I don’t think I’ve ever in my life had anxiety. After working in New York for about the past 8 years or so I can say I have anxiety. This morning is no exception. My heart is racing as I type, I keep willing for a reason not to come in or show up. Oh, my paper essay died I need a moment of silence. Oh, my shoe is wet I have to go back home before I melt. Anything.
Law firms in New York are nothing to what Florida firms are. Floridas atmosphere is laid back and calm. Here, it’s chaotic and vicious. It’s interesting that it’s not the internal factor that’s an issue necessarily. I think I just need a break. A break without the feeling of overwhelming anxiety that when I return I’m fucked. That when I return I’ll be drowning in more work than before I left.
My anxiety is so intense I’ve put off my last semester(s) of school. Just so I don’t have to decide on law school or grad school. Avoidance. That’s the term. I am avoiding making a decision. In essence I’m sitting here like a sitting duck wanting a decision to be made for me, because sometimes it’s easier that way.
When I was laid off because of the economy in Florida relieved. I didn’t have to make a decision to leave the place I had for months been staring out the glass doors to walk out of. In a matter of months the decision was made and sigh of relief. I’m free.
I’ve had moments of insanity. I call it insanity because for me personally children are cute but even better when they go home to someone else. I have occasionally thought about giving my daughter a sibling. For health for life a sidekick to share life with. I love my kid. She’s smart, hilarious, ambitious and the list can go on. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t have days this week I wanted to get my passport and sail off into the sunset without her. Does it make me a bad mom? I don’t think so. In fact, I think it’s normal to think that and feel that way. I think women tear each other up over feeling like this but I think more moms think this than they let on.
I am an only child. Because of this everything falls on me. I’m not complaining but what I am saying is it’s hard. It’s hard to juggle your life and become your parents caretaker. No one tells you these things. You go to college think about a career but who prepares you for your parents ailing health. Was it a given? Did I skip that lecture? If I had a sibling maybe I wouldn’t be playing circus like I am right now.
This is what makes me feel like I should’ve given my daughter a sibling. So that the day I am gone she is not alone. So that the day I am not well she has someone to help support her through it.
Because life is hard. There are no easy choices, and even harder challenges await and as the adage goes: “life waits for no man.”
Being a caretaker for a loved one is challenging. It far exceeds or at least matches caring for a child. Except it’s an adult. My father died litterally and came back. The miracle in that isn’t lost on me. What I am however is overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed with my work responsibilities, my motherly responsibilities and my responsibilities as a daughter. Normally my weekends are lax. But since my fathers critical condition I’ve been running ragged. To the point I opted to not see him for a few days so I could sort of rest. This weekend I tore my house upside down to try to make more room for my dad and make it more comfortable than it was. He has now reached end stage kidney failure and has stage 4 heart failure with high blood pressure and pulmonary hypertension.
He started the road to dialysis. It’s a long road and a hard one. One he adamantly did not want. For now, he’s complying and taking his meds and I’m happy. But as I think of the daunting work week and treatment week I know we’ve still only just begun. Although I’m at home today, I can’t help but wonder how he will manage tomorrow.
Somewhere along the road I’ve lost the basics. I lost the very essence that makes me shine. I’ve lost the light. I’ve battled in the dark for a long time. The darkness is a source of comfort. I like it there. Being in the light is difficult. Being empathetic is hard sometimes. Being tolerant of ignorance is hard sometimes. But most of all it’s harder to fake it till you make it. So this morning I sought out a photo I wanted one where through the windows of my soul I couldn’t see the torment. I wanted one photo where I could set my sights on simply going back to the basics.
I told a friend of mine the other day, that I don’t care what anyone says. Life chips at you. Eventually the pain, the trauma, the sadness cuts so deep that it changes you. Whether it jades your view, makes you tougher less sensitive to things, you change period. For myself I have changed. I’ve come to loathe people. I’ve become unsympathetic, insensitive and just cold and antisocial. I think these traits were always there. However, somehow I’ve become the poster child for ruthlessness. You can’t un-know things. You simply can’t. So if you’ve learned pain, you can’t take that back. You move on from it, you grow but it will always be there hidden in the corners, like a monster hiding from the light, straying into the shadowy corners.
I think this is what makes me read others fairly well. I recognize the broken, the wounded, the damaged, the evil. Because I’ve seen it facing the mirror myself. I don’t consider myself evil but I can be. I can be unrelentingly evil and vile and not feel remorse. I try to force myself to feel it and I can’t. I say it but the words are empty. Meaningless. I just want to try to get to the basics..
My first inclination is to run. Break out into a full on sprint, music blasting while the sidewalk pounds the soles of my feet. I’m far from conventional by any means. People say that but I mean it. My emotionless state is what makes my life so easy to deal with. If I sat there and drowned myself in emotions, I would be a hot emotional mess. So I opt to shut it down reign it in and as I tell myself suck it up buttercup. I’ve had many challenges. I’ve always surpassed them.
My fathers health is ailing and a lot of it is a result of his own doing. This doesn’t make it any easier although my strength and resilience make it seem as though it is that simple.
What I didn’t know when I wrote the paragraph above is that my dad would flatline and come back. That I would realize a hospital to be a place of a lot of sadness for those who are ailing or passing, some hope for those who are saved and some joy for those that are born.
I couldn’t do what they do on a daily basis. I couldn’t stare death in the face every single day. It’s not that I fear death necessarily it’s that I want to live. In the face of mortality I pale. I pale at the thought of what I hope to do, what I want to do and what I haven’t done. I think of death like the times I’ve had surgery. Where they give you an anesthetic lights out.. not here nor there just out…
And I don’t want to be out..
Casey Anthony is called the most hated woman in America since the disappearance and murder of her two year old child. I recently started reading the book authored by the prosecutor on the case Jeff Ashton. I never felt a doubt that she had committed this heinous act but reading the book solidified a few key things for me. For starters the book confirmed for me that Cindy and Casey were in a toxic co dependent relationship. I agree that Cindy wanted to be lied to and Casey obliged. The book discusses the example of Casey’s impending pregnancy. Cindy denied that Casey was preganant while attending her brothers wedding. Although everyone at the party was asking themselves, who’s the pregnant chick? The story was corroborated by Cindy’s own mother. So the lies about where she worked which were not only the Universal Studio story but went back even before that to her fake Sports Authority job. This evidences a pattern of systematic lying. Yes, I think she’s a compulsive liar or a pathological liar. I actually think she might believe her own horseshit. What I think bothered me at the core was that her family swapped stories or refused to answer. Specifically her mother.
Let’s be honest. Parenting is a crapshoot. You can instill the best values, morals, education and still wind up with a bad seed. That I don’t blame the parents for. You can’t control every outcome of your children. But. There’s always a but. But you can’t cover and enable your children even when you know you have a monster in the midst. Maybe I don’t love. MY daughter enough but I can’t fathom covering her behavior and especially something so heinous especially given the evidence. Cindy called the police about Casey taking her car and dropped the bombshell in the 911 call “it smells like there’s been a dead body.” The forensic evidence showed that the signs of decomposition were in line with a human decomposition not garbage as the defense would like to argue. What killed me was that even when talking to Dr. Phil after the verdict, Cindy was still in denial. For 31 days, Casey Anthony partied and lied and did nothing to report Caylee missing. The defense argues that everyone grieves differently. Here’s where I take issue.
If your child had drowned accidentally why go to the extra lengths. It never added up for me that you would drag the police to your fake job where you don’t work until you have no choice but to say they’ve got you. Then at the end of it all after taking the police in a wild goose chase saying there was an accidental drowning. This to me signaled the final emergence of some truth. The truth that Casey Anthony knew this entire time that her daughter was dead. Pat Brown Criminal Profilist has gone as far to say she’s a psychopath. I actually agree. An interesting thing about the lies during the case was that one of the co-workers Casey worked with at universal studios was Juliette Lewis. Does that name ring a bell? It did to me the second I saw it. As in Juliette Lewis the actress?
This case fascinated the nation. Although much of the limelight was focused on the accused, I think it’s important that no one forgets the victim. A 2 year old beautiful little girl named Caylee Marie Anthony.
I am like a hurricane. I can’t help it. I’m a 5’5 Walking hurricane. Take no prisoners I genuinely can’t help it. I’ve told you I have a personality issue. Denial is not one of my issues. When I wrote my blog, don’t think I’m just saying my kid is great because everyone thinks their kid is great. My daughter is an asshole sometimes. In fact sometimes she’s also manipulative. However, I know her and work with her like a drill seargent because I value education. I’ve often said I will fund her future life expeditions so long as she goes to college. If she wants to find herself I’ll play along just do what you have to do and I’ll kick the cash.
My 6 year old is now in a tizzy over the prospects of being held back and now I want everyone’s head on a stick. So I did what I do best and wrote a letter. There’s an inside joke about my letters. I’ve written to probably every agency you can think of and ripped people a new one. I’ve drafted unemployment appeal letters ripping people apart. It’s a gift I suppose. So now, I’m putting them on notice. It’s the first time I hear my kid isn’t doing well enough to the point of failure. That’s not funny to me at all. So knowing the kids abilities I outlined a letter: