Hello, Life? I'm Lost. Where Do I Go Now?

Hey there. 

     It's that time, yet again, for me to vent my feelings and try to make sense of the crap-fest that has become my emotions. I don't really have anyone I can vent to. Well, not to the extent of which I need to vent. Sometimes, writing what I'm thinking and/or feeling down helps me see the path I should choose. And, sometimes, it makes me see the error of my ways. 

     I've never considered myself a strong person. Certain things drag me under the waters and I get taken away by the undertow of what we know as life. I get paranoid, scared, angry, lonely... And, above all, I feel worthless. But, somehow, I come out of it. Not usually on top, but alive - surviving, with barely a heart beat or breath. But, I'm there.... Barely.

     I've had so many discussions with my husband about his actions, reactions, mannerisms and his attitude. Some good. Some bad. Some downright frightening. As in, it would be the death of me in so many ways.

     I used to dream of me and him having babies, living happily ever-after, and growing old together. But, it seems that it may not happen. I don't know how to explain it. But I'm afraid it won't. I've prepared myself for the worst already. Matter of fact, I'm waiting for him to say it. I dream of us fighting constantly, not loving on one another, him cheating, me crying, loathing his presence. The once happy dreams have given way to those of the stereotypical divorced couple. I have seen myself beginning to put distance between us, bracing myself for the day he walks away. Or the day I say, "Enough...." 

     I can't seem to shake the walls that are beginning to build back up. I had walls before, but they went up with him inside of them. Now, it seems like the walls are building around me and only me. I, almost, feel like our love has faded. It's nothing like it used to be. Nothing. And no matter what I try to solidify "us"... It's all in vain. Like, it was meant to fall apart.

     I refuse to give up so easily. But certain things have been plaguing me and when I confront him, it seems I'm the paranoid party. Yet, in the past? My paranoia has always been 110% on target. And I feel that way again. 

     I feel that my husband is hiding something from me. Something terrible. Something so bad that it will, finally, kill me. Something I wonder, at times, if he really wants. I feel as if he's cheating again. He disappears for hours and comes back and then disappears again in a matter of minutes. He's done this before. A few times. But, **sighs** I don't know. When I ask him about it? he gets upset and moody. He refuses to talk to me. And when he does, it's not meaningful. It's him asking me to let him go cheat so he can be at peace again. It's him telling me how bad he wanted to take a female he saw at a store into the bathroom and...... **cries**

     **sighs**

     What do I do? I feel like he doesn't love me anymore. Or he may love me, but he's not in love with me anymore. I've felt this in every relationship I've ever been in. And, within weeks, it was over. I feel so incredibly lost, alone and afraid. I know I will always feel alone, now, no matter if he's at my side or not. I feel like I've been abused in so many ways that I feel like just saying, "I can't do this anymore." And leaving. I want to be happy again. I want the lies and deception to stop. I want truths. I want love. I get nothing but cold shoulders and emotional abuse. I get told to grow thicker skin. I have but I don't expect my husband to sit there and ignore me for days on end only to tell me, out-of-the-blue, "I love you" once in 3 weeks. I can't deal with that lack of affection. I'm not asking him to tell me he loves me all the time. But, at least, show me he cares. I wish he would take the 3 hours out of each week, put it aside and spend time where it's just me and him. I wish he would let his guard down with me and prove his love. Instead? I get accusations and name calling.

     **cries**

     I thought I deserved love. But, I have a feeling I will die without it. I know he loves me but the extent of that love is unseen because he refuses to show it. I'm scared. I panic and I scream and I cry. I want love but I feel like it's never coming. And I feel like he's not going to come home to me. 

     I'm lost and I have a feeling I'll never find my way....



~Lost in Love

'Tis The Season To Be.... Bah! Humbug!

     Snowflakes on the ground. Soft wisps of wind, blowing snow across the fields. Sparkling trees, gently sprinkled with frost. The beautiful sight of a bright red Cardinal or a majestic Blue Jay dotting the gray sky as they fly by. The sounds of Christmas carols coming from house, warmed by the hearth fire. The warmth of your loved ones' happiness as you watch their smiling faces on the morning of Christmas. All of these things are so wonderful and fulfilling.


     Forgive me if I don't give two fucks about these feelings. Granted, some of the scenes are great thoughts, don't get me wrong. but do you really think I care about how someone spent their holiday season when it's always been kind of shitty for me?

     I hate Christmas. I hate holidays. I hate celebrating everything. I guess you could call the me "Scrooge-of-all-Trades" because that's, basically, what I am.

     I have two kids. And, it's for their sake, alone, that I celebrate ANYthing! Birthdays? Theirs, only. Easter? We do it for the candy. Independence day? Fireworks. Halloween? Yeah, I like that one. Ghosts, creepy crawlies and candy? Where do I sign up? Thanksgiving? Meh... I'm thankful I have my kids and a roof over our heads. Christmas? .......................

     Yeah....................

     Christmas is a touchy subject for me - has been since I was born, really. My birthday, December 19th, fell so close to Christmas that, and forgive me for being a selfish bitch, I always got screwed out of gifts from either one or the other holiday. Some years, I'd be totally looked over. Not that I'm complaining. It just seems to reflect my life, as a whole.

     I remember one year getting a birthday card from my mother. In it was a $20 bill. Cool!! She remembered!! I was so happy and thought, for Christmas, I was in for a BIGGER treat! Christmas came and went. I got gifts from my grandmother (I Love You and I Miss You, M&M) and even my mentally challenged uncle. Along with some various small gifts from other family members who, no matter how much they TRIED to make it seem like they did NOT hate me, seemed to reflect their their hatred of me through their gifts to me. I waited until the end of the night and right before bed, went to my mother and asked, "Mom, ummm, did you forget my gift this year?" And with the straightest face anyone could have ever had, she looked at me, dead emotions, and said, "Nope! Remember your birthday card?" I nodded. "Well, the $20 was your Christmas present. I just figured it would save me some time if I did it that way." I stood there, tears in my eyes. That's when I realized I wasn't a gift to my family. I was a mistake. I was nothing to them. Some showed their distaste for me as often as they could. Others, tolerated me as a "necessary evil" while my own mother, the woman who carried me for almost 10 months, hated me.

     Yeah, you're probably thinking, "Oh my god, shut the fuck up, already. Quit being an emo bitch. It's life. DEAL WITH IT!!"  And you're probably right. But, this? It's just the background story of my life and the hell I've endured. I wouldn't change any of it. None of it..... Well, one thing I would. The reason why I hate my birthday. The reason why I hate everything in regards to this infernal fucking hell-storm of a holiday.

     December 19th, 1998... My 22nd birthday. I didn't want to get out of bed. I wanted to waste away and not know that i was getting another year closer to death. I wanted to be left alone. My grandmother had knocked on my door, asking me to get up and help take care of the house while she went Christmas shopping with my aunt, Rose. I groaned and bitched and whined. Finally, throwing the covers off of me and making my way out of bed, she smiled and said, "Thank you." I mumbled something unintelligible and made my way to the bathroom. As I was about to shut the door behind me, she said, softly, "By the way, Sandy. Happy Birthday." I stood there, in shock, wondering if she was reminded of it by someone. I decided it was a mistake. I listened to her walk down the stairs as a smile crept it's way across my lips. "Someone remembered."

     The shopping trip was called off for the day. So, instead, my mother talked my M&M to go to Bingo for the night. I didn't want to spend my birthday staring at people who hated me just as much as I hated them, so I passed on the opportunity to go. "So, M? You putting the tree up this year?" I asked. She looked at me, a grimace spreading, "I don't know. No. I don't want to dig anything out." I stood there in disbelief. My grandmother LOVED this holiday, even after my grandfather passed away. It was strange to hear her say this. I walked off, upset that she wasn't feeling like herself. Something was wrong. I just didn't know to what extent.

     "We're off, Casey!" I wrinkled my nose up so MUCH that, I swear, my nose was a part of my forehead. I hated that name. My mother. Ughhhhh. Whatever. Anyways, "Okay. See ya and have fun." was my reply. I plopped my ass on my M&M's rocking chair and started watching TV. I kept glancing over to the spot where the tree normally sat and frowned. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, still staring at the spot. Chewing my bottom lip, I glanced towards the stairs that led upstairs, making their way to the attic. Throwing the remote onto the couch, I stood up and walked upstairs, heading to the attic. 

     "Alright, Cassandra. You have 3 hours to get this shit set up. Make it count," I whispered to myself. The tree was a 30 minute job, in and of, itself. But it was worth it. The rest just seemed to fall into place. I ran the lights all around the tree. 20 strings later, 4 were on the tree and lit. I ran the silver garland around the tree, spacing it evenly, hoping it would help hide the "bare" spots of the tree branches. Finally, I started hanging the MANY ornaments on it - the ones my gram liked best. One for each of her grandchildren. The older, handmade, wooden ones. The older glass ones that were older than me, almost as old as my mother. All of them made their way onto the tree. I stepped back once in a while to see if I had "missed" any spots. Happy with the way it looked, I put the star on top of the tree. It was done. And just as I had come back down from putting all the boxes away and sat down, my grandmother came in, glanced over at the tree and the biggest smile I had ever seen, gracefully made it's way over her face - complete with squinted eyes and her giggle. 

     "You like it?" I asked. She walked over, hugged me and said "It's beautiful. Thank you." And she hugged me tighter. I helped her take off her coat and put it away for her and watched as she stood there, looking at all the ornaments. That smile of hers, growing more and more, made me tear up and made me feel like I had, finally, done right by her. We sat down, her in her chair, me in the other and watched some Christmas shows that were on TV late that night. We went to bed, happy and smiling that night.

     The next day, my M&M left early with my aunt to finally get her shopping done. She must've been happy with me because she let me sleep in. I was happy when I woke up. Smiling, even. I made my way downstairs to see the tree had been plugged in and a few packs of Marlboros in the freezer for me. "Yep, she liked it," I laughed to myself. I waited what seemed like all day for her to come home. I paced the house, worried if she was okay. I drove my mother insane, not like that's a far stretch to begin with. Finally, at around 9pm that night, she was home.

     "How was shopping?"

     "It was okay. I'm just really tired and I want to get ready for bed."

     I frowned. Something wasn't right. I watched and wondered if she was REALLY okay as she went upstairs, changed into her night clothes and came back down to the kitchen. Ceremoniously, she grabbed her glass of ice and the newspaper and came back into the living room. She sat in her rocker for a little bit. 

     "M? You alright?"

     She seemed dazed. "yeah, sorry. I'm just tired." She lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm tired of everything, Sandy. I'm tired of the tests, the doctors, the visits, the waiting. I'm tired of everything. I just want to be at peace again."

     I frowned. "It'll get better, gram. I know it's a lot to go through. but, you'll get through it. you always do."

     She sighed and tried to smile. "maybe. We'll see. Anyways, I think I'm going to go to bed." She stood up, so slowly, almost as if she was in an enormous amount of pain. I watched, again, as she walked up the steps. "Goodnight, M&M."

     "Goodnight."

     Sitting there with my mother was odd enough as it was, but sitting there, ignoring the urge to go upstairs and check on my M&M was making it even more weird. We heard a HUGE "thud" and both my mother and I jumped. I ignored it because just a few seconds later, my cat came running down the steps. The only thing I could think was, "Dumbass, what did ya knock over this time?" I went back to the movie - Mighty Ducks 2. I was bored.

     About 20 minutes later, my mother, bitching the whole time, decided to get up and go to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes as she started climbing, bitching about everything, as usual. The next few moments were kind of a blur.

     I sat there, trying to ignore her when suddenly I heard her yell.

     "Mom? MOM?! Oh my god! Casey....."

     I jumped out of the chair, grabbed the phone, dialed 911 and threw it at my mom who was still climbing the last few stairs by the time I got to the top where my M&M lie in the hallway, eyes clouded over.


     ".....dial 911!!!"

     I jumped over my gram's body, knelt beside her, turned her over and picked her up into my lap. "Don't you dare! don't you dare leave me! Don't! You can hold on! PLEASE hold on!!"

     I lay her down and started performing CPR on her. I could feel her bones crack and break with every chest compression that I cried, afraid I was hurting her even more. "Gram, please don't leave me. I need you...."

     Breathe....

     Start compression....

     "Gram, please come back."

     Breathe....

     Start compression.....

     "Please...."

     Breathe..... and so on....

     The blood was coming up from somewhere in her body. It was pooling in her mouth. And with every breath I was making her take, it would fill her lungs. And with every bone breaking compression I made, her mouth filled back up. 

     "This can't be happening. This isn't happening." That's what was repeated in my head, over and over for the next hour.

     My mother, who had finally had the sense to tell the 911 dispatcher what was happening, was staring at me with pleading eyes. Almost as if she had been begging me to save her mother. 

     The first responder was coming up the stairs, and I watched as he almost collapsed to his knees. Everyone knew my grandmother in the town. And everyone loved her. His eyes started welling up and he gently pushed my mother aside. "Let me through, please." I kept doing compressions and he put his hands over mine as I came up and I knew he was taking over. I slid my hands out from underneath his as I looked up to see 3 more responders, staring in disbelief, as the first started compressions. Everyone seemed like they were going to breakdown. My mother moved into my uncle's room and sat on the foot of his bed. I ran into my bedroom, which was 2 feet away to get my towel and clean the blood off my hands and face. I looked down at my shirt which was also covered in blood and started screaming. I wanted to change. So, I did. Clean shirt, sweat pants and walked back out into the hallway. It was crowded now. At least 6 people were standing there, or working, or crying or in shock. I grabbed the phone and started making calls. I needed help to deal with this. My aunt, Rose, came back and was holding my mom's shoulders as she rocked back and forth, trying to deal with it. It's been a little over 30 minutes since we found her.

     "Someone needs to call Dennis."

     My heart stopped. Dennis. The Coroner. My lungs froze. My eyes welled up with tears. They stung. "No.... No, don't you dare."

     5 minutes later, Dennis had made that climb that everyone else in the hallway did. he stood over my grandmother, watching the EMT's performing their duties - to no avail. 

     He looked at the 2nd responder and touched his shoulder, glanced at his watch and said, "I think we should call it."

    They all looked at me. I stood in the middle of my grandmother's bedroom. Shocked. She's gone. I watched his bottom lip quiver as he said the time. "12:21 am, the morning of the 21st. The official time of death." He looked at me, eyes kind of wet and looked back to my grandmother. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

     I collapsed onto her bed, crying uncontrollably. The one thing that loved me was gone. The one thing....

     10 minutes later, amongst all the lights and chaos outside, my mother was rushed to the hospital with chest pains. I watched as the ambulance drove off with my mother and then the coroner's van took my reason for living away from me - My M&M.

     So, you see, I have no love for this time of year. The day after my birthday, my gram died. And just a few days before Christmas? My M&M died. So, forgive me for my hatred for this time of year. But, I see nothing to celebrate.

     

I love you, M&M. I miss you SO much. I just hope you're proud of me, in some way. I hope you continue to watch over us. I wish I could hug you just one more time. Just one time.... I love you <3


~Your Loving Grand-daughter,
 Sandy 
    xoxoxox