Monday, December 29, 2008

As Oscar Would Say, "I Love Trash."

"Only you could top me, on the craziest ex-boyfriend scale."
This statement came from my friend, Gail.
After my latest mental breakdown she was the one friend I knew I could call and she would get it. She is never shocked by anything I tell her (and can often match me on this) and can find humor in the blackest of hours.
Many of us joke about having a freak magnet. I am afraid that all joking aside, Prick, has proved that I really had one on full force, when I met him.
One of the terrors I had experienced after he assaulted me, was clearing out his belongings that he started squirreling away in my home. It was one of the reasons I had confronted him that fateful night. I made it clear to him in the weeks before that I would not allow him to live with me as long as he was drinking and not working full time. He was failing miserably in both of those departments. I honestly was relieved because I wanted out even before this moment. I felt he was giving me more reasons to leave what was becoming a disaster of a relationship. So,it was a shock in the week before the breakup that he had seemed to have more belongings in my home. He stated that he was looking for an apartment but would just keep things safe at my house until he signed a lease. My gut told me this was crap but I didn't know how to call him on it. The day I finally asked him to leave was the day he disregarded every one of my boundaries. He was drinking, he wasn't working, he was not looking for an apartment, he had imposed himself on my family that morning and the last straw...he had his mail forwarded to my address.
Well, we know how my confrontation went.
While Prick was in jail, I began packing up what I thought was a few of his belongings. What actually transpired was me unearthing boxes and bags of clothes, books, photos, letters, papers, his keyboard. You name it. He had shit packed everywhere. I was sickened to see how blatantly he blew his way into my home. I was sickened that I had been emotionally so beaten down that I couldn't see it happening. The last straw was when we exchanged personal belongings through our legal counsel. It was when he sent me a handwritten list that I realized how far this man went. He had, unbeknown to me, used my attic crawl space as a storage unit. Every single item that this man owned was shoved in my attic. I don't even store shit up there! My best friend's husband took the liberty of clearing the stuff out. It took us two cars and a truck to haul his crap to the police station, where a third party would retrieve the items. I was completely creeped out by the whole ordeal. Needless to say, I had every lock changed and spent the next few weeks cleaning and rearranging my furniture, trying to shake off that invaded feel.
It has been over a year and a half now. I still occasionally stumble across something that the asshole left behind. It may be something as simple as a phone number scribbled on the back of a seldom used notepad or something as tangible as a photo of his younger daughter stuck in between the pages of one of my Al Anon books. Each time I stumble across an item like this, it brings back that metallic taste in my mouth that is actually my stomach up heaving a little.
I have cleaned out my house completely enough that I was finally feeling that every bit of Prick has been removed. All I can say is that my house is my sanctuary. It has been very important to me to retrieve that feeling of peace inside my home.
Recently, I had some minor water damage to some ceiling tiles in my kitchen. It occurred when I had some water seep through the bathroom floor and in to the kitchen ceiling below it. I realized that the tub and shower needed to be re caulked and that was where the water was coming from. Since I have had a few days off this past week, I decided it was a good time to re caulk my tub and shower. It proved to be the solution and the water problem stopped. Since the caulking, I had noticed there were some water stains left on the ceiling tiles in the kitchen. I plan to eventually replace the lighting and ceiling in the entire kitchen at a future date. I decided to just touch up the tiles with white paint instead of replacing them while I am waiting to renovate.
I got up on a step stool to carefully lift each stained tile out of it's grate. After bringing them down, I would touch up the small spots with paint and replace the tile. I saved the largest tile for last. It was the one over my refrigerator. I gently pushed up the tile to slide it out of the grate and it felt heavy. I began thinking it was saturated with water and I would have to replace it, after all. As I slid it towards me, a rush of plastic came spilling out, crashing to the floor. DVDs. I stood on the stool with my arm still upholding the tile and stared in shock. Porn. Lots of porn.
"Shit," was all I could muster.
I stepped down and examined the stash. Sure enough the asshole even put his initials on each DVD.
That was when I reached for the phone and called Gail. I told her the Christmas Porn Fairy paid me a visit and left me a stash in my kitchen ceiling. Which of course led to the question, "who the hell keeps porn in a kitchen ceiling???"
All I could ask her back is, "what the hell else is stashed in my house?"
I felt like that http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0071186/ Bad Ronald movie, had come to life in my own home. I can't tell you how creeped out I felt~ again. Almost a year and a half later, even with the dude in jail, here I am, feeling like he was still hovering over me in the very same kitchen where the assault began. How ironic that I was standing in the same spot where his first blow hit me.
I hung up with Gail after she made me laugh a bit. We joked that it must be the Porn Fairy invading my crib for Kwanzaa. I at least felt a little better as I began to completely remove each and every tile. When I had only open space above me, I grabbed a flashlight and examined every square inch, whispering, "Poooorn Faaairy. Come out,come out ,wherever you are." It turned up empty except for some dust. I swept out the dust and replaced the newly painted tiles.
So, what to do with the porn? Well Prozac has flat lined me enough to know I would have zero enjoyment of ever viewing that crap. My nephew is too young... maybe eBay? Can I mail his porn to him in jail? How about to his new girlfriend? Oooooh, his parents! His priest! Seriously, I was just trying to find humor where I really wanted to throw up. I took each disc out and put it through my shredder. Then I ripped off the paper labels and did the same with them. I threw it all in a bag with kitty litter and called it a day. As I stood at the dumpster, my neighbor walked up and yelled to let him help me, with that. I watched with smug satisfaction as the lid of the dumpster slammed down.
Throwing out the trash just took on a whole new meaning.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Oh, Good Grief.

One of my favorite Charlie Brown isms. Good grief. Charles Schulz was the king of good grief. What was actually his own personal feelings of hopelessness, presented in a cartoon form, made him millions. Pure genius.
I am currently convinced I have Black Lung disease after scraping what seems like the entire state of Pennsylvania's worth of mud off of the horses.The weather has turned unseasonable warm again and we have had more torrential rain. The reason I hate Pennsylvania's winters has resurfaced. Mud. Lots and lots of mud.
Romeo has the typical old-horse, winter coat. It is long and slightly curled. A perfect catch-all for mud, small branches and bramble. He comes in every night looking like a bad B movie monster. He smells like one,too. The only way to describe what a dirty horse smells like is this: 1200 pounds of wet dog. Blech.
Veritas, on the other hand, finds it beneath him to dirty his handsome self. When he goes out, he finds a less muddy spot and does a small, wussy roll that just slightly soils his sides. Romeo picks the muddiest spot and scrapes both sides head-to-toe. When he is done even his face and forelock are covered. For the life of me I cannot comprehend how this makes him feel better in the winter. I get the whole summer/fly thing, but winter...?
So, enough bitching about mud. I am still coasting along in my state of numbness. I guess I am OK with it. I'm too numb to care one way or the other. I did have another talk with the doctor. I am going to persevere through this and stay on the lesser dose of the Prozac. I figure at some point my brain fog will lift and I will either be my old self or back to the deer in headlights. Either way, I want to give it the old college try. I can always up the dose if it seems like it gets to be too much. I just want to try and deal with my head while Prick is safely behind bars. This has been the first time I have not had the legal issues and his physical presence to muddy up my emotions. *snort* I obviously have mud on the brain. Thanks, Romie.
So, I function, I laugh with friends. It's all good. Good grief, Charlie Brown.
Even in writing all of this, I know this is text book grief. It'll pass. I just wish I could speed up time and have all of the answers. Where is that Lucy with her five cent psychiatric booth? Then life would be so much easier, wouldn't it? Or, at least, a little funnier.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

It Looks Like Christmas


Romeo and Sydney are finally out and enjoying their hay.
It's been a long haul this time with Romeo. We had a couple more setbacks that included IV fluids and prayers. He (knock on wood) seems to be coming out of the woods.
As for me...
It had to happen eventually. Depression.
Oh, I've had it from time to time. Those days you feel cranky or sad, wishing you could stay in bed, but you don't. This time is different. It is that big gaping hole of nothing that bothers me the most. I'm not mad or sad. Just nothing. I get up and do what I have to do, feeling nothing.
I knew I was in trouble last week when I went to my mom's best friend's viewing. After crying the entire weekend after she had passed away, I finally flat lined again. Not one tear. Numb.
Argh.
We had more snow this Saturday. It was a dry powdery snow that lightly dusts glitter over everything. I took the opportunity of having a Saturday night free and went shopping. My family and friends have all agreed to not exchange gifts this year. Although I am relieved that the stress of gift giving has been alleviated, it has left me with that feeling of no purpose for the holiday.
I decided that I needed to decorate to the max to force the Christmas spirit in to me. I bought new lights and new ornaments for my tree. Even though it is a tiny three foot artificial tree, I put five strings of colored lights on the sucker. You could land an airplane by it's light. I put extra lights around my windows. It makes a warm glow that I always used to love.
I stood outside in the falling snow, inspecting the lights in the window. I never heard my neighbor and his dog approach until he spoke, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." I patted his German Shepard, brushing the glittered snow off his coat and thanked him. It still didn't feel like it to me. I mean, it's snowing for the third time,for God's sake! How much more Christmas do you want?
I had one more trick up my sleeve. I popped in a DVD of The Snowman. The part where he is flying to the song, Walking in the Air makes me cry every time. It is my no-fail Christmas fuzzy.
Nothing.
I am so desperate for any kind of fuzziness that I even watched a special on Andy Williams Christmas shows on PBS. Who doesn't cry to Andy Williams singing, Oh,Holy Night??? Apparently me.
I am praying it's just a stage. I went to the DVC this morning to drop off some supplies for the women. They need everything and are so grateful for whatever you bring. One young mother had her 6 week old daughter with her. I held her little baby who was wrapped up like a little Glow Worm, while her mom went through the bag of toiletries I had brought. This alone usually sets me off in tears. A baby so young and a mother so desperate to escape her abuser that she lives in a dingy old house, hidden away from everyone. Grateful, that someone thought to bring her deodorant and Tampax.
I handed back her baby and gave them a hug. I got in to my car and saw it was snowing again. I drove through West Chester that is decorated for the holiday and knew that I was still feeling dead inside. What the hell happened?
What if I am becoming like Ebeneezer Scrooge? Bitter and alone? Christmas is just another day that you wake up and go through the motions?
So, there you have it. The question is this: What is better? Crying your eyes out or feeling nothing at all?
Time to up the Prozac.