Still here!

I don’t have an idea in mind for this post. I just wanted to let the internet know I’m still alive. My poor blog was feeling lonely and unloved, so I feel like I should write something.

This semester has been crazy busy! My horrendous course schedule is to blame for the quietness of my blog. There is one class I’m taking, Women’s Health, that had a ridiculous amount of reading to do. If you could look at my assignments in Outlook (I love Outlook, I’ve recently been converted, and it’s fast becoming a best friend) you’d notice a highly disproportionate amount of the work is for that class. As much as I love the material, I’m hating this course, it’s wearing me down.

On the med school front, things have been quiet.  Dreadfully, unfortunately quiet. Okay, that’s not the complete truth. I just barely got an interview offer for some time in December. I was so happy to get that one interview offer, I really needed some form of positive feedback in this horrible process. I was getting so worried and so anxious. I wound up adding a whole host of school to the already lengthy list of schools I’m applying to in my paranoid, anxiety-filled state.

Oh yes, on the home front. Things have gotten a lot better at home. Hubby and I are getting along much better now. We’re trying this new semi-openness thing. Everything is out there, but somethings just don’t get dug into very deep. It’s this odd stage that goes something like: I feel x, and situation relating to x has been weighing heavily on my mind, but don’t ask too much more about that. Yeah, I don’t know. It’s not going to work in the long run, but right now it’s pretty good.

Another side note. I’d previously mentioned my dilemma about taking a job or not. Well I did, not the job I was originally debating about. Another job opportunity popped up that paid more, so with that little added financial incentive I conceded at went to work. However, it is an absolutely horrible job. I hate it. Every time I go to work I just sit there and think, if I wanted to spend my time cleaning up crap after other people who haven’t learned how to pick up after themselves, well then I would’ve just stayed home with my daughter. Oh yeah, my job is cleaning up labs and generally be at the beck and call of mean grad student.

And for the last bit of news, I’m now on anti-depressants. I’ve been struggling with postpartum depression for two years, but in my stubborn mind and with my odd convoluted sense of logic, I’d been refusing help. But I finally gathered some courage and wits about me long enough to make that phone call. At first she, the doctor, actually a nurse-practioner, gave me the oh-so-common Prozac. That was a disaster. It completely wiped me out. I felt like a narcaleptic, shortly after I’d take the pill, I’d start nodding off, and no matter how hard I fought it I’d fall asleep. It wasn’t just a short nap either, it was hours and hours long. I’d sleep for 12 hours or more, completely dead to the rest of the world. When I did wake up it was a for a quick bite to eat and then a bathroom break, then I was back in bed. I pretty much slept for an entire week. After that catastrophy, the NP put me on Wellbutrin, which is going okay. It’s not fantastic, I feel like I’m at 75% of potential, like there is something better out there. However, I’m not willing to keep playing medicine roulette. The next try might be something like the Prozac, or worse, and I can’t handle that right now in the middle of the semester. I’m going to try again in December after school is out. I’m going to continue the Wellburtin for now, much to the dismay of my checkbook. I paid almost $100 for one month’s worth! I don’t have the income to just budget in an extra hundred dollars. Hopefully with  the next try in two months,  I’ll find something that works fantastically and is a little cheaper.

Well that’s it for now, I’ll try to keep it under month this time until my next post.


Choosing My Confessions

This song is a fantastic song.

Losing My Religion by R.E.M.

I relate to it so well, on multiple levels. “That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight, losing my religion.”

My husband got mad at me this morning for not telling him what I’m feeling and thinking. I did tell him, he just didn’t hear what I was trying to say. He told me, that if he doesn’t get it the first time I should tell him again. But how many times can you keep saying things, continue repeating yourself, while not being heard before you just stop saying anything at all?

He wants me to take this job that I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than take. It’s one of the jobs that is nothing but drudgery, and I am so sick of those jobs. Also, my school schedule next semester is going to be really packed, I might need that time to study. Lastly, the job would be for the two days of the work week that I don’t have classes, and I had hoped to spend those days at home with my daughter. I really want to be home with her, she’s only two once, and the time is fast approaching when I won’t have opportunities to be home with her like this.

The issue with communication is not a new one in our marriage. It comes up over and over again. He whines that I don’t talk to him, that I’m too withdrawn. I complain that I can’t talk to him, he doesn’t really listen to what I say. Plus he’ll never just listen, he always has to jump in and fix the problem, or correct me, tell me what’s wrong with what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling. A little while ago I was ranting to my husband how I think my boss is lazy. Now, for the most part I like my boss, but it had just been a frustrating day. My husband interrupts and starts telling me how I shouldn’t harbor negative feelings towards my boss, and to just let it go. I know that. I just thought I could vent to my husband, to get it off my chest you know.

When Ellie was a baby, and I was just figuring out how to deal with the whole postpartum depression mess I tried to confide in my husband. I tried to use him as a sounding board to help sort out what was going on and how I was feeling. After a while he asked me to stop talking to him about it. He told me that he couldn’t handle all the negative. So I started cutting all my negative thoughts and feelings out of conversations. Unfortunately, part of being depressed is that the dominant thoughts and feels are incredibly negative, so it didn’t leave me with a lot to share. Then when I started going through my crisis of faith, I again tried to confide in him. But he can’t stand to hear any of my heretical ideas. I couldn’t tell him any of my spiritual thoughts without him correcting me, rather than listening to me. Or he’d start getting concerned about me and my soul, and that felt so very patronizing. It didn’t take long before I filtered out spirituality and Church related topics out of discussion. So yes, I am withdrawn, I don’t share a lot of my life with him. I didn’t have a lot left to share.

To top it off, I’ve stopped talking about anything related to medical school, since it just causes fights. He doesn’t want to leave the state, he’s not sure he want to be married to a med student/doctor, he doesn’t think I can handle it – he fears that the stress will tear me apart from my family. I’m sick of rehashing the issues, so I just avoid it. He’s probably right, medical training might be the fire that destroys our family. But I think it’s already destroyed. It burned up a long time ago by the depression dragon.

I want to make it work. I just don’t know how to balance it all. How do I continue to share with him who I am, without burdening him too much with all my issues?

“Of every waking hour I’m choosing my confessions… And I don’t know if I can do it. Oh no I’ve said to much. I haven’t said enough.”

He love me, He loves me not, He loves me…

My husband might leave me.

The past week has been a roller coaster. A terrible, hideous roller coaster from hell. I finally decided to come clean to my husband about many of my horrible misdeeds and trials. They don’t paint a pretty picture of me, not at all. Lies, the depression, infidelity (sort of), abuse, and issues of faith. Lots of dark and black stuff came out.

He was shocked. He was horrified. He said he was disgusted, I was a stranger to him.

And then there was no talking. Just trying his best to avoid me. I wouldn’t blame him if he left me, or more accurately kicked me out. Most people would leave.

I walk around my home feeling like a ghost, feeling like I don’t belong and I’m unwanted. I’m afraid that every move I make will be the one that shatters my world.

But then, last night, he came home smiling. He kissed me. He kissed me! I’m still so excited about that part. He assured me that he wouldn’t leave, that he still loves me and always will. I’m still amazed and stunned. I am having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that anyone would stay after learning what sort of vileness lives inside of me. But he did. This man is the most gracious man I’ve ever met. There is nothing but goodness to him, sweet, sweet goodness.  Ground rules were set, and I oh so much the repentant soul am going to do my best. It is going to be hard to change myself, but this love is worth it, and he deserves a much better version of me. My dear husband, so faithful, a near-perfect emulator of Christ’s forgiveness and mercy. And I, yes I am the adulterous Israel, drawn to Babylon, constantly struggling to align myself with him.

He loves me still!


While putting away dishes my husband makes a dirty joke referring to my, shall I dare say,  rather large breasts. I retort by lightly slapping him.

Him: You can’t hit me!

Me: Yes I can. Girls can slap guys.

Him: No they can’t. That’s a double standard.

Me: Yes they can. Girls can slap guys when they something innappropriate.

Him: Well, what do guys do then when girls say something inappropriate?

Me: They get turned on.

Him: ….*pause*…

Him: Touche.

Yeah, that’s right.