Depression sets in

I’m having shoulder surgery in 10 days. Two procedures, one surgery.

Torn Rotator cuff, torn biceps, at least six weeks in a sling.

I had an appointment with the Physical Therapist and the Doctor’s assistant last week.  For the first two weeks, I am not allowed to move my shoulder in any way, shape, or form. I can take my arm out of the sling to do exercises to keep my elbow and wrist from freezing., but then I go back in the sling. Nothing else. If I’m in the shower, i have to lean forward until my arm dangles far enough in front of me to wash under my arms. And I have to keep it iced pretty much constantly. 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off.

They gave me my sling, which isn’t really a sling. It’s two pieces, and much more like an immobilization device. They prescribed two different kinds of pain meds.  Percocet, and something else I don’t remember the name of. But it will be nice to have those available when I leave the hospital.

They said i would begin Physical Therapy at two weeks. But I still am not allowed to do anything with my shoulder on my own. They (the PT folks) will be manipulating my shoulder for me. I have to just sit/lay there.

So for the first six weeks of this recovery: I can’t work. I can’t pick up my kids. I can’t even hold my kids. They are 2 and 5, and being gentle is not one of their strong suits. I’ve been practicing using my left hand in the bathroom, but I know I won’t be shaving my face or my head. I bought some larger-than-I-need zipper sweatshirts to wear around the house, and I expect to be living in pajama pants and slippers.

After six weeks, I can start the active PT. Where I am doing the moving of my arm on my own. Strength training starts then too. At that point I should be able to go back to work at my desk job, where 90% of my day is spent using the keyboard and the mouse.

Prior to that? It’s going to suck.

Kick me when I am down

My shoulder has been really bothering me for about a month. It has started to pop when I move it certain ways. And not just a pop like when you crack your knuckles, and not like when I stand up and my knees pop. No, these pops are followed by me screaming obscenities and grabbing my arm in pain where it popped.

The person specializing in shoulders that I have been seeing has been shooting me up with cortisone on and off for a few years. But this popping pain is new. So I managed to get into see him last week, and had the MRI early this morning.

I’ve somehow managed to tear both my rotatory cuff and my biceps. Surgery is required.

I am a programmer, so I type for a living. I am also right-handed, the same side as the offending shoulder.

I’m looking at six weeks in a sling.  How I am supposed to work?

Two kids that are not gentle with their Daddy when they are jumping all over him. How am I going to survive that?

He also said it will take 6 months to feel better, and a year before I feel like everything is back to normal.

Yay…

The incredible disappearing man

On September 15th, my wife let me know that she was done. That we were done.

For pretty much the next two weeks, I stopped eating. On October 2nd, I wrote a post about cutting in which I mentioned how everything was affecting me. Right around the beginning of October is when I started forcing myself to eat. Years ago, a doctor wanted me to try a low net carbohydrate diet, and I tried it and it was working. (Net carbs is just carbs minus fiber.) He wanted me to come in at less than 50 net carbs a day. It worked right up until I had some surgery that laid me out for weeks. And when you can’t move, you eat whatever someone makes you. And my sister and my wife like carbs. I never went back to the diet. 

At least I never went back to it until the beginning of October. Mostly just to force myself to eat. Partly because it gave me something else to control. I started walking outside at lunch, because I wanted to be alone and to get away from my desk and the sad eyes looking at me. I started taking the 105 stairs to the fourth floor where I work in order to avoid people I might see on the elevator. 

My new “exercise program” and going back on the low net carb diet paired well with my need to both hang on to and to focus on the empty feeling in my stomach. I’m not doing it for a reason this time. I’m not doing it to get her back, that ship has sailed. I’m not doing it for my kids. I’m not even doing it for me. All the reasons I started diets or exercise programs that failed in the past, are irrelevant this time.

And it’s working. I have managed to turn away all the birthday cake at work, all the bagels & donuts, and all the Halloween candy that has started to appear. None of my “fat clothes” fit me. I’ve had to dig out boxes and bins of clothes that I was afraid I was never going to wear again. Only three people have noticed. One lady at work said that I need to be careful, or people are going to think I’m a crackhead.

I stepped on the scale Friday, and I saw a weight I haven’t seen since 2010.

For perspective, my children have never seen me at this weight. My soon-to-be-ex-wife has never seen me at this weight. Most of the people I work with have never seen me at this weight. Every single friend I met as a cast member of the Great Lakes Medieval Faire has never seen me at this weight.

And yet, I don’t feel driven. I don’t feel obsessed. I don’t feel determined.

I’m just trying to stay alive.

 

 

The first day of the rest of my life

I was fine, until I wasn’t.
Sunday was the first time I wasn’t celebrating my anniversary.

Friday I went out with my brother to a local casino, had a fantastic meal,
saw former Cleveland Brown Bernie Kosar while we were eating,
and gambled a bit.

Saturday, I buried myself in yard work all day.

Sunday I was doing fine.
I had looked at Facebook,
saw all the memories from the wedding day,
and I was still okay.
I even posted a funny post about the real reason my wife and I had split up.

And then…

I got a Happy Anniversary! from a friend who didn’t know about the split.
I had to let her know,
which meant I had to explain it all over again to someone else,
which brought it all flooding back.
Again.

I slept for the next 3 hours, because being asleep is my only escape from my brain.
Woke up, helped my sister pick up a chair she HAD to have.
And then buried myself in yard work and clearing out things from the shed I don’t need/want any longer.

I survived.
I didn’t mope around all day.
I didn’t hide from the world. (much)
Next year, it will just be another day.

I’ll be fine.

Bad timing

What would have been my anniversary is in 4 days

My birthday is 10 days after that.

I understand why she decided to end it

after six weeks of the trial separation

instead of waiting the full three months.

I get it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

It would have meant celebrating an anniversary she didn’t really want to celebrate.

It would have meant giving me the very worst birthday present ever.

I get it, but as I’ve said before,

the speed with which we went from

“we’re doing okay”

to “we’re finished”

was disheartening at best.

Dead air

The first non-anniversary is coming up.
My 7 year anniversary would have been in six days.
Facebook and its memories feature is trying their best to kill me theses days.
Happy posts about the upcoming nuptuals.
Happy posts about the upcoming honeymoon cruise.
I may be radio silent for a few days.
If not, prepare for some Emo posts in the days ahead.

National Coming Out Day

It’s National Coming Out day. And I need to say something to all my friends and family.

Whew. Okay, ready?

I, Father at 54, would like the world to know…

that if you were gay, that would be okay. I mean, cause hey! I’d like you anyway.

She has many other fine qualities…

My therapist keeps telling me that I need to find my happiness.

My problem is that my wife, my marriage, my kids and my family were my happiness.
The person that made me the happiest, doesn’t feel the same way about me any longer.

When people ask me what happened,
I tell them she just isn’t in love with me anymore.
She tells people it was a lack of communication.
Which is really only partly true.

We both avoided conflict like the plague.
Whereas I avoided the big things, she avoided everything.
I never told her that I was lonely.
I never told her that I was tired of always watching the kids while she went out without me.
I never told her that I didn’t feel special, or needed, or wanted.
I never told her I felt taken advantage of.

But I did tell her about the little things.
I did tell her I hated how she left a trail of clothes in the bedroom. And that she almost always took off her pants and underwear at the same time, leaving the pants with the underwear stuck on one leg.
I did tell her I hated that she left her laundry in the washer and dryer for days at a time.
I did tell her that I wanted to do something with all the unsold things left over from the garage sale two years ago that just sit in my garage.
I did tell her that I hated that when company was coming over, that we didn’t clean, we just hid things. In the closets, in the bedrooms, in the basement. And now we have two closets that can’t hold another single thing, and a basement full of…stuff.

I told her about the little things several times. And then I stopped, and told myself, “She has many other fine qualities.” Because she does. And I loved her. And because in the grand scheme of things, the little things don’t matter.

I got none of this from her. No big things. No little things. No correctable things.
I just got to watch her pull farther and farther away.

And now I am tasked with finding my happiness.
But I know where it is.
It comes over every day after work, and leaves as soon as the kids go to sleep.
It used to occupy the empty space in my bed.
It used to keep her clothes in the dresser where an empty space in my room is.
It used to be in love with me.

Eventually, my heart will figure that out.

Missed Opportunities

I apologize for the depressing posts lately.
So you know what that means…

IT’S TIME FOR ANOTHER SEX DREAM!

Disclaimer:
If you’re expecting to read something racy, you’re in the wrong place.
If you’re expecting to read something mildly amusing, then stick around.

My dreams about sex are not normal.
I spoke of Angelina Jolie previously.
I had this next dream earlier this year.

Jennifer Aniston and I were talking downstairs in a pretty standard two-story, no-guardrail-outside house. Point being that we weren’t in the Friends universe.

I watched Friends quite a bit. My sister was in love with Chandler, whom I also loved, just not in the same way.
As far as the Friends women go, I am a Courtney Cox kind of a guy.
There is nothing wrong with Jennifer per se, but Courtney was my girl on Friends.

It was just Jennifer and me downstairs, and things must have been going well,
because she asked me to go upstairs, and in no uncertain terms let me know that I was going to get lucky.
If you had asked me before this “happened”, being with Jennifer instead of Courtney would have been tantamount to cheating.

I digress.

I started to go upstairs with her anyway.
In my dream, I was single, and I was horny.
We got upstairs, and started to head down the hallway.
We passed the bathroom, and I glanced over, because I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
David Schwimmer in there brushing his teeth.

I woke up instantly.
I HATED Ross, and I don’t particularly care for David.
And I’m pretty sure it was my brain’s way of c*ck-blocking me for attempting to cheat on Courtney.

Only me.

Beaten

I walk like a defeated man
shoulders slumped forward
head down
eyes just a few feet in front of me
I blame my friends
and my co-workers that know
because when I look up
far enough to see their faces
with their sad eyes
and sad smiles
it kills me