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All posts for the month June, 2017

It’s too Much, Sometimes

Published June 22, 2017 by dividinguplife

I realized on Tuesday that my husband relies on me more than I ever realized. It’s not a bad thing, but more of an eye-opener of this man that I view as such a strong presence in my life. 

I received a “low balance” account notification Tuesday afternoon at work, which puzzled me. I mean, we didn’t have a lot of money in the bank, but we had enough to where I shouldn’t be getting an email telling me that our account is below 25.00

I logged into our bank account and saw that it was at over negative sixteen hundred dollars. The only thing it said was “account hold”. I called the bank and told them that I thought someone had gotten hold of our account information, and asked them to check into it. 

The lady looked at the hold, and told me that it was a levy on our bank account from the Department of Revenue. Specifically the Revenue Department from the state that my husband lived in before he moved back here two years ago. I called my husband and told him what was going on, and then asked him if he had received any letters in the mail from the State Tax Department. His answer? Yes. Did he read them? Not really. I knew he hadn’t, because had he of read them, he would have known that they were going to put a levy on our account. They give you fair warning. I gave him the number to call the Department to see what they could do. Well, more specifically the creditor that has the account that works with said department. I went back inside to work with the wheels turning on how we are going to make it for another week without money, now that our account has been frozen.

He text me and told me that they won’t release the levy until we pay eight hundred dollars. Well, we don’t have that. Even after we all get paid, we don’t have eight hundred bucks left over once the bills are paid. Back to square one. 

My husband is a very smart man. Let me say that. But things like this? I think the mechanical wheels that turn in his head don’t apply to stressful situations. I think everything just kind of shuts down. Like “Well, we’re screwed. Oh well!” Meanwhile, I’m shuffling possibilities through my head like multiple tabs being open on a computer browser. If we do ‘this’ and ‘this’ will that solve the problem we have of paying our bills? Is it possible to do something like ‘this’ and work around this unfortunate situation?

I put a phone call into a tax attorney for information. I called the bank to find out if I could open up a separate account in my own name (I can), and then told my husband to login to his employer and have the direct deposit stopped to our account, and opt for paper checks instead. 

The attorney called me back yesterday and told me that it wouldn’t financially benefit us to hire them because of the cost associated with that. But he told me exactly what we need to do to work around the creditor with the levy, so that we can have it removed. He was super helpful to me and assured me that they can’t touch my account when I open it, because my name isn’t tied to my husbands tax levy. So now I have to go to the bank on Friday or Saturday morning and get a new account open so that I can provide my employer with an updated direct deposit account. My husbands paychecks will arrive later than the Thursday’s he get’s paid since we have to switch to paper checks. It’s going to screw up our flow a little bit, but we will manage. I’m just thankful this happened after we had already paid our first round of bills for the month. Had it of happened when we had money in the bank, I have absolutely no idea what we would have done. We could have potentially lost our house if I wouldn’t have been able to make the payment.

I take care of my husband’s every need. I fix his plate at night before I go to bed, since he eats later than I do. If I’m still awake when he eats, I heat up his food, or fix it. We spend all of our time together and I have no desire to hang out with people outside of our family. I’m faithful and devoted to him, always. And I know he is to me, as well. In return, he helps with more than his fair share of the household chores. He kills the nasty bugs that I scream and run away from. He gives me space for quiet time when I need to recharge, and we never fight or argue about anything. One year and three months of being married and we haven’t had one single fight. I’m proud of that. 

I just wonder if he realizes how much I take control and solve things that happen. This isn’t the first fire that I’ve had to put out. He owed back taxes to the IRS, and I opted to file together and just get it paid, rather than file as an injured spouse so that I could keep all of my refund. On the flip-side, when I was surprised with that faulty check arrest warrant from 2009, he did everything he could to calm me down and make me feel better – though the thought of going to jail or having anything on my pristine criminal record, nearly sent me into an anxiety attack. 

Even though I don’t have to, I try to prove in small ways that I will never be like his ex-wife. When things get hard, I’m not going to pack up and leave and blast his name all over the state like he’s this horrible person. He isn’t. And he’s now starting to see that his ex-wife is a miserable cow. She’s engaged to some useless blob of a man that won’t work, and is content sitting on his ass and letting her work sixty hours a week. When she was married to my husband, she barely worked twenty hours a week, and played video games all day while my husband worked all day. The tables have turned on that miserable cow. 

Sometimes being the reliable one gets tiresome. People at home, at work, and random strangers often lean on me for support and advice and seem to suck my strength away from me and take it for their own. I take care of my grandmother and all of her medical needs, I’ve packed my grandpa’s house on my own for the past month – I think we are at 75 boxes packed at this point, I pay the bills, I work 40+ hours a week. I have a patient of mine that has cancer and doesn’t have any family. I will pick up and take her medication to her sometimes when she’s too sick to leave her house. You know, things like that. Like, how much can I be stretched? Is there going to come a time when I just crash and fall to pieces? Will there be anyone there to help me if I do? If people lean on you during times of crises, what do they do when the leanee becomes the leaner?

A Letter My Father Will Never Read

Published June 19, 2017 by dividinguplife

Dear Dad,

I find it ironic that your cancer is what pushed us together as the end draws near. How much time do we have left? Three months? Six? More? Less? Every time I see you, your face has become more hollow. You can’t even sit in a chair comfortably anymore, because there’s no meat there. You are a walking skeleton that pushes away any help extended towards you. By “growing closer” I mean that I have seen you more in the past year than I have in my thirty-one years of life. How many times has it been since last July? Five or six, maybe. Five or six times we have been in the same room together, laughing at the same things. Five or six times in a year, which is more than I ever saw you before. 

There’s no time left. Not when you shut us all out. How can their be dignity in dying alone? Whenever I ask you if you need anything, you tell me that you have everything you need – and yet there is nobody there to help you. When you eat, you throw up. When you take your medication, you become constipated. You refused chemo and radiation, and then when it got bad, you wanted it … but it was too late. Why are you so stubborn? 

The other day I had chest pain from a pulled muscle. Rather than bothering my husband, I drove myself to the emergency room to be checked out. I laughed to myself because I had just jumped on your ass about going to the emergency room without letting anyone know. it made me sad to realize that I am so much like you, and yet I am just learning these small things that genetically, yet uniquely match us together. 

I know that I like to write, like you do. I know that I’m stubborn and very introverted, like you are. 

But I also know I am unlike you in so many ways. Unlike you and my mom, actually. I never abandoned my daughter. My grandmother (your own mom) lives with me and has for almost five years, because you wouldn’t let her live with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way, either. I’ve dedicated my life to healthcare so that I can have a small role in helping others. I’m not selfish in the love that I give to other people. 

I forgave you years ago, though the pain has always lie dormant in the recesses of my heart. Your explanation of your abandonment was sufficient enough for you to have the forgiveness you needed before you passing, but a small part of me will never understand why I wasn’t good enough for you to want. You say you love me, and yet I feel nothing from you. What’s worse is that I feel nothing towards you. I feel sadness that you’re dying. I feel sadness that we have a small amount of time left, and yet you still won’t let me in. I feel even more abandoned than before. We have opportunity to spend every minute together that we can, and you still don’t want to. Why? 

My handsome, introverted, selfish, stubborn father. How you have molded and shaped the person I am today just by simply not being there for me. I became stronger because of it. I learned what not to do. I learned that sometimes someone needs the forgiveness you aren’t sure you can give – but you give it anyway. Selflessness thinks of the other person, always. That’s what I have done. When you die, you will be able to go knowing that I don’t blame you for the choices you made in regard to me. You will die knowing that I will be okay, and that I will take care of your mother until she dies. When you die, you will leave behind a lot of unanswered questions because of your refusal to open up to any of us. 

And somehow, we will all still be less, because of your absence. 

 

-C 

20 Things About Me

Published June 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

To break up some of the sad, crappy posts I’ve been putting up lately – I thought it would be fun to post some facts about me. Some quirky things or tid-bits about the kind of person I am. 

 

1. I love ranch dressing, but despise any kind of dressing on my salads. Ew. I don’t like crisp lettuce turning soggy because of dressing. 

2. I love listening to Classical Music

3. I also love to watch Hip Hop Dancing 

4. Storms excite me. The more intense, severe, and damaging, the better. 

5. I love cheese. I will put it on everything. 

6. I had 2 imaginary friends when I was growing up. Their names were Jodi and Bobby. One time, Jodi colored on my Uncle’s waterbed with permanent marker. He told me that if she did it again, he would bust my ass for it. Jodi and Bobby moved to England. I never heard from them again.

7. I have a prison penpal that was my former ninth grade English teacher. He went to prison for embezzelment. Everyone turned their back on him, but I didn’t. 

8. I find the good in everyone I meet, which means that oftentimes I block out their bad qualities, which can end up hurting me in the end. 

9. My husband and I check out women together. I don’t do jealousy, and I trust him one hundred percent to be faithful. 

10. I will not have sex unless I’ve washed my hair. I don’t do “dirty” sex. I have to be clean. Plus my hair is naturally greasy, and I can’t have my husband running his hands through my greasy hair. 

11. I took ballet, jazz, tap, and hip hop growing up. 

12. I was in a mental institution for suicide attempts when I was thirteen. 

13. When I get bored I often revisit my past in daydreaming.

14. I’m an introvert

15. I’m a picky eater. 

16. I love the ocean. When I die, I want to be cremated and scattered in the waves. 

17. The Little Mermaid is my favorite movie. I’m not talking about Disney’s version. I’m talking about the 70’s Hans Christian Anderson version. (Which you can find the full-length movie on YouTube.)

18. Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe (Anne of Green Gables) will forever be my favorite TV Couple.

19. I hope that I will live for a long time, but I fear my death will come more quickly than I hope. I’ve always felt this way. 

20. I would give anything to go back to the 90’s and live it all over again. 

Quiet as A Mouse

Published June 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

From a young age, I was conditioned to be very quiet. My mother always had one ailment or another that required very little noise in order for her to get through the day. I had to keep my little brother occupied and out of her hair so she could nap for hours at a time. As a result, my brother and I grew very close and to this day he has nothing to say to our mother. 

Into my adult life, I have learned that my problems are my own, and nobody wants to be burdened with them. Usually that isn’t true, but it did prove to be true when I was with The Abuser. One time I had abscess cellulitis in my left breast that became infected. My breast was as hard as a baseball and very painful. I drove myself to the hospital, was injected with medication, had the area cut open, and they had to dig the infection out. When I got home, The Abuser was fast asleep. He never asked how it went, he never cared that I was in pain. 

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I went into preterm labor. My ex-husband was sleeping when it happened. I woke him up and told him that something didn’t feel right. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember driving myself to the hospital while he continued sleeping. They gave me some meds to stop my labor and I drove myself home a few hours later, once everything settled down. 

This week I pulled something in my upper back. I haven’t felt pain in my back like this in … well, ever. I pushed through work while slamming Aspirin down my throat. When I got home I barely moved, took a Flexeril and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up with pains shooting into my chest and the feeling like my spinal cord was about to rip out of my neck. The shooting pains alarmed me enough that after I got dressed for work, I drove to the hospital (which is across the street from my work) and went to the emergency room. Thankfully, it was only severe inflammation with muscle spasms. I was glad to hear that my EKG was normal. He gave me a script for more Flexeril and Percocet, and told me to go home for the day. 

I probably should have woken my husband up and told him what was going on. Chest pain scares me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt pain like that before. But that voice in my head; the voice that has been there since I was a child, told me to handle it myself, to not burden other people with something that may not be a big deal. So, that’s what I did. 

I wish I had a way to record the verbal words that I say in one day. Not during a work day, because I have to talk and engage with my patients. But on a weekend. I’m a very quiet person. My mind is always racing with thoughts, and I’m always listening to everyone else in the house when they are talking. Last night I was cooking dinner and trying to tell a story to my husband that recapped my day helping my grandpa pack. My grandmother went with me yesterday, so I was trying to tell him about the things she was doing over there. Instead, my grandmother interrupted me in mid-sentence to say something and my husband responded back to her, and they started their own dialogue. I never got to finish my story, but I did remark on the fact that I’m tired of being invisible. I don’t speak a lot, so when I do, I would hope that people would want to listen to me. I guess not, though. 

My husband also loves to watch these stupid ass SJW YouTube videos. He enjoys laughing at the absurdity of the things that come out of their mouth. This second-wave feminism shit just pisses me off. I hate watching those videos because I hate listening to stupidity. I don’t care that you’re pissed off because Marvel makes movies directed towards men specifically. I don’t care that you’re overly excited that Wonder Woman was directed by a female. I think you look ridiculous screaming about how men can’t be raped, and that only men do the raping. I hate all of it. I ended up going upstairs and lying in bed to watch something that didn’t piss me off or get me depressed. Yesterday was just a weird day for me, I guess. 

Add that to the fact that our receptionist is pregnant and is using that as an excuse to come in late, leave early, and basically do fuck all of nothing to help us out. Not that she helped much in the first place. She didn’t even want a baby. Once her husbands visa was approved for him to move from Algeria to the States, all of a sudden she wants a baby. And she’s the biggest fucking baby about being pregnant. I don’t even know how she’s going to do the mothering thing. She can’t even handle shit with the baby inside of her. I guess my tolerance for weakness has never been there. Especially with people that have had it all handed to them on a silver platter, and then whine and complain when they have to do something on their own. 

Here’s to hoping this coming week will be better. 

I’ll Fall With Your Knife

Published June 12, 2017 by dividinguplife

 

When I was thirteen (1998), my husband and his brother moved back up north to their home state. I remember listening to this song and daydreaming about the day I would get on an airplane, and fly up there to see my brother-in-law. In my daydream this song would be playing, and I would be coming down the escalator in a cute skirt, with my hair straightened, and there he would be, with his beautiful blue eyes. It would be in that moment that he realized how much he loved me and needed me in his life. 

I made sure that I got my song and my boy in one fell swoop. In 2013 I jumped on a plane and flew my ass up north. As I was getting off the plane, I put my earbuds in and turned on Peter Murphy. I was wearing knee high black boots, a lacy black skirt, a lacy black tank top with a long gray pseudo-jacket-cotton-throw thing that went down past my knees. I came down the escalator and from across the room I could see the brightest blue eyes – eyes that haunted my dreams at night. 

It was the older brother of the boy I’d crushed on for fifteen years. The older brother of my first love, first kiss, first heartbreak. 

I’m sitting here typing this now, and I glance over to my left, and my heart still skips a beat when I see him. 

Andy

I’ve known him for twenty years, but it was only 4 1/2 years ago that I started to see him as something other than the older asshole brother of the guy I was obsessed with. Now? I’d move heaven and earth to keep him by my side. He’s the first man that has made everything I’ve been through, completely worth it. 

30 Years of Packing

Published June 2, 2017 by dividinguplife

For the past week I’ve been helping my grandpa pack up his house. A house I have grown up in. I spent almost every weekend at his house for fifteen plus years. This is the grandpa that isn’t my blood, but is more important than that. Not to mention he helped me out with an attorney when I had my surprise court date for shit I didn’t even know I was in trouble for.

He has three kids and countless grandchildren. Not one of them have offered to help him pack his house. We have three weeks left to get it done, though he hopes to be out sooner. It’s a house that has lived in for over thirty years. I’ve spent about eleven hours this week packing, and have gotten about fifty boxes done. What’s left? Everything that he has shoved into drawers, closets, and his attic. *sighs* …. but what can you do? He has nobody else that will help him. He’s in his mid-seventies, so our days consist of me pulling everything out and him telling me stories about all of it. Most of them I remember anyway, because I was a child when most of this stuff was bought. I know the stories, but I enjoy listening to them anyway. I’m enjoying spending time with him. 

Julie Grandpa

My grandpa and my daughter about five years ago. She’s taller than him, now. 

House

I used to stand at that kitchen sink on a step-stool beside my grandma and help her wash dishes. 

My grandma and my grandpa lived together for twenty-five years. They never married for whatever reason. But they were together before I was born. So, naturally when my own paternal grandfather flaked out of my life, it didn’t really matter to me because I already had this man. Clothes, diapers, formula … you name it. He was there. He always has been. Even when he decided ten years ago that he wanted to live alone, which meant my grandma had to move out, he has stuck by both of our sides. 

Now he’s moving away, about an hour and a half … which isn’t that far, but right now he’s only twenty minutes away. 

My daughter turns 13 on Sunday. I feel old as hell. I’ll be 32 next month, so I know I’m young. But I really can’t figure out where the time went. She was a baby. I don’t remember a lot about the past 13 years – they’ve gone by in a blur. She will have a learners permit in two years, a license in three. She will be a damn adult in five years. What in the hell is this?

kiddo

Julie2Julie3

Not many people will admit shit like this – but I do ….. I never wanted to have children. I don’t know if I was scared that I would give my kids the same life that I was given, or if it was just because I didn’t want to be responsible for another human life. Whatever the reason was, when I ended up pregnant at 18, I was excited and scared all at the same time. Admittedly, I could have been a much better mom than I was in the beginning. I never neglected her, I never beat her … but there were days that I would find myself so mad at my own damn self for having a child because God forbid I couldn’t sleep in. Or because daycare cost so much. My dreams of college went out the window. I had to work full-time because I had no family support to speak of. My own family was 50 shades of fucked up and neglect. 

But I tell you something – at this moment, having her was the best decision I ever made. She made me grow up, she has shown me what unconditional love really means. She makes me laugh, she makes me proud with her stellar grades. I love those rare moments when she opens up to me about a person she likes at school, or when one of the girls at her school is acting like a bitch and she wants to complain about it. I love when we are going somewhere and she takes over the radio and plays her crap music (though some of it isn’t half bad). I’m loving the parenting thing now that she’s more independent. But now that I’m older I wish I could go back and enjoy her baby years more than I did. I can’t get those back. They’re gone. And I don’t want anymore kids. 

Time is so fleeting. Life is so short.