Seized.

In my last year of law school, I was driving to grab a bite to eat from Wendy's when I had a seizure - and blacked out. I hit my head against the steering wheel, and thankfully during the 'fit' I managed to slam the gear shift into park and halfway jumped a curb. Somehow during the madness, I bit my tongue rather forcefully - almost straight through it - and my mouth was full of blood. Thankfully I was on a side street - and I managed to coast slowly into a gas station where I promptly fainted. I got a nice sized bump on the head from the fainting spell - but was otherwise o.k.

When I finally made my way back to school - I walked in to Michael's office and told him what happened. He wanted to go to the hospital immediately, but I begged him not to take me. We went home instead, and I promptly fell asleep for about fifteen straight hours. I went to a cardiologist the next day - and was immediately whisked from specialist to specialist. The next few days were a blur of EKGs, EEGs, x-rays, MRIs, and a great deal of bloodletting to check on blood sugar imbalances, hormones, etc.

During the doctor's visits - I realized that I've always had these little "spells." Growing up, my great grandmother said someone was walking over my grave when I did it. Sometimes I could feel them coming on, but not always. When I did, they were preceded by a tightness and pain in my chest - and a feeling of pressure as if I was being crushed. Afterward, there was always a peculiar metal taste in my mouth and an overwhelming desire to immediately go to sleep.

Sometimes - when they are really bad - my arms flail out and I will involuntarily strike out at someone. It can be quite embarassing at times - sort of a physical Tourettes. I remembered driving to Florida from Texas when I whacked my sister in the front seat of the car. She looked at me stunned - and asked "What the hell was that for?" I wish I could have simply told her. I didn't know.

Milder versions cause me to just space out a little. I can hear people talking around me - but their voices sound very far away - like the muffled conversations of people living in the next apartment drifting through air vents.

During one of the trips to the neurologist, after another brain scan, the doctor told us that in all likelihood that it was epilepsy or multiple sclerosis. I sobbed. Michael cried. It was the one - and only time that I've ever seen him cry. No swimming, no bathing or showering without the door open and someone in the bathroom with me, no driving, no cooking, no being alone - period - under any circumstances for nearly four and a half months. I couldn't do anything. And I felt awful. I felt like a failure as a wife. I was only 23, and my husband was being forced to care for me like I was an old woman. It was heartbreaking. And then the doctor told us that we shouldn't try to have children. I needed to go back on the pill.

I was poked and prodded and sent to every specialist they could find. They ruled out epilepsy and we rejoiced. They ruled out m.s. and we cried with joy. But they never found out what the problem is. Stress, exhaustion and alcohol seemed to exacerbate the problem. Of course, since I was studying for the bar at the time, two of the three were a little difficult to control (and in fact I had a 'medium' seizure during the middle of the exam).

I have never had another grand mal seizure like that. I have had hundreds of other - small ones - but have accepted it as part of who I am. They seem to cluster at a time - and it's been a while since I've had one. I was told that I could slowly start incorporating my "regular" life back into my schedule. You have no idea the bliss of being able to shower in privacy. Of just driving to work - even in traffic.

I would never go into deep water alone. I would never drive extremely long distances alone. I stay away from excess alcohol and try to get plenty of sleep.

I should go back for more tests, but I am afraid. I am afraid that they will tell me it is something awful - something debilitating and untreatable - something I'm unwilling to recognize.

Three days ago I started having crushing pain in my chest that seems to ebb and flow. As this is how the really bad one before started, I didn't drive all weekend, and I took the train to work this a.m. I don't need this right now.

But I need answers. I keep calling the doctor's office - but somehow I just do not seem to be able to push the last digit. I don't want to give this up again. I can't.

I am really afraid.

The silent treatment

When you can't say what you want because the very hint of a whisper

is an insurrection in the making

When you can't hurt openly

the wracking sobs contained within

hidden behind the false smiles

When happiness is stifled and pain magnified

This isn't about one anymore

But it will be

It's about being an adult

And listening

And understanding

An emptiness

a void

an indescribable hole

And it's about giving up

and compromise

I've done it before

I'm an expert of sorts

If it takes letting go

of giving up

My hopes. My happiness.

I have no choice

I will have no voice

I will have no opinion

I will acquiesce to the status quo

I will be you

To please you

And it will kill me -a little at a time

until I am no longer

But it will make you happy

And that's what matters

That's all I want

Praying I don't tip over

Tonight we're going canoeing on a moonlit tour of Biscayne Bay. I am quite excited - aside from the fear that a shark will knock my canoe over and eat me. I'm petrified of sharks, so the idea of being in a canoe, at night, well has me a little leery. Yes - I fully realize the fear is irrational, and I'm much more likely to be bludgeoned to death by a coconut, or perhaps dying in the bathtub (apparently a very common place to keel over). Nonetheless, I know that while we are out there, Michael will be humming the creepy Jaws music.

Once, I went canoeing down the Guadalupe river (where I was sunburned so badly afterward that I couldn't wear clothes for three days and still have small little scars on the top of my breasts from the blisters I got from being burned). My friend Sabrina tipped the canoe, and we ended up losing everything we had in it (including her shoes, our sunscreen - thus the blistering). I've been a few times since I've lived here - in the mangroves, but it's hard work - and to be quite honest I haven't been to the gym in about 6 weeks and am quite sluggish right now. It's going to be a lot of effort and I hope that it have enough in me to do this.

And I'm taking bets on how long it takes before Michael or I dump the boat first.

My friend dramamine

Today I had to accompany a client into international waters to sign some documents. The waves were swelling at 5-7 feet and we were on a sportsfisher, so I was quite thankful for the Dramamine that one of the gentlemen had slipped me as we were taking off. And thankful that my gym bag was in my car. While perhaps not stylish, the tennis shoes with my long black skirt suit was a definite advantage over the four inch heels I was wearing.

While we were waiting for the ship's captain, we were hanging out at the slip - and there was a dolphin playing next to the boat in front of us, chirping and jumping. It was fun to watch.

We high tailed it 12 miles offshore signed the documents and then skipped back to shore. I came back to the office smelling like sea spray and my nose is a little burnt because I was up flirting with the ship's captain up on top for the 50 minute boat ride out and back. O.k. I wasn't really flirting, I was trying to stay away from the diesel fumes in the cabin. O.k. well maybe I was a tinge flirty. He had a cute accent and I am a sucker for those. In retrospect, I regret it because it took nearly twenty minutes to brush the tangles out of my hair.

The poor bank representative who went out with us spent the majority of the afternoon behind the boat hacking up her early lunch. It's a good thing we got into port when we did because a giant storm is brewing over the water and it's quite scary out now. I was fine on the boat, but now I feel like my desk chair is rocking back and forth.

Sheesh.

Two out of three ain't bad.

Last night at about seven I sent three resumes. This morning, two of them had already sent me emails stating that they were interested in talking.

Gah. Michael is going to kill me. I didn't expect such a swift (and positive) response, so I'm sort of nervous.

My heart is racing.

Trembling trepidation

I sent three more resumes and cover letters out today to firms with openings in Kansas City. I am shaking all over with trepidation.

I sincerely hope that these don't make it back to my current employer.

I am almost afraid to hope.

almost.

Purple Haze

There is a strange haze that has blown in off the water, and the phallic highrises, each reaching out taller to the sky than their neighbor have been cloaked in a purplish grey mist. The outlines of the buildings and trees are crisp, but the colors are distorted, and depth perception is off. Everything seems oddly flat, like a painted facade in a homey Sicilian restaurant where the plaster is starting to crumble off the walls.

It feels like I am watching a grainy home video of someone else's life. Someone else who I only realize is me on a philisophical level. Her reality has become one of stilted memories crashing through the frame as I chase my childhood through empty playgrounds and play hide and seek behind closed doors. Laughter caught on tape, rewound and replayed has lost its melodious innocence, sounding canned instead. But I still manage to scream at the appropriate times. The tears still tumble forth with remarkable precision.

I wish I could excise these moments, the cutting their emptiness away with surgical exactness. But how do you remove a void? How is it possible to excise the emptiness that is everything you are and all you have ever known? Once it is gone, what would remain?

BD, Konig Ludwig Weiss (Konig)

Brewed by Konig Ludwig Schlossbrauerei in Kaltenberg, Bavaria, Germany. Tasty, tasty, tasty. A delightful royal bavarian hefe-weizen. This one was Michael's pick and I have to say I am quite impressed. Naturally cloudy, it was sweet and wonderful. Great summer brew with clove taste with a banana aftertaste (I can never remember how to spell banana. I always feel like it's redundant. bananananana.

Yummy yummy beer. Will be a repeat in our home.

BD, Salvation (Avery Brewing Co.)

I know, you're wondering if all I do is sit around and drink - this just happens to be the first time I got the chance to get all this down... no not the beer, the thoughts about them.

Salvation had a beautiful label - while not an uber religious person, I love iconiclastic art. Salvation is also an Avery Brewing Co. product and I enjoyed it more than The Reverend. A Belgian Style Golden Ale, it had nice hoppy flavor (a rarity for me to enjoy) and tasted almost like it was laced with honey.

"Seek and ye shall find! Salvation is a divinely drinkable golden treasure, full of fruity aroma and hoppy complexity with a soft, light palate. Brewed with Rocky Mountain water, imported Belgian malted barley, Belgian candy sugar, Styrian Goldings hops, and authentic Belgian yeast."

Quite tasty. I would buy this again.

BD, The Reverend (Avery Brewing Co.)

Brewed in Boulder, CO the Reverend was a pricy little treat. How could you not love a beer whose label states "Created by God, Feared by Satan, Loved by All"? Belgian style quadrupel ale was complex, sweet, with some fruit overtones. Three of us shared this one, and it almost reminded me of barley wine, very sweet and rich. I couldn't have finished a pint or two on my own. A good thing considering that it has a 10% alcohol content.

"And on the Eighth Day, God created the Reverend. Strong willed, assertive and pure of heart - a heart of candy sugar! Let the congregation sing out in glorious praise, "para cervesaria, MAGNA CERVESIA"

Brewed with pure Rocky Mountain water, imported Belgian malted barley, dark Belgian candy sugar, Styrain Goldings hops and authentic Belgian yeast.

BD, Ephemere (Unibroue)

Bought a 4 pack at this little liquor store that advertised they had over 500 beers in stock in Jupiter, FL. And yes, I admit that I bought this one because I loved the beautiful label (a fairy in a golden dress surrounded by flowers). Canadian brewed ale mixed with apple juice, coriander and curacao was very fruity - almost dessert like. While the claimed alcohol content was only 5.5% all three of us mentioned it had quite a kick.

Very flowery and fruity... too much so for a regular but I still enjoyed it.

I hate wal-mart.

That is all.

With Willy and Waylan and the boys...

Well, I was wrong, the house that I was talking about is listed for THREE HUNDRED NINETY-EIGHT THOUSAND dollars. Jumping jesus on a pogo stick. For less than 1500 square feet. That's like $265 a square foot or something. Insanity I tell you.

And - I have an interview with a huge firm in Dallas. They don't really have a spot open for me right now but they still want to interview me. It's a phone interview first - I'm kind of nervous as I've never done this type of an interview over the phone first, but still.... If it goes well, then they fly me out for further discussions.

Of course, it's an uber conservative firm - not really a good fit for me, but I can play the good ol boys game just the same as another. Patriarchy is not my mother tongue, but I've learned how to speak it pretty well.

Generic girl - XX

Tomorrow is "casual day" at work as there is a national partners meeting so all the associates have no one to answer to tomorrow. HOORAY. Except for email. And voicemail. And our incessantly buzzing blackberries - but that can be a good thing. Oh wait. Sorry wrong personal assistant.

So while I'm sitting here working on documents for a closing, someone pops her head in and announces that she is excited because she's going to wear her new Seven for All Mankind jeans to work tomorrow. O.k. well good for you. Congratu-fucking-lations.

I'm not much of a "casual day" kind of girl. I've always liked skirts better than pants (and yes, I realize that pants can be more considerate at times ... but the lapping thing doesn't happen for me so much). I look much better in skirts than I do pants, and they fit me better. Unfortunately when God decided to give me the most enormous hips on the planet [I must be destined for twins - as I can balance a three year old on each of these mothers without tipping at all] he neglected to give me much in the backside department. Michael laughs and says that he's going to lease me out to Clear Channel because I've got plenty of prime flat space for them to advertise on.

Anyway, back to the jeans. There are some things that I have no problem shelling out a lot of money for - like good coffee. There are others, however that I find utterly ridiculous. Such as emptying out $140+ of my hard earned money for jeans. Um. no. I don't think so. I love good clothes, and shoes, but even now - with the ginormous salary - I still thrift shop. I almost always buy off clearance racks only. I'm a fan of Marshalls. I even have clothes from the Salvation Army in my closet (granted you can get Chanel, Armani, etc. in the thrift stores here).

But it's funny that way... how we allocate some things as being worth our funds and some not. For me there are some things that I would never buy the generic version of and they include:

• Lactaid. I'm lactose intolerant and addicted to all things dairy. It's cruel really. Trust me - the cheapo stuff just doesn't work as well.
• Perfume. The real stuff (Chance by Chanel is my new "signature" scent for the last few years - wow I feel pretentious saying that). No impostors. I remember when I was a kid my mom used to use this aerosol spray perfume and it said something to the effect of "If you like ... you'll love...." It smelled like bug spray. The perfume I wear is expensive but one bottle lasts far longer than a year.
• Coffee. I love good coffee. I drink so much coffee I probably have pure caffeine in my veins. Bad coffee is doable, but not desirable.
• Name brand frozen vegetables. I am really afraid of canned vegetables (they're so mushy), and only eat fresh or frozen. Generic brand frozen vegetables are always sort of freezer burned and blah. I miss H-E-B grocery stores though - theirs weren't so bad.
• Most cosmetics. I'm pretty loyal to Estee Lauder (which yes, I realize most of the cosmetics places are owned by the same conglomerates). Good quality products - I buy when there's a special - and it lasts forever. Sephora's house products are also pretty good - and I love Benefit products as well. I painted my nails today at work, an oddity for me, with the Estee Pure Color in Amethyst and it actually looks like my noncoordinated ass got a manicure. Very impressed.
• Saltines. I maybe eat saltines once every four months (with chili or something) and the crappy brands just suck.
• Peanut butter. I can't even remember the last time I ate it - but it has to be a certain brand, and crunchy. Creamy peanut butter is like glue.
• Beer. I'm an admitted beer snob. I can enjoy a cold budweiser but if the choice is there, I'd rather it be something else. Something dark and frothy... and creamy goodness... Oh wait. Where was I?

Things which I feel no guilt scrimping on:

• Cat food. I love my cats, but I swear the Wal-mart Chicken & Rice cat food has made their coats softer and silkier than the Science Diet I was shelling out cashola for.
• Gasoline. I fill up at Race Track because it's cheaper. And my car is just fine on regular unleaded gasoline. Granted, I'm not one of those freaks who drives across town just to get $.02 cheaper a gallon, but still.
• Car washes. I balk at how much people spend to wash their cars on a weekly or even monthly basis. Hello - soap, chamois, waterhose & bucket. Once a year or so get it detailed. Not high on my priority list, which drives my father insane.
• Pens. I'm amazed at how much $$ the people at work spend on pens. Dude -it writes ink. So what if it's 14 karat gold??? My papermates work just fine.

So what is it that you feel must be "branded" - what is it you feel is worth your money?

You have got to be kidding

We live in a fairly nice neighborhood (aside from the fact that my brand spanking new - first payment wasn't even due on it yet - car getting stolen from our driveway while we slept about a year ago). Sure we have the occasional kids causing trouble (our next door neighbor's porche got a chunk of concrete thrown through the windshield) by some kids, and our bikes got stolen from the garage. But I feel safe there for the most part. It's a neighborhood of well manicured lawns [well, aside from us on occasion. We are the only people who don't have a lawn service] and flower beds teeming with impatiens and trellises dripping with bouganvillea. It's a neighborhood of dog walking (sadly not much dog scooping) and strollers. The end of our street abuts a lake made by the Intercoastal Waterway.

It's also a 'transition' neighborhood. Most of the houses were tiny little vacation homes built in the 1940s and 1950s. They look very "old Florida" and a lot of them have been significantly remodeled, expanded, gutted and reworked. Some of them still have a way to go for upgrading purposes(for instance our laundry room is only accessible through the back yard, not through the house). But they're cute homes.

We noticed yesterday that the house across the street was up for sale. Property here has literally jumped anywhere from 50-300% in value over the last few years. We really should have bought instead of renting for the last three years - but eh - on student's budgets that wasn't really feasible. Last night cloaked in darkness, we scrambled over to see the slips they had describing the house.

A 2/2 with no garage, rumored to have termite issues (a common problem here) and a teensy tiny yard for the grand price of THREE HUNDRED FORTY NINE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

When I stopped laughing I realized - they were serious. Do you know what kind of a home I could get for that elsewhere? I'll tell you one thing - it wouldn't be a 2/2. Moving is starting to look better and better.

equilibri-what?

Yesterday I noticed that my ear felt hot, and by the end of the day I was tugging on it like a little kid. As I stood up to make dinner it felt like the room was spinning. This morning I rolled over in bed with shooting pain running from my ear down my neck.

Eh. I feel like I'm moving on one of those automatic walkways at the airport - and I'm sitting perfectly still.

I never even had ear infections as a kid. No wonder they cry so hard when this happens. It sucks.

Leper

We leave for Paris/Amsterdam exactly one month from today. Unfortunately - I am perhaps the world's most irresponsible person, and I still have not secured my passport. No worries. I know that I can pay the expedited fee and have it in plenty of time.

The problem - I am EXTREMELY sunburned, and my entire face is peeling. It is uber attractive - let me assure you. Somehow this is not the image I wanted to be immortalized on my passport photo for the next 10 years or however long it is.

We'll be staying in Angers for two nights, and then in Paris - in Montmarte - for five nights, and then Amsterdam for one night.

I am positively giddy about this trip - aside from the fact that I look like important pieces of my face my peel off at any moment.

The green monster

Jealousy is for me an intense emotion. It's something that I have to work very dilligently at controlling - and I recognize fully at times that it is completely irrational. In the early part of my marriage - it nearly overwhelmed me. There are three women in Michael's life that I find myself from time to time immensely jealous of.

And Christie - if you're reading this - please - I ask you do not keep reading.

No I'm serious. Stop.

First is C1. His first love in college - who looks frightenly like my sister D. When we first met, I was flipping through his college photo albums and I saw a picture of her and asked him why he had a picture of my sister in there. They look that much alike. From what I understand, they haven't talked in years. But there will always be a part of his heart that belongs to her. He would have married C1, but she wasn't ready for a lifelong commitment. I know that when he looks back - she will always be the "what if" that is looming in his mind when we go through rough patches. It would be wrong to say that we don't all probably have those "what if" individuals in our lives that we wonder about from time to time {admittedly I do myself}. So while I am jealous, at least theoretically of C1 - it is a harmless fear for the most part.

Second is C2. C2 was the one he "almost" married. They were together for around five years, and lived together most of those. After college, he went to the graduate school she got admitted to (even though he got into the best school in the country for his field) to be with her. He truly loved her - but this time he was the one who wasn't ready. After about five years she gave him an ultimatum - and he decided that while he loved her, marriage just wasn't the right thing for them. So they split ways, amicably. They still talk occasionally via email - updates from her about her kids, and holidays cards, etc. When we first started trying for a baby (about a year and a half ago - thus the "battling infertility" part of my header) he gushed to her about how excited he was that we would be starting a family. She (of course) conceived both times on the first month off the pill - and as the months drifted into a year, and then longer - I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy when she asked him what the hold up was.

The third, is - however dysfunctional it is and may seem to others - my best friend. After C2(or rather - I should say during the end of their relationship) Christie entered the picture. They were together on and off for a number of years. They've known each other for at least ten years. Eventually the recognized that their relationship wasn't healthy for either of them, and they left the relationship as best friends.

When we were first engaged, he would make me take my ring off when I saw her. And when we had been married for almost three months he refused to tell her that we were married because he didn't want to hurt her. It was not a good time. When a friend of mine who went to school with her innocently mentioned that she knew Michael's wife April - it was devastating to her. Her best friend had been married for three months and never bothered to tell her.

Don't get me wrong, at first - I was horribly jealous. I hated her. Despised her. I hated the fact that he cared so much about hurting her feelings that he was willing to sacrifice mine. I hated the fact that he simply wasn't jealous of anyone at all. He told me he was comfortable, he trusted me. If I wanted to be with someone else, I would. Being jealous wasn't going to prevent that.

Then I got to know her. She was one of the most considerate and genuinely nice people I've ever met. She now lives a few blocks away, and has keys to my house. We grocery shop together, and she eats dinner at our house probably four days or more a week. I probably talk to her at least once a day - if not more.

When I told a friend of mine how I met her - she balked - what the HELL do you mean your best friend is your husband's ex-girlfriend? To be honest, most of the time I don't even think about it. There are moments of pretty intense awkwardness at times, but for the most part it's o.k.

I trust her. I trust him. And I am not a trusting person.

She's been there for me through a lot of shit. A LOT of shit. So before anyone gets judgmental and telling me that I'm crazy - and will soon walk in on them getting it on in our bed - calm down.

Today, C2 emailed me - looking for Michael's contact info. I hate to say it - but isn't one of his ex-girlfriends in my life at a time enough? Is this the explanation for the hang up calls I keep getting from her hometown? Why is it that I'm not strong enough to fight the jealousy back on this? I know that she is happily married. She is a friend, and I don't really believe that she is intending to rekindle old flames.

I trust him. I know he loves me, with the same intensity that I love him. But there is still a small part - a quiet voice which reaches out from the darkness - and questions what I know as true.

Ugh.

A heavy heart

There are times when I do not understand. I do not understand God. I do not understand our foreign policy, and I do not understand the utter depravity that is the human condition.

There are times when my heart is taken over by such anger that I am moved to tears.

This is one of them.

Why are we not "liberating" these people?

Is a three year old who is gang raped not worthy of our attention? Are her cries not enough?

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=535&ncid=535&e=10&u=/ap/20050307/ap_on_re_af/congo_rape_3

Sleepy girl

It's cold and dreary here today - and my office is so cold my fingers are numb.

I feel pretty numb emotionally as well right now - it's been (understandably I think) a pretty rough week.

I don't think I've ever been as anxious for the weekend as I am right now.

Wow.

Well, el resume has now been shipped off to three major firms in Dallas. And, if something panned out, I would be making $8,000 - $19,000 more than I do now. Don't get me wrong, I am quite happy with my current salary. But the cost of living is substantially cheaper in Dallas than it is here.

I filled up with gasoline this morning at $2.19/gallon. The average home price for my county is hovering around $340,000. And these are not stellar homes they're not even special. Many of them are old, in need of significant refurbishing, and the property taxes are astronomical. They are on the world's smallest lots - and crime is awful.

But there is the beach. The everglades. Beautiful palm trees. Cuban coffee.

But my family is there. My roots. My almost excised accent.

I am not the type of person who feels it is ethical to utilize another company's resources for a "free trip". I don't want to move forward with this unless I am sure that I would be willing to go through with it. And to be honest, I don't know.

But the resume is out - so I guess that means I am taking a step forward, perhaps blindly.

And S. - there is nothing wrong with Houston per se, it's just my entire extended family and many of my dear friends live in the Dallas area. My two best friends from grad school are in Austin - and it would be great to live near them again, but the legal market is only so so there (unless you're a lobbyist - and I don't kiss ass well).

Bad timing

Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from a reporter wanting to quote me for an upcoming article in what is quite possibly one of the most important publications in my field. The only problem was, I was in the midst of a crying fit when the call came in - so I sounded something like this:

"Sniffle... well you see we are advising our clients to... sob... sniffle... I don't know... you know... well, to do ... sob... something..." Yeah - so I'm almost hoping that I don't get quoted. I don't think I got out a single coherent sentence in the entire interview. He must think I'm a babbling idiot.

And of course, headhunter calls were pouring in yesterday. I'm not really unhappy with my job, but I have always been taught to be pleasant to these people because you never know when you may need them.

There's a specific firm that they have approached me about before, but I didn't really pursue it as the position was in Houston, and if I relocated to Texas - I was really hoping for Dallas or Austin (not to knock Houston - I just don't have any close family/friends there). Well, now they are willing to put the position in Dallas if that's what the candidate wants, and they called me about it three times within the space of two hours. I'm sending my resume in just a few minutes, after a final proofing. I don't know that anything will come of it - or even if offered the position I would take it (unless it was substantially more than I make now) mostly because it means finding another job for Michael, both of us sitting a new bar exam, finding new living arrangements, giving up the 70 degree year round temperature and the everglades and the beaches, having to wait another year for paid maternity leave, etc. But I'm trying to remain openminded and see what happens.

It would be so much closer to my family. My baby sister turns 15 on Saturday. I've missed out on so much in the last four years. It would be so wonderful to be back in some ways, but admittedly - I know it's awful to say - the distance is welcome at times.

And damn. I forgot how hot Texas gets in the summer. Although I must say that Bluebell, Salt Lick, and mexican food might make up for that.

Eye of the storm

It appears that crisis has been averted, and if only a temporary reprieve, I'm thankful.

Apparently the first calls that I got from home were a bit exaggerated and emotionally dramatic. There was no actual act, but rather just a pretty serious threat of action. But given her history, this isn't the type of threat that you brush aside. And it's still something that must be addressed and help that must be received for.

I'm not coming back tonight. Maybe that makes me a bad person, a horrible daughter. I don't know. I can't do anything to help tonight even if I was there and she doesn't want to see me. I feel so helpless.

I said something about it to a friend at work today - and she was like - what the hell is wrong with you - go home. But you see, this is the only way I am holding onto any semblance of sanity - is by being here at work. Forcing myself to stay calm. Maybe this isn't the best thing to do but it's all I can do or else I will collapse.

She's being cared for by family and I know she's in good hands. Treatment is being arranged, by me from here, and trust me, I have never been more thankful to be an attorney than I have been today.

But please, tell your loved ones that you care about them. Tell them how special and important they are. And if you're willing, light a candle for us, say a little prayer on my family's behalf, anything would be appreciated.

We're just trying to take it minute by minute, because in reality that's all we can do.

Suicidal Tendencies

I'm not one to really believe in "signs" or telepathic messages. Coincidence, sure I can buy that. Very odd coincidences, sure - but my heart is too jaded to believe otherwise.

Yesterday - as I was sitting at my desk listening randomly to music set on shuffle (mind you, there are around 2000 songs on my mp3 player) the following songs scrolled through in order:

Suicide's an Alternative/You'll be sorry - Suicidal Tendencies
Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.
Suicidal Failure - Suicidal Tendencies
Adam's Song - Blink 182
One More Suicide - Marcy Playground
Institutionalized - Suicidal Tendencies

At first, my only thought was what the hell is the random obsession with Suicidal Tendencies? As I made a mental note to send Dell a complaint letter about their shuffle function my phone rang. It was a Texas number that I didn't recognize. As I answered the phone, I felt as if the floor was giving away under me. Bile rose in the back of my mouth - and I knew. I knew that something was very very wrong, and I knew that it was about my mother before I even said hello.

When I was about ten, I confronted her about her drinking. She said she did it because she didn't want to feel anymore. She said that that by devoiding herself of all emotion it was the closest thing she had left to happiness. She just didn't want to hurt anymore. It was this rudimentary self-medication - or she would simply be unable to cope.

My mother has attempted suicide before. The last time that I remember it, I was in fifth grade - and after her husband (who beat the living daylights out of her - but who she desperately loved) left her for another woman, she was just unable to go on. In the secrecy of darkness she took a bottle of pills - and then called him to tell him what she had done. And then she panicked and called the police. My bedroom was in the very front of the house, and I remember sitting up in my daybed, sleepily rubbing my eyes - trying to figure out why it was morning already when I was still so tired. Emergency lights were flashing through the window and people were shouting and I knew.

Screaming, I raced into her room - but the police and paramedics were already there. She was telling them what she had taken as they wheeled her out on a gurney. I was afraid she was already gone. My grandmother got there a few minutes later - as I stood limply holding my teddy bear by the foot as the ambulance drove away.

She started taking lithium for awhile and became functional again. Days slipped into months and then years, and she eventually stopped drinking. She also stopped taking her medication. I remember her telling me how she had forgotten to recognize emotion. She still struggles, and in some ways the lingering threat of suicide is always just beneath the surface, an unspoken horror ready to emerge when she has lost her grip on hope.

The threat of suicide has molded the course of my life in ways unfathomable. I have always feared that I would lose her this way, slipping into the afterlife alone and distraught. This desperate fear made me stay with her when I knew I would be better off living with my father. I needed to keep her alive. I needed to remind her that she had a reason to keep going. So I stayed long after I should have.

My freshman year of college, I started dating someone - and we were engaged a little over a year later. I realized that I was in love with the idea of being in love, and in love with the idea of having a big frou frou princess wedding and the thought of being married, but I didn't love him, not the way that you should love a spouse. My parents knew and begged me not to go through with it. So, I broke off the engagement.

He lived in the same apartment complex that I did, and when I came home from class one day he had already drunk nearly an entire bottle of vodka. He was waiting for me at the top of my stairs with three dozen roses - and said he just wanted to talk. I said no - and he became belligerent, screaming at me, and blocking my way to the door. A neighbor poked her head out the window and yelled "Shut the fuck up." Embarassed, I folded and let him in. And we talked, civilly at first. I told him I wasn't coming back. He said "fine. May I use your bathroom?"

As I heard the door lock I could hear bottles under the sink hitting the floor - their contents exploding. I was beating on the door begging him to let me in. I knew. He took a bottle of advil, a bottle of tylenol, and god only knows what else and washed it down with a bottle of nail polish remover. He opened the door and just smiled. Pills were strewn all over the tile - and I couldn't shake the feeling that they looked just like confetti. He stumbled out of the bathroom, foaming at the mouth, grabbed a kitchen knife and went to the shower threatening to cut himself. As we struggled over the knife (I have a lovely scar on my leg from that) he slipped on the pill bottles and fell - dropping it. I grabbed it and quickly called 911. I didn't know what he had taken - but he was starting to lose conciousness.

As he could no longer walk, he crawled to my bedroom - and I immediately knew he was going for the 12 gauge shot gun that I kept under my bed. I sat on his back, desperately trying to restrain him - when I heard the blissful sound of sirens. His stomach was pumped, and his parents never knew what happened. I told them he had food poisoning, as that's what the doctors suggested that I say. I never told anyone what happened.

When he was released from the hospital, he called me to ask me to pick him up. I did. I felt so guilty. It was all my fault. He suffered pretty significant damage to his liver but he was otherwise o.k. He told me that if I wouldn't marry him that he would do it again, only this time he would succeed. He told me that I would always have to live with the guilt, with knowing that it was my fault.

So, just a few months later, I walked down the aisle. Everyone mentioned that they could see the tears streaming from behind the veil. They proclaimed they had never seen a happier bride.

Less than a year later, I gathered all the courage I had and left again. At work I got a phone call, of him rambling - his voice slurring. You'll be sorry. This time is for real. He tried again - another batch of pills, another stomach pump. Thankfully he was too drunk to properly load his gun. I didn't go back. I refused to be guilted into it. I begged his parents to get him help - I told them the truth. I begged his doctors. I tried to have him committed, after all we were still married. They would hold him for 24 hours, but after that, he had to consent. He never went to a single counseling session after those 24 hours ended.

I spent all of last night dry heaving and sobbing. I can't help her. I don't know how. She won't talk to me, and I don't know how to get her the help she needs. And I am simply unable to do anything from here. I'm trying to find a flight back this afternoon - and I am simply lost. I don't want to lose her. She is not a perfect person by any stretch of the imagination, but she is still my mother. I still love her. I just want her to hold on. I need her to not let go.

Windswept

It's a very blustery day here - and as the temperature is in rapid decline it feels almost spring-esque here. [I don't think that's a word - but to be honest, I don't really care]. The weather is absolutely stunning today - with a damp chill in the air - but otherwise brilliantly sunny. On the way back to the office from a horrificly boring conference today, I had a flashback of sorts to a very specific moment, which really has no significance in and of itself to anyone but me.

It was early spring and my last "real" semester of college. I had just ended (sadly, only a temporary reprieve) an incredibly unhappy relationship and had skipped class to just be.

Fresh from the shower, I was laying on my bed nude (an oddity for a girl who was so insecure at that time about herself - and still am at times), the abutting window open to let in the spring air. My window looked out over a deep thicket of trees, and the melodious sound of sparrows chirping was the sweetest symphony I have ever heard. The wind was perfuming my tiny one bedroom apartment with the intoxicating scent of a pink hyacinth sitting on the windowsill in a hand-me-down crystal vase. I remember the lip was chipped on one side. The wind was billowing the creamy lace curtains over my face, and as they gently brushed my cheeks I remember feeling so blissfully happy... so content. I laughed as I watched the shadows splayed over the ceiling - as they seemed to dance with each gust. I contemplated the irony of this lace veil against the one that I had (seemingly) discarded.

Spring has always been my favorite season... cliched - yes, perhaps. But I adore that feeling of rebirth - of new opportunities - new beginnings. As each tulip and daffodil breaks free from the barreness of the winter, as each tree cloaks herself in bright hope of fruit, I felt my own sadness dissipate as the world slowly shrugs off the brisk touch of winter and moves on. Never, perhaps, have I more tangibly believed in a world of limitless opportunity - of hope - of innocent pleasure and beauty than I did that afternoon.

I cannot profess to know why our minds hold on to such moments - which are seemingly innocuous, unconnected to any other moment of deemed significance.

But that doesn't mean I can't be thankful.

I miss that taste of hopeful innocence. I miss that feeling of promise of a fruitful season to come.