Not going so well

Oh boy, things aren’t going so well and I have to admit I’m discouraged. I thought things would be better by now. I would be healed quickly like before but it doesn’t seem like it’s happening. I eat better, I exercize, I am more positive than I was 10 years ago. So I thought everything would go well like last time.

I succeeded last time. I evaded major surgery. I ran away from all of this for 10 years and I think it caught me back. I think I have been captured. And I need a plan to get out of this. I need a plan to run away again. I need a plan not to lose my mind.

Every time I’m thinking about this future surgery I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

I went back to the hospital this morning. The doc tried to put in another wick but she couldn’t. So she said I had 2 options and instead of getting on with it…I chose the easiest. I posponed the inevitable. I chose to take baths 3 times a day to make it drain faster. It’s stupid because I was already taking baths twice a day. She prescribed antibiotics and a cream. I have to come back on Wednesday and if it’s not going better, I will have another surgery. I hate this. I hate this so much.

I hate this even more : I have a consult with a surgeon in April for a bigger operation which will keep me out of work for weeks.

I am totally freaking out. I keep thinking of good things like my orchid opening up this morning, my cat that has been letting me cuddle him like a stuffed animal for the last few days, how light mini babybel cheeses taste better than they used to…but. But I just really want to cry. Tears are not coming out as usual. Maybe that Wednesday is going to be the day where I cry like a baby.

I remember 10 years ago when I was alone at the hospital and it hurt so so much. Tears rolling down, sobbing, refrainig from screaming too much. This time wasn’t so bad. At least I knew I had to breathe to make it hurt less and to take something for the pain before and to have a stress ball. And I remember the last time I had to stop going to the gym. I dug a butt hole in my sofa, I was depressed, and negative and life just sucked.

Life is sucky now. Majorly sucky.

So I need a plan and that’s why I stayed home instead of going back to work. So.

Before Wednesday  :

  • Baths : morning, after work and before bed.
  • Maybe if I go swimming it would count as exercize and I would be in water ? Water with salt and chlorine. No gym because it’s making things worse. But nobody said no swimming.
  • Take my antibiotics, use the cream and take probiotics because I don’t want another sort of infection. Blark.

After Wednesday and after the big surgery if I really do need one :

  • No gym but I could use my elastics at home. If I let the door or window open I won’t be hot because it’s winter and it’s real cold.
  • Maybe I could hold my subscription. I should check for how long I can suspend it.
  • I could buy 2 dumbbells. A 8 and a 10 lbs. I could train one side at a time. Of course, by the time I can go back at the gym I will look like one of these abominable, overtrained, asymmetric gym monkeys. Surely there is a way to train my legs and glutes withouth getting sweaty and moving too much. Oxygen has been having those train at home issues, there must be moves easier than lunges and squats. Never thought I would say this but I miss lunges and squats.
  • Maybe I can buy a ball to sit on.
  • No zumba for a very long while. But I could walk as long as I don’t become hot I guess.
  • If I have to stay home for a few weeks, maybe I could work from home ?
  • I could make a list of books I want and my boyfriend could pick them up for me at the library.
  • I can’t exercize as much as I used to and can’t do cardio as much either so I could cut down meat and drink chocolate milk instead of eating snacks.
  • If I have the surgery in April, I won’t be able to go in Milwaukee in May. I could use the money for training while I’m at home. Our learning centre is on the web.
  • Sex. Hm. I have to find new positions because things aren’t going well right now and our usual stuff is not working. I need some endorphins and all those feel good hormones to help me go through this.

That’s the plan right now. I don’t feel as powerless and out of control.

10 chansons préférées

Le choix a été difficile !

  1. No More Drama / Mary J. Blige : La chanson originale, pas le remix. Avec le p’tit beat Young and Restless en arrière-plan. No more pain, no drama in my life…Pour tous les souhaits de ne plus avoir de drames dans ma vie, plus de douleur, plus cette tristesse débilitante. No more tears, I’m tired of crying
  2. I can do better / Avril Lavigne : Pour son côté « dans ta face » et pour ma grosse tête. En high, j’ai toujours pensé pouvoir faire mieux que les autres. Ça s’adonne que c’est vrai ! Héhé 🙂 Je dois dire que Avril Lavigne pour peindre, c’est génial.
  3. Humpty Dumpty / Aimee Mann : C’est la chanson qui m’a fait connaître Aimee Mann. Je l’ai écoutée en promo sur le site de Archambault, je pense. L’album au complet traite de santé mentale. Cette chanson-ci me touche vraiment. J’ai écouté son album en boucle.
  4. Sunrise / Norah Jones : La chanson de ma dépression et burnout de l’été 2004 ! Elle me donnait l’espoir que le soleil se lève et que je passe à autre chose, à un jour nouveau.
  5. Twenty One / The Cranberries : Quand j’avais 20 ans, j’écoutais The Cranberries le volume au max et en boucle et je déprimais et je rageais. Twenty One c’était la chanson de mon désespoir. Mais, elle me fait du bien comme l’eau de javel à un obsessif compulsif.
  6. Nocturne en C Mineur Opus 48 #1 / Chopin : Bon, c’est pas une chanson. Mais après des nuits et des nuits d’insomnie, je peux presque la chanter. C’est ce que je mets quand j’ai de la misère à m’endormir. La trame sonore de The Pianist et Les variations Goldberg de Gould.
  7. My Oh My / David Gray : « What on earth is going on in my heart, My oh my, You know it just don’t stop… » La chanson de mon épisode de 1999-2000.
  8. Sur le dos d’un papillon / Passe-Partout : Hep, génération 70-80, que voulez-vous. C’est la chanson de la bonne humeur et c’est celle que je chante aux bébés qui pleurent.
  9. Say it ain’t so / Weezer : J’ai eu de la misère à choisir juste une chanson de Weezer parce que j’aime tout ce qu’ils font. Ils me font rire, danser, chanter, peindre. J’hésitais entre celle-ci et The Damage in your Heart.
  10. Enid / Barenaked Ladies : Eux autres aussi j’ai eu de la misère à choisir juste une chanson, je les adore depuis la fin de mon secondaire. J’écoutais ça en cassette ! J’avais l’impression de vieillir en même temps qu’eux. Pour : « It took me a year to believe it was over, and it took me two more to get over the loss. » Et surtout… » I can get a job I can pay the phone bills, I can cut the lawn, cut my hair, cut off my cholesterol, I can work overtime I can work in a mine, I can do it all for you, But I don’t want to. »

Arrête de te plaindre, farme ta yeule pis déniaise

4 avril 2006

Je ne sais pas comment commencer alors voilà.

Mes émotions actuelles ne sont pas un caprice. Si je t’en ai parlé c’est que j’avais besoin de support, de réconfort. Je ne demande pas qu’on me répare, qu’on me botte le derrière. Je demande seulement la présence de l’autre, toi, que tu me prennes dans tes bras et que oui, tu me dises que ça va passer, de ne pas me décourager.

De la même façon que mon amour pour toi est fort, ce que je vis en ce moment est également très fort et déconcertant.  Je me sens déboussolée, triste, en colère, je me demande à quoi il sert de vivre. Quand tu m’as demandé : tu veux un revolver ? j’avais le goût de te dire que oui j’y pensais mais je ne voulais pas te faire peur. Mais ton coup de pied au cul a eu justement pour effet de me rendre encore plus triste d’autant plus que mes émotions semblent t’avoir affecté. Je me suis donc dit que je ne pourrais plus te raconter mes trucs. À quoi ça sert de ne pas pouvoir parler avec quelqu’un ? Surtout si c’est un amoureux ?

Quand je suis partie, j’étais tellement triste, je ne voyais plus à quoi ça servait d’être ensemble ni de vivre. Je me sentais seule, incomprise, rejetée.

Ce que je vis n’a pas rapport avec toi. Et si je ne crois pas à « pour toujours », ça n’a pas rapport à toi. Ce que j’ai vécu et ce que je vis toujours fait de moi qui je suis. Je te prends au jour le jour et je t’aime. Et oui, il m’arrive de rêver que je puisse être amoureuse de toi longtemps. Je ne serais pas avec toi si je ne pensais pas que ça puisse marcher. Mais je ne prends pas notre très courte relation pour acquis. À mes yeux, nous sommes toujours en probation.

Quand je t’ai appelé, je t’ai dit que j’étais désolée. Je suis désolée que ça se passe comme ça. Désolée de ne pas avoir pu te dire autre chose quand je suis partie de ta job, le cœur en miettes. Désolée que tu ne m’ait pas retenue. Désolée mais j’avais vraiment envie de mourir parce que je me suis fait botter le cul au lieu d’avoir été écoutée comme j’en avais besoin. Désolée d’en avoir parlé à ta job, mais, j’étais en état d’urgence. En fait, je n’aurais pas dû rester et juste passer te dire bonjour. Comme ça, tu n’aurais pas su que je suis dans une passe rough. Et moi, je n’aurais pas eu à voir ta dureté quand j’ai eu les larmes aux yeux.

Ensuite, j’ai appelé un paquet de monde avant de tomber sur M. Il fallait que je trouve une solution. Tu sais, avoir envie d’en finir ne veut pas dire envie de mourir nécessairement. Mais je devais en parler. Il fallait que je sorte ça de mon système parce que j’étais en urgence. Si je ne trouvais pas quelqu’un à qui parler, je bustais. J’étais encore plus à vif depuis mon départ de ta job.

Youhouuu! Futur?!

24 novembre 2007

Being from between generations X and Y, I know what No Future means. But as I made a list of what was done to me as I grew up and was into my adult life, I truly understand what No Future means to me.

I don’t think I ever did think about the future when I grew up except in the terms of getting out of my parent’s house, going to Montreal to study and very abstractly having kids and getting married. Everything was very very abstract and meaningless until the day arrived and I was completely panicked. I was suddenly forwarded to the future.

Of course, I never got married and I don’t have kids. I just couldn’t picture that in my future those last years. I didn’t see it until I was in therapy but I lived trapped between my past and next weekend…and even there, most of the time I didn’t plan anything because…well, what was the point ? I never planned any vacation, any financial investment, any egg nest. No wedding dress, no kids clothes, no houses, no lawnmower.

If I dreamed about having kids or getting married, it stopped there. I didn’t plan. I daydreamed. I thought that I was thinking about the future. But I wasn’t. I had no visions of me with kids, a husband or whatever.

When I realized that I had NO plans whatsoever for the future I was really distraught. How could that have happened ?! Was I going to live until 90, alone and planless ? Thinking about weekends when it’s saturday and about which movie to see when I get to the cinema ?

I don’t know if it’s because I felt like I was going to die so often that I just wasn’t there anymore. When things got too difficult I would sleep with my eyes open, reality would fade while I was fixing the floor, a patch of sun, lint rolling…Or while having a difficult discussion I would fall asleep and wake up not remembering a single thing that happened just before I slept. It would last 15 minutes and all this time my very flabbergasted boyfriend would look at me at a loss. I didn’t get it at all.

When I realized that I had no future, no hope, I looked at that void in front of me and I looked at people around me and…I still didn’t get it. Having lost everything a couple times I just didn’t see the point in living the way people live. I had lived through so much and it just kept coming back, it was so difficult just living my life day to day. A budget is as complicated as playing chess. Planning for the times I don’t work is like trying to design a web site in HTML without guidelines. Vacations don’t exist. If my parents try to pin me down to see me…I have nothing planned yet I can’t pick a date in my agenda.

Only my reality exists. I have a routine so I know where I’ll be next week. Baby steps, pit pat pit patter. But with all those emotional roller coasters what worked last week won’t exist this week. I have to nail down weeknights to go to the gym, a day for grocery shopping (or I won’t go for weeks), time to cook (or I’ll eat Kraft dinner, pesto pasta and grilled cheese sandwiches ad vitam aeternam). This is weekly planning. Don’t get me to try planning a vacation or I’ll cry. It gets me anxious and desperate. I could curl up and sleep for hours. I just can’t gather money and not spend it, think of a destination and be happy about this future trip. I prefer staying home and doing the same things but in a more relaxed way.

It seems I have no hope that the future really does exist. That’s what the therapist thinks. And that when I got my abortion I just emptied the whole basket as well. No more wedding, kids, love… Well, I have an inkling that it does because I work with boomers and have had a urge for planning retirement and funeral arrangements since 2005 just in case it does happen (retirement and death). I still have nothing planned to my boss’ dismay. « Well, don’t you think it’s time? » Hm. Yeah.

I really had noooooothiiiiing in mind for « when I grew up ». That’s why I have a to do list. So I have some things to look forward to or to nail me in the future. See, I still don’t have my winter boots.

Ma carrière au Burger King

Écrit en août 1994

J’ai lâché le Burger King. Grand désappointement de la part de Richard. Je ne « cliquais » pas. Je n’aimais pas ça et ça ne me tentait pas.

Je suis peut-être trop loyale envers le Kentucky. Rien ne me semble plus super que ma job là-bas (!). Si seulement je pouvais faire six heures de plus ou obtenir un transfert !

ndlr Hum. C’est à peu près ça qu’il y a à dire. Pas d’argent, désespérée, j’ai envoyé des CV dans plein de chaînes de restos. J’ai été engagée au Burger King coin Ste-Catherine/St-laurent, un des pires. Après mon chiffre de 4 heures, j’ai remis ma démission à Richard, le gérant.