Why should I have to age?

I certainly don't think I should have to age. I'm still a kid in so many ways. I wake up super early on Christmas, I love toys and hate to share them, my birthday is the best holiday of the year, butterflies distract me, I hate math and school in general, I giggle uncontrolably and unnecessarily, puppies are the coolest thing ever except Johhny Depp, I still listen to my music super loud, I do cartwheels, walk on the curb like it is a balance beam, swing on the swing in my front yard, smell the flowers all the damn time..etc. Now things are breaking and I'm fucking pissed off! I'm in the best shape of my life, mostly. I was thinner in my early twenties but definitely not as strong or clearly not as smart if you have read my previous posts. I'm thinking my dad must have gotten the 35 year warranty and I'm lucky it lasted until 37. In the past year I have had an endless headache. Yes, one long headache and after 3 MRIs with no answers I gave up, arthritis in my spine, tennis elbow, bunion surgery with another looming, and now..a new bonus feature! Not only am I talking about my health on a daily basis before I turn 60 but I might now have breast cancer. So cool. I'm weirdly calm and also super totally freaking out about it. I found a lump that the doctor doesn't think is a big deal but want to have checked out. Anytime a doctor wants to check things out, I begin to weigh the options of panic vs remaining calm. On the calm side I have the luxury of not worrying and most likely having the outcome of nothing happening but on the panic side there is the sleepless nights, the eating whatever I want, the drinking my evening away all in the hopes that this will just go away. I don't want to lose my boob. I like both of them, quite a bit. I'm not sure at this point that I find them to be a part of my identity, I'm a woman with or without but my boobs are fun to touch. Especially by me. I only found the lump because I woke up in the morning already playing with my boobs. Not playing sexually, just touching them because they are there and I can. I found the lump before I woke up fully. I was awake the second I noticed it though. It is amazing how a woman can go from not totally awake to I can take on anything in seconds. I'm not sure if men have this ability. I'm not trying to put men down, I just don't think they are built like that. I didn't know how to process what I thought I had found. I wasn't even sure it was what I thought it was. It still might not be. I hate that it takes time to find these things out when it is scary. Or is it just that time takes longer when things are scary? To his credit, my husband is scared too. He is taking this seriously but can't be truly a part of it because he isn't a woman. There are just things we have to deal with that men cannot. He offered to come with me to the appointment but I just couldn't bear to have him in the room as it was time for my regular check up and the insertion of the scapula and poking about n all is just a bit much to share. Obviously not too much to share here. So there it is. A possible cancerous bit of my body. Pissing me off. Making it clear that I am ageing even though I shouldn't have to. I'm a child. I haven't grown up, why should I have to deal with grown up issues? I'm not ready to stop loving silliness, play dough, bouncy balls, general goofiness, puppies, and anything that makes me giggle.

Am I really?

It has come to my attention by way of my insecurity that not one of my family members seems to think that I'm worthy of taking care of their children if something should happen to them. I'm pretty much hurt by this. I realize that I have always been against having children but that is only for me. I don't think that others shouldn't do it. I just don't want to be a mom. That being said, there are children out there that I would not only be willing to raise, but would be super happy to see on a daily basis. I have the means. I live in a house that is large enough and in a safe neighborhood. If the schools couldn't provide a good enough education, I can afford tutors or even private school. I'm fun (god I hope I'm not lying to myself here). It was a pretty big blow when my brother and his wife never approached me about being in their will, especially since at the time I was making more money than I knew what to do with. Then my cousin didn't pick me either. Nor did who I thought was my best friend (no, it wasn't the lack of being chosen that changed our friendship, I'm not that pathetic) I get that there was probably a time when I wasn't the best choice, maybe people thought I'd be dumb enough to give the kid a tattoo or piercing at a ridiculously early age but at this point, still not a one has approached me and said, 'would you be willing to parent my kid(s) if something happened to me/us?' It makes me think that perhaps I need to take some stock in my life and figure out what it is that I'm doing so wrong in the eyes of  others. What exactly is it that makes me so unworthy / undesirable?

To 673 Harrison Av. Many Thanks

I'm leaving my home. After 9 years it is time to go.  I don't know if anyone can grasp that walking into this place for the first time, I knew I was home. I felt in my soul that this was it. I was finally here. That place I had been searching for, the safety, security, the womb I had lost 28 years prior. It was here. At 673 Harrison Av. I found love, friendships, parents, time, memories. It was where I could be the person I couldn't help but be. I walked into an endless amount of nothing short of 80's blue carpeting, over sized flower metallic wallpaper, fake pine paneling, clashing blue tile kitchen counters, more clashing blue wallpaper in the master bedroom, and a massive plate full of random keys. One of my first memories was of my mother calling me from my home to let me know that the pool guy had left the water on to fill the pool and she couldn't turn it off and the pool was over flowing and who should she call. Oh christ! I have a pool guy?! I had no idea that pools have a separate nozzle to fill them. I had always seen my folks use a hose in the past. The first of many lessons I learned at 673. I wish I could remember the first time I met Chris and Steve. That first time I met people who showed me what a neighbor is, what a neighborhood means. I'm blessed, blown away, so incredibly grateful. I could never have imagined what I got. I learned to water my lawn in the morning, time spent chatting the morning away isn't a waste, there is always a spot on the couch, how to make the best meatloaf, the giant spider really is that fucking big, a fence is sight proof not soundproof, a good hug is only a few feet away, it is ok to get mad at a friend because that is what makes them your friend, the proper way to stack firewood, I'm not the only one who doesn't want  listen to my mom talk, shred my mail damnit!, there are a lot of ways to see something, love is beautiful, friends don't judge they just save you and hold you, and probably a million other things that will come to me in the next few weeks and over the years as my life flashes through me. There was Wendy and Tommy. I saw the pain, the struggle of making Ava a reality. I saw the wonder of a special little girl grow up and then the sadness of the move. Lost friends. Made me realize change was going to happen but at least I could comfort myself that I was going to be a constant. I had the morning walking ladies to say 'hi' to. I had my route to walk the dogs . Altered it a bit as Kaiya and Echo got older. Still, not a huge change. Then came Drew and Anh. They showed up on a similar wind as Matt. It was all one big gust and here they all were. Drew and Anh came first but it was Matt that brought them to us. Before he came along I think they weren't all that sure about me. Then there were lunches, time with the 'Salmon Killer', time spent making chapstick or salt scrubs, taking care of the cat babies, naming Shaqdaddy, sharing movies and ingredients, crazy Chinese diet pills, the beauty of Sang, the love of Alexander's, curds and jams, a reason to cross the street chicken or not, a tool share, a giant and a tiny friend. Nancy, Doug, Terry. Solid staples of my neighborhood. I love them too. They aren't as close yet I still feel that in a moment of crisis, they would absolutely be there for me. Carol and Carson, opinions and all. The kid who grew up and drives too fast in his loud Dodge. To Lupe who passed away. To Pat who passed away. To James who moved away. To all the ghosts of past and present who I will miss and miss and miss every day. Thank you to all of you for being the best place I have ever lived without a doubt.

As i know it

I've said it before. I've been pretty open about it. I've sounded like I knew what I was doing. I thought I had a handle on it. It found a way to sneak up on me though. I have a good life. Things are mostly ok here. And yet, Depression located my hiding place. It hunted me down. I truly thought that after all these years that I was safe. I must have let my guard down. Stupid, stupid me. I know how this has affected me before. I know how devastated I have been. How hard hit. How much pain has found me despite my cries of 'unfair!'. How many times I have curled up like a child at the back of a dark corner of the house begging Depression to leave me alone? The people in my life say that they are here for me, that I can call anytime and they truly mean it. What they don't get is that I can't make that kind of rational decision when Depression has wrapped around me. Imagine a bat, but a massive one, one that sucks the life out of you but not figuratively, literally. Each part of it that touches you leeks a portion of you away. I can see it, feel it but not do a damned thing about it. I am dead inside, so I ask myself why not be dead outside? Problem being, I don't want to be the one to do it. I don't actually want to die. I just wish I wasn't here. Wasn't born. This is Depression. Not me. Not my 'self'. Not in any way the person any one knows. Just this thing that carries the name of Depression. So I became what is called a 'cutter'. I take a deep breath here. It carries such a stigma. It is shitty to admit. I don't want to field the questions but at the same time, if there is one person who is helped or one person who gets me in a better way, then my shame is worth it. I'm scared and scarred. I would have changed who I am years ago if it was possible. That should be obvious but often isn't. I can't 'snap out of it'. I can't 'just get over it'. I can't 'move on'. I couldn't 'just grow up'. I just discovered at 37, it never goes away. I can never be complacent. It will find me. It will always try to ruin me and who I have fought to become. It makes sure I never grow up. It will be forever there to stop me from snapping out of anything. Even if I could, Depression is there to make sure I doubt what I am doing. 

Wow, I'm honored

I have had a few people recently who told me that they actually read my blog and enjoy it. (You guys deserve mention because it did impact me, my cousin Naseim and my awesome friend Bobby) What a moment of suprise for me, self satisfaction. I like to think I'm fucking cool but mostly I doubt it and wonder how much of a burden I truly am on those around me. Especially when my ego takes over and I forget to think of the feelings that other people might have. Hearing that people who don't feel obligated still read what I have to say inspires me. I grew up watching my dad dismiss my mother and her opinions, feelings, thoughts, to the point that I hated being a girl (woman as time went on). I've always thought that if I don't say it loud, it won't be heard. I became opinionated even when I didn't believe in myself just to have something to say. Now I'm saying all those things that I held back out of fear and shame and there are actually people listening. How is that possible? When I am around my friends, or family, or even acquaintances, I want to open up, I want to share, but I find myself halfway through a ramble wondering if they are even listening at all. Especially because I suck at listening. Actually, no, I do listen, I just can't retain most of the time and that is because I am too absorbed in relating. I am mainly trying to find common ground but to such an extent that I don't focus and that seems mean.So I'm sorry to anyone out there that has spoken to me, shared, discussed and then realized that I am in a different part of our conversation. I don't do it on purpose and I do appreciate your being.

Honesty but a continuation of OCD

Months have passed by since I wrote that last section and I am choosing not to read it. I just have a few more thoughts and I want to post this before I mess with it or rethink it or lose it entirely. I had the luxury of spending my weekend with my wonderful female cousins and some friends I didn't know I had. We shared a house, laughs, tears, hugs, worries, terrifying secrets, stupid moments, good food, and copious amounts of alcohol. At some point my openness about my OCD came into play and one of my cousins poignantly asked what it was I feared would happen if I didn't do my rituals. She wondered, and logically so, of I thought I would die by letting the drain touch my foot.(letting it, that's a whole other topic I hope I remember to come back to) I'm sick now. Not like I just realized I was sick but sick as in I want to throw up. The skin that I'm not even sure is mine begins to crawl. I can't contemplate the question. There is no answer. There is no beginning. It just can't be. I have since been listening to the things my mind has to say. Mostly it is repetitive. Mostly drivel. But since it belongs to me, I don't have a choice. I'm listening hoping that somewhere in the madness, there would be an answer. A sound, solid answer I can hang my hat on.
The aggravation of compulsion:
You can't answer it. You can't look at logic and expect it to hand you an explanation. It doesn't want to look at you because it doesn't find you familiar. So here you are, desperate, and those who are the ones that usually see through your hide are still looking at what you want them to see. I just noticed that I changed from a personal point of view to third person. You want them to know that you are clinging to logic as if it might actually be the very very last straw but there is no good way to convey the message. Even the ones that know, all of us that know, we want to not be there. We are so terrified to end up there again ourselves that no matter how much we recognize it, we are reluctant to respond.
The final result is that we/I/You see this, emote, perhaps tentatively reach out, but still fill up the flotation device and flood the moat because we are so adamantly opposed to going back there. This leads me to my next post, maybe. Depression.

OCD

When I try to think back to when it all started, I come up with the answer that I have pretty much always had OCD. I can remember hating public bathrooms from the start of my memories. Back in the late 70's they started using this really awful smelling bubble gum scented air freshner and I couldn't even walk in the door if I smelled it. I learned to hold my pee for hours and hours. That still holds true for me today. I have to be pretty desperate to use a public bathroom. And when I do, I have this entire ritual for covering the toilet seat before I hover and I try not to actually touch anything with my hands. I have to pull out a small amount of towel before washing my hands and then once I have dried my hands I have to fold the towel in a certain way so that the part that has touched the faucets (turn them off after washing because too many others don't  use soap) will touch my hands and then I use the towel to open the door. My skin will actually crawl if I see someone else touch the door with their bare hands. I also can't deal with touching anything like a hand rail or bannister in public. I know that there is not a person on staff anywhere whose job it is to clean these things. Ever. Generations of germs and sticky fingers and muck has built up on these things and apparently I'm the only one who can sense it. Some days I can't settle down and watch TV or hang out until I have sanitized all our door knobs and light switches.
     I know I have touched on this subject once before but this topic needs expansion. The tub/shower drain. It truly terrifies me. If I spend too much time thinking about it I can start to twitch. It makes me want to cry even. Just a little, but still. Think about it. All the dirty water and hair and dead skin cells end up there. A really good reason for me to keep my hair short. More likely it will just go down the drain and not collect there where I can see it. I can't even get near the drain. I had my shower custom built when I remodeled with the drain at the regular end but the shower head all the way at the other end so I could finally enjoy standing directly under the shower head. Until that time, I had to get into some pretty strange poses to rinse myself and my hair because I just can't get within 3 feet of the damned drain. I can't even handle seeing Matt touch the drain when he is showering. It really makes me want to pass out just to get away from the sight. Poor Matt, we don't even share a bathroom because I need everything in there to be just so. I could never use my shower again if I thought he touched the drain and then walked on the rest of the shower floor. I also use shower shoes (flip flops) when I don't have access to my own shower. It doesn't matter whose house I'm in or how nice of a hotel. Even our second bathroom. It just isn't right. Then there are shower curtains. Who the hell thought they were a good idea?! No matter what, they always find a way to touch you while you are trying to be clean. No breeze, no air flow and yet they seem to blow into the shower area. They cling like a wet polyester suit. Forget taking a bath. Why would I want to sit in a pool of my own dirty water with the drain constantly spewing forth bits of filth? It's like human dirt soup. (I do admit that I try occaisonally to take one but it requires a really large tub and lot and lots of colored bubble bath so I don't actually see anything) This issue crosses over to public pools. I simply can't handle getting in one. I don't want my feet to touch the bottom. My mind begins racing over every possible thing that has been in the pool water. Random hair is probably the worst because at least urine is sterile (or so they say). Don't even ask me about hot tubs.
     The other part of the bathroom that is essential is my toilet. I accidentally got a lowered one when I was remodeling and it has turned out to be the best thing ever. I now can't poop unless my feet touch the ground. My last blog talked about cruise ship toilet seats and how they are weirdly shaped and seem to be at least 2 feet higher than even regular toilets are. My toes didn't even skim the floor. This led to a really funny moment on our last cruise. I was complaining about the toilet and how hard it was to get a good bowel movement when Matt mentioned that he had to use the second bathroom in our stateroom because I was napping. Apparently it was much smaller than the one in our bathroom and Matt mentioned that he had to sit sideways in order to fit on it as there wasn't any room for his knees. I began laughing and crying at the same time just imagining having to do that. It was horrifying to me. Just the thought that not only would my feet not be able to touch the ground but I would also not even be perfectly straight and balanced on the seat. I've never actually had that emotion before (I have laughed til I cried and I have started laughing after a good cry but never overwhelmed to the point that it all came out at once). I hope I never encounter that moment in my life and I also hope I never have to use one of those toilets that are set into the floor. Without a courtesy rope to hold I would end up making a mess and and and oh god, I just can't go there!
     Another issue I have is children with snotty noses. I am thankful that my family doesn't get offended and loves me just the same when I hand them back one of their children with a look of disgust on my face. I can't even handle wiping it. I just need to get as far from the snot as I can. I feel really bad about this one and I would change it if  I could.
     Words. They get stuck in my head. I feel this pull from inside my belly to repeat them over and over and over again in my head. I try not to say them out loud mostly. They don't often come out. Once in a while though I find myself inventing reasons to say them or to make Matt say them. Recently, and I hate to resurrect this one since I know I will wake up repeating it to myself at least five times tonight, I had to keep repeating the name of a boat from TV..The Addy Gil (Whale Wars I think) and most especially the name of the captain, Pete Buthune. Actually just his last name, the first name doesn't stick. Annoyingly I also have a repetative DJ in my head. I have had an issue for about a year with a Wyclef song. I couldn't tell you the name..I know I liked it at one point...all I know is that I wake up 3 or 4 times a night signing just one line from it. Yes, just one and I will have woken up because I will realize that I have already sung it over and over for about 10 minutes in my sleep and I'm annoyed. I get up, I walk around, I pee, I get water, I let a dog or two out, I get back in bed, I sing a new song over and over and over while conscious to try and chase it away..then I wake up a few hours later singing the same damned Wyclef song. Just the one line. If I ever get totally in touch with myself, I'm going to beat up this cheap ass DJ. Oh, and words. There are so many. They like to hang out in my brain and bounce around. I've always been partial to quats, either lo- or kum-. Big words of most kinds. I like the amount of space they take up when you say them. Spacious,
     I do not want my food to touch. It just shouldn't. It's just wrong. I find separated food to be like a microcosm. It needs its own space to devlop. To grow. One flavor does not necessisarily need to match another, they just need to be kept to their own area. Savored in their own way. Appreciated. It just isn't right to force them on one another.

Months have passed by since I wrote that last section and I am choosing not to read it. I just have a few more thoughts and I want to post this before I mess with it or rethink it or lose it entirely. I had the luxury of spending my weekend with my wonderful female cousins and some friends I didn't know I had. We shared a house, laughs, tears, hugs, worries, terrifying secrects, stupid moments, good food, and copious amounts of alcohol. At some point my openess about my OCD came into play and one of my cousins poignantly asked what it was I feared would happen if I didn't do my rituals. I'm sick now. The skin that I'm not even sure is mine begins to crawl. There is no answer. There is no begining. It just can't be.

I just realized that this post could go on and on but it has led to other thoughts and instead of holding on to this one I need to start others.