Satsuma Rose

I’m tired. I’m depressed feeling again. I wish Donnie was home. I know I’ll feel better when he’s home. He drives me up a wall some days, and there are days when I honestly want to smack him. For the most part, though… he’s good. I miss him when he’s gone. He always makes me smile. He’s a dingbat sometimes with the absofreakingridiculous things he says, but yeah… he’s good. The douchebag.

I’m about >< that close to calling the OB to get me something for this stupid postpartum depression. I’m not doing dairy anymore (well mostly… I cut out the big stuff), and we’ll be going gluten-free in the next week or two as soon as I am feeling physically well enough to go through my pantry and yank out a lot of stuff. Big changes are about to come around in the house.

I need to find bread recipes for gluten free bread, and I need to plan menus for gluten-free food that I can eat. I know it’ll probably help the kids, and I’m praying to all that is holy that it helps me because I’m sick to death of feeling this way. We need a diet change. We need to exercise.

Donnie’s done great so far. He’s lost 50 lbs! I’m so proud of him. Now it’s time for me to get off of my ass, too. Trey is 7 weeks old. Time to get a double jogger for the two littles and get my ass to exercising, dieting, walking, and moving. I can do this! I don’t need to put medications into my body to feel better. I can do it naturally!

I haven’t felt depressed like this in years. Tonight was the final straw. I am freaking ILL, and I am sick of people doubting me and questioning me. What the fuck business is it of yours if I am online while I am sick? I am fucking pumped up on fucking albuterol to the point where I feel like my eyeballs are going to pop out of my head, and my entire body feels shaky. What else am I supposed to do? Not breathe?! Guess what… THIS is one of the joys of COPD. I don’t have to deal with it often, but when I do get some sort of respiratory illness it can get really bad really fast. Within a few days I went from a catch in my throat to freaking bronchitis and slight pneumonia. I’m lucky my mom and dad got me to go to the doctor because if I would’ve waited it probably would’ve gotten worse.

Anyway… what the fuck business is it of yours what I do when I’m sick? Yeah so I’m not laying in bed. I have kids! When  my boys are home from school I am not going to lay in bed. I sit in the recliner. Besides I can’t lay in bed. It’s BAD for me to lay in bed. I need to stay somewhat propped up which is why I sit in the recliner. I can doze in the recliner off and on and remain propped up, but what am I supposed to do while I’m in the recliner? Stare at the fucking wall?! Seriously?!?! I have to have something to do, and I don’t like tv so yeah I play on Facebook. Suck my ass if you don’t like it.

Why don’t you believe I’m sick? Because it’s not you or your family this time? So if it’s not happening to you it’s not the truth? Oh get over yourself, take a fucking pill, have a drink, and step off. I am done with your bullshit. I’ve dealt with this before. I don’t do “illness wars.” My sick is worse than your sick kinda thing irks me. I rarely let my stupid illnesses stop me. I live a very full life, and I’ve been jam packed with shit the last 3 weeks or so while dealing with a newborn, a 2 year old, a 5 year old, and a teenager! No wonder I’m freaking sick. DUH!

My mother is my saving grace most days when Donnie is offshore and shit like this happens. She knows if she needs me I’m there for her. I can depend on TWO people in this world. One is Donnie and the other is my mama. She’s always been there for me through it all. No one else has ever stood by me. Yeah she made some mistakes, but don’t we all? She did the best she could do with what she had, and I only hope that I never have to be as strong as she’s had to be. My mama is my best friend. Thank God for her. Even though she’s hurting because she has been dealing with physical shit also she came and went to the store for me, AND she took Christina with her for a few days until I am better.

So anyway… yeah… I’m depressed, angry, and tired. I have a pretty shitastic case of baby blues, but ya know what… that’s ok because it WILL go away one day. However… if you keep fucking with me that won’t go away because I do NOT forget. Ask anyone that’s ever pissed me off. I do NOT forget.

Cel 1:06 am

Freaking hormones are driving me nuts. That has to be what it is. Even though I know it’s hormones I am so sick of feeling blasee unless I’m on the go. I can’t keep running and running. I haven’t gone anywhere in two days, and I feel down and depressed. I’m >< this far from actually going to the doctor and getting something for this PPD.

If you laugh at something it removes its power to hurt you.

My friend JV said this today. I like it, and I want to think on this later.

Cel 8:21 am

Just driving to Houma to bring Mark to his friend’s house and going to see where Mom and Magoo are building their new home wore me out. It’s been almost 3 weeks, and yeah… yeah… yeah… I KNOW that I will still feel tired. It just seems like I should not get tired. I’m sick of being tired. Blah. It’s depressing.

Cel 7:22 pm

Ok… so… I have had 2 binge days in a row. I’m talking about Swiss Cake Rolls, Fig Newtons, soda, hot dogs, Taco Bell… yeah. It’s been disgusting. I feel terribly guilty. I admit it. I need to get back on track. Gotta get some willpower for that though.

Tonight Sherri made a comment on my Facebook that really made me stop and think. She hates planning her eating. She said it makes her feel like she’s in jail. Hmmm… that kinda made me stop and do a double take. My first natural instinct was, “Oh no! I love to plan my meals.” Then I stopped and thought, “Do I really love that?” Ummm no. I hate that. Because when I fail at keeping my menu up I always feel terribly guilty. Today we were supposed to have oatmeal for breakfast. Check. Did that one. Chicken sandwiches for lunch. Half-ass check. Sissy had PB&J, and I didn’t have time to eat until 2:30ish so I inhaled a frozen and wonderfully processed chicken cordon bleu. Supper was supposed to be chicken fricassee. Fail. We had Taco Hell because I went into binge hell when I had a bad spell of frustration this afternoon with college guidance counselors aka asshole jerkoffs. I completely binged on Fig Newtons, cold weenies and ketchup, Swiss Cake Rolls, and soda. Oh and when I say binged I really mean binged. 1/2 a pack of Fig Newtons, 4 Swiss Cake Rolls, 2 weenies and ketchup (shush… it’s not gross to me!), and 2 gingerales. Actually that’s not even a bad binge for me. I was pretty restrained. Walking around with a 2 week old with severe armitis has it’s benefits to halting the binge eating. Anyway… I digress.

When Sherri mentioned that jail thing I was like oh wait no… that’s NOT me. Then I thought about it after the initial defensive reaction wore off, and I was like hmmm… do I? Yeah. I think to some extent I do. Dammit. How in the name of creation do you eat “healthy” if you don’t plan it? I’ve always planned it.

I used to eat really well. I was a vegetarian for ages. The last time I went vegetarian was right before the second time I went to the House of Psychos. I was doing SO well with my eating, and I felt like a million bucks. I was active, but I wasn’t working out at the time because I was pretty busy with Zach who was still under a year old. I remember El Psycho FREAKING out because she didn’t know what to feed me while I was there. She ate total crap. She fried everything under the sun or cooked it with grease, and she ate lots of junk foods. I can honestly say that since then I have not been able to really stay on track eating. Is it her fault? Hell no. It’s my own damn fault for not having courage to tell her to chill out and relax. It was just easier to be a “good guest” like I was trained to be from childhood and eat the crap. Bah… I don’t wanna talk about El Psycho and her House of Psychos. It’s not her fault I have no willpower so she has no place in this entry.

Lawd… I have a lot of buried crap, don’t I?

Anyway… I think I need to ponder this whole planned eating thing making me feel “trapped.” I hate feeling trapped. Could that be another reason I’ve been in such a funk lately? I want to eat better, but it’s like once I fail my planned menu I let it all go to crap. Instead of picking myself back up and moving on with my day I have the mindset of I already blew my menu plan so I might as well continue blowing it and go out with a bang. Not a good mindset.

No Looking Back. No Guilt. No Shame. Be aware that you will probably not feel too good. Consider it a challenge.  Actually… those are pretty powerful words. They really apply to so much more in my life. No Looking Back. No Guilt. No Shame.

Shame is a pretty powerful emotion. I have a lot of shame so why wouldn’t I feel shame over eating, too.

My question is, “How do you learn without looking back?” If you have to learn from your mistakes wouldn’t that be looking back?

I also like the idea that I can control my thoughts. If I can control my thoughts that would be amazing. I can tell thoughts. No. I don’t want you here. Go away! Then I can proceed to think new thoughts. Nice concept, isn’t it? Now to work on perfecting it.

This entry has turned into a rambling load of crap. I need more sleep. Really.

Cel 12:09 am

Gonna vent a bit about my first husband. If you don’t wanna read it then don’t because this will be crude and graphic.

This s a bit of self-therapy hoping I can maybe pull myself out of this depression I’ve been in. Maybe my depression is not just PPD. Whatever it is it needs to stopdon’t know, but I’ve been thinking about that asshole too much lately. I wish he would just fucking die.

I know he’s in Louisiana again. I know he’s living within an hour of me. I wish that perverted asshole would just roll over and die. No. I don’t wish he’d die. It’s too good for him. I wish his hands would be crushed into worthless pieces of bone and skin to the point where he could never use them again, but they would still be at the ends of his arms taunting him with what they used to be. He’s a guitar player. It’s what he lives for. That would be the worst punishment imaginable for him. To see his hands and know he could never play guitar again would be the ultimate punishment for him.

He took my trust and bent it around and twisted it all up and turned it into something vile. He couldn’t take no for an answer. He pushed me into the darkest corner I have ever been in, and he laughed at me while I suffered. I loved him. I loved him with my entire being. I would have done anything for that man. I remember when I told him I didn’t want to do the vile things he wanted me to do he threatened to leave me. He became a cold and distant person with his arms crossed in front of him, and I got on my knees and cried and begged and pleaded for him not to leave me. That’s how much I loved him. I loved him with my entire self. I BEGGED him to stay. ME. I degraded myself for that asshole, and yes… I did wind up giving in. I did EVERYTHING he wanted. He knew about my past hurt. He knew about my childhood, and he twisted my love and turned it around for his benefit. Asshole. I have no words for the disgust and putrid HATE that comes into my brain when I think of him.

I’d like to say I don’t care about him anymore, but I do care. I don’t want good things to happen to him, but I do care what happens to him. One day when he dies I will applaud and be gratified. I trusted him. I gave myself to him. I loved him beyond all reason. He abused all of that. Narcissistic, sadistic, self-righteous, asshole, scum sucking worthless pile of shit not even worthy to scrape the dried up tobacco spittle that old men leave behind when they spit on the floor in disgust. I hate you.

I feel nasty just thinking of you. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of you. You make me want to vomit. I hope you burn in hell, and I hope they rape and torment and sell you to the highest fucking sadistic bidder who will cause you one thousand fold the pain you have caused to all you have hurt

I do NOT like admitting I can be vulnerable, and I am feeling very vulnerable lately. It’s making me pretty cranky. Yesterday I told Donnie that I have been alternating between blah and bitch so fast lately I’m worse than a rapid cycler bi-polar. He should be glad he’s offshore.

I am either going to Baton Rouge tomorrow or Wednesday for something called Rescue Remedy to help battle this stupid post partum depression, or Sherri offered to pick me some up when she comes. I think she said Thursday was my 2 week check up. I’m like wow. Is it time for that already? That makes me feel even more sad because time is going by so fast.

I need to find something to do. Really.

Cel 8:10 pm

Yeah ok… Today I have to remember to take my vitamins. I have really been struggling with the fact that this is going to be my last baby, and I think it’s definitely contributing to a touch of post partum depression. Boo.

It’s just really hard to think this is the last time I’ll snuggle and smell newborn baby goodness. This is the last child I’ll nurse at my breast. This is the last time I’ll ever smile at that little gummy  newborn mouth while it roots at my shirtfront looking for a meal. This was the last pregnancy for me. Just when I discover the wonder of natural childbirth I will never experience that either. The anticipation of “when” will I go into labor. The anticipation of will I go past my due date. The anticipation of blue or pink? The fun of buying cute little newborn diapers and baby gowns and tiny socks and tiny shirts.

The only thing making this “ok” for me is the fact that I’ll be studying midwifery. I expect a lot of hard work, and I’m ok with that. Nothing worth having comes easy anyway. If I can’t have more babies myself I can at least help other women have them so at least I’ll be surrounded by birth and babies. Will that make it easier? I think it will have its pros and cons. I think it will make me sad to never experience that again, but at the same time I know it will be a fulfilling career choice. I don’t expect to make tons of money, but I do expect to reap the heart rewards of my choice of career. I can’t wait to get started. Knowing what I have to look forward to is the only thing that’s preventing a total and complete crash right now .

Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, Cel! Suck it up! No need to be depressed! You have 4 gorgeous children that are all healthy and happy (even if one of them IS a snotty teenager), a husband that loves you beyond all reason, a really nice house, all of your bills are paid, spending money, and all in all a very comfortable life. Gah… I wish this really made me feel better. In a way it DOES make me feel better, but at the same time it makes me feel worse to know I’ll never get to share this with a new life again. **sigh**

Cel 7:09 am