Wild

The night of my last post, the post about Universe telling me to this is my chance, Mr. Yummy popped a movie in and we watched.

He had no idea what the movie was about, nor did I. I may not have watched as it was. I feel as lost as Ms. Strayed. It took everything I had, not to fall apart during the movie. SO many parts of her are how I am feeling about losing Mel.

She was one of the great loves of my life, and I have lost her. I had 25 great years being her best friend, but I have lost her, too soon, too violently, too tragically. My love, my love, how I miss you through all my anger and rage.

I’ve cried so many tears over you and there are more to come. They come easily. They silently flow. Maybe they will never end, but I hope to find the peace that came at the end of the trail.

Though I don’t plan on an 1100 mile walk, nor shooting heroin, nor fucking any guy who looks at me, I am as lost as if I were.

Peace.

It sounds so foreign on my tongue, yet I want it so badly.

Isn’t it ironic, I hear the Universe say, “Stay, this is your chance not to run” and then Mr. Yummy plays this movie. If you’re grieving, maybe you will find something in this movie like I did.

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Things Got Sticky (whatchya gonna do?)

Hit Mel In The Throat Yep, so I pretty much heard the Universe say to me today, “This is your chance to prove you can stay, stick it out, stand your ground, and get it right iwentcrazy.” I look up and see him at his iPad. My heart just melts. I was awake last night, after a colossal migraine from my repeated melt-downs yesterday. I listened to him sleep and scratch. I could see his arm raise in silhouette and his hand scratch, softly, slowly, quietly. Then his arm slowly, lightly and gently lowered back to cuddle himself. My heart just melted. I don’t think I would have freaked out so bad the day after screaming in my car, except, when he left that day, he text at 5:30 saying he would grab himself some Epsom and half and half on the way home. I woke at 4:00 Sunday morning and he wasn’t home. Never. Ever. Not. Once. Ever. in the existence of peas and carrots (us) has he ever not come home or  not slept with me. At first I thought he was just angry at me and needed to get out and blow some steam. But then I thought, something happened. It had been raining heavily, he was on his bike. Perhaps he’s been hit, or is laying in a ditch and no one can see him. It was a sudden full-blown panic. Mel died. Anyone can die then. I stayed calm as I drove into town to work with a friend. I just kept thinking (for 40 miles) As soon as I get there, I’ll check the local jail registry. Perhaps he was arrested. That would explain the no call to say I am alright. I arrived, checked, and no Mr. Yummy on the jail registry. I went to mom’s to run an errand before working. Called all the local hospitals. Had a TOTAL melt down about both Mel and Mr. Yummy. My mother asked me for a second time, to hurry and get help. I left to go work, met my friend. He asked me if I wanted any tea. I shook my head. He asked how my mom was? I shook my head and my lip quivered. He asked how I was and then, the Melissa flood gates opened. He looked at me and said, “Wow, you need some help. Find a support group.” He then asked questions and I continued to fall apart. Each thing I put on the talking table, he just said, “You need help and support.” He continued to draw it out of me, not that I needed ANY prodding at that point. Part way through he mentioned when his Mel committed suicide. It hit me like a ton of bricks…He knows what I am going through. The moment of having someone fucking understand was almost peace inducing. Again he said that I needed a support group. His little network of close neighbors had been his after his Mel killed herself, because they were all friends. He told me that since I sat there at her side, watched, saw, and heard so much, then had her die two days after I left (as opposed to before I left) was brutal and I probably needed a lot of help (I actually laughed as I wrote that). His understanding of my reality was really beautiful and probably kept me a little saner yesterday than I was earlier in the day. It also helped that Mr. Yummy text me between mom’s house and my friend’s place saying that he was OK, just got too drunk to drive home in the deluge of rain. I took such a big breath of absolute relief. Then I cried. I’m still sad that he didn’t let me know he couldn’t make it home. Common courtesy, not nagging girlfriend control. He’s never so much as even said I am his girlfriend, even though I am living with him and sleeping in his bed. I don’t feel like I have a right to say anything to him, because I don’t really know that he wants to me to give a shit. Does that make sense? I don’t want some guy I’m not committed to, or even that I am committed to, calling MY shots. I know he has lived with his bike and the road for a long time. I know he was probably upset about the whole parasite thing. Hell, I am upset, that is what sent me off to the store, where I wound up screaming in my car. Regardless, today, I clearly heard the Universe say this was my chance to stay, not run, tough it out, do the work, and take control of my creating again.

Have I absolutely gone crazy?

Being that I totally believe in creation and my co-creating with Universe and that there is that perfect circle, and we all are in it, but one with it…I would have to believe I created what happened to Mel, and I wouldn’t. I love(d) her. I want her back, even though I don’t fucking want to see her and am raging at her… If I could see her again, I would throw the above can of jalapeno chili peppers I took from her kitchen. I know, weird thing to take to remember her by huh? There’s a reason. Any way. I believe that we are one, that I am Mel and Mel is me and you are me and we are one together (coo-coo-kah-choo). But, I can’t crawl that deep into this rabbit home now. That will keep me perpetuating this instead of finding my god damned mother fucking peace with it. So, things just got sticky, whatchya gonna do?.

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Screaming In My Car

I woke up this morning, feeling pretty good. On a scale of one to ten I was about a 4, which as of late, is very, VERY good.

I was laying in Mr. Yummy’s bed, slowly coming to. I heard my text notification, covered my head with the pillow and went back to the sleepier side of the pillow for a few minutes. Checked my text, woke up and realized that was the first time, since I got the flu a few months ago, that I woke up to something other than the intense itch.

I smiled inside.

Mr. Yummy, on the other hand has not been sleeping well. The itch is worse at night. He’s gotten really quiet and well, that’s scared me. I feel SO bad. This is not something I wanted to happen to him. I AM the cause of his intense itch.

Night before last, I did not take an antihistamine and I was up three times. I noticed that he was not sleeping, and was not in his bed with me. I felt really bad about that all day at work, so last night I again offered him a Zyrtec. This time, he slept a little better, and I was aware of him next to me. I was hopeful since we treated the same day, that he woke this morning with a little relief. He said he slept better but that it wasn’t getting better. He also said it wasn’t getting worse. That’s a YAY! But the fact he is going through this at all is killing me inside. ( I know, look at all the negative wording I am using.)

I was out of icky stick tubes and wanted to smoke so because I was suddenly SO much more angry at Melissa. I didn’t say anything, just got in my car and went to the smoke store. I got up to the highway and was getting ready to make my left, when I heard myself say start screaming, “Well, I could drive my car into a brick wall, but then I’D HAVE TO SEE MELISSA AND I DON”T WANT TO SEE THAT FUCKING BITCH YET!!! By now, I’m on the highway accelerating, but apparently, I had more to scream. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! IT WASN’T ENOUGH TO FUCK UP YOUR OWN KID’S LIVES, BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK UP MINE AND NOW MR. YUMMY’S LIVES TOO?!?!?!” Then this primal screaming just started coming out of me.

It was a strange moment. As I was driving home, I heard myself utter, “Boy, that felt good.”

When I got here, the motorcycle was out and Mr. Yummy was coming out of the motorcycle hut. I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t look at him, I just headed straight into the house. I was still angry and I am really upset that he has scabies. I don’t want to read more into his silence than there is because he went out of his way Wednesday night to tell me he has feelings for me. He left, I paced, and screamed, smoked, started making coffee and suddenly got scared at what I heard myself say in my car as I found myself alone in Mr. Yummy’s house, with all his rifles and handguns.

I picked up my phone and called 1-800-273-8255 (Thanks Google). I don’t know how long I talked to Karen, but it helped. I then text a friend. I asked him to call me when he was able, he did. We talked at length.

I’m still fucked up, but I feel like the wind up airplane rubber band that just released so, I am writing…because that’s what I do when I need to calm, breathe, think, flow and release. Then I am going to take an Epsom salt bath, to try to draw out some of the literal shit these fucking parasites have left inside my body. Before the bath though, I am going to try this recipe for Crazy Coffee that my friend text me. The only coconut oil that I have at the moment though, is infused.

I’ve never in my life heard the woman who was in my car this morning and she scared me.

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I Went to Texas to Watch My Best Friend Die…

And all I got were these lousy scabies.

Didn’t have them when I left. But I spent 11 days in a hospital, several hours on airplanes, the same 11 days in hospital, I was also at her house. I slept in her daughter’s bed one night, who had a rash. Didn’t think twice of holding her hand, as I was trying not to cry as I walked in Mel’s room for the first time. Having been prepped, I still started to get emotional, and was telling myself I could do this for Mel, stiff upper lip. Her daughter heard me and took my hand and just marched me to her mother’s bedside.

I spent time talking to my mom today, reading her some of Mini Me (Mel’s daughter) and me talking. Explaining some of the things we went through and saw in the hospital, as well as heard. My mom was sort of beside herself at what it was like for 11 days. I told her I felt picked on by the Universe. Like I wasn’t specific about the type of happiness I wanted. I want unbridled joy and bliss, like that spiritual rush I had in 2011. I don’t want happy via tragedy or drama, like Mr. Yummy being very nice to me about his now having scabies.

This morning as we were showering, washing off our treatments, I noticed that he has bruises from scratching. I almost lost it, because I have been that way for almost two months and I didn’t want this to happen to him.

Thanks for moving me in, here…have some scabies!

My mother asked me to please go get some counseling because I do sound traumatized; when I talk about it.

We have to re-treat in two weeks. Hopefully, there is no re-infestation, hopefully our water and dryer were above 122 degrees. Hopefully I vacuumed everything thoroughly and efficiently because I have been itching for almost two months and am at my emotional limit. The itching just makes me more angry and I am pretty sure the anxiety of the itching and not knowing what it was has caused some of the panic.

But truth be told. I agree with my mom and my doctor, when I say I feel like I have a touch of PTSD, and they say…get some help.

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pee.tee.ess.dee

ptsd_invisible_wounds

I have decided all on my own, that I have gone into PTSD again. I am convinced I am holding so much in that it is coming out the only way it knows how.

If I could walk into a room full of Kleenex and breakie things, I could get a lot out.

I’d like to punch Melissa in the throat. She left so much SHIT behind, but I also have a clue now, how much she was dealing with. I know why she always kept her family separate from her friends and she didn’t allow us to co-mingle.

I am appalled at the treatment her daughter is receiving from her SIL. She called me last night on Facebook, crying. “Auntie, I hurt so bad I want to call 911 and I can’t reach SIL on Facebook phone.” I could barely understand her. I asked if she wanted me to text SIL, she said yes, because she wasn’t able to.

The texts I received, were rude, condescending and controlling. I only responded once, saying “All I know is I got a tearful call I could barely understand.” Later that night I got a text from SIL saying “She has a UTI.” I didn’t respond, because all I wanted to say was, “Well, at least she wasn’t FAKING and now you don’t have get to kick her out.” So fucking sorry.

Obviously the treatment is because of the accusation that I stole a ring from Melissa. What a pile of bull shit. I didn’t need to steal anything. All I had to do if I wanted her jewelry, was ask the kids. I did not ask for anything, because her jewelry should go to her KIDS, NOT other family members, not me and NOT the SIL. Bling is not how I will remember her. Our perfume we both wore will always remind me of her. Books will always remind me of her. Real estate and mortgage is how I will always remember her. Coffee is how I will always remember her. Music is how I will always remember her. Her drive is how I’ll always remember her. Her love for me is how I’ll always remember her. Her perfectionism is how I’ll always remember her. Her desire to be seen as a good person, with good morals and no flaws is how I’ll always remember her, but not her bling. I am not that person and they (her SIL and family) obviously don’t know who I was to her and who I remain to her children. If I am called as I was last night, it was OBVIOUSLY because someone needed care she wasn’t getting and she knew how to force the issue. Use me baby, use me.

The texts that Mel’s daughter received AFTER I text SIL, were  nothing about, “What is wrong, where is your pain? Have you tried your biofeedback? Is there something else going on that you need to talk about?” No, it was, “Why did you text her? Why didn’t you text my husband, my son, me, or your dad?” Followed by texts to me, “Why is she calling YOU? My son is taking her to the ER, she has been FINE all this time till I had to be out of town…I told her if this isn’t real, that’s it. I know that’s brutal, but that’s how it has to be.”

Melissa would be livid, but then Melissa isn’t fucking here. She fucking checked out with a fucking spinal cord infarction that just kept progressing.

I’m calling her ex today. This is not acceptable and although they are not my children and it is not my responsibility, they are, and it is.

Fuck you Mel. I love you, but I am mad at you and FUCK YOU!

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Emotional Am I

I’ve been so angry the last week or so. I don’t like being angry at her and I know it is part of the natural process, but it is the fact that I have to go through it and process it before I can say and feel, “I am not angry and have forgiveness for all that has happened.”

I also realized that I need to get back to the path I was on. This thing with my skin, is all part of this trauma.  I have all these little red bumps that itch, and I scratch, then they get really dry. They are EVERYWHERE. It’s horrible.

20150312_161825 20150312_161845I have tried no sugar in my coffee, along with reading labels and cutting down on sugar you don’t even know you are eating. Apple cider vinegar on my skin (with the mother in it) as well as taking a few shots. I”m on a 21 day cleanse now, and taking Zyrtec to block the histamine. I take it at night, so at least I am sleeping well. Like a LOG. No waking up crying here. The desire to give in and scratch is maddening. I may need to take an Epsom salt bath. Those seem to help. I believe once I am “at peace” with Melissa’s death, it will stop. I really think this is because I am not at the point of being accepting and at peace with what happened. I think I probably have a raging case of PTSD.

A week or so ago, Mr. Yummy brought up a name. Karrie. Crazy Karrie with a K, to be more specific. She texts him a fair amount. I don’t want another Shan. I can’t do that, it would break my heart beyond belief and I believe after Melissa, he is the only one capable of doing such a thing. I must have this relationship with Sean, on my own. No Mel to run to when I panic. He told me he tried dating her, but that it wasn’t happening. She asked him to go to her church with him, he asked her why he would do that because he is an atheist. She cried. He said he didn’t sex her, so I am assuming she just has a crush on him, because, well, he is Mr. Yummy. But he’s got me living with him, and I sleep in his bed every night, so I am trying to relax and not make something out of nothing.

I do know him and he does know me. We each know that the other didn’t go into any of this lightly. It may have taken us five months to start sleeping together, but we both knew once we took that step, we were in it. I didn’t expect to be living with him so soon. I had hoped we would date a while, and then eventually he would ask me to move in. I want to be able to relax and not have the death of Melissa hanging over everything.

I really wish I could just say, “OK, I’m done being mad”, and put it away, but this is something I can’t fake because I feel it so deeply in my soul. She wasn’t my lover, but she was my best friend. She was my confidante. She was the keeper of all my secrets. She was my soul-mate and I feel like no one gets that, or how devastating this loss has been. Part of me is missing and she’s never coming back. I just have been trying to swallow that, and though I know it to be true…my heart is broken in a way I have never known.

The anger comes, from feeling like her death has blocked me.

I don’t want to be blocked.

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Panic and Rage

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I get to work about an hour early, almost every day. If I don’t leave at the ass-crack of dawn, I miss the window of decent travel time and my commute doubles. I would rather sit at work, in my car and play games on my phone, set up a playlist, or just Facebook, rather than be in the commute from hell.

This morning was no different in routine than any other morning, other than when my production manager arrived to unlock, and I got out of my car to go in, I got instantly light-headed, I started hearing a “pulsing” and my legs became like rubber, with each step getting harder and harder to make, they were so heavy and out of control. I got to the edge of the building and held myself up. Got inside, got to a table and held myself up, clocked in and got to the break-room where I just sat and shook.  My PM came around the corner, said good morning, then immediately asked what was wrong.

I told her, she replied that we are slow enough if I want to leave, I can. I was crying, she just kind of let me ramble, “I’ve been sick, my skin is either erupting in hives or psoriasis, I’m trying to deal with the fact my best friend was a drug addict and I had no clue, and what just happened scared the shit out of me. I just want my life back!”

I decided to stay and finish my list, then leave. As I was working it dawned on me that I always thought of Mel as the smart one, the strong one, the capable one. Well, taking so many drugs, the doctors are saying this is what caused the stroke, wasn’t smart. It wasn’t the strong thing to do and well, I am sure it was a major fuck up on her part. I just sat there thinking, “But YOU were supposed to be the strong one! I’m not sure if I qualify to be the strong one, the one who didn’t make choices that killed me.” But here I am, sad, trying to hide it, itching like crazy, and talking and sobbing in my sleep because I am terrified to let Mr. Yummy see my real emotion.

I just wanted to go to my spot on the beach and yell at her, “FUCK YOU BITCH!!! What were you thinking and did you have any clue that dieing would fuck  so many people (me) up?!?! Would it have mattered? What the fuck were you doing and how did you think you could just push and push till your mother-fucking body couldn’t and wouldn’t take any more?” I bet you let out a giant, “Oh shit, I fucked up!”

How do I keep loving you and hating what you did at the same time? I’m so ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY!

I have to figure out how to have the conversation with the kids about things they are going to start hearing about their mother, the drug addict. If they weren’t pissed off before, they certainly will be now. Hearing people say this about their mother won’t be fun and I know the anger will be directed at who is saying it and not at their mother for doing drugs.

She doesn’t get permission to destroy me, FUCK THAT. I’ve worked too god damned hard to crawl out of the hole of negativity and hate to crawl back into it, but my hate garden has already been watered and now I need to fucking weed it as fast as I can so I don’t fall back down that dark hole.

All the “fighting” she did to keep her kids away from their dads was for nothing, because they are all split up and with different people now. Is that what you were aiming for Melissa?

I wish she would just take the pain and go away, leaving me with my pleasant memories, and feelings of love. Right now, all I can muster is “Fuck you, you thoughtless, selfish lying Bitch!” Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel good, because really, I loved her like no other and THAT is why I hurt. She is gone, and I haven’t moved into the grateful for the time and memories yet. Instead, I am having panic attacks and falling apart at the seams.

NO.

Just, no.

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