Ideation

My depression is running wild.
I have been crying inconsolably for four days now.

There's been a ton of that ideation going on... it's why I started on this crying tour. My brain somehow convinced me there's no other option... so I was crying.

I opened up to a friend Monday night, after she asked me how I was doing.
Her response was that she was about to go to sleep, but she'd reply to me the next day after work.
I heard nothing.

Shit like that just makes me feel more alone. It makes me scoff... then cry.

How did I get here, man?

Jaw surgery

I'm reading through old posts and finding myself smiling.
I imagine this is what people in novelas feel when attempting to recuperate their memory after a bad accident
"Que paso? Quien eres? Quien... soy?!"
"Tranquilizate, sufriste un accidente... perdiste la memoria."
"Pero... ayy, mi cabeza... me duele tanto."
"No te preocupes... juntos lograremos recordar."
... those type of plot-lines.

I'm finding some fucking golden lines in there. I really came up with that shit? Jesus Christ, was God talking to me in those moments?
Ha. Nah, more like some fucking raw emotions.

For instance, this line from December 2013:
(Imagination-- that's what has kept my heart beating all these years. That's how I can deal. That's how I handle anything. Just give me enough time to dream, and I'm good)
Or this beauty from November of that same year:
My heart is not gold, or titanium, or even iron-- it's coal... an energy source which is consumed for the generation of cooler shit.

It's all true. It remains true.

Goddamn, I said that shit? ... that's nuts.

It shows just how disconnected I currently am with the real me. It's like picking up a stranger's journal and being enthralled by it... then realizing I'M the fucking author... how in the fuck? Some "Memento" type shit.

I've been working on my vocabulary. On my knowledge.
I didn't know the extent of the loss until reading through my old entires.
The loss is huge. It's very much like hackers went into the filing cabinets in my brain and erased a huge chunk.
Things that used to be common knowledge to me ten years ago are seriously obscure little gems now.
I blame it on illness, I blame it on pregnancy, I blame it on depression... and I blame it on company.
It has all added up to me being at a total loss of the person I used to be.

I'm finding myself increasingly sad as my time to go back to Arizona approaches.
Originally I was going to leave last week but that had to be put on hold because I literally went through jaw surgery.
I wasn't ready for it.
When I was at the dentist, I WAS told about potentially seeing a periodontist on May 10th back in mid April when I had my teeth cleaned. The hygienist was concerned with the "pockets" in my gums and recommended I see a periodontist the next time she came to the clinic (apparently these motherfuckers travel around the city instead of just having an office we can visit... ?). She told me the perio was booked for her May 10th visit, but if anyone cancelled (and "there's always at least one cancellation") they'd call me to come in. I agreed thinking no biggie.

Well, May 10th rolls around and I get the call to come in at 2pm. I do... like it was just some regular check up, since I haven't felt pain, just some discomfort.
I then have this cool young lady come in to the room and checks out my grill.
She lays it on me: every single one of my molars is in deep trouble. Everything is "either a 5 or 6 (millimeters in depth. That's the depth of the pocket. If you have anything over a 3 it means you got yourself a mild case of gingivitis. Anything 6 or plus-- 8 being max, it is serious periodontitis), you're going to need bone grafts on all three molars, one premolar of all four sides. You cool with that?"
Me: Is it going to hurt?
Perio: Most uncomfortable part will be getting it all numb, but we first use the topical numbing cream so after that you won't feel a thing.
Me: Uh, is it possible to get it all done now?
Perio: You sure can.
Me: Then let's do this. I'm down for it all.

Big motherfucking mistake.
Chick leaves the room to set up everything and also "run the numbers" of how much this is going to cost me.
Perio's assistant walks in with an ipad to show me a video of "what is going to happen" and I very calmly grab the ipad and watch the video as the dude leaves the room.
Jesus fucking christ. I almost passed out as soon as they showed the scalpel. They were going to detach my gums from the bone, scrape my fucking BONE to get all the bacteria, then DRILL OFF MY FUCKING BONE, then add the cadaver bone, then suture my gums back onto my fucking bone.

I sat in frozen silence.
What. The. Fuck.

Next time anyone walks in it's the dentist's secretary-- she has the bill.
The surgery is originally $13,000... with my TWO dental insurances, it comes out to $3,289.
"Is this ok?" she asks.
I nod.
I fucking guess... I need fucking BONE CADAVER IN MY FUCKING FACE.

I sign everything and I'm once again sitting alone in the room... texting everyone like a maniac, scared as shit.
Perio walks in after perhaps ten minutes of me panic-texting my family.
Let's roll.
Lady applies the topical gel all over my gums and palate and area under my tongue near the far back... which ONLY WORKS ON ONE SIDE OF MY FACE because for whatever fucking reason, my dumbfuck body is resistant to this shit.
Then come the shots of Novocain. 
SIXTEEN MOTHERFUCKING SHOTS. SIXTEEN. Four on each side on the outside, four shots on the fucking INSIDE. And let me fucking tell you... the shot that is placed on the muscle that holds your fucking tongue on the far back.... that motherfucking shot... is the WORST fucking pain I have felt in my life. Give me seven spinal taps... 'cause FUCK ever feel that tongue shot ever again. The fucking liquid going inside sounded like a pop in my ear!

After that traumatic event, the perio left to "let me get numb"... yeah. So she's gone for about half an hour, all the while I can hear her in her two other appointments, speaking with equally panicked people.
My body starts shaking, a thing it has done after traumatic physical events... I mean, it's normal. I then realize that my right side of the face is not numb whatsoever. I panic even worse.
The perio's assitant walks in to check on me and asks if all is good. I let him know I am not numb on the right side, and he lets me know it's ok... that the perio comes back and reapplies more Novocain, in a larger quantity before the surgery.
Once the assistant left, I went back to panicking. These fucking breaks did nothing to chill me out.
After about ten minutes the surgeon came back in and went right to cutting my mouth open.
For the most part, everything felt like pressure on my bone... but after two hours, everything started wearing off... I felt three drills into my bone which led to immediate shaking... but the surgery had to go on. I felt everything on my hind molars of my LEFT side, and one molar on my right side. The suturing was the worst. I literally cried for the entire time, tears streamed down my face the entire time.
This fucking thing last three hours. Three hours of torture.
Then came the "healing"... which was a swollen face for three days (it's still swollen on my lower lip) and I drooled blood for two days.
I've been on a pudding and jello diet up until yesterday when I ventured to chew on pho noodles. It sucked. Back on the jello.

So yeah. That was my last week... just recovering from jaw surgery.
Now, before people go off and claim it was poor oral hygiene, it wasn't. Everyone was surprised because I would brush and floss three times a day like a maniac. Pregnancy did this to me. Two back to back pregnancies busted my gums. Had I not done this surgery, I would have lost my teeth, since I already lost plenty of bone in my jaw since my first pregnancy.
I basically have to sit back and hope this works.

Never get pregnant, y'al.

Emerald Dress

 Thank you for visiting in my dreams last night.

It was vivid as hell. I felt like I was there. I felt like it really happened.
And I was at peace.
I was happy.
You made me smile.

I remember thinking in the dream "Ummm... wtf am I doing here? I'm going to get in trouble."
But... I was a bridesmaid. I was in a rush. I was having horrible social anxiety.
The dress was a sleeveless mermaid dress... emerald in color.
I just wanted to take the photos in the fancy church and run the hell out.

Then it's dark. I'm back on the beaches of Mykonos, sitting quietly alone, looking up at the stars.
No sadness.
No yearning.
Just peace.
In perfect, soothing solitude.
A sky so violet, it was lit up by a brilliant moon and equally bright stars.
A breeze that swooshed in a rhythm that fell in synch with my heartbeat.

Then you show up and sit next to me without saying a word. You look up at the stars too.
"I just... wish I could go back to how it was. How it used to be. I want to be selfish again. I just want to go back," I say.
"It'll be ok," you say as you get up and walk away.

After some more time spent admiring the sky and feeling the breeze on my face, I look over to the empty spot you left and an old digital camera in the sand... the screen turn on to a photo from the wedding I had left.
You took all sorts of beautiful candid photos of me as I rushed through the wedding, the camera was full of them. I saw so many profile photos, I remember feeling surprised I ever looked like that. I wondered if you had altered them. Then I felt warmth in my heart as I realized... that was how you saw me. That was the version of me you saw... but I was always so busy being angry and agitated and just... anxious.

Stop and enjoy the ride, bro.
That's the message I got... aside from the much needed relaxation... and the calming presence of yours.

My mind has Darcy as a calming presence. I seem to admire his ability to ride the wave.

And for those brief moments, I was calm.

Still alive I guess

The surgeon ended up prescribing me Percocet.
I don't know why the Dr. changed his mind about providing me with some post-op drugs, my best bet is that the messed up gallbladder agitated the area more than he expected.
Eating sucks, just as I had been warned. Anything I ingest ends up feeling like a shuriken just ripping up my intestines.

My biggest anxiety pre-op was not knowing how general anesthesia would work on me. I almost had an attack when they started clamping my arms and legs on to the operating table, and it only intensified as they placed the oxygen over my mouth.
The (cool) anesthesiologist then looked over at me and told me it was going to "burn" once I felt the anesthesia going in. Just as I was going to say "Oh shit, that was fast..." when I felt my eyelids feel heavy, I woke up to the sound of my heart monitor and I tried to say "Oh shit, y'all, I'm waking up!" thinking I was still about to get cut up.
I then realized my throat felt incredibly phlegmy, but I couldn't get it out. Instead, I let out an "Ohkayyy..." then a weaker "that was fast..."
I was surprised at how quickly the groggy feeling was dispersing.

I had no nausea, just a whole lot of fear of what was to come. I as under the impression that this was going to suck.

But nah... I'm doing alright. I mean, it fucking blows that I can't hold either of my boys... the littlest is the one completely bewildered by this... my poor little angel baby.
Ah, and I damn near fainted yesterday after my post-op shower... those motherfuckers always get me for whatever reason... probably my subconscious acting up at the sight of my wounds and how generally uncomfortable I am with all that shit.
But, I'm ok.

A cool thing I noticed is that my body doesn't feel as sluggish, or lethargic anymore. This last month felt like such a goddamn burden. There's now brightness to my day, if that makes sense... even if it's just me shuffling back and forth between my bedroom and the living room... I feel the warmth of the sun... I see the sharpness of color.

And that's it. That's all I have to say about anything. No feelings no nothing... I'm just going through the days waiting for these damn incisions to close up so I can stop thinking about them.

Pre-op thoughts

I'm doing better.
I saw a Mexican celebrity (Gloria Trevi. Looking back on older entries, I get agitated as fuck over my vagueness on some posts. I guess I swore I'd always have the good memory to remember what the fuck or who the fuck I was talking about. Plot twist: I fucking don't. Pregnancy stole that away from me... my good memory, that is. Now it's a good day when I fucking remember what my husband told me two hours ago. It feels like garbage... a horrible loss I can't put into words because I just find myself crying over how torturous it feels to have very little memory, and having it NOT return to me like so many people promised me it would... it's not coming back, guys... it's not fucking coming back) talking about how a few days after receiving her COVID vaccine she had horrible depression, but it only lasted a few days.
I went ahead and finally got vaccinated on the 10th of this month. I then struggled with a very intense case of depression... suicidal... for about a week. I don't know... it just sort of makes sense.

I hate having people telling me my "sadness" will go away. I hate people being angry at me because I admit that motherhood is... weird to me... that it isn't, it wasn't, my ultimate goal in life... how it didn't even rank as a goal... and now I'm here with two little humans for whom I'm responsible. I hate how some people translate it as me not loving my kids. I fucking love the shit out of them... I want them to have an amazing life and know no sorrows. Seeing them smile makes my fucking world feel like a very colorful, brilliant universe. But at the end of the day, I feel empty. I feel... I feel like I've been dead... completely gone, for three years now. A total fucking shell of a human who has no memories, no ambitions, no... no interests... no knowledge. I'm just this goddamn shell who goes through motions of changing diapers and feeding babies... checking up on the wellness of others.
Bro... what happened to your intelligence? WERE you even intelligent? You were pretty fucking annoying, actually.
My mind beats me up relentlessly... my body even worse.
I'm getting my gallbladder removed on the 27th. I've never been put under anesthesia... just that good shit that is an epidural (lmao... good shit... lmao. I trembled like a leaf both times, but sat there cracking jokes through it all to try and at least laugh instead of cry... to get the room full of people to laugh instead of feel sorry for me). So I'm a little scared sometimes... I claim to want to die, but as soon as I think of it actually possibly occurring I get all scared like a dumbass. I think... what if I don't wake up? What if my shitty heart goes kaput and they can't get it to work again? What a way to go... not even knowing you're going...
Anyway, I hadn't suffered any gallbladder attacks since they first discovered stones in there back in 2018... when they told me I had to keep it in there until "they either turn cancerous or you have an attack." Welp, come Valentine's Day of this year, I suffered the infamous attack. That shit lasted from 10pm until 5am... and it was a pain so goddamn unbearable, I spent the night crying, trying to find a position to be in that wasn't causing me more pain. The pain was worse than the contractions I felt with my kids... it was worse than any pain I've ever felt. I cried even more because I felt so alone... my husband occasionally looking down at me writhing on the floor as he slept on our double-king size bed (two king sized bed put together because we got a free mattress ha. That's a funny story), asking "You're STILL having the attack?!" and going back to sleep... it... really broke me to have him do that. No pat on the back, no offers to bring me some warm tea... or even some tylenol... just an irritated "You're still having the attack?"
Anyway, since that attack, I went to my doctor asking for some sort of resolution to this, and I was scheduled for surgery in FUCKING APRIL. Since then, as the date approaches, my attacks become more frequent-- less painful, but multiple little attacks a day. I can't really eat anything... everything fucking sucks and I'm left with horrible pain in my stomach. I'm nauseated every day-- not the nausea I felt when pregnant (that fucking animal is goddamn inexplicable... it fucking sucks on a level I never knew existed. I never want to feel that again), but the thought of food makes me feel sick.

I'm basically breaking down, physically. I long for the days when I was very heartbroken and lost... but with a body that did damn near anything... that beast of a body that could workout for hours... like a motherfucking ox. Now I'm a broken human... completely broken... and my body has joined the cause. I can't even fucking EAT without being in pain. My skin is ripped to shreds... and what isn't ripped is rashed up with no signs of healing.
Like... what the fuck happened, AnoMALIE? Goddamn... my god... fuck. I just didn't know how bad things could get... and how it would still be demanded of me to ACT like I'm fine and be "Strong".... how it's even MORE demanded of me now.

I know, or at least I hope, this will eventually go back into hibernation... this depression... I keep myself going by telling myself that life is a fucking rollercoaster. I'm currently on the wild decent where you feel your innards wanting to exit through your mouth (and oh boy, that is so fucking literal right now)... but eventually I'll get that feel good shit where I'm going back up while enjoying the beautiful view. That has to return, right? Maybe this cholecystectomy will return some sense of normalcy to my life (y'all... it is "highly recommended" I follow a vegetarian lifestyle after this. The fuck? I'm Mexican... the fuck you asking me to do here? Nah, homes... I'll find a way to enjoy a nice little carne asada from time to time).
Let's see how this shit turns out. Might update before the operation... but if I don't, let me just put it out there that I'm good with the outcome... just please remember the happy, annoying Me... the one who often times was too caught up in her own little dreamy world fantasy to catch a joke as it flew completely over her head.
And it's not all darkness for me right now... my boys make me laugh every day. Yes, they drive me batshit crazy and wear the shit out of me... but they get me to chuckle each and every day. These boys get me to talk in a strange, goofy voice every day. These boys are the warm sun in the dark, dark bog my mind has forced me to live in.

Compounding Depression

I never thought depression could take on this intensity. 

So much bullshit compiling... postpartum, quarantine, seasonal... it has conglomerated in the strangest, most difficult manner I could have never imagined.
I think I'm coming out of it... I can joke now, and I also go outside and participate in living... but that is more of a recent thing.

I now stand firmer in my belief that depression never really leaves your body, it lies dormant, ready to pounce when given a chance (or just random as fuck when your brain chemistry says "Why the fuck not? Come along, little homie, I'll make room for you"). It has nearly succeeded in its intent three times this go around... this time what has made me stay is the thought that I'm still needed. I'm not sure what will happen once the feeling of being "needed" is gone... once the ones I think require my existence are finally capable of continuing without me.

I spend my days watching my kids play. I'll sit alone on my porch outside-- husband at work-- and cry most of the time... or I'll be cussing... or wondering how the fuck I got here... wondering why the universe gave my poor kids such a bad mom. Why the fuck was I given kids?
Did you ever think this would be you, five years ago?

I recently had my four year anniversary. My dude came up here to visit (ahhhh, yes, I'm once again with my parents because-- SURPRISE! my gallbladder has to be removed. I had a horrifying gallstone attack on Valentine's Day that lasted from 10pm until 5am. I was doubled over in pain, on my knees, because that was the only way I could breathe. I cried that entire nigh because no one could really help me... all the urgent cares were closed because I live in the BIGGEST FUCKING SHITVILLE in Arizona. I fucking DETEST that place. Anyway, turns out my gallstones are now super huge and I need the entire organ out since that's the only way you get rid of gallstones. Apparently I acquired mine because I gained too much weight way too fast, and proceeded to lose weight way too fast. Oh, and besides that, my two year old broke his leg in three places on the 7th and I had to rush to Vegas for him to see a specialist because the urgent care out in Arizona was ridiculously racist and abused my child. They manipulated the shit out of his leg and proceeded to tell me "I don't think he's broken because if he were, he wouldn't let me do all this to his leg" while my poor kid writhed, spit, and hissed in pain. They didn't want to run x rays on him but I begged for them to please just do it anyway. They sent me home-- 30 fucking minutes away, because again, Arizona's a fucking piece of shit place-- because "from what we observed, there doesn't appear to be a breakage anywhere," then called me back half an hour to tell me that "the tech checked out the x-rays, turns out he's actually fractured in his fibula and tibia. Bring him back so we can put a splint." I saw a specialist here in Vegas and he found a third fracture--the biggest-- in the middle of his tibia. Again, I fucking detest Arizona) and we "celebrated" by going to a restaurant. He would stare into my eyes lovingly while I was staring blankly. I'd snap out of my drift once I'd sense his eyes on me for too long.

I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm not myself. I don't know who this new version of Me is. She doesn't like anything... everything makes her cry... she has so much anger and sadness in her heart, she hardly ever feels happiness.
My kids make me laugh a lot, I won't lie... they really are cool as fuck and hilarious. They exhaust the life out of me... and my oldest scares me a bit because sometimes I wonder if he's going to be a maniac due to his random thoughts that are too mature for his age (I prayed for an intelligent child, but this guy is too fucking smart and it's straight scary sometimes) and how intense his tantrums are... but I love the fucking shit out of them.

I just don't know who I am. And I'm unhappy. I cry a lot. The feeling of loneliness has returned (as opposed to my beloved solitude. Loneliness is a different lion... it's at 1999-2001 levels, but this time I don't have a Tyson to accompany me on my nights of quietly sitting outside as I stare at the stars and cry my eyes out. Now I have two kids that become frightened the moment they see Mami with any sign of sadness... I have to find a way to comfort myself).

It's crazy... now that I supposedly have so much unconditional love coming my way, I feel alone and foreign. I feel inadequate. 

I'm riding this bitch out... but it fucking sucks. I hope the sadness and confusion leaves soon enough... no one is having a good time.

2020

 My soul is breaking into pieces... and I don’t know who to talk to.