March 2021 - Dear Wienerkids,
I started this journal in December of 2001, just before I moved home from Florida.
It‘s a bit like Facebook, in that it’s made for interaction.
Some of the friends who comment you will recognize, and most you won’t. But their comments and my replies are sometimes more interesting than the post itself. If you want to know who anyone in particular is, let me know and I’ll tell you about them.
It‘s also like Facebook in that there are a lot of silly quiz results (“What Harry Potter House Are You?” type stuff). Obviously, a lot of those won’t load as the sites they were hosted on are long gone.
I didn’t hold back when I posted here. If I was hurt, or angry, or depressed, or whatever, I shared it with my friends. I also wrote a lot of funny stuff about the daily trials of my life and my stupid jobs.
Some of the posts may talk about you guys or mom in an unflattering light. I was in my early 20’s, trying to keep my life on track, wanting the best for you guys, but constantly being frustrated that nothing worked. One of you was always acting up, so I had to hear Mom bitch about it, but she never took any of my advice to actually improve any of the problems.
Just because I needed to vent or felt overwhelmed doesn’t mean you guys were a burden or that I was mad at you. I love you guys, and I literally don’t remember the last time I was truly angry at you. Frustrated or disappointed a few times, but not angry. I can’t stress enough that I love you and want you to have good, long, happy lives. I know that sounds like some stupid happy bullshit right now, but as you’ll probably be able to tell from the journal, my 20’s were pretty up and down. There were long stretches where I was really depressed and hopeless.
I still have those times, but they’re much few and farther between. Even with the Crohn’s, not being able to work (it sounds nice, but the pay is shit and it makes you feel useless and like a failure sometimes), losing the damn house and everything I spent seven years building, I am not depressed on a day-to-day basis like I used to be.
Most days I am okay. I appreciate having what I have, and I don’t want much more. I sit with the cat and read fanfiction or watch anime, nap and eat. Some days I do my nails. Occasionally I work on art. About once a week Ken and I play video games and sometimes watch a movie. When it’s not COVID, we have a monthly game night with our Nerd Herd (it’s major. We get lots of food and go from 3pm until between 9 and 11:30pm depending on how late people can stay out before they need to get to sleep or go walk their dogs or whatever), a monthly dinner and UNO with Ken’s parents, and about once a month we have dinner and-you guessed it-board games with Ray and Mary. I didn’t meet Ray and Mary until I was 29, and the Herd when I was around 37. Replace “read/anime/nap“ with “work”, “Nail art and art” with “video and fountain pen stuff” and add 10 years to everything and that’s kinda Ken’s life.
I’ve come very close to being homeless a few times, and been broke enough that my roommates were shoplifting and panhandling to keep us fed (That was when I was 19-20 in L.A., before the journal).
I’ve had times when I felt hopeless and times when my depression was so bad that I couldn’t eat or sleep and just kept begging God to let me somehow die in my sleep. If that had worked, I would never have married Ken. I’d have never met some of my best friends. I’d never have gone to Disneyland. I’d never have gone on a wonderful trip to Donner Lake that allowed my family to have one solid good memory of us all together. I’d never have dragged either of you down to the roller rink. I’d never have made Christmas Waffles for you guys. I’d never have seen you grow up. I wouldn’t have been there for Mom when Juan died. I wouldn’t be here for you guys now.
Instead of giving in, I dragged myself to Nevada Mental Health and kept going back until the meds were right and worked well enough to keep me alive and functional. I also learned some coping skills that worked for me. That’s different for everyone, so you have to learn what does and doesn’t work for you.
There’s been bad stuff too, of course. But I know a combination of the good and at-least-sorta-okay days is more than the truly bad. And the longer you live, the more you learn the best ways to get yourself through the bad days and the less vivid a lot of the bad memories are.
Back when I was writing this journal (and griping about Mom), I didn’t understand yet how exhausting and difficult it is to be chronically ill. I don’t think anyone really wants to face problems head-on and put in the work to fix things. Burying your head in the sand and hoping the problem takes care of itself always seems so much easier.
Unfortunately, most problems don’t just take care of themselves, and you have to put in the work today to make tomorrow good. It’s definitely also just harder and more intimidating to do any of it when you feel like crap all the time. I have been kicking myself for years for the number of times I tried to push Mom to get hobbies or make friends. I get now how exhausting and not-fun that must have sounded. Derp. My bad.
Mom spent a lot of time dwelling on the bad things that happened in her past, and it didn’t do anything but make her miserable. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with feeling sadness, guilt, or regret. It’s only human. But you have to stop and ask yourself if there is a point, or if all you’re doing is making yourself feel bad.
If there is something making you feel bad, you have to do your best to fix the problem. If the problem isn’t yours to fix-if it’s something bigger than you and totally out of your control-you have to learn to acknowledge that and just let it go. As Mom would tell me “Don’t sweat the small shit.” This is what works for me. I still have tough times, but I’m able to handle it and keep going by taking each day as it comes and following the above plan, which I call “Fix It or Fuck It” or “Deciding When To Chuck It In The ‘Fuck-It Bucket”.
Anyway, back to the journal.
Some months I posted way more than others. It starts when I was 21. It peters out and ends around the time I turned 25.
Some highlights I’m sure are probably covered are:
My time working at Telco and The Quick Stop.
Living at The Colony Inn. What a fucking dive. I’m really lucky nothing bad ever happened to me when I used to walk home from work at 11pm. Alone. Down a dark back street and through a field. Into a complex full of prostitutes and guys who just got out of jail. (I won’t spoil the surprise, but I definitely have a few good stories about the neighbors there.)
Ken and I going from being friends to being married (and a bit of my dating life from the time Brian and I split to when I got with Ken).
I‘m sure some of mom’s annual trips to the ICU probably made it into the journal. Juan dying is also in there-it’s one of the last things I posted.
Anyway, this is meant as a way for me to share my experiences, and hopefully it will at least entertain you. If you can learn not to make the same mistakes I did, that would be great. If you feel better seeing that my life has been good and also super hard, but I’m still living it and I’m glad. Even right now. Even while I’m still just grieving for Mom, physically having a bad week, and worrying about the future. I’m glad I’m here I’m glad I can be here so you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m thankful for my friends and family (plus the family I married into). I’m glad I finally found decent Chinese food after my favorite place changed owners and I moved too far away to go to my second favorite place. I’m glad I don’t have bad dial-up internet access. I’m glad I have enough food to eat and meds that allow me to eat it without throwing up or crying after four bites (before pain management, that was literally what was happening).
I’m glad I got a chance to fix things with Jose, and that he’s not holding a grudge against me and Ken. I’m glad I’ve been able to get to know Daniel over the last few years. I’m glad Mom gave me little brothers, so I wouldn’t be all alone when I get old. I’m glad my brothers are good, kind, fun, funny people that are worth knowing and spending time with.
I’m sure Josh is great, but it’s just not the same at all. He feels like a stranger. Kristy kinda gives off a methhead stripper vibe and Jen is literally on SSD for frying her brain with meth and has borderline personality disorder and is still on my shit list for stealing my identity (that story is in the journal too!) and I haven’t seen Michelle since she was a baby and Mary since I was six years old (Though oddly they both added me on Facebook). They are all pretty much family in name only.
Ken‘s family is great, but it‘s mostly old folks and a herd of nice but totally unrelatable Pentecostal people. I can be myself around Ken’s parents and I can get drunk and totally say anything with cousin Keri, but even though they are really kind, I’m a more well-behaved version (like the safe-for-work version) of myself with the extended family.
What I’m saying is you guys are great. I love you. I appreciate you. No one could ever come close to taking your place. You are MY family, no matter what happens. I’m grateful to have you in my life.
I’m also grateful for my life, even at times like this, when it’s hard and painful. I didn’t always feel that way. There are times I’ve wanted to give up, and my depressed brain convinced me that everyone would be fine or even better without me. Now I know that’s just the depression talking. It’s not true.
People care and there are depths of despair, but there are also heights of joy. You never know how things will go. You can’t tell the future by looking at the past. Things can always get better (but the chances are much better if you put in the work) and they can always get worse (which is easier to deal with if you do your best to prepare yourself ahead of time). I can trace everything in my life back to events-good and bad-that I didn’t think anything of at the time.
It sometimes doesn’t feel like it, but you still have a lot of time to take action to make your life easier. Don’t lose hope. Learn to be happy. That sounds dumb, I know. But it is a skill you have to practice. It’s going to be hard for awhile, but grief really does get better with time, and you can train yourself to notice the good and shake off the bad. You are both good people, and the world needs more good people in it.
For what it’s worth, Ken has also struggled with anxiety and depression since he was a kid, and I don’t think I have to tell you how grateful I am that he survived it long enough for me to find him. You could have your very own crazy woman just waiting to sweep you off your feet at any moment. Bill’s Aunt Chris must’ve been at least my age when she finally found her husband. Or you can be happy just surrounding yourself with good friends and family; I have several friends who have either stayed single basically forever or were married but swore never to do that again.
I hope if you read this, you gain something from it. If nothing else, use this post as a reminder that I love you, and that I’ve felt a lot of the same emotions and had a lot of the same struggles, and I managed to live through it and be reasonably happy with life. Whatever happens, you can get through it and be happy too-which is all I’ve ever wanted for you.
Love, Cori