Existential is a word I had to google . . .

I was talking to my therapist today about dreams; how, once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. A comedy writer to be exact. And she said something like, "well, why do you NEED to do that?" implying that if I didn't do that I won't be a failure.

I think I have to fire my therapist.

This approaching age is a scary one. Especially since I feel like my life is so similar to when I was 27. Except some crow-feet, and I can't seem to tolerate dairy like I used to.

That's a heartache in it of itself. What is life without cheese, milk with chocolate cookies, and more cheese?

Don't get me started on heartache. The last 2 years (in August) have been pretty heartbreaking and necessary. I thought 2009 was a hard year, but this takes the cake. My "best friend" walked away from a 30+ friendship, because I wasn't present enough for her, my 2 cats died, my waste waist line expanded extensively, I went through a career crisis, and I've lost my will to dream.

Not to be dramatic.

My husband has been nothing sort of a saint, but, quite frankly, this marriage stuff takes a lot of work. I spent almost 5 years living it up, huss-i-fy-ing New York City like nobody business. My apartment was messy, I embraced my sexuality, I ate cereal out of Kitchenade mixer bowls, and navigated expiration dates like they were negotiable. It was care-free, hilarious, with lots of hangovers. I had a good run.

Then I fell in love and got married. And all of a sudden I was exposed. Four, five years later, and I am living a life with my best friend (not the one that ran off when shit got hard). My husband. But it's exhausting to be the real me, and try to make sure another human is happy. Even though he is the most loving and patient sweet pea ever.

Where am I going with this?

Over the last year, I went from my dream job of being a dog walker, to returning to the creative tech world, working for my dream company, making sure all things creative happen. I love my coworkers, I love working from home. I love the impact my company is having on this shit world we are currently living in.

But, where is the wikipedia page? Where is the E true Hollywood story (Ok, not that far off)? Where is the rando. yahoo article about how I had a nose job all them years ago?

I never got that. Even though I was 8 years old, dancing in a bra training bra in my bedroom, dancing to Janet Jackson, If, much to my poor brother's dismay. I always said I would "make it". Although if I am going to be honest, I definitely would have gone down the Lindsay Lohan, Bald Britney route. I related to these girls so much when it happened, even when the world around me ripped them a part.

So perhaps it's a blessing I didn't become this world wide success. Perhaps I couldn't handle it. But damn it, I would love to leave a little imprint in this world. I just don't know what that is anymore.

And yet, I sit here, terrified, as that scary age approaches . . .

Anxiety, we meet again, you life-sucking asshole

I am feeling . . . invaded.

The pain in my chest, the bubbles in my tummy, the mild shakes, and the draining act of breathing . . .

All signs of anxiety.

Lots to be anxious about:

1. The World, in its current state. Being Hispanic, right now. Being a woman, right now. Being married to a Muslim man, right now. Being American, right now. Being, right now.
2. Career change / new job in the horizon. Exciting, but new. Wonderful company, but new. So much potential. But . . . new.
3. I will have to stop walking dogs for said career. My heart is broken. Those pups have been my therapy and anti-depressants. And thank God, because, without insurance, I can't afford either. I have about a month with them left. So I will try to cherish every moment.
4. My husband's new career, that keeps him on the road for a few weeks at a time. We have been doing great. But I worry, I miss him, and it's odd manning the fort at home without your partner. It's like feeling you forgot to pack some thing for a trip, a feeling that lasts 24 hours a day/7 days a week.
5. My new cat, Cookie's, hair loss/alopecia/stress grooming/mystery illness that triggers all those feeling I have bottled up since my Pepper and Bam died. I miss them so very much. And having Cookie has been a blessing. But my heart is still broken for my babies. It may always be.
6. My apartment is a mess. I started cleaning it today, felt overwhelmed, and I just sat on my couch and got lost in social media and youtube videos about how to make a youtube video.
7. I miss traveling. I used to do it 2-3 times a year before I got married. Then life happens and you have to do 1000 things before it's ok to travel. It's left me empty and sad. 
8. My body's health is off. My feet are always hurting, my back is getting worse, I have been spotting for a month, and I'm exhausted all the time. Internet says Cancer. It always says Cancer. I know it's not. But I feel so wobbly and broken.
9. My finances need life support. The new career will be a big help with this, but right now, it seems so far from where I have been.
10. Death. Seriously, this shit has been keeping me up at night. We all die. Dying is inevitable. When does it happen? Why? Who? I never used to think about death so much. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Maybe it's because I've seen it first hand in the last year. Who knows.
11. Animal cruelty and why humans suck, and how it seems it will never end. 
12. Sadness. I know I should be happy for the life I have. And I am, most of the time. But today I am fucking sad. and scared. and just need to scream and let it out. But you can't do that without a noise complaint from your neighbor. So that's why I opened this blog and started typing. I'm screaming with words. 

Writing this opened the flood gates of tears that needed to come out. I do feel better. And I know this will be pass. Normally, my husband would hold me and let me cry and he would say, "Everything will be ok." But he's not here. And I hate that he's not here. I hate that he's going to be far away for most of the time for the foreseeable future. I am proud of him for starting this new career, but I miss him more than I let on. Because I can't let people think I am "needy" or dependent on someone else. God forbid. Well, the jig is up. I miss him, miss how it was our first year, when we both had 9-5 jobs, and we'd come home and have dinner together every night. When we would watch wrestling, then go to sleep at the same time, where he would spoon me until he fell asleep (in seconds, lucky bastard), and I would wiggle away from his embrace because, well, a girl needs to stretch out lol. And when the alarm would go off and you'd both wake up and fight over who would shower first so the other could have 20 more minutes of sleep. 

He always showered first.

Wow. I feel better. Writing always helps. 

Usually, I would go back and edit my writing. But not this one. This was all the stewing and steaming that was brewing inside tonight. And I let it out, in its very raw form. 

This is anxiety. 

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.