(X-posted)

I think I just broke Lauren's heart.

In the winter, she got a fish - a beta named Abby (although Abby was clearly a male). It was Ross' idea - he wanted a fish and thought Lauren would be excited about it.

He would let her feed it, and she looked at it sometimes, but because of where its little cube has to be, it wasn't visible unless we took it down off the shelf. It's just a cube, not an aquarium.

While we were at my parents, Abby got sick. Ross gave her medicine. She didn't get better. Just before we came home, she died.

We didn't tell her. She didn't ask about Abby. Maybe we had been away so long she forgot, or the fact that the cube isn't really visible from her level made her think Abby was still up there.

I probably should have said something. We've been home about 2 weeks now and she hadn't said anything. Then today:

Lauren was watching that Come See The Sea bit with ocean life. She stood up and said, "I have a pretty fish named Abby! Lift me up so I can see my Abby! I need Abby!" I told her to go sit on the toilet first and then I'd talk to her.

She peed. I distracted her with TV. I told her it was nap time. As I was carrying her down the stairs, she said, "Mommy I need to see Abby! I need her!" She started to cry as I kept walking down to her to her room. I sat her on her bed and said I had something to tell her.

I told her that Abby got sick and she wasn't here anymore. Lauren cried like I've never heard her cry. Then I started to cry - hard. It was just awful.

I told her I was sad she was sad; that sometimes fish don't live very long. She just cried and cried.

We talked about looking at other fish in case one wanted to come home with her and she wanted it. She said maybe another red fish but only if it could be Abby too. Maybe a blue fish. Maybe a gold fish. Maybe two fish (I said I didn't think that could happen - not enough space).

Then she said she just needed Abby again.

:(

I didn't handle this well. I know know how I was supposed to explain to her - she's not quite three. I'm pretty sure me sobbing along with her didn't help. It also occurred to me after that saying Abby had been sick might have made it worse - she knows Mommy has been sick.

I think I really made this whole situation worse. She was wailing like she was wounded and then I'm sobbing and hugging her and telling her I'm sorry Abby is gone too and I'm sorry she's sad and...and...and...

I want to fix her broken heart.

Here's a clip of the day we brought "her" home six months ago, when Lauren was 2.5.  Goodbye Abby.

I'm at Mom's, reading her Oprah magazine.

This was in the advice column:

Q: My best friend dresses her 9-year-old daughter in half-tops and miniskirts and thinks it's okay for her to wear lip gloss. Should I say something?

A: Frame it not as a condemnation of her mothering skills ("Why do you dress your kid like a Bratz doll?") but as concern for her daughter: "Isabelle is such a pretty girl... Do you ever worry that she might look sexy at her age?"  And be sure to give your friend the DVD boxed set of To Catch A Predator for her next birthday." - Faith Salie.

WHAT?? This person gives advice for a living? I'm guessing much of it is unsolicited.

First, let's tackle the "should I say something" bit. Is this your family? No? Then you have no damn business saying word one to the lady, regardless of her poor taste and lack of sense. I hate Bratz dolls. I hate the trashy fashions (and toys) designed for young girls. I think kids grow up fast enough, and I won't be buying any of this crap for my child. BUT...

This person has no freaking business criticizing what her friend's child is wearing, and I guarantee no good will come of it. If her friend has poor taste and no common sense, nothing is going to change - all that commenting is going to accomplish (and I find the "sexy" comment plenty skeevy, btw) is alienating your friend. If no one is asking your advice, it will not be appreciated and it is None Of Your Business. Be disgusted by the fashion all you want. Bitch on the internet. Write letters to companies. Certainly never buy any of the crap, and don't put it on your family. That is where your circle of control ends.

Unsolicited advice from , especially about parenting, is going to bite you in the ass.
"You shouldn't eat / drink / do whatever if you're pregnant"
"Juice is bad for kids"
"Breastfeeding is best "[I guaran-darn-tee you that an unsolicited comment from a stranger- not from a medical professional -  like this has NEVER helped a single person. You never know someone else's circumstances - who adopted, who has a medical problem, who is pumping around the clock and actually feeding their kid breast milk from that bottle. And you know what? It doesn't matter. It is none of your business.]
"Co-sleeping is bad"

It all boils down to "I think I know what is best for someone else's family and I'm so full of myself, I'm sure my advice will be appreciated."

Let me just say emphatically: NO.

So, do I think kids should be wearing club-wear? No. Do I feel compelled to remark on how someone else is raising their children? No. This is not about child abuse (where obviously you would get involved and contact authorities), this is about personal standards. Disagree with people all you want, but keep your assvice and comments to yourself.

And the comment about To Watch a Predator? Fucking sick. Predators are sick bastards because they are sick bastards - what a child is wearing has nothing to do with it. I don't care if it was supposed to be a tongue-in-cheek response, I think it is disgusting and sends a horrible message.

The mind boggles...

I am neither depressed nor agitated. My current state of limbo is not related to the crazy.

I feel like I have something I need to say, something I want to get out. The feelings don't translate to words - my thoughts are jumbled and unclear.

I used to have this recurring dream where I could hear people talking but not quite hear what was being said; I could think but when I tried to speak it was all noise and no words.

Like a sponge, I soak things up. I don't know how to wring them out again.

I feel uncomfortable and a bit uneasy. 

I feel pain, searing pain that goes through the core of me. I just want it to stop. Being utterly unable to stop crying...no wait, sobbing and rocking, rolling things over in my mind, absorbing everything. I have never felt so weak and pathetic.

The tiny part of me that is insightful these days has some thoughts:

• The shock of stopping antidepressants, antidepressants that I have needed to function my entire adult life, is really screwing with my brain chemistry
• One new med has only been at minimum therapeutic dose for three weeks. It seemed to be working. And then it didn't. But it's too early. Unless it isn't.
• The temporary med is not my friend. HATE. The only thing I can think it would be useful for now is knocking me out (after giving me an excruciating headache, sinus pain, heartburn and all that, of course). But being unconscious might be a good thing tomorrow when I'm home alone again. Tomorrow. All week.
  
• There has been a definite pattern in the last three months of catastrophic mood issues during my period. Was this because the antidepressants were always suppressing some sort of PMDD? Is it a  feature of bipolar? Is it because one of the meds is causing estrogen depletion and I hit rock bottom during cycle week 1? (I've found anecdotal reports of all. Since antidepressants are contraindicated for bipolar, it appears Omega 3, calcium, Vitamin B6 and low doses of Black Cohosh are the only option short of trying yet other drugs. I'm not able to handle any more chemical musical chairs right now  - the movement makes me dizzy and the music makes me cry.)
  

It doesn't really matter why, I suppose. All I know is all those recurring Major Depressive Episodes add up to years of my life -years spent curled in a ball feeling empty and numb and sleeping and eating. This is not that. I feel so incredibly, fucking, inconsolably full of feelings. This is not numb - this is so raw and painful I can't bear it anymore. I can't sleep through it, I can't hide from it, I can't zone out. I'm just IN IT and I'm drowning. Every song I listen to is poignant, every photograph squeezes my heart, every word I read is internalized and I feel physically hurt, full to overflowing with emotion, with devastating sadness. I want to save everyone. I want to stop feeling like this.

I need relief from this. Something I read recently:

"Remember that relief is a feeling. And you have to be alive to feel it. You will not feel the relief you so desperately seek, if you are dead."

True dat. But I feel like my brain is plotting to kill me.


***
PSA: Yes, get help. Yes, see doctor. Yes, I have so much. No, don't need reminding other people need me. I really really really don't.

Yesterday, Poi posted a link to a Slate article talking (in part) about fat imagery and associations in  Wall-E. The timing was pretty apt: I had seen Wall-E and Kung Fu Panda within a week of one another.

Kung Fu Panda. Free family movie promotion at the theatre in my parents' town. I took Lauren (largely because the theatre wrongly posted the movie rating as G when it is in fact, PG and contains pretty graphic violence - not that she seemed affected. Just saying - might want to rethink this as a family film for the younger set).

The movie had some beautiful animation, and the martial arts sequences were just amazing. I know most people won't feel this way, but...

I was so grateful for the darkness of the theatre so Lauren couldn't see me crying silently and the pain on my face. The constant fat jokes, insults, repeatedly slow motion blubber jiggles and the raucous laughter of everyone in the theatre, especially at the notion that fattie can only be motivated and trained through food - hurt. I think I was supposed to feel inspired, like even fatasses can have a purpose and be useful, but instead, the film and the reaction of the fellow movie goers made me feel like every terrible thing I've thought about myself, every disgusted look, every under-the-breath comment I've thought I've heard, every mean, hurtful thing was true. After reading the Slate article and the backlash I fear not only  was my "paranoia" justified, but these nasty viewpoints are much more commonplace than even I had thought.


As y'all know, I'm in a rather fragile emotional state while I wait for the full effect of the the new medication to kick in and instability from antidepressant withdrawal to even out (bonus - the temporary medication causes ravenous hunger, weight gain, and an increased risk of diabetes.)  I'm not saying you shouldn't see the films. I'm sure most people will love them - fantastic animation -  and won't feel wounded or cry in the theatre.

I'm 260 pounds and I feel like I'm less than a person right now. I can't keep trying again and again when "success" is always followed by colossal failure. And as a person who is "overly sensitive", I cannot help but feel anguish that so many people are just so fucking mean - mean for the sake of being mean. Every day bring more news of people not only being mean, but hostile, vicious, unspeakably cruel monsters that are proud of themselves for beating others down emotionally or physically. I weep for the future.

Whilst staying up all night looking at graphics, I stumbled upon a couple pictures of peacocks and I thought of you :)

The great decluttering sell-off: I have one pick-up today and it's this afternoon when I would be home anyway. I simply don't have the patience for inconsiderate asses right now. Who arranges a time to pick something up, after being warned that I don't respond well to waiting for no-shows, and then just flakes? And, they often email a day later acting all snarky because I should be glad to wait around for them again. It's fekking entitlement, it's this "I'm the customer" bullshit (also plays into the "you should accept whatever price I'm offering" mentality.) You know what? I don't work for the man anymore. I don't need to put up with that crap, especially for the pittance I am making. No ice cream for bitches!

Good news: I find the missing hot shoe for my cheap-y tripod. It had been missing for SIX MONTHS. It wasn't even a clutter issue - I actually did put it somewhere sensible last time. I had just forgotten there was a barely visible pocket on the camera bag - I don't often need the camera bag anyway since I'm usually home and just carry it on its strap around my neck. Without the hot shoe to screw into the camera base, my tripod was useless. So yay! Tripod!

I need a shower. And a meal. And then I need to figure out how to navigate the piles of stuff to find clothes to wash and pack. Several other million things need doing but it's my body and brain are saying no.

I'm already looking at another tattoo. I think side of my left arm (same side as the leg tattoo I just got). I have about 6 design inspiration photos I'll think on and then send them to the artist sometime to work something up for me. It will also be a black floral, smaller scale (I suspect this one will actually hurt - less meat, more bone in the forearm). Different than the leg tattoo, but also black graphic and I want the designs to mesh well - I intend to have them both seen at the same time. I will likely wait until fall for that one simply because I don't want to spend any more healing time in the summer when I could be playing in a sprinkler with Lauren, slathered in sunscreen.

Why are the birds singing, I wonder....
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something out of the window...

Daylight. I guess I forgot to go to bed. Also forgot to turn down the brightness on the monitor (I usually do so about midnight because otherwise, I can't sleep.)

 Sleep. Not optional.

***

Mom called tonight. I had posted a picture of the tattoo on facebook; my Mom is not on my FB Friends list. Almost immediately, my cousin comments on the tattoo. She called her mother, who called my mother. Ah, the grapevine. Anyhoo, Mom was talking  to her sister and said she hadn't heard I had a tattoo and then she asked Lauren about it. (Lauren hasn't seen it yet).

Lauren says: My mommy has a tattoo. It's right here [ points to her forehead]. Mom laughs.
Lauren says, "What's a tattoo?"

:

This bastard is all over my yard. Normally, I don't care about weeds (or "grass" as less hostile people might call it) but it is interspersed among my real grass, front and back and is approaching being 25% of the ground cover. No problem except the lawn mower cannot get through the stalks - too tough. I mow the lawn and these long stems stick up all over - it looks like I haven't done a thing.

Do you know what exactly it is?

Signed,

Clueless.

This was the design I found online. I was not looking for lilies or tattoo, but when I saw it, it spoke to me and set the whole thing in motion.

My brain is not working today - I am unable to focus. I have several posts started and stopped because it is too much to finish right now. I haven't read anything on the my Friends Page. Rather than post anything of substance, I wish to beg assistance.

I have a Sandisk SD card, an Ultra II. The rating for card speed has changed, and I need to know what the equivalent is in the new card speeds. I know my camera can't take the new SDHC cards, and I don't want a plain SD card because they write too slow to the card, delaying time in between pictures. I'm sure it is on the net somewhere, but I cannot get my head together. I have 22 tabs open and I'm accomplishing nothing while trying to do everything.

Does anyone have any clue? I need the equivalent speed to an Ultra II and must be ever-so-careful not to ramp up the speed because it won't work and I won't be able to return it either.

I will try to come back tonight and share something real. It is hard to write while R is here because I can't focus, and I know I'll feel more than I am comfortable feeling in front of R. My emotions are right on the surface and it is easy to read that something is affecting me. R cannot read people well (he has no empathy, I swear) but would see tears or something and start asking questions that would annoy me and break my concentration.

Later 'gators

These are not the best of pictures - I'm taking them myself of my own leg and the camera at home is craptastic. I got it done this morning, washed and moisturized twice with plain Cetaphil cleanser and moisturizer. I need to keep it covered  (ie., wear pants)until it is healed - a couple of weeks at least. No sun, no moisquito repellent, no baths, no swimming. The next four days, I wash it gently with my hand (no facecloths or anything, only in the shower) and moisturize several times a day and can wrap at night to avoid sticking to sheets or if I'm doing something that might get debris in it. After that, I can start sloughing off any dry skin more vigourously, always moisturizing and avoiding sun. The idea is to keep washing gently and moisturizing to avoid scabbing.

Anyway, it wasn't painful. It felt strange, but except for the bit closest to my ankle, I carried on a conversation the entire time (about 2 hours, I think?) The artist is actually the shop owner, and the client I first heard recommend epidart more than 5 years ago (a coworkers of Ross' with a full back and leg tattoo) was actually his client.

I had originally sent an email just asking about pricing and appointments, and he wrote back saying it varies and it was possible I could get a weekday afternoon appointment in about three weeks. I wrote back and said I'd need an evening or a Saturday and he said the wait was usually six months. I attached a photo of the lily and he said something might be opening up on Saturday and he loved that kind of tattoo.

I found out when I got in the "opening" was him arriving at the shop 2 hours before they open - he said he the kind of design I'd chosen was a favourite of his and he doesn't often get to do that kind of work. He's 35, has three kids and was totally non-intimidating. We talked about how we hope we'll be more aware parents than our own parents, more open. Talked about kids and scary shit. His three - the youngest is two and the oldest is 13. He told me at least once a week, a minor will drag a parent into the shop to get a piercing, and the parent will try to talk them out of it and offer them a tattoo instead! He said the parents are so caught up on the piercing stigma and what that must mean but think a discrete tattoo is better. Um, piercing - temporary (and cheaper, and easier) and tattoo, permanent, pricey, requires a lot of aftercare AND when you're 15, I imagine your judgement is not the greatest as to design. Important with permanent, don't you think? He said every time he hears it, he's stunned. He was great to talk to and not bad to look at either.

Had to stop at Dollarama afterward and a cute young man saw the wrap on my leg and said, "Hey! You got a tattoo! Where did you go? That's great! My brother is the piercer! blah blah blah."  Um, people hardly talk to me. 20ish cute boys never talk to me. And, I have  a tendency to be scared of young guys for no apparent reason. So, conversation starter. Nice.

There's more about the "why" of the tattoo but I don't have it in me to write right now - I have to leave for the airport. R and Lauren are returning :) R has no idea (there's a reason for that too, and "surprise" isn't quite an honest response). At this point, I am considering not saying anything until he notices. With the recent drop in temperatures, that might be a while!

Photos?

Stole this:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs.

(There was nothing in there about linking, but I'm doing it because whenever I see a song listed, I want to hear it).

1. Loose Lips - Kimya Dawson
2. Tell Me Baby - Red Hot Chili Peppers
3. Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen
4. Weapon of Choice - Fatboy Slim
5. Mother Mother - Tracy Bonham
6. Celebrity Skin by Hole
7. The Great Song of Indifference - Bob Geldof

Bonus Track:


Flight of the Conchords - If You're Into It.


Now try not to read too much into my choices, okay? ;)

Love him. Love. More stuff on him at video.google.ca than there is on youtube.

It has been ten days since my last post. I cannot really translate experience into words at this point. Suffice it to say, my brain has been battered and bruised by the unpredictable and dramatic swings, the chemical ebb and flow of withdrawal from old meds and introduction of new, and the lowest of lows (truly - I cannot even say.)

Today, I am hurt. It is a waste of time to feel hurt, but apparently I have little to no control over my emotions and reactions these days. I won't get into the fine details of the situation here, but I feel... less than.

I understand why so many people chose to keep mental illness a secret. The gatekeeper that censors my thoughts IRL and encourages me to keep my demons to myself has been asleep on the job. I shared that I was hospitalized and how bipolar has effected our family, my ability to care for my child, our finances (FUCK). I shared how alone and desperate I was, that I needed help and support. That I was just plain fucked up.

The result? An occasional "Um, how are you doing?" and more frequently, an awkward disconnect from my life.

Why is it when a friend breaks a bone doing something stupid, people will rally the troops to help: Meals are made, babysitting arranged, flowers are sent, thoughtful gifts are given. When someone (who, incidentally, has spent time, money, and considerable effort to be supportive and helpful in the past) shares that they are barely breathing, that they are sick and non-functioning, overcome by fear and loneliness and trapped in a dizzying eddy of impossible choices, stresses and complications....  the only response is an uncomfortable *cough*.

In my darkest moments, when I thought I was a valueless (nay, even malignant) entity who should cease to exist , I thought this non-response was because of who I am, was a judgement on my worth or lack thereof. Now, in more stoic moments, I think it is a comment on mental illness itself. At best, many people do not know how to react and thus do not react at all. At worst, they do not believe mental illness is indeed, illness, but instead, a character flaw.

It is silent here today - uncomfortably silent. My child is with my husband on the other side of the country - I was unable to travel. When they return on Saturday, the only certainty is that I will remain unable to Mother, unable to be left in charge of things such as housekeeping, bill-wrangling, or taking charge of, well, anything. What I do know, is that those closest to me will continually forget this, will regard my inability to function as needless dramatics, overreaction or laziness. They will subtly, or not so subtly, chastise me for something I cannot control (though this is absolutely not for lack of trying on my part). And this is family. If this what I can expect from family (whom I have supported through all manner of illness, alcoholism, and stormy weather), I should not be surprised that friends have chosen to take a step back.

In a larger, non-egocentric dissection of this phenomena, I tend to conclude that society needs more exposure to the experiences of the mentally ill, that a greater awareness of the potential effects (not just medical, but societal) could create a greater empathy and support for those in the throes of illness. On a more personal level, however, I do not have it in me to lay myself open repeatedly, to be the awareness-champion. I am sick, and I simply don't have it in me.

In lieu of any post about real life stresses, mental health and the like, I present the following:

As many of you know, I have had a hell of a time trying to find a qualified babysitter. One of the avenues I have used is Kijiji. Here is the advertisement I have had posted for several months:

"I am searching for a mature occasional babysitter to care for my daughter in my home in XXX. My husband and I would like to enjoy the occasional evening or afternoon out. We will provide transportation within XXX.

Applicant must be mature and over the age of 15, reliable and experienced in caring for young children. First aid training is a definite asset.

Please send your qualifications as well as your expected hourly rate. If you have a resume and references, that would certainly be appreciated as well.

**
A little constructive criticism - no offence is intended: If you are applying for a job, misspellings, poor grammar and use of internet acronyms or IM-speak leave a very poor impression. I expect anyone who cares for my child to be mature and intelligent, and replies that read as though someone is texting a friend simply don't give that impression.

As well, if an ad indicates certain requirements and qualifications, or requests answers to specific questions, it is good form to address those points. I'm unlikely to follow up with someone who didn't supply the information I've requested."


I had posted a number of items on Kijiji yesterday and one feature of the site is a "View Poster's Other Ads" link at the bottom. As a result, I've had some recent viewings of this ad. I just received this email:

From: youknow@hotmail.com

You can respond to youknow@hotmail.com by replying to this email

I am a very intelligent person and I use IM text speaking. That is a pretty rude thing to say in an add. ITS A BABYSITTING JOB NOT THE PRESIDENT

Bwahahahaha! It is both hilarious for errors in the reply and the strange defensiveness to my months-old posting, and tragic for the lack of common sense.