The Words I Couldn't Say

The words I couldn't say are mostly all of them. I long to open my mouth and have them flow freely like they used to; begin typing and the words pour from my fingers. How high do I have to be to get it to come back??

Dear Old Lady Client Who I Thought Was Sweet

Dear Old Lady Client Who I Thought Was Sweet,

I am sorry I took the time to be polite and use my "customer service skills". You were okay with being over income for food stamps. I thought that I would help get the verifications for the other Worker who had your Welfcare application. It was the "customer-service friendly" thing to do!
By that time the Front Desk had already taken your name and fingerprints (standard policy and all). It would have been done regardless of which Worker interviewed you for the Public Assistance Benefits.

I thought you were funny and you had some great stories to tell; you are 77 years old! You live in your car in the WalMart parking lot fercryingoutloud, I almost wanted to ask you home for dinner! It broke my heart that you were technically "over income" for food stamps. You knew it, you seemed okay with it, you asked me if one day I could help you use the computer to look for "unclaimed property". You shook my hand and thanked me, told me all of your questions had been answered and told me I was a "very sweet woman who obviously cared about people."

Then you repeatedly called my Supervisor to complain that your Civil Rights were being violated. No reason why, just that they had been severely violated. And when she didn't call you back in an hour (because she wasn't there that day) you called the Program Supervisor and complained that your Civil Rights and been violated. And she got her Boss involved. Only after a whole bunch of shit rolled downhill (guess who was on the bottom?) did you bother mentioning that your civil right that was violated??? That was when they fingerprinted you and then you didn't get food stamps, and how the application had the gall to ask you if you had used any previous names.

...

What?... Really?


Hiding something? My advice is don't apply for government assistance and then call the bigwigs at the State.

No love,
Brokemom the Welfare Worker

My Client Said To Me

To get welfare one must provide proof of immunizations for children or sign a waiver. Because I personally associate with friends/families that do not immunize their children, it is natural for me to be aware enough of personal choice to ask the young single mother client if she immunizes her children, rather then just assume. I would want someone to ask me.
Anyhow, I ask her.

She looks up at me with a confused look on her face and says, "Yeah, I'm not, like, organic or anything."

I Think They're Listening

Sometimes at night I go outside and tell my troubles to the trees.

Things I Can't Say At Work

Dear Client,

I do understand your urgent need for Cash Assistance. After all, babies cost money! Right? I know that Johny's in the slammer and your food stamps just aren't cutting it and the electric bill! Whoohoo! I totally get that. What I don't understand is why you keep having more children!? If you can't afford the ones you have why in heaven's name are ya having more??

Fer fuck's sake lady.

It's A Really Really Long Time

I've been employed at the Welfare Office for five years. I feel like a completely different person than the woman who started this blog. I was funnier. (No really, I was).

I was thinner and accessorized better. I was more naive and self-centered.

Different isn't always a bad thing. I still see the funny in things, it's just more subtle...or maybe I've learned to keep my mouth a little more shut.

I'm fatter than I was, but I actually like myself. I have no problem with my weight; it's my health I'd like to improve.

I have three of the world's best kids and a Husband who has faithfully attended Anger Management classes this past year of our separation in order to make it work. And I'm thinking of letting him come back, because I am still so completely and totally in love with him that it makes sense.

I have learned that I have a strength inside of me that I didn't know existed and it won't fail me. I've learned that many many things can be overcome by the power of Positive Thinking (not kidding. I weaned myself off of Prozac three months ago and am still fine).

I am good at my job (97%-100% accurate actually) and I still enjoy my job very much. I like helping people that need it. I love finding that gray area between the regulations and REAL LIFE (without breaking any rules) and straddling that line in order for REAL PEOPLE to get the help that, in my opinion, should be available to everyone who needs it.

Five years has gone by so very slooooooooowly. Thank goodness I cannot remember it all. But the things I can remember helped make me this awesome girl I am now. And part of that is never forgetting where I came from...Welfare Mommy. Welfare Worker.

Wipe Your Feet

I sit and think about love sometimes. What love is. How to define love. How love feels.

I sit and I think and I think and I think.

What if it's not "love"? What if I'm just a doormat?
A fine line, yes; who defines the line?

All By Myself

I have figured out that the moments I like best are the ones where I am alone; where it is just me. I can sit and think. Think think think about anything and everything. There are no phones to answer, no children to tend to. I got an hour and a half of Me Time just this evening.

I can think about work. I think about my drawers of cases, not just cases, but people with different lives and circumstances and problems that I enjoy helping. I love my job. I just got a raise!

I can think about my personal life, my emotional well-being. My wardrobe. I think about how I'm going to begin an MS treatment called Avonex. I will have to give myself a fricking shot every week. Yuck. But my eyesight is getting worse and my days of ignoring it are gone. Can you believe it, there were actually days and days where I didn't think about my MS at all? And then something would remind me and I'd almost startle, to have put it from my mind for such a time! Perhaps that helped me process the disease to myself...I was sad, I was angry. I was irritated and then chose a forgetful denial. I remain sad. Irritated. But I can't just pretend it doesn't exist any longer. Dammit.

I think about how I have given up fast food and sometimes all I want is a Jack In the Box breakfast sammich. MMMM. But I won't give in, nope.

The feeling of rejuvenation, the relaxation after I get said time to myself is the perfect beginning to another week. Ugh, which is tomorrow.

Don't Ask Me Why I'm Sitting In My Car In The Dark

The radio just played commercials for a tattoo shop and then a marijuana shop. I think that's awesome. Just the freedom of speech and progressiveness of our generation and blah blah blah.

Just To Think

It's been eight months since I left Husband. He's sweet and charming still, mostly. Sometimes there are blinding moments of clarity when I'm near him, the flashes of "Oh THANK GOODNESS I left him because he's an asshole". I call these moments my Weekly Dose of Reality. He lives in his place across town, I live in mine. We co-parent effectively. We try to be "friends". We still have sex.

I know, I know. What the fuck am I doing, you ask? Eh...I've never been a conventional girl. I also think that the rules don't apply to me. We absolutely cannot live together, we realize that. But there's nobody else we'd rather be with than each other.

A case of the grass is still green over here and there aren't any other pastures? Perhaps. But as much as I'd like to call it 'just fucking', he and I both know that it's not. We kiss and make love/have mindblowing sex and cuddle, and then I leave for my own house.

It's working for us. It's working better now then it has for the last five years. I get my own space, don't have to pay his bills or listen to his bullshit, and get all the orgasms I want. Imagine that.

The Next Part

Alright, so irritated as I was (am) with these lesions, the next step was a spinal tap. Lumbar puncture. Giant needle going into my body while I am curled in a fetal position as my India-born Nuerologist is behind me (he's the guy with the needle) and it was NOT a fun experience, but it wasn't as bad as I had heard about. The first needle was the anesthesia and that poke hurt like a bitch. And the second needle? Well, I could tell it was larger, and the feeling of just a Wrongness, this pressure in the middle of my body was just...ick. It didn't hurt, it just felt waaaay odd.

And when I first got there and had to change into a hospital gown I didn't realize there was a fricking camera in a black bubble on the ceiling and somebody got a free show, but I've dealt with that.

I waited weeks for the results of that test. Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I moved my Monday appointment to the Friday before. Long story short (and it was short because my Dr India doesn't really like to chat. He mutters and I catch a few words and ask him to repeat it. I continue this way until I have gleaned all the information I can from him) I have fricking Multiple Sclerosis. Blast it.

The next week I went to the hospital every evening for five days for an IV drip of a super-steroid called Solu Medrol. Dr. India said it would help reduce the inflammation on my optic nerve and perhaps my vision would improve. So I said Why The Fuck Not? (I didn't really say that.) I educated myself on the process beforehand. I read the studies and side-effects and benefits and disclaimers and balogna and decided to do it. My vision is that bad. So I went and I didn't have to get undressed, which was awesome. I got t o sit in an armchair and watch a tv with real channels(!) as a nurse jabbed another big fricking needle in my arm to put poison in me. It hurt and it tasted HORRIBLE ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE the nastiness of the nasty. It wasn't a taste, more like a ...smell-taste. It's hard to describe. I could smell-taste the saline they cleared my vein with first too, but it was tolerable. The SoluMedrol tastes like dirty old copper pennies in the back of your throat. Oh lord it was HORRIBLE. Sorry, I'm remembering how HORRIBLE it was.Yech! Anyhow, I had a pain in my arm and the drip had to be slowed, which meant it then took forever but that was all right because I got to watch the new Hoarders which is always good.

I got to leave this thing in my arm (the needle and some tubing) so they didn't have to repoke me. It was bandaged up quite nicely. I learned after the first night to put some cotton or gauze under the tubing so my skin wasn't hurting pushed against it all night. This was hard for me to deal with. It's not that I hate needles. I give blood on a regular basis. It's just the whole...thing. I don't understand it. I hate IVs. I begged my OB/GYN with my last pregnancy to please don't let them put an IV in me pleeease but got to have one anyways dammit and all I did was bug the nurses until they let me take it out. I didn't want a needle to come home with me! I suffered through this for five days. The horrible taste? It wasn't AS bad as the very first time, but it was still gross. And everything afterwards tastes okay in your mouth, but as soon as it hits the back of your throat ICK. I learned to eat before I started the treatment.

Next time we're going to talk about the side effects from the SoluMedrol. They were superfuckedup and I just got over them 9/10. 9/26 was the first day I felt "normal" since going through this treatment.

Thought You Should Know

In May I had a sinus infection. I get them all the time. I've learned to deal with them naturally, meaning no meds. I'm not a person who likes to take pills and medicines. I'd much rather not take anything, but I'm certainly not opposed to in ibuprofin for a headache and some Tums for heartburn, little stuff. I absolutely hate to take antibiotics. I have developed a love/hate relationship with a Neti Pot to deal with the sinus infections. It's awkward but it works. This is where it all started.

I had just finished using the pot and was looking in the mirror. There was a smudge in my line of vision. I walked out of the bathroom into the hall and the smudge in my right eye was still there. Everywhere I looked with my eye was obscured. I took of my glasses and cleaned them, put em back on...smudge!

It just got worse over the next few weeks. The smudge was sometimes darker, colors were different...like one eyeball was shaded. A television screen a shade too dark. Offputting, yes. Irritating, yes. It was Summer and I live where it gets HOT. Northern California. Summers can get up to 115 degrees, sometimes even more. It was hot outside and for some reason every time I went outside in the heat I got SO FRICKIN TIRED that I could barely function. It was almost like I was drugged I was so tired. But guess what? As soon as I cooled down, I was fine. Normal me. There was also the embarassing problem with going to the bathroom. All of a sudden, if I had to pee then godammit go go go gotta go right now hold moly kinda pee it was. I'll admit it, Internet. I peed myself one time.

I went to my Eye Doctor. She sent me to a Better Eye Doctor. Better ED was very pleasant, took the time and effort and tests into helping to figure out why my vision was different. He told me that everything was fine in my eye, which basically meant it was behind my eye that was the potential problem. And here it is, what changed at that moment in my life. It's as if now the globe just sort of...tilted a little on its axis...but of course, it was nothing. Sitting in Better ED's office, he mentions that I should go have an MRI. I really hate the idea of big metal clicky-clacky things radiating my brain for pictures, so I told him I would think about it. He told me that I was the right age and sex (female in her 30s) and we lived in the right place and that I might have Multiple Sclerosis.

I went to my GP for a physical and for bloodwork to rule out anything abnormal. Turns out I had a severe Vitamin D deficiency and everything else was fine. I gave up drinking coffee, switching to herbal tea. I gave up artificial sweetners and alcohol. I waited and waited for my vision to get better, to feel better. It didn't. It seemed like my vision just kept getting worse, but really, it wasn't getting better. Not worse. But not better.

So I went and had an MRI done. It was not scary, the nurses covered up my toes so I wasn't cold, blah blah blah. No big deal. I tried not to think about what was being directed towards my wonderful brain tissue. It wasn't a bad experience but I would rather not have to do it again. Eventually the results were given as my wonderous brain has lesions on it. Lesions! Even the word sounds nasty. Diseased. Not happy. Fucking lesions on my brain.

Somebody's Dead Meat

WHAT the frick. I spent almost 15 minutes in Costco today debating over paying $2.35 p/lb on a delicious ham. It was a $20 ham. I thought long and hard about that purchase. Mmmm. I was going to open it up and cook it Tuesday, its honey-glaze hot and tasty, and maybe a baked potato. So I buy this ham. I carefully drive it home and put it in the 'fridge. THEN my father comes over and (while i was outside),he opens it and makes himself a GODAMN HAM SANDWICH!.!!!

Oooh, I am SO irritated.

That Which Is Mine

I have held onto my self-respect, my attitude, my children and family, my sanity, my job, and many other things. I'm so proud of myself.
I reside in my house that doesn't move when I walk (ok creaky subflooring) with windows that I don't have to wipe down condensation from in the winter. I could go on, but basically, it's a firm foundation and not a fifth-wheel trailer. Thank goodness. This last year was difficult. Do I seem a fifth-wheel livin' kinda gal? Hm? You're correct, I am not. I gave it a damm good try though. Damn good. I can't wait to see what the next few months bring. I can't remember when I last felt that way about life.

The Crazy Man In The Corner

Sometimes holding a conversation with Husband is exhausting. Confusing. Irritating.
Speaking of Husband, what do I call him? We're not together (yay) and we're not going to be together (yay) and calling him Husband implies that he is still in that role. Hmmm....I'll think of something (other than Asshole or Dirtbag, that is).

What I have come to realize is that when talking with him, I need to pretend (ha!) that he is someone with a mental illness. Undiagnosed. If I went to hang out at Mental Health for some function, I would not assume that the conversation I hold with a patient is going to be understood and conveyed in a manner that sane people do. Not. At. All.

So I alternate between treating him like a child and treating him as "special". Because otherwise I will drive myself bonkers in trying to have a normal conversation with someone who is incapable of doing so.

We're Having *What* For Dinner?!

J2 just turned 9. She is a bright, charming, mostly-happy child who also happens to have an adorable habit of mis-speaking. While serving me "dinner" (plastic food yum) she also went through her spiel of what was on the menu.

"We have hot dogs, eggs, peppers, bacon, waffles, crustaceans, tomato and hmm..."

At this point I am busting with laughter. The crustaceans? It was a CROISSANT!

The Best Part

I still have to see him. We are polite, he is friendly. I am...more distanced, I suppose. Cooler. Easily annoyed with him. He lives in the mini-house, I in a teeny spare room in a real house. Messy seems to be adapting to different nights with either Mom or Dad, but never Both.

Husband was initiating a conversation with me, which means he tells me what I "need" to do while feigning concern for "our" well-being. I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the tightening and tension because I am not comfortable with the subject he wants to discuss. I tell him that I will think it over and we can discuss it tomorrow. I was relaxed, or at least, I had been until he started badgering me to talk about it now blah blah.

Are you ready for the best part??? Ready?

I walked away. I told him "Goodnight" and I walked away. It felt good, it felt cleansing, it felt powerful.

I Can See Clearly Now, the Bullshit Is Gone

Ok, the bullshit is still there, but I can distance myself from the love that I felt/feel? for this man enough to hear what he's not saying. It was payday today, which means bills need to be paid and shopping trips must be made. So we agreed to be polite and non-confrontational while attending to mundane matters like laundry soap and toilet paper. Together.

I listen to him blubber on about how he loves me and will never find another and blabber blah (standard stuff). He talks about how maybe he shouldn't have been so uptight about the house being clean and he should have been easier on the girls (who are not here right now). How he will go to counseling.

He isn't pushy. Not demanding. He is charming and funny. He tears up every now and then, but not in an attention-getting way.

I glance at him while he's speaking, and imagine me in my own place. I can get up in the morning and turn on the tv. Blow-dry my hair. I can have friends. I can sleep by myself and not wake up when he rolls over, scared that he's going to wake up and bitch about theblanketsthebabythemessmystinkyfart and eleventymillion other things he complained about.

He talks about how he wants to "try", no, not try but "really try", and I think about the counseling session and the cycle of violence and how I really miss myself and how it's been three mornings in a row now where I didn't want to drive my car off of a steep highway curve with my eyes closed.

He looks at me, pleading. I smile, and tell him, again, that I will never share a roof with him. And then I change the subject. Messy and I gather our overnight-away-stuff, and we leave.

I told him I didn't want to live with him anymore. He did not get grrrr, just...sad. Tried to engage me in conversation about the "Us" and "We" and "Trying" and "pms". Yes, that time of the month. To guilt, to manipulate. So to bolster my decision to leave him, I am posting this which I wrote a few months ago. I couldn't do it earlier. Honestly, I'm not sure I want to do it now. It hurts my heart to read it.




DECEMBER 13, 2009: MEAN PEOPLE AND ALCOHOL DON'T MIX

A few months ago, after a particularly bad episode where my husband was drinking and then got physical with me, we made the vow that we wouldn't drink alcohol anymore. My husband told me that he recognized that when he drinks he feels "meaner and get angrier faster". I am not a big drinker, preferring my rooms to stay still and not spin, so this was no big deal to not drink. I was very happy that my husband realized that his drinking was a problem. We decided that we could have alcohol on "special occasions", namely holidays.

We went to a party last night, a holiday-family-friendly-gingerbread-decorating-party. Alcohol was served to the adults. We never go out, so we both agreed that this was a "special occasion". After a few drinks, my husband decided he needed more alcohol. (This was after 7 Fat Tire beers and two inches of whiskey.) I felt a little warning tug in my belly, but realized the frame of mind he was in; nothing was going to dissuade him. He went to the store, came back with a small bottle of Jack, and proceeded to drink almost the entire bottle. (I had some, maybe a shot or two.)

Eleven o'clock at night, the babies are getting tired and he is losing at poker. The subtle comments start, little references that only I would understand. He asked Messy to sit in his lap, then when Messy starts to whine, passes him to me and remarks "five days a week, I'm done". (Referring to his SAHD status). Husband's jokes are not very funny anymore, and everyone can tell that he is trying too hard.

I am sitting at the poker table. The following story was related to me by the children in the other room....
He walks into the bedroom where the children are playing, and tells Big J that she is driving home (joking). Big J replies that he doesn't have a car or a license. (Kinda' true-my car, and his license is currently suspended.) He freaks out on her, calls her "an ass" three times (let's keep in mind she's 12) and he then proceeds to scoop up Messy and slams out to the car, yelling at me that he is leaving me because my daughter is a "pole-dancing slut" and she's a "little cunt".
Seriously? SHE"S TWELVE YEARS OLD!! He then tells me that she told him to fuck off.

I raised a good girl. I know that she is not disrespectful. I know that she would never ever EVER say "fuck" to an adult. I asked her what happened, and her story was the same as everyone else in the room.

I follow my husband out to the car to talk to him, and he drives away. He watches me trying to get into the car and he drives away. I yell to him that if he continues, I will call 911 and report the car as stolen. He stops, gets out, and tells me that my daughter is disrespectful and says more unflattering things about her. He asks me if I believe him. I tell him no.

I don't believe him. He tells me that I am letting my daughter ruin our relationship, walks to the car, calls me a "fucking slut" and leaves.

Why would a grown man expect me to choose him over my child? Perhaps he doesn't understand the love a parent has for their child. Perhaps he honestly thought I would agree with him? I am so very tired of this...

Done

I am writing it down. I am going to leave. I am so scared. I am so scared I won't do it.

But I will. I am.

Does anybody read this? Do you pray to whatever god/ess you believe in? Think of me then. Pray that I find the courage and the strength to do what needs to be done. Please. I think I'm going to need all the help I can get.