Say You Love Me

Everyone tells you to reach out if you have depression. What happens if no one listens?

Prior to last year, I had no personal experience with depression. I’ve always been anxious, and that’s given me the blues sometimes. I’ve been lonely which has that depressed feel, so I assumed I knew what depression was. Until I felt that soul-sucking darkness, there really is no way to know. 

Without knowing though, I’ve been there for others suffering depression. I don’t feel you have to actually know exactly what someone is going through to empathize and be there for them. It was hard. People with depression are difficult. Those people fought me, insulted me, traumatized me. I never turned away, though. I knew it wasn’t about me personally and that if I gave up on them, they may give up on themselves. So I put on a smile and gave love from the empty well that I was and eventually they got help and medication and they’re doing okay. 

Which brings us back to me. Last year, after a health scare, I began to suffer severe depression. I’ve had chronic illness for years but I had acute issues and I was afraid. I was afraid of dying. I was afraid of surgery. I was afraid of more pain. I was afraid of never being independent. The depression came very rapidly and I went from 108 pounds to 94 pounds within a month or two. I was wasting away. No one did anything about it. They’d say “eat a burger” like it was so easy, because by that time, in all honesty, it was bordering on being an eating disorder as well as depression. But it wasn’t to be thin, it was to avoid pain. 

Months went by and I was having something similar to an existential crisis but instead of thinking everything meant nothing, I felt everything meant the world. I just wanted to spend one more holiday with my family. To see them smile and laugh. I imagined what would happen to them and how they’d go on without me if my health problems ended up killing me. I was so sad for me and I was sad for them. I felt like they loved me so much, they’d never recover from it. It was hard to imagine. I loved them so much, my heart ached. Sometimes I would just look at them and tears would fill my eyes wondering if I did die, if I would really see them again. I’d see my dad in his garage next door and wonder how his heart would ache when he’d look over to see a dark house where I once was.

Eventually on Christmas night, coming home with tears streaming down my face as usual, I couldn’t take it anymore and I gave in and started medications for pain and depression that had been prescribed to me long before, but I was too afraid to take. I didn’t want to be one of those people who needed medicine! I gained the weight back, and then some. I wouldn’t say I was happy, but my moods were a bit more even. I gained so much on Zoloft, one of the meds I’d started at that time, that I had to stop taking it. I had hunger pains all night no matter how much I ate and I was over 130. It’s been a month off of it now and the weight hasn’t budged! 

I was a bit emotional coming off an antidepressant. My family was on a trip. They said I should wait but it’s their 5th trip this year so it’s hard to catch them not traveling, which I can’t do because of my illness, and any time I’ve needed their emotional assistance, I didn’t get it. So I didn’t take them into account for when to stop a medication. Last year I would have and would’ve synced all our calendars so they didn’t miss a beat on their baby girl. That was when I thought they cared. 

My brother has always been the golden child of the family. If he was doing badly, he needed extra help. If he’s doing well, he needs to be greatly rewarded for his basic accomplishments. I loved him more than anyone in the world, but I’ve grown to resent him over the last year. He didn’t work for many years and abused drugs and now that he’s off drugs and working for the family business, he and my dad think they’re the authority on labor and chronic illness and that I’m faking my illness, I’m lazy and the emotional stuff they won’t even entertain. I just need to get over it. So I’m alone and the years of work and good I put into the world just don’t count. Just this week I was filling in at the family office and it wasn’t busy so I didn’t push to be there super early and he called everyone to tell them. 

I don’t expect anything from my brother or dad. They’re not known for having empathy or emotional intelligence. I expected my mom to be there for me. They say to reach out and someone will help you, people love you but they can’t read your mind, so I reach out to my closest human and she ignores me as if my feelings are as dangerous to her peace as a loaded gun. If she doesn’t ignore me, she accuses me of being negative or pointing fingers and the classic and carelessly problematic “it could be worse” line. I’m not pointing fingers, I’m trying to bring awareness to the fact that there’s a glaring double standard and if it was my brother, people would be fighting each other to try to help, but since it’s little ole me, no one cares. NEWSFLASH: PEOPLE WITH DEPRESSION CAN BE DIFFICULT. I can’t stress this enough. I know I am being difficult but it’s like I’m fighting so hard for someone to tell me I matter, and they don’t want to validate me by doing so. She could offer to get me help that I’ve stated I can’t afford. Or honestly just listen. That’s honestly all I wanted. For someone to say, “I know it hurts now but it will get better and you’re worth it.”

I know what you’re thinking! Depression makes you paranoid. It makes you feel like you’re a burden and that your family would be better off without you and that no one cares enough to help you. But we’re told to reach out because that’s just our mind playing a trick on us. In my case, it’s actually true! All of my paranoia that I hoped was just depression talking was actually all true. 

I don’t even know what to do anymore. What do you say to someone who ignores you when you said you were hopeless? What do you chat about with someone who changed the subject to their new glasses when you said you felt like you wanted to die? It’s not just mom. I tried to reach out to my brother too. He cussed me for feeling how I feel and said I just didn’t want to work. I know better than to bother with my dad or grandmother. They’re both Dylan’s minions. If saving me meant angering him, it would be too high of a cost for them. 

I don’t really want to die, I just want help. I just want someone to love me and to tell me that what I’m feeling is wrong. That I’m loved and needed and worthy. That the world is better for me having been in it. I don’t have money for much help right now. They would do more if it was for my brother. His love has always been worth more than mine because he will yank it away from them. I loved them unconditionally, which apparently was a mistake. My family kind of runs on narcissism. I’ve blamed myself for so long for not being good enough, but it’s not me. I didn’t ask to be sick. I didn’t ask for all of the other trauma I’ve been through. 

I made the best choices I could at the time. I thought I was doing the right thing. I had no idea I’d marry someone who would lose it all and send us back to square one. Sometimes it does seem like it’s too late and I’m too tired to rebuild. There’s a small amount of resiliency left in my spirit applying for jobs online today and telling myself that it will get better. I had considered moving in with someone because being alone like this is not great, but I can’t bring my dog. My dog that mom didn’t want anymore and dumped off on me when she got her new one. That’s ironic. 

I’m trying to work on not being so damn angry. I’m not usually an angry person but I’m furious right now. I’m angry at my body for being sickly, I’m angry at the person I married who ruined the great life we could’ve had, I’m angry at my family for being so ignorant they can’t see someone at their very lowest and just love and support them. God knows I’ve done it for them. They can even turn my sadness around to some sort of insult toward them. 

So in conclusion, when you tell people to reach out to their loved ones, not everyone has loved ones who care or can help. Some don’t care. Some don’t take you seriously. Some think that if they ignore it, it’ll go away. I spilled my heart out on texts to mom and she ignored it and said hours later, “hi u feeling better?” Yes, mom, my crippling depression healed in the hours since we spoke. 

The only thing I can make of it that doesn’t make me want to jump off of a cliff is that they probably don’t have cruel intentions, they just don’t understand or don’t know what to do. Which I understand. But honestly, at times like this, sometimes you can’t afford to be wrong or hope for the best. If I had done that to them, they may not be here right now. Let’s hope I get strong enough to self-soothe. 

The Last Time

We all wanted to grow up. What were we thinking?

It’s that time of year again. Spooky season. We don’t need a holiday to remind us of the many horrors in life anymore, though.

I’ve battled depression, year round but mostly seasonal, as of late and holidays aren’t what they used to be. Even though Spooky Season isn’t my jam right now, I’m more afraid of “spend-y season” coming up because I’m on the poorer side this year. 

The holidays aren’t as magical as adults. Especially an adult with a chronic illness that keeps me from attending all of the events and earning all of the money. I’m already dreading the gatherings I’ll have to pass on or the festivities I can’t follow through with and I’ll have to see the smiling faces on my Instagram feed after or face the guilt from relatives for not being able to do it all. 

When you’re growing up, you don’t have the stress of the holidays on your shoulders. The holidays were basically made for you. No one expects a gift from a toddler. Few people ask a teenager to bring a dish or two to Christmas dinner. Kids just get to enjoy it while the adults are running on fumes. Santa even gets credit for some of it!

It’s always been a bit sad to me how gradually we grow up. You never know, at the time, it will be your last Christmas with Santa or your last time trick-or-treating.

When I was a kid, my dad always took us on a hayride in the dump truck from work on Halloween. He’d load up my brother and I, and our friends and off we’d go, with our painted faces and cheaply made, yet overpriced, Halloween costumes. Every year, without fail, he’d pretend to break down in the cemetery to give us a scare. I knew it was most likely a lie, but I would still wonder, stricken with panic, if we were stuck in a cemetery.

One year, as I was a bit older, I said, “Dad, I’m old enough to know we’re not really breaking down. You don’t have to do it this time.” When we embarked on our Halloween journey, I wondered if he’d honor my mature request. “Oh no, we’ve broken down in the cemetery again. What will we do?” Dad said from the driver’s seat. I wondered if perhaps we really had broken down and he had said it so many times we just didn’t believe him anymore! How could I possibly trust his word on this?! 

It turned out to be a false alarm again and we soon went on home to get out of the cold. That’s the last vivid memory I have of trick-or-treating and spooky hayrides. Maybe it was the last time. You never realize it’s your last time doing most things while it’s your last time. Your last time being told a story before bed, your last time being tucked in, your last time swinging on a swing-set, your last time playing with toys and Barbies, your last time “breaking down” in a cemetery with dear old dad. 

We were all in such a hurry to grow up that we gradually let go of those things, thinking we were too grown up or too cool. We didn’t need mom and dad cramping our style. Adults always tell us not to rush to grow up but we don’t listen. We want to stay up late, live by our own rules, eat candy for dinner, and have a job making money instead of sitting in a classroom. 

Well, we got what we wanted. We were protected as children and didn’t know, for the most part, how cruel and relentless this world could be. Now we’re adults who have to work, pay bills, do boring adult chores and errands and we’re held accountable for what we do and don’t do. Right now, if I had a time machine, I’d go back and let dad pretend to break down in the cemetery one more time and I would cherish it. 

Are Drugs Right For Your Fibromyalgia?

Having fibromyalgia, I'm part of several groups and message boards online discussing the treatment and management of this mysterious, incurable disorder. A topic that seems to come up a lot is opiates, or pain pills as you probably know them(Vicodin, Opana, Oxycodone, etc.). I'm extremely against opiates and I'm often criticized or questioned for my responses.

My life has been touched by drug addiction in many different ways. If you're a follower, you fall in with the crowd and let the same things destroy you. If you're smart, you learn from the mistakes of those suffering and try to help them as best you can. You learn family history to see your risk factors and you weigh benefits and risks of any mind-altering substance.

To those who criticize my reaction to their usage, I could tell them many stories to defend my stance, but I don't often find that to be necessary. Statistics speak for themselves. I've lost a home to drug addiction. I have lost cars to drug addiction. I have lost pride, trust and sometimes dignity to drug addiction. I've lost priceless things to drugs. I've lost beautiful, innocent relationships with brilliant, loving human beings to drug addiction. I have sat up all night trying to entertain a drug addict so you and your family could drive on safer streets. Keep in mind, I never took the pill!

You can't quite comprehend the pain of watching someone kill themselves slowly unless you've witnessed it firsthand. You are as powerless to help them as they are powerless to the drug. They don't want to lie and steal from you. But they will. You'll want to believe they didn't and you'll question your sanity at times. They'll feel guilty for hurting you and do it some more to cover up the pain. You'll try to find a way to blame everyone but them. The economy, drug dealers, medical problems they have or claim to have, but deep down in your heart, you know whose fault it really is. Theirs and theirs alone. Although I have made it abundantly clear to drug dealers that I think they're lowlife scum who better live it up while they can on the money and sorrow of people and families, because it's my hope that there's a special place in hell waiting for them. If you can't help people, at least don't hurt them.

When you use opiates, you're basically gambling. You're gambling with your life and the lives of those around you who love you and depend on you. Is that a risk you're willing to take? Can you afford to? Do you like those odds? Once you discover you're an addict, it's with you for life. It will be a battle you'll have to fight everyday. You'll try so hard to recover, but it's a long road and subject to relapse. You'll lose all credibility with your friends and family. You'll be the boy who cried wolf if you have any aches or pains. If your eyes are bloodshot or you're tired, they'll think you're using again. You probably are.

There will be few resources for you when you finally decide to kick the habit. They're all different and they're all expensive. Suboxone will be an expensive crutch for you and a second withdrawal later on, if you can ever get off of it at all. I have only met one person who has successfully stopped Suboxone. Rehabs are expensive and if you don't stay on top of meetings and if you stay around the same town and people, you're likely to relapse. It will be like a black hole you can't escape and sometimes you'll consider surrendering to the disease. Addiction is a disease.

If that sounds like a life you'd like to live, dabble with opiates. I can't stop you. I do know that fibromyalgia is a tricky disorder that affects each individually differently. My pain is not the same as yours, and if yours is worse, I'm so sorry for you. I know there are a host of other disorders, diseases, and obviously surgeries, which warrant pain medication, albeit short term.

Personally, in the case of fibromyalgia, I'd rather deal with the aches and pains, allow myself to rest when I need to, take some Advil, promote a healthier lifestyle with less processed foods and overuse my beloved heating pad. I'm not interested in opening Pandora's box to see what opiates have in store for me and I hope you don't either.

Lacrima Mortis

The day I've dreaded all my life finally came. The day I had to say goodbye to my Papaw. I have a fairly small family, so other than my niece's passing this summer, I've never been directly affected by death. I'm very afraid of death and the unknown. I read the bible to see what to expect and try to have faith, but the thought of death still scares me. I know that in Heaven, loved ones will appear differently to us than they do here on Earth. I know that it will be a beautiful thing and I'll feel no fear or pain then, but the thought of any change always scares me.

I think I knew in my heart that today would be the day my Paps passed. I knew I wanted to be there but I was paralyzed with fear. Could I handle seeing life leave his body? Would I stand stoically or would I crumble into pieces and fall on the ground? I sat on the couch for hours pondering this and wondering if I had the mental and emotional strength to even need to be there. I finally turned on autopilot in my brain and pushed myself to just get in the car. I hate living with regrets.

At that point, I still wasn't 100% sure today would be the day. I knew the doctors had suggested it and that my mom was going up there to talk to them, but a part of me was still trying to evade the truth. Unfortunately, as an adult and dealing with such critical situations as this, hiding in your room won't make it go away.

I wasn't in much of a rush to get there, since I didn't know what was happening, which was probably for the best in retrospect. My mind couldn't entertain the fact that this was really it. I assumed we'd just visit him and talk about it, then go home. Traffic was heavy so we took Kingston Pike to Fort Sanders, instead of the interstate that stresses me out, especially at rush hour. When I finally got in touch with my mom, it was happening! I was urgently trying to send a message for them to wait, but we were stuck at a red light under an overpass that was blocking my phone's signal. Rich sped up and dropped me off in front of the hospital and went to park the car. I ran as fast as I could to the elevator and prayed that I had made it in time. I felt like I looked like someone in a movie racing through the airport to stop the person they love from getting on a plane, but I imagine the people I was running past knew whatever I was running toward wouldn't be a fairytale ending.

I arrived to my family standing outside his ICU room. I wondered if I was too late and nearly fell to my knees, but I had made it just in time, literally without a minute to spare. I found myself peeking under the blinds at what they were doing to my Papaw, like a child seeing what the adults are doing. After the doctors and nurses finished, we were able to go in and spend his final moments with him. When someone is taken off life support, an innocent, hopeful part of you is thinking maybe they'll pop up and start breathing on their own. People write books about it all the time! You pray like you've never, ever prayed before for a miracle.

The next five minutes were life-changing. He spent his whole life, years and years, building a business, loving a family, making friends, earning respect, beating the odds and within five minutes, that force to be reckoned with was gone from this Earth. We were talking to my Paps trying to comfort him, and each other somewhat, and play him a song. We told him how much we loved him and thanked him for everything he'd done. We told him how good of a dad and grandfather he was. He was medicated so I truly don't think he was in any pain. He looked more peaceful in those minutes than he has in the past three weeks of misery he's been through. We looked at the monitor and watched as his heart rate and blood pressure slowed, holding our breaths hoping for that miracle.

That miracle didn't come for us, but something I saw touched my heart in a way that will change the way I look at life forever. As he was passing and we were talking to him, a tear welled up in his eye. "He's crying!" my mom and I said to each other and pointed out to the rest. That froze me in my place. Was it a reflex? Was Paps still in there? I have to admit, I haven't felt much of a presence when I've visited him lately, but I thought that could've been the Propofol. I thought he was already gone, days, maybe weeks ago. I thought all that was left was his body, his temple for life that he had left behind.

When I got home I did some searching online about that single tear that kept haunting my thoughts. That tear has a name. It's called Lacrima Mortis, meaning "tear of death." Some people believe that at the moment of death, the body relaxes and releases what is stored in it and the single tear is just a part of that, but it's more common in patients who are expecting death, as opposed to sudden deaths, like car accidents, etc. which leads me to believe there's more to it. There are also reports of it happening up to 10 hours before.

Others believe that the tear of death is shed as the person passing sees the face of God or sees their waiting loved ones. Maybe he could see his father, friends and Paisley and they were welcoming him. Maybe he heard our words of love and comfort to him and felt our warmth and it brought a tear to his little brown eye. Maybe he saw our tears and it was one last feeling of sadness, having to leave us alone to fend for ourselves. Maybe there was something he so badly wanted to say to us but was unable to communicate and that was the only signal he could give us.

It could be any of these things but I'd like to believe it was him saying goodbye to us and that he was seeing something so overwhelmingly beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes. Something we can't even imagine yet, because we're only humans and only know Earth, so far, with all of its pain and craziness. I hope he was overcome with peace and that he feels so much joy. He's met our Lord now. As hard as it is to let him go, I know he's been in so much pain here for so long that it must've been a huge relief to him, even though I know he didn't want to leave us, or his office, just yet.

After he passed, I felt compelled to get a tissue and wipe that tear from his eye. I knew it would be the last time I would be able to feel like I was of comfort to him. I know he's wiped many tears from my eyes. I made him some promises before I left that I plan on keeping. Like I told you Paps, I'll do the best I can.. ;) I don't know what I'm going to do with that sugar-free ice cream in the freezer I bought a few weekends ago to make you milkshakes when you got home. I was going to sneak almond milk in them and see if you noticed. I'd give anything to be able to see you, talk to you and share one more milkshake. It breaks my heart to know that any children of my own I may have someday won't get to meet you. Luckily, Dylan and I will have plenty of stories to share.

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." -- 2 Timothy 4:7

Lacrimosa -- Latin for "Weeping"

I Love You, Paps

As I get settled in my living room after spending much of the day at the hospital with my Paps, I'm uncomfortably aware that these are his last few days and hours on Earth. The free spirit in me wants to roll his bed out of the hospital and take him by all of the places he used to love, but the realist in me knows that he isn't going anywhere.

I can't quite mentally grasp what's happening right now. You can say it out loud a thousand times but it doesn't make it any easier or any less surreal. Never seeing him again isn't something I'm prepared for right now, but I don't think I ever would be. I think some things happen in life that you never become "okay" with, you just have to deal with it as best you can because you're given no other option. Forever is a long time.

Every photograph or item from before this chaos feels like it's from a different world. A world my Paps was part of. Now it just feels like the world is a giant puzzle that's missing a piece. We're misunderstood people and you made me feel like it was okay and like I wasn't alone. You were like a life vest to me.

Although it's too soon to fully accept what's happening, it's not too soon for regrets. I wish I'd been there more. Life gets so busy and hectic; there's always an excuse. You always think you have tomorrow. I'd even write it on my to-do list: "Check on Paps." The last time I saw my Paps before he went in the hospital, he was at his office sleeping. I didn't have the heart to wake him up. If I'd known this would happen, I definitely would've.

I also wish he had been around more. He loves his family, but he was never a stay at home kind of fellow. He is a worker at heart. He liked to be busy. He wanted to be out and about. He thrived on pressure and tension that would make me buckle. I hope some of that strength rubbed off on me somewhere along the way.

It's missing the little things that feels so scary right now. Who will I take the rest of my homemade soup to when I decide to make a big pot? Who will share in my joy of the perfect summer tomato? We didn't get many this year. I think of the little quirks that were either funny or irritating and I pray to God to let me hear or see them again, if only one more time. Wake up and talk to me, just one more time! There are so many things I need and want to say!

I want him to know he's my hero and that he always will be. I want him to know I love him and that I know he loves us, even though he was at work too much. I want him to know that I know he loved my Nana, even though he made mistakes in his marriage, and that she loves him too.

I want him to know I'll always protect my family to the best of my ability and that he can be at peace. I want him to know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make him proud, even though he was proud of me no matter what I did or how many times I failed. I will miss that unconditional love with no questions asked. I want him to know I appreciate all the things that he did for me, but that I still would've loved him if he couldn't have.

Looking at your loved one, helpless and suffering, never gets easier. Each time I think I might handle it differently. I don't stand there sobbing, I just freeze up. I think today, I held the hand of my hero one last time. The hands that were once so busy were still and cold. If I could go back and cherish every minute I had with you, I would. If I could give you the world's biggest hug, I would. If I could call you one last time for comfort over some random life event, I would.

Until it's over, I won't stop praying for a miracle and I hope all of my friends and family do the same. I've thought a lot about my Paps lately and who he was as a person. I want to hold onto the memories I have and the things he taught me, so I can continue to grow as a person because I know that's what he wants. So I want to share a few things I've learned, either by observation or him telling me so.

Things I've Learned From My Paps:

Be a person of few words and a lot of action.

Always love and protect your mother.

Don't be afraid to break a few rules.

Don't go down without a fight.

It's okay to have a messy desk.

You're not better than anyone, no matter what you have.

You often either have time or money, rarely both.

Don't be wasteful.

It's prounounced pa-sketti, not spaghetti.

Always protect children.

Be generous, even though people will speak badly of you anyway.

Never pull out a gun unless you plan on using it.

Make people afraid you'll put them in concrete boots if they cross you. :)

Love people unconditionally, even if you disagree with them.

Naps are good, so take them.. Especially when people are arguing and you don't want to be involved!

Post-Its are the best way to remember things.

Be someone who can keep a secret. A vault.

When I was a little girl, my Nana bought me a balloon and tied it on my wrist. When I got out of the car, it came untied and flew away. My Nana pointed out that I lost my balloon and I said, "It's okay. Papaw will get it for me." If you're too tired to keep fighting, it's ok, Paps. You can let go. If you can't bring the balloon back down to me this time, fly away with it. Give it to baby Paisley and hold her and love her and wait on the rest of us. I love you, Papaw.

-"Baby D 2"

No Missed Calls

I was listening to my iPod and started thinking about how many memories music brought back. When you're listening to a song from a certain period in your life, no matter how shallow or deep the song may be, it's almost as if you can close your eyes and be right back in those moments, the sights and smells. I can almost hear my friends cars pulling in the driveway of my apartment and hear my motion light click on as they're nearing the door. The new car smell of my Scion or my brother's Jetta comes right back to me. I love memories. Some I wish I could forget(the drunk, embarrassing ones), but most of them I remember fondly. After all, I'm only human. Mistakes were going to be made at one point or another.

As I was taking my trip down memory lane, I decided to get my old iPhone out to give to Rich because his is broken. I was going through it to clear out all of my old junk for him when I started to get curious and begin really browsing. Of course I deleted the old shopping lists, phone numbers and text messages, but then I came across something that I don't check often or pay much attention to at all: Voicemail.

This isn't a phone that I've been away from long, it's my iPhone 4 that I carried from 2010 until the end of 2012 and still use as an iPod in my Scion. But since I never check voicemails unless I catch it right as it's left, there were plenty on there to hear. I think there were about 40. I didn't listen to all of them, I just scrolled through to see what my life was like back then. Most of them were from my Nana and Papaw. My Papaw was very sick on this day so the messages from him really tugged at my heart. I continued through and heard messages from friends I barely remember and a few from an ex-boyfriend that I'd never checked during the breakup and those gave me the giggles, and actually a few answers. Who knew? It's crazy how much things can change in just a few short years. Things that broke your heart then don't break your heart now.

Right in the middle of the inbox were a few messages from my brother that I now don't get to see very much. I hesitated to listen to them because it's a very emotional subject for me. Just hearing his name can change my whole mood and day from happy to borderline suicidal. I suppose I'm a masochist because I decided to listen to them and several moments later I was surrounded by tissues on the couch as I lay listening to Evanescence. Amy Lee just "gets" me sometimes.

Right in the middle of my pity party, I had a moment of clarity and thought of something profound, to me at least. I looked again at my old phone full of life and messages and then checked my new phone. There were a few voicemails from family members, just along the lines of "Hey.. Call me back," lots of texts because that has replaced actual telephone voice-to-voice conversation now, and a few missed calls but just from Mom on her way home from work or Rich letting me know he was starting home.

When you're young, your phone is full of fun and secrets. It's always ringing and buzzing to the point that you're annoyed. Friends are calling to hang out or spread gossip and you're trying to decide where to go or who to chat with first. Always in a hurry. I used to get so irritated with my phone always ringing that I started, and still out of habit, keep it on silent. My best friend would call me over and over until I picked up, even if I was asleep. Now, from her, I have no missed calls. I barely have any calls from anyone at all. My phone is usually silent, besides Facebook(which is currently deactivated) or Twitter updates and text messages from my Mom, Nan, Rich or sometimes Timmy. Most of the people on Facebook and Twitter aren't even people that are in my everyday life, just online buddies.

I guess what I'm trying to say is enjoy the annoying buzzing phone while it lasts because inevitably, all things come to an end. We get married, have children, get full-time jobs and at that point, time to call friends and gossip or plan a trip to the movies or mall is few and far between. Before you know it, those monumental people in your life have their own lives that are more important than talking to you on the phone. The phone calls I receive now are generally of a more somber nature.

If I could go back in time, I'd roll myself off of that couch I was sleeping on after a Wendy's binge and call that best friend back and tell her how much I loved and appreciated her and how proud I always was of her, because today, I don't have that opportunity. It's ancient history. She's gone and has no idea who I am anymore, it's clear by casually talking to her now. The person who knew me the most and talked to me all night, thinks things of me that would never be true. She now confides in others about her mistrust of me. I would go back to one of those days, and instead of going straight home from work because I was tired, I'd go over to their house and hang out for a while first. I now know I have all the time in the world to rest. I would drive over to my brother and just randomly hug him, talk about some stupid rap song from back in the day, and thank them both for seeing me through the bad times, just as I did for them.

I would make them promise, no matter how mad we got at each other, for things big or small, that we would always forgive and never lose touch. I would tell them that despite my shortcomings, I thought more of them than anyone else in the world for so long and that they were my support system. No one understood me quite like them, and now that I feel they don't understand, I feel it's impossible that anyone else would be able to. I'm a complicated mess full of bad habits and phobias but they seemed to accept me anyway. They saw me at my ugliest and my drunkest. The storm in my life is over now, I got sober many moons ago, but I still need people to talk to. People that understand and know my background. I can barely see anything without being reminded of an inside joke.

Time, we cannot get back. Those days are over and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it now. I think, as humans, that's one of the saddest parts of life. Things and people change indefinitely, and also no one lives forever. You never know when the clock is going to run out and you're out of time to make things right. I know that from personal experience. I have another old friend that passed away. You never shake the feeling that maybe there's something you could have done to help or comfort them and you wonder if it would have changed anything. Of course if it did change anything, you wouldn't know, because the tragedy wouldn't have happened. Maybe we've helped more people than we know. Maybe that's something we'll find out at the end.

I wish I'd always let those important people know how much they meant to me before they left, not knowing what an impact they made on my life and what I would/did lose in their absence, because soon enough for most of us, we're sitting here married, old and on the couch with no missed calls. Cherish those youthful, innocent moments, no matter how good or bad they may seem. Someday, you'll miss the persistent, annoying phone calls.

I'm from the future, and I've come to tell you that declining the call is a bad idea.

Entitlement

A wait in line at the pharmacy can reveal a lot of things. In fact, that's where the police should park their cars and watch, instead of in the median where they are so likely to get hit. You have your elderly people picking up their medicines, mothers and women getting their regular prescriptions, sick people in for some relief by antibiotic or cough medicine but you can also see the anxious, fidgety drug addict or dealer waiting to get their fix, or a lot of people's fix.

I'm not going to be talking about the druggies today, even though I felt they were worth a mention. What I started out to write about today was entitlement and it's a big problem in America. It may very well be the biggest problem, that all of the little problems are trickling down from. You can see entitlement anywhere you look. It seems that most people think something is owed to them or that they are deserving of anything anyone else has despite their lack of motivation.

A simple first example of entitlement, in my opinion, would be your common thief. He breaks into garages and may take your dirt bike because he wants it and feels that the world should turn on its axis and give it to him. He pretends the world is against him, even though the real reason he doesn't have his own is because he won't work for it. This kind of entitlement will lead them to steal anything you may leave outside that they can get their hands on. They may even be bold enough to then ask to borrow money from you. I've seen these people personally, as I'm sure you have also. Drugs are often involved, but I don't believe in using that as an excuse.

Another great example of entitlement starts out at my husband's shop. I used to work there and you see a lot of interesting people walking down Roane Street sometimes. Most of them are the friendly townspeople or people who work a few blocks up, but you get the occasionally whackjob. I was at work one afternoon, writing away at some repair orders for my husband when suddenly the door flies open and a man comes in and makes himself comfortable. I had never saw him before that day, but I assumed he was a customer, since I haven't met them all and he walked in like he knew the shop. I said hello and asked how he was doing, as he looked pretty rough, and what I got in reply was "Not good. I need a ride to Rockwood." I said, "Okay, well do you have a car you've left with us? Are you a customer?" He replied that he was not and had never been in before so I offered to call him a cab, knowing I wasn't going to take a strange, demanding man all the way to Rockwood, even if gas prices were low! He said, "Well that there's a problem. I ain't got no money. I just left the hospital for a spider bite and I need a ride to Rockwood," yet again glancing back and forth at me and my black Lexus outside as if it was owed to him, or since I had such a flashy ride, it was my debt to pay to have to drive him to Rockwood. Not here, buddy. Rich finally overheard and got the man out.

I witnessed a lot of entitlement as a server. You know when you visit a sit-down restaurant that tipping is part of the deal. It's the way life is, unfortunately. Everyone wants to get the best service and the best food, but when it comes time to tip the server, they fall short. If your server has done a horrible job and was rude, I'm not asking you to waste your hard-earned money, but if they were friendly and brought everything you asked for promptly, you have no excuse not to tip them 15-20%. Don't use the excuse that you can't afford it, because if not, you shouldn't be eating out to begin with. I had so many people with entitlement issues come into my workplace and make my life harder. They won't ask you for ketchup, sauce and a refill all at once, they'll watch you ruin your feet as you do each one separately. They'll shake their glass of ice at you even though you just asked them if they'd like a refill less than 5 minutes ago, to which they declined and asked for a check stating they were done. Apparently, these entitled people think you should be able to read their mind and fulfill their every desire for only $2.50 an hour and without a tip looming on the horizon. If you don't believe in tipping, that's an issue for you to discuss with the corporate offices since the employees you see in restaurants do not make those decisions or have that kind of authority. They are only there to make ends meet. This is something you should be teaching your children, too. I've met more than my fair share of entitled teenagers who think it's funny to put a piece of food in their drink and ask for another, pretending I put it in there. Like I wouldn't notice that a pepperoni fell into a drink. Pepperoni isn't even near the soda machines! I do not appreciate a teenager questioning my intelligence with an idiotic joke.

For my final example, I'm going to return to the first scene of this blog, the pharmacy. I recently had a sinus and eye infection and was lucky enough to have to wait an hour for my prescriptions at our local pharmacy. When I finally received the text that they were ready, I scurried back in line to swiftly pick them up and head home. The line moved pretty quickly until they began to wait on the person in front of me. She was older but fully capable of walking, talking or working, as was her husband and since it was during a work day I assume they were unemployed. They were too young to be retired and what are the odds they both work third shift? They were on some sort of government aided insurance. I'm not really sure of the details, I've never recieved anything from Uncle Sam, I just overheard that it was government paid. I already assumed, shame on me. She was supposed to pay a co-pay and was complaining that she shouldn't have to pay more than $5. It ended up taking the pharmacy a while, but they finally pleased her. I, on the other hand, have no insurance. My family doesn't believe in handouts and even if they did, I wouldn't qualify. Private insurance is difficult to obtain although I will be on my husband's policy soon, but it will leave a hole in our wallet. Apparently, Obamacare helps people with pre-existing conditions out a lot but the average person who has only a few prescriptions and doctor visits a year, it raises it because insurance companies now have to offer unlimited coverage to anyone. So as I paid $77 for some eyedrops, antibiotics and allergy medicine, I couldn't help but resent the person who just walked away with a full month of medicine complaining that they had to pay $5 out of pocket.

The moral of this story is that, as a country, we are too entitled. People think that since the economy is rough that it's an excuse to not try and to lay back and let others do it for you. We pay taxes every month and when we do, I picture the woman from the pharmacy. Her biggest problem that day was a small co-pay. I had an eye and sinus infection and my grandfather was two and a half hours away at a hospital with a life-threatening illness. Everyone wants work done but when we put the time and effort into it and try to return it, we get a bounced check or someone who simply won't answer the phone. Even other corporations try to rip us off, the struggle is real apparently. The new taxes cut my paycheck by $5 and all I've got are jokes about how "it's only $5" but that's a lot coming out of my small check, I'm not a millionaire! When I was a server, a $5 tip was a big deal for me, I worked hard for that. Five more dollars to help the ones who won't help themselves, and that's annoying no matter what political party you are.

I believe, and I'm told, you get what you put into this world and people should get what they deserve. If you work hard I believe you should be rewarded and appreciated, no matter what your line of work. You should be able to profit from your success and buy what you please with it. My husband is a small business owner and I had never saw anyone work so hard before, except my Paps. I saw someone joking on Facebook one day that finding a job was as hard as running a business and I told my husband and we had a good laugh. Let them see the bills we have to pay every month and the tasks we must perform just to keep the doors open and they will get back out on the job search quickly. I'm a housewife now, luckily. I keep a clean home, I cook, basically I take charge of anything that goes on on this property while also trying to care for the family. That is my line of work until further notice. I do wish everyone could have that luxury, but I didn't until I got married. When I met Rich I was working full time and had a second job at night. I'm so thankful to have the life I do. If your family can afford you nice things, that's fabulous, but you shouldn't look to the taxpayer for it or expect special treatment from everyone. I wish everyone nothing but the best and I hope someday the entitlement will be gone and that people will earn their keep, but until then, keep your ears closed at the pharmacy.