I was afraid of empty nest syndrome until I met Jase. 3 years of dating this man has transported me back to the toddlerhood of my sons.
This morning I had to wipe down the cover of the book I’m reading. It was covered in Jase’s late night snacks. Crusty almond butter and sticky jelly. My daily routine involves scraping substances off walls, sinks, floors and windows.
He regularly misplaces things:
“Jase, what are you doing?”
“Looking for my headlamp.”
“Well, the last time I saw you with it we were camping 3 weeks ago. Maybe you left it inside the tent.”
“I swear I took it out. I’m pretty sure I’ve used it since the trip”
He continues to look for the next few days, a trail of destruction in his wake. Eventually he sets up the tent in the living room:
Wanting to feel better is the biggest waiting game I’ve ever played. My health has been a gradually declining shit storm for the past 4 years and it’s coming to a head.
I’m gathering all the info I can via blood tests, medical professionals, books and my own hunches. I’m trying to steer clear of “Google” as I find it to be a watered down “copy and paste” situation when it comes to finding answers.
I have days where barely a smile crosses my lips and that pisses me off. I dig for anything to make me laugh. Anything to get my mind off how shitty I feel, how I’m going to pay my bills and how my credit card debt is increasing rather than decreasing. How I’m 44 and have been working my ass off after getting divorced trying to build a reasonable life for myself only to hit a wall.
One negative thought can create a spiral down the rabbit hole. In just a few minutes I’ve catastrophized my life into homelessness and dying alone in a dumpster.
Yesterday the thing to make me laugh was my boyfriend’s face after giving me a hug. I hadn’t showered in four days and my head smelled like sour milk. I’m laughing now just remembering his face………He was amazed that I actually had an odor, as he tells me I never smell. I told him my sour sick mood is seeping though my pores.
I am being stripped bare. I have nothing left for my Ego to attach itself too. There’s nothing I can offer except being vulnerable. I’m a 44 year old divorced mother of 4 boys who scrubs peoples toilets for a living, I have debt, my savings is dry and I don’t have a college degree. My career was raising children. According to the worlds standards I am not a success and I’m ok with that. This is my reality. My story is not that unique.
What I can do is be kind to myself and to others no matter how fucking awful I feel. I’m not the only person who is struggling. My struggles are no worse than anyone else’s.
I will close with 5 things I like about myself. Please share yours in the comments below, lets start a self love fest! Wow, it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be…….
Trying to find your writing voice can feel daunting. It’s like I’m in grade school figuring out who I am. Wanting to fit it but remain unique. Being brave enough to be authentic, like that time I got a spiked mullet hair cut and refused to wear jeans for an entire school year.
Wondering if my writing skills will blossom is like waiting to get boobs when all the other girls were D cups and I had mosquito bites. It felt impossible.
Spelling errors and incomplete sentences bring the same vulnerable feeling as getting your period the day you wear white pants to school.
Staring at the computer waiting for the next thought can be just as awkward as talking to a boy on the phone for the first time.
We’ve been dating for 3 years and he still gives me the butterflies, but not always the fairy tale kind. Sometimes they feel like killer moths. For example, the annoymous comment he left on this blog:
“Ummm I find this blog to be totally revolting, and if you don’t clean up your act I’m going to send a messenger pigeon to (he used our street address and I was in full on panic mode wondering how the fuck a crazy person got my address) and shit in your mouth when you’re yawning facing upwards in your ghetto white trash hammock. (At this point my heart is beating out of my chest, my stomach is nauseous and I’m dizzy) Get it the fuck together, it’s pronounced hammock not HAM-HOCK (this was the magical moment I knew it was Jase fucking with me b/c of our ongoing battle on who pronounces hammock correctly) That’s what you were served in high school on a crappy white bread squishy roll that you put your damn fingers through and got covered in mustard.”
A little side note about me. My fight or flight response is triggered by the smallest crumb of danger and Jase knows this. He uses this knowledge to fuck with me regularly.
I’ve been feeling like I’ve been at the tail end of the flu for far too long. The doc did a slew of blood tests and tells me I have Mono. This whole thing is confusing to me. Apparently it’s caused by the Epstein Barr Virus which my blood tests show is very active in my body at the moment. So it’s been “reactivated”
Approximately 95 percent of us carry a pathogen called the Epstein-Barr virus (EBV). For many, this virus is caught in early childhood and largely goes unnoticed. EBV isn’t like most infections that are ‘conquered’ by our immune system but rather it ‘retreats and hides out’ in part of our immune system, called our B cells – a type of white blood cell. Unless you have something that triggers a reactivation of the virus, you’ll likely go your entire life without ever realizing you have EBV.
All I know is I’m freaking exhausted. It feels like my eye sockets are cavernous craters and my eye balls weigh a ton. Walking across the house is the equivalent of completing an iron man race. Fuck no, I’ve never done an Iron Man………
Apparently there’s no cure for this strange but very common virus. How can that be? From what I’m told and what I’ve been reading it’s all about getting the virus to retreat back into my cells and go dormant again. WTF???
Hey you, little virus, get back in your room. No one invited you to the party you snarky turd.
Vulvodynia (vul-voe-DIN-e-uh) is chronic pain or discomfort around the opening of your vagina (vulva) for which there’s no identifiable cause and which lasts at least three months. The pain, burning or irritation associated with vulvodynia can make you so uncomfortable that sitting for long periods or having sex becomes unthinkable. The condition can last for months to years.
So I’ve got this going for me. All my lady part tests came back NORMAL. Where does that leave my lady J? On fire folks. I was given a prescription of lidocaine to numb my little slice of heaven.
Your pain might be constant or occasional. It might occur only when the sensitive area is touched (provoked).
Don’t even think about “provoking” my hoo-ha with your cactus sword. Oh wait, I know, I’ll slather on some lidocaine and neither of us will feel a thing.
Because it can be painful and frustrating and can keep you from wanting sex, vulvodynia can cause emotional problems. For example, fear of having sex can cause spasms in the muscles around your vagina (vaginismus).
My Vagina is “spasming” not orgasming……..spasming……..
Aside from the horror film that is now my sex life, what about daily life in general? I’m supposed to just live with a burning sensation and conduct business as usual? Carry around a gallon jug of lidocaine? Let me delight your senses with some medical jargon that I found on Web MD and Mayo Clinic.
Signs and Symptoms of Vulvodynia
Symptoms of vulvodynia usually begin suddenly and can last anywhere from months to years.
These are the most common symptoms of vulvodynia:
Burning, stinging, or rawness
Aching, soreness, or throbbing
You may feel symptoms of vulvodynia:
All the time or just once in a while
During activities such as exercise, intercourse, or walking — or even while at rest
While bicycling, inserting tampons, or even sitting
In one specific area or throughout your entire vulva
Holy shit Web MD and Mayo Clinic you missed a few important life activities. Why have you chosen bicycling and inserting tampons????? Just say it: Your crotch will be on fire 24 fucking 7 and will make you feel clinically insane. We don’t know for how long, how to fix it or why………
Well fuck. That’s life right now. My vag is a chronic bon fire that I don’t get a break from. It’s not like a broken limb that you can easily talk about with your pals and coworkers. “Hey y’all, I’m kind of bitchy today. I have a lit match stick between my legs. A raging inferno that has no cure. I swear I don’t have cooties.”
Awkward as fuck. I’ve given birth to 4 humans and 1 cat. That means my vag has been invaded more times than I can count. It never ceases to be uncomfortable when a stranger inserts something into your hoo ha.
I had the pleasure of a pelvic ultrasound this morning.
I plainly told the tech how awkward it was and will forever be no matter how many times I’ve had my feet in metal stirrups. We shared an odd chuckle and eye contact while I was being probed.
It took 45 minutes.
That’s a long time when your pants less with your feet in stirrups. My mind became a ping pong ball. “Should I strike up a conversation? Will she fuck this up if I do? Will it take longer if I ask her questions?”
I tossed out a ginormous yet empty jug of Bacardi at a campground recently and was reminded that we have no control of how others see/think about us. To the common stranger it looked as if Jase and I drank an entire jug of rum in one quick night of camping. Only I knew that we’d been working on that jug for weeks. At that moment I kind of wish I had a loud speaker to announce to my fellow campers that we were not the lushes we appeared to be.
The take away: Don’t size others up based on the tiny bits of information you see, and start doing strange things on purpose to freak people out.
What I should have done is fill the Bacardi bottle with water and stood at the dumpster chugging it before tossing it out.