Thanksgiving 2013

Thanksgiving was an experience this year. It was the first time I’ve done two complete Thanksgiving dinners in one day! My mother didn’t want to go to my aunt’s house, so she opted to have a small dinner with just us (me, her boyfriend, her, and my husband.) It was pretty nice. My mother cooked and that’s a miracle in and of itself. Of course, we spent the evening with dad and ate with him, his wife, and my grandmother. It was a pretty good day.

The saddest part is that I didn’t get to eat with my grandparents for the first Thanksgiving (spent with my family at least) ever. The part that’s really bad? I had more fun Black Friday shopping with my husband and my mother than any other part of the day! It was my first true experience and it was a blast. The town I’m from is quite small and so it wasn’t as frenetic as where I live now (between two of the biggest cities in this state.) Still, the first store we went to (which opened at 8pm Thanksgiving day) was packed. It was as if every single person from town was there and they probably were. We got some really good deals.

We got home before midnight and then went back out the next day to a mall I haven’t been to in years. It wasn’t as crazy as our mall gets here, but it was still pretty packed. Still, it was a fun experience. I’d definitely do it again if given the opportunity! This was my first year not working Black Friday since I’ve worked in the mall.

Other than that, the visit went well. We all played cards and stayed up entirely too late. I got to see my cousin and her kids (which are growing like weeds!) There was very little drama, which was amazing in and of itself. I didn’t really get a chance to take many pictures, which makes me sad. Especially with what’s happened lately.

My mother relapsed (AGAIN) last week. She was wrongfully accused last week and it’s just been this big drama storm since then. I’ve been avoiding it. I got really angry at first, at her, at her place of work, and mostly just at the world… but now? I just can’t deal with it. I’m seven hours away. I’ve tried giving advice, etc… and it goes ignored. I can’t even believe her boyfriend is supplying her with alcohol. My grandparents don’t know. I want to tell them, but I can’t. They’re old and I really don’t want them even more stressed than they already are.

It’s just a big mess… just in time for Christmas. Fantastic. I don’t even really want to write about it, because why? What’s the point? I told my husband, I just need to accept that I don’t have parents. My mum is an weak alcoholic who would rather run to it at the sign of any adversity and my dad has all but thrown me to the wayside for his new “family.” I can’t even bother thinking about it, really.

At least my in-laws are pretty amazing. They’ve been nothing but helpful during the move.


My mother fell off the wagon again. At first, I wasn’t going to write about it… but then I wanted to chronicle this. I wanted a worded memory to go with this moment.

I spoke to her in the morning and all was fine. When she messed up earlier in the year, she’d been drinking awhile; not the hard stuff she usually had a flavor for, but beer that her boyfriend brought into the house. I won’t even get into how I feel about that whole mess. We spoke in the morning and then my phone died and I went to work at my second job.

It was at my second job that I began to receive bizarre text messages from her. This is exactly what happened before. I felt sick. I wanted to run out of work. I wanted to curl up into a ball. I stared at my phone in disbelief. I texted my husband and let him know. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I wanted to hope that my intuition was wrong, that the sinking pit in my gut was just a trained reaction. I called her as soon as I got off work and I knew.

She was hiccuping. She sounded horrible. For the first minute or so, she tried to pass it off as an illness. I just did what I always do when she lies blatantly, I repeated, firmly, “mum.”

Eventually she broke down and confessed–she’d fallen off the wagon again. And then if that wasn’t enough to make me angry, it was for a stupid reason. The catalyst was because she’d appeared at a camp site my grandparents were supposed to be at, but had decided not to go and she arrived before they could call her. This all happened because she didn’t take her situation seriously. She didn’t go and talk to someone like I had urged her. She didn’t go back on her pills that she so desperately needs. Instead, she listened to her useless ‘doctor’ who prescribed her more Ativan (which she was addicted to coming off her detox two years ago), and simply did nothing else. I was so angry I couldn’t speak to her. I hung up and called my grandparents. I wanted to yell and scream at them for being so oblivious and stupid, but instead, I delivered the bad news and then I left them with it.

Because I’m done. I’m done. I warned her the last time, in person. I had scheduled to visit her on her birthday, in hopes of cheering her up. I suspected she had been drinking, but I didn’t want to believe it. And then the week before, she confirmed it. So I went up, I stared at the broken, weakened remnants of my mother, and I picked her back up… again. She made more promises that she never kept. She shrugged them off–she’s fine, she doesn’t need anything extra.

I’m tired of her not taking her own life seriously. I’m tired of being the one who cleans up all the messes. She spoke to me on the phone like I had to forgive her because she was my mother. She laughed. She acted like it was a joke. She tricked me into talking to her the next day and I could have screamed in rage as she pretended as if nothing had happened. My grandparents did the same thing. I wanted to fucking choke someone.

I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I told my grandparents, point blank, that whatever she does now, she’s on her own, I won’t be there. I have endured stress beyond my years because of this situation and I’ve suffered my own mental relapses. It took me forever to accept that she was back when she had her year and a half of sobriety. I felt like finally I was going to have a mother… a real parent… but no. I should never have let myself open for that kind of disappointment.

I haven’t spoken to her since. I don’t know if I ever will. She’ll probably be dead in two months, if not sooner, should she keep drinking. She doesn’t seem to get that she physically cannot drink. Her body has lost its ability to process it. Her liver barely functions at all anymore.

Even typing this makes me angry. I didn’t let it ruin my weekend. I continued on with my life. My old life is over, the old me is gone; I won’t go back to that and I won’t let them drag me down with them. I love my parents… but it’s time they take care of themselves. It’s time that someone holds them accountable for their missteps.

I no longer feel sympathy, just disgust with a side of apathy.

There’s so many things I want to say to her, but why bother? She doesn’t care. She doesn’t even care enough to keep herself alive.

I’m done.


I haven’t touched my camera in months. Well, I took pictures during my last visit home, but I don’t consider that utilizing it as I had intended. I had all these hopes and dreams that, once I acquired it, everything would just fall into place. It didn’t. I forgot that cameras are not only expensive by themselves, but for true flexibility, they require lenses. You can’t do everything in photoshop. Well, okay, you can, but it isn’t as fun/good/etc. I love editing photos, don’t get me wrong, but there’s just something real and raw about an unedited photo that is perfect on its own.

As with everything I do, I got frustrated. Frustration and me go hand in hand. I’m always getting frustrated and I’m never, ever satisfied. All my hobbies end in frustration, even the things I enjoy like gaming? Oh yeah, frustration. I’m frustrated that I’m not good enough, I don’t have enough money to do this, or I don’t have the mindset for that. It’s annoying. I’m frustrated right now just thinking about it.

The worst part of it all is, I know exactly what I need to do. I have to buckle down and make do with what I have and, more importantly, be patient. I was never very good at patience.

I’m running into the same issue as we look at houses. It all just makes me frustrated. The houses we like are out of our budget and the ones in our budget are, honestly, quite terrible…. and our budget isn’t even that bad! We haven’t officially gone to a bank or anything yet, but my father-in-law is a financial guy and we both estimated around $180,000 for us. Here, in the capital of our state, that don’t mean shit. Especially when we only really want to spend $130-150k.

In an ideal world where land is readily available not in the middle of nowhere, we’d purchase an acre and put a house on it. We’ve looked into it, but the only pieces of land available are super small, super expensive, or super horrible sheer cliffs. Woo!

Patience is key here. It isn’t an instantaneous process like I want it to be. The stars and planets are not going to just magically align and lead us to our perfect dream house where everything falls neatly into place. This is an unrealistic expectation–I know this, but I don’t care. I still want it to happen anyway.

As I ease into getting used to this new work schedule (I know it’s been four months, but it takes me a long while to adjust to something outside of my comfort zone), I’m hoping I can find a place again for my hobbies that have gathered dust… like photography. I don’t expect I’ll ever be famous or well-paid for it, but that’s never why I did it in the first place. Much like writing, it’s simply a means of expression and a way to exercise my crazy brain.

I need to force myself to do one of those ‘pictures a day’… but honestly, we don’t really do anything noteworthy on a daily basis. We work, we come home, we sleep, we work. That’s kind of it. Which is why I get frustrated when I try those things, sigh!


I hate when I’ve gone so long without updating this.  This is my personal chronicle.  My way of keeping my head straight and my memories intact.  I have a glorious memory, one that is almost photographic… but my fractured and damaged psyche makes it difficult to recall them.  Sometimes things get locked away that have no business disappearing from my conscious mind.  It happens and I hate it.

When I don’t write, it’s usually because my mind is in more chaos than usual.  I hate it.  My eyes hurt and my body feels worn, though I’ve hardly done anything at all.  I want to write about Nikita and how my mother had to put her down on Friday.  How she called me just as I was preparing for work and how when I heard the words… I felt numb.  Well and truly numb.  I’ve never… I haven’t experienced anything like that and recalling it makes me feel sick somehow.  I don’t know why.  I broke down a minute later, crying so hard that all that came out were muffled squeaks as I attempted to breathe through it.  I’m strong, though.  I had my cry and then I remembered her and everything she had done for me.

People don’t respect animals, they don’t respect their pets.  They mistreat them and ignore them when they live and then mourn them ineffectually when they’ve gone.  I’ve lost many animals, many furry friends, and I’ll continue to do so.  I know that I will outlive them, but the things they give me, the lessons they teach me, those are forever.  Nikita was part of my saving grace as a fool-hardy youth and I will never forget how she calmed and loved me when I felt like no one did.  She was a wonderful cat and while I miss her, I do not begrudge her death.  It is a reminder that I need to appreciate and cherish people and pets while they are here instead of always thinking I’ll have more time.

My mother-in-law, who believes in the supernatural, told me she would haunt like their cats did.  I told her no, she would not.  She lived a happy life and she was loved.  I would not hold on to her like they hold on to theirs.  It’s just the way I am.  I’ll talk about her and remember her and maybe sometimes I’ll cry, but I’ll never hold on to her like she’s still here.  She’s not.  I’ve dealt with death since an early age and I’ve always had this strange… I don’t know how to say it, but I accept it.  It is what it is.  It hurts, and it rips at you… but it is inevitable.  Ignoring or wishing away the inevitable is folly.  In my life, nothing has ever really left me until I’m ready for it to.  I may not realize that I’m ready, but when I look back later, I realize that I was.  It’s symbolic, in a way.

I want to talk more about her, but I can’t.  My brain can’t focus on anything.  It’s fuzzy.  I’ve been absorbing books like one breathes air because it’s easier than thinking.  Sometimes, I wish someone had better prepared my husband.  Sometimes, I wish I had never married him at all.  I’m not supposed to be married, I’m supposed to be on my own, doing my own thing, not held down by an archaic tradition that forces me to take on both my own issues and his, as well.

It’s a selfish thing to say, but my brain… it hurts.  I am tired.  I’m always tired, but I’m mentally exhausted.  I feel like all the things I’ve loved have been ripped away or stolen from me in some way or another.  This isn’t a justified accusation to make–anything that’s been done has been allowed by me.  Still, in these hours where I feel so beaten down I can barely continue, I feel angry and I think these things.  I need to find something to channel all this chaos in my head before I make a mess.  I can’t handle everything.  I’m strong, but I’m not that strong.  Still, it’s the role I take, the one I fit into so easily.  No one has to worry, because I’ll take care of it.  I hate it.  Why can’t anyone else do it?  Why am I always shouldering the burden?

Maybe I want some time to be angry.  Maybe I deserve the right to be angry.  I don’t even know anymore.  I am losing pieces of myself to the big, thick mask I’ve begun to assemble.  It’s a dangerous practice.  I can’t disconnect or I’ll have problems… again.  I’m always remote, I’m always just barely out of reach, but now?  The gap is getting wider and I’m losing my ability to discern real from fake.  I’m getting lost along the way again.

The husband is zero help at all.  He has about as much introspection as a dim cave.  He’s smart… brilliant, even, but stupid.  So very, very stupid and simple.  Sometimes, I feel like I married a text book.  I defend him, but sometimes, I wonder if what I’m defending even exists.

Blegh.  I’ll write more when my thoughts are sorted.  I’m going to look back on this and shake my head.  That’s the point.  To chart my progress, to face my downfalls and my happy moments.  To dissect everything and learn how to continue… God knows I don’t operate like normal people.  I wish I did.  I hate this.  I don’t like teetering the crazy line.

Double Vision

Argh, I updated wordpress and now it’s limiting my picture uploads to like, 2MB… which is just stupid.  I haven’t figured out a way to change it yet.  Frustrating.  So, I’m using photobucket, which means an unreliable photo quality… woohoo.

I went home for a week October 1st to the 10th.  That was great.  I got to see everyone and I even got to see my cousin pregnant this time!  The last time she was pregnant, I saw her just before she announced it and then I didn’t see her again until the baby was born.  Pregnant bellies are a mystery to me, but I love them.  She looks especially cute pregnant.

It was also her daughter’s birthday, so I got to spoil her with gifts and play with her, so that was awesome.  Also, Barbie looks more skanky than ever.  They may have made her boobs smaller, but now she’s got these chicken legs and just looks ridiculous.  She looked better before they went all insane on her proportions, in my opinion.

My husband managed to suffer through the family festivities.  He used to be feel incredibly awkward surrounded by my family, but I think he’s getting used to it.  He actually gets involved now.  I can’t fault him for it, my cousin’s husband was the same way.  It’s difficult, trying to adjust to us.  We’re large, we’re loud, and we don’t care who knows it.

I caught the picture while he wasn’t looking.  That’s my grandma in the background.  She gave us a scare while I was home.  We had to take her from her doctor’s to the emergency room.  She had a blood transfusion while I was there.  Her hemoglobin levels or something involving her blood levels were dangerously low.  She’s doing a little better now.  She puts on a brave face, but every time I go up… I know we’re coming closer to the end.  It’s a painful thought.  She’s like my mum.

Speaking of which, my mother is doing well.  She’s not drinking, she hasn’t had another band added to her throat, and she’s working pretty steadily.  It’s going to take awhile for her body to recover, but when we saw her, it was a noticeable difference.  I have a picture, but I look awful in it (in all of these, actually, so they will remain hidden), so it will be hidden away in my photo album.

It’s strange, though.  In some ways, she’s the woman I remember, but in other ways, she isn’t.  I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing.  It’s like watching someone who is incomplete–like a sheet with holes in flapping in the wind as if it didn’t have any at all–it’s difficult.  I want her to be that woman, the one I remember, the one that I had idolized and wanted to be because she was beautiful and charismatic… I didn’t see that she was deeply troubled and lost.  I didn’t see it until it was the only thing she had left.  This is for the best… I know it is, but in my heart, I still want that person back.  It’s dangerous to build images in your head or to place people on pedestals… there’s no such thing as that perfect person.

I just hope she keeps with it.  There is no second chance after this… she’ll die.

In other, not so fun news… I am having extreme vision problems.  It began before we went to Maui, my eyes were bloodshot and raw.  I thought it had been a product I was using, so I quit.  I had tried a new mascara, too, and it had collagen in it.  My eyes stopped being red and raw, but slowly… I started to have issues seeing.  It’s been getting worse, but has sped up considerably this past month or so.  Now I’m getting blurred vision beyond what’s a normal prescription change.  They can’t even give me a new prescription because it constantly changes.  It’s taken me forever to type this simply because the words blur together.

They gave me drops, said that maybe my eyes were swollen… but the drops seem only to have made them worse.  One eye will go weird and then the other will follow because I’m straining it.  I usually have to put contacts they gave me in to see at all, as my glasses are rendered useless by the drops.  It’s the complete opposite of what they told me will happen.

I have an appointment tomorrow and I’m a little scared.  I’ve had people tell me several things and I don’t like any of them.  My husband is sick and dealing with an audit at work, and even without that, he didn’t understand the severity when I continually told him that I couldn’t see.  I was cooking last night and my vision was so bad I couldn’t distinguish my fingers from the onion I was cutting.  Thank God for my thumbnail, that’s all I’m saying…

I’m hoping for answers or a solution tomorrow.  We spent almost $300 the last time on advice and shit that didn’t work.  The expense is only going to go up, especially if I have to see a specialist… sigh.