Don't wait...

Grief is a funny thing...

... It doesn't seem to matter how many times I go through the grief process, it never gets any easier.

I don't generally write other people's names in my blog to protect the innocent.  

Or the guilty, depending.

But I'm breaking my rule today.

Andrea Diane (Pratt) Hockett was my best friend for almost 20 years.

She passed away last year, the day after her 36th birthday... and I still feel lost without her.  She was my ear, my shoulder, my hug in the middle of the night.  Or any time.  We kept each other's spirits up in times of crisis and laughed about stupid shit when times were good.  She was always there for me and I was always there for her.

Okay, we laughed about stupid shit regardless of whatever our current situation was.  There were always LOLs to be had.  And orange kittehs.  And rainbows.  And techno music.

I made a playlist out of all the songs she shared with me.  It's pretty awesome, but then we always shared the same taste in music.

Even now, I have a hard time coming up with something eloquent to honor the impact she had on my life.  She meant so much to me I hardly know where to begin.  All I can think about are the missed opportunities and the memories to come that she won't be a part of.

I've spent the last couple nights drinking beer, crying, and scrolling through her messages.  

Thank you, Facebook, for saving all of it.  Because there won't be any more.  

I love you, Andie.  

I miss you every day.

Thank you for bringing colour to my life.  

It's just not the same without you.

I still suck at keeping a blog.

Yeah, it's been over 3 years since my last post.
So much has happened, I don't even know where to start.
This is going to be a long post.

In 2016, I started dating a guy. It didn't last very long. Long enough to learn about psychopaths, though.  I'll skim over the nasty details. I'd rather forget them anyway.

After a few months of... him, I found myself suddenly homeless and I lost my mind.
Not like, "OMG I literally lost my mind!"
More like, I ACTUALLY lost my mind.  Positively blibbering.
I packed up everything I could fit into a U-Haul truck and drove home to get help.
Spent my 36th birthday alone in a Montana truck stop casino, spending money I couldn't spare and drinking free red wine.

I landed in Mom and Dad's basement.
I thank God for Mom and Dad.  Every day.  I wouldn't be alive right now if not for them.

I went to the hospital and got myself enrolled in outpatient mental health treatment, where I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and medicated.

Fast forward through 2 years of therapy, medication changes, failed work attempts, disability applications, self harm, and growth.  More on that later.  Probably a lot more, if I remember to write it down.

Now I'm out of Mom and Dad's basement and living with an incredible man.  And too many roommates (they're actually pretty cool, but I miss having my own space).

We started dating June 2017, and after so many bad experiences with men I had every expectation that he would turn out to be a shitheel like the others.  Turns out I was wrong!  I couldn't ask for a more patient, supportive, understanding, and loving partner.  We've been talking about life and family and our future and we're on the same page about everything... It's amazing!  I told him early on that I wanted kids before I turn 40, so we're planning on having my birth control implant taken out my 39th birthday... in 8 months. OMG!

He's amazing... I call him my unicorn.

His presence in my life has changed me for the better.  He healed a heart I thought was cold and dead.  He saw something valuable in me when I thought I was worthless.  He loved me when I thought I was unlovable. 

Learning to trust someone the way I trust him has been challenging.  I spent a lot of time waiting for him to lie, to cheat, to fuck me over.  I struggle with jealousy.  My paranoid thoughts, courtesy of the BP, sometimes try to convince me that he's cheating, but this time I KNOW he's a good man. I KNOW he loves me. I KNOW he wouldn't do anything to hurt me.  My guts aren't screaming at me that this is wrong... and now that I have the presence of mind to listen.

It has taken me a long time and a lot of practice to distinguish between inappropriate thoughts and those that come from a "well mind".  I'm in a constant state of self awareness.  I've taught myself to be diligent about my thoughts and to guard myself against negativity and paranoia.  To recognize the thoughts that can signal a change in mood or the onset of a depressive or manic episode.

Episodes, by the way, can cause permanent brain damage.  And they have.
Again, a story for another day.

My "ideal" life has changed...

No more tiny house.
I want a real house, with a real yard, where I can grow a real garden and raise my real babies.

No more sailboat.
Okay, maybe after he retires and we go explore the world.  At any rate, I want a real bathroom with a real shower in the meantime.

Independence. Sigh.
I have more independence now than when I was in my parents' basement, but still not as much as I'd like.  I haven't been able to work in 2 years.  My first disability claim didn't pan out... My lawyer told me to withdraw and start over because I had a weak case and a tough judge.  Still trying to get disability but I can't go on living without an income.  I have some hopeful prospects for part time work, but nothing definite.  I'm not entirely sure that I can maintain stability without support.  Thankfully, I have support.

Weight. HA!
I was almost to my goal weight when I moved home (down to 175lbs!), but I was really sick.  I was so happy to be so skinny! I bought pants that were size 11, which I hadn't been able to wear since middle school!  I was REALLY sick, and not just with mental illness.  Since then, the meds have made me gain almost 100lbs and I'm currently trying to lose the "medication weight".

No more Princess Voldemort.
I'm sure she was a good cat, but she hated me.  She pissed on my head while I was asleep.  I left her at the goat farm, where I knew she would be able to live her cat life and not be taken to a shelter to be euthanized.

Calamity The Courageous Cowdog has turned out to be a lifesaver.  Literally.  She has saved my life more times than I can count.  Even now, as I'm learning stability, she's always there when I need her, by my side in times of crisis.  I try to give her the best life I can.  Hopefully someday I'll have a yard for her.  She is my heart, and, sometimes, my reason for living.

I most certainly do NOT want to be a goat farmer.  Fuck that shit.  Or sail around the world.  More on that later, too.  Hopefully.

I'm not sure what I want to be.  My goals are much less tangible these days.  I try to focus on things like positivity, stability, and small steps in the right direction.

No more sudden changes for me.
No more flights of fancy.
No more crazy adventures.
No more flying by the seat of my pants.

These days it's more about making connections, putting down roots, and growth.
Becoming a "real" person instead of an "interesting" person.
Learning to appreciate the mundane and small, everyday adventures.
Learning to appreciate stability, even though it's boring.
Learning to create healthy habits.

These days, more often than not, I find myself lonely and bored in the middle of the night.  He works graveyard and since I don't work, I'm on his schedule.  It's hard to make connections when everyone else is asleep.  I used to talk to one of my best friends late at night, but she died almost a year ago, and I miss her every day.  It doesn't matter how many times you go through the grief process, it still hurts just as much every time it starts anew.

My mind isn't what it used to be.  My memory has gone to shit and I can't remember a lot of my life.  I can't read like I used to.  I can't do algebra in my head anymore.  It's hard to focus and remember things.  I'm not as smart as I used to be.  But I'm learning to deal/live with it.  Not sure if it's the meds or the illness, but I guess it doesn't matter, it's my new reality.

I am no longer plagued by an overabundance of things.  I gave up most of my things, and the rest I haven't seen in years.  Some of it, like heirlooms from my great-grandma, I can't wait to use again, but that'll have to wait until he and I are masters of our own domain.  The rest I'll probably end up giving away.  No bigs.  I can wait.

I don't regret leaving my ex-wife.  Or any of the shit-asses I dated after her.  What I regret the most in my life is leaving the kiddo.  While it was right to leave her mom, it was wrong to leave town and leave her behind.  If I could go back, I would have stayed.  Can't go back and change the past, though.  I have to live with my regrets.  Thankfully, the kiddo doesn't hate me.  We're working on having a relationship as adults.  And that's more than I could have hoped for.  I love her, and I wish more than anything that I could have been a good parent to her.  But I failed in that respect, so now all I can do is be a good friend.

Holy cats, it's like 2 hrs past my bedtime.  And about 4 beers past my limit.
Fuck it. I needed to get this out.
Ima go snuggle with my unicorn and prepare for another day of abject boredom.
Better than being cray-cray!

Incidentally, I've been listening to Capital Cities as I write this.  On repeat.  Go figure.

Sometimes I just wish I had a hand to hold.

Focus on the future, kiddo.  

The past holds nothing for you but memories.

The truth about kids.

I'm 35 years old. 40 is creeping up on me faster than I ever thought possible.  I made the decision to have kids almost 10 years ago.  Over 100 menstrual cycles, each a reminder that the clock is ticking.  Since I made that decision, I have been a parent, but not a mother.  I have heard "not now", "later", "now's not a good time" so many times that I've come to believe that there is no good time.  I have been told yes, made plans to stop taking birth control, only to find out that he was a lying, cheating bastard and was just telling me what I wanted to hear to keep me complacent.  I've had a scare or two, though none too serious.  Sure, I could "forget" to take my pill and steal some poor guy's baby batter, but that's not within the realm of my capabilities.  Even though I believe there's no good time, there are things I would like to have before I bring another person into this world.  For as much as it's worth these days, I want to be married.  I want to have that promise. That they will stick by my side, no exceptions.  Good, bad, boring, heartbreaking, and everything else that life is.  I would prefer to have a planned pregnancy, but who wouldn't?  I would like to have a home. A tiny home, preferably.  Sure, space is limited, but I want my family to CONNECT.  To learn how to live and love and grow together, as a unit.  I would really like to have the farm started.  At least the land purchased.  If/when I conceive, I will have to go home.  I will not deny my mom her grandbabies, as I know that is something she has wanted for a very long time.  Since I was 19.  I have no interest in raising my children away from my family.  I want my mom by my side. My aunties and cousins.  My friends.  My sister.  I want my babies to play with the babies of people I knew as children.  I want my babies to have a father who is a good man, who will treat them with love and respect, who will love them enough to do the hard things, who will be my partner 100%.  Someone I love deeply and who is just as in love with me.

The problem is that by the time I get to the point where I want to have kids with someone else, I'm going to be pretty old to be bearing children.  I think at this point, I would already be considered high risk.  I don't really want to be 60 at my kid's graduation, but I don't want to die alone even more.  I can't bear the thought of never becoming a mother.  So much so that the very prospect brings me to tears on a daily basis.

I try to think of it as "if it happens, it happens", put the good vibes out into the universe, and hope it'll all work out the way I want it to... but nothing ever does.  I suppose it'll all work out the way it's supposed to in the end.  ROMANS 8:28.  Let go and let God.

A thought or two on "beauty"

On my journey of self-love, I have done some pretty weird shit to acknowledge, accept, and love all the parts of me.  I have danced naked in front of a mirror, jiggling as hard as I could. More than once. Until it made me laugh instead of cry.

My most recent challenge has been giving up my tiny magnifying mirror and tweezers.
I did well without them for a while.  My skin started clearing up and looking a little healthier and my brows... brow was growing in nicely.  Then I found them and pick my bad habit right back up.  My skin is breaking out again and looks like crap because I can't stop examining my skin and picking at it.  I just need to chuck the damned thing out into the street.

My brow, however, is beginning to grow into its full German glory.  I have been tweezing a little.  Just the very middle and the ones that get tangled in my eyelashes.  I haven't seen it fully grown in since middle school.  There are a few patchy spots, but they are starting to fill in.  And a lot of the new growth is grey!

I've always been envious of men and their ability to grow facial hair.
To heck with your beards and muttonchops!
I have BROW-WOW.
I might tweeze it again, I might not.