On Wednesday, I had a biopsy of the lump.  I reacted to the lidocaine used to numb me and suffered some nicked nerves which left my breast in fire-ridden agony.  Lawson wanted to spend the entire day with me (he sat next to me through the entire biopsy), but he had meetings at work in the afternoon, so I went home alone.  I was emotionally challenged in ways I never have been before.  Of all of the obstacles I’ve faced in my life, some of them remarkably huge, these hours were, thus far, my hardest.  My parents, whom I actually wanted to talk to, wouldn’t return my calls. (Not that I would expect any different…they’ve never really been present in my life.)  I reached out, aching…hurting…wanting to be held as I sobbed my way to rationality, but I was alone.  The one time I actually reach out for support…when I was at my absolute darkest, ever…I was alone.

I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself, to ache, to be angry, to scream at the Universe for treating me like shit….for an hour before I finally passed out from exhaustion.  I am very seldom one of those people who succumb to such thinking or behavior, but I think the burden of moving five times in five months, divorcing, starting grad school, losing my job, and this lump were just too much for me to stand.  I caved.  I gave in.  And I sobbed.  I wept.  The immense anger swelling within me made me cry harder.  I was angry that I was angry.  I was angry that I wasn’t staying positive and encouraged.  I was angry that my parents wouldn’t be there when I reached out.  I was angry that Lawson had to go back to work.  I was angry that my best friends were thousands of miles away. But most of all, I was angry that God keeps dropping shit on my shoulders.  How much can one person handle, really??  I hated my parents for not being there.  I hated my body for betraying me, once again.  I hated that life hurt so bad.  Most of all though, I hated that the life I was just beginning to fall in love with could be taken from me, easily, effortlessly, because of these fucking boobs that already cause me such immense pain as it is.

Given the divorce, my move, and finding this lump, I was a week behind in school.  My grad program is rigorous and daunting for someone without personal issues, but this course is one of the toughest in the entire program.  My gut feeling said to withdraw from the course…to give myself some psychological breathing room.  I knew in my soul that surgery would be required and that, with already being behind, I could never catch up and be successful.  I called my professor, told him I was withdrawing from the course, and I felt slightly more in-control and empowered.  I don’t like giving up on my goals, but I had no choice but to surrender.  I just couldn’t do it, no matter how much I wanted to.  I’m human.  I realize that.  So, letting go and focusing on me was the only option, as I saw it.

On Thursday, the results of the biopsy revealed a benign Phyllodes Tumor which will require that the tumor and surrounding tissue be excised during a surgical procedure.  Lawson worked from home so I wouldn’t receive the news alone.  (He was already mercilessly beating himself up for not being there when I had my emotional breakdown, so he wasn’t going to let me suffer the news alone.)  We both embraced and cried with joy at the news.  At that moment, I inhaled deeply, feeling my lungs expand…feeling my soul soar.  I envisioned my future children, growing older, traveling, Christmas dinners with family, and laughing with friends.  In that moment, the news of “surgery” was a glorious, beautiful word because I knew that was the answer.  Not “mastectomy”.  Not “chemo”.  Not “radiation”.  Just “surgery”.  I’ve never had surgery before, but by God, I was thrilled to embrace it.

My surgical consult is next Tuesday.  I’m worried my breast might be deformed or scarred, but really, any of those issues would be badges of courage and a reminder of the importance of monthly self-breast exams.  I am very, very eager to have my breasts reduced from their current H-cup, but ridiculous portions and all, I am thrilled to be keeping the very things that make me feel feminine and womanly.  I have a new appreciation for them, really.  My grooved shoulders, my neck pain, my backaches…someday they won’t be an issue.  Not because I will lose my breasts to cancer, but because I will arrange for them to be.  It will be my choice.  And that makes all of this bearable.

I’m a bit nervous over having my H-sized boobies being squished.  I’m even more nervous that the test results won’t come back normal, but my gut feeling is that everything will be okay.  It’s just hard not to play out every scenario in your head…that whole “hope for the best, plan for the worst” thing.  There were a couple of days where I fell into a funk…too much stress too quickly. Thankfully, Lawson has been there in my darkest moments, holding my hand and keeping me from slipping into the throws of despair.  This semester, unfortunately, is not going well as it’s one of my tougher courses in the program and I haven’t been cognizant enough to focus or do well.  I’m still trucking along, confident I can do this.  I have to.

Remember my friend from Pennsylvania?  The one who kicked me to the curb? Yeah, well…she found out DH and I were divorcing and she contacted me. Apparently, HE was the reason she had to make us leave.  There were some occurrences and issues of which I was not fully aware. As she put it, “he ruined the birth of her child.”  My heart sank.  I nearly lost one of my closest friends because of something I had no control over, over something I was not even aware of…and that I lost all of that time and money because of DH’s actions.  Fucking seriously?  I confronted him with it and he denied any responsibility for his actions and denying his role.  In that moment, I felt hatred for him.  Hatred because this is the THIRD time he caused issues in my long-term friendships and left me to pick up the pieces.  He’s like a proverbial tornado.  Everything he touches seems to be destroyed and left in shambles.  But, I have my friend back and cards of forgiveness have been dealt.

In other good news, I’ve been seeking unpaid internships with government agencies so that when I graduate, I’ll have marketable and desirable skill sets.  I’ve interviewed with two, the last one of which is the hardest government agency to get an internship with, and my number one choice.  And…I was awarded an internship.  I’ll be training for a highly specialized position that could, essentially, award me a job in any branch of government I so choose.  I am incredibly psyched and eager to get started.  I finally feel as though the choices I am making are proving to be the right ones as my life is falling into place beautifully.

I know I’m on the right path.  Finally.

I’m sure the cheating caught your eye.  Yeah, it did mine, too.  When we first moved to Colorado, he got a job at a Red Office Supply Store.  There were more nights than not when he had to work late.  He suddenly became more motivated, courteous, and sweet at home.  His mood lifted.  I attributed it to his job satisfaction, at first.  But then that gut instinct fired up, and I could feel that there was more than what I consciously knew.  I’d been down this road before with my ex and I knew the signs, but not wanting my previous issues to seep into this relationship, I offered DH a benefit of the doubt.  To my dismay.  Perhaps I didn’t want to believe it.  (What wife does?)  Regardless, he talked about his boss, Mya, with frequency and affinity and only a few times mentioned Tamara.  He recently told me, when I asked him who he was dating, that his girlfriend was named Tamara but wouldn’t answer any of my other questions.  When I asked him if he had cheated, he avoided eye contact and wouldn’t answer me.  Quickly, I put the pieces together and the picture before me left me feeling both stupid and naive.

DH and I sat down before I moved out and discussed the reasons we were not going to stay together.  At that point, I had no proof of the cheating, so that was not even an argument I could present.  Aside from his general apathy toward me and his inability to secure employment over 20 hours a week, on top of everything I’ve mentioned previously, were discussions about our love languages.  I am a quality time and words of affirmation person.  He is a words of affirmation and physical touch person.  He thought quality time was being in the same room.  And for me, if my needs are not met, I am unable to put out.  He would spend his time sharing his secrets and feelings with other women who were his friends, and typically, I’m fine with that if our level of intimacy is deep.  But when his secrets are shared with others and not with me, and he devotes quality time to everything else, I am unable to be physically demonstrative or fulfill his needs.  I’m just not capable.  So…we delved into that realm of understanding and he openly admitted to being a jerk for failing to read the book, for failing to listen to me when I told him what I needed as a woman and as a partner, what I wanted in relationship.

Perhaps he will take the lessons he’s learned and put them to use in his future. For me, it’s hard for me to walk with my head held high because I feel absolutely duped.  The man he was when I married him is vastly different than the man he is now.  The change has been apparent to several others…and none of us know who DH is, what makes him tick, what sets him off, or where the man we all knew has gone to.  I know there are some forms of mental illness that appear in ones early twenties.  Part of me wonders, with his family history of psychiatric issues, if there isn’t something dark and mind-bending looming beneath the surface and taking hold of the sweet, loving, compassionate, and wonderful man I married. It’s just not normal that someone shifts that rapidly, that quickly and becomes someone else, entirely.

But…the beauty of divorce is this: IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM ANYMORE.

I was married to DH in July 2009.  Dating him was delicious, rich, and fulfilling like thick, dense bread dipped in oil and spice. One month after we were married, I experienced his first fit of rage that involved words that tore through my flesh, down to the bone.  He was callous, cold, detached, and completely devoid of the man I fell in love with.  And from there, things went downhill.  In short, this year with him has sucked royally.  Within a month of being married, I wanted out.  At three months, I TOLD him I wanted out.  The man that I dated and the man that I ended up married to were so far apart on the spectrum it was if I had never known my husband at all.  Given that this was my second marriage, I didn’t want to look like a fool, so I stuck it out, hoping for change.

We’ve separated here and there, periodically, with promises to change, be the man I married, and all of those things any wife would want to hear.  Those words were followed by a week or so of action that matched his words, and then we’d end back up in the cycle of disconnection and unhappiness.  Having gone through something similar with my ex, I knew the cycle would merely continue and I couldn’t change him.  I could only change myself.  I jumped through hoops, tried to make it work, and tried to reason, rationalize, use love and logic, beg, manipulate, and plead with him…all in vain.  Last week, I finally moved out.

My main issues with him, aside from his deep seated anger and irrational outbursts, were:

• My needs went unmet.  He told me he read The Five Love Languages and that his languages were words of affirmation and quality time.  And yet, he never wanted quality time.  His idea of quality time was completing separate tasks simultaneously, not together.  As it turns out (since he read the book as I was moving out), that his love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch.  (Aside:  Way to go for effort–reading the book once I’ve decided I’m done in an attempt to lure me back.  Smooth.)  The thing is…I am NOT capable of having sex or being intimate unless my emotional needs are met.  My love languages are words of affirmation and quality time–neither of which I received.  He would talk intimately about personal things with his female friends, yet want to fuck me…and thinking his love languages were what he told me (which he had never researched, but relayed what his mother told him his love languages were), I interpreted his actions as telling me that we weren’t intimately connected.  In other words, his spent MY quality time with other females, yet received HIS love via physical affection through me.  (Note that this is an issue we discussed ad nauseum for an entire year and only once backed into a corner did he choose to investigate or try to understand the issues at hand.)
• He fails to keep his word and follow through.
• Refusing to help with housework unless asked when he works 30 hours a week and I work 30 hours PLUS grad school full time.  (Keep in mind we discussed this at length before we were married and he assured me that housework was a partnership and demonstrated so as we were dating and living together.)
• He continues to work in over an hour away at $8.00 an hour and refuses to REALLY look for another job even though MANY are hiring within 5 miles of the apartment.  He is content with menial work with menial pay.
• He is not the motivated, go-getter with direction and goals.  In fact, he has “no clue” what he wants for his life.
• He wants to go to school full time this Spring, but pay out-of-state tuition.  I’m sorry, but $420 per credit hour at a community college is asinine.  Why not work extra while you wait out your residency?
• He only works 30 hours a week and forces me to pick up extra shifts at work (when I’m in school full time) and will not get another part time job.
• He doesn’t keep his end of the bargain with our roommates, thus causing drama (like every roommate situation we’ve had) and leaves me to clean up his mess.  This has cost me two, long-term friendships.
• When the dog needs to go out, he will ignore her until I ASK him to take her (this isn’t a problem when it’s my turn to take her out).
• He finds things to do just before I go to bed to keep me up–so I don’t get enough sleep and it causes issues in my work/school life.  We’ve discussed this at length, without resolution.
• EVERY WEEK he doesn’t put his schedule in the calendar so I can know what’s going on and when to schedule things. He’ll lose his schedule, forget it, misplace it…thus causing MORE money and gas to go out the window because he has to drive BACK to work to get a new one. Most teens I know can manage that. Seriously.
• Recently, he just told me that he has had an issue with me since a year ago…something he has failed to tell me has been bothering him.  Had it mentioned it to me, it would have been a simple fix.  Instead, he’s let it fester and grow.
• Additionally, he failed to tell me about TWO of his chronic medical conditions that have plagued him since childhood…stuff he battles weekly, if not daily, and I didn’t hear about it until last week.
• He cannot readily identify his feelings, motivations, and/or resulting behavior.  He does things without cause or reason and doesn’t understand how his words (or the lack thereof) impact others.
• He is inarticulate and unable to process the incongruence of his behavior and his words.

His issues with me:

• I have been doing something for a year that bothers him (although he didn’t tell me about it).
• I’m not intimate enough.

I couldn’t handle the insanity any longer, so I walked away.  It turns out his counselor had advised him that we separate because the situation was unhealthy for both of us (for me…because he was driving me insane, and for him because I viewed him as a constant fuck-up).  Of course, DH didn’t mention that his counselor advised this until I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and started moving out.  So, during some self-reflection, I’ve made the following observations about myself:

• I have a tendency to involve myself with emotionally unavailable men (although, in my defense, DH wasn’t anything like this when we were dating.  In fact, he has told me that he doesn’t know who he is or why he changed when we married, but that he’s bound and determined to change the fundamental, core aspects of himself to become the man I need.  Honestly, you can change behavior, but you can’t change WHO you are, so I think his attempts are futile and ill-considered).
• I didn’t date either of my husbands long enough to fully establish who they were before we were married.  (In the first case, this is exceptionally true, but in the second, I truly felt as though I knew my husband on every level and knew exactly what I was getting into.)
• I’ve recognized the cycle of insanity and know when I can’t fix what is broken.
• I know my limitations and I know what I can and cannot live with or without in a relationship.
• I am extremely relationship-oriented and require a partner who matches my emotional make-up.
• When I am not matched up with a like partner, my partner views me as demanding because they are not designed to meet my emotional needs.  This causes frustration and inhibits me from sexual relations.

So…for now I’m living with a friend whom I know from junior high.  Luckily, he thinks and operates much as I do, so my home life ought to allow for some much needed respite.  And seriously? After moving five times in five months, two of those being intranational moves, I am seriously OVER relocating.  Hey Universe, if you’re listening, I’d like to be settled for awhile, if you don’t mind.  I’m not a big fan of change and I would prefer to be stable.  This whole gypsy thing isn’t my bag.

D.H. and I are separated.  My choice.  This isn’t a new thing, although he seems to think it is.  He thinks it’s sudden and out of nowhere, even when I remind him that within three months of being married, I told him I wanted out.  When the move to Pennsylvania came, I asked him not to come.  When I was heading to Colorado, I asked him to stay behind.  And when the move to Wisconsin came up, I asked him to go alone.  In other words — I want out.  We’ve had the same conversation again and again where I list the issues I have, and for a short time he corrects them, but then falls back to his previous behavior, accompanied by the same excuses.  ”I was tired”, “I wasn’t on my meds”, “I forgot my meds”, “I’ve been under stress”, “We didn’t have money”, etc. (Keep in mind, his “meds” are herbal supplements.)  I wish circumstance allowed me to be an asshole, but at 30 years old, I know better.  And that’s the biggest issue in all of this, I think.

D.H. turns 21 in October.  Aside from the fact that he needs constant reminding to function in life, I still deal with temper tantrums, pouting, and “talking-back.”  I feel like I am rearing a teenager, not working as a team with my partner/husband. He’s great about doing things around the house if asked, but he’s more the comfortable playing on his computer (or whatever) while I clean and cook.  I’m not a servant, nor am I his mother, and I resent this entirely.  He has gotten better about doing things on his own, without being asked.  He’s better about getting up in the morning, but without not-so-gentle prodding, he’ll, inevitably, be late to work.  And if I prod too hard, it results in a bitter morning-battle of snide comments, rude remarks, and the slamming of the bedroom door.  And I just roll my eyes.

That’s another issue I have.  He doesn’t take his job seriously.  He knows he’s at the top of his game and that he’s a key money-maker for his employer, and as such, he doesn’t give a damn about respecting them.  He calls in, he leaves early, he goes in late. He forgets his schedule and he looks at someone else’s schedule instead (thus not showing up on time).  While his argument is that he has a job and he’s needed so they won’t fire him, I see a child who doesn’t take his commitments or responsibilities seriously.  The economy sucks, he has a good job with good hours, and he’s willing to take some serious risks.  This doesn’t jive with me since it’s not just him he needs to worry about anymore.

So…all of this stuff have been issues I’ve dealt with and I’ve usually maintained patience for.  Why the lack of patience now? Because of his anger issues.  I can deal with just about anything in a loving relationship as, usually, both people can sit down like adults and have a rational, logical conversation asking for improvement in certain areas.  D.H. is so defensive and so angry that even the littlest things become a huge fight and I am left, exasperated, annoyed, and in a place of bitter resentment.  In our marriage, he has pushed me twice.  Last night, he took to blocking doors so I couldn’t leave and following me everywhere I went. He was in my face throwing accusations, defenses, and excuses all so I wouldn’t walk away.

Guess what?  I’ve played this game.  I divorced it years ago.  I’m not doing it again.  The harder he begs, pleas, gets in my way, and smothers me, the farther he pushes me away.  There are two sides to every story…I get that.  We have entirely different perspectives. I get that, too.  But I do not understand how our relationship prior to marriage and the month after were fine and then wham! His anger spews and I find myself married to someone who hurts me, is callous, is always smarter, who puts me down, and who (often times) scares me.

Last night he lectured me on unconditional love and that no matter what I did, he would love me regardless.  I guess, once again, I’m just not as good as he is because if you treat me like shit, I will not love you unconditionally.  I am not a dog.  You cannot kick me while I’m down and expect me to sleep at your feet.  Especially not after my last marriage and my upbringing.  I asked him to go to church with me…he refused and told me how churches are plastic and have betrayed him.  I asked him to seek counseling. He told me no.  Today, he’s reversing the story and saying that he told me he’d go to church and see the pastor for counseling.  I’m not insane, he just makes me think I am.

I made a commitment…for better or for worse.  Things have gotten progressively worse and my heart is hardened.  When he touches me, I cringe.  When I see him walk into the room, I become nauseated.  Every month we have the same talk, again and again, and it’s like talking to a wall.  He does just enough to skate by, but then gives up entirely.  Given that my ex did the same thing as D.H. does, I’m pretty sure, given my experience, that there’s not a light around the corner.

I failed in my first marriage.  I know what I did wrong there…I know what mistakes I made…and I have resolved most of those issues within myself.  This marriage?  I know this is not my doing.  D.H. has said that he knows he is at fault for this road we’re on and that he failed to seek help sooner.  That’s the problem being married to one who procrastinates–there’s always more time to fix things (or start school, join the Air Force, start his company, work out….whatever).  Except now, I fear it’s too little, too late, and that his time has run out.

Enough of that.  I’m tired of dealing with it…so I’ll move on to the next subject.  In fact, I’m going to bullet-point it for the sake of time and mental clarity (mine, not yours).

• Long story short, I’m staying in Colorado.  Our prior roommate was so devastated that we weren’t moving to Wisconsin that she broke down and lost it.  Our room was ransacked and money was missing.  As we were moving out of her house, she ran after me and scratched my back, tearing holes in my shirt and leaving deep scratches on my back.  Given this normally calm, pulled-together, and serene person, I was completely baffled and surprised.  She said that I committed the ultimate betrayal and that I “destroyed her dreams.”  To this day, I can’t make sense of any of that.
• I’m following the Maker’s Diet and I’ve been eating 100% organic, down to the oils and spices I cook with.  I’ve seen the most remarkable difference in how I feel, function, think, and look that I don’t foresee myself ever going off of this diet. I’m already down a size in a half in just a couple of weeks.
• I’m loving my graduate program and I have some leads in working with the Federal Government.  I’m eager to see where these paths lead and where my life is headed.
• In the meantime, I’m working as a receptionist in the meantime.  I love being back at work…

That’s it for now.  I’m sure I’ll be posting more now, given that I need a venting ground.  Bear with me.  And…any advice you have to offer is welcomed.  I may not like what you have to say, but sometimes, the truth hurts.

So…my cat has a broken foot.  I was going to start this post off with an update on my vagina, it’s healing, and my husband’s change of career, but a hissing contest just broke out right in front of me…so I’m starting with that.  I have six cats (two of which I am seeking homes for) and since Harley broke three of the four bones in his left rear foot, he has gone from being the most cuddled and adored to being the outcast.  I’m sure it has something to do with the whole survival of the fittest and shunning the weak, but it unnerves me just a little bit.  I realize they’re cats and they will do cat things…which means they will follow nature’s path, I get that…but you’d think they would show some compassion, some nurturing, some sympathy since we’re a little family here.  I’ve become a bit of the cat police and defender of the broken-footed, feeling like I’m on some sort of  kitty crusade.  I’m stuck at a point where I have to neutralize hissing fits, smacking, and general aloofness and cold regard.  For the first time in my life, I know why some people hate cats.  And having teenagers.

I have finished my entire round of antibiotics to restore my girl parts to their original working order.  Our first time having sex afterward was nothing short of wretchedly painful.  He perceived my intense moaning to be pleasure.  I was only trying not to die in the process.  My husband apologized for days after, feeling horribly guilty that he didn’t know and that I continued with the act so he could receive pleasure.  I explained that he had already waited two weeks and…eh…this was my first time having painful sex, so I figured I’d just role with it and deal with the pain later.  (I do have an extraordinarily high pain tolerance). I have since promised to never do that again and at the slightest twinge of discomfort, cease all acts, deserving/wanted/needed or not.  My husband is gentle and loving in that area and he was quite upset that I allowed any sort of pain to be apart of a loving act.  Okay, so I had a mildly masochistic moment.  It won’t happen again.  Sheesh.

So…we had sex later and it was awesome.  No pain…no worries.  Thank God.  I was seriously worried that the PID had broken me or altered my sexual function/pleasure, so when the following “session” proved enjoyable, I was super happy.  I also noted that my orgasms are incredibly stronger, quicker, and full-bodied now that I am off of birth control.  I’ve been off the pill since my cycle in June.  After 15 years of being on birth control, the risks, and having to take homeopathic anti-depressants (SAM-e) just to combat the hormonal effects from the pill, I was done.  It took me years of finding the right pill, then having cheaper ones become available, and then testing the waters to find another I could handle.  Then…having to spend $40 a month on supplements to stabilize my irrational, pill-induced bitchiness just didn’t seem logical anymore.  We found a condom we both could tolerate.  I feel better than I have in YEARS after being off the pill and I feel more like me again.  Of course, I had forgotten the torment of my period and the associated PMS, but I can handle some intense cramping, back aches, and fatigue over the risks of birth control.

I feel so much more at peace with my body now, and much more so with my current circumstances.  DH found his IDEAL program of choice in Wisconsin, so he will be pursing that course of study with AFROTC and entering the Air Force as an Officer rather than enlisting.  This makes me happy on numerous levels and I feel this is the most logical, reasonable choice.  I didn’t want to see him enlist and continue on the same financial path we have been since uprooting our lives in Florida, nor did I want to see him possibly have to curb his education and his dreams for the sake of his military career.  Yes, the Air Force has a community college, but for the last two years of his undergrad, the educational system isn’t as flexible or supportive…which could have left him with a veteran status upon discharge, but essentially back to where we are now (as far as his career and income are concerned).  He wants to make a career of this, so taking longer to get there (but having the right tools) beforehand is definitely a better path and I am much more at peace now with his career choice as an Officer than as an enlisted Airman.  (I was the wife of an enlisted Marine once and although the branches have their differences, I would definitely prefer not to be an enlisted wife again!)

Speaking of being a wife, as a belated anniversary gift (since I was PID-ridden), my husband took me to PF Changs where he ordered off the gluten-free menu so that we could share, followed by a visit to the Downtown Aquarium in Denver where we fed and petted Stingrays (yes, I realize the erroneous use of ‘pet’ but I, personally, think petted accurately describes my child-like mindset and excitement of touching Stingrays).  He then presented me with a dozen red, tiger-striped roses and a hardcover copy of my favorite author’s newest book, followed by a body massage, from head-to-toe, using lightly scented, organic lotion. While most days I ask, “Who is the man I married and WHY did I marry him?!”, I am generally quite blessed to have a husband who is blindly devoted.  It’s a far cry from my previous marriage and years ago, if you would have told me that, someday, I would have a husband who was everything I could ever asked for and more…I never would have imagined this. I am truly blessed.

Last month, my husband and I went camping.  It rained the entire time and the first night, our tent leaked.  There were no showers, but I brought special bath wipes.  I cleaned up every day.  He chose not to.  When we made our last night there, his dirty parts led to a case of bacterial vaginosis and a UTI.  I ended up on antibiotics (oral and vaginal gel) and later, a round of Monistat. I healed and all was well.

We hadn’t had sex until our anniversary.  The next day, I started experiencing symptoms that I thought were pregnancy.  I went over a week with all of these symptoms…before I started experiencing incredible cramping that doubled me over in pain.  I went to the ER. Turns out, my husband has some bacteria that he transmitted to me…again. This time, instead of a mild case of bacterial vaginosis, I ended up with PID.  I am on four antibiotics and Vicodin at the moment.  Within 24 hours of taking the antibiotics, all of my symptoms disappeared, including my breast tenderness.  Turns out that an infection in your uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, and vagina can cause serious hormone fluctuations!

I told my husband I would not have sex with him again until he chooses to see a doctor and get on antibiotics.  His man pride is hurt and he became belligerent after no sleep all night, but I refuse to compromise my fertility and health because it’s embarrassing to be checked out and medicated.  I explained to him that this bacteria may cause sterility in him and that he needs to get checked, but until he does, he’s going to embrace his “second virginity,” if you will.

In other news, I began my grad program and I absolutely LOVE this instructor.  She’s a former police officer who is finishing her doctorate in Clinical Psychology.  She’s an amazing woman of faith who has a past and isn’t afraid to share it because it helps her to be more open-minded and empathetic.  She’s a tough instructor, requiring three papers (two of which are in the 10+ page category), presentations, and vast amounts of reading, but she’s good, capable, and I really enjoy her.  I’m waiting to hear back on my first paper to see what her expectations are for the second (and longer) two.

I have to keep this short and sweet, but I wanted to check in and give in an update.  :)

So…to continue the news of our move…we arrived in Colorado and ended up in a semi-rural town living with two friends and their three kids.  It’s been surprisingly…awesome.  We’ve had some bumps and bruises, most of which are a result of my friend’s husband, Brady, coming home from being on the road, creating some drama, and then going back on the road, leaving us to sort it all out.  Brady, a trucker by trade, is very much an independent person who thinks he knows more than he actually does, causing rifts and problems, but being completely unaware of doing so.  Cathy has set rules and boundaries with the kids and upon coming home, Brady decides to change things or undermine Cathy’s nine years of being a single-parent (essentially).  It hurts Cathy, causes dysfunction in their marriage (although Brady fails to see that), and fills the kids with confusion.

On Brady’s last trip home, he told the kids that they are to ask my husband and me for permission for things and to listen to us because we are now like extra parents, since we live here.  In a nutshell, when the kids began coming to me for answers, permission, and bedtime stories, Cathy felt unwanted and replaced, and I felt burdened and overwhelmed.  Cathy and I sat down for a long heart-to-heart to figure out why both of us were stuck in this predicament and our friendship was on the line.  Once again…Brady.  Cathy talked with the kids and explained her feelings and that SHE is the mommy and they are to come to HER. My husband and I are there to love them, watch out for them, and be supportive…but not to replace, offer permission, or give answers to major life questions.  THAT problem is solved…for now.  (We have yet to sort out the issues of their unruly Husky who likes to cause trouble and bite because Brady refuses to be stern and consistent…but that’s another story for another day.)

This whole “Brady-wave,” as I have taken to calling it, has been a challenge for Cathy for the nine years that Brady has been on the road.  All of that is about to change because they are moving to Wisconsin, and at that time, Brady will stop trucking.  Cathy will face new challenges of going from single-motherhood to having Brady around full-time.  They seldom agree on parenting and Brady often corrects Cathy’s parenting style in front of the children.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the problems that creates or how that will destroy their marriage unless Brady is confronted and chooses to change his behavior.  How does this involve us?  Well, Cathy and Brady invited us to move with them to the northern part of Wisconsin, onto a 40-acre plot of land, with a newly remodeled home.  The set-up will be much like it is now…they will have the upstairs, we will have the basement.

But WHY are we going?  Why are we allowing ourselves to be Cathy’s moral support and bystanders of Brady’s drama?  Because my husband is enlisting in the Air Force.  That’s the whole reason we’re moving to Wisconsin…so I will have moral support while he is in Basic Training and in Tech School.  I’ll continue my Master’s online and be with loving, supportive friends (and be there to support them through their tough transitions).  You see, one year ago my husband was going to enlist in the Air Force and finish his Aerospace Engineering degree while enlisted.  I begged him not go and he agreed not to.  Now, a year later, the desire still tugs at his heart.  I realize that I have to support his pursuit of his dream, regardless of whether or not I like it…regardless of whether or not I have to move to the country…regardless of whether or not we’ll have a lot of distance between us.  I was a military wife before, so I know I can do it, but I’m not thrilled with his choice.  I would rather have my husband here, with me, but I also don’t want to hold him back from becoming the man he longs to be or from taking the paths he feels that he must.  One benefit of living with Brady and Cathy has been that Dear Husband has learned what NOT TO DO in a marriage (and with parenting) when one parent is absent a lot, which will likely be the case with us once he is enlisted.  It’s been a lesson more valuable than most, I think.

At this point, Dear Husband is trying to lose the 12 pounds he must to enlist.  From there, he’ll take the ASVAB (which he is studying for) and swear in.  Then he will wait for 2-8 months to be sent to Basic which will last 8.5 weeks,  have a 24 hour break to spend with me, and then go straight to Tech School for 4-52 weeks. Just writing that makes me cringe.  I love the patriotism I felt as a military wife, but the challenges are huge and vast.  I guess the fact our first year together was so hard has prepared us for this journey.  We suffered through a job loss, no hours at his job, having food donated to us, selling our belongings for food, having a host of shitty roommates, me graduating from college, him starting college, me being diagnosed with Celiac’s disease, moving to Pennsylvania…which fell through, ending up in Colorado…which is about to change, me starting grad school, and now…Dear Husband is joining the Air Force.  I truly think people can survive and overcome anything, depending on their attitude.  I’ve proved that…we’ve proven that, continually, so I know we’ll make it through the rest of this journey, regardless of the obstacles ahead.

My favorite quote was one given to me as a child by my grandmother.  In it, Charles Swindoll states, “The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company… a church… a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you…we are in charge of our Attitudes.”  I think there is a lot of truth and valuable insight in his words.  Over the years, this has become my mantra, and I have successfully overcome some of the most challenging adversities.  I’m not sure what the future holds, but I know I will get through it.

Shit has hit the fan.  In a nutshell, Missy’s mom has convinced Missy (who has post-partum depression and is swimming in hormones from her pregnancy still), that my presence is a threat to her (the mother) and not welcomed.  In short, Missy told Devin that he either has to choose her and the baby, or us.  Obviously, he chose his daughter, quite understandably.

That said, we have a week to move out.

We spent all of our savings, down to our last dime, to move out here to help them.  We don’t have a penny to our name and nowhere to go.

We put an ad on Craisglist for housing, hoping since we have jobs and school lined up, that we can figure something out, but again, we only have a week.  If there are no responses, we will be living out of our cars or on the street.

We thought about going back to Colorado, where we do not have jobs or school lined up (although I am researching that now), but we have friends and family.  We had planned to move there after I graduated from grad school, anyway, but…I’m not sure how feasible that is.

Going back to Florida is not an option as we have nowhere to live and jobs are not plentiful there (remember, I couldn’t find stable work for two years and DH couldn’t find work other than his job at The Green Grocery).

Right now we’re trying to find the most stable option for us.  Our options are very limited as we have no housing and it will be 3-4 weeks before I would have a paycheck.  DH is working 18 hours a week at $8.50/hour and I am working 10 hours a week at $13.00/hour, and more hours are not available, so we can’t get housing here.

It’s not good.  We’re extremely scared and there is zero room for reconciliation at this point.  I have no clue what happened or why things are the way they are.

We need help.  I don’t know what to do.