Today I Hate Everyone

 I will not be posting anything to help you through your illness today. Today is only about how I feel. And today I hate everyone.

I hate corporations that want to have "human rights" when they are not humans; they are only run by humans. I hate the government who gave them those rights. I hate the government that wants to take them away from me. I hate every employer who won't hire me because of my degrees or because of my poor credit rating. I hate everyone who looks down on me because of my mental and physical health, my obesity, my age, my sex, my liberal beliefs, my I.Q., my compassion, and about a hundred other things I don't want to list. I hate them all.

I hate my friends, the ones I love and the ones that are just Facebook friends. I hate the friends who are only my friends because we went to high school together. I hate the friends who are shocked when they find out that I believe love is love, everyone deserves to feel comfortable in a bathroom, no one should go hungry, everyone deserves shelter and health care. I hate the friends who say they understand and then post horrible memes about my beliefs. I hate the friends who claim to believe as I do, but get angry when I disagree. I hate the friends I love because I feel undeserving of them.

I hate my family. I hate my extended family because they don't know me and really don't want to know me, just look down on me. I hate my extended family because I once believed that they weren't racist or homophobic or xenophobic or misogynistic, but they are. I hate my extended family because the ones who aren't like this, do nothing to stand up for me when the others are horrible.

I hate my niece. I hate her because I have been helping to raise her since she was 3-years-old, but she only thinks of my mother as a mother figure to her. I hate that she had a boyfriend in high school who told her ugly things about me and the rest of our family to keep her away from us.  I hate her for believing him. I hate her because, on some level, she still believes the stuff about me. I hate her for sending flowers to my mom on Mother's Day, but not even sending me a hello message on Facebook. I hate her for making me cry.

I hate my brother. I hate him because when I said I was going to be "all in" to help him with his business, he decided to drop out of making any decision concerning it. I hate him because he doesn't realize that though I accept only a $100.00 a week allowance to help him in the office and cook and clean, it's not enough to live. I hate that he thinks that the only reason I don't have a life is because of my health, instead of my desire to be as small a financial burden on him as possible. I hate that he is an alcoholic. I hate that he spends so much money on booze, and doesn't see how it is hurting him and the business. I hate that he wants me to make the business decisions, but then doesn't follow my advice or the protocols I put into place. I hate that he puts me on ignore.

I hate my father. I hate him because he doesn't understand how he sometimes hurts me with the jokes he makes to cheer me up. I hate him because he doesn't understand how embarrassing it is and how much like a failure I feel when I ask him for financial help: he just thinks he's taking care of his family, doing his job. I hate that at 45 I am still his "little girl."

I hate my mother. I hate her because I have been suffering from depression and anxiety since I was 17 years old, and she never realized it. I hate that she never saw through the acting to the real person within. I hate that she suffers from the same illnesses, but she never saw them in me. I hate that every time I try to talk to her about my therapy, she changes the subject. I hate that she, inadvertently, makes me feel ashamed to be me. I hate that she tries to make me "feel better" when what I need to do is just acknowledge my feelings and work through it, use the tools I am learning. I hate that she is the best friend I have, the only one I want to talk to about what's going on, but now I feel uncomfortable doing so. I hate her because I feel like I make her uncomfortable when I mention therapy or depression or anxiety or my emotions or my "tools" or anything that has to do with anything not good. I hate her because when I confronted her last week about her ignoring my therapy, she said, "I always thought you were stronger." I hate her because I know she meant stronger than she is, but that's not what she said.

The only things I don't hate right now are my animals. Duke, Castiel, and especially Hermione keep me alive.

Hermione, Mother's Day, and Mom

While I'm writing this, I am watching "Once Upon a Time" on Netflix, playing 3 different worlds in Elvanor, and trying not to disturb Hermione sleeping on my chest as I crochet her new sweater. (Yup. Leaning back in my chair and writing is not very comfortable. But I'm not going to wake the dog up. No way.) Remember me talking about doing a lot of stuff to keep my mind out of the present and off the crazy? Yup! I'm a multi-tasker. And apparently, I'm not doing well with the mindful meditation exercises.  

I'm still not at 5 minutes of meditation, but I'm not sure whether I'm bothered by it, or not. Why? Because most of the reason why I'm unable to do it is because Hermione keeps interrupting me. Now that she is becoming more comfortable with me and her new home, her personality is revealing itself. She's very eager and mischievous. And sneaky. Whether it's knocking over the kitchen garbage can to get in it more easily, or sticking her tongue up a nostril in a surprise licking attack, she has a way of grabbing my full attention whenever she wants it. Apparently, she feels that mindful meditation time is time that would be better spent loving on her, and honestly, I tend to agree.

Yesterday was a really hard day for me, and if it weren't for the antics of my beloved Hermione, I'm not sure I would have made it through the day as well as I did. Mother's Day has always been a difficult day for me. I've always wanted kids, but I didn't have them. It's not solely because I never married. After all, at the tender age of 18 I told my mom that when I thought I was ready to have children, I was going to have them, husband or no. For me, being ready to have a child included 3 things: wanting them, being ready emotionally and mentally to make them the first priority in my life, and being financially able to support them. A husband was optional.

By my late 20s early 30s, I had met the first two criteria, so I started working on the third. Unfortunately, that's about the time that a single person started to have a hard time supporting him or herself in this country. There was no way I was going to be able to support a family alone. I let the child dream rest until I could find a partner to share the joy with. I still haven't found one. Mother's Day became a little bittersweet. This year was especially hard. It's the first Mother's Day after my hysterectomy.

Until this year, there was still the hope that I would find "the one" and start a family. I was a little worried about infertility, but knew that with the right person, I could get through that. Now, the hope that I will ever give birth is gone, and it really, really hurts. I know there's adoption, and I've always said that I wanted to adopt whether I could give birth or not, but I'm still not financially able to support a child.  No one in their right mind would give me one, right now. So, yesterday, seeing all of the Mother's Day posts on Facebook, reading all of the Mother's Day news articles, scrolling through the Spoiling-Mom-on-Mother's-Day pins on Pinterest really messed me up. Throw on top of that seeing the lovely flowers my niece sent to my mom to thank her for being "like a mom to her," whilst said niece ignored me, who also helped to raise her, and I felt like the only thing I could do was curl up in a ball and cry until my sinuses became so full they exploded and took my head with them. My niece is the closest I will probably ever come to being a mother, and she didn't even acknowledge me as being such. It hurt.

But then...Hermione. She sat on my lap all morning and kept me grounded. I cried, Don't get me wrong. I cried a lot. But her unconditional love helped me to just feel sad, not suicidal. Her patience with me, allowing me to dress her up, cuddle her, and take care of her, gives me just enough mom feels to make not really being a mom not okay, but livable. I worry, though, that I'm going to over-do everything, and she will end up spoiled and bad tempered. I don't want to become that fur-mommy who lets her dog control every aspect of her life. I want to find the balance between crazy dog lady and loving fur-mommy. But for this Mother's Day, I was the crazy dog lady, and it's exactly what I needed to be to get through the day.

None of my friends know how much I wanted kids. Most of them actually believe it when I say, "I love children, as long as I can return them to their mother." The ones that don't believe that, think that I don't really like children. I think my mom was the only one who knew I actually wanted kids, but I don't think she understood how much it hurt me to lose the opportunity forever. Until Saturday.

On Saturday, we spent the evening together. I went to her house to pick her up to take her to a get together we had been invited to, and she immediately pointed out her flowers from my niece and started gushing about what a surprise it was to get them, and how pretty they were, and how much my niece loves her and considers her more of a mother than a grandmother, and on and on. I did very well and just smiled. I couldn't say anything, because if I did, the tears would start, and I didn't want to start our fun mother/daughter evening that way. So, smiling and just making positive sounds was all I could do to acknowledge her wonderful gift.

She finally stopped talking about it, and we made our way to the car. We were going to a girls only party about 45 minutes away, so we had a lot of time to just talk. I love driving with my mom because I love talking to my mom, but about 15 minutes out of town, she started in on the flowers, again. I just smiled and nodded and felt thankful that I had my glasses on so the thick handles could hide my eyes. She went on and on and never noticed that I wasn't saying a word. Then she asked me a question. She waited for my reply, but I just couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I felt like the only sound that would come out was the keening of grief. She asked the question again. When I didn't answer this time, she asked if I was all right. I whispered, "No." And then I spent a minute composing myself so that I could speak.

I said, "I'm really happy that Alicia loves you and sent you those flowers to say thanks, but when you talk about it, it makes me feel like crap. She's the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter, and she doesn't see that. She doesn't even want to be around me." My mom then interrupted and asked, "What makes you think that." And I told her, "Because she doesn't want to hang out with me anymore. She has her friends she would rather be with, and I understand, I was a young Airman and wanted to spend my leave with my friends. But she never even acknowledges how much like a mom I was to her: driving her to school, cooking her meals, buying her health and hygiene products, supporting and cheering her at school events, buying her clothes and teaching her how to size herself for a bra, helping her choose a prom dress and hundreds of other little things." Mom tried to interrupt again with, "She does that because...," but I stopped her. "I don't care why she does it. It makes me feel like garbage. I will never be a mom. Before I had hope, but now I don't, so Al not acknowledging me hurts more." During this whole thing, tears were running down my cheeks, snot was running out of my nose, and I was driving. Mom was quiet. I think that was when she realized how much I wanted kids.

It's now the day after Mother's day, and I'm still a bit wrecked. I look at my brother's girlfriend and wonder why the hell does she get to have 3 children and 1 grandchild (with another on the way,) and I get nothing? She's a horrible mother! She doesn't even like her children. She's off Saturdays and Sundays and spends every minute of those days, up until Monday morning, when she has to take her youngest child to school, with my brother at our house! Her middle child dropped out of school and does online school now, but rather than go back home on Monday after dropping the youngest off, she comes back to our house! My brother has gone to work, and I'm in the office, and she just hangs out watching T.V. here, because she doesn't want to go home and "deal" with her child! Then I look at all the news articles and stories about women who are even worse than she is who get to be moms. Why didn't I get to be one? Why?

And Then I Got A Dog

Yet again I have been procrastinating. I think that's the hardest part of my illness. I want to do stuff, but I don't want to do stuff. I get really excited about something, but lose the will to complete it part way through, sometimes before I even start. I'm just chock full of ideas that never materialize. And that makes me feel like garbage.

This blog is something that excited me more than anything has in a very long time. Don't get me wrong, I love writing it. I just feel like I'm a big complainer. I don't want this to be a "how to survive depression and anxiety" blog, but I do want it to be informational. I don't want it to be a "poor me" confessional, but I know that I have to share my life, feelings, and thoughts. I'm having a difficult time figuring out how much of my story to add without it sounding whiney, because it all sounds whiney to me. I guess I'll just write and try not to edit my thoughts too much, and if it all comes out sounding whiney to you, you can tell me. I can't guarantee that will make me change how I write, but I will read what you say and take it into consideration. (Of course this excludes anything written by trolls. Trolls will be ignored with extreme prejudice.) 

During this week's therapy session, Meredith and I discussed where I fit into my own life. What life? I spend most of my time thinking about and doing for others. I feel like I'm being selfish all the time, though. I feel like all I ever do is crochet and watch Netflix. I know I do more, but that's not how I see myself. I feel I could/should be doing more. At the same time, I get frustrated because I can't get appreciation for what I do. I don't need flowers or cards or presents, I just need my brother and his girlfriend to not put dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty. Or, and this has happened more than once, not leave the dishes they just used to heat up their lunch sitting on the counter while I'm standing at the sink washing the dishes. BRING THE DISHES TO ME! When they do these things, I feel like a maid. I know I'm unemployed and earning my room and board by cooking and cleaning, but you don't have to make me FEEL like that's what I'm doing.

It makes me cry. It makes me feel like a loser because I do these things for a brother and his girlfriend instead a husband and children. It makes me feel like a freeloader because I do this instead of contribute financially, especially during the winter when my brother's window cleaning business drops down to almost nothing. I already feel broken by my illness, I don't need to feel worthless, too.

Which leads me to the second thing Meredith and I talked about: being in the moment. I am always doing, reading, or watching something. I'm never just "being." I never just sit alone with my thoughts. I can't. It hurts too much, like way too much.

I used to have quiet contemplation time when I was younger. I'm not sure when I stopped doing it, but I did. I don't even know what exactly made me stop. When I try now, not only does the negative self-talk intrude, but images of bad things happening to my loved ones do, too. These things are usually what trigger anxiety attacks. I'm constantly worried that something will happen to take a loved one away. I worry about how I'll survive without them. I worry about how my other loved ones will handle the loss. I worry that no one actually needs me, and that I'm just a big ol' burden on everyone. And that if I die, it won't matter. And then I start making fun of myself for these thoughts. I pretend like they're silly instead of terrifying. In other words, I make myself feel like a loser because the fear of loss is so great.

So, what she wants me to do to combat this is to start practicing mindful meditation. (See the link titled "Mindful" in the links section for an interesting website on the subject.) What is mindful meditation. Basically, it's turning everything off and sitting, looking down at nothing, and paying attention to everything and nothing at the same time. There's no special breathing, the only positioning requirement is that you sit comfortably with your knees lower than your hips. The goal is to be in the moment. If your mind wanders, that's okay, but you gently bring it back to the moment when you catch it. If you fidget a bit, that's okay, too. It's a lot harder than it sounds. I've tried it once, so far. I could only last a couple minutes before I just had to stop. I'm going to keep trying. My goal for now is 5 minutes. I'll increase the time as I can, but 5 minutes is challenging enough for now. 

On another note, one my therapist is excited about, I got a small dog. I already have a cat and a large dog, Duke and Castiel. I love them both, but neither of them cuddle, and I really need cuddles, right now. My first cat was a major cuddler, and she spoiled me. Cleo was what kept me going through my other episodes.

My new dog is a Maltese, and I named her Hermione. My aunt found her wandering the streets and picked her up. I guess Hermione was matted so badly my aunt's groomer decided to just shave all of her hair off. Also, the gunk under Hermione's eyes was so thick, the groomer had to spend over an hour soaking and pulling it all off. Anyway, after they did all this, my aunt called me and asked if I wanted the dog. After seeing Hermione's picture, it only took me about 3 minutes to say yes. I'm worried about taking on the expense of a high maintenance animal, but the benefits of the constant adoration and cuddles takes some of that worrying away. (I'll figure something out about the money. See, she's helping me worry less already!)

Besides the cuddles, I now have the added bonus of new inspiration for my crocheting. Crocheting is a very important stress reliever for me. Counting stitches and relaxing my hands enough to keep the yarn tension loose enough helps to calm me. I have a problem finishing projects, though....unless I'm crocheting for someone else. I have made hats, scarves, afghans, purses, stuffed toys, and a bunch of other stuff for all of my friends and family, but I have run out of people to crochet for, and I don't crochet for me. Now I can crochet sweaters for Hermione. Don't laugh. I know you want to. I used to be a laugher, too. But that's because I didn't understand about Maltese fur. You see, their fur is much like human hair, and they don't have an undercoat. (It's the undercoat that keeps a dog warm.) A Maltese, especially one that has been shaved, needs a little help to keep warm when it gets chilly. There are a couple other breeds like this, but I'm not so worried about those breeds, just the Maltese. 

I'm sure you'll hear much more about Hermione as we go along, but for now, just know that she is helping. She loves to cuddle with mummy, and I can't help but smile when I look at her and giggle when she gets excited and gives me kisses. Is a cuddle animal right for everyone? Probably not, but taking care of her gives me a purpose that has nothing to do with "paying for my keep."

Here are some pictures of my sweet Hermione:

                                         

Her first day home last Saturday!

Getting ready to go on our first walk together. (Before the spring snowstorm rolled in, and she decided that leaving the warm house was a bad idea.)

Friday after we got home from the vet. Poor Hermione. Not only did she get her shots, but she has ear infections, so she had to take other medicine, too. Now she doesn't feel so good. 

My next therapy session isn't until the end of May (yes, 4 weeks between sessions, and I'm not very happy about that,) but I will continue to write every week. I won't leave you hanging because I feel like I have been. On the positive side, though, I will have plenty of time to practice mindful meditation.