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Holy Crap on a Cracker: When My Issues Bite Me in the Ample Arse and Skeletons

January 23, 2011

Thelma here to start this party, cuz lordy, when a gal’s gonna confess to some of her deeper, darker secrets, a bit of a wade-in by a concerned and smartass friend is usually the best way. Sides, I ain’t shy, nosirree, about sharing the skeletons in my closet. Hell, don’t know know why, rightly, Kim would be, neither. She don’t even put them in the closet.

See? Lays em out and waits to see what folks’ll think.
Of course, in her house, geeky girls are tremendously impressed,
while giant orange tabbies are not, they just want to get around it
and to the food.
Nope and then when she’s done, she hangs the skeleton up and he takes up room in the house, so as you don’t hardly notice him anymore. He belongs. All our skeletons ought to be on view. Then the stuff won’t bite you in the arse, none, anyways.
See the skeleton in the background, hardly even notice him.
Now, it’s to my way of thinking, after spending all my years in Stink Creek and volunteering up at the Sisters of Perpetual Agony, that the problem with skeletons in our closets is that they rattle a lot and cause tons of grief when we try to keep them locked away, but when we let em out, hang them right up in our main life, they fade into the background of little import. 
In my own Wild Turkey inspired way, I’m telling ya folks that it’s a whole heap easier to own ourselves as we are in all our glory and not-so-gloriousness. We are flawed, fascinating folks, and ifn people like us, grand and dandy. Ifn they don’t, ain’t no skin off my ample arse. It’s like brussel sprouts and mushrooms. Some folks swear by em (Kim), while others think they’re mighty slimy, nasty things when cooked. Sometimes we are acquired tastes, like wine, which tastes like fruity vinegar to me, or black coffee with no Wild Turkey in it.
Anyways, my point being, ifn you already know Kim, you know she says her kids come by their issues fair and square. Don’t we all? So, here she is to confess to you shit that ain’t gonna surprise ya none anyways, bur what she is worrying over, nonetheless, some of them gotta-dos-but-don’t-wanna-dos she was talking about earlier in the week.
Thelma’s always a good lead in or wade-in, and I figure, the more issues you have, the more wading you have to do. Some days those issues are like muck I must force myself through, one occasionally miserable step at a time. I have good friends and family who get me and accept me, and every now and then laugh at me (usually with me starting the giggling), even with my anxiety issues. 

I don’t like going to the doctor’s, to the hospital, to the dentist, even if it isn’t for me. I do it. But I don’t like it. At all. And the anxiety over it can be, at times, crippling, and I marvel at folks who go like it’s no big deal. Wow, I think. How do they do that? Their gut doesn’t twist up and make them physically ill? They aren’t trapped in the bathroom? Or they aren’t looking for exit strategies? How the heck do they do it? Maybe they are doing all that, what with what we choose to keep hidden. Who knows that’s how we feel unless we share that or our appearance and behavior indicates it. I can sit calmly in a waiting room without hyperventilating, and I’m not sweating profusely, and I’m not flushed, and my head may be just fine and dandy, quiet as can be, insisting it’s no big deal, but my body, especially my stomach and gut and head (migraine) are all telling my mind that it is completely full of shit and should know better, as we have done been here too many times.

Anyway, moving through all this body and mind arguing makes the whole thing all that much worse. So upon occasion, I take an anti-anxiety med to help me wade through the internal muck that makes my life challenging at times (okay, sometimes that is daily). Yeah, it wasn’t hard to come up with the song for my girls about issues, multitudinous and many, because I have them, and sometimes my issues are more wearying than the outer issues the world imposes on me.

And yet, I will not be crippled by this. I will not allow myself to be limited by it. I will expand my comfort zone, because damnit, I refuse to let migraines keep me from teaching (I’m having serious issues again with the flickering lights and older computer screens on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the main campus); I refuse to let my shyness keep me from teaching (why just fifteen years ago, I had to stop on the side of the road to vomit each day before getting to the college I taught for, and now I walk fearlessly –mostly–into a classroom). Some battles we can win. And some we can flat out pretend we have.

Get that, gut of mine, head of mine? Some battles we can frakking win. I don’t want to go to the sleep study tonight that I’m scheduled for, but I need it. So I’m going, even though the whole experience taps into some of my more serious anxiety issues. I’m keeping it, because I’m exhausted. I’m tired of not being able to sleep for more than 45 minutes to 90 minutes at a time. I’m tired of headaches and sore throats and a fatigue that has me falling asleep in my chair in the middle of the afternoon. I’m taking an extra dose of anti-anxiety pills, but I’m by gods going tonight. Hee, I may give them hell, but I’m going. And I’m driving myself because I am a big girl and I can handle it.

And tomorrow, I’m calling my general practitioner to tell him I aspirated the acid reflux yesterday morning that I’ve been getting two to three times a week despite longterm medication for it, and that my lungs burn and my chest hurts, and frak, even though I really hate seeing the gastro, it’s time for a consult back to see him, and while we’re at it, do I need antibiotics or, ick, do I need to come in so he can examine me about this latest event. And Wednesday, I will march back into the urologist for a test I really don’t want to do and an assessment to see if I need a surgery to fix something from another surgery. Gah. I’ll do it, although we’ve hit my internal quota for seeing the doctor for the next five years, all in a month. Ain’t that grand? I’ll do it because I must, and because I am a rule follower. You do what you’re supposed to do whether you want to do it or not because those are the rules.

My children are who they are because I am who I am and my husband is who he is. The biggest hurdle we face with our children is in working to not saddle them with our most troubling (to ourselves) issues. I go, I keep these appointments, because I want my son and my girls to see me overcome my issues. They know the issues are there. And they watch me to see how I will face them.

I tell you what, I will gird myself in Thelma’s kickass no-nonsense strength and I will wade through the muck, triumphant (and perhaps mellow, just saying, there’s more than one way to face an issue). And I’ll do it because I know my closest friend is out there and has my back (thank you Kathleen), and because my parents and husband expect no less of me and also have my back. Oh, and there’s always the sibling rivalry thing, too, in that I’m sure as heck gonna do better than brothers who walked around with serious issues like a rupturing colon and Fred, the brain tumor, rather than doing what needed to be done when it needed to be done. I’m just saying, I can use that, too. 🙂

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