I'm a bad body image warrior

Yesterday afternoon was ugly. It also involved a lot of ugly crying.

When I got home from work, Chebbar sheepishly admitted that he needed to leave his debit card at home with me: he has "issues" with stopping for fast food, regardless of whether or not he's actually hungry and/or can get home in a reasonable amount of time to make a meal - he comfort eats, just like lots of people. In an effort to... empathize/commiserate/show understanding, I told him about the not-so-nice thoughts I've been having about my body every time I've passed a mirror in the last little while. I've officially surpassed my highest weight ever, and it shows (at least to my eyes): my arms look huge, my gut looks like I'm six months pregnant, and my trunk has enough junk for two three.

Blissfully unaware that Aunt Flo had arrived with the twins, Batshit and Insane, he blithely stated that we need to "purge" the house of "all the junk food" (read: ice cream, because unless you count the chocolate chips used for baking, that's pretty much all we have at the moment - we don't usually keep a lot of crap hanging around) and stop buying potato chips for weekend lunches.

Along with an instantaneous feeling of panic at not being able to have an ice cream cone when I felt like it (*ahem* control issues), I immediately felt attacked. I recognized this, as well as the fact that he wasn't attacking me, butd that I was thisclose to launching an offensive that I would likely regret, making a halt to the conversation a wise idea. He continued on, assuring me that he didn't mean for it to be an attack on me - after all, he was no better - but that CLEARLY what we've been doing isn't working for either of us.

I think I repeated the bit about feeling attacked/lashing out/STOP TALKING/blah blah blah two more times before I left the room.

At that point, I ended up in a snotty, soppy pile on the couch, boo hooing my way through a pity part of one. Oh, the self-loathing! I'm fat. I'm gross. I'm disgusting. I'm a pathetic failure. I'm embarrassed by and ashamed of my body. I hope Mom doesn't invite us for a barbecue because I don't want to be seen like this, and I don't want to go away for the weekend to visit his family because I'm disgusting (like I put on 30 pounds instead of 3 pounds). And how could Chebbar POSSIBLY love me like this? He'll leave me because I'm not perfect (*SNORT* like I've ever BEEN perfect in the last four years? HAAAAA).

It was RIDICULOUS. The most frustrating part is that I *knew* it was ridiculous, yet couldn't stop the water works (looking back, I should've just taken a damned Ativan and been done with it - derp). And I wasted SO much time wallowing and feeling sorry for myself that I ended up running out of time to do the workout I was actually looking FORWARD to doing. *shakes head*

Of course, after all that, I still wanted to dive head-first into the ice cream. I didn't, though, because I recognized that I wasn't hungry.

However, I woke up snarly and growly and cranky as hell on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Guess who rebelliously (because "I don't effing CARE!") comfort-ate this morning? *sigh*

What do you do for yourself self-care/comfort/soothing-wise when you're feeling blue? Other than eat, that is...

Things That Can Just F*ck Right Off #2

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#2: Those god-awful ballsacks hanging from the bumpers of cars, trucks, and semis. Really? Are you REALLY trying to prove your "manhood" by hanging your balls from your vehicle? Is THAT where you want to keep them? For real?!? C'mon.

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I don't even know what to title this (aka GRAAAAAH)

Awhile back I wrote about someone who didn't seem to want to help herself. This person had since made an appointment with her doctor to discuss her "depression" (yes, I'm being an asshole and pretty much using air quotes: you'll see why soon enough).

I talked to her this weekend and asked how the appointment went. She went on to tell me that, as she had told the doctor, she thinks she's "better now" and she's "not really depressed," so she doesn't "need antidepressants." (By the way? This "depression" business? Started not long after I went on antidepressants. Yeah.)

This is related to this.

She's "better now" because apparently she feels "needed" and like she's "helping and being useful." I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much dread I have as I sit here waiting for the other shoe to drop because, if you've read any of my story, you KNOW it will drop eventually and you KNOW she's gonna end up hurt (and you KNOW I'm going to be expected/will feel obligated to help pick up the pieces of the train wreck I KNEW was coming).

I want to wash my hands of the whole thing, but I can't because "she's" not JUST a random she. I just... GRAAAAAH. I'm fucking exasperated, is what I am, and that makes me feel like a shit heel.

Sunday Sound-Off

I decided that, being the rampant narcissist I am, I'd do a weekly round-up of the best blog posts I've read, pretty pictures I've gazed at, and (for shits and giggles) the top things I was grateful for this week. Because I just know you're all dying to know this crap, right?!?  :D

Linkity:

1. Postpartum Depression: Not Just For Moms: I found this article really interesting - makes a lot of sense to me
2. Anna Guest-Jelley discusses balance at Curvy Yoga
3. "He slides into all the broken pieces of me and fits perfectly." That poetic line sums up how I feel about Chebbar really well. You must read Casey's beautiful post, "Our Love Story," on Moosh in Indy.
4. Super-exciting news! Band Back Together has teamed up with Blogger Body Calendar and will be working together going forward. So cool!
5. On August 22, 2011, Canada lost Jack Layton, an amazing man and the leader of the NDP. Jack and his beliefs are the reason I started to vote. Along with an unbelievable legacy, Jack left us with some heartfelt and insightful words: "My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world." Rest in peace, good sir.

Lovity:

1. Paving the way to stand up for myself
2. Listening to Chebbar sing along with his music
3. Mental health days
4. Exercising
5. Cinnamon toast

Pro-Tip for the Ladies

Pro-Tip #1: if you want to be left alone at work, go in sans make-up, hair up in a haphazard pony tail, and wearing the most pajama-esque clothing you can get away with. People will assume you're sick and buzz off.  

(This also works when you call in "sick" because you need a mental health day for the love of Baby Cheesus and want it to look more convincing when you return to work. Not that I'd know anything about that... *side eye*)

Body Lovin' Homework - Week 1

 

Have you had the pleasure of "meeting" Medicinal Marzipan? She is an amazing woman on a mission to help others embrace positive body image and unconditional self-love. She is the brains behind the Body Image Warriors. And she also did a series of weekly prompts - homework - to assist those of us *ahem* that need a little more help in the self-love department.

Week 1's assignment was to free-write on two prompts: "my body feels... " and "my body was built for... " (She suggested 20 minutes: my brain just wasn't capable of being cohesive for that long. SQUIRREL!) My first attempt was pretty much just a jumble of random words; then I watched her video and gave it another shot.

I actually stopped mid-spew to write "I'm picking at my face as I try to complete this exercise because it makes me uncomfortable because it's making me FACE THINGS."

My body feels...
...like Jekyll & Hyde: strong and capable one minute; broken and unwanted the next. I can feel confident and powerful, then small and useless in the blink of an eye. One trip passed the mirror has me appraising myself appreciatively; the next could see me disgusted with my reflection as shame stains my cheeks.

My body feels smaller, lighter, better than it is, which is so confusing during the moments it feels huge, bulky, and unwieldy. My body feels under-used, under-appreciated, unloved, and neglected; it is starved for the  love, affection, and respect that only I can give. My body feels torn and conflicted: is it allowed to enjoy that lazy time on the couch, or should it embrace the movement of exercise it secretly enjoys? (Mostly.) (Sometimes.)

My body feels like a traitorous failure. But traitorous to whom? To me, the person who disrespects it on a far too regular basis and treats it like garbage, embarrassed by it has become - what I have made it?

My body feels like it's high time for my brain to get on board and at least start treating it with the respect it deserves for all things it does for us.



My body was built for...
...love - giving and receiving. My body was built to be loved, by myself and by others. My body was built for giving and receiving pleasure and enjoyment of all kinds.

My body was built to move: to walk and run and jump and skip and dance and play. My body was built for both strength and comfort, for support and softness. My body was built to live, learn, and laugh. My body was built for respect, appreciation, and admiration.

My body was built for greatness.

Stop comparing yourself to others

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Pick up any self-help book or read any article about self-improvement and you're guaranteed to be urged to stop playing the comparison game. You don't know the other person's story, they'll tell you. Everyone is perfect in her own, unique way, they'll say. This is good, valid advice. But what happens when your problem isn't so much comparison as judging others?

I've always been grateful that I've never found myself being jealous about what others have: I don't compare my car/home/job to those of my friends - I'm happy with exactly what I have. Except when it comes to my body. Sort of. I make no secret about the fact that I don't love my body or my self; I make no secret that loving myself is something I'm actively working on attaining. I do look at other women's bodies and feel slight pangs of... jealousy? want? admiration? but it's usually not born of comparing myself to them.

My shameful habit is that I judge other people (men and women, but mostly women). I cast a disparaging eye on hair, on makeup, on clothing - style, fit, etc. - on body shapes and sizes. That last one? Guts me. It embarrasses me to admit that I do this. 

Before you cast me aside as the judgemental asshole who judges, allow me to explain. I'm sure part of the problem is, subconsciously, a sad attempt to feel better about myself ("I'd never go out of the house looking like THAT! *gasp*"). However, the majority of what drives me to look at people so critically has far more to do with what I fear others are thinking about me. As unhealthy as I know it is, I spend far too much of my time worrying about what others think of me: it's a holdover from being the consummate people pleaser with inadequacy issues - I just want everyone to like me (which, even as I write it, looks so pathetic).

So what I'm attempting to do now, both to put an end to the asshole judging AND to turn some of that positivity toward myself, is to find one thing that is attractive or admirable about the person (including myself) I would otherwise judge. It's just as hard to find something positive about everyone as it is to change the way my brain works, mostly because I feel like I'm phoning it with things like "I like the colour of his shirt" or "She's wearing cute earrings." However, I'm going with an every-little-bit-helps mindset and hope that it will become second nature to find something positive right off the bat. 

Do you compare yourself to others? Do you judge others? How does it affect how you think/feel about yourself?

This Is Why I Love You: Reason #43

#43: You spoil me with little things like filling up my humidifier and leaving a towel on the floor beside the shower for me and filling the vitamin holders for the week (yes, we're really 83: shut it)



Explanation

Where shit's unfair and I doubt myself (some more) (as usual)

The last time I talked about Bev was after she'd called Mom, asking her to come over for a "visit" (long blog post short, after much deliberation, Mom decided it wasn't in her best interest and declined the invitation).

Fast forward to Saturday morning when I'm out getting my hair cut and Chebbar fields a all from Mom. Now, given that we'll go damn near MONTHS between calls (unless I call her) (but I'm not bitter) (much) (that's a post for a different day), hearing from her twice in the span of a week is suspicious, to say the least.

After dancing around a couple of other topics first (one of which included HER uttering the phrase "The WORST thing you can do for a depressed person... " *gnashes teeth*), she eventually spat out that she had gone to visit Bev last week. She hadn't told anyone what she was thinking of doing just in case she changed her mind and "chickened out" (which I totally understand). Long story short (including details of Gramps's last moments at home, which I was completely unprepared for and ended up sobbing silently, muffling my cries against Chebbar's shoulder while still on the phone with Mom), the visit went well, Mom still has "a lot of stuff" she needs to get off her chest, and she's "already told Taylor" that, if Bev doesn't apologize to me, Mom won't have a relationship with Bev.

Let's just let that sink in for a moment.

My mom told my sister - the one who, for the past 10 years, has had this deluded little fantasy that her whole family will someday gather 'round the Christmas tree and sing Kumbayfuckinga - that *I* will be the reason she won't have a relationship with Bev.

I don't know if she thinks she's making a "sacrifice" (read: playing martyr), or using me as a convenient scape goat, or what, but it's unfair and it's bullshit. First off, I don't WANT a fucking forced apology. Quiet frankly, at this point in time, I don't want an apology period: I honestly cannot see that woman being a part of my life again. After all, she's the one who told me point-blank that they wrote me off when they wrote my mother off, so why would I want her back in my life? That's pretty harsh, considering I hadn't DONE anything to merit something so awful.

Secondly, as I told Mom, I can't make any guarantees or promises that a (phony) apology from Bev is going to magically fix everything and we'll be that big, happy family again (oh, let's be honest: we never were). Why would I willingly put myself in the position to be hurt yet again by that pathological liar's manipulations? Quite frankly, I don't think Mom is thinking clearly about this situation, and is letting guilt/missing her father/some screwed up notion that this is what he'd "want" her to do colour her judgement: she MUST know that there is a very real possibility that Bev will hurt her again, just like she has numerous times in the past.

I ended up telling her that, regardless of what happens between Bev and I, I have no issue with the two of them rekindling their relationship. "Oh, thank god! I'm *so* relieved!" she said. That one caught me off-guard. Apparently, both her and Brad thought there was a good possibility I'd be "pissed off" that she had made the decision to go speak to her mother. It's none of MY business! It would be different if she'd shown up at my door unannounced with Bev in tow to ambush me or something, but come on.

Just as we were getting ready to turn off the light last night, I turned to Chebbar and asked him if I am wrong for not wanting to give Bev another chance: even though I hadn't thought twice about this until the phone call with Mom, all of a sudden I find myself wondering if there's something wrong with me since I'm apparently the only one of my immediate family members who wants nothing to do with the woman. And all along I've been thinking that I've made so much progress and changed so much for the better as far as being ME is concerned, yet my family treats me like I'm either some spun sugar princess who will burst into tears at the slightest hint of bad news and melt myself, or some deranged lunatic who will fly off the deep end if I hear something I don't like. I don't think I've EVER been those people, but evidently my entire family does, which then makes me wonder if I've grown at all.

I hate this shit. I hate the drama. I hate knowing a train wreck is just WAITING to happen, yet being helpless to stop it because the players aren't going to listen to me anyhow. I hate thinking that these people - my family, who are supposed to love me and know me best - won't listen to me because they seem to think I'm... I don't even know: unstable? I hate that all of this bullshit makes me doubt myself (lord KNOWS I don't need any help in that department).

Honestly? I'm staying out of it from this point. I'm going to go on living my life as the person I *know* me to be and to hell with the rest of them, and if they don't like it, too damned bad. *I'm* the only one who gets to live my life, period.

Sunday Sound-Off

I decided that, being the rampant narcissist I am, I'd do a weekly round-up of the best blog posts I've read, pretty pictures I've gazed at, and (for shits and giggles) the top things I was grateful for this week. Because I just know you're all dying to know this crap, right?!?  :D

 

 

Love it? Link it.

1. Ask Moxie's heartfelt plea for those are hurting not to go
2. The Poop Whisperer doesn't use the F-word in front of her kids, but it's not the F-word you're thinking of...
3.  Finding Beauty in Your Scars from Tiny Buddha
4. The amazing Monique of Razing Mayhem is doing a 24-hour blogathon on September 9th to raise funds for Band Back Together. She's officially my favourite person of the week!
5. I love me some Natalie Dee:

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Love it? List it.

1. Knowing I did my best
2. The view out my various windows
3. Alcoholic beverages
4. Good sleep
5. Watermelon 

Possibly Unpopular Opinion: #8

#8: I wear yoga pants. When I'm not going to yoga. Don't like it? I don't shiv a git.


ETA: Haaaa! Thanks to my friend Michelle, I *had* to add this Tide commercial because, well, OBVIOUSLY!

Explanation

It's time to (re)launch my libido

There is a side effect to antidepressants that doesn't seem to be talked about much (or at least not in polite company): decreased sex drive. When I saw my doctor about my depression, this wasn't a side effect that came up in our conversation; because it took awhile for the antidepressants to do their job, it wasn't something I noticed right away. Once I did, it was painfully obvious, as things just didn't work like they used to. Luckily for me, Chebbar is beyond understanding - we just have to take a little more time...

That's where EdenFantasys comes in (pun not intended!). In case you haven't heard of them, or haven't caught on to the gist of this post, EdenFantasys sells adult "toys". Oh, but let's not sell them short! EdenFantasys offers every type of sex toy you could possibly think of, in every price range. They offer discreet packaging, free standard shipping on orders over $59 in the US, and a flexible return policy. However, you probably won't even NEED to return anything because you can also find loads of really informative and helpful reviews in the EdenCommunity! How convenient is THAT?!?

I make no bones about being Prudy McPruderson, Mayor of Prudeville, but I've long lusted after a Lelo. No, seriously! It's one of my goals to own one someday! The simple, classy design really appeals to me: some of them look innocuous enough that they wouldn't be immediately identifiable if you left it lying around (*dies at the thought*). They even have a great selection of toys for couples, like the very intriguing We-Vibe II. Or, if you're looking for something a little more subtle, check out their lingerie section or candles to get you in the mood. *waggles eyebrows*

EdenFantasys has an excellent reputation, both in regards to their products and in their customer service. While I haven't personally ordered from them yet, I've heard nothing but rave reviews from TONS of people. Take a look at their site and see what you can see. You can also follow them on Twitter and join their Facebook fan page for special offers!

Disclosure:  This is a sponsored post - I will be receiving a gift card from EdenFantasys  for my post.

Wordless (Instagram) Wednesday

 

 

 

 

 

(These aren't bird-birds: they're Snowbirds!)

And baby I broke them all for you (The Story)

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

For the longest time, I assumed that the issues between Mom and I were simply the result of hormones and teenage emo-BS. She constantly criticized me and everything I did. She was brutally snarky in how she spoke to me. She seemed to look at me like I was the enemy, and seemed to blame me for the fact that she got knocked up at 16. I was expected to do all sorts of chores, while Nick and Taylor did nothing - at 15, I was expected to "earn [my] keep." She would do things like buy chocolate bars for the family - well, most of us, anyway: she'd leave the four chocolate bars on the counter to ensure that I would see I had been left out. I became the built-in babysitter again. I was pretty much treated like a live-in nanny with a side of maid.

During this time, she was giving me $100 of the $125 The Donor was court ordered to pay: I was expected to pay for everything but food (unless I wanted something she didn't normally buy: then, I was on my own) - my clothes, school supplies, student fees, shampoo, pads, EVERYTHING. That summer, she told me that if I didn't find a job, she'd send me to live with The Donor. I pounded the pavement every day looking for work until I finally got a job at McDonald's. After a year of spending my paycheque how I chose, she and Brad sat me down, told me they'd been "monitoring" my spending, declared me irresponsible, and confiscated my debit card. 

It was at the same time that I was informed that I wouldn't be getting my driver's license until I saved up enough to buy my own car because I wasn't driving either of theirs - they told me this just before my 16th birthday: if they'd told me a year earlier, I could have been saving all that time. I didn't get my license until I was 17. This frustrated me because they'd go for drives and be gone for hours in one of the vehicles, and I'd fret over what I'd do if Nick or Taylor needed medical attention (this was before the day of cell phones being commonplace).

This was the period of "talks" that consisted of Mom sitting at the kitchen table, smoking up a storm, and berating me for literally hours as I stood, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, never daring to speak up to correct her or defend myself. I felt like a coward. There are lots of other little incidents that pierced me like bitter little arrows, but I don't particularly want to dredge them all up.

The reason I said I assumed this was normal teen/parent behaviour is because I now know better. We lived on one side of town and went to school on the other side of town. After school, Nick and I would walk to Bev's (aka Grandmonster) to wait for Mom to pick us up. (Even though it was HER desire to keep me in the same school so I wouldn't have to switch yet again, all the driving back and forth somehow became something else for her to blame on me.) Because Bev seemed so sympathetic, I would pour out the latest slight almost daily. Little did I know that Mom was doing the same. 

Bev had me convinced I needed to run away and that I could move in there - she actually had me sneaking my belongings out of the house a little bit at a time and hiding them in her laundry room. She talked about emancipating myself. She filled my head with all sorts of things that sounded wonderful. She's an amazing actress. I clearly remember coming through her door after school one day to find her near hysterics, crying and wringing her hands, as she choked out the message that Mom was "SO MAD" at me and that she was actually worried about me - yet she still let me leave with the woman whose anger worried her... Go figure.

Things came to a head when I was 17-ish. I was supposed to be spending the night at friend's house (and going to work the next day). Her next door neighbours where ridiculously noisy, so I ended up getting up and going to Bev's at 1am so I could get some sleep before needing to be at work for 8am. Just as I pulled into the driveway behind Gramps's truck, my car died (the timing belt had gone). 

While I was at work, Brad went over to look at the car and ended up talking to Gramps. (I'm still not sure how Gramps knew of our plan, but knowing Bev, I'm sure she manipulated the situation to make it sound like she didn't want me there). Gramps told Brad that I seemed to think I'd be moving in there, but I was wrong. Brad knew something was up and he was tired of the bullshit, so he called a family meeting.

I got home from work to find Mom, Brad, Bev, and Gramps gathered around the kitchen table. Brad asked Bev if she had told me I could move in with them; she said no. My jaw dropped. I'd heard Mom's stories of Bev being a flat-out liar, but this was the first time I'd seen it - felt it - first-hand. Brad looked at me as I sputtered, refuting her claims of innocence. As the light finally dawned on me, I was heartbroken. I felt like no one wanted me. 

It was the beginning of the end for Bev and I. I finally realized that every. single. thing. I'd told her about Mom/Brad/home, she had turned around and repeated to Mom (and I already knew she was sharing stuff that Mom said about me (although I have no way of knowing if Mom actually *said* that stuff, or if it was more of Bev's manipulations)) - it was no bloody wonder there was such a rift between Mom and I.

Just be enough

Every day I receive a message of inspiration and encouragement from The Brave Girls Club. On Saturday night, this is what the message said:

Dear One of a Kind Girl,

Your story has a lot of medicine in it that is just the cure for so many things. Are there parts of your story that you have never told, or that you are afraid to embrace?

There is nothing quite like the feeling of being with someone who knows exactly where she came from, exactly who she is and embraces all of it wholly and completely....no hiding, no facades, no proving, no upping.

WHAT IF you could share the WHOLE of who you are without flinching? What if there are things that you have lived through or experiences that you have had, or knowledge that you have earned or wisdom that has become a part of you that you could share...and that IN THAT SHARING, saved a part of someone who needed your exact story to make it through another day?

Please don’t hide anymore. Please let any shame go. Please do not be afraid. Please know that who you are is beautiful and true and that every piece of what you are made of can have a beautiful and divine purpose when you don’t keep it hidden away.

Incredible girl, please embrace your story. All that you have lived through makes you the beautiful, complex, interesting and wonderful girl that you are today. Someday you will even understand why it had to happen the way it happened.....but for now, embrace it, share it....and keep living the story of your life. Live it all the way.

You are so loved!

xoxo

I have inadequacy issues. Every day I battle feelings and thoughts of not being (good) enough - not smart enough, not pretty enough, not funny enough, just. not. enough. Once again, that came to a head yesterday.

Chebbar asked me what was up not long after we had gotten home from shopping. As usual, I bit my lip and shook my head as if nothing was wrong, but the man knows me better than that. Because this particular issue had been bothering me all week, I finally spoke up. 

What started as a running joke - Chibi's always wrong - seems to have somehow solidified into fact along the way: quite often, it seems (to me, anyhow) that he dismisses my opinions, suggestions, or advice right out of hand without a second thought. The times I'm right make this VERY frustrating (and VERY hard not to launch into obnoxious chants of "I told you so!").

He didn't say much while I talked, then (inevitably) cried. As per usual when I finally speak up to say what's on my mind and/or what's upsetting me, I started explaining away my thoughts and feelings - I have inadequacy issues, I have an inferiority complex, I *am* wrong often which makes me think maybe I'm not as smart as I thought I was - which basically results in ME excusing HIM. I stepped into the en suite to blow my nose, and started to cry harder as I realized I can't even stand up for myself when I'm legitimately bothered by something.

This realization led me to ponder the "progress" I thought I had made. Maybe I haven't improved as much as I thought I had? Maybe I haven't increased how much I like myself? Maybe I'm not as at peace with who I am as I hoped?

I asked Twitter if a backslide is temporary. As @mkpheartsnyc assured me, I'll never go right back to zero: I'll continue moving forward from where I was (thanks again, lady). I have a lot of work to do. When days are going smoothly and I don't question myself, I do okay. However, once that self-doubt creeps in again, I'm reminded of just how much work I still have to do. I told Chebbar that I'm not sure I'll ever stop worrying that one day he'll realize what a mess I am, that I'm not worth the trouble, and he'll find someone better; I told him that I feel like a shit for repeating that I have work to do for the past four years. He replied that I may be working on me for the rest of our lives and that that was okay (he also assured me that he's not going anywhere). 

I will continue to work on myself and my issues. I will continue learning to love myself. I will continue reminding myself that I am enough.

An update on the update on the call to the police about the child abuse

I already posted today with an update on the child abuse situation, but I have another update (and a new-found girl-crush on a certain police officer). It seems she went back with a social worker and tracked down the "suspect": we (sort of) had the right unit, just the wrong floor of the building. Apparently the woman was shocked and scared "as hell" to have the police and CPS at her door - she's had no prior dealing with either.

She's a single mom with three small kids who is "down on her luck" (although, as the officer stated, that's no excuse to take it out on your kids). She admitted to slapping the little one this morning, who was examined and found to be fine (and apparently in good spirits). Both the officer and the social worker got the impression that this is a mother who is overwhelmed and needs help; a file has been been opened with CPS now that they have a name and address, and she'll have an official interview tomorrow.

I was thanked sincerely by the officer (who passed along the same from the social worker) and told to continue to call if I hear it again. I feel so bloody relieved to know that the authorities are involved, and sincerely hope this woman - and her children - get the help and support they so deserve.

Sunday Sound-Off (and an update on the neighbours)

I decided that, being the rampant narcissist I am, I'd do a weekly round-up of the best blog posts I've read, pretty pictures I've gazed at, and (for shits and giggles) the top things I was grateful for this week. Because I just know you're all dying to know this crap, right?!?  :D

Link it:

1. Mara from Medicinal Marzipan shares how hating her body almost killed her
2. 49 Ways to Live a Kick-Ass Life from Andrea Own at Your Kick-Ass Life
3. My very first guest post at Taking Less Space!
4. The ever-amazing @mochamomma succinctly sums up the business over that cake
5. An excellent policy for supportive blog comments that can be used in real life, too
6. This? Will make you laugh. Trust me.
7. An excellent resource page on loving someone with depression from Band Back Together
8. Jane Devin explains why she needs our help in getting her book out there (see top right corner) - I believe in Jane, her book, and her writing so much, that I will personally vouch for Elephant Girl
9. Messages from the Universe
10. I made this for dinner last week, and it was AMAZING:

Like it:

1.  Visits with the neighbours (NOT the screamy ones)
2. Doing the right thing, even if it doesn't solve the problem
3. Standing up for my beliefs
4. Sweet text messages
5. Miracle Treat Day & DQ Blizzards

Update:
I wrote earlier this week about calling the police about a woman who was out of control and screaming obscenities at her child. I had to call again Friday night, but again, because I had no unit number and the screaming had stopped by the time the officer attended, there was nothing to be done. This morning, I was back on the phone by 8:30am because THIS time I could hear her SLAPPING a crying child while screaming obscenities.

When I called the first time, I was thanked for my call by dispatch. At that point, Chebbar went marching downstairs, out the back door, and stood by the fence. He narrowed down where he thought the screaming was coming from to two units, so I called back. This time I was told they would "see how backed up" they were. Um, excuse me? You were able to have an officer here within 15 minutes on a Friday night, but you might be too "backed up" at 8:30 on a Sunday morning?!? Give me a fucking break.

Chebbar stayed outside waiting for the police to see if maybe the woman would pass by a window or something. I went downstairs with the phone and joined him. We watched a police car drive past the back parking lot (where the noise is coming from), then watched as it pulled out of the front lot and drive right past. Chebbar started walking toward the front of our building (I was sticking close because I didn't know how far the phone's range was), and flagged down the officer. (She'd been trying to call, but somehow had my old cell phone number that I never gave them!)

When Chebbar told her which unit he thought it was, she chuckled a bit and told us they're very familiar with the unit because the woman that lives there has severe mental health issues (she told me on the phone afterward that she was actually surprised the woman was released from the psych ward). She said they've received numerous complaints about the woman who makes "strange" noises, but doubted there would be children with her because CPS wouldn't "allow" it. She told us she'd be calling for back-up just in case, and would keep us posted.

She called back maybe half an hour later, saying that they had knocked on every door on that floor in that wing, and that no one had heard anything. When I expressed disbelief, she clarified, saying that no one had reported hearing (crying) children. The woman in question apparently had no children in her apartment; the officer told me she'd be going back at some point later today for a surprise visit in case the woman was hiding kids somewhere (she's hoping that, if it was that woman's unit, maybe it was just a matter of a relative with kids visiting who had since left).

The officer told me that there was a woman with two very noisy (as in, they could hear the kids as soon as they entered the hall) small children on the other side of the building who didn't think the Screamy Woman had any kids in the apartment. The officer said she doubted the sound would carry clear over/through the building (at first I bristled at this assertion, but after thinking about it, I doubt I'd hear the sound of a hand hitting flesh from that far away, too).

I find it so hard to believe no one else is hearing this. It's disheartening and sickening to think that these children have neighbours who "don't want to get involved." I feel like I'm at a loss at this point: I can keep calling, but if they can't find children anywhere, what's the point? I can't help a kid they can't find. It's VERY frustrating. I'm kind of glad summer is coming to a close so we can leave the damned windows closed so I don't have to listen to this. *heavy sigh*

I won! I won!

A couple of weeks ago, @hamletsmistress (Amy) hosted a giveaway on her blog - she was offering up a really cute watch from Avon. Not to ruin the suspense or anything, but I won and it came in the mail yesterday!

Isn't it purdiful?!? The little gems and seashells move around inside the face - really cool! I was worried it was going to be... bigger (clunky and heavy), but it's no bigger than any other watch I own. It also has a removable link in the bracelet which I LOVE because (unlike the rest of me) my wrists are stupid-tiny. 

Amy is very knowledgeable about Avon's products and is passionate about what she sells. If you have questions, she can answer 'em. Check out her page here!

Thanks again, Ames! :)

I had to call the police last night

For weeks, if not months (no exaggeration: this started whenever it was first warm enough to have the windows open), we've listened to a very angry woman in the apartment building next to ours scream and yell obscenities at the top of her lungs. Every once in awhile, we hear a male doing the same, so I assumed they were screaming at each other (even though Chebbar had told me he's watched a man in an... altered state(?) walk down the road just screaming the f-bomb over and over).

Last night, I heard her screaming again, and finally had enough: "HEY!" I yelled back, "You do realize we can ALL hear you, right?" She stopped. Briefly.

The next thing I heard made my blood run cold. As she screamed about how she'd "fucking had enough of [someone's] bullshit" and how this person had been "doing this all fucking day" and that she was going to "teach [this person] a fucking lesson," I could hear a terrified child barely able to hiccup out repeated apologies through his or her hysteric sobs (the child was young enough I couldn't tell if it was male or female - maybe 4 or 5?). She also sounded drunk because she was slurring her words something fierce, and I know how quickly an angry drunk can spiral out of control.

What the hell had I just done? Now the woman was pissed at being "caught" (even though she's never made any attempts to conceal her anger in the past) - would she take it out on the child? Would she continue to rage, but just close the windows so the whole neighbourhood didn't hear her?

I was sick to my stomach and ended up in tears. I knew what I should do - call the police - but wasn't sure I should bother. When I was 14 or so, Mom called the police about the neighbours behind us because of a very similar recurring incident. The police claimed it was up to CPS to take care of the situation and to call them; CPS did the exact same thing, telling Mom to call the police: no one did anything. When I was 18 and working retail, I witnessed a woman scream at her daughter, hold her up by the arm, and wallop the hell out of her over and over. I called the policed, who never showed up, even though I followed this woman through the store and witnessed her continue to scream at and beat her child. The reason the police didn't attend? Apparently I used the "wrong wording" so they didn't take it seriously (never did find out what the RIGHT way to word my concern would have been).

I did end up calling the police a few minutes later (after shakily posting to Twitter and having friends confirm what I already knew I needed to do). Within 15 minutes, a police officer returned my call. However, because this happens in another building and I've never SEEN anything - only heard it - I had no idea which unit it was coming from. The officer sat in the parking lot, listening, for 15 minutes before calling me back to apologize for not being able to hear anything. I told him that I realized this would likely be the outcome, but wanted to make sure there was a record of the complaint just in case... There's no way I would be able to live with myself if I ended up reading a story in the paper about the unthinkable happening.

During this time, a dear friend gently and kindly reminded me that I didn't know the whole situation: if this was a matter of a special needs child, there was a possibility that the woman was just at the end of her rope and unable to stifle her frustration any longer. I did appreciate the reminder and do realize that I have no clue how difficult it is to parent a special needs child. At the same time, though, the woman was clearly out of control and, considering we've been listening to this almost daily for far too long, clearly needs some sort of assistance - whether with respite care to give herself a break, or with anger management.

I know that I am neither a parent nor a special needs parent, but in my not-so-humble asspinion, there is NEVER an excuse to scream and yell and curse and threaten a CHILD relentlessly. You lose your cool every once in awhile? Fine. But every. single. day? No. Just no. (And judging by the scream-a-thons on weekends, this isn't just some bedtime issue: this goes on all day long.) After being educated by people like my dear friend, I do understand that we shouldn't be so quick to judge parents of children who appear to be "out of control" or bratty because there is a very good possibility that the child does have a developmental disorder and that it's not a matter of "bad" parenting. However, where do I draw the line? What about all the stories on the news about the child that was abused for years and no one stepped in or did anything?  For me, there's a HUGE difference between judging the parent of a "bratty" child without knowing the situation, and turning a blind eye to obvious verbal abuse because I don't want to get involved on the off-chance this is a special needs situation. Either way, special needs or not, there is no excuse to treat a child that way, period.

I don't know if it's my own past, my overly-sensitive and empathetic wimpy self, reading all the heartbreaking stories of abuse on Band Back Together, or what, but I do know that I couldn't just sit by and pretend I didn't know she was verbally abusing a child. I wouldn't be able to live with myself: for *me*, it would be as if I was somehow condoning her behaviour, and that's just not something I'm ever willing to do.

My Happiness Project: Month 1, Week 1

Yesterday marked the first official day of my Happiness Project - results were... mixed. I wasn't in bed until 9:45 and I was on my iPod, making for a 10:30 lights-out. I did take my vitamins and listen to my body, taking care to stretch and use an ice pack when my back was sore. I didn't act how I wanted to feel because I kinda sorta had an anxiety attack, so I was feeling sorry for myself. As well, since I spent the day doing housework type stuff and taking care of poor Chebbar's patellar tenodonitis, I didn't plan to do one of my three "intentional exercises." So, according to the Tool Box, I was 11% positive yesterday.

Oof.

I do like that the Tool Box allows you to make notes next to your resolutions - that's kind of cool. Unfortunately, for things like my intentional exercise 3x/week, you can't manipulate the resolution to reflect this, which means that even if I *do* get exercise three times a week, it's still going to show up as not exercising the other four days of the week. Which will bring down my average and "positive percentage." Which is kinda twitchy-making to a perfectionist. *twitch*

Oh! I also found this 30 Days of Shamelessness on Embrace Self-Love, which came from Miss Mary Max. I really like this 30-day writing challenge! One of my goals is to be unapologetically me - no explanations, no excuses - so this is right up my alley:

1. declare your love for an uncool TV show.
2. look a fool.
3. eat. Whatever you feel like eating.
4. waste time.
5. declare your love for an uncool movie.
6. act “girly” or “manly” in a way you’d normally avoid.
7. share your efforts at something you don’t think you do well.
8. sweat.
9. expose something messy or dirty you’d usually hide.
10. declare your love for an uncool band.
11. dress to show some skin.
12. share about a health struggle.
13. speak up about something crap that was done to you.
14. hold yourself accountable — not guilty — for something crappy you did to someone else.
15. dress, walk, and act like you know you’re all that.
16. spend money on a non-necessity or share a finacial struggle.
17. discuss the reality of your work situation.
18. brag.
19. share details about a bodily function or fluid.
20. talk about sex
21. express a strong feeling.
22. set a boundary.
23. air one of your secrets.
24. share a struggle you have yet to “just get over.”
25. ask for help.
26. make a mistake.
27. express a dissenting opinion.
28. discuss a failure.
29. look a fool.
30. name 3 more ways you can live shamelessly and commit to doing them…

Kind of cool, no? There's a facebook page you can like here. I'll be doing this over on tumblr if anyone is interested (I'll probably link to the posts on facebook and Twitter). Anyone else want to play along?

Sunday Sound-Off

I decided that, being the rampant narcissist I am, I'd do a weekly round-up of the best blog posts I've read, pretty pictures I've gazed at, and (for shits and giggles) the top things I was grateful for this week. Because I just know you're all dying to know this crap, right?!?  :D

 

 

Check it out:

1. My dear, darling friend Heather's heartbreaking update on Jackpot - if you have any love to spare, please send it their way. <3
2. The ever-insightful @karensugarpants talks about rocks in her underpants.
3. The Daily Slack takes issue with people who think others' bodies are free for the photographing.
4. Elephant Girl is @janedevin's phenomenal autobiography. Seriously, trust me: you NEED to read this book. Go. Now. DOOOOO EEEEET. (You can find Jane's blog here.)
5. @fromtracie pointed me in the direction of this amazing video from Sheena Lashay:

Gratitudinous: 

1. New bras (four of them! in the correct size! so they're actually comfortable!)
2. 3 liters of fruit salad
3. Realizing that my way is neither everyone's way, nor necessarily the best way
4. Cookies for breakfast
5. Chebbar and surprise flowers <3: