by Band Back Together | Nov 11, 2010 | Gender Nonconformity, Transgender |
I turned the radio on to that station you hated.
You know the one, with the blaring rock music, and the DJ’s you never liked. Not that you found them offensive. You just thought they weren’t funny. You laughed when I told one of their jokes.
I turn the volume up. Just a little. Just because you always hated it.
I don’t drink anymore. You ruined me for it. Not that it is a bad thing, not drinking. But sometimes I think of those girly drinks I used to love, that you would always tease me for… Cosmos, redheaded sluts, you know, the fruity ones. The ones that I would joke would make me no less of a man (even though I was and am pre-op trans). The ones I would chase with a shot of tequila, or whiskey. Or both. Those were some interesting nights we had, huh?
I still sometimes think I see you in crowds. It used to be, if I thought you were there, you probably were. Magic of running with the same crowd, and inevitably doing the same things. Now, I haven’t seen most of those people in over a year. Interesting that the people I called friends weren’t more interested when I fell off of the grid.
Hey, congratulations. You always talked about wanting to do something big and lasting, in that way that people who fancy themselves artists have. You certainly managed it. Thanks to you, I can’t be a mentally healthy human being. Probably ever. You didn’t start the ball rolling, no – we have my family to thank for that one… Though you did pick at that wound, so thanks for that. But you managed some irreparable damage, and left me totally broken. You rock.
So, still hanging around the same crowd? Anyone ever mention me or where I went? Probably not. They were all pretty superficial. Unless they were high… In which case, they tried so hard to be deep. But anyhow, they ever ask you what happened? You ever tell them? Probably said that I made a move on you. Because you were so fuckin’ irresistible. I don’t trust people very easily anymore.
Over a year since our little ‘anniversary’. Do you ever regret it? You planned to prey on the one with the blossoming drinking problem, shame and guilt issues and the body issues who trusted you? Probably. I sound like kind of an easy mark.
I just wanted to let you know that I found people that accept me for all of my awkward, neurotic tendencies. They always call me by my right name. They love me, and would protect me from someone like you. And yeah, in the back of my mind, I am still just a little fearful of them. Because I trusted you that much once.
Funny how something like a radio station can bring back such memories.
by Band Back Together | Nov 11, 2010 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Partner/Spouse Loss |
The thing about my husband was that he was very talented. He was an actor/voice-over artist and a writer. He had some success in the real world. He also was an amazing singer. There are videos/recordings with him or his voice in them, and episodes of TV shows and movies that come on arbitrarily that he wrote.
Almost 5 years in, I still get blind-sided by these things. I lie on the couch on a Saturday night, watching a movie and am startled to hear his voice; I forgot he did voice-work on that movie. Or I’m flipping through the channels and, OMG…there’s a movie he wrote, or an episode of a television show. Often I just smile, sometimes the effect is a bit more disturbing. Tonight I was on FB, just trudging through, checking in, and there was a post by my (well, his) nephew.
He had found and posted a VERY old video by David Lee Roth (OK, Just a Gigolo, for those older than a minute). His comment was only, “miss you Tom.” Tom does a voice-over on it and appears in one scene. I had forgotten about it. It was really goofy. In the moment…it made me laugh, so hard.
BUT, I’ve been crying off and on all night. That’s the way grief works. It catches you unaware and knocks you for a loop. I can make it through his birthday with aplomb; show me a stupid video, surprise me with his voice..I’m a wreck.
I’m heading into what I call the “horror” months, because the holidays were his, our, favorite time of the year. Especially Christmas; the music, the activities. We always had a huge party. We went to many other ones. He loved carols; each year we’d make a CD for friends and family, with a theme, of Christmas carols. We have a lot of talented friends, so each year we’d include a friend singing on our CD.
Tom died in January 2006. For Christmas 2006 I decided to make one last CD. It is so beautiful, but one of the most precious parts of it was that I was able to add 3 songs that Tom sang on it. Every year I look so forward to – and dread so much – playing the CD. I know that I will listen to it Thanksgiving weekend as I decorate our Christmas tree; that’s when the CD’s come out.
I want to hear it, I dread it. I want to watch those movies, but I dread hearing his voice, remembering. The pain and the joy and the dread and the amazing gratitude that I have because i DO have these reminders…well. It’s hard to describe.
Grief sucks; life keeps moving ahead. And with it, I have to deal with the good and the bad. Tonight, though I’ve been crying most of the night, I’m clear on that. Maybe not tomorrow or Christmas Eve, but I don’t know. The way that this video surprised and delighted me even as it made me sad and feel my loss really points to the way that my grief, all grief, is a living, changeable thing. I will never not feel the pain, but as time goes on, I hope that initial jolt will be more often, one of delight and gratitude rather than pain and loss.
by Band Back Together | Nov 10, 2010 | Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Depression, Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder Resources, Major Depressive Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder |
I didn’t know if I wanted to write about this subject or not.
It’s a dark one.
One a lot of people don’t want to talk about. But I have been suffering with this for several months now and I need to talk. I need to get it all out.
You see, I am what they call “crazy.” I suffer from a wide range of issues. Social Anxiety Disorder, Generalized Anxiety, Severe Depression, Panic Disorder, PTSD, Agoraphobia, OCD. The list seems endless which makes me feel extra crazy. I also suffer from extreme pain in my feet, hands, knees and ankles. They doctors have no answers for that yet. I don’t know that they ever will. If blood tests can’t show it, I may never have answers. And my last issue is my stomach, I have awful pains in my stomach. My upper GI tract is where the pain is and the only answer they have is GERD but the medicines thus far aren’t helping. I always feel like I am about to throw up, I live in the bathroom and a lot of times I spend days and nights vomiting. It’s no fun. And now I have been afflicted with migraines and insomnia. I am sure the two walk hand-in-hand. I am not sure how much I can truly take. I want it all to end but I don’t know how. I have so much wrong with me. And so much people really don’t know, because I am afraid to talk about it or it’s to painful to talk about.
But my biggest problem is the medicines I’m taking. None of them seem to help. They only seem to make everything worse. And I just don’t know what to do. I know I need medicines. But what do you do when the medicine cause more problems than it solves?
I am afraid of being crazy forever. I am afraid I will end up in the loony bin. I am afraid I will snap and there will be no coming back. I am just afraid. The panic is the worst. I think the depression stems from the panic. And the pain and stomach issues cause more panic. So it’s a never-ending cycle.
But I have been doing some Google research and it seems Cymbalta, which I am on, can cause more harm than good in some people. And I started taking it because it had the least stomach side effects as well as sexual side effects. Well the sex thing is non-existent and is ruining my marriage. And my stomach obviously isn’t getting any better. So I just don’t know what to do. Do I stop the SNRI? Because all the others’ side effects are way worse.
Do I just focus on the Panic? What do I do? And for sleep what do I do? I haven’t slept in months it seems like. And I am losing my mind. I thought it was the anti-anxiety pills I was on, but I am now beginning to think that it’s the Cymbalta and it does not play well with others. I am at the end of my rope. I just don’t know what to do anymore.
I just want to feel normal again, and I am not even sure what normal is anymore.
by Band Back Together | Nov 10, 2010 | Shame, Stress, Stutter, Tourette Syndrome |
To speak. To form sounds, syllables, words, that when combined, convey a specific meaning to the listener.
A lot of people I’ve met take this ability for granted. They don’t contemplate their ability to articulate a certain sound in the brief moments before they are expected to respond or answer the question looming in the room. Others appreciate the hard work and seemingly miraculous events that occur to allow them to talk.
I’ve never known such bliss. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a stutter. It is what my childhood neurologist referred to as a “hesitation stutter” in that I have difficulty moving past initial sounds.
Throw in a few ever-changing involuntary muscular tics, and you have a diagnosis of Tourette Syndrome, which is a genetic condition consisting of both verbal and motor tics. I rarely admit this as the root cause of my stutter because of the next question I inevitably get – “so why don’t you swear all the time, then?”
Well, I do, but it is completely intentional and not related to the 10% of Tourette’s patients who have coprolalia (involuntary swearing or inappropriate comments and usually how the media portrays Tourette’s).
It feels like a giant lump in my throat, paralyzing my vocal cords and restricting sounds from emerging. Stress makes it worse, as does lack of sleep, or too much sleep, or sometimes just the changing of the winds.
I have struggled with the mundane aspects of life, the things my husband does without a second thought. For me, they require meditation and at least 10 minutes to psych myself up.
Calling to schedule an appointment? Awkward. Answering the phone with the professionally appropriate, dictated script? Impossible. Going through a drive through window? Painful for all involved. Successfully navigating a phone interview? Screw it.
I’ve tried being honest and upfront with employers and customers (I have a very public-facing job. In this recession, I took what I could find. Call me a masochist), and sometimes it helps.
The sympathetic ones understand that my stutter does not define me, nor does it indicate a lack of intelligence. I can’t say that has been the universal reaction from everyone.
The ones who laugh and mock are the most painful. I’ve learned to have a thick skin, at least outwardly. I’ve learned their insults and degrading comments are indicative of their shortcomings, not mine. I thought it would get better once I was out of high school and into the professional environment, where “adults” would know better.
10 years later, I’ve found that’s true about half of the time.
I’m 28 years old, but I still long for just one day where I can say what is on my mind without struggling to get the words out. It sounds so stupid when I put it on paper, and it almost seems ridiculous in comparison to other people’s issues.
In the last 6 months or so, it has gotten worse, likely because of the stress of my current job. I’ve tried medications, but the zombie effect is counterproductive to successful employment, and my doctors took me off all of them two and a half years ago at the start of our child bearing efforts.
I’ve tried alternative therapies, yoga, acupuncture, long hot baths. Nothing helps for long.
I’ve learned to fight past it. Keep doing the things I want to do, and screw anyone else who doesn’t understand. I don’t normally talk about it except when absolutely necessary because I don’t want to be the whiny chick who feels sorry for herself. I keep my head down and go through life as best as I can in that moment.
I’ve noticed a common theme on this site – a lot of the posters say they don’t like to complain or talk about the issue in their post, myself included. I am so grateful for this forum and the creators for providing a safe, open environment for all of us to gather and support each other.
Sometimes we need encouragement, a listening ear, thoughtful words, or a place to vent without judgment.
Sometimes we just need to know we’re not alone
by Band Back Together | Nov 10, 2010 | Abuse, Addiction, Alcohol Addiction, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse |
For my 25th birthday my parents threw me a party at a restaurant. I had an awesome group of friends and family that came, and it was a fantastic celebration. As I blew out the candles on my cake, I wished for a boyfriend. Lame, right? Well, be careful what you wish for.
I met Aaron two weeks later at a friend’s birthday party. He was charismatic, out-going, and handsome. And a paraplegic. He’d been injured in an accident at the age of 20 when he flipped his car on an isolated road. Still, his attitude was excellent, his outlook on life optimistic. He could talk to anyone about anything, something I really admired. We started dating, and it was fun, light and exciting.
I don’t remember where to pinpoint when it started to go wrong. When we’d been together about 9 months, we decided to take a road trip up the California coast. I went shopping for some new jeans, and I had to get a bigger size. Love and my career (I traveled for work about 60% of the time, so I wasn’t eating healthy homemade food) had made me fat and happy and I’d put on a few pounds. That was the first time he made a comment. He said he wasn’t attracted to fat girls. He didn’t say I was fat, but that he wasn’t attracted to girls who were fat. Either way, not exactly encouraging or supportive words from someone who’s supposed to love you.
In July of that year, when we’d been dating just over a year, we talked about moving in together. When I told my parents about it, they weren’t happy and tried to discourage me. That should have been a big warning sign. If only I’d listened.
I moved in at the end of September and things changed big time. Before we lived together, I spent 5-6 nights a week at his place. I knew his habits. I did his laundry, helped with the cleaning he couldn’t do easily, and did his grocery shopping. I knew more or less what it was like to live with him. But it all changed. Now, instead of just doing laundry, I was expected to keep everything in our home clean. He’d criticize if I didn’t do things perfectly. I became full-time girlfriend, full-time maid. I did it out of love, but there wasn’t any appreciation on his end for carrying the burden of keeping our home. Any attempts I made at cooking were met with criticism. Meals were thrown out.
And then the drinking started. He decided he liked scotch. He’d always been a social drinker, but it didn’t bother me; there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And believe me, I watched out for it. I’d dated an alcoholic in college, and I was very sensitive to guys’ drinking habits. But suddenly Aaron was drinking more. He went from a double on the rocks, to a triple; then from a triple to two triples, and then to three. By December, he was drinking a Costco sized handle bottle of scotch every 10 days. I went to bed alone a lot, while he stayed up filling and refilling his glass before coming to bed with hot boozy breath. We fought about it. A lot. It was supposed to be none of my business. I still can’t stand the sound of ice clinking in a tumbler. It makes me want to throw up.
In November, I went to Florida to spend Thanksgiving with his family. We were happy that week. His brother-in-law was a CEO and lived in a $10 Million home down the street from Tiger Woods. It was a week of extravagance – expensive dinners out and fancy cars and private jets. We had fun and enjoyed the holiday. I loved his family, and his twin nieces adored me. One night, we stayed up late after everyone else had gone to bed drinking and laughing in the hot tub. We were both past tipsy. Something spurned an argument. He pulled out his camera and started video-taping me. Mocking me and my tears and my slurred speech. I still don’t like to be photographed or taped.
Christmas and New Year’s that year were strained. We agreed to work through some things. I wanted to go to counseling because I knew I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t ready to admit yet that it was because of him. He again made comments about not being attracted to fat girls. Only this time, his comments were coupled with a complete lack of affection. Now it was personal. And now when I cried, accusations of me being bipolar came along with the tears. In actuality, I was trying to keep up my front of happiness and was repeatedly failing. In my heart, I knew things were broken.
I was building strength to put my foot down on things changing when I lost my job the same day I had my first counseling appointment. Instead of being supportive and encouraging, he was furious, and questioned what would have happened if we had kids to support. I was out of work for three weeks when I started my new job on a Monday. He was coming back from a ski trip that day and made me leave my first day of my new job to pick him up at the airport. He never would have done that for me.
We broke up on Friday, four days later. That Sunday was Super Bowl Sunday. We went to his friend and coworker’s house to watch the game. He drank a 12-pack in 4 hours. In front of the friend’s kids. And then wanted to drive home. I was mortified and knew I had to get out.
Things weren’t easy leaving. We kinda sorta tried to make things work for another week before one final fight left me begging him to just let me go. How pathetic is that? That even though I knew it had to end, I didn’t have the strength to end it myself? I hate that about myself. I did leave, though, and found my own place. It was 9 days before I could move into it, so I stayed with him, living with my now-ex-boyfriend who took every opportunity to get in every last jab. We fought, I cried, and he made more accusations about my mental stability. He made comments about my choosing a second floor apartment and how that was a slap in the face to him. February 23rd, 2008 was the day I moved into my new home, my new beginning.
I met Dan in late May and we slowly started dating. Aaron called drunk one night. It was two weeks before Dan’s birthday, at the beginning of October. He was trying to make amends, wanted to be friends. I said we could be civil. A week later, I thought better of it and emailed him and said he wasn’t welcome to contact me anymore, that I didn’t want to hear from him again. His retaliation was a vicious string of venom and hatred in written form. Accusations of me being bipolar. Threats that my boyfriend (Dan, my future husband) had better have a lot of Kleenex. Other horrible things about me that I quickly deleted and have tried to erase from my mind. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
It’s been over two years since that horrible final email. I’m not bipolar (I never thought I was). I am mainly healed. I have a husband who is an absolute angel, who promised me he’d never be drunk in front of me, and who holds me tight when something in the present day draws a sudden memory or flashback that knocks the wind out of me. My husband never makes me cry anything but tears of joy. I was never physically abused or harmed by Aaron, but I have wounds. From emotional abuse. It’s hard to say. Emotional abuse. Abuse. There’s no other word for it – for the things he said and did to the woman who loved him – as much as I try to dance around it. I’m working to forgive.
I have so many things I’d love to say to Aaron if given the chance, to scream at him in anger. I like to think I’d be stronger now, and that I’d really fucking give it to him, tell him how all the hurtful things he said have followed me and threatened the happiness I deserve. But I’m scared to hope for a chance to say them, because I’ve learned you have to be careful what you wish for.
