The Masks We Wear

I so want to learn how to design my own blogskin. I have looked and hunted and searched and have actually found some beautiful things that I like but, they are not mine and I don't want to use them without other people's permission. I don't want their names all over my site, I want to add my own friends (which, I have added to btb, awsome writers that I'm ashamed to say, I've been too lazy to add untill today)

I want to put up some pictures. I need a "blogging for dummies" book. I can't find any sites that will show me how to do this. I mean, I can build websites, but, I can't change my own personal blog?! Ughhgh, I want to scream. Anyway.

I am glad to see so many of mty dear friends back to blogland. I have missed all of you and your wonderful words of wit and wisdom. This is for you.


THE MASK I WEAR

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks-
masks that I'm afraid to take off
and none of them are me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me
But don't be fooled, for God's sake, don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure
That all is sunny and unruffled with me
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name
and coolness my game,
that the water's calm
and I'm in command,
and that I need no one.
But don't believe me. Please!

My surface may be smooth but my surface is my mask,
My ever-varying and ever-concealing mask.
Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
But I hide this.
I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weaknesses
and fear exposing them.
That's why I frantically create my masks to hide behind.
They're nonchalant, sophisticated facades to help me pretend,
To shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only salvation,
and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
and if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls.

I dislike hiding, honestly
I dislike the superficial game I'm playing,
the superficial phony game.
I'd really like to be genuine and me.
But I need your help, your hand to hold
Even though my masks would tell you otherwise
That glance from you is the only thing that assures me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this.
I don't dare.
I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh
and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good
and you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a facade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the parade of masks,
The glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's nothing
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying
Please listen carefully and try to hear
what I'm not saying
Hear what I'd like to say
but what I can not say.

It will not be easy for you,
long felt inadequacies make my defenses strong.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
Despite what books say of men, I am irrational;
I fight against the very thing that I cry out for.
you wonder who I am
you shouldn't
for I am every man
and every woman
who wears a mask.
Don't be fooled by me.
At least not by the face I wear.
-----author unknown and it has been published in a number of books.


This has been me for as far back as I can remember. A therapist I worked with at Western Acadamy gave me a copy and told me that as far back as he could remember, no one reminded him of this poem more then I do.

Nothing, yet, everything has changed since those days. No more am I a victim. No more am I a child at the whim of others. I will hold my own head up. I will claim my victories and my sorrows. I will love my children as I was never loved. I will protect them as I was never protected. I will hold them in the night when their dreams take on a dark tone, I will curl up around them and sing softly to them until they fall asleep. I will comfort them and laugh with them. I will punish them, yet, respect that they are people and don't deserve to be abused. No more am I without people who love me, respect me.

Yet, I am still afraid. I fear that one day I will wake up and it will all be gone. That I will be alone because I have pushed those I love so far away from me. It keeps me from loving, from forming friendships the way I want to. I want to belong, I want to be liked, but, not for what is seen, but, for who I am.

A hell of a place to put myself in huh?

Tagged

Well it seems I was tagged, not once, but twice. I had to do alot of thinking about this because of the fact that I do read alot. I love books. I read anything put before me. Romance, sci-fi, fantasy, crime stories, true stories, anything. So, with that in mind, I set out to do the appointed task and fill this out.


1) Total number of books I've owned: Probably close to 300 adult books. My children are also avid readers and we love to encourage that, they have probably close to 300 themselves.

2) Last book I bought: Ancient Egyptian Myths and Legends by Lewis Spence. This was a gift for my daughter's 12th birthday which took place on the 29th of April. She loves mythology, particularly Egyption, even though her Momma likes Greek Mythology best.

3) Last book I read: Three Fates by Nora Roberts. This was a Mother's Day gift for me from my delightful husband. He couldn't remember the name of the book I had once uttered wanting to read and I'm actually very grateful for it because this book was wonderfully written.

4) Five books that mean alot to me: Hmm, this was the hardest question by far, so, here goes (even though I know later I'll remember one I'd rather have on this list)

1) The Bible
2) The Stand (what a scary thought) by Stephen King
3) Left Behind (although it's a series, it made me think very hard about what my life would be like if I were "left behind") by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins
4) My sister's autograph book
5) Each of my children's Baby Book

5) Tag 5 people and have them fill this out on their blogs: All right, I lied, this is the hardest, ummm.. let me see who >hasn't<> Lady Calliah, Xariklea, Sea Rabbit, Idunna and . . hmm.. Miss Ria still hasn't done it so, yeah, those five.

Just, as a disclaimer, if they don't do it, it's not my fault. I am not even sure how many of them come over to read from me on a regular basis anymore, but, hey, I had fun with this and maybe so will they.

Saturday

As promised, not only to you, but to myself, I am going to post about the events that took place on Saturday.


It actually started Friday night, and as you know I was in the hospital. I was afraid and lonely and my husband had no way to get to me. He had to stay home with our three children and had no vehicle. My mind told me it was the sensible thing to do. It didn't stop me from needing him though.

On the way home from the hosptial, the relative who had come to get pulled up to a four way stop and waited patiently for our turn. Before we could go, a young girl had slammed into the back of our car. Since I had just left the hospital, and there was no damage, it was agreed by all parties that we would just go our seperate ways, but still, it left me shaking pretty badly.

I came home and Chris doted on me. Tried to feed me, which, I did eat a bit, but, wasn't feeling very hungry so not as much as he would have liked me to eat. I fell asleep during the movie he had put in for me.

At four am, I woke up and was cold. I realized I didn't have any blankets and I shook Chris awake so he could fix the blankets for me while I went to the bathroom.

When I came back, he snapped at me for the stupid comment I made and told me to go back to sleep. Instead, I cried. I cried for almost an hour before dragging my miserable ass out of bed and to my computer. I wanted to write but I didn't have the words. I commented on a few of my regular reads and went back to my room and cried myself to sleep about seven am.

Chris did not wake me up. He let me sleep until I woke up all on my own. Even the children were quiet.

I don't know how the argument started. Or what it was about. That is not a way of getting out of telling you, it is the truth. I don't remember.

What I do remember is becoming so distraught that I began throwing things. Screaming and kicking my feet. Chris could only stand by helplessly while I threw what was a complete tantrum that would have rivaled any two year old.

It went on for hours. I scratched at my face. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I sobbed. I threatened to smash my four hundred dollar digital camera. I was somehow convinced that Chris wanted me to go away, that he wanted to lock me up.

His grandmother and cousin stopped by to take him to the store to get the medicines the hospital had prescribed for me. Even that didn’t calm me down.

I know that his cousin thought she was helping when she got up in my face and screamed “Look at me” but, at that moment, I nearly ripped her head off. Chris had pinned me against the supports for the kids’ bunk bed to keep me from smashing more stuff. I couldn’t really feel anything but the anger, the rage, and the overwhelming sadness.

I am deeply ashamed of what I did. I lashed out at those who love me most. I scared the shit out of my kids, not to mention the family members that stopped by during all of it.

When it was all said and done, Chris quietly asked me if I wanted to be checked into the hospital. I told him it was a decision he would have to make as I don’t trust myself anymore.

Obviously, he decided that the best place for me is right here at home. He has suggested however, that a therapist would help me. I don’t want to go to a therapist. In all my years of seeing them, they did not help me. I can’t see the point of paying for it. We have so many other things our money could be used for.

Instead I will continue to write here and try to find the answers within myself.

How Do You Get That Lonely?

"How Do You Get That Lonely" Blaine Larsen

It was just another story written on the second page
Underneath the Tiger's football score
It said he was only eighteen, a boy about my age
They found him face down on his bedroom floor

There'll be services on Friday at the Lawrence Funeral Home
Then out on Mooresville highway, they'll lay him beneath a stone...

How do you get that lonely, how do you hurt that bad
To make you make the call, that having' no life at all
Is better than the life that you had
How do you feel so empty, you want to let it all go
How do you get that lonely... and nobody knows

Did his girlfriend break up with him, did he buy or steal that gun?
Did he lose a fight with drugs or alcohol?
Did his Mom and Daddy forget to say I love you son?
Did no one see the writing on the wall?

I'm not blaming' anybody, we all do the best we can
I know hindsight's 20/20, but I still don't understand...

How do you get that lonely, how do you hurt that bad
To make you make the call, that having' no life at all
Is better than the life that you had
How do you feel so empty, you want to let it all go
How do you get that lonely... and nobody knows

It was just another story printed on the second page
Underneath the Tiger's football score...

I heard this song on the radio the other day as I was driving home. The first thought that came into my head was “You don’t understand, you don’t know, because I won’t >let<>

Depression is a disorder. It makes those of us who are inflicted by it, suffer in terrible ways. One of them is self-isolation. We cut ourselves off from the world. We hide from those who would help us and we scorn the solutions presented. Why do we do this? Because in society it is still considered a weakness to cry. A person who cries regularly, is called a crybaby. Heaven forbid a man cries. He’s a pussy, he’s weak, and he’s disturbed.

Stigmatisms are all around us. It is so hard to come forward and admit that you have mental problems. If you have a mental breakdown and call into work, people think you’re stupid. If your child is sobbing and unable to remain in class, they will be ridiculed and called names.

They have places where they lock up people with mental illness. Not because they have done anything wrong, but, because of the perceived idea that they >might<>

The words crazy, psycho, and insane are words commonly associated with people who suffer from mental disorders. They are labels put in place by the ignorant. They are people who are afraid because they have no idea what these disorders are all about.

So, how is it that people don’t see it? Because they don’t >want<>

The bottom line is, you don’t want to see and we don’t want to show you. Sometimes, just.. sometimes, we find someone we can share our hurts with. We find a person who has had similar hurts and we cling to one another. We feel their pain and hurt, they happiness and joy.

For me, I found a group of these people. They know who they are. And for them, I need to say thank you. Thank you for giving me a place where I can feel safe and secure in dumping my most intimate thoughts and feelings. Thank you for your kind words, prayers and advice. I want to say what I don’t say often enough and that is I love you.

My Weekend

I wanted to write something about Mother's Day. My idea of it, or, about my own mother, but, honestly I have been to preoccupied with my own dealings to think of too many things to write.

Bad case of writer's block.

Friday I went to work as usual. Clocked in at 3:30. Nearing 6:00 I felt a bit nauseated. I decided I had better take my break and go to the bathroom before I threw up all the nothingness that was in my belly. I realized that there was blood in my urine. Then the pain started. I went back to my desk and tried deep breathing to relax myself. I knew it was going to be futile, so, I hunted down a supervisor and told her I needed to leave so I could go to the hospital. She told me to go because I looked like death warmed over. I went back to my desk to collect my things when my head began swimming. Darkness and light mixing and fear began to overwhelm me. Another superviser sitting near me asked if I was all right, if she should call an ambulance. I said no, give me a minute. A minute was a minute too late and I am suprised, even now, that I had the presense of mind to move myself to the floor. As she was helping me, I passed out. At some point, I went into convulsions, woke up, passed out again. Then I was being loaded into an ambulance.

"Is this Chris?"
"Yes"
"Your wife is Nikki?"
"Yes"
"This is her supervisor and I wanted to let you know she was just taken by ambulance to the hospital"
"What happened"
"She was bleeding and passed out, she thought it might be her kidneys"

That was the extent of information passed on to my husband. Meanwhile, I am at the hospital and they are talking about how my white cell count is high and I hear whispered talks of cancer. I know that people do not just have convulsions and my family has a history of brain tumors. I am terrified. I am medicated and, I am alone.

I cried. I cried for hours. They gave me morphine for the pain. Then more because the first dose didn't help. Then they gave me another type of pain medication that I don't remember the name of. They took me in and did a CT scan of my head and my stomach. They put me on EKG machines and heart moniters and shoved a tube up my nose to help me breathe.

Hours later, they tell me. I have a large kidney stone. It is infected. It has infected my kidneys, my urinary track, and my bladder.

They sent me home with antiboitics and pain medication. I still feel like shit.

Saturday was a horrible day for me. I had a serious breakdown. So bad that Chris nearly called and had me commited to the psychiatric hospital. Right now I'm too tired to go into that story.

Stolen Ideas

Just a few little things about me since I haven't had time to blog. I do miss you all though and am keeping up with your blogs. Found this at D`Anerah's site and stole the idea. Hope you find it interesting.



Name: Nikki
Gender: Female
Location:United States
Height: 5'5"
Hair color: Red
Eye color: Brown
Is your hair long or short:short
Tattoos you have: An anklet comprised of a heart with wings, a butterfly, a peacock, and a rose with a shooting star above it


» S C H O O L «

Are you still in school: Nope
Favorite subject: Math
Least favorite subject: History.
Do/did you buy lunch or bring it: We always left campus.

» F A V O R I T E «

Number: 9
Clothing : Sweats and Chris' shirts
TV show: House Md
Fruit: Rasberries
Movie: Too Many to list
Scent: Strawberry
Ice Cream Flavor: Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
Color: Yellow
Season: Spring
Holiday: Christmas day.
Thing in your room: My husband
Author: Too many to list
TV channel: Fox
Shape: Star shapes
Time: Late night
State: In love
Disney character: Genie
Scary movie: The Others

» T H I S O R T H A T «

Hot or cold: Cold
Winter or summer: Winter
Spring or fall: Spring
Shakira or Britney: Does this question come with an option for bullets?
MTV or VH1: VH1
Rollerblading or skateboarding: Rollerblading.
Black or white: Black
Orange or red: Red
Yellow or green: Yellow
Purple or pink: purple
Cell phone or pager: cell
Powerpuff Girls or Charlie’s Angels: Powerpuff Girls
Scooby Doo or Dino: Scooby

» Y E S O R N O P E«

Are you a vegetarian: no.
Do you like cows: Are we talking about steaks?
Are you a bitch: Only a moron would ask me that question
Are you artistic: Artistic no, Creative yes
Do you write poetry: Yes
Can you ski: No
Are you British: No
Are you straight: Now? Yes
Are you evil: Ask my ex-husband
Is Britney a whore: Is this a trick question? hell yes!


» P R I V A T E «

Have you ever been in love: yes
do you smoke: yes
Do you smoke weed: Not anymore
Crack, heroin, anything else: Not anymore
Beer good or beer bad: BAD! NASTY!
Are you the sissy who drinks wine coolers: Not as a preference, but, over beer, hell yes, call me a sissy again and see if I don't kick your ass.


» T H E L A S T «

Thing you ate: Cheetos
Thing you drank: Lipton Extra Sweet Tea
Place you went: Work
Thing you got pierced/tattooed: My ankle, almost 17 years ago
Song you heard: Giving In by Adema
Person you instant messaged: Angeliano/Dario
Person you laughed with: Chris


» N O W «

What are you eating: Nothing
What are you drinking: Lipton Extra Sweet Tea
Any shoes on: Shoes? What are shoes?
Hair: Loose
Listening to: The Big Cumfy Couch
Talking to anyone: Chris and youngest Son

» L A S T «

Last Cigarette: Not soon enough
Last Alcoholic Drink: Southern Comfort of course
Last Car Ride: On my way home from work (till the car broke down and I had to walk)
Last Good Cry: a month or so ago
Last Library Book: Fear of librarians keep me from going.
Last book bought: Three Fates
Last Book Read: Three Fates
Last Movie Seen in Theatres: Constitine
Last Movie Rented: Taken (mini series, HIGHLY RECOMMENDED)
Last Cuss Word Uttered: Fuck
Last Beverage Drank: Lipton Extra Sweet tea
Last Phone Call: I answer phones for a living, I'm not answering mine
Last TV Show: Extreme Exposure
LastTime Showered: Yesterday
Last Shoes Worn: Black tennis shoes
Last CD Played: MP3's and Radio are all I ever listen to
Last Item Bought: Cigarettes
Last Download: Step by Step by Eddie Rabitt
Last Annoyance: Finding the toilet paper dispenser empty
Last Thing Written: This list
Last Key Used: Front door key
Last Sleep: Last night
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Neopolitin
Last Chair Sat In: computer chair
Last Webpage Visited: D`Anerah's

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?

Being Alone VS Feeling Lonely

I am hardly ever alone.

I have three kids and a husband, and I spend alot of my time online in a chat room with people I've known for years. People I love and adore.

I feel horribly lonely though.

I feel like a third wheel in anything that is done or said.

I feel like an outsider.

Maybe it is my bi-polar sneaking up on me. I don't know. I have so many things going through my mind, my emotions are on a rollar coaster.

I feel disconnected.

Like a broken toy discarded on the floor. Forgotten. Abandoned.

The rational part of me tells me this isn't true. All those that I love in my life are still here for me, but I can't stop the way I >feel< about it.

I want to cry, I want to scream. I have to stay strong.

I'm tired of being strong. I want someone else to be strong for me. I'm tired of doing the math in my head and trying to figure out how everything is going to be all right.

I'm angry.

I'm hurt.

I feel betrayed.

My whole family has been suffering from the flu and it's nearly impossible to tell where the sickness ends and where it begins anymore. Coughing over here, throwing up over there.

Nothing that I was supposed to do has gotten done.

Chris and I have been fighting like crazy because I can't articulate my thoughts and feelings properly.

Everything he says and does makes me feel bad. Even if that stupid rational part of me tells me I'm over reacting.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Take last night for example. We decided to go to bed. He goes in to the bedroom, I stop at the bathroom. When I come in I start to remove my clothes, he says "Put on something nice for me" which, in my fucked up twisted mind translated into "You are not sexy enough as you are, you are fat and ugly" and I wanted to cry. I didn't want to make love anymore. I ask him, because surely that isn't how it meant it. He snaps at me. Which, translated to me "Get your ass over here and fuck me because that is what is important"

I climb into bed and he reaches over and clicks the telivision off, which, translated to me to be "I can't stand to make love to you with the lights on. I don't want to see your fat ass"

I take a few deep breaths and wrap my arms around him, whispering softly into his ear "Just hold me, for a minute please"

He of course, starts rubbing my back, my ass, and towards my breasts while nuzzling and kissing my neck.

To me that translated to "I don't feel like just holding you, I'm ready to fuck, even if you're not"

I started to cry at this point and he stops, asks me what the hell is going on. I don't tell him all these little translations, because honestly, it wasn't so clear to me last night. I just explained I needed him to hold me. He said he was. We went over how his idea of "holding me" was very different then mine at the moment.

A few more misunderstandings and we were on our way. Of course, making love was beautiful as always and, I had an orgasm with him on top, which, happens maybe once a year or so.

Afterwards, I wanted to be held, to be cuddled and loved and cherished. All I got was "That took the last of my energy" just before he dozed off.

I barely slept all night, wondering where things had went so wrong. Am I not the women he wants me to be? Have I failed somehow? Have I gotten too fat?

I am so insecure about myself right now that I can't stand it.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can't I just take what is said at face value and leave it at that? Why is everything a battle?

I am so sick of this.

This morning, in my chat room. There were a couple of things said. Of course, somewhere, I read them all wrong and I got upset and I left.

It made Chris angry.

My friends were angry.

Even when you are surrounded by people you love, you can feel utterly alone.

Marriage

If you haven't read the most recent post at "According to Dan" you should.

I am but one person, so, my view is mine alone, but this is something I feel very passionate about.

When I married Chris, I had been through hell. Not only my childhood, but my first marriage as well.

I was the first woman he had ever been in a long term relationship with.

Things were not easy in the beginning.

He felt he had to provide money and material things.

He worked two jobs and I worked as well.

I was hurt and bitter because I felt he was avoiding me.

He felt unappreciated.

He wanted to bring me home roses and take me to dinner at nice places.

I wanted him brought home safely and be taken to our room for a few hours of peacefullness together.

It took us both a while before we were able to talk about things.

How much simplier our life has become since we did that. See, I do not need new fancy things, or expensive dates. I need to know that he loves me, that he finds me sexy and desires me. I want to spend time talking, playing games, and just being a part of each other's lives.

He wanted to know that what he was doing was making me happy.

I have to agree with Temptation. She said that "Men are relativly simple creatures (no offence intended, i simply mean in terms of their wants in life)."
To make Chris happy I need to remain faithful, take care of his children and home, and give him the love and respect that he deserves. That's it, that's all he asks of me.

There are times when we goof off and play around, we wrestle with one another and with our kids. Never though, never would I hit him in an attempt to gain control over him. That is simply not my place, it is wrong, I wont' do it.

I expect him to honor me the same way.

Neither of us are punching bags for the other.

So many times I see other women who give their husband's "the look" or a "warning smack" while out in public and I see the shame washing over their faces and the anger as they try to keep their calm in public.

Why do they do that? Because they are taught that women are independant and strong. Yes, that is true, but do we have to fight our basic natures? To love and nurture? To nest and build a home?

I don't think that we do.

As far back as man's exsistance reaches, women have been the homemakers, the caretakers. I do not believe this to be because it is something that is taught to you. It is in our primal urges. It is what makes us women. We can not change the fact that our bodies provide our babies with the milk they need as infants. It is the way it is. So plain and simple.

Time however, has changed that for us. I am grateful to have the right to vote, to work, to own property if I should so choose. But I also want to feel as if I have the right to choose to stay at home, raise my kids, dote on my husband, and not have people tell me that I am anti-feminism.
What good are all those rights if other women are simply going to go around telling me that I'm wrong for my choices?

Marriage is a give and take. It isn't 50/50 like some people think. It is 100/100. Each person has to be willing to give 100% of themselves to the other.

Sometimes it means giving, sometimes it means taking, most of the time, it means compromising.

I am proud to be Chris' wife. The very thought of it, even six years later, fills me with a joy that I can't properly put into words.

I hear alot of women complaining about how they wish their husband's did this, or did that, and I always wonder how much >they< are doing in their relationship.

Why is it always assumed to be the man's responsibility to be romantic? To take out the trash? To play catch with the boys?

A guy that I know very little, recently told me that he wants to move to another town and his girlfriend refuses to consider it and he doesn't understand why. I asked him why he wanted to move and why she didn't. He wants to move so that he doesn't have to drive so far to get to work (the commute takes two hours a day) She doesn't want to move because all of her family is here. He asked what I would do.

I would explain to Chris why I didn't want to move. Then I would trust him to make the best decision for us.

I did do this, I moved 26 hours away from my family to a strange city, a strange life, with strange new in-laws.

It was the best thing we could have done for our family.

Maybe this post won't make sense. Maybe how I view marriage doesn't make sense. But for us, it's what works and we are both happy with that. It's all anyone can ask for.

A Miracle

I have always known that the birth of a child is a miracle. I have three of my own to remind me.

Watching one come into the world is. . . so different.

At 2:25 pm today, Damien Xavier came into the world weighing in at 6lbs and 14oz and 19 1/4 inches long.

Sounds like an average baby, but, considering my smallest was 7lbs and 8oz he looked so tiny to me.

As I stood there watching, holding on to the mother to be, counting with her, encouraging her to push, I saw his head slip through and heard the doctors tell her to stop pushing.

I stared down at his tiny little face, his skin still blue from no oxygen, and willed him to breath, to open his eyes, to do something.

I know it couldn't have taken long because before his feet were completely out, we heard his first cry. It seemed to take forever to me.

Of course, the birth overshadowed the labor process, not only for me, but for her as well.

I looked in on my own children when I arrived home and I thanked the Lord that I have them.

For me, it is the ultimate gift.

Mixed Emotions

Well, it is official. I have no job.

I asked him what the "official reason" was. He gave me a bunch of crap and in the end, refused to answer me when I told him to just come out and say it. Told me to call the head office. I think I will.

On the other hand.

Tomorrow I will be heading out very early in the morning to help my cousin in law deliver her baby. I am so excited.

I have had three of my own, and I have five neices and nine nephews and yet, have never >seen< a baby born.

I am very excited.

Did I mention that?

I will let you all know as soon as I get home how it all went.

So, I have this terrible thing happening, and this wonderful thing happening.

For right now, I'm going to focus on the positive.

Wish us luck.

Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

Let me start by assuring everyone that, no matter what I feel like I need at the moment. Chris would never harm me in this way.

What I feel I need is based on raw emotion of the moment.

What he feels I need is based on knowing me, knowing my reactions to specific circumstances, knowing what is safe for me and knowing what I can handle emotionaly and physically.

These are not things I could handle he says. I have to believe he is right. It does not stop the fact that I feel worthless.

I need the pain in my body to stop the pain in my mind, in my heart.

If he uses me, then I know that I am worth >something<.

I don't feel that way right now.

We have not made love, or had sex of any kind since this all started.

My mind tells me it is because we are so worn out and stressed.

He has held me gently every night.

He feels this is what I need.

He knows what is best for me. It is why I have placed my complete and utter trust in him to help me take care of my well being.

I am still depressed. I am still feeling very worthless. I feel as if I have failed my family and I am grasping out for things to hold on to.

I am strong though and I know that with him by my side we will make it through it. I just have to fight my way out of the darkness before I can post positive things again. It seems like two steps foward and three steps back.

Needs

I need him to make me feel pain.

I need him to take my nipples and twist and pinch them.

I need him to make me bend over and use the belt on me.

I need him to slap my face.

I need him to pull my hair.

I need him to call me his whore.

I need him to fuck me and then throw me to the ground discarded.

I need him to punish me.

I need him hurt me, in every single way possible.

I don't deserve his love. I don't deserve anyone's love. I need him to stop the pain inside of me. I need him to treat me as worthless as I really am.

The Rat Wins

I can't even begin to explain my emotions right now, so I'll just give the facts.

Most of you know of my struggles with the Rat. Just as I have people in my corner, so does he.

But, per our respective personalities, the people we choose to aline ourselves with are very much like us.

The people in my corner are honest, hard working, friendly and loyal.

The people in his corner are much like him, decietful, lazy, rude and will stab you in the back without a second thought.

Perhaps I would have done better to align myself with them.

I arrived at work tonight, ready to go to work. Fifteen minutes early. I check the communication board, as I always do and I see that there is a new schedule posted. I am a bit confused because I don't see my name on it, but, I chalk it up to the fact that I am a manager and they must be going on corperates schedule seeing how I don't see any other manager names either.

I turn around and lo and behold there's the Boss. I ask him about it and he asks me to come into his office. I do. He waits for one of the other girls to come in, which isn't unusual, and he starts off with "There was an incident"

I immediatly think of the other night when I had a go around with an employee because she wanted me to stay up at the desk instead of doing what I was supposed to.

I remain quiet and he continues.

"There was a night where someone from the restraunt asked you if you had a reciept for the food you had and you couldn't produce one. I hate to say it, but my hands are tied. I think we are going to have to part ways"

I'm stunned. I stare at him for what seems like forever and there is a buzzing in the back of my mind. I want to tell him to fuck off, but, the bottom line of it is that I need this job. I need to be able to provide for my family"

Somehow I finally find my voice "What are you talking about? I don't even get a chance to defend myself?"

"Well, unless you have a reciept, there is nothing I can do"

Now, mind you, he still hasn't told me what I stole, or when I stole it, just, that I stole food. FOOD of all fucking things.

"I normally don't keep every single reciept Roger, check my card, I use my card for everything"

"It's been well documented, I can't do anything"

"What exactly am I being accused of taking?"

"Something from the bakery table I think" I fight to recall the last days I worked, considering I was off for two days.

"Here it is, carrot cake" he looks back up at me and I have to resist the urge to laugh. I know in the back of my mind that it is simply a reaction from the stress, but, after two fucking years of living at this fucking place, they are going to fire me because a restraunt person said I didn't pay for FUCKING CARROT CAKE?!

"At the very least I have to suspend you without pay until I have a chance to investigate this further"

"How long is that going to take?"

"I'll know tomorrow"

"Does that mean you'll call me or what?"

"Yeah, I'll look into it and call you tomorrow"

So, I thank him for his time and leave.

As soon as the cold air hits my face I realize how stupid it was of me to say thank you. Old habits are a bitch.

Then I get the joy of coming home and breaking it to Chris.

Saying he was pissed is an understatment. Every aspect of our lives has suffered because of the demands of this job. I worked 20 straight hours one weekend because no one else could be found and when I tried to call the Boss about it, I was told to handle it because that's what he pays me for.

I have the reciept.

I will take it in.

It won't change anything though. Even if he does have to keep me on because I have the reciept, he is going to find a reason to get rid of me. Maybe because I am so outspoken. Maybe because I've questioned his authority, I don't know.

What fucking kills me though is that this is the doing of the Rat, and he will be forever smug for getting me fired. He said it a thousand times if he said it once, he would get my job.

He can fucking have it.

I hope he fucking dies.

Another Fantasy

There I am, kneeling on the floor, feeling the carpet rub against my knees.

My back aches from the position, of course, I have to keep it straight with my head lowered. I know this because he has told me several times that this is how he wants me when he gets home.

I have the fleeting thought that maybe he is going to be late. Of course he is though, I've already been here for half an hour. The muscles in my arms have burned so badly that I've actually lowered them.

He may not know that, but I do. I know that I disobeyed him. I will tell him. I always do.

My body tightens at the thought. He will punish me. He always does.

I will love it. It is the way that it is.

The door creaks open and I force myself even straighter. I'm glad that put my arms back into place behind my back.

My breasts hang heavy in front of me, but the nipples are hard and point right at him. They seem to get even harder as the cold air from behind him licks at them.

I can feel his eyes one me as he moves around me, inspecting me like a horse or a cow for sale. I want to look up and he knows this. He knows how hard it is for me to sit still. I want to see his face, see his approval, or disapproval, whatever the case may be, it is still hard to sit still. I shift, ever so slightly, maybe he won't notice.

The flick of his finger across my sensitive nipple causes me to jump slightly, but like a good sub, I hold my position, and yes, it sends a little shiver right down my spine. I know what he's like when he starts out like this.

He stands in front of me now and I'm staring down at his shoes. I think to myself "What would it be like to have to spit shine his shoes?" and I almost giggle. The feel of his open hand slapping my tit keeps me from that though and I feel it sway slightly. Before I can recover, he slaps the other one and I can't help but let out a little whimper.

"Where you a good girl today?"

Just the sound of "good girl" makes my head spin. I nod slightly and realize, a moment to late, as I feel his hand slap my face, that I should have replied out loud. I hurry to remedy that "Yes Sir, no Sir"

"Well, which is it? Yes or no?" another slap, this one a bit harder and I find it hard to focus and I weakly mutter "No sir, I didn't have my hands in place Sir, my arms were aching"

"So, you will need to be punished, very well"

I hear the zipper of his pants and my mouth begins to salivatate. I love sucking his cock. I love having it in my mouth, pressing against the back of my throat.

I feel the head of it pressing against my cheek and I turn, more out of instinct then thought and my mouth opens. He doesn't put it in though, he holds it in his hand and slaps my face with it. My lips, my cheeks, my eyes. All the while my mouth hangs open stupidly as I nearly beg him to let me taste him.

He slides it in just past the tip so that I can clean the pre-cum off of it and he slaps my tits again as I try to suck him farther into my mouth.

"Did I give you permission to suck on my cock whore? Did I? Answer me" Another slap to my tits with his free hand, his cock pulling out to be slapped against my face some more, over my eyes and nose, each one a bit harder then the last one. I know I look like a whore with my tongue hanging out, licking him when he gets close enough, the wetness trickling down my the inside of my thighs.

Finally, when I think I won't be able to take it anymore, he slides it in. I love feeling his rigid member, the softness of the skin, the hardness of it over all. I love the taste of his precum and the smell of him.

He places a hand on each side of my face and thrusts his hips forward, shoving it all the way to the back of my throat and I struggle to catch my breath with the ferocity of it all. There is no room for doubt, he's fucking my mouth and I love it. A low gutteral moan from deep in the back vibrates through my mouth and into his cock. I know this from the matching sound he makes and the way he shoves even more brutally, holding my face all the way against him as he spurts his cum all over my tongue and straight down into my belly.

He shoves me away from him and tenderness floods through me. I don't know how many times he's told me how intense it is for him to cum in my mouth like that. From my perch I can see his legs shaking slightly and after just a moment he reaches down and pulls me up against him.

He carresses me and tells me I am his good girl, that he loves me, that he is blessed because I am his wife. He carries me to our bed and holds me against his chest as I drift off to sleep.

The Rat

Thanks you guys, for all your words of encouragment.

This is a familiar road. One that I am intimate with.

Not that I like this path, just, I seem to travel it every couple of weeks.

I want to be a strong person. I want to be happy. I want to be a good wife, mother, daughter, friend.

Too often I don't feel like I am.

I have been very stressed at work.

See, there is this guy, I'll just call him "The Rat" because to me, that's what he is, looks, personality, the whole nine yards. He is a rat.

I hate the rat. If that man died, I would shed no tears, nor feel any kind of remorse. Only relief. I know that this is not a good way to feel about people, and it is not very often that I do, but this man drives me crazy.

I am calm, cool, collected when I am at work. I handle all kinds of emergencies. Everything from our entire systems crashing, all the way down to handling a dead body, and I always, always, keep my cool.

This man has made me cry though. Not in front of him mind you, because I won't give this prick the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

He is rude, billegerant, insubordinant, unreliable. He shows up whenever he wants. He says horrible things to me, he refuses to follow my orders.

Two nights ago, I told him to take his lunch break, it was 2am.

He told me he would "in a minute".

Thirty minutes later, I asked him again.

Rat: "Why do I have to take my lunch right now?

Me: "Because it's been half an hour since I asked you"

Rat: "Well I am not going to take it now"

Me: "Why is that?"

Rat: "Because I'm not hungry"

Me: "Since when do we base our lunches around weither we are hungry or not? We are supposed to take them when business dictates"

Rat: "Well, there is no one in the store"

Me: >stares at him< "That's kind of the point, unless of course you are going to wait until it's busy to take your lunch"

Rat: "Well, no one else makes me do that"

Me: "Well that's because you don't work with anyone else that asks you to do anything. Is there a reason that you can't simply do what I ask? Do you have an issue with me? Would you talk to C or R like this?"

Rat: " No because they know better then to mess with me. THEY KNOW BETTER!" (and yes, by now the man is screaming at me"

He doesn't follow company policies, he has come in four hours late before.

Why don't they fire him?

Fuck if I know. I ask myself that all the time.

Things have gotten so bad that I have had to call my boss in the middle of the night because the man literally screams at me across the store, ignores customers in order to fight with me, amongst other things.

I hate this man.

I hate this man.

I hate this man.

It has made me hate my job as well. I don't want to go to work on the nights that I have to work with him.

I've tried talking to my boss.

He tells me to document it.

I do.

Nothing happens.

I talk to him some more. He tells me to continue documenting it. Tells me to get others to document it.

Well no one wants to go to R about it because when someone does, and R manages to get off his ass and question the Rat about it, the Rat knows who told on him and he goes off on them for it.

Other managers have seen this!

I want to call the corp office, but, I'm afraid that R will get pissed and fire me over it. He keeps saying that things will get better, he tells me that he wants to get rid of him, then, he FUCKING PROMOTES HIM!

The man who shows up on time once every two damn weeks.

I mean seriously, WTF???

I want to scream, ugh.

So, anyway, my darling husband is aware of all of this of course. He does his best to keep me sane through the days I have to work with the Rat.

But, something happened last night that has left me smiling even today.

See, I normally take my mp3 player to work so I have something to listen to on my lunch break. I am very careful about it since it was so expensive, but, out of my fury for the rat, I left without taking it out from under my register where I had placed it while working.

Well, one of the girls I work with had driven her sister's truck to work, and, the mechanic who fixed her car brought it by and dropped it off, leaving her a driver short. I offered to drive it to her house if she would bring me back.

Of course, I stopped at home to let the husband know, and, to change out of my stupid uniform. I asked him if he wanted to go with me and much to my delight he said yes.

So, off we go, the girl lives thirty minutes from work, so, for the first half hour, we were able to just sit and talk about how our nights had went. Second half hour, was spent with me sitting back watching him charm the pants off of her.

He can't help it. It's natural to him, he doesn't even realize he does it.

Anyway, so, I realize that I have left the mp3 player and after A drops us off at home, we decide to run up and get it (since I have the next to days off) and then grab something to eat.

We go in, I move over to get me a cup of hot chocolate and talk to B who was cleaning up the store while the hubby looked around.

The rat, apperantly, did not see us come in together.

He says to me "Where's our paperclips?"

I ignored him the first time.

I ignored him the second time.

Third time he raised his voice to me, I turned and replied "Upstairs I'm sure"

Well, mind you, I felt sort of bad because B had asked me to bring some down and I forgot. I was so anxious to get out of there and away from that little fucker, it totally spaced my mind.

He opened his mouth to say something and my husband turned and with a quickness that suprises most people because of his size, he appears nearly right in front of the man and clears his throat.

No, I'm not sure if it was the fact that my husband is nearly twice the rat's size, or, the fact that he carries himself so dominantly, so confidently, or exactly what it was, but, I saw the fear rush to the rat's face and he stepped back away from the counter and my husband casually leaned against it and looked at me with a little grin and said something along the lines of "I'll wait right here until your ready"

Of course, the rat snapped his lips together so tight I don't know how he continued breathing.

Maybe it won't seem as funny to you guys, but, to me, it was just hilarious. He was afraid of my husband, through and through.

I felt good about it. It was his way of telling this man that I am his, that he won't put up with his shit, making him shut up.

So, no, things haven't been the greatest, but, in my moment of darkness, my darling husband rode to my rescue like a knight in shining armor.

A small victory I'm sure. The man is going to make me even more miserable when I have to work with him next, but it was so worth it.

I am going to try to blog a bit more later on, I'm still pretty tired. I've been sick on top of my depression, so I am not sure which one is making me sleep.

I miss you all though and have been making sure I keep up with everyone.

BTW Amber, Dario is on vacation, he should be back in the next couple of days.

The Slide Back Down.

I hate winter. Not sure when it happened, but, I do.

It wasn't always like this. I used to love winter. I remember as a child I loved sledding, tubbing, snowball fights, snow angels, snow forts. You name it, we did it. We wouldn't go inside until one of my brother's suffered an asthma attack and we were dragged in.

Of course, that alone invokes memories of a roaring fire, hot chocolate and, something about roasting marshmellows. All very good memories.

Of course, that was before my grandmother died.

Before our lives swooped into caos.

But, that is not the point of this particular post, so, I shall continue on.

Now, winter is nothing but crappy weather, worse roads, stupid drivers, car accidents, getting sick, doctor appointments, missed work, missed school, canceled school, and so many more that I will bore you to death if I keep going.

It also brings the holidays, which, for me, haven't been so pleasent this winter. Yes, I got gifts. Yes I spent time with my family. Still, I never >felt< the holiday spirit.

I suppose it would have something to do with the fact that my children and darling husband refused to actually enjoy it either.

I wanted the house to be filled with smells of freshly baked cookies while we made home made ornaments, or strung popcorn, singing carols or something.

But, if you've been following me, or read the archives, you'd know that was not to be in the cards for me.

So, needless to say, Valentine's Day has been both one of those. . . off and on things. I wanted to look forward to it, but, I knew what was coming.

I tried to get into the spirit of it.

Every day, starting on the first of February, my darling husband recieved a card a small gift. Seriously, nothing big at all. Little candies and such.

Then I gave him the "big" gifts. A twenty five dollar gift certificate to his favorite book store (Thanks to Amber and Dan for the idea) and a seventy five dollar gift certificate to his favorite gaming store.

I was rewarded with very little enthusiasm.

At least, in my opinion.

I had hoped for elation. I wanted him to be suprised and excited. Yet, all he did was kiss me and thank me.

I feel let down.

I did not recieve anything because we spent nearly two thousand dollars on me a couple of weeks ago for a brand new computer, moniter, printer, and digital camera. I knew I wasn't going to get anything.

Still, I suppose I had hoped he would get me at least a card.

Maybe it is me over reacting though, because I'v been battling my depression for a couple of days now.

Ever since we found a dead body at my work and I had to touch it. I can't really even go into the details, but, suffice it to say, it left me seriously messed up.

I have been suffering night terrors, which, are nothing new to me, but now they are so bad that for the first time, my children were witness to them and it scared them really bad.

I feel like a horrible mom.

I took grandma to get her hair done on Friday, got mine cut at the same time. New style. I liked it at first, but, husband didn't seem too excited over it, so, my own excitment has worn off.

I feel fat and ugly.

My bedroom is in serious need of a clean up and I don't feel like doing it.

I feel like a bad wife.

I wanted to go out to dinner with the husband for Valentine's Day, just the two of us, grandma even offered to watch the kids.

He's worried about money, so, we won't be going.

I feel unloved.

I want to cry.

I want to scream.

I want to sob.

I want this pain to stop.

I don't want to take medication again.

I hate feeling weak. I know alot of people who have depression and they don't have to take anything.

I have always had to fight. All my life. I'm sick of fighting. I want things to be right, to be simple.

I don't know how to make things right anymore. I am out of solutions.

I don't know how to make him see the things I want.

I can't just tell him, because I'm sure at this stage that is the advice I'd get. I can't though, because it feels selfish to me.

He is a full time student, he's working his ass off to get good grades, and he is getting them, straight A's so far.

I don't know, I'm just, sick of all of it.

I also know, in my mind, that this is part of my cycle. If you look back, you'll see the post where I started getting a bit manic. Everything was right, everything was good.

I always convince myself of that and then, suddenly, I hit the bottom again and I just want to curl up in a dark hole and never come out.

I hope I find my light soon. I hate the darkness.

Response To Dan's Blog

Well, as crappy as I feel, I really wanted to respond to Dan's blog. You can find his post on the right hand side bar of my blog under "According to Dan"

This is a subject very near and dear to me as I have an eleven year old daughter who, back when she was about six, was diagnosed with several "disorders"

1. Social Anxiety Disorder
A fear of social situations in which the patient is forced to be the center of attention.

2. Seperation Anxiety Disorder
An unnatural fear of losing someone close to you.

3. Obssessive Compulsive Disorder
This is hard to sum up in one sentence because it can manifest itself many different ways, but, it is a disorder that causes people to obssess over specific actions, or thoughts. Ie. Labeling everything in a very specific order, washing hands over and over for fear of germs, eleborate bedtime rituals, ect. . .

4. ADHD, or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
This was pretty much the same thing that Dan described in his blog. It is the inability to pay attention to things.


After she was diagnosed, we had a serious go around with the school she attented. They wanted us to medicate her, we did not want to.

So, we did our homework, we researched, we read everything we could get our hands on. Each diagnosis had a medicine that could cure it, but, they would make the other conditions worse. This only reinforced our belief that she should not be medicated.

We ended up taking her to one of the leading specialist in our reigon for this kind of thing in children. He did an extensive exam on her and came up with the same conclusions that we did. She didn't need to be medicated.

There were several reasons I was opposed to medicating her. One was because I worked as a preschool teacher and far too many times, I had "problem" children in my class room. These kids were good kids, hyper yes, but, not to the point that they disrupted the class. Of course, in listning to the parents, these kids were horrible, so, the doctor put them on medication.

I saw first hand what the medication did to them. They slept through class, which, was a half day class to start with. They were groggy and sleepy when they were awake, they didn't want to eat anything. They were tiny little zombies and each day I saw this I was furious at the parents who didn't want to parent.

For me, this is what it boiled down to. What is easier to handle? A child who is flamboyant and full of energy or one that will sit in front of the television and do nothing all day long?

Of course, the answer is the second, but, as most of us know, it doesn't make it the >right<>if< they managed to find a medication that would help ALL of her symptoms without causing others (which was highly unlikely to start with) all we were doing was teaching her to rely on medication to solve her problems.

For us, medication is a very short term solution and our daughter has long term problems. We wanted to find a way to help her learn how to gain control over herself and be successful in her life. Drugs, even legal ones, should not be used to cope with emotional problems. In my opinion, they are not a stand alone fix.

We found that diet, proper amount of sleep, and tight rigid schedules, were very helpful in keeping our daughter focused.

I have tried to teach my sons that it is their responsibility to be respectful of women, but, it is also their responsibility to take care of the women in their life.

I agree with you Dan that alot of women do not know what they want and they somehow magically expect their mates to know what it is they want/need. I know I am guilty of it. It is very hard for me to express myself to him in a way that I feel he understands me. I refuse to use sex as a weapon though. I've blogged about that before so I won't go into it again.

I think that too many of our boys do not have good male role models in their lives. That is not to say that it is always the father's fault. I know alot of women who use thier children to get back at ex's. If they could just get the fuck over themselves and let the father's be father's, maybe things would be easier on our boys. In addition to that though, we need these father's too speak up and demand their rights. Make their children feel as if they are worth fighting for.

Thanks again Dan for a very thought provoking post. I agreed with nearly everything you said, though this is the first time I had thought about it in those terms.

Sick

Okay, so I am officialy sick.

I tried to fight it off.

I tried denying it.

All I want is to curl up and be left alone. I don't want to be cuddled. I don't want to be touched, it hurts so badly.

Even the feel of cloth against my skin hurts.

Wait, I do want to be touched, gently. I want to be pampered and spoiled and pampered.

I want hot bath and even hotter soup.

I thankfully have the day off. . . . from work anyway.

Parenting is one of those jobs where you just can't call in. Ever. I don't get sick days.

Well, sort of I do. Normally husband steps in, sends me off to bed, feeds me, and makes the children tiptoe like mice around the house.

Too bad he is as sick as I am. Which, never ever happens, so, when it does, I feel very obliged to take care of him. Cuddle him, cater to his every single whim. Anything to make him feel better.

So, if you guys don't see me for a couple more days, it's because this thing has kicked my ass into bed.

The Odd Feeling.

Sometimes I get this feeling. It is so hard to explain. My heart begins to beat faster, my stomach flutters and I want to curl up and weep.

It's how I'm feeling right now.

My heart is thumping. My hands are shaking. Every now and then I feel I might be sick. I try to slow down my breathing. I try to focus, but my mind is whirling far to fast.

I want to be a good person. I want to make the people I love happy.

I want to feel normal, even if it is for a little while. I don't want to feel like I might collapse at any second.

I don't want to be afraid to get behind the wheel of the car.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I know what the doctors would say. They've said it before. Anxiety attacks. I know this in my mind, but it doesn't help. I can't stop my body from freaking out.

I have done nothing today. Literally. I can't bring myself to get up and find something to do. I know I should be productive, but I can't.

A part of me whispers into my ear that I am letting him down, yet, the other part of me tells me if he had an issue he would speak up.

I am not so sure that he would. He does not like confrontations, and frankly, I'm a bitch sometimes.

If I could change one thing about myself, it would not be my weight, it would not be my looks, or anything to that affect.

I want to be a better wife. I want to be able to let go and allow him to control things as he sees fit.

I can't though. I have fought so hard and so long, to get to where I am right now that I am terrified of letting that go.

For six years now, he has been my mate, my husband, my best friend.

I know this because I have never allowed any one else as much freedom sexually with me, as I have him.

Still, I can't give it all up. I hate that. It is as if I don't trust him.

WHY CAN'T I GIVE IT UP COMPLETELY!?!?

I want to scream. I want to rail at the world. I want to punish the people in my life who have made it so hard for me to let go.

Survey

I would like to ask for everyone's help. We are conducting a survey for Psychology class. You do not have to leave a name, you could even email me your responses. If you choose to email me your response, please put "SURVEY" in the subject bar so it doesn't accidentally get deleted with the junk mail.

The assignment is due on Tuesday so we will interprete the data no later then Monday and I will post the findings here when we are complete. Thanks in advance for those of you willing to help me out.

First of all, please let me know if you are Male or Female.

The rest of the questions are rated on a scale of 1 to 5.


1=Strongly disagree 2=Slightly disagree 3=Agree 4=Slightly agree 5=Strongly agree


1. I am young
2. I am attractive
3. I am an ideal weight
4. I am social with others
5. I am financially secure
6. I would like to add or subtract a few years from my age.
7. I have had, or am considering plastic surgery to enhance myself
8. I would like to gain or lose weight
9. I often find myself feeling lonely
10.I need to find a way to bring more wealth or material things into my life.



It is my theory, that the people that I communicate to here on the net, through my blog, through their blogs, are more open and honest about/with themselves then the people in my real life. My husband disagrees. This seemed like the perfect way to figure out which of us was right when he was assigned the task of surveying 25 people. Since neither of us really go out, or have "groups" of friends, we decided to try it here, and, with people that I work with. Help me out you guys.

I normally feel no competition when it comes to my husband, but this one is important to me. I have always felt that most people I have met online, have been more honest with me then people who have to see me face to face. Feel free to place this on your blog if you feel so inclined, the more responses we get, the better off our data will be.

You guys are the best, even if you don't want to participate. I feel very lucky to be able to share myself with you, and have you share yourselves with me. It is something that brings me comfort and peace in my life.

Life is Looking Up

Life seems to be getting better.

We have new, improved, wonderful traps for the mice.

I am fairly sure we have gotten rid of the head lice.

Taxes have been filed and we will recieve our refund in a short while.

I will be getting a new computer.

My husband started school and is loving it.

He got his first grade, a total A in English Comp.

I have the night off.

I have missed him, terribly. I missed the way he holds me, the way his huge hands feel on the small of my back. The way he makes me feel so beautiful, sexy, needed and loved. 

It's like he wants to spend more time and energy into D and spending time with her and they make me feel crazy for suspecting something is going on. 

Wrapping This Up

I want to start with an apology and a thanks. I'm sorry I haven't posted lately, but, this story alone took a huge emotional toll on me and I really needed the time off. The thanks, is for all the kind words and support I've recieved from you guys. It has really helped.

Alot of people have asked me, here and through email, how I got over it.

I haven't. I don't think that I ever will.

I am still angry. I am still bitter. I want my sister back.

I want her to know my children, my husband. I want her advice, her humor. I want her to see the other thirteen nieces and nephews she has. I want to hold her hand as we sit together and watch her daughter come down the isle and start her own life.

I want so many things I can not list them all.

They will never happen and I am bitter and angry over that.

In my life though. I have two things that get me through.

One is that, no matter how hard, how difficult, how tragic things have been in my life, I know someone, somewhere, has it worse then me.

The second thing, is that in my life, I have love. The love of my brothers, my nieces and nephews, my in-laws, my parents occasionally, my co-workers (most of them anyway). But, most importantly, I have the love of my children, and my dearest friends.

They are the reason I can still smile, still laugh and still love. They are my everything.

So yes, I am bitter and angry over this. This is one thing in my life, and I refuse to allow this one thing, this bitterness and anger, to consume me.

I recently gave my best friend some words for thought. In them was a phrase that I strongy believe to be true. "Love heals all wounds if you let it"

My wounds have healed, the scars left behind by the them will always be with me. They will remind me.

Remind me of what I can not accept in my life. Remind me of what I believe love to be and not to be. Remind me of the kind of person, mother, wife, sister, and friend I want to be

It reminds me that I have the power to make choices in my life.

So, for those rare assholes, who seem to think I need to be saved, or that my sister got what she deserved, my bottom line to you is FUCK OFF. I don't need, nor want your shit. I am happy and content in my life. If you want to save someone, go to a battered women's shelter, listen to them, donate money, time, find someone who DOES need and want help, because you won't find her here.