Not for the Faint of Heart...a Life Turned on its Head--- again

I’m going through a really tough time in my life right now. Goodness knows I’ve seen more than my share of hard times, and I’ll likely see more of these figurative crevasses before my days are through, but when one is in the middle of it and just trying to make her way out of such a crevasse, it sure can be daunting.

Let’s see… first is the winding down of a 35-year marriage and all that entails---physically, mentally, emotionally, financially… those of you whom have been here know what I’m talking about. It’s a really tough situation, despite the fact that my hubby and I part as friends. I’m grateful for that, at least. Nonetheless, it’s hard…especially emotionally. It means closing the door on everything I once thought my future would be. I know I’ll be exploring that further with the help of my keyboard (as well as my psychiatrist and counselor) further in the days, weeks, months, and maybe even years to come.

Next is the dismantling of my familial home, which is, of course, a direct result of the divorce, but which necessarily would have happened anyway, eventually. The kids have grown and gone and the necessity to downsize is the inevitable result. This beautiful house is simply too damned big for one or even two people, and the maintenance is a financial and logistical nightmare. After all, it's 12,000 square feet in size, eight beds and eight baths, 6 air conditioning units, blah blah blah blah blah... But I love my home. I mean, I really love my home. In fact, I designed much of it myself, with the help of an architect of course, but still…as an artist and craftsperson, I have put my heart and soul into this house over the years.

More importantly, however, is the fact that my home represents an enormous chapter of my emotional life. It’s been a place of both great joy and great sorrow. It’s where I watched my children grow up and become the adults they now are; where birthdays and holidays were celebrated, milestones achieved. Beloved pets have come and gone through the years. It is the place where a beautiful little boy took his first steps, bestowed upon his adoring fans his first smiles, and indeed his first laugh. It's also the place where my first grandchild perished, and where I lived when I lost my son. Yes, there are a great many memories wrapped up within these walls, good and bad, and it will be hard to turn away. I just wish I’d photographed each and every room of it before the dismantling began. Why did I not think to do so? Well, like much of my life, my memories will have to suffice.

In dismantling a home, I am faced with the next challenge: finding a new home. Unlike my current home, this one will be missing some very important elements: my people. There will be no partner to share my life. There will be no children or grandchildren to routinely enliven my space (though I hope there will be many visits). It will be just me, alone for the first time since my mid-twenties. Well, me and a couple of dogs and a cat. This is both extremely daunting and terribly exciting at the same time. In this moment in time, however, the daunting part is precedent. I suppose that the exciting part will begin once I make the move and begin turning it into a space uniquely mine. But boy, what changes I face!

My new home will not even be in the city in which I currently live. I’ll have to immerse myself in a new community. Reach out in the hope of making new friends. Find a whole new routine. It’s… a bit terrifying, to be perfectly honest. I make acquaintances quite easily, but the truth is I find it very hard to make new friends... at least the deep and genuine friendships I relish. That’s a topic ripe for further exploration someday.

Another situation that needs immediate attention is finding a tenant for a condominium unit I own in San Marcos. This one is not nearly as challenging as some of my other tasks, but still… it’s another thing that I must address and it’s another thing that stretches my already-taught tether to sanity and stability. Fortunately, I have already addressed most of the difficult tasks related to this endeavor: I’ve had it renovated with new cabinets and countertops, a fresh coat of paint, and some furnishings. Hopefully the rest will simply be a matter of a few more phone calls and I’ll be able to cross this one off my list.

This condominium unit was originally meant to be my part-time home. I’d been trying to earn my degree in Fine Arts at Texas State University, and several of my classes didn’t let out until after 10:00 pm. Indeed, sometimes I had to remain all night, monitoring the kiln in the ceramics department. It proved extremely mentally and physically exhausting, being that my commute was an hour and a half, so I reasoned that If I had a condo to rest in during the week, I might just be able to pull it off. With everything else I’ve had to deal with of late, however, I have put that goal aside (only for now, I hope), and instead I am offering it up for rent until a day comes that I might pursue that elusive goal again.

An enormous challenge, and one that I am grateful to report is finally about to come to a close, is a nearly two-year renovation project that I am tackling from afar: a 100-year-old “playhouse” in Pensacola, Florida that I call “Avant Garden” (formerly Tami’s Little Jewel, because, as I said to some of my friends, I was endeavoring to create a little jewel in the midst of Pensacola’s East Hill neighborhood). This project has been almost all-consuming at times. It’s meant numerous trips back and forth, endless phone calls and challenges with sub-contractors (yes, I’m handling every detail myself), permits, and a great deal of cold, hard, cash. But it’s lovely, and soon I will be able to go there and (hopefully) escape the shit-show that is my life here from time to time, enjoying the fruits of my labors.

My next challenge, and it’s a doozy, is that I am currently in some pretty serious legal trouble. I have debated back and forth about whether I should reveal this ugly truth, and with a great deal of trepidation I am just going to take a deep breath and risk it. After all, like I said, this blog is for me, primarily, and in keeping it I am attempting to sort through everything: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And this is pretty damned ugly. It will likely go down as one of the deepest shames of my life.

I got myself a DUI. There. I said it.

Yes, I went out to lunch with a friend and yes, in the middle of the day I drank too many cocktails and yes, I got behind the wheel and put everyone on the road at risk. I’m a loser and a failure and a despicable human being and I’ve gotten everything I deserve for making such a colossal mistake. I chastise myself daily, and I have enormous legal fees and a breathalyzer device on my car to show for it. It’s going to take me years to put this behind me. I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse: I could have hurt or even killed somebody, including myself. And the devastation that would have left behind is unthinkable. I count my lucky stars every day that that was not the case. In actuality, I was quite lucky: there was not even so much as a fender-bender. I was simply swerving in my lane and got caught by the ever-vigilant Lakeway police about a block from my home. I had the unique experience of spending a night in the Travis County jail, along with a really interesting mosaic of utterly delightful citizens facing whatever it was they were facing. And to add insult to injury, I was faced with another harsh reality: I look really ugly in stripes! I have to laugh in spite of myself: they didn’t have jail garb small enough for me, so I had to roll the pant legs up and the waistband down considerably, and even hold the waistband when I stood, else they’d have fallen right off! (Hey, you have to find the humor in even the ugliest of situations in order to get by sometimes, eh?) 

Of great impact to my current mental and emotional state is the fact that these stressors have prompted me to resume psychiatric treatment. Frankly, I should never have left. You see, I suffer from chronic major depressive disorder, PTSD (thanks, “Dad,”), ADD, and possibly bipolar disorder. Yes, I’m a mess. Frankly, it’s a miracle that I’m still here. At any rate, I’m on some new medications and they are tough. My hands are shaking and I’m often in a mental fog. And a couple of times, my emotions have taken sudden and dramatic turns toward The Dark Side. But I’ve been here before and I know from experience that transitioning to a new psychotropic medication is hard initially, but with luck, my meds will produce the desired results and help settle this addled brain. Sometimes it just takes time to get used to a new medication. And if these don't work, I’ll have to try again with something else. But I absolutely must continue to try, or else. The alternative is unthinkable, and on that topic I will say no more at this time.

LATER:

I'm editing the latter part of this post from its former contents because as it turns out, some of the stuff I wrote previously was completely inaccurate. My friends have helped me to see that. Frankly, I'm really kind of not thinking clearly. I think this comes as a result of complications from a brand new medication. A caring and trusted friend told me that I am not myself and urged me to call my doctor immediately. I did so, and we just finished a phone consult. He's adjusting my medication but did tell me that the stuff I'm on can be brutal at first. He still think it's the right approach, but the dosage is maybe too much too soon. And he's adding something to help ease the adjustment period. So, I'm going to stay with it and trust that my doctor and I are doing the right thing.

I'm tough as nails, and I'll get by. After all, as several of my friends have reminded me, I’ve been through more hardship than post people do in ten lifetimes, but I'm still kicking, and I’ll keep on kicking. It's not easy but I'm determined. I deserve to be happy. I will do everything in my power to turn this train wreck around. I know that I'm taking the right steps, but the interim is challenging. Still, I have hope. It's all good. It's hard to live with a brain like mine, but at the same time, sometimes my brain is pretty darned awesome if I do say so myself. 

Happy trails!



ADDENDUM: This entry is somewhat of a “Reader’s Digest Condensed Version” of events taking place in my life right now, in this moment in time. As you can imagine, I have devoted mere paragraphs to topics that are pretty darned enormous in scope, and I’m sure I’ll devote further exploration to each in due time. But the primary purpose of this entry is to take a general inventory of what I currently have on my plate, and to share my struggles. Also, to be honest to myself and the world at large. I don’t know why revealing myself to perfect strangers is easier than doing so to friends, but it is. I guess there is safety behind the anonymity of my keyboard. And in some way that defies logic, sharing myself helps me. It’s an emotional purge that helps to lift some of the weight I carry.

In proofreading the above, I can only guess as to how it will be received. Perhaps you will judge me for the DUI? Perhaps you will think I’m a sniveling crybaby at best, or pathetic loser at worst, because I lament the lack of support I desperately need? You wouldn't be alone. I judge myself so.

It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Baggage? Yeah, I've got plenty. But I’m a work in progress. I am me, for better or worse. And I trust and hope that in the next chapter, better days are ahead. Maybe a better, stronger Tami Jo, too.

Happy trails!