Forks in the Flowerbed

I walked outside yesterday to yell at my children for something. Don't worry - I am sure that they deserved it and they didn't even listen to me so I doubt that it will cause considerable damage to their little souls. When I turned to go back into the house, I looked down and saw a fork laying in the flowerbed. A fork. In the flowerbed. Of course my first thought was "how the heck did that get there?". Then I remembered. Oh yeah ! I have children ! Therefore, it is not unusual to find the kitchen utensils in the flowerbeds or the bowls under their actual beds or plates in the clothes dryer.


I have simply stopped asking the question "how did that get there?", because the answer according to the children is always either "I don't know" or "it wasn't me". I have come to the conclusion that the answer to all questions asked by me or to me from now on will be, "because I have children". Why didn't you get any sleep last night? Because I have children. Why is there an empty package of gum in your purse? Because I have children. Why does your car smell like you let monkeys with gastrointestinal problems lose in there? Because I have children. Why is there a fork in the flowerbed. Because I have children. Why do you write this blog to vent out your frustations instead of drinking wine directly from the box? Because I have children.


Just wait though - as soon as those little darlings are out of the house - this chick is buying stock in some boxed wine !

Nobody Recovers from Life

I have been completely off of meds (Paxil, Ambien, blood pressure meds, hormones, and several vitamins) for a little over 26 months now. I did try to take fish oil and B6, but found that both of them caused my anxiety to go through the roof, so I stopped them. I do not take any meds, supplements, or vitamins now. I will only take an Advil for a headache if a warm bath and some meditation doesn't work first.

I will never use the word "recovered" when it comes to my Paxil use. Paxil and the combination of other meds that I was on caused such a drastic change in my personality that the whole experience will be a part of my life forever. It will be that way in some ways for all of us. We can't change the past. However, we can change our attitude about the past and work on the things that we feel are problems for us. Sure I have bad waves. Sure I have bad days. Sure I have anxiety in the morning. It might be Paxil related, but then again, it might not. A lot of it is strictly situational and when the situation doesn't change or can't change then you just have to change the way that you view the situation.

All of our situations are so different; the time that we spent on meds, what meds were originally prescribed for, the stressors in our lives, the amount of exercise we do, the foods we eat, etc., etc. Comparing my situation to somebody else's will just get me nowhere. I am on my own path and nobody else can walk it for me. I did a pretty slow wean (faster than some, slower than some) and it worked out pretty well for me.

I don't know that I consider myself "recovered" or ever will. Does anybody ever "recover" from life? However, I can say that the majority of the withdrawal symptoms have gone away and that I am seriously working on the thought processes that cause me anxiety or depression. That is why I post (on the forum) the "weekly challenge". It is things that I see that I need to work on to make my life and the lives of my family members better. I could sit arond all day long dwelling on the horrible things that happened to me, but I don't. It wouldn't serve any purpose at all. I know, because I used to do just that. I discovered that the more I sit around and dwell on the bad stuff, the worse I feel. It's like digging a hole of depression - the more I dig, the bigger the hole gets and the harder it is to claw my way back out of it. It is a mind set. You have to change the way you think or nothing else will change. If you believe that you are permanently damaged by the meds and that things will never get better then for you that might just be the case. You have to believe that you will get better. I believe that every single day is a gift in this world and for the sake of myself and my family - I refuse to dig the depression hole. Sometimes I find myself picking up the shovel and starting to dig, but then quickly stop myself and move on with the day. If I believed that I was destined to be depressed, then I would be.

I do not believe for a second that any of us are permanently damaged by these meds. I believe that the road to getting better is long and it is hard. I believe that if we have a negative attitude, then we are going to feel worse and I believe that we have to seriously work on the mental health issues that made us turn to meds in the first place. I believe that every life has a purpose and that my life might have been changed by meds forever, but I choose every single day whether or not it was changed for the better or the worse.

The Adventures of Wasp Woman

The kids were already at the park last night when I got home from work, so Derek and I decided that we would go walking at the park too (served the purpose of getting some exercise, spending time talking to each other, and checking up on what our kids were really doing at the park). I changed out of my work clothes into sweats and a t-shirt and we got in the van. I know. I know. It's hard to believe that somebody as hip and cool as I am could possibly be driving a mini-van. Alas - it is true ! I am the owner of a mini-van. But don't worry - it is completely tricked out with the cheapest possible interior, bits of Cheetos on every seat, and some smell that we haven't identified yet.

About a block away from our house, I start hearing buzzing. Loud buzzing. That dude from the chainsaw movie chasing me with a chainsaw buzzing. Whatever it was was in my hair. I have a ton of hair so I am sure that it was lost and couldn't find it's way back out. Poor wittle fella. He picked a bad day to forget his compass and map. So naturally, when unknown critters are stuck in your hair - you reach your hand up there to grab it. Not a smart move. It was a move right up there with the chick in the horror movie going back to save her cat. Not a smart move.

Long story short (I know - too late) - I got stung by the biggest wasp ever ! He was so big that other bugs were riding on little saddles on his back. He was big and he was angry ! I leaned my head down and he flew over on Derek who promptly screamed "don't throw it on me". Ah my hero !!! Was it wrong of me to hope that the wasp stung him right on the top of his big, bald head? I didn't think so. So Derek rolled down the van window and the little bastard flew out (the wasp, not Derek).

My hand is now partially numb yet hurts like hell and I have this bizarre fear that I am going to end up like poor Peter Parker. Never fear - Wasp Woman is here !!!

It's Not Vegas .... Not Even Close

For four years in a row, the hubby and I went to Vegas for vacation - one time we even took the kids. Luckily, I was doped out of my mind then and don't really remember whether or not it was a horrible experience. Actually, I was doped out of my mind for all of our Vegas trips so we could have been mugged by giant sub sandwich eating gorillas and I wouldn't have even known it. The point that I am trying to make here is that we really did have a good time on those trips to Vegas (or I think that we did), but because of my Paxil, Ambien, and alcohol withdrawal (plus some other horrific issues) - we haven't been to Vegas in three years now. We really really really want to go back but really really really can't afford it right now. So Derek has decided that we will just go to one of the local casinos on Saturday and that will be "good enough". Well let me tell you ... it is not the same.

First of all - one of the things that I absolutely love about Vegas is that if you want nachos at 3 a.m. then there is some place that has an all night nacho bar and you can get your fill of cheesy chips. I also love that nobody and I mean NOBODY looks at you strangely if you are walking down the street at midnight in your pajamas with a four foot tall drink strapped to your neck. I also love that you can gamble, drink, party, drink, vomit, drink, and drink twenty four hours a day. I really don't drink much now that I am pretty much a recovering alcoholic (another lovely Paxil side effect), but just the thought that I could do it all damn day long is very appealing to me. Plus drunk people are funny. Drunk people playing slot machines are even funnier. Drunk Elvis playing slot machines is even funnier than that.

The local casinos do NOT offer the all night nacho bar. They do NOT have drinks so large that they give you another person to help you carry it. They do NOT let you walk around in your pajamas (tough lesson learned there). They are just not the same. Sure they have the same games and you can lose your money just as fast, but the whole experience is different. Derek thinks that we are going to go on Saturday but I told him "honey - it would just be quicker if we walked up to the door, opened it and threw two hundred bucks in, asked the security guard to kick you in the nuts and then we just leave. It would make us feel about the same in the end. Well I would be laughing about you getting kicked in the nuts, but after that it would be the same feeling."

The Alarm Clock

Every morning the alarm clock goes off at 6:30 am and I hit the snooze button so that I can lay there for another ten minutes. I don't fall back to sleep. I never do. Mornings are the worst for me anxiety and depression wise and I will spend that entire ten minutes laying there thinking about all of the horrible things I did and said to people when I was crazy. All of the bad financial decisions after the Paxil made me manic. All of the times that I quit jobs and flew into uncontrollable rages. For the whole ten minutes, it's a daily slug fest with myself.

Well today, I have decided that torturing myself like that every single morning doesn't do a thing except upset me. SO NO MORE !!! Tomorrow morning I am not even going to hit the snooze button. I am going to get out of bed and do something constructive with that extra ten minutes. Laying in bed and dwelling on the past does not change it. I need to concentrate on the here and now and how far I have come. I need to stop trying to live the life that I think that I should have had and live the one that I do have.

You Can't Pet a Fish

It's been about two and half years since we found homes for the dogs and said good-bye to all of our pets. It was a tough decision for me but at the time I was going through Paxil tapering and withdrawal and some other really rough stuff. I had to make my life more simple and not having the dogs actually took away quite a bit of stress from our situation. Derek has never been an animal-lover. He had a cat when we first got married but he confessed to me that he only wanted a kitten because his big brother got one and that he really didn't have much to do with Sylvester. The poor thing was an outside Tom cat so he pretty much looked like he had been run through a blender a few times - plus he drooled when you petted him. As cute, little, fuzzy pets go - he wasn't one of them.

When Derek and I got married, I had a chihuahua named Pedro. He slept with me in my bed and he curled up next to me on the couch when I was watching tv. I toted that tiny little thing around anywhere. Oh yeah - when Derek got me he got the Pedro bonus. My little doggie friend was very protective of me and would growl every time that Derek came near me. Derek was nice enough to let Pedro continue to sleep with us even after the nipper nipped him on the butt cheek while we were being "romantic". I had to laugh. Derek did not.

After I started taking meds, I pretty much became a weird sort of revolving door animal hoarder. I would get a dog that I thought that I really, really, really wanted after spending hours researching the breed on the Internet, talking to breeders, looking at puppies, buying doggie books, etc. - only to decide after about a year that I really didn't like that dog as much as I thought I would and would sell him or her to somebody else. Then a few months would go by and I would do the exact same thing all over again. Oh yeah - I was bat shit crazy ! In the 18 years that my husband and I have been together (and keep in mind that almost three of those years have been pet free), we have had a chihuahua, a doberman, a dalmation, a basset hound (for a few days), a blue heeler, a shih tzu, a welsh corgi, a rat terrier, a miniature schnauzer, another miniature schnauzer, a black dachshund, a red dachshund, another black dachshund, and a blue dachshund. Geez - I haven't even counted that up. If I counted right - that is 14 dogs ! 14 dogs in basically 15 years time. That is insane !! Even more insane was the fact that Derek is NOT an animal lover (did I mention that) and that I basically just let the animals have the run of the place. I expected my small children to take care of the animals and I did very little. That's another lovely side effect of antidepressants - you are an uncaring lump. So during my manic times - another dog was ALWAYS a great idea but taking care of it well - was just too much for my fat ace to do.

In between all of the dogs - I also fed several stray cats who promptly gave some of my kids ringworm and scratched the hell out of them on a daily basis. That's one of the benefits of being insane - you really can't see that feeding every feral animal in the neighborhood might not be the best idea ever. Heck - at one time I even did research about getting a pet skunk. Oh I wish that I was kidding.

So while we had mange covered cats running through the yard, scratching the kids, and crapping in the flower beds; unwanted dogs in the back yard not being played with or given much attention; we also had cages and cages of various vermin in the house. Oh yes !! The kids rooms always had at least two cages of assorted hamsters, mice, guinea pigs, gerbils, etc. at all times - FOR YEARS !! The house stunk to high heaven - a lovely combination of vermin urine (hey that rhymes) and cedar chips. I wouldn't recommend that Bath and Body Works make a candle with that scent - it would NOT be a best seller. But that is another lovely side effect of antidepressants - your house could smell like urine and cedar chips and could basically be falling down around you and you just don't give a shit !

When we had mice they would fight in their little cage every single night. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT ! This wasn't just a little bit of squeaking either. Oh hell no ! This was as if the UFC was holding a free for all in the boy's room. I could almost hear the announcer "and in this corner weighing in at about 3 ounces, wearing the red trunks, and looking really cute is Buster". The college kid working at the pet store assured me that seven male mice in one cage would be just fine. Of course they won't fight ! Um ... well ... he was wrong. They brought guns, and shivs, and baseball bats to the nightly fight. They ripped each others ears off. They chewed eash others legs off. It was awful. Not to mention the nightly screaming. Not cute little mouse squeaking. Oh shit somebody is chewing my ear off SCREAMING ! But of course, me in my doped up stupor thought that it was funny and refused to get rid of the mice. Yes - Derek is a saint !

I won't even go into the Russian Black hamster momma who ate her own babies story. The poor daddy hamster would even try to save them from her. It was too traumatic even to write about. Poor little hamster babies. Sick hamster bitch.

So the moral of the story is that basically I am so glad to not be so bat shit crazy now that I would purposely go against my husbands wishes to hoard animals that I didn't even want to take care of. Somebody from work offered to give me a chihuahua today. I thought about it for about two seconds and then decided NAH - maybe I will get a fish. Or maybe not.

Best Laid Plans

We have all heard the line from the famous Robert Burns poem about men and mices making little plans and how just when you plan on doing something then it all turns to shit and you end up sitting in your kitchen floor covered in rice krispie treat goo and drinking wine straight from the box. Well that probably wasn't EXACTLY what Mr. Burns was referring to, he probably had a cask of wine with wood splinters in it, but you all know what I mean.

Well last night, I made plans. Oh glorious plans ! Plans that any mother would dream of making. Plans that were going to cure cancer and end war ! Plans that were going to make liberals and conservatives hold hands together around a Christmas tree and give the world a Coke. Well you know what they say (thanks to Mr. Burns). The best laid plans of mice and men often go to shit !!! I am paraphasing here, of course.

On the drive home last night, I dreamed of how I was going to take a nice long bubble bath (after threatening the children to leave me alone of be forced to eat cold oatmeal with worms for dinner). They would of course cry "No mother dearest - not again!" and go to hide under their beds. Then when I got out of the tub, I would watch my shows on CBS (Christine and Gary) while painting my fingernails and then snuggle in to watch Glee while eating my dinner (aka a whole bag of microwave popcorn covered in Kernel Seasons Ranch topping !!!) Seriously though - if you are a popcorn eater be sure to go to www.kernelseasons.com and order you some - be sure to tell them that that blogger chick who writes about the dumbest crap sent you and you will get a free Kernel tattoo (ok - they give you those for free anyway but there for a second I felt really important).

Anyway - back to my plans going to shit. As soon as I pulled into the driveway at home (after going to get my lottery tickets and picking up my son, Bryce, from his friend's house) Rachel and Emily come running out to the car really freaked out and screaming about Riley fainting and falling on his face. This was not good. He did this once before during the summer and the doctor at the ER just chalked it up to heat exhaustion and sent him home. Well it is fall in Oklahoma - it can't be the heat this time. So I go running up the stairs after them and he is sitting up in bed with a blood soaked washcloth under his nose. He is pretty much out of it and can't really tell me what happened. I call the fire station and talk to Derek, who tells me to take him to the ER (duh - was planning on doing that anyway just wanted him to know what was going on). We load him in the car and me and the boys head to the hospital.

They run test after test on him and everything comes back normal. EKG - Normal. Cat Scan - Normal. Blood Work - Normal. Blood Pressure checks - Normal. He had a pretty major freak out over the IV, which was tough for me to watch even though he is fourteen years old. It doesn't matter how old he gets, he will always be my baby boy. They basically tell us that they can't figure it out and that we will have to make an appointment with his regular doctor who can order an EEG to test for seizures. Scary stuff ! I quickly forgot about my plans for the evening and decided that a bubble bath could wait and that I could just watch Glee online some other time. So for now - we are in limbo - don't know why he passed out and his face looks like he has been in a bar fight (and lost). Luckily (yeah right - real lucky) he must have hit the ground somewhat centered because the break in his nose did not cause it to bend to one side or the other. They don't even tape them in the hospital now - they just wait until the swelling goes down and then evaluate what to do next. His face is so swollen that he can't chew, he can't smile, and he is having trouble breathing out of his nose.

So for now - we are taking it easy for a few days - and not making any plans ! :)