I should be writing about my relationship with my father….

So I tried writing about race and realized that I have already said everything before.  I mean, I have things to say, I just need to figure out what the hell they are.

What I really need write about though is the crap with my dad.  Because I promised my therapist I would.

Recently my dad was interviewed by my hometown paper.  Talking about the impact of MST (Military Sexual Trauma) on him, on his life, and his dealings with the VA.  It is a great, it is powerful to talk about something that doesn’t make the news, but that impacts so many.  It is so good that it is getting out there.

There is something missing though.  There nothing, not one fucking word, about how he fucked up my life, my brother’s life, my mom’s life.  It is nothing but a goddamn ego stroke to him. Nothing about how his PTSD left me with anxiety, unable to handle confrontation without cowering.   Nothing about how as a child I tiptoed around my own house at night for fear of him waking up and yelling, screaming, calling names, belittling me.  Nothing about how he would try to make it better with shallow gestures that I thought were meaningful until the next time.

He posted it on facebook and was met with oo’s and ahh’s about how brave he is, and it took everything, all of my self control, to not tell his adoring fans to fuck off.

I spent a long time trying to convince myself that everyone had a crappy childhood.  That we were all just lying to each other about how good things were, how it really sucked.

Now that I’m older, I’m done lying about it.   I just want it acknowledged.  As publicly as he is willing to talk about his MST & PTSD.  I want a “I have PTSD, my CO raped me, and I fucked up my kids because of it”. That seems fair.

It isn’t going to cure my anxiety.  It isn’t going to make my fear of confrontation go away.  It is going to make the panic attacks stop.  It isn’t going to magically make me happy.  But it matters to me.  Maybe if his talking about his experience can help other vets, then maybe his being honest about being an asshole can help some other kid who had a dad who blew up at nothing, who verbally abused them.

I know I’m all over the map about it, but I have to get it out.  Because I can’t tell him to piss off, that he should be talking about what he did.

I’m trying to have compassion.  But still balance my need to figure out my own mental health, with the fact that I am realistic about how he’s going to likely be the first grandparent to go.  How it matters to me that my kids know him, this new him, the one I didn’t get.

All I wanted him to say was yes, he was hurt, and because he was hurt, he hurt other people to.  Because it being all about him still is just too much like tiptoeing around as kid.

Posted in but it needs to be said., Crazy, Family | 1 Comment

Me. Because.

Because sometimes you need a distractions from the constant stream of bad news (more again today).  Because it is fun, and right now, fun is the order of the day.

Who was your favorite celebrity as a child?
Boy George, at least when I was really young.  It took me awhile to figure out that she was a he.  Though I realize now it was fitting.  Me liking someone who was being themselves in the face who knows what.  I am a bit embarrassed to say what I actually thought lyrics to Karma Chameleon actually were.  It only took me like 25 years to figure that out.
What type of pets do you have?
A dog, Tess.  The world’s most expensive adorable lap warmer.  I used to have cats, then I married a man who is crazy allergic to them.  So now I stalk people’s cats on Instagram.
What is most memorable about your high school years?
Learning how to say fuck it to my home town.  Realizing I wasn’t going to let that place and what happened to me there define me.  I realized later on that I should have tried to stay friends and keep in touch with the people who saw through my bullshit and were my friends anyway.  However, I am not sure I could have ever made it if I had stayed there.
What word describes you best?
Weird.
What is your greatest accomplishment?
I don’t think it has happened yet.
What drives you every day?
Starbucks.
What is your favorite food?
Sushi.
Where do you want to retire?
I don’t really want to retire.  The thought of doing “nothing” all day scares the crap out of me. 
What is your business goal this year?
Learning how to write a semi complicated SQL query on my own.
Who do you admire?
Julia Child.
If you were invisible, where would you go?
I would spy on my daughter at school.  She’s a tough nut to crack, and I would love to see what drives her when she’s not around us.
What is the kindest thing anyone has done for you?
Being my friend.
What would you do with a million dollars?
Pay off my debts and travel.
Why were you given your name?
My parents were stoned, I have it on pretty good authority.  They wanted to name me Kali, but thought THAT was weird, and named me instead something similar, green, leafy, and very popular right now.  This is not how I expected to find my name on things.  It is also a color of car (KIA Soul).
What do you know how to say in a foreign language?
I can count and say please & thank you in most of the European languages.  I can say a bit more in Spanish.  I used to be able to swear in Italian.
What is your all time favorite joke?
I warn, its a dirty joke.I don’t know why, but it makes me giggle every time I tell it. I am a 12 year old boy.
What is the difference between the Rolling Stones and a Scotsman?
The Rolling Stones say “Hey you, get off of my cloud” and a Scotsman says “He McCloud get off of my ewe?”.
Posted in All About Me | 1 Comment

The Missing Piece

Its weird you know, to realize the space that someone took up in your life, and then realize the gap that is there.

I don’t make friends easily.  Never have known why.  I guess I’m weird? Whatever the reason, I treasure the friends that I have.  Especially the ones that stick with me when I’m a flake and antisocial and just busy.

It seems weird, but how do I fill this space? Space filled by someone you talked to nearly every week day for a year and a half? Someone you could go to, when things were crappy? Someone you could go to when excited?

Kind, generous souls don’t just fucking grow on trees.  Especially not in IT where there are egos, and EGOS and more than a few people who lack basic social skills.

I thought today would be easier.  It wasn’t.  I thought working from home would be better, than I could just work from home, and forget that hole in the office.  I don’t think its going to work.  I may be the most social introvert ever, but I think I need the office. I need something, to fill the space.

 

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Life is Too Fucking Short

Just so you know, I’m going to swear.  A lot.  Because it seems like the thing to do.

After a few days of working from home last week, I came back in to the office to find out my gay work husband was in the hospital.  He didn’t feel well, went to the ER and was diagnosed with high blood pressure and with having diabetes.  By the end of the week, as far as we knew, he was at home, and on the mend.  A little insulin and he’d be fine, his kidneys were recovering from the drama and a wee little insulin pill was all he needed, and he had to quit smoking, cut out sugar (not that he was nuts with either).  I kept my distance, after all he was a work friend, so I gave him privacy.  I muddled through my weekend, hassles with the kids, making H give up her Nuk, M lying about trivial shit and getting in trouble, not knowing he’d died Thursday.

As I sat at my desk this morning cursing DST, a minute before nine, the email came.

He died last Thursday night.  Hours after sending an email to his team from home.

FUCKITYFUCKFUCKFUCK.  I didn’t even try to not cry, to not grieve.  I just let it go.  Fuck the small metal cubes that meant that everyone could hear it, fuck them all.

I’m only 36, and fuck all if I was unprepared to lose a peer.  Someone just a few years older than me.

I can sit here now, trying to find my Zen.  I have tried, and mostly succeeded to remember that death happens.  I have made it through the death of three grandparents and two uncles by knowing that it happens.  When it is time, there is nothing to be done but accept.  Anger and despair do not bring people back.  Go through your Kubler-Ross steps and move on.

I just wasn’t ready for this one, so it seems that much more acute.  Even my uncle’s suicide, while not expected, was not a shock either.  People who are 40 shouldn’t just up and fucking die.  Happy, cheerful, people who brighten your life.

I think I’m at the anger/denial stage.  I just want to kick a puppy or something for being so fucking cute.

I’m trying, so hard, to channel all of my rage and disbelief into something good, even though it hurts and I’m filled with so much self-doubt.

I’m pre-diabetic. That could be me if I’m not careful.  That could be my husband, who turns 40 in a little over a month.

FUCK!

I make excuses, I put it off, I eat the cookie, I say when I get through my ADHD evals, when it warms up, when.. when… when… I have a gym membership I used for a whole month, then I stopped going.  I have healthy food to eat at home then still eat out.

Shit has to stop, and now.  No more half assed.  No more bullshit. I have to figure out what it takes for me to get through.  No more fucking excuses.  No more tomorrow.

Of course it’s not that fucking simple.  I sleep less because toddler doesn’t sleep, I am not as productive at work, I feel the need to work extra, no time to go exercise, I sleep worse because I’m not working out.  Vicious fucking cycle.

I don’t want to die though.  I want to be healthy.  I want my husband to be healthy.  I want to annoy the fuck out of my kids for a long time and see all of the crappy, not fun, totally shitty sides of being parent pay off with a toddler who quits crapping her pants and a big girl who realizing it is worse to lie about how her impulses can’t be controlled and she colors lips on her stuffies with pink marker than it was to actually color lips on her stuffies. And you know, all of the other stuff after that.

So, I’m trying, I am remembering when I get to making excuses that my good friend died from what, to the best of my knowledge about what happened, was something preventable, or treatable, depending on how you look at it.  I need to get over my shit and just do it.

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