Category Archives: birth defects

The Unabridged, Unadulterated, Ugliness of Truth and Life

I can feel some psychological pathologies coming back because of the excruciating, unrelenting pain I’m facing with each minute of the day. Although I’m overweight, I have been a borderline anorexic for many years. Whenever I get depressed I refuse to eat. It’s the one thing that I can do to myself by myself other than the obvious, cutting. Yes, it’s a control issue. I am absolutely terrified that I will end up in a hospital within a few days to a week because I’ll momentarily lose control or I’ll be so distracted that I’ll have an accident. I’d bet on the former more than the latter. Right now, I want to lay in a fetal position and just fade into nothingness. If it weren’t for my girls, I would have ended this hell days ago.

My mother did everything she could to come back to me. I watched the hospital personnel working on her and I am so deeply grateful to them. If there was anywhere in the world she could have been saved, it was Cleveland Clinic. She died within less than an hour of collapsing, but not because they didn’t try. Funny, I immediately knew who they were working on even though I couldn’t see into the room because of all of the people. Now, she’s in an urn in a cabinet as I hope her spirit roams free to learn all that it can before coming back again.

Glenn is a completely different story. There was no closure at all. I’m not sure there ever will be. I am haunted by it, hounded by it and can’t cope without it.

Glenn’s silence makes me feel ugly. I feel as though I’m as big as a house–a fat Miss Frankenstein that he can’t stand to look or talk to. For him, I’m nothing. I am as insignificant as an ant in the street. There’s an argument going on in my head that says he’s an ass and that I’m so much more than either he or I believe myself to be. I admit to being obsessed with learning why he did what he did. I strongly believe he owes me at least that much. But he’s male and males do the dumbest things on earth and call it “funny.” His “fun” nearly cost me my life. I’m not sure he gives a damn. I sent word and asked him to phone. He hasn’t. All the speculation in the world won’t give me an answer that will be satisfying. I wonder how he lives with himself. I could never do to someone what he did to me. Most people couldn’t do it. That level of cruelty is characteristic of bullies. When did that happen? Why did that happen? Was I right all those years ago when I called him a sociopath? I know that some are made and some are born. He’s always had a fairly hostile relationship with his mother and his father seemed to be a much nicer (non-pedophile) version of my mother’s second husband in that he’d immerse himself in the newspaper to keep from dealing with whatever was going on around him, like his wife.

I wear an artificial leg on the right side. I am what’s called in the UK a “thalidomider.” My mother took the drug thalidomide in 1961 when she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t approved by the FDA because there were a large number of babies born with major birth defects both externally and internally. Many didn’t live at all. It’s killing me, but what if Glenn made the decision to marry that woman, Robin, because she was whole? This isn’t a new idea, but has popped up very strongly this moment. I can’t argue with him for it. She was a med school graduate when they married and I’d just learned that I had fibromyalgia and would never work a consistent 9 to 5 again. I’ll work again, but it will be on my own terms.

I started this post very early this morning. I stopped at the above paragraph and did what I said I wouldn’t do again and that’s write him another letter. I got a lot out, but I just want to stop chasing him and be discarded at every turn. I feel pathetic because I need and want him in my life. I’ve got this incredibly strong feeling with no basis at all that there’s something else going on that I know nothing about. Whatever the case, I can’t make him say anything. If he did say something, would it be kind and compassionate or will it be emotionally abusive? If I have to ask that question, what am I doing trying to find the beautiful man he’d become instead of a twisted, narcissistic hot emotional mess of a man? I just keep hoping that some portion of decency is left in him. And if it’s that hard to find, is he really worth it? If I had a friend in this situation, I’d counsel her to seriously re-think whether she wants to be an emotional and, possibly, physical punching bag.

I don’t need anyone who, for whatever reason, makes me feel like I’m worthless. The grief I feel is so damn powerful and it’s fucking with my brain in ways that I’d never expect. I don’t understand why this is happening? I don’t understand what I’m doing? I know that I really want to take a razor blade and start cutting again. I haven’t done that in years, but it’s as though the words I’m typing aren’t enough. I feel like I’m screaming and no one hears. I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow. Maybe she can help me figure out why I feel so utterly hopeless, helpless and worthless. When will this hellish nightmare end?

Fiction vs. Reality

I first noticed it over a month ago. I turned on my television one Sunday morning in a fit of absolute frustration with my bi-weekly bout of insomnia. Nothing on that I wanted to watch. The least offensive program turned out to be a movie based on a series I found offensive in the extreme when it was on HBO’s regular schedule. Yet, I was trapped. It was Sex & the City or nothing. I chose the Sex.

Sex and the City Main Characters

Sex and the City Main Characters

The reason I found Sex & the City offensive is because it was, and apparently remains, so damn hetero! It makes me pull out what little hair I haven’t cut that these four women are such utterly neurotic stereotypes, save one–Charlotte. (I had to go to Wikipedia to even look up the character’s name.) Yes, she’s kind of a Miss America wannabe, but she is the most reasonable and stable of them all. My guilty pleasure, however, was Samantha. That’s the kind of woman I want to be when I grow up. In reality, she isn’t that much older than I am, but I don’t consider myself “grown up” yet. In fact, I want to remain forever young. I think Samantha does too. Lord knows she’s got the body to defy any number her years may reveal. But I digress.

The main character, Carrie Bradshaw, is a twit. Sorry to all the show’s fans, but that girl (and I do consider her a girl child) needs to buy fewer Manolo Blahniks and invest in more than her current two brain cells. While I may never want to grow up, I don’t want to remain a teenager either. This character isn’t too far off from the character the actress, Sarah Jessica Parker, portrayed in Square Pegs, the television vehicle that first brought her to national attention almost 20 years ago. Square Pegs was set in high school where she was a neurotic Type A personality student. In Sex, she’s a Type A personality serial dater in her 30s who desperately doesn’t want to be single and writes about her adventures in dating in the Ginormous Bad Apple. Her column is supposed to give readers advice on fashion, trends and men. Still, she accepts crap from her supposed soulmate, Mr. Big, aka John, (more than ably portrayed by Law & Order alum Chris Noth) for a good part of the series and more than half of the movie. What is that about? Who gave her valuable column inches to blather on and on about her screw ups for something close to a decade by the time the movie takes place? Most editors I know are smarter than that. Then again . . .

After nearly two hours of this movie with its requisite happy ending, there was a part of me that thought, “I’m smarter than these people. I have more depth of character than all of them combined, including their supporting males, and; I have more skills than three of the four. But here they are on my television screen with beautiful clothes, successful careers and significant others who love them.” I was jealous. No, I was envious and ashamed for being so. These were, after all, fictional characters in a fictionalized setting. I knew that, but I kept thinking that I should and would have that life but for my body. My life doesn’t suck, but it does keep me from doing the things I would have done if I didn’t have very unstable disabilities that keep me in doctors’ offices at least three to four times a month for something. For the first time in my entire life, I have come to resent the fact that my body has me trapped with no way out except death. And I have no desire to die.

When I think about it, this phase should have happened when I was much, much younger–I’m thinking when I was a teen or pre-teen. Now, it’s happening in my 40s. I believe it’s because this is the time when I should have achieved certain things in my life and I haven’t been able to do so. I was on my way when I developed fibromyalgia to go with my birth defect. That led to a great deal of trouble in law school and the powers that be suggesting that I leave since I was sick. This was the same year the Americans with Disabilities Act became effective but I was too sick to fight. Now, I have yet another disability that would sideline the average person all by itself. Nevertheless, I will one day get my law degree and pass the bar. I don’t care if I’m 70 years old when I do it. I will do it.

The envy came over me again tonight while watching Parenthood. This time, it hit even harder. I am so frustrated with my body even though I am preparing to make things better by having my knee replaced. There is a great deal that needs to happen before I go in for surgery, but at least that’s the path I’m on. I just have my doubts about how much better a knee replacement will make my life given my other disabilities. While my knee is certainly an issue, there are bigger problems that often seem insurmountable. No doubt I will blog about them in the days to come. For now, all I want to do is drill into my head that life is not a television program. Life is what it is and I can check out or I can try to live it as best I can. That doesn’t mean, however, that there aren’t days and nights when I just want to cry and wish I didn’t have this body, Easter weekend or not.

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