Dual-Core Inside
I see a trend among the posting habits of my LJ friends... we're just not keeping up on here like we used to. I'm pretty sure Facebook and its ease of access has something to do with it, but our lives make up the other part of it... I last updated 13 weeks ago.
What has happened in those 13 weeks? Hmmm... I guess the last time I posted was September 3. Since then, I passed out in class, remained unresponsive, and was taken by ambulance to Williamsport Hospital where I was diagnosed with costochondritis. Two days later, I turned 27, and two days after that I got married.
In addition, Dee Dee (my maternal grandmother) decided to stop Dialysis, was admitted to Hospice, and passed away six days later, three weeks after my Wedding. A week later, I was diagnosed with Ventricular Tachycardia.
Aunt Clare passed away while I was monitoring her heart rate at work, and Dick Dean (my grandfather's best friend and the man for whom my father was named) passed away the following week.
December 2 was the fifth anniversary of my rape...
And I found a partridge in a pear tree.
It has been an eventful first semester of Nursing School to say the least. 2009 has been a rollercoaster year if there has ever been one, and I am utterly exhausted. I don't know if I am coming or going, I have no motivation to do anything, and I find that I lack the ability to even care if I ever find that motivation.
I have gained 100 pounds in the past year, and while that depresses me and I can't stand to look at myself, I struggle to find the energy to do anything about it. At this point, I'm not even sure if I can do anything about it because I am terrified that my heart is just going to explode on me.
I know, whine whine whine...
I have wanted to sit down and write for so long, but when I do find the time, I'm usually banging out a paper or two and then I just want to go to bed. Or it's time to go to work. Or, more likely, the words just aren't there; and if, by chance, they are there... I'm hesitant to allow them to come to fruition on the screen.
I feel so selfish. I have a job, I'm furthering my education yet again (because I'm crazy), a loving husband, we bought a house... I have the most supportive family, including Brandon's family, that anyone could ever wish for. But yet I am miserable. I just want to be a hermit. I want to relive my life from 2001 to 2005. Wait, scratch that... I don't want to give up the things I have now to go back, but it just seems like life made sense to me then, and now... well, now, I'm lost. I question myself constantly.
I just... I just don't know anymore. I have these great goals of things I want to do that have nothing to do with anything: things that would truly make me happy. But I can't do them for one reason or another. So I just don't do anything.
People ask us when we're going to have kids now that we're married, and we answer, "Not anytime before Nursing School is over." That seems to satisfy them for now. But what happens when Nursing School is over? What do we tell them then? Brandon wants children, and I guess, deep down, I do too... but my problem is that I doubt my ability to be a mother. I doubt my ability to take care of another living system when I struggle so much to take care of myself. I have worked for so long with dysfunctional families... I do not want to create one!
I miss Dee Dee so much sometimes that I ache the whole way from the split ends of my hair to the rounded edges of my toenails. I sit and shake. I walk into her house and just wander from room to room, sitting on the beds, running my hands over the bookshelves, opening and closing the front door over and over again because it plays a song in a box; walking into the backyard and remembering when there was a treehouse there with a ladder... and a TV and Nintendo, extension cords running through the yard to the patio... And I feel a choking sob rise in my throat because she's never coming back. She.is.never.coming.back. I feel so abandoned. I don't want anyone else to live in her house. I don't want anyone else's backyard to touch Aunt Jean and Uncle Dave's backyard. I want time to stand still. Too much noise enters my head as I walk quickly to her bedroom and lie down on the quilt she made, bunching it up between my fists.
Her clothes are still in the closet, Pappy Fred's Den is still the same as it was before he passed away in 2006. I just want it to stay this way. I don't want their stuff to go to auction. I don't want someone to buy their house... I can't stand the thought of it. I run to the bathroom because the acid rises in my throat. I stand over the sink, splashing water in my face, and I catch a glimpse of a penguin band-aid on the tile near the sink. A strangled scream escapes past my lips as I sink to the floor. I put that there probably, oh, 18 years ago. No one will ever keep it there. Just a band-aid on a wall. I.can't.take.this!
I put my head between my knees and try to breathe, but I can't. I hiccup. I trudge to the living room and lower myself to Dee Dee's recliner, the one closest to the picture window, where she always watched the mountains. When we pulled in the driveway we always knew she had been watching for us because the chair rocked, evidence that she had just stood from it. The chair no longer moves.
I stop short from calling for Amos to jump up in my lap because he, too, is gone.
Maybe there's a reason I don't update more often.
What has happened in those 13 weeks? Hmmm... I guess the last time I posted was September 3. Since then, I passed out in class, remained unresponsive, and was taken by ambulance to Williamsport Hospital where I was diagnosed with costochondritis. Two days later, I turned 27, and two days after that I got married.
In addition, Dee Dee (my maternal grandmother) decided to stop Dialysis, was admitted to Hospice, and passed away six days later, three weeks after my Wedding. A week later, I was diagnosed with Ventricular Tachycardia.
Aunt Clare passed away while I was monitoring her heart rate at work, and Dick Dean (my grandfather's best friend and the man for whom my father was named) passed away the following week.
December 2 was the fifth anniversary of my rape...
And I found a partridge in a pear tree.
It has been an eventful first semester of Nursing School to say the least. 2009 has been a rollercoaster year if there has ever been one, and I am utterly exhausted. I don't know if I am coming or going, I have no motivation to do anything, and I find that I lack the ability to even care if I ever find that motivation.
I have gained 100 pounds in the past year, and while that depresses me and I can't stand to look at myself, I struggle to find the energy to do anything about it. At this point, I'm not even sure if I can do anything about it because I am terrified that my heart is just going to explode on me.
I know, whine whine whine...
I have wanted to sit down and write for so long, but when I do find the time, I'm usually banging out a paper or two and then I just want to go to bed. Or it's time to go to work. Or, more likely, the words just aren't there; and if, by chance, they are there... I'm hesitant to allow them to come to fruition on the screen.
I feel so selfish. I have a job, I'm furthering my education yet again (because I'm crazy), a loving husband, we bought a house... I have the most supportive family, including Brandon's family, that anyone could ever wish for. But yet I am miserable. I just want to be a hermit. I want to relive my life from 2001 to 2005. Wait, scratch that... I don't want to give up the things I have now to go back, but it just seems like life made sense to me then, and now... well, now, I'm lost. I question myself constantly.
I just... I just don't know anymore. I have these great goals of things I want to do that have nothing to do with anything: things that would truly make me happy. But I can't do them for one reason or another. So I just don't do anything.
People ask us when we're going to have kids now that we're married, and we answer, "Not anytime before Nursing School is over." That seems to satisfy them for now. But what happens when Nursing School is over? What do we tell them then? Brandon wants children, and I guess, deep down, I do too... but my problem is that I doubt my ability to be a mother. I doubt my ability to take care of another living system when I struggle so much to take care of myself. I have worked for so long with dysfunctional families... I do not want to create one!
I miss Dee Dee so much sometimes that I ache the whole way from the split ends of my hair to the rounded edges of my toenails. I sit and shake. I walk into her house and just wander from room to room, sitting on the beds, running my hands over the bookshelves, opening and closing the front door over and over again because it plays a song in a box; walking into the backyard and remembering when there was a treehouse there with a ladder... and a TV and Nintendo, extension cords running through the yard to the patio... And I feel a choking sob rise in my throat because she's never coming back. She.is.never.coming.back. I feel so abandoned. I don't want anyone else to live in her house. I don't want anyone else's backyard to touch Aunt Jean and Uncle Dave's backyard. I want time to stand still. Too much noise enters my head as I walk quickly to her bedroom and lie down on the quilt she made, bunching it up between my fists.
Her clothes are still in the closet, Pappy Fred's Den is still the same as it was before he passed away in 2006. I just want it to stay this way. I don't want their stuff to go to auction. I don't want someone to buy their house... I can't stand the thought of it. I run to the bathroom because the acid rises in my throat. I stand over the sink, splashing water in my face, and I catch a glimpse of a penguin band-aid on the tile near the sink. A strangled scream escapes past my lips as I sink to the floor. I put that there probably, oh, 18 years ago. No one will ever keep it there. Just a band-aid on a wall. I.can't.take.this!
I put my head between my knees and try to breathe, but I can't. I hiccup. I trudge to the living room and lower myself to Dee Dee's recliner, the one closest to the picture window, where she always watched the mountains. When we pulled in the driveway we always knew she had been watching for us because the chair rocked, evidence that she had just stood from it. The chair no longer moves.
I stop short from calling for Amos to jump up in my lap because he, too, is gone.
Maybe there's a reason I don't update more often.