Not a fan of my bad health

My health has completely been in the toilet recently, even more so than usual. I had mono, which I'm just about over, I had a huge freaking ovarian cyst that I had to have surgery to remove, and on top of that I had freaking pneumonia. But then there's the pain. So much pain. And the vomiting on a daily basis. Those have yet to be explained. I have to get an upper endoscopy and another colonoscopy next week to make sure there's nothing serious going on. Had a couple lumps in one of my breasts, which thankfully weren't cancer but still must be monitored. I'm also having an ultrasound next week of my gallbladder and other stuff in the region since my liver enzymes are (still?) high. So in a nutshell my physical health is a complete and utter mess, and my psychological health isn't much better. To make matters more infuriating, the health care in this stupid fucking town is so crappy that I have to travel an hour out of town just to see a gastroenterologist, but seeing as I have a history of having an enlarged liver, I don't even know that he's the kind of specialist I need to be seeing. What makes me nervous though is that Clayton's mom has cancer, and she and I have some of the same digestive symptoms. I think that would make anyone nervous. I'm done bitching. Just needed to get it out. Got to focus on my crochet. Working on a special project.

It's easy to point the finger

I am livid. So. Fucking. Livid. This time it's not my future ex-husband or a boss or anyone like that. It's my dad. He said one of the most ignorant and hurtful things he could possibly say, which was that it was my fault for "allowing" my husband to cheat on me. So he basically blamed me for the most painful event in my life. Okay, here's the scenario: You're a newlywed with horrible self-esteem and basically no income, completely financially supported by your new husband. You find out less than three months into your marriage that he's cheating. What do you do? Okay, so here was my thought process. First, I wanted a divorce. I confronted him about it. He said he would stop. I had a horrible gut feeling this was a total and utter lie, but I pretty much had no place to go, especially with negligible income at that point. Plus, having low self esteem, I thought "What man in his right mind would want me?" So I tried to believe he would stop, but it ate away at me. I never stopped my vigilant search for proof he was cheating. I never let my guard down. And eventually it got the better of me. My mental health was in the toilet, he wasn't even lying about cheating anymore, and I finally came into some money and had some income, so I decided I'd had more than enough and I left. My parents said I should have moved back home with them, but aside from the fact that I couldn't have brought my cat (who was essential to my happiness) with me, the fucking shame of admitting I'd married the wrong man so shortly after the wedding kept me from even confiding in anyone about it aside from my therapist. I didn't fucking "allow" him to cheat on me. I gave him a second chance I shouldn't have given him, but I didn't have a whole lot of fucking options at the time. Another reason I'm so mad at my dad is he keeps treating me like I'm so irresponsible. I am almost completely out of their pocket aside from my phone bill, which they pay because I'm an extra line on their plan. I have a steady job and so does Clayton, our bills get paid on time, I don't ask them for money, and we're starting to even put money away for things. I'd say that's a hell of a lot more responsible than I've been in the past. But it would be irresponsible to have a real wedding with a nice dress and all. My first marriage was the most painful experience of my life. On what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, I don't want to be constantly reminded that I fucked up by going to a courthouse in a potato sack (I guess that's what he expects me to wear) and going to a shady motel across town for one night for a honeymoon. God forbid I should want to feel pretty and special for one fucking day! I don't want a $10,000 wedding. I don't want a $2,000 wedding. I don't care if we just go to a park with some rented chairs and a few flowers and get married by a justice of the peace then go back to Clayton's family's house and do a pot luck thing. I really don't. But I want to feel like I don't have to settle for absolutely nothing just because I've been married once already. I don't see why I can't have anything nice because bad things happened to me. I don't expect my parents to shell out a fucking dime for my wedding to Clayton. That's fine. They don't even have to fucking show up. I'll get over it. But don't call me fucking irresponsible when my bills are getting paid, our debts are being paid off, and maybe, just maybe, I want to save up money we can easily spare on something special. If they're not bailing me out I really don't see what the fucking problem is.

I'll be home for Christmas...

*sigh* That implies that my parents' house is my "home", which it is most definitely NOT. They moved out of my childhood home last year, and I absolutely feel like an outsider now more than ever before. I haven't lived with them (for more than three days, as in summer '09) for over five years, but going back to their old house, it always felt familiar. Now nearly every trace of my existence as a part of their lives is gone. They have a few pictures of me around the house, but when it comes to "my" room (the guest room) and all my surroundings, nothing is the way it was when I was growing up. All my trophies and medals and damn near everything from my childhood is in the attic somewhere collecting dust. My sister, of course, still lives with them, so I suppose she doesn't have the same emotional crisis about the whole thing. But... I dunno. In some way them moving out of the old house was one of the final straws that made moving halfway across the country not seem like a half bad idea. I miss them, there's no doubt of that, but something just doesn't feel right about being here. Nebraska has become my home. I have my own life with Clayton and the cats, and it's nearly mutually exclusive from my family's life. I always felt like an outsider though. A lot of it has to do with my illness. I am most certainly not the only person in the family who has *ahem* emotional problems, but I'm the only one who acknowledges it. It makes things very tense to have to walk on eggshells around people to avoid hurting their feelings. Honestly, with all the medication I'm on and therapy I've had the past six years or so, aside from hearing voices I'm pretty well adjusted. I think the problem is since I moved away in 2005 I have lost my sense of what my role in the family is. When I finished high school and my first year of college, before my hospitalizations, they were so proud of me and had such high expectations for my future. Now... I don't know that they're not still proud of me in some way, but it's a completely different dynamic. I didn't finish college, I don't have a great career or a "career" at all really, my marriage was a disaster, I just... they won't come out and say I'm a failure or anything, but I know in the back of their minds there's that nagging thought about how all my intelligence and talent was just wasted. I feel like a complete waste of space around them. They don't get why I couldn't finish my degree. They don't get why I can't suck it up and work a real job. They keep saying, well, maybe down the road, when you're stable, blah blah blah blah blah. I'm the most stable I've been in the last seven years, but with my illness comes serious limitations. The way my brain functions has changed... I don't have the drive and the focus I once did. I'm horribly forgetful. I get stressed out really easily, and my ability to function is inversely proportional to my stress level. I don't have the luxury of being able to not work so I can go back to school, and I can't handle both. School... I just don't have the mind for it anymore. When you sit through an hour-long lecture and not one word sticks in your head, and then you read the textbook and that doesn't stick either no matter how much you outline and highlight and all that, what's the fucking point of going to school? It becomes a waste of time, money, and sanity. So basically the fact that I haven't at all lived up to their expectations and the lack of understanding they have for the limitations posed by my illness have seriously been bothering me. Gah. And in everything I do with them, it's as an outsider. The family is mom, dad, and my sister, and I'm just... company. I'm not an integral part of the family. I'm an accessory... nice to have around, but certainly not necessary. The worst part of this whole mess is that Clayton is still in Nebraska for the holidays, so I'm here alone. Skype helps, but I don't have the one person who understands me around, and it makes it so hard to not lose it. Merry Christmas.

Christmas time rolling around

Wow. I haven't blogged in nearly two months. Bad me! Ah well, I can't say I've really had anything better to do, I just forget sometimes. So, what have I been up to? Well, until recently, sleeping ALL THE TIME. I'd literally sleep about 16-18 hours a day. It was mostly due to a couple of my medications that have since been discontinued, allowing me to theoretically be more productive. I suppose I've been more productive. I managed to crochet scarves and hats for my mom and sister for Christmas, and I've been a lot better about keeping up with chores lately. Gah... speaking of chores, I finally had to talk to Clayton about being such a slob. I love him to death, but it makes me resent him when I'm constantly either cleaning up after him or living in a pig sty. I take on a good share of the chores because I don't work as much as he does, but having to clean up the mess he makes when the trash can is mere feet away really gets my goat and I really don't think I should have to be his maid. He has been a little better since I said something, so I guess communication is good for something.Oh! We got a Christmas tree! I was so excited to get it. Last year Clayton and I were super broke and didn't have one. I'd had Christmases where I didn't have a tree, but my parents always had one I got to help decorate, so it was kind of okay. But then they didn't have one last year either, so it was really kind of depressing for me because that's one of my favorite things about Christmas. The initial investment of getting ornaments, a tree stand, lights, beads, etc. was kind of pricey, but now we have everything we'll need for years to come aside from a tree and maybe a couple special ornaments a year. We spent pretty much the whole day yesterday decorating and doing Christmas related stuff, which really made me realize how much of a drag my husband was around Christmas. Clayton and I had so much fun putting up the tree, singing Christmas carols, decorating the living room, making clove-studded oranges and so on. It really makes me wonder why I was with someone who didn't share my enthusiasm about such things. One of the biggest lessons I've learned since being with Clayton is that I shouldn't have to change myself for somebody. I was a different person around my husband. I wasn't allowed to be emotional or weird or slightly crude, and God forbid I should show even a hint of my insanity. I was constantly having to hide the real me because I felt like it would push him away. That was part of the nice thing about meeting Clayton in the hospital with no original intentions of entering a relationship with him. He got to see ME. The real me, uncensored, uninhibited, exactly as I am. And when it did lead to a relationship, it was great because I knew he loved me the way I am, not an image of myself I tried to project to get his approval. It's liberating.

There's something very erotic about cello music

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdnD8660_W0

I am a really, really big fan of cello music, and I think I know why. Cello music reminds me of sex. It really does. It's bold or gentle, sweet or passionate, but always beautiful. Just the motion of playing the cello is very erotic, how a person's body moves with the music. I dunno, all I'm saying is that Clayton needs to learn to play the cello should we ever have the means of acquiring one. I think the real reason I bring that up is that literally everything recently reminds me of sex. I don't know if I'm going into some sort of hypomania or something, but hypersexual would definitely be an accurate description of me lately. Nearly every second of the day I'm thinking about it or dreaming about it or fantasizing or actively trying to get it. Not that he's unwilling to oblige me. If I want it I get it, and I love that about our relationship. We still cuddle and talk and all the things I need to keep me emotionally satisfied, but there's a good balance of the emotional and physical sides of our relationship, and thankfully those two things are not mutually exclusive.

I feel worthless

My marriage still has me fucked up. I can't shake the mentality that I'm worthless, just because my stupid horrible son of a bitch husband didn't find me attractive, didn't respect me at all, and married me out of pity. It's gotten really bad. I've been having nightmares about him. And in all of them he's showing preference to other women and devaluing me and my feelings. I know his opinion shouldn't matter. I've got a man that loves me very much and treats me like an equal, but that fucking asshole is still in my fucking head!!! I don't know what to do. :(

Wow. Just... wow.

Well, just when I thought my husband couldn't be more of a dirtbag, out of the blue the chick he cheated on me with, well, one of them, contacts me. She was the one who actually lived with us for a week because her husband was beating her and she was a "friend" (wow I was stupid). I found out later he was cheating with her, but that's not where I was going with this. Anyway, she contacted me on Facebook saying she needed help getting in contact with him. I thought, well, whatever, the past is the past, so I gave her his contact information. Oddly enough she and I get to talking (mainly facilitated by the fact that she apologized profusely for putting me through what she did... little did she know that was the tip of the iceberg) and she tells me that one of her kids is his. Moreover, the kid was conceived while she was living with us. Honestly it wasn't that much of a shock because she was my friend on MySpace and I thought it was kind of suspicious that she had a kid approx. nine months after she'd lived with us, but still. This was the man that tirelessly tried to convince me I didn't want children, and he knocks up some chick. The worst part about it is that, from what she says, he's completely distant and shows no intention of ever meeting his daughter. That coupled with the fact that he'd changed his e-mail address and phone number without telling her... he's changed his phone number again so now I can't even get in touch with him except by e-mail, which he's not answering. Not good seeing as he and I aren't divorced yet. He makes me sick. And honestly, it wasn't his convincing that made me not want to have kids, it was the sinking feeling that he'd be a horrible father. I know I got my tubes tied after I left him, and I feel like it was the right thing to do, but the whole thing made me really question what kind of father I'd want a kid of mine to have. Clayton and I have talked a little about having my surgery reversed at some point if we're ever in a stable enough position to do it... we'll see what happens with that, but deep down I'm kind of hoping it happens. I know I couldn't handle a child now, but I'm only 26... I've got many more fertile years ahead of me in case things change. Uhg... got off topic. Basically my husband (I can't wait till I can call him my ex-husband) is a horrible waste of a human being and I'm glad I got away from him when I did.