My roots are showing.

I’m in Louisiana visiting my sister at her gorgeous condo in steamy New Orleans, and just saw It: Chapter 2 in a very responsive theater. Things are looking up. I love my sister. She’s hilarious and cuts the bullshit like no one else, and a visit to her town is long overdue. She’s lived here for years, but I never came down to visit, since she visits Utah/Montana fairly often, and I’ve been lazy about it/broke/busy/lazy again. It’s a damn shame, because she’s my favorite person ever, and seeing her is an absolute treat.

This morning we walked her dog, Zelda, and she made frittata cupcakes for breakfast with some tasty chicory-free coffee. Then, we drove around a bit, I bought fancy seasoning salt and some stickers, and we had a little sit down by the river. We picked up beignets and frozen coffee drinks at a local shop on the way home. She worked in the afternoon while I watched The Americans and we both provided commentary. Dinner was at a fancy place with a scrumptious menu:

And dessert was boozy to-go cups of daiquiris for the movie. Then we watched a killer clown get its comeuppance 27 years in the making, and headed home. This trip I’ve seen lizards, frogs, Spanish moss and street cats, magnolia trees, tourist traps, and a tortoise with a balloon tied to it so it’s owner, having a picnic on the river bank, could let it roam free on the grass without losing the speedster. It’s been a great trip.

Tomorrow we head to the French Quarter, and I will attempt not to lose an ankle to cobblestones, and hopefully get haunted a bit.

This trip has been wonderful, and yet there’s a certain sort of sadness in that I could never have this kind of fun with the partner I chose 10 years ago (well, ten years on the 23rd but who keeps track of these things? Not me, no sir). I wouldn’t have has such a good time with that person here, making bad jokes and bristling at the thought of seeing what the city had to offer. I would have been bending over backwards trying to make that person happy, which, when it comes down to it, was impossible.

And it bugs me that visiting my sister is compared to an imaginary trip with an invisible burden.

So really, I’m having a great time, but my belly hurts occasionally, and not from the spicy food or rum cocktails.

Sister has been great at letting me vent a bit, but certainly not wallow in that discomfort. Like I said, she cuts the bullshit, and I appreciate that immensely. She also wholly deserves a beautiful condo and happy pets, and it’s nice to see them all here for her in a city she has made her home. I’m so proud of the woman she is now, and I’m so grateful that we’re as close as we are. I’m glad that my trip is short enough not to bother her in her life, but long enough to be able to see this place and see her be amazing here. I’m incredibly lucky she’s in my life.

Now, it’s about bedtime, and I want to get a few minutes of humid, peaceful reflection on her porch before I head to sleep. It’s very nice to be here. I needed to be with family for a bit. The roots of my family tree run deep in my soul, and I love every minute I get with them. Sweet dreams, loyal reader.

There’s a lot of tears happening this week.

I’d love to say I didn’t lose my shit at graduation, I’d love to say i didn’t lose my shit on my birthday, I’d love to say that being unceremoniously kicked out of my house by a husband who asked for the divorce in the first place wasn’t a huge kick to the teeth. I’d love to say it was the moment when he realized he wasn’t keeping both dogs, really realized that, that broke me. But I was already broken when that realization happened, and it did so several weeks down the line of heartache.

I took my dog and my cat the night he kicked me out, (comfortably, from Portland, with his new girlfriend), as well as a carload of stuff that didn’t matter nearly so much as the animals in tow. He told me to call him that night, (what could he have said, I can’t help but wonder) and i refused, and he said if I didn’t, I would not be welcome at the house ‘until this [was] all over’. His roommate, the girl living there for free, the girl i welcomed into my my house without pretense or expectation….she took his side. She ‘let’ me come over a few times to get stuff, hovering over me like a wasp on old meat, ever watchful, ever enduringly clearly on HIS side, making sure I didn’t cross the threshold into HIS house. Your squatter is undyingly loyal, former husband, you can be sure of that.

But all this happened months ago, what about now, my loyal reader may ask. Now, it’s burning man season, the effigy itself burned last night. And I am awash in wreckage, floundering in emotions I thought would fade and pass away. I regret my part in the destruction of our love and our life together, however insignificant and however necessary my movements towards independence. I feel deep sorrow for the man I thought he was, even if it was a figment of imagination and nothing more. I possess and covet the potential of that person, something cherished and hard-won, something I thought I earned when in reality it was a handful of sand in a greater mirage. I still love who he used to be, and who, fate be damned, he could have become.

Measure all that against a feather on the scales, and the latter will win. I fought for his soul and he had no part in the battle. He was a deserter long before I knew the fight was lost. So I mull through bodies and discarded armor, crying all the while, looking for one mouth to save, and I find my friendships; bruised and battered but still aching with life. I find my cat and my dog, hidden from the hardest parts, still filled with affection for their person who refused to leave without them. I find my family, waiting with a warm hearth and gentle words and hugs, who never strayed. I found a new path, a new career, with its own share of pain and sorrow, but rewards beyond measure.

I found myself, rising ever so stumblingly from the ashes of our home, our love, our life, our bond, our promises. I found a new woman, skin thin and untempered against the heat and cold, legs weak, body soft, feathers rumpled and new. She is someone I care to know better, and she is what I have to work with. She still cries, low and silent in the sunlight, loud and fierce below the moon. Each tear waters a new tree, a new home. Every drop is filled with promise, and longing, to be better.

Don’t think for one moment that I don’t struggle….that I don’t tear my feathers to shreds in frustration, wishing it were a month, a year, five years from now. I long for the time when I can be a competent mother, a dear friend, a loving partner to someone new. I, however, live in this moment of change and attempt to experience my growth as something both dynamic and present. Something ever-changing, but somehow solid and resolute. I live in the flux of times, I exist as what I am, what I was, and what I could be. I read the words as they are written, by my own hand, and the story goes on.

So here I sit, loyal reader, on the shores of an angry ocean, shivering against the cold of a new day. I thank you for your time and your attention, which I’ve asked for, and your love, which I like to think I still deserve. I will be sunburned and marked with salt before the day is through, and yet I look forward to new moments with the people I care for, who remain despite the carnage and fire. It’s not over yet, not by a long shot. The pain is overwhelming in waves, but I am strong, and I’ve got good people on my side. I wish for a home that doesn’t exist quite yet, but I’m building it, brick by heavy brick. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it will be ok.

My plate is constantly full, continually refilling, and mostly delicious.

Today I slept until 1pm, which was sorely needed since I have been staying up well past midnight these days, although I’m going to try and get to bed relatively early tonight. I wrote an article for the Beacon, a Burning Man newspaper, about Saltmind Artistic Collective in Salt Lake City. I listened to my interviews whilst writing, so hopefully it’s not woefully inaccurate. I made coffee in my perfect two-cup coffee maker, to start the day (late as I got up) with a little zip. I walked the puppy; Corms needed extra time to poop and smell everyone else’s, he’s not too proud to appreciate his peers’ good work. My mind was fuzzy at first, sleeping in so late, but came into surprising clarity as I wrote my article and realized how bloody fun it can be to write. I forget this shit sometimes.

I spent some good time thinking about how society frames female accomplishment as something competitive, when in fact a full cup raises all ships, if I may horribly mix a metaphor.  I for one am happy to be surrounding by goddesses with incredible accomplishments and good hearts. Their successes don’t make me less than amazing, and their struggles don’t invalidate mine. My cup overflows with happiness to see other happy people in my life. My empathy is alive and kicking for all the shit they go through, and all the awesome coping they accomplish.

I went to the Sugar Slam poetry event this week, and some sweet and wonderful ladies were in town on their western-USA tour from Portland. Their performances gave me strength and ambition to write more, and I’d love to thank them for that (perhaps this post will trickle into the wild waters of the internet and find them, somehow). I performed a version of my last blog post, Dear Cigarettes, into a real live microphone. It was pretty awesome to get responses and feelings from the audience. I have been on a performing Hiatus for quite some time, but it definitely still fuels my fire. Live theater, live art, live poetry…damn. SO refreshing, so revitalizing.

I plan on writing this afternoon once I switch from coffee to Twisted Mango Diet Coke, and forgive myself the lack of outer-worldy encounters, (read: socializing), in favor of a quiet afternoon spend working on my oft-neglected craft. Maybe I’ll post some of my better efforts, maybe I won’t, but it will be food for the soul. I’m feeling alive and had a really good weekend. Saying that (or rather typing that) feels so nice. I hope it feels good to hear (or rather read) for you, Loyal Reader.

 

P.S. Headed to Montana next weekend, so I have a few errands to run at some point to get extra keys for my dog-keeper and cat-watcher. I’m so excited to see my family and celebrate Z and K’s wedding…which was actually in Belize, that I regret missing, but reception in Helena, which is admittedly more my speed at the moment. I’m nervous about leaving the kiddos with my friends, just because if anything happened, they would feel plain terrible about it, but that’s kinda how you have to deal with leaving your little ones with ANYONE who isn’t YOU. Doggo and Kitteh are in good shape and I expect nothing but lots of whining and responsive cuddles from the pets and the keepers respectively. My babies will be in good hands. Just have to get my ducks in a row and commit to enjoying my time away without too much worry.

 

OH DAMN, I should sticker my suitcase, too. Projects today, people, PROJECTS.

Dear cigarettes,

I was assigned a letter to cigarettes in this, my quit week in smoking cessation class. I wrote something glib and quick in my book just before class, but I think you deserve better than that, after all our years together. So here goes:

Fuck you, cigarettes. Fuck the day I met you, clinging to my father’s clothes and hugs, fuck you for raising me to wish for your scent; because it meant he was nearby. Go to hell for being my longest relationship; 15 years I let you share my life, every day. I allowed myself to fall in love with you, praise you, worship you, cheat on every man I knew and adored because you couldn’t wait to take me over again and again. I longed for you on airplanes and family trips, I wished for you first thing in the morning, last thing at night.

I thought you were good to me, but you’re an abusive fuck. I thought I needed you to relax and be myself, I thought I needed you to socialize, I thought you had my best interests at heart. You’re a bully and an asshole, cigarette. You make me feel bad and smell bad, and you take hours from my life with every drag…I thought I was taking drags, but you were dragging me to hell, living hell, and I will never forgive or forget you for that. You wanted to control me. You wanted to be my primary, and I let you, for a long long harrowing time.

Now you’re crying crocodile tears, and I don’t buy it for a damn second. I don’t need you. Fuck you, cigarettes, I regret every ingress, every moment you were in my body. I’m bleeding toxic oils and fumes now, now that I’ve gone hours without your violation. I smell like I’ve been running a marathon. I look like I need a good stiff drink. I feel a lonely and overwhelming sorrow because you are gone and I’m not letting you come back. You were never my friend. You never loved me the way I loved you. You just wanted to own something beautiful, and twist it to your own design. You’re a monster, cigarettes.

I’m blocking you on Facebook, I’m blocking you on my phone, I’m wrapping you in a binding spell. I’m coughing up yellow mucous, my stomach is in knots, and I hate you for making me so dependent on your poison. You think you’re so strong; I’m stronger, I love myself more than you want me. You’d love to see me fall again, you’d love every unwilling inhalation, you’d love it if I failed. That’s not healthy, you abusive fucking bastard.

I won’t wish you well, cigarettes, and I won’t mourn your demise. I want to see you crash and burn, and I want to cheer on everyone who drops your wretched self, I want you out of my life and everyone else’s. You don’t deserve friends, cigarettes.

You didn’t deserve me.

-Jady

If I didn’t have my family, my pets, my friends, my health, my career, my heart would be utterly, utterly broken.

My family: visiting Helena in August, and New Orleans in September. Seeing family for a wedding reception; and my sister, ever so coincidentally, the weekend It: Chapter 2 comes out in theaters. So excited to be with my loved ones, who I don’t get to see much.

My pets: Corms and Dante are being just amazing pets at the new place. Corms barks but rarely, they both cuddle me every night. (I miss my Moro, but word has it she’s being pawned off on the in-laws, which will be better than where she is now.) I still hate myself a teensy bit for leaving her, but some things can’t be helped. I guess. does’t make me feel any better.

My friends: NOTICEABLE  number of friends let me know that X was always an asshole, which I failed to notice, and that they still love me, which is nice to hear. I’m still lonely living alone, but I would be loathe to have roommates, so thems the breaks.

My health: Quit smoking, mostly. Had 3 today when I got home, but I also saw the X at my local watering hole, and he completely ignored me, so I’d say I’m doing well.

My Career: going pretty well, although 2 therapists moved on this week, which puts a lot of weight on the remaining people in the office. I am by osmosis gaining seniority and responsibility, and I start teaching a new class on Monday. Only slightly freaking out about that reality.

My heart: A work in progress. Healing. Baby steps.

 

 

The new apartment is lovely. I found a place after I had mostly moved my stuff to storage at my mom’s house, and I’m so glad I had the forethought to do so. I’m not certain what I should say or not say re the divorce until its final, so put a pin in the non-optional move-out. I’ll chat it up at a later date.

In any case, I found a new place in SLC, and I plan on staying for a while. Signed a lease and everything. My job allows me some freedom and money and other great things, although obviously HIPPA, ethics, and common sense dictate that I keep the actual company to myself and trusted kin. So I will tell you, loyal and oft forgotten reader, about the things I can speak freely. Namely, me.

I’m here at the wonderful alchemy cafe, drinking a flat white and eating a ham and cheese croissant. I’m off work for the week, and I could use a pedicure and massage. The pedicure is happening this afternoon with Mom, the massage is yet to be determined. It’s pretty warm outside, but a little windy, so I’m comfortable in the shade of the patio umbrella. Occasionally I will see someone I know, pause and share greetings, and return to my writing. They know and like me here, and I trust the majority of patrons. It’s great to feel safe.

My plans for the summer include a family wedding reception in August in Helena, Montana, and a trip in September to New Orleans to visit Sister. Very excited for both, family has been a great support and comfort in these past few months/years/lifetime. I don’t know how many phone calls I’ve gotten or texts I’ve received from helpful, supportive loved ones, the number is immeasurable.

One never realizes the wealth of their social capitol until it is tested, tried out, leaned on when you’re so tired from sobbing at graduation that you don’t want to take pictures with your cohort, you just want to go somewhere that feels like home. My house that I shared with the former husband was toxic; my new place is tidy, comforting and serene. I’m making an Amazon wishlist for those of you who would like to offer tangible housewarming gifts, but I’m happily accepting company as well.

I’m working on me. I’m leaning into the idea that one can be happy doing things to facilitate happiness, one can be patient with oneself, one can have high hopes and yet realistic expectations. I’m learning the language of both Spanish and humility; both are teaching me to be curious and ok with my lacking fluency. I am so full of love for the world, mostly…and cautious of poisonous situations. I am well. Not complacent, but content.

And just look at Corms. He’s so happy to be here with mommy. Dante is adapting to being an indoor kitty, although his favorite place to vomit is the one room with carpet, so being a little bastard never changes.

I miss Moro, and I hope she’s doing ok. I have my doubts. The sound of her crying when I left will haunt me. In my heart of hearts, I have to believe she will be all right. But that sound…

Bygones, loyal reader. Bygones and regrets in a sea of good tidings.

So this one time, my marriage failed, and I dropped out of blogging because my world as I knew it was ending. So there’s that.

I also graduated from my Master’s in Social Work program.

I also moved out of my house, which apparently was not optional in my former husband’s opinion.

I also found a new apartment.

I also got a new Career, and never have to have a Job again.

I also have a cat and ONE dog now.

I also stay up way too late writing.

Now I spend my days reminding myself what Carrie Fisher would do.

So how’s YOUR life going?

Since I’m apparently posting monthly now, here’s your updates on the Life of Jady:

1. The husband has been in town for four days, and it is fantastic to actually see him. He’s napping right now but I’m pretty sure he’ll be awake by at least 8 o’clock which means I get two hours with him before he leaves again for voyages unknown.

2. I have had a headache for seven days, which at times has been the most extreme headache that I have ever had. I went to the ER twice, have been taking muscle relaxers prescribed to me for muscle spasms, and now I can look at a computer screen for long enough to write a blog post which is definitely saying something. Would not recommend this for the last month of someone’s masters program, which reminds me…

3. … I graduate in less than 30 days! A lot of the family is coming into town for the graduation and I’m super excited to see everyone, to finally be done with classes, to complete my internship, and generally to actually have free time.

4. The last day of my internship will probably be my birthday, so I expect that I will be doing some sort of celebration the weekend following. Stay tuned.

5. Since this is supposed to be a blog about bipolar as well as me, I feel obliged to say that I have switched medications from lithium to lamictal, started synthroid (I think I’ve mentioned that) and raised my abilify to combat spring fever. Everything is going well.

That’s all for now, loyal reader. Send love.

No picture with this blog. I look way to haggard and my fur babies are being predictably cute/loud/loud again.

So, under the advisement of my (non-usual, vastly overpriced and rather rude) doctor, I got blood drawn to check my kidney and thyroid functions in December. Both were, to put it mildly, shot to hell. So I started taking 50mg Synthroid in the mornings and lowered my lithium to 750mg from a former 900mg.

December: 750mg lithium, 15mg Abilify at night, 50 mg Synthroid in the morning (on an empty stomach for at least 1 hour)

I got my blood checked again in early February, and my usual doctor recommended I raise my Synthroid and lower my lithium again.

Early Feb: 300mg lithium, 15 mg Abilify at night, 300mg lithium and 100mg Synthroid in the morning. (damn you, empty stomach medications, I want my coffee!)

Got my blood tested last Friday, after my doctor appointment on Wednesday wherein my doctor noticed I had a ‘goiter’ (so sexy, am I right?) on my neck. The results came in today, and my thyroid is dying a horrible death, my lithium is exacerbating the situation, and I’m going off it and onto Lamictal. Raising my Synthroid as well, but not dropping lithium juuuust yet.

Today and for the next 6 weeks: 300mg lithium, 15mg Abilify, 25mg Lamictal at night; 300mg lithium, 125mg Synthroid, 25mg lamictal in the morning. ( would murder everyone you love for a coffee and a poptart in the morning but apparently I’ll have pills instead. so Utah.)

Oh, and I got an ultrasound, just in case the goiter is actually a growth of a malignant sort, so that was fun. 24-48 hours from now I’ll have results from that, too.

Everyone enjoying the semester yet?

 

 

 

 

I can’t believe how sober I am right now. However, I believe you should honor your pain, really feel it; the alternative is to bottle it up until it erupts and decimates your life. As husband would say: when you worry you suffer twice. I say, hurt now and hurt less later. Same philosophy really. Kind of.

I very probably will never get pregnant. Allow that a moment to settle in. I might adopt, I might foster, I might have a surrogate. I might be a mom. But not the way I dreamed about for years. And it hurts so deeply. I keep expecting to cough really hard and spit out at least a sliver of my heart.

Fur babies comfort me a bit. My family has been wonderful.

But ouch, loyal reader.