I just got off of the phone with my sister, Traci. It has been nearly four years since I have seen her and my nephews. It has been such a crazy four years.
Traci and the boys will be coming up for the holidays. I really cannot wait. With Dominic not being here as planned, it will be a really nice distraction having my nephews to spoil. Zachary is 15 now. I was 15 when he was born. He's such a young man now, it is so bizarre. My how time flies.
I knew that I missed them, I really did. I guess I didn't realize how much.
Us three girls will have a day to spend together. Probably filled with laughing, crying, a tattoo, and a massage. We really need a sister day. Badly.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
theraputic perception
I have participated in therapy a total of three times in my life. By this, I mean three different occasions throughout my life.
The first time that I went to therapy I was 17 years old. My parents had just separated and my sister had just "come out of the closet". I had been caught drinking a few times (by the police - not parents) and had obtained a few drinking ticket. I was put on probation until I was 18 years old. One night, as I was babysitting my mentally and physically profoundly retarded brother, my friend and I drank an entire bottle of my mom's whiskey. When my mother returned home, she found my brother in the house alone, my friend in the front yard throwing up, and me - walking laps around the yard so that I would not throw up. This was when my mother threw me into therapy.
My therapist was horrible. Even at the age of 17 I knew this. We never really talked about me. I am pretty sure I had only gone to therapy three times and each time, I was able to manipulate the conversation so that we ended up talking about her. Either she was just out of school, or I was really just that good. Either way, I got nothing out of therapy.
The second time that I took part in therapy was when my marriage was in shambles. We did couples therapy and I had gone to my own therapy. I had gone to only a few sessions of my own personal therapy, as I had felt (at the time) that I really did not need it. I did, however, like the therapist that we had for our couples therapy. She was older and almost always on my side (which is probably why I liked her so). I remember one day she looked at me and asked, "Erin, do you ever feel like Garth acts 'holier than thou'?" Indeed I agreed with her. Ever since that day, Garth hated her and wanted to switch out. Even after I admitted to the affair, Garth still felt she 'liked' me better. Regardless, the reason we stopped going to see her was because Garth did not like her anymore and I am sure there was some underlying defeat that Garth and I both felt in our marriage. So we just stopped going. I did go to Garth's therapist, once, because Garth wanted me to meet with him so give him a different perspective on all of our drama. This was about one or two weeks after Nikki and I got into a bar brawl. I am sure, no - I take that back. I am positive that the therapist thought Nikki and I, both, to be absolutely insane. I felt like a complete nut job telling the therapist about his client. I looked like the nut job because I was the one 'fighting' for our marriage. Even fighting his girlfriend. I just know that I looked insane and I am sure I made Garth look even worse.
The third time (and standing) I have been to therapy is when Dominic died. I finally found a therapist that I love. It is the first time I have really unpacked all of my baggage and laid it out all over the table for someone. From my parents divorce, all of the drug use, the drinking, the sex, my marriage, my divorce, my husbands girlfriend, Ray and I's family, Dominic's death - everything has been laid out. All of it. She has taught me coping mechanisms and relaxation techniques in my times of anxiety and sadness. It works. I will leave there sometimes completely exhausted from intense weeping, but it works. I began going every week. Every single week, I would meet with her and she would talk me through my completely overwhelming sadness. Then, I got a little bit better and we started seeing each other every other week. I have a few more sessions and I will be to once a month.
My therapist had to take a family medical leave for a few weeks. She called today to set up our future appointments and we talked about why she was on a leave of absence. I knew her and her husband were going to Montana for their yearly vacation to ride horses, but I had not heard anything from her since. I found out today that her husband was bucked off of his horse miles away from anyone and he broke his neck. Luckily, there was a doctor in their group, She stabilized him until the ambulance would get there. It took three hours for an ambulance to get there and nearly eight hours before anyone told my therapist that her husband was going to survive. She has been tending to his every need and he is doing much better, today.
I have been through a lot. This I cannot deny. But I cannot imagine what she had gone through. How horrible. It is times like these or stories like that, when you think that life just could not possibly get any shittier, when you realize that - in fact, it can always get worse. And it really, really makes you grateful for the situation you are in. Perspective is an interesting thing. Everything changes when you look at it from a different perspective. It is sad that more people don't take the opportunity to do that more often. I think the world would be a really different place if they did.
The first time that I went to therapy I was 17 years old. My parents had just separated and my sister had just "come out of the closet". I had been caught drinking a few times (by the police - not parents) and had obtained a few drinking ticket. I was put on probation until I was 18 years old. One night, as I was babysitting my mentally and physically profoundly retarded brother, my friend and I drank an entire bottle of my mom's whiskey. When my mother returned home, she found my brother in the house alone, my friend in the front yard throwing up, and me - walking laps around the yard so that I would not throw up. This was when my mother threw me into therapy.
My therapist was horrible. Even at the age of 17 I knew this. We never really talked about me. I am pretty sure I had only gone to therapy three times and each time, I was able to manipulate the conversation so that we ended up talking about her. Either she was just out of school, or I was really just that good. Either way, I got nothing out of therapy.
The second time that I took part in therapy was when my marriage was in shambles. We did couples therapy and I had gone to my own therapy. I had gone to only a few sessions of my own personal therapy, as I had felt (at the time) that I really did not need it. I did, however, like the therapist that we had for our couples therapy. She was older and almost always on my side (which is probably why I liked her so). I remember one day she looked at me and asked, "Erin, do you ever feel like Garth acts 'holier than thou'?" Indeed I agreed with her. Ever since that day, Garth hated her and wanted to switch out. Even after I admitted to the affair, Garth still felt she 'liked' me better. Regardless, the reason we stopped going to see her was because Garth did not like her anymore and I am sure there was some underlying defeat that Garth and I both felt in our marriage. So we just stopped going. I did go to Garth's therapist, once, because Garth wanted me to meet with him so give him a different perspective on all of our drama. This was about one or two weeks after Nikki and I got into a bar brawl. I am sure, no - I take that back. I am positive that the therapist thought Nikki and I, both, to be absolutely insane. I felt like a complete nut job telling the therapist about his client. I looked like the nut job because I was the one 'fighting' for our marriage. Even fighting his girlfriend. I just know that I looked insane and I am sure I made Garth look even worse.
The third time (and standing) I have been to therapy is when Dominic died. I finally found a therapist that I love. It is the first time I have really unpacked all of my baggage and laid it out all over the table for someone. From my parents divorce, all of the drug use, the drinking, the sex, my marriage, my divorce, my husbands girlfriend, Ray and I's family, Dominic's death - everything has been laid out. All of it. She has taught me coping mechanisms and relaxation techniques in my times of anxiety and sadness. It works. I will leave there sometimes completely exhausted from intense weeping, but it works. I began going every week. Every single week, I would meet with her and she would talk me through my completely overwhelming sadness. Then, I got a little bit better and we started seeing each other every other week. I have a few more sessions and I will be to once a month.
My therapist had to take a family medical leave for a few weeks. She called today to set up our future appointments and we talked about why she was on a leave of absence. I knew her and her husband were going to Montana for their yearly vacation to ride horses, but I had not heard anything from her since. I found out today that her husband was bucked off of his horse miles away from anyone and he broke his neck. Luckily, there was a doctor in their group, She stabilized him until the ambulance would get there. It took three hours for an ambulance to get there and nearly eight hours before anyone told my therapist that her husband was going to survive. She has been tending to his every need and he is doing much better, today.
I have been through a lot. This I cannot deny. But I cannot imagine what she had gone through. How horrible. It is times like these or stories like that, when you think that life just could not possibly get any shittier, when you realize that - in fact, it can always get worse. And it really, really makes you grateful for the situation you are in. Perspective is an interesting thing. Everything changes when you look at it from a different perspective. It is sad that more people don't take the opportunity to do that more often. I think the world would be a really different place if they did.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Breaking up is hard to do.
I am smoking my last cigarette as I type this. Tomorrow marks the first day of me being a non smoker. I am filled with anticipation to see how well I do. The feeling is rather different than the typical dread I have felt the other two times that I quit. I have high hopes that this one will stick. Third times a charm, right? The unfortunate thing is that I will have to avoid of few of my trigger friends. Not entirely, but just in certain situations. I am prepared for the extra weight and have already packed my bag to workout immediately after class tomorrow. I am mentally prepared for, yet another, lifestyle change. Might as well make them all in the same year.
This year has been really rough. But I feel as though I have weeded out and finally found my real friends, stopped drinking, found a bit more positivity in my life, appreciate school much more, and just generally appreciate all of the people that are good in my life.
They say it takes three days for nicotine to get out of your system and the rest is mental. I may be a raging bitch. Oh! And I started my period! This is a big deal considering that my body has been so out of whack that I haven't really had one in over a year.
This all pleases me tonight. Tomorrow, however, may be a totally different story.
I just put out my cigarette. So long my dear yet horrible friend.
........and moving forward once more.....
This year has been really rough. But I feel as though I have weeded out and finally found my real friends, stopped drinking, found a bit more positivity in my life, appreciate school much more, and just generally appreciate all of the people that are good in my life.
They say it takes three days for nicotine to get out of your system and the rest is mental. I may be a raging bitch. Oh! And I started my period! This is a big deal considering that my body has been so out of whack that I haven't really had one in over a year.
This all pleases me tonight. Tomorrow, however, may be a totally different story.
I just put out my cigarette. So long my dear yet horrible friend.
........and moving forward once more.....
Saturday, October 29, 2011
The shower of babies.
Today I attended my first baby shower since Dominic died.
Genesis is a dear friend of mine. We have known each other for years. Our friendship has had its bumps, but when Dominic died - she was right there by my side. There are a few good things that come along with loss and all of the revelations that come after a loss. Finding true friends is one of them. And, in Genesis - I found a true friend.
Genesis found out that she was pregnant right around the time that Dominic died. I (of course) did not know this until a few months later when she made the announcement. I was so happy for her - I am still so happy for her. So when I received the invite for her baby shower, there was not one question in my mind as to whether or not I would go. Of course I would go.
As the days before the shower approached I thought that, perhaps I should give her some of Dominic's stuff. I have not done anything with the nursery and thought this may be a good way for me to start to figure out what I would want to do with the nursery. A day before the shower I sifted through Dominic's things and found myself with three gift bags full of things she could use. In the moment, it felt good - almost peaceful. It was a bit sad (very sad) when I went through his clothes. All that I wanted in that moment was to have a baby to put into those clothes. Afterward, I had to lay down because the sadness was a bit overwhelming. But I felt much better when I woke up.
The day of the shower came and Katy and I decided to ride together. I had written a card to Genesis, explaining how these were Dom's things and thanked her for being such a good friend and how I wanted Gus to have some of Dominic's things. We arrived at the baby shower and it was just that - showered with babies. There is nothing wrong with this, as it is - obviously, the best place for one million babies to be. This is just something that I had not thought of prior to my arrival. I choked back my emotion and moved through it. I then see Atticus. Atticus is about three weeks older than Dom would have been. He is beautiful and amazing and it was simply just so hard seeing where Dominic would be in growth and such thus far. I ate my lunch and just fell blue. Aside from the babies, I had counted, at least, three pregnant women. And I just became more sad. I asked Katy if we could go and if she could explain things to Genesis (and also asked if I was being bitchy or a baby, just to have confirmation). As always, Katy had saved the day and I was able to break free just as the tears came pouring out. I really did not want to make a scene on Genesis's big day.
I guess I just did not realize that maybe I was not ready for that. Now I know, and I will adjust accordingly. But, man do I miss Dominic. ugh......
Genesis is a dear friend of mine. We have known each other for years. Our friendship has had its bumps, but when Dominic died - she was right there by my side. There are a few good things that come along with loss and all of the revelations that come after a loss. Finding true friends is one of them. And, in Genesis - I found a true friend.
Genesis found out that she was pregnant right around the time that Dominic died. I (of course) did not know this until a few months later when she made the announcement. I was so happy for her - I am still so happy for her. So when I received the invite for her baby shower, there was not one question in my mind as to whether or not I would go. Of course I would go.
As the days before the shower approached I thought that, perhaps I should give her some of Dominic's stuff. I have not done anything with the nursery and thought this may be a good way for me to start to figure out what I would want to do with the nursery. A day before the shower I sifted through Dominic's things and found myself with three gift bags full of things she could use. In the moment, it felt good - almost peaceful. It was a bit sad (very sad) when I went through his clothes. All that I wanted in that moment was to have a baby to put into those clothes. Afterward, I had to lay down because the sadness was a bit overwhelming. But I felt much better when I woke up.
The day of the shower came and Katy and I decided to ride together. I had written a card to Genesis, explaining how these were Dom's things and thanked her for being such a good friend and how I wanted Gus to have some of Dominic's things. We arrived at the baby shower and it was just that - showered with babies. There is nothing wrong with this, as it is - obviously, the best place for one million babies to be. This is just something that I had not thought of prior to my arrival. I choked back my emotion and moved through it. I then see Atticus. Atticus is about three weeks older than Dom would have been. He is beautiful and amazing and it was simply just so hard seeing where Dominic would be in growth and such thus far. I ate my lunch and just fell blue. Aside from the babies, I had counted, at least, three pregnant women. And I just became more sad. I asked Katy if we could go and if she could explain things to Genesis (and also asked if I was being bitchy or a baby, just to have confirmation). As always, Katy had saved the day and I was able to break free just as the tears came pouring out. I really did not want to make a scene on Genesis's big day.
I guess I just did not realize that maybe I was not ready for that. Now I know, and I will adjust accordingly. But, man do I miss Dominic. ugh......
Friday, October 28, 2011
Let me tell you about my best friend.
First, let's talk about what a best friend is. I think this term is overused far too frequently. Often times, people meet a new friend and instantly have a bond and find so much happiness in this newly found friendship and immediately declare that this is their 'best friend'. Other times people, when asked who their best friend is, lists off, like, five or six people. Well, that is just breaking the rules. More often, people who are in relationships or marriages claim that their significant other is their best friend. Well, that is just a cop out and total bullshit. And here is why:
Now that that is all squared away, I will introduce you to my best friend. Her name is Katy. I met Katy in 1996. I was fifteen years old and Katy was fourteen years old. We were on the school bus and I approached her because I really liked the shirt and rings that she was wearing. There was an immediate connection despite the fact that, from the outside, we appeared to be so very totally mismatched. But our insides, oh our insides....-well, they were a perfect fit.
Katy was into, what we would have labeled in the '90's as, punk, goth, and folk music. And she dressed as those three combined. She loved photography, witchcraft, writing poetry, and listening to music. I, on the other hand, was - for the most part - popular (not in an arrogant way, I just was a social butterfly, and had many friends), loved name brand clothes (who am I kidding, I still do), and the only punk music I had really listened to was NoFX, Pennywise, and some 'punk' music that my boyfriend played out of his basement in Granger (you can see how punk this music really was not) - I did, however, enjoy writing poetry and I loved being photographed. These were the two thing we instantly bonded over. Katy took pictures and I was in them. Afterward, we would write our poetry and share it with each other. With our hangouts ebbing and flowing throughout high school, we were still good friends and close (I have the year book signings to prove it).
I must add, before I move on, that by this time, our families had realized that Katy's mother and my father grew up together. Such a small world. Also, Katy's mother and my mother became 'best friends'. It seemed, at this point, we always had either Katy over or Tina over. We had already began to become family.
After high school we began to hang out even more. Katy started dating some douchebag and I dated another. We all thought it to be a brilliant idea to live together. So we did.
After those relationships crashed and burned (as they all do, or should do at 19) Katy and I had a brief moment of living separately, then eventually moved back in together again. At this point we are 20/21 years old. If I had to pinpoint it, exactly, this is when I believe Katy and I became true - genuine best friends.
Our 20's were the best! We did everything together. Essentially (as I stated in her wedding toast), we were everything for each other. Because of this, our families got to know each other even better and our parents treated us both as their daughters. Her siblings became my siblings and mine became hers. We dated boys that were friends and we created a little family of friends that we just adored. Like I said, we had a blast (I won't go into the gory details of all of the drugs, sex, and rock and roll, but -oops......). Nonetheless, you get the point.
Katy and I both got married, to 'best friends', actually. My husband and I were Katy's best man and maid of honor and they were ours. You would want to puke it seemed so picture perfect. Before Katy even got married she had told her husband that if he is marrying her, then he is marrying me - and he knew it and agreed.
Katy and I talk, even today, about being soul mates. We could go through the definition of what a 'soul mate' is and if it even exists, but for sake of argument, I am just going to assume we all know what it is and agree that it is real. Because if it exists, Katy and I are that to each other.
We have seen each other through marriages, deaths, divorces, family problems, pregnancies, friend problems, affairs, illnesses, diseases, disagreements of our own, and the death of my (essentially, our) child. She has never wavered in her love and loyalty to me. Aside from my family, I can wholeheartedly say that I have never had anyone love me that much, not even my (ex)husband.
Katy and I share a lot of similarities (who doesn't when they spend 15 years together), but we are very different, too. The differences are good - we balance each other out. In jest, I am the devil and she is an angel (if only I could insert a smiley face here). Like I said, we're the perfect fit.
I have done things in my life that I am not proud of. No matter how much Katy disagreed with the things that I had done, she still stood beside me. I have lost my very own son and she still grieves with me. I can only hope that I have returned all of the compassion, loyalty, and love that she has shown me.
Now that... - that is a best friend.
- A 'best friend' is singular. You can only have one. Not five or six - or even two.
- A 'best friend' implies, the one friend, over all of the rest - that is the best. (See point one)
- A best friend, in my case (and I feel, should be the same in all other cases), is someone who knows every bit of you - all of the bullshit that you own - and loves you anyway. This is called unconditional love - much like a family member (or how family should be, anyway).
- A best friend does not count as your boyfriend or partner - or whatever because I know (we all know) that there is simply things that you do not tell your partner (like when they are really pissing you off. Or that the guy that waited on you at that one restaurant was super hot and you would totally sleep with him - if you weren't already attached. You know shit that you tell your best friend.)
Now that that is all squared away, I will introduce you to my best friend. Her name is Katy. I met Katy in 1996. I was fifteen years old and Katy was fourteen years old. We were on the school bus and I approached her because I really liked the shirt and rings that she was wearing. There was an immediate connection despite the fact that, from the outside, we appeared to be so very totally mismatched. But our insides, oh our insides....-well, they were a perfect fit.
Katy was into, what we would have labeled in the '90's as, punk, goth, and folk music. And she dressed as those three combined. She loved photography, witchcraft, writing poetry, and listening to music. I, on the other hand, was - for the most part - popular (not in an arrogant way, I just was a social butterfly, and had many friends), loved name brand clothes (who am I kidding, I still do), and the only punk music I had really listened to was NoFX, Pennywise, and some 'punk' music that my boyfriend played out of his basement in Granger (you can see how punk this music really was not) - I did, however, enjoy writing poetry and I loved being photographed. These were the two thing we instantly bonded over. Katy took pictures and I was in them. Afterward, we would write our poetry and share it with each other. With our hangouts ebbing and flowing throughout high school, we were still good friends and close (I have the year book signings to prove it).
I must add, before I move on, that by this time, our families had realized that Katy's mother and my father grew up together. Such a small world. Also, Katy's mother and my mother became 'best friends'. It seemed, at this point, we always had either Katy over or Tina over. We had already began to become family.
After high school we began to hang out even more. Katy started dating some douchebag and I dated another. We all thought it to be a brilliant idea to live together. So we did.
After those relationships crashed and burned (as they all do, or should do at 19) Katy and I had a brief moment of living separately, then eventually moved back in together again. At this point we are 20/21 years old. If I had to pinpoint it, exactly, this is when I believe Katy and I became true - genuine best friends.
Our 20's were the best! We did everything together. Essentially (as I stated in her wedding toast), we were everything for each other. Because of this, our families got to know each other even better and our parents treated us both as their daughters. Her siblings became my siblings and mine became hers. We dated boys that were friends and we created a little family of friends that we just adored. Like I said, we had a blast (I won't go into the gory details of all of the drugs, sex, and rock and roll, but -oops......). Nonetheless, you get the point.
Katy and I both got married, to 'best friends', actually. My husband and I were Katy's best man and maid of honor and they were ours. You would want to puke it seemed so picture perfect. Before Katy even got married she had told her husband that if he is marrying her, then he is marrying me - and he knew it and agreed.
Katy and I talk, even today, about being soul mates. We could go through the definition of what a 'soul mate' is and if it even exists, but for sake of argument, I am just going to assume we all know what it is and agree that it is real. Because if it exists, Katy and I are that to each other.
We have seen each other through marriages, deaths, divorces, family problems, pregnancies, friend problems, affairs, illnesses, diseases, disagreements of our own, and the death of my (essentially, our) child. She has never wavered in her love and loyalty to me. Aside from my family, I can wholeheartedly say that I have never had anyone love me that much, not even my (ex)husband.
Katy and I share a lot of similarities (who doesn't when they spend 15 years together), but we are very different, too. The differences are good - we balance each other out. In jest, I am the devil and she is an angel (if only I could insert a smiley face here). Like I said, we're the perfect fit.
I have done things in my life that I am not proud of. No matter how much Katy disagreed with the things that I had done, she still stood beside me. I have lost my very own son and she still grieves with me. I can only hope that I have returned all of the compassion, loyalty, and love that she has shown me.
Now that... - that is a best friend.
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