sueeeus

Black boxes. Those mysterious entities of which the knowns are made visible on a strictly limited basis. You know. The need to know basis. The guzzintahs (inputs – what goes in) and the guzzoutahs (outputs – what goes out) might be evident, but the inner workings? Good luck with that.

I’m no stranger to depression.  Good gravy, that’s an understatement.  I’m the queen of understatements.

I’ve recently experienced new-to-me forms to which the only explanation I can muster is the tangled cocktail of hormones clashing within my body, wherever it is that they wage war.  Probably some minuscule region in my big giant convoluted and messy brain.  I dunno.  The ‘m’ word surfaces.  It’s probably the culprit.  Most likely.  But what do I know?

I will say, this latest bout was short-lived, and THANK GOD FOR THAT, because it was a whole new level of numbness and confinement that I’d never before experienced.  In a way, if I’d had the capability for emotion beyond numbness, I’d have been terrified.  Terrified because I could see clearly that I was absolutely stuck in a place that had no way in and no way out.  I didn’t know how I got there.  I didn’t know how I could get out of there.  I was just there.  Stuck.  In a box.  Stuck in a black box.  Stuck with no will for anything.  Living?  Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.  Existing?  Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.  Dying?  Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.

While I was there, I was at least able to battle myself with self-talk.  It went like this:

I did snap out of it later that afternoon.  Maybe the tides changed with the latest hot flash.  Who knows.  I’m left with mixed yearnings.  I want to be helpful to someone, anyone, with the experiential knowledge that I have.  If someone else at least knows that they are understood, even if there’s little to no explanation for the given emotional state, it gives a sense of comfort and hope.  I’m generalizing based on my own perceptions, of course.  The conflicting yearning is one that wants to distance myself as far as possible from things of this nature.  This is not a pleasant place to be. Or to think about.  Ever.

I’m calling a truce and settling for the moment with a blog post.  I seldom have the energy to actually polish my thoughts, so I throw this out as a placeholder and maybe one day I’ll revisit it.  Or not.

How’s that for a title?

I had quite a bit more stuff written here, blah blah blah, but I think the title pretty much sums it  up.

a bit morbid, yet a bit brilliant, and a bit apropos as well

• Here’s the TMI bit.  Still bleeding.  I guess you can call it spotting, but it’s still annoying.  Thirteen days, but who’s counting.
• I’m feeling crabby today.  I’ve had three meltdowns in less than one month.  I’m not used to this, and I’ve barely recovered from the last bout.  It’s exhausting, not to mention wholly unpleasant for me and my loved ones, and it just plain sucks.
• So here goes.  I’m going to proceed with another long discourse that attempts to sort things out.  It helps me, and yes, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the point of my blog.  I blog for me. You know the drill.  Run along now.  (Oh, she IS crabby, isn’t she?!)

I think I may just draw the conclusion before I even go anywhere.  I’m a sore loser.  I don’t handle criticism well, in any form, constructive or destructive.  The inability to handle criticism reflects the following character flaws:  insecurity, inflated ego, pride, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and inordinate people pleasing (which may be better stated as too much concern or regard for what other people think).

Of course, acknowledging these character flaws only prompts immediate self-flagellation.

Now that’s helpful.

If I could only stop my brain from short circuiting to the least constructive place to be, and take that split second needed to squeeze the question, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus think of this?” out of my exploding head.  If I’d answer that question for myself, I’d be much more centered and balanced.  I’d see the forest and the trees.

Also, if I could take a moment to recall or realize that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, maybe, just maybe, I’d not bother wasting any time at all with it.

It’s like exercise, and requires serious training and effort.  Why can’t it just be first-nature, and easy?

~*~*~*~

I can put together a complete string of events that contributed to my funk.  Having already drawn conclusions, this may actually prove constructive.  We shall see.

• After receiving a good report on my bill of  health STD-wise, I sent a message to Skills’ ex to let her know that I didn’t have the thing she claimed he gave her, and that he wasn’t the carrier.  I also responded to some of the things she’d said about him.  She’d written some things from her perspective, and I replied with my own observations.  I was cordial and not trying to stir anything up.  In retrospect, however, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  She sent me a curt reply, and left him a voice mail calling me a psycho and telling him to tell me to leave her the hell alone.
• Gadget said he won’t take the kids for my birthday weekend.  I don’t know why it is, but there is something about birthdays reminding me of a lifetime of disappointments.  Sort of like the holiday blues that people get around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.  All this hype of love and gratitude and joy and life is great and life is beautiful and oh the love, nothing but love, love is all around,  swirling about while inside the reality is there is turmoil and travail, and it’s just such a relief when January 2nd rolls around and all that focus of unfulfilled life and love is behind you.  The thing about birthdays, though, is all this internalization of “why am I here?”, “who is glad that I’m here?”, “who cares that I’m here?”, all compounded with a “don’t look at me!” self-conscious complex.  The battle between wanting attention and not wanting attention.  Maybe psycho was apt.  Because in reality?  I am loved.  Loved by many!  If I stepped outside of my ego for just a moment, I could see that.  “You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved!”  Loved by my fine and beautiful friends.  Loved by my sisters.  Loved by my children.  Loved by my nieces and nephews.  Loved by my mother.  Loved by my brothers (at least some of them).  Probably even, in some as yet to be comprehended way, by my father.  Loved by my coworkers.  Loved by almost everybody I’ve ever known.  (Probably.  I’m lovable.  What’s not to love?  Apart from the psycho bit.)
  • Loved by Skills.  [pause; she stops, smiles, thanks God for this man]
• Every time I talk to Gadget, without fail, he cries about money and how he has to make sacrifices to make ends meet.  I’m so tired of hearing it.  I want to scream at him to just man up and shut up.  I don’t know Skills’ financials, and I don’t care, really, but I’m guessing his may be in the same ballpark as Gadget’s.  Yet, in comparison, he supports himself, his two boys, pays child support for his daughter, which is more than Gadget has to pay for his daughter, and doesn’t say a word about “I want, I want, I want”.  I respect that, in Skills.  But I digress.  Gadget has been waiting for an insurance claim check to arrive, and he asked me to open his mail to see if it had.  He went so far as to ask me to deposit it for him.  He has no problem asking me to go out of my way to do something for him, yet turn the tables?…  I told him I wouldn’t forge his name to endorse it, so he said forget it, he’ll come by the house and get it.  When?  Probably Saturday morning.  I mentioned this in my last blog post.
• The irritations with Gadget mixed with the drama from the STD-ex and a houseful of four children to keep entertained –all this energy being drawn out compels me to want to regenerate, and how do I do that?  Pester Skills for attention.  Now, consider a tired and drained after a long week boyfriend, also subject to the drama of the STD-ex, and now accosted by a needy girlfriend.  He called me selfish.  Said my attitude reminded him of her and the games she used to play.  A night that could have been restful turned toxic, and he had to leave.  So I managed to take a low point and drive it to even deeper depths.  Insane.
• So I have to run damage control.  Again.  I have to pick myself up from the pit I’ve managed to put myself into, and I have to grovel and redeem myself and somehow explain that no, I’m not playing games, nor do I want to play games, ever, nor do I want to come across as being needy, nor do I want to be needy, ever.  All I want is to love unconditionally and to be loved unconditionally.  Do I know how?  I don’t know.  I’m aspiring.  And at the same time, the prideful part of me who won’t just sit still, rises up with indignation that I would grovel in the first place.  That person will defend me and say, “There there, if he really understood you, he wouldn’t say things like that, that are so hurtful and cut you to your core.”  But that’s pride speaking, and the sore loser speaking, and the one who doesn’t want to take responsibility for not taking that split second necessary to squeeze the question and thought, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus really think of this? and any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear” out of her exploding head.
• He left, and I didn’t know whether or not he’d read my last blog post, so didn’t know if he knew that there was a possibility that Gadget would show on Saturday morning.  But since he was gone, it seemed moot.  If Gadget showed, he wouldn’t be here anyway.  And Gadget didn’t show.
• Damage control.  A bit of regrouping.  Some talk.  [The part he keys on]:  You silly girl, why don’t you get it.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.   [The part I hear] If I’m not meeting your needs, we need to nip this relationship in the bud, and not waste our time.   Me [jumping to wrong conclusions]:  I don’t want to end this relationship because of some potholes that I’m not smart enough to avoid before I go crashing through them.  Me [trying to explain myself, not feeling understood]:  So maybe I appear desperate when I’m all whacked like this, but this isn’t the real me.  Please, let’s not jump to conclusions when I’m not in my right mind.
• There is much to be said about the healing power of sleep.  When he’s rested, and when I’m rested, there is calm and clarity, and the static and craziness of other days is put away.  He’s very good about knowing this about himself.  He can’t process properly when he’s tired.  He knows he needs to be rested and recharged before he can think seriously and clearly about things.  I need to learn from this and follow this more, too.  It would save a lot of grief.  Yet I so stubbornly cling to the words, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”  I could follow that scripture by putting away the wrath without resolving it.  It’s a personal choice to hold or release the wrath.  The resolution can come with the dawn.  There.  Thinking outside of the box.  I just gave myself the means to let things rest.  Win win.  Because, with the dawn, there is renewed energy, and things can be seen in clear light, for what they are really worth.  Then we can see if we do or do not have a real issue to contend with.  And if we do, we take it from there.  In truth.  In honesty.  With humility.
• I feel so much better.  But I’m not done.
• So we repaired and continued our Saturday.  It was such a special day, because he got to have his daughter again, and this time, for an overnight.  We had her, my two boys, and my niece and nephew.  We went to the park and had a picnic, and lo and behold, one of his sons was there with his friends, so we had even more family together.  We had a football, a soccer ball, and a frisbee to play with.  We walked along the dock and watched people fish.  We enjoyed the fresh air.  (Okay, the kids claimed boredom, but the grown ups had a nice time.)  Later that night we watched movies and had a taco bar dinner.  It was a nice day, a nice evening, and a nice night.  Morning came and I made some quick bread cinnamon rolls and we lounged about.
• And then Gadget showed up.  With his fiance.  Unannounced.  I assume he came to get the check, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure.  Maybe it was like an ambush.  I definitely could have handled the situation better.  She was fashionably dressed, very tall, wearing high heels.  She has long long dark hair, and is pretty.  She seemed nice enough.  Skills was still in his jammies.  I guess that was awkward.  He wasn’t completely pleased that I hadn’t told him that Gadget might show (scroll up a few bullet points).   We made introductions all around.  I’d just put LB down for his nap, but told Gadget he could go say hi since he was here.  I shouldn’t have let him, though, because then LB didn’t want to go back to bed, and he ended up crying.  And it seemed like Gadget and his fiance were upstairs quite a while, which made me sort of wonder what they were doing.  Was he showing her around at all the things he’d done to improve the house — installing the ceiling fans and changing the light switches — or whatever?  Or snooping in the rooms?  Looking at my rumpled bed?  (Good, I hope it looked like there was all kinds of crazy love and acrobatics going on very recently.)   And of course Gadget made comments about the kids being sick and odds and ends in general that in retrospect are the same old $#!t button presses that I’m not savvy enough to recognize before I say things I shouldn’t say and get myself all upset.  Because I am the one who ends up frustrated and upset.  He’s just pushing buttons because he can.  And I totally let it happen.  Idiot. IDIOT.
• What does Skills say after they leave?  “It seems like you still have feelings for him.”
• WTH
• Seriously, I don’t get that.  Words like that send me straight to defense mode, compounded with frustration and general consternation.  Feelings?  Yes, I have feelings.  Feelings of frustration.  Feelings of anger.  Anger at myself for wasting so much of my life with somebody who is so polar opposite.  Anger at Gadget for being such an ass.  Anger at him for being such a buffoon.  (But really, that’s not warranted.  I can’t hold against him his own mental and intellectual limitations.  That’s on me, for not honoring my own standards.)  Anger at him for not being man enough to end a dead relationship civilly.  I can love Gadget as I can love any other human being on the planet, but no more.  I can have compassion for him as a human, if and when I can see through the prickly crust he lives behind.  But love?  As in, love between a man and a woman?  No.  That love waned long ago.  That love only burned brightly for a very very short time, and then remained as sorry embers that I tried valiantly to tend for far, far too long.  If I were to be brutally honest with myself, I should never have married him.  I should never have taken him in at all.  But I jumped in like a fool, and then, as a more stubborn fool, tried to make it all work.  Square peg, round hole.  Whatever.  Water under the bridge.  It’s over.  OVER.  So yes, I’m still harboring much anger at myself for letting things be what they were, and for so long.  Much self disdain and anger.
• I think that we, Skills and I, are both somewhat affected by ex-drama, whether we admit it or not.  His ex has tried to plant some seeds of question and doubt, and to generally stir things up.  We’ve both exhibited anger and frustration at our respective situations.  The bottom line?  It’s emotion.  Granted, it’s negative emotion, but any investment of emotion to things past does disservice to things present.  Truly.
• We are here and now.  We are blessed with this opportunity to be completely free to love and be loved.  We are blessed to be able to laugh and rejoice in the life we are living at this very moment. We need to recognize that, remember that, and not let things past place shadows over our brightly shining present.
• I am in love with him, this man called Skills.  We have pasts.  We’ve made poor decisions in our lives.  Some of those decisions helped us learn and grow into stronger people.  Nobody is perfect.  I have a hard time stepping up when the finger is pointed at me.  I squirm and feel uncomfortable and defensive, but truly, I accept full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.  What can I do about it now?  I can only learn and try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes.  I can try to grow and become stronger and better and just a bit wiser.  In so doing, I honor myself and those whom I love.
• So.  My goals.
  • Honor myself and those I love by practicing more humility, by taking that moment to remind myself that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, and dismiss it before it can take hold.
  • Be a better mother — be more attentive to the effect that my actions, words, and emotions have upon my children.  Take the time to steer them in the right direction, to encourage them, to bolster them, to give them what they need to grow up to be fine people.
  • Listen with an open heart and an open mind, rather than react and become defensive or make assumptions of criticism.

I’ve recently finished up a round of medical appointments, having neglected these things since having LB.  I think that I was mostly burned out on medical attention after he was born, having been through SO much testing and surveillance for so very long.  But I finally decided I should follow through, and as well, there was the friendly STD allegation of recent history.

Mammogram.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  There’s nothing like embracing a cold mass of metal machinery and getting your boobs smashed between two even colder glass plates.

Diabetes status.  Check.  HbA1C results?  6.1.  Diabetes risk cutoff?  6.0.  So close.  Bah.  Now my doctor wants me to attend the diabetes information course at the hospital.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with LB.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with BB.  I’m pretty sure there will be nothing new for me to learn.  I’ll probably get a new glucometer out of it, though.  Hopefully it will be the same model that insurance prefers, otherwise it will be a complete waste.

Ob/Gyn annual.  Check.  Results?  Normal.

Supplemental STD panel, blood work, and cultures.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Clean.  As in, empty allegations.  Which speaks volumes to the accuser.  Psycho.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…  Even so, it’s good to know.  Skills is clean.  I’m clean.  And as for Gadget –I have no idea at this point of his fidelity.  He claims to have never cheated, but I’ve caught him in lies before, which pretty much negates any level of trust.  But I’m clean.  So that’s that.  Good. To. Know.

Ob/Gyn IUD status.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Okay, so I’m having some issues.  Apparently it’s not uncommon to bleed, and bleed, and bleed, while the body is getting adjusted.  Nice.  It’s not bad, per se, but it’s getting old.  And as for the IUD causing my recent emotional meltdowns, my doctor was very skeptical.  He did, however, agree that it was most likely related to the increased ovarian function side effect of the metformin, which is taken for the diabetes.  He also agreed that it would be a good idea to map moods and symptoms for the next three months and make an evaluation after that.  So that’s that.  I have a plan.  And a fragile emotional state.

Speaking of clean slates.  I’ve been feeling melancholy, looking about this place that I call home.  I wish it were easy to just get a new place and walk away from this place.  Gadget is dragging the removal of crap on and on and on.  I don’t have a truck any more, so can’t really haul all his crap to the dump, and even if I could, it would mean that I’d have to deal with it, move it, lift it, sort it, and I just don’t want to even look at it, let alone touch it.  So I let him take his sweet time.  I’m on the verge of getting bitchy about it soon, though.  And once all the traces are gone, what then?  I think I will need to re-organize, redecorate, re-arrange, and maybe refurnish. Maybe all those things will help.  It’s not very practical to move, after all.

And as for Gadget playing nice?  Next weekend is supposed to be his weekend, but apparently he has plans, and he claims his plans are work-mandated, so he won’t be taking the kids.  Next weekend is my 45th birthday, and whatever plans may have been brewing in my little sphere of love must now be adjusted.  It’s hard not to think that he’s purposefully being difficult and uncooperative.

On a good note, this weekend is a fun family fest with my niece and nephew, my two boys, and Skills’ daughter, all here for a sleepover.  We will have pizza tonight, a taco bar tomorrow, possibly a cookie baking session, some Wii or other game time, and hopefully some fun outdoor activities, if the weather is nice.

Gadget might show up to retrieve a check that arrived for him.  Of course if there’s money involved, he makes himself available.  Hopefully he’ll haul away some more crap.  But he doesn’t get to take the kids –not when they’ve got their cousins and friends over.  He referred to Skills as my ‘boy toy’.  I wonder if he’ll even look him in the eye, if he shows up while Skills is here.  I wonder if it will be hard for him to see.  I wonder what assumptions he will make.  True, Skills is oh so easy on the eyes, so of course the ‘boy toy’ reference is to be expected.  Will there be comparisons?  Where Gadget is a big, hulking, morose clod hopper, Skills is an agile, deft, good-natured, gregarious and quick-witted ray of light.  Night and day.  Gadget will most likely skulk about in the garage and not even emerge to show his face.  Hopefully.

I had a rough night yesterday and flipped out emotionally with a bunch of stuff that ultimately made Skills feel bad so he ended up going home, after which I cried my eyes out.  I woke up with horrible leg cramps (charlie horses) in both my calves, and the front ankle/shin area.  I’ve had gosh awful charlie horses during pregnancy that knotted both glutes, hams, quads, and calves concurrently, which is hard to fathom and harder to relieve, but that little muscle down the front of my shin where it attaches to my ankle and foot is a whole new experience, and they were all knotting at the same time.  When I tried to gently and carefully flex my feet to pull the knots out of the calves, those front muscles would knot more, so I was basically screwed.  Ouchie.   I’m wondering if it’s the IUD, tipping the hormonal balance just enough to send me to Planet Crazy.  I found a site with SO many side effects that it’s alarming and best not to dwell there too much, lest I fill my brain with hypochondriac tendencies.  I hope things settle down soon, because this?   Is awful.

I’m going to give it a few months to see how things settle.  I’ll monitor my moods and symptoms and see if they follow any patterns.  If my emotions stay whacked, I can either go on Zoloft or Wellbutrin or something to try to stabilize, or I can just have the IUD removed and try something else.

I try so hard to make sense of things, because I want to understand what’s happening.  It’s why I’m leaning toward the thought that it’s seriously something hormonal.  I’ve recently learned that the first thing a therapist asks is if you have thoughts of suicide.  I never do, but last night when I was melting down, I tried to curl up fetal as small as I could and kept wishing I could disappear or something, crying uncontrollably, and trying to make myself as small as I could, and I thought that this must be what they’re talking about, when a person gets so miswired that they do that.  It’s like an out of body experience, to see that and wonder who on earth that person is and why is she acting like that.  No wonder Skills went home and couldn’t be around me.  The problem is, what I need most when that happens is to be held and somehow coaxed back to reality.  Not his job, though.  Good thing passing out with exhaustion causes things to rewire so I can be okay when I wake up.

I hate to think I need something to make me cope.  I would like to be able to handle it on my own.  I will monitor myself for the next couple of months and see how things are, and see if I swing like this much more.  Hopefully it will settle — it’s a vicious cycle to introduce a hormonal imbalance with the IUD, then have to add Zoloft or something to counter that.  It’s craziness!  But I’ll do what I have to do.  I wrote it all out on my blog last night, just to get it out.  It helps.

That’s a whole hell of a lot of preamble to get to the point that I was trying to reach.  I like to think that there is a reason for everything.  Walk a mile in someone’s shoes…  Not that it’s a pleasant mile to walk, and clearly it’s depression with a capital D.  But one of the things weighing on my heart is the inability to reach or help someone who I love dearly, who is struggling with emotional matters.  And this?  Perhaps this equips me just a little bit.  Maybe what I’m experiencing is something she can relate to.  Maybe I can help her to make sense of it, as I help myself to make sense of it.  Maybe we can find a way to recognize the demons before they strike, and stand tall and ready, armored up.  Maybe we can armor up without mind-altering medical intervention.

And no, I would never check out of this life, no matter how strongly I might in moments like last night want to disappear.  And yes, my brother DID check out of this life, for whatever his reasons were, and yes, perhaps and most likely there are genetic tendencies with which we are faced, but I know not to let that terrify me (so I can try to help her not be terrified as well), or give me any reason to think that I or any of my beloved family are powerless in these circumstances.  It’s just data.  It’s information.  The more we can know and understand, the better we will be able to face whatever may come.

Each day is a brand new day, and the sun will shine.

We will be okay.

We are okay.

I’m going to be a published author soon.  It’s crap, really.  A technical article in a technical magazine, and it’s been revised and edited so much it’s barely discernible as anything I could really put my mark on, but nonetheless, it has to do with the project that consumed my professional energies for the better part of the last year.  So in a way, it’s kind of a big deal.   A culmination of sorts.

There was some talk of pulling the plug on one of my other major projects today.  That’s a bit disconcerting.  We’ll work it out, I’m sure, and all will be fine.  Even so, it’s sort of a shocker.

Ex-spouses had various things to say today, both his and mine.  His?  Some squabbling over child support.  That’s always a sensitive subject, for either party involved.  They’ll figure it out.   Mine?  Is getting married.  In October.  I’m happy for him, truly.  I want him to have happiness in life, so I’m glad he found somebody else.   It seems sudden, but it’s his MO, so I’m not all that surprised.  I wish him well.

The bride to be is going through a divorce that is under contest, and a guardian ad litem has been appointed to see to the best interests of her three children.  The GAL wanted my number to inquire about Gadget, since the new family will be living with him soon.  Of course she can have my number, but he wanted to know what I was going to tell her about him.  He thinks I’m vindictive and will say things to spite him.  Shows how much he knows me.  He said she was going to ask about what went wrong with our marriage.  What went right? Not a whole hell of a lot.  Two beautiful boys.

My 84 year old dad has had his driver’s license revoked, so now he thinks he wants to move to an apartment in the city.  There is much family debate on how to accomplish this.  The logistics alone are daunting– he has a staggering collection of books.  His main complaint is the inconvenience of senior transportation.  I’m sort of cold, I guess, because time is all he has, so if it takes a bit longer to get from point A to point B because public transport is involved, what is the big deal?  It’s far better than being behind the wheel when you’re practically blind and you can’t feel your feet to know whether or  how much you’re braking or accelerating.  He would still have to deal with public transportation if he lived in the city, and it might even take longer since there is more population and with that, more stops.  He might be better off to stay put.  He lives in a mild climate.  Either way.  There is drama, discussion, mixed up communication, and bruised feelings.  Why do I think it’s my job to sort it out so that there is peace within the land?

There is the matter of my niece – she has a sadness that I don’t know how to reach or address.  It hurts me, for the people I love to be hurting, and for me not to know what to do about it or how to help it, when all I want is for them to feel joy.

There is the matter of my sisters being protective of me, and cautioning me to believe more in myself and acknowledge or give more credence to that which I have to offer, which is a lot.  This translates to ‘he better be good enough for you’.  They speak it out of love for me, not out of disregard or disrespect to Skills, yet there he is on trial, defenseless, guilty until proven innocent.  So unfair.

To compound it all, my emotional state is railing.  I had the Mirena installed yesterday, so a foreign object, extra progesterone, cramps, headache, nausea, and constipation all add to the already prevailing PMS which only exacerbates all of the above.

I can only take so much at any given time.

These are some of the things that filled my head today and spilled into my evening that had been set aside to be sweet and magical.  I totally blew it.  Had I had my wits about me, I could have taken a moment to assess each thing as it crossed my day, and said, hey, do the thoughts I have about this particular thing serve me well?  And if they don’t serve me well, then adjust the way I think about them — either dismiss them completely, or find a way to look at them in a positive light.

But no, I didn’t do that.  Guard down.  Reactionary all day.  I brought him down, I brought myself down.

And all the while, I’m frantic, because I have only the tiniest window of time in my life that I can carve out for togetherness and I want so much for that time to be rich and full.  Watching it vanish in a split second rips me to shreds and I feel so frustrated that I’ve wasted time, when time is so, so, so precious and I just can’t afford for this to happen.

Recognizing that destruction only serves to make things worse, because then I berate myself for not being stronger and more vigilant and more prepared, and there’s nothing left to do but go home, try to regroup, get some sleep, and hope to God things look better in the morning.

It’s tragic though.  I can’t get back wasted time.  It’s gone.

I can’t get out of myself.  I can curl up in fetal position and cry my eyes out, but I can’t get away.

So here I am.  Hysterical.  Untouchable.  Alone.

I could have sworn I’d posted at some point or another about the stranger I sometimes become when ravaged by the imbalance of things hormonal.  Or maybe not.  I’ve been on such a fantastic high for the last few weeks, so am completely caught off guard by this.  I have no other explanation, which in itself makes me crazy, because I need explanations for things to be settled in my universe.

Having an irregular cycle and general lack of ovulation has somehow given me the benefit of a very stable emotional state, in general, for the better part of my adult life.  Granted, it made the possibility of motherhood quite challenging, but now my motherhood dreams have come true, and those fertility challenges are no longer important.  A continued non-existent or barely existent cycle would suit me just fine, at this stage in life.

However.   The trauma and torment of the latter part of 2009 tipped me into the type II diabetes arena.  It was always lurking there as an eventuality, given the genetic disposition compounded with two cases of gestational diabetes.  The first line of treatment is metformin, which is actually a wonder drug of sorts.  It affects endocrine function, and prevents the liver from over-producing glucose, blah blah blah.  The other thing it does is induce or assist in ovulation.  The problem is that my blood sugar is doing fine now, but this whole business of possibly ovulating and at least cycling more frequently is not good for my mental state.  Plus, it re-introduces the potential need for some measure of birth control.  You know, that is, if this girl has any intentions of getting busy.  Which she does.  [snicker]  [blush]

Ahem.

I’ve been consulting with Doctor Google to try to figure out what’s going on with me, and have come up with PMDD.  It could be PMS, but the good doctor says that five or more symptoms from the symptoms list makes it PMDD.  In a way, just reading it helps me get a grip on things and pull myself out of the funk, but it’s no easy feat.  It’s so hard to describe what happens in an emotional crash, and how hard it is to pull oneself out of it.  It’s HARD!  And the damage control.  Good Lord, I have to run damage control, because the way I behave affects those nearest to me, and leaves them shaking their heads in wonder at who this stranger is and where in the heck did that fine and wonderful person known as Sueeeus Maximus go?

Meanwhile, I’m on the brink of getting fitted for the Mirena IUD.  Tuesday is the day.  I’ve had it before, and didn’t really like it much, but after the fact decided that my problems with it were mainly psychological.  This time around, given my age and other circumstances, it seems to be the only viable option I have, apart from having my tubes tied.  But I’m presently terrified at the prospect, because the wormhole I entered when consulting with Doctor Google led me to read about some horrible experiences for women with PMDD and/or PMS.  Mainly that the Mirena exacerbates the PMS or PMDD.

It’s hard enough to find myself facing this onslaught of emotional torment at all, and then to find that I am on the horizon of potentially making it even worse.  I am in a quandary.  I absolutely can’t stand to lose myself like this.  What is the recourse?  I’ve read that one can take low level Zoloft to address PMDD.  Great.  I’ve been through the Zoloft phase before, and it served me well, but I have such a hard time wrapping my head around the thought of needing something like that for the long haul.  And besides that, Zoloft isn’t particularly kind to the libido, and, um, I’m kind of looking forward to establishing and maintaining a healthy libido.  [blush]

What else can I do?  Become an exercise freak?  Mark the calendar for when I think I might be approaching the ‘window’ and then schedule myself to work my @$$ off so that I can keep the endorphins up and my wits about me?  And how on earth can I maintain the motivation needed to carry that through if and when I’m in the grip of the demons?

I’ve read about supplement therapy, but I already take calcium and B6 supplements, which are on the recommendation list.

One saving grace is, however insane I may become during the day, once I sleep and reawaken to a new day, I have a fresh outlook, and can try to be vigilant and not let the demons in.  The other saving grace is that this is only temporal, and if I can at least recognize it for what it is, I can remind myself that it will be OVER soon, and life can go on in its peachy splendor.  But the damage control.  Oh dear heavens, it’s no easy thing.  Here I am, in the infancy of building what could be a beautiful relationship with this fine man, Skills, and look what in the hell I’m putting him through now.  I hope he doesn’t run!

(Please don’t run.  I’ll be okay soon!)

The last time this happened was December 03, 2007.  Shortly thereafter, LB sprouted and gestated for, oh, what was it?  37 or 38 weeks?  Followed by ten months of servitude to the Lactina.  Followed by four full months of vaguely wondering whether I’m going through the change.

I think this works out to one week shy of 23 months.  I guess the plumbing still works, after all.

Sometimes, when you’re a woman of advanced maternal age, and you are overweight (obese, technically), and you have type II diabetes (but you really think that you are more borderline and not actually over the edge) which has escalated to insulin dependent gestational diabetes, and you are 36 weeks along, and when your fundal measurement is 43, and you’ve gained five pounds in one week, and when your regular doctor is on vacation, you might find yourself face to face with some stranger who knows nothing about you, and asks you why you didn’t bring your blood sugar log in to this appointment (when you brought it to the last appointment and that substitute doctor didn’t even ask to see it until you told her that your usual doctor had wanted you to show it to her, and then she didn’t show any real interest in it, anyway, so you figured you’d not bother this time, especially because there are about three or four really bad entries in it, and why subject oneself to the tsk tsk bad girl you shouldn’t have eaten that rice or that muffin reprimand, especially when you’re on the teetering edge of tears with the least infliction of guilt, judgment, or criticism) so you tell him that your morning sugars have been in the 90s and your post-prandials around 140 or so (which is more or less true, except for the few odd points)…

…that substitute doctor with the charming bedside manner might say, “Someone hasn’t been watching what she eats very well,” and then insist that an appointment be scheduled sooner than later to go over the numbers to determine whether any additional adjustments to the insulin should be made.

…and that same doctor with the charming bedside manner might wrinkle up his face and remeasure you two or three times and scratch his head and say something to the effect of “do you realize how big you are measuring, and we ought to get you in for another ultrasound,” after which you assure him that yes, you know you are measuring big, your last child measured big, and your normal doctor is well aware of it, and you are scheduled for a c-section anyway, because you already know you’ve got a giant baby growing in there.

…after which that same substitute doctor with the charming bedside manner might ask whether you’re getting your tubes tied during the c-section, and when you say no, you are not planning on it, and he looks at you with shock and horror and asks why not, and you answer that you don’t want to do that, and possibly your husband might get the snip instead, to which he asks why on earth you would subject your husband to an unnecessary procedure when you will be open already and the procedure will take less than a minute to put the little tiny clamps on the tubes and there will be no hormonal ramifications because the ovaries are not affected in the least, and in fact, your chance of various female cancer(s) is actually reduced…

…if you’re anything like me, you have a very difficult time maintaining your composure until you’re safely tucked away inside your car-pod at which time you sob your eyes out all the way home, at the same time wondering vaguely what all the passersby are thinking of the overweight forty-something pregnant woman bawling her eyes out…

…and you try to be objective about it and wonder why you are really so upset, but you just can’t seem to get past the part about NOT BEING READY TO MAKE A DECISION TO COMPLETELY SHUT THE DOOR ON ANY FUTURE CHILDREN, even though you know you probably shouldn’t even consider the possibility, given all the factors, and you may actually not even want to have more, and most likely you wouldn’t even be able to have any more, based simply on how hard it was to get to here, but you just don’t one hundred percent know what you want, and what you should do, and you’re just NOT READY TO MAKE THAT KIND OF A DECISION NOW, or in the next two weeks, for that matter, and even though he claims there are no hormonal ramifications, you are oh, so very leery, because you’ve lived a lifetime with tweaked-out hormones and the last thing you want to do is rock that boat any more than it’s already rocked.

…and then, when your husband calls, because he’s working late and he needs you to do the daycare pickup, and he can hear in your voice that you’ve been crying, and you say it’s because you didn’t much like the doctor you saw today, and he demands to know WHO it was, so he could call him and bawl him out for being such a jerk, you completely skip the whole part about the tubal ligation, which is really what you’re most upset about (because of course it’s as perplexing to your husband as it is to the charming doctor as to why one wouldn’t want to get a tubal when one is already laid out open on the operating table, and how selfish it is to even suggest something as vile and emasculating as a vasectomy to a perfectly healthy and whole male, God forbid.)

…So I guess that’s what it’s mostly all about. I don’t want to make a decision. I thought I’d already made the decision, which is, let Gadget get snipped, and if he’s not amicable to that (which he isn’t much), take our chances or just be abstinent (which is basically the same thing, when it comes down to it).

The first cycle.

Previous cycle lengths with cc on cd 3-7: 31, 31, 33, 30

Morning bbt difficult due to frequent waking for diaper changes and interference from cpap.

Important Dates: Jan 29 – Feb 7. Norethindrone 5mg.

Cycle Days and Symptoms:

1. Feb 11. Clomiphene Citrate 50mg (cc50); normal flow
2. Feb 12. cc50; normal flow
3. Feb 13. cc50; normal-light flow
4. Feb 14. cc50; no flow
5. Feb 15. cc50
6. Feb 16.
7. Feb 17.
8. Feb 18. guaifenesin 400mg (g), baby aspirin (a), bd
9. Feb 19. 98.4. g,a
10. Feb 20. 97.2. g,a,bd
11. Feb 21. 97.8. g,a
12. Feb 22. 98.3. g,a,bd
13. Feb 23. 98.3. g,a, nauseous headache, constipated
14. Feb 24. 98.3. g,a,bd
15. Feb 25. 98.4. g,a, nauseous headache, constipated, sore neck, low back pain
16. Feb 26. 98.1. g,a, bd, nauseous, post nasal drip, constipated, water retention. 7:30 p.m. pinch sensation in area of left ovary, low back pain, stretchy but minimal cm
17. Feb 27. 98.1. g,a, stiff neck, nausea, low back pain, styes on eyelid. Possible ecwm but dh not interested in bd.
18. Feb 28. 98.1. g,a, bd, sore gums, canker sores, sty is worse, eyelid swollen, upset stomach. Appx 5 p.m. pinch in right ovary area. Possible ecwm but v light.
19. Mar 01. 98.1. a, same symptoms as yesterday except no ovary sensation. Hand numbness in evening.
20. Mar 02. 98.3. a, bd, small pinch sensation right front uterus area appx 10:30 a.m. Possible implantation Such a dreamer. Mild cramping 1:10 p.m. Bowel or uterine Sudden depression and anxiety. Possible ecwm but not sure. Maybe a bit thick.
21. Mar 03. 98.3. a
22. Mar 04. 98.1. a, bd
23. Mar 05. 98.4. a, slight burning sensation in top part of breasts. Soreness/ache in hip joints. Very slight cramping. Low back pain.
24. Mar 06. 97.9. a, slight morning nausea, somewhat constipated. Hungry. hpt bfn, but tricked myself into imagining a faint line. still bfn though. Temp 97.9, down a bit, which makes me crabby, thinking that I must not have made it this time. But it’s still early. No idea when/if I ovulated, so who knows. Very emotional and moody. Irritable. Nipples sting. Too crabby, tired, and NOT IN THE MOOD for bd. V irritable.
25. Mar 07. 98.3. a, bd, environment seems more moist but no ew. Stinging nipples, burning top area of breasts. Spring allergies set in with itchy eyes, etc.
26. Mar 08. 98.4. a, slight nausea feelings, but I suspect they are all in my head. Burning/stinging still.
27. Mar 09. 98.1. a, woke up 5 a.m. hungry, burning stinging breasts. hpt bfn but trying to convince myself I see a line, however faint. v v v faint. Probably evap. New stye or infection starting near tear duct on right eye. DN baby at 18 wks diagnosed with hydrocephalis. Heartbreaking and terrifying. Makes me reconsider why I want to ttc at this late age. Depressed and despondent over these things.
28. Mar 10. 98.4. a, tender nipples, no flow yet. Still irritable. Sensitive to loud voices – husband on the phone BOOMING in my ears, driving me nuts. Nausea during late morning drive to in-laws. Probably imagined.
29. Mar 11. 98.1. a, generally no symptoms. Tired. Irritable. hpt bfn. Despondent due to bfn – trying to convince myself the evap line is a real line. Wondering why no sign of period, if that’s going to be the outcome.
30. Mar 12. 98.4. a, pain on left breast close to under arm side. Can’t feel a lump. Pain in hips – sort of a ligament feeling Allergies have been acting up for days now, so my eyes are miserable scratchy and sore. Mild morning nausea, psychosomatic most likely. Getting v irritated with self… NO MORE hpts (trying not to take any more, anyway).
31. Mar 13. 98.4. a, ice nipples.  This is getting OLD.  Hungry at 3:30 a.m. Low grade nausea continues, as does low back and hip aches.  Breasts stinging sore on tops with more localized sore spots on the outer/arm sides.  Keep feeling as though I’m leaking and rush to the bathroom, convinced I’ll find blood, but nothing.  Creamy discharge, I guess.  Crying with very little provocation — song lyrics or melody, or just a thought.  Have convinced myself that I must be pregnant because I never, ever, EVER have these feelings and sensations, for goodness sake.  Annoyed that the hpt won’t confirm, plus a bit terrified that I’m actually not.  I’m just plain insane, at this point.  Maybe I’ll test tomorrow, even though I swore I wouldn’t.  Slight frontal headache.  Sinus/allergy or menstrual   Who knows at this point.  Such a danged flip flop of rationality and optimism vs. despondency and doubt.  Have probably gained ten pounds in the last two weeks, but am afraid to look.
32. Mar 14. 98.4. a, hpt bfn.  DAMMIT.  Can’t even fool myself with an evap line. Weepy.  Anxious.  Worried about family.
33. Mar 15. 98.4. a, low appetite.  DS sick with vomit/diarrhea, kept me up all night.  Suspicious that all this lgn has been merely a bug that is now manifest in DS.  Wondering when to call doc to advise results of this bogus cycle.  It appears there was no ovulation, and no menses in sight.  May need another round of p and then cc.  Trying not to be disgusted with it all.  Happy news – sister at 21 weeks aok with flying colors.  Big sigh of relief.  I would have been 22 or 23 wks by now, had that worked out.  Sigh.  I was just going to keep this clinical, but who am I kidding.  I’m an emotional mess.  I keep crying for nearly no reason, other than wondering what is wrong with me.  All reason suggests there should be something by now.  If not a positive, then a period.  If I hadn’t taken the cc, then it would be way too early for me to be psychotic about things yet, only being CD33 and all.  I tend to be a 42ish cycle, if I have one at all.  But I DID take the cc, so something should be happening, one way or another.  I’ve exhausted myself going through ttc message threads, and have nothing to show but exasperation.  All my ridiculous hopeful notions early on that I might have ovulated, or even popped two eggs, based on those pinching sensations.  Silly notions of a possible multiple and then all those ridiculous symptoms and the wait.  Well, the window must surely be over.  I’ve had no interest whatsoever in bd for days.  My temps remain high.  Despair is such a crippling emotion.
34. Mar 16. 98.1. Tired of all this logging and charting.  What’s the point.  Feel relatively normal today, but tired, likely due to caring for sick child.  Now husband has the same thing – must be stomach flu.  He’s not taking it as well as the child, but that’s not much of a surprise.  Thank goodness the child is getting better.  Hardly any food in two days, but I’ve tried to keep him hydrated.  He’s empty, poor thing.  What comes out is still like water, so the bug is still working its way through.  He has much more energy though.  Husband, on the other hand, is now exploding with much ado.  God forbid I get this.  I am not one who can handle spewing very well.  And then it will serve me right, making wry comments about MG!  It was a beautiful day today, but who could enjoy it, with a house full of sick people.  I vetoed MG’s desire to sit in the hot tub.  The last thing we need is festering bacteria there.  Not that I plan to set foot out there.  I have a thing about hot tubs.  Bleccccchhhhh.  But that hot water and those strong jets are wonderful.  If only the water could be fresh.  Sigh.  Decided against taking the aspirin regimen today.  Again, what’s the point.  It was to help with implantation, and that window is over.
    …10 p.m. update…  Spotting.  HELL.  Well, actually, I guess I’m relieved.  At least now I know and I won’t be as psychotic over what in the heck my body is or isn’t doing.  Now the dilemma is what to do with the next cycle.  Since it’s Friday, I won’t be able to call for a prescription refill of cc until Monday at the earliest.  Why didn’t the doc write the rx to allow refills   Monday will be day 3 or 4, depending on whether I count today as 1 or tomorrow as 1.  I mean, if I’d just gone to bed I wouldn’t have known until tomorrow anyway.  I did get pregnant on cc once before, taken on cd3-7.  This time doc put me on cd1-5, so I’ll be too late for that.  I do have an old prescription that I didn’t need once I discovered I was pregnant with my Boo.  He’s two so that rx is nearly 3.  Probably not a good idea to take old hormones.  Maybe I should just chart and see what nature does.  Damnitallanyway.  Listen to me.  Mercy.  I guess I’ll call the doc on Monday.