Drastic Change: Paradise Lost, or Paradise Found

May was a tumultuous month, though not altogether unpleasant. Naturally, my birthday came and went, and I managed to have a good time! Now it is June and things are so completely different than they were back then, it's hard to know where to begin.

So, I suppose I can begin by saying I am nowhere near where I thought I would be, today. I had a great birthday--my grandmother took my daughter and me out to lunch at a nice restaurant and I got a massage and a facial. Later in the week, I had my "Always" tattoo finished and I am in love with it! What happened after my birthday was supposed to be a smooth transition. It was supposed to be smoother than any transition prior.

It wasn't. Instead of continuing on the course I had set with my husband, I was derailed by an intervention from my best friend. He was the one and only person in my life to point out the ways in which I was not living the way I wanted to. He was the one to point out why I was unhappy, while I ignored many problems that continued to grow within my home life. His intervention, with some help from his wife, really provoked me to take immediate action.

And so, instead of taking off to California at the end of May, I sat down in our ever-emptier house and began a conversation with my husband. I wasn't sure where I would end up in this conversation or even what I wanted him to say. The problem was, it seemed he only wanted to give me words I would want to hear. So, when he brought up the word "divorce," for probably the third time in the duration of our marriage, I thought about it seriously for the first time.

Where I am now is not where I wanted to be, but it has turned out to be better for me than I could have imagined. There are downsides, of course: The Internet usage is limited to 5GB per month until further notice; the computer I use does not have Microsoft Word for easy blog making; I have yet to figure out where or how I should set up my computer to do my art. But there are many upsides, as well: I unplug much more often and interact with my daughter and my family; I have my little girl on a meal and potty schedule and she is thriving under my care; I watch old Disney movies with my daughter every chance we get and I take her to the park at every opportunity to let her play. There is not a day that goes by in which she doesn't have a total blast playing with toys, watching cartoons, playing outside, and talking our ears off.

We're staying with my grandparents for now. I've begun seeing professionals in the Mental Health Clinic at the American Lake Veterans Association. My goal is to set up couples counseling, as it has always been my desire and my goal to have a healthy, lengthy marriage that is strong, stable, and lasts. Unfortunately, shortly after I expressed my desire to set up couples counseling, my husband took off in his car across Canada, driving east back to his home state. I hope he is happy, staying with his mother and receiving the validation he so craves.

Meanwhile, I have paid off several overdue bills related to our relationship and the house we rented together. I have realized, with help from family and friends, there are many ways in which I allowed myself to feel the way I did and I allowed him to make me feel worse. There are many things coming to light in his absence that have been shocking, disheartening, and even heartwarming.

We are halfway through June. The difficulty has only just begun. I've broken down crying, sobbing my eyes out while I was home alone, over ideas of what I should do for myself and my daughter. I've received various messages from him and responded as kindly and pleasantly as possible, while the nastiest and dirtiest thoughts crossed my mind. He called me hateful and spiteful and I know those things are inside of me but they are not what run my life.

I will never again allow someone to dictate my life in such a way that I act out in hateful, spiteful ways, nor will I allow someone again to make me feel as though everything I do is pointless. Regardless of who did what while we were together, I know now how to make myself feel good about myself. It is a process. It is a practice. It is difficult. It is not a linear path; I fall and I have to get back up. But now that the rotten apple has fallen from the tree, the tree is growing yet again and it's healthier than ever.

Chaos: Moving Again in Less than A Year

It has been nine days since I last wrote and posted a blog entry. In these past nine days, enough has happened to fill a book, but not enough has happened to properly close any of the stories that have been upset.

            Becca left and we all breathed a sigh of relief. We were then forced to hold our breath again when the people from Pettit performed their interior inspection. We were not allowed time to relax after the inspection, as we were given three pieces of paper—all of which read “Comply or Vacate” at the top. “Too many people,” they said, and “too many pets.” They didn’t give us any further details, except that if we were to refuse to comply, our rent would be increased. So, we hit scramble mode one more time to figure out what to do and I left to spend time with Gizmo, the one and only person in Washington State who consistently and quickly clears my head when I need it.

            He helped me realize where the bullshit is and isn’t and he lit the fire within me to squash the bullshit out entirely. This is about my family, he made me realize, which means that no one else really needs to be in my house and if we can make it work with one or two under the radar, that may be okay, but that it is black and white on the lease and that is what really matters to these people. So, I went home and I put my foot down. We got things moving with a few agreements on who would leave the house, who would at the very least do everything in his power to find another place, and who would be okay to stay under the radar because they can essentially be stuck in the attic for inspections. We began to move towards righting everything for the follow-up interior inspection, which is scheduled to happen three days from now.

            Pettit, or at least the owner of the house we rent, has decided not to give us the chance to make things right again. They’ve decided that the unexpected recent activity is simply too much and rather than give us time to redeem ourselves, they want to seek a mutual severance of tenancy. The reasons they’ve listed are complete bullshit, we know it, but we aren’t interested in fighting because we have, technically, violated our lease. As such, however, I insist that we do not leave on anything less than our own terms.

            I’ve contacted the Housing Authority, who put me in contact with the Northwest Justice Project, who deals with landlord/tenant laws and ought to be able to help me with these issues. I want the house to be inspected this week and I want, on paper, how much the place is worth to rent, so that I can take it to Pettit and show them how we’ve been overpaying and therefore will not pay them another dime if they are forcing us to leave early.

            I want to negotiate a mutual severance that allows us two months of income so that we can move as comfortably as possible, especially considering we are going to Colorado Springs.

            Yeah. Colorado. We almost moved there, once, but had to come back because of debts. The debts are taken care of, now, and the only thing left is my court case, which will be settled no later than May 3^rd. Everything is in constant chaos in my house.

            It is time to start packing. Today is Tuesday and the follow-up inspection is Friday. We need to have everything in order by Thursday so that we can negotiate with Pettit as much as possible. I’m waiting for a call-back from the Justice Project. It’s all very stressful. But I finally feel as if I have my head roundly on my shoulders, quite soundly. I feel level-headed and prepared. I feel as if I can now move forward and get a real fresh start. I’ve never lived in Colorado, only visited. Colorado Springs has no one I know except perhaps a former co-worker or two. There is hope where there is sun and Colorado has much more sun than Washington.

            I know this is all very sudden for anyone close to me who reads this. It is for us, too. It’s all quite unexpected and fast. And it isn’t done, yet…

Efforts in Futility

Nothing hurts me more than disrespect from someone who has asked for my help and accepted my extended hand. Nothing disappoints me more than someone who has requested help yet refuses to help themselves.

            My hand extends to every person who deserves it. I do not always know who deserves it and who doesn’t, and so my default reaction to a request for help is to respond in as helpful a way as I know how. Sometimes, my response is to ignore the request either because I do not have the resources, or because my resources are limited and I must care for myself, my family, and my household first.

            My assistance is not free, but I do not charge money for the service I provide. I charge resources. Guests—extended guests, more specifically—and couch surfers are charged in the form of food and other items consumed. Usually, these people also pay us back monetarily, but this is not required except by those who board here.

            We have four boarders and one applicant to our lease and things in the house tend to run smoothly. Two of these boarders will be moving out in the very near future, but we refused to let them get into paying rent at another hotel because it is unsustainable in every sense of the word. These people are our friends. We do not invite strangers into our home. Ours is a family home, first and foremost and always. Even when Persephone is gone, this remains a family home, no matter what amazing acts of sexual exploration occur.

            Recently, we paid for one of my friends to fly from her location to our state. We picked her up at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport baggage claim carousel. We brought her into our home, explaining in the car on the way that our primary expectation was for her to listen to us and do what we say as well as keep to her own word and do what she says she will. She agreed on all fronts. She met Stacie, our boarders, and our new swinging partners. She is a male-to-female transgendered individual with severe psychological issues, so, I promised to get her to the Department of State and Health Services and the Social Security Administration in order to get her started with food stamps and Medicaid. She failed to get her food card because she failed to tell the truth of her homelessness—after all, she was to board at my house and give back by cleaning. We were providing literally everything for her. So, she didn’t get her card, but she ravaged our food supplies and ate foods that had been planned for meals.

            There’s more. She disrespected every single person in my home. She disrespected the space of every person in my home and she disrespected my belongings and the belongings of every person in my home, whether staying or visiting. I told her to stop touching things that don’t belong to her. She continued to move things around that weren’t hers, such as my books and Pat’s bong, and she would take drinks that weren’t hers and drink them, such as Pat’s Rockstar and Marie’s can of coffee. She was absolutely insufferable and she did not understand the mere concept of personal space or boundaries. We told her multiple times to give us space and not to touch us, yet she continued to hover over people, stare at people uncomfortably, and invade their space by standing mere inches from them and touching or leaning on their shoulders.

            I went so far as to write a contract for her as a boarder in my home. I itemized basic respect and consideration, yet she spat on it. She basically said, without speaking, “Fuck you and everything you are trying to do for me.” After all, we took her to DSHS and the Social Security office. We took her to Goodwill and Value Village, because we do not have the incomes we had recently, and we purchased ladies’ clothes for her so that she would feel more comfortable in her own body and feel as though she was moving forward in her life. I gave her space in my study to keep her things and to sleep, yet she disrespected the space by spreading her belongings all over the place, taking over space on my desk and taking my books off of my shelves and failing to put them away properly.

            Four days. That was all. She didn’t last a day past the fourth, as she broke her contract the moment she signed it and did so repeatedly—lashing out for attention like a neglected two-year-old. She is 28. She made everyone so uncomfortable that every single person who had any means or future means of income was offering to pay to get her out of our house. Randy purchased a Greyhound ticket for her to go back to her home in Tennessee. He spent nearly $300 on this ticket, after spending nearly $200 on her flight here from Montana, and after spending at least $100 on clothes, food, weed, and drinks for her. That’s a conservative estimate.

            She checked in at the Greyhound station, then ripped up her tickets and ditched the station in favor of a bar on 4^th Ave. We heard this from her girlfriend, who called the house phone (since Becca had been using it to call her girlfriend) and told Randy what was going on. Somehow, Randy ended up speaking to Becca’s mother, who begged Randy to ensure that Becca get on a train to Tennessee. I understand Randy having empathy for Becca’s mom, as a parent, but the fact of the matter is, at this point, we simply cannot and will not support Becca in any way any longer. She is no longer our responsibility, plain and simple. Point blank. The way I see it, there are two options, because Becca’s mother offered to reimburse Randy for the cost of a ticket. Becca’s mom can either reimburse us for the ticket we already bought, or she can buy a new ticket for Becca and Randy can track the bitch down and make sure she gets on it. Either way, we are not about to buy another ticket for her.

            I cannot believe the level of disregard she had. I did not expect it in any way. When I had spoken to her online, she had come across as level-headed and sane, for the most part. When she got here, she could not actually adjust or settle in with the group. She could not stop focusing on whatever obsession she had and when she got high, it was an exacerbated problem. So, we cut her off, but she didn’t improve…

            The effort I put into this person has been reciprocated to me by all of the people in my home. Pat, Nikki, Stacie, Leo, Kayla—everyone who has either visited or stayed in my home and witnessed what happened with Becca has been highly supportive and helpful, taking all of the stress that they can off of Randy and me. My house is being cleaned right now without my or Randy lifting a finger, because we have an internal inspection tomorrow and we have a lot of people here but we are overwhelmed, personally.

            Becca was one example of many people I have attempted to help. There are other friends I’ve lost through much the same way, including Mary and Alex. I simply cannot tolerate someone asking for help and then shitting on the help that is offered, nor can I tolerate someone failing to uphold their word to help me. Now, I feel as though I am at a crossroads, in a way, though I’m not sure that’s the right euphemism. Now, I am working to help someone who is not really a friend, but who has reached out to me for help due to a mutual friend.

            This person believes people hate her when they do not. Her anxiety and depression push people away and she recognizes it yet fails continuously to take action to correct it. That’s okay, except that she simply ignores advice that is given to her—or, she has, so far. The one time she took my advice, things went well. We went out and had a social outing at a café, where we got coffee and tea and played chess. It was a good time and I told her how good it was. Now, I’m telling her that she needs to take care of herself and she’s telling me she doesn’t know how, but when I tell her what she can do to help herself, she makes excuses for why she can’t do it.

            She says her excuses are legitimate reasons, but the fact of the matter is that she is allowing her depression to run her life completely. I’m telling her what she can do and she is not doing it, she’s claiming that she is “trying.” And so I said as Yoda said.

            “Do or do not. There is no try.” And I said what Gizmo says. “Trying is dying.”

            I am tired. Those who energize me are the ones I keep because I am sick of putting effort into futile endeavors. It was an effort in futility and it had a pretty steep cost to help Becca. I do not want to think it is an effort in futility to help this severely depressed woman in Tacoma, but frankly, I’m seeing all the same red flags. I cannot help those who cannot or will not help themselves. It is that simple.

On the Road to Health

Things have been changing for me as time progresses. I’ve been calm and generally happy, lately, which I would gladly attribute to my smoking marijuana. More than that, however, I’m happy because smoking usually gives me the munchies, but lately that hasn’t been the case. I’ve overeaten a lot lately regardless, but my realization that I’m no longer feeling the munchies feels significantly important to me, like the realization itself was the first step to making the health changes I need to.

            This morning, I woke up shortly after my alarm, rather than simply shutting it off and going back to sleep to await when I need to react and get up. I’m tired of living my life in a reactionary way; my goal is to live my life in a proactive and productive way, so it gave me a measure of pride to rise before 07:30. I cooked breakfast this morning; last night, I changed the bed sheets and folded a load of laundry. These are some recent things I consider successes in my life.

            My health is not at its peak. I’m sure I’ve gained weight again; I can feel it and I can see it in the mirror. The fat is in my face and I can’t un-see it when I take a selfie or look closely at myself in the mirror. Keeping the munchies at bay while smoking weed has been my dream since I started smoking weed; the fucking munchies ruin me. I binge-eat and hold it down rather than puking like I really feel like doing. It’s unhealthy and it needs to change and that’s a fact that has been solidified in my mind since taking my health and wellness class.

            It might help me to publicize my physical health journey. I feel as though I now have the ability to control what and how much I eat, more than ever before; part of that is my starting to cook. I cooked breakfast this morning; I can start cooking breakfast every day and gradually include lunch and/or dinner. This would give Randy a break from cooking and we wouldn’t go out as often, since the cooking burden would be shared.

            This blog would serve as a decent way to log my journey and I can begin now by reporting that I ate a handful of scrambled eggs with broccoli for breakfast and Wendy’s for lunch. I’m full now but I didn’t feel too stuffed after my fast food meal; moreover, we walked over to the thrift shop and wandered around it for a while to burn off some of the calories right away. I’m exhausted now because meandering around stores takes more energy than I understand; I did eat some dumplings with my friend Katherine, as well, as we smoked a blunt together after I took her to City Hall.

            I finished last week’s homework all on time, as well. One of my assignments was to create a blog entry about an infectious disease. I chose bacterial vaginosis and I’ve been considering posting it to my actual blog, as it is good information to spread but I’m not sure it’s the most relevant thing in the world. Not as relevant as, say, climate change, that’s for sure. My first assignment was a PowerPoint presentation on Alzheimer’s Disease. That’s another topic I considered blogging about, as I am at an elevated risk for the disease due to my great-grandma having dementia.

            My healing journey is progressing steadily, I think. I’m still taking Ziprasidone at night, which may also be helping my mood. I’m excited about the new development with my marijuana habit; not having the munchies makes it really easy to just drink water or some other beverage, instead of stuffing my face continuously.

Successes Week 1

This week has had many small successes. Looking back, I find it is better to look at the things I have done, rather than the things I have not done.

            Too often, I have found myself reminiscing on my day or my week, thinking, I should have done more. Monday was a turning point for me, this week, and I am proud to be able to say, today, on Saturday, that things have gone well, overall.

            This week, I saw my psychiatrist and my therapist, both. I have follow-up appointments with both of them. I returned everything I needed to, to Securitas. These things stand alone as successes for me, because I accomplished them.

            I colored one of my drawings and scanned it, but it came out as a .PDF. Still, the picture is complete and I can now use a library scanner to get a .JPG image to upload to Patreon. It will be my first new drawing posted to Patreon and it stands as the start of my work life as an artist.

            Furthermore, I fed my daughter this week—perhaps not for every meal, but I did contribute—and I contributed to cleaning the house. I also went grocery shopping and organized the refrigerator.

            So, what are my next steps, you might ask? I’ll tell you…

            My first priority is to make sure my phone stops dying in the night, so I can get up before everyone else does in the morning. My next step is to begin an exercise regimen that I complete on a daily basis. I need to do this in the morning before people wake up because when Randy gets a job, it’ll be on me to take care of our daughter without help. Having a morning exercise regimen will begin my day with purpose and success, which lends motivation and leads to movement, rather than sitting around, for me.

            My next priority is to create and foster an environment within my home that will best suit my daughter, who is a young child and deserves to feel respected, independent, and confident in herself. This will be a much more difficult task and that is why it is not my absolute first priority. After all, I must begin my day with purpose and momentum in order to achieve the movement needed to work with my child in my home.

            Already, Persephone shows interest in cleaning. She uses baby wipes to wipe down surfaces; she grabs the broom and tries to sweep with it. She wants a clean and tidy environment that she can manipulate to learn and develop. My resolve is to provide that for her, no matter how difficult it is or how long it takes to achieve the ideal environment.

            I have the whole summer to work with my child and my home while Randy finds a job. I have the whole summer to get everything together, including my transcripts for The Evergreen State College. Until September, I have the opportunity to greatly improve my health and wellness and develop a system within my home wherein my daughter can freely grow, learn, and develop.

            There is no way I can know at this time whether we will be able to purchase a home or need to rent a house. Either way, I know where we are going and I know what we seek in a living place. There is no way I can know at this time when Persephone will go back to a childcare facility, but knowing that Evergreen has a daycare on-campus sets me at ease because I know I don’t need to spend time during the day searching for just the right place for her to go.

            I’m going back to school. I thought about looking for a job, today, because although I’ve done well this week to remain positive, the voices of mania and anxiety speak to me and tell me that I need to do something that is immediately reasonable and of a regular income. They tell me that Randy will never find a job and I’m the only one who can do what it takes to provide us with the income required to purchase a home in August. This has happened to me so many times I cannot count them, but the difference this time is that I’m aware they’re false thoughts.

            Randy is perfectly capable of finding a job between now and August. However, if he doesn’t, I now recognize that it isn’t the end of the world. If he stays at home, it frees me up this summer to spend a good amount of time at the library, to and from which I can walk. At the library, I can work on my art and my writing to post to Patreon. I can scan my pictures the moment I finish working on them and I can sit in a quiet place and write my heart out until a story emerges.

            Owning a home has been the “end goal” for a while, but it’s time to change that because owning a home is not the end-all, be-all of life and it will not inherently change the way we live. It is much more reasonable for me to set smaller, shorter-term goals and work towards owning a home when it is absolutely possible, even if that means next year or the year after.

            I’ve felt like shit because my peers are buying homes and I feel like I’m behind them. I fail to see, in those moments, my peers who are just like me or worse off. I fail to truly look around myself and notice that I am in a stable place, if not the most ideal, and I have time to get to where I want to be. My greatest revelation on Monday was realizing that I have time.

            So, I’m going to use it.

It Is Time...

The Evergreen State College is the only school I’ve read about and attended that can help me achieve my dreams. It is true that I have true aspirations and I have given them up for other endeavors, including my attempt at becoming a security officer through Securitas.

            Had I been able to stay awake without trouble, I could easily have done the job as transit security. I am a capable woman. I am strong and powerful.

            I choose to take this experience as a lesson. It is one that has taught me that it is time for me to make myself a priority. I am an artist. I enjoy drawing, painting, and writing. I want to make my life about drawing, painting, and writing, and there are things I can do to make money that will not cause me suffocating anxiety.

            The American Heart Association can certify me as a First Aid/CPR/AED trainer and I can make good money training people. I can pay to get a teaching certificate and work as a substitute teacher, though it will behoove me to complete my Bachelor’s Degree. A degree, I can get from The Evergreen State College and I can teach classes related to those that I am taking in school. I am a good teacher; many people have recognized this about me.

            I have a world of potential being wasted by my mental illness, but I cannot lie down and simply stop living—no matter how much my depression holds me down and I want to give up.

            This blog entry may sound determined. It may sound uplifting for me. But, the reality is that just before writing this, I wanted to die. I simply wanted to stop living and give up, fade away into the dust. What saved me was a drink Randy bought for me.

            The drink is designed to reduce stress and I’m surprised—happily so—to say that it works. I will definitely be needing more of them. Or, perhaps I need to get back into taking my St John’s Wort. In reality, if I hadn’t had this drink, I would probably still be in bed, where I spent most of my day today sleeping out of depression.

            This drink has managed to assuage the monster that is depression just enough for me to realize that it is up to me to get up in the morning and fight. Fight for a clean home despite the depression’s crushing weight that usually keeps me from lifting a finger to better my situation. Fight for a healthier, toner body, despite depression’s suffocating ability to keep me in a chair for hours upon hours at a time. Fight for my dreams, which I can follow best at the Evergreen State College. Fight to create—create and post to Patreon works of illustration, writing, and even photography.

            I’ve said it many times: It’s time for me to get up and take my life into my own hands. It’s time for me to stop seeking structure from an outside source. It’s as Lucifer himself said to me: I create my own path in this world and there is no one who can hold my hand for it, for it is my own. Healing is not linear, but I am on a healing path and that is what is most important.