If I die young....

Listening to this song and thinking. Life isn't guaranteed for anyone, is it?

I don't believe that thinking about dying is morbid. If I talk about dying with some people, they get all antsy and upset as if I might be plotting my death, or as if the universe would come to a screeching halt should I cease to breathe. I'm no fool. I am aware that is far from the truth. Dying is a reality of life. It would be foolish to pretend that we could be invincible or immortal, imperfect and broken humans as we are. Shouldn't we, rather, accept the fact that life inevitably ends so that we may embrace what precious little time we have now? Shouldn't we hold our loved ones that much closer and dearer in appreciation of that singular truth?

I wonder what my parting wishes would be.

Top priority, obviously, goes to my children. I love them fiercely. I want them to be happy, to be cared for, to know that I loved them better than anyone else ever could. I would want them to know that I struggled through pregnancy and labor and birth and endured that awful pain, and that I felt it was completely worth every single itty bitty second. I would never take any of it back. Love like that comes once in a lifetime, that is, the love of a mother. So many children suffer through life without, and that depresses me on an incredibly deep level. I want my children to know that they are special and valued and that I would willingly give my life for them. I want them to grow to be happy, productive adults, pursuing the service of Jehovah. Nothing could make a mother happier, could it?

I have so many other friends and loved ones. My husband. My mother. My siblings. My extended family. My close and distant friends. I love them all. And shouldn't they know it? Perhaps they don't know how I appreciate them, even the slightest of acquaintances. I would do nearly anything for any of them. (Float you a hunned til next week? I'd love to... if I had it!) I don't think people understand that about me. Some do, some take advantage of the fact, but I can't say no. I can't turn a person down if they really need me.

I want my friends to know I'm sorry for withdrawing from them. For pushing them away. I don't keep in close contact with anyone anymore. I should. I know. I get so distracted with life. With the struggle. With depression. But despite all that, it doesn't mean I love any of them any less. I do. Just as fiercely as always.

I want people to remember the good things.

Like how dearly I love my children. How I love my friends. Even though I have a bad habit of saying stupid things. Being impatient. Pushing people away. I hope they still remember the good.

Or how I love to write. And the fact that I am fairly decent at it. I'm not confident in my ability to write a full blown novel. I have difficulties with plot. Developing it, using it to captivate an audience, being believable, flowing smoothly through the story. I'm working at it. One day, maybe.

Or the patients at work. I hope they remember that I took their problems as my own and went out of my way to help them as I could. I hope they say that I was pleasant and helpful and maybe sometimes entertaining.

That's another thing. I'm no comedian, and I have a weird sense of humor, but I do my best to make people laugh, sometimes to the extent of looking like an idiot. I hate to see my friends sad or down. Sometimes a good, listening ear is required. And sometimes a goofy face or stupid joke suffice. That's my favorite thing to do. Behave like a goon.

When you think about it, a post like this sounds a lot like a self-horn-tooting. And it is, really. But more than that. A request to be remembered and loved. Isn't that what we all strive for? I'm not sure of much of anything, but I know this for a certainty. If you leave behind no love and no good memories, you leave behind nothing at all. You could be the richest man in the world, but unless you love and have been loved, you are easily forgettable. You fade away into nothing. That's what matters. Love. Family. Friends. Heart.

I'm a sentimental goober.

This is true.

Til we meet again, blog friends,
Alex.Is

To. Me. It. Looked. So. Pretty. Burning.

Have you ever listened to a song and suddenly and immediately remembered things from long, long ago, a lifetime ago, even?

I'm having one of those nights.

Let's be real. I've also had a glass of wine (one, I promise), and I'm feeling all sorts of ups, downs, lefts, and rights. (Thanks, Aunt Flo. You're not my aunt anymore.)

And I suppose this is a safe place to vent. The general subject(s) of my rant doesn't (do not) read my blog. Or probably anything involving my life. Let's be real... hardly ANYBODY reads this blog. (Until today and I'll be hearing about it...)

I think that people think they really know me. And thus far, I've been pretty okay with allowing people to think what they want.

There's the kind folk who only see the good and think I'm a happy, sunshiney sweet, goofy, silly, vapid, empty headed girl. Let me stop you there. You're dead wrong. I'm highly intelligent, first of all, if I may toot my own horn. Secondly, I'm intentionally full of empty headed pointless conversation because if I said what I really thought, I'd probably hurt a lot of feelings and likely shock a lot of people. I generally have a low tolerance for people. I'm pretty impatient. I never said it's a good thing. It's why I generally keep my mouth shut. Cuz I've learned long ago being mean and angry doesn't give you the right to vent on the entire world. Also, I'm a dark, sarcastic, broody individual, but that creeps people out, and they quickly lose interest in your existence if you're too sad all the time. So if you fill the conversational voids with goofy, pointless chatter and blather, people are generally happy and leave you alone for the most part. Cuz let's be honest, I don't wanna talk about why I'm such an angry person.

Moving on. There's the people who think I'm not worth a thing. That I'm only gonna screw up continually and endlessly for the rest of my life. The people who whispered behind my back *She's turning out just like [insert relative here]* when I got pregnant at nineteen (gasp) unmarried. Congratulations, pat yourself on the back, you were right about me - because yes, I DID hear what you said about me growing up, when you thought no one would repeat your harsh, judgmental words. Say and think what you want, but I'm keeping my head above water, and just because you feel you do no wrong doesn't mean you're better than me. So stop condescendingly asking me how I'm doing as if you care and as if my response matters. (I really do hate that, pet peeve.)

There's probably a lot of in betweens, a lot of not sures, and a lot of don't care either ways.

True story?

I'm a loony toon with a pretty, smiley mask plastered on my face. But, hey aren't we all though? We pretend to be happy and okay for the convenience and happiness of those around us, generally speaking. It's easier just to survive. Easier to keep it moving. Easier to just keep scrambling and climbing. And trust and believe, I will. I probably won't ever stop fighting, even against my better judgment.

I didn't have a hard childhood. My dad bailed early and has yet to own up to the fact that he actually helped create an entire other person whose life might actually matter a little bit. Ridiculous as it all seems to me, I bear no ill will. I had a step dad who literally stepped up. He was my real dad. Except I lost him before I could realize that. Before my daughter could meet him. Every time - EVERY time - I remember, it breaks my heart all over again. I miss him. I lost a central part of my life, and I never even knew I needed him. I named my son after my brother, but his middle name is my step dad's, James.

My mom did what she could.

Childhood wasn't impossible. But I almost didn't survive. I was a horribly, insanely depressed teenager, and hardly anybody knew. It used to make me so angry that people didn't notice. It took me a long time to realize that I'm just too good at hiding and covering up. How could they know, I suppose? I'm sure there must have been signs and clues. But I wonder all the time... I never took pills. (Not until I got pregnant and had a few too many anxiety attacks and near breakdowns...) So what made me keep going when so many give up under even less pressure? Blind optimism or stupidity? Honestly, I couldn't tell you.

I've had a lot of fake friends. People I trusted with my life turned out to care nothing for me. I used to be the girl who gave everybody my everything. I could be your best friend in the whole world. Now? I'm nobody's best friend. I trust nothing and no one. A handful of people to blame for this one, but what they've done to me I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. (Actually there's a lot I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Just cuz I don't like them doesn't mean their life should suck.) I'm disillusioned and jaded and haggard and old.

There are some who wonder why I put all of this out there. It's cheap therapy. Pulling apart the insides of my brain and baring it all in an online blog somehow makes me feel better. Until a week or so later when I look back and read it and realize I sound like a whiny emo kid. But I'll never delete the post because it's honest, if nothing else. If it has no entertainment value whatsoever, it is at the very least brutally honest. And maybe I'm one hundred percent wrong. Perhaps. Still how I feel.

I'm so, so tired. Mentally and emotionally worn. Sick of self doubt and self hatred and self consciousness and generally insecurity and insanity. I'm sick of all these people who have taken away little pieces, big chunks, bit by bit and time after time. I don't know when to stop giving. And eventually I turn into a toddler and sit my temper tantrumming butt in the middle of the floor and pout and cross my arms and say NO! and then forget it cuz nobody is getting anything out of me. I wave back and forth between the two extremes.

This is a thousand years long. Hey, in my defense I've done fairly decently at maintaining an upbeat air on this blog. I completely put away the last blog (think: post-baby, post partum depression mania) because it did nothing but depress me. (Yeesh.)

I'm sure there's someone out there who genuinely, deep in their heart believes I have no reason to be depressed or sad at all ever. And if so, thanks. I've done a great job at it, then.

I don't think I ever stop. I think I just keep running and running from all of it, and I don't stop, and I don't look back at the avalanche piling up behind me.

I just keep running.

Always running.

Sigh,
Alex.Is

Candy Crush

I'm gonna say it.

I'm addicted.

I'm at level 105 and probably will be for the next year. (And can I just say level 100 was absolutely ridiculously evil?)

I'm so entirely addicted, I'm dedicating a whole blog post to it.

Candy Crush.

The name itself is notorious at this point. Ask any single CC player, and you will get the same response: "I HATE that game!!!!" Subsequently ask if they are going to stop playing, and you will get the same response: "NO!!!"

Why is that, anyway? We're all racing each other in Candy Crush, seeking to prove that we can crush those little candies and advance to the highest level before our friends do.

It's really a stupid game. The more I sit here and think, the more I realize it's a stupid game. But it's challenging. And the further you advance, the more strategy is required. And whenever you pass a particularly difficult level after being stuck for a week or two or three, you enthusiastically jump for joy and pat yourself on the back for being smart enough to outsmart the game.

Whenever you meet a fellow Candy Crusher, the first question becomes: "What level are you on?" It's almost like a badge of honor. Your chest puffs up with pride as you share your puny, insignificant number. (Have you SEEN how big that board is???)

And the songs! The Loser Song - you know which one I'm talking about. It makes me sad. It makes me wanna throw my phone, actually.

Also, everybody agrees that Candy Crush cheats.

CHOCOLATE!!!!

I'm done. I hate that game. Which means I'm probably going to go play right now.

Crush me?
Alex.Is

I'm so SMRT.

I have come to a realization quite suddenly and quite recently. It's something I should have known all along, but it's something I allowed myself to forget.

I. Am. Smart.

Sounds pretty simple and easy to remember, doesn't it? There's many things about myself I had buried and forgotten. Like the fact that not only do I love to write, I am also very, very good at it.

You see, for a while now, I have had certain people in my life who would like for me to believe otherwise. And will tell me so, flat out. They will tell me and anyone who cares to listen that I am dumb, I talk too much, I don't ever know what I'm talking about, and that I am annoying.

I could never, ever be smart. And the fact that I might allow myself to actually believe such a thing is absolutely laughable.

So I believed that as I got older and had children and stopped using my intelligence on a regular basis, I got dumber and stupider.

There's a flaw in that belief, however.

I believe myself to be average. Simple-minded, even. There's nothing special about me. So everyone must be just like me.  Right?

WRONG.

I have trained several people over the last year at work. I have found myself to be a terrible trainer, and my sudden realization told me exactly why. Not everybody picks up on things as quickly as I do. Not everybody retains new knowledge as easily as I do. Not everybody has above average intelligence. And since they do not, I get frustrated and hate training. But it's not even their faults. They're just normal people.

I hate to say this because it really sounds like I'm tooting my own horn, but I have to say it because I've believed this untruth for too long. And I've allowed myself to think less of myself as a result. I'm not super model thin. I'm not movie star gorgeous. I'm average, and I wear glasses and have freckles. I have the body of a mom. I'm socially awkward and clumsy, and I'm easily depressed.

But this! This is something I can claim. It's real, and it's mine. I'm smart. I genuinely believe that, had I set my mind to it, I could have become whatever I wanted to become in my life. And I could have excelled intellectually.

However, I am a mom. I'm a proud mom. But even moms need some bit of self esteem. Something to which they can hold tight when it seems their sanity is escaping them.

Maybe that's why I'm so depressed all the time. Lack of mental stimulation. I used to be smart. Advanced classes. Straight A student. And I've let myself become boring and average. What a pity! One should never do that to oneself. We should all embrace that one thing that is ours, our skill, our talent, our right. We should never allow someone to make us feel like less of a person for it. And that's what I've been doing. Hiding and suppressing my intelligence for the comfort of others. Now that is stupidity.

My little girl is brilliant. Absolutely gifted. I can tell already. My son is a much more leisurely learner. He'll probably be gifted at sports, like his father. I guess time will tell. But I feel like I need to embrace this part of me so that my daughter will be able to do the same as she gets older. She's going to be a nerdy girl like me. I can see that so very easily. Looks, acts, talks, laughs just like her mother. A smaller, better version of her mother. I can't wait to see the person she becomes.

Some people are beautiful.

Some people are musically talented.

Some people are amazing athletes.

Some people are leaders.

Me? I'm a smart girl. A nerd, if you will.

And I am finally, finally proud of it.

Xoxo,
Alex.Is

Awake at 5 am.

The sun tricked me.

I woke up to sunlight shining through the windows. And then I thought maybe my alarm hadn't gone off. But I shoved the thought away and tried to relax and wait for that stupid jingle to begin on my phone.

It didn't happen.

I tossed and turned, wide awake and more than slightly confused. Why isn't my alarm going off? There's sunshine out there!

So finally, finally, I gave in. You win, sun. I'll check the time.

5.50 am.

So I've been awake for *at least* half an hour tossing and turning for no reason. And my alarm is set for 6.30. And I was up until midnight.

And. I'm just tired.

I'm completely drained.

Stupid sun.

Stupid mornings.

Hatechu.

You're evil.

Vent over.

Good morning, loves.
Alex.Is

Storms.

Today was a terribly stormy day.

Driving through Millsboro this morning, the sky was black, the clouds were relieving themselves in a torrential downpour, and it looked like 8 pm rather than 8 am.

Last night, the storms woke me from a dead sleep. I remember being scared awake by a clap of thunder so loud and so long that the house shook. My heart was racing so fast that it seemed to take forever for me to calm down and fall back asleep.

When I was little, I was terrified of storms. (And everything else in the universe. I had a vivid imagination.) I remember my mom telling me it was nothing to be afraid of, but I didn't dare believe her because as soon as I let my guard down, I knew the thunder was gonna get me. Or that maybe God was angry and was heading down to seek vengeance. Either way, those awful sounds couldn't be good.

My daughter was in tears last night. Cold sweats. Whimpering in my lap. It made me recall being a little girl so terrified of storms. My little girl and I, we're a bit too much alike. I explained how Jehovah makes it rain, and the sky gets too hot, and the clouds rub together and make electricity which makes big scary noises, but that we were safe in our house. She fell asleep with me holding her. I don't recall having that as a child. Maybe that will make all the difference.

The truth is, I'm still scared of storms. At least the night time ones. You can't see what's going on outside. You only get brief, sharp flashes of intense white punctuated by a resounding clap of thunder. And you have no control. You're helpless.

I've said before I'm a complete control freak. I'm finding with self reflection just how true that statement is. It's so bad that I cannot allow myself to be vulnerable around others in any way shape or form. I'm terrified of what might happen if I allow someone to control me in that way.

Life is full of all sorts of little storms. I suppose that's the best part of the journey,  isn't it? Riding or the storms and learning more and more about yourself as you go. The bigger the storms, the greater the character. Or perhaps some of us build character, and some of us buckle under the pressure.

Well that's a whole other discussion completely. I'm tired. It's been a stormy day.

Love etc,
Alex.Is

Running running running.

I ran my fastest 1k tonight. I ran an 11.5 minute mile. True story that I run fastest when I have something from which to run.

I spent a lot of time running trying to figure out what it is that has me running. We missed the meeting again tonight. Another case of screaming toddler and full time working mommy syndrome. And I let it drag me down. After a while, it gets easier to keep missing them. After a while, you don't even need an excuse.

Anyway, sitting on the couch trying to ignore my life, it felt like an intense bubbling in my chest just boiling up and up and up until I finally decided I couldn't take it anymore, and I had to get away from it.

I've figured out from what I'm running.

Myself.

Such a short and simplistic answer, isn't it? I ran in metaphorical circles around our neighborhood hoping to escape the one thing I never have and never will be able to outrun. Me. Myself. And I.

Motherhood makes some people nicer people. More patient people. Calmer people.  Not me. I've been on a dinosaur-like rampage for over four years, and heaven help anyone who gets in my way. I've been angry and overwhelmed and sometimes agonizingly depressed, and sometimes, let's be honest, I don't believe they're my kids... and I gave birth to them. I look at them and feel lost, wondering where they came from. (Kicking myself for ending a sentence in a preposition, but sometimes perfect grammar sounds stupider than the alternative.)

I have such unreasonably high expectations for myself in everything I do. And when I fail to meet those expectations, I begin to doubt whether I should even try. I work full time, so I can't be Mrs. Milk-and-Freaking-Cookies Cleaver, although my terribly old fashioned self can't imagine anything better to do. I don't want to work. Not because I'm lazy. I had kids because I want kids. And I'm eaten alive by the guilt that comes with not being able to devote every waking second to those children. Not being able to see every single itty bitty milestone. I feel like I've missed so much already. And I'm failing, so I withdraw emotionally, and then it all just falls to pieces, and nothing makes sense.

Some moms can't stay home. Some moms have to work to keep their sanity. I'm not one of those moms. I love and adore my kids more than I ever imagined I would. It literally kills me to be away from them for more than a second. I can't be a working mom. I just can't. I love my job, and I love the patients, but they don't deserve the attention I feel my kids should be getting.

I've been told I'm an old soul. I believe it. I was raised by an old-fashioned man, and I never knew how much he really influenced my life til I was grown, and he was gone, and now I can't tell him how grateful I am that he stepped up to be my father when he didn't have to be. But I owe my sarcastic, snarky, old fashioned hag mentality to that wonderful, beautiful man, and I don't view it as a negative for even a single moment. Things were better in the good ol' days. Easier. Simpler.

I'm rambling.

Le sigh.

I need focus in my life. I feel like a stretch Armstrong, pulled in so many different directions, that I can't sit still, can't focus, can't figure out what I'm doing. I feel like I've been kicking and screaming for help and attention, when, in all reality, I've gotten so good at wearing my fake happy upbeat front that I can't seem to wear anything else. And people eat it up like candy.

I haven't been genuinely happy in a long time.

Vacation. I was happy on vacation. No obligations. No pressing urgent matters that were really somebody else's problems and not mine. Just me and the hubby and the wide open sea, and it was simply amazing, and I can't wait to go back.

Life just gets heavy sometimes. And tonight, I'm all over the place with my thoughts.

I'm still running. I'm not sure I'll ever stop.

I.

Just.

Le sigh.

xoxo,
Alex.Is

Bloglovin and Contests

Follow my blog with Bloglovin HERE.

Because you know you wanna know when I have new, useless ramblings to share.

Let's be honest, I had an ulterior motive. Little Chief Honeybee is sponsoring a new contest giving away a Nikon.

Pretty, isn't it?

I'm looking to get into photography... maybe as a side job at first, but I wanna be a serious photographer. Learn new things about me every day, don't you?

Anyway, so I'm basically super excited and going crazy over this contest. So, I thought I'd share ;)

At any rate! I'm done with you guys. Carry on!

XOXO,
Alex.Is

Spring has sprung!

Can I just say that I absolutely love the changing of the seasons. I suppose that I wouldn't love it so much if I didn't have to suffer through the worst that winter and summer have to offer.

Fall is lovely because the leaves turn colors, and kids go back to school, and the mornings have this refreshing crisp cool to them. I remember fall as the beginning of a new school year, full of endless possibilities and adventure. I miss those days, if only for that.

Spring? It's as if the entire world begins to awaken from its chilly slumber. I have this vibrance, this undeniable energy. It's like feeling like you can fly, and it doesn't matter in the least that you couldn't even come close to flight.

Then there's the beach. I love the water, nasty as it is. The way the waves crash on the shore in their consistently soothing rhythm... it's not the same in the cold of winter. (Trust me, I tried putting my feet in. BAD idea.)

I feel like I'm awake too. I tend to drown in the cold darkness of winter. It's hard to be depressed in such lovely, shiny weather.

Well there's my bit of nostalgic, sappy, season loving blathering. Off to the park with the kiddos to enjoy the clear skies and chirping birdies.

Til next time,
Alex.Is

Three A.M.

I've had 459 views on my blog and perhaps two comments. Rather disproportionate, eh?

It's nearly three a.m. I was fairly convinced that Emily of New Moon by L.M. Montgomery was the series of books in which I'd read about the heroine being awake and alone with doubts and uncertainties at three in the morning, and how it's an evil, dreadful hour.

Well, indeed it is.

As I said, I was fairly convinced, and I was going to quote the book, but a Google search returned nothing, which must mean that I'm outside my head and am completely wrong. (Or, once again, Google fails. Not that it happens often. I would never insinuate such a thing.)

I hate staying up late alone. Everyone else fell asleep some time ago, and I hate being the last to fall asleep. I'm not entirely sure why. I'm a cowardly critter. I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid of every noise I hear outside my house because I'm entirely convinced that it means the sky is falling. I've never, ever felt completely secure. And I've never, ever felt completely confident that I know what I'm doing or where I'm going.

This is what I think about at three a.m.

I'm a control freak. I'm not ashamed to admit it. It's just something that I am. I'm aware, and I'm working on being less controlling. Not an easy task, considering it's something that's dug down deep beneath my skin. For the most part, these days I feel like I'm completely out of control. It's funny (perhaps funny is a poor choice of wording) because my therapist once said as much. I'm a codependent control freak, and I find my happiness in putting everyone else's needs ahead of my own. I have a problem telling someone no if I really feel that saying no might hurt that person, even if saying yes hurts me. I worry about everyone else constantly. I worry about what everyone else thinks... to an extent, I suppose. I may say I don't care, but I do, I just pretend not to care. I ignore it, or else I simply cannot function.

Anyway, after the birth of my second child, I fell apart. I went crazy. I cried constantly for no reason. I hated existence. Sometimes, I'd pick up my son, and it wouldn't even feel like I was holding my own child. Disassociative disorder, I believe my therapist called it. Depersonalization. A defense mechanism.

In other words, I turned into a nut job.

My therapist said it was as if I had been holding it together for all that time, struggling to balance everything, struggling to keep everyone happy, and having Christopher tipped the scales, so to speak. I lost balance. I lost control. Having two children is a massive change from having one. I was no longer able to pretend like I had it all together. I feel like I've been fighting since then to get it back. I would fluctuate rapidly between two extremes. On one end, I would be in the depths of despair, quite literally hating existence and wishing I could disappear. Then, for a moment, the clouds would clear, and I would hate myself. Loathe myself. Despise myself. In the worst possible way. I saw it as a weakness. Maybe a weakness I could beat out of myself.

I suppose I did. My therapist made significant headway and then switched to a different office... one that did not accept my insurance. So I gave up on therapy and assumed I could work this out myself.

I guess it turns out that I'm wrong.

I had a moment tonight. One of those moments where time seems to stop, and I wonder who I am, and what I'm doing, and why I'm here, and I haven't been able to pull it back together since.

Long story short, I'm a mess.

My entire life is a mess.

In a perfect world, this blog would end on a perfect note. I'd have something cute and funny and positive to say, and tomorrow everything would be better.

Tomorrow will be better, but only because I'll have fallen asleep (and hopefully successfully avoided any nightmares) and forgotten the whole thing. Every day is like having a reset button. My short term memory is terrible. I do a lot of pretending and forgetting and ignoring, and boy oh boy, is it exhausting.

I'm exhausted.

I'm so. SO. SO. Tired. Tired of fighting to be seen as strong. Tired of fighting not to cry. Tired of fighting to look okay. I'm just tired, tired, tired.

"Buuuut Lexy, you're DOING it wrong! You sposed to relying on Jehovah and throwing your burdens on him, doofusface!" (I hope you read that in a stupid voice, cuz I wrote it in a stupid voice.)

Here's my answer to that obvious remark. Yeah, I'm working on it. But when you've been told your entire life that you suck at life and that you can't do anything right and that you're not worth anything, you start to believe it. And that takes a lot of undoing to get undone.

So yeah. I'm working on it.

Alone.

Tonight is just one of those nights that forever just feels like a really, really, really, really long time.

I can't even write anymore. And I'm probably going to regret posting this. But what am I if not brutally honest, right?

Signing off,
Alex.Is

Run run run.

I'm running again.

I haven't run much more than two inches since October. And yet I find myself running an 11.5 min mile, including my short walking breaks. I'm pretty happy about that accomplishment. My lungs felt like exploding by the time I was done, but that's a good sign, right?

I'm also adding crunches and a bunch of different work outs to the routine. It's not that I'm obsessed with being skinny or having Jillian Michaels abs. (Although the abs are a huge plus, no?) I'm tired of feeling tired and run down and unhealthy and out of shape and unfit. I'm by no means overweight. I wouldn't even call myself chubby. (Yes I would, jokingly.) But I'm completely out of shape. The McDonald's and Burger King and Wendy's dinners make you feel like a dried up, salty slug. You lose energy, and you gain love handles.
I don't want Jillian's abs, honestly. Rock hard abs look better on men, in my personal humble opinion. I just wanna feel comfortable in my skin. And maybe drop the cellulite in my thighs, ya know? I love my kids, but there are some less than glamorous aspects of baby baking and motherhood. Cellulite and varicose veins being a few of the less disgusting ones. (We won't discuss the tearing and incontinence and... well, you know.)

I've also downloaded an app to help me count my calories. What a wake up call that was! I don't think I ever realized just how awful my eating habits were. However, now I can take that knowledge and improve myself with it. Positive thinking here!

I'm really proud of the fact that I hit a personal record for myself today. I'm excited and more than slightly surprised, honestly. It feels good. And that is good enough reason for me to keep going.

Tiredly (good tired) signing off,
Alex.Is

Alex is in Therapy.

Let's be honest. I'm a bit of a froot loop. And self proclaimed control freak. And I'm not as strong as I pretend to be. I'm just an excellent liar.

"How are you today?"

"I'm great, how are you?"

The best thing is that I can say it with a smile on my face and a ring in my voice, and you won't question it even for a minute. I'm that good at it.

But let's face it. I'm just as broken and broken-hearted as the next froot loopy fool. I don't think life really ever takes us where we expect ourselves to be. Those expectations are what cause us to break our own hearts, half the time. Of course, there's time and unforseen occurrence, and some things we can't control or handle. Sometimes, we're just subjected to an entirely crappy childhood. And anyone who says, "That's no excuse, get your life together and move on," etc. etc. has either a) had an excellent childhood or b) had a terrible childhood and is resentful about the fact that they can't figure out how to move on from it.

Life leaves scars, and yes some of them are permanent. It doesn't matter if we're scarred because of poor choices we've made or because of poor choices someone else made for us or because the earth is so much bigger than us and has no regard for our itty bitty little seemingly insignificant lives.

I'm trying to figure out how to be okay with those scars. I'm trying to figure out how to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep it moving. Sometimes, rock bottom isn't rock bottom. Sometimes, it's just a turning point.

Regardless of the way I feel, the world isn't going to stop turning. And I'm well aware that maybe five people will read this post if I'm lucky. That doesn't really matter to me. It's not tumbling around in the empty space inside my skull anymore. And anyway it's rather symbolic of life in general. Really, when you have your biggest, worst breakdown, when your entire world seems to collapse underneath your toes, when the sky goes black and you begin to lose your way, how many people notice? The ones that count.

That's the idea.

So Alex is in therapy. It's time to fix Alex :)

Bedtime.
-Me<3

Alex is a Writer

It's true. I live and breathe the written word. I'm a hopelessly dramatic soul constantly in search of inspiration. Let's face it, I'm also a control freak, and I love the sense of control - no matter how illusory it may be - that comes with creating and developing an imaginary character's story. The sky is the limit with the written word. Your only boundaries are those of your imagination.

Sure, this either sounds lovely and poetic or ridiculously cliche. Either way, it's sincere. And I've had enough of this half-a-decade-long dry spell I've fallen into.

I'm writing a novel. Not just a story. A NOVEL I'm going to finish it this time, even if it kills me. (Whiiich...it very well might...)

I'm excited. I can't wait. I'm making plans. I'm trying to figure out how to get published. I'm leaning on friends for moral and mental support. I'm giving myself this goal, and I'm bound and determined to see it through.

Well! We'll see how this goes...!

TTFN.
Alex.Is

That's life.

Sick kids are an entirely different story when you're a mom.

My son seems to attract germs. I just got a text message from daycare saying he has diarrhea. Yesterday I woke up to him covered in vomit. Last night my daughter came home with a fever of 103.7.

It's exhausting. It seems like they've been sick all winter. Like we'll never catch a break.

Oftentimes I jokingly say I'm going to sell them to the circus. However, I feel as though the circus would try to return them.

I love my kids. I hate seeing them sick. Last night, my daughter didn't get off the couch all night long. Didn't even eat dinner, poor girl.

Doing the full time job and full time mom thing... it's a lot.

Onnn the bright side! Hubby and I have officially booked our first cruise - to the Bahamas! We're also going down two days early to check out Orlando and probably Universal Studios. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't insanely excited. Our hotel looks pretty much amazing. While I know I'm gonna miss my kids, I also know we're gonna have a blast.

Next time we'll take the kids. Right now, we need a little bit of time to just be grown ups and take advantage of all that entails without worrying about an early bedtime!

Sounds amazing, right? Well its all paid for an non-refundable so it better be. (Ha. Ha. Ha.) And honestly? It's about time. We deserve a break. Life gets a bit heavy sometimes.

That's enough of my babbling for today.

Au revoir!
Alex.Is

Changing and Rearranging

I used to hate change of any sort. I have been horribly resistant and basically an all-around scaredy cat. I can't say that I am suddenly fond of change. But I have come to realize that if you never change, you never grow. I'm tired of living my life in fear of things I cannot control... and most things in life unfortunately fall into that category.

I've become a survivor. So scarred, so beaten, so broken that all I can ever seem to do is survive on a day to day basis. I have wallowed in doubt and self pity. Some days it felt like a big black cloud was hovering over my head, threatening to swallow me whole. I don't remember when I stopped planning for the future. It was a while ago. It's impossible to live life on such a short sighted basis. You miss so many things.

It's easy to start to believe that you deserve to be mistreated when you have no self esteem and have been told as much for twenty four years. It's easy to blame yourself and to lay down and take it. Maybe I'm wrong for feeling the way I do, but I feel like it's time to make a change.

There are some people in my life who have never been a friend to me. They like me when they want something, but otherwise I don't matter. I'm not a perfect person, but I've not done enough wrong in my life to deserve that kind of treatment. So I'm letting that go. I'm not even going to lament the fact that they, perhaps, are not interested in being real friends. Life is too short to focus on such insignificant negatives.
There are some people whose favorite pastime is to point out my wonderful various faults, and sometimes exaggerate them or mock me for them. I'm not doing that anymore. Maybe the way I responded made it a sort of game, made it entertaining. It won't be as funny when I walk away from the conversation without so much as a frown or even a smile.

There are some people who would give me the shirt off their back if I was truly in need. There are some people who tell me when I'm being an idiot, and commend me when I am deserving. They listen to my pointless stories. They laugh at my corny jokes. They share their wonderful, amazing lives with me, the good and the bad, and I love them for it.

Those are the kind of people I should keep close to me, close to my heart. Those are these ones to who I should hold tight and never let go. Those are my true friends.

I've made multiple mistakes in my life. I've been hardheaded and stubborn. I've ignored good advice, I've hurt people that love me, and I am genuinely sorry for that. I can't change the past, and I won't dwell on it either. The best I can do is keep my head up, keep it moving, and make a better life for my children.  That's all I have left. The rest is just extra.

Another self reflecting post. I should blog more and try to capture more of the happy moments in my life. Try to appreciate more. Maybe then all of this would be that much easier.

Til we meet again!
Alex.Is

New Year, New Nothing.

I can feel myself getting old. Seriously. The gray hairs should start growing in soon.

I remember when I was so excited to turn 16. And then I was so excited to turn 18. And then I was so excited to turn 21. Understandable, as all are "milestone" birthdays, right? And every new year held endless possibilities. Anything might happen. Wonderful things might happen. And magic and rainbows and sunflowers and pink and other cheerful things. (Or your husband and brother-in-law might get drunk enough to puke their guts all over the front yard... and the bathroom... and at the very least might provide some sort of entertainment before you start feeling the urge to crack some skulls.)

This new year? I hardly noticed when midnight came. My birthday? I woke up to a certain 4 year old's beautiful blonde-brown hair all over my bathroom floor.

I often say it's because I don't have any big milestones to which I can look forward anymore. (Apart from maybe 30 and 40 and 50, but who wants to look forward to that?) Perhaps it's not old age. Perhaps I'm just crabby and jaded and unimpressed with the world in general. Special days have begun to lose their meaning. Even our wedding anniversary was spent... well, I'm not quite sure. Actually, we may not have even done anything this year.

I think that kind of stinks. And I may have picked a crappy subject because now I just feel rather emo and lame, pondering all of this.

I say it's old age, but I hardly believe that anymore. Any of these occasions only hold as much meaning as you allow them to have. Honestly, I don't celebrate holidays, but it's nice to at least pretend that 12:00 midnight on January 1st is like a clock reset which miraculously rewinds the year and allows you to try it all over again.

No? Perhaps that's just wishful thinking.

Yet people, year after year, insist on making resolutions and deciding that their lives will be different *this* year, that everything (or at the very least, most things) will go right *this* time around. To me, it seems that every year, instead, gets more miserable and darker and more depressing. Glass half empty, huh?
Once upon a time, I was an optimist, and though I'm not entirely sure I'm a 100% cynic yet, I'm on my way there.

Perhaps this will be the year I start looking at the glass as half full again. Perhaps good things can happen and those can be the focus of my days. Perhaps I will make and maintain new friendships and finally crawl out of my insecure, socially awkward shell.

Perhaps. (:

Signing off (on a positive note?),
Alex.Is

 

The end of the road.

So two weeks ago, approximately, I found out I was pregnant. And it was definitely unexpected and more than slightly unwanted. But I adjusted and began making plans and figuring things out and eventually I realized things could be okay, and with that realization, I got a bit excited. I love babies. I love children. I love big families.

Sunday afternoon, I went out for sushi with some friends. And then we went to Wal-Mart. And I started feeling really lightheaded and woozy and generally weak. It's the feeling I get when my blood pressure drops, like I just wanna lay down and not hold my body up anymore. I assumed it was dehydration. One of my friends snagged me an O.J., and we kept walking around like everything was okay. Of course, I almost fell over myself a few times, but it seemed pretty funny at the time.

That is, til I got home. I wasn't even just spotting. I was essentially having a period. Having had two successful pregnancies and two miscarriages, I know what's normal and what's not. So, underneath everything, I immediately knew it was the beginning of the end. And then the cramping started.

I tried laying down and relaxing. For a while, I texted some friends, who stressed and harassed me about how I should get my butt up and go to the ER. (They're good friends, even if I wasn't immediately inclined to listen.) I think I didn't believe it was happening at first. At the very least, I had no idea how bad it was going to get.
My very wonderfully amazing friend Erica finally said she was coming to get me and didn't really give me a say in the matter. Then she dragged me to the hospital, basically speeding the whole way. At Beebe, I had the longest wait of my life. I sat in the waiting room for 40 minutes. (It really was the longest wait... normally they get you back pretty quickly.)

By the time they got me into a room, I was not hardly any good at all. The cramping was intense, and I had this insane urge to throw up. Anyone who knows me knows how I absolutely abhor vomit and will do just about anything to keep from blowing chunks. The doctor came in pretty quickly (per Erica, he was just "adorable," which kinda made me think of fuzzy kittens) and ordered Dilaudid, Zofran, labs, and an ultrasound. I looked like a mental patient tossing my head back and forth and whining and groaning in misery... til they brought in the good meds.

Zofran didn't kick in immediately, but when the nurse said, "I'm putting in the Dilaudid right now so you might feel a little lightheaded," I practically floated off into space. We won't even discuss the horribly, spine-tinglingly grammatically inaccurate text messages I was sending at this point. Talk about some serious medication! (I totally see why our patients eat this stuff like candy. I mean, I'm good without, but I see why some fools get stuck on it.)

Moving on...! I was taken to the ultrasound room, and when the tech made me lay back, it felt like someone had taken a clamp to my chest and squeeeezed. It was the scariest, worst pain I've ever felt. Apparently everyone wrote it off as anxiety, and maybe that's all it was, but I thought I was gonna die for a split 23 seconds. (I'm not a hypochondriac at alllll...) And the tech basically said, "I'll be right back," and ran out of the room, leaving me to struggle to breathe for five minutes, which at the moment felt more like five hours. If that was a panic attack... I just... wow.

Back in the room, I was a bit more coherent. The doctor explained that my hcg levels were abnormally low and the ultrasound did not show anything. The baby had probably been gone for a while.

At this point, most people would break down and cry, or at least have the decency to look sad.

I was impatient. I'd heard this speech twice already and didn't care to be soothed with well-meaning words like, "It was nothing you did." In fact, while Erica helped dress me (my BP dropped to 87/34; I was in no condition to stand alone), I repeatedly insisted that it was okay and that I felt relieved because I didn't want a baby anyway. She just nodded her head and let me continue my drug-induced rambling. (Honestly I don't remember half of what I said.)

After a pit stop at Walgreens for some Percs and Zofran, we headed home. I was thirsty as a camel and decided to guzzle some mango peach Fuze. (See previous post about mango smoothie drink...) It didn't end well. I was puking up mango the minute I got home and in my front yard.

It wasn't until the next day (or the day after? - I kinda lost track of time this week) that I realized that, yeah, I was kinda upset. Kinda a LOT upset. And yes there were tears. I mean, you start to think of baby names, and you download the baby apps (whoops, gotta uninstall those...), and you begin to plan for what you imagine will be an entire LIFE. No, now is not a good time for another baby, but I love big families and was kinda excited for Pookie and Bean to have a baby sibling. Except now all of those plans mean nothing.
Yes, it's a depressing thought.

Am I okay yet? Doubtful. Will I ever be? I don't know. The first two miscarriages don't sting as badly anymore, but mainly because I know there would be no Bean right now if either of those pregnancies had been successful. At any rate, I'm not weepy. I'm somewhat leveled out emotionally. I've finally, finally gotten the story out of my system (it took me three days to write this). I actually feel kinda optimistic about the future, as blank and scary as it seems sometimes.

And I have my crazy friends and certifiable family. And they all love me in their loony little ways. (Which is fitting, seeing as I'm a total froot loop.)

The rest of this week has been spent sleeping, talking to and hanging out with friends, and taking pictures, including the attached snapshot of a rainbow I saw leaving Broadkill Beach. I saw a lot of those this week. A friend of mine says they are a sign. Of good things to come, I hope. Like a promise from God.

I was cleared by my doctor for a return to work on Monday. After a week off work, this should be interesting. I'm not looking forward to it by any means, but as with everything else in life, I know I will survive it.

That's the funny thing about life. It keeps going and going until it doesn't anymore... so you might as well make the best of what you've got, eh?

Signing off for now,
Alex.Is