heart beat

In January when I closed my Facebook account I said I was going to focus on my blogs.  Well, clearly that did not happen.
I taught myself how to knit and crochet again.  I cooked.  I baked.  My life was taken over by Pinterest but at least I was being creative. Rocco had the coolest home made valentines in his class.  Steven got a hand knit scarf that winter.  And I kept myself busy creating new things in the kitchen.
But I miss blogging.  I love writing.  But in order to write I need to have something to say.  I remember my sister telling me when I started my blog that "blogs become books".  We will see.
So, today I was flooded with some memories that have stayed with me all day.  I've been reflecting on my past and comparing it to my future.  Not in a critical way.  And I hope I never stop seeing change.
I was in cycle class this morning.  It is hard.  It continues to be hard even though I have been cycling once or twice a week since I had Rocco.
Three songs into class my heart was pounding. I was very well aware of my heart.  It made me think of all of the years I  spent in the past fearful of that beat.  Focused on that rhythm.
I was starving myself.  Throwing up.  Smoking cigarettes.  Doing drugs,  Drinking daily.  Consuming mass amounts of coffee.
My heart was abused.  It stopped.  It skipped beats.  It pounded.  It fluttered.
Sometimes I wondered when it was going to stop for good.  How long was I going to get away with living like this?  There were times I wanted to die.  Not bad enough to take my own life.  But I often thought God would just spare me one of those awful nights and end it all.  Peacefully in my sleep.  My heart would just stop beating.
I was aware of my heart when I had just finished my fourth 20 oz cup of coffee for the day.
I would notice my heart after I snorted a few lines of cocaine with nothing in my body but red wine for 24 hours.
I would notice my heart when I was making myself throw up for the 4th time that day.  After breakfast.
I noticed it when I would have to walk any length or lift something. Because I was weak. Feeble.  Dying.
I noticed my heart when it pumped like a machine gun in the middle of an anxiety attack that was most likely induced by alcohol withdrawal and starvation.
It amazes me that when I see doctors they tell me I'm the 'picture of perfect health'.
Today I am tremendously grateful I have done no damage to my heart.
It skips once in a while.  It flutters from time to time.  But I have a mild thyroid issue and was told it is pretty common.
I am not focused on my heartbeat anymore.  It feels good when it pounds.  I'm usually excited about something.  It is usually a sign that I am working my body.  Something I am actually able to do today.
I am not going to die.  Nor do I want to.  I want to live a long time.
Because today I have love in my heart.  Mind blowing, over the top, joyous, magnificent, magical love.  Love for things.  Love for people.  Love for food.  Love for God.
Love for life.

Say Goodbye to Hollywood...Say Goodbye to Facebook.

I've decided to delete my Facebook account. 
Facebook is not good for me.
I plan to dedicate more time to my 3 blogs instead.  At least they give me an opportunity to be a little bit creating and insightful at times.
All Facebook does is make me angry(er).  I don't need that in 2014. 

I do not have cable.  So, while all of you are watching television I am reading Facebook statuses. 
Instead of Breaking Bad, Weeds, and The Soprano's (oh, wait...that was 10 years ago) I have Facebook. 
I probably spend the same amount of time on Facebook that everyone else spends in front of the TV.  Facebook is my mindless entertainment. 

There is a part of me that enjoys seeing everyone's wedding photos and hearing of your latest vacation.  But for every engagement photo and shot of a newborn baby there is an underdressed teenage selfie.  Or an underdressed 40 something selfie.  I don't know what is worse.

Facebook is not good for my patience or tolerance.  I find myself disgusted and angry on a daily basis watching posts pop up on my newsfeed shaming others.  I'm guilty of it, too.  I'm the most judgmental person on the planet.  Something I try and be mindful of and try hard to correct.  But Facebook makes it difficult.  It reminds me that we live in a world of fearful, self righteous, racist, homophobic, grandiose, conservative freaks and it makes ME fearful.  I'm trying to raise a kid in this fucked up world.  And my kid is going to end up in school with YOUR kid.  And the first time he comes home and repeats the word 'faggot' or 'spic' I am going to come to your fucking house, rob you of the gun you so proudly own, and beat you with it. 
See?!
I'm angry and judgmental just TALKING about it. 

So....I'm going to blog.
I'm going to blog about Rocco at roccobyebaby.blogspot.com.
I'm going to write about my great thrift store finds and coupon scores at 2ndhandmama.blogspot.com
The rest of my ramblings can be found here.
Follow them if you like. 
If you don't, it's is ok.  I'm over 'friending' and 'defriending' and 'blocking' and the obligatory friend request.  I think I'm getting old. 

This year my resolution is to be a better person.
In order to accomplish this it is best for me to bite my tongue. 
Happy Fucking New Year!

Divorceaversary

I have been so happy this Christmas season. 
Rocco is more fun than he has been in the past.  He is interested in Santa, the snow, singing Christmas songs.  He is the perfect age to be mesmerized by the magic of Christmas.
That feeling of joy really startles me at times.  I'm tremendously grateful for it.  Because last year at Christmas things were a mess. 
I was stuffed in my parents guest room with my son.  I spent 40 hours a week at a job I hated.  And I was newly divorced.
I don't know why I decided to find my divorce papers this morning.  While I was getting ready for work I thought that is was right before Christmas last year my divorce was final. 
I dug them out of the drawer I keep them in with Rocco's birth certificate and my social work license. 
December 18th. 
Happy Divorceaversary to me! 
So weird that today is the day I got curious.  And it happens to be the anniversary date of one of the saddest things in my life. 
When I married Eric I took my vows seriously.  It had taken me 34 years to finally be able to commit to someone.  I had every intention of staying with him.  In sickness and in health.  For better or worse. 
But he just kept getting sicker and sicker.  And it kept getting worse.
I encounter married couples all of the time who stick it out through substance abuse.  Infidelity. Betrayal.  I think, "Is that what I was suppose to do?" 
Was I wrong for divorcing my husband? Should I have given him another opportunity to get sober?  Should I have stayed by my man because I promised I would before God? 
Maybe....
But I didn't.  I don't think that life is what God wanted for me.  Or him.
Watching the person you love slowly kill themselves is probably one of the worst things you can ever witness. 
I divorced Eric for my sanity.  Most of my life was spent in unhealthy relationships or situations.  I did not get sober and work my ass off to become something to continue the same pattern of sickness.
But I also divorced him for Rocco.  I refuse to raise my son in an environment that is unhappy and unhealthy.  Not to mention unsafe.  I will not have my son around active addiction.  And thank God I was able to put my son before my relationship. 
I'm sad things didn't work out with Eric.  I loved him.  I loved him enough to marry him.  I also had his child.  And for that I am grateful.  Because without Eric there would be no Rocco.
But I'm also sad that I'm divorced.  I'm not ashamed to say I have feelings about that and the institution of marriage. 
To me divorced is like I big, fat, circled F written in red pen on a test you studied hard for. 
Failure. 
My parents have been married 52  years. 
I could only manage to make my marriage last for 2 years. 
I have some shame I need to put aside on that one.  When I get over how angry I am at my ex-husband for what I feel he did to us and our family. 
People ask if I think I'll ever get married again.
I fantasize about it.  I guess somewhere inside of me is a naïve, romantic who is drawn to 'happily ever after'.  But I figure, I waited a long time to get married.  I tried it once.  Look how it turned out.  Who is to say that wont happen again? 
I don't know if I'm meant to mate for life.  Maybe that was the problem to begin with.  I'm so incapable of true intimacy and trust that I should not have even gotten married to begin with.  Maybe I am too quick to walk away from things.  I don't know.  But it scares me to think I may spend the rest of my life alone.   Which I would do in a heartbeat before I would relive the nightmare that was the last year and a half of being married. 
This Christmas I am happy.  I'm in love.  I feel safe.  I enjoy what I do for work. I am amazed by this boy that is growing before my eyes.  I'm truly blessed.   
But I am angry.  I am sad.  I wish things had been different.  I wish Rocco did not have to wake up without his Daddy on Christmas morning.  I am angry about the shattered dreams.  Broken promises.  That my bitter 'you can't trust anyone' attitude was right on the money. 
RIP Kelli Gilmore and Eric Fortuna.  Happy 1st Divorceaversary.

 

BOO! (hoo)

I hate this time of year. 
I will admit there is a part of me that loves the crisp night air.  The warm baked goods flavored with apple and pumpkin.  The smile on my sons face as he runs through a corn maze.
But as the Halloween decorations go up and the knee boots come out, I get depressed.

For years Fall just meant that Winter was around the corner.  And Winter means long, dark nights.  Overcast skies.  Freezing toes.  Winter is cold and harsh.  For some reason I can't separate Fall from Winter.  They go hand and hand.

This Fall is particularly difficult for me.  Last year, a day or two before Halloween, I left my husband.  Unwilling to continue living the way we were living I packed some things, loaded Rocco in the car, and settled into my parents guest room. 

Last Fall would be the last time I kissed Eric good night.  The last time we would sleep in the same house.  The last time I would listen to him snore.  Wash his socks.  Bring him a cup of coffee.  It would be the last time Rocco had his Mommy and Daddy together. 

Rocco and I went Trick or Treating by ourselves last year.  We spend Thanksgiving without Eric.  We went to our annual Christmas Eve festivity solo.  We rang in the new year...just the two of us.  The whole time crammed into my parents little guest room, trying to carry on like things were going to be OK. 

And of course they are OK.  They always are.  But I didn't necessarily believe that while I was living it.  I was in more pain than I have ever been in my life.  I don't know if I have ever cried so much or so often.  The anxiety and stress I was feeling was crippling.  And while life is no longer like that today, the sounds, the smells, the visions of Fall are bringing those unpleasant memories back.

I am really fucking sad.  I'm still extremely angry.  The life I built, or thought I was building, came crashing down around me.  I was able to pick up the pieces that I wanted and toss the rest.  But I'm still filled with a lot of unresolved feelings.  Feelings about being lied to.  Feelings about losing my partner.  Feelings about the vows I took on my wedding day.  Feelings about moving on.  Feelings about being divorced.  Feelings about now trying to raise my son with someone I feel like I don't know.  Don't trust.  Someone that I love.  Someone that I hate.  It is all so conflicting and confusing.  And annoying. 

I don't really feel sorry for myself.  I made choices in life that brought me to where I am today.  And as hard as it was to get here, I'm glad I'm here.  However, I think it is important to acknowledge that I am sad.  It breaks my heart when Rocco says 'goodbye' to his dad at the end of their weekend together.  It wasn't suppose to be like that.  I hate that I can't look Eric in the eye anymore.  It makes me so uncomfortable.  It makes me sad that Rocco will not get to spend holidays with BOTH of his parents and have to go from house to house and be shared. 

Fall has never been a friend of mine.  Now it is reminiscent of the darkest time of my life.  I know I will get through it.  I can't imagine it ever getting any worse than it was a year ago.  But I never saw that coming either...

So, I guess I'll just do what I did last year.  I'll take Rocco Trick or Treating.

My last drunk....

Today marks the 8th anniversary of my 'last drunk'.  We sober alcoholics don't say our last drink.  I've never in my life had one drink.  When I drank I got drunk.  And I haven't been drunk in 8 years. 

Well....8 years tomorrow.  8 years ago today, I was hammered.

Something I've learned in the 12 step program I work is not to regret my past.  For the most part I do not.  It took me a long time not to cringe when I thought of certain things I did or the places drugs and alcohol took me.  I had to do a tremendous amount of work on myself and make amends to many people before I was able to look back at some of my past behavior and feel OK.

When I think about the last night I drank I get very uncomfortable.  I was an asshole.  Irresponsible. Inappropriate. Selfish.  Rude. Obnoxious. Mean. Insulting. Careless.  Need I go on?

And the reality is I was all of these things on a daily basis for the 15 years I spent drunk.  Ok...I wasn't drunk for 15 years straight.  I was high some of that time.  Or staving myself.  Or in a crazy relationship.  Something to get out of myself.  Whether I was drunk or not the attitudes and behaviors of an alcoholic were still there and kicking me in my ass on a daily basis. 

I've been doing some reflecting lately.  Who am I kidding?  I've been in a constant state of thought for over a year now.  But as my anniversary has been approaching my thoughts have been more focused my sobriety.  Many of my friends in AA say they get 'squirrely' around their anniversary date.  From what I understand it is pretty common to criticize oneself and ones program of recovery at this time. 

Today I found myself thinking about my last drunk.  I made a complete fool out of myself while working.  I drank on the job all of the time when I worked in the restaurant business.  I tried to keep a nice steady buzz until it was time to clock out and really drink.  This night I got hammered.  Again.... It was just another night of inebriation for me.  Why should work get in the way?  My hostage, I mean boyfriend, was working with me and I can remember bits and pieces of the two of us fighting.  Him shaking his head in disappointment once more. 

Thinking of what details I remember make me shake my head in disappointment.  Ugh..."but I will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it". 

I am not having an 'official' celebration this year.  I go to meetings when I can get a free hour and have not felt connected to one particular group.  Plus, I'm judging me so everyone else must be judging me too, right?  I also understand that an anniversary celebration is not about me it is to show the new comer how it works.  But you know what?  I'm going to be a selfish alcoholic this year and make it about me.

I made amends to the boss I had 8 years ago on that last night.  There are people in my life today that were around that night who probably have no idea how significant that night was.  How much my life has changed since then.  What I have tried to become.  Successful in some of my endeavors but a failure at others.

Tomorrow is my sobriety date. 
It is my mothers birthday.
It is 9-11.
Today I have gratitude.      

Out of the Darkness

I assume most of the people who read this follow the link I post on Facebook.  Anyone who is my 'friend' on  Facebook knows that I have been shamelessly promoting the hell out of a fundraising walk I am doing in September for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.
The support and response has been amazing.  I'm walking with a team from work.  My guess is that most people who see that I'm doing this walk just assume that it is because I work for a mental health agency or that it is because I'm a social worker.  But there is a back story.

Part of the 12 step program I work is making direct amends to those I have harmed except when doing so would harm them.

There is a man on my amend  list that I dated briefly.  I was much younger than him and drinking quite heavily.  We had very little in common except we were both pretty unstable.  The relationship was really unhealthy and impulsive.  It ended badly after only a few months but the after break up drama went on for the Spring and Summer to follow.  Neither one of us was very nice or respectful to the other.  We never spoke again.

A few years into my sobriety I got a phone call from an mutual friend saying the guy I dated had shot himself.  He was dead.

I was saddened by his death but it was not a significant loss for me.  He was in and out of my life in the blink of an eye.  Not to mention, I was inebriated for most of our relationship.  I had no feelings for this person.  Just feelings anyone would have when they realize someone is so sad and hopeless they see no other option then to end it all.

I also had a tremendous feeling of regret.  I was not going to get the opportunity to make my amend.  To make things right.  To offer an apology.  It was unsettling.

A year or so after his death I stumbled upon the Out of the Darkness Walk.  I have no recollection of how that happened.  I remember sitting on the couch in my old house and looking at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention website.  The walk was in Hudson that year.  I realized this was my opportunity to make things right with that ex boyfriend.  I would raise money and bring attention to the cause.  I registered and started promoting it on Facebook.  I raised $460 of my $500 goal.

The day of the walk I considered not going.  I was pregnant at that point and very tired.  It was a Sunday morning and I kind of wanted to stay in my pajamas but an acquaintance of mine was going to be walking with me so I did the right thing and headed to Hudson.

Registration was at a park on the water and it was a gorgeous, sunny day in early Fall.  I was celebrating my 5 year anniversary at a meeting that night.  I signed in and wrote down the name of the person I was walking for.  His name was read during the opening ceremony along with a few hundred other names.

There was a tremendous amount of laughter and happiness.  However, there was an overwhelming feeling of sorrow which took me by surprise.  Maybe is was the pregnancy.  Or maybe I was more effected by this death than I thought.

There were memorial posters and several quilts with photos and quotes.  All of which were very moving.  I wrote my ex boyfriends name on a huge piece of poster board.  I didn't know his date of birth OR his date of death.  But I guess that wasn't important at the time.

I looked around for the woman who was going to walk with and there was no sign of her.  I took a seat on the sidewalk while I listened to a few guest speakers.  I was sitting next to a middle aged woman and what I assumed what her 20 something daughter.  The two held on to each other and shared some softly spoken words.  I can't remember exactly what they were saying but I was able to deduce that it was the girls father who had committed suicide.  I had an insane urge to hold her.

After everyone let balloons go the walk started.  My friend never showed up and I was initially pissed off.  I started walking and I started sobbing.  The kind of crying where you can't catch your breath.  The energy level and emotions around me where incredibly intense.  Then I was glad I was alone.  It became clear that this was something I needed to do by myself.  It was a spiritual experience.  I was improving my conscious contact with my Higher Power.  I was doing the 11th step as well as the 9th.

I went home.  Shared about it with my then husband.  I had a celebratory dinner for my recovery like I do every year with my parents.  I cried when I told them about my day.  That experience was something I will never forget.  And it was an amend that was so much more meaningful than telling someone 'I'm sorry'.  It had a profound impact on me.

So, when I got the interoffice email about the team forming at work I immediately signed up.  My goal is to raise $500.  I may try and bump it up to $1000 since the walk isn't until September and I've already been fortunate enough to collect $440.

Having recently come out of my own darkness I can't help but think what I would have done had I not had my family and friends around to support me at the time.  And then I think about the kid in high school who was attractive and smart and popular who was found dead in the woods.  And the adorable young man I used to see walking around the village with a smile on his face and the world at his fingertips who took HIS life just a few years ago.  I work with people on a daily basis who have tried to take their own lives.  Many of them more than once.

My heart goes out to the loved ones left behind who must be wondering if they could have done something different.  People beating themselves up for not saying something sooner.  Survivors with broken hearts looking for a way to make things right.

This walk may not bring any of those people back.  But maybe it is a way to keep it from happening to someone else.

Medical Records

I'm in the process of transferring to a new medical practice.  I've had a good 5 year run with my primary but have decided to find someone new to meet my changing needs.

In order to get an appointment at the new practice I needed to have my medical records sent from the old one.  It was an annoying process of phone calls, voice mails, faxes, missing pages....completely annoying to someone who has no patience. 

Because of the confusion I had my records faxed directly to ME.  That way I would have them if I ever had to do something like this again. 

I picked up the fax, walked to my office flipping through the pages, and there it was.

I sat down in my chair. 

My weight.  Something that has tempted me for the last 3 years like a someone putting a Parliament Light to their lips in front of me.  Calling my name like the Breyers Mint Chocolate Chip in  my freezer. 

LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!
KNOW ME!
BE ME!

I have successfully avoided knowing my weight since before Rocco was born.  I do not remember when I weighed myself last or what I actually weighed.  I made a concious decision to stop weighing myself after years of doing it obsessively.

When I went to my OB appointments I faced the opposite direction of the scale and asked the nurses not to say the number out loud.  I do the same when I see my primary.  When someone asks my height and weight, I simply guess.

It has tempted me.  That number.  That 3 digit number I once worked so hard to get down to 2.  The number I obsessed over.  The number I clung to and identified with.  I've been curious.  But I've done so much work.  In therapy.  In AA.  With God.  Over time I lost interest.  There wer more important things to focus on.   

So...there it was in black and white. 
And I started flipping through the pages. 
Each visit.  Height and weight. 
It fluctuated.  Not much. 

I found myself disappointed in what I saw.
Page after page faced with a number I was somewhat mortified by. 
I don't 'feel' that size.  (because we anorexic/bulimics know 'fat' is a feeling, right?)
Do you think people know how much I weigh?
What if someone asks me?
Fleeting thoughts of doing something to change it. 
SMALLER, smaller, smaller...
They were fleeting. 

I feel great.  Better than I have in my life.
I am strong.  I can plank and burpee for days.
I am healthy.  My hair, my skin, brighter than ever.
I feel happy.  And that happiness is not contingent on what the scale says that day. 
I feel free.  From the trap of the scale.  The obsession with numbers.  The pressure that I allowed it to put on me. 

The fax came on Monday.  I've been sitting with this for 5 days. 
I have not binged.
I have not purged.
I have not skipped a meal. 
I ate that Breyers Mint Chip in bed.
I polished off the last of my cupcakes. 
I did not over exercise. 
I've told myself muscle weighs more than fat.
I've recommitted to NOT knowing my weight. 

Because even though it didn't send me into a full blown relapse, it could have. 
I'm not playing with fire. 
Unless I decide to light that cigarette.....