Another Birthday Gone

September 6th was my birthday. It was a day that I would have rather slept through. A total of 8 people wished me happy birthday and one of them was not my son. I had to take the dog we just adopted to a rescue because my chiwawa mix (Beverly) was vomiting on herself, peeing on the floor, refusing to move, shaking and had been tossed around a bit by the dog who was an English Mastiff. A big dog was not a bad idea, a HUGE dog was a horrible idea. My wife and mother-in-law hate me, if only temporarily, for getting rid of the dog, but I really had no choice as I could not put my Beverly in any more danger. I cleaned the couch to get rid of the big dog’s smell and I made dinner. I took care of my daughter so my wife could work and I got no time to myself. My wife did not even wish me a happy birthday until after 5pm. She did say that we could observe my birthday some other day, but it was my birthday and it seemed like everyone just forgot and didn’t care which makes me think they didn’t care about me. I don’t want a party I just want a little “happy birthday” form those that are supposed to love me and be my friends. My family even fell short, but I stopped counting on them years ago.

Another day, another year, another disappointment.

Mood Swings, Drugs, Medications, Houses and Toddler Beds

I feel like I have never felt before. Before the drugs (the majority of them) and before the medications I kind of remember being a angsty preteen pain in my absentee parent’s rear. During that time moods were being thrown all over the place, but the only control that was to be had was whatever environmental factors that I could avoid or get in to.

When I increased the usage of illicit drugs I still had little to no control over my emotions, but then there were very little emotions to be had. The psychotic episodes began and my conscience went on vacation.

I then got on medications and everything went blank. I was forcing any emotion that would almost come and I didn’t think I would ever be anything but what I was right then.

Now things are different again. I have come to realize that emotions are hard, if not impossible, to control and I do have them – they were just being smothered by the drugs (legal and not).

Off the pain medication and on the right meds I have emotions, real ones. Depression is a passing thing not a state of being. I know what love, not obsession, is. I know what it means to be, or want to be, co-dependent as opposed to independent and dependent.

My words are being saved for something else right now, but I can say I feel like the bright summer sun that just found the break in the clouds from a deluge that had lasted for days, weeks, months, or even years.

We are house hunting right now and the clouds streak in front of me occasionally because I know, due to my past, that I am only an assistant in the process. I mean it will be mine and the decision is half mine, but everything will be and is in my wife’s name. A sense of ownership is hard to find and therefore pride is difficult to inflate, which may be a good thing, but my pride has not existed for a while now – a little would be nice.

When I started this blog we were having sleep issues with my two year old. If she wouldn’t sleep it would nearly kill me to stay up. I would breakdown and not recover for days. Now she is in a toddler bed, sleeping through the night, except the time I am going to talk about, and is a good sleeper – for the most part.

We put her to bed every night using the same routine and she still listens to a CD of me singing to her, but she goes down without much of a fuss, doesn’t get out of bed and sleeps through the night, except the other night.

I left my office at 10:45 pm and as I hit the hallway she started crying. I waited, but it only got worse. I went in to talk to her, but she wanted nothing to do with it. Finally she agreed to sleep on the couch. I should have never agreed to that.

Long story short, I was up all night watching movies and reading books to her (she has a back molar coming in we found out). The point is I was tired, but fine. No breakdown and no days to recover.

Things are looking up.

I will keep you abreast of the house situation and the new baby try (surprise).

What else would you like to know about me or my life?

Dealing With Change

Life, as we all know, is nothing but change. However, some of us have difficulty dealing with change. When you are single and without children you really only HAVE to deal with your changes and you think your life will end when you finally cave to those changes.

When you find a significant other you have to deal with their changes if you want the relationship to work and most of the time, even though you tell them, they don’t understand that change, any change, is very difficult.

Now that’s two lives who’s changes affect you. Add kids to the mix and not only are their changes included, but their changes are, somewhat, governed by you so you have to force change in your own life so they can continue in theirs.

From bottle to food. From crib to bed. From diapers to underwear. From home to daycare. From daycare to school. And all the major and minor one in there as well.

We currently live in an apartment. Have since our little family started. We are looking to buy a house VERY soon. This is one of the biggest changes in my life, I am finding out. It means, to me, a beginning of a settled life and it scares the hell out of me.

The other bad part about change is my moods and I am sure I am not alone. As the change rolls around in my mind I get more and more depressed and sullen, even angry at times, but when I concede to it, if I concede to it, mania kicks in – hard.

I try to calm myself down. I try to get in my routines. I try to not think of only me, but it is all so hard. My mind cannot fairly fight itself and that is what is happening.

I have no advice. I have only complaints. I have only a war inside my head and a time where I try not to piss off my wife more than usual. Oh, and I try not to deal with money much (there is a little advice in there).

Not In A Good Place

Since medications were stolen, I am not only going through withdraw, but having major anxiety attacks. I am not sleeping and I can’t shake the feeling of large bugs crawling under my skin, just pushing and pushing their way out. My moods are all over the place and the paranoia is so bad that I am barricading the doors and widows and refusing to leave the house. I even tore the house apart today looking for audio or visual devices (I found none).

I didn’t react this bad when I came off of heroin 10 years ago. Suicide is not an option, well its an option just not a valid one – I wish it was at times.

My wife and I are also not seeing eye to eye. She can’t handle my issues right now and I don’t know what to do.

I need help and my psych and therapist just aren’t doing the job. My dog is helping, but only a bit. I did think about throwing her out the widow when she went and did her business on the floor but I stormed off, yelled, put a hole in the wall and cleaned it up.

Then I patched the hole. Then the guy I may or may not have killed came to talk to me about God.

Anger is not my forte. I don’t know what to do with it, how to handle it, or how to vent it so I don’t hurt anyone.

Do I need to check myself in?

Do I need that much help or will it go away in time?

Trying For Order or When Will I Burn Out

No matter what I do I do it with conviction and purpose (right or wrong). I do it with fervor and expect it to change someone’s outlook, life, etc. However, I usually lose interest in it or sputter out of steam quickly because I put so much into it so fast.

I hope this will not be the same, but I hope that about everything. This blog has lasted longer than most of my endeavors and I am striving for it to continue to last. I do so hope that some of you enjoy reading my daily musings.

Off track for a minute and then back to what I hope stays the course and goes the distance.

A question was asked, what defines writing as literature if all writing is not literature. My response was simple.

Literature is defined as: writings in which expression and form, in connection with ideas of permanent and universal interest, are characteristic or essential features, as poetry, novels, history, biography, and essays.

So in short, writing that has a form (traditional or experimental) AND expresses an idea, concept, purpose, belief, or even a notion is Literature.

My opinion is that if something can be taken away from the reading experience that is worth more than the random thoughts of the writer than it is literature.

I also think that blogging can sometimes be considered literature, but only rarely. I believe some of my posts are just me writing what comes to mind, but I think others are actually literature. I am interested as to what your opinions are on the matter (audience participation is good).

Okay back to the thing (thanks for all those that stayed with me).

I started a daily schedule for myself. It is not all inclusive as I hate change and if I planned out every second and something happened I would be afraid that I would have a melt down.

The first day it went well. I added physical activity to it (another thing I want to stick to – not just physical activity, but I will get to that in a bit) and by the end of the day I had completed everything I set out to and I felt good, more energized than I have been in a very long time. My mood was also spectacular.

Today (second day) I followed my schedule as closely as I could, but my ability to adjust to change was called into question. I had errand after errand thrown at me, an appointment with my psychologist that I forgot about, and ran to pick up a gift for my wife (not to try to make up, but to try to make her happy because she needs to be happy). I had a minor blow up (internally) when I spoke to my wife at the end of the day and she was nothing but negative and I had a minor melt down about 30 minutes before toddler bedtime (due to toddler being toddler), but overall I was even happier and (hard to believe) even more energized.

I know this is going to help, that is plainly obvious. I just really hope I can keep it up as my wife won’t assist me (she has too much of her own stuff and she doesn’t believe she should have to help me), my mother is not good at that and is not enough in my life to really do any good and my friends fall under the “not in my life enough” category as well so I am stuck doing it on my own. WISH ME LUCK (seriously).

The other thing, that I said I would get back to, that I have started is something that my wife started with me and while she doesn’t want help and is going to be reluctant to give me help,at least we are doing it together and that is incentive enough (I hope) to continue it. It is Weight Watchers. I am 5’9” and 232 lbs. I am obese. I know there are people bigger than me, but I also know some who are smaller than me and are still considered fat. I need to do it and it will help my self-image.

The last thing is an acne treatment from my upper back and shoulders. I have horrible skin. It looks worse than a sixteen year old going through late puberty that works at a grease factory in which he/she washes themselves in.

So those are 3 things that I have started (not including the blog) that I really want to (and in some ways need to) stick with for as long as it takes. The question is how long before I burn out on it all or will this time be different because the meds are starting to level out.

If you pray, pay for me please. If not do your thing. If you have no thing, please think positively when you think of me.

I Assaulted My Wife And Have Been Abusing Her For Years

The assault was provoked, but not excusable – assault never is.

I had a terrible childhood. One male role model (my grandfather) who still cheated, drank, yelled screamed and hit my grandmother. The others were drug addicts and were even more physically abusive to me and my mother or their significant others or random woman.

I was determined to be a “good dad” I was determined to be nothing like any of them. When my son came along I was crushed because I knew I was going to end up a weekend dad as I was divorcing his mother because I had no love for her.

When my daughter was born I was in a healthy (or so I thought) relationship and was determined to be the dad I always wanted too be. As a note: when I got married the second time, to a woman I knew I was in love with and had spent two years determining that that was true, I was determined to be the husband that my mother never had (higher aspirations than reality).

I have been and hope to always be a better husband than those sacks of flesh that my mother called boyfriend, fiancé, or husband, but apparently part of being a better husband is not only to treat the woman like a queen and do whatever she wants, but to understand her needs, to truly appreciate what she thinks is important. It is to not continue to dote on her at every chance and more, but to show her you love her in subtle ways, less public ways, less “embarrassing” ways. And most important that every woman is different and no matter how much “experience” with women you have, you have none with that particular woman.

Just like women, every child is different so my outline for being The World’s Greatest Father did not take in to account the individual child or her mother.

I can give a million excuses as to why I am not everything my daughter and wife deserve, but it boils down to me. No one and nothing else can possibly be to blame for how my relationships with my family are.

To the issue at hand:

Sunday. Mother’s Day.

It was raining and my initial plan of taking my daughter and the dogs to the park was out of the question – not because of the rain, but the mud. I racked my brain for other ideas. I thought about indoor activities that would take a couple of hours as the dogs don’t really bother my wife and she could still have some Mommy Time.

The Natural History Museum would have been a good idea, but they were having a “Mother’s Day Brunch” and I am not big into crowds (the museum holds over 1000 people in a small area).

The Aquarium would have been an option, but even though we are not poor I am not paying $40 for my 2 year old and me to go see some fish for 45 minutes. Plus parking.

My extended family were all running in their own directions and they are all between 45 and 70 minutes away. My in-laws just got back from a very long drive where they dealt with the death of my mother-in-law’s father’s estate so I didn’t want to bother them and I would just end up sticking my foot in my mouth anyway.

Finally I checked the weather (65F – 68F) and saw that it was supposed to rain all day, but no storms (thunder and lightning) were expected. I really wanted to get out of the house so I decided to go to the zoo. I dressed my daughter in jeans that were tucked into boots over socks, a long sleeve shirt, a hoodie, and a jean jacket. I also brought towels and my hat.

When we got to the zoo my daughter went in the stroller and I put the hood up which ensured that her head was going to stay dry. I think that if her head would’ve been getting wet we would have come straight home.

We got to the elephants (first animal on our trek) at 10:15 am and had a blast. I got soaked as I will not carry an umbrella and I hate ponchos (I am a stubborn person). My daughter also got wet, especially her legs as they were sticking out of the stroller. At 11:42 am my wife sent me a message saying,

I miss you guys Sad smile I’m not used to being by myself

I called her and she was crying. I made myself believe for a minute that she missed me enough to make her cry, but before too long I knew better. I am sure she missed me, but she missed our two year old.

I had been getting ready to leave and go get a bot to eat with my baby girl anyway so I just asked mommy if she wanted to go. She said that she would like to, but she didn’t have to. I should have left it at that and gone to lunch. Instead I wanted to give her what I thought she wanted (in this case it is what she wanted) and take her to lunch with us.

When we got to the car, my daughter and me, I took off her jean jacket and her hoodie was dry. Her legs were soaked, but her chest was dry. When I was young I was told that as long as your chest was not wet you were fine. I was even told this by the Boy Scouts so I took that to mean that my daughter could sit in wet jeans for a while.

After picking up my wife and getting to the restaurant, my daughter’s mommy felt her pants and had a fit. I told her what I had been taught and she was not satisfied. She decided that we could eat, but she was still upset.

When we got the toddler in the high chair my wife felt the pants again and realized they were even wetter than she thought them to be. She informed me that if she would have know they were wet we would not have gone out to eat, but we would have changed her pants. I apologized.

She called me a Bad Dad.

This may not mean much, if anything to some people, but I would have rather had her cut my gut open with a rusty scalpel than have someone call me that.

I blew up. I thought I hit the table and lifted it off the ground, but instead I threw my drink at her and said:

F*ck You!

I stormed out and went to the car. I texted her immediately and said that I was not leaving as I would not leave my daughter anywhere without a ride.

When I calmed down I tried to call and text, but got no response. I was trying to not go back in the restaurant as I didn’t want an even bigger scene, but I had to apologize and tell her that she hurt me so I tried to go back in. The manager met me at the door and said I assaulted her and she would call the cops if I tried to go back in especially since there was a kid involved. She did even let me say a word. I made it her business when I blew up in her store.

I have all kinds of issues with this. If the roles would have been reversed and I was the one who got yelled at and had a drink thrown at them, no one would have barred my wife from entering the establishment. No one would have helped me clean up (everyone apparently helped her). No one would have offered to pay for my food (everyone from the manager to the couple in the booth next to us tried to pay the bill).

Yes it was assault. No it’s not better than hitting her. No there is no excuse.

Men get assaulted too and even though there are hundreds of thousands of domestic violence cases that go unreported every year, that only takes into account the man on woman cases. What about the woman on man cases? Or the woman on woman? Or the man on man? None of it is right. It is all wrong. There is no excuse for any of it, but none of it should be treated any differently.

That’s how I assaulted my wife. “I’m sorry” is a phrase not only overused but one that even though it does say everything I mean, it says nothing that I mean, nor will it ever.

As far as how I have been abusing her for years (this is serious, do not laugh or take this lightly, this is not to take attention away from the prior information) –

She has said that she was going to leave a few times over the years for various reasons and I have told her that if she leaves I would kill myself. After a while I thought that was too much so I just told her I would be dead soon after. She considers that psychological abuse.

I tell her that she is my world. I write her love poetry. I compliment her at every turn. I send her cute text messages, I write cute messages on her Facebook wall. That is all abuse as well, since she doesn’t want it.

I am not saying I have not abused her because if she thinks I have then I have, but she is not alone. The difference is that I would never tell her for fear of losing her and I think just telling her would be a form of abuse if those other things are abuse.

Wanting Attention And A Cry For Help

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

She had no intention of killing herself. It was just to get attention. Ignore her and the behavior will go away.

He only took enough pills to land him in the hospital. It was just a cry for help. Why should I even pay attention to it? Isn’t that just feeding into it?

An attempt at suicide is not a joke. It is not something to take lightly. Even if you know that the individual had no intention of killing themselves, they felt the need to risk it all just to get some attention. And how do you know that the attempt wasn’t just that, an attempt to take their life.

Most people who fail at their attempt try to make a joke of it or blow it off in some way. Most of them try to get you to believe that they just needed attention because of anything from not getting enough love as a child or just being ignored in school, at work or in life in general.

Having attempted suicide many times, I know that some of the times I either pretend didn’t happen or lie through my teeth about them. At the time I had made my peace, gotten intoxicated enough, got so low that I could not find a way up or all of the above and more and ending it all seemed like the only thing to do.

The most common form of suicide is not self-suicide (taking one’s own life by themselves). It is actually what I refer to as life ending behaviors (LEBs). Doing things that “give a rush” by pushing the limits of life and death. These events include everything from skydiving, free climbing, bungee jumping and other inconspicuous activities to things like Russian roulette, experimenting with illegal drugs and abusing legal pharmaceuticals.

There are millions of websites out there telling you what the warning signs are and I encourage all of you to read them. If you see them in someone you love, do something about it. If you see it in yourself, seek help – immediately.

Self abuse is no better and can lead to suicide if not treated. To treat these things a mental health professional is required. Even if you are one yourself, seek out someone to assist you with therapy and pharmaceuticals, if needed.

No one tries to kill themselves just to garner attention (even if it seems that way) and no one swallows a bottle of Percocet just because they are crying out for help. An attempt is an attempt no matter the surface thought behind it, the seated thought is that life is not worth living because …

Here is a piece about a “cry for help”.

Sticking my finger down my throat,
I swallowed an entire bottle of them.
I realize life is worth living.
I don’t want to fucking die.
I just need to vomit and I’ll be better.
They’ve already been absorbed, I’m screwed.
I don’t want to go to the hospital.
Where’s my fucking phone?  It’s just three numbers.
I can feel my heart rate slowing down
Get excited, raise that blood pressure.
and my extremities are going numb.
They’re just cold, rub them a lot.
Back to the wall, ass on the ground, unmoving.
Get up!  Dance!  Punch something!  Anything!
The darkness takes me and I have one last thought:
I only thought I wanted to die, I swear.

Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-TALK

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE