Have you ever had one of those moments where you did or said something so mortifying and hilarious at the same time that, there are virtually no words to adequately describe it to anyone else?
Yeah. That happened to me today. At work.
After the "incident", I sat at my desk and started laughing so hysterically that another co-worker came by my desk to find out what was going on.
Co-worker: "Hey Sharon, what's up?"
Me: "I..I...I....can't...*gasp*"
Co-worker: "Umm... *awkward laughing to keep things from getting too weird*"
Me: *maniacal laughter*
Co-worker: "Sharon, you're like a crazy kitten in a box."
I'm not entirely sure I know what that means but, I think it might be true.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
I need to just comma down
I'm really enjoying my blogging adventures. But there's one thing I've noticed about my writing. I am obsessed with commas. I seriously, add a comma, after every three, or four words.
What's up with that?
I also noticed I add a lot of ...'s and " "'s and ( )'s. I need to cool it with the punctuation.
I have a lot of learning to do with this writing gig. Be patient with me. I'll get there.
P.S.
I have to give Ted the credit for my "I need to just comma down" title. He said it to me last night and I haven't been able to stop laughing about it.
What's up with that?
I also noticed I add a lot of ...'s and " "'s and ( )'s. I need to cool it with the punctuation.
I have a lot of learning to do with this writing gig. Be patient with me. I'll get there.
P.S.
I have to give Ted the credit for my "I need to just comma down" title. He said it to me last night and I haven't been able to stop laughing about it.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
That one time I thought my Dad was having a heart attack and my firefighter obsession began
I'm not sure what was going on today but, there were multiple times I saw a fire truck with their lights and sirens blaring and all. We live fairly close to a fire station so, it's common to hear one every couple of nights. But today I've probably seen or heard at least 4. I find myself dreamily watching the trucks speed by while I try to catch a glimpse of a dude in uniform. Oh yeah.....
You see, I'm slightly obsessed with fire fighters. I know, it's not original. Most women are. But for me, you could probably take any ordinary looking gentleman, put him in those oversized yellow pants with the suspenders and navy blue t-shirt, and I would swoon. I've been known, a time or two, to follow a truck into the Safeway parking lot. I'll wait (pretending to text on my phone) for the men to file out of the truck and into the store to do their shopping, and then follow them in soon after. I try to be subtle but I'm certain there have been a few times one of the guys saw me lurking about. How embarrassing.
My obsession started on a warm sunny day, way back in 1997. I was 23 and living in Portland at the time, but I decided to fly back to Salt Lake City to visit some family and friends. I had been in town for less than 24 hours when my Mom received a sad call that my Great-Aunt Helen had passed away.
My Mom and Dad decided they wanted to drive over to Aunt Helen's house to give our condolences to her children and grandchildren. I felt I needed to be supportive, so I went with them.
Mom decided to drive (unusual for my parents). Dad was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back seat behind Dad. Mind you, this was back in the 1990's where the auto industry decided it was a great idea to manufacture cars that had those automatic shoulder strap seat belts. You know the ones.... The minute you open or close the door your seat belt would move up or down along the edge of the window, usually when you weren't expecting it and it caught your head at a weird angle and sometimes you would get smacked in the face if you weren't careful. Yeah, those ones. They basically force you to wear a seat belt. Dad was notorious (still is) about not wearing his seat belt. No amount of pleading, or reasoning with him would make him wear one, so we were actually grateful for these automatic straps. Anything is better than nothing, right?
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was wearing a light colored t-shirt, Levi's shorts and Keds sneakers, sans socks. I noticed an oncoming car moving toward the middle of the road with it's turn signal blinking to turn left. I remember thinking, "That car looks like it's going to try to turn in front of us." I remember opening my mouth to warn my Mom. And that's when it happened. The car turned directly into our path.
My Mom didn't have any time to react, and we hit the other car directly on their passenger side, which caused them to start spinning across the road. The impact forced my right leg underneath the seat in front of me. My Mom hit the brakes, and time stood still. There was the initial horrific sound of metal scraping against metal and glass breaking. Then there was a millisecond of silence. In that moment, I could see my Mom's arms outstretched in front of her, elbows locked, hands at 10 and 2, gripping the steering wheel. I saw my leg under Dad's seat at an angle I was certain could not be achieved without breaking a bone. I could hear my Dad's short but eerie grunt as the impact pushed all of the air out of his lungs. I could see the other car, still spinning, the top of a child's head sitting in the passenger seat. The world around me felt different. Dream like. This can't be happening. And then: Reality set in. I started screaming. This was real. There was searing pain in my lower right leg and it hurt SO MUCH. . We eventually came to a stop. That's when I heard my Dad shouting, "My chest...my chest..I can't breath..." and I could hear the strain in his voice. My Dad didn't secure the lap belt, so the shoulder seat belt forced all of the impact into his chest. The pain in my leg vanished. I was certain my Dad was having a heart attack. I opened my door, stumbled out, and tried to open my Dad's door. But it was stuck. I could see him through the window, grabbing his chest in agony. I was helpless. What a horrible feeling that is. I kept pulling on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I resorted to banging my fists on the window. I remember thinking, "How am I going to get him out through the window by myself?". I never realized what the phrase, "My life flashed before my eyes.." really meant until that moment. I tried to imagine how I was ever going to be ok with Dad gone. That's when I turned around and saw...them.
You know that opening scene on Baywatch where the women are in their bathing suits, holding their life-saving floater things... running in slow motion? Well, that's what I saw. But instead of scantily clad women in bathing suits, I saw firefighters with first aide kits. Our accident happened directly in front of a fire station. Hey guys: If any of you plan on getting into a car crash at any point, I highly suggest you do it in front of a fire station.
Back to the glorious firemen running in slow motion toward me. I would guess there were about 20 of them. My heroes. I started screaming, "Help! My Dad is having a heart attack!" A couple of the fire fighters started trying to pry Dad's door open, while a couple others grabbed me, and quickly but gently set me down in the back seat and started to evaluate me. Taking my vitals, looking at my leg, (which had started to THROB once again), asking me questions to check for any head or brain injury. "What's your name? What day of the week is it? Who's the current President of the United States?" Yes, they really asked me that question. I was trying to focus on what was happening with my Dad in the front seat, and I was crying, trying to keep myself from becoming hysterical. Dad's door had apparently been forced open and they were helping him. I kept asking, "Is my Dad ok? Is he going to be ok? He needs to go to the hospital!" I was so scared. And I was in pain. I watched the firefighter's stay calm but focused as they worked efficiently on stabilizing Dad, talking to him and trying to help him breath. The men were trained for this. They knew exactly what to do. They reassured me everything was going to be ok. They would make sure of it. And I was smitten.
They stayed with us until the paramedics arrived. I watched as they helped the paramedics carefully put my Dad on the gurney. I watched them as they comforted my Mom, letting her know it wasn't her fault. It was going to be ok. Dad was going to be fine.
And he was. He ended up NOT having a heart attack. We were all taken to the hospital. Dad bruised his chest and the muscles around his heart but, he was otherwise fine. My leg wasn't broken but I had one HELL of a hematoma. It was the size of a baseball. It turned a deep purple almost instantly. Gosh it was ugly. And it stayed ugly for a long time, which sucked because it was the middle of summer and every time I wore shorts, that horrible bruise was the first thing people noticed. Mom broke her little toe. We later teased her about it because compared to my ugly leg and Dad's pseudo heart attack, listening to her complain about her little toe pain seemed to pale in comparison. The people in the other car ended up having some minor injuries as well. It was obviously scary, but everyone walked away safe.
I had a newfound admiration for firefighters. I was experiencing, what I thought to be at the time, one of the worst moments of my life, and then I turned around to see 20 or so very handsome and heroic men running toward me. It's something I think about often. And on some small demented level...I remember that day being kind of... magical.
You see, I'm slightly obsessed with fire fighters. I know, it's not original. Most women are. But for me, you could probably take any ordinary looking gentleman, put him in those oversized yellow pants with the suspenders and navy blue t-shirt, and I would swoon. I've been known, a time or two, to follow a truck into the Safeway parking lot. I'll wait (pretending to text on my phone) for the men to file out of the truck and into the store to do their shopping, and then follow them in soon after. I try to be subtle but I'm certain there have been a few times one of the guys saw me lurking about. How embarrassing.
My obsession started on a warm sunny day, way back in 1997. I was 23 and living in Portland at the time, but I decided to fly back to Salt Lake City to visit some family and friends. I had been in town for less than 24 hours when my Mom received a sad call that my Great-Aunt Helen had passed away.
My Mom and Dad decided they wanted to drive over to Aunt Helen's house to give our condolences to her children and grandchildren. I felt I needed to be supportive, so I went with them.
Mom decided to drive (unusual for my parents). Dad was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back seat behind Dad. Mind you, this was back in the 1990's where the auto industry decided it was a great idea to manufacture cars that had those automatic shoulder strap seat belts. You know the ones.... The minute you open or close the door your seat belt would move up or down along the edge of the window, usually when you weren't expecting it and it caught your head at a weird angle and sometimes you would get smacked in the face if you weren't careful. Yeah, those ones. They basically force you to wear a seat belt. Dad was notorious (still is) about not wearing his seat belt. No amount of pleading, or reasoning with him would make him wear one, so we were actually grateful for these automatic straps. Anything is better than nothing, right?
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was wearing a light colored t-shirt, Levi's shorts and Keds sneakers, sans socks. I noticed an oncoming car moving toward the middle of the road with it's turn signal blinking to turn left. I remember thinking, "That car looks like it's going to try to turn in front of us." I remember opening my mouth to warn my Mom. And that's when it happened. The car turned directly into our path.
My Mom didn't have any time to react, and we hit the other car directly on their passenger side, which caused them to start spinning across the road. The impact forced my right leg underneath the seat in front of me. My Mom hit the brakes, and time stood still. There was the initial horrific sound of metal scraping against metal and glass breaking. Then there was a millisecond of silence. In that moment, I could see my Mom's arms outstretched in front of her, elbows locked, hands at 10 and 2, gripping the steering wheel. I saw my leg under Dad's seat at an angle I was certain could not be achieved without breaking a bone. I could hear my Dad's short but eerie grunt as the impact pushed all of the air out of his lungs. I could see the other car, still spinning, the top of a child's head sitting in the passenger seat. The world around me felt different. Dream like. This can't be happening. And then: Reality set in. I started screaming. This was real. There was searing pain in my lower right leg and it hurt SO MUCH. . We eventually came to a stop. That's when I heard my Dad shouting, "My chest...my chest..I can't breath..." and I could hear the strain in his voice. My Dad didn't secure the lap belt, so the shoulder seat belt forced all of the impact into his chest. The pain in my leg vanished. I was certain my Dad was having a heart attack. I opened my door, stumbled out, and tried to open my Dad's door. But it was stuck. I could see him through the window, grabbing his chest in agony. I was helpless. What a horrible feeling that is. I kept pulling on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I resorted to banging my fists on the window. I remember thinking, "How am I going to get him out through the window by myself?". I never realized what the phrase, "My life flashed before my eyes.." really meant until that moment. I tried to imagine how I was ever going to be ok with Dad gone. That's when I turned around and saw...them.
You know that opening scene on Baywatch where the women are in their bathing suits, holding their life-saving floater things... running in slow motion? Well, that's what I saw. But instead of scantily clad women in bathing suits, I saw firefighters with first aide kits. Our accident happened directly in front of a fire station. Hey guys: If any of you plan on getting into a car crash at any point, I highly suggest you do it in front of a fire station.
Back to the glorious firemen running in slow motion toward me. I would guess there were about 20 of them. My heroes. I started screaming, "Help! My Dad is having a heart attack!" A couple of the fire fighters started trying to pry Dad's door open, while a couple others grabbed me, and quickly but gently set me down in the back seat and started to evaluate me. Taking my vitals, looking at my leg, (which had started to THROB once again), asking me questions to check for any head or brain injury. "What's your name? What day of the week is it? Who's the current President of the United States?" Yes, they really asked me that question. I was trying to focus on what was happening with my Dad in the front seat, and I was crying, trying to keep myself from becoming hysterical. Dad's door had apparently been forced open and they were helping him. I kept asking, "Is my Dad ok? Is he going to be ok? He needs to go to the hospital!" I was so scared. And I was in pain. I watched the firefighter's stay calm but focused as they worked efficiently on stabilizing Dad, talking to him and trying to help him breath. The men were trained for this. They knew exactly what to do. They reassured me everything was going to be ok. They would make sure of it. And I was smitten.
They stayed with us until the paramedics arrived. I watched as they helped the paramedics carefully put my Dad on the gurney. I watched them as they comforted my Mom, letting her know it wasn't her fault. It was going to be ok. Dad was going to be fine.
And he was. He ended up NOT having a heart attack. We were all taken to the hospital. Dad bruised his chest and the muscles around his heart but, he was otherwise fine. My leg wasn't broken but I had one HELL of a hematoma. It was the size of a baseball. It turned a deep purple almost instantly. Gosh it was ugly. And it stayed ugly for a long time, which sucked because it was the middle of summer and every time I wore shorts, that horrible bruise was the first thing people noticed. Mom broke her little toe. We later teased her about it because compared to my ugly leg and Dad's pseudo heart attack, listening to her complain about her little toe pain seemed to pale in comparison. The people in the other car ended up having some minor injuries as well. It was obviously scary, but everyone walked away safe.
I had a newfound admiration for firefighters. I was experiencing, what I thought to be at the time, one of the worst moments of my life, and then I turned around to see 20 or so very handsome and heroic men running toward me. It's something I think about often. And on some small demented level...I remember that day being kind of... magical.
Friday, October 25, 2013
13 reasons why pumpkins could possibly be the greatest thing ever created
~ Pumpkin flavored anything is delicious.
~ They can be used as lanterns.
~ Pumpkin is a great name for an orange kitty.
~ Pumpkin pie. This deserves it's own recognition.
~ Roasted pumpkin seeds taste yummy and they're also a healthy snack.
~ The color "pumpkin" is very pretty.
~ Pumpkins are a symbol of Autumn. The best season of them all.
~ They're round, and they can roll like a ball.
~ They can grow really, really big.
~ They can be carved into a funny or scary face, or they can be carved into very intricate pieces of art work!
~ They can be used as lanterns.
~ The insides of a pumpkin are fun to squish in your hands.
~ Pumpkin can be used as a term of endearment. Example: "I love my little pumpkin-head!"
~ Pumpkin can bu used as an expletive. Example: "What the pumpkin are you doing?"
~ Pumpkin is a great name for an orange kitty.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The cherries and the blueberries should not be next to each other
This past July, my department centralized into one office in Portland. The building we're now occupying used to be an office attached to a wearhouse that had been abandoned 15 years ago. Sounds delightful, right?
The entire process of centralizing was not a move most of us wanted to do in the first place. Many of us worked in a building or clinic close to our home. If we moved, some of us would have to cross a bridge to work in a different state. This affected income tax and the traffic would be congested and often times bumper-to-bumper. Others would have to double their drive time and distance on their commute. Needless to say... most people were NOT ok with this change.
When the announcement was made of the inevitable move, we were told, "You'll have a brand new office with new state of the art computers! You'll be able to choose the colors on the walls, and the way the office cubicles are configured, etcetera. You have got to be kidding me. The color of the walls? That's supposed to make everything ok? Obviously this didn't seem to placate anyone and the bad feelings continued. Change is hard. The phrases, "It is what it is" and "At least we still have a job, right?" became commonplace. It got to the point where I wanted to punch a baby every time I heard either phrase (or any version of them).
No matter how much we protested, we moved anyway. The colors on the walls were lovely. Special note: Thank you design team for making those choices. The state of the art computers with DUAL monitors were ... state of the art. I will admit I was pretty stoked about the dual monitors. But why the hell did we have to wait for a new office before we got dual monitors, anyway? What is this, the stone age? I mean, come on!
The office was, indeed sparkly and new. But nobody seemed to care. The first couple of weeks were so quite and uncomfortable and it was super awkward. The disdain of moving hung in the air like a....well, I don't know what it was like. But it hung there.
Fast forward three months to today and things are functioning like a normal office. People are talking and laughing and gossiping and making copies and talking on the phone and popping (and burning) popcorn in the break room. With the exception of the toilets that continue to clog and overflow, everyone had settled down. Still not thrilled but, we've accepted our fate.
Yesterday as I was sitting in my spacious cubicle (Tangent: I keep getting people coming into my "office" and telling me how spacious my cube is. Every single cube is exactly the same size so, I'm not sure how mine is so spacious but... lucky me!)... Anyway, as I was saying, yesterday as I was sitting in my spacious cube I kept hearing power tools and a bunch of commotion going on on the other side of my wall but, I was busy and I didn't have time to investigate.
This morning I saw what all the noise was about. Our company had our engineers come in and install some inspirational pictures all over the new beautifully painted walls. "Nice touch." I thought to myself as I walked past a few of them. Then I walked into the break room. That's when I saw them. There were three pictures: One was a group of cherries, the next was a cluster of blueberries, and the third picture in line was a woman drinking a bottle of water. (I know it sounds like a strange combination of pictures but...they're meant to inspire healthy eating, but I digress).
I instantly became aggravated. The cherries and the blueberries should NOT be next to each other! Who's brilliant idea was it to arrange them this way? Where's the balance? Where's the pattern of: cherry, bottle, berry? I mean... it's so obviously lopsided. I just stood there looking at it feeling like someone had just clawed their fingernails down a chalkboard. No. No, no, no. I cannot stand for this! This must be fixed at once.
If I have to move to this office, and drive into a different STATE, and cross a bridge, and start paying income tax, and practically live in an office with the beautiful wall colors, and overflowing toilets, can I at least have the berry pictures put in their correct order? Please? And don't tell me, It is what it is.
The entire process of centralizing was not a move most of us wanted to do in the first place. Many of us worked in a building or clinic close to our home. If we moved, some of us would have to cross a bridge to work in a different state. This affected income tax and the traffic would be congested and often times bumper-to-bumper. Others would have to double their drive time and distance on their commute. Needless to say... most people were NOT ok with this change.
When the announcement was made of the inevitable move, we were told, "You'll have a brand new office with new state of the art computers! You'll be able to choose the colors on the walls, and the way the office cubicles are configured, etcetera. You have got to be kidding me. The color of the walls? That's supposed to make everything ok? Obviously this didn't seem to placate anyone and the bad feelings continued. Change is hard. The phrases, "It is what it is" and "At least we still have a job, right?" became commonplace. It got to the point where I wanted to punch a baby every time I heard either phrase (or any version of them).
No matter how much we protested, we moved anyway. The colors on the walls were lovely. Special note: Thank you design team for making those choices. The state of the art computers with DUAL monitors were ... state of the art. I will admit I was pretty stoked about the dual monitors. But why the hell did we have to wait for a new office before we got dual monitors, anyway? What is this, the stone age? I mean, come on!
The office was, indeed sparkly and new. But nobody seemed to care. The first couple of weeks were so quite and uncomfortable and it was super awkward. The disdain of moving hung in the air like a....well, I don't know what it was like. But it hung there.
Fast forward three months to today and things are functioning like a normal office. People are talking and laughing and gossiping and making copies and talking on the phone and popping (and burning) popcorn in the break room. With the exception of the toilets that continue to clog and overflow, everyone had settled down. Still not thrilled but, we've accepted our fate.
Yesterday as I was sitting in my spacious cubicle (Tangent: I keep getting people coming into my "office" and telling me how spacious my cube is. Every single cube is exactly the same size so, I'm not sure how mine is so spacious but... lucky me!)... Anyway, as I was saying, yesterday as I was sitting in my spacious cube I kept hearing power tools and a bunch of commotion going on on the other side of my wall but, I was busy and I didn't have time to investigate.
This morning I saw what all the noise was about. Our company had our engineers come in and install some inspirational pictures all over the new beautifully painted walls. "Nice touch." I thought to myself as I walked past a few of them. Then I walked into the break room. That's when I saw them. There were three pictures: One was a group of cherries, the next was a cluster of blueberries, and the third picture in line was a woman drinking a bottle of water. (I know it sounds like a strange combination of pictures but...they're meant to inspire healthy eating, but I digress).
I instantly became aggravated. The cherries and the blueberries should NOT be next to each other! Who's brilliant idea was it to arrange them this way? Where's the balance? Where's the pattern of: cherry, bottle, berry? I mean... it's so obviously lopsided. I just stood there looking at it feeling like someone had just clawed their fingernails down a chalkboard. No. No, no, no. I cannot stand for this! This must be fixed at once.
If I have to move to this office, and drive into a different STATE, and cross a bridge, and start paying income tax, and practically live in an office with the beautiful wall colors, and overflowing toilets, can I at least have the berry pictures put in their correct order? Please? And don't tell me, It is what it is.
Monday, October 21, 2013
All of me.
For those of you who know me: What you see is what you get. I don't do fake, or phony, or try to make myself look better than I really am. I don't change myself for anybody.
That's not to say I refuse to consider other people's feelings. I still have manners. I'm still respectful to those around me. Often times when people say, "I am who I am.", it's to justify their bad behavior. That's not what I'm trying to say here. What I'm trying to say is, I am incapable of being anything other than who I really am. I'm animated, and kooky, and I talk fast. I laugh loudly, and often. I joke and I tease and I'm honest. Too honest. I have no problem admitting when I've made a mistake, or I'm in the wrong. I'm truly an open book. I don't hide anything. I think it scares people sometimes. Some people might even say I'm obnoxious. I don't want to be obnoxious to anyone. It makes me sad to think that people don't like me. All of me.
But, being the open book that I am... I feel the need to reveal a part of me that a lot of people might not know. I have been diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. It's something that I've been battling off and on for the last 20 years, to varying degrees. I've been taking medication for one or both issues off and on since my oldest was a toddler. It started with depression. Post partum? I was dealing with a recent diagnoses and very painful struggle with Rheumatoid Arthritis. When you're 20 years old, and you feel like you're 80... you tend to feel hopeless. But, thanks to modern medicine... my RA pain was eventually managed and I was able to physically function normally. But, the emotional effects of having a baby, and experiencing the kind RA of pain I had, and being so far away from my family and support system.. all lead to what I would suspect was the beginning of my depression.
Once again, thanks to modern medicine, I finally started taking something for the depression. It worked, for the most part. I was feeling stable emotionally as well as physically for a good part of my early and mid 20's. But then...I had another baby. And he was a very, very difficult baby. He cried ALL of the time. It was so stressful. I had gone off my depression medication while I was pregnant with my son, and did just fine throughout my pregnancy. But... only a few months after he was born, I was back to feeling extremely depressed. And, that's when the anxiety kicked in. I didn't know what it was at first. I felt like I was having a heart attack. My heart literally felt like it was being squeezed. There were times I couldn't catch my breath. Emotionally, I was falling apart. I was very scared. And there were times I wished I was dead.
Eventually, I got help for both my depression and anxiety, but even with medication...the symptoms didn't completely go away. When I turned 30, I went through a divorce. This event furthered my symptoms and I started seeing a counselor, which helped me immensely. I don't know if I would have been able to get through the divorce without the counseling. Eventually, I healed and got back on the emotionally stable train. I met my (current and wonderful) husband and life continued. By this time, I was in my early 30's. I had been off and on medication for depression and anxiety for over 10 years. I had been to a couple of counselors. They all seemed to help, mostly.
Then, about 3 years ago, I went through a period of depression and anxiety that would take me down a very long and dark road. It was a different road than I had traveled before. It wasn't the "run-of-the-mill" depression and anxiety that I had experienced previously. This time I had thoughts. Bad thoughts. I even heard voices in my head. They were CONSTANT. The thoughts/voices were so unkind to me. I would wake up in the morning and they would be there, waiting for me. They would follow me everywhere I went. Telling me what a horrible mother I was. Reminding me I was worthless, and useless, and STUPID, and fat, and ugly. This is how I lived for over 2 years. I even thought about taking my own life. There were a couple of times I almost tried something. I had pills... Or, I thought about driving to the beach.... swimming out as far as I could swim...and then just letting myself go. But, I didn't want my husband or kids to find me. My family didn't fully understand where I was mentally, at the time. But the thought of them being disappointed in me is what forced me to finally go back to the doctor. He started having me take some very heavy-duty medication, I saw a counselor (again) and I started seeing a psychiatrist. Somehow, through the grace of God, and the love and never-ending patience of my amazing husband and kids...I pulled out of that horrible, dark, awful hell.
It's been almost a year since I went through my last "episode". Those voices and thoughts still follow me. Some days are better than others. Some days, I don't hear those voices at all. Some days, I have to shout, literally out loud, to make the thoughts go away. I have to constantly self talk and remind myself that none of those bad things are true I'm not perfect. But I'm good. And people love me, and care about me. I'm not fat. I'm not ugly. I'm not stupid. I'm a good mom. I'm a good wife. I'm a good person. I have a good life.
Maybe one day I will be able to be free from the emotional prison I deal with every day. I envy those people who don't have 29 different emotions on any given day. But... who's to say they don't have their own burdens, right?
And, there you have it. All of me.
I told you I was an open book......
That's not to say I refuse to consider other people's feelings. I still have manners. I'm still respectful to those around me. Often times when people say, "I am who I am.", it's to justify their bad behavior. That's not what I'm trying to say here. What I'm trying to say is, I am incapable of being anything other than who I really am. I'm animated, and kooky, and I talk fast. I laugh loudly, and often. I joke and I tease and I'm honest. Too honest. I have no problem admitting when I've made a mistake, or I'm in the wrong. I'm truly an open book. I don't hide anything. I think it scares people sometimes. Some people might even say I'm obnoxious. I don't want to be obnoxious to anyone. It makes me sad to think that people don't like me. All of me.
But, being the open book that I am... I feel the need to reveal a part of me that a lot of people might not know. I have been diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. It's something that I've been battling off and on for the last 20 years, to varying degrees. I've been taking medication for one or both issues off and on since my oldest was a toddler. It started with depression. Post partum? I was dealing with a recent diagnoses and very painful struggle with Rheumatoid Arthritis. When you're 20 years old, and you feel like you're 80... you tend to feel hopeless. But, thanks to modern medicine... my RA pain was eventually managed and I was able to physically function normally. But, the emotional effects of having a baby, and experiencing the kind RA of pain I had, and being so far away from my family and support system.. all lead to what I would suspect was the beginning of my depression.
Once again, thanks to modern medicine, I finally started taking something for the depression. It worked, for the most part. I was feeling stable emotionally as well as physically for a good part of my early and mid 20's. But then...I had another baby. And he was a very, very difficult baby. He cried ALL of the time. It was so stressful. I had gone off my depression medication while I was pregnant with my son, and did just fine throughout my pregnancy. But... only a few months after he was born, I was back to feeling extremely depressed. And, that's when the anxiety kicked in. I didn't know what it was at first. I felt like I was having a heart attack. My heart literally felt like it was being squeezed. There were times I couldn't catch my breath. Emotionally, I was falling apart. I was very scared. And there were times I wished I was dead.
Eventually, I got help for both my depression and anxiety, but even with medication...the symptoms didn't completely go away. When I turned 30, I went through a divorce. This event furthered my symptoms and I started seeing a counselor, which helped me immensely. I don't know if I would have been able to get through the divorce without the counseling. Eventually, I healed and got back on the emotionally stable train. I met my (current and wonderful) husband and life continued. By this time, I was in my early 30's. I had been off and on medication for depression and anxiety for over 10 years. I had been to a couple of counselors. They all seemed to help, mostly.
Then, about 3 years ago, I went through a period of depression and anxiety that would take me down a very long and dark road. It was a different road than I had traveled before. It wasn't the "run-of-the-mill" depression and anxiety that I had experienced previously. This time I had thoughts. Bad thoughts. I even heard voices in my head. They were CONSTANT. The thoughts/voices were so unkind to me. I would wake up in the morning and they would be there, waiting for me. They would follow me everywhere I went. Telling me what a horrible mother I was. Reminding me I was worthless, and useless, and STUPID, and fat, and ugly. This is how I lived for over 2 years. I even thought about taking my own life. There were a couple of times I almost tried something. I had pills... Or, I thought about driving to the beach.... swimming out as far as I could swim...and then just letting myself go. But, I didn't want my husband or kids to find me. My family didn't fully understand where I was mentally, at the time. But the thought of them being disappointed in me is what forced me to finally go back to the doctor. He started having me take some very heavy-duty medication, I saw a counselor (again) and I started seeing a psychiatrist. Somehow, through the grace of God, and the love and never-ending patience of my amazing husband and kids...I pulled out of that horrible, dark, awful hell.
It's been almost a year since I went through my last "episode". Those voices and thoughts still follow me. Some days are better than others. Some days, I don't hear those voices at all. Some days, I have to shout, literally out loud, to make the thoughts go away. I have to constantly self talk and remind myself that none of those bad things are true I'm not perfect. But I'm good. And people love me, and care about me. I'm not fat. I'm not ugly. I'm not stupid. I'm a good mom. I'm a good wife. I'm a good person. I have a good life.
Maybe one day I will be able to be free from the emotional prison I deal with every day. I envy those people who don't have 29 different emotions on any given day. But... who's to say they don't have their own burdens, right?
And, there you have it. All of me.
I told you I was an open book......
Choices
My 13 year old son often starts a statement with, "Not to sound rude but...", to which I usually reply with, "If you have to provide a disclaimer for everyone not to take offense before you say something... perhaps you shouldn't say it." He usually says it anyway.
However...there are always exceptions to the rule. And with that:
I hope nobody takes offense at what I'm going to say here. I don't think anybody will, but you never know.
Today as I drove home from work, I saw a very heavy set gentleman walking down the street. He was wearing work out clothing and had his headphones on, and his walk was brisk. Obviously he was walking for his health.
I'm not exactly sure what it is but, every time I see a heavy set person walking or even running.... I have the strongest urge to pull over, get out of my car, and start cheering for them. "Good job!! You are awesome! Keep going!" I just want to tell them how happy it makes me to see them choosing a better and healthier lifestyle for themselves. Just thinking about it makes me a little bit emotional.
Of course I don't actually pull over, or even honk, or yell, for that matter. Mostly because I'm worried they might think I'm taunting or harassing them. Which is the exact opposite of what my intentions would be. But also because; How terribly insane would I look if I pulled over next to a perfect stranger and started cheering for them. Yeah, right. Psycho lady escaped from the mental hospital.
But back to the gentleman. I don't know his story. Maybe today was the first, and last day he will ever walk for his health. Maybe he's been walking every day for the last 6 months and has already lost 100 lbs and he's trying to continue the weight loss. Maybe he's only a week into his walking regiment and is feeling overwhelmed or discouraged. Does he have family and friends that are uplifting and encouraging? Or is he constantly faced with temptation from the very people who should be supporting him? The possibilities surrounding his story are endless. But one thing is certain: His choice to do something good for himself was probably very difficult. I can only imagine the uphill battle it must be. The heavier a person becomes, the more difficult it is to make good choices. It becomes a cycle. I've been on that cycle to a small degree. I've never been obese, but I have been up and down in my weight over the years and I know how difficult it is to constantly make good decisions on the kinds of food I eat. Making and sticking to an exercise program, and keeping a positive attitude. Those are difficult for everybody. It has got to be so much more difficult when your weight gets to that point.
Seeing the man who was walking with a purpose, was the best part of my day today. If he can do it, so can I. One choice at a time.
However...there are always exceptions to the rule. And with that:
I hope nobody takes offense at what I'm going to say here. I don't think anybody will, but you never know.
Today as I drove home from work, I saw a very heavy set gentleman walking down the street. He was wearing work out clothing and had his headphones on, and his walk was brisk. Obviously he was walking for his health.
I'm not exactly sure what it is but, every time I see a heavy set person walking or even running.... I have the strongest urge to pull over, get out of my car, and start cheering for them. "Good job!! You are awesome! Keep going!" I just want to tell them how happy it makes me to see them choosing a better and healthier lifestyle for themselves. Just thinking about it makes me a little bit emotional.
Of course I don't actually pull over, or even honk, or yell, for that matter. Mostly because I'm worried they might think I'm taunting or harassing them. Which is the exact opposite of what my intentions would be. But also because; How terribly insane would I look if I pulled over next to a perfect stranger and started cheering for them. Yeah, right. Psycho lady escaped from the mental hospital.
But back to the gentleman. I don't know his story. Maybe today was the first, and last day he will ever walk for his health. Maybe he's been walking every day for the last 6 months and has already lost 100 lbs and he's trying to continue the weight loss. Maybe he's only a week into his walking regiment and is feeling overwhelmed or discouraged. Does he have family and friends that are uplifting and encouraging? Or is he constantly faced with temptation from the very people who should be supporting him? The possibilities surrounding his story are endless. But one thing is certain: His choice to do something good for himself was probably very difficult. I can only imagine the uphill battle it must be. The heavier a person becomes, the more difficult it is to make good choices. It becomes a cycle. I've been on that cycle to a small degree. I've never been obese, but I have been up and down in my weight over the years and I know how difficult it is to constantly make good decisions on the kinds of food I eat. Making and sticking to an exercise program, and keeping a positive attitude. Those are difficult for everybody. It has got to be so much more difficult when your weight gets to that point.
Seeing the man who was walking with a purpose, was the best part of my day today. If he can do it, so can I. One choice at a time.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Beaches
For the past year or so, I've had a reoccurring dream. It manifests itself in several ways.
Sometimes, I dream that I'm on a cruise ship heading to Mexico, or Hawaii, or somewhere sunny and tropical. Back in 2008 I took a cruise to Mexico for my honeymoon, so the cruise in my dream usually starts out similar to what the first time on the real ship was like. Full of excitement and wonder. But soon...my dream takes a turn for the worse. I find myself wandering from level to level, looking for my room so I can change into my bathing suit. All I can think about is how much I want to get to the beach. The thought of being able to sit on the warm sand and bask in the sun and frolic in the warm tropical water is all I can focus on. But I'm thwarted at every turn. The stairs going up or down to my cabin, are blocked. The elevators are broken. My room key won't work. I can't find the front desk to give me a new key. The ship won't dock. The line to get off the ship is so long, it's too late and I have to turn around. Sometimes I can see the beach. Out in the distance, full of people and laughter and warmth. I wander around aimlessly, trying to cry but the tears won't fall. My heart is broken. I keep thinking, "I'm wasting my time. My vacation is almost over and I'm never going to make it to the beach." Then I wake up, feeling frustrated and extremely sad.
Sometimes I dream I'm already in Hawaii. The beach is RIGHT outside my hotel room. I can see it from the window. Beach balls, large umbrellas, towels, sun bathers, beach volleyball. All of it is just outside. All I have to do is walk out there. But yet again...I can't. I forgot my bathing suit so I have nothing to wear. Sometimes I'm too sick, or too tired. Sometimes I open the door and walk toward the beach but the beach never gets any closer. I keep walking and walking but never feel the sand on my feet. All I can think is, "I'm wasting my time. My vacation is almost over and I'm never going to make it to the beach." And, just like before, I wake up feeling frustrated, tired and sad.
The frequency of the dreams when they first began was once a month. Then they increased to a couple of times a month. But in the last two months, I've had a "beach dream" at least once a week. And then twice a week. And this week...I've had my beach dream three nights in a row.
It's becoming so unsettling that I'm actually slightly scared to go to bed. I don't want to dream this anymore.
I think I know what this dream is about. Obviously there's some part of my life that I feel like I'm never able to finish. I get that. I'm pretty sure the "thing" is my job. It's the kind of work that never ends. It's never complete. I finish one thing only to have to turn around and do it again. It's the nature of my job. I can't change that. And, I'm not in a position to change jobs. So, how do I make these dreams stop? I just want to be free from the weight of the elusive beach.
Sometimes, I dream that I'm on a cruise ship heading to Mexico, or Hawaii, or somewhere sunny and tropical. Back in 2008 I took a cruise to Mexico for my honeymoon, so the cruise in my dream usually starts out similar to what the first time on the real ship was like. Full of excitement and wonder. But soon...my dream takes a turn for the worse. I find myself wandering from level to level, looking for my room so I can change into my bathing suit. All I can think about is how much I want to get to the beach. The thought of being able to sit on the warm sand and bask in the sun and frolic in the warm tropical water is all I can focus on. But I'm thwarted at every turn. The stairs going up or down to my cabin, are blocked. The elevators are broken. My room key won't work. I can't find the front desk to give me a new key. The ship won't dock. The line to get off the ship is so long, it's too late and I have to turn around. Sometimes I can see the beach. Out in the distance, full of people and laughter and warmth. I wander around aimlessly, trying to cry but the tears won't fall. My heart is broken. I keep thinking, "I'm wasting my time. My vacation is almost over and I'm never going to make it to the beach." Then I wake up, feeling frustrated and extremely sad.
Sometimes I dream I'm already in Hawaii. The beach is RIGHT outside my hotel room. I can see it from the window. Beach balls, large umbrellas, towels, sun bathers, beach volleyball. All of it is just outside. All I have to do is walk out there. But yet again...I can't. I forgot my bathing suit so I have nothing to wear. Sometimes I'm too sick, or too tired. Sometimes I open the door and walk toward the beach but the beach never gets any closer. I keep walking and walking but never feel the sand on my feet. All I can think is, "I'm wasting my time. My vacation is almost over and I'm never going to make it to the beach." And, just like before, I wake up feeling frustrated, tired and sad.
The frequency of the dreams when they first began was once a month. Then they increased to a couple of times a month. But in the last two months, I've had a "beach dream" at least once a week. And then twice a week. And this week...I've had my beach dream three nights in a row.
It's becoming so unsettling that I'm actually slightly scared to go to bed. I don't want to dream this anymore.
I think I know what this dream is about. Obviously there's some part of my life that I feel like I'm never able to finish. I get that. I'm pretty sure the "thing" is my job. It's the kind of work that never ends. It's never complete. I finish one thing only to have to turn around and do it again. It's the nature of my job. I can't change that. And, I'm not in a position to change jobs. So, how do I make these dreams stop? I just want to be free from the weight of the elusive beach.
Monday, October 7, 2013
If I eat grass, will I get milk too?
Anyone who knows me, knows I like to talk, and ask questions, and then talk some more. That's probably a good thing when you're trying to blog things I would think.
Several years ago, I was out with some friends when a random thought popped into my head and I said it aloud. One of the friends I was with looked at me curiously and said, "Do you really have to say everything that comes to your mind?"
I was kind of hurt. I never realized how often I blurted out my thoughts. This was actually before the days of blogs and Facebook and Twitter, and all of the numerous ways of cyber-thinking aloud. But my friend's comment affected me.
This kind of blurt it out randomness is quite celebrated now days. Everyone wants to be interesting and different and have someone notice them. You can't get on Facebook without somebody posting every 15 minutes about every moment of his/her life and every thought that comes to their mind. These are every day occurrences and are accepted as normal. But I assure you.... this was not always the case. Not for me.
My Mom tells me that when I was a very little girl, I would drive her absolutely crazy with my barrage of questions and chattering. Apparently, once when I was about 4 years old, Mom and I had been driving in the car. We were on a rural road where there were cows out grazing, when out of the blue I asked, "Mom, if I eat grass will I get milk too?"
I honestly think I remember this moment. Either that, or the story has been told so many times and I've imagined the scene so vividly, it became real. In any case, that kind of question was not an unusual for a 4 year old Sharon to ask. It was cute and charming at 4. Not so much during adolescence.
I was weird growing up. I know everyone says this about themselves but in my case... it's absolutely true. Especially in high school. I was one of those kids that seemed to be friends with a lot of popular people but I somehow never got invited to parties and always felt like the third wheel. There was always an inside joke that I obviously was not a part of. Clueless is the best word that comes to mind. I suppose we all have high school horror stories, and I won't bore you with mine. Not now, anyway. But, I suspect the reason for my being a slight outcast was because I just said things. Aloud. No filter what-so-ever. I tried to assimilate into what everyone else was like. But inside my questions boiled and bubbled, never to be asked aloud. I would slip up from time to time and blurt something out. I always immediately knew when this happened because wherever I was or whoever I was with would give me a startled, "Did she just say that out loud?" look, and then awkwardly pretend nothing happened.
I suppose that quirk of mine has come full circle and is now going to hopefully be useful to me once again . And you can listen to me, or ignore me. Either way... I still don't know if eating grass will help me get milk. Maybe I should ask someone.
Several years ago, I was out with some friends when a random thought popped into my head and I said it aloud. One of the friends I was with looked at me curiously and said, "Do you really have to say everything that comes to your mind?"
I was kind of hurt. I never realized how often I blurted out my thoughts. This was actually before the days of blogs and Facebook and Twitter, and all of the numerous ways of cyber-thinking aloud. But my friend's comment affected me.
This kind of blurt it out randomness is quite celebrated now days. Everyone wants to be interesting and different and have someone notice them. You can't get on Facebook without somebody posting every 15 minutes about every moment of his/her life and every thought that comes to their mind. These are every day occurrences and are accepted as normal. But I assure you.... this was not always the case. Not for me.
My Mom tells me that when I was a very little girl, I would drive her absolutely crazy with my barrage of questions and chattering. Apparently, once when I was about 4 years old, Mom and I had been driving in the car. We were on a rural road where there were cows out grazing, when out of the blue I asked, "Mom, if I eat grass will I get milk too?"
I honestly think I remember this moment. Either that, or the story has been told so many times and I've imagined the scene so vividly, it became real. In any case, that kind of question was not an unusual for a 4 year old Sharon to ask. It was cute and charming at 4. Not so much during adolescence.
I was weird growing up. I know everyone says this about themselves but in my case... it's absolutely true. Especially in high school. I was one of those kids that seemed to be friends with a lot of popular people but I somehow never got invited to parties and always felt like the third wheel. There was always an inside joke that I obviously was not a part of. Clueless is the best word that comes to mind. I suppose we all have high school horror stories, and I won't bore you with mine. Not now, anyway. But, I suspect the reason for my being a slight outcast was because I just said things. Aloud. No filter what-so-ever. I tried to assimilate into what everyone else was like. But inside my questions boiled and bubbled, never to be asked aloud. I would slip up from time to time and blurt something out. I always immediately knew when this happened because wherever I was or whoever I was with would give me a startled, "Did she just say that out loud?" look, and then awkwardly pretend nothing happened.
I suppose that quirk of mine has come full circle and is now going to hopefully be useful to me once again . And you can listen to me, or ignore me. Either way... I still don't know if eating grass will help me get milk. Maybe I should ask someone.
What's in a (blog's) name?
Well, here I am. Trying this again. Blogging. Just who do I think I am? Why does anyone care about what I have to say? Who cares about my opinion? My thoughts, my stories, my experiences. At this point: I don't know and frankly, I don't care. I'm warning you now... I sometimes spell words incorrectly. My "grammar" isn't stellar and I will make lots of embarrassing mistakes as I open myself up to this cruel and VERY opinionated world. But I must carry on.
I've often wondered how people come up with the names of their blog. Some are obvious.... but others are obscure. And I'm interested to hear the story behind their name. So, I'm going to share the origin of my blog's name. I think it's interesting. Maybe you will too?
I met my husband, Ted back in March of 2006. One of the things that attracted me to him was his sense of humor. I love to laugh and tease and have fun, and so did Ted. We brought that out in one another. We had only been dating for about a month when Ted invited me to join him and his family for the weekend at his grandparents cabin down out in Madris, Oregon. Ted is an only child, so it was just going to be Ted, his parents, his grandparents and a few of his cousins.
The cabin was small, so Ted's parents pulled their trailer up to sleep in. Once we arrived it was nothing but riding motorcycles, eating and playing games. At the end of the first day, I was exhausted so we all decided to turn in for the night. We all put on our pajamas and hunkered down for the evening, when Stephanie, my future mother-in-law announced she was going to read us all a bedtime story. Ted and I looked at each other and started to giggle. It had been a long time since someone read us a bedtime story but, sure! It sounded fun!
The story ended up being a different perspective of "The Three Little Pigs" story, as told by the Big Bad Wolf.
Note: It's a hilarious book. You should check it out and read it to your children. The name of the book escapes me, but that's what Google is for.
Anyway, Stephanie sat at the end of her bed and started to read. But instead of saying, "Big Bad Wolf.." she would say, "Big Bad Woof." I'm not sure why, but Ted and I found this mispronunciation quite hilarious, and we couldn't stop laughing. Stephanie didn't know why we were laughing, and it was becoming so distracting, she stopped reading and declared she would resume the story when we had settled down. As Ted and I composed ourselves.... Ted's dad (also named Ted...which is going to make story telling about Ted-my-husband's stories about his family interesting to accomplish...) turned off the trailer lights and started giving us a light show on the ceiling with his flashlight. Instead of helping us settle down from our giggling... it made us giggle even more. Stephanie became indignant about the whole situation and haughtily said to Dad-Ted, "Yes, yes... You're Soo funny. You've always been able to entertain me."
That set me and husband-Ted over the edge and our laughter resumed for what probably ended up being unreasonably too long. But we were smitten with one another, and when you start to fall in love with someone..... you pretty much laugh at everything.
And so it was. Ever since that day/night... Ted and I have often declared to one another, usually after a particularly funny moment, "Yes, yes. You've always been able to entertain me."
I've often wondered how people come up with the names of their blog. Some are obvious.... but others are obscure. And I'm interested to hear the story behind their name. So, I'm going to share the origin of my blog's name. I think it's interesting. Maybe you will too?
I met my husband, Ted back in March of 2006. One of the things that attracted me to him was his sense of humor. I love to laugh and tease and have fun, and so did Ted. We brought that out in one another. We had only been dating for about a month when Ted invited me to join him and his family for the weekend at his grandparents cabin down out in Madris, Oregon. Ted is an only child, so it was just going to be Ted, his parents, his grandparents and a few of his cousins.
The cabin was small, so Ted's parents pulled their trailer up to sleep in. Once we arrived it was nothing but riding motorcycles, eating and playing games. At the end of the first day, I was exhausted so we all decided to turn in for the night. We all put on our pajamas and hunkered down for the evening, when Stephanie, my future mother-in-law announced she was going to read us all a bedtime story. Ted and I looked at each other and started to giggle. It had been a long time since someone read us a bedtime story but, sure! It sounded fun!
The story ended up being a different perspective of "The Three Little Pigs" story, as told by the Big Bad Wolf.
Note: It's a hilarious book. You should check it out and read it to your children. The name of the book escapes me, but that's what Google is for.
Anyway, Stephanie sat at the end of her bed and started to read. But instead of saying, "Big Bad Wolf.." she would say, "Big Bad Woof." I'm not sure why, but Ted and I found this mispronunciation quite hilarious, and we couldn't stop laughing. Stephanie didn't know why we were laughing, and it was becoming so distracting, she stopped reading and declared she would resume the story when we had settled down. As Ted and I composed ourselves.... Ted's dad (also named Ted...which is going to make story telling about Ted-my-husband's stories about his family interesting to accomplish...) turned off the trailer lights and started giving us a light show on the ceiling with his flashlight. Instead of helping us settle down from our giggling... it made us giggle even more. Stephanie became indignant about the whole situation and haughtily said to Dad-Ted, "Yes, yes... You're Soo funny. You've always been able to entertain me."
That set me and husband-Ted over the edge and our laughter resumed for what probably ended up being unreasonably too long. But we were smitten with one another, and when you start to fall in love with someone..... you pretty much laugh at everything.
And so it was. Ever since that day/night... Ted and I have often declared to one another, usually after a particularly funny moment, "Yes, yes. You've always been able to entertain me."
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