This is why one should never blog at 1am after a sugar binge...

Do you ever stand in front of the mirror and think "Who in the hell is that?"
Welcome to my dwelling-place of the last 10 months. So often, I feel so "out of it"; like my shirt is on backward and my shoes are 2 sizes too small...and on the wrong feet.  I'm speaking metaphorically  of course.
My divorce will be final very soon and, with the marriage goes my identity. I didn't realize that I had become a different person whose survival depended upon being someones wife. Gross. The "old me" would be chasing me down a dark alley with a tube sock full of nickels for having expressed that. It's true all the same.
I didn't realize that I stopped being me. People told me that I stopped being me. Some of those people ended up pushing me away. Some of them just threw me away. It hurts. I don't quite understand it. But I don't blame them.
I wish I'd have known that I "died". I would have sent flowers, because I kinda liked me. I was funny. I was interesting. I wasn't nearly as fearful or angry or judgmental as I am now. A lot of the time, I am just as shocked by the intolerant and rude things that I say as the rest of you are. When did I become that; and why?
I have noticed that my kids are becoming very pushy and impatient. They yell a lot. they criticize. They learned that from me. I am breaking my kids and I am stealing their joy before they get it.
"Pray!", you say! "Read your Scriptures!", you suggest. "Talk to someone about this RIGHT NOW!", you command.
 Well #1. I am. #2. I am. #3.Jump up your own butt.
I realize that we are allowed to have trials to learn from. I know that most likely, I am being shown who I AM NOT so that I can have a firm grasp on who I AM. I get it. I hate it.
I am so exhausted from trying different books of Scripture, praying in different ways, forcing myself to eat fish, trying to figure out if I can wear high heels all day long, exercising regularly, trying on fake eyelashes, doing every bit of volunteer work I can, following the Prophet, teaching my children, being kind to my ex, trying to learn a new language, forcing myself to keep my house cleaner than I want to, not letting my car get under 1/2 a tank, vacuuming dog hair off of the furniture and trying to eat more fruit. I am SO damn scared of who I might really be that I am trying to make myself be someone that I think I should be. I don't know that it's going well, and I don't know what to do about it.
Add to this the fact that I always hurt and am unwell (you knew I'd start complaining about this sooner or later.), and I feel like I can't survive much longer. I don't think I have depression, I think it has me...in it's mouth and it's chewing on me with a vengeance. Today I drove down the road eating baked fudge from a styrofoam container. There was no cutlery involved. And I was crying. It's sad, really.
Remember that super annoying Talking Heads song? Remember those stupid lines?
"You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house? 
You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to? 
You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? 
You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done?" 

That is SO where I am. I hate that band and I freaking hate that song. It's a dumb song and I resent the fact that it perfectly represents my life right now. What a slap in the face.

Look, I know that life is good. I know that I'm loved. I know that there are many wonderful things that make up Daph. I get it. I'm not ungrateful. 

I am tired. I am sad. I don't understand how you can do your very best and have everything go so very wrong.

I completely understand that this big long rant of my most personal thoughts only proves that I am just like everyone else.

Glad to be unhappy....

As many (all) of you have noticed, I struggle with dark moods, and being positive can be nearly painful at certain times. I hate it. I have a nice life, I have a wonderful family and great friends. I know in my logical mind that I have so much less to be bummed about than so many others, yet I feel like I'm trapped in a big box, with no light and very little air.
As I wandered through my house and cried this morning, I tried to think of how I could write in my blog today and have it be real, but not totally whiney and ungrateful and annoying. The thought that came to me was : Jennifer. Yes, Jennifer.
Jennifer Baisch is one of my closest and dearest friends in the universe...one of the reasons for that is because she has some really crazy thinking processes.
Years and years ago, Jen was suffering from some terrible health issues; she was very sick and in horrible pain. One day I asked Jen how she was doing, and her response was one of the best I ever heard:
" I don't have lice and my feet don't hurt, so I guess I'm doing okay. "
I don't know how she came up with those particular problems to measure her well being against, but it made sense to me.
Most of us have heard the story of holocaust survivor Corrie Ten Boom. Corrie and her sister Betsie were incarcerated in Ravensbruck and lived in a Barracks that was so thick with fleas and lice that the gaurds refused to enter. No guards meant less abuse. Every day, those two women thanked God for the fleas. What an amazing attitude to have. I once had a flea infestation in my apartment and until the problem was solved, I hated to go home....it was horrible. The thought of being grateful for an infestation that had to be a thousand times worse is humbling.
So, I have to wonder what heartache my current struggles are saving me from. Were I healthy and financially stable, would I be worse off than I am now? Quite possibly. I may never know.
I do know that I don't have lice and my feet don't hurt nearly as bad as they did yesterday, so I guess I'm doing okay.

Just a bunch of Jibber Jabber...

Today I saw that Pat Monahan made a new entry to his blog, so I read it. And I cried. He was talking to me (Well, I wish). The whole thing was about problems in relationships and the whole "golden rule" thing. We may treat others how we would want to be treated, but that doesn't mean it's how THEY want to be treated. That's very hard. Very, very hard.
Years ago, Oprah (who makes me want to ingest a bottle of bleach through a silly-straw) said "Don't expect people to love you how you want to be loved.". There is no one in my life who totally loves me how I want to be loved. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not my closest friends.
And really, how could they? When I think about how socially and emotionally clumsy I am, It becomes very clear that I probably do a bad job at loving people how they want to be loved. Lots of times I don't even love them how *I* want to be loved.
I don't know how to fix this. I don't know if it can be fixed. I don't even know if I can do better at it, short of handing out a survey.
This grieves me, because love is the thing that is most important to me. Money is helpful, good health is amazing, looking good is enjoyable, but it's love that really matters. And I don't know how to properly give or recieve it. Oftentimes, that knowledge is more painful than anything physical. I guess the best any of us to do is to try...and fail...and try again.
In other news, I had bacon this morning. Yeah...'Surpise!'. I had it mixed with scrambled eggs, cheese and left over beans from El Pollo Loco. It sounds and looks like cat vomit. It tasted amazing. But I couldn't look at it while I ate it.
Today Is Doug Adamsons Birthday. I know Doug From Church...he also teaches at one of the local elementary schools. I mention him today, because he is one of those people who inspires me. He has dealt with struggles and health issues that make mine look meager, yet he is one of the most positive, good-hearted people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. His wife Patty (who is the librarian at the same school) is so amazingly thoughtful and very openly affectionate. I love these people and am so grateful for them; they inspire me to try harder and do better.
Have a great day, everybody.
And remember : go easy on others, you never can tell what they're going through.
Daph

I'm going slightly mad....

The past few weeks have been something else. I have had some great things happen : Kids going back to school, the Train concert with dear friends, hanging out w/ Jen and Dale, Lunch w/ David Mrava, a visit from the Gallarts, and one from part of the Wilhoites w/ my sweet Sara Greenway, Good stuff. Seriously good stuff. But The stress of the surgery, my mom's illness and oh yeah...frickin poverty... is making me nuts.
I am losing my temper like crazy and crying when listening to Oingo Boingo. Who cries to Oingo Boingo? Is there any funner music (and Carolyn T., I will assume you don't know who they are. LOL).? Probably not.
Sometimes I just feel as if my mind is gone. I question whether my friends are my friends and wonder if I really want to be alive.
I do.
I guess I just don't know how to shake it. Yes, I pray, read scriptures, think happy thoughts, but I remain feeling "off"
Here's part of the issues (my friends who have had drastic changes to their body may understand it. I don't.)
Since gastric bypass, I have lost 170 lbs. Yay. My surgery in June removed 10 lbs of extra skin and fat. I am now smaller tha I was as a teenager. Yay.
But you know what? Not so yay.
I look in the mirror and am not sure who's body that is. I move differently, I wear different clothes, even my pain presents differently. I am grateful for all the improvements, especially the ones that involve health, but I don't feel like me. And it's scarey. I mean, you might as well call me " Martha", cause I'm not Daph.
I don't know what to do about it. Is there anything TO do?
I hope it passes, because it scares me.
On to my other gripe, I'm gonna have to gripe about Maroon 5. Sorry Leah. I recently saw them in concert and from a musical standpoint, they were entertaining, but everything has to be about sex. I'm not anti-sex, I promise, but there's a time and a place. It bugs me (not sex; the way Maroon 5 treats it). The other thing is this: "Won't go home without you" is a great song and I like it alot. I think the bass-line is especially nice....probably because it was WRITTEN BY STING! Remember "Every breath you take"? Yeah, they pretty much poached off of it. They did it legally by changing certain notes (I'm thinking it's every 5th note), but OH MY GOSH! Is the world so sad that we have to steal someone elses bass line? Really?
Yes, that honestly bugs me. And those of you who are Freddie Mercury fans will call me a loser because the title of this entry was swiped directly from a queen song.
So, there are my thoughts. Not really worth the time you took to read it, but it is what it is.
Good night.

Realizations.

     I had no plans to write tonight, but I am wide awake and don't want to force myself to go to bed because I really don't want to dream right now.
      I'm sure you remember yesterdays story of my giant man-harem that I can't account for. Well, sadly, that trip down amnesia lane stirred up so much more than the realization that I am a popular girl with a bad memory.

     Toward the end of 1996, I went to broadcasting school. I loved it. Being at that school taught me that I had some unknown talents and that having a lisp was not necessarily a bad thing. It also introduced me to people that I will never forget. I met Greg shortly after I started school and he was wonderful; what a great guy. I acually had a thing for him ( SO CUTE!!) and nearly choked to death on my cheeseburger when he revealed to me that he was gay. I was the first person Greg came out to, and for some reason, that cemented a bond that still exists today. Greg and I were roomates for 18 months. He helped me choose outfits for dates and let me cry on his shoulder when I discovered that the jerk I'd gone out with (Bob, perhaps?) wasn't worth the time we'd spent going through my closet. We visited one anothers parents and grandparents together and even got to know each other siblings. In fact, for the first several months that we lived together, many people were conviced that we were an item. It wasn't until they learned that we were "batting for the same team", that they gave up planning our wedding.
     Shortly after I met Greg, I met another fellow student named Matt. Matt was charismatic, beautiful and couldn't have been gayer if his name was "Gay Gayerson". I have no idea how some people thought that he and I were an item, but they did. Matt was so fun. We would ditch school to drive a rented convertible along the coast, attend countless parties, go dancing, etc. He even talked me into pretending to be interested in this girl named Mindy just so he could spend the evening with her roommate Alex. That was a LONG evening. I mean, not only did I not date women, but if I did, I certainly would not date a crazy goth chick with questionable hygene and suicidal tendencies. I finally had to pretend to be ill and force Matt to get me the crap outta there. I was a good friend.
     As I was going through the boxes yesterday, i found dozens and dozens of pictures of Mattie. It hurt. For some reason, after I got married, Matt disconnected himself from me. I tracked him down when Noah was 3, but after a few phone visits, he clearly had no interest in the friendship. I called him every few months for a few years; even sent him an email. Nothing. No response. In 2009, I gave up. I lost his phone number, threw away his email address and decided that it just was what it was. Then I spent the next 2 years being very careful not to think about him. Until I found the pictures yeaterday. Holy crap, did that mess my head up. As I was flipping out over "what's his name and company", I wondered why it couldn't be Matthew that I'd forgotten. I put the pictures on top of the piano and started to try to look him up. I know where he last worked and thought about calling. I sat at my computer and cried. My heart was breaking all over again. It was awful.
     And then something, or rather, someone, came to my mind. My dear, wonderful Greg. He has remained a constant in my life. It was Gregory who flew to Oklahoma for my wedding, and who returned a year later to meet my newborn son. It was Greg who forgave me for making an awful mistake and spoke to me again after swearing that he never would. He came to see me before Sarah was born. He came to see me 2 Autumns ago. He has remained interested and has remained constant in my life and the lives of my children. My kids know him as "Uncle Grapes". My husband adores him. He is always available to me and has never outgrown me. Oh, how I love that wonderful man.
     Thinking about Greg and his loyalty does not take away the hurt caused by Matt. I dreamed about him all night...but in my dreams, he wasn't constantly there. He just popped in and out. I could not count on him to be there. I thought about that long and hard this morning. Isn't that what it comes down to? I couldn't count on him. I don't know why he decided to be done with me. I know I didn't do anything wrong. I was a good friend. I think he probably has pleasant memories of me, but just no need for me. And really, that's okay. Theres no law that you have to stay involved in someones life. It's probably better this way, as we do have very different views and lifestyles.
     I will always love Mattie. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get rid of the pictures, which is silly because I don't like to look at them because they make me sad.
     BUT, I realize that he only counts for part of my past. And I am grateful for that because it was fun. Greg, on the other hand, counts for not only a lot of my past, but (most likely) the rest of my life. As I sit here, I realize that I ended up with the friend I would choose; the friend who has always chosen me. It doesn't get better than that.

Pardon me, did I know you?

     Odd day today. I woke up at 6:30 and did my part to limp around and get the kids ready for school. Simple enough. Normally, I will go back to bed. I couldn't relax this morning; I was feeling an odd mix of can't do crap/gotta do something and it was making me crazy. I mentally toiled over what I would have for breakfast and nothing sounded good. So of course, I just settled on bacon. Good, faithful bacon.
     So here's the thing...we are down to the emergency bacon. You don't know what this is? Okay, let me help you. Emergency bacon is a huge 3 lb package of "ends and pieces". It runs about 6 bucks, which is a good deal, but it's not pretty. I am still not sure which are the ends and which are the pieces. The whole thing is a crazy assortment of little bitty scraps and great, meaty slabs. So, Kyle fixed me some emergency bacon and I watched the most recent Harry Potter movie. It wasn't unpleasant, but I was still restless. I bummed around until I wanted to dig my own eye out...and this is where the adventure begins.

I am a pack-rat. Not a bad one. I will never star in an episode of hoarders. No cats will become squished and dehydrated under my piles of junk. I just keep a lot of sentimental stuff. I have birthday cards from when I turned 10. Going through this sort of thing became my project today, and a lot of good came out of it...but to be honest, I am FREAKED THE CRAP OUT!!! Kyle presented me with 2 boxes that my brother Roy (he's the one half of my friends have a crush on) stored for me for over a decade. I was thrilled at the thought of the treasures that would be found within. I had no idea that I would end my day confused out of my mind!
     As I went through my old belongings, I found things that I didn't remember. There were several journals that I had completely forgotten about and was not thrilled to find. Now, I am a Mormon woman, which means that I am supposed to LOVE my journals and hang on to them for future generations to enjoy and learn from. I don't think so. A lot of that stuff did nothing more than make me sad and remind me of the fact that I was a total ass-clown for much of my twenties. For real. I was forced to remember situations and people that were best left forgotten...BUT...that wasn't even the bad part. The part that had me wigged out was what I couldn't remember. For Instance...who in THE CRAP are Bob, Eric and Shane? I should know, because according to letters and journal entries, I dated each of them at some point. I also dated some dude named Jason and....crap...I already forget what the letter said the other dude's name was. Five dudes whom I have no recollection of! Isn't that creepy? Let me answer for you...it's hella-creepy! And the thing is...I can't doubt it, because it is clearly documented in my own writing...and the writing of others. Now, I realize it's not that big of a deal; it's not like I...ya know...did the huckle-buckle with any of them. I would have remembered that (especially since that was something that I didn't participate in at that time in my life), but I feel strange about not remembering. I mean, my memory is SO totally unjogged right now. I got nothin' and it makes me feel heartless. I am a lot of things, but dismissive of others is not one of them. I think. Okay...Kyle was the 6th guy I was engaged to, and I did indeed end the other 5 engagements, but in my defense, I shouldn't have been engaged to any of them in the first place. And I ALWAYS offered the ring back. Plus, I'm telling you that I was engaged 5 other times, which is proof that I totally remember all of those dudes.
     I told my sister Michele because I was hoping that she remembered any of them. She was no help. I called my mom (because Michele told me to) and all Mom could say was " No, I don't remember. It doesn't surprise me though. You've always been so cute and outgoing and men have always flocked to you." Which in my emotional state I read as " You would do something like that because you are brainless and silly and dated half of the planet". I have a problem with translation. Obviously. Kyle has had a great time with this, by the way. It's been a day of being teased about "poor Bob and Shane and Eric, and...ALL OF THOSE OTHERS GUYS". Dillweed. So there's my big trauma dance of the day. I know that it seems like a stupid thing to be flipped out over, but if I can't remember walks on the beach and dinner in L.A., what else am I forgetting? Ya know?
    

Jumping in with both feet.

     So, Daph has decided to become a blogger. What the crap is up with that? I'm not sure that anyone other than myself will want to read this. I don't think that I'll want to read this. But (and as my son's teacher says "everybody has a big but") I have to do something. It might as well be this.
     Those who know me will agree that my street smarts way outrank my book smarts. It's true and I'm okay with that. I can fake my way through most situations and oftentimes, many people will still not know that I'm a total dork. this is a good thing.
There are a few things that I think I am an expert at, however, and I will list them in the order of importance:
1. Bacon. I am a fat girl. Fat girls love bacon.
2. Pain. I don't love that so much, but it is a constant companion and it does bring a perspective to my life that a pain free person doesn't have.
Obviously, I prefer the bacon.

     Oddly enough, bacon has been a fickle friend lately. Or, I guess I have. I actually picked it out of my homemade split pea soup today. I haven't eaten a single piece in 4 or 5 days. Most people would call that good heart health. The people in my life are calling it strange and are considering worrying. I take comfort in the fact that I have 4 lbs of the stuff in my house and it is patiently waiting to serve me.
     I've been thinking a lot about White Chocolate Chip Cookies with Bacon. I am NOT a huge fan of White Chocolate. I don't hate it....it has it's uses....I just prefer the real stuff. But, it's not something I've done before and I'm curious. I can't imagine it tasting bad, it will be loaded with BACON, which is some mighty heavy duty flavor insurance. I mostly wonder about how it will look. Will the creamy whiteness of the chips make the bacon look delicious, or creepy? We must think about those things. If the answer is 'yes', then the chips will have to go. I can't sacrifice my bacon for chocolate that isn't really chocolate. It is pretend chocolate. White chocolate is a liar (but again, it has it's uses...like several people in my life who are even BIGGER liars).

     As I sit here typing this, I feel like someone has taken a pair of weenie pinchers (people with manners call them tongs... which is why I call them weenie pinchers) and is squeezing my left shoulder and part of my neck (and since I'm not a petite girl, I guess it would require 2 pairs of pinchers). This is a common pain and it started before I was diagnosed with the fibro or osteomalacia. It ticks me off because it seems to show up when I'm doing something I love: writing, reading, goofing around on the computer, etc... I guess it has to do with the way I hold my body when I do these things. I think of it as my "buzzkill pain" because it hauls it's nasty self right over to me at the first sign of enjoyment. Lame.

     I actually see my pain as a being. It is as much a part of my life as my dog or my stove or my love for that sexy scar on Pat Monahans chin. It is real and ever present. It is with me everyday and it seems to have moods, just like the rest of the world. Besides seeing it as a  being, I see it as a fixture...my pain is a punishing piece of furniture that I am stuck in all day. It's like when you stupidly decide to wear shorts to the Dr.s office and you are left sitting in an ugly green vinyl chair for 90 minutes. What feels worse...the fact that you are sweaty and stuck to the thing, or the broken spring that is going up your butt? Welcome to my world.

     So, you have now taken your first trip into my mind. Yes...it's an empty place. Sorry about that. I don't know how often I'll write. Maybe I'll be back here in 12 hours, so excited to say something that I'm willing to face the weenie pinchers. Maybe I will wake up in the morning and be so embarrassed by what I've written that I take it down right away(or when I get to it. I mean, the damage has already beed done, right?).
Goodnight.