How strong is your knob?

It's been over a month since my boy passed and just about a month since my sweet Pepper passed away. Surprisingly I have been OK. I always imagined I would be out of service for months. But I have been hopeful. Sure, some days I fake it. But all in all, I have been OK.

Or at least I think.

The last week I have had a mad case of Bronchitis. It's been the first time in years that I was this sick. I mean, it was fine. I rested, I medicated, and I was babied by my husband and my Gracie.

Despite that, I have tried to be healthy and optimistic. I continued tracking my meals. And doing arm exercises at home. I even flat ironed my hair. Just because.

I have been very mechanical since the loss. It's weird, my productivity is through the roof. But I don't really celebrate it. Or acknowledge it. I get lost in it.

I've been keeping the apartment clean, filing away my mail, doing laundry regularly, balancing my checkbook, making appointments, even getting manicures again.

I mean, who is this person?

What I haven't been doing, though, is mourning. Somehow, I found a way to deal with my sadness like I have been dealing with my linen closet. I stuff the closet with clean towels and sheets, and then slam the door shut, as it's quite full. I get a proud level of satisfaction when I hear the door knob click, ensuring the closet won't pop open, overflowing with all my fresh linens I've shoved in there for dear luck. "Yes! For now, this closet is closed and secure! Woot!"

The problem is that I don't have an emotional door knob the ensures my emotions stay put. Whatever it is that is keeping them at bay, though, is working her ass off. I didn't think it was possible for anything about me to be this strong. But sure enough, I am trying desperately to compartmentalize all these emotions and  . . . well, I don't know. Live a day when I don't cry I guess? Where I don't remember how empty my home feels. Where I don't jump, startled and convinced I heard Bam or Pepper in the other room. When I don't miss waking up to our three fur babies and my beloved, all of us curled together on our full size bed (talk about compartmentalizing lol). when I don't remember how much I miss them so so very much.

It's all starting to come undone, though. I've been moved to tears over the oddest things. and not like a tear here or there. I mean floodgates. For instance, I am on a Law and Order SVU binge sesh. And every time I see Stabler hug one of his kids, I feel the tears start to rise in to my eyes. I mean, sure, it's moving, but not "ugly cry" moving.

Or the other day I was walking one of my pups, and I caught a glimpse of 2 squirrels at Astoria Park, eating their nuts next to each other under the cherry blossoms that have amazingly complimented the beautiful greenery of my favorite park. All of sudden, coupled with my bronchitis runny nose, I started ugly sobbing. I literally had to stop for a second, pull out my tissues, blow my nose, and take a breath. All the while my poor pup client looked at me with complete judgment. Like, "dude I'm just trying to pee here. What gives."

Despite the aforementioned breakdown, I do so work very hard to prevent any crying. Because I know what's coming. It's not a tear here or there. It's a full on sob session that is about to commence. And I can't let myself become undone.

Even when I'm alone, when I enjoy crying, do I stop it before it starts. Typically, solitude crying is the best, letting out the sweet release without worrying that someone will feel uncomfortable, or worse, want to console me. But it's like . . . I am protecting myself.

From what? I don't know.

As if once I start crying, it will be impossible to stop it.

I'm trying to find a therapist again. I know I need it. All these feelings have to come out. And I'm not drinking or binge eating. I can't even sleep that much these days, which used to be my go-to coping mechanism since I was a child.

Maybe that's why I have been so productive. Because I have no other outlet.

But it's not real. And It won't last. Very much like the linen closet, no matter how strong that door knob is, there is always and inevitably a breaking point. And mine is vastly approaching.

To my support group, with love, C

I wrote this poem a mere hours before Pepper passed away on Saturday. It was a way from me to express gratitude to those that have been holding me up with such sincere and reliable love and support.

It also was a moment for me to realize who my true tribe is. And who are no longer in the mix. A heartbreaking sadness, to see those who you thought were "lifers" have thrown a dagger of disappointment in to this already sad scenario.

A special shoutout to those angels that I have never met, but that social media has allowed for such a connection, such a bond. All of you have been so wonderful.

Also to my husband, who shows me everyday what marriage is all about, and why it's the most beautiful and precious of gems. Who makes me laugh when I want to pout, who holds me when I'm not cute. :)

To all of you. that have been here for me. I am so so grateful and you have kept me going. It's a beautiful thing. This is for you.

-C

---


Permission

Friends, I give you permission to not know what to say

To feel my pain even though you know it will be ok

To try and avoid the cliches of support

Even tho that’s all that greets your lips when your shoulder is holding court


My loved ones, it’s ok to not know what to do

Watching me fall to pieces, to not feel like my glue

Hearing me cry and mourn is clearly no fun

But I promise, solace I find in your presence as I become undone


In technology, love exists

All the words and messages through social media, I see it persist

Every LIKE, heart, word, and feeling

Fills the gashes this heartache is searing


For my sweet souls who I’ve never met

Who’ve taken the time to catch me in their net

Your gesture collects each tear that I cry

Like a soothing song, a chicken soup lullaby


Your silence is warmly received in your helpless arms where I collapse

Where I find love when I feel bleak, air when I frantically gasp


Where I feel consoled by your presence, near and far

When in those moments, the healing begins to create a scar


Surviving this heartache, reaching for the happiest of goals

Something I can not do without you, my beautiful treasures, the dearest of souls

Karma, a test from God, or just a classic kick in the nuts?

I'm starting to think I was an asshole in a previous life. Someone who made babies cry or put ketchup on pizza.

My sweet Pepper passed away on Saturday. So get this guys? I lost not ONE, but TWO cats in 15 days. I mean, it must have been a lot of fucking ketchup.

It's been a few days and I was feeling . . . better? A feeling not equating death meets expired milk in a septic tank. So an improvement, I suppose.

Today was turning out to be pretty decent. Only cried 4-5 times. Spent time with my mom and brother, had dinner and watched WWE Raw (Wrestlemania aftermath) with my Beloved, almost booked a Mexican getaway (that is MUCH needed), walked 4 beautiful dogs, and finalized my husband's bday gift.

Not in that order. But productive and optimistic.

Did I mention that my husband and my birthday are this month? In addition to our anniversary? Also, baseball opening day. All April. All happy things . . . usually.

Yeah, let's add the death of my 2 fur babies to that.

Anyway, I was about to take a shower, wash this tragedy of a bed hair bun I've been adorning for the last week off, when I received the text:

My first fur baby, Bam, my sweet boy who died 2 weeks ago, is missing. His ashes were lost in transit.

I mean, what do you do with that? How do you brace for that shrapnel kick in the ovary?!?!

I'll tell you what you do, you start plotting WW III!

I immediately planned to print out signs to post near my apartment mailboxes begging my neighbors to please return him, no questions asked (although, who the fuck would steal ashes)? In addition, I made a plan to go to my post office in the morning and cause a scene. Also I made it a mission to wake up nice and early and call my vet and the crematory, and ask them, in what sick, Groundhog Day, "fuck me in the ass life" does this happen?

Instead, I threw up and started crying.

In that order. Which is an unchartered new level of gross, let me tell you.

My husband held me as I sat numb after the debacle of cry puking (now, that is love), caressing my birds nest of a hair bun, telling me it will be ok. And then I laid down, in my bed, wearing my jeans.

My sweet girl joined me. My Gracie, now my only cat. She is definitely having a hard time. Stuck on me like glue:

Special appearance by said bed hair.


Anyway, I texted one of my best friends, telling him I was hanging by a thread, going in to detail about my WW III plan. Luckily, he talked me down. Made me laugh even. For the 4 seconds I laughed, I was so so grateful for that feeling of not being devastated and shattered.

It was a very good 4 seconds.

Actually, no one would actually say that, if we are being frank.

Nonetheless . . .

This grieving stuff has been such an experience. I always felt grateful I was sheltered from death and losing someone you love. I don't know how ppl do it. My own husband has seen it very often in his life time, and yet he is so happy, so optimistic, and doesn't stare into the abyss like I have been doing these last 2 weeks.

Guys, I want to disappear for a week. Take my Gracie and my sweetheart and hide from everything. Stare in to the abyss where the horizon is blue and sunny, the air is fresh and salty, and the Pina colada is cold and never ending.

But for now, I just need to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. And it's been the hardest goal of my life.

20 hours without crying

I warn you, my lovely readers, I may go on quite a few blog entry diatribes about this horrible loss. If one thing therapy has taught me, writing is a major help. It may not be funny or entertaining, and certainly not grammatically correct, but it's a way to release these bricks on my chest. Also, as per previous post, normal substance/narcotic/netflix binge solutions aren't working.

It's Day 2 since I've lost my boy. And I lasted 20 hours without crying. I woke up around 1pm today, having had a hard time sleeping the night before. I gave my other 2 fur ladies lunch, ordered a meal for myself, and started watching Arrested Development from the beginning. 8 hours later and I haven't done much more. Gracie is very confused and in search of something in the house. When she isn't in deep search, she has been stuck to me like glue, burying her face in to my bosom and purring ever so softly. Or she sleeps on Bam's spot, where he took his last breath.

Pepper just wants food lol My sweet fat girl.

I had only 3 goals today: to scoop the litter box, shower and to balance my checkbook. There are hundreds of other goals to do: laundry, the floors, eye brow thread, and I am sure countless more. But all I aimed for was these 3 To do items.

Yet, I can't move from the couch. I am dreading that it's almost 10pm already, and I have to face sunrise soon. The start of a new week, where I walk my dogs and organize my clients. I am feeling incredible dread. Because everything becomes a first time of doing something without being the crazy cat lady with 3 cats. Because everything becomes a new experience, of not coming home to my Bam, who always greeted me at the door, meowing for his wet food and my kisses and cuddles, for 14 years.

I am blown away at how wonderful my family and friends have been. The beauty of social media and texting became so evident to me in these last few days. It's been a saving grace, allowing me space and solitude to mourn, yet knowing I have quite a large group of beautiful angels thinking of us right now.

Anywho, I lasted quite a while without crying. Today I felt as thought my insides were desperately running around like worker ants, trying to build a fort around my heart. Almost as if a tsunami was coming in for the kill. The goal is to not feel, to set up a concrete barrier of numbness. With this work comes distraction and avoidance of feeling anything.

Then, all of a sudden, I swore I heard his footsteps, and his meow. And I shot up from the couch, having laughed at Bluth family shenanigans seconds ago. I reached for my roku remote and hit mute, somehow, for a split second, forgetting the reality. And, with that, came the merciless tsunami. And the tears.

I had a thought earlier today. Perhaps I am not cut out for bering a fur mom. Perhaps after my fur ladies go meet their brother in the after life, I'll get a plant or an ant farm. Or nothing at all. this pain has been the hardest sorrow I have ever gone through. And that includes, an absent parent, broken relationships, loving a horrible baseball franchise, and the invasion of stretch marks.

I suppose that was my mild attempt at a joke.

Ok. I'm going to sign off and take a shower. that's my goal. Just get in to the shower, meri Jaan, as my husband would say. That is all I have to do today.

Mourning my baby

I haven't had to mourn the loss of a loved one much in my 37 years. I suppose one can say I have been blessed because of this. And I do happen to agree with that. But, the other side of this is that, when it does happen, I will be completely unready and unfamiliar with such pain.

And such is what happened yesterday at 4:47pm. My sweet fur baby, my 14 year old baby boy cat, Bam, was put to sleep. And I held his little head in my hands as he went.

And I am broken, so broken. So besides myself. I have tried everything. Weed, which makes me think MORE about it. I want my money back, Weed seller!

Wine. It made me nauseous. Didn't help me sleep. Just a headache and cotton mouth.

Food. Pizza, brownies, coffee. All meh . . .

I even watched The Office, my go-to for any pain and sorrow in my life. It ALWAYS helps.

Not this time.

I am sitting here with my feelings and it sucks.

Random thoughts on a Thursday evening

It's almost 3am and I am surrounded by my sweet kitties and the endless cat hair adorning my couch. It's part of the "crazy cat lady" lifestyle I adopted near 14 years ago. My beloved is asleep in the bedroom, having had a very long day at work. His snore is particularly strained tonight, which happens when he is exhausted. My poor bunny. 

The TV is on, showing the 2nd battle scene of whatever army movie my husband was watching before he went to bed. The remote control is hidden under one of my cats, not sure which one, so this is what we are watching. 

Seems apropo.

There's a certain kind of war going on within me tonight. My mind is racing, thinking about past friendships that have gone sour. Truth is, I have a hard time letting go, especially when I feel betrayed. This particular night I feel full. Not like, oh man I shouldn't have had that third taco full, but more like my soul is about to burst in the seams. I don't feel like crying, I feel like . . . punching. Not anybody in particularly.  I want to release this confusion, anger, betrayal, sadness, and shock from inside. This is where a punching bag or one of those punching dummy manequin things would be in order.

One day I'll get in to the specifics of these relationships. All of them female. All of them insecure. A similarity I thought connected us. But, what quickly came to light, is that this similarity was a farce, and that insecurity can exist as a toxic and dark energy. 

I sometimes blame myself. Why do I continuously attracted bitter and insecure women? Who can't be happy for you? Why are 2-faced and betray your word? Who will jump at the opportunity to kick you when you are down? Then try, in a heroic fashion, to zoom in and raise you up? Acting like they save the day?

Or the insecure spineless one, who is quick to throw you under a bus? It's not in my nature to ever do this, so when it happens to me, I feel like the wind was kicked out of my tummy, goosebumps invade my neck and cheeks, and a warm sensation overpowers my mood. It's devastating, embarrassing, and humiliating.

Let me be clear about something. I take full responsibility in my role in these relationships. I am not a victim who had a gun to her head. I participated in these songs and dances willingly. And I was no innocent party. 

The question is, why? Why this trend? Why do I participate? Why didn't I run for the hills the moment I sensed that dark energy? 

The truth is . . . I don't know.

At the same time, I have a group of wonderful friends who have maintained my faith in, well, friendships. This last year was especially difficult, and I really saw who my friends were. It's such a cliche but it's so true. In your time of need, your people will be there for you. 

I just need to take ownership of my involvement in this. I want it to end. Whatever cycle, pheromone or shitty luck that has allowed for these interactions has to stop. As I get older, I realize more and more it's not about quantity, but it is about quality. 

The interesting thing is that I have had quite a few females cross my path recently that want to be friends. Successful and positive women that I have met in classes, at my old job, in my building, etc. And I have this freakin guard up. I don't want to let anybody else in, anybody get too close. I'm sure they are lovely, but I don't trust myself, my judgment. My track record is basically poop.

I did accept an invite to go to an ax throwing event with some girls this Sunday. I don't know if that's a good idea, since I have the aim of a cross-eyed snail, but at the very least, there will be laughs. 

I really need to get some sleep. Blogging helps. I'm sorry if this is a total borefest :/ But it's my way of puking out these thoughts. How's that for a visual?

I don't want to end this on a negative, so here are some happy updates:

• I'm down 20 lbs
• My career is becoming a dream fulfilled
• I get to play with puppies every day
• My kitties are beating the odds and still alive and healthy
• I have some amazing people on my side. You know who you are <3

Ok, off to sleep I go. If I can only get this kitty off of me :)

I'm so tired of it (warning: very raw post)

Before I proceed, I want to warn you that I intent to go on full on rant mode. I need to let out whatever burden is on my shoulders that has made the last 2 weeks really difficult. It may not make much sense, but please forgive me for that. I just need to write it out.

It sucks not having the energy to do the dishes, or mop the kitchen floor. Or wash my hair. It's a burden to wake up in the morning and feel like icy boulders have made a home on your legs and chest, making it impossible to move. It's heartbreaking to look over at your sweet beloved who is still asleep and have to try and explain to him why today you won't be able to do the laundry. The guilt compares to carbon dioxide, slowly suffocating you, as you seek a respite in a your 5th rem cycle of the last 24 hours.

I fucking hate depression. I hate it. I have secretly wished for cancer, or some other debilitating disease, where there is more empathy or support. Less shame. More hand holding. More acceptance. More love.

So many people aren't kind to the mental illness card you are dealt. Shit, I am not even kind to myself a lot of the time. Every possible hateful look, feedback, or judgmental look I have received from friends, family, and colleagues during my 25 year fight with this floods my mind when I feel one of these overwhelmingly paralyzing bouts hitting:

• You're fucking lazy
• You are a liar
• You are dramatic
• Get over it
• Stop bitching
• Boo-hoo, you can't do the dishes. Big deal, I can't . . .
• People have to work harder than you to make ends meet and you can't even get out of bed
• You are a waste of a human
• You're victimize yourself
• I have it worse than you, Claudia
• You're crazy
• EYE ROLL, EYE ROLL, EYE ROLL

I am so tired of this life.

Please don't get me wrong. I have absolutely NO intent of harming myself or anything similar to that. I am just tired of these cards. Of this cycle. Of having so many dreams and goals and they being halted because I couldn't meet with a client, or because I didn't go to a gym class and wasted the money, or because I cancelled on dinner with a friend for the 10th time, or because the overwhelming waves hit me from the back, knocking the air and jovial outlook right out of me. Because I feel like I have wasted my life away on dreaming, and do not have it in me to accomplish my goals.

I'm tired of hating myself. Of looking in the mirror and judging the shit out of the girl looking back. 

I want to be "normal" and wake up at 9am and have coffee and read the news. I want to do laundry because I want to feel productive, not because I am one day away from wearing my bathing suit bottom and/or my prom dress. I want to clean my apartment because it's awesome coming in to a house that smells like pinesol and Clorox, not because I am hosting a dinner for friends and need to keep a facade of "I have it all figured out".

I want to go to the gym because I know it will help, not because I want to look good in some dress I wore 8 years ago.

When somebody asks me what's wrong, I want desperately, DESPERATELY, to have an answer. And most of the time, I don't. It's just because I have a chemical imbalance in my fucking brain. It's because my serotonin has the attention span of a kitten. It's because these were the fucking cards I was dealt.

I often think what my life would be like if I didn't have depression. And it hurts tremendously. I feel like I would be super successful in my career. I feel like less people would be disappointed in me. I feel like I would be a better daughter, wife, friend. Maybe I would have written that book, launched that talk show, bought my mom that house. Maybe I wouldn't have settled for the absolute shitty female friends I have tolerated my whole life. I would have told them to fuck off a lot sooner, and would have stood up for myself a lot more. Maybe . . 

Maybe

Maybe

Maybe

Maybe

The Maybe rabbit hole. One I am very well acclimated with. 

Guys, I truly love my life and, despite the challenge of a mental illness, I am proud of what I have done. But not this week. Not in the last 2 weeks. I'll be better soon. Right now, I am just simply tired of it.