Pack Up the Moving Vans!

Time to update your RSS feeds and for those of you rockin’ it old school, bookmarks. I’m moving to http://melliferouspants.com/.

xoxo,

Pants

Care Package!

Today I received a care package from my friend Sonja. She stuffed it full of all sorts of awesome goodies! Our cupboard is now full of Trader Joe’s snacks and deliciousness.

She also sent pretty much the best birthday card ever. If only it really came with a tampon holder knitting pattern!

Sonja is also a recovering Mormon and we share a fascination and repulsion for our family histories (polygamy). I am so excited to start reading “The 19th Wife,” a polygamist murder mystery novel!

And last, but certainly not least, she sent me delicious wine from Boa Ventura Vineyard. Shh! Don’t tell anyone I’m currently enjoying a delicious glass of contraband wine. It goes perfectly with the spicy Italian sausage tomato sauce I threw over brown rice fusilli pasta from Trader Joe’s. NOM!

The question that is never safe to ask

Like many people, I’m having a rough time financially. After the miscarriage I was left staring at my WIC checks and my empty bank account: unsure what to do and feeling too guilty to use them. Last week I finally worked up the courage to call the WIC office and ask what to with my remaining checks after the miscarriage. When the woman told me to continue using them because WIC services are still available to women for six months following miscarriage I was so happy, relieved, and sad that I started crying.

Tonight I used a WIC check: the cashier was really talkative and friendly and asked for my phone number so I could get grocery points for my WIC purchase. She went on to say their baby rewards value club doesn’t recognize WIC purchases without manually inputting a customer’s phone number. When she asked if I was part of the baby rewards value club I said no, hoping she would just put information about it in my bag and leave it at that…but she didn’t. She asked when my baby was due. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her the truth, that I had miscarried and WIC offered their services to women like me for six months. I felt horrible. She felt horrible. The just-barely-made-it-to-a-halfway-house bagger looked like he felt bad though I don’t think he quite understood what happened. I couldn’t even run out of the store because she had started ringing up my non-WIC purchase. The tears started before I even made it out of the store. I suppose asking a woman on WIC how far along she is, isn’t such a strange question, I just wish it didn’t feel so bad.

Add to the list of things to feel bad about: today I bought a pack of cigarettes. I know this is disappointing to people in my life. Frankly, it’s disappointing to me too. I just feel so awful and stressed and unsure what the fuck to do with myself and smoking just sounded good, though it’s obviously not a smart choice. So I’m having a cocktail, eating Cadbury Mini Eggs, making some microwave popcorn and praying for today to end and tomorrow to be less painful.

Yo

Today Is my birthday! I am happy that it has been a good day: I worked for a few hours, had lunch with my mom, came home to find Mike wearing the same outfit as our first date and being generally adorable.

In a little while we’re going on a Pyrex thrift store hunt. Maybe find me a new jigsaw puzzle (not at the thrift store – thrift store puzzles freak me out)? Last night I finished my 1500 piece mescaline puzzle. This puzzle is so fucked up we decided the creator surely had to be on drugs. Lots and lots of drugs!

Lately I’ve also run across some totally fucking awesome Utah thrift store finds. Here are a few pictures of a game called Forever Families. The object of the game is to collect genealogy information cards called “Ancestors” that you then use to take to the temple to receive “Session Cards.” In case none of that makes sense to you, “Session Cards” refers to baptisms for the dead, or temple marriages for the dead. CREEPY.

We ran across this little jewel last night at the library. I thought the title said it all… but (unbelievably) it gets BETTER. Some creepy person hand wrote extra instructions in the text regarding bust enlargement using total brain power. HOLY FUCK. Mike said he’s going to check it out and read it to my boobs while I sleep.

Tuesday was particularly heinous

I was proud of myself because the only time I cried was (very briefly) on the phone with my sister. Then I came home to a $3941 bill from the hospital for my D&C. (Commence freak out.) Hopefully my insurance company will pick some (er, ALL) of that up but I don’t have high hopes; thus far I have had shitty coverage at best.

Before I was realized I need to hold off worrying for a little bit, I had a complete breakdown. Which I think is an understandable reaction to receiving a large bill as a result of the miscarriage. I don’t think my reaction would have been quite so extreme if I weren’t already having some pretty serious financial problems…not knowing how I’m  going to pay for my current bills, partly as a result of taking time off because of the  miscarriage = stressful times infinity.

When I emailed my mother about the billing mess I told her I hoped my insurance would pick some of it up (AHEM, all of it) because opening a bill for the removal of our no longer viable fetus just seemed cruel upon the horror of everything else.

To which my mother replied: “You will eventually have to stop using statements about your baby that inflame your emotions. Think of nurturing statements to be good to yourself. Wrap a little blankee around yourself.”

I know my mother was just trying to be helpful, but COME ON! It’s been only been two weeks. I’m allowed to say whatever the fuck I want. I can use whatever statements I want about my no longer viable fetus (which I even toned down for her – I have no qualms working my way through my insurance phone tree repeatedly asking why they aren’t covering the removal of my dead baby from my uterus). Besides, that is EXACTLY what happened. The medical term is missed abortion: intrauterine pregnancy is present but is no longer developing normally with fetal demise prior to 20 weeks’ gestation.

My mother and I have always dealt with things differently. I have a more out-there approach to dealing with sadness and trauma. My mother will write two page emails with detailed descriptions of Sunday drives: white puffy clouds and how they look upon a blue sky, the way the road winds through the mountain, which wildflowers are in bloom and how many she pressed for later use, the book on CD they listened to, animals they may have passed, etc.. At the very end of the email she will include an incomplete sentence letting me know that my father’s bladder cancer* has recurred and he’ll be seeking treatment for it. F that.

So that was how my week, how was yours?

*My dad is currently fine; I was just using this as an example of our different methods of coping and communication.

Blog Share

As mentioned in the post below, the following is part of the Blog Share. I did not write this post. My anonymous post is elsewhere on the internet. A list of the participating blogs can be found at the bottom of this post.

My story is a long one. I hope you can stay with me until the end. I promise it is not a boring story.

I cannot believe I am about to disclose this secret to all of you. I decided to share it for several reasons:

1. It is about something caused by someone else so it wasn’t my fault. Therefore, I should not be ashamed of it.

2. I made the right decision for me at the time, and helped someone else in the process. Therefore, I should not be ashamed of it.

3. I have never regretted how I chose to handle the situation. Therefore, I should not be ashamed of it.

4. I am not the only person on this earth who has been through this type of situation. Therefore, I should not be ashamed of it.

So why can’t I disclose this secret on my own blog? Because, while I should not be ashamed of it, I do feel ashamed. Because my parents have made me feel ashamed about it since it happened. I’ve been feeling ashamed for a very long time and I keep this secret deep within me. I’ve shared this secret with only a handful of people. I was raped. But that’s not the whole story. If that was the entire story, I would not feel ashamed.

It is true that I should not have been at that party at that guy’s house that night. I told my parents I was going to a movie with some of my friends. Just because I was somewhere I should not have been is not an excuse or reason for a guy to rape me though. My parents believed otherwise.

I did not go home that night and share what happened with my parents. I did not share what had happened with anyone. I did not report what happened to the police. I did not go to a hospital for an exam. I did not share it with any other family members. I did not share it with my pastor. I did not share it with my very best friends. I did not share it with my boyfriend. I felt sickened just thinking about telling anyone about what that awful guy had done to me that night at that party.

It soon became apparent that the story had not ended when I left that party and made the decision not to tell anyone. I missed my next period. I started feeling sick every morning. One day I broke down in tears and told my best friend about the guy, about what happened, and that I feared I was pregnant. She hugged me and she held my hand as we walked through the door of the place I was going to be tested a few days later. My worst fears were confirmed. I was pregnant by that wretched piece of shit.

Rather than facing up to reality, I buried my head in the sand for the next few months. I suppose the entire situation had screwed with my head so much that I believed I could ignore it and somehow everything would work itself out and this baby would simply disappear so that I would not have to deal with it or tell anyone about what had happened. I had gone back to college about 2 hours away from home without ever telling anyone other than my best friend. My parents came to visit me one weekend and I was beginning to show. They confronted me and I finally told them everything. At that point, I was almost six months pregnant. They were furious with me for not telling them. My mom was even more furious when I confessed to them that my best friend knew everything. They drove me back to my dorm, told me to pack up my things, and then they withdrew me from school and we returned to my hometown.

I was screamed at during the entire drive back home. I was unpacking my stuff from the car after we got back home when my best friend happened to be driving into the neighborhood (she lived in the same neighborhood we lived in) and she pulled in the driveway. As soon as she got out of her car, my mom began screaming at her. She began crying, got back in her car and left. That was the beginning of the end of our friendship. She could never get past the things my mom yelled at her in the driveway that afternoon and it created a deep crack in our relationship. I don’t blame her for that at all. I felt horrible because it was not my friend’s fault that I chose her to share my story with and chose not to share it with my parents.

I was instructed by my parents to stay inside at all times. I was not allowed to open the blinds in the house because they didn’t want any of the neighbors to be able to look in and see me. I was instructed not to walk down the driveway to the mailbox so no one would see me. They told my siblings that I was pregnant. They didn’t tell them I was raped. Because, as I would soon discover, they didn’t believe me. I did not find out until years later that my siblings did not know the whole story. They were shocked when I told them. They were shocked that my parents would have withheld such information.

My father spoke with our family doctor without my knowledge and made arrangements for me to be sent to a group home approximately six hours away. They let me choose whether or not I wanted to share with my boyfriend what was going on before I left. I decided to tell him because I felt like he deserved an explanation since things had been so chaotic. He told me he loved me very much. He then offered to marry me, adopt the baby, and raise the baby as his own. This was my chance to stand up against my parents and make a different choice about how I was going to handle the situation than the one they were steering me towards. I declined his offer. I knew we were too young. I did not feel that I was capable of being a good mother and despite the fact that this baby was conceived under terrible circumstances, I knew it was not the baby’s fault and that this baby deserved much more than I was able to offer. If I am being completely honest, I also wondered if I would ever look at that baby and not think about what that guy had done to me. My baby did not deserve that. I ended my relationship with my boyfriend because he was kind and he did not deserve to deal with my situation either.

I was whisked away under the cover of darkness. I pretended to be asleep for the drive so I would not have to listen to my parents and their never ending lecturing about what a disappointment I was to them. I had listened to little else since I was brought home from college. I was taken to a group home with approximately 20 other pregnant girls. I lived there for the following three and a half months. It seemed as though I was there for three and a half years and I saw things I never want to see again. I saw one girl lose her baby when the cord became wrapped around its neck. I learned later that after she got home, her father accidentally shot her in the neck and she was paralyzed. I saw others leave arm in arm with their parents with smiles on their faces as they went back home. I saw others leave who were terrified because they were not sure what awaited them at home or how their families would treat them. I saw new girls arrive with the same frightened look I had on my face the first day. I saw girls as young as 13 and as old as 22. I did volunteer work. I took birthing classes. We all had daily chores. I tried to take the new girls in under my wing and show them the ropes when they arrived. I went to the mall with a group of pregnant teens and felt the stares of judgmental people. I heard their ugly remarks.

I chose the adoptive parents. I never doubted my decision for a minute. I knew my baby was going to have a loving home with a wonderful couple and my baby deserved no less.

My parents had made the decision to only tell a couple of family members on my mom’s side. Not one person on my father’s side of the family knows what happened to me to this day. My grandparents lived a couple of hours from the group home and they were with me throughout my labor. My mom arrived at the hospital several hours after the baby was born. My father did not come.

All of this happened over 20 years ago. I can count on one hand how many times my mom has mentioned it. My father has never acknowledged anything ever happened. Yes, it hurts my feelings quite a bit, but I’ve learned to accept that this is way things have to be.

My parents forced me to get a job the week after the baby was born. I was back in college the next month. My mom made me exercise constantly so that I would lose the weight and no one would know. They would not let me sit still at all. They would not let me bury my head in the sand even for one day. I was so angry, but looking back I think this was what I needed.

At some point (years later), I reached a place where I realized I was extremely proud of the way I handled what happened. I never doubted the decisions I made. It made me a very strong person and the strength I gained helped me through some tough situations I’ve faced since all of this happened. Looking back, I think we all realize things could have been handled better, and I’ve forgiven my parents for making me feel so ashamed. But I have not forgotten. I still feel ashamed in some respects. I doubt that will ever go away entirely. When you’ve been told you are not allowed to walk down the driveway lest you embarrass your entire family, you don’t get over how that makes you feel. Not ever. You forgive but trust me, you never forget. You also do not ever forget that your father was so disappointed in you that he could not find it in himself to be there for you when you needed him the most. I don’t know that I’ve entirely forgiven them for not believing that I was raped, but I’ll keep working on that. Some may wonder why I have not shared my story with others since I realize I should not feel ashamed and since I am proud of the manner in which I handled things. I think it is because I had to endure so much to keep it a secret for so many years that it hardly seems to make sense to freely share it with people now.

That is my story. I was raped. I got pregnant. I gave my baby up for adoption. I survived it all.

And You Know What Else
Andrea Unplugged
Blue Soup
Bright Yellow World
Bwildered
Caity of the Keps
Catheroominations
Citystreams
Daily Tannenbaum
Did I Say That Outloud?
Dispatches From The Failed Mommy Club
Face Down
For The Long Run
Full Of Snark
Heidikins
In Java, Literally
Just Below 63
LizLand
Malfeasance
A New Duck
NonSoccer Mom
The North Is My Snowcone
Not The Daddy
Operation Pink Herring
Pants, Pants, Pants
Red Red Whine
Sassy Buster
Sauntering Soul
Shushing Action
Snarke
Snow-Covered Hills
Swimming With Sharks
Thinking Some More
Trueish Story
Way Way Up
Whiskey Marie

Tomorrow is Blog Share!

Tomorrow I am participating in Blog Share! I be will hosting an anonymous Blog Share participant’s post here. Somewhere out there I will have an anonymous post, too. GOODY! I love Blog Share time because the anonymity makes for some super juicy/interesting reading. And  really productive work day. I will post a list of blog share participants later tonight.

I feel bad talking about the miscarriage. Everyone tells me not to feel badly, but I can’t help it. No one knows what to say in response and it’s not even that I need anything said, it’s more that I need listening. I’m saddened that my healthcare does not offer more help for miscarriage bereavement and I’m getting worried about what they’ll cover from the D&C. It was considered an emergency procedure so there was no time to have it authorized. Thus far I have not had many positive experiences with my health care provider; I’m getting worried. For example, if you go to the emergency room and the insurance company declares your illness was not life threatening (according to their who-knows-how-the-hell-they-make-them-up standards), they will not cover anything. So having general anesthesia, surgery, and what not, I am shitting bricks waiting to hear back from them.

BYU Study Shows Violent Video Games Increase Number of Sex Partners?

One of the great things about living in Utah is the seemingly endless supply of fucked up bullshit! This morning my boyfriend sent me a link to this blog post about a “study” Brigham Young University completed.

The study followed 500 female and 313 male US undergraduate college students. They found:

“Young men were also more likely to use the Internet for entertainment, daily headline news, and pornography, while young women more often used the Internet for email and schoolwork.”

Also:

“However, regardless of gender, clear correlations were seen between frequent gaming and more frequent alcohol and drug use and lower quality personal relationships, as well as more frequent violent gaming and a greater number of sexual partners and low quality personal relationships.”

Low quality personal relationships? According to whom?! Talk about a worthless study! I wonder if they took into account the average age of their participants was 20 years of age? Frequent alcohol and drug use? Greater number of sexual partners? In the real world, we call that COLLEGE. Add to that: they are giving poor nerdy gamers everywhere false hope about all the pussy they’ll be scoring while they’re making Gears of War scream their name. Yikes.

It’s a good thing Brigham Young University isn’t doing anything WORTHWHILE with their time and money. I am grateful they’re not using my tax dollars, though it does chap my hide the LDS church (ahem, my childhood cult) got 10% of my babysitting money until I wised up and left around the same time babysitting was no longer my main source of income.

I am having an angry day. But seriously, you should go read the linked blog post and article. They are both jewels!

Oh Me Oh My

I ran across this frightening treasure in a local thrift store. For those of you who aren’t aware of what “Family Home Evening” is, it’s time that you set aside on Monday night to spend with your family…usually a church lesson and some songs or games. It sounds like a nice idea, right? But maybe not EXACTLY as depicted in this little picture.

Oh Lordie

Twice in the past week I’ve thrown up all over myself at school. I realize that I live in a state owned by the Mormons, but for the loveoffuckinggod, is it too much to ask that they keep their fucking religion away from my education?

(Yes. It is too much to ask.)

I was sitting next to two nineteen-year-old boys talking about their mission calls…

“I go into the MTC (mission training center) one day after Obama goes into office.”

“You are a lucky man.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to be out of this country for two years while he’s in office.”

“No kidding. I pray I’ll be so lucky, to get a mission call out of country. I DO NOT TRUST THAT MAN.”

I would like to know what these fucking BABIES actually know about Obama, beyond what their parents and church leaders have frightened them with. It scares the shit out of me to be surrounded by a bunch of thoughtless lemmings.

Last night one of my classmates gave a presentation on death (which was relevant to class material – psychology through the years). I could tell the presenter worked very hard, but the tone in his voice made me cringe: it was the soft, spiritual tone that I am very familiar with; thanks to the 19 years of time I did in the cult that tries to pass as a religion.

He related an account of a friend whose father worked in the church educational system for his entire career; this man became close with many (modern day) prophets and apostles. When he was in the hospital dying from cancer, the prophet and apostles came to visit him. After one came to give him a blessing, he pulled the man’s adult daughter aside to comfort her. She asked the man of God why her father was dying of cancer. What did her kind-hearted father do to deserve this? He responded, “God has many ways of bringing his children home.”

Then I threw up all over my desk.

I fucking HATE that shit. No one likes going to funerals, no one wants to lose loved ones, but that is my least favorite things about funerals: the “he/she is in a better place” bullshit. FUCK THAT. Who’s to say they’re in a better place? I’d like for there to be something beyond this world, but who’s to fucking say if there is anything? Is this discussion appropriate in a public school?

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCK.

I don’t remember where I found this, but everyone should watch it, especially every single person who supported Prop 8.