The complicatedness of our lives

I blog a lot about me, my perceptions, our lives, etc., but I don't think there are a lot of people who truly get it. We have our ups and downs and twists and turns, just like everyone else. The complicated part comes when you take into account the outside influences. I've blogged about PTSD and I've blogged about it almost impersonally. But, what I haven't said is just how much it affects us. It's not just a mental disorder, it's a way of life. I'm struggling with this right now. Hardcore. My eyes were opened recently to just how much of a hold it has. They were opened rudely, I might say. I used to read the blogs about PTSD and read the accounts of the wives who lived with it and I used to say to myself, "well, that's just not how it works in our house" or "yeah, her husband is a lot worse off than mine" or even, "well, we're handling it a lot better than that". Boy, was I a fool. We weren't handling it, it was handling us.

I refer to PTSD as "it". I do this for a reason. That shit has a motherfucking mind of it's own. I think back on the first bit of our marriage and how happy we were and how none of this ever, ever entered our minds. I remember the night before my husband deployed and I remember crying in his arms. The only thoughts that I had, was "please be safe, come home to me". I never thought "please be safe, come home WHOLE to me". A piece of him and a piece of our marriage was left in Iraq. I fucking want it back. War is a bitch. In more ways than people will ever know.

I always hesitate to state how I truly feel and what's really going on in our lives, because frankly, it's not up to ridicule. And our friends and family like to ridicule and belittle. I use the terms "friends" and "family" in these instances very, very loosely. We don't reach out, we don't ask for help and if we do, we're shot down without even a blink. People just motherfucking suck. Plain and simple. So, we're carry on. We carry our burdens silently. It sucks. And now, I read the accounts from PTSD wives and I think "Yeah, I get that".

Who I am...........

This question has been on my mind lately. Who am I? I mean, the obvious is there, of course. It's inherent in the question. I am Serena. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a homosapien. I am me. This last sentence, this is where the tricky dicky part comes into play. Me. I am all of those things I mentioned, but what else? I am not only a wife. I am not only a mother. I am not only a daughter. I am not only a sister. And I am not only a homosapien.

I am, unique. There are complicated parts of me that combine to make me what I am. I have loves. I have hates. I have extremes. I have flaws. I have perfection.

I'm complicated. I guess that's what it all boils down to. I have an intense distrust of people, in general. It takes a lot to break down my walls. I love intensely, but I also love from a distance. I love myself and I hate myself. Sometimes in the same minute. I hate people, but I am often lonely. I have a profound negative side, which is often tempered by my naivete. I am drawn to things outside of the mainstream. I am afraid of breaking rules. There are days when all I want to do is scream, laugh and cry. All at once. I am a big crybaby. When I cry, I want to be alone, but I want to be hugged. I cannot ask for help. I need more help. I cannot leave things alone. I have to have the answers. Now. And they have to meet my expectations.

I judge. A lot. I assume. I am not completely comfortable in my own skin. I value brains over beauty. I often want to punch people, but I smile anyway. I curse. Constantly. Because it makes me happy. What it boils down to, is there is more beneath the surface. And I love every minute of it.

The monkey on our shoulders.........

Let me start this post off in a positive note. My family is my everything, my husband is my partner, best friend, and lover. He is the rock I lean on and the one I run to. In no way am I condemning him for a condition over which he has no control.

Now, let me continue. We have a monkey on our shoulders, a ghost in the room, if you will. And this monkey is called PTSD. It's something we live with daily. Even on the days when the monkey is quiet, I know there'll be another when it rears it's head and brings on the mischief. It's an invisible force in our lives, but a force it is. A strong one. It drives one day to be the best we've ever had and the next to be  near apocalypse. It's what brings my husband so far down that he feels that he is worth nothing, but brings him back up again.

I call it a monkey, because it's something that we have no control over. It's frustrating and it wreaks havoc, but we can't discipline it. It rules us. I wish we could rule it.

The hardest part of living with this condition is the misunderstanding and the condemnation that comes my husband's way from strangers, friends, and mostly family. There is a lack of understanding and a lack of care that comes his way. Instead of taking the time to educate themselves and to understand what he lives with, they aggravate him and it. They push buttons and they brush him off as simply "angry". I hate that word. It's become a convenient way to ignore what's going on beneath the surface. It's like, angry has become a key to excuse poor treatment. I fight hard, everyday. I fight to keep control of myself, for fear of pushing him too far, I fight to keep control of our lives. I fear. Everyday. Will this monkey get the best of us? What is going to set him over the edge, to the point where I can no longer reach him? I can't lose him. And so, I fight. And he fights the same fights, only harder.

I push people away who I feel are hurting him. I push people away who do nothing but push him. I push, push, push. I pick fights over stupid arguments that should never have occured in the first place, but I do it to keep my family. I stand solidly by him. I do it because I love him. I do it because he loves me. Immensely. We have a great marriage and we work with eachother. And the monkey stays in control, most days.

Do you need a box of tissues with that?

Tonight, I'm angry. Now, I understand that sometimes, that's the norm for me. However, tonight, it's righteous anger. It's fueled by the drama of others. I admit that I'm a bitch. Come on. Who that knows me doesn't know that fact? I admit that I have dissenting opinions from others. I admit that I love a good fight now and then. It's comparable to a good fuck. However, I also admit that other people's whiny ass dramatic ways drive me nuts! I will tell you, my friends, that this is anger is mainly fueled by Facebook drama. One of the worst. And it plagues my life. Do I bring some of it on myself? Sure. Am I sometimes naive to the absolute lengths people will go to to prove themselves idiots? Oh, absolutely. Should I have to filter myself for these idiots? You bet your ass not. If anything, they make me who I am. They make me the angry, people hating, bitch that I am. And I love it. I will tell you what I'm tired of.

*Whiny ass vague attention seeking posts:
   Example : Anonymous: Sad :(
                   Friends: Why?
                                What's going on?
                                 Can we help?
                    Anonymous: I'll text you. (Although its more like txt u. Like it's so fucking hard to type the e and the yo)

Give me a fucking break! If you wanted attention so bad, couldn't you text your friends in the first place instead of putting up your stupid, melancholy, dramatic, irritating post in the first place?? Facebook is a public forum people! Every one of your posts is seen by every one of those friends on your list. And another thing, who really needs to have 500 or more friends on their page. Really?! You're friends with that many people in real life? You talk to them all? Share all of your deep dark secrets with them? No! You don't. Moron.

*Bitching about the same thing, every single fucking day! I understand your job sucks, your wife is a bitch, your husband's an asshole, your kids are brats. Yeah, I get it. I bitch about my kids, wife, husband, kids too. Not Every. Single. Goddamn. Day. Take a hundred milligrams of suck it the fuck up and get over yourselves! If you don't like it, change it. Quit your job, get a divorce, sell your kids. Just shut up!

*Copy and Pates. Oh, do not get me started on the copy and paste statuses. "Copy and paste this status so you'll cure breast cancer", "Copy and paste this to stop child abuse", "Copy and paste this to solve world hunger". Really? Sitting on your ass behind a computer screen, copying and pasting every single stupid thing to bring "awareness" to a problem doesn't do shit! I wish I could copy and paste a million statuses to get rid of you assholes. That would bring awareness to a real problem.

*The people who take offense at every post. These people fuel me. These people are my lifeblood. I love these morons the most. They make me look smart. I love looking smart. You can't take a joke? Sweet, come into my lair. You hate everything that's different from what you are and seek to put it down around every turn? Oh, you're the best. Come closer, sweetness. You're a narrow minded prick? Can I keep you? It's sad, but true. I enjoy myself at the expense of others.

*Bad spelling and grammar. Oh, how I hate it. What I hate worse than bad spelling and grammar? Text speak. U is not you. Txt is not text. Tho is not though. It's really not that hard to type out the extra few letters is it? Well, if you know how to spell it in the first place. I mean, come on. People can't be that stupid. Or can they??

When Daughters Surpass Us...........

I look back at my life as it was nine years ago. And I look at our lives now. Things are different. In good and in bad ways. My parenting style has changed, that's for sure. When my daughter was born, I had visions of the type of mother I'd be. I'd be stern, but fair. I'd be fun, but a disciplinarian as well. I'd be the type of mother that every child wants. I find that I'm not that all the time. I can remember every moment of her birth. I remember the drama surrounding it. I remember watching the news, because as I was in that hospital room birthing our first child, my husband was on his way into Iraq. We were both facing new and scary situations, but we were so far apart. I remember the moment of her birth and how they rushed her to be warmed because she just wasn't responding as fast as they liked and I remember thinking to myself "That's it?". That moment that is supposed to be joy and tears and hope well.... wasn't. I was tired, I was stressed, I was worried and in the midst of all of that, I missed that euphoria. I was so focused on the outside situations that I missed that moment with her. The days after her birth, I tried to recapture that moment and it was...well.... hard. I struggled with almost losing her. I struggled through being a first time mommy. I struggled through trying to hold myself together everyday waiting for that nefarious knock on the door. That moment when they tell you that you'd be alone in this forever. I struggled to hold a crumbling family together. I lost me in the middle of all of it. I missed the moments of just her and I. Where I sat with her and just looked in awe. Where I counted every single little toe and was amazed by the perfection of each one. And, then, there was the dark times. Those times where I felt that my daughter would be better off with anyone else, but me. That I was the wrong algebra in the equation. I was unable to reach out, because I felt that I had to be strong. I had to carry it all.

Those moments passed, of course. As they always do. We gradually worked into a rythem and we gradually got to know eachother away from the chaos. We gained those quiet moments. And I gained a center. My husband returned. Not the same as he was, of course. Older, wiser, harder. In a sense, broken. I failed to understand this. I still struggle. My daughter became my center. She became my world. But, with raising any child, I gained a huge responsibility. With my daughter, that responsibility is to raise a confident, strong, balanced woman. I want her to be the type of woman who doesn't take no for an answer when the world is against her. I want her to love herself and to see how awesome she is. I want her to see her how I see her. Perfect. She is amazing. I sometimes see bits and pieces of me in her or bits and pieces of her dad. But, I also see just her. And that's the pieces I love to see.

I don't know what to say........

Tonight, well, this morning, I was looking through websites trying to find some support sites for my sister-in-law who experienced a horrible loss a couple months ago and in my searching I came across several blogs and postings from parents who had lost their children. I bawled. You don't realize until you're in the middle of their emotions what an absolute horrendous thing it is to live through. The stories were all different, but the grief was the same.

I sit here, with three healthy children and I remember the times that I ignored them when they asked me a question, because I was busy. Or I remember the times I yelled at them for the smallest, stupidest things and I am ashamed. I'm ashamed that at that moment in time I did not value every breath that came out of my child's body. I am ashamed because I have three valuable lives dependent on me and sometimes, I don't take it seriously enough. There's so much more to life than the petty and the small that it's amazing to me how much time we really spend on it. My family is amazing. In every way.


In the face of this, I have a smaller understanding of what my sister-in-law is going through, although, I'll never understand the full picture. And I can appreciate the struggle for what it is. A constant uphill battle. My thoughts are with her and her family. Always.

Mothers are like pennies........some are tarnished and still good, others are just bad.

I read a news story today about a woman who left her one year old son in the bathtub alone, while she was on facebook in the other room. The child of course, drowned and died. I looked at the story and I looked at the picture of the woman and there wasn't any remorse on her face. There wasn't even a hint of sorrow. And I asked myself how could a mother just let her son drown? How could she not value that life? But, not every mother is a good mother. Not every mother is a loving mother. So, of course, that got me thinking........ is every woman programmed to be a mother? Is is something that is inherent in our DNA? Scientifically, I don't know. Culturally and anthropologically, I don't know.

Our world today, is well.... crowded. The advent of cars brought about a new way to expand our population, so of course, we spread out. And when we spread out, we expanded. So, now, our population is huge. But, is it really? Technology also brought about birth control and education. Women are no longer simple breeding machines. And I realize that I am vastly oversimplifying and generalizing. And I'm way off topic. So, back to my original thoughts.

Not every woman is meant to be a mother. So, why are they? I find this thought complex. There is a general attitude that women are simply here to breed children. This thought permeates everyday life. The preaching against birth control, as one. By teaching girls that birth control is wrong, the power and the choice of whether or not to have a child is taken out of their hands. They are now dependent on the will and the actions of the men they are with. Will he use a condom or not? And if he doesn't and she becomes pregnant, now what? Will he stay and be a man? Or will the girl (woman) end up in an impossible situation?

So, then the question becomes can she choose to have the child or not? Well, abortion is murder, right? At least to some moral views. I withhold my opinion for now. So, she is stuck with a pregnancy that she doesn't want and ulitimately a child she doesn't care for. These situations happen all the time. And then, we start seeing stories like the one above. A woman emotionally disconnected enough from her child that she doesn't even care to supervise him in the tub. So what is the solution?

Education, education, education. Wait, let me say it again, education. Subjugating women and judging them for making a decision that is right for them and their lives is wrong. The only way we can fix these problems is education. Our society has become so disconnected from eachother, that we're losing the "clan" mentality. We don't give a shit. Let the single mother live on the streets with her kids. We don't give a fuck. Let the young girl waste all her oppurtunities by getting pregnant and let the boy walk away without consequence. It was her own fault, right? Even though we, as a society, set her up for a fall. She has to deal with her own choices.

We don't give a fuck, right?