I know, lets just cut her open again!

I went to my OBGYN yesterday for a follow up on my last visit.  While there my doctor went over the results of the CT scan with me.  She also reviewed my blood work from my last trip to ER.  The CT results sucked they basically found nothing.  I'm so mad.  I wanted there to be a definitive answer.  Some of the radiologist and GI doctors comments sort of pissed me off though.  They noted that my uterus looked normal.  That is odd since I haven't had a uterus since 2010.  The doctor knows I had a hysterectomy leaving me only one ovary, yet she states that my missing body part looked fine.  They noted that they could not see my gallbladder, and that it must have been hiding.  My gallbladder was removed in 2007.  The doctor also knew that.  They noted that my left ovary had a 5.2 cm cyst on it and that my right ovary was not visible.  I do not have a right ovary. Again this is information they knew. They noted that I was severely constipated (sorry if TMI).

My OB was pissed.  He was mad that a doctor who clearly knew all of those things about me would make those comments.  If they said that my uterus looked fine and I don't even have a uterus then how hard did they really look at the scan? Then they went over my labs.  The ER lab work showed that I am again severely anemic. What makes me irate about this is that I specifically asked the ER doctor about my iron because I've felt off for a while.  I verified with my husband who concurred that the ER doctor flat out said that my lab results were perfect and showed nothing.  My doctor gave me a copy of my lab work with three giant bold flags on it.  This bothers me because this is the same ER doctor that failed to do an X-ray when I came in to find out what was causing my pain and the second time this ER has dropped the ball on my treatment.

He said that he's had enough of the testing.  All of these test can build up and do more damage then good.  He said that because I have the large cyst on my remaining ovary he can now take over my care.  In two weeks I will have an ultrasound to check the size of the cyst.  Then he will schedule me with a general surgeon.  From there they will go in with a small scope to remove the cyst and then do some looking.  He believes we will find scar tissue and possibly more endometriosis on my cervix and remaining ovary.  Doing the scope will allow them to see everything.  It is the fastest and easiest way to get answers. 

I am happy.  I love this doctor.  He's done all of my surgeries, he's delivered my babies and he has always taken impeccable care of me.  This is now in his hands.  I've called my general practitioner and asked her to get a copy of my labs so we can deal with the anemia again. 

There is a chance the cyst could rupture before the surgery and that shit will hurt.  The last one that ruptured was 1/8th of the size of this one and it put me in the hospital.  I'm kind of scared.  At the same time I'm relieved.  I am so happy that a doctor I trust is taking over.  I'm super happy a cyst was found because that was the only way this doctor could get involved.  Now that there is issues in my girl areas he can get all up in my care and take care of me.

So that is the latest update. 

The time I almost died…also known as HOLY SHIT BIG SPIDER SAVE ME

So last week I'm coming home from the gym and I notice the lights on in the office next door.  This is weird because my mom never leaves her office light on.  I asked if she was still at the office and she told me that she wasn't.  The next obvious step was for me to investigate.  Strange stuff has been happening at my office.  A few weeks ago the alarm went off but nothing was out of place.  A few days before that, after locking up every door in the office, later in the night when I walked out back I found the metal security door wide open and both locks on the office door unlocked.  That is not possible.  There are several theories about ghosts in our office and that was the first week I nearly  believed them.

Back to the part where I almost die.  Because of all the weird shit going on I decide to grab my gun before entering the shop.  I enter and find my moms office wide open with the lights on.  Not only does she never leave her light on but she NEVER leaves her door opened.  I looked around the office and found nothing out of sorts so I locked up and left.  When I went out the front door I decided to walk towards the garage to see if someone had gone in that way.

The path to the garage is about 3 feet wide.  On the left side is a stacked wood pile.  On the right side is a rock type wall that is the back part of a planter.  You have to walk between these two things to get to the garage door.  As I'm walking I think to myself, "fuck I hate going over here there is always black widows."

Right at that very second I looked down and saw a giant black widow in the center of the walk way dangling from a piece of web.

I nearly pissed myself.  The spider was shin height from the floor.  If I had taken one more step I would have walked directly into the black widow, applying it directly to my bare leg.

I panicked.  I panicked so hard.  I didn't even know what to do.  I texted my husband who told me to shoot it, and you guys for about four seconds I strongly considered shooting that fucking spider.  Finally I saw a kids blue plastic bat with a flat bottom and I grabbed that.  I positioned the bat directly above the spider and stabbed down.  I did not hit the spider. Instead I made the spider drop to the ground and START RUNNING DIRECTLY TOWARDS ME. 

Now I was screaming, and shaking and generally freaking the fuck out.  I started stabbing blindly in the dark at the spider hoping to mash it.  Then..AND THEN THE SPIDER JUMPED.  That mother fucker jumped almost 4 inches away from the bat and toward me.  I jumped, then backed up, and then just went totally bat shit crazy with the bat. I finally smashed that bitch.  Then I smashed her four more times.

This is the point that I should mention I still had my gun in my left hand.  So, if you were walking by, or say, the employee driving back to the shop to finish his night you would have looked over to see me jumping around wildly waving a bat in one hand and a gun in the other hand.  You would be correct in assuming I am pretty much totally full of crazy.

In the end no one was in my office.  No one was in the garage and I almost died for nothing.  I put my gun away and walked the twenty feet home.  I came in and recounted the story to my husband of my near death experience. It took about twenty minutes for me to calm down from seeing a black widow JUMP.  Never mind that had I not looked down at that exact second I would have been wearing a black widow. 

You guys.  I just can't even with these spiders.

And that concludes the story of how Shannon almost died last week!

Make it stop

I went to Target this weekend and I was assaulted with:

Two kinds of pumpkin spice coffee creamers

Pumpkin spice cream cheese

Pumpkin spice cookies

Pumpkin spice Hershey's kisses

Pumpkin spice M&M's

Pumpkin spice Marshmallows

Pumpkin spice candy corns

Pumpkin spice ice cream

Pumpkin spice Jell-O pudding

Etc, etc, etc.

You guys.  I've had enough. Dear God they even have Pumpkin Spice Eggo Waffles are you kidding me?  Starbucks Via's are all pumpkin spice.  All of the cakes there are now pumpkin.  WHY.  

You know what else happens in fall?  Apples.  Where are all of the apple flavored items?  I would like apple candy, and caramel apple cream cheese and more. Shit, I bet I would even like a caramel apple creamer.  But no I'm being assaulted with pumpkin spice left and right.  I get it, it's all holiday and fall and shit, but seriously give it a rest.  Instead of focusing on turning the entire store into a pumpkin around September why not focus on some new flavors.  Pumpkin has been assaulting me for about 5 years now.  Let's move on.  Let's try something new.  I don't care about pumpkin spice lattes.  

In fact, I don't care about fall.  I don't understand why everyone is so excited for fall, and scarves, and warm cups of BLAH BLAH BLAH.  


I like summer.  I like this tan I finally managed to get for the first summer in 7 years.  I love my flip flops.  I enjoy tank tops.  I like not having to keep track of the kids sweaters, and jackets, and gloves and fucking scarves.  I don't like wearing pants.  I love my dresses and my cute shorts.  I don't want to find jeans that fit and layer my clothes.  I like going in the pool, and going to the lake.  I do not like wetness, cold, snow, or layers.  

I don't need a season to drink a warm latte.  I drink them all year round.  I snuggle under blankets all year round.  I wear my warm fuzzy socks in the middle of summer.  I just do it wearing nothing else but a tank top and undies.  

Fall drives me insane.  Facebook and Pinterest during fall drives me more insane.  I want to move to a tropical island and not come back until fall has passed.  

Okay lets talk about the big giant elephant in the room

Fine.  I think it's time to discuss this.  It can only be avoided for so long.  The casting of 50 Shades of Grey.  For today we are only going to discuss Christian.  

Y'all they did a stellar job casting him.  I am sorry for everyone that wanted Matt Bomer and Ian Sommersaultwhatever but lets be realistic here, they were never Christian.

Let's break Christian down first.  He is a damaged man.  He is a dark man.  He is controlling, and dark.  He is intimidating.  He stalks his prey.  Christian is a scary man.  

He is also sweet, and gorgeous and once in a while he has that sweet little boy smile.  

He is a huge mix of things.

Matt Bomer is a pretty face.  Matt Bomer is not scary, intimidating or damaged.  Matt Bomer would not make me quiver, he would not make me shut up and listen just by giving me the right look.  He is not much more then a pretty face.

When they announced the casting and I saw the first picture of Charlie Hunman I knew immediately he was perfect.  I hadn't even watched Sons of Anarchy yet.  I had no idea the character he played.  Based solely on looks you could tell.  His eyes are both beautiful, yet dangerous.  You can tell that he's probably a super fun guy, he's very nice and he looks like he is incredible in bed.  However if you look a little bit harder you can see, that this guy would probably kill for his family, he would fuck someone up if they hurt his mom, sister, wife or daughter.  You can just see it in his eyes.

Tell me that doesn't look like a man struggling with his whole entire being.

Then I watched the show.  

Are you guys fucking kidding me.  They could not have cast a more perfect guy.  He is scary, he is sexy, he is adorable, he's the hottest thing I've seen on TV in a long time.  I can tell you that if Jax (his character on that show) came up to me and told me to strip and get on my knees, I would be naked faster then a ninja in a fight.  He plays his character well. He is loyal, he is hard, he is soft with his girl, his mom and his baby.  He beats the shit out of some guys and my God if it isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.  I can just picture him punching someone for Ana. 

What I cannot picture is pretty little Matt Bomer being intense enough to make a girl drop down and submit to her knees with one look.  Matt Bomer is all white picket fences, and puppies. Matt is VANILLA.  He is NOT Christian.  He is not mercurial. He is not a broken little boy who had a horrible upbringing.  He is none of the things the guy who plays Christian would need to be.

If you all set aside your little crush on him and just spent five minutes watching Charlie Hunman act you would see it too.  You would see how well he plays troubled, how well he plays broken, how well he plays a man torn between who is is and who he was, and who he wants to be. He's already playing this character in his show.  

I mean really.  Look at those eyes.  Look at that smile  That body.  That emotion.  For just a moment suspend your Matt Bomer reality and look at all of the characteristics of Christian, then watch one episode of Sons of Anarchy and tell me that you don't see just how absolutely perfect Charlie is for this role.

Yeah….I would take him to bed in a heartbeat.  Clean him up some, take off the tattoos from the show and I can see Ana doing anything he asks her too.

This is what Charlie and I think of all your complaints about casting him.

Scuse' me I need to go wipe up the drool of my keyboard.

The future of the English language worries me

Every time I log onto Instagram I get a headache.  It is full of hash tags.  Hash tags drive me insane.  I have embraced the use of a hash tag for a brand, ie: #chucks, #converse, #chive, #jeep.  I get that people, like myself would want to click the link for Converse and possibly see new styles of shoes, or new colors.  I do enjoy clicking the Chive hash tag to see the new gear, and to see what other Chivers around the world are doing.  I even understand people putting a simple hash tag like, "nails," so that people can look up new nail colors or designs.  I really really really do not understand hash tagging sentences.  This kind of shit makes me so angry:




I can promise you that my children will never speak like this.  They have iPod touches now.  They have the ability to text their cousins.  They are able to text me when they are at their grandparents house or out of town.  They speak real English.  Please let me also state this is not racial or anything, I think that whatever language you speak you should speak it properly.  I felt like I needed to state that.  I am so sick of the way teenagers speak.  My Facebook, Twitter and Instagram feeds are full of words that don't make sense, misspellings, lack of punctuation, and general bullshit.  

It is not sexy or cute to misspell words, or make up words, or speak in lolz.  I get so frustrated when I read posts like this:

"My boy frenz bein soooo mean 2day Im so pissed off I'm gunna go get my drinkz on 2nite and go too the bar where there gonna be twerking and i am gunna make him fel so stoopid lolz smh fuk yah!??!?!?!?"

What is that?  To, too, two?  It's hard, I get it, BUT IT'S NOT THAT HARD.  They're, there, their, fuck I learned that when I was ten.  You, you're, your, it is not rocket science. Wuz, 2day, UR, are not words.  I feel like someone in high school should know that tell and till are not the same words.  Saying, "I don't know what to do tell then," hurts my brain.  It's okay to spell out entire words, because is not hard to type, you don't have to type cuz or cause in it's place.  It's totally acceptable to type the entire word BECAUSE.  I promise I won't even be mad if you spell out an entire word. I won't be upset if you use commas.  I won't be mad if you end a sentence with a period instead of !!?!?!?!?!?!??! I would love it if you added the correct ending to a word.  Babys is not a word, babies IS A WORD.  

Words go in order,

"My brother and I purchased a car today," 

Sounds much better than,

"Me and my brother purchased a car today,"


"My brother and me purchased a car today."

Did people not learn word order in school, if you remove the first part of that sentence would you say, "me purchased a car today?"  

Passed, and past are different words.  Pasted is not the same as either one of those words. 

I realize that my spelling is sometimes off.  I probably leave out commas now and then, and I know when blogging all of us are guilty of the HOLYSHITMYKIDSAREDRIVINGMEINSANEHELPME sentence every now and then.  However, when did poor grammar, lack of punctuation, and general lack of respect become cool?  When did it become acceptable to talk like an infant.  My five year old speaks better then most of the kids I know between the ages of 13 and 20.  Why is this?  When did people lose respect for themselves?  Does it make people feel cool to post publicly for the entire world to see a bunch of nonsensical bullshit?

I already correct my boys grammar.  I will not have my kids speaking in this new made up garbage language.  My children are going to use subject, predicate, noun.  They will understand you that something isn't "to funny," it is "too funny."  They will know that you don't "go too the store."  My children will spell out entire words, and include commas, even Oxford commas. I want them to use space marks, and punctuation. I want them to use big words, to sound educated and knowledgeable in a conversation.  

I am pretty good with English, however I would like it if my children are even smarter then me.  When using adjectives I want them to go beyond,"awesome," and "cool".  I want to hear that something is fantastic.  That it is magnificent.  Don't tell me that something taste "good."  Tell me that dinner was phenomenal, and then tell me why.  A girl isn't hot.  She is beautiful, she is adorable, spunky, intelligent and lovely.  A test isn't just hard, it's difficult, challenging, rigorous.  There is an entire dictionary of words out there.  Words that are better then "twerking."  

I once had a guy ask me how my day was, I replied "It was fantastic."  He looked at me and told me that in that moment, the moment where I used a word other then good, or fine, was the moment he knew he liked me.  I had a customer praise me for saying, "terrific," instead of good.  People notice things like that, they notice when you go out of your way to answer them with a special word.  

I posted about this on Instagram and someone replied that I'm fighting a losing battle.  I hope not.  I hope this isn't our future.  


I feel like I should repost this for suicide prevention month

I was driving down the road this morning when a song came on that I just cannot listen to.  Then I realized it is suicide prevention month.  I feel like I should repost this…just in case.

**I want to mention that I wrote this post over a year ago.  I had hopes that writing it would  be cathartic.  That I would move on.  That I would let go some.  I have not.  I have been bothered by it often in the last few months.  It's broken me down often.  Again wondering why wasn't I enough.  When I've gone through very low points since writing this point, instead of turning to suicide I turned to self destruction.  I did a lot of stupid things.  Unimaginably stupid unforgiving things.  And I'm mad about that.  Really fucking mad.  I'm mad because if my stupid ass father could have just lived, then maybe could have had a normal life.  Maybe I wouldn't be so self destructive.  Maybe I wouldn't have done those things I did a few short months ago.  Maybe I would just a goddamn average normal fucking human who doesn't think the worst of every day, who doesn't hate herself and think she will never be enough.  So no, posting this didn't make me better.  I'm still fucking mad.  I'm so so so goddamn mad at what he did.  I have to attend a funeral tomorrow at the same place as his funeral and I'm mad.  I'm mad that a 31 year old girl has to go visit her fathers grave site because his stupid, selfish ass couldn't just get over himself and live.  In a nutshell, I'M JUST MAD!

1. If there is anyone else out there going through what I have then I don’t want to wait to talk abut this.

2. If there is anyone reading this who is thinking, “suicided is going to help my loved ones, they will be better without me,” I want to tell you YOU ARE WRONG.  In fact, it’s been NINETEEN YEARS, since my father killed himself and I’m still impacted by it.  You are not doing a good thing, you are not making your loved ones life easier, you are not helping anyone.  In fact, in the end, there is a good chance your loved ones will end up really really pissed off at you.  I wouldn’t give up my husband and kids for anything, but there are a lot, A LOT of moments in my life that sucked, that I can look back and say with certainty would never have happened had I never been involved in a suicide.  There are things I did at school, trust issues I have, things I’ve done to my family, people I’ve let walk on me and stuff that I’ve experimented with that looking back at my life I wish I hadn’t.  So please, read this and take a moment to learn what, in my experience suicide does to your family, to your loved ones, to the life you are leaving behind, and then maybe think again before making the choice you are about to make.  

I was twelve when my father killed himself.  That is young.  That is a very impressionable age.  Eighteen years later I can say that I kind of wish I never knew.  I wish people lied to me until I was older, old enough to say, “meh, really he killed himself, gee I never knew.” Instead of being that young and doing every single thing wrong beginning the day I found out.  When you are twelve you don’t fully understand loss. What you do understand is that people are suddenly really nice to you.  As a kid I learned that the boy I had a crush on was nicer to me for an entire week because my dad had died.  I learned that the mean girls were nice for a few days, and I learned that people around me were saying, “go easy on her, she just lost her dad.”  Not every twelve year old would react like me, but my reaction? 


Can you see the flaw in that thought?  I was never grounded, I never really got in trouble, teachers walked on egg shells around me and I spent years thinking I never had to be accountable for my actions.  I made horrible life decisions, acted radically, was mean and pushy and a stuck up little brat.  Why?  Because my dad killed himself and who was going to dare argue with me.

Having someone commit suicide in your family, and then listening to the whispers makes you start to wonder, “he was my dad, he was crazy I must be crazy too.”  I’ll never know why but I do know that my coping mechanism was to embrace that.  It made me WANT to be crazy because obviously it was my legacy.  If I got dumped I over reacted and publicly cried and acted like an idiot because that is what someone “like me” should do.  If my friends did something I didn’t like I was horrible to them until I got my way, or until they felt sorry enough for what they had done.  I was a horrible friend OFTEN.

Let’s talk about the biggest impacts suicide had on me.

The first one I only discovered recently while talking with my husband.  After talking to him about it, I recognize a pattern in every relationship I’ve ever had. In order for you to understand you should know the one biggest thing that happened first.  One month before my dad successfully killed himself he had a failed attempt.  My family chose to tell me.  When he got out of the hospital he called me and this is what he said, “I will never do that to you again, I love you princess, I PROMISE I will never do that again, I am so sorry.”

Like any eleven year old (He tried it within a week of my birthday) I believed him.  

One month later he was dead.

Because of this I’ve always found it very hard to believe someone could love me.  This is a nasty cycle though because before they could love me, I would get so consumed in being loved that I would try every stupid thing to make people love me.  Because I craved love, from guys.  I didn’t realize it until years later that I was trying to fill a void, trying to convince myself I was capable of being loved.  It wasn’t until a year ago that I found myself saying out loud, “My own dad didn’t love me enough to stay alive, what did I do wrong to deserve that.” On the off chance I convinced a guy to love me I spent the rest of the time doing two things:

1. Thinking they were cheating on me, or just about to leave me because in my mind, someone had already broken a huge promise to me, and I just couldn’t believe that I was really able to be loved, because if so then why wasn’t my dad still alive?

2. I would destroy the relationship.  So, while I was spending half of my time convinced they would leave me, I was spending the other half of my time giving them a reason to.  I would cheat on them, or just be obnoxious, or accuse them of cheating, or not caring enough.  Because when it all boiled down, as much as I wanted to be loved I was happier when the relationship ended.

Why was I happier?  Because it proved me right.  “I knew you never really loved me,” became a comfortable place to be.  While half of my body was dying to be loved, the other half already knew that no one loved anyone forever, guys broke promises and relationships ALWAYS END.  I was cute in high school, guys liked me, that meant sadly, there was never a shortage of guys to torment me as I turned around and tormented them right back.  Each serious relationship would end and the first thing that always came to mind was suicide.  Because when you are young it doesn’t occur to you that a high school breakup after a month is probably not serious enough to warrant a night of crying let alone a suicide.  But when your father has killed himself, it becomes a logical and rational response to a child.

I’ve been with my husband for ten years.  He has more patience then God to deal with me. It doesn’t matter that he’s never cheated on me, that he never will, that in my mind I KNOW HE WILL NEVER CHEAT ON ME, that doesn’t mean that the little girl in me doesn’t spend every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I expect him to find someone less crazy, or someone who loads the dishwasher right, or who has a devout love of folding laundry.  I’m honest with him and have admitted that when he goes to the gym there are times I’ve used the Find My Phone ap to see if he was really there.  Then I’ve even admitted that my head is so fucked up I’m sure he drove to the gym, dropped off his car and his phone and got in the car with a girl and left so that when I checked it would say he was at the gym. 


But, there is a reason I married him and one big reason is that my husband has always let me be as crazy as I want to be.  He’s listened to me, he talks to me and he understands that after what happened in my life, at such a young age it is hard to believe that something is really going to go right in my life. I’ve taken him to my counselor before where I admitted that I don’t believe my husband can love me.  I have so many flaws.  I don’t love me.  I mean, how can I love me if my own dad couldn’t love me.  How can my husband love me when my own blood couldn’t?  But alas, my husband just shakes his head, tells me I’m crazy and gives me a hug letting me know it’s all going to be alright.  I can’t tell you how hard I’ve pushed him away.  Before our wedding, in fact the night before I almost ran away.  I didn’t believe that I was getting married.  I didn’t believe that someone could want to be married for life.  I was going to leave, not show up.  But that same night, after dinner, with no inkling I was going to run he looked at me in a parking lot and said, “We don’t have to get married, I just want to take care of you, that’s all I want.”  Those words were enough to convince me to marry him, and boy am I glad I did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make life hard on him every day.  After all, I will never load the dishwasher his way.

When someone so close to you kills them self after PROMISING they won’t you start to expect the worst.  The worst becomes a happy place.  When the worst doesn’t happen it is confusing.  It’s almost impossible to understand.  Happiness becomes an uncomfortable place to live.  So you self destruct.  You find ways to get in trouble.  You find ways to make life hard.  You search for depression and let it envelope you in because it’s all you know and it’s comfy, like hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps on a cold day.  It’s hard living life like that.  It’s hard waking up every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It is a strange existence to live in a world where happiness is hard, and when bad things finally happen it feels like a relief.  Like you can breath again.  I’m the kind of person who used to do homework and then not even turn it in.  I would do it because I knew I could, but I wouldn’t turn it in because I knew it would get me in trouble, and after a while I was more comfortable when I was in trouble.  When I met my husband he never yelled at me.  He never got mad at me.  I couldn’t handle it.  I remember fighting with him on the porch of his house once, and he would just get silent and want to walk away and all I could think is, “Please start yelling at me I would rather have you yelling and mad then walking away from me.”  Then he would yell, and I would cry but it was soooo much better then watching someone walk away, even if it was just to take time to cool down.

I started to expect that everyone around me was going to kill themselves.  I remember my mom and my step dad (who I refer to only as step dad in this story, I always refer to him as my dad) got in a fight.  She went to bed but he went outside.  Twenty minutes passed and panic filled me.  This was a long time ago because we still had the hot tub out back.  I went out back, and looked for him.  I didn’t see him.  The cover was still on the hot tub.  I just knew he had killed himself.  I had visions of him in the hot tub, with the cover on floating there dead.  Because to me, killing yourself after a fight was logical.  I panicked around my room for about five minutes before he came in.  He must have  been sitting up on the hill in a shadow where I couldn’t see him, but he saw me, and he must have known exactly what I was thinking because he came in my room and told me he was sorry he had worried me and that he was going to bed.  

It’s horrible that a girl should think like that.  It’s a hard terrible life worrying that I’m going to walk into a room and find a dead person.  It’s horrible to assume that any time I upset anyone they would just kill themselves.

Suicide makes loving other people impossible.  Since I knew boyfriends would leave it was okay to love them because I knew the outcome.  But other people in my life will find me very closed up.  I hate hugging.  It feels suffocating (my dad suffocated himself).  I don’t like being touched.  I don’t like people too close to me.  I’m not affectionate.  This is normal to me.  Now imagine being the people in my life.  Imagine being my family.  Imagine being my mom or stepdad or grandma or cousin that I won’t hug.  I’m not stupid, I know how hard that is for them.  But I can’t change who I am, I can’t unlearn eighteen years of being closed off and I don’t know any better.  So now, the suicide hasn’t only impacted me, it’s impacted the people around me.  I’ve had people going through hard times in there life and no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t figure out how to go up to them and hug them and tell them it’s okay.  That response is confusing to me.  For some reason my husband has always been the exception to the hug rule.  I love hugging him, always have.  But other guys, would hug me for just a second too long and I would panic, start saying I couldn’t breath, and freak out.  When someone does that your natural response is to hug them more, which would put me in hysterics, in tears and otherwise totally freaking the fuck out.  THIS ISN’T NORMAL BEHAVIOR.  My husband knows about it though.  He’s seen someone  come up to me and want a hug and he’s watched me back away and try to get out of it.  He’s even spoken up before and said, “she doesn’t like hugs,” hoping they would stop, and when they replied, “but it’s okay it’s me,” and kept hugging me he’s gotten in the way before, stopped them, gently pushed them away and loudly said, “NO SHE DOES NOT LIKE HUGS.” How do you tell people that?  How do you tell someone you’re so fucked up you can’t even hug?  

How do you explain to people all of your irrational fears?  I’m afraid of everything, of the whole world.  I’m terrified my kids will die.  I’m afraid my new puppy will die (because shocker, my last one got ran over and it was MY FAULT), I’m afraid the world is going to end in a few short months.  How do you admit that sometimes I’m afraid to love my kids all the way because maybe it will hurt less when they die?  These aren’t normal thoughts that normal people have?  

On top of all of my own irrationalities I have to deal with those around me.  My dads family who  refused to believe that even though he threatened suicide millions of times before that he actually killed himself.  Instead every time I see them I have to hear about how he must have been murdered.  I’ve heard so many murder theories I even believed them for a while.  But that’s not real life, this isn’t a book and he really did kill himself.  Do you know how hard it was to visit his mom, my grandma every week and watch her struggle between wanting to love me because I was the only thing she had left of him, and not be able to look at me because I looked too much like him?  Do you know what it did to me watching my favorite grandma become a shell of herself because her little boy was dead.  Knowing that she didn’t feel like me, she didn’t think he didn’t love her enough, that instead she blamed herself, thinking she didn’t love him enough, didn’t give him enough, didn’t bail him out enough, didn’t go bankrupt enough trying to save him?  It made family functions intolerable.  It made his brother and sister feel less loved.  No matter what, no matter how alive they were my grandma still lost my dad and they would never be enough to make her whole again.  I learned how to put a wall up the very best from my grandma.  

I also have a brother and a sister.  Did you know that my dear blog readers?  It’s true.  They are eighteen and twenty one now.  They don’t know me.  Because another thing that comes with suicide is that stigma of bad genes.  They don’t know their dad killed himself.  They think he just died.  They don’t know it’s in their blood to be crazy. They don’t know any of the things I know.  But their mom does, and because she never wanted them to find out she took them away.

Do the math, I didn’t just lose one person that day, I lost 4, a father, a brother, a sister and a grandma.  The hurt it has caused me over the years knowing my step mom harbored such hate for my dad that it bounced off to me has sucked.  It sucked when I finally reached out to them sixteen years later and was refused.  It hurt all over again.  It makes you feel like you must really be a pretty bad person if you can’t even see your own brother and sister.

Suicide will probably never stop effecting me.  I will always have these irrational fears.  I’ve tried counseling so many times.  I’ve tried medication.  I’ve tried drugs.  I’ve tried alcohol, but none of it has ever covered up the fact that my dad didn’t love me enough to live.  I go out of my way to keep friends.  I go to far sometimes.  Even when they are visibly walking on me I still keep trying because I don’t want to lose them.  I have one very close friend in my life, who has been my friend since 3rd grade who has watched it happen.  Who has seen me get walked on and watched as I kept trying to please them, make them happy, do anything to keep them from leaving.  She is the only one whose ever been brave enough to tell me someone is treating me like shit.  While I almost NEVER listened to her I loved knowing that she cared enough to tell me, to pay attention, and to try and stop it.

I’ll never stop wondering what my life could have been.  Would I still have been diagnosed bi polar, manic depressive with border line personality disorder?  Would I have had postpartum depression as badly as I did after Codi?  Would I have dated less guys, studied harder, earned a degree, become a runner who took care of her body and went on to achieve amazing goals?  Because it’s hard, it’s hard to love yourself, to lose weight, to care about school, to do anything really if you don’t love yourself.  And it’s hard to love yourself when one of your very own flesh and blood parents couldn’t love you enough to stay alive.  It’s hard to try and keep all of this in daily so that I don’t turn into a raging lunatic on a daily basis.  It’s hard pretending I’m okay when I’m not. It’s hard writing about this and knowing that people in my real life will want to talk about it.


It’s hard.  

I get angry now when people threaten suicide.  How dare they.  How dare they put that image into their childs head.  How dare they play games with something so serious.  How dare they re-open those fears and leave me sitting there a scared little girl again waiting for the next person to walk away.  HOW DARE THEY!

I get even more mad when someone succeeds.  WHY????  Were they so selfish that they didn’t think of what they were doing to those around them?  Did they truly think they were going to make their loved one’s lives better?  THEY DIDN’T.  THEY DON’T.  It’s selfish and it’s sickening and it ruins peoples lives.  Unlike the person who died we don’t get to just check out of life, we are left here standing in the dust confused, unhappy and hating ourselves.  Please, think next time you casually tell someone you want to kill yourself.  Think next time you assume you’re doing people a favor.  THINK before you ruin some ones life, because I’ll be honest, suicide ruined so many parts of my life that could have been amazing.

I thought for weeks about what to write in this entry.  I took notes.  I pre-wrote it in my head.  The thing that kept stopping me was knowing that my family would read it and want to talk about it and after nineteen years I’ve talked about it enough.  I’ve analyzed myself enough. I’ve broken myself down enough.  I’ve felt bad for who I was for long enough.  I finally decided to write about this though, for the people I haven’t talked this to. For readers who may be wondering why they hate hugs, or self destruct often, or push people away.  I’m taking great faith this time that my family will leave it alone.  That I won’t have to see that “look” on peoples faces.  That I won’t have to talk about what I wrote and dissect it and make myself more frustrated then I already am.  But I do offer this, for any readers out there who want to talk, who have questions for me, who need an ear I am here.  I would love to talk about it with you.  I would love to answer questions, help you, listen to you, anything.  I wrote this post today for my blog readers.  Not for the people in my every day life, but for the people who have stuck by this blog for almost seven years and deserve to know why I sometimes don’t write, why I am sometimes an asshole and who deserve to know a little about who the author of this website really is.