Daily Post 209: Remembering Truths

It’s been a while since I’ve written. Working last Wednesday sort of threw everything off for the rest of the week. So here I am with about a week’s worth of stuff to catch up on.

I’ve decided to go with duel specking my character with the bard class. I reached out to our DM with a clarifying question.

Me: Quick question for God: If I duel spec as a bard would I have to legit sing?
God: It really depends on the style of music. There’s gonna be some genres I simply won’t allow at the table. But for sure you’re gonna be performing for us in some capacity. Mwahahahahahaha!!! >:3
Me: Excellent >:3

I can’t wait for tonight’s session. It’s going to be great.

That was the majority of Thursday. Figuring out what I wanted to do with my character level and spell wise, remaking my character sheet in a new program Ox found, and figuring out what items I wanted to replace while we were in town.

Class was fine. We started talking about statuses and roles and group dynamics along with classical studies pertaining to an individual’s willingness to conform in group settings.

Friday and Saturday I worked. Neither of those days was awful. I got some studying done during my breaks. Not as much as I would have liked, but some was better than none.

Saturday night Ox and I ended up going out to dinner. We haven’t had a legit date night in a while. And I guess that needs some back story…

We were supposed to run an extra treatment for a patient Saturday afternoon. Friday she had assured me she would be there for her Saturday treatment. I had gotten to work early to ensure we could have her chair ready for her in the afternoon. Even if something happened with another patient, we would be able to get her in since she said she would be there.

I flipped the station for her. I set up the machine and it had just finished testing when the phone to the clinic rang. My RN answered it. Our patient wasn’t coming.

I haven’t been that frustrated and angry in a while. I was so frustrated I was almost in tears.

Me: I need five minutes. I’ll be right back.

I had to leave the floor to regain perspective and my composure.

Irrational Right Brain: I trusted you. I did these things FOR YOU. You said you would be here. I didn’t call and check to see if you were coming because you told me not to worry about it with the craziness of change over. I had to throw those supplies away because you didn’t come when you said you would. I wasted them because I trusted you. I set that machine up FOR YOU. It wasn’t just flipping a station. There was intention behind every action I did to ensure we weren’t behind FOR YOU. And while I understand all of this is my own perspective, at the time it felt like you threw everything I had done, all of my effort and trying, onto the ground and stomped on it.

After I got over the feelings of betrayal the rest of the day was alright. Patients staggered off well enough that there wasn’t a crazy rush at the end of the day. We closed the clinic up. I drove home. Ox gave me a hug.

I was still frustrated. I was still missing mom. He offered for us to go out together for food since there weren’t plans for dinner. I agreed. I changed out of my scrubs into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. I wanted to drink. It doesn’t happen often, but that’s where I was Saturday night. I wanted to throw all of my responsibilities and caring down onto the ground and say “fuck it” for a few hours of my life, so I did. Ox let me. He drove. He listened to me and he didn’t judge me.

We went to Buffalo Wild Wings. They were busy. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Since I don’t drink often and hadn’t eaten since lunch it didn’t take long for my drink to do its job. I didn’t mind the loudness anymore. Ox and I talked and I didn’t mind talking about the painfulness I felt. I didn’t care about the silent tears running down my face as I talked about mom. I didn’t care what people thought as I got a second drink. Everyone else could fuck themselves if they thought I would feel bad about crying in public.

Once we were done eating, we went out to the parking lot. Ox gave me a cigarette while I continued talking.

Me: I know I sound like an eight-year-old when I say “I want my mom.” But I want my mom. I want her back.

Ox brought me back to the apartment. I came inside and crawled into bed, still hurting but not minding the pain. It’s there for a reason and while it sucks I cherish it.

While I was in bed I began thinking about my inner landscape; the way I view my mind and the different areas I’ve created in it.

There’s my ice cave. The place I spent so much time in while I was growing up and dealing with my parents’ divorce. The place I retreated to when mom died. It’s where I go when there’s nothing I can do about the pain and confusion I feel other than breath. It’s where I wait, still and silent, because the cold makes the pain seem less.

There’s my summer forest full of green and sunlight. My ice cave is at the center of this calm and warm place. There’s a brook, feeding the forest with water. There are birds and a deer with giant antlers; old and wise as he slowly bends down to drink from the brook. He’s my friend and unafraid of being present while I’m there. He lets me watch him living life and being part of the balance.

There’s another area; one I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to understand. I’ve always been scared of it. I’ve always thought of it as a personal hell. Saturday I took the time to acknowledge it as real.

From now on it will be my Forest of Nightmare. It’s dark here. The darkness of a moonless night. The trees are black and barren. Roots tangle along the ground, gnarled and unseen, waiting to trip me, making my knees and palms bloodied and scraped.

Monsters live here in the nightmare. At least I used to think they were monsters, and I guess that’s what I figured out during my drunken Saturday night.

They’re not really monsters. The concept of monsters is just another perspective that I have control over. These things have always existed. The forest, the creatures living in them, the things the “monsters” represent. They have always been a part of me, a part of life. Sometimes I’m unaware of them until I meet them for the first, terrifying time, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t always been there; always lived, always breathed, waiting for our meeting.

Grief doesn’t have to be a monster. Loneliness doesn’t have to be a monster. Moonless nights in black forests don’t have to be terrifying. It’s my choice to fear these things that have always been a part of who I am. If I want it to change then I need to make different choices.They have just as much of a right to live as anything else. Existing doesn’t make them bad or evil; my perspective does.

So… I’m trying to make different choices and have different perspectives.

Much like in How to Train Your Dragon, where Hiccup finds Toothless. At first, Hiccup thinks Toothless is a vicious killer and something which should be feared. A monster. Over time he comes to understand that’s not what Toothless is. Hiccup is still fearful when he extends his hand out, unsure of what will happen. Toothless pushes his forehead against the outstretched limb, offering friendship, which is really just understanding and acceptance when you boil it down.

So, I’m extending my hand to the monsters I have fought against and run away from. They aren’t monsters. They deserve to exist and to be understood. They deserve to be accepted as they are rather than being feared. This is their home, with me, inside me, and I can either ignore them or take the time to learn to cohabitate with them.

I want to learn to be accepting of myself. I want to learn to not fear my Forest of Nightmare.

That was a pretty heavy psychological endeavor to have Saturday night. As a result, Sunday I spent most of the day sleeping. I woke up and had breakfast at the house. Came back to the apartment and took a nap with the kittens. Woke up and ate. Went back to sleep… No school work like I had been planning. It was sunny outside but also super windy so it was hard to feel like doing anything other than basking in the sunlight. Being away from people was nice. It helped me recover enough for work the next day.

Monday I worked with my FA on the floor. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together. The day itself went smoothly. One of the other techs from our sister clinic came down to learn our machines. She’s super awesome and it was good to spend some time with her.

I went to the house after work. Since it was raid night for Ox we had a cigarette before I came to the apartment. I was supposed to do a bunch of schoolwork but didn’t. Instead, I reread most of my Letters to Mom. That was a sad realization. Through all of my cancer stuff I never once wrote to her. I haven’t told her anything about Jon moving. I didn’t tell her about passing my first semester of nursing school or making the Dean’s List. I haven’t reached out to her in so long…

It gave me more to think about Monday night and so instead of pushing through my mental exhaustion, I opted to sleep instead. If I got a zero on my mid-term exam Tuesday morning I would still pass the class, and since I was showing up to take the test I would make higher than a zero. I know a majority of the content. I don’t have to get 100%. I would be ok with whatever I made because that was the effort I put into my schooling.

Ox came over after raid. We fell asleep together. It was nice and comforting. I woke up Tuesday and had a chill morning before going to class. I feel I did well on my test. The grade still isn’t posted. I’m hoping to get the results later today.

I did errands while I waited to meet with Ox and HiWay Diner. We had an enjoyable lunch before finishing the grocery shopping. I went to the house with him. We had sexy time, though that had a bit of a rough start. I tweaked my back at work Monday morning, so while I desperately wanted the interaction with him, my spine had other ideas.

Me: This is happening, Body. Just fucking enjoy it, damnit.

Body: Oh yeah? Well, take this! And this! And how ’bout this!

Me: I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! I swear!

Yeah… hard to feel sexy when your spine feels like it’s trying to break itself in half. Ox was kind and understanding and eventually, we found a position that didn’t cause spikes of searing agony to stab at my nervous system. Once we found that it was back to being a mind-melting experience.

That did lead to some heavy conversation afterward, which, again, needs some backstory…

Ox and I have been talking again about finding another female to have some fun with. I’m going to ignore the cries of “Slut!” and “Whore!” because I am fully aware that some/most people won’t agree with my choices, but they’re my choices and this is my life and something between my partner and myself and his opinion is the only opinion that really matters at this point.

I made a few posts on a BDSM site explaining what we were looking for. Through those posts, there was a person who reached out to me. It was a guy, but instead of being the typical, “I know you’re looking for a female, but how about a mmf three-way?” type of message, it was an offer to join his group. It’s centered around sex positivity and is a local group for our area. Since Nebraska can be pretty conservative, it was nice to see something like that existed locally.

I joined the group and sent a message back thanking him for reaching out to me. That’s led to some pretty extensive emailing back and forth. He seems like an interesting person. He at least seems to not mind my novel-length replies and engages in the conversation in equal measure.

We’re both interested in friendship and would like to meet each other in person. Queue emotional roller coaster of Doooooom…

I don’t have friends here in Nebraska. I want friends. Most of my friends tend to be guys. How is Ox going to feel knowing I’ve been talking to a guy on a kink site and now want to meet him in person?

Only one way to find out… Fuuuuuck… my life… >.<;

We had that conversation Sunday night. Ox has some misgivings. We laid down ground rules for what would be ok and no ok as far as meeting. I relayed the information and L (we’ll call him L) and I arranged to meet at a coffee shop across from campus on Thursday after my class.

So that wasn’t as big of a roller coaster as I had been prepared for, but it did lead to additional conversation about additional play partners; specifically about how I still feel it’s unfair for Ox to play with girls while I am not allowed to play with guys, not that I really want to, but it is an imbalance and I don’t do well with imbalances.

I actually got a reply from one chick asking if we were still looking for someone.

My Brain: Totally not done with that roller coaster, btw. K. Thx. Bye. : D

Me: Fuck you, Brain…

So… there was sexy time yesterday. I don’t remember how, but we got back onto the topic of other people. I’m feeling uncomfortable about it, so it’s obvious that something is bothering me but I don’t want to talk about it so I don’t, but Ox knows somethings up, he just doesn’t know what because I won’t talk so he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head…

Arg…

We ended up talking about it.

I’m still insecure about a lot of things regarding my surgery. My new scar. The fact that a stranger cut me open and took part of me away. The fact that I have to be on medication for the rest of forever to be “normal”. The fact that I’m still recovering and not able to do things at the gym I took for granted. The fact that I’m still dojo-less and even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to train as I have in the past.

So, what happens if we find a chick, and for whatever reason, the situation is extremely stimulating for Ox and she’s able to help him finish easier or faster than I am able to? That would mean the issue is really, truly with me right? I’m not doing something right or I’m not enough. It really is me.

What happens if they hit it off and form a friendship where they want to start hanging out, alone because they’re friends? What if she’s prettier than me? What if she doesn’t have cancer? What if she doesn’t have grief because her parents are still alive? What if she catches feelz for Ox and then we have to contend with all of that? What happens if Ox gets the type of dynamic that I’m not allowed to have because “guys are bad”?

Ox and I have only recently been branching out into the BDSM side of things and so while I am enjoying and grateful for it, it’s still new and tentative. I don’t feel secure in it because I don’t understand why the change is there or if it will last, or really what any of it means for him. Is it only bedroom play or is this the real-life dynamic that I’ve wanted that I convinced myself I couldn’t have because believing I couldn’t have it was easier than constantly pining for it?

What’s our relationship goal? Do we even have one? Where are we headed? How are things going to change once Jon and I are roommates? How are things going to be once I go back to nursing school and no longer have a life for eight months?

There’s so much in flux right now. I don’t want to add another person into the mix when so much is still unclear, unsettled, muddled, muddy, nebulous…

Ox: We don’t have to do this. It’s why I’ve left it up to you. If you don’t want it, that’s ok.

Me: But this is something I agreed to before I moved. Won’t you feel betrayed if I don’t do this?

Ox: No. I love you. I’m with you. And I’m here for you.

It was a hard conversation. Admitting to my “not good” feelings was hard. I was worried about rejection and anger, but like so many other times before, I was given love, kindness, and understanding instead.

At the end of the conversation, Ox hugged me and said we were ok. Originally I had plans to cross-stitch at the house on the bed next to him, but with the looming conversation, it felt less ok to do something like that. I should go to the apartment and hide. I should be emo in bed under the covers and leave this unresolved because it’s easier to not confront it than to work through it.

But no. We worked through it. Together. And at the end, I did go inside and cross-stitch, something I haven’t been doing.

That’s something else I’ve noticed. For the past few weeks, all of the self-care I had been doing post-surgery has fallen to the wayside again, and I wonder if that’s not factoring into the general discord I have been feeling. I haven’t colored for weeks. Yesterday was the first time in a while that I’ve stitched. This is the first writing in roughly a week. There are piles on the kitchen table and dishes in the sink… I’m allowing Life to take over again and that’s not ok.

Today is about cleaning up; catching up. I was supposed to go to counseling, but Ox accidentally took my keys with him to work, so I can’t drive anywhere. Instead, I’m going to stay at the apartment today. Writing has helped me reflect. I’m in the process of meal prepping. As my back allows I’ll pluck away at sweeping and moping and going through my piles. Email, phone calls, school notes, condensing to-do lists… all of it.

Today is about getting back on track and tonight will be an awesome night of D&D.

Things will be ok. Things are ok. I’m my mother’s daughter and I’m a warrior. Those are my truths. I think I needed to be reminded of them.

Daily Post 208: Rambling

I need this to be more of a ramble post. Just forewarning that my thoughts might jump around way more then they have in my previous posts.

D&D went well last night. I was late because at 7ish yesterday morning I was asked to cover a shift at one of our sister clinics in town. I explained that I had counseling and that I would be able to be to the clinic until 11:30, roughly. That was fine. Their team was grateful for my help.

I got there at the end of change over. Even though it’s a clinic I haven’t been too often, I did well. I was able to rinse the clinic’s loop fine even though I haven’t done that task for at least six months now. Their machines are different, but I was still able to string them and interact with them efficiently. Sort of like riding a bike. I picked it back up like it was yesterday. It brought back memories of when I worked in Orlando since they were the same machines I originally trained on.

It was nice to see the other teammates. The day went smooth, and though I had initially thought yesterday would be more of a “school” day, I was glad I was able to help alleviate the panic of “holy shit, how are we going to find coverage for this person who can’t come in”.

Due to not working on school stuff, I do feel a bit behind in my class now. I have a few chapters I need to read. Tuesday is my mid-term exam. My report is due on the 19th. While none of those tasks are extremely heavy and I feel like I have a good grasp on the content, there is a part of me that feels slightly overwhelmed. Like I’ve allowed myself to procrastinate too much and now I’m not going to do well.

I know all of those feelings are internal. The only things I don’t feel confident in are some of the sociologist’s names. I know all of the studies that have been done, but who did them.

Durkheim studied suicide and was one of the founders of sociology as a social science. Cooly established a model for social development stages. Piaget focused on biological (brain) development which corresponded to Cooly’s social stages. Mead combined Cooly’s and Piaget’s models, creating his own stages of development. Yes, I looked up how to spell Piaget’s name.

There are other sociologists that I’m not so sure about. While there is a part of me who wants to freak out and fall into a pit of despair because how am I supposed to get everything done? There’s another part of me who feels like if I buckle down over the next few days I’ll be fine. I like the feelings of the calm, level-headed side of myself. This is do-able, it’s just going to take a bit of effort and disciple on my part. I would rather surround myself with those feelings and tackle the things I need to do one at a time.

I think Dagger has a matt forming on his side. His fur is sort of rough and calloused feeling. I can’t see anything wrong with the skin and he doesn’t act like he’s in pain when I touch the “weird” spot. I’ve been trying to brush it to see if it is actually a matt but he doesn’t like that very much. I’ve been keeping an eye on it. It hasn’t gotten worse or spread, so there’s that. He’s recovering well from surgery. His fur is starting to grow back on his belly.

The kittens are starting to let me clip their claws by myself. I’ll wait until they’re calm and cuddling with me before trying to clip them. It seems to work. I’ve also made more of an effort to touch their paws without clipping them, so they’re used to them being held and having me extend their claws. It’s not an action associated only with this thing they don’t really care for. It’s part of cuddling and bonding and sometimes I clip them, but not always.

It seems to be helping. It’s easier to clip their claws when they’re not trying to pull away so it goes smoother and faster and this thing they’re not sure about doesn’t take as long to do. Ox helped me a little last night since the kittens were playful, but overall it’s been going better.

Back to D&D… Our characters leveled up. Level 3. Woot woot. I’m thinking about duel specing my character, though I haven’t settled on what class to take in addition to cleric. That’s going to require a bit of research on my part. I also need to look into buying a few items while we’re in town.

I have an assignment that I need to print out for class this morning, but after printing that I think I’ll take the time to figure out a bit of my D&D stuff before going into class today.

I know I just got done writing about how I feel behind and all of that stuff, but I want to take the time to do something for myself, too. I worked yesterday instead of having those six hours to do the things I wanted/needed to do. I want to have my morning so I’m going to give it to myself.

I need to cook my roast still, but that’s warming up to room temperature at the moment before I put it in the oven. It should finish cooking before I need to get ready for class. I can cut it up once I get home. I’m thinking about going to the gym for a little bit.

Several people recently have said it looks like I’m losing weight. I don’t really feel like I am. I’ve been feeling better, yes, but I haven’t noticed a difference in how my clothes are fitting. Maybe that’s me being unobservant. /shrug

Anywho, I didn’t go to the gym on Tuesday. I went to lunch with Ox instead and then did grocery shopping. He also pushed me to the point of crying again, which, yes, I know sounds awful, but it’s not.

This time I cried over it almost being April. April 4th. Four years. Four years since mom died. Four years that I’ve struggled, and fought, and raged, and sobbed, and wondered what’s the point? Why keep going? You’re still not here.

I’ve been thinking more and more about the 4th and how it’s coming and I know it’s going to be another wave of grief that hurts and makes it hard to breathe. I can feel it building inside me. I have a lot of stuff going on in my life at the moment. It’s been easy to not consciously acknowledge this day is coming, but subconsciously I know. Every day as I write the date on my to-do list or on forms at work, I know it’s coming, creeping closer and closer and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Just like my birthday. Just like mother’s day. These days always come, will always hurt, will always be hard.

As I cried Ox said it will be ok. That we would get through it.

Me: There’s a part of me who doesn’t want it to be ok. I want everyone to hurt as much as I do. I want the world to stop. I want it to be unable to function without my mom in it. I want her death to still mean something.

Crying on Tuesday helped. I still feel the ache in my chest; my invisible wound, but crying and talking about it helped to release some of the tension that had been building up under the surface.

I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to talk about. Counseling went well. I’m thinking about taking American Sign Language during summer if finances allow it.

We talked pretty extensively about school. I explained how I want to be an LPN. I can see myself in that role. I can visualize my days at work. I can see the additional tasks I would take on and how my workflow would change. I WANT those changes and so LPN seems ok.

I don’t want to be an RN. At least not right now. Since I don’t want it, it’s hard to feel motivation to do things associated with moving me towards RN. Taking the sociology class was due to being interested in sociology. It just helped that it was a pre-req for RN. I don’t want to take microbiology, another pre-req for a program I don’t really want to complete.

Maybe that will change, but for right now I want my focus to be on becoming an LPN, taking over a few of the outcomes at our clinic, and moving into a PCT3 position. I WANT those things and so I’m self-motivated to achieve them. I want to get through this phase of my life first and then see where I want to go. I don’t like the idea of being charge nurse. I don’t like the idea of totally giving up my role as a PCT to be an RN because there’s no way I can cover both positions on my own. That’s why there are at least two people on the floor. One RN and one PCT. One person can’t do everything. But I would try to do that. I know I would.

So yeah… maybe, if I’m able to, taking another class because it’s something I want to take, rather take something I feel pressured into doing. I don’t want that. I don’t want to spend money investing in something simply because I feel it’s what other people want me to do.

So yeah… I think I’ll go for now. I feel better for having written. I feel a little clearer inside my head. I’m going to keep plucking away at my day and see where I end up.

Daily Post 207: The Missing Writing

I thought I had written a post talking about my D&D adventure, but I guess I haven’t. Or it got lost somewhere. Or I dreamed that I did it. Or hallucinated. Who knows?

It does mean that I have a lot to catch up on. Much lame. : /

I went over to the apartments after lunch with Ox. The kitchen is amazing. I toured two layouts and one is better than the other as far as space goes. They have a 24-hour gym which is nice. And a car care center. That would be nice, too. The location is pretty good as far as grocery shopping and such. It would add a bit of travel time for me in regards to getting to work, but not all that much. Maybe 15ish minutes. It is further form Ox, but the drive isn’t bad. 10 minutes or so.

I took a bunch of pictures to send to Jon. I got a paper application along with a few other papers and then went back to the apartment. I hung out there for a bit before Ox came over so we could go to D&D.

This last session was super fun. We ended up being commissioned by the town council to go take over the smugglers’ ship since we were so successful at stopping the land side of the operation.

My character, being my chaotic character and all, asked if we could keep the ship once we took it over. You know… finders keepers and all. The council reluctantly agreed. When I asked if we could keep any of the shiny things we found they replied by asking weren’t we supposed to be stopping the smuggling, not taking part in it.

Me: Well, you’re already missing these goods. You’re asking us to prevent future losses. Not to recover the things you already lost.
Dark: She’s not wrong.

God, I love this character.

Since I’m a cleric of trickery, I don’t do a lot in regards to healing. I’m more about convincing people to do things. Well… as the group was discussing options about how to get on board the ship my character offered up a plan.

Me: Guys! Guys! I have this spell and it’s really cool. I could disguise myself as a smuggler and talk to the guys on the ship and be their friend. Then, once we’re on, we can kill everyone. Do captains have hats? Are their cooler than my hat? If it is, can I keep it?
Suryc: I hate to say this… but she actually has a good plan.

And thus, the party was now dependant on a chaotic neutral trickery cleric with the flaw of speaking her mind without thinking to get them to where they needed to go. XD

It was really good. We got onto the ship fine. The smugglers believed all the stuff I was telling them because I’m such a charismatic person. Things were going well until the rogue of our party got caught. That led to a lot of combat where my character died four or five times.

A few of the smugglers surrendered to our party once we killed the captain. My character didn’t care. She was pissed. I began flinging doors open looking for anything of interest to me. I found some lizardfolk, but they spoke a different language so I didn’t care. I told the party we should kill them. That was after the boar I had summoned charged through the door, breaking it down.

I ended up finding the galley of the ship. Frustrated, my character took one of the frying pans from the room and walked up to a surrendered smuggler. I pointed the pan at the tied up human.

Me: You! Where are the shiny things?!

Smuggler: What do you mean? There are tons of shiny things around.

Me: I don’t mean firey shiny things. I mean shiny shiny things. Magical shiny things would be even better.

Smuggler: You’re holding a shiny thing right now.

Me: I’m about to beat you with a shiny thing if you don’t show me where the real shiny things are.

Smuggler: Ok. Ok. I’ll show you where they are.

Me: Good.

The smuggler ended up taking me to a door on the other side of the ship. I had him go through it first, opening the door from the side just in case there were more bad guys. The inside of the room was nicely furnished with a writing desk, a bed, a couch, and other things that would normally have been of interest to my character.

After surveying the room, I pointed the frying pan to the smuggler again.

Me: Get! Out!

He backed away from me, clearly not understanding what my issue was. Once he was out of the room, I slammed the door and proceeded to curl up on the couch all cat-like and sulked. And that’s how the session ended. XD

It was so much fun.

So that was the end of Wednesday. Ox and I came home after that and went to bed.

Thursday was a school day. Not much to report there. After class, I went to the gym. I talked to Jon a bit and we agreed to apply for the apartment, so that was added to my to-do list. Fill that out and go submit it so we didn’t have to worry about the application fee. Just a $100 admin fee.

I had a pretty good workout then proceeded to gather all the information I needed for the application. I dashed back into town to turn it in. We found out later that evening that the application was approved and we’re set to move into the apartment on April 10th.

So now there’s a bunch of extra stuff on my to-do list… It never ends…

I didn’t do much for the rest of Thursday.

Ox and I had sexy time. I know I gloss over those interactions; no crazy details or anything. Last time was a little different, though. I feel like there are different levels of connection. Sometimes it’s more about physical gratification and sort of the shallower side of things. Other times it’s more about a mental or emotional connection and it touches something closer to the core of who we are as individuals. Other times it’s about healing or stress relief or any number of things. Sex isn’t a cookie-cutter where the same reasons or results apply to every situation.

Ox and I have been toeing more into the BDSM side of things recently. There wasn’t a lot of physical things that I feel would be classified as “kinky” this past Thursday, but there was a deeper level of mental play. I haven’t cried in a while, even with everything that’s been going on. I guess part of that is due to everything happening so fast, so consecutively, that I haven’t really had a chance to process through one event before another thing is demanding my attention. I’m constantly going without reflecting or addressing the issues associated with an event.

Thursday, Ox pushed me mentally to the point where I cried, and while I know for most normal people that sounds awful, for me it was perfect and exactly what I didn’t know I wanted or needed.

He held me while I cried over Dagger having surgery, over my coworker being catty, over the elation for not having cancer, over the stress with my brother moving, over my social experiment and the joy and anxiety that went with it. Over everything.

He held me and told me I was safe and that things were ok and I could finally let go of everything I didn’t know I was holding onto.

As the tears subsided I felt better, stronger, cleaner, calmer.

I stayed at the house for a bit, wanting to be physically close to Ox for a while longer. Eventually, I did come back to the apartment. I went to sleep early. Ox came over once his raid was done and we fell asleep together.

Friday was an alright day at work. My brother and I ended up fighting that evening on the phone. He misread one of my text messages which is where things really deteriorated. It’s been going slightly downhill for a few days, though.

With having our timetable moved up from May to April, it’s looking like I won’t be able to go out there to help him pack. Our older brother is going to be flying out to Daytona with our nephew to help pack instead. After packing, all three of them are going to make the drive from Daytona to Nebraska.

I think this option works better. I don’t have to miss work or school. I don’t have to pay for a plane ticket that I can’t truly afford. I get to see both my brothers and my nephew. Jon is traveling with someone who would be better assistance if one of the vehicles breaks down.

I feel like there are a lot of pros to the new situation, but Jon feels like I’m abandoning him; leaving him to travel halfway across the country by himself. I promised him x, y, and z, and now I’m doing none of it.

We talked through our feelings. It wasn’t easy. At one point he said we have to get used to having hard conversations and not breaking down into tears. I agreed. I took a few deep breaths. I told him that it was frustrating for him to say he understood circumstances were outside my control and it wasn’t my fault.

Me: If you understand that, then don’t direct your frustration AT me. Directed it at the Universe or whatever, but not AT me. I feel attacked and like the effort I’m putting into this means nothing to you.

We resolved our feelings by the end of the conversation. I asked if we were ok. He said yes and that he still loved me and that we would figure it out. I know a lot of the future conversations are going to revolve around finances for a bit, and that’s a subject I’m not good at talking about.

I hate money. I hate people owing me money. I hate owing people money. I hate the stress of not knowing if I have enough money. I hate not having clear, concrete numbers. Mentally it will be rough until he gets up here and we have a few months to see how things settle out. At least I was able to get to a point where I felt like there was closure in the conversation. I was able to go to sleep after having it.

I woke up tired for work Saturday. The day itself was smooth, but there had been more conversations and I was frustrated when I went on my break.

Move-in for the apartment is April 10th. My brothers are planning to be in Lincoln on the 16th of April. When I told my FA I wanted the 17th and 18th off, typically days I would work, I was asked to see if I could switch days with our other tech. I reached out to Other Tech, but she’s planning a vacation or something and won’t know until Tuesday if she can switch with me.

I was frustrated. The only time I have asked off in the past year was for surgery. This is going to be the only chance I have to be there to help with the move in. The only chance I’ll have to see my older brother and nephew while they’re in town. I want my days off. I feel I’ve done too much for our team and our patients to be told, “No. You can’t have two days.”

I called Ox and told him the situation and how I felt unsupported. How I was frustrated and felt like I was being told “No”. I hadn’t gotten back in touch with my FA over Other Tech’s response. Ox’s advice was to let her know and if push came to shove, to put in for PTO. Basically, draw my line in the sand. I WON’T be there on these days. Figure it out.

Still feeling frustrated, but slightly better, I let my FA know what Other Tech had said. We won’t know until Tuesday if she can switch days with me. My FA replied, saying to keep her posted and if nothing else, we’ll reach out to the region to find coverage.

That made me feel better. I felt more supported. Essentially, I have the days, it’s just waiting to see if I need to put in PTO for it or if I’ll be able to get my hours by switching days. And looking back on it, a lot of the frustration I felt was internal because of shit my brain was saying, not based on facts or reality. I think a lot of it had to do with being tired and not taking enough time for self-care.

Being frustrated didn’t help with my tiredness level, but I did feel better after my FA’s reply. I was able to finish out the day sans yucky feelings. I went to the house after work. Ox has his kids so we ordered pizza for dinner. I ate at the house with the family. We even took care of the cardboard that was on the front porch since we have to recycle that. Overall, it was a nice evening.

I came home and went to sleep. I woke up a few hours later and realized I had left my sweater with my cigarettes at the house. Ox brought them to me. We had a cigarette together and then I went back to sleep.

I’m done with roller coasters. I need some quiet, normal, non-eventful days. ;-;

Musing Moment 142: Better Than Good

I still don’t have a date for my surgery. By the time I got a chance to call Friday afternoon the office was already closed for the day because of course, it makes sense to close at 11:30 on Fridays…

Blarg.

Work has been going well. It’s been helping to keep me grounded, if just barely. It helps to keep things feeling “normal”. I still go to work. Days are still mildly crazy. I still see all of my patients. I still have cancer and I still save lives.

Ox and I tried having a date night last night. I wanted to go out. I wanted to get wings without having to drive halfway across town to a location that was nowhere near any of the other things we had been hoping to do; grocery shopping and such.

We found a place online that seemed promising. The service sucked. My food was not up to my standards of wing-ness. Though, to be fair to them… I have pretty high standards. Overall I wasn’t impressed and felt like it was a waste of the money we spent. We had to wait so long for the food and then the bill that by the time we left I was too tired to want to do the shopping. We went home instead. I slept at the house rather than going back to the apartment to be with the kittens.

It was nice, sleeping next to Ox. I so rarely get to do that now. I didn’t spend the night alone, trapped in my own darkness. I woke up next to someone I care about.

Despite feeling like the money spent on date night was a waste, it was nice to be out. It was nice to try to have a date night even though I have cancer. It was nice to feel normal and not defined by something no one can see. No one around us knew. I could pretend to be a normal person. I cling to the things that make me feel normal right now; that let me pretend that all of this isn’t going on. I can pretend that I’m not waiting for a call about surgery. I can pretend that I’m scared.

I’m just a normal person with a normal life and things will be ok. I don’t think pretending all of this isn’t going on is healthy, but I also don’t know how to confront or contend with all of the emotions going on so I don’t know what to do.

I know a lot of it is still a rat’s nest inside of my head. I’m not defined by my organs or lack of them. I’m not defined by sickness or lack of it. I’m not defined by my resolve or when it wavers. Strength isn’t defined by a lack of tears or the absence of fear.

I know all of these things and yet I can’t fight the evil voice which isn’t so little anymore. It has strength and power which gives it size. It’s not little whisperings which I can tell to go fuck themselves.

“Good girls don’t get cancer.”

That’s one of the things it says to me, stated like a fact, full of confidence and conviction. It doesn’t have to yell those words at me. You don’t have to yell when you know you’re right. That’s the type of voice it uses right now. It knows it’s right and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I don’t know how to fight Evil Voice right now because there’s a part of me who agrees with it. Trust me, I know it’s fucked up to have that type of mentality. I didn’t ask for cancer. I didn’t actively do anything to get it. But saying, “It’s not my fault,” isn’t enough to fight Evil Voice. I can’t say, “Good girls get cancer,” because that’s untrue. “Good girls fight cancer” doesn’t work because I don’t feel like having surgery is really fighting… I don’t know what to say to fight back as so I’m left feeling like I’m losing another part of myself that I didn’t know was such a part of my identity.

The whole “good girl” thing comes from the bdsm aspect of my life which may or may not be appropriate to write about, but fuck it, this is my writing and this is where my brain is at. When Ox called me a good girl during sex the other day I completely lost it. I was furious at him for calling me a good girl. Furious to the point of tears and breaking down in anguish because I’m no longer what I was; what I should be. I’m not a good girl anymore. How could he say that to me when I’m not deserving of that phrase.

Good girls don’t get cancer.

All of this sucks.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? What defines me?

Where do you start with questions like that?

I guess, first and foremost I’m a sister. To my brothers and my half-sisters. I’m there for them. I’m still a daughter to my mother and father. I am a partner to Ox. I don’t feel like I’m a very good partner at the moment. I feel like I take a lot of energy from him. I cry a lot. I talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and last wills and how I feel unworthy. He says he doesn’t mind but if I’m tired of myself then I don’t understand how other people wouldn’t be tired of me, too.

He says I’m still “His good girl,” which helps, though I don’t know why. Maybe because it takes away my perspective. His view of good and my view of good can be different. My having cancer doesn’t change his view so his view of “good” is still valid and allowed while my view of “good” needs to be more definitively defined so as to combat Evil Voice.

When I talked to my instructor she said as caregivers, most of the time it’s easier for us to give care than to receive it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in that statement. I don’t want to be a burden to people around me. I can’t be the happy and optimistic me I normally am and I know that bothers people. They want to help. They want to do something, but there’s nothing for them to really do other than let me try to swim through the tidal wave of feelings when they come.

Most of the time I’m so tired of feeling that I feel nothing and there’s a part of me wondering if that’s the cancer fucking with my thyroid or if that’s legitimately how I feel. And there’s still yet another part of me who wonders if it even matters where the emotions come from or why they’re there. The end result is the same regardless of the source. Maybe it’s the fact that it is winter. Or the holidays. Or that it’s a day that ends in “y”. Who knows.

There is this pervasive feeling of… something. I’m tired of figuring stuff out. I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m tired of defending my self-worth against myself because I’m the only one saying that I failed.

I’m a failure. I’m a fuck up. I’m too much. I’m too little.

No, I’m not, damnit. Fuck you, Brain.

You know what? Yeah. That’s exactly it. That phrase right there is the thing I didn’t know I needed to say. Fuck you, Brain. Fuck you and all your thoughts and emotions. Just… fuck you.

Angry. I guess that’s what a lot of it is at the moment. Anger and frustration and helplessness because none of this is in my control. Fuck you, Universe and all your trials and “adventures”. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of proving myself.

I’m angry that now I finally have the insight to want to talk to mom about things she went through that I can’t. Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this position after taking her away from me.

Fuck you for making me think that I am going to owe this doctor my life and be in his debt. Fuck you for the mentalities you fostered in me. Fuck you for making me an INFJ who’s constantly aware and considerate and understanding of others but completely unable to provide or apply the same understanding to myself.

I’m always in a different category simply because I’m me and I’m sick of it. Fuck you. I’m no different. Ok? I’m the same. I’m a fucking human, too, just like every other person on this fucking planet. I’m a human even if I don’t have my thyroid. I’m a human even if I have cancer. I’m a fucking human, too, and I’m allowed to be angry and frustrated and tired and not ok.

I’m allowed those things. I’m allowed to feel those things.

You can’t take that away from me, Universe. I’m still human. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you take away from me, I will always be human. I will always be my mother’s daughter. I will always be my brothers’ sister.

I think that’s a step in the right direction. I feel better for having found it at least. I’m human. Cancer can’t fucking change that.

Yeah. That’s right. Fuck you, Kevin. You can’t change me; the real me. The human me was human before you and will still be human after you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you for fucking with my life. I won’t let you make me think that I’m less than awesome. I won’t let you tap me out. I won’t let you win because you don’t deserve to win.

So what if I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe you’re right, Evil Voice. Maybe I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe I’m an awesome girl now. You want to play this fucking game? Fine. I’ll destroy you, Evil Voice. I’ll crush you with every fiber of my being. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am for you to hurt me like you used to.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore, Evil Voice. I’m better than simply “good”. So go ahead. Keep your stupid word, you selfish bastard. I’m graduating, up-grading, transforming, evolving.

Thank you for pushing me to this point, Evil Voice. Thank you for making me realize I’m better than good.

Daily Post 163: On Being Human

Alert: Content is about sex.

I’m sitting here. I’m writing. I’m feeling better than I did this morning when I first woke up. I didn’t drink enough water yesterday after going to the dojo. I pushed pretty hard, too, which makes the whole not drinking thing a bigger issue than it normally would be.

I busted the top of my left foot because I was frustrated and kept kicking. And kicking. And kicking. And kicking. And oh… my foot kind of hurts. Let me look at it. Well… that’s blood. Guess I should stop so I don’t get any more than I have on the bag…

The top of my right foot is bruised. I think the reason my left foot didn’t fare as well was that there was already a weak spot in the skin from the last time I was at the gym. A little bit of friction burn since I haven’t been wearing my shin guards. I don’t think I did more or pushed harder with my left than my right. I think the skin of the left was already a bit compromised and so it didn’t handle the beating as well.

My knuckles are doing better than I thought they would. No friction burns or anything to worry about during work tomorrow. Alcohol hand sanitizer sucks on busted knuckles. Just so you know.

The frustration comes from my self. I’m not as frustrated today but that’s because I’ve had three conversations since then. One with a person I have been talking to online. And two with Ox.

And I guess this is where I write about super personal stuff and show that I’m human and that not everything is perfect pretty sunshine and rainbows or about mom’s death and that there’s a lot of emotions involved with life.

Ox and I are… doing. We’re not doing badly. But we’re also not doing well. At least not my definition of well. There are certain areas in our relationship that I feel need to be assessed and nurtured and tended to. Like when you’re gardening and you need to prune the bad sections away for the overall health of the plant. It hurts. It sucks. But it’s something that needs to happen in order for things to still be ok.

Ox and I haven’t been pruning. We haven’t really been having the conversations we need to. I think part of that is me. I have a hard time talking about difficult things. I mean, if it were easy then we would do it, right? But they’re not. There’s fear and uncertainty and so it’s easier to keep trucking along drowning myself in work or school and keep waiting for “one day”. The one day where the conversation becomes irrelevant because the problem fixed itself. But those days haven’t come and realistically, they’re not going to because that’s not how life works and on a logical level I know that. That doesn’t make the thought of these conversations easier so OH LOOK AN EAGLE!

Another factor from my side feeding into these “not having the conversations” tendencies is how busy and stressed I’ve been for a while. Especially when the Human Anatomy class started. The mentality then was “holy fuck how am I going to pass,” rather than “I need to pay attention to the health of my relationship”. Priorities can get skewed and things can get pushed to the back burner than shouldn’t and I own up to my part in allowing that, maybe too willingly, to happen.

On Ox’s part, from my perspective, it feels like the conversations we need to have have already happened, in one degree or another, and nothing changed or mattered so why try to have the conversation again or voice my feelings. I struggled through the hardness of saying it once. Why would I do it again and sound naggy or whinny? Why would I go through all of the icky emotions those conversations bring to the surface when it won’t do any good? It’s better just to stay quiet with my head down and let the wall of not okness build up around me and to try to find ways of being ok with the not okness.

So that’s where we’ve been at for a while. Stuff building up that needs to be dealt with, and neither one of us actually effectively dealing with the stuff.

Jumping topics for a bit to tie everything together… I’ve recently started talking to a couple on FetLife. Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before. It’s essentially a Facebook site for the BDSM community. I’ve never been very active on it. I don’t normally reach out to people or follow boards or look for events or get-togethers.

I’ve talked to and met some interesting people through it; no different then how I’ve met and talked to interesting people on my blog, it’s just a different type of interest. One of the times I logged on out of boredom I saw that someone had liked one of my pictures. I sent a message expressing my appreciation and that I hoped they and their family were ok since they’re profile listed them as being in an area that was affected by some of the flooding that happened here in Nebraska recently.

That led to us talking more. I’ve met his wife. Her and I are also chatting. And I get that most of society will look at this and be like, “what the hell? They’re married. That means monogamous and no outside partners and that’s horribly slutty behavior and a big no-no and you’re all going to go to hell because you’re sinners. Shame. Shame. Shame.”

Yes. I understand that society has preconceived notions on what marriage and relationships “should” be and “should” look like. Not everything is for everyone and as long as everyone involved is consenting, I don’t think it really matters what society says. I care about harmony and emotional well being. If everyone involved is in agreeance that what’s about to go down is ok, then what does it matter if someone uninvolved has an issue with it?

It’s like someone saying they don’t like the books I read.

Not going to be sorry about it because it honestly really doesn’t concern you. If you don’t like it those are your emotions. Not mine. And I’m not going to internalize them as mine because I actually really do like this books and that doesn’t make me a bad person.

So, yeah. I’ve been talking to both of them. The husband and the wife. I was actually able to meet both of them at their store a few weeks back. Ox agreed that I could go and meet them since it was a public place. I had a time limit since I had to get to the dojo. It wasn’t some dark ally at midnight. I got to look around their store which was actually pretty cool. They repurpose old furniture and have all sorts of nick-knacks and hand made jewelry.

Meeting them in person was nice because they were no longer just words on a computer or phone screen. I had facial expressions and tonal inflections to go with the words. I had a sense of their energy and if there was actually any sort of compatibility for genuine friendship, much less anything beyond that.

Well… there is. I really want to get to know the wife more. Her and I seem to have a lot in common. Book likes. Hobbies. We’re both introverts. We’re both nerds. We both want to have someone we can gush to over the horribly naughty good times we have; the ones we can’t share with coworkers or “normal” friends because yeah… we’re sinners and going to hell but holy fuck it was a mindblowingly amazing trip getting there and let me tell you all of the details about what really happened to me on Valentines day.

There’s a lot of chemistry between me and the husband. We have a lot of the same interests. I know it doesn’t help that I feel disconnected from Ox and here someone is giving me attention and making me feel pretty and wanted because I’m legitimately wanted. It feels nice. It makes me feel sexy. And it’s easier to feel that way because it’s not like I’m in a relationship with him. I don’t have to worry about his dirty clothes being on the floor or what to fix for dinner. It’s all nice, easy, fluffy conversation. Not a relationship that has been established for over a year where you have some battle scars and difficult conversations under your belt. It’s still new and shiny.

The conversations with the husband highlight what I feel I’m missing with Ox. I want Ox to think I’m sexy and attractive. I want Ox and I to have these conversations where I’m mentally and physically stimulated. Conversations and interactions that make me feel alive. That give me energy. That make it feel worth it to do the annoying, stupid, tedious things in life.

Passion. Drive. Warmth. Desire. Sexuality.

All of that. That’s what I want in this area of my life and that’s what I feel like I don’t have which is why it feels like I’m slowly withering away again. I have all of the support and love and compassion and understanding. I have all of the emotional relationship things I want, but very little of the sexual relationship things I want and I’m an extremely sexual person and so part of me is just sitting over here… in the corner… alone… by myself… alone.

Queue frustration of yesterday where I’m angry. Angry that I always seem to find myself in these situations; like this is the lesson I’m supposed to learn in this life and I haven’t fucking figured it out yet, so here’s another attempt for you, Jen, since you didn’t get it last time.

I can have stability or I can have sex. I can fulfill one area, but not both at the same time and not with the same person because fuck you, Jen. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

No. Fuck you, Universe. You are now this punching bag and I’m going to end your world for the next hour.

Or… not…

Punching bag: 1, Jen: 0

I ended up meeting with the husband yesterday after my unsuccessful time at the gym. I needed to talk to him in person because I wasn’t resolving anything inside of my head on my own. And this wasn’t a conversation that could be done over messages or on the phone. It needed to be in person with all of the non-verbal cues and changes in energy. I needed it to be in person.

So we met. I admitted to all of the things I wanted. I admitted to what I wish would / could happen in a perfect world where everything goes the way you want it to go. I talked about the relationship dynamic between Ox and me. We shared stories. He told me his side of the situation. It was a very open, honest, down to earth, all cards on the table, no bullshit type of conversation.

At one point he told me not to cry since I had tears in my eyes.

Me: Trust me. I’m not crying… yet.

It was an emotionally charged conversation though, and intense emotions show up as tears for me. So they were there, but at no point did I feel bad about almost crying in front of a relative stranger. Which is another thing that adds to the suckage and unfairness of the situation.

They both feel like people I can be safe with and around. I don’t feel judged. I don’t feel like I can only be half me. I feel like I can be full me, emotions, fears, uncertainties, fucked up desires and all.

The husband offered to back off of our conversations if it would help. He doesn’t want to cause me emotional distress or put strain on the relationship between Ox and me. He gave me a hug because I asked for one because I needed it. I needed to feel like I wasn’t a horrible person for having the thoughts and feelings I have. Understanding. Reassurance. Acceptance. One of those, “You’re human and it’s ok to be human,” sort of hugs.

His “dad” advice to me before we parted ways was to be true to my self. It didn’t matter if it ended up being with him or later down the road or what, but the more I suppress my true self, the more it’s going to come out later and the less healthly for everyone involved it’s going to be.

That information wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, but it resonated deeper within myself to hear it from someone outside of my head.

I drove home. I listened to the same song I’ve been listening to for the past three days. The song I listened to for the whole time I was at the gym. It let me sink into myself, my thoughts. I knew I was really late getting home. I hadn’t messaged Ox to let him know where I was or why I was going to be late.

When your partner has a history of being cheated on, that’s not a great way to start the night. “Hey, I’m home. Can we talk?” Recipe for instant failure right there. Want your partner to not believe a single thing you say, because that’s how you get your partner to not believe a single thing you say…

I got home around 5:30. Ox had fallen asleep. Work sucked for him and he had been tired. I had messaged him asking if he could come outside. Since he was asleep he didn’t reply which fueled my fears. He didn’t want to talk to me. I was going to be kicked out and homeless. He was angry with me and the conversation I wanted to have with him wasn’t going to happen.

Eventually, I went inside and found him asleep. It physically hurt to crawl into bed beside him. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be there. I didn’t deserve his love or kindness. I didn’t deserve his support or understanding.

I didn’t deserve him, and yet here I was, invading his space with my horrifically unworthy self.

He woke up. We went outside. I said that this was going to be really hard for me to talk about, so could I talk, and then he talk, and we take turns like that because I was worried about not having a home to live in anymore.

He agreed. I asked if phone calls were considered cheating because the husband and I had talked on the phone. Ox said it depended on the conversation.

I admitted to everything. My feelings. My wants. I admitted to meeting with the husband and what we talked about and the things he said. I admitting to hugging him and how it wasn’t a sexy hug but an, “I understand this is hard for you, make the choice that’s right for you” type of hug.

Ox and I have more ground rules now. I’m ok with them. I’m still allowed to talk to the husband. Ox wants to be there the next time everyone wants to meet. I was allowed to stay home. I was allowed to sleep next to Ox. I was allowed to keep the life I have built since moving here because I felt all of that was in jeopardy.

I’ve been… ok-ish? today.

I woke up with Ox. We had our cigerrette together. I went back to sleep. I got up again. I sat outside for a really long time. It’s sunny. There are birds and squirrels. I watched them. Ox and I talked more through text messages. I explained my headspace. Sort of on the low side of the spectrum, but nothing that isn’t manageable.

I don’t have much to show for myself today as far as productivity. The husband messaged me and asked if I was ok. I told him I was. That part of being true to myself is being honest and that I told Ox about our meeting. I told him Ox and I seemed to be ok to which he was happy to hear.

Ox and I are going to have another conversation tonight to see if we can fix, mend, and figure out some of the things that have contributed to the wall between us. I told him that even when we’re next to each other it feels like he’s far away because of the lack of synergy and harmony. We’re on different pages; in different places and it feels like every time we try to fix it or talk about it nothing gets resolved and so we loop on the same conversations without getting anywhere.

We both want to get somewhere and so we’re going to try again.

It makes me feel more ok than I did. We both love each other. We both want us to work. Talking to the other couple didn’t break us. It made us not hide from issues we both knew were there. I’m hoping this helps us. And I guess that’s what makes this potential conversation feel different from the others.

I feel hopeful again. I feel like we both are aware and present and committed and that we’ll be ok at the end of it. We’ll still be together and I’ll still be his. His wife. His Jennifer.

I don’t want to go back to living inside of a box within myself, only being partly me and trying to pretend or convince myself that I’ll be ok when I know I won’t be. I want to be able to be me, all of me, and for that to be ok; dirty, fucked up sexual desires included.

Daily Post 150: Continuing Where I Left Off…

Sooo… I made a post… and… there was a word in it that I’m still coming to terms with…

Before delving into that all over again I feel like I need to continue with my recap of the past week of not writing because a lot of stuff still remains to write about aside from the new word.

I made it to Thursday in my last writing and that’s where I sort of ended, but so much more happened on Thursday than just that one event; the wife event.

My Thursday morning started with a text message from Sir saying I should call him when I woke up. I had tried calling him the evening before during my drive home. I had my plane tickets to Orlando. I had ironed out plans with my brother and dad, so now I could begin trying to arrange things with the other people I wanted to see on my trip.

Sir hadn’t answered, so I left a message with news about my trip and the offer for him to call me back whenever so we could try to set something up.

When I woke up I saw his message so I called. We chatted for a bit. He had to go for a little while since he was still working, but before he left I asked how it would work; seeing him. He still lives with Mother Earth and I wasn’t sure how she would feel about me being at the house. I didn’t know how to reach out to her or if it would even be ok to do so.

He said that he would bring up the topic; that I was going to be in Orlando and that I didn’t want to cross any lines. Would it be ok for me to reach out or not?

During the time Sir was away from the phone, my younger brother called. Nothing really special there. We talked about how nursing school is going for him and his roommates and his work. The wife thing hadn’t happened yet, so there wasn’t the stress of explaining that in my life yet.

I was able to talk to Sir again after talking to Jon. Sir said Mother Earth was ok with me visiting and that she would be reaching out to me.

Before I talked to Mother Earth I received a phone call I wasn’t expecting. Caller ID said it was a guy I used to scene with at a BDSM establishment in Orlando. I had visited him and his wife before moving to Nebraska to say goodbye. He had been on dialysis at the time. He wasn’t doing bad, but dialysis isn’t a good thing and so my heart ached for their situation. As a technician, I have a very solid understanding of what my patients have to go through, not only at the clinic but also at home. I knew he wasn’t going to be the most compliant of patients and so I knew time wasn’t in his favor.

We had sent and received text messages to each other a handful of times over this past year. Mostly they were him asking when I was coming back to visit, to which I never had a solid answer to. It usually resulted in something like “Soon-ish,” or, “I’m going to try for…”

I had bought my tickets for my trip in March. I had meant to reach out to let him know I would be in the area, and though he and his wife weren’t on the top of my list of people to see, I knew it would have meant a lot to him and so I was going to try to work something in. Maybe lunch or at least a cup of coffee on one of my many car trips between Orlando and Daytona.

And just for the record… I feel like I should mention that the relationship between Rounder, his wife, and myself is purely platonic now. I know with throwing the acronym of BDSM into something a lot of people automatically jump to the conclusion of, “crazy, fucked up sex stuff”.

Sorry to be the one to rain all over the depravity parade… My last visit with them consisted of watching a football game while having hotdogs and potato chips for dinner. Very non-sexy… unless you’re into football, which hey… I’m not here to pass judgment. Just sayin’… a bunch of big, buff, sweaty dudes running after each other isn’t really my thing.

Anywho…

I saw the name associated with the phone number and almost didn’t answer. I had just talked to Jon and Sir and I needed to talk to Mother Earth still and that was going to be a lot… I was pretty socialed out already and still had a ways to go. Did I really want to have this phone call now?

I answered it. For whatever reason, I knew that I needed to answer it. It wasn’t just a text message. He was calling. Chances were it was something more important than, “When are you going to come visit me?”

It wasn’t Rounder who replied to my hello. It was his wife. She went on to explain that Rounder had passed away Saturday; the Saturday before last at this point. She was doing “ok”. She was going through his phone to call the people she felt needed to or would want to know what had happened. We were on the phone for a while. He is being cremated, but the ashes won’t be spread until around the end of March she said.

I said I would never cease to wonder at how the Universe works. I said that I had bought tickets to come to Orlando and that I would be there from the 20th to the 23rd of March. The ash spreading will most likely be on the 23rd in the evening. I don’t know if I’ll be able to be there for it, but I would very much like to see Rounder’s wife. I would like to say goodbye one last time. I would like to be able to tell him that even if it hadn’t played out the way we both had thought it would, that we were able to see each other one last time; that I did, in fact, come back and I hadn’t moved away and forgotten about him.

So, honestly, my Thursday morning, my one-year anniversary of being in Nebraska and being with Ox, was more than a little bit of a rollercoaster.

After hanging up from the conversation about Rounder, I talked to Mother Earth for this first time in over a year.

And I’m going to have to stop writing here once again because there’s another conversation I need to have. This time with Sir. I promise I’ll get caught up on the story of my life eventually. >.<;

Daily Post 145: An Uncomfortable Truth

Written Tuesday. Posted today.

Today started out like most of my recent days off have; with no motivation, an overcast sky, cold weather, and the pervasive feelings of depression and pointlessness.

It stayed that way for most of the morning. I had a bowl of cereal knowing it was full of carbs and not caring because what’s the point in my hallow crusade to lose weight. It’s not that I’ve given up on being healthy, or that I feel the 60 pounds I’ve already lost is enough. It’s more that I keep losing touch with myself. The candle flame of drive that I find periodically keeps getting snuffed out when held up against the storm that’s still going within my inner world; a storm which I know is happening but have yet to understand why or how to whether it properly.

Do I bash myself about eating? Do I make myself feel like crap for putting in the effort to actually have something instead of staying in bed like most of me wanted to do? Do I say fuck it and have my single serving sized bowl of cereal with milk that reminds me of childhood and warmer, happier days and keep going or do I give up this early in the day and hope that tomorrow I do better since for whatever reason what I’m doing doesn’t feel good enough?

Most likely because it contained a curse word I went with the fuck it option.

Papa Ox wasn’t awake yet. Mama Ox had already left. It was the perfect time to finish up Jon’s cross stitch. I could have used the kitchen table to spread out my craft supplies and cut the fabric down to size. I could have used the Exacto-knife to carve out the piece of mounting board I need. But no. I went back to bed, the task of eating accomplished. A single task of necessity off my list with all other tasks lurking in my head gathering dust, waiting for a moment where they felt worthwhile.

When I woke up again Papa Ox was in the living room. The thought of walking past him to go outside for a cigarette was enough to keep me in the room. I knew I was getting worse. I could feel it and yet I didn’t know what “it” was. Just that it was building and eventually there would be a revelation where everything clicked into place and I finally gained clarity and understanding and I would know what to do to fix what I felt was internally broken.

Well… I guess that day was today.

Work went well yesterday; Monday. It was just me and my FA. We got everyone on the machines on time. I had to have my yearly TB test done, so that was one needle stick. I had to have lab work done as well. My FA tried to draw the labs on me but my veins didn’t want to play nice. After two attempts she said we would try again later. I said I would work on drinking my container of water since dehydration might have been part of the issue.

Fast forward to the end of the day where we to try to draw the labs again only for me to end up with a busted vein on my other arm and still no tubes of my blood to send to the lab. I have a pretty impressive bruise on my left forearm. She felt awful for not being able to get the labs and for having to stick me so many times. I felt ill for most of the drive home from work because of the swelling pressure under my skin. I was also covered in band-aids from all of my needle sticks. Once I got home and was able to ice my arm things got better. Eventually, I was able to take a shower since I could move my arm without feeling nauseous.

Workwise, It was a good day even with all of the evil spikes of death being shoved into my arms. That’s sort of where it ended, though.

The kids weren’t here and that’s always hard for Ox. He played on the computer for most of the night. When it was bedtime he fell asleep instantly like normal. I envy his ability to fall asleep. My brothers can do it, too. They just… sleep whereas my brain stays on. It can take me hours to fall asleep and all the while I’m ticking down the time.

Brain: If I fall asleep know I can get this many hours of sleep… If I fall asleep now, I can get this many hours… If I fall asleep now, I’ll get this many hours…

I felt alone Tuesday night. I don’t know why sometimes it bothers me and other times it doesn’t. I don’t know what I needed that I didn’t vocalize to feel so… unimportant, but listening to Ox’s steady even breathing made me want to cry.

Sometimes it feels like the game is more interesting than me. The game is better than reality and there’s nowhere for me to go to get away from it. No room where I can be by myself, away from the screen that is better than me.

I know all of that sounds horrible. It’s petty. It’s whinny. It’s needy and insecure and self-absorbed. It’s completely untrue that he likes the game more than me, and logically I know that, but when it’s dark inside of my head, those are the types of thoughts that my brain whispers to me and when I’m awake, alone after only a few cigarette breaks to facilitate interaction between Ox and me, it’s hard not to listen to it and think it’s right.

Ox has his own emotions he has to contend with. I should be understanding and supportive and strong enough to allow him to have what he needs to be ok and instead, here I am being emo. It only adds fuel to the self-destructive thoughts that I know I shouldn’t be having, but that doesn’t change that fact that I am having them and that I don’t know how to stop them or fight them.

The only thing I know how to do is to be alone to try to deal with my Evil Voice. Alone I can think through those whisperings. I can try to understand why those thoughts aren’t true. I can try to figure out where they’re stemming from. What’s the root cause? Listening to another person breathing a peaceful sleep while I mentally struggle isn’t being alone. It just emphasizes the feeling of, “I don’t have anyone to help me through this.” I ended up sleeping on the couch last night because being alone was easier than feeling lonely.

We still had our shared cigarette this morning, but the feelings of isolation and unimportance were still there. I hadn’t been victorious against my Evil Voice. I still knew what it was telling me wasn’t true, so I hadn’t lost ground, but I hadn’t gained any either. I was still where I had been and that was sort of a shitty feeling.

I was still in that place later when Ox called me and said he was off work. He had texted me earlier asking how I was. I had been honest and said that I was cold and sad and that I missed the sun and warmth. He said I had seemed sad this morning. I said I was sorry; that I didn’t mean to be sad. I didn’t mean to always be this way.

He asked if I wanted him to come home. He was supposed to stop and get more nails for the nail gun. We were supposed to work on the addition. There was a part of me who disliked myself for answering yes; I did want him to come home. I didn’t hate myself for it, but I should have been ok. I should have been fine and doing stuff and productive instead of on the verge of tears and wanting a hug more than wanting to make progress on a project that’s important to both of us. But, no, even if I didn’t like it I was honest both with Ox and myself.I wanted it to be warm outside and not winter and cloudy. I wanted to feel more important than a video game.
I wanted him home.

Ox came home. We cuddled. We talked. There was sexy time and not good feelings afterward because sex wasn’t what I had wanted. I had wanted to feel connected and now it was over and we would go back to playing video games and cross stitching and ignoring each other and it would be like nothing had ever happened. The feelings of aloneness were more intense then they had been and yet I still didn’t know how to vocalize that or explain why they were worse or even why there were there in the first place.

It sucked.

I did realize one thing in that particular moment, though. The issue always seems to be the same. Feeling alone.

I’m surrounded by people at work. I get touchy about being home because there are always people around who want to talk to me. I have so many people in my life who love and care about me and yet I feel alone.

Score. One small step towards understanding. I now have a place where I can start on my quest to untangle all of this confusion. Why is there always this feeling of being alone?

Ox and I ended up having what I feel was our first true BDSM scene together. It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t about cute fluffy handcuffs and roleplaying out some make-believe slutty scenario.

It was about having a safe environment and letting me cry. It was about trust and safety and brutal honesty with myself inside my head. And while he held me against his chest, my face buried in the darkness he had created for me I heard the words my inner self had been screaming at me for months now but that I’ve been too busy and occupied to listen to or hear. I heard why I always feel so alone.

Mom left me.

When mom died she left me alone without a safety net and I’ve faced all of these challenges and trials without her. She’s not here to help me or listen to me or encourage me. She’s not here to answer the phone or have lunch or visit. She can’t send or receive cards in the mail. She can’t tell me about her coupon stories.

I’m alone.

Realizing those words were inside my head… that was my revelation today.

I know my mom didn’t leave me. I know she tried as hard as she could to not die. I know her death wasn’t her fault. I know her death wasn’t my fault. It was no one’s fault. I also know she’s still with me as much as universal energy can be. She’s still here and a presence within my life. But inside, in my heart chakra where I still hurt and ache and constantly count how many days before or after the 4th of the month it is, I feel alone because she left. She died and she didn’t take me with her. She died and I couldn’t follow her. I know she couldn’t take me and I know couldn’t follow, but inside none of that logic matters. Knowing all of that information doesn’t change what the emotions feel like. It doesn’t change that those words have been what the storm within myself has been feeding off of and using to build and build in its intensity since before my move to Nebraska.

I haven’t cried as hard as I did on Tuesday in a very long time.

I’m not sure if I was really ignoring this part of my grief. I always feel like I have to choose between anger and sadness and I opt with sadness more often than not because there’s no one to be angry at. But there is anger and heartbreak and abandonment with the words, “She left me.” Whether I want anger to be there or not, it’s there and it’s something that I needed to realize and make peace with and it’s something that until Tuesday I hadn’t acknowledged or really even truly knew about or understood.

I think it was healthy that I had this realization; that I finally realized these words are within me. Knowing they’re there means they no longer have the power to eat away at me. I still feel tired and raw from the outpouring of earlier but I also feel cleaner. I know there is more there, on the inside. I know my grief is something that I haven’t been paying enough attention to and so there’s most likely emotional infection that I need to tend to. I’m sure this new phrase is only one of many that I need to sort out.

Mom didn’t leave me. Not by choice. And I’m not alone. She’s still here and I have my brothers and Ox and my friends who support me and keep me struggling forward even when it feels hopeless and pointless.

It’s not pointless. Winter has an end. This weekend it’s supposed to be warm; in the 50s. Grief doesn’t have an end, but it’s not all sadness and loneliness and hopelessness, either. My grief doesn’t define my life. It doesn’t define me. I still have good days. I still have good thoughts.

Sometimes my brain is a terrorist. And sometimes it shows me what I need to work on. Tuesday was a little bit of both.

I don’t know what else to really say or type. I haven’t had any other breakthroughs. All I know is my inner-eight year old thinks my mom left me and that I know she didn’t.

My name is Jennifer Conley and my mom didn’t leave me. That is one of my truths.

Daily Post 055: No Title

I’m not going to bother going back and looking at my last post. I don’t remember when it was. I don’t remember what was going on in my life at the time. I’m also not going to name this post because I know it’s going to be all over the place.

This is me trying to untangle the giant ball of emotions that I’ve let form inside me. This post and all of the ups and downs I’ve had over the past few months I feel are a result of not taking proper emotional care of myself.

I am now officially a college student… again. I start classes January 9th. At the moment I will only be taking General Biology. My advisor wants me to contest one of the classes I didn’t receive transfer credit for since it’s a higher level psychology than the General Psychology I need for my program. It would save me about $500 if it gets accepted and push me further into the program than I currently am. I haven’t tackled the whole “contesting” issue yet, but it’s on the to-do list for the not so distant future. At the moment I’m a bit burnt out of troubleshooting through school issues.

Registering for classes was a bitch and a half. The whole “It’s a one-click step” turned into a message of “Oh, it looks like you didn’t sign up for you Student Success class. Go do that before you enroll in other classes.”

Irrational Right Brain: I’m about to fucking flip shit if I have to take a “This is how you succeed in college” class when I already have a bachelors degree. I don’t need to be taught how to succeed in college because I’ve already done it. /sets computer on fire

I took a screenshot of the message and sent it to my advisor saying “Please advise”.

It took about 19 other steps to actually get my submission through. A few days later I checked and found out that my request was accepted.

So yeah… I’m officially working towards my RN.

It’s a good feeling while at the same time it sucks. It makes me miss mom. It makes me hurt. It makes me feel a lot of things. For most of the month or however long it’s been since I’ve written a lot of my time has been spent trying to deal with emotions. Or at least tend to them enough to not drown in them.

I’ve had a lot of downs and hard days lately. I think part of that, a large part of it, has to do with how the seasons are changing to the cold months. The rest months. The months were everything slows down. I understand why we need these months and I respect them, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them or that they’re easy for me.

I wake up cold. There isn’t as much sunlight. It’s not my season and I can feel it like sandpaper under my skin.

I think not being able to workout as much as I want/am used to has a lot to do with it as well. I go to work before the sun is up. I leave after the sun has set. I stay in the same room all day. I’m constantly tending to the needs of others.

Days I work are days where I have almost no time to care for myself. I have no solitude time. I have no destress time. I wake up, work, come home, try to sleep. Those are my work days and so I don’t think they’re helping make this already hard time of the year any easier.

It’s also turning into the holiday season which feels like an added dose of alcohol to the salt already being scrubbed into an infected wound. I have to figure out what to do for Thanksgiving and Christmas and my birthday and New Years, all without mom.

Two Fridays ago I didn’t go to work. I woke up and knew for the first time since I started working at the clinic that I was going to call out and that it didn’t matter if they couldn’t replace me on the floor, I wasn’t going in.

I was sad. It was going to be a 16 hour day. I could either not go in and cover my shift on Saturday, or go in and quit halfway through my shift. And not an “I’m sick and going home” type of quit. It would have been an “I’m not giving two weeks notice. Fuck you guys. I’m not coming back,” type of quit.

I didn’t have it with me that day and I didn’t care. Life showed up to the battlefield ready to go and instead of putting on my armor and taking another beating I refused to show up. I didn’t run away. I didn’t cower in fear. I just gave zero fucks and didn’t show up to the fight because fuck you, Life.

It worked out that I was able to take the whole day to myself. I stayed at home and did literally nothing. I didn’t even change out of my pjs.

At the end of the night, as I was turning off the kitchen light to go back upstairs to my room, I paused and looked at mom’s urn. I thought about leaving but instead, I walked over to my china hutch, mom’s china hutch, and I put both of my hands on her urn.

Me: I promise I’ll do better tomorrow, mom.

From there I completely broke down into tears. I sank to my knees and wrapped my arms around the blue marble rectangle which holds the ashes of what used to be the most incredible person I have ever had the honor of meeting and sobbed until my chest ached from crying so hard.

I told her about work. I told her about loving my patients and hating my job. I told her about school. I told her about still not knowing what I want to do once I’m a nurse. I told her I’m sorry if I make her worry.

I didn’t really feel better after crying, but I felt a bit more stable. Sort of like I was on the path to feeling better.

I ended up researching different nursing positions later that night after I made it back to my room.

I’m looking further into holistic nursing. I think that’s the direction I want to go, though I still don’t know exactly how I would apply the things I want. I feel like I have most of the puzzle pieces and that now it’s a matter of putting them all together.

I did go to work the next day; Saturday. My teammates asked me if I was feeling better to which I replied no. No, I wasn’t, but I had promised I would make today better so I was at work and that in itself was an improvement.

They understood where I was emotionally and were extremely supportive of me.

I finally have taken the CVC class and am now officially a full member of the team. It’s nice knowing that I can be more helpful than not.

I’ve been going to therapy a lot more recently. I think that’s helping work through some things, and maybe I’ve written more recently than I think because I know I wrote about my “trust issues” session. That was only about three weeks ago, right? Something along those lines…

Kyle has moved in. We actually had dinner together last night when I got back from the dojo. He asked how I was doing having him as a roommate. Overall things have been going well. He’s still unemployed but is looking for work. He’s had a few interviews already. The few things that I can see potentially leading to issues later down the line we talked about, like how my computer is now in the dining room because my room is too small to have both a bed and computer desk in it. That means it’s not a very good work environment when he’s in the living room watching movies or talking to his friends via the PlayStation.

It sucks. It’s hard to not feel like a failure when it feels like I have downgraded so far in life.

I’m having to donate plasma to get enough extra money to cover my bills. I could go with the option of working 4 days a week instead, but since doing that on the last schedule had me contemplating self-harm almost every time I clocked out of work I don’t think it would be emotionally or spiritually healthy for me to do entertain that option.

One of the side effects of having to donate plasma is I have to be on top of my water intake as well as my iron and protein levels. It’s making me be more conscious of what I eat and how I’m taking care of myself. It’s making me choose between having a cigarette and not healing well enough to donate a second time or making money so I can buy groceries.

No. I don’t like getting stabbed with needles, but I can’t skim over the fact that there are a few positives to this avenue I’m choosing to take.

I went to the dojo last night. It’s the first time in a while that I’ve gone. I had mild anxiety over going. I pushed through it though and had a pretty good night. Everyone was extremely welcoming. I got to see Jim and Tommy. Caroline and Paul were there, too. It felt like coming home.

This past week I haven’t done much in the way of exercise and I could feel it in my body as we warmed up. I could feel my muscles protesting as I pushed them but also rejoicing as they were finally used and stretched. It was the first fundamentals class I’ve gone to. I enjoyed it. We practiced some techniques from mount which is a position I can get to, but I never know what to do once I’m there, so it was nice.

I felt like it was all stuff that was on my level and doable. Just new. There were only two rounds of sparring instead of three or five, which I was also ok with. I pushed hard during them. I was tapped out once by an armbar but the guy was super complimentary about my defense.

By the end of the session, I was done. Physically and emotionally. On the drive home I cried and screamed for the first time in a really long time. It was the first time in a while that I felt angry and so my screams were not only those of pain but also rage at the injustice of mom being dead.

It felt good to scream. It felt good to cry. It felt good to give in to all of those emotions that I keep having to work through. It’s the holidays. It’s winter. It’s hard. And instead of sucking it up I let all of those emotions have their time as I drove from the dojo to the pizza place where I was supposed to meet Kyle.

While we were at dinner I talked about my cry session. Kyle lets me talk without giving advice which I appreciate. Most of the time I don’t want advice. I just want someone to listen. I don’t need to be told it will be ok. I don’t need someone to tell me “they know how I feel”. I want to be able to vocally admit that in some areas of my brain things suck. These emotions exist. They are facts. I feel this way. I want it to be known. That’s all.

I want it to be like any other part of the conversation.

Me: Traffic sucked. The chick at work wouldn’t shut up. I miss mom. By the way, I’m in college again. How was your day?

Big Bad and I had date night Saturday. It was the first time in a while where we went out instead of staying at his place. We saw the new Thor movie and had dinner together. There was a little bit of sexy time when we got home, but mostly we cuddled together and talked about really deep stuff before going to sleep.

Lately, when I’ve played, which is how I refer to my BDSM sessions, I’ve had a very low pain tolerance. We talked about that which was where I genuinely admitted to things being hard emotionally.

I know I’ve told other people that things have been hard, but I always skim over it. I say it in a “yeah things are hard, but I’ll figure it out” sort of way.

When I told Big Bad it was hard I left it at that. Things are hard and I hurt. I didn’t put on a strong face. I didn’t try to cover up any of the pain. I just left it as it is/was. I hurt already. I really don’t want to hurt more. I would rather be held and feel warm and safe because so much of my life feels cold and nebulous right now.

He offered to cuddle which I gladly accepted.

Once we were snuggled under the covers in his bed we started talking again. He told me a fair amount of what’s going on in his life. His ex-wife isn’t being very nice. I’m grateful he talked to me. I’m glad we were able to connect on something other than a sexual level because that’s what it’s felt like recently. Because we see each other so limitedly a lot of our interactions are sexual.

This felt more emotional and I appreciated the difference. I needed the difference.

Earlier in the evening, we had to wait a few hours for the movie to start so we walked around some of the shops before going into the theater. At one point during our meandering we found a bench, so we sat for a while. I told him about school and he congratulated me while hugging me to his chest. He said he was proud of me.

I know he’s not mom, nor do I want him to be my parental figure, but it does mean a lot to me to hear those words from him. It hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt and I don’t know how else to explain it.

I know mom is proud of me. And as I write all of this I have those stupid, silent tears running down my cheeks making me more dehydrated.

I feel like I’ve been doing really well even though I don’t give myself a lot of credit. I feel like a slacker even though I know I’ve been taking care of Life. I’ve been problem-solving and trying to stay on top of my fitness and work and social life. I’ve been battling with the Evil Voice in my head that likes to whisper that I’m failing even when I know I’m not.

I’ve been hanging in there. Some days are a lot easier than others but so far I have woken up each day and made it to the end. I’ve survived every day and I’m not going to let the Evil Voice take away or diminish the level of accomplishment that is.

I didn’t get everything done on my to-do list today, but I did a lot and I’m happy with that. I go to work tomorrow, but I’ll be spending the evening with Big Bad so I have something to look forward to, and then Thursday and Friday are days off.

Working three days a week has been manageable. I’ve requested the week of my birthday off and was approved.

I know there’s a ton of other stuff I should write about, like how Mother Earth was hospitalized and was released only this evening, but I’m written out. I have no more tears for tonight. I’m back to being flatline rather than the chaotic mess I felt before.

I’m going to go see if Kyle will watch another episode of Stranger Things with me because that’s what we’ve been doing since he moved in. Until next time, thanks for listening.

Daily Post 053: This Feels Like a Long Post

A lot has happened in the last week so I’m going to start this off with a bullet list so I can remember to write about everything.

Apartment – Fight with Warren, K moving in
Social Life – Big Bad, Blacksmith, Mother Earth, Nicole
Work – Certification, Praise from RN
Workout – Yoga, Running, Jumping, and a Busted Knuckle
School – Because that’s a thing

Alright.

So…

The apartment…

I mentioned in my last post that Warren and I got into a spat. We still haven’t spoken to each other. I think he purposely ignored my messages on Facebook last night asking for the printer, but that’s fine. I went into his office this morning and got it myself. I’m not going to let the silent treatment prevent me from printing papers for college. If he didn’t want me in his space he should have given me my printer when I asked for it.

I guess it was Wednesday last week. I worked that night. A sixteen-hour shift. I swept up dog fur and vacuumed on Sunday. I had also cleaned the kitchen. I was frustrated to come home and find dirty dishes in the sink with Warren not home because he was out hanging with his new girlfriend.

On top of going out to play before being what I consider an adult, I happened to look at my bank account for the first time in a while.

Warren hasn’t paid rent for the past three weeks.

The agreement, now that his job pays him weekly, is that every paycheck he makes a payment of $150.

He’s given nothing in three weeks and didn’t tell me anything about not paying me.

I was beyond pissed and betrayed feeling after finding that out in addition to still having to do his dishes.

I made myself a drink and sulked in the dark living room for a while. I had work the next day but was too spun up to sleep. Fuming silently seemed like a better investment of my time.

Warren ended up coming home while I was still in the living room. He asked if I was ok. I asked if he had planned to tell me that he hadn’t paid rent in three weeks. He said that hurricane Irma really messed with his finances. He said he had meant to tell me but that he kept forgetting. I said he could have sent me a text. He said it was something he wanted to discuss in person.

I asked him why I should renew the lease with him. In a solid year, he has yet to pay rent reliably and still doesn’t take care of his own responsibilities even though he’s repeatedly told me he would. What benefit is there for me to be his roommate?

He said he was sorry and that I would get my money. He went off to the kitchen and started doing whatever he did. I went up to my room and cried my eyes out because I was so frustrated.

Here I am, again, in a shitty living situation with a guy. Doesn’t matter that he’s not my significant other. I’m owed $8k and all of the promises of “I’ll pay you back” are still empty words that mean nothing.

Later that night I got a text message saying I would have “my money” by the end of the month. As of right now I still haven’t been paid.

I sent a reply to his text message.

Me: Tonight wasn’t about money. Tonight was about how I’ve told you since you’ve moved in to just let me know what’s going on and you still leaving me in the dark. It’s about me finally getting to the breaking point where I’m done feeling like I’m being used. If you’re not going to pay rent reliably then at least sweep and vacuum up the dog fur. Or load the dishwasher with the dishes. If you have enough energy to get a new car and go out with people then you have five minutes to clean up after yourself before you go have fun.

I didn’t get a reply to my message until the following day at work. Warren sent me a novel of a message through Facebook saying I’m a hypocrite and dropping curse words all over the place.

Since I haven’t been able to think of anything nice to say to him I haven’t said anything at all. As far as I’m concerned at the moment he can go burn in hell.

I’m not his mother. I’m not going to remind him, weekly, that he has a dog. He’s had one for at least four years. Long before moving in with me. He doesn’t “forget” to feed Burno. He doesn’t forget to take the dog outside to use the bathroom. “Forgetting” that his dog shreds like a German Shepard is an excuse to be lazy.

I’m not going to say, “Now, Warren. Remember to sweep the hallway. And don’t forget to brush your teeth before you go to sleep.”

He’s an adult. Just like me. No one reminds me to pay my car insurance on time. Or to make sure I clean Scarlet’s litter box. I’m not going to make sure he “adults”.

Fuck that. He’s older than me. Get your shit together or find someone who’s willing to have a man-child.

So that’s where we’re at. My friends don’t curse at me. My friends don’t use hurricanes as excuses to not tell me “oh, by the way, that money you needed to pay the power and internet bill, you know, those things I use for work, I’m not going to give you”.

I had to go out and buy provisions for the hurricane, too. That didn’t make it ok for me to not pay bills. That still had to get done. And the hurricane didn’t last for three weeks. Zero fucks given about whatever “reasons” he has.

We’re both in victim mentalities right now I think. Me with, “he’s not being fair,” and him with, “she’s a hypocritical bitch.”

I’m fine with that. I’ve been doing the dishes and taking out the trash on my own and you know what? The apartment looks the way I want it to without having to wait on someone else to hold up their end of the agreement.

I’ve had less stress at home this past week then I have for a while and it’s mainly because I’ve stopped caring. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can rely on Warren to be unreliable. With that mentality, I’ve let go of a lot of things. At the moment I’m ok with renewing the lease, mostly because I don’t have a choice.

Karen and I are meeting tonight for her to sign the application. That should be squared away by next week. Then it will be a matter of getting Warren to “make time” in his ever so busy schedule to vacate the two smaller rooms and move into the master bedroom.

Yes, I am still in bitch mode. I know he’s going to have “anxiety” over moving stuff around, and our schedules aren’t going to line up, and it’s going to end up being a clusterfuck that I take care of on my own. If it doesn’t go that way then at least I can be pleasantly surprised. If not then at least I’m not disappointed. That whole reliably unreliable thing…

So that’s the developments with the apartment. Fun times.

On to my social life…

Things with Big Bad are going well. We spent last night together. Last week there was a development that added another dimension to our relationship; the addition of consensual non-concent play. We’ve always had an element of BDSM in our dynamic but this was something we / I have stayed away from. Even with my blacksmith, I haven’t really done anything with it, mostly because I still have flashbacks sometimes.

The experience I had with Big Bad was amazing and something we both enjoyed and though I don’t think I’m cured or anything it is liberating to be able to explore this side of myself again after so long. It’s been four, maybe even five years now.

BDSM rape fantasies aren’t something you can talk about with most of the populace, let alone role play with a partner. It feels like we’re closer. There’s a level of acceptance between us that is more solid than it was before last week.

We don’t think either of us is a weird, sick fuckup for getting enjoyment from each other. It works for us and we’re the only people it has to work for because we’re the only people in our relationship.

I keep waiting for my relationship with him to have some horrible flaw that cripples us, but there hasn’t been one in over a year and it doesn’t feel like one is on the horizon. I’m just so used to there being one that the lack of one feels foreign, almost wrong.

So far things are good, though. Beyond good. They’re stable and warm and caring and supportive and everything I had given up on finding after Zane and I broke up.

My blacksmith is going through a lot right now. I don’t remember if I wrote about it or not. They found a growth. It’s non-cancerous. He’s on medication for the next three months to get rid of whatever it is. I don’t have details. I know the medication makes him sick and that he has to fight through exhaustion while still working doubles at work.

A tree fell on part of his house during Irma. One of the house’s bathrooms, closets, and part of the back patio are messed up, but none of the living spaces were damaged. Insurance is supposed to cover everything. Until it does part of his house is boarded up.

I don’t know when we’ll be able to see each other again. I’m guessing not for a while. Four months at least. Enough time for the medication to hopefully work. I’m not sure what will happen if it doesn’t.

It’s humbling. I left my previous career partly because I spent two weeks in a hospital holding my mom’s hand. Two weeks of sitting there with a Bachelor’s of Science and being unable to do anything other than worry.

Here I am, in the medical field, and I still wouldn’t have been able to do anything during the biopsy. I still can only sit and wait and be patient and hold my shit together even though all I want is to be told that things are ok. That they will be ok. That nothing bad is going to happen.

But that’s not how life works. No one can promise that because no one has that type of control. Those words are a lie and I refuse to tell them to myself and even though other people say them to me I don’t allow them in. I don’t accept lies.

I say things like, “It will work out how it’s supposed to,” and maybe that’s just as messed up. Maybe that’s just another lie.

It’s the one I listen to though. It allows me to accept that I don’t have control. I don’t have control over what is happening or what will happen. All I can do is accept what Life deems “right”. It doesn’t take away the fear of “this is the end”. The fear of “this is where he’ll release me because he can no longer be my Master.”

It sucks. I know he needs me to be strong. He has enough going on without having to worry about making sure I’m ok, too.

I’m fine, even with the annoyances of work, the apartment, and Life in general. I survived mom’s death. I can survive this. I can survive his death, too, if it comes to that. I know I can. He would want me to.

Mother Earth and I have been doing well. She reads my blog. She mentioned that I don’t write much about when we hang out. I know I haven’t and some of the reasons are intentional while other reasons aren’t.

Part of it is I know other people in our mutual lives read my blog. I don’t know why that has anything to do with anything, but it does. Maybe it’s because I feel like they’ll comment about what I write rather than having a discussion with me.

Part of it is a lack of writing in general. The days I’m able to write are often long after Mother Earth and I have spent time together, and so the more imidate things on my mind are not our moments together. They’re also not moments that I feel I need to work through. I mean, there are emotions, and there’s still stuff in our past I need to make peace with, but overall I feel accepted and restored when we’re together. Our moments help keep me sane and mostly stable. They’re also something I want to hold close to myself, like a precious piece of something that isn’t meant for everyone. It’s mine and it’s ok for it to stay that way; to not be shared.

She’s my Mother Earth and I’m her Earth Dragon and nothing further needs to be explained to anyone.

I do feel like she gets the short end of the stick when it comes to my social life. Big Bad is actually the only one I am consistent with. The only one I make a real effort to work my schedule around for. Other than that I spend all of my time trying to train at the gym or working. Other social obligations feel just like that, like obligations.

I know Nicole wants to spend more time with me. She messaged me just this morning wanting to go to the beach and all I can think of is how I would much rather NOT go. I could sleep instead. I could spend all of that time not traveling. I could save all of that money instead of spending it.

The pros for the trip do not out-weight the cons for me and so I find myself extremely reluctant to take steps to make it happen. I don’t really want to drive the hour to visit her either which isn’t fair.

Nicole likes being in my neck of the woods more, so it hasn’t been an issue, but I’m aware of the imbalance in our relationship. I don’t drive to see her. I don’t go out of my way to “hang out” even though I enjoy our time together.

I feel like it’s similar to Mother Earth. We have this relationship, this dynamic, whatever it is, and yet I’m not sure I’m fully present for it.

I am present when we’re together, but I’m so focused on my calendar; when can I train, how early to I have to be to work, will I be able to squeeze in grocery shopping…

And now I’m looking at adding school into the mix. Is any of this fair to the people in my life? I want to do the things I want to do, but that doesn’t leave much time for downtime where I can recover, or social time for anyone else.

It’s something I need to meditate on and figure out. I don’t want to add scheduled date nights onto my calendar but I’ve already done that for one person, so not doing it for others seems unfair. And none of this even touched on the topic of spending time with my younger brother or figuring out traveling for the holidays or what to do for Thanksgiving this year since last year sucked as far as my vote goes.

Blarg. Overall I think I’m doing alright with my social life and that it’s really just stuff I need to figure out for myself. No one is putting pressure on me. It’s all inside of my own head.

Work is going well. I got a text message from my boss earlier this afternoon saying the census will be low tomorrow and to take the day off. Don’t mind if I do. I was looking at four days this week, three of them being 16-hour shifts. I’m cool with not working one of those.

I’m going to begin studying for my certification. I also will be going back to school and there’s reimbursement from the company I need to look into since I’m most likely going to be going for a Nursing degree…

Yeah… I know… more on that later I promise.

I’ve officially been out of training for three months. That’s a nifty feeling. I still haven’t heard about when I can take the CVC class or when I’m allowed to actually take the certification, but I’ll be prepared for that day whenever it ends up being.

There was one particular moment this week at work that I want to reflect on. I’ve written about this particular patient before. Mr. A. He’s the patient who didn’t want to come into the center for his treatment. The one I hugged and told him I hoped he felt better. The one who said the reason he came inside was so he could see me.

Mr. A is awesome and he’s one of the patients I enjoy seeing even though other people I work with would describe him as “needy”. He asks for a lot of stuff. He likes the interaction. He likes to talk and do magic tricks like pulling a dollar bill out of his hat. I don’t know why but I like him and he’s one of the people I don’t mind doing things for because I like seeing him smile. I like making him feel like there’s still good stuff in the world to experience, even if it’s just a simple cup of coffee that I bring for him while he’s on the machine.

Mr. A used to be a CVC patient, but his fistula has been deemed mature enough to use for his dialysis treatment. That means he has to be cannulated with 15 gauge needles.

I don’t care who you are, getting stabbed sucks.

He didn’t want to have the needles for his treatment. He wanted to use the CVC. I explained that we could use the CVC but that it had more risks associated with it and that the better option would be to use the fistula even though it hurt more in the beginning.

He said he would do it for two cups of coffee. I smiled and said we had a deal. One cup for each needle.

He said ok. I could use the fistula then but to try to make it not hurt. I put my hand in his and squeezed, saying I would do my best not to. We were quiet for a second as I held his hand. I was debating saying something further. Should I say it or not? Should I keep going with the procedure or be vulnerable, too?

I decided to be vulnerable.

Me: It hurts me, too, Mr. A.

I said it in a small, quiet voice. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes because it does hurt me. It makes my heart seize every time I see one of my patients flinch in pain as I insert a needle. And I have to do it, not once, but twice. I have to hurt them. I’m paid to hurt them, and thinking of it in those terms makes me feel like the shittiest human being.

I squeezed Mr. A’s hand again before setting up what I needed for the procedure. I felt his arm before I cleaned the area. His fistula is a little deep, but not too bad. It feels solid; like it won’t roll much. I can tell it’s fairly new with how small it feels in comparison to some of the patients who have had their fistulas for years.

I had a moment of self-doubt. Maybe I should call someone else over. Maybe I wasn’t the right person to do this. What if I fucked up?

No. I would do this. I would try. I know I’m not the best, but Mr. A agreed to use the fistula because I was his tech. This was my procedure, my patient, and I wouldn’t let him down.

I took a deep breath as I stretched the skin on his arm. I said a silent prayer to Freya asking for my aim to be true and inserted the needle. I let out my breath as I saw flack back within the needle line. I was in. I advanced the needle. It went smoothly. I secured the needle with tape and allowed myself in inhale again as I stood back up.

Mr. A: Is it in?
Me: Yep. Only one more to go.
Mr. A: That didn’t hurt at all. You know how to treat a man.

I smiled an uncontrollable smile. He’s too cute sometimes. The second needle went in just a smoothly. Again, Mr. A mentioned how it didn’t hurt “too bad”. I completed the procedure and got his treatment started.

Mrs. Flo, the RN I’ve written about before, the one who’s approval is the end-all be-all to my medical career, came up to me afterward and congratulated me.

Mrs. Flo: Very, very good.

I know Mr. A can be a handful. I know he almost always refuses to come in for his treatments, or constantly asks for things, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind listening to him and letting him know that I hear him. I don’t mind taking an extra 10 minutes to get him on the machine if it means I can hold his hand and admit for the first time to someone that it hurts me, too.

It filled me with pride to know Mrs. Flo had been watching and that she approved of how I handled the situation. It made me feel even though I might still mess up that I’m doing well. Her approval means so much more than anyone else’s I’ve received so far. I’ve got this.

So that’s work. It’s going well and I’m hoping for it to continue to improve. We just requested our days for the new schedule. I should be capped at three days, and with the changes I made to my tax information I should be alright for a little bit; even better once I get my certification and the dollar increase to my wage.

Onward to talking about workouts. : D

I’m pretty sure I typed about the yoga class I did last week. It was awesome. I enjoyed it. It met the quota of “at least one yoga class a week”. I failed hardcore on the running aspect, though, so that was kind of lame.

Part of it was I went to dinner with Mother Earth and Josh one of the nights I was supposed to run. The other was I didn’t push through my tiredness on the other night. No one to blame but myself.

Yesterday I went to Title Club Boxing instead of the dojo. Since Big Bad and I had plans for the evening I felt it would be better to go there since they have a shower and are already halfway to his place.

Since at the time I was waiting for Warren to not be a dick and to give me the printer, I decided to go to what was listed as a “technique” class. It ended up being more of a boot camp conditioning class. I was ok with that. It was 30 minutes of intense workout and super fun. I stayed for the boxing class afterward which was an additional hour.

Once it was done I showered then went to Big Bad’s. It wasn’t until this morning that I really noticed the first knuckle of my right index finger. It hurts-ish. More a low level of discomfort than real pain. There’s a popping / grinding feeling whenever I curl my fingers and if I extend my finger out like if I’m pointing at someone, I can feel a sharpish edge of something poking into my skin. It’s swollen in comparison to my other index finger and I can see a difference in how the skin folds when my finger is extended…

Yeah… not cool bro.

After reading different articles online and talking with my trainer I plan to wait and see what happens. A lot of things say it’s most likely inflammation and overuse, not like I was using it all that much aside from my one boxing class in weeks…

I can tell the swelling has gone down as the day’s progressed. I plan to get some ibuprofen while I’m at the store since that was something mentioned in the forums. If the pain increases or if it doesn’t continue to get better as the days progress I will, undoubtedly, go get it looked at. I want to see if my body can take care of itself first. If I were in more pain I would be more worried. At the moment I’m being cautious.

My workout with L today was awesome. She’s very supportive of me gearing up to be back in school (again, more on that later). When I mentioned my knuckle she looked at it and told me modifications I could during my workout so I wouldn’t have to grip things as much.

Next Tuesday she’s going to have me try jumping the red box… that escalated faster than I thought it would. She’s confident I can do it. She said I’m clearing the blue box with a fair amount of room to spare. She said jumping the red box is more of a mental hurdle than a physical one. Physically I can do it. Mentally I need to tell myself I can do it rather than looking at it like an impossible task. But it’s the red box… >.<;

I can tell my core is continuing to improve. I could tell last night at Title Club while I was throwing hooks how I’m able to generate more power within my torso. It’s a cool feeling. It’s also helping me with the plyometrics L is having me do. I’m able to do the core workouts better, for longer, and faster; definitely with less of an “I’m dying please kill me” feeling.

I also happened to dig out my long sleeved stuff to see what would fit this year. Two shirts I’ve kept since I graduated high school fit me again. Actually, one of them I was never able to wear. I bought the shirt while I was working as a stocker at JCP. At the time I had been working on losing weight and it was my “reward” shirt. A super pretty, deep purple oriental type shirt with long flowing sleeves.

I was able to fit into it for the first time last night. I don’t know when I’ll wear it out. I want it to be for something special. I want to feel pretty while I wear it. Makeup and everything. No icky faded hair. Nope. Fresh dye, eyebrows waxed. The whole nine yards.

I’ve waited six years to wear this shirt. I’m going to make sure I’m the hottest thing this side of the sun when I go out in it.

That’s it as far as working out goes. Trying not to fuck up my body too much while still making progress. I still need to sign up for the Spartan race. Before I do that I need to make sure Big Bad really would be ok with me running without him. He has his daughter’s that weekend and wouldn’t be able to go with me. More meditation is required.

The last thing to talk about is school. Not that I haven’t written a small novel already.

So school has changed a bit, again.

I applied to Seminole State College. I found out Monday, yesterday, that I was accepted. I dropped a pretty penny on getting copies of all of my transcripts. I had copies sent to the college, but also to myself since I’m tired of not having that information when I need it. I mean really… who remembers and/or cares about exact day of their graduation? >.<

That’s essentially six transcripts I had to pay for. I guess it’s worth it. I mean, if it gets me to where I want to go then I’m cool with it, and it will be nice to have “unofficial” copies to keep in my “box of important stuff”.

I was looking further into the Sports and Exercise Science degree and realized that it’s a transfer degree to UCF’s Bachelor’s program, so I wouldn’t really be getting what I want for a while… Lame…

That got me thinking this morning though… Maybe I should do the Associate RN degree first since a lot of the classes for the Nursing and Sports and Excercise Science degrees crossover.

That would let me vertically move within the company, or potentially leave for something else, while still working towards my SECD (sports and exercise science degree because there’s no way I’m going to type that out every time).

That would give me time to figure out if I really want to pursue another Bachelor’s degree. I’m pretty sure I do, but I’m also pretty sure I want to make more money while I do it. Basically, after getting my RN degree, I would do the SECD. After completing the degree at Seminole State I would transfer into UCF I would be a junior. I would be in the Human Performance path and I would be working towards a minor in fitness training.

I finished the application process for the college so now it’s really just a waiting game. I get to talk to my advisor next Tuesday. That’s where I’ll be able to really battle plan everything out. I want to see if I can take one of the B Session classes this fall. That’s essentially a fast forward class. Instead of taking 16 weeks and doing a full semester. I would only be doing about 6 or 8 weeks for the class. If I could get through English II or another Gen Ed that would be nice. Go ahead and get it out of the way.

I’ll be finding out what, if any, of my previous classes, transfer on Tuesday as well. I’m hoping for at least two. Four or more would be better but Full Sail is lame with how they label their classes so my Public Speaking and Physics might not count.

I applied for financial aid though I’m not expecting to get much if anything. Right now all if it is “wait and see” so since that’s the end of what I have to write about I guess I’ll go ahead and get going to I can grocery shop and do the cooking before meeting Karen tonight.

Life is going, some areas of it smoother than others, but I’m pretty ok with how I’m coping. Go me.

Daily Post 042: 16 Hour Days = 8 miles

Monday was my second day on my own at work. My second 16-hour shift.

It was the first day that I remembered to wear my Fitbit with me to work. Apparently, I walked eight miles that day.

It was the second time that my teammates were amazing and had a little pow-wow with me to help boost my confidence.

Monday was the first day where I forgot the clamp the saline lines, not once, but twice, which resulted in a major headache for my trainer who had to help fix my mess up. Monday was the first time where not one, but two, of my patients, wanted to pause their treatment to use the restroom. It was the first time I got done taping someone’s access up and wished them a good day only for them to come back two minutes later, their gauze soaked in blood because they bled through.

It was the second time that I used organizing the stock room as my destresser from it all. It was my first heart to heart with one of the RNs who’s become way more friendly to me now for some reason. It was my first time interacting with Mr. C who said I did a good job taping him up.

It wasn’t a bad day. I was joking with my boss earlier, just after my first break, saying that I hadn’t killed anyone yet, I hadn’t broken down into tears, and I hadn’t quit, so, all in all, it was a good day so far.

He laughed, and I laughed with him even though we both knew how serious I was about each of those statements. Since he started as a PCT he knows exactly what I’m going through and it’s a nice feeling to know that he legitimately understands the whole, “It’s not a bad day but I’m totally going to break down into tears once I get out to my car” feelings.

Part of the routine at the clinic is each team member gets a specific chore for the day. My chore on Monday was making CVC kits. It’s sort of like making the needle packs.

Two packs of 2×2 gauze, two packs of alcohol, two tempadots, one piece of 4×4 gauze, paper tape, plastic tape, one syringe, one iodine pack.

Making needle packs is an extremely structured and repetitive task. It one of the moments in the day where I get to breathe and take a step back. A moment of decompression. Just like mixing the bleach water. I get to measure everything out. No higher level thinking. No inserting needles into arms or thighs. No human interaction for those six minutes. There’s only running water, measured bleach, writing initials, date, and time onto a piece of plastic tape to go on the container.

Monday was such a crazy busy day with me trying to keep up with my patients that I didn’t have time to do the CVC kits. I stayed after I clocked out to do them, holding up in the stock room and listening to the same ambient techno song on my phone while I did five packs at a time.

Two of those, one of that, three of these.

Counting. Repetition. No beeping alarms. No “next obligation”. No “I hope I’m doing this right and don’t mess up.”

My brother called me during my CVC making. There’s a former guard instructor who lives really close to him. She helped Jon get a job working with a high school marching band this past summer. She’s sort of become Jon’s adoptive mom. I’m not as close to her, but she’s an extremely nice person and I’m glad Jon has her in his life.

She was taken to the ER for a kidney stone. I can relate all too well to that situation.

Jon said he needed someone to talk to because it brought up a lot of emotions for him. Seeing her with IVs in her arm, just like mom had. Being there when she was discharged, an action we never got to experience with mom.

I had silent tears running down my cheeks as I continued to count out alcohol packs and tempadots. I know what it was like for me to be in the ER on my own. I haven’t seen any of my loved ones in the hospital yet. I’m sure it will bring up powerful emotions when I do have that experience, but I still ached for my brother and myself over our loss of mom. It still hurts remembering what it was like to see her in the ICU, what it was like to sleep in the hospital every night for two weeks. To stand in front of the drink mix aisle at Target and to feel like an awful daughter because I didn’t know what flavor mom would want. To know that mom never got to be discharged.

It brought up a lot on an already overwhelming day and I didn’t even bother to wipe the tears away as the rolled down my cheeks while I listened to him and shared in his pain.

I’m glad my brother called me and I’m glad we have each other to understand the emotions we can’t share with anyone else.

When I finally left work it was 8:30 pm.

I drove home. I talked to one of my friends from California while I did it. He made me laugh which kept the tears in check. It helped remind me that the day hadn’t been bad, just overwhelming and the way to fight overwhelm is to let go of the tension and breathe.

I took a long, hot, relaxing shower when I got home, washing away the day. Work will stay at work, and I think showering will be one of the actions I use to solidify that for myself.

I then went out to dinner with Warren since it was his birthday. We talked about finances. We talked about the Internet issue. We talked about him having a friend over on Wednesday (tonight). We talked about a lot of stuff. It was good to be out even though I was exhausted. I think it helped him feel cared for that even if it was a small outing that we at least did something for his birthday. It didn’t go unnoticed.

When we got back home I went to sleep almost immediately.

I slept almost all day Tuesday. At first, I thought about getting up and doing something with the day. At 7:30 am I went downstairs to make coffee but only made it to the futon. I laid back down for a few hours before finding enough energy to go back upstairs to my room. No coffee. No breakfast. In fact, I didn’t eat anything until 6 pm that evening and the only reason I did was because Warren agreed to pick up a pizza for me.

By 7 pm I was feeling a bit better energy wise. I stayed up and played Torchlight until about midnight before going back to sleep.

I woke up at 3, 5, and 7:30.

I’ve felt better today but still tired. It’s the type of tired that feels like it will be fixed with a good night’s sleep, so I think tomorrow will be ok.

I work tomorrow. It’s a “short” day. Only two shifts of patients rather than three. If I close tomorrow then I’ll be out around 4:30 pm. Friday is a day off, then Saturday is another “short” day. I’m hoping the new schedule is out so I can know what I’ll be working for the next six weeks.

I’m glad with the way the schedule worked out this week. I enjoy closing. I enjoy the calm and being able to stock and clean and not worrying about having the pod set up for the next wave of people. 16 hour days are brutal. Maybe I’ll get better with them as I improve my workflow and things become less overwhelming. Right now it feels like a lot and I needed these past two days to recover. Just like I needed Saturday and Sunday to recover from this past Friday.

I saw my blacksmith Saturday night. It was supposed to be Friday night but he was in a car accident.

I knew something was wrong that evening as I was leaving work. We had been texting earlier in the day. When I was leaving I sent a message to let him know I was on my way home. After thirty minutes I still didn’t have a reply. I knew that was odd. After an hour and thirty, I knew something had happened and our evening most likely was going to be postponed. At 11 pm I sent a message saying I hoped he was ok. At 3 am I still hadn’t received a response.

It wasn’t until the morning that I got a message saying he was being released from the hospital. No one was seriously injured. His shoulder and chest were sore but that was it. A 17-year-old was texting on her phone and pulled out too soon, smashing into the passenger wheel of his car.

I’m glad he’s ok. I’m glad we saw each other Saturday night. It was another session where I feel like my soul was melted into liquid iron and reshaped. Insecurities that I’ve had for years seem to have vanished over the course of a single night. Even with the weight of work I can feel a difference in myself. The breaks and cracks and chipped pieces where past experiences have hurt me have been undone through this one interaction and I really don’t know why or how.

I feel accepted with both my blacksmith and Big Bad. I feel a level of peace with both of them. Like it’s ok to be me, pure me, vulnerable me. No walls keeping people out and protecting hidden, secret hurts me.

I like how they both make me a better person. How they want me to reach the goals I set for myself. How they’re supportive and inquire about what I’m doing. How they help me through the hard times and share in the good times. I’m grateful for both of them and this is another instance of where I realize just how rare a dynamic like this must really be.

I still feel the hurt of mom being gone, but excluding that wound, I feel more whole than I have since I can remember. It’s another foreign feeling where I’m still me but it’s a different version of myself that I’m not used to. There should be pain in certain areas of my soul and there isn’t. In a way, it’s disorienting and yet relieving.

It’s something I am consciously aware of, so I suppose I’ll meditate on it and form other thoughts and will write about it more in the future. For now, it’s enough to say that I continue to grow and change and develop into the person I’m supposed to be.

Today has been a more productive day than yesterday, though really it feels like any day would have been “more productive” than yesterday.

I returned my fourth pair of shoes today. I actually really liked the ones I had. The only bad thing was they were a 9.5. The store I had been at previously only had half sizes in stock, so it was either a 9.5, which was a little too big, or an 8.5, which was a little too small.

I decided to try out the 9.5, but nope, too big. The shoes almost slipped off my feet while I was walking around the clinic. Everything else was amazing though. I loved the cushion and the slip resistant bottoms. The style was what I was looking for, too.

So today I went to a different store to return them and see if they had the elusive size 9 I wanted. They did, so hopefully, that mission can be labeled as a 100% success. We’ll know tomorrow when I try out the new pair. I have high hopes.

I did grocery shopping after that. This week is almost over and with still being low energy like I am I don’t really have it in me to do a bunch of cooking. I got mostly frozen stuff that requires baking in the oven. Not the healthiest of meal planning weeks I know, but it’s better than eating fast food every day from having nothing prepared. I’m going to try to be a bit better planned for the coming week.

I also got my car looked at today. One of the things my blacksmith and I do is go out to Waffle House for breakfast before he leaves. As we were driving there he mentioned how it felt like I should get my brakes looked at. Since I’m not a car person I tend to default to other people’s judgments on things like that.

My rotors were fine but the pads did need to be replaced, along with my brake fluid and my oil. It wasn’t supposed to have taken very long, but when one of the mechanics when to pick up the brake pads the store didn’t have them, so we had to wait for them to be delivered from somewhere else… it was sort of a cluster fuck on their end and I ended up waiting about four hours to get my car back.

Wasn’t really how I wanted to spend my day to be honest…

I got a half price oil change out of it, along with a card for a second half priced oil change. Would have rather had my car back two hours earlier, but at least they acknowledged the fact that it was sort of BS to keep me waiting as long as I was.

I’m glad the car got taken care of. The struts need to be replaced soon, but since that will be about $1k I’m going to hold off on that for a bit.

Oh… I bought more of the Shefit bras as well since they’re working out so nice. Three isn’t enough to get me through the work days as well as working out.

Aside from cooking food and doing laundry, there’s not a whole lot else about today to write about.

Warren is going to have his date night. I’m going to go to sleep, and then it will be tomorrow.

So with that I guess I’m going to go and hopefully tomorrow is less overwhelming than what Monday was.

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