Thursday, September 18, 2014

I opened the can of worms, let them slither now where they may...

Can of Worms
As many of you who follow my blogs know, I consider these posts self-therapy.  I throw my internal garbage onto the page hoping that it will help me somehow get over past demons and/or perhaps lend some assistance to others in similar situations - though I don't know how plausible it would be that anyone's life could possibly mirror my own.

One example would be this past May I made a concerted effort to end my life; however, since then - a solemn pinkie promise was made to my very best friend that another attempt would not occur unless we went out together in grand style, like Thelma and Louise. Since she's a meticulous planner and I'm a "fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-kind-o-gal" and she knows this, I'm fairly certain to outlive my children and grandchildren (longevity runs in my family, dammit).

The can of worms I mentioned in my title was a particularly bad "boo-hoo" moment I shared on Facebook this past week.  I was feeling sorry for myself.  I was having a bad week after coming home from a short family trip whereas I felt everything I said or did was scrutinized.  I've learned now to keep the can opener in the drawer but alas, I'm impulsive.  I wrote what had been festering at me for months.  I questioned why no one from either side of my family called after I OD'd to ask how I had been doing.

Worms, worms, icky, crawly worms of guilt and anger came pouring out from the proverbial tin cans of family members.  Yes, bad move on my part. I outed both my family and my husband's publicly on Facebook which in essence made them look like villains for not contacting me.  During the heated outcry I learned that some relatives had called Eric to check on my condition and that in my hazy state he had told me about the phone calls. Sadly, I don't remember these conversations.  I was detoxing off of high dosages of Valium and Ambien.  I was also in intensive outpatient therapy, private therapy or in my own personal avoidance therapy - secluding myself in my bedroom and hiding away from the unfamiliar noise of the world.

I do remember the phone calls I personally received; the voice of a dear friend from California telling me that "God wasn't ready for an ornery gal" like me and to "hang in there" because she loved me too much to see me go.  Yes, my sweet Joan, I remember your words.  Or my dear friend in Detroit who got angry with me, used some choice curse words and told me to "knock this shit off!"  Or the friends who sat vigil with my husband, or the neighbors who brought food for the boys or even the strangers across the globe who read my painful blog detailing my ordeal and their beautiful, heartwarming messages of strength.  One email from South Carolina read: "You Rock, Diva!  Thank you for putting yourself out there!"  That one made me laugh out loud. Thank you my dear friend and reader.

So yes, my pathetic, feel-sorry-for-myself-boo-hoo'ng did deserve some anger.  I apologize for putting my loved ones on the spot so publicly but I will not apologize for how I felt.  Calling Eric and offering him words of encouragement was terrific. Lord knows, I put him through enough this year. Asking him how I was doing was well and fine but nothing, nothing could have helped me more than to hear the words, "I love you" and "You're going to be okay" spoken by the people I needed to hear from the most.  I AM NOT a martyr.  It seems that people in our families have acquired this trait.  We suffer quietly through tragedies when instead we should be reaching out and asking one another for love and support. Why is this?  We only have each other?  We're family for God's sake!  

What I did NOT deserve was the self-righteous, nasty and all together false garbage spewed at me in a nasty rebuttal.  There was no "slippery slope" on that one.  I didn't ask to be crucified as a drug popping, alcoholic who craves the limelight.  The medication I take for my "mental illness" (since it's apparent that three different psychiatrists' diagnosis is being questioned by a non-expert) has been whittled down to two medications.  AND, not that it's anyone's business but I also take a medication for my heart palpitations and another for my GERD symptoms.  This hopefully settles the "pill popping" issue.  The alcoholic in me - wow, where do I begin with this?  I don't normally drink!  Ha! Only at big neighborhood parties or at an occasional bar - which, I have not been to for a very, very long time.  If I do go, I'll have a coke or some water.  Oh, pardon me, the last couple of times I got drunk was with my family!  How ironic!  The limelight comment...hmm, was that when I got up and danced with my Goddaughter?  I lived!  So what?!  I got up on stage, drank Tequila, laughed my butt off and lived. You should try it, it's fun.

I will never allow you  -  and you know who you are - to point a finger of judgment at me again. Go there and I will have ten fingers ready to point right back into your hypocritical face. You proved by your comments that one, you don't listen with an open heart and two, you've never, ever truly known me.  That's a shame because I'm discovering that I'm a pretty awesome lady to know.  You said once that you're glad you're your own best friend.  I'm learning how to be good to myself too but I'm also blessed to be surrounded by wonderful friends or in my case, family, to keep an eye on me when I'm feeling down. Thank God I have them and yes, an amazing husband who at times I can't believe puts up with all the nonsense I continue to dish out.

Thank you Eric, Blackbird, and all my other dear, dear friends for your love and support.  One day at a time.

Now I'm off to dodge more incoming worms...