So Busy

I'm sorry everyone. I have been so busy the last week and a half. I started my new job, which, I LOVE, by the way.

Daughter's birthday is on Friday, so, been working on putting together a birthday party for her.

Been traveling back and forth to Chris' school.

Trying to stay balanced.

For those keeping track, I am still on my medication and I am doing well.

Chris has quite smoking, so, now it's my turn.

He also got me a very fancy program to help me track my diet and excersise so that we can get ourselves healthier.

Other than that, not alot to report. Hopefully on Saturday I'll have some extra time to write something more thought provoking.

Hope all is well with you guys.

Never Forget

Today marks the six year anniversary of the Columbine High School shootings in Littleton, CO.

How many people remember that? How many family members live with this day in and day out?

I recently watched the movie "Bowling for Columbine" by Michael Moore. Yeah, that's right, the guy who did Fahrenheit 9/11.

I find the man to be brilliantly informative. Biased, of course. Do I agree with all that he says, no, but, alas, I have digressed, back to the subject.

The Columbine Shootings. Horribly tragic. What a waste of youth, love, life, chances, leaders, friends, sons, daughters, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, boyfriends, girlfriends, and any others that I forgot to name.

Even the death of the two shooters was a waste. How unfair and unjust not to be able to sit across the court room from them and accuse them of their crime. How unfair that they were able to cause such horror and distruction and leave so many behind grieving, even their own families.

Did you know, that during the filming of "Bowling for Columbine" they went to the Kmart headquarters to speak with someone. He took two survivors with him, both of them still had bullets in their bodies from that fateful day. Why Kmart headquarters? Because that is where the ammunition was bought.

Do you know what came from that meeting? After a lot of running them around, a lot of frustration, they spoke to someone. They made such an impact that the next day, there was a press release stating that within 30 days, no Kmart would ever carry ammunition again.

I am in awe.

I am also a bit disappointed. Not once did anyone point the gun at those who make such weapons.

Why are tobacco companies responsible for lung cancer? Why is McDonald's responsible for people being fat?

Yet, the biggest killer in our country goes unquestioned.

Now, before you go on a rant about how I am anti-gun, let me tell you. I think that everyone has the right, under our constitution, to bear arms.

What that means though, is open for interpretation. Do I think that a 17 year old boy from suburbia needs to have a semi-automatic weapon? HELL NO!

I believe, in my heart of hearts, that when our forefathers developed the constitution, it was designed to protect us from countries that may be unwise enough to try and invade. It was designed so that no man would be left without a way to feed his family.

You tell me what good a pistol does in hunting? Tell me who uses a weapon that can hold 17-20 rounds?

People who are pro-gun say it's because it is their right. Yeah, so what? It's my right not to have my child shot by accident at your house because you are too stupid to lock your guns properly.

It is my right, to walk down any street in America and not get shot because some gang is shooting at another.

It is my right, to send my children to school and not have to worry about them getting shot in the face because guns are so easily and readily available to some angry person.

How many times do you hear a story about how a madman went on a stabbing spree and killed 20-30 people? You don't. How about a story about how some guy went and hung 15 people in the subway? You don't.

It's sick, it's horrible. We had a six year old boy take a gun to school and kill his six year old classmate.

They blamed the uncle the boy was staying with. They blamed the mother who left her son with someone else. They blamed the landlord who kicked the mother out of her own place. They blamed the system for making the mother have to work in a different town and having to take a bus 30 minutes each way.

WHAT ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE THESE WEAPONS!

How can people not see this? How can people just shrug it off and say "It's the American way"

Is it really the "American way" to go shooting up babies? Letting babies shoot babies?

If it is, if that's what it means to be "American" then I want no part of it. I had a much different idea of "American" in my mind.

I will never forget the tragedy at Columbine, or the six year old girl who was murdered, or my sister. I will always remember that in America, there are over 11,000 homicides by guns EVERY YEAR.

If I have offended you, I apologize for that. I will not apologize for my stance, for my beliefs.

Take a moment, think of those who have lost someone in this horrible manner and say a prayer for them, to whatever higher power you believe in. Trust me, even years later, they'll need it.

Thanks for letting me rant.

>climbs off soapbox and heads off to do housework<

My Dad

My Dad is a good man. Plain and simple. He has made mistakes, yes, but, at heart he is a good man. His family has always been his first priority. I can remember him working two and sometimes three jobs to support us. I wish I could say this allowed my mother to stay home, but it didn't.

One of my fondest memories of my father came on one of my birthdays. I don't remember how old I was. I do remember my mother telling me I had a "blind date" and I was so excited. She dressed me up in my favorite peach dress and did my hair real pretty. When she shooed me out the door to wait on the front steps, my dad was sitting there staring out at the flowers in the yard. He looked so thoughtful I didn't say a word, I just went up behind him and put my little hands on his shoulders and began to rub them. He turned and smiled up at me and I remember thinking I was so lucky.

My dad is a big guy. Born and raised in Texas, he has had his own battles in life. When he was just a boy, his mother died in childbirth. That left him with just his dad and his four brothers. His dad often left town to find work, leaving them alone for months at a time with my father being the oldest, it was his job to take care of the younger brothers.

After two years of this, the state heard about it and came in to remove all the kids. They were placed in an orphanage after my grandfather was declared unfit. Several years later, my father ran away and did odd jobs on the street. One of them was sweeping the sidewalk for a woman who owned a beauty shop. Turns out the woman was very well off and did this only for a hobby. She was a widower and took an instant liking to my father. When the police finally found him and tried to return him to the orphanage, she stepped in and after a rather quick court battle, she legally adopted him.

Then he went into the army, and married. That marriage didn't last, and when he was done serving his time in the military, he began to drink. He told me once that he lost an entire month of time due to his drinking.

When he met my mom, she already had two children, and he was a raging alcoholic. He told her on their first date that he would stop drinking so that they could get married. A month later they were married and that was almost forty years ago.

Fast forward to present day and my father has a several health issues. He has a heart disease. He has diabetes. Until recently, he did nothing to help either of those two situations, despite having had two open heart surgeries and a total of five new bypasses put in.

He has a "do not resuscitate" order, which means they can not use any kind of life saving methods should his heart stop.

He lives on borrowed time. I think of this often and my heart climbs up into my throat and I cry. I can't imagine my life without him. Even though we are far apart in miles, we email each other often.

Which, leads me to today's post. He emailed me today after I sent him my own email telling him how much I love him. How much he means to me. I don't know if he wrote this himself, or if he found it on the net somewhere, so, this is not me trying to copy someone's work, I just wanted to share this with someone out there. It touched me so deeply. This is the poem he sent to me.

WHEN TOMORROW STARTS WITHOUT ME

When tomorrow starts without me
and I'm not there to see;
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
all filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn't cry,
the way you did today,
while thinking of the many things
we didn't get to say.
I know how much you love me,
as much as I love you,
and each time you think of me
I know you'll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
please try to understand,
that an angel came and called my name
and took me by the hand
and said my place was ready
in heaven far above
and that I would have to leave behind all those I dearly love.
As I walked through heaven's gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
from his great golden throne,
He said "This is eternity, and all I've promised you."
Today my life on Earth is past
but here it starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow
but today will always last,
and since each day is the same day
there's no longing for the past.
So won't you take my hand, and share my life with me?
When tomorrow starts without me
don't think we're far apart,
for every time you think of me,
I'm right here, in your heart.

My Grandmother

My grandmother died when I was eight years old. She was carrying laundry from the back room, through her bedroom into the bathroom. She never made it out of her room. She had a heart attack and collapsed at the foot of the bed she shared with my grandfather, cracking her head open on the cedar chest that sat that for as long as I can remember. My brother found her with the folded towels still clutched to her when they returned home from hunting.

I was at a girl scout meeting. My cousin called and told me the news. I remember, that she was the second person that I knew that had died. She was the first however, that I really cared about because the other person was my sister's father in law and I all I knew about him was that he was a nice man who owned the Keebler plant in our town.

I remember how calm I was when she told me. I don't think that I understood yet what that meant. My sister came to get me and take me home from that meeting. I remember how bad it felt inside when they explained that she was never, ever, coming back.

I cried so hard I thought my chest would explode. In true eight year old fashion, I too my cabbage patch doll, dressed up in the skirt she had made me the Christmas before, and knelt down to pray. I prayed that it was all a mistake. I prayed that God would let her come back to us. I prayed so hard, I even tried to negotiate with God, promising to never be bad again, apologizing for all the bad things I ever did in my life, if only he would let us have her back.

Of course, it was too late. There was no coming back from the dead for her. No mistaken identity. My beautiful, loving grandmother was gone.

Even now, I remember so many things about her. She loved the dutch culture. Her kitchen was all done up with dutch things. She made the best spaghetti in the world. She would put it in the oven and let it bake for hours. The entire house smelled of it. I remember her letting us pick cherries out of the tree that stood outside the kitchen window. I remember that she hated driving on the roads so much that when she picked me up or took me home, we rode in the alleys. I remember how I loved to sit behind her in her rocking chair and brush her hair. The roasting of marshmellows in the fire place. Most of all though, I remember the holidays at my grandparents.

Huge tables lined up in the living room, covered in tons and tons of food. My aunts and uncles all milling around, shooing us kids out of the way. Us kids always trying to stick our fingers into the pies or some other wonderful delight baked just for us.

I remember the love, the happiness, the feeling of belonging to something so huge that it was as if the whole world were there. Of course, to a child that age, my family was nearly the whole world.

I have two uncles and two aunts. They were all married, so, add two more uncles and two more aunts, and then begin to calculate my cousins. There was twenty two grandchildren for my grandparents, and, at least four great grandchildren. There were also the "honorary" members of our family. My Uncle W, who, was the brother to my mom's first husband. Another Uncle who wasn't really my uncle, but, I loved calling him that anyway. So many extra Aunt and Uncles that even now, I call my aunt and uncle. My family. Now try cramming all those people into one house and organizing something called a meal. Somehow though, my grandmother always did it and the house was filled to the rafters. Not only with people, but love, and happiness, and best of all, memories.

Those were the days when my life was normal. Then she died.

I can't say exactly when it began, only that I was eight years old. It was after my grandmother died. I was laying in my grandfather's bed with my niece. We talked and giggled and she finally fell asleep, or maybe I did, I'm not sure. I suppose in the end it doesn't matter, we were both asleep.

The very next thing I remember was feeling a weight pressing very hard against my back and something pressing between my legs. I froze. I couldn't move, or think, or even breathe for what seemed like a few minutes.

The fingers pressed harder and I felt them slip inside me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I was so scared. I felt lips and tongue on my neck, and something hard pressing into my backside.

I stared at the back of my niece as I lay there, alone, afraid, being violated. I couldn't move. What if she woke up? What if he did the same thing to her? I layed there until I felt something warm on my back and his fingers withdrew from me. I cried for a very long time afterwards, careful to keep the sniffles and shaking shoulders to myself.

Two more times this happened. Even though I begged my mother and father to let me sleep on the couch.

When it all did come out, which is a story in of itself, my mother said I was crazy. That I had a chemical imbalance in my brain that made me believe that happened, even though it didn't. I was sent to a foster home, which began the worst years of my life.

I just want to warn my regular readers, that upon the suggestion of someone whom I respect very much, I will be trying to go through my childhood in words, here, on my blog. There is very little good stuff for me to write about and things will be darker then they have been in the past. I hope you'll bear with me while I revisit my past. Maybe I can find the answer to how to deal with the here and now if I do.

The Good Things Never Last

I should have known we were in for a doozy when my weekend went so well.

Even Monday didn't go too bad. I have for some reason, decided to take on the task of not only "helping" Grandma paint her room (Which has seen no changes for the last 20 years), but, I've agreed to do a "sponging" technique over the base paint, not once, but twice.

After nearly two hundred dollars, we were well equipped to start. Problem was, it was almost 6:00pm and my family was waiting at home for me to come make dinner.

I knew something was wrong with the middle boy when I walked in the door. He was coughing and hacking really bad. I asked Chris how long he'd been doing that, he said since he got home from school.

So, they sit down and eat dinner, which is promptly thrown up by said middle child, because he is coughing so hard. So, in a last ditch attempt, I sent him into the bathroom and steamed it up real good so he could breath it in.

As stupid as that sounds, it usually works.

It didn't. He couldn't catch his breath. He said his heart hurt. He was starting to run a fever and his heart was pounding so hard I could feel it through the sweatshirt he had on.

Time for a trip to the emergency room.

Two breathing treaments, a set of x-rays on his lungs, two shots, and four hours later they told us what we already knew. He has pnemonia.

The cost of the medication $155.66

I almost died. Since I haven't started working, we are down on funds and we just didn't have it. I knew that Grandma would help us, but I also knew that after hitting the Home Depot yesterday, she wouldn't be able to cover it either, so, I started making phone calls.

Luckily, I was able to talk to a social worker at the hospital who told me to bring the prescriptions down to the hosptial pharmacy and they would fill them and when we got our state insurance for the kids, we could just call the numbers in.

So, a bit of a rush and we made it down there, got the medication and he's hopefully on his way to recovery.

Just a note to those who have been following my "to medicate or not to medicate" situation, I've decided to start taking prozac again. I'll post more about it later.

For now, I'm going to take care of my sick son.

Those Perfect Days

Ever have one of those days when everything in the world seems to go right?

I had one.

It started early on Friday. We got up, took the boy to grandma's, then off to school for the husband.

I went over and interviewed for a job. It is the first job that I applied for and it was a tedious process. I called the number they gave, and a nice young lady asked me a bunch of questions. Now, this is the first time I've ever done a phone application, but, hey, what the heck. Once we were done, I was sent home to get my social security card (which I normally carry with me, but of course, not this time) I come back. They put me on a computer and, wow, I get to put all my information in again, okay. Then comes a typing test. Passed that. Then comes the "mock up test" where I get to run a simulater of what they do. Pass that with flying colors. Then comes the interview. Then I get to go to the floor and observe what they are doing. Then comes another interview, and another. Then back to the first guy who offers me a job.

I HAVE A JOB!

The starting pay is only ten cents less then what I finished the other job with. But, I will be working on Saturdays, which, pays a dollar more per hour. So, in the end. I am starting at the same pay that I had to work nearly two years to get at my last job.

Plus, I will have every Sunday and Monday off guaranteed.

This process lasted until it was time for me to go get the husband, which I did. Then the boy.

We decided, that despite being a little tight on money, we could afford lunch out. We went to a nice little place and I had wonderful stuffed pasta shells. The boy was wonderfully behaved and kept us laughing.

We got home, and the older boy came home from school. He got his report card. He's doing so well this year.

Then our daughter came home, she also got her report card. At midterm she was failing alot of subjects because she wasn't turning in her homework. So, she has spent the last two months grounded. No video games, no television, no phone, no friends over, no going over to friends. Her job was to come home, do her homework, and fill the rest of her time with chores. She was told that this would be the way it was until we saw an improvment in her grades.

She brought them all up to passing, and even earned a few A's and a B.

YAY! I was running out of chores!

So, I sit at the computer and pull up my email. Now, excitement shines through because Best Buy has sent us our reward coupons. See, if you use this little card each time you buy something, you get points, and they send you coupons based on those points. We started the program when we bought my computer, printer, digital camera, and all the fill in things that went with it. We now had fifty dollars to spend at Best Buy.

So, we all pile into our van ( did I mention we got to pick our van up from the mechanic, so now we have two running vehichles?) and we head up to Best Buy.

After much searching, we ended up with the Die Hard trilogy and a movie for the kids, and, one more for us.

But, because we are probably the last people on the planet who don't own the Lord of the Rings trilogy. we looked for that. They had all but the first one, at some outragous price and we decide to pass.

Head over to the used CD and DVD store we love to go to and Chris finds the first two. One of them doesn't have a cover, which, doesn't really thrill, but, they are less then twenty dollars. They of course, don't have the third one. We debate it a while and decide to go ahead and get the two they do have because they are such a good price. He goes to the car and I go up to pay. As he is looking for the disks, I notice he has an unopeaned one behind the counter, it's a dollar more. I ask about it and he assures me that indeed, it has not be used before, I trade them out, I mention I need the third, he says I'm in luck because he just got one in, did I want it. HELL YES!

Chris was grinning like crazy when I showed him. He was very excited.

We got home, tossed in Die Hard, and all settled in front of the television to eat. A very rare thing for us, so the kids were on their best behavior.

Chris moved to my computer to see about installing the second sims for me and I curled up on his spot of the couch to work on my sewing. My youngest calls it "yarning" and seems to be obsessed with watching me do it. I was content to have him curl up against me.

Saturday I woke up and my daughter had somehow managed to get the boys to help her in suprising Mom and Dad. She had fed them breakfast and cleaned up the house, including doing the vacuming. I wanted to weep the serenity of it all.

Today we are going to go to grandma's and grill burgers. I've had the meat seasoned for two days now. The children and I are going to plant my favorite flowers in the flower box we fixed last weekend while Chris helps out with repairs around the house. Grandma said she is going to buy German potato salad. The day looks good.

Life feels good.

Bi-Polar

I have spent days, literally, trying to come to some kind of understanding about my bi-polar. Everything seems to keep just running through my mind over and over and over.

Today on Oprah, they did a segment on stars that suffer from bi-polar disorder and as I sat there listning to their stories, I felt my heart starting to pound.

One talked about how she slept for nearly days at a time. One talked about how she had beat a puppy at the age of five. One talked about how he had felt this way since he was child. Since they were children, all of them, symptoms getting worse and worse.

Another common factor was that they all stopped taking their medications when they thought it was under control. All of them hit either suicidal or homocidale bottoms.

Then they knew it was time to get help, and they did, and they are all on medication, managing things, living happy productive lives.

This gave me alot to think about. I've tried suicide. I've become violent. I've been on the medication. I've been off.

Somewhere in my mind I know I need the medication. It's why the doctor's prescribed it for me. But I don't want to take it. That's the bottom line. I've come up with all kinds of exscuses. Money and lack of insurance being the biggest. In the end though, it's very simple. I want to do it on my own. I want to okay. I don't want to be crazy.

I will tell you all the ugly truth. I have been violent. I am prone to uncontrollable rages. I throw things. I destroy things. If Chris comes too close to me, I fight him physically. I have even went so far as to slap him. Mind you, it's been a long time, but does that really change the facts?

Most often what happens is that I fly into a rage and I scream and pace and when I feel that overwhelming feeling of despair, of no place to go, I start hurting myself. Tearing my hair out, using my nails to claw at my arms, my legs, my face, anything I can get my hands on.

Is bi-polar something you are born with or is it enviromental? As a child, I was diognosed with epilepsy. Epilepsy is, at it's most basic, a chemical imbalance in the brain. Bi-polar, at it's most basic, is a chemical imbalance in the brain. Are these two things connected?

I don't remember having these emotions as a child. Not like this. I never beat a puppy, or any kind of animal. Granted, I did things that most young children don't do. I stole my mom's car when I was 10. I got caught shoplifiting. I had no patience for kids who picked on me. I broke a girl's arm when I was in third grade because she wouldn't stop poking me in the chest.

Was it because I was molested at the age of eight by my mother's father? Was it because my brother sodomized me in front of his friends within the same year? Was it because when I went to my parents, they denied the possibility. Was it because I was forced into foster homes, phsyciatric care centers?

The phsyciatric care center is the first time I remember having uncontrolled rage. I was so angry and hurt. I lashed out at the staff there. I spit on them, I bit them when they tried to hold me down. That was only one time though.

That was before Western Acadamy.

Some day I will tell you about my time there. Now is not that time.

I have endured more then most people ever imagine. I am not saying there are not people who are worse off then me. That is actually a huge part of how I make it through things. I know others who have suffered more then me, and that puts my own pain in a different light. It is hard to be self-pitying when I know this is true.

I have spent many years fighting the medication. I hate it. I hate that it takes away my really happy days. The days where I can do anything and I get so much done. I feel like laughing again and I see the days as sunny and beautiful.

What I guess I really have to ask myself is, do I feel better during those brief manic moments, or do I feel better when I have long, stable moments. It should be an easy answer, but it's really not.

Manic is something I can only describe as a natural high. It's great. I can do anything. I have so much energy, I have a great sex drive, all the things I am lacking normally.

The medication takes that all away. Well, not all. I can get up, smile, even find humor in things. I can acomplish things, just, on a much much smaller scale.

Sex, sex becomes a fight. I have no desire, no drive. I don't feel like cuddling, I don't feel like sucking his dick, I don't feel like making slow tender love, or having kinky rough sex. I just, don't want anything to do with it.

Is it worth it? Is it worth the stress and strain on my marriage? Is it going to make the stress and strain worse? I mean, come on now, things haven't been great in the House of Nikki and Chris. Oh Chris has been wonderful. I have been a bitch.

I am moody. I cry alot. I get angry alot. I yell at him for things that my friends do that upset me, even though there is no reason for me to get upset because they don't do things that should upset, only things I >think< are a reason to get upset.

I know this post isn't making alot of sense. Maybe I am writing it because I need to be able to look back and see what exactly I was thinking when I thought I was having a clear moment.

I'm still trying to decide the medication issue. I don't want to be weak. I want to be the strong independant woman that everyone thinks I am. I want to be a good mom, and a good wife. I want to be able to control myself without drugs. I want to be normal. I have spent a large part of my life addicted to drugs, not only illegal drugs, but, prescription drugs. I don't want to repeat that cycle.

I don't want to keep repeating the cycle we are in now either though. It is like walking on eggshells around here.

As always, Chris is his usual calm self. He doesn't yell. He doesn't get mad. Maybe I hate that about him. His ablility to always stay in control. I want that. I want to be able to stay calm no matter what. I hate how he reasons with me. I don't want to be reasonable sometimes. Sometimes I wish he would just, react.

I don't know where I am going to go from here. I don't know where there is to go from here. Maybe all these thoughts are just here to keep me from doing the right thing. Taking the medication.

But is drugs really the answer?