Another Missing Piece of My Heart

Two days ago, my younger dog found a baby chipmunk.

I was getting ready for work when I heard Luke barking and carrying on like a mad-dog on crack. Pulling my gown down as far below my ass as it would go, I went to see what he was throwing around and jumping at. When I saw the little creature, I picked up the mad-dog and took him in the house, grabbing a paper towel on my way out.

I picked him up with the paper towel, (because you KNOW Bounty is tuff), not knowing what it was or how it might react to me. The poor little thing was soaking wet, cold as ice and bleeding from somewhere. For several hours I assumed he was a squirrel. In the shape he was in you couldn’t tell. You could tell he was a baby, though his eyes had opened and he did have all his fur, he was still very young.

I didn’t want him to die in the cold grass all wet and scared and alone so I brought him to work with me along with an eye dropper I keep around for occasions such as these.

When I got to work I mixed up a little warm water with sugar, just to see if he would take anything. He was so cold. The only way I could think of to warm him up was to stick him down in the empty space in my bra cup (doesn’t everyone have a bra that doesn’t fit properly) but my boss didn’t know I had an animal at my desk and I was trying to keep it that way. Then it occurred to me…my FOOTWARMER!

I keep a foot warmer under my desk, because although I am the queen of hot flashes, they only affect me from the ankles up. My feet, on the other hand, tend to get chilly from the fact that I keep the ac turned down to 40. So into the nice and cushiony foot warmer he goes.

About two hours later I take him out to offer more sugar water. He barely sips a drop or two, but he is looking better. He is almost dry and I can tell I was wrong about him being a squirrel.

For 56 hours I kept Chip with me. I bought enough puppy replacement formula (suggested on every website I found pertaining to abandoned or injured baby animals) for 100 more Chips and was giving him that every 3 hours. He was looking better a little at a time. This morning, he actually jerked his little head up and looked at me and grabbed the dropper with his two front paws and sucked like there was no tomorrow. When I got him out 3 hours later, he didn’t look too hot. Wouldn’t take any formula.

I kept him in my lap after that and just 20 minutes ago, he died.

I have questioned whether it is good or not that I have this “thing” about animals. I absolutely cannot leave an injured animal. All my life when I have seen a turtle in the road, I have to pull over, get out, pick it up and move it to the grass so it won’t get run over. I made my former husband pull over once when I saw a dog on a chain and it had some kind of bucket stuck on its head.

He was a big dog, and dogs kept on chains out in the yard can get mean because of the sheer misery of being lonely, (please, if you can’t keep your dog inside, don’t get one) but I could not keep going and not try to get that bucket off. It was hot and the poor baby couldn’t even get a drop of water.

So husband #1 pulled over and I walked real slow up to the dog, telling him how I was his friend and please don’t bite me when I pull the bucket off and if he felt he had to bite me to please not bite me in the face.

I pulled the bucket off and threw it away from the dogs’ reach and ran like a bat outta you know where back to my car.

When I was very small I used to just cry and cry at the movies when the cowboys would get shot and cause their horses to fall down. My mother would get on to me and fuss that I “care more about the animal than the man who just got shot”. (Don’t ask me to make sense of my mother.)

It is not that I cared more about the animals; or then again maybe I did. My pets were the one "constant" and safe thing I had in my life growing up. Besides, I figure people have a mind and can take care of themselves and not put themselves into precarious situations. Animals for the most part depend on us to help them be safe.

I guess it goes without saying that I have a special place in my heart for animals. All of them. Animals know it too. Not trying to sound like a Dr. Dolittle here or anything, just saying that animals will take to me in situations where nobody else could get near them. I’ve seen this happen many times over in my life.

I am so sorry my dog found this beautiful creature. I had picked him up out of the wet grass that morning just so he wouldn’t die alone and cold, but I guess that part of my heart kicked in without my even wanting it to.

Brains That Lie

Edwin Leap wrote a wonderful post about the patients he sees in the ER who suffer from depression.
Find it here http://edwinleap.com/blog/?p=158

He has written several posts about this subject...about the people like me who live in "this world". His posts are so accurate as to the thoughts that go on in our heads, it is amazing.

I personally have never been to an ER because of my depression. It is not because I have not felt I needed to though. As I have gotten older, the depression has grown so much larger.

It is almost totally consuming now. So far I have held onto my job. I am fortunate that I work in an office with only two other people, so when I cry and absolutely cannot make the tears go away, I don't have to try and hide too much. I worry about my job though. It is getting more and more difficult to concentrate on what I am doing. Without my job, I am not sure what I would do.

For me, and many others like me, the meds stop working after a while. In my case, the meds stop working after a shorter and shorter period of time now days. It is exhausting to even think of going back to the shrink and telling him they no longer work. I feel as if I disappoint him when I tell him that. I fear seeing a look of anger on his face.

When you see my type walk through the doors, or you see them in the church, or beside you on your job, try to remember this is not something we asked for. We are not weak. We are not lazy or just wanting pity from anyone.

I remember when I was very first prescribed Prozac back in 1992. It was a miracle. It didn't make me happy. It simply made me me again. That's it. It worked for over 3 years. I have not been in that good of a shape since.

During the rare good times, I remind myself that just like it comes, it will go away again even if for only a short time, because when I am in the midst of it there is no thinking straight enough to remember.

I keep a little card on my desk that says, "Remember that if you ever feel like killing yourself, it is your brain lying to you". That simple sentence has helped me more than you can imagine. Maybe if you ever run into someone like me, you can tell them that.

Black Dogs Disgust

The Black Dog and me were sitting on the couch tonight watching TV. I was on one end of the couch kind of twisted up on there sitting on one foot while the other leg was bent with my foot on the couch. Black Dog had curled up against the back of my thighs.

I had butter beans for lunch today. I had pintos yesterday. Okay boys and girls, does anyone know where we’re going with this?

Well I have been feeling my gut complaining for hours. I honestly didn’t know how much longer I would be able to hold it. To make it worse, I was watching Worlds Most Outrageous Moments and every time I laughed my butt threatened to give up the entire façade. It wanted relief and it wanted it now, unfortunately now was not an option.

Hubby and I do not fart in front of one another. Matter of fact, as far as hubby knows I don’t fart at all. Its funny, my first husband and I had farting contests, but the one I have now is so very proper I just can’t bring myself to cut a hot one when he’s around.

Finally he went to take a shower. Soon as I heard that shower turn on, I hauled off and cut some cheese to go with them air biscuits! I had barely got that one out when Black Dog raised his head up, looked at me, and got up and went to the other end of the couch.

If Black Dogs are capable of feeling disgusted, I swear that is the look I saw in his eyes. That made me laugh way more than I should have considering I hadn't emptied my bladder in several hours.

Sorry ‘bout that Black Dog.

Water Bras and Full Flavor Menthol

I have decided that if I can lose 40 pounds, I can start back smoking. I came to that conclusion by doing some research on the dangers of smoking, and on the dangers of being overweight.

I also found that if I throw in 8 -12 ounces of orange juice per day, I won’t even have to go back to the Menthol Lights, I can go straight for the Full Flavor!

Not only can the orange juice help reunite me with my former "best friends", but according to the most recent facts on Green Tea, once I do start back smoking not only can I go back to Full Flavor. All I will need to do is consume 24 ounces of Green Tea every 24 hours and I can smoke up to ¼ pack more than I was smoking when I quit. Damnnnnnn! (The mechanism of this effect is uncertain, but it is possible that catechins in green tea may play a role.)

Once I resume smoking, I will probably drop an additional 8-15 pounds over the course of that first year. When that happens I can then begin socking away all the money I’ll save by no longer needing anti-hypertensives, anti-diabetics, CPAP supplies anti-Hyperlipidemias, and of course, because I’m not…ahem... “getting any”…I certainly don’t have that pesky little birth control expense any longer.

(I will still need the anti-crazies, but I think those are worth splurging on...although..if I think back to some prior material I have read, the nicotine does hits those same receptors on the brain that prozac does. I may have to do a tad more research on this.)

I figure once I start saving all that medication money, even considering the trade-off there will be with the cost of the cigarettes, I’ll still have a nice little booty tucked away.

I may just go to Wal-Mart and buy me one of those new water bras.

Mother's Not Speaking...maybe for the last time

I called my mother on Mothers Day to tell her “Happy Mothers Day”. She said she was busy getting ready to go somewhere. She was very “short” with me. “Yes”…”No”…one syllable answers. After about a very long 90 seconds I gave up trying to make small talk. I told her I’d talk to her some time when she wasn’t busy and that I loved her. Her response was, “Okay. Bye”.

I waited 47 years to do it, but a few weeks ago I finally sent my mother a letter asking some questions about my childhood and our family tree.

None of the questions were asked in an accusing or negative way. I really went out of my way to be sure they were asked in as gentle a way as possible.

I asked her things such as did she ever have a “nervous breakdown”. I asked her did she ever have to take medication because of her “nerves”.

I asked her about my uncle who hanged himself when I was very young; what was his diagnosis, about his hospitalizations, etc.

I asked her about my sister who is 10 years older than me, about why when I was in 1st grade I came home from school one day and both her wrists had bandages on them. When I asked back then I was told she cut them washing dishes.

I asked her did she know if the reason for her affairs was because of an intense need to feel loved or accepted by a man.

Finally, I asked her was my “daddy” my biological father. Maybe that’s the one that pissed her off. I have always wondered though. As long as I have been old enough to fathom such a thing I have wondered.

I remember a man coming to visit during weekdays sometimes. I remember he drove a truck. He would help me crawl up in the truck and take me to the store to get a bag of candy. I cannot see his face. All I can remember is the truck and the fact it was about midday and that my daddy was always at work when he came.

I never once asked why she hit me in the face my entire life with any weapon that was handy. I didn’t ask why she would kick me with her very expensive cowboy boots on. I didn’t ask why she choked me. I didn’t ask why she told me I was an accident. I didn’t ask her how she could walk out on me when I was 6 years old to “run away” with a new boyfriend. Nor did I ask her how she did it all again when I was 12 after daddy allowed her to come home after the first time.

There are no answers for such things. I just figure she had a horrible temper and never learned how to control her anger. I don’t hold any grudges towards her. I truly don’t. That is why I didn’t ask her anything about those things, only the other questions. Only because I think somehow the answer might help me to get through the depression I live with.

I stopped going around my mother about 9 years ago even though she lives just a few minutes up the road. It is rather easy since she has only visited me once in approximately 12 years. I always write her letters…innocent innocuous letters…because I want to be a good daughter and stay in touch, but every time I am around her I come away feeling really bad about me. Somehow I thought the way that I wrote the letter, and the way I tried to ask in such a light hearted way, that surely she would understand that I needed to know some of these things and not get mad about me asking. She is getting up in age and there is no one left who could answer most of these questions.

Looks as if I won’t get any answers.

Silence = Depression ?

I’ve been trying to observe myself from “outside myself”. There is a word for that, but I can’t think of it right now. I find I have lost my words a lot lately.

I seem to have decided that talking takes more effort than I am willing to put forth. Unless someone says something to me – I don’t talk. I have noticed that my husband does not seem to be a talker either. I guess that means I have been initiating all the conversing, along with all the sex, for the past 7 years? I had no clue.

I don’t want him to think I am mad at him. I’m not. I just have nothing to say. It is not just him either. I don’t talk at work except when I have to.

I think sometimes I would prefer to live alone. If I lived alone, neither he nor I would feel any pressure to speak.

I wonder if he hates being with me. It cannot be easy being with someone who is down so much of the time. I used to try to put on a front and pretend to be “up”. Like talking, that just seems to require more energy than I have anymore.

I wonder if my first husband of 24 years thought I was weird or if we were just weird together and had grown so accustomed to it that we no longer noticed it.

I wonder if there is such a thing as Sudden Onset of Adult Muteness?

Dreaming

I dream of a man. I imagine him as being tall, not necessarily a gorgeous guy but a man with nice smiling eyes and an easy laughter

I imagine him as he walks past me in the hallway reaching for me, pulling me to him and squeezing my butt between his hands and kissing me.

I see me standing at the sink washing dishes. He is coming in the door from washing my car. Still wet and hot from the outdoors. He walks up behind me and puts his wet arms around me and in each hand grabs a boob and massages them, while pushing into my butt with his crotch.

As I begin to turn toward him, he takes my face in his hands and pulls me to him and kisses me with the yearning a man might have for something to drink after being lost in the desert. His tongue finds mine and kisses me that deep kiss that only can be appreciated by two people who have that one special bond.

By the time supper is eaten and showers are taken, we both know what is next for us. We’ve been headed this direction all day. Our big bed, so soft and warm, is just the right place for two passionate people like us. He lights one candle, peels his underwear off and hesitates just long enough to give me a good look at what I am about to enjoy, then he crawls in bed and immediately turns me over onto my belly so he can run his lips across that most sensitive part of my neck. From that point on he has my motor running. In the end, we drift off to sleep, tangled in each others arms, hot, sticky.

Every day, he appreciates my femininity. In some way whether it be grabbing my ass, or kissing my breast while I am dressing in the mornings, he shows me how much he enjoys my body even with its’ flaws.

He knows I don’t want flowers. He doesn’t have to worry about buying me jewelry. A phone call during the day to tell me he loves me is worth all the diamonds in the world. He knows my contentment comes from our love and our passion and the bond we possess.

Better

I am feeling better.
Looking back, when I get in that "place", it is almost unbelievable.
Thank you for caring - it means more than words can express.