Life And A Dozen Other Things

So, I've been feeling really creative lately. Like, writing creative. Not just this blog but also working on a fiction piece. I've also been thinking about knitting, which is the first step in actually making something for me.

Discovering and exploring this has had me curious: What's the big deal, self? Why is this so different and important?

Well, I just got out of a marriage about a year ago that was toxic. But, I lived with "him" and "his" lover until this last April. Which was weird. It was just a super weird situation.

I realized today that I never gave myself time, or permission, to grieve.

When my husband came out as transgender, it was a few months after my mother died. I felt like I'd lost everything. My mother, my husband. It's no wonder I just went mental. The transgender aspect I was fine with, bare with me. It was the fact, that as a woman, she is completely different. Maybe this is the person who was always inside that I never got to see. We talked a lot about it in the months following our split, and I came to the conclusion that she wasn't and could never be the person I fell in love with. Unfortunate as it seems, that person was a lie. I stayed living with them about 9 months after I let her know I wanted a divorce.

And I never let myself really feel it. The initial pain, yeah. I don't think anyone can really run from that. But the rest of it, the grief of losing the person I was so in love with that I married. That I couldn't touch. That I actually didn't touch until being away from the situation for about a month. It's so hard to wrap my head around. I mean, my mother died. And than six months later this. I waited about a year before deciding to make my divorce move. Somehow I thought it could work. I hoped it could work.

But in the end, it couldn't work. That entire situation isn't me. That isn't what I signed up for. It isn't what I wanted. I did spend some time privately redefining what I want, and that's a completely different post.

The point is I realized what I've been going through this year. I know a lot of my friends who I talked to on a regular basis are pretty concerned because I don't call or hang out. I just can't. I realized I've been grieving the loss of my marriage. Deeper though, I've been grieving the loss of a man I loved very, very much. And no, no they're not the same. I support everyone in what they want to do. I support my ex in all the things she wants and hopes for. But, the truth is, she isn't the man I married. And that's the man I want. Coming to terms with that left me a wreck. I wanted to believe I was strong and open-minded, or whatever. But, it has nothing to do with that.

It comes down to: What do you want?
And my answer is, and was, a resounding "I want the man I married."

There were qualities that he had that she doesn't. Part of her cover to blend? I don't know. Probably. I can't change this about myself. I tried and it made me (and everyone else) fucking miserable. So I left. I gave it my level best for a year, and just couldn't. I wanted to kill myself. Seriously wanted to kill myself.

So I've found this place over the last few months were I felt safe to grieve. And that's what I've been doing. And that's what I tell people. My entire life is completely different in this moment than it was a year ago. I'm on a different planet than I was two years ago.

And that's a lot of change. Not just for someone who battles their mind the way I do, but I think it would be difficult for anyone. It's a lot of loss. And some days I'm still not real sure how to handle it. I have my vices, that's for sure. But,for some reason I have this crazy grace. And I'm grateful for that.

Hell No Part 2, Bitches

Alright, so I have major depression, and stuff, stuff, stuff, things things. Read the post OH HELL NO and you'll see. Anyway, to expand (and this is gonna probably be a thing). So I've searched for anything to help, and very little does. Yes, I take the meds. I also take a lot of vitamins and supplements. I take my walks and do my things.

Why am I still here?

Because that's major depression. Did I let someone talk me into the whole "omgs you're never gonna get better," shit? Nope. I've found that time and time again on my own.

However, I will not ever let it win. Until the day I die a death that isn't by my own hand will I let this shit win.

This bitch goes fisty cuffs when she wakes up.

I can't lay down and die. I just can't. Is it because love and people and stuff and things?
Nah. Not really. No offense to anyone, I just don't. #sorrynotsorry

I just love my life.

Well, specifically, I really love the way I live. I'm not sure what Hell or Purgatory are like (because I'm pretty sure heaven's off my list of afterlife retirement homes).

This is it in a nutshell: I wake up. I do my wake up stuff (usually coffee, meds, cloths, in that order) and get off to work. I work. And I enjoy it. I really enjoy the people around me and my boss. The work itself, ehhh. I like it, don't get me wrong. It's just simple. That's all. Anyway, do all my things at work and head home. Sometimes I stop by the store. And, let me tell you, the HEB I stop at is *the best.* Mostly for dinner stuff, or whatever I might need. Toilet paper and the like.
It's one of the few places I've experienced community. People who may or may not know each other randomly talk. I assume not, just because I do the same with people I've never seen. And of course I also bullshit with the people who work there. And I feel like I fit. So, it's awesome.
And then when I get home, I'm greeted with dinner and kisses. Which is awesome. Soon to be followed by a cigarette and a gin and tonic. And then, whatever I want. If I want to drink and play WoW all night? Done. No question. If I want to watch Supernatural all night? Again, done. No questions. No flack. No bullshit. Just live on my terms outside of what I *have* to do. I also chill with my bro or parents when I can on the weekends. It's pretty sweet, honestly.

My life is mostly a bullshit free zone.
Don't get me wrong, it doesn't, and probably will never, keep me from wanting to commit suicide. But, it is, however, the reason that I fight when I wake up. I fight to keep this. I fight to keep my simplicity. My solitude. My Gin. And lately, my writing and art. And music. And, yes, love. Other than the -stuff- he does, dinner and mixing a mean gin and tonic, he feels like home. He always has. And, that's another sappy story.

But for now, that's it. That's all. That's basically my life.

And that's what I hold on to. Not the good moments. Not even the special moments or the ones that changed my life. My mediocre everyday stuff. It makes sense to me why I kept what I kept when my mother died. I kept my parents wedding ring set. But, other than that I chose the things that she touched every day. Her hoodie. Her blankie. Her pillow. Don't get me wrong, these moments are special even though they're not what keeps me going. In a way, that makes sense. Life is nothing if not for the small things.

Lay Down And Die? Hell No. The Start Button

Where do you start with this kind of thing?

Except a disclaimer - I'm not a doctor. I have no intention of being one. Everything I write here and heretofore is my experience. That's all. Not intended to treat or diagnose a goddamn thing.

Well, I guess the title's a good place.

Lay down and die. The daily question. 

For me, anyway.

Hell no.

The daily answer. 

Again, for me. 

I'm not going to get into the ins and outs of what can or can't be done for depression. Or whether blah blah blah is a cure. I don't know. All I know is, I have major depression with a fun side slice of anxiety. All I know is I try, and continue to try, all of the things. My doc gives me all kinds of cool shit to read. From having a normal sleep schedule to the benefits of fish oil and exercise. 

In all honesty I get more and more weary of trying things. I feel like the high, of exercise, for example, and then the let down when I, despite what I do, come home night after night and sit on my couch and cry. About everything, but, normally about nothing. I literally have no reason. There is no thing occupying my brains, no problem I'm mulling over or hurtful situation. I just feel hopeless. And it's difficult for me to go through these transitions where everything's on the right path, I'm actually eating three squares (and snacks), taking walks, doing yoga, etc. And then it still comes, it still happens. And it's no less intense than the last time, or time before that. It's hard for me to get my hopes up about ever feeling *GOOD* for an extended amount of time. I rather try and find this happy middle ground. I don't feel like shit, but, I don't much feel good either. 

I know the biggest change has been realizing it. Acceptance. Realizing that I have this thing that I can't control. I think some people can. I think it's possible some people can counter-act what their brain stem is malfunctioning about with diet and exercise. But, I've never been able to. And to acknowledge that was the most liberating moment of my life. That and to basically tell anyone who says my experience is invalid (ie "you're not trying hard enough") can fuck themselves. I know what I've done, and I know where I've been. I'm not like all the other attention seeking whores in your life that're making excuses. All I know is for long periods of time here and there I want to die. For no particular reason. It's never because life's bad or even when I'm in the pit. It just is. And I don't mince words when it comes to ending my life. And for some reason I have this grace and handful of loving people that may or may not understand, either way, they've been here for me. Like, literally just stay around me 24/7 because I'm legit terrified I'm going to off myself. I can be a pain in the ass, but I have an amazing support system. And I hope everyone who needs that does. Sometimes I wish I could be that for even random strangers. 

I hate thinking of it as an "illness." My therapist lady has never treated me that way. She's always just treats me like a human being who experiences the world differently. And that's where I like to see myself. I just process the things around me a bit differently, and sometimes it's hard for me to get a handle on it. Meeting and experiencing that sort of environment from a professional made me believe for the first time in my life that I could fight. That I don't have to be any specific thing or way. That I could be me. And the best part? Every single facet is okay. How I feel is okay, even if it's completely off the reservation. What I think is okay, even if it's highly appropriate. 

C'est La Vie

I've been thinking a lot lately about choices. It seems a handful of people in my life don't quite understand that I've made some decisions. That I will stick by my choices. That there are certain things I want and no amount of pushing me in another direction will change my mind. I've chosen my place. I've chosen my situation. It is my choice. I choose to be kind to people though I've been encouraged to be unkind. And I am the uncivilized animal. I've chosen patience even though I've been encouraged to be a wrecking ball essentially. 

I will always choose what I believe to be the right thing. Justice can be unkind, but I am not justice. I want to give to other human beings what I'd like in return. Selfish, yes. If I don't get it back, eh, c'est la vie, it will not affect my decision. 

Situation Report

So, I'm finally where I can write about what's going on. 

I've been staying with my dad and step-mom the last few weeks. 

I'm getting divorced and just can't live in our apartment. Mainly for their safety. 

I tried this situation. The triad of me, my wife, and my wife's girlfriend. I'm very much not okay with the third. Extramarital sex that means nothing, fucking go for it. A live in girlfriend. Really, just no. It's not for me. I'm not saying it's a bad thing and won't work in any situation. Some people dig that. I don't. And as I got my spirit back I realized that. I realized this entire situation made me miserable. I realized that more than anything, I miss my husband. I'm not saying that my wife as a transgender person is bad. What I am saying is she's not my husband. He's gone. And I miss him so much. 

So, needless to say my life has been bumpy. I don't want to get into details, we've had our spats over the last few weeks. However, today we do hang every now and again, have really decent conversations and I enjoy this time. Although my heart still hearts, and on a certain level I am angry that she took my husband away. 

I thought for a long time that I could love the person inside, because this person inside was blossoming into the person they were supposed to be. A lot of the things I loved about the person inside my husband went away. I don't know if she decided they were not for her or what exactly happened with all that inside of her. All I know is I look at her, and I see someone else. Even on the inside. This person I tried to love, who I don't know. 

To clarify, I'm not leaving her because she's transgender. I'm leaving because I'm miserable and extremely uncomfortable with the relationship. And I have been for a very long time. One blessing is we're all very supportive through this. She listens to my feelings. She doesn't take them personally. And her girlfriend comforts me when I'm over there and just cry. Sometimes I have to go home and cry. And they let me. They cry with me. We all mourn our loss together. It's really kind of amazing.