November 27, 2006 1:08am

My sincerest apologies for not updating sooner. The renal system really kicked my ass and I was on lockdown studying every night. Then, I don't have wireless internet at home and I really can't me expected to sit at an uncomfortable desk and update my blog! Now that I have returned to WV I can properly update the blog from the comfort of my couch.

Now...without further delay.....

Oh yes folks, it's that time of year again!

MY BIG FAT THANKSGIVING DINNER

Once again, it was time for a festive Thanksgiving celebration at my uncle Ray's house. Ray has a stronghold on Thanksgiving because his in-laws insist on being in bed by 4pm. Therefore, we must have Thanksgiving dinner at 11:00am every year. There is no watching the Thanksgiving Day parade in my family, there is no afternoon of football, there is no collection of women in the kitchen complaining about their husbands. We sit down to dinner at 11:45am, quietly, with our legs crossed at the ankles. There is no music because that might disrupt someone's digestion. Conversation is limited to politics, work, or me.

Yes, I am the center of attention. Why? Well, because I am the youngest at the table by 30 years.

As such, I am still considered to be the child. This is now made even worse by the fact that I am no longer engaged so there is no husband in my immediate future. Therefore, I am a child and am treated as such.

In years past, the guest list was longer. It always included my parents, uncle ray and his wife, my aunt joanne and her husband, ray's decrepidly old in-laws, my grandmother, my great uncle, my great aunt, ray's wife's aunt, some really old friends of the in-laws, and a friend of my uncle's who he knew since childhood.

Typically, I was seated next to Erma, the incredibly old friend of the decrepidly old in-laws. She would always tell me that it was about darn time I stopped worrying about all this school non-sense and finally got myself a husband. "Men don't like smart women!" she would tell me. She also had very hairy legs for a woman in her 90's. You'd think that by then all hormonal activity would have stopped so body hair would no longer be an issue. She enjoyed telling us about her home health aid and how well this woman washed Erma's crotch.

Anyone want some gravy?

Erma died sometime in the past few years. One down!

The decrepidly old in-laws also kicked it somewhat recently. They were alcoholics, which as entertaining as that condition can be in young people it is twice as much fun in people who are over 80. As of they weren't unsteady enough on their feet, they would always end up sloshed before dessert. I think their true reason for wanting to be home before 4pm was that the DUI checkpoints don't start until at least 8.

Two more down!

Then there was my great aunt, my grandmother, and my father. All of them died in the past few years. Three more gone. That makes 6.

Of ray's in-laws....all of them and their friends are gone. That takes us down an extra 3. In total, nine dead.

That leaves my mom, ray and his wife, joanne and her husband, my great uncle, ray's friend Rich, and me. Eight people.

Nine dead. eight remain. More people have DIED in my lifetime than are still present at the Thanksgiving table.

But I'm a glass is half full kind of girl. You see, when we were a larger group, there wasn't really enough room for me. Since I was the "kid", I was always given a foot stool to sit on because there weren't enough chairs. This was a bit of a novelty for me when I was 9, 10, 11 years old but it quickly lost its appeal when I was 18, 19, 20 years old. I was much bigger than some of those old farts. One of the 90 pound grannies should have sat on the little stool. I need a real chair!

Then there was the silverware problem. There weren't enough regular dinner forks so I was always given a salad fork. I was forced to eat thanksgiving dinner with a salad fork. Why not just give me a spork and make it more challenging? After all, I have to balance my ass on a tiny little foot stool anyway. Give me an inapropriately small eating utensil, a foot stool to balance on, a fraction of a corner of the table to use and I'll give you my very own version of a Thanksgiving Cirque du soleil!

But we have lost so many over the years. No, surely, there will be enough room for me. I will finally get to eat with a real fork. I will finally have a real place at the table.

Nay.

I walk into my uncle's house to see that instead of the dinner table being set, it is instead the kitchen table that has been dressed with the giant ceramic turkey decoration and candlesticks.

It is a lovely kitchen table. It seats 6 people in a rectangle. There were exactly 6 places set. You see, for the past few years I have celebrated Thanksiving alone with the douche bag. I made a Thanksgiving dinner just for the two of us. Very romantic.

Well, apparently my family forgot that I am now the lonely spinster so I will be coming to family dinners again.

I was left out of the count. Forgotten. Dismissed. Ignored.

Never fear, there can always be extra room for another in our family!

Why not just move to the dining room? Well, that is complicated by the fact that their dining room is being redone so unless you can hover over furniture there is no way to even get into that room.

The footstool, my old friend, was brought out of the closet.

I did get to eat with a real fork this time, but I had to drink my wine out of a water glass because wine glasses come in sets of 6, not 7.

So I tried my best to enjoy dinner....

And then it started....

First it was my aunt, "Well, my friend Barbara's daughter got pregnant! and now she's living with the father of this child. What an embarassment!"

and her husband, "Well, that will never work. Living in sin, as well all here know, dooms a relationship."

I tried not to choke.

I looked at my mother, hoping she would change the subject and rescue me.

But before she had a chance, my great uncle decided it was time for his analysis of the world, "Well, ya know, those God damn n---ers just keep stealing from us. They can't be trusted, the n---ers. All f--s they are!"

I have never been so relived to hear him start that shit.

Before dessert, we had covered living in sin, unwed mothers, race relations (to put it nicely) and some reminiscing about all those who are no longer with us.

Happy holidays!

November 12, 2006 12:14am

I haven't been able to fall asleep like a normal person for months. I finally got some awesome stuff from the psychiatrist, but I need more.

Like a very responsible person, I called his office before I ran out. I listened patiently to the menu "push one for appointments....". I pressed 2 for prescription refills. I got an answering machine telling me to leave my information and the prescription will be called in. If I do not hear from them in 48 hours, that means the prescription was called in and I can go pick it up.

"Hello. My name is Elizabeth ------. Dr. E gave me Seroquel to help me sleep. Can you please have him refill my prescription at the Wal Mart pharmacy? I take 25mgs. My number is -------. Thank you."

That was Wednesday. Today is Saturday. I am out of drugs. I went to Wal Mart....no prescription. His office is closed and so I left a message with his answering service. Still haven't heard anything.

I will call again on Monday. This time, I might say something like....

"Hey. This is Bitchy Crazy Liz. I called last week. Never got my prescription filled. Never got a call explaining if there was a problem. Never heard anything from you. I haven't slept in several days. I think it is beginning to really have a negative....did you say something? Hello? No, I won't do that so stop asking me! I'm trying to leave a message. Now be quiet. Anyway, I was saying that I think my lack of sleep has been bad for my.... Okay, enough already! Stop interrupting me :::BEEEEEP::::"

Seriously. Why is it when I ask for help, I can't seem to get it?

I found an online depression support group. That has been interesting. Some of the people are similar to me. And then there are some who I think like being depressed. It's who they are. They like the attention. They live for chat rooms and chat room hugs ((((((((insert name of attention seeker here))))))))). They injure themselves and do impulsive crap like cut off all of their hair and then flip out if you say their trigger word in the chat room...which can be anything from sex to canary.

I guess I shouldn't be so judgmental, but I really feel like some of them don't bother to work or really take care of themselves because it requires effort- and it's difficult. Life isn't easy for anyone. Well, maybe it's easy for Paris Hilton, but it isn't easy for most people. You go to work and pay your bills as long as you're physicially able because it's the responsible thing to do, not because it's fun or easy. They can't handle the stress of real life and don't seem to want to even try to get over that. They're happier sitting at home and collecting a disability check or some sort of handout- all while complaining that they don't have any money or have a hard time paying for their meds. Or, even better, they go on and on about the new computer or camera or cell phone or mp3 player they just bought, and then bitch that they don't have the $100 a month that their medications cost.

Well shit. Maybe we should prioritize. That $500 camera you just bought would have gotten you 5 months of your meds. Maybe in those 5 months you could have found yourself a job and made some more money so you could continue to pay for the drugs. Or you might even get lucky and find a job with health insurance and a prescription plan. Hey, here's an idea...since you obviously have psychiatric issues that need to be handled- why not make it a priority to find a job with health insurance and prescription plan?

Oh, but don't take that the wrong way! I don't mean hold out for that absolutely perfect job. Don't use that as an excuse for not working. "I'm not working right now because I got laid off from my job 6 years ago and haven't found a job that is exactly the same as my old job, but pays more. So, obviously I can't go back to work until I find the ideal situation."

Then there are others who want to be better. They want to function like a "normal" person, but can't. They try, though. God knows they try every day. I admire that. Some are much worse off than I am and need much more support than I do.

I should learn to be more patient with people.

I'll start tomorrow.

November 11, 2006 1:24am

I'm doing much better, thank you.

I'm sure it has something to do with the 1/3 of a coconut custard pie that is sitting in my lap right now.

There is something sort of comforting knowing that I can eat 1/3 of a pie when a month ago I wasn't eating anything for days at a time. I feel like I'm making progress. Maybe next month I'll be able to down a quart of ice cream in one sitting.

Right around the age of 17, I started taking birth control pills because I had periods that lasted roughly 18 days. That was obviously unacceptable and the problem was taken care of.

One wonderful effect of the BCP's was that my acne finally cleared up.

Ever since then, I have had really nice skin. Yes, I don't mind saying it. I exfoliate regularly. I am obsessed with Clinique products. I have fabulously smooth and clean skin. I never ever have a breakout on my face anymore.

I specify "on my face" because it seems that pimples have found new and exciting locations to sprout up in. Some especially memorable ones: in my ear, on my butt, in the crease of my leg where my inner thigh meets the rest of my body, in my nose, on the back of my neck in my hairline.

Now, these aren't like the normal pimples I always got on my face as a teenager. These zits are massive and exquisitely painful. The ones in my nose even make it hurt to breathe.

All I have to say about this is... WTF? A zit in my ear? My EAR! It's an ear! Why does a zit feel the need to sprout up in my ear? What can it possibly accomplish? And the one in the crease of my leg? I was sure that was a tumor at first.

So how does one handle something like this? Is there a Clearasil made specificially for those persistent ass pimples? And how exactly can I get some Noxzema in my ear without causing hearing damage?

I swear, if it's not depression, it's poorly placed acne. I just can't win.

November 10, 2006 2:23am

This entry isn't going to make a lick of sense. Just think of it as one of those freestyle slam poetry things. Then it will be "artsy", not "incoherent".

So late. Can't sleep. Ran out of the awesome coma pills. Need to go to Wal Mart tomorrow. If my prescription didn't get called in as promised I'm going to be kicking some ass.

The later it gets, the worse I start to feel. I get more upset. Anxiety gets worse. Should I just tough it out, or go back to see the shrink? I don't want to walk around in a drugged haze. If I'm ok 90% of the time, shouldn't I just learn to deal with the remaining 10%?

Angry. Fucking angry.

And just shut up. Stop complaining. I"m tired of hearing your complaining. I'm talking to you, yes, you who is always moody over the dumbest little things. You who can't just accept what life has to offer and appreciate what you have in front of you. Stop complaining and do what you need to do to get through this.

Shit. I could be talking to myself.

I talk to myself a lot.

How am I supposed to get through this depressive episode alone?

November 5, 2006 9:43pm

Friday night I went out to the Bowling Alley/Bar with some friends.

Here are two things I learned:
1)Jagermeister = horrible, horrible hangover
2)I am not capable of socializing like a normal person.

The first needs little or no explanation. I wasn't even drunk on the stuff! The second.....

There were these two guys in the back of the bar playing pool beside us. I thought they were interested in Jess and Connie because, well, Jess and Connie are adorable and these guys were hot. Well, no it was me they wanted, or at least one of them did.

So, we got to talking. The especially hot one was named Thomas and he was a marine- now in the reserves. Works at a federal prison nearby. Very nice guy. Asked me about school and where I was from.

Then I freaked out. I went to the bathroom with Jess and burst into tears. Obviously, I'm not ready for this kind of situation and I fell apart. I went outside to get some air. Jess and Maria came out to calm me down. They offered to go tell him to back off, but I didn't want them to do that. I can handle my own problems.

We went back inside and Thomas hung out with us for the rest of the night. I danced with him. I think he could tell I was distancing myself from him, so he didn't ask for my number. When we left he turned to me and said, "Goodnight, beautiful girl."

I know. Let's all say it together, "Awwwwww".

It could have been much worse. He could have been drunk and vulgar.

So here was a perfectly nice guy and I couldn't handle it.

It's ok, I learned something about myself.

I've also never met someone in a bar before, so that kind of made me uncomfortable too.

But more importantly, I'm pissed at myself for becoming "that woman". That woman who cries in bars. That woman whose girlfriends have to help her fix her mascara. That woman who needs her friends to help her socialize because she can't seem to handle it herself.

Argh!