Off to the races, I’m goin’ places..

This is my current earworm as I count the minutes till I can leave for my meeting tonight. In my head though, I’m saying all those lyrics sarcastically because nothing is “so great” right now.


I went out for a while this afternoon, by myself just to get the skin crawly, cooped up, antsy feeling away and it worked.. for a while. Being back at home the antsy feeling came back. I think it’s cause I am still pissed at Husband.. we got a lot of stuff unresolved at the moment but even though it has me pissed and antsy I don’t quite have the energy to invest in working it out. Not right now anyway. Mostly because I know he’s never going to respond the way I need him to. And I’m not 100% sure he isn’t lying to me right now about his own medical crap which makes me question every statement he makes and feel furious at every accusation he utters. So it all remains unspoken. It’s tense but functional. Notice I didn’t say healthy.

Husband needs triple bypass surgery. His dire health situation is pretty much the only thing that’s keeping me from walking or “rolling” out on his angry, controlling ass with Son.. because God forbid he dies.. I don’t want to be what came between Son and his dad at the end of his dad’s life. But his necessary surgery had been postponed three times now and I’m halfway convinced that Husband is sabotaging his surgical dates on purpose and telling me the hospital is bumping him. I mean, what freaking hospital moves a triple bypass 3 times?!

So I am waiting for his next surgical date and if somehow, magically, the operation doesn’t happen AGAIN, I will be calling his doctors, his visiting nurses, his whoever, to see if I have any rights or abilities to get him medically compliant. Son is off to camp in the Berkshires for a week 7/16. Hubs is supposed to have his operation 7/18. Right now, having the house to myself for at least 5 days both thrills and terrifies me.

Continuing to binge Nurse Jackie and wonder what it would be like to not be with Hubs. We’ve been married for 16 years. I wonder what it would be like for either one of us to not be together.

Attitude of gratitude: I am glad for the meeting I’m going to tonight. This one is like home.

And since I started with Demi Lovato, I’ll finish with her as well. this is her in her brief but adorable role on Glee when she was with Santana.


Day 1 of 90.. again.


Sorry about the glare on the screen. It was the only clip I could find of the scene showing how I feel being back at the beginning. I need to do what works. I need to get myself right, to be able to take care of me and my family. Before, when I was actually in recovery instead of cheating and sneaking every possible way  could, writing here helped. So I am TRYING for 90 meetings in as many days as well as 90 posts. I am not going to beat myself up if life gets in the way but I am going to keep trying.

Husband is still being a total prick about this. He is being his exceedingly unforgiving, uncompassionate self. He’s saying that I stabbed our family in the back, by relapsing. As if I deliberately chose to hurt him and son by giving in. I asked him repeatedly to talk to me and he’s refused.

So I am working on me. I am trying to have compassion for him as he is very sick right now and facing major surgery.

Daughter is struggling now, as an adult, and it hurts me to know that part of why she struggles is because I didn’t do more to keep Husband’s controlling, angry behavior from wrecking her childhood. I thought things were different after the separation and the counseling and they were but lately we’ve been back to the bad old days. I’m using secretly and he is being a controlling, narcissistic judgemental asswipe.

Daughter is safe now of course, she’s been away from him for years but I worry about Son. He worships his dad and I don’t want him to turn out like Husband.

We are going to look at an apartment tomorrow.

I went back to a meeting today with PCA. She was amazing and there for me as always. She let me vent and cry and told me the truth about what I had to say. I planned to speak and raised my hand but then proceeded to choke and cry and barely get out the words, “I’m back at the beginning, thank you for being here.” It was embarrassing  but I know that they have all seen it before. The good thing about good meetings.. when you can know nobody in that room but know you’re with your people.

I got home and opened a package with 400 pills in it. Oops! I had ordered them before I stopped. I gave them directly to Husband bottle unopened. I don’t know if that made him more angry or distrustful of me but he’s already not speaking to me so how much worse could it really get?

So.. hmm.. Oh! Attitude of gratitude. That always helps me get out of my own head.  Today I am most thankful for PCA. She has been so intuitive with me as always. She can tell what I need when I need it and is always there to give it.

How I feel about Hubs at the moment:

Good recovery songs:

Terror of wish fulfillment and fear of self sabotage..

I have a date for double knee replacement.

This is exactly what I wanted.. what I’ve needed for over 10 years now and have been actively striving and hoping for since a particularly terrible Christmas vacation in VA, Christmas 2014, just before I got my wheelchair, and I was moving so poorly that I only left the hotel room twice.. the whole trip.. and as I lay in the the uncomfortable bed I swore that no matter how scary it got I had to do something to make things different..

But I’m complicated.. so hearing all the risks that go along with the operation, some of the scariest being that I’ll need a blood transfusion after, that he’ll need to shorten my legs to compensate for the contractures because if he doesn’t the nerves won’t be long enough and my legs will get gangrenous and maybe even need to be amputated, that I will need to be rigorous with extremely painful stretching and PT or I could end up right back where I started 6 months post op as the contractures are going to want to reassert themselves immediately postop.. etc.. scary af.. but what’s the alternative?

Choosing at just turned 40 years old that I want to stay trapped and increasingly dependent on an at turns indifferent or disdainfully angry spouse?  After my fall in the spring I spent about 45 days inpatient rehab, and Husband often sneers at me about how much I loved it there because I was “waited on hand and foot”.

Is it so wrong to want 3 meals a day? Help with showers? Assurance that I would have my meds on time every day, and never have to wait because Husband didn’t see pain relief or whatever other med as important as I felt it? Added bonus, I did PT 5 days a week there, did therapy for my psych stuff weekly, could have visitors with no need to race around cleaning up or making excuses cause I was too exhausted, round the clock nurses meant that I couldn’t take too much or little of any med and that was an indescribable relief as that is always a struggle for me in times of stress..

I am scared.. but now Husband.. after stressing how important this is for me and for us is all fixating on the risks and not even willing to have the smallest crumb of faith that this might change our lives for the better..

Part of me wonders if he’s acting like this because he’s afraid of me being healthier, more mobile, less dependent on him.. anytime weight loss, fixing my teeth and now my knees actually seems like it might happen he always gets all, “what about this scary thing or that possible complication?” “What about if you screw it up by falling into your old ways?”

Always playing on my worst fears.. always pointing out the things I hate most about myself..

Also feeling like a crappy mom today cause I woke up anxious and headache-y which really makes me want to be by myself, and for some reason Son was clingier today.. I love my kids.. one of the only times anymore I feel like I have a purpose is being a mom so when doing mom stuff feels like something I wanna get away from it kinda makes me hate myself a little..

All of these unknowns, pain and complicated emotion make me reach for something, anything to numb.. to feel other.. and I’m fresh  out of stuff like that..

I’ll end with a couple of songs..

For my kids.. full grown Daughter and growing all too fast Son..


and to Husband..and myself..


new start to the 90 in 90 count… thanks for reading my bubbled corruptions.. for being down with my sickness.. ❤



Seat of our new old couch


We had to get rid of our old old couch at the beginning of the summer. It had a busted spring. So we spent the last 8 or 9 weeks with my lift recliner as our only furniture.  Then that broke on one side but we kept it cause it was still somewhat functional but it was too painful for me to sit in. We couldn’t afford to buy something new  and every time I found a hopeful prospect on Freecycle or Craigslist it always fell through.  Then my church emailed us saying that some members were moving from a house to an apartment. Though nothing of theirs worked out for us, that got our need onto the church grapevine.  Then when the church itself wanted to get rid of a sofa, we were the first people they called. It was a real blessing.  They even had a bunch of deacons load it into one of their trucks, drive it to us and help Husband get it into the apt!  Even though we never would have picked this couch ourselves,  it’s free, in great shape, and it’s a sleeper sofa so now we’ve got extra space in case of overnight guests.  I feel like I’ve been given my living room back.  Because of my arthritis, spaces without comfortable seating are not really accessible for me. Which kind of had me confined to my bedroom when I was home. Which was depressing.

When I think of pain…


This drawing was in response to the “Life through the lens” challenge that Mommyx4boys posted this week.  The question was, “What do you think about when you think of the word pain?” This is my answer.  I drew and wrote in pencil,  then took a picture of my picture with my phone.  I hope it is visible/readable to everyone.  Please let me know in the comments.

3 Fillings and a Funeral

I haven’t really written a full post in a few days. Partly because I’ve been dealing with so much that writing about it actually becomes quite difficult, and partly because of sheer fatigue and tremendous pain. As a result the following post is rather long, hopefully not to rambly, rant-y or verbose.

The other day was incredibly rough. Son had a dentist appointment in the afternoon then I had a wake to attend.. Neither of these things seemed like especially pleasant things to have on the agenda but I was not nearly prepared for HOW difficult everything turned out to be.

First off, the dentist. I am notoriously phobic of the dentist. I have tried not to communicate this fear to my kids but it is something I still struggle with greatly. I have more extensive dental work in my future due to multiple missing and broken teeth, but that is something for another post. Right now, I’m talking about Son.

I had to talk myself out of rescheduling for no reason. I guess Son had at least a little anxiety about the whole thing because he asked me once or twice if we could change the appointment or if he could go back to KoolSmiles.

When making the appointment, I had asked him if he wanted to go back to KoolSmiles or if he wanted to try someplace else. He said he wanted to try someplace else. He has never been fond of restorative work (who the hell is) but he seemed to have forgotten that in his efforts to get the appointment switched.

At any rate, I told him it was too late to switch the appointments and made a deal with him that if he hated it there, after finishing what was scheduled, we would go someplace else next time. He somewhat reluctantly agreed, I psyched myself up and we went.

This dental office is in the center of our city with a small parking lot behind the building. Happily, the handicapped spot was available which saved me from having to park on the street and walk about half a block on uneven, crummy sidewalk.

Son looked around when we arrived and said,”Is this even a real dentist’s office?”

I assured him that it was but he continued to express doubt, perhaps because there was no big tooth on the sign or giant toothbrushes in the lobby. I got him seated in the waiting area and went to fill out his paperwork.

The receptionist noted, with approval, that we were nice and early.

I replied,”That’s because I hate to be late. I move slowly and never know how the parking’s going to be so I allow plenty of extra time.” That lie was out of my mouth before I even really realized I was lying.

I do of course move slowly and need to worry about parking but I am late for things all the time, especially because I am horrible at time management and I never really allow time to accommodate my disability the way that I should.

Lying is one of the things that I still really need to work on in my recovery. Active addiction involves a ton of deception. You lie to get drugs. You lie about using, how much you took, when you’ll pay someone back, who you were with what they were doing, etc, etc.

There are 1,001 different lies that could come up in 1 day of active addiction. Every time I popped a pill (or a handful) to pick myself up to interact happily with my kids or convincingly make love to my husband when I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, I was lying.

They called Son in fairly shortly after me completing all of his new patient paperwork. I let him go back into the office by himself. Even though I knew he needed restorative work I didn’t insist upon accompanying him. There were a couple of reasons why, even though 90% of my mommy-self was internally screaming that he would need me back there.

First off (and I’m still unsure whether this is nature or nurture, though it concerns me enough to keep me up at night more than a few nights) Son has generalized anxiety. Quite a bit of it in fact. So whenever there is a situation that could potentially be anxiety producing and HE is handling it with a level head I am all for it, and I go out of my way NOT to project my own anxiety.

About 7 minutes or so after letting him go back on his own, as he was seeming so calm and collected about it, I was hobbling back there as fast as I could walker because he was yelling in pain.

It was brutal. It turns out that in addition to having my family’s teeth which seem to decay if you look at them wrong, Son has inherited Husband’s unresponsiveness to Novocaine, it doesn’t numb him like it’s supposed to, so though he felt every agonizing needle stick of the normal amount and every stick of the extra they gave him, he never really got numb, and they didn’t realize the problem until AFTER they had begun drilling.

I sat there, grimly fighting my own impulse to knock the drill out of the dentist’s hand grab Son and flee the office. Instead I sat, Son’s cold hand gripping my warm sweaty one, tears leaking out of my eyes ans sliding silently down my face, the small room filled with the sounds of drilling and my child’s tearful shouts of pain, along with his assurances that he would never, ever go to the dentist again and his strong dislike for the dental professionals currently restoring his mouth. I kept reminding Son that it was almost over, that even things that are really hard can’t last forever.

The dentist laughed heartily at Son’s vows of hatred.

“It’s the Novocaine talking!” He assured me, with a wink over his surgical mask.

Really?! I thought. Good one! It can talk! Real fucking funny, dumb ass! Between you and me I’d sure as hell rather it kept Son from feeling each and every movement of the drill then “talk” as you so humorously insist.

Somehow we made it through. Son had 3 beautiful amalgam fillings done plus a surprisingly easy extraction of a baby tooth that had adult teeth coming up underneath it. The sucky part is that that was only the right side of his mouth. The office will work on more than one side of the mouth in one visit, but after that hell there was no way any of us, not even the jovial doctor wanted to keep going.

I now need to find a pediatric dentist that does sedation and takes MassHealth. No easy feat. I promised Son that he could go someplace else if he hated it here, and thanks to that nightmare of an experience, he thoroughly hated it. He has had positive experiences with KoolSmiles in the past, but not for restorative work. They don’t use sedation there for nervous or difficult patients. They use a “papoose”, which is basically a cute way for saying bondage and a stretcher. To both Husband and I that just sounds like a recipe to adding nightmare to nightmare, not a way to make anything better.

I just had time to get us home, explain to Husband how Son had struggled and change into formal clothes before it was time for me to leave for the wake I had made up my mind to attend.

The woman who died was one of my first Sunday School teachers. She was a really sweet old lady who was old for the whole time I knew her, even thirty plus years ago. For most of those years she was healthy too. She just very recently found out she had very horrible, very painful and aggressive cancer. She suffered terribly, and as awful as it sounds, death was a mercy when it came.

I was grossly unprepared for all the baggage that would come along with attending the service. It was partly the sadness of the service itself but what really smacked the crap out of me was seeing all those people from my childhood. I really hate it when I have overwhelming amounts of inappropriate emotion.

I guess part of what made it so difficult for me is that so many of these people are unaware of all my health and disability issues. So when I see them I feel burdened to explain why I am the way I am now, which of course, is really difficult to explain, AND wildly inappropriate to try and explain when it is SO not about me, at that moment.

So we end up with conversations like this:

me: Mr So and So? Wow, it’s been so long! How are the kids? Not kids anymore! Well, you look just the same after all this time! *smile*

Mr So and So: Um.. heh heh. Yeah. You look.. You.. Wow. It really has been a long time.

It was really hard for me. I did the best that I could. Made small talk where I could, paid my respects to the family and when I absolutely couldn’t stand it anymore, got the hell out of there and made a beeline for the nearest drive through, which happened to be a KFC.

There are sometimes when I am eating my feelings that I am very painfully aware of doing so RIGHT AS I am doing so. Even as I plowed through that 2 piece meal with mac and cheese and wedges I pondered my weight problem and my food issues. I was particularly aware that it was disorderly eating when instead of pausing to go in and get the spork that they neglected to give me I actually used potato wedges as a utensil to eat my mac and cheese.

I know I need to do something about my eating, my weight, my health, my pain, my routines, my marriage, various parenting problems, etc etc etc. There are so many things I need to do something about. Changes that need to be made that I have no idea how to make.

It’s pondering difficult problems like that that make me so frustrated with being sober. Because all it really does is make me want to get good and comfortably numb.

Speaking of changes, my psychiatrist changed my therapist. So tomorrow I say goodbye to my therapist of the past 18 months, and soon I will say hello to someone new. I am both hopeful and terrified.

More on this later. For now, I leave you with a funny song about better living through chemistry.


Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace
I’m going through

David Bowie

I’m awake again when I don’t want to be. I really hate riding this roller coaster.

I got stuff going on. Worried about money. Unpaid bills. Health issues. the upcoming school year. My weight. My joints. My teeth. My unhealthy routine. My disorganized household.

Everything feels so big. It gets to where I can’t even break it down into manageable chunks. The way that I learned both at church and in the program is not cutting it for me. One day at a time, moment by moment, sufficient for the day is the trouble thereof.

I am in the midst of things with medications right now. On a course of steroids to try and get on top of this apparently neverending rheumatoid flare. That can hype emotions and get one antsy and falsely energetic. As much as I hate feeling wired like this I am petrified that the course is nearly over.

The past couple days I have been able to get out of bed without help, even first thing in the morning, navigate the house and short distances outside it without my walker and a whole host of other little things that are normally issues for me. I try to relish these little blessings for what they are, impermanent but enjoyable while they last.

Sister and Niece are going back to Texas early early Wednesday morning. We’re supposed to get together one last time for a coffee date tomorrow/later today, whatever. I am dreading saying goodbye to her and the baby and dreading how Son is going to process it and dreading how I process his procession.

I also just had my SSRI changed AND my psychiatrist decided to change my counselor, so the guy I’ve had the past 18 months, since fresh outta detox is no longer my guy. She ( my psychiatrist) feels I need female counsel, so I am waiting for the agency to call me and tell me who she will be and when we will begin.

I don’t have a good conclusion to this post. I’m all at loose ends, sad and panic-y. Of course, I’ll be talking more about this as things progress. As some of the unknowns become known.