The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson, has become my muse, mentor, hero and inspiration. She could be batshit crazy, and this is one of the best things that could have happened to me.
My best friend, Tiffany, made me listen to Jenny’s latest Audiobook, “Furiously Happy”
Made me listen. Like, she took my phone and downloaded Jenny’s book to Audible and said, “listen”. “Just, listen”. You need to get on board. … ooohhh k? (I gave her the side eye and went about my day like nothing happened)
Tiffany checked in with me every few days. “Have you listened yet?” “eerrmm, oh so busy!”
Eventually I listened. Then I stopped. Holy crap, Jenny is in my head. Not that I’m in a great place now, but I was in a really dark place when I first started listening. And if you listen, you have to be prepared to laugh until you pee yourself and sob so hard you puke. Jenny rambles and jokes and vents and she really tells the raw truth about mental illness and chronic pain. We may not all have the same diagnoses, but we all can relate.
I listened again, and stopped. The process continued over a few months. I don’t regret it. I’ll listen again, when I need to. Heck, I hear her voice in my head now.
I was so taken with this audiobook that I asked my husband to listen to some parts. Jenny has single-handedly been able to explain to my husband what I feel like on a daily basis better than I ever could. (thanks Jenny <3)
I’ve vowed to purchase the paper version and highlight the crap out of it. I’ll share those highlights with suffering friends. Either they’ll pee or puke… depending upon their dilemma.
Today, I’m broken. My husband’s grandpa is being taken off of life support. This saddens me greatly. He’s an amazing man with true grit. He’s his wife’s hero. Strong, resolute and hilarious. I’m going to miss his spirit.
The passing of my husband’s grandpa hurts in another way as well. You see, my father passed away by me pulling the plug. It was my decision and I regret that decision to my very core. The story is at the end of this post.(and dammit, I added the details that I cannot forget)
The question is, does Jenny post these types of struggles. Or does she keep them to herself?
This is an (edited) excerpt from an email that I sent to my (soon to be) husband entitled “my life story.” I wanted him to know what he was getting into before he proposed marriage.
“I was a daddy’s girl. We had a very special relationship and I still miss him very much today. Sometimes out of the blue I’ll miss him terribly and just cry. He wasn’t the most stable or perfect man. He was manic depressant and had severe Post Traumatic Stress from his two tours in Korea. So he would sometimes not talk to me, or hide in his room when I came to visit. But I loved him like I’ve loved no other and I don’t think my step mom or family never understood that bond. He was crazy, and I loved him deeply.
My Father died in 2005 of Congestive Heart Failure. (I was on a double dose of Prozac at the time. I was numb to life and consequences. I was incredibly depressed and not so smart.) He died fully awake with tubes in his mouth. He couldn’t speak. He was on life support and my step mother left it up to me to “pull the plug”. So at the doctor’s recommendation I chose to let him go.
My step-mother had turned against him as he lay helpless in the hospital. She said the most awful things to me, I was devastated and I didn’t want him to know how she had turned against him and me.
I remember the tears rolling down his cheeks as they disabled his pacemaker and defibrillator. He spasmed within a few beats of his broken heart.Terror swept over his eyes, the tube kept him from speaking. I remember the blood filling up his lungs and his mouth and poured out of his mouth, down his cheek. And then he was gone. My brother and I waving goodbye to his spirit.
I swear to GOD at this moment I don’t know why I chose that way! I had no idea the meaning to life. My dad was hell bent on not dying … EVER… and he did not want to die! He held on so tightly to life, even though I couldn’t understand at the time why anyone would want to live. He had been in the hospital for 30 days and he couldn’t move, his organs had failed him and he couldn’t breathe on his own. In those thirty days, I watched him come back from organ failure once, be intubated multiple times and survive a stroke. He was superman. And I killed him. And he was wide awake when I did it.
I hate myself for choosing death for my father. After he died I couldn’t be alone for more than two hours or I would go into panic attacks. I would have nightmares of being unable to breath, unable to speak and unable to move. I started drinking heavily and began extreme risky behavior to bury all the emotions I couldn’t handle. “