Compromise

We've booked our tickets to LA for Christmas to spend it with hubby's parents...and I'm not completely thrilled.

That, I'm very conscious, makes me sound incredibly ungrateful, I mean as I don't work I'm not paying or contributing and it's a holiday in LA for duck sake!! Most people don't get ONE holiday a year and nearly every other year I get two, so yes I'm aware of how ungrateful and selfish and precious I sound.

Would it really be that much of a hardship to spend three weeks in the company of a woman (the mother in law) who has the emotional depth of a corpse?

How hard can it be to have listen to her blow sunshine out of N (my sister in law's) backside while also telling me how she has deleted that really unflattering photo of me for me? I think I might appreciate that one more if she didn't do it at the top of her lungs from across the room and whilst in company. Just call me ungrateful.

I don't particularly enjoy feeling like my back has been broken by sleeping on an airbed in the front room either (I can say that because I've already admitted to being precious)

I hate how she lavishes attention - both financially and emotionally - on her daughter N and doesn't do the same for her son - my hubby - L. I'm not a mother but even I know you can't do for one without also doing for the other.

What I do like however, (yes I really do have something positive to say) is being able to spend time with my hubby, which due to him being in the forces doesn't happen as often as I'd like. Or sometimes when I need.

I like going to bed in the evening and knowing when I wake up he is going to be there.

I like seeing him relax (despite checking his mobile at least once a day for text messages etc which are work related) and taking a deep breath.

I like seeing the contentedness on his face that he is surrounded by this love ones.

I like hearing his unadulterated laughter at his family's banter and quirks.

I like the look of sheer pleasure on his face on Christmas morning surrounded by his pj clad family. Also he's a sucker for presents and has pretty much opened all of his before most of us have even got to our second one.

I like seeing him and his dad finally building some kind of a relationship (because that hasn't been a long time in coming or been an arduous journey!)

I like seeing him happy and its bittersweet (for so many complicated reasons) that I see he is happiest there in LA at such times.

So, sometimes I am ungrateful and precious about alternating Christmases between his family and mine (let's not even get started on mine!) but I am mindful of what makes L happy and so I compromise and that isn't a hardship.

Love is...

..putting up with your SO (significant other) when he is in one of those moods.

I had a friend to visit and over to stay last night, unexpectedly, which is neither here nor there because it's not like I actually have a social calendar.

We didn't get up to much, went for a mooch around the shops, got a Shake Away - not that you're interested but I had a Allan (banana, nutella chocolate spread, vanilla ice cream and minstrels scattered on top - oh yummmy). In the evening we had a Chinese takeaway (yes I know I'm just the life of the party!! In all fairness though I am skint and she didn't give me much notice) and she did say that she was tired so we monged in front the TV.

Any way, the point I am taking the scenic route to making is hubby or the SO (I've demoted him due to his irritating and annoying behavior) didn't really get me to himself this weekend. Until my friend's husband arrived to pick her up early this afternoon that is. So, an afternoon in which he does have me all to himself, although I have been blogging for most of it, well trying to because he was doing his best to distract me, get my attention and generally royally cheese me off, should have been enough. Evidently not.

You know people often ask me why we don't have children and recent diagnosis of PCOS aside it's because I already have one, it just so happens that I'm married to him!!! He has seriously driven me crazy this afternoon. He has driven me to the point of using some really choice language that a Masters graduate (with a merit I might add not to blow my own trumpet) really shouldn't been using or have to resort to. But I did, so I'm not perfect and you can now shoot me.

SO has this really annoying (and so gay) way of humming things at a very high pitch, and when I say very high I mean it truly does sound like he has caught something in his zip that no man wants to get caught. Ever. He knows I hate it, he knows it goes straight through me and hurts my ears, but he also knows it is the quickest way to get my attention. See a child. Just like I told you.

Obviously he's been feeling incredibly neglected what with me having a friend over to entertain and stay the night. Let's be clear here people this is not a regular occurrence, I am not a social butterfly and my social calendar is so clear as to be postively EMPTY. Devoid, nothing going on. It was however, in hindsight, clearly too much for him. Any attempt I made to express (via the afore mentioned choice vernacular) my wish for him to at least use a pitch not destructive to my ear drums and audible to dogs only goaded him on. Why?! Why would the man who professes to love me want to annoy me to point of making me want to search for something heavy to launch across the room at him. Preferably at his head? Why, someone tell me why?

In conclusion, love, apparently, is demanding your wife pay attention to you through the medium of annoying her to point of angry frustration.

Evidently love is also about finding humour in it, blogging about it and more importantly resisting the urge to launch something at his head.

Changes

I spoke to my sister T - in person on the phone - for the first time in months last night. I have to admit usually I avoid my sister at all cost and when I do have to spend time with her i.e. I can't get out of it it isn't something I look forward to. Every mile that we cover which brings us closer together fills me with dread and fear and toxic emotions that last for days. Even now, hours after our conversation, I am still thinking about it and chewing over her words. And although I am not crying (for once) and I laughed along with her I hid that what she said hurt.

While we chatted I told her I'd been diagnosed with PCOS. I'd been putting it off and putting it off, not just because I didn't know the right words but because speaking to her is never an enjoyable experience for me. T's response was to ask and this is a direct quote 'Are you that bothered? Do you want children?' Not the reaction I was looking for but in hindsight...not surprising.

In her eyes I'm not her little sister with a condition which influences her moods, has an impact on her fertility, and has other health implications, including mental. No, I am her moody sister who is a drama queen, cries too much and over the smallest of things and makes a bigger deal than is necessary out of everything. I've always been like that in her eyes so there is no cause for concern. She did however, at least 2 or 3 times say she was there for me if I wanted to talk...hhhmmm let me think about that...why would I want to open up and confide my inner most fears and feelings to a person who dismisses everything that I have to say and feel as being a drama queen? Oh that's right because this, according to mum, is how T shows that she loves me and apparently I should accept whatever form - insults and belittlements included - that she chooses to show me this.

T's advice? Well, aside from me remembering that she is always there for me if I need to talk, every day I should remember at least one thing that is a positive...sorry I can't type for crazy manic laughter. If I don't laugh I'll only cry and what's the point in that?

Telling my family I've been diagnosed with PCOS was a big deal for me. I wanted to be supported and comforted and reassured. I wanted them to be concerned enough to research it for themselves and I wanted them to be understanding. Really what I wanted most of all was for them to show they cared. If I'm honest my needing this outweighed my wanting. When I told each of them the response I needed to hear was that they were worried for me, upset for me and to be enfolded in their arms while they reaasured me everything was going to be okay. I needed to hear that they were going to be there for me. And I didn't. Mum quoted the popular myth all my symptoms are just the product of 'What it means to be a woman'. My sister L laughed and said 'At least you have a reason for being hairy, I'm just hairy' T said 'You've always been moody, cried a lot and suffered with permanent PMS' My husband, L, said 'My sister has it, you should talk to my mum' His mum, my mother-in-law J said...nothing at all.

At the time I was too caught up in it all to recognise my hurt for what it was - need. Does knowing that change anything? I don't know but it does raise the question that if I look closely and see a pattern forming - unmet needs and a desire for relationships to be something that their not - shouldn't I be the one to change? Wouldn't that be easier? Shouldn't I just stop searching for things that it is extremely unlikely I am going to find or get? Wouldn't the less painful option be to accept I can't change things? Surely if all the people I need things from aren't there for me in the way that I feel I need them, I should take a look at the one thing that is singular - me - and accept I am what needs to change? From all of these questions the main one to then ask would be how can I adapt myself and my needs to see that they are fulfilled? There must be something in that, surely?

Over Exposure

If you get asked out for a drink by someone you are sure is more or less old enough to be your dad that you accidentally flashed would you take it as a compliment or feel utterly freaked out and more than a little bit disgusted?...

Tough one. Give it some thought while I tell you how it happened.

I have psoriasis. I've had for at least 15 years (I stopped counting a long time ago) and have pretty much tried just about everything to get rid of it, make it better, manage it etc including the following; using a whole spectrum of steroid creams, bathing in dead sea salts, using essential oils, brewing up and straining off repugnant smelling bits of pot pouri that I have to drink, drinking aloe vera juice, altering my diet, bathing in organic oats, even tried ignoring it to see if that worked and now finally UV treatment.

The UV treatment requires me to travel to my local NHS hospital, strip off and stand in a tanning booth. Not particularly demanding and the semi bright side is that I'm getting a little bit of a tan out of it. Yes, yes I know, you don't have to lecture me about damage to the skin, aging, cancer I KNOW - if you don't have a skin condition that has dominated your life for more years than you can count you don't get to have opinion and lecture it at me. You can keep it to yourself, I'm just not that interested.

So the UV? To start with they started me off with 18 seconds. Yup 18 whole seconds. I could have stripped off at home and ran to the bottom of my garden and back and it would have taken me longer. I paid £4.50 on the bus, walked half a mile, took 10 minutes to disrobe myself to get in the booth and not have the time to get my arms above my head before the 18 seconds were over. Any way that was 14 sessions ago and I've now broken the minute barrier - WAHOOOO!!

About a month ago I turned up for a my treatment, went into my area, pulled the curtain and started to strip. Half way through undressing one of the nurses poked her head in and asked if when I was in the buff if I could give her a shout so that she could assess my progress. Okay, not entirely comfortable with having to do it but who is? Even the most svelte like of us have an issue or two about one part or another of our bodies that we'd rather not have to reveal to another, with the lights on and without copious amounts of alcohol. Distaste and reluctance aside I complied (I can and do occasionally do as I am asked). She came in had a quick look and brief chat before disappearing again, calling over her shoulder that I could now hop into the booth. Not so bad. Accept that I hadn't realised that she'd neglected to close the curtain properly and the previous patient was sat on the chair just outside my area with a really good view. I bet if he'd known he was going to get a 'show' he'd have brought popcorn. Actually I bet he wasn't even aware that you get that kind of show prescribed on the NHS.

I was mortified. To be fair he did the decent thing and looked away really quickly, so quickly he was in danger of giving himself whiplash. Any pinkness or redness I experienced that day may not have totally been down to too much UV.

I didn't - thankfully - see him for a quite a few weeks (PHEW but short lived) because I ran into him yesterday and he made conversation in the waiting room. What could I do I couldn't ignore him or run away? We chatted for a while about different treatments we've tried, as you do and what I thought was a safe neutral topic. Apparently not. He asked if I smoked and I replied no nor drink - both of which are meant to be very bad for psoriasis - and that's when he asked if it would then be pointless to ask me out for a drink... The little Tasha that lives inside of me put down the doll she was playing with, stomped off to her happy place and refused to come out for the rest of the day, in fact she's still there now and has not intention of coming out any time soon. This world is fraught with far too many scary things in her mind.

A day later and I still can't forget this 'incident'. I am beyond freaked out and disturbed. Somehow, and this will attest to just how capable I am of lying to myself and convincing myself that something is true when it isn't just because I would have that way; I'd allowed myself to believe that he hadn't seen me ahem butt naked. Well, not butt naked as it goes but a full frontal exposure in all it's glories and I use that word ironically. It was the way he posed the question to me that left me unable to hide from the fact he had seen me as nature intended. My illusions were completely annihilated. I'm not flattered, I don't take it as compliment and I am totally mortified. Oh, and I just a little pissed that he decided not to go along with the deception. I was more than happy to continue lying to myself and believing that it hadn't happened. I think it was not only ungentlemanly of him to shatter my beliefs but also completely unfair.

What's a girl to do? Hide and avoid him at all cost really. I still shudder at the memory, which may well have everything to with my reluctance to say anything to anyone, after all who wants to be the butt (if only it had been that that I had exposed) of their own joke?