December 29, 2009 - life goes on - b/d #51

another birthday, more horror. i hoped to some non-existent universal entity to end my life, but alas woke up again. i so wish i felt like living. i imagined using a bathrobe belt to string myself up in the basement but those ancient supports would never hold my ass long enough.

then of course the guilt: the first voice i hear this morning is my daughter's wishing me a happy birthday. guess if i pulled the plug, i wouldn't have been here to appreciate that! no matter how horrible i feel inside. :)

i took this last week of the month off from work as leftover vacation days don't carryover; i should have just gone to work. i cannot listen to the husband for 1 more minute - dude, there's nothing i can do about your license, you've said all this resentful crap before about state agencies, judges, local government - it's like watching a favorite movie again and again. what starts out like cool heaven turns to shitty hell after the third showing.

he's not speaking to me right now, something that happned last night - and i hear him starting to cough inside. can't be on the pc when he gets up, that means i actually have a secret life away from here and reality.

help. i felt the blackness coming yesterday and it scared me. i'm about 2 weeks post-period and have been sugar-raging for a week. going to pick up a nice cake today for the birthday.

Nation...every day I want to die.

It took every bit of will this morning NOT to drive into telephone poles all the way to work. I remembered something that just tore me up with guilt. In 2001, my daughter was hospitalized twice for depression (she was 14 years old). During one of those admittances, she was calling home 2-3 times a day, saying nothing, just crying. At the time, I know I felt that the in-patient placement was the best place for her - but now, almost 10 years later - I'm hysterical that maybe I handled it wrong. Couldn't I have at least tried to comfort her over the telephone? I remember 1 call in particular, she asked me; "don't you want to talk to me?" while crying. I answered her, "you're not talking, you're only crying. No matter what I say, you only cry." I am such a horrible mother. How cold that must have seemed to her at the time; it feels so heartless to mes now! What made me think of that today while driving to work? I swear things pop in my head like punishments.

I just hate being alive; I'm constantly reminded of what a poor excuse for a human being I truly am. Uselsss, worthless, quite beyond hope.

Nation...it is time to Bring Back the KRAMPUS

Krampus is the dark counterpart of Saint Nicholas, the traditional European gift-bringer who visits on his holy day of December 6th, a few weeks earlier than his offshoot Mr. Claus. Like his American descendant, the bishop-garbed St. Nicholas rewards good kids with gifts and treats; unlike the archetypal Santa, however, St. Nicholas never punishes naughty children, parceling out this task to a ghastly helper from below.

Known by many names across the continent, such as Knecht Ruprecht, Klaubauf, Pelzebock, Schmutzli and Krampus, this figure is unmistakably evil; he often appears as a traditional red devil with cloven hoof and goatish horns, though he can also be spotted as an old bearded wild-man or a huge hairy beast

On December 5th and 6th, in Austria, Switzerland, Croatia, Germany and other regions of European, children greet kindly St. Nicholas with his bag of toys and sweets only to find the Saint's devilish assistant trailing behind. Hideously costumed as a devil or wild man with a whipping switch or chains, Krampus comes to frighten mischievous children into contrition.

Back in America, the rise of a new Father Christmas icon, a modernized St. Nicholas called Santa Claus, plays a central role in recreating the 'traditional' Christmas, a mildly pagan if nominally Christian holiday. The American St. Nick no longer brings his infernal assistant, but instead incorporates some of the elements found in Krampus and his ilk.

This traditional American Santa Claus places coal in bad children's stockings and is occasionally depicted as a punishing figure, sometimes even with a whiff of pagan horror. And like Krampus, Santa seems to knows everyone's moral state, as famously described in the 1932 song 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town': "He's making his list, checking it twice/ Gonna find out who's naughty or nice."

But over the decades Santa Claus seems to have lost his punishing edge. In this age of crass consumerism few if any children receive a lump of coal or prunes in their stockings, or a gift of cleaning supplies under the tree. Are not the services that Krampus provides sorely needed in this land of spoiled and dissatisfied children?

I'm SO ready for Krampus!

end the marriage...?

I always get upset when the husband says we have nothing in common, but we really don't. Not only that, we have nothing about which to even talk. He hates when I read a book, but especially when I use the internet. He calls it my 'other life'. Who wants to discuss the news? how pathetic to go that route. Our family members (his sister & brothers) are so far from our place that discussion of their issues is meaningless. As to our daughter; she is quite her own person and I do not see her staying with us much longer - I'm hopeful until she finishes grad school. Then I know I'll have been a good mother.

I used to cry when thinking about ending my marriage...from fear or the unknown. But how much different would my life be, married or not? I wouldn't be any more alone than I am now; I know I wouldn't be yelled at for whatever chore I didn't perform. That would be a good thing. I wouldn't be running down to the pantry in the basement to scrape my arms with the blade of a knife...just a hint away from true cutting. The only thing I would lose is my house; I could not afford to pay for it on my own, but neither could the husband.

I wouldn't have to listen to his litany of resentments, which always sends me to a bag of tostito's lime chips or a bag of truffles. The empty-carb hour is 330-430; then I start dinner.

my life is drawn out like Dante's Inferno, with it's many levels and rooms of torture.

I've got every symptom - Primary & Secondary

Clinical depression is diagnosed when an individual experiences a severely depressed mood that includes five or more primary symptoms that cause an impairment in usual functioning nearly every day, during the same two-week period.

Primary Symptoms
Feelings of overwhelming sadness and/or fear, or the seeming inability to feel emotion. A decrease in the amount of interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, daily activities. Changing appetite and marked weight gain or loss. Disturbed sleep patterns, such as insomnia, loss of REM sleep, or excessive sleep. Psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day. Fatigue, mental or physical, also loss of energy. Feeling and/or fear of being abandoned by those close to one.Intense feelings of guilt, helplessness, hopelessness, worthlessness, isolation/loneliness and/or anxiety. Trouble concentrating, keeping focus or making decisions or a generalized slowing and obtunding of cognition, including memory. Recurrent thoughts of death (not just fear of dying), desire to just "lay down and die" or "stop breathing", recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

Secondary Symptoms
Other symptoms often reported but not usually taken into account in diagnosis include:
Self-loathing. A decrease in self-esteem. Inattention to personal hygiene. Sensitivity to noise. Physical aches and pains, and the belief these may be signs of serious illness. Fear of 'going mad'. Change in perception of time. Periods of sobbing. Possible behavioral changes, such as aggression and/or irritability.

unbeloved

nation...how sad a picture is a 50-year old woman wishing to be in a fictional place in the arms of a thorough lover whispering unintelligible, yet suggestive-sounding Gaelic phrases breathlessly into her ear (from behind of course!)...? last night, i invited my present day husband into our hot tub - he declined. so in the cool night air, under an overcast sky, listening to the falling acorns, i conjured up my Jamie - to recline under me on a single lounge length with jets of water on my sore feet, and bubbles caressing my sore knees. The jets on my neck became his calloused hands easing the tension from my stressed existence. And I could only sob...for the man I'll never know. Would that I could be just loved and have someone enjoy my company.

as each day passes, i realize not only have I never known in life the love or even mere affection that i imagine feeling from a fictional character (and I never will), but i am starting to think i may be losing my mind. I cry for all the emotions i cannot feel, and all i'll never have. The more I imagine myself with this fictional character, the more I hate who I am and just want to die.

how can something that has brought me so much joy become a mirror reflecting just how empty my life REALLY is? My husband doesn't even like me; I am more convinced of it each day. There is no feeling in his eyes (with the exception of maybe disdain) when he talks to me, the put downs and demeaning tone comes more frequently. Nothing I do or say is accepted or acceptable. i am so alone in this toxic existence, there is no light anymore, no glimmer of anything positive...

I so badly want to give myself over to the ever creeping black that surrounds me; NO ONE would ever even miss me. How sad is this life - that I bring nothing of value to anyone.

Time May Heal All Wounds, But It Certainly Doesn't Change Their Cause

Nation...After the death of my brother in July 2007, I have felt I am wandering this earth alone - my daughter being my only blood relation. But they were all of them deceived; there is another relative I have found - on of all places the internet site Facebook - my cousin Penny. She is about 14 months older than me; I couldn't believe it when I found her. I haven't seen or spoken to her in more than 25 years.

Well, I haven't actually spoken to her yet, however, she has sent me her phone number but I find myself extremely hesitant to call her. First, she hasn't aged a fucking day: she is the spitting image of Mariska Hargitay. Where'd she get those genes? Her mom, my Aunt Julie, is living and still looks good. Penny's got a daughter (that I remember from when we were young: her name is Michele). Well, she's got 2 beautiful children, a girl and a boy! There was also a sister, my cousin Laurie; from what I am gathering in the photographs, Laurie also has children - like 4, but I could be wrong about that.

Why do I hesitate to re-learn my blood family? I don't know; I should be in therapy. I should be thrilled, but I am not. I almost want to kick myself for sending her a message that I thought I recognized her and that we may be related. Why couldn't I just leave well enough alone?

My extended family at the compound in New England is where I feel comfortable; I was always so jealous of Penny and here I am 50 years old feeling like a 10-year-old having a hissy fit. She is engaged and obviously has a very full family life with 2 grandchildren and nephews and nieces. I wonder if she ever married between the birth of the daughter and meeting her fiance? Maybe I should just call her; I can always hang up like a gay idiot, right?

Why do I have to feel I have nothing to offer anyone? God I hate feeling this way. Wish I could have an epiphany.

I did decorate the front of the house this weekend with autumn leaf garlands and red & yellow lights - really looks beautiful.

I may be able to write more this week, as my boss is traveling.