Miss Tricky Takes Over

What would I even write about anyway? That life is still dreamy? It is. That I work and come home and spend time with the family? I do. That the NEW! PART-TIME! NANNY! is working out beautifully? She is.

 Life has become insular and rather rhythmic lately. It is all cozy and warm and good. Now that fall is here and the breezes have turned cold, I find that I am content to hunker down in my den.

 Well……..

 All that plus the fact that a lingering weirdness has descended upon me and I have absolutely no desire to talk about it at all. I am actively ignoring my internal monologue. It is not trying to help, it is just kicking up fuss and I am enjoying the first ever “fuss-less” time in my life and I will not have it bothering me now for no good reason. I am not used to this feeling of contentment. I am not waiting for something or killing time or weathering a storm- I am just living and loving and enjoying where we are now. The dreaded autism monster has been pushed back and for the first time in 4 years I am reveling in my son. He delights me now in a way that wasn’t possible 5 months ago. So I am going to retract my earlier statement. I am not suffering any weirdness. I am simply taking the time to settle in and really get to know the new me I have built- and all the great things that have come along with her.

 And more importantly, right now I am cold and cannot think about anything but thick socks, red wine and a stack of unread magazines waiting for me in his gorgeous leather chair….

I updated my Facebook status awhile back to say just how much I loved having my single greatest fear depicted on Grey’s Anatomy. It was a flippant remark (as status updates are wont to be) but people asked, and it seems to be more and more relevant lately. What better place than the yawning expanse of the internet is there to share?

More than spiders, more than pooping on the delivery table, more than velociraptors, more than basements- I am terribly afraid of not being truly forgiven. I do not believe that there could be anything worse than having someone you love, whom you believe loves you, throw your dark and dirty past in your face. It happens. A lot. I bet even you have done it. If you had really thought about it you probably wouldn’t have, but in anger or hurt things come flying out of mouths that we probably didn’t even know we believed. And even if we manage not to say it, is it there? In our heads? At the end of my marriage my husband and I fought continuously. We were amazing at it. Never have two people been so willing to battle each other to no end. In the midst of the screaming things that I thought I had forgiven or forgotten or let go would come racing out of the depths where I’d stored them. I could feel nasty words, designed to cut him deeply, slamming against my gritted teeth- like a moth at a light bulb, frenzied to escape. I remember watching my mother’s face and seeing the exact moment that some crime I had committed as child popped into her head. It was irrelevant and she knew it, but out it came.

That moment, the one in which all the work you had put in to change means nothing, is the hardest to get through. That is defeat.

There is reason to believe that I entered and stayed in a marriage I knew to be toxic because I felt I could never really move past the mistakes I had already made with him. The word “addict” haunted me and in my fear I thought the only way to get out from under it was to live a normal and healthy life with the man I had been so lost with. It was a selfish and terrible reason to get married- he had to make good so I could be okay. And when he didn’t I couldn’t accept it. I had linked my whole sense of redemption on whether or not we made it work. Somehow getting better without him seemed to only make my initial mistake stand out so much more. And so I got worse with him.

I have over a year of rebuilding behind me these days. Choices I made, consequences I owned and success that I earned…but I cannot erase that past. It cannot be undone and it only gets uglier the farther I get from it. The people I have around me now -family, friends and lover- love me. I know they do. I know that they think what I have overcome and where I am headed is what matters- but my fear persists. What if somewhere inside, ready to spring up out of anger or hurt, is a doubt? Should there be? I suppose so. Is it mostly my own doubt? Probably. I never went to rehab because I took umbrage with the idea that addiction is permanent. That no matter how long sober you would always be defined by that weakness. Why shouldn’t I be able to stand up someday and say “Hi. My name is Tricky and I used to be an addict. I used to think that abusive relationships were the only kind and that love was when someone knew that you were horrible but found a way to deal with you. I used to think that I wasn’t worth anything more than what someone else wanted from me- but I do not believe that anymore.” It seemed contradictory to me to ask people to change by admitting that they could not change. Still does.

And so THAT is my biggest fear. That to other people I will always be the addict or his wife or the angry daughter or the cheater or the drop out and that someday someone who I love the most will remind me that it’s true.

(As I write this the sounds of an epic ball battle are drifting up from downstairs, the open windows are letting in bird songs and my belly is full of Primanti Brothers goodness- it’s very nice to be alive today. Spawn has been on a gluten free and casein free diet for a whole week now and I am already seeing improvement in him. It may be coincidental but I’ll take it however it comes and am thrilled to see glimmers of the little boy he really wants to be peeking out.)

Well boys and girls, life is moving on. I am pleased to report that Miss Tricky HQ will be relocating to the other side of Pennsylvania and taking over Forgotten Bottom. I am even more pleased to report that this event is not causing any rifts or wars and is generally supported by all. Mr. President and I sat down with the parents and hashed it out, Mr. President and I have hashed it out on our own terms and the Spawn and I have been given the okay to relocate and start his new and much more intense therapy out east. I am so fucking grown up and responsible. This past week has been busy and strange for me but has also been facilitated by having Cousin Stevie here to wrangle the monster while all us grown-ups worked stuff out. (Apparently I had been falling seriously behind on Spawn’s light saber training so it’s a good thing the master came for a visit.)

As for me and the mysterious Mr. President……….well………..

I don’t talk about “us” a lot because I am not sure what to say. I struggle with feeling that my credibility in the love department has been irreparably damaged over the past five or so years and I believe this man to be so good that I don’t want to tarnish his reputation with my previous bonehead relationship decisions. Yes, Courtni, I know what I just said. I do not feel unworthy of him, I feel matched by him and supported and loved. I have yet to fully reconcile the me I know I am and the mess I was and I don’t want the beautiful thing I have discovered to be doubted because I was so wrong before. It’s a silly issue and it gets smaller every day but it makes me hesitant to share. I am so much more whole these days, so much less afraid and so ready to forge ahead and to find a love that truly supports that is incredible to me. We very naturally fell in stride with one another- nobody had to pull or be pulled or wait impatiently for the other to catch up. I still sometimes can’t figure out how a long-distance, autism infused, divorce complicated and family hung up relationship can feel so natural and relaxed- but just when I start to over think it all I find myself with an easy smile and a peaceful heart. Other than his psychotic urge to put ketchup on eggs there isn’t anything that I wish would change. If I learned anything at all from my first marriage it’s that motivation, priority and mindset have to match for a relationship to be successful, and I believe ours do.  At the very least, we know it’s not a union of convenience.

EKG / ECHO

That is an intimidating grouping of letters isn’t it? Even though I would bet you dollars to doughnuts that everything will be fine and that this is simply an exercise in time wasting – those letters make me nervous.  It has come to my attention lately that getting an accurate diagnosis and real medical care is a lengthy process that requires commitment and resolve. Two things I’m a little short on nowadays. The outcome I am looking for? An effective treatment or (hopefully) cure for my chronic pain. I’ve been playing it cool on this subject for most of my life, and many parts of me would still like to, but as I get older the pain gets worse. My mobility is more affected now that it ever has been before and frankly I am curious to know what it would be like to not be in pain all the time. There are other symptoms of my assumed disorder that vary in severity and are at most interesting to think about-but the pain is my real focus. Which leads me to my point…Quality of Life.

Here at Miss Tricky HQ this particular topic gets a lot of airtime, somehow every conversation Mr. President and I have ends up back here. Seriously, even the ones that start out normal- the ones about boobs, or Phyllis Diller, or Gorilla escapes….Anyway, we keep coming back to Quality of Life. (I’m going to keep capitalizing this; it sounds like a movie man voice in my head “Quality of Liiiiiiiiiiife!!!!”) He tends to see the major difference between his native Canada and these here United States as a life quality issue. In the States we tend to seek wealth, stuff and success at the expense of our free time, families and joy. He claims that Canadians work to live and make time to enjoy themselves. To which I always reply: how fast can we get there? And can you dress up like a Mounty?

Well, maybe it’s all that Midwestern American girl in me, but I feel a little silly spending all of this time, money and mental energy just to fix a  non life-threatening condition. I’m kind of a ‘if it’s not falling off I am fine’ kind of a girl…..though we might be getting close to falling off these days. My son has issues. He has real, right now issues that require my attention and time. Doesn’t it make me a poo-head to put him in daycare for an extra day a week just so I can have another round of tests that may or may not lead anywhere? Speaking of which….

Today was the very first time Spawn’s daycare called me about his behavior. He was being kept in the office because he was violent and disruptive and would not stop screaming. On the same day that I didn’t work but had doctor appointments and needed to get shoes for an event I very much want to attend this weekend? Really universe? I’m an asshole, I get it!

I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to balance my Quality of Life with my son’s. And to be fair, I am also doing some fist shaking at the world because those two things are mutually exclusive a lot these days. But what really constitutes this whole “Quality of Life” thing? Is it pain free? Is it a chance to go out and feel special once in a while? Is it more money or better things? Is it freedom from obligation? It is most certainly a happy, healthy and thriving child – so am I a brat for wanting things for me?

I am hoping that soon, after 2 months of doctor visits for both me and my son, there will be some answers. Answers and maybe a sense of understanding and a plan, something to tell us where to go next and what sacrifices are important and what we can do. Soon I will have some choices to make.