Grateful

I think I've mentioned this before: my mom is a 2nd grade teacher. I spend a lot of time volunteering in her classroom; I truly love it. I love the kids; they're so cute and sweet. 


Anyways, this week my mom handed out these paper feathers that say "I'm thankful for..." and then have a few blank lines for them to fill in. Before I get sentimental and stuff...


I'm sort of dreading the holidays this year. Honestly, I have a love/hate relationship with the holidays. I love the decorations, the lights, the smells, sounds, ect. but I despise the drama and stress... which, with a big family, there's always more then plenty of that. But I'm really fretting about it this year, because our lack of $$$ means that we don't have money for presents. My mom has been so sweet, telling me repeatedly not to worry, that her and my dad were unable to afford gifts for people the first few years they were together, and that everyone understands... which made me think...



well, I've realized for awhile that I'm in a pretty rough patch in my life. Vuni and I barely, and I mean, barely (with help from our parents) make it. I honestly can't remember the last time I went on a shopping trip to just... shop. I've downgraded on a lot of things (Bare Minerals to cheap makeup) and try to make things last as long as possible. I can't buy something just to buy it. Hell, I can't even buy necessities just to buy them; sometimes it comes down to, do I need the package of toilet paper or the bag of frozen blueberries more? Essentially, we're just scraping by, and it sucks.


But then- I remember: I have a roof over my head. I'm warm. I'm clean. I have clean clothes. I have clean, drinkable water. I have a car to get places. A phone to call people. I have all of the necessities to live comfortably. And really... I have SO MUCH more than that.


I honestly don't know how I was so lucky to end up with Vuni. The past few nights, we have fallen asleep on the couch, our two kitty girls cuddled next to us, while watching TV. And I've been incredibly happy. In fact, I look forward to the evenings when we can just snuggle together. I love that I get to just mush out and relax with this person who knows me better than anyone, who loves me like I never thought I'd be loved, and who still thinks I'm worthwhile and lovable despite all of my flaws and scars. I love living with my best friend. I love falling asleep with my legs tangled in his. I love seeing his smile when he comes home from work. Five and a half years, and he still gives me butterflies...


I wish our situation were better. I wish I were better. Because honestly, I know our situation is my fault... or at least, is because of me, if not my fault.


That being said, it truly has made me realize just how little material things mean. They're nice; I love getting a new outfit, pair of shoes, or even eyeshadow as much as the next girl. But they're just things. Things that I would not trade for Vuni. I guess, what I'm trying to say is- yes, we struggle. No, life is not as comfortable as it could be (and by comfortable, I mean, not worrying about finances so much). But- I have the best friend/lover that I could have ever imagined. He makes me forget that we're just barely making it. He makes me forget that I have an anxiety disorder and am extremely socially awkward. I can be myself around him, more than I can anyone else... no material thing, or things, could ever match that.


So, we may just barely be struggling by... but, when I am nice and warm in bed, with my best friend and our two kitties at our feet, I can gladly say that, yes, I have a LOT to be thankful for.

You Fight Through That Shit ( I Heart Pulp Fiction, a moment of clarity)

Man oh man, did I have a roller-coaster Tower-of-Doom Sunday/Monday. The whole weekend was kinda crappy; if you read my previous post, you know it started out with Vuni and I not doing so hot. After we talked, kissed, and made up, I figured the rest of the weekend should go decent... I'd already dealt with my fair share of crap, right?


WRONG.


Not long after Mr. V and I make up, we smell something disgustingly familiar in our living room: cat piss. Immediately I begin to panic; I already know it's from EmmaBear, our 8-year-old Ragdoll. She's done this in the past; it's something that cats sometimes do when they're upset (we ruled out illness, and since we keep the THREE litter boxes immaculate, we know it's not a dirty littler box issue). For anyone who doesn't know this, cat pee not only stinks like hell, but it's a total B to try to clean the surface where the pee is and takes forever to remove the stench... and that's if you're lucky. When EmmaBear did this back at my parents' house, it took weeks before we could get the smell out of the carpet.


I cleaned the carpet as well as I could, sprinkled the area with baking soda, and crossed my finger it would be a one-time deal. This was Saturday night.


Sunday evening, we come home from being gone all day (doing laundry, oh joy), and right in the middle of the baking-soda covered carpet is a yellow patch. Furious, I grabbed EmmaBear, took her over to the pee spot, said "NO!" and began carrying her to the stairs so I could take her down to the litter boxes. I flicked on the light leading down to the basement, and what is sitting on the top stair?


A HUGE f*cking spider :(


I began screaming at the top of my lungs without even thinking; Emma clawed her way out of my grip, leaving stinging talon marks on my face, chest, and arms, and Vuni came to my rescue, slightly panicking in fear of my screams. 


So I'm shaken up from the cat pee and the spider. We decide to calm down by taking a shower. Vuni heads into the bathroom to start it, only no water comes out. He tried the sink, then the kitchen sink. No water. Vuni called his sister Krisi to see if the water was working at his parents' house. Yup, it worked fine there. Great. Is this a nightmare? I'm hot, itchy, and I just feel dirty after cleaning up pee.


We called the water company; a water mane (main?) was busted down the street, but they were sending someone out to work on it. It's like, 9:30 at night. And no water. Fantastic.


I stayed up until 2:00 AM worrying about Emma and the water, getting up to test the faucet every 30 minutes or so. Once the water came spurting out of the faucet shortly after 2, I stayed up another hour, still worrying about Emma. A cat peeing outside of her litter box may or may not be a big deal to you, but any cat lover knows just how big of a dilemma this is. Not to mention, I was feeling like a horrible mother; Emma was stressed out, that's why she was doing this.


After very little, off-and-on sleep, I rolled out of bed on Monday morning right as Vuni was leaving for work (already a bad start to my day, as I don't like getting up late). Immediately walking into the living room, I knew it smelled off. I go over to The Spot (which, we had moved a chair over it, both to keep Emma off and let the carpet/new layer of baking soda dry), and find not one, but TWO new reeking wet spots. Furious and exasperated (and desperately wanting to hit something in frustration), I called my mom (at work), absolutely hysterical. She did her best to calm me down, and suggested I stick Emma in the bathroom with one of the litter boxes. I did so, had a brief text message conversation with Vuni ("Why does life just seem to keep getting worse? I fucking hate myself right now!" <--Me "Well, I love you very much right now. We are going to be okay."), and then paused to evaluate the situation. 


In all honesty, I was feeling SO OVERWHELMED... there are no words to really describe how bad it was. I could easily compare it to the time I attempted suicide. I want to save the suicide story for another time, but basically... I was feeling so hopeless and overwhelmed, I did not know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts nor did I want to, so in a desperate attempt to not feel... I downed a bottle of pills. At the time, I didn't think I could handle life getting any worse, but I didn't see how it could get any better. I didn't want to die, but I was terrified and really couldn't imagine things would improve and that I could one day be happy again. 


Standing there evaluating, I was desperately wanting to do something to deal with the pain. I feel like I have been working so hard to turn my life around, as I've stressed in previous posts, yet things slowly only get worse. Health problems and illness. Being denied food assistance, despite relying on our parents to feed us,like, 50% of the time. Waiting to be approved for disability. Obvious money problems. Relationship issues (though, thankfully, those always seem to work out). Constant, overwhelming anxiety. Now, worrying about my beloved cat. Worrying that I'm a bad mom, worrying that if she doesn't start behaving... I might have to ask my brother to take her, at least for awhile...?  Unimagineable. I wanted to do something, anything; binge and purge, exercise until I passed out, down some vodka, smoke... even cutting crossed my mind. Cutting, which I hate admitting I ever did; it's embarrassing (even moreso since it seemed to be a trendy emo thing for a minute, and it is NOT trendy). I have only cut once since my teenage years (and that was while I was one drink shy of being blackout drunk), but I have never forgotten the disgusting "high" it gave me.


Now why do I love Pulp Fiction (which I only just happened to see)? Other than Quentin Tarantino's non-linear storyline style being reminding me of my often non-linear style of writing (which always seems to come together in the end), I feel like I can really relate to Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in a way. The hardcore, badass, fearless gangster has a single "moment of clarity" that makes him want to abandon his life of crime. 

"Yeah, I was sitting here, eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity."

I don't think I've had one single moment of clarity in my life; I've had times and experiences of clarity that are leading me to become a stronger, better person.

Yesterday was one of those times. I wanted to take the easy way out; I wanted to numb myself and not have to think. That is how I've always been; I run when it comes to dealing with unpleasant thoughts and feelings. Run, or numb myself. I may never be able to escape the anxiety, but just like Jules knows he doesn't have to stay stuck in a life of crime, I know that I don't have to spend myself running and using negative methods to cope... which brings me to another Pulp Fiction quote:

The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts. It never helps. You fight through that shit.

Pride isn't my problem; but pride can be addictive and very negative, much like my vices. The irrational thoughts (of which pride can be an irrational thought), fuck with me. They never help me. And I have to FIGHT THROUGH THAT SHIT.

So I allowed myself to stand there and fume, cry, and irrationalize for a few minutes. I fantasized about drinking, cutting, smoking, ect. All of the things that would never help me. All of the things that would only hurt me. And then- I fought through that shit. I remembered all of the horrible things that I have experienced in the past, thanks to negative "coping" methods. I convinced myself that if I were to drink or whatever, it would only be a repeat of the past. I thought of how someone once told me they thought I must have a guardian angel; I've had a couple of close life-and-death calls (I'm truly convinced that surviving my suicide attempt was a miracle), so I thought of how lucky I am to still be here. Not only am I still here, but I have a wonderful loving boyfriend, amazing parents, two ornery but very sweet kitty cats, an outstanding brother, a roof over my head, all of the basic comforts in life, and a small network of people who truly care about me. I have a lot; a lot to fight for. 

So despite the shitty events of the weekend, and the cloud of uncertainty that has been hanging over my head, I decided that being strong and rational was the way to go. I drank a big glass of water, had a berry smoothie, got ready, and went about my day.

I was going to blog about all of this last night... but after the crazy events and lack of sleep over the past few days, I fell asleep while Vuni and I were watching Pulp Fiction; I dozed off maybe half an hour into it. Today, I understand why; I needed to watch the rest of the movie. I was born an artist, and appreciate all kinds of art, from music to painting to film. I love it when I can relate to art, hence my excitement over Pulp Fiction. Who'da thunk? This timid little ball of anxiety relating to a graphic gangsta film. Strange, but true. I honestly love how Jules has such a realization; how he saw a accidental stroke of sheer luck as a miracle, and it impacted him enough to make him want to change. I don't mean to get all philosophical/spiritual, but that makes me think of all of the little miracles that happen in life; all that have happened in my life, from meeting Vuni by random chance, to realizing I'm strong enough to deal with emotions that I, at one time, would rather harm myself than feel. 


Life may suck sometimes, and it may feel like I've been stuck in a rut for awhile without seeing any way out, but the miracles and moments of clarity... they make it worth fighting though all of that shit.

Le Puffs

Okay. I have a lot on my mind. I'm stressed, and feeling kinda hopeless. I actually started a post about that last night... but ended up too sleepy (okay- so I have something new to be grateful for: I've been sleeping pretty darn well recently). Anyways, I decided I needed to do a post to cheer me up right now, and I've been meaning to introduce my readers (Hi Mamama!!) to our two little kitty girls <3 (just in case any of my readers happen to NOT be my family or friends, lol ;)


Presenting...

Emerson Ann, aka EmmaBear

Luna Artemis, aka LuHam

Yes, those are mine and Vuni's beautiful kitty girls, aka puffs. Not gonna lie, we are crazy cat people. One look inside our house is a dead give away: kitty toys, furniture, and accessories throughout the house. 

Now more about the girls:

Emerson is a purebred Ragdoll. She just turned 8 years old in July, and I will have had her for 8 years at the end of September. She was an early high school graduation present to me, from my parents. We picked her up directly from her breeder, whose sole career... heck, life... was dedicated to his Ragdoll cattery. EmmaBear has been mine since she was 10 weeks old; we've been through a lot together, and I really don't know what I would have done without her. She was my closest friend during the darkest period of my life, and I will be forever grateful to her.

Emerson seems very aware of the fact that she is a $600 cat (and that's $600 just as a pet; had we paid for her showing license, she would have been $900, and showing + breeding, $1200). She's graceful and dainty, and like many fancy cats, prissy. Even while playing, she's regal and poise. Much of her time is consumed by beauty sleep and grooming. She has an extreme sweet tooth. She loves yogurt and ice cream, apples and cake, and... marshmallows? I kid you not, that goofy cat will eat marshmallows. While not skiddish or shy, EmmaBear is cautious but generally accepting of all admirers :) Her nickname has been around since she was a couple of months old. As a kitten, she use to sit on her hind legs a lot when reaching for toys, and with her insanely beautiful body of soft, cream and brown fluff she looked like a bear to me. She's not a big snuggler, but when she's in the mood to cuddle, she sure is sweet and a total pro ;)

Luna marches to the beat of her own drum. I've never met a spunkier cat; my dad calls her "The Cog" (and also "The Moon,") because she "looks like a cat, but  acts like a dog." No joke. Luna was my Christmas present to Vuni this past year; I felt bad because when we moved in together, he really missed his parents' cat, Jade (whom I call "B," which stands for "bitch," "behemoth," and "bad-breath," for I have never met a grumpier cat). Plus, EmmaBear needed a little sister ;) Luna will be 1 year old on October 6.

Lu is extremely cuddly; the kind of cat who will hop into your lap, purring, and snuggle up to you. I have no idea where this cat got her social skills (though certainly not from her human parents), because nobody is a stranger to her. She loves everyone and is extremely vocal. I think she likes hearing the sound of her own voice, which brings me to her nickname: The Ham. Lu clearly loves herself, and loves other people giving her attention. She literally poses for photos. She's also a little pig; she loves to eat, and often begs for food, both kitty treats and ours.

We love these little puffs so much. I truly believe that kitties, and animals/pets in general, are a wonderful form of therapy. Our kitty girls bring us lots of joy. They are constant reminders of why I can't just give up. If I'm feeling really bad, scooping one of them up and holding her always makes me feel better. I talk to them and vent and cry, and they never judge me, only purr and make comforting kitty noises, reminding me that while life may suck right now, they love me and need me. What is more awesome than coming home from a long day and being greeted by two little kitties at the door? Or waking up to the sound of their jingling bells as they hop up on the bed to greet us good morning? I don't care if they aren't human, they adore us and depend on us... and in return, make us so happy with their cuteness and love! I really don't know who I would be without these two <3

"Make yourself necessary to somebody," -Ralph Waldo Emerson, EmmaBear's namesake