Zoloft

For about half a year I've been numbed by the fantastic combination of unscrewing a prescription bottle and sertraline hydrochloride. I denied the idea that I couldn't feel. Tears still flooded my eyes when prompted, my patience was certainly tested, and I continued to analyze the world around me no problem. I appreciated the lack of reaction elicited by my children, and the divorce process, that would otherwise send me into a tailspin of a tizzy. But now I'm feeling like my old self packaged in a newly divorced, single, mom sorta way. That's what's in me. It's me. And I like it, you guys. I really like it.

Eight

The new ages of my children has me wondering whatever happened to the sweet ages when I felt like I actually liked them. Of course I love them, you guys. Unconditionally I do. I'm talking about Gil here. Luckily I'm still standing in the sweet cuddly sunlit glow of Egan's Adorable Window: 4. I can describe Gil at 4 years old as equally if not more sweet. Hence his nickname Sweet Boy. But 8? Really? Why are you doing this to me?

I remember babysitting boys Gil's age and grumbling about how annoying they were the entire 5 hours I had to be "responsible" for them. Responsible for me in my babysitting teen years was watching tv, raiding the fridge for junk food (as I was forbidden soda, chips, and sweets most people had on hand after every trip to the grocery store), and talking to my friends on the phone. What an asshole I was. Wait. I still do that.

Now I have one of those.

Jon and I are still trying to figure out if it's his age or genes that has him whining about EVERYTHING, back-talking to EVERY SINGLE directive. Seriously?

And that's what I say to him: "SERIOUSLY Gilmore?!"

I'm running out of fingers and toes to count how many times I send that kid to his room. Only to hear each stomp on every stair; the huff and puff, sobbing cries, and mucous membranes exploding with snot, until his door slams and he continues to wail, intermittently holding the next bawl to hear if I'm coming to kick his ass.

When describing how loudly Gil's been know to snore and breathe, I have figured out he may need to have his tonsils and adenoids checked. I'm beginning to wonder if this duo of the ENT world and lack of proper solid sleep could be contributing to his dickhead behavior during the day.

Of course Jon and I are assured he does not display these antics at school. Quite the opposite, actually. Apparently each classmate worships the ground he walks on, the books he reads, the pictures he draws, the games he plays at recess.

SERIOUSLY, GILMORE?! Let's hope its your goddamned adenoids.

Ahhhh inspriration!

I've just joined the group Moms Who Drink and Swear on facebook. Finding this niche of women got me thinking...

Being who I am has come at some cost. Cost I am willing to let go. I've pissed off a lot of people. I've watched friendships whither and vanish. Somewhere along the line I vowed to myself that I would never be inauthentic. With myself or anyone else. You ask what I'm thinking? How I feel? I'm going to share my honest gut level truth with you. As well as myself.

Ongoing practice of kindness, respect, acceptance, openness, and tact is in process.

Growing into adulthood, I've learned a lot of people choose to be who they think they're supposed to be. Do what they think they're supposed to do. Allowing others' expectations to affect who we truly are is a slippery slope to a bottomless pit of self degradation and depression.

For me to be honest and true to who I am has relieved a lot of unnecessary hemming and hawing. Second guesses. Self doubt. Instead I have chosen a life of authenticity while focusing on self love. Tact is a tough one for me. NO SHIT! But, my dear friends, what you see is what you get. I have said that forever and ever and now feel I am truly living it.

Sure anti-depressants help, but after a lot of effort and conscious choices, I am who I am. I will not bend to pretend to be something or someone I am not. And I catch a lot of flack for that. Many struggle with honesty and authenticity. Guess what? That's about them. Not me.

Challenge yourself. Stand up for what you believe. While practicing respect, kindness, acceptance, openness, and of course, tact, do what you want to do. Even though those in your life may not agree with or accept you for it. That's about them. Not you.

Go drink and swear, you guys. You deserve it.

Scooby Doo, where are you?

Our spare house key mysteriously appeared in the lock of our back door this morning. Kid-driven hyjinx? That's what I'm thinking, although both big kids denied it and Egan's up vacationing in Waverly. This mystery has my brow furrowed and my brain gears turning.

Did I go wandering about locking and unlocking doors with our spare key in a Zoloft-induced sleep walk? Did someone find it on the sidewalk and responsibly put it where it obviously belongs with our last name and address on it? What if they made a copy first? Or are now squatting in my basement! Before we left this morning I went down and surveyed the creepy, empty, squatterless basement. No evidence of unwanted visitors ... with the exception of spider web crowded corners and one of those Million Legged bugs dead at the foot of the stairs.

"What if we have a burglar?" Gil asked on the way to the Y. As if having a burglar is like having a bat in the attic. Or an overloaded lint trap in the dryer.

Things are getting personal

After admitting to my therapist and doctor that I imagine great relief from various levels of anxiety and maybe a little depression at the mere thought of allowing myself to be a little stoned all day, among other symptoms YOU GUYS, I am now the proud owner of a so far unfilled Zoloft prescription. Even though the reason for my appointment may not be earth shattering to you, Internet, it is to me.

I sort of take this as a journey I'm leaving in the hands of my kick ass doctor and the pharmeceutical industry. Playing with little pills that change your brain chemistry? Make your pupils dilate? Cause dizziness? Maybe I need to do a little more research but YIKES! Those unknowns are awfully scary to me, you know, after you read all the potential side effects like weight gain, dry mouth, teeth grinding and night sweats.

At this point, though, I figure I'll take those potential side effects while squashing the inner yick any day. That and Ween sings a song about it so it must be good.