There was no way to escape this news, but I personally didn’t want to see photos showing his last moments or videos of his death. Some might say that this is because it brings up emotions about my father’s suicide, and the fact that he used a jump rope to make a noose and end his life, but I think there’s more to it than that. For many years now I have tried to be selective about the images I allow into my brain. I wonder about people who like to watch such things, or to view such photos. I understand that he brought a great amount of pain to an unimaginably large amount of people. For many his death brings joy and relief and maybe even a certain amount of healing. I choose not to look.

When it was time for me to attend high school my Mom thought that of course I would attend the one my three older siblings had gone to. I wanted a fresh start. My sister Monica got pregnant her junior year and stayed in school, despite the controversy surrounding an unmarried teenage girl in a Catholic school. She was treated horribly by many members of the staff and the students at that school. She stayed on and made the honor roll and even performed in many plays for her drama class. I can remember being worried for her. She seemed so tiny at 5 feet tall a little over 100 lbs. but she remained strong and raised her son with pride. Her picture was mysteriously missing from the yearbooks. Her son was born when I was 12; he is now a handsome, smart, funny 21 year old man. I begged my Mom to allow me to go to a different school and she finally relented. I picked an all girl Catholic school as my Mom was still a practicing Catholic at that time and she insisted on private education for us. I thought naively that no one would know a thing about me but it was in my records that my father had committed suicide.

I made one friend at that school, a junior who was the only openly lesbian student, and she ruffled a lot of feathers for not backing down from her belief that some people were born gay, and that it was okay. At that time I told those who asked that my father had died of a heart attack. I didn’t realize that my friend, who had a sister who was my health teacher, knew the truth the whole time. Her sister had read my records and told her. She never confronted me about my lie.

One day a man came to the school and there was a mandatory assembly. He was there to talk with us about teen suicide and throughout his speech he warned us repeatedly that he was going to be showing us graphic slides on a large screen of teens who had ended their lives by various methods of suicide. My heart was racing; my body broke out in a cold sweat. I realize now that I was having a panic attack but at that time I didn’t know the name of the feelings I experienced. I was sitting next to my friend and when the time neared for the photos to be shown I felt myself get up and start walking with trembling legs towards the door. I didn’t realize that my friend was following me. When we got to the exit door we found it blocked by some of the nuns who taught there. I opened my mouth but no words came out. I heard my friend say, “She doesn’t need to see this” and she took my arm and pushed me past the nuns, out the doors and led me down the hall. We left the school. I felt the air hit my face and I began to calm down. We went across the street to sit on a bench and smoke. Even though I knew at that moment they were calling my Mom at work and reporting my behavior I was no longer afraid. My friend sat beside me silently.

The panic left my body and I knew that when I got home I wouldn’t be in trouble. I knew that I only had to explain what the pictures were and my Mom would understand why I fled. I lost contact with that friend after she went to NYU, but I’ve never forgotten the comfort I derived from being with her. I hope she is happy, wherever she is.

Everything went well at my last doctor’s appointment. I did tell her about what the other doctor said to me when I went in before with an infection. She was very apologetic and spent a good half hour talking with me. I like her. She treats me like a person. I switched my prescriptions over to her as I am no longer seeing a psychiatrist. She reminded me how well Effexor worked for me back in 2004 and so I decided to give it another try. I am currently taking 150 mg. per day. I long for the day when depression, panic and anxiety are just memories of my past instead of realities of my present. I hope to one day be able to help others who are struggling to function due to mental illness.

I start college soon and I am nervous and excited about it. I spoke with my Mom last night and she said that she believes 2007 will be the best year ever for me. I want to believe and then breathe it into life. Happy New Year to all.

The Christmas cookie idea worked. Both kids came out of their rooms to help me cut them out and then they both had fun decorating them. Score 1 for me.

Christmas morning Nathan tried to pout around and pretend that he didn’t care about what was under the tree for him or the contents of his stocking. Finally his Dad went and picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and told him to open his gifts while he (Alex) was still awake to see it. Working the graveyard shift takes a heavy toll. It is hard to flip flop back and forth on your days off. I remember this well from my years as a baker. Nathan ended up laughing and opening gifts.

After breakfast and a couple of hours of present induced giddiness both Nathan and Polly went down for naps. Giddy from the excitement of this unexpected alone time, Alex and I ate sandwiches which he kindly fixed, watched A Christmas Story on TV (I had never seen it) and Alex surprised me with a hidden gift, a Magic Wand. I love trying out new sex toys and haven’t had a new one that I really liked since The Eroscillator. The Magic Wand didn’t disappoint and I was able to achieve mind and body numbing orgasms quickly. It is nice to have a husband who isn’t threatened to bring sex toys into the bedroom.
I have another doctor’s appointment tomorrow with a woman I like quite a bit. I hope that things go smoothly and she doesn’t try to change me from the current cocktail of drugs that seem to be working well for me.

I find myself looking forward to the New Year, college, my spring garden, and whatever lies before me on the path of motherhood. It has certainly been the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted, but the joy is immeasurable.

I can’t seem to get into the Christmas vibe this year and I couldn’t figure out why. I realized this morning that this is the first Christmas that Nathan hasn’t been at all excited. He doesn’t want gifts, just money. He hasn’t been peeking around under the tree like Polly. He just seems so down. Before we had children we never really celebrated the holidays, but after we had children they quickly became our reason for celebrating everything.

I am going to whip up a batch of these cookies that Nathan used to look forward to every year. The kids might just come out of their rooms and help me cut them out. If not, at least I tried. The recipe was given to me by an online acquaintance years ago and quickly became a holiday ritual. If you try them, enjoy. They’re very good.

I tint the icing different colors for extra decorating fun.

Sugar Cookies

If you want them crisp, as my mother does, roll them thin and cook them longer (watching closely for too much browning!)

For a softer, chewier cookie, roll them thicker, and cook them less, taking them out before they even get golden.

Experiment a bit to get them the way that you want them.

ROLLED SUGAR COOKIES

1 CUP BUTTER

1 ½ CUPS SUGAR

2 EGGS

1 TEASPOON VANILLA (I use about 2 tablespoons)

4 ½ CUPS ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR

1 TEASPOON BAKING SODA

Beat butter & sugar at medium speed until fluffy.

Add eggs and vanilla.

Beat until blended.

Sift baking soda into flour, stir, add to butter mixture 1 cup at a time, beating at low speed after each addition.

Cover dough in plastic and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350º.

Roll out dough to about ¼ inch thick and cut into shapes.

Bake for 5 - 7 minutes or until cookie is JUST beginning to brown.

Let cool on cookie sheet for 1 minute before removing with a spatula. (They are delicate when warm.)

* Unsalted butter is best. * Twice as much vanilla (or more) is even better.

* If the dough is refrigerated for more than an hour it may need to soften for a while at room temp.

* You can always make this cookie dough a day or so in advance and make the cookies up when you have time.
Butter Icing for Cookies

2 cups confectioners’ sugar
2 tablespoons and 1-1/2
teaspoons cream
1/4 cup butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions
1. In a saucepan, over medium heat, heat cream and butter
until butter is melted. Stir in the vanilla and
confectioners’ sugar. Remove from heat, and beat with an electric
mixer until thick and smooth.

The resident was a baby faced cutie who tried so hard, really he did, but he was perplexed as to what was wrong with me. I have a fever and a sore throat only on one side, a lump in the side of my neck that he didn’t know what to make of and an earache in my left ear. He said he was sorry but he was going to have to get another doctor to look at me. I thought it was good of him to admit he didn’t know and waited patiently.

So this older doctor comes in with baby face resident and he asks me a few questions such as , “If you’ve been sick for weeks why did you decide to come in today?” and “So why are you no longer working, did you get fired or something?”

I saw that arrogant smirk and I knew that I had an asshole in the room with me as I sat naked except for the open backed gown. The man may have earned a degree from medical school and had several years of experience but he didn’t even bother to look in my ear or my throat. They didn’t even swab my throat to check for strep! He looked over my chart and said, “People who don’t manage their depression tend to complain of pain more than people without depression.”

I was stunned speechless. I realized he was calling me a hypochondriac and so I just took the prescription for cough syrup, dressed and walked out.

At home I felt stung. Mentally ill people get sick too. Fever is a sign of your body fighting off something. I am a high school dropout and I know that.

I called my sister Monica who happens to work in the medical field herself and she was even angrier than I. She asked for this mans name and the address of the office and said she would write a letter of complaint and talk with the doctors she works with to see what can be done about the cocky bastard who somehow feels better by treating others as less than. My diagnosis follows me wherever I go. They don’t call it “medical practice” for nothing.

My cold that won’t quit has turned into an earache and a sore throat. Not just a little sore throat, but an “I can’t swallow” sore throat. I called my doctor’s office this morning and after getting the run around and being put on hold three times I was told that they could get me in December 28th. I said “NO!I need to be seen today.” and so on hold I went again. At least they had blaring Christmas music for me to listen to while I waited. Finally they said I could come in at 3:30 today if I didn’t mind seeing a resident. At this point I’d see the crew that cleans the offices. So off in the freezing rain I go.

I am in no mood for Christmas at this point. I just want to curl up in bed. Hopefully they can give me something that will put a stop to this pain.

A lot of people are without power here and further up North after a wind storm but we were lucky. Alex is off work for a few days and so I don’t have to worry about him getting to and from.

I find myself just wanting to stay inside until Christmas, ordering all of my Christmas presents online and having my groceries delivered. I am tired of being cold and wet. I am tired of the crowds. If I win lotto I am going to hire a car and driver. I don’t even care what kind of car it is, I just don’t want to have to drive. All of the cars seem to be going so fast to me. I feel better when my feet are on the ground. I don’t understand all of the celebrities getting DUIs. They can’t call a cab?

It is almost Christmas and it feels all wrong. It doesn’t seem real.

My camera is still broken. I have the money to have it fixed; it’s just such a long bus ride. I already spend hours on public transportation each week. People of the world, bathing and deodorant are good things. Putting on so much cologne or perfume that you almost kill your fellow passengers, as if you are wielding a large atomizer of Human Raid, isn’t kind to fellow humans. People of the world, do not put on “extra” because you think it will fade on your way to work/school/your probation officer. What is fading is the person sitting beside you. I want to open a window but if I do there is always at least one person who bitches about being cold and letting the heat blow out the window. Cool, fresh(er) smelling air is better than warm foul smelling air. Is anyone with me on this?

I wish you all well, and may you enjoy quiet moments with your loved ones during the holidays. I am trying to see how many months I can go without stepping foot in a mall. I’

I’ve made it almost 12 so far. My hell will be a mall where I’ll have one panic attack for all eternity, a constant case of diarrhea, and the only music will be bad country and Jazz muzak. Actually my version of what my own personal hell would be like varies depending on my situation. What would your idea of hell be?

Yesterday while standing outside of my daughter’s school I saw a women walking out of the school with a small boy. She looked down at him and asked,” So how many candles do Jews light?” I had this funny feeling that I was about to witness an anti-Semitic joke, but the boy looked up at her and explained the menorah.

Today they are forecasting high wind warnings and storm warnings, urging people to be prepared for downed trees, power outages, etc.

The news in general freaks me out so I seldom watch it, for good reason. Today if I sat inside staring at the TV I would surely be convinced that our whole house is going to blow away sometime today, maybe starting at 3:00, 8:00 or midnight. My inner panic monster tells me that I shouldn’t have taken the kids to school today and we should all be huddled together surrounded by extra water, toilet paper, flashlights, batteries, canned goods and a rifle.

I am not watching the news anymore today.

Something has been weighing on my mind.

For Thanksgiving my Mom went to considerable expense and effort to have the family dinner at her house. We have always done the majority of the holiday family celebrations at her house, and now that her house has sold to some poor sap some lucky woman, she didn’t want anything to be too different for the grandkids, especially the little ones. She was particularly worried about Evan who, as I have mentioned, suffers from Asperger’s syndrome.

At sometime during the meal someone inquired about my Mom’s health and she replied that she had been awakened in the middle of the night by Charlie Horses. After she had relayed her symptoms and heard the gamete of advice ranging from straight up pharmaceutical relief to that which contains elements of diet, exercise and even a plethora of oriental medicine that may or may not contain snakeskin and rat’s tails that you boil and drink, there was a pause in the conversation.

“Your father used to get Charlie Horses in his legs at night”, my Mom said and then we both looked at each other and went “AGHHHHHH!” because that was the sound he used to make when he woke up in pain.

I remember it well, because while trying to fit six people into a three bedroom one bath house my parents used every possible scenario, including putting my bed across the end of their bed. I was frightened at first, because I didn’t want to hear them having sex. The first time my Dad yelled out “AGHHHHHH!” in the middle of the night I thought for sure that this was the moment I had dreaded, having to listen to my parents have sex.

“Don’t worry John, it’s just a Charlie Horse”, I heard my Mom say soothingly in the darkness. I was relieved to know that it was pain, not pleasure, that had caused him to yell out so.

After the mention of my Dad at the dinner table my oldest sister Monica looked over at my Mom sternly and said, “He wasn’t invited to this party”. I was a little surprised, but I figured it was my Mom’s apartment, she could say something. Of course she didn’t say much for the rest of the evening.

Recently I called my sister Maria to ask her what her son Evan wanted for Christmas and over the course of the conversation she mentioned how cool she thought it was that Monica had said that to my Mom during Thanksgiving dinner.

I responded that I disagreed with the comment. “After 20 years of marriage and four kids I believe that Mom should be able to mention her husband if she wants to.” was what I said. We agreed to disagree, somewhat.

I called my Mom and apologized to her long after the fact. “No one should tell you that you can’t remember and mention your own husband” I said to her. She thanked me, but I feel bad for not speaking up sooner.

I know firsthand the difficulty of dealing with and grieving for a man who was not only an abusive alcoholic, but one who took his own life to boot. I don’t want to paint him as a saint, he was far from it, but he deserves for us to recognize the fact that he was ill and that he did the best that he could even when his best was far from enough.

No matter what I do or don’t do, say or don’t say, I can’t seem to help Nathan. He is failing in school. He seems to have no worries about how he is going to manage in the future. He is angry at me because I still care enough to try. I never in a million years knew that raising a child could be so hard. I have never felt so lost. I find myself just throwing up my hands. Saying I don’t know what to do is an understatement.

with the worst cold I’ve had in years, I took the placement exams for college. I aced the Reading and Writing and totally bombed at the Math. Now I need to pick my classes. I am scared.