Voluntary Admission ... Number 5

I have spent the last 5 days in the psychiatric unit of Boone Hospital. I guess I didn't have it all under control like I thought. BIG surprise. More to come ... just an update. I have lots of journal entries that are going to be transferred to blog posts. Because really, who doesn't find that shit interesting. Okay, back to watching the snow fall and dreaming about my next dosage of klonipin.

Where are the Storm Clouds?

It seemed so simple ... write a check, sign a paper ... walk away and let the process begin. I have been waiting for the thunder of remorse. I have not lost my conviction or clarity, but the unknown is a slow torture. I know that what I think I want is not what I will get, nor what I will need. I simply want a normal life, but normalcy is elusive and foreign.
I no longer know what I want. I have always known that I want J, but I'm not sure what I want from him or even if I should ask for his friendship in such a critical time. We both question whether this relationship is beyond repair. So, I sit in this bed and watch the evening pass away. I have made the decision to legally end my relationship and the rest is so fuzzy. Are we really going to stay true to our vows even after the legal marriage is dissolved? I'm afraid I have devised a plan to stay connected so that the eventual split will be a slow process so to delay the intensity which so often sends me to the place where I begin to plan my escape. I have made these choices. The choice to file for divorce. The choice to try to live on my own. The choice to move on. The choice to create a new life. The choice to reinvent myself. So, I must want to move on, but why is it tonight I stared at the orange bottle, spilling out the blue tablets, with tears caught in the lenses of my glasses wondering who would take Roxy and who would have to find me. Truly, how angry will M be? Won't she understand?
If one more person comments on my super human strength and resilience I am going to prove them wrong. What choice do I have? Really? I've tried taking my life so many times that I'm even a failure at that. But, I have made momentous changes. I separated and filed for divorce in the time span of two or three weeks and have yet to feel an ounce of remorse. I know this is right. I asked for clarity and I received it. I have goals and I know that I have a purpose in this life, but everyday is such a roller coaster that I'm not sure I can hold on at times.
From the choices I have made it seems I want to live. I want more from my life. It is funny ... an anomaly of sorts ... I acted in logic and thoughtfulness instead of emotion and trauma. The sudden shift makes me want to believe that there is something out there that cares. Maybe it is just my own evolution ... my own will power, but it rose so quickly, and I am so sure, I cannot believe that this is of my own doing ... it cannot be.
J and I met Tuesday and I can barely remember what I said. I knew I would fuck it up. His appearance was but a ghost of how I remember him. His hair was so short, his eyes sunken in so far, his shoulders so narrow. I tried to ease into the news, but before I knew it I slowly and softly spoke the words. He reacted just as I predicted - with restriction and the look he assumes when you know he is trying to wrestle whatever emotion is inside. It is always the emotion that I wonder ... is is joy? is it pain? is it hate? As the conversation progressed I explained my desire to stay within our vows, just live separate lives for a while until he can do the work he needs to do. As usual, this man and I were on the same page. He needs to disconnect from his mother and I. He needs to rebuild his life on his own without our help. That was one motivating factor for my initiation of the divorce ... maybe he would realize his need for maturity and take on his sobriety by himself. We left with hugs and a tender kiss on the lips and multiple "I love you" statements. Somehow, that didn't set me at ease. I am scared what he has thought the past couple of days.
My greatest fear is based in my selfish need for acceptance ... I do not want this to end at the blade of an axe. If it does end, I want it to end like a small leak - slow, but eventual.
I fantasize about the possibilities ... studying abroad. Meeting new people. Having a drink after work without the weight of guilt. When things were good with us they were great. An enviable relationship. His clothes are still in the closet. There are even a few dirty dishes in the sink from his short stay while I was on vacation (yes, I do the dishes that often).
Uncertainty can be the demise of a codependent ... yet it seems it is our life's mission to control it.

Mail Call

Insert any name you think begins with an A and J, cause it makes me feel okay doing this when I think there is some sort of anonymity

A***********,

It must be hell living with me the past year. I've put you through more than almost anyone could handle. I'm so ashamed of myself and I'm terrified I'll never be able to make up for the wrong I've done or the pain I've caused. My apologies just don't mean much anymore - but I had to write and say something. I want our life back but I'm not even sure I know where to begin. We had such great dreams and hopes - such a bright future - and I've all but shattered them all. I was happy with our marriage with the direction we were headed but I still hated me. Everytime you tell me you love me my stomach drops and it hurts like hell because I'm reminded of how I just can't love myself and how you love me in spite of me. These 3 [6 total] years of our life together have been the best and the worst I've known. I've known great joy and great pain. I've become a monster - so different from the man you married. So I offer a humble apology - when I owe you so much more. I hope we can talk again. I love you

your Husband,
J.************

We haven't spoken in a week and the last time we spoke while he was sober was over two weeks ago. The treatment center will allow me to call him Thursday.
I have a 4:00 appointment with the lawyer tomorrow afternoon.

51% of Women Are Now Living Without A Spouse

51% plus one, that is. Delayed gratification is a simple concept, yet a tedious and nearly impossible task. I have asked for clarity and I'm afraid that I have it now. My left hand has lost the white ring of flesh where my rings once rested. I sleep in the middle of the bed now. I lost the awareness of time when he usually calls me at work. There are so many things that have already slipped away.
I've developed enough tolerance to the sour words that I can speak them. It is in my own disappointment that everyone has responded with such relief. If just one person tried to convince me this is not what I should do, I would probably take back everything I said.
I suppose it is a post mark for adulthood with this decision. I am finally disconnecting myself from the deterministic hold that shackles my will.

I'm Everything But Sorry.

Anyone that read this blog before has probably given up by now. I didn't drop off of the face of the earth, rather I fell into the vacuum I allowed my life to become. So much has happened, yet it is the same story over and over again.
In summary, things have changed. I became jaded. I became calloused. I lost perspective.
So, I made a geographical change to see M. I found a cheap ticket two weeks ago and last Friday I was driving to the airport. My mission was clear: get out of my skin - completely. No one can distract me quite like M. The partying was great. It has been years since I've been able to take a drink and not feel guilty. I was able to act a fool and not give a damn ... really I was a totally different person. Once in a while I would worry the other people we were partying with were getting a view of me that I would eventually despise, but when it came down to it I needed to feel something other than exhausted - their opinion didn't matter. I don't regret anything, in fact, I'm glad I was able to let go for once in my adult life and just have a good time.
No one knew my story. No one cared. Yet, one of the most important people in my life was there whenever I had some random obsessive thought ... and then she handed me a drink (just kidding ... sort of).
I woke to a call from my land lord on Tuesday morning. J left rehab and continued his streak of destruction. A couple of hours full of phone calls, sporadic crying, and the familiar feeling of sickness and then it was somewhat resolved and I let it all fall away. I didn't obsess or ruin the remaining time. Weird. For once, I felt the elusive creature that is loving detachment. I was compassionate when his cries filled the speaker of my phone, but I left the pain when I ended the call. So this is freedom. For once in my fucking life I felt like some one's drug use wasn't ruling the speed and velocity of my roller coaster. This roller coaster is about to change.

The First Twenty-Four Hours

He said he needed to go to another meeting. I try so damn hard to be optimistic regardless of my conditioned state of skepticism. I say to myself, "yeah, sure he goes more than half an hour early. Doesn't he? Hmmm, when was the last time he did that. I can't recall." The hour and a half went by and then another 15 minutes. That familiar feeling of being a slave to the need for control kicked me in the stomach. I called. Twice. "I'll be there in five minutes." I restrained the racing thoughts that questioned his honesty. Fifteen more minutes went by. I picked up the phone two more times until I allowed the phone to send the call. No answer. Again, I send the call. No answer. Again. No answer. This is the process of confirmation we go through. I call over and over until I'm satisfied that he will not answer until he runs out of money.
I am crushed, but I do not cry anymore. There is really no relief, in fact, it weakens my fortitude. I cry when I think that I need to cry - especially if it has been a while.
It is after midnight. I just wrote a blog entry to simply fill in the day, but it was 5 minutes too late to get in for November 15. My home is cold and I simply do not want to wash my face and take my meds before I lay down. I don't really want to sleep.
I am standing in the cramped bathroom staring at my face while I grab the Lamictal out of the cabinet. My eyes are glossy and red. My face has bright blemishes on my right cheek. My hair is a mess. I hear the key slip into the lock. I stand perfectly still and hold my breath. I want so badly to scream and curse; to threaten and belittle; to manipulate and destroy. I turn to see his small face with pupils nearly covering every bit of green in his eyes. My first words comment on the obviousness of his state of inebriation. Then, the next usual question. "How much did you spend." He only had $40, so it shortened his evening.
His odor surrounds him - cheap liquor and sweat. I try to ignore him - to act as though it is really not a big deal. It is though. It is always a big deal. Then I feel pity. I have lived this before and I have seen this need for destruction. If only he could see the person I see in him. How sharp, charming, and deeply considerate he is. How, when people meet him, they instantly know he has a soft heart and a whip for a mind.
I sit with him for hours. I fall into the need for passive aggressive relief. He faces it stoically - feeling he deserves much more than I throw at him. A few minutes later I feel guilty ... it is much like scolding a child after they admit defeat and give a genuine apology. It is needless and simply an inappropriate way to displace anger.
I will not sleep. I peak out the blinds and watch him smoke cigarettes on our front porch. His breath and exhalations of smoke create a cloud in front of his face. The symbolism is frightening.
I turn to see the green light illuminating the side of the bed; it is after 2 a.m. I drift to sleep, but wake periodically to feel his back next to mine. Good. He is still here.
I cannot wake up. Instead, I throw on my college sweatshirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and a worn Adidas ball cap. Not exactly business casual. I am exhausted and want everyone to know it. I dressed this way on purpose - let them know that I am in pain. I snap at my boss and I can see the frustration wash over her face. My uncle spies at me from across the room - he knows something is terribly wrong.
She asks what is wrong. "He fell off the wagon again." She replies in almost an angry tone, commenting shortly then muzzling herself and turning her focus back to the paperwork in front of her.
They both leave for a regional meeting. I call my mom and cry. Cry for the exhaustion and cry for the numbness I feel in my veins. Ironic, I know. My co-worker closes the door for me.
I feel so relieved and begin an upbeat conversation with the other girl. It is the day before my 24th birthday. I go home and shower, trying to begin the day over. There is dinner and then gifts. Now, it is 24 hours later. He lays beside me, his head in a book and I cringe over the thought of the next 24 hours.

If I Had an English Accent

If I could develop a Madonna-esque American/English accent I would exclaim such things as: "Brilliant!" or "That is Absurd!" or "I'll stay for tea, but only for a short time." Then, even saying things such as: "please ask the blonde stripper to bring me change for that $50" would seem very classy. I would feel like a lady, even when I asked the woman in the public restroom to "please be a dear and pass me approximately 8 sheets of toilet paper." Yes, if I had an English accent I would be a lady, if only in spoken word.

One Day at a Time

Pulling into the last parking spot in the second row of grocery getters, I notice the klank of wine bottles in the woman's grocery cart as she passes us. I know he hears them. He notices everything. I steer us towards the far entrance so that the liquor department is as far away as possible. As we walk in, we're blasted with the smell of $5 coffee from the Starbucks. I know his thirst for even small drugs, such as caffeine, is overwhelming. As we stroll through the produce, I imagine how I would deal if we faced someone he needed to make amends with ... would I walk away and allow him to work this step or would I stand there in the awkward moment? I qualify myself as a true codependent as I answer my own dilemma: I would stay so that I could make sure he made his amends and so that I would know exactly what happened. I play this role so well.
We both notice the Stolich vodka sale display in the soda aisle, so I make some random comment in hopes of distracting both of us. I'm quickly reminded of the display as we pick up the gallon of orange juice ... I've never even seen him drink screwdrivers before, but the thought is still there. Though I hate that he smokes, I buy him a carton of cigarettes simply because I would rather he smoke than relapse again ... and I can't trust him with any amount of money to buy a carton on his own. By the time we're walking out the doors, I'm considering all the places I could hide my debit card when we returned home. At last night's meeting one woman reminded me that, "they act crazy and we feel crazy." Apparently, Hy Vee exacerbates this insane feeling.

This is Going to Sting A Bit.

"Yeah, he told me how you guys are close." My face began to warm, I strained to calm my vocal cords and attempted to reply in a stoic manner, "Oh, you mean he told you he kind of took me in after I found my dad murdered." After the words fell out of the air I felt a surge of blood to my head, so I turned and walked back to my desk without looking at either one of them in the face. I wonder how long this guy has known - and now, who else knows. It has taken me five years to learn how to interact with another person for more than a few days without infecting them with the details of that tragic event. It became part of my identity for so long - the girl that found her father shot to death. The pity was always bitter sweet. Sweet in that I didn't have to hide this looming storm cloud that follows me around. Bitter in that now I would have to deal with being "that poor girl."
We all quickly delved back into surface conversation and I felt my body calm. This is a familiar cycle, but it never seems to lose that initial sting. I have learned how to disconnect enough to deliver the words without seeming phased. The truth remains that ever since that 10 second exchange of words at 2:00 my day has not been the same.

Dear Diary

As I read other blogs it becomes apparent to me that being somewhat undefined in my purpose for writing is perfectly acceptable. I had a blog earlier this year, but it turned into a log of bipolar waves and random insanity (so maybe the spans of sanity were random). Once again, I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep from spewing my inner-most ramblings. Okay, it's one thing to read the humor of some one's kid puking on their mother-in-law or their quirky boss' obsession with making shadow figures on the copy machine, but it is creepy to look back on an entry discussing the need for self-destruction. I became so disgusted with myself that I had to delete the damn thing. However, as the blog posting month begins I am finding that the visceral words of living spew until they're trapped with the backspace button. Fussy mentioned that a few people have already dropped out of NaBloPoMo. I missed a day last week but I decided not to explain my absence and simply continue on with my goal. However, my disassociation from my topics has produced a bland and unsatisfying week of writing.
So, I am torn. Do I continue the excruciating process of developing daily topics or just let things roll? I don't want this to turn into a personal journal again. What's more, is that I have found that my humor makes some people uncomfortable - things that are funny to me are simply unnerving to some people.
So, things may change or maybe I'll be hit with a surge of creativity ... 23 more days to go.

Rockin' in the Free World

Oh the midterm elections! Am I the only one genuinely excited about voting tomorrow? I mean, I am freaking ecstatic! My mother and I giggled like school girls over the phone tonight - our delight at the chance for change in the nation and our state. Missouri has been one of those "key" states, so I am stoked that I can contribute a vote that will possibly stimulate a shift in our world. Now, instead of blogging and writing tireless emails I can actually do something active to change my world. Wow, I am such a nerd.

Pugauchsand a.k.a Roxy

This is my little one.

I know it's already a link...

This is just fascinating to me ... go read some secrets.

Her fingers tapped across the white key board

I'm sooo looking forward to Will Ferrell's new movie "Stranger Than Fiction." Seriously, am I the only one narrating their day to themself? My autobiography is being written in my head every single day. For example, take my thoughts from the other day:

I sat in traffic, the rain drops glowing from the red reflection of brake lights ahead of me, and remembered how we ran through Manhattan on that cold night in March. We came from Broadway, fresh with live music reverberating through our ears. No one would suspect that we were a couple of kids running away from the reality of our misguided lives. I was only 18 and he a 22 year old parolee. Little did we know, we had six weeks and another American coast to endure. This was the happiest time of my life. Today I sit in a car that isn't paid for, wearing a button down shirt that shows my ninies evertime I move an arm, listening to NPR and examining my daily paper cut. Fuck. I'm only 23.

...then motion begins and I'm running with the herd - my monologue far behind me. Okay, so it's always unrefined and grossly exaggerated and some parts minimized, but hey, maybe one day it will be worth a million. Maybe.

Go Crazy Folkes ... Go Crazy

We stood by the Cards through years of uncertainty ... a world series never won - not since the year I was born ... until now. Victory is sweet.

Just the Facts

Before you believe any of those political advertisements, check this out.

Just pointing it out...

This is taken directly from Rush Limbaugh's website:

Fact: The Missouri Bill is on Cloning, Not Stem Cells

This is taken directly from the Missouri Secretary of State website:

Section 38(d). 1. This section shall be known as the “ Missouri Stem Cell Research and Cures Initiative.”

2. To ensure that Missouri patients have access to stem cell therapies and cures, that Missouri researchers can conduct stem cell research in the state, and that all such research is conducted safely and ethically, any stem cell research permitted under federal law may be conducted in Missouri, and any stem cell therapies and cures permitted under federal law may be provided to patients in Missouri, subject to the requirements of federal law and only the following additional limitations and requirements:

(1) No person may clone or attempt to clone a human being.

(2) No human blastocyst may be produced by fertilization solely for the purpose of stem cell research.

(3) No stem cells may be taken from a human blastocyst more than fourteen days after cell division begins; provided, however, that time during which a blastocyst is frozen does not count against the fourteen-day limit.

(4) No person may, for valuable consideration, purchase or sell human blastocysts or eggs for stem cell research or stem cell therapies and cures.

Hmmmm...

No words can describe my amusement

7-2 Bitches!

Game One is ours you nonbelieving assholes! We take baseball seriously in this state and people like Albert Pujols, Chris Carpenter, David Eckstein, Scott Roland, and Anthony Reyes are Gods. Everyone doubted we'd even get this far - ha, suckers! National League Champs! Go Cards!

Can I really do this?

I know that I am probably setting myself up for failure, but what the hell. Yes fussy, I will accept your damn challenge.