Turn back the clock. I need some time. I need to break out.

I wish I had something funny or insightful to blog about today. Instead I have nothing. I recently received the Lupron shot (for those of you who don't know - it kick starts my body into menopause although I'm only 23). Just like last time, I feel like I'm losing my mind AND my body. It's as though my very existence has turned against me. I'm like a small child with ADD, except I don't skip from happy thought to happy thought. I skip from "Should I slit my wrists and get it over with?" to "Maybe if I slam my head into this here wall really hard, I will be unconscious long enough to just not give a fuck." Of course, I will do neither of these things but my brain is constantly in survival mode. It's trying to find a way out where there isn't one. 
The first thing on my to do list for my day was head to the liquor store where I spent over $40 on booze. This is a bad sign in and of itself. I rarely drink anymore and when I do, it's almost never in excess. Yet today I woke with the sole purpose of getting shitfaced and have been drinking since before noon. I know it isn't healthy. I also know that if I don't find some way to calm my thought processes that it will end very badly. 
The last time I had this shot was in 2010 and the first six weeks were nothing short of mental and physical torture. I vowed I would never do something like that to my body, ever again. And here I am, two years later, in the same predicament because, as usual, it's my last and only option for the endometriosis. 
In short - I'm tired, I'm weary, I'm in pain, and I'm crazy. For those of you that know me personally, please give me some space to be crazy for a few weeks. I will most certainly need it. 


xo
Kellye

On Family

  A thought occurred to me today and it's been eating at the insides of my already headache-y brain.
  I mourn the death of my grandfather (previously mentioned) in some way, shape, or form every day & he died when I was a small child. My grandmother on my father's side was a major influence on my upbringing. I didn't get along with my mother and I didn't talk to my father enough for him to attempt to reach out to me (not that he would have then anyway). My grandma was always the one to smack some sense in to me (not literally) and to sit me down and really talk about what was going on in my life and what I was doing to affect that. I remember when I came out of the closet to her, she was just pleased that I found someone to make me happy regardless of gender. Back to my point. 
  She passed on in June of 2010 (I was obviously much older) and I don't mourn her in the way that I mourned my Pap. Don't get me wrong; I was devastated when she died and I immediately went on a prolific drug and alcohol binge and all of my common sense went out the window. I've since recovered but it still bothers me that I don't tear up whenever I think of her, or that I don't think of her every day. Of course, that's not to say that I don't feel her hovering occasionally and her voice whispering in my ear when I'm doing/about to do something really stupid.
  She was a beautiful, kind woman to her core and beyond. I've never to this day met anyone who would not judge anyone at all before meeting them and even then (if they were less than stellar human beings), she somehow understood that they were hurting in some way and did not judge them for things that were beyond their control. That's not to say she let everything slide. She had her opinions and boy was that one fiery woman. If you wronged a member of our family she would take up arms to defend them. I do miss her. I miss her sage advice, her wisdom, her kind words to me when no one else had any. Maybe because the events surrounding Pap's death were so traumatic it caused it to stick with me. Gram was a positive person up until the day she died. I remember when she woke up on the ventilator and she was PISSED and we were all trying to calm her down. We locked eyes, I told her I loved her and everything would be okay, and she calmed down. I didn't let go of her hand. Maybe it's the closure I had with Grandma that I didn't have with Pap that helped me to move on in a more healthy way. I don't believe in guardian angels or god, but if I did, I know she'd be at the top of god's list. 
The world is truly missing out on a beautiful woman.


xo
Kellye 

Job/Health Update

Whoa, buddy. 
Today's post is going to be a short one. Just a quick update to let you all know that everything went well with the job. I'm officially hired and I completed my training class today. I work the rest of the week from 8am - 5pm. It's not so bad really, but considering I've been out of work for so long I feel like I'm jumping into it way too fast. Oh well. This is the break I've been waiting for. I don't care how many hours they schedule me for or how crappy I feel. I'll be there come hell or high water. 
The funny thing about all of this is that after I came home from my class I had to go immediately to Patient First. I'm not going to give my whole history with Endometriosis but lets just say that the first official visit from "Aunt Flo" after being on the Depo shot for three months is like being kicked in the stomach with a steel toed boot covered in barbed wire. By the time I got there, I had a fever of 101.4, my heart rate was through the roof, and my blood pressure was much higher than normal. Luckily they prescribed me some pain medication (since my actual doctor is an asshole) so I should be able to get through the next couple of days until I can get my Lupron shot. 
I really wish I could have one solid good day. The day will start off going great and somewhere in the middle it all goes to shit. And most days my day doesn't start off well at all. I guess I should be grateful that I have at least a half of a good day, instead of every day being bad. I'm certainly grateful for the hope I now have that was missing before. 


xo

Help, I'm Alive

Seems I have a bit of good news. I got a call back and went for an interview at that job I was telling you about and I'm hired pending the background check, which I know will turn out fine. I should hear back in the middle of next week and start the Tuesday following that. I'm excited to start. 
On the other hand, I feel like absolute shit today. My head hurts and my stomach is killing me. I get my Lupron shot on May 1st so I should start feeling better in about six weeks. I'm tired of always waiting to feel better. Doctors are a pain in the ass. My insurance is changing in June so hopefully I can find a better one. One that actually gives a damn about the fact that it's awful trying to function on a day-to-day basis. I can't have sex, I can't eat, and if I drink I have to go to sleep immediately afterword or I become ill. I have continual cramps that feel like I'm being stabbed ALL THE TIME. Surgery is not an option in my case, so all I have left is the Lupron shot. The Lupron shot made me absolutely insane the first time around. It did help with the endometriosis but putting me through menopause boot camp via the shot was hideous. I was mean, I snapped at everyone, and I took Adam's head off every chance I got (which was undeserved and often, poor guy). Let me tell you, that man is a goddamned trooper. I'm so lucky to have him here by my side to support me. Anyone else would have taken off running but not him. He's my rock. But as the doctors always say.. "We'll see." "It should get better soon." It feels like my life is made up of "we'll see"s some days. 
Alright. Enough of my bitching and moaning. Mostly everyone has heard me bitch about it anyway. I still feel very lucky that I got that job, just disappointed I have to wait so long to start. I hate sitting here twiddling my thumbs, which is what I've been doing for months in between the temp work that trickled it's way through. Luckily for me I have some shopping to do to have my uniforms ready. I'm provided with the shirt but nothing else. I did decide to wait until they give me a call about the background check before I go running off to Target. They can change their minds at any time and I don't want to spend a bunch of money just to get turned down. Then again, if they turn me down at this point I'll probably have some sort of nervous breakdown (which is absolutely ridiculous). I have so much hope riding on this stupid job that I'll lose my shit if I lose this job. I seem to be in an incredibly negative mood today so I suppose I should stop while I'm ahead and not spread that negativity around. It's contagious. I'll write again soon, hopefully something happier. 


xo

And My Days Keep Rolling...

I am so tired. Physically, emotionally... just spent. 

I got a chain of rather good news today, though, which makes some of it worth the while. I FINALLY took the Jeep to emissions today (it's 8 months overdue..*ahem*). The scary thing about that is it actually PASSED. For anyone that knows me, they know why it passing makes my head spin. For those that don't... It leaks coolant, oil, the muffler fell off a few months back, it stalls when I'm going 60 mph and try to break (though my dad changed the spark plugs this morning and that part seems to be okay), it takes itself out of gear when and where it pleases, and if I don't run it for a few days the battery kills itself even though it's a new battery. The list of what is wrong with that vehicle goes on and on and on. But it passed. So I can at least drive it legally. Now as long as I get my plates renewed....*ahem* again. 

The second good thing is that I think I finally secured myself a job. A real job this time, not the crap from the temporary agencies that I've been thrown around in lately. It's not much of a job, certainly not a career, and I'm sure that it doesn't pay well. But right about now, that's all I need. I need a jumping off point and I'm crossing my fingers that this is it. I've been down for so long I'm not sure I know what it feels like to be "up" again. 

I've been trying and trying and trying and it feels like I'm going nowhere fast. I feel like a loser, and rightfully so. My mother always says she's proud of me... but for what, exactly? Still standing? Taking blow after blow and still getting out of bed? 

I need something solid to stand on, to stand for. Something that I can be proud of myself for. I never expected that I could fall so far down that a simple job paying minimum wage is something that I feel I can wake up and smile about. Keep in mind that I am well aware I have it much better than many, many people. I have parents who are willing to keep a roof over my head and feed me despite my run of bad luck. I have Adam, who supports me without question. He can look into my eyes and know exactly what I need. I have friends that know how I work and don't get offended when I don't answer calls or text because they know I'm going through a hard time. I have that chance to start over, to start back at square one. Most people don't get that chance. My only hope is that I don't screw it up this time. I have a vision in my head of what I want my life to be like. It's nothing extravagant or even out of reach. I just want a simple life. A small apartment, a car that runs, a dependable job that I can count on. All of these things are so alive in my head that I can almost taste it. Now I just have to reach down and find the strength to make it happen. For once in my life, I think I can do that. 

xo

The Letter..., Part Two

My mother and I discussed the contents of what I wrote yesterday in depth when I got home from the grave site. I cried on her, blamed her, told her it wasn't her fault, and went back to resenting her all over again. My emotional age was five and I was all over the place. I felt betrayed and hurt and I shouldn't have.
I'd like to state for the record that in this particular instance, I truly believe my mother had no idea what to do when she figured out what Nanny started. Who would? At the time, all of my tears and anguish were gone, *poof*, because I thought Pap was doing the impossible. I was happy. 
It's no secret that my mother and I have had a tumultuous relationship while I was growing up, and that's being kind about it. There was a time when we hated the hell out of each other, resented each other's presence. Luckily we've both matured since then and we have the bond we should have had when I was younger. 
In my eyes the fact that she told me the truth when I needed it most (despite what she knew the aftermath would be), showed me just how much she loved me. She didn't want all of it to start to begin with, but she was there to try and pick up the pieces when it was all over. Unfortunately, I never gave her that chance. In my child mind I put Nanny and my mother in a cage together and felt equally betrayed by both of them. If my memory serves me, I wouldn't talk to her about it at all unless I was yelling at her. She never deserved that. She still carries so much guilt from that incident alone that it makes me sad for her. She did the best she could. Just this morning I received an email from her reminding me how much she loves me, how sorry she is, and asking me if there is anything she could do. She shouldn't have to apologize anymore. I should. I put her through the ringer, so to speak, since my first breath. I was a challenge from the beginning and she deserves a break. 
So, Mom. I love you. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for YOU? 


xo

The Letter That Was Never Sent

It was a long time ago. Longer than bears even mentioning, really. Given the events of my day today I feel the need to get it off my chest regardless. I suppose I should start at the beginning. It's been 18 years since my grandfather died. I was five and he was my world. Being five years old, the grieving process was already difficult, if not impossible, to sort itself out in my small mind. Out of good intentions my grandmother (Pap's wife) decided to step in and take my grieving into her own hands. I started receiving letters and gifts left outside the front door from "Pap". It threw my world absolutely upside down. I wrote back, of course, and I always got a response. My mother didn't find out about it until it was too late to stop it. I was over the moon that he was writing to me, that he still loved me and thought about me. This went on for a couple of years. As I grew older, I knew in the back of my mind that something was not right. There was a reason I wouldn't excitedly tell my best friend that I was receiving contact from the one person who meant everything to me. I knew it was a fraud. I just hoped and believed that everything would turn out okay. That, somehow, it really was my Pap-Pap. I finally cornered my mother and demanded that she tell me the truth about the letters, the truth that I already knew. I still have a lot of respect for her that she had the guts to give her seven year old a straight, unflinching answer. Even as I heard the truth that I didn't want to hear, I told her she was wrong. That he was there. He was writing to me and that he did still love me. I told her that I was going to prove it by leaving a letter for him outside that night before I went to sleep and if it was gone in the morning, that would show her. It must have eaten her to pieces to not take that letter, knowing what would happen if she didn't. I probably respect her for her restraint more than anything else. It was something I needed to see for myself and she knew that. Needless to say, I woke up in the morning and ran outside and that letter was sitting right where I left it. Some part of me knew it would be there, but another part of me was actually praying my mother would keep up the charade. I didn't want to face it. When I saw that letter sitting there, my heart broke into more pieces than I could possibly put back together. It hurt more than his death itself. My belief system broke that day. I vowed that I would never again believe in something that I couldn't see, couldn't talk to - because it wasn't there. It's fair to say that incident played a large part in my view of religion today. I refuse to believe in anything, because to my knowledge, there is nothing there. If I can talk to God (and boy, would I like to have a chat with that guy), then I will believe he is there. My world has subsequently become black and white and I'm not entirely sure there's a way to fix that. 

I visited his grave today for the first time since he died. I'm not sure what I was expecting. I just knew it was something I was avoiding. Maybe visiting him would give me closure - tie it all up neatly with a bow and send it on its way out of my head. Boy was I wrong. When I saw my name on his grave stone, it hit me hard. "Kellye's Beloved Pap-Pap". I will be tied to that man forever no matter how far I try to run from it. It's always said that when someone you love deeply dies, a piece of you goes with them. When I saw my name there, I felt like the childhood I lost because of the subsequent events was inside his coffin, locked in there to rot forever. Something I can't get back. Now the small child that I've beaten down for all these years has come back to haunt me. I feel every bit of pain, loneliness, sorrow, abandonment... I feel everything. I shouldn't. It's been too long for this. As sad as it makes me, I've got to find a way to beat her back down. She died with him and I think at this point in my life it's best I leave her there, where she's happy. She was only ever happy with him, after all.