So I got up this morning, scooped up some of this jello into a bowl, and after the first bite, I realized my mistake. Just because I couldn't eat anything else didn't mean I would suddenly be able to eat jello. No, I still hated it and it's still sitting on the end table next to me where I try and take a bite now and again, but even the dog won't eat it. Why would he - it's jello. Bananas mixed in would have helped, but that would defeat the purpose of a liquid diet.
I had a pretty bad day yesterday. Very, very emotional. At one point, I was so low, I was wondering if I should beg God to just take me during the surgery, it would be so simple and it would appear so logical, people die during surgery all the time. Not that God would do it just because I asked, I used to beg God to take my life constantly and it never happened. But when you ask God something, you wonder if it might actually happen just because you ask. I know, it's a selfish thing to want, but when you're THAT low, you think there's no one who would care that you were gone, and if there was, that they would be better off without you anyway, even if they didn't realize it in the short term.
I tried to shake it off, and Mark called on his way home but he could tell I was pretty down. When he got home, I found he had stopped and bought flowers - very happy flowers, bright colors, to cheer me up. Incredibly sweet, sometimes I don't feel like anyone really cares - okay, actually most of the time, and it was a very kind gesture.
I still haven't told anyone that knows me - except my husband - about my surgery. I was going through old emails because it hit me all of a sudden that the woman that took me in when I was a teenager that is acting very standoffish and not replying to my emails except when I send an email out of concern for her, she gives excuses about not replying that I know to be untrue, never asks me how I am. She says things like she has been unwell, yet she posts things on facebook regularly. Do you have to be well to send a short email, and if you can type on facebook, can't you type a few words in a reply in an email to someone you care about? I know this sounds so petty, but it just seems like it is her overall attitude towards me, all about herself and her problems, but doesn't care about how I am at all.
I read through them, and I am always asking her how she is, her health, her well being, what is she doing, all kinds of questions, interested about her in general. I talk very little about myself, which I know seems unbelievable to anyone reading this blog, but I don't share much about myself with people that isn't trivial. I could only find one instance where she asked me a question about myself. One time she asked me how I liked Chicago. That was it. One time she said she hadn't replied to one of my emails because she had been visiting her daughter to help her move. Interesting, because her daughter lived about the same distance that I had and she had misunderstood my invitation to visit me one time in Chicago to mean visiting me where I lived in Texas, and told me her car wouldn't make it. Then, I invited her to Chicago, told her I would pay for a rental car for her to get to the airport, buy her plane tickets, drive her to the place where her mother was buried that she hasn't been to in decades...nothing. Not even a thanks but no thanks, and yes, she got the email because she responded to it...eventually, talking about herself.
So...with this surgery coming up tomorrow, it's really made me think about who is important in my life, and who really just doesn't give a damn. I wanted to tell her, of all the people in the world, to share with her my fears, but...deep down I know she doesn't want to know, she doesn't care, she doesn't want to hear it. If she did, she would ask me how I am, she would care about my well-being, but she never asks. I know there are people I might share this with that would possibly at least act concerned, I just choose not to tell them, not to bother them. But with her, she's always told me to CALL her mother, she tried to get me to label her as my mother on facebook, I would just never do it, I'm not sure what my hesitation was. She certainly seemed to care more about my well-being than my own mother had, at least when I was 16. But now? I've been thinking and thinking FOR MONTHS what her deal is, and for YEARS, DECADES what her daughter's deal is, and I give up. I'm tired of trying to please them, to cater to them. Of course I've felt like I've owed them so much for taking me out of a bad situation, like maybe everything, but I'm now 44 years old, I lived there for two years. That was 26 years ago, we've grown apart, none of us are even remotely alike anymore.
So...yes, I know this is dumb and childish, and they will probably cackle about it, make some comments about my personality, but I unfriended them on facebook. Every time I saw something in my news feed from them it annoyed me more and more, and yes, I considered just removing them from my newsfeed like I have other people that annoy me, but I wanted something more symbolic to myself, not necessarily just sending a message to them.
Mark wonders why I have to do this - why I feel the need to "cut people out of my life". Why not just go on with my life and forget about people altogether? Move on? Not that he doesn't mind if I cut them out of my life - he can't stand them, and not from anything I've said, but because he met them when we first started dating and has always said they have horrible personalities. Yes, they do, but...I've always felt I could never repay them for helping me, so I overlooked their personalities. And...I don't know the answer to his question. In a non-facebook world, sure, I could do that, there would be nothing "symbolic" to do, I suppose moving her email address to spam could be symbolic which I am still considering. I don't expect to be asked an explanation, I don't expect anyone to care. To notice? Yes, it will be noticed, I have no doubt about that. I am sure both mother and daughter don't understand how their lives are what they are, and mine is what it is. I'm sure they think I'm living the high life when I came from such horrible circumstances that they offered to take me in, so how did I get to where I am while they are where they are, when no doubt they believe they are "better" than I am. They probably think it's not fair, I have no idea.
The thing is...like I said, no one even cares to sincerely ASK me how I am. I'm definitely not one who wears my heart on my sleeve and tells people my troubles, not at all. I keep them to myself, so I could see where someone would think I have no troubles, no problems, maybe a seemingly perfect life, I have no idea what people think. But because people don't ask and because I don't volunteer, they have no idea. Do I ask how other people are? Yes, all the time. And I sincerely care. Maybe I do this BECAUSE I know that it is extremely rare that someone will ask how I am, and maybe it's because people assume that I don't have anything wrong. I am happy in public, I joke, I smile, I laugh, I try to make others feel good, there is probably no reason for anyone to think there is anything wrong with me, but a sincere "how are you" once in awhile from someone would be appreciated.
Yesterday when I was so very down, I did remember a time when someone asked me if something was wrong. So bizarre when you remember *a* time when someone asks you if something is wrong. But it was at the worst possible time! It was before I went into the hospital for....here I am again questioning what I was. Suicidal? What does that mean? That you have a plan on how to do it and a time and place? Or that you beg God to take your life every second, you know how you would take it yourself, but you haven't mustered the courage to do it just yet, but you want to more than anything in the world and thinking of ending your life is the only thing that comforts you? Well, I was the second one, so...whatever that is, that's what I was. So...I went to lunch with a big group of coworkers and when you're THAT depressed, you try to act normal but you can't remember how you used to act when you felt "normal". I think someone made a joke and I might have pretended to laugh, and someone that I probably had let get close to me all of sudden asked, in front of everyone, what was wrong with me. I said nothing was wrong, but she wouldn't let it go. She kept asking and asking and asking until it became uncomfortable to the point of other people telling her I was fine and to just leave me alone. Now had she waited until we were alone and said something like "I've noticed you seem a little down, is everything okay?", I might have shared a bit with her. No, I would never have told her the truth, I wouldn't have told a single person on earth at that time, but I would have told her that yes, she was right, I wasn't feeling like myself and was down or something. Not in front of a whole group from work, though.
I remember in my 20's I went to counseling for a long time - individual and group, several rounds of group therapy. I had an awesome therapist who told me I had big fears of intimacy and abandonment. All of this time I had always considered them opposites, how strange to be afraid of two things that were completely opposing. Then it recently hit me - no, they really aren't. Maybe that's my whole problem. I'm afraid of getting close to people because they will abandon me, I guess that is what she was trying to say. And it's true, I've realized I don't let people in, there's virtually no one I'm close to besides my husband, I share hardly anything with anyone, yet am always asking about themselves, always concerned about them, and they will tell me intimate detail that always surprise me when people open up so quickly. Then I feel this bond that is pretty scary and I'm not sure what to do with it. I certainly don't reciprocate the sharing which maybe you're supposed to do. I might share something that doesn't really mean much to me - like being in an abusive relationship with an ex-boyfriend I lived with that led to jail time, a protective order, etc. I don't find that to be terribly revealing, it's happened to a lot of women and I think more awareness of it needs to be out there so more women will get help. But that's in the PAST, so maybe some are thinking - why aren't you that way about mental illness - tell people about being bipolar? Because I did something about my abusive relationship, it's something I've accomplished, it's in my past, I've triumphed from it. My mental illness? I still have that affliction, the stigma is still there, I will be judged on that, not on who I was yesterday, but who I am today, and not that I've changed and am now stronger.
Ugh, the nurse from the hospital just called and we went over EVERYTHING in my medical history. I thought I was so healthy, maybe I'm really falling apart. Good news - she was very excited about my BMI! It's 20 she told me. I wish I could say I was as happy as she sounded. I did reach my goal weight this morning - 125. Well, 125.7, so does that count? I guess not, I need to lose that 0.7 to stay true to my goal. I suppose, with the percentages I see of overweight and obese in America, maybe she hears the majority of people are overweight or obese that she talks to every day, I don't know, didn't seem like much to celebrate although - sure, go back two years in my blog and you'll see me lamenting over my weight and arguments I've had with my doctor about medications that caused me to gain weight. Therapist visits where my husband wanted me to lose weight and how devastated I felt. But now...I worked very hard and it just doesn't seem like a big deal.
Back to disgusting jello and whatever else. I guess I'll be writing again either tomorrow before surgery or....after.