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#312 - bad news
12/17/02 @ 11:00 pm

It's not been a very good week. I swear, I must have some bizarre psychosomatic (?sp) problem with vacations. I always seem to get sick the week before I have a week off. It seems that I've been working hard, I am at my wits end, driven to the bone to survive to the vacation, and my body just starts to give up the fight early. I really hate this body.

Yesterday, it was a general feeling of... Is it malais? I hate big words I've only read and never heard. I should say: a general feeling of icky. Not even icky. More like a case of agoraphobia. Which actually went away once I broke down and took a shower and went in for the day. But it was very creepy how I sat there for 20 minutes unable to decide between calling in sick and just going in.

Then today a migraine. Coupled with other weird feelings like nausea. Was it just a really bad migraine? Some people get nauseaus when they get migraines. I usually don't.

And why the hell am I getting migraines, after going so many months without them? I've been having them almost daily for the last few weeks. I think it may be stress. I seem to get them right about lunch time. I'm now on a schedule to answer the phones as back-up receptionist from 1-2pm, and I HATE it. THEN I get to go to lunch, at which point I'm starving. And right as I tidy up my stuff to clock-out, I get a migraine. Or after lunch, when I stand up to go clock back in.

It does not help that I seem to have somehow picked up a food-aversion to taking pain medication. For a year or two now, I've been wondering why I'm always so reluctant to take any when I get a headache, when I practically run for the bottle when I have cramps or a backache or something. I spent a while really, really thinking about it, and realized I was actually feeling kind of uneasy for no good reason when I thought about taking the drugs for a headache. Am I fucked up or what? I have been forcing myself to take them now for the past week. Fuck food-aversion. I can't function during a migraine. And now that I've found a proven method to make them go away within 2 hours, why the fuck should I lay there in pain doing nothing when I know *that* method doesn't do ANYTHING?

So, yah, today was migraine day. And even though the pain went away, there was an overall tiredness and some dizziness even after I took a nap. And a strong desire not to use any of my senses because I'm just fucking tired of all the constant data streaming in. Do any of you ever think about that? How much information we take in just by opening our eyes? Just by having ears? Taste, smell, and touch we seem to be able to dampen much easier, to ignore the information they give us most of the time. But today especially I was so damn aware of how much I use my eyes and ears, and how tired of it I was.

Actually, I was pretty tired of everything. Tired of making decisions. Tired of being in charge. Being held accountable. I so much wanted to lay like a lump and have someone take care of everything for me. Everything and anything. I think I have been teetering on the edge of exhaustion or depression or something. And I got home and realized that I had to do something about tomorrow's plans. Either not go to LoTR or to my therapy appointment. Of course, husband let someone else buy the tickets. So I told him to call the guy and tell him to plan for a different showing. And you know what? My husband doesn't have the guys fucking phone number. So me, about to fall apart from the overwhelming burden of pain and responsibilities, had to call my fucking shrink and cancel my appointment tomorrow so I could go see that damn movie.

A movie that I very much want to see. Sooooooooo much. But as soon as I made the call and climbed into bed, I realized how very much I really needed to go to that appointment tomorrow.

Husband has a problem with being blamed for things he doesn't do. He's getting pissed off lately with everyone questioning him about every little thing, since he's running into it alot at work with dumb-ass users who won't let him fix anything without explaining every damn keystroke. I am mostly responsible for the blaming, they are mostly responsible for his hatred of questioning, but he takes both out on me.

but you know what I hate? That I'm falling apart, I need him to call his damn friend, he tells me he doesn't have a phone number for the guy, and he has the right to get pissed at me for telling him he should really have the phone number of someone so important to him.

So I blame him for things he doesn't do. I'm sorry. When I realize it or he calls me on it, I either apologize or he should make me apologize.

But when I'm fucking right, and he fucks up, I don't appreciate his shit when he refuses to own up! I'm tired of that fucking attitude!

I think he's a damn saint. He's an amazing person. But that shit fucking PISSES ME OFF and I wish he would just admit he's wrong when he's wrong, instead of finding some way to convince me that there's nothing wrong with what he's done wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just own up and move on. Apologize if necessary. ANYTHING. A little "oopsie" to acknowledge it was a "my bad". ANYTHING. Don't fucking sit there and try to make me feel like a fucking demon from hell for pointing out that you did something wrong!

So there. I love him, but he's not a saint. I knew that. But sometimes I just wish I could thwack him on the nose or something.

Anyway, that is so damn insignificant to the rest of my day.

Did I mention his grandmother has been hospitalized again today? She's not responding to stimuli. They're saying she might never come out of this state. I'm not sure what to do or say, if anything. He's not close with that side of the family. If anything, I feel the most for husband's Dad. It's his mother dying all those many states away, a few days before his birthday, a week before Christmas. He lost his father many years ago, and I don't think that he himself is *that* close with his mother. But close enough. You can see and hear the worry and fright when he talks about it, though he doesn't dwell on it. And today, when he emailed us, I could hear it in his voice, even though there wasn't a voice.

I hate death.

But now for the dream.

Last night, I dreamt I was somewhere. A house maybe. And I think I was trying to go from my room to the bathroom. And for some reason I found myself naked already. I covered my boobs and kept walking. Past a bunch of guys that I think I knew. And it was ok, because they were friends and it was just a little dash, and everything bad was covered.

Except then I passed my dad. And he made mumbled remarks I couldn't hear. And in my gut it felt like that day when I was 11 or 12 and my mom told me I wasn't allowed to wear a bikini around the house anymore because my father had said something about it being provocative. That horrible, disgusted feeling that somehow my father had thought of me as a sexual being. As a sexual object of his own desire. No one else was going to see me tromping around my house that way and think it was provocative.

And I started screaming at him. I dropped my arms and said something like, "you want to see my breasts, well here they are! I'm going to kill you!" And I was pure rage and anger and hatred and naked. And he was suddenly there, barely standing a foot away from me, towering over me like I was still 11, and I suddenly realized that all my rage wasn't a weapon or even armor, and he was going to hurt me, tear me limb from limb, or just beat in my head.

But I did something like laugh and didn't care. Because he had seen my rage and that was enough. And anyway, I was smaller and quicker and I would dodge the blows. Either way, I wasn't scared after that small moment. And then the dream moved on to other, less significant things that more or less did not quite follow the laws of physics very well. Typical dream bullshit that makes no sense.

And I was thinking about this this evening as I lay in bed after cancelling the appointment, thinking how much I wanted to tell my therapist about this dream, and now it would have to wait. the dreams are getting worse and more specific and laying more blame. I've always had a horrible feelign it was him that caused these feelings in me, but never had any proof.

Part of me figured that when these dreams started, there would be more, and each one would bring me closer to a dream of remembering, and I would have some breakthrough ala the TV movie of the week.

But shit like that doesn't happen to me. I'm still just dreaming about showing up at class a day before the final and realizing I've forgotten I was even signed up for this class until today!!! I had that one last night too! Probably right after the one about my dad! This is a DREAM WORLD. Right?

I don't know. I think I have to take it all with a grain of salt. For awhile, most of me was more worried about that shining moment of rage when I felt invincible, like my rage itself could manifest and kill him. I've had these feelings before. I always feel like I can get away from the bad guys in dreams. When I'm drowning, I always at the last moment realize that I can miraculously breath underwater. I've started to become afraid that one of these days I'm going to find myself in one of these situations and discover the hard way how wrong I've been. I'm afraid that I'll get that feeling of invincibility though, and get myself iin worse trouble.

But I got an email from my sister tonight. She was talking about getting her HPV treated. And I went, oh yah, she told me a few months ago that they found out she doesn't have cervical cancer, just genital warts. And I'm going hmm, maybe I don't having recurring yeast infections? They say ALOT of people have HPV without knowing it, because most cases don't present symptoms. Not visible ones anyway. I'm making a note to myself to ask about this next time I go see the Doc.

And then I finish reading the email. Her doc told her that she could have had this since she was 14 and had her first sexual encounter. And I'm thinking back, wondering, was that all? What about those times of... experimentation with her cousin that I know about? Wasn't that younger than that? Or what about... Holy fuck. I *know* my dad did something to her. I've never known exactly what.

But mom told me many years ago.

Dad has genital warts.

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