn out okay, he will take care of it.  And it almost always does work out fine.  But it's a nasty symptom of my anxiety, to be fearful of any change, and so I try to defend myself with the word NO.  And that's fucked up.  Even if our Saturday routine gets shuffled in the middle of the day.  Even if J wants to buy a fireproof safe to put in the storage room of the new house.  I always react, and normally I react and overreact badly.

J sees it as me battling against him, and that's the last thing I want to do.  We always say we are a team.  It's one of his catchphrases for whenever we have a bump in the road.  We're a team!  We're in this together.  I should chant that to myself before I open my mouth, to remind myself that I am not his mom, I am not that naggy henpecking type of wife, I'm not his boss.  J has a tendency to ask for my opinion, a lot.  Most of the time it's on innocuous subjects like matching a shirt with dress pants, or will I read an email he's writing and let him know if it sounds okay, or what should we buy his mom for Mother's Day.  And of course, sometimes he makes these same decisions without me and I am fine with that.  But I am also sometimes quick to tell him the green shirt doesn't go with the gray pants, or his mother doesn't wear the necklace we got her last year so why buy her another one this year.  I have a tough time drawing the line on what is constructive criticism and support, and what is just plain damn control and nitpicking.

For months now he's been asking my thoughts about buying a particular kind of car.  Well it's a car I absolutely can't stand, I think they are ugly, and I don't think they are a car for a manly man to drive.  So every time he brings it up, I am utterly and completely negative about it.  I say ridiculous things like, well that's a girl car, anything to talk him out of it because I don't like the car.  But then I will say, like a snot, well it will be your car, you do whatever you want.  Of course at that point, I've spent ten minutes ranting about how much I would hate it and I wouldn't want to ride in it.  The damage is done, my point was made, he has been beaten down.  WHY WHY WHY!  It's a fucking car, and more than that, it's HIS fucking car.  He works hard, we have the money, why am I being such a petulant child about it?  What does it matter?!?! 

WHY AM I THIS WAY?

I have GOT to stop this.  My husband wants a certain car, and he deserves it, no matter what I may think about it.  I am scared about getting rid of our current vehicle, the fun and fast convertible we've had since we were dating.  But it's a car, I've attached all sorts of crazy sentimental emotions to it.  J has wanted to sell it for five years now, and I keep saying NO.  Why?  The fear of change?  The fact that I think I have to control every decision we make?  I don't know.

That's just one small example, it's the one facing us currently.  People sell cars and buy new cars every minute of the day.  Hell, I got a new car last year.  If it was MY idea to sell the old sports car and get a new one, it would be cool, and J wouldn't care.  But it's like it's because it was his idea, that I can't let it go, I can't process it and be fine with it.  My husband is an amazing man, with sound judgment, outstanding morals, intelligence.  Wouldn't it be so much easier on my anxiety, so freeing for me to just let him make the decisions and be okay with them?  He won't steer me wrong, he won't let me fall, his decisions are for "us" and what's best and he will take care of me.  J always makes certain my needs are met, no matter what he has to do.  Why can't I shake off the anxiety, the tightness, and give him the the respect and freedom he deserves?  I've got got got got got to work on this.

I've got to work on this right now, because with this move to the new house, we have a million billion decisions to make.  I cannot allow myself to control every single one.  I won't.  J works very very hard, he's made a lot of sacrifices, to take this traveling job.  His personal comfort, never being at home, missing us and me missing him too.  But it was a great opportunity and now it's allowing us to make this move to the new house.  I need to remind myself of that whenever he wants to do something, or buy something, or go somewhere- even if I don't want to or don't agree.  THAT is compromise, that is a true partnership.  One person caving all the time is not.  Eventually that person is going to be so far deep down in a hole, they will tunnel their way out and move on to a better place where they can live their own life the way they want to.  I don't want to lose my husband over decisions about paint colors or lighting fixtures. It's not worth it!  I have an amazingly patient husband, but even so, there are limits for everyone I believe.

Arg, it's frustrating and sad to know I am like this.  Why am I still making him drive a car we bought in 2004, just because I am overly fond of the memories we've had in it over the years.  It's a broken down money pit we hardly ever drive anymore.  The wonderful memories will always be there. LET. IT. GO.  Let J plan where we go to eat lunch on Saturday, and when.  Let him hang the silly sports posters in his office if he wants to.  Let him wear those crazy bright blue tennis shoes he picked out and bought without me last week. Let him decide how to design the new signs he is making.  It's like I can't even sit back and allow him that, I have to have my finger in every tiny pot, stirring.

Let it go and let my husband be happy with making a decision and let ME be happy letting him do it!  Why is my little world so complicated?  Why am I MAKING it complicated, more than it ever needs to be?  Me and my anxiety and my stupid control issues.  I need help.

MISS GEE

Change Your Brain

I had to start this post over again, wiping out a few paragraphs filled with negativity.  All I wanted to say was how very excited I am about having a greenhouse at the new home up in the mountains, and I went off on a tangent about how much I hate our current neighbors and how miserable they make me and how I can't wait to get away from them.

I don't know why my mind automatically goes to the negative, to the anger, to the unhappiness.  I see potential problems where others see unlimited possibilities.  I hear a suggestion and my mind shuts it down, while other people are always open to new ideas and embracing change.  I want to cast off my old way of thinking, this Debbie Downer, this Negative Nelly in me.  I want to learn to say and think "I can" and "I will" instead of "I can't" or "I won't", and not just say it but believe it!  I want to stop hating, to stop staying in this continual mode of always being pissed off at the world.  I am only holding myself back from life, by seeing the darkness and never the light.

What I wanted to say in this post, is how very much I am looking forward to the opportunity to grow my own fresh vegetables and herbs, to cook healthier, to experiment with new recipes.  Instead I looked out the window here and went on a crazy rant about how we don't spend any time outside at our current house because of the people who live next to us.  Why did I have to go there?  I just deleted it all.  Focus on the future, focus on the excitement, focus on the dreams and the plans and the possibilities.  Stop worrying about what others do and say, stop letting my head get crammed with all the things that bother me and instead fill it up with the simple satisfaction of living a good life, and being blessed with good fortunes.

I know that a large part of my depression, is how my brain processes the normal ups and downs of every day life.  People always remark to me that I am always happy, but that's just the forced smile I show them all, the pretend laughter.  I rarely feel happiness inside.  J is the only one who knows it, who senses it.  He will ask me "why are you never happy?" and I don't know how to answer him.  If I knew the answer, I would give anything to put a plan into action and change the way my mind thinks!  My one good friend here is studying a very specific branch of psychology and she's been having practice sessions with friends who volunteer.  After talks with me, she said I'm complicated and she needs more training before she can help me.  I could have told her that!

I know all the inspirational stories on the news, blah blah, about people overcoming odds and fighting for survival and never giving up hope.  My thoughts always go straight down the crapper from the outset.  Why can't I learn to be grateful and accepting and bare, instead of hunching inwards and closing myself up?  Why does my mind think of a post about flowers, and suddenly it becomes a tirade, a toxic monologue about other people?

What makes one person lean towards the negative, and another person always seems to have a sunny disposition?  Brain chemistry?  Environment?  I had the perfect, fun, happy childhood but I'm always grumpy and gloomy.  J spent his young years working hard and having a tougher go of things, but he is the most positive person I know.  I am SO tired of always being so upset and unhappy and down.  The negativity is powerful, it is poisonous.  It holds me back from doing the things I really want to do, it keeps me stuck in a bad place in my head.  I want to actually be- in real life- that productive, animated, chipper person I always portray on social media.

I want to feel real hope and optimism and sunshine on my face.  I don't know if this is an inherited trait, or if I can retrain my brain to learn to think this way.  J is like that.  Oh, not smugly happy, but he always sees the finest in people, in situations, he always has positive ideas, he always expects the best outcome.  My mind immediately goes to what could go wrong and how hard it will be and what if it doesn't work out?  Why can't I just smile and say YES and think oh how wonderful, and really really mean it!

But anyhow, back to my original post idea, I AM supremely excited to have this little workshop and greenhouse on our new property.  Well, it will be ours at the end of this week when we close.  I can't wait to plant tomatoes and peppers, rosemary and cilantro, marigolds and lavender and whatever else I can stick in a pot.  I look forward to making fresh salsa and drying herbs for my stews and sauces.  I am counting the days until we can relax on the front porch with coffee, or spend an evening on the back deck watching the birds and roasting marshmallows over a fire. And I want chickens! Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself, but I'm trying for that optimism and joy!

MISS GEE

Freeze Frame

So plans change at a whim, as they usually do.  This weekend we were supposed to go see the new house again, walk through it, take photos, measurements, yadda yadda.  But J had to stay out of town for work over the weekend, because of some issues with a potential strike of union employees.  And when the corporate office says you can't come home, you can't come home. But the good news is, he will be home Tuesday and off the rest of the week.  Yay!  So, it's a give and get situation, and considering that means he will be home for three entire days to HELP me with the big blow out yard sale on Saturday, well, I will take it.  I think it's been harder on him though, he's been calling and texting me constantly, and it was snowing yesterday there, but I think he's just more bored than he is blue.

My Friday was normal-  my weekly support group meeting at 7:30am, errands.  But once I got home, I knew I was done.  It has been a glorious weekend, sunny, cold, clear skies, joyful birds, blooming flowers.  Those days when everything is super bright azure and deep green. I just didn't want to go back out into the world.  And quite frankly, I don't want to be out in my yard either with my horrible foul neighbors always outside prowling around.  So I spent the weekend alone in the house.  Not happy but not sad, just eh.  That's me lately, eh.  If you can still be alive and have a flat line on the machine, that would describe how I feel anymore.

For some reason I decided to start sorting through all the old photos.  I think I mentioned it in my last post.  And I really do have other things I need to be doing, but once I get an idea stuck in my head, I sort of do it and damn the consequences.  So right now I have a dining table covered in photo albums and boxes.  I spent hours going through it all yesterday and barely made a dent.  Most of the photos are old, because once I got a digital camera, I stopped printing out photos.  These boxes are filled with prints from my old 35mm camera, and what's worse is back then- if you are old enough to remember- you always got a free second set of photos!  Not only am I sorting photos, but all the duplicates as well.

Because they are old, it's been really hard for me to go through them.  But it's because they are old, I am not carrying them with me into the new house.  Since we moved into this house, these photos have been down in our basement.  When we move into the new house, with our limited space, well, I've got to cut the number down drastically.

It's easy to say that the photos of the ex have to get dumped.  At first I thought I might struggle with tossing them, not because I still have feelings for him, but just because of my hoarding issues.  The way I attach sentimental value to things.  I've talked about how for me, tossing old cards and letters fills me with tremendous guilt, because I feel like I'm trashing my past.  I was really worried I would feel that way when I started throwing away the old photos too.  I had this insane idea of boxing up the photos of him, and the next time I went out of town (so the postage wouldn't reflect my current location) I would mail them to him.  I don't know where he lives, but he has a business and that address is online.  I don't know why I even considered that he would want the photos, or even care, and more than that I was afraid it would open up a can of worms.  Some things are just better off left dead and buried.

The first time I went to Vegas was with W, but J and I have been out there many times, and I have those photos and memories.  I have beautiful photos of New Orleans from when W and I visited it, but you know, J and I have been there too and those photos are MUCH more important to me.  And I don't exactly want to sit around and reminisce about my days with W.  When I think about the trips with W, I think about the fighting and screaming and long silences and hurtful words that always always always punctuated everything we did, even vacations.  Photos from those years remind me of all the pain.  Why would any sane person want to cling to those reminders?  It's amazing how much a tiny slip of color paper can wring emotions from the deepest part of your brain.

Once I started the process, I found all the old anger and hatred and fear and hopelessness welling up inside of me, all feelings he stirred in me during our 13 years together.  I did not feel any "good" feelings when I looked at him.  I kept thinking, what a waste of a human being.  He was handsome, he was smart, he was once ambitious and could have done great things.  The man interviewed at freakin' NASA!  But he let drugs and partying pave the way for laziness and apathy, and he disintegrated in front of my very eyes into a worthless piece of shit who hated women, tormented me, and wasted his potential.  I thought about the years of my life that could have-should have been happy, but how I spent them instead cowering into this little pathetic shell of the person I had once been. At the end of our relationship, I had changed as much as he did, and neither of us for the better.  He destroyed both of us.  So it became extremely easy to toss the glossy images of his shaggy curls and blue eyes and easy grin away into the garbage.  He did the same to me when we were married.

There were a lot of photos that made me sad.  Photos of my old dog, of my cat who recently died- both from cancer.  But happy photos too. Photos of old friends, family photos from childhood, baby photos of my now-grown nephews.  Pictures from high school marching band, from Disney, from the beach, from concerts. Those are the ones that will be harder to sift through.  Even though they evoke pleasant memories and warm feelings, and I laugh and smile when I look at them, realistically how often am I going to sit and look at these?  Honestly this is probably the first time in ten or more years I've gone through them.  It made me think back to a few years ago, when J's grandmother passed away at 94.  She was still living in her home, so she had never needed to let go of any of her possessions.  After she was gone, I can remember sitting with J's mother and aunt on the living room floor, sorting through hundreds of old photos.  And while I'm sure they meant the world to granny, none of us recognized a single blurry face looking back from the black and white squares.  They all went into the trash.  When I'm gone, my remaining photos will end up in the same place I'm sure, because whoever takes on the daunting task of cleaning up my belongings will have the same blank stare on their face when they look through my albums.

My goal for right now is JUST to get rid of the ones with W in them, or from trips he and I took together, or just any of the ones from my life with him.  The exception being any photo with the dog in it.  I do have hundreds of photos of just the dog.  But at least that many more of him with W in the frame as well.  I thought about sitting and cutting W out of the picture, but then what will I do with a stack of half-cropped photos.  At what point do I say, I have eight hundred pictures of the dog, I can't keep them all.  And then I know I will have to go through them again, and then again, until I have a manageable number of treasured portraits of loved ones and pets.

But that's what downsizing is all about, getting rid of the excess, the burden, the cumbersome possessions.  And I'm glad that we are making the choice now to downsize ourselves, so that we can do it on our own terms, at our own pace.  Instead of doing it twenty years from now because we are too sick or frail to stay in our home, and we have two days to decide what to keep and what to discard before we get carted off to a studio apartment at the assisted living home.  I don't think anyone can argue that being in control of your own destiny feels pretty fucking awesome.  So hang onto it as long as you can, because like I said, plans change at a whim.

MISS GEE

Full Calendar

I shouldn't be blogging today, I have a MAJOR to-do list, but right now I can't face it, I just need a small break.  Plus I am extremely and deeply sad today, that a longtime family friend has passed away very suddenly, and I can't shake that heartache.

It's very disappointing to have had a few happy and excited posts, and to go straight to feeling hopeless and dismal again.  The thought of the new house wasn't enough to sustain me.  True, I do get excited talking about the house with J, and making plans, and talking about the future and what we want to do before, during, and after the move.  And although in about a month the house will (hopefully) be officially ours, we're still sticking to the idea of taking 1-2 years before we move there permanently.  In the meantime, LOTS to do.  The only relief I have, as far as my anxiety, is that we ARE taking so long to pack up here and move.  And J will be there with me.  The first yard sale is in just two weeks, and we've decided we aren't going to try to sell everything on one Saturday.  Which I am 100% perfectly okay with, because it's not possible.  People will think it's a "haul away" day from an episode of "Hoarders" if I tried to put out all the crap on one afternoon.

Last week my body was rocking and rolling, but my mind was not in sync. I floundered and stumbled, a lot. This week my brain is racing with ideas and thoughts, but my body doesn't want to cooperate.  I can't seem to EVER get the two to coordinate with each other.  So for this week, mostly what I've done is keep a notebook and pen at the ready, writing down my intentions and plans and schedule.  I can't seem to do much more than that.  We had a big antique/craft show recently where we set up a large booth, and this last weekend I had my first craft show for 2016, and I spent so much time and energy getting ready for them, I guess this week my body wants to crash.  So the most exciting thing I will do this week is watch all my Harry Potter DVD's and veg out. With working the show this weekend, I spent two days on Vicodin with all the terrible pains associated with putting up a tent, tables, unloading boxes, standing on my feet all day, etc.  I love the shows, but my body hates me for it afterward.

So the big gigantic neighborhood yard sale is in two weeks.  Then at the end of April we've signed up for another antique/craft show.  We've got one in the middle of May, and another one at the beginning of June, another one in July.  And in between, our other weekends are already full.  This weekend it's driving up to see the new house and make another walk-through.  Then drive back up for the closing two weeks later.  Then back up there again for Mother's Day for his family.  Then Memorial Day weekend my parents will be here for several days, and we promised we would take them up to see the house (plus we are thinking about another yard sale that weekend too).  We have a big out of town concert this month.  J has a huge work function to go to one Saturday in May. We have a vacation planned.  So, my calendar is completely booked up through somewhere into the middle of JULY already!!!  And between weekends my days are busy with my normal errands, housework, making jewelry, running Etsy shops, eBay orders, packing up what we sell, digging through the clutter in the basement.  For someone who doesn't have a real "job" anymore, I barely have time to catch my breath some days.  And if you read my blog, then you know I don't really have the physical stamina or the mental energy to carry on like that.

I am working on pricing items for the yard sale in two weeks.  I'm sorry, maybe it's just the OCD in me, but I've GOT to have a price tag on every little thing, even if it's only 25 cents.  J is the type, just throw it on a table and when someone asks, quote them a price.  I can't do it that way.  I don't want to be put on the spot and have to make hundreds of snap decisions like that on a Saturday afternoon.  Plus, whenever I go to shows or flea markets, I'm usually too shy to ask about prices if an item isn't marked.  And I always pay full price, I'm again too shy to dicker.  J will say, hey I'll give you five bucks for that, for something marked $20- he's not too proud to look for a bargain!  So my house is a disaster, I've got yard sale stuff spread out all over the dining room table, all over the basement, all over the garage.  The guest bedroom is covered with all the Etsy and eBay items.  In my craft room my two work tables are completely covered with new necklaces I'm working on. Trying to keep it all organized but trying to work on every bit of it as much as I can.  We just have so much SHIT.  I try to put it into perspective- the house is a wreck because we're getting rid of things, but it's hard to look at the disorganization, the piles, and not think wow this mess is all my fault.

J has also tasked me with really getting down and dirty and start listing as much as I can on my Etsy vintage shop.  Plus we are both starting to list on eBay.  And I also spent Sunday creating an Etsy shop for him, for the new crafts he is working on.  All he has to do is make his signs, I will manage everything else for him. Photos, listings, packing up and mailing.  Between Etsy and eBay, I go to the post office about three times a week right now.  So it's a lot going on, mentally. Physically, it's not really that much.  I'm trying my best, but I always have that voice in the back of my head that "my" best sucks compared to the rest of the world.  I mean, I just got off the phone with J, who is working in the mid-west right now.  He just finished working a 17-hour overnight shift, and he had to drive through a blizzard and over a foot of snow to get there and back.  Yes, really, and I'm sitting here whining because I don't have the energy to upload a few photos online or put a 50 cent sticker on an old coffee mug.

J has pretty much told me/asked me to focus on getting rid of things any way that I can, even if I donate.  He doesn't care.  Last weekend he went through all the old papers in his office filing cabinet and we had a nice little blaze going in our outdoor firepit with it all.  I'm going to try to do the same this week too.  I have an enormous problem with hoarding papers- old notes, Christmas cards from 20 years ago, recipes I've clipped out of magazines.  I've always dragged those things from house to house, and now I simply can't.  So it's a huge project, but I would hope that I can find the energy to do even this.  I mean, I can sit my ass on the couch and watch TV while I do this, how hard can it be?

Part of it for me is engaging the brain cells needed to make the decisions.  Keep, toss, donate.  And the things I've attached emotional importance to will be the toughest- they have no monetary value but I want to keep them.  I've saved every movie stub, airline ticket, vacation brochure, note, card from my life with J- obviously I don't want to part with those, even if I just have them all stuffed in a box somewhere.  Then I have all the photos I ever took during my years with my ex.  I have all my old college textbooks.  I have old magazines from the 1990's.  I have board games I haven't played in 20 years.  Just a lot of stuff that I've kept, and it's really uncalled for.  I don't even know where to begin.  And that's the hardest part.  But today I'm going to try to get started.  Even if I just clean out one drawer.  That recipe book I've had for 30 years but I've never made a single meal from?  What is the likelihood that I ever will?  Why do I need to keep it?  I find most of my recipes online these days, like the rest of the world.  Why is it so hard to let go of things like this?  My mom goes to the dollar store and buys the same Easter card for me every year, why am I saving these, will I go back and read them one day?  No.

But it feels like I'm throwing away my history, my past, a part of me.  I know there are certain things I won't let go of.  I'm not going to throw away photos of my late dog from my first marriage, but I sure as hell don't need to keep all the vacation photos of my ex.  But I literally have several boxes of photos to go through. I can't sit and look at every single one and make a decision on each one individually.  Yes, that's a pretty shot of the mountains or the beach, but it's from 25 years ago, do I need it?  No one is even in the picture, and I know I took it on a trip with the ex.  Do I want it?  Why?  Get rid of it!!  It has no place in my current life, in my new home, in my future.

I am not going to get stressed out this soon into the process.  I've got loads of time to do all of this.  Our goal is to hopefully move by the end of 2017, and that is enough breathing room for even someone as slow as I am to complete thinning out the hoard.

MISS GEE

A New Phase, A New Place

Wow, it happened.  J and I fell in love with the cute little house and made an offer and they accepted.  I can't believe it.  If all goes well, we will close in a little over a month.  I don't think it has set in yet.  I have spent the last few days both excited for the future, wondering if we made the right decision, and feeling... barely any anxiety.  Yes, that is correct.  I expected to immediately start stressing out about this, but I'm not.  Perhaps that's because we don't plan to move right away and it doesn't seem "real" yet.

The plan is to move in about two years, and in that timeframe we will downsize our belongings, keeping just what we need and what we absolutely love. Keeping the things that are truly important to us, discarding the excess.  This house is less than half the size of our current house, but we made that choice deliberately.  It is time to unload and simplify.  It is long overdue.  We have been slaves- financially and physically and mentally- to our material possessions, to the things that clutter and crowd our home.  With both of us turning 50 soon, it's time to start living differently.  This current life we lead, has become a burden.

I've spent many of my posts talking about how much I hate the town we've lived in for the past 7+ years, how trapped I feel in our current house and this neighborhood.  When J took his new position of traveling full time last year, we knew we were free to live anywhere we wanted, and we've had many talks about our future.  I want to think buying this house was not an impulse, because we've had so many deep conversations about moving.  But it feels impulsive, because we found it online, drove five hours to see it a few days later, and made an offer right on the spot.  I watch enough shows on HGTV to know that people do that all the time, but it feels weird for me. Yet as I sit here today listening to the pounding and engine noises and rattling of machinery and trucks blocking my driveway, watching the crew sit on the curb on their break staring into my windows, as they build the two new houses across the street from us, I know in my mind that this was a good decision.  The little bit of empty "space" I was used to, my buffer, my calming view of trees will soon be gone.

And even though we've said we will give ourselves two years to move, I know it may be longer or shorter.  The way we feel about our current living situation, it just might be sooner.  I've already grabbed a spiral notebook and started making lists of what we need to keep and what we need to get rid of.  I was surprised at how easily I added items to the "get rid of" list.  It felt good, it felt freeing, it felt as though I was throwing off a great burdensome weight.  It felt right.  I look at things around the house and say, why did we ever buy this? What part does it play in my life?  We bought these things to fill up the corners of our way-too-big house, the house we "thought" we needed to be happy.  But, less truly is more in this case.  This house has always been too big for me to manage, to keep clean, and it's caused me a great deal of grief in how I see myself, how I believe I am a failure as a wife and homemaker.  The house kicked my ass.

And I know the waiting and planning and pining away for the sweet little new house will be a bit like my divorce from W- I had to be "separated" for at least a year before I could even file for divorce, and all that time I had J in my life, and I was just waiting to move on with our future.  Just like I could go see J here and there while I waited out my separation, we can go up every so often and start to shape the new house into "ours".  We recognize that right now, we are in no way ready to just pack it up 100% and move next month.  We have a lot of work to do here before we can move forward.

This house is just outside of J's hometown, and that played into our decision.  As the only son, it's important for him to be near his parents now, to build a better relationship with his father in his last years, to be there for his mother when the time comes.  I am okay with that.  I have no desire to move back to my hometown, even though all my family is there.  I hated it there when I was growing up, and my feelings haven't changed- but that's for another post.  The area we are moving to is SO different from the area we live in now.  Here, the big city is all about wealth and flashy cars and expensive restaurants and being seen and living in the right zip code- that's why so many of the crazy-ass reality TV shows on right now are filmed here, because of the types of people who live here.  Where we are going to, they pride themselves on green spaces and food co-ops and downtown art and music festivals and community.  Quiet and peace and earth, balanced with just enough places to go eat and shop and have an evening out, but not drowning in them, not depending on them to survive.

Not only will moving to a smaller house hopefully bring us comfort, but the larger property will hopefully bring us the peace of not being crowded up on strangers that polite society insists we call neighbors.  When we moved here, we had never been to this town before, we didn't know anything about it.  Now we are going to a place where my husband was born and raised, where we visit a dozen times a year, where we already have favorite restaurants and a favorite book shop, and a favorite organic grocery store.  Where his sister lives seven miles away, his parents eighteen miles.  I want to believe that this is the best decision for our future.  Even the style and layout of the house and property are so perfect for us, so much what we've always wanted.

I don't like to think of myself as "old", but I am getting there.  And soon.  My god, I can join AARP this year!  The plan is for this house to be our "forever" home, and I know plans change sometimes.  But if this is the home for the last half of our married life, then I am amazingly okay with that.  In the meantime, life goes on here.  We will start planning for yard sales and lots of trips to Goodwill.  For the first time in a LONG time, I am feeling hopeful, I am feeling optimistic, I am feeling lighter already. I know my depression didn't start when we moved here, but it did reach new and treacherous depths of darkness.  Of course I had depression and anxiety long before J and I ever met, and I felt in control of it. But when we made the move here in 2008, well that is when it all took over my life and started eating me alive from the inside.  I am feeling encouraged that leaving this place will give me some relief.

People all over the world buy houses and move, every minute of every day.  We've done it several times already.  This process will not be cause for me to go off the deep end.  If and when I need help, I know J will be there, and I also know there is no pressure to move, no date on a calendar to eyeball.  J is not going to push me, he knows my physical and emotional limitations, and respects that I am who I am.  I know there will be plenty of stressful moments during this transition, but I will continue to remind myself that finally, for maybe the first time in my life, there is a beautiful, glowing, warm light at the end of my dark, painful tunnel.

MISS GEE

Stunned

I can't believe I am writing this post, I am in shock.  After lots of fantasizing and talking about it, we are going to actually look at this house this weekend.  In another town.  In another state.  Up in the mountains.  No one knows, and of course the likelihood of buying it is probably zero.  But just the fact that after all this time, we are finally taking action, has left me speechless.  We have talked about finding our "forever" home for so long now, that I thought of it as only a dream.  I look online ALL the time at houses, in our area, in nearby towns or states.  We've talked about three or four years down the road, making the move.  But this weekend I showed J this house online, and said what a shame we are not actually wanting to move right now, because this is what we've been looking for.  A smaller home so we can get rid of all our shit and downsize into something more comfortable and cozy.  And getting out of a "neighborhood" into the country- this sweet little home has over seven acres.  But I show J homes all the time and say, oh how pretty.  This one struck a chord with my husband, and while he was sitting at the airport Monday morning he kept looking at it online, and without even letting me know what he was up to, he spent Monday getting us preapproved for a loan and finding a realtor in that area.  And now we are going to drive up there this weekend and actually LOOK at this house, as potential buyers!  I am ecstatic and elated and a nervous wreck and in shambles all at the same time.  I am scared and excited.  I am not, however, getting my hopes up.  I am just amazed at the idea that J was so open to the idea of us moving into the next phase of our life and future together!  WOW!

MISS GEE

Sisyphus

I am determined to have a good week, starting off with today.  J had to leave for the airport before 6am this morning for a new assignment, and it is dark and rainy.  It will be that way all week.  As tempted as I was to go back to bed, I stayed up and got my day rolling, dishes washed, laundry going, showered, healthy breakfast.  After last week, I just don't believe I can have another crappy week.  Yes, I still hurt almost everywhere, my plantar fasciitis alone kept me up all night and wearing my stupid foot brace today has left me lurching along in distress.  

But I am not going to let it get to me this week.  If the power of suggestion has any real weight, then I will force away the blues and the pain and the self-loathing for a few days.  It was so bad last week that I couldn't even get through my physical therapy session- meant to exorcise the worst of my pain- and after just twenty minutes into my hour I had to jump off the table and admit I just couldn't finish.

We had a good weekend, J and I.  Right away on Friday, as much as I tried my best to hide it from him and smile through it, he could tell I was very much in a bad place.  He whisked me away to dinner at my favorite Lebanese haunt- there's nothing that a platter of fresh baba ghanoush and hot pita bread can't fix. Then he took me shopping for supplies at the craft store, and when I hemmed and hawed over things, undecided, he put them in the cart for me.  The man does know me only too well.

He knows how to soothe my aches, both physical and spiritual.  I can't imagine my life without him at my side.  The next night after a day of chores, when I was still tired and worn down, he made me get dressed up and made reservations at a "fancy" restaurant, and said he thought it was important for us to still have dates and get out of the house.  He said sitting around on the couch and watching TV on a Saturday night was not healthy.

So I'm going to continue on this week.  The pain sucks, the depression sucks, it all sucks.  But my life doesn't have to suck.  I will do the things I'm supposed to do, the things I want to do.  I know my body and my mind are going to hurt no matter if I'm sitting like a lump on the bed watching mindless reality shows, or if I'm busy with housework and pottery and pricing items for our March show.  I might as well spend my days doing something worthwhile.  I might as well clean in the basement.  I might as well dust my bookshelves.  I won't feel any better just lazing about wishing Hazel would miraculously show up at my door.

At the end of a day, at the end of the week, I might be swallowing a handful of something-anything for the pain, but I'll look back and say, well at least I accomplished this or that.  For 2016 I splurged and bought myself an expensive planner for a change, no more of those dull vinyl-covered things from the office supply store. I fill each day with notes and to-do items and what I ate and how the weather was and where J was at and how many steps were on my activity monitor and what book I'm reading and little sayings to give me hope or strength and colorful stickers.  Okay, maybe that's very preschool of me, but it works. It's actually helped me get through the bad days.  Even on a truly shitty day, I can still find things to fill the empty spaces, even if it's just my thoughts about having a truly shitty day.

I do have a lot of good things on my horizon, things to look forward to, things to make plans for.  Yes, some of it will be work, but none of it is anything that's being forced on me.  Any undertaking on my agenda, is always one of my own creation.  J even asked me to do a favor for him this week, and I'll be damned if I'll let my sweet husband down.

Last week I let it all get to me, and let it get me down.  I am going to spend this week fighting back against it.  I know those weeks will always come, but they also always go too.  So today I will trudge uphill and make it as close to the top as I can.  Tomorrow I may be starting back down at the bottom again, but that's okay.  That's tomorrow.  Today it is still today!

MISS GEE

When It Sucks To Be Me

I can't believe I am writing this post today, and with the way I feel, it may take me a few days.  I have been doing so well lately, it's a crushing blow to have to post about how awful I am feeling this week.  The last two or three weeks, I have been a dynamo, the person that I always aspire to be.  This week, I am haunted by the old shadows that do their best to pull me under.  This is one of those weeks that I wish I would go to sleep and not wake up.  I know it's temporary, but when I'm in the middle of it, I have trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I keep hoping instead it's an oncoming train to flatten me. So I wanted to post, because talking it out seems to help.  I get going on here and sometimes, I keep writing and writing and it makes me see that everything is going to be okay again very soon.

Last week J and I had an amazing vacation, I can't believe how full of energy and joy and excitement I was.  We were up with the roosters and kept going until late at night.  My little activity monitor had me clocking 17,000 steps a day, yes really!  We played in the sun, ate gourmet meals, shopped, strolled historical neighborhoods, went to museums.  We even went out on a boat for one whole day.  It was amazing.  Our last day there was spent scheming on how soon we could retire down there and what we could do to make a living to support ourselves.  Just a fantasy, but fun to talk about the future.  The two previous weeks before we left, I was a madwoman cleaning up the house, packing, and working on jewelry.  I was able to make about a dozen new necklaces and as many bracelets for the upcoming craft show season.  I can say that for those few weeks, I was proud of myself and happy and looking forward to each and every day. I felt like a normal person for a change.

Then this week hit.  We got home from our trip on Friday night.  I tried to keep up my energy level over the weekend, running errands all over town with J, doing housework, lunches out, enjoying Valentine's Day, etc.  But I could feel the blackness slipping up on me, I could peer over my shoulder and see the dark tendrils creeping along the ground, trying to catch me by the ankle and trip me up.  By Monday morning, I knew I had been caught.  J left out shortly after dawn to catch his flight, and I was alone with my monster.

I don't know why or where it came from.  I always have what I call "vacation letdown", where it's hard to adjust to being back in the real world after such a dream week in the tropics.  I went from extreme sun and warmth, to the crappy weather of this week- gloom, cold, dark, rain.  I went from a week of being with J to being home alone again.  I would like to blame it on all of that.  It may play a part, but it's not the root cause, because I get this way even when vacations are not on the calendar.  I've posted before about the link between pain and depression, and which one triggers the other.  I don't know.  For me, they both seem to strike out as a tandem team.  I don't get one without its partner showing up, and I don't know which one arrives first.  I guess that's why so many of the depression meds out there help with physical pain.  To me, it seems like the pain comes in the first wave, and the depression attacks me once I'm already feeling down.

This week the pain has been almost unbearable.  I can't function, at all.  It's everything this week, every joint, every muscle.  Literally from my feet to my hands to my head.  I don't know why I get this way.  If it was just one small thing, I could pinpoint it and say, it's this or that.  But when it's everything everywhere all at once, I just can't stand it.  Even my fingers hurt so badly I can't hold a book to read.  I can't navigate the stairs in my house, I can't use my tools to work on pottery, I can't get to sleep but once I do then I can't get out of bed.  Quite frankly, I can barely walk from room to room this week, my feet are in excruciating pain. My body hurts so much that even the act of taking a breath, brings incredible pain to my ribcage and back. I don't even really want to be on here today but I feel as though I need to talk it out.  Last night on the phone I was telling a friend I was in so much pain, I had to hold onto a support just to get up and down off the toilet- I tried to make a joke out of it but it's not fucking funny at all.  How can I be like this, when a week ago I was jaunting happily down the beach!

My energy level is somewhere south of zero.  Yesterday I was so tired, I couldn't even cook something as simple as soup, so I ate popcorn out of a bag all day long.  My house is a wreck, I am a wreck.  I think I've gone three days without even brushing my teeth.  I know there is cat vomit on my rug but I just keep walking by it, turning a blind eye.  I have dishes overflowing the sink because I physically can't pick them up, and I can't bend over to load the dishwasher.  I can't fit one more thing in the garbage can, but I do not have the strength to take the bag out and put a new one in.  I can't get beyond the aches in my body, and of course, then the mental anguish starts because I beat myself up about how useless I am, what a waste of space, how fucking lazy I am. I am disgusted with myself.  I don't deserve this beautiful home, I don't deserve my incredible husband. I don't even deserve to be alive. I feel like a phony and a liar to the outside world.

I know that's not true, I know that's just the pain talking, and in a few days I will probably feel better, I will start to move around more, the cobwebs will start to clear away.  I have physical therapy tomorrow, and I usually leave there feeling a bit better.  Then J will be home Friday afternoon, and when he's here I have a tendency to pick myself up and dust myself off, because I don't want him to see what I've been going through this week.  J doesn't understand, he never will, as much as he loves me he thinks that I can lift myself out of the doldrums and hold my head up high and carry on.  He puts too much faith in me.  It's both a blessing and a burden.  I am thankful I have a husband who loves me enough, but the idea of ever disappointing him is a heavy weight that remains on my shoulders, even when he's not home.  He tells me to do this or that fun thing for myself, make friends, find someone to talk to, to exercise with, get out there in the world.  But it has nothing to do with that, I know he thinks I'm depressed because I'm alone, but I was going through this when I was working full time and surrounded by others and always out of the house.

This is not the person I want to be.  But it makes me wonder, who IS the real me?  The one who slinks along in misery and pain, hiding herself?  Or the creative bright loving woman who wants to make art and enjoy every day?  Can I live a successful life if I am both of those people?

He doesn't understand that it's not where I am, or what I'm doing, or who I'm with.  It's inside of me, and that's the one place no one else can get to, to fix.  It's all on me, and I'm pathetically incapable of working on myself.  For today, I'm just hoping that tomorrow I will wake up feeling a little better, and the day after that a little better again.  Hoping is about all I can do right now.  And sometimes even that hurts.

MISS GEE

Images of Me

I don't think anyone reads this blog, but if they do, I just want to state that anything I discuss on here- depression, weight, marriage, life- is only my point of view and only about me.  My struggles and issues are my own.  And I don't pretend to understand what others go through.  Whatever I say on here, I'm talking about me, and not you.  I never intend to offend or pass judgement or condemn anyone else.

So before I start launching anymore posts about weight issues, I want to say this first and foremost and get it out of the way.  I do not have distorted body image issues.  I don't cringe about the way I look.  I don't think I am gross.  I don't hate my body.  My body is strong, my legs are strong.  I can walk miles on the beach, I can run up the stairs, I can go hiking, I can hold a yoga pose.  I am not wanting to lose weight so I can look better, and I don't hide myself away because of my weight.  True, I don't wear tank tops and micro skirts, but I'm also almost 50 years old.  I had my flirty youthful days in the sun of short skirts, high heels, big hair and huge earrings, a great tan.  Yep, back in the late 80's when I was in my early 20's.  I'm not looking to recapture that again.

So I'm not ever going to say that I hate myself because I'm fat.  I do, however, hate being fat. I hate how it physically makes me feel.  I probably shouldn't even say the word fat, I know people think it's offensive.  But I'm just telling it like it is, at least in my situation.  I am barely 5'5" and I weigh 210 pounds.  This morning I leaned over to pick something up and split open the bottom of my pants.  That would be my flannel pajama pants.  Yeah...

My sister recently told me I'm the Queen of Selfies, because I have perfected the art of tilting my face at just the exact angle to make myself look 50 pounds lighter.  I took it as a compliment.  She said a mutual friend saw one of my better selfies and wanted to know what diet plan I was on, because I looked amazing.  Hah!  Thank the universe for filters on Instagram, that's all I've got to say.  Poor J, when we go out he takes photos of us and he knows without asking, I have to "approve" of the way I look in them before he can post them online.  I've lost count how many times I've told him "my face looks so big in that, you can't post it".  I think the only reason he bought me a newer phone the other day, is so I can be in charge of taking all the photos myself.

When I go out of the house, even when J and I go into town to run mundane errands, I am always dressed up.  You won't find me slouching through the garden section at Lowe's in a plain T-shirt.  My mascara and earrings and cute shoes are always present.  I don't dress to blend in, or to disappear.  I may feel like a slob on the inside, but I won't ever dress the part for the public eye.  Sure, my hubby sees me at home looking a hot mess, but he's that special kind of man who loves me no matter what.  And that includes the version of me that is no makeup, hair in a ponytail, and glasses on.

But under the beautiful blouse I'm always wearing, I have on jeans with an elastic waistband because anything else is too tight on me.  Trust me, I would love to be able to grocery shop in a cutesy T.  I don't "not" wear them because I don't like them.  It's because my body is so lumpy I feel as though I have to cover it up in big fancy shirts two sizes too big, so it won't cling to any of my rolls.  My mother has more than once tried to gently tell me that by wearing clothes SO big, it actually makes me look bigger than I really am.  But that message hasn't gotten through to me.  I don't want anyone to be able to see the muffin top.  So I wear large shapeless flowing blouses so they can't even find the muffin top, much less be able to measure it from twenty feet away.

I can make fun of myself here, but of course deep in my heart, when J or my family or my friends look at me and see a pretty woman, I see an overweight woman.  And that's how I think of myself.  I am not going to jump on the bandwagon that it's society's fault that women have body image issues. I have never ever believed that I will ever look like a super model, and I've never wanted to or tried to fit that image.  My body isn't built that way.  I wasn't blessed with those genes, and probably less than one percent of women around the world fit into that shapely statuesque mold.  I'm not tall, I will never be slim, my nose will always be big and Italian.  But I'm okay with that.  I'm even okay with being a bit chubby.  I am not okay with being my current size and weight, because of my health issues.  It's not because I think I have to "look" a certain way.

I read something recently that said "Your perceptions become your reality" and I want to change my own perceptions of myself.  Sometimes if I feel low on energy because I'm simply tired, I instead tell myself I'm lazy and it's because of my weight.  I beat myself up a lot about my weight.  If clothes don't fit or I eat until I'm stuffed, the little voice in my head says very negative things about my behavior.  It's easy to tell yourself to just simply change that behavior, but most people who are overweight have an emotional relationship with food that isn't so easy to cast aside.  I have an extremely difficult time viewing food as just fuel.  I attach significant emotions to eating- boredom, loneliness, celebration, stress, comfort, happiness, anger.  I know I choose foods based on how I'm feeling emotionally at the time.

I've never had self-esteem issues because of my weight.  Any of the worthlessness I still feel, stem from the years of mental and emotional battering I took from my ex-husband, feelings that I still have trouble shaking off.  And yes, he did use my weight against me during his tirades, but I never felt low and pathetic and stupid because of the extra pounds.  His abuse took in all of my flaws, not just my weight.

So while I continue to discuss my weight problems on the blog, please do not feel as though I am passing judgments on ANYONE else who struggles with this. The only person I'm pointing a finger at is myself.

MISS GEE

Little Pockets

I feel as though things have been good lately for me.  I wish I could say all my days were spent screaming with elation and joy, but no one should dare to be that happy.  If I was, I think I would break.

I do still struggle with my depression, but for awhile now it seems that the better days outweigh and smother the bad days.  I still have small moments of depression that hit me out of nowhere, but for once in my life I am fighting back.  I used to just give in, shrug, tell myself everyone has the occasional blue spells, that it's normal, just let it come and deal with it.  I don't want to continue to be that person.  I can have depression, but I refuse to feel depressed anymore.

In the fall I had a nonstop landslide of bad stuff envelope me.  It lasted perhaps two months. One kitty got very sick and died, then I had a grueling surgery, then another kitty had a surgery.  I felt as though I spent every day for weeks on end bounding from one doctor visit to the next, either for myself or for my babies.  The rocks tumbled down the hill on top of me one after another, until I was trapped under the pile.  I let it all overwhelm me and interfere with my life.  I cancelled two craft shows I had already paid for, I tried desperately to renege on a visit with family (J forced me to go, saying it would be "good" for me), and I went on a vacation that should have lifted my spirits but instead I spent it wallowing in my gnawing pain.

Then wham, here came the holidays and all of the family obligations.  I would play my part, do my thing, smile when I had to, speak when appropriate.  But I felt dead inside.  At night, when I could finally collapse, I would cry.  My bed, a hotel bed, alone, with J, in the mountains, at the beach.  It didn't matter if my husband was there to comfort me or not, I just cried.

So after yet another utterly miserable, boring, useless Christmas with the family, something clicked inside of me.  I don't know what.  But I realized that no matter how I was feeling, no matter what was going on inside my head, the rest of the world moved on.  Life moved on.  People moved on.  My family, my husband, friends.  They didn't stop because I was feeling low, because I was feeling like shit.  They didn't cancel their plans, they didn't mope beside me.  They could empathize, offer help, present solutions to problems, be supportive and loving.  But in the end, they kept marching forward with life, leaving me in their dust.

And I have to do the same, I have to keep moving in the right direction.  I cannot continue to let the depression drag me down, hold me back.  The more I do, the greater the chasm grows between me and my inner circle.  I am tired of talking about my depression, it doesn't seem to help.  I've been yammering away about it for how long now on this blog?

For the last month, I have been fighting it.  I can no longer just "let it" happen to me.  It's not fair.  It's not fair to my true self to let the chemical reactions firing in my brain, keep me from having a good day, keep me from making new friends, keep me from finishing a project or starting a new hobby.  I'm tired of it.  The depression has been winning the battle for so long now.  I've spent too long content to sit in the shadows on the sidelines, because that's where I felt I belonged.  But I have a right to a happy life.

So now lately I have been feeling "good", with little pockets of "bad" here and there.  But I am NOT going to let the one bad hour wipe out the good fourteen hours of a day.  I am not going to allow it to define me anymore.  It is time.  And I know I've posted this all before, but sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that it IS going to be okay, that it's going to turn out fine.  I am so tired of being tired, I am so through with feeding the sadness like it's a cute puppy.  It's not, sadness sucks, every day sadness for no real reason is a bitch.  Today out my window it's clear and sunny, blue and green, beautiful, flawless.  Why do I hide from it?

I am a strong person, and I am stronger than the depression.  My dreams are stronger than my fears.  My passion is stronger than my apathy.  My today and tomorrows are stronger than my yesterdays.  My healthy body is stronger than my weaknesses and illness.

My goal for 2016 is to kick depression in the ass, beat it upside the head, punch it in the nose, and leave it dying in the street behind me as I drive forward.  I won't even peer in the rearview mirror to check on it.

Life is full of amazing, wonderful, gorgeous moments.  I deserve to have them all.

MISS GEE

Resolute

Okay, I had started a post about the new year, resolutions, goals, blah blah blah.  But I quickly realized it was a lot of bullshit, and a lot of crap I've already talked about many times.  Making your dreams come true, that stuff.  So I deleted the whole thing.  2016 is going to be a year of brutal honesty, I think that's what I need more than anything else.  I can get on here and share anonymous banalities about my life, my marriage, whatever.  I can talk about my depression. I can continue to whine about why I can't seem to get my shit together.

At least a dozen times over the years I've tried to blog about the real issue, my BIGgest problem, my blackest shadow.  I try to put it into the right words.  Every time I've abandoned the posts, they are still sitting out there as drafts.  So with a new year, it's time to tackle it.  And it's nothing shocking, it's something that way too many people deal with, it's so common that it doesn't even really deserve a discussion.  But for me, I need to talk about it. Not to my husband, not to my friends, not to my mother.  Not even the repetitive conversations I have in my own head.  I just need to put it in black and white here.

I am overweight, and I have been as long as I can remember.  The older I get, the harder it is becoming to live with, the more issues it has caused.  I am at a breaking point right now.  I will be 50 this year.  I've spent my 20's, 30's, and 40's dealing with it.  I do not want to spend the second half of my life fighting this battle every day, it is wearing me down.  Killing me slowly.  Crushing my knees and back to the point I have days where I can barely walk from room to room. I don't want to turn this into a weight loss blog, but I need to spend more than one post on this.

It is critical for me at this point.  I've only ever managed to lose a significant amount of weight once in my life, and I couldn't even keep it off for a year.  And I didn't even get down to what would be considered a healthy weight.  I know that most of what I complain on here, is due to my weight.  My lack of energy, my aches and pains, and probably even my depression.  I know my weight hasn't caused my depression, but I understand that it doesn't help it, and it more than likely makes it "severe" on days when it could potentially only be "mild".  All the prescription medication I'm on, could be tossed out if only I lost weight.

Hours and days tick by.  Date book pages get flipped over.  And I do nothing.  I commit to nothing.  I weighed the same on December 31st of 2015, as I did on January 1st of 2015.  And January 1st of 2014.  What a fucking waste.  I have weighed myself every single day for about five years now, and tracked it on a calendar.  And I've saved those calendars.  I am not sure why.  It's torture, to keep around such a reminder of my failure.

You would never know it to see me on Facebook, I always look my best, I always pose, I always smile, I'm always dressed up.  But in private, I feel like a vile creature who could turn any admirers to stone when they see me.  And it's because of my weight.  I don't hate my hair or eyes or face or smile or whatever.  It's just the fat that surrounds all of it.  But that fat IS me.  It's all I ever see.  If I had to write one word to describe myself, it would be FAT.  I will say that here.  If anyone asked me in real life, I would say something stupid like ''happy" or "grateful" or what I think they would want to hear.

I would love to sit here and say I've tried everything.  I laugh to myself when people say that- I've tried to lose weight but I can't.  Well I'm here to tell you that's a load of utter crap.  If you are truly "trying" then that means you are "doing".  If you are "doing"- eating the right foods, exercising- then you are going to lose. 100% honesty here.  I talk a good game, but I am not trying.  That's as real as I can state it.  There is no action behind my words.  I know there is a mental barrier between our brains recognizing the need to lose weight, and our bodies actually getting up and doing something about it.  It's NOT easy.  It's the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with.  It is my greatest failure in life.  Unlike all my other issues, this one is with me from the time I wake up until I go to bed at night.  And even then, in the middle of the night, it is there- making it hard to get comfortable, giving me acid reflux, causing me to get too hot.  It's all my weight.  All of it.

I have fallen into this ridiculous cycle of overeating on the weekends and barely eating anything all week long.   I could throw up my hands and say "I don't know how to stop" but of course I know how to stop.  I will gain 3 pounds over the weekend, and lose 2 during the week.  But the excess keeps piling up.  I have weighed over 200 pounds for about twenty years now.  I have vowed to myself that this year- if I don't accomplish anything else- I am going to be a healthier version of myself before I enter my 50's.  And it's just not my life, it's J's too.  The more I indulge, so does he.  If I am the strong one, if I say "no" to the overeating, he will too.  On the other hand, if I keep going at this rate, he will either be forced to take care of me more than he already does, or he may end up a widower too early.  Yes, it really is at that point for me, at least that's how I feel.  That's how I need to think of it.  It's beyond just being the chubby girl.  Now I am a fat woman entering the last decades of my life.

So I need to talk about my weight for awhile I think.  If you don't want to read my blog, that's okay, I don't think anyone is reading it anyhow.  This blog is still therapy for me, not a social outlet to find friends.  And I need more than one or two posts to do this.  I have to.  More to come next week.  You can jump off this train now if you want to.  I won't even know it.

MISS GEE

Temporal Conundrums

It's the end of the year, and like most everyone else, it's a time to reflect on life.  It's been 2 1/2 years since I stopped working outside the home.  It's been 7 months since J started working on the road full time.  All in all, things feel as though they are getting better.  And that worries me.

When I was working at the office, I used to think of my life in terms of hours.  Watching the clock, waiting for lunch break, waiting for time to go home, at home waiting for time to go to bed, in the middle of the night eyeballing the alarm clock waiting for it to go off.  The minute by minute stress was unbearable.  Once I started my "retirement" at home, I started thinking of my life in terms of days. J and I would get up then he would head to work at 7am and he would get home around 8pm- so I had "all day" to accomplish whatever it was on my daily to-do list. Mornings and early afternoons were bliss, but the stress started after lunch when I would rush around to finish housework or get dinner started before J got home.  Suddenly each day the later hours felt as though they weren't really "my" time- they belonged to the house, the husband, the pets, the chores.

Now that J leaves on Sunday or Monday, flies away to his latest assignment, and comes home on Friday- my thought process has expanded to think of my life in the form of weeks.  I have all week to work on a project, I have all week to shop and exercise and paint, blog or read or watch TV or bake, walk in the neighborhood or plant flowers or have lunch downtown.  I have all week to do laundry and vacuum and clean toilets and mop and dust.  I can get up at 6am then go to bed at 9pm, or I can sleep in until 8am and stay up until midnight.  If I cover the kitchen table with clay and glazes, it can sit there for days, and I don't have to worry about it or get it cleaned up.  If I spend an entire day slumped on the couch with my nose stuck in a book, well, so what?  I don't ever take naps, but that's not because I think it's wrong, it's just because my body doesn't ever want one. I have days when I never so much as turn on a TV or radio for the whole day.  I have days when I flip on the TV with my morning coffee and it never goes off again until I go to bed.  I no longer keep my eye on the clock at 3pm, 4pm, 5pm.  No one is coming home, no one needs dinner, no one is going to be there to see what I did with myself all day long.

And it's okay.  All of that is okay.

And I confess, I feel better now.  Still feeling guilty that I never "do" enough, but feeling better that, you know what?  I don't really have to do more, do different, do whatever.  I am getting over that pressure that society puts on women who stay at home.

I was worried when J took the promotion and started traveling full time.  We actually both worried about how our lives, together and individually, would change.  J was deeply concerned that I would fall into my old spiral of depression, and I would allow it to get the best of me.  In my 49 years on this earth, I've only lived alone for a little over two years of it.  That was the period when my ex-husband and I separated, and before J and I married.  Before I lived with my ex, I was at home with my parents.  So I didn't know how my new life would be.  Would I be scared, lonely, depressed, sad, bored? Surprisingly, none of the above.

True, I don't really live alone.  I have a husband.  He's home on the weekends, and he's here to take care of the lawn and the house and the cars.  He's here to whisk me away on a Friday night date, or a weekend in the mountains.  He's here to pay the bills and plan vacations and celebrate holidays.  He texts all day long, he calls for quick chats at least three times a day, if not more.  He is constantly sending me photos of his current location.  And in an emergency, he's only a plane ride away.  So in that respect, I am not truly alone.

But four nights a week, I do go to bed alone, eat dinner alone.  Four mornings a week I wake up alone, I make coffee by the cup and not the pot.  I know J is going through the same thing during his work week and hotel living.  And it's been okay, for both of us.  He is busy with his job, and for the most part he's working the same long hours as before, just in another city.  He has little time on the road to do anything but work and eat and sleep, which is what he was doing here anyhow.

If I had a different type of marriage and husband, perhaps I would worry.  I am not the overly bored, under sexed housewife of the soap operas or reality shows.  I'm not complaining about my husband never being home, never spending time with  me.  I'm not going to go roaming around out there "looking" for companionship.  And I do have complete and total confidence I am married to a man who would not do that, either.  So I don't sit around feeling jealous or worried or freaking out or having terrible thoughts.  And I know he's not sitting around feeling resentful or ignored or suspicious.  We're not trying to check up on each other or control each other's movements.  If he wants to go out to dinner with some of the guys from work, I am happy for him, not sitting at home wondering if he's flirting with a waitress or whatever.

On the other hand, it concerns me that we are both SO okay with being apart all week long.  I don't know if I should look at it as a good thing, that we both really are very secure in our marriage and our relationship, that the time apart is not going to cause any issues.  Or should I be worried that I like my time alone TOO much?  Does that mean I'm not cut out to be a wife?  I know, we've been married a decade now, but instead of sitting around pining for my husband and boohooing every time he leaves, I confidently pack his suitcase and kiss him goodbye and go about my life.  I enjoy the following days at home and about town, doing my own thing, working in my craft room, reading on the deck.  I look forward to J's calls and texts and emails.  Then I am happy when he returns home every Friday so we can have a fabulous weekend as a couple.

Maybe it's just because I'm a pessimist at heart, that I think because I am okay with our new arrangement, something must be wrong with me- instead of just saying I'm an adult with a healthy marriage and we're both mature and stable and happy and content.  I remind myself of one of my friends who works days, and whose husband has worked third shift their entire 25 year marriage.  They literally never see each other, until the weekends.  I have friends with airline pilot or long haul driver husbands who are never home.  I have friends with husbands who work on offshore oil rigs who are gone for one or two weeks at a time.  I have friends with husbands in the military who are stationed overseas.  It's just life.  Am I a shitty person, a terrible partner, a crappy wife, for being OKAY with my husband now being gone all the time??  It's not forever, he will retire eventually I know.  When he leaves on Monday, he will be home in a few days.

J is enjoying the new position as well, and he's finally starting to like the travel and the perks and his actual job of helping out the company's many locations with their issues.  The more he enjoys the work, the more I enjoy him having this job.  He's been able to make new friends, he's been able to go do fun things with other guys.  Dinners out with other people who can talk shop with him.  He's gone to baseball and hockey games, museums, even a zoo.  Hell, sometimes he even goes shopping to kill time in the evenings, and loves to surprise me with little trinkets when he comes home.  As long as he is content with this new job, I am thrilled with it too.

Being alone and being lonely are two different critters.  I am certainly not lonely.  And yes, of course I miss my husband when he is gone, but I am not a wretched lump while he is not here.  I don't have to have someone in my face 24/7 to enjoy my life.  I am actually very pleased with how things have turned out since J started traveling.  I feel more creative, I feel more centered, I feel more productive.  I feel independent, but with a safety net.  J feels less stress, he feels more appreciated by the company, and he feels more empowered in this new job.  I think it's been a win-win for us both.  Being more satisfied in our individual endeavors makes us a much more happier couple when we come together.

So I'm hoping for much more of the same for 2016, I like the current trend of life getting better for us both.  And more than that, I'm hoping to stop feeling guilty for NOT being miserable and sad while my husband is not here!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

MISS GEE!!!

Driving While In Neutral

Once this week is done, it will all be downhill.  And I mean that in a good way.

This week I am decorating the house for Christmas, alone.  J brought the tree up, and we slogged all the heavy containers up from the basement, and now I'm going through decorations and ornaments and lights and Christmas-themed coffee mugs and dishes.  Trying to decide what to put out or box back up.  Trying to decide what to put in a yard sale pile, and yes, even what to throw away because it's so old and beat up it's virtually useless.  My front entry looks like a thrift store exploded, as I unpack and unwrap it all.  I know this is the time of year that puts even the hardiest of souls through undue stress.  You can both love and hate the holidays simultaneously.

Thanksgiving is over, and that's a big one for me, because it's lots of miles on the road (800), lots of time (7 days) with both sides of our family, and time away from the comforts of home.  I don't hate Thanksgiving, I just dread it because it's always completely out of my control.  My family rents a mountain cabin, his family gathers at their childhood home.  We just show up at doorsteps with bags in hand.  I always feel a bit like an autumn leaf falling from the tree, gyrating to the whims of the wind.  I always feel out of place, even though it's family.  We get together to eat a meal that takes fifteen minutes, then I'm sitting around in a stupor and thinking, if only I was back at our house. Thanksgiving is fun, but with the typical strained episodes and uncomfortable conversations that happen in all families. Admittedly I'm always glad when Thanksgiving is over, so I can shed the unwieldy mantle of being a daughter/sister/aunt and come back to roost in my own castle.  And be my old miserable, cranky self.

Having said that, the last few years, Christmas has been more of a chore than a joy.  Maybe because I try to do too much, and do it all by myself.  Too big of a tree, too many strands of lights in the shrubs outside.  J and I do not exchange gifts anymore, and I've told my parents to stop bringing us unwanted gadgets and gizmos, just for the sake of giving gifts.  In fact all the adults in the family have agreed to stop exchanging gifts, and the younger nieces and nephews simply get gift cards from us.  I don't bake.  We don't have parties, and we don't go to them, even the ones we get invited to year after year.  Ignoring most of the names in my big address book, I send out only a select few Christmas cards to those people I honestly care about.  But I do enjoy Christmas, don't get me wrong- I am a sucker for blinking lights and shiny ornaments and parades and hearing carols from a choir and watching Rudolph pull Santa's sleigh across my TV screen every December.  I just prefer my holiday moments to remain the same as the rest of the shorter daylight hours of winter days- quiet, calm, private, uneventful.  And quite frankly, with the time change, my days wind down earlier and earlier.

This year of course, J is working on the road.  Normally I would decorate all day long and at night, he would come home from the office to help or to motivate me to get off the couch and do just a little bit more.  I would be equally as vexed as I would be grateful- loving the help but annoyed at his prodding me on when I was tired and wanted to clock out for the evening.  But the sooner we get it finished, the sooner we can sit back and relax and enjoy it all, that's his philosophy.  So this week I am trying to do just that.  I've placed little snowmen here and there all over the house (I'm not a Santa person), I've found a few treasures that I don't want anymore but will list in my Etsy vintage shop, and I've been sitting on the floor plugging up every strand of lights to make sure they work before I haul them out to the bushes.  And boy, it's sad and strange how many lights that were bright and happy last Christmas, seem to die alone in the dark of the basement throughout the year, without anyone there to witness it.  (Maybe that's a metaphor for life, I don't know.)  So I just sigh and resign myself to buying more, instead of spending hours trying to figure out which cancerous bulb is causing the entire string to stay unlit.

The tree is always the biggest obstacle to getting the house all decorated.  But it's the most rewarding as well.  I don't care what anyone else says, I think my Christmas tree is the most beautiful tree ever.  I might flip through glossy magazine pages and admire professionally tinseled trees, or ooh and aah when we see the trees decorated along little town main streets.  But they are not as pretty as my tree, the ten foot tall behemoth J bought for me our first Christmas as a married couple.  When we travel, I always buy ornaments as keepsakes, and every year when I put up the tree I can remember exactly where and when each glass memory was purchased.  Putting up the tree is a pain in the ass, because it's so big and it takes so long.  But it's also my favorite part of the holidays, and hanging ornaments gives me a reason to pause and think good thoughts and be grateful for the years I've spent with my amazing husband.  But I don't decorate the rest of the house too fancy, I just have a lot of doodads that I wander around with from room to room, trying to find a place in which to display each one.

After this week is over, it should all be complete.  J will come home Friday night and the inside of the house will be done, and then together we will do the outside of the house.  My old back and worn out knees will make their best effort to get the boxes cleaned up and carried back downstairs before he returns home.  It sucks because it's warm here, in the 70's this week, and it's been zapping my strength.  Warm winters are an unfortunate side effect of living in the south.  Yes I said unfortunate, because I want the weather to match the season, and everyone knows that Christmas should be all snowflakes and mittens and hot chocolate. Me, I'm in shorts and sweating and running my AC right now.  Hopefully we will get a nice arctic blast soon.  Maybe it's just me, but I always feel safer engulfed in a gigantic sweater.

My family won't be here for another three weeks, so I will get through this week and after that, I can have a bit of a breather.  I made J cancel our mountain trip that was planned for this upcoming weekend.  We just got back from the mountains with Thanksgiving.  So he pushed the reservations off until January.  I feel as though I'm just coasting along, and that's okay.  I do not envy those folks with full social calendars for the month of December.  I am okay with sitting by the fire and reading a good book in the evenings, wearing cat-shaped slippers and enveloping the house with the scent of sugar cookie candles.  When I get sleepy, I will close the pages on my homemade bookmark- a long slip of paper covered with a photo collage of our smiling faces from vacations past, cleverly laminated with packing tape.  Many of my acquaintances will gnaw their fingernails to the nub as they pencil in one more office party on the calendar, add yet another gift to buy to a growing list, and try to hurriedly get just one more batch of cookies in the oven.  There is nothing wrong with all of that.  It's just that I don't have to do any of that, so I don't.  Instead I can take a leisurely hot soak in my tub at the end of my winter day.  There is no one to disappoint, no one to notice my absence, no one who needs my attention.

And I have even more reason to be happy this year.  Normally J works through every holiday, always letting his guys with families have the time off while he mans the fort.  Every year J would slog home late on Christmas Eve, have only Christmas Day off, then slog right back to the office again the next morning.  This year, with the travel job, he comes home on December 23rd and doesn't have to go back to work until January 4th!  That, in itself, is the best holiday present I could ask for.  Right now I don't have to use the fake smile.  I actually feel real happiness.  And that's a good thing, because the previous months were soul-crushingly harsh and I didn't think I would ever get through them or get over them.

I plan to blog again next week, about non-holiday related items in my life.  But right now, I still have a bare tree staring at me from the corner of the living room, and I must go tend to it.

MISS GEE