Six Months of Suck

That's what I'm officially declaring the first half of 2018.

I feel like I've gotten to the point of just being numb. I've tried to just cocoon myself up to avoid having to deal with all of the emotions that have sprung up from so many disasters. And by doing  that, I unintentionally cut most of my support net off when I needed them the most. Because I didn't want to have to relive all of the emotions every time I told someone about the latest travesty.

It's also why I've barely been writing on here. Who wants to read post after post about how things are all going wrong? Sure, I've been working on things, too (if I hadn't, I'd be in a crying, sobbing mess-heap in the corner) but none of it really seemed worth posting on here. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Yes, yes, I know. That was my Beaverly brain talking.

To set things to rights, I'm going to do my best to crank out enough posts this week to catch up with what has been going on in our lives. Because this blog has come to serve as a chronicle of not only my creative endeavors, but also of the important events in my life. And it's dishonest of me to try and shy away from the darker parts.

Let's get the list of disasters out of the way in this post, shall we?

First and foremost, we lost our darling old man cat, Oscar.

We knew it was coming. He was anywhere between 16 and 20-something years old. We never knew for sure. But he wasn't doing the greatest, health wise. But fate kind of hastened the end.

I will spare you the details, but it was heartbreaking. No time to properly say goodbye or let him know how much we loved him. I still can't think about it without despair threatening to drown me.

And if that wasn't enough to deal with, a few weeks ago my father-in-law suffered a heart attack, which was probably at least partially brought on by the stupid drama surrounding John's grandma's will.

Before you start extending your sympathy, you should know that I despise the man. Right before this, we had actually been discussing how we didn't want him at our recommitment ceremony because we were so sick of the hateful things he regularly spewed at us.

That's been a whole other thing. John's having to deal with some... well, let's say complicated emotions when it comes to his parents. However, that's not my story to tell. But I know from experience how much it hurts when your parents disappoint you.

I WILL say that the guilt tripping and emotional manipulation trying to force John into spending every waking moment at the hospital at his dad's side is fucking ridiculous. And if shit doesn't stop soon, we're going to have a real problem. It's not like, you know, we have a whole life outside of the whims of a manipulative old bastard...

*deep breath*

Okay, sorry. Let's move on. Because I can go on forever about this particular subject. Especially because John is such an incredible person and I HATE when people don't see and value it.

I wish I could say that we were done with his family in this post, but sadly, we're not. Remember the will from earlier? Yeah...

Let me lay out basic facts:

- John's grandma died nearly 3 years ago
- An uncle stole money out of the estate
- Shit went down in a dramatic fashion
- More shit happened that made everyone hate each other
- Literally this has been occupying our life for NEARLY THREE FUCKING YEARS
- Recently, an auction was forced through some legal loophole that sold off the land that was supposed to be divided among the three surviving siblings
- Said auction property included the land that two large storage buildings were on, so they had less than 3 weeks to get them cleaned out and moved

The fighting and arguing and manipulation and backstabbing has gotten us so fed up with the lot of them that we've pretty much completely written them off. And at least one of the uncles, if we ever saw him in person, would lead to a screaming match at the very least. Though I personally feel like a punch in the face would serve better. Alas, I must hold myself to a higher standard than that.

So, yeah, that pretty much sums up all the bad shit that's been going on here the past few weeks. We need a damn break from everything.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me through these unintended hiatuses. The next couple of posts will be about happier things, I promise.

Until then, I'm going to go throw myself back into my creative work and try to shove this anger back down.

*deep breath*

And so we go.

Uncomfortable Holiday

I know what today is.

You do, too.

And I know how you're feeling.

Sad, angry, lonely, bitter...uncomfortable.

It's uncomfortable to exist today.

Some of us have no parents, some of us still do. Some of us even have parents that we still like, talk with, and possibly love. Some of us wanted to be parents, but won't get the chance.

But something has happened to make this holiday one you wish didn't exist. A day to just skip over.

It's okay. I get it. I feel the same way.

For those of you who need it, I'm here to tell you that your feelings are valid. You can be angry and sad and bitter. You can mourn the loss of something that you had, or maybe even something that you never did. You can hate the person who helped make you, while still wishing things could be different. You can be angry that circumstances have led to a lifelong dream never being realized.

It's okay that you feel vulnerable today.

Let yourself experience these emotions, but know that they don't make you a disappointment, ungrateful, a terrible person, broken, useless... any of those lies you were told.

You are enough. You are a wonderful person. A living, breathing, remarkable human being. And if you've found yourself here, then know that I, at least, am very grateful that you are you.

So take a deep breath, eat something tasty, drink some water, and do whatever else you need to do to survive.

We'll get through this together, okay?

Tomorrow will probably be better.

<3

Orlando

Just fyi, this is more of a brain dump than a well thought out and reasoned post. I apologize for a lack of eloquence on my part. It's hard to write when your heart and head hurt.

I'm sure that all of you are already aware of the tragedy that occurred at the Pulse gay nightclub early this morning in Orlando, Florida. More than 50 people dead and just as many injured. Committed by a man with a vendetta against anyone who considers themselves a member of the LGBT+ community.

Senseless violence.

Wasted lives.

Just because you dare to love someone.

Or be someone different.

Or don't subscribe to antiquated notions of orientation or gender identity.

Or hell, even just allying yourself with these people.

How fucked up is that?

I won't even pretend to know exactly what it's like to be hated, shunned, and potentially harmed over my sexual orientation.

On the surface, I present to the world as a heterosexual person in a long-term, committed relationship with a man.

I didn't really come to terms with my bisexuality until a few years ago. And seeing as I've only ever really had one long term relationship and that is with my husband, I never had to go through bringing home a partner of the same gender.

But I am out as bisexual to most of my family. They have been accepting of it. Going so far as to say that as long as I was happy, that was all that mattered.

Sometimes I wonder if that would have been the case if I would have fallen in love with someone of the same gender instead. But my heart tells me that they would have loved me (and her) all the same.

I am extremely lucky in that regard.

But what if I hadn't been born into such a loving and accepting clan?

It's not too hard to imagine.

I've seen the news articles about the discrimination. The hatred. The violence.

I've heard the stories, told by survivors, some barely understood as they sob and choke on their words.

Others, spoken in a dead voice, with a long stare off into a terrifying memory.

And still others having to have their stories told by others, because their own voices have been forever silenced.

People have been thrown out of their homes.

Disowned by their families.

Lost jobs, lost friends.

Been threatened, been beaten.

Been driven to self-harm and suicide.

Been murdered.

For being themselves.

I could have been one of those people, if born in a different time or place.

By a fucking quirk of being born into the family I have, I have never experienced any of this firsthand.

And that is a sobering thought.

I don't have my usual light-hearted quips to try and help people smile through the pain.

I can only offer this perspective.

I'd like to think that this upswing of bigotry and violence are the death throes of a vile and dangerous ideology.

That maybe, just maybe, our generation can be the one to tell our grandchildren that we fought for and won equality for our LGBT+ brethren.

Then they can laugh at their silly old grandparents who knew people who actually thought that just because you were a different race, orientation, or gender meant something.

It's a very small, very tiny little light of hope.

To those of you who stand, once again, on the wrong side of history.

Love is going to win in the end.

Your outdated and backwards way of thinking is on the out.

You know deep inside that no matter how much hate and violence you spew, no matter how many of us you maim and kill, that You. Will. Not. Win.

We won't back down. We won't be silent. We will stand strong and we will fight.

For each other. For our future.

For equality.

For love.

Happiness and Elation (Part Two)

Last Friday afternoon saw John sitting in a chair, taking his sadness out on some dragons in Skyrim and me heading off to Canton with Emily to get cat food.

After losing Leon that morning, I was in no mood to go out anywhere. But grandma insisted.

Well, you don't send an emotionally compromised person to a pet store.

I got the cat food...

And also brought home a 13 year old tuxedo cat that we named Oscar.

Oh, yeah. He's going to fit in quite nicely.

Sadness and Desperation (Part One)

Note: Rather than trying to combine my whole weekend into one post, I'm breaking it up into two parts. This gives people the chance to skip the sad parts and non-knitting related post.

I had an absolutely terrible Friday. We had to have our precious old man cat, Leon, put to sleep. He was somewhere above the age of 14 and on the decline. We knew it would be happening sooner rather than later, but I still wasn't prepared.

We had hoped that he would pass peacefully at home, but when we woke up Friday, he had completely lost control of his bowels and was having trouble breathing. I couldn't let him suffer, so we made the decision to take him to the vet and have him euthanized.

John, that wonderful, wonderful man, did not make me go. He bravely went with just my step-dad. They stayed in the room with Leon as he passed and all in all, said it was as painless and peaceful as possible.

For those of you who think that I am a coward for not going, I still have nightmares from when I went with my mom to have our lab put down. And that was nearly a decade ago. It's bad enough that I can only currently remember Leon as the absolute wreck he was Friday morning. Watching him die would have been even worse.

But before they took him, I warmed his blanket in the dryer so he wouldn't be cold on the trip. I swaddled him in it and held him close to me, whispering about how much I loved him, how great of a cat he was, and how much I was going to miss him.

We had wanted to get him cremated, but $150 wasn't something we could afford on top of the vet cost. We had no where at our home to bury him and were at a loss of what to do. My grandma then offered that we could bury him at her house under the lilac tree.

I thought it was perfect. My grandparent's house has always been one of my safe places. It's only three streets over from our house. We could go visit him whenever we needed to. I also loved the thought that as he decomposes, he'll nourish the tree. Every spring, we'll be able to see him in those beautiful purple blooms.

I cried and cried and cried while they were gone. I would stop for a bit, think I was okay, then think about him and start all over again.

Leon had lived with us most of his life. He went through 6 moves, most of those with John and I, and always settled in so nicely. He had the loudest purr of any cat I've ever met. In his older age, he earned the nickname of grumpy old man cat. If one of the other cats or dogs annoyed him, he would meow and then rapidly smack them on top of the head with his paw.

He had always been a fat cat. We loved how his stomach swayed when he ran off anywhere. It was such a funny way of running, too. I don't even know how to describe it.

Once John got home, we took a shower, trying anything to relax a bit.

It's funny, but I realize that John and I's relationship has always revolved around showers. Whenever we needed to talk about something emotionally heavy, it's when one of us is in the shower. When we lived with my family, it was a way to get away from everyone else and just have a couple of minutes to ourselves to talk. Whenever one of us is sick, the other insists on a shower, complete with warmed towels and company to make sure they don't slip and fall.

Whenever we lose someone, we always take a shower together.

It feels like we are trying to wash away the hurt and sadness.

So, we took our shower, held each other and cried.

When we were done, the sadness was still there, but it didn't hurt quite so much.

Goodbye, my faithful friend, my purring companion, my grumpy old man, my Bubbers.