Pills for Everyone!

Forgot to mention that I have gotten the kids on ADD medication. Don't judge me, they both really need this medication. The first offspring is actually doing well in school, for him. He's failing all of his classes, but at least he's managing to stay in them and not get kicked out for outrageously disruptive behavior. I hate homework. It's God's punishment for not being born knowing everything, but thinking you do when you are young.

What else. Oh, yes! I haven't had any sex for the last six weeks. I think I should be annoyed about this, but actually I'm not sure I want to have sex with the boyfriend right now. I'm still really freakin' pissed at him, and my medication has dialed down my usually racing libido. It's an interesting phenomenon, really because I remember how I used to feel. I just don't feel that way anymore.

Two Visits to the Doctor

So on Tuesday I went to the new shrink. She is really sincere and enthusiastic, and she thinks I'm really honest and forthright and was just tickled at the idea of working with me. And I just hate her. I can't get into that bubbly, oozing personality at all. I want to tell her to back up because she's just gushing all over me and I feel like I need to take a shower inside my brain. It has the emotional equivalent of being licked in the face by a big sloppy, slobbery dog tongue. I don't know quite what to do, because I'm not sure I can work with her. If that's really her personality type, ick. It's like being massaged with a cheese grater. Really. But I feel like I should try at least a couple more sessions, because if I don't I didn't give her a fair chance to get beyond first impressions. If she's always like that though, I just cannot work with her. She's too, too, TOO annoying.

There is just no nice way to tell some one that you hate their personality is there?

The thing is, I really like the medication doctor. She's calm, centered, and makes me feel secure. She's young, but she just has this air of authority that I find...comforting. Like she did her homework and she knows exactly what the hell she's talking about. Why can't I just have her as the shrink? It's sad really, that the really good people are so rare.

Also I hate the kids' doctor. That was yesterday's visit. He's so freaking slow! I don't mean stupid...um...I don't think I mean stupid. The guy got through medical school after all. (Although I don't know that this should be a criteria by which to judge intelligence, actually.) I mean deliberate slowness. Like he can't work at a speed above gentle cruise. I don't think I really need to go to the first offspring's doctor's appointments any more once I get him on the medication. If I ever actually GET him on the medication. This is another aspect of the doctor's deliberateness, and probably the thing I'm so annoyed about. Before he writes a prescription, he has to THINK about what the best approach would be. I wanted to scream "listen buddy, just WRITE THE DAMN PRESCRIPTION!"

Of course that would have gotten me nowhere. He was also more than happy to engage the offspring in one of those intermintable random debates that make me want to carry around duct tape and a tranquilzer gun. I thought it was really rude, too, since we'd been waiting to see him for two hours (he got called away for an emergency, and then another emergency and in the meantime all the staff just went home and left us there in the office completely alone), and then instead of taking care of business and then getting us the hell out of there, he was oh so willing to engage in this stupid verbal debate. Like, oh yes I have nothing to do in life but listen to the doctor and the offspring discuss whether or not the offspring will be successful in life if he never, ever can comply with any authority figure, ever. HE WON'T! There, debate over.

While we were waiting for the doctor, which took forever, the offspring stole someone's snack food. What does it say about me as a parent that I found this amusing rather than shocking? Am I just morally bankrupt? Should this bother me? I think I will talk to the shrink about it next session. She will probably find my honest exploration of my potential moral bankruptcy refreshing.

Both of these visits, by the way, took over two hours. I don't know why people complain that they don't see the doctor enough. Maybe they just aren't interesting enough to hold the doctor's attention? And aren't I the elitist bitch? Actually, yes, I am.

Battles on the Homefront

So the first offspring is getting in trouble in school, but what else is new? I wish I could say that the way the boyfriend is dealing with this issue is different, but that's old news too. They just don't like each other, and I'm stuck right in the middle. The boyfriend thinks I need to get tougher with the offspring (as if that were going to do anything) and that he doesn't respect me, and the offspring thinks that the boyfriend is full of shit and doesn't respect me. And honestly, I can see both of their points. When did I become this wimp that everyone could walk over? I wasn't like this before I had kids. I was ferocious. I remember being ferocious. Now I'm just tired.

I don't understand why they can't find some common ground. It tears me in two, really. As sad and pathetic as it is, I do love the boyfriend. And I love the first offspring too, although it seems to be his mission in life to make that as close to impossible as he is able to. And damn if he's not close. But as difficult as he is, I can't stand for the boyfriend to insult him when we're talking about him. It's as if he doesn't think about the fact that the person we're discussing is my child. He says he gets angry because the offspring is hurting me and he doesn't like to see me get hurt, but somehow he can't see that when we have these arguments the things that HE says are hurting me too. I'm guess I'm just the punching bag in the middle of the gym that everyone gets to take a swing at whenever they're feeling a little frustrated.

It's a good thing that my anti-crazy drugs are so stellar. If they weren't I might be dressed up like a chicken right now, walking trying to hold up the sky. At least this way, I'm not dressed like a chicken.

Michael Phelps

Whoo hoo! Eleven gold medals and counting. Do you think he can talk about anything besides swimming?

I wish I were that good at something. I guess if they ever make procrastination an Olympic sport, I could be a contender.

Men's Gymnastics

I was going to Twitter this, but I can't remember my password:

The Olympic finals of men's gymnastics was truly awesome last night. I was holding my breath a couple of times there. Too exciting. And I've never been prouder to see my country get a bronze medal.

I do hope that Michael Phelps wins his tenth gold medal.

Pen and Paper

I go back and forth about whether or not I like keyboarding my thoughts or writing them with pen and paper, but I think I like pen and paper, at least right now. There's something about the feel of a pen (or a pencil, or a crayon, if that what you can get) gliding across the paper that makes me feel more connected. Somehow typing words makes them feel like the thoughts and emotions I'm expressing aren't quite connected to me, and I'm just scattering bits of myself across the Universe.

This could also be another effect of the drugs.

Depression, Drugs, Anger and More About the Boyfriend

Hmm, so where do I start now? Here’s where: Can anti-depressants actually make you more depressed? I don’t know if my new pills are working or if they’re driving me just a little bit closer to a bloody, self-inflicted and unforgivable act of self-termination. I don’t think I’m suicidal in the normal sense thought. I think my anger has gotten so large and uncontrollable that the only place I can direct it any more is at me. And I’m very good at hurting me. I may, in fact, have done my heart permanent damage by stubbornly refusing to take the medication that will prevent it from eventually just blowing up from the pressure of too much crap in my arteries.

I hate my medication. Every pill feels like a failure of will.

I do think the anti-depressants are making me calmer, but I don’t know if I would call this calm a good calm. It’s more like a I’m-tired-and-I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed-today-or-any-day kind of calm. I have the urge to listen to sappy love songs that make me feel bad about my relationship, angry rap that makes me feel bad about society, and indie rock that just makes me feel bad. I wish I could just be an alcoholic or a drug addict, but I don’t have the stamina for that kind of life. I’m too busy trying to figure out a way to please everyone else to please myself. Besides someone has to drop the kid off at daycare.

On the other hand, I’ve decided to start meditating. Supposedly this will make me happier, because meditation occurs in the right brain or something. I don’t know, I don’t really believe it, but I’m going to try it anyway. Because it my duty to keep trying, and a lot of days that’s all I feel like I have left. I’m not even sure I want to be happy any more. Or if I would know who I was if I were. Or even if I would know who I was if I weren’t struggling somewhere in life. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that no matter how good it gets, the kid will always be there to help me be miserable on the parenting front.

And there’s the boyfriend. Who is apparently also clinically depressed and really determined not to do anything meaningful about it. Why does being in love so often turn into a form of psychological torture? It’s the cosmic joke, right? The real punishment for being turned out of Eden. That reference to bringing forth children in pain had nothing to do with the act of birth, it was really talking about all the bullshit you go through in the relationship, before and after the kid. Or regardless of the kid. And since some people chose not to have kids, somebody thought of romance novels, and love songs, and chick flicks so the rest of the relationship-burdened world could be tortured by the concept of happily ever after. It sucks.

And the worst part of it all is that I don’t really know what I want from the boyfriend. Do I just want really good sex? Do I want attention? Do I want achievement? What? Will anything make me happy? And damn him, he asked me why I don’t have any faith in him. And I didn’t even know that I didn’t until he asked that. So now I’m completely tortured by that question. Why DON’T I have any faith in him? And this question: If I don’t have any, why do I still want him in my life so much?

I know part of it. Of course I do. It has to do with the years that he told me over and over that he didn’t want me. With absence, with other women, with anger and rejection, he told me this over and over. And I knew in my heart that it was a lie. I knew this. I had faith that underneath it all I loved him enough to rekindle the feelings I knew were inside him somewhere. And so now he tells me that he loves me. And instead of feeling good about it, instead of feeling vindicated and content with the results of my determination never to give up on him, all I do is wonder if my desire overcame his resistance. I can’t believe in what’s between us because I had to work too hard to get it. I wonder if he’s not sincere. I don’t know how to convince myself that I was right.

Maybe I can’t believe that he can love me, when I’ve never really been able to love myself.