.... or women who poop their pants and the depressed men who love them on the next all new Maury show...
Haven't had the heart to post since the shocking news came out on Monday about the suicide of Robin Williams. I wasn't a huge fan of all of his movies, but there was just something about that guy that made you feel better knowing he was in this world.
Hearing through the week the ignorant views of various folks in the world of Evangelical Christianity on suicide and depression put me on edge all week. It's a world I know way too much about considering Jim had bouts of major depression before it was discovered his depression was all because of a set of tumors on his parathyroid glands. Stones, bones, groans with psych overtones is how they teach it in medical school.
One day soon I'm going to sit down and detail all the different unhelpful nouthetics, criticisms, platitudes and judgement we dealt with in those years and how they made everything about the situation so much worse. But not today. I have too much on my plate to do that.
This week I've been dealing with doing a slight remodel/redecorate of my bedroom, dealing with some small plumbing issues and canning the massive amount of produce from the garden.
I took dance lessons for many years and this photo is, sadly enough, one of the few I have of my dance kid years. I tease my mother about my dance years, asking her why she didn't scream, yell and curse at the other mothers and the dance studio owner, telling her she was clearly 'not' a proper dance mom, like the ones shown on "Dance Moms" and then we both laugh.
This week has made me go into my 'dealing with stress' mode. Whenever I'm agitated I've always found that throwing myself into weeding, turning the soil, getting good and tired and dirty is better than any therapy or drug for me. And oh boy, have there been some stressers besides the death of Robin Williams. Yesterday was all sorts of crazy.
Jim has a cousin who's a member of the John Birch Society that makes the Tea Party people seem rational, loving and sane. He's recently decided to try and force me to see things his way on Facebook. He comments on many things I post in a hectoring, put-down, 'woman obey me' sort of way. It's been highly triggering because it's very much like the things that were done and said to me back when I first left my old church. Every single time he comments on something of mine I find myself grinding my teeth and sometimes deleting his comments. Last night he went into a crazy mode and I ended up telling him off and then unfriending/blocking him. I hated doing that to a relative, but... I do not tolerate abusive in the name of Christ any longer from anyone.
And while that was going on someone I worked with twenty five years ago started sending me very flirty private messages. I knew when I worked with him that he had a crush on me and that he was a dirty, low-down, cheating dog of a man. He's newly married and trying to score with me on the side. I haven't replied to any of his messages and yesterday evening I just went ahead and blocked him too.
These things didn't make what happened yesterday any more fun. My colitis is back, in the worst way. After I'd picked a five gallon bucket of grapes and did some major scrubbing of our deck and gazebo I decided to make a run to the local McDonalds for one of their frozen yogurt cones. Picture this, if you will, I'm sitting in the drivers seat of my older old lady big sedan, Grandma's Bitchin' Buick Burnout, dressed in a cute sundress and sandals, hair nice, slight makeup, pretty sandals, waiting to pay in the drivethru line.... when suddenly I shart myself! So I'm sitting there, in what feels like a full diaper, trying to keep a straight face while I'm paying the kid I know in the drivethru cash stand and pulling up to the pickup window fervently praying that the smell isn't seeping out to smack these kids in the face. I drove home, almost wrecking twice, thinking how horrible it would be if I did or I got pulled over because it would be obvious to everyone.. when I got home I did something I almost never do, pulled the car into the garage, furiously punching the button on the garage door remote to lower the garage door completely before I jumped out screaming, throwing aside my froyo to run into the laundry room from the garage to strip my clothes off and put them into the washer to soak and running down the hall to the downstairs bath.
One shower later and scrubbing the seat of the car both of these guys decided to mess with me, not knowing I was already pretty messed up.
Remember all those commercials for Colitis meds where the guy is keeping track of where the restrooms are? That's my life.