and now for our regularly scheduled programming

So, I've had a hard time writing lately because there's so much that I don't feel 100% comfortable sharing on this blog. Not because of my readers, but because of family or acquaintances from my past who may be judgmental or gossipy. I worry a lot about what would happen if someone were to find this blog and tell my parents about it.

I mean, I've told them about it. At some point, before I started sharing personal stuff that went against their beliefs, I even gave my dad the link. But, clueless as he can oftentimes be, he lost it, and my secrets have been safe.

That said, I have relatives who are friends with me on Facebook, and my blog used to feed directly onto my Facebook. My greatest fear is that someone will decide that it's their business to gossip to my parents.

This used to happen to me all the time as a kid. Obviously, it made more sense then. But, if you knew me, it didn't. See, telling my parents just drove me to hide things more. They were the worst people to tell. Now, it really doesn't matter what they know or how they'll react because I can leave. I have a safe place. I should own up to everything I don't want to tell them because it would make me stronger. . 

But I'd rather not. I'm a pussy. I don't want judgement, or tears, or talks, or having to get mad at them, or having to try to reason with them, or getting up and exercising my right to leave. It makes things messy.

I am my mother's lifeline. I hate it. But, I can honestly say that she very well might die with out me. Like, if I were to say, "hey, mom, you kind of fucked my life up a lot and I hate how you excuse it by saying that everyone makes mistakes", and then I left, she'd curl up on the couch and probably never move. I hope I'm exaggerating. I might be making this up. But I have seen her fall apart and I have heard her tell me that I will be the death of her, and that I will cause her heart to stop and her mind to break too many times to dismiss her words. 

So, to recap, I am terrified of my parents finding out about my blog and "you like girls?" "you smoke weed?" "you hate us?". . But, that said, it's really hard for me to not say what's on my heart. And there's a lot on my heart.

This blog is sort of my sounding board. I love it when people read it but I would keep writing if no one saw it but me. This is how I straighten my ideas out. This is how the clusterfuck tumbleweed that is my brain starts unraveling. I get stuck when I can't blog about things. 

So, for my own sort of peace of mind, I'm going to offer a disclaimer here: If you don't want to read about my fuckedupness, leave. If you're related to me, you do not want to be reading this. Why would you even be here in the first place? This is the corner of Bad Childhood and WTF Boulevard. If you decide this makes good gossip and I hear about it, then karma. Don't fuck with it. Also, I might just fucking decide to go all Kali witchy on you and if I do, it will not be pretty. 

I've been debating writing this blog for about a year and a half. Forgive me if I stall or repeat myself.

Lately I've been feeling broken. Abnormal. Even unfixable. I see the world and how it reacts to things and I feel so far removed. I don't/can't enjoy sex. 

Let me pause a moment and elaborate on how fucking embarrassed this makes me feel. As I mentioned, it makes me feel broken, but to make matters worse it's not a normal type of broken. When I was depressed or suicidal or had an eating disorder I guess I subconsciously took some sort of solace in the fact that this was normal. . At least for people my age. It wasn't that wierd. But this is. 

I sat on the exam table at my gynecologist and tried and tried to figure out some way to mention it offhandedly or even grow the balls to mention it straight up, but instead I just made small talk and told her that next time she should take me out to dinner first.

I pride myself in being an open book to pretty much anyone but my parents, people who tell my parents things, and my relatives. Anything. Seriously. Rape? Cutting? The shame I felt while binging? I find that the less secrets I have the less complicated life is. I also find that it opens people up to me and allows them to feel more comfortable asking for help or relating their own horror, or not horror, stories.

But this is haaaaaard. This is the first time I've really had to force myself to share. 

I'm not going to get into the details, because that's fucking weird, but it's forced JP and I to take a step back. Before we even started talking about marriage, we knew that we had backed ourselves up into a corner, and the only steps were to take the exit door or fight the Orc with the bulging forehead veins. So, we're at this point where we're fighting for our relationship. We're either going to fix our problems and start fucking like bunnies and get married, or we're going to take a step back in our relationship, at least for a period of time.

This has caused me a lot of anxiety. I realize that there's really no way out of this. I also realize that it isn't either of our faults. But it breaks my heart because my romantic, air balloon dreams of the pre-engagement, engagement and wedding period of my life have turned into this weird, awkward ultimatum. 

Sometimes I think we're being too intense. I've had people tell me that sex isn't everything, and I wholeheartedly agree! But, promising to be with someone for 80 years without an orgasm is daunting. There are greater women than me out there, obviously, because I couldn't do it. I would try, and I would, but after a few years I would get bitter and frustrated and we'd end up leaving each other anyways. 

We're young. And though we're each others best friends, partners, confidantes, and are always there for each other, there has to be more than that. At least for me. . .

I've struggled a lot about why I don't enjoy sex. I started going back to counseling, and ultimately have been dragging JP with me every week. There has been some talk of going from a regular ole grad-student-in-psych-interning-at-the-local-health-department to a full fledged sex therapist. 

There have been theories tossed around, from plain jane trust issues to remnants of sexual abuse to the weird way my parents raised me and how they completely refused to tell me that humans are sexual beings. Who knows what caused it? All I know it sucks really, really huge balls.

Now, the fact that this makes me feel abnormal and broken does not mean I'm depressed. I mean, yes, I am depressed about this certain topic, but for the first time in my life I am dealing with a major problem and not letting it control my entire view and way of life. 

I am fine. I enjoy life. I'm happy. I laugh, and play with Willow, and absolutely annihilate JP at Mario Kart on the '64. There are nights when I feel really, really sad and really, really broken. But overall, it's just a bump in the road. I finally feel like I know myself well enough that I am confident that I will beat the living shit out of this problem. I've been through worse. 

So, now that that's over, enjoy this not depressing picture:

You're welcome.

animalistic accomplishments

If I were an animal, I'd like to be a horse. They're majestic, fast, and just fucking beautiful. . .

But honestly, if I were an animal, I'd probably be a dog. Like a shih tzu. They're kind of dumpy, kind of adorable and their hair is all DF:OIEIEF.

That was an easy one. Let's jump to the next question:

What are my 5 biggest accomplishments?

1. Breastfeeding for over a year. I would say having Willow, but it was kind of inevitable. I didn't do anything. Some moms will argue that they did work and achieve etc. during the birthing process, but I feel that when it came down to it, I couldn't stop it and I had to go along for the ride, so it was sort of something I endured. Wait, that makes it sound like having Willow was an awful experience. It wasn't. Parts of it were but all in all it was the best time of my life. Not an accomplishment though.

Breastfeeding, on the other hand, was something I thought of as a good thing, but was sure I wouldn't be able to do, at least not for long. I didn't want to do it. Formula feeding seemed easier, and quite honestly, though all the research and even the formula companies themselves said breast milk was better, somewhere inside me I thought formula was better.

But now, 12 months and counting into this milky mess, I love it. I couldn't imagine waking up in the middle of the night with a crying baby and making a bottle. No, siree. Rolling over sounds much easier (thank you co-sleeping!).

Reading all the statistics and research on formula I can't imagine how I thought it was better than the thing it was trying to copy. I am so glad I tried breastfeeding. . And kept to it even though I wanted to quit.

2. Getting published. Enough said.

3. Recovery. There are times I wonder how I made it, and there are times I forget it's been years and am instantly back at my hardest times. . But each day is easier. And though I wouldn't consider myself cured, I have reasons to keep living now.

4. Making my relationship work. I know we've only been dating for 3 years. I know it doesn't seem long, and it shouldn't, because 3 years isn't long at all, but there have been multiple times when the easiest thing to do would have been to say "fuck it" and walk out. It would have been easy, but not right. I love JP and though we're not married I want to stay by his side. I understand that sometimes relationships don't work out and am not scared to walk away, I just chose not to. Not now. Not until it's irreparable. I am not nothing without him. I am strong individually but I recognize that we are stronger individually when we're together. We aren't really boyfriend and girlfriend, we're more like partners. I love that.

5. Horseback riding. I loved it. It gave me goals and it was tangible. I really, really do miss it.

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one!

Willow Rae

Age: One Year. 

Method of Transportation: Knees and hands.

Favorites: Dog, Batman, Mama, Dada, Yiayia, taking socks off, dancing, waving, kisses, squirming, boobies, stealing peoples food, trying to eat anything she finds off the floor, peekaboo, turning the Xbox on and off, opening cabinet doors by herself, shoving her hands in peoples mouths to see what's inside (free prize inside?), balls, books.

Hates: Getting snot sucked out of her nose (who wouldn't!?), long car rides, being told no, having a wet diaper, being away from either mama or dada.

Articulates: Dog, cat, duck, cow, mama, dada, milk, up, down, ball, stick, go, no, cake, mummum (food), yiayia, whaz dat?, bubble, and more that I can't remember right now. 

This has been the best year of my life. I would rather spend a minute with my smart, beautiful little girl than spend a lifetime with anyone else. She makes us a family.

strong

I always wanted to be Xena. She was bad ass, sexy, and an individual. My parents wanted me to wait to be rescued, so that's what I learned, but I've always aspired to rescue myself.

Strong has been one of those words I've held on to when I wasn't. When I wasn't brave, I'd chant it like a mantra. When I felt powerless, I screamed powerful.

Here are 5 strengths I have identified in myself without qualifiers and without apologies.

1. I am strong. Looking at what I've been through, and knowing that I am still happy, still able to get up and get dressed. . I am strong.

2. I am a great mom.

3. I care for other people and their feelings even if they have wronged me.

4. I forgive people very easily. Grudges have never been easy for me to keep.

5. I am changing. It's the hardest thing I have ever done, but slowly, I am becoming stronger. Every day I find new things that I like about myself, and that is so much more than I thought I would be able to do.

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weakness

Lately has been. . busy. We went to a farm today, tonight JP gets a second sleep study, tomorrow is counseling and doctors appointments and a bi-monthly shopping trip.

Wedding/civil union/handfasting plans are still getting tossed around. We want it outside, simple, and JP wants it within a year. We're thinking about combining our last names to Scarmont. Crazy idea, right? Here's our reasoning:

I don't want to change my last name. At all. I like it. Buuuuuut, tradition states I should take JP's last name. But I don't really like his last name, mostly because it's not mine. Also, because goddammit, I will not take the man's name he can take mine or we can hyphenate blahblahfeministblah.

Also, JP brought up Scarmont as a joke. If I got my doctorate, I'd be Dr. Scarmont and I could wear a lab coat and carry a beaker with bubbling green goo in it. It would be awesome. We'd buy an island, call it Scarbabia populate it.

And then he thought about it longer, and decided that awesome super villain plans aside, it would be symbolic of our new union. We'd be making a new family, together, as a team. Keeping our last names would be all seperatey and not reflective of our new united force against the world, but me taking his last name is unfair to me and kind of an archaic misogynistic tradition. So, a new name using parts of our old names is all adorable and sweet.

But we're still discussing it. I'm not sold 100% yet, mostly because I don't want to hear it from my relatives. Or his. And that is sure to happen.

Moving on. Five weaknesses I have.

1. I am lazy. God, am I lazy. I could lay in bed allllll day with a book. Or without a book. I love lounging. But thankfully I have JP to kick me in the ass and get me moving. Also, I can't lounge as nearly much as I used to with Willow around.

2. I can be a pig. Left to my own devices, I can really get messy. It's gotten worse since JP and I got together because he's a guy, and he's about a million times grosser than I am. That said, it's gotten much better since Willow was born. Also, it's worst when I'm depressed.

3. I'm quick to judge. Sometimes I forget that I don't know the whole story, or that it's none of my damn business and getting all judgy is just going to screw up my day and not theirs.

4. I'm not good with commitment. Of any kind. I get bored too easily.

5. I'm awful at interpersonal relationships.

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a day in the life

A normal day for us varies a lot. It depends on if it's a weekend (I work) or one of JP's weekends (Wednesdays and every other Thursday).

On a day when neither of those are happening, Willow will wake us up around 8-10, depending on how well she slept the night before. Then we'll cuddle in bed and play for a bit, and then take a walk. Usually JP takes her by himself while I have some me time, but sometimes I come along.

After their walk, which usually lasts at least an hour and almost always includes the park and downtown Dwight for a visit with JP's parents, we eat lunch. Usually something easy and light like sandwiches.

We hang out for a little bit more, then Willow starts getting tired and JP starts getting ready for work. She goes down for a nap around 3, and he leaves for work at 3:45. I usually either nap with her or try to get housework done. . . Though sometimes I end up just watching Grey's or derping around on my phone while cuddling her.

She wakes up around 4:30-5 and we play. We'll switch rooms and toys so she doesn't get bored, she'll watch Baby Einstein, or we'll watch youtube videos of cats and dogs. Sometimes we dance, othertimes she's teething and we just cuddle and play in bed. Sometimes we take walks, or sit out in our yard and play with the grass. Once in a while I'll let her be naked in the tub until she's bored and then give her a bath.

And then at around 9-9:30, I put her to bed. She's started sucking at sleeping, so she might wake up once before JP comes home (12:20 or so) and then a few times while he and I are hanging out, watching tv or playing video games. We head to bed around 2-3 and thus ends another boring day in the Scarmont household.

*yawn* Seriously, guys, our life's a bore, but I like it that way. If you made it all the way through, you deserve a prize. . . So, here you go:

peeved

1. People chewing with their mouths open. This started at church camp when I would be laying in a bunk pretending to be asleep and all the other girls would be gossiping and eating all night. I could hear the chips crunch and the soda get swallowed. Gag.

2. Sexism. This isn't really a pet peeve as much as a real issue. Which brings me to the last issue of The Paper. Our dear Mr. Boma's topic this week was laundry. Soiled clothes. He bitches about not knowing how to do it until he arrives at the conclusion that he'll just find a pretty girl to do it. I can't wait for the day life slaps him in the face.

3. When JP leaves his deodorant on the sink. We have the tiniest sink ever, and it only has room for our toothbrush holder and toothbrushes, the "fancy" soap (aka the non-health food store soap, reserved for guests because the good stuff is fucking expensive) and sometimes the health food store soap. . Though usually I put it back in the bathtub because we use it both places. Anyways, there is no room for his deodorant which inevitably gets knocked to the ground and is loud at times when Willow is asleep.

4. Leaving unnecessary lights on. Actually, wasting electricity in general, though the exception is when I'm home alone with Willow, sometimes I'll leave lights on to make it look like we're not asleep because I'm a paranoid crazy lady.

5. Annoying customers. Like the guy who complained that Obama made his truck a gas gussler the gas too high. Or the man who was wearing a shirt using the word gay as a derogatory term.

6. When people say I have an accent. Apparently I say "bag" like "beg".

7. Which leads me to- herb. The h is silent. Completely silent.

8. Ketchup. Not catsup.

9. People driving on shoulders. Actually, bad drivers. I get road rage like crazy sometimes. But people driving on the shoulder or making lanes drives me the most insane.

10. JP talking about the same things over and over again. I have heard about how a guy wanted $20 for a broken down pachinko machine that JP only wanted to pay $2 about 80 times since it happened. . Three days ago. I offered to help egg his house but he's too chicken.

In other news, people in Dwight pretty much all suck. Some random lady I have never met decided she was mad at JP's dad so she was all like. . I wonder how he feels about his granddaugher who was born out of wedlock and hoitytoity I'm a bitch-face. . .

Also, JP and I are thinking of getting married. Or civil unioned. . Civil unionized? One of those. Still trying to figure out the logistics but basically it comes down to if either one of us is ever mangled unconscious, we want the other one of us to be able to visit us in the hospital/make medical decisions for us. Romantic, eh? So after we figure out prenup stuff, how taxes will work, etc, etc, we'll tie the knot.

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