solo bugler

for the first time since my surgery, i’m attempting to hold down a job. it’s only part time and minimum wage, but it’s potentially entertaining anyway. it’s working in a consignment shop where we get all sorts of oddities. cow-shaped creamer bowl? got it. butterfly knife? sure, why not. pooh bear christmas stockings and pink plastic barbie mini tree? definitely.

we got a shipment of stuff on wednesday and in the 3 boxes of random junk, among various other items (casters, cuff links, a handful of mini pocket knives, a cb radio, cassette tape head cleaner, hawaiian nose flute…) was this.

2014-11-19 15.24.28 2014-11-19 15.24.21

i thought of you.


can we talk about something for a minute? it’s something that weighs on me heavily, and i feel like i need to visualize it, in order to accept it.

i’m a failure.

for the longest time, i’ve said that the worst insult that could be lobbied against me would be that i was a failure. i fought long and hard at every possible thing i did, to make sure i didn’t fail at whatever it was, but in the end, i can’t fight it. i’m a failure. even if it’s only in my own head, even if nobody else sees it but me, there’s a glaring neon sign in front of my face with the word FAILURE emblazoned in screaming red.

i don’t know where it comes from. i’m sure there was something in my childhood that i could point to, or a series of things that compounded to have made it happen, but for most of my life i’ve fought the fear of being “enough.” i’m not smart enough, pretty enough, fast enough, nice enough, proper enough, popular enough, wealthy enough, friendly enough, helpful enough, working enough, talented enough, tall enough, short enough, skinny enough, curvy enough, thoughtful enough… i’m not good enough. i’m not enough.

i’m afraid of myself. i’m afraid and ashamed of who i am.

i find myself at a place where i feel that i have failed at every single thing. everything i had is gone. everything i’ve done is lost. and it’s my fault. if only i had tried harder, been a better wife, been a harder working employee… if only i weren’t so weird. if only i weren’t so needy and maybe if i had been more considerate. maybe i wouldn’t be the doormat… maybe i wouldn’t be so forgettable… maybe i wouldn’t be an outsider… maybe i wouldn’t be alone.

nobody can hurt me as badly as i can. nobody realizes how ugly i am in here. i’m good at smiling and pretending it’s ok, but it’s not. i’m not.

i hate myself and you deserve better.

popular in the wrong ways

i woke up this morning with the sinking feeling that everybody “wants” me, but nobody ever says anything unless they’re compromised. sure, when they’re drunk they all beg me to be with them, but when they’re sober they just stand back and look at me. some day i want someone that will tell me, completely sober, in the light of day, that they can’t imagine their life without me, and not just that they want me in their bed tonight.

Bed dog

Now that axel is getting on in doggie years and getting a little creakier, i’ve let him start sleeping on the bed. They problem is that he’s a big dog and it’s not a big bed, so a lot of the time i end up being shoved off the side, because he’s taken over. I knew there was a reason I never let him sleep on the bed before…

Working through some things

If someone else told me the story of what I’m going through, i’d think they were crazy for hanging around and not being treated with respect. Why do I justify it to myself and make it ok to be treated like second best?

I suppose that’s not fair. Both of us have a lot to deal with right now, and it’s not realistic to try to make anything real happen. Maybe we should just let go and try again later. Maybe we should just move on and accept this as a near miss. I don’t know.

deep breath and regroup

this afternoon i got to go see a GI for the first time in a year, now that i’ve finally been approved for medicaid. i arrived for my 11:45 appointment at 11:20, as requested, to fill out paperwork since it was my first visit. i was told the doctor was running a little behind schedule, but that i should go have a seat in the waiting room and they’d call me back as soon as they could.

1:30ish i was finally called back, but after going through the initial questions with the intake nurse, about why i came in and what symptoms i was having, she looked at me quizzically. apparently the doctor they had scheduled me to see is a surgeon, not a gastroenterologist. i waited for him to come in, explained to him everything i’ve been through and all of the symptoms i’ve been having, and he said there’s really nothing for him to do but to send me back to the front desk to get me scheduled to see a gastroenterologist.

at the front desk, they requested that i contact my old doctor (i just moved here from another state) and have all of my old medical records sent over. once they have my medical records, they can set me up an appointment with a doctor.

3.5 hours after i arrived, i left with nothing to show for my time. at least they covered my parking so i didn’t have to pay for that.

the most frustrating bit was that after talking to the surgeon, he told me that based on everything i described, he doesn’t even think i have crohn’s. i may have something else, but unless i show him a test result from the biopsy done during the colonoscopy 2 years ago that shows i tested positive for crohn’s, he just doesn’t think i have it. and you know what, that’s fine and dandy but if i DON’T have crohn’s, then WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?! why would my original GI get my test results back and tell me i DO have crohn’s, if i DON’T?

it’s been a long day. i think i’m going to go cry now.

open wounds and bleeding hearts

when i left vb i felt like you had finally had enough and were looking for a way to kick herĀ out, and might actually show up here any day, ready to try to win me back. two days later, i find out that you’re still trying to make things work with her, and that you seem to be happy to let me go on about my life. i have no idea what’s going on or where i stand. i know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and i’m always happy to be here for you, as a diversion or a sounding board or whatever you need. i just don’t know if i’m supposed to wait for you or give up and move on. for months now, since i left, i have been getting messages to move on, but as soon as i try to, you seem to not want me to go. i’m confused and i’m tired of bandaging an open wound that neither one of us will allow to heal.