Sometimes ya just have to say “MUCK IT”!



This is not going to be an inspiring, feel gooey, love post.

Nope.  This is going to be raw and bleeding; angry and infectious. This is going to ooze the pus and muck of a mind that has absorbed and sustained all the darkness and vile that it can take.

This is ME right at this moment.  Non-medicated and at the end of my ropes.  Once this has been written and the sunrise of a new day is upon me, I will either be embarrassed or regretful for spewing out these words, but I will be a better, healthier person for it.  Perhaps I will have helped someone who may be feeling the same way.  There will be some folks who will read this and be frightened for my sanity and well-being.  NO matter.  I still say MUCK IT!



Over the course of this past year I have been living in a personal nightmare the magnitude and proportion that I perceive as gargantuan.  Perhaps a child of Aleppo, or the families of children who were shot dead by police officers, or the families of police officers who were shot dead by citizens will look at my personal drama and tragedies and say “hah, you call that a nightmare?”  It is all in the perception of one’s own mind, though isn’t it?

Therefore, I will keep in mind as I proceed with this post that there are others living in crises far worse than mine.  I will acknowledge their pain and ache for their travesties.  I am not heartless, only lacking in a point of reference to their situations.  So, I will allow myself as this is MY post to extrapolate on all that has killed my soul this past year.


I have watched my Love, my burning, warm Candle, my Mate, my Fella, diminish into a frail little man. By no fault of his own, his disease has eaten away at his body, hindered his mind and is trying to battle Thunder Dome status of his spirit. ‘Two men enter, one man leaves.’  Thankfully, his spirit is the champion of that battle and thus far, he has come out victorious.

Everything that use to be Sue and Dave is no more.  I know that sounds so sad. It is.  We are not THAT Sue and Dave anymore.  My memories of THAT Sue and Dave are long and sweet and I hold them so tenderly to my heart.  I still have vivid pictures in my eyes right now of many moments of giggling, passion, contentment, touching, rolling eyes, disgruntled sighs, passive aggressive, supportive, sweet, sweet, tenderness and dorkiness.  I can’t share all our moments because that’s for US.  That’s my gift that I will get to keep long after we are no longer together.  I’ll pull one of those moments out when I will long for his smell and touch and stupid face. I’ll pull one of those memories out and squeeze it to my neck until the ache passes and I can move on again.

I have spent the past year it seems in constant sadness.  It is almost like having a part of your body that is permanently broken; but just a little.  Just enough broken that you are always aware of it, yet you can still function as a normal, breathing, walking upright human being.  I function fairly well I think.  Some days though it feels like “barely functioning”.  I mean how many times can a person cry for Godsakes in a day, in a week?  Don’t tears ever run out?  Shouldn’t I be losing massive amounts of weight from all this crying?  What?  No?  NO FAIR!!  But that’s just it.  Mother MUCKIN LIFE isn’t fair, is it?

I am slowly losing my mate.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  But one day, HE will move on from this Earth.  We won’t be Sue and Dave anymore.  WE will be ME – SUE.  *big, huge sigh*

I realize that we all must die.  Some of us haven’t had the opportunity to know that our time is short.  Or some of us do and it still matters not.  Maybe I have wasted a lot of this past year acclimating to his sickness and the change in our roles as a couple; when I should be focusing on making more memories and loving every damn day that I have with that man.  I guess I have been stuck in my muck more days this past year, wasting away with sadness.  I should have done better to cling to the fact that I HAVE these days to be with that sweet POLOCK, and stop being so mucking sad.  It will be my challenge and honor though this next year to do better at this.

But hey, I’m still furious at how this past year has chewed us up to the marrow.  (speaking of marrow…that’s the culprit right there.  Marrow was the catalyst to all the shitty muck in the first place.  Asshole Marrow!  Muck YOU!)

How does a couple who battled the Mylofibrosis/Acute Myloid Leukemia over four years come out WINNING only to have pancreatic cancer grip its bony, slimy fingers around our throats and say “not so fast, assholes!”   Muck you!  I hate you cancer!  I wish that your mother would get anal cancerous warts.  That’s how much I hate you cancer.  How’s that for vile?

I find myself slithering down upon the floor when I feel like this at times.  The anger and sadness gel together in to one wretched emotion.  It is those times when I think I might not be able to deal with anything else.  Strangely though, I do.  Every gawddang time.


I miss being a career woman with a purpose.  I miss using my mind analytically.  I definitely miss having an above average median income.  I miss seeing my retirement fund grow.  I MISS HAVING A RETIREMENT FUND and that security that went with having one. I miss that security I had giving my kids a $100 now and then or splurging on some small item for the house, never worrying what I did would make us overdraw in the account.  I miss having thousands rather than a few hundred in a savings account.  I miss having the doable dreams of buying airfare tickets overseas, a $3000 used Harley I had my eye on, and the cabana bungalow that I rented in Belize as a surprise to my sweetie, that I had to cancel.  For me, losing my job feels like it happened just last month rather than just last year.  One of my many scars that still feels fresh and raw.  Even though everything I just mentioned was about money; and we all know money can’t make you happy, it did give me a sense of security and hope.  I had small dreams that would easily materialize for us, if I continued with some fortitude.  Cargill sold me out. Cargill sucked all the marrow out of my bones, that’s for sure.  Muck you Cargill.  I hate you too!

I am livid about the future of our country.  There are days I can barely even read FB posts, Twitter trending moments, watching the news or even listening to people talk.  I’m scared.  I feel like I am going to lose my mind.  Perhaps I am losing my mind.  How can this country be so mucked up?  How can this country also be so wonderful?  What an oxymoron!  What a moron that is going to run this country!  What morons there are in this country!  God help us all!



I am deeply saddened by all those who have died this year.  My Lord!  Why?  The list of famous people who have died influenced us for generations.  Their testimonies revealed the brutalities never known until they opened our eyes, their music and lyrics carry tunes of our lives through our minds, their movies will keep us entertained for years to come, their books, their fashion, their bravery and courage, their athleticism and political leadership will ever be a mark in our memories. I implore you, LOOK at that list.  It spans almost every aspect of life you can imagine.

There have been some shocking deaths of people I knew this year that personally have taken my breath away too.  I grapple with those and find it hard to understand when I think of their families still having to carry on without them.

I think what is happening to me lately because of the overwhelming parody of crap that has happened this past year is the awakening fact that I am no longer a nice person.  My filters were thin already, but now I seem to have none at all.  I cannot stand pettiness.  I flee from phoniness pronto. Ignorance? Get all the sharp objects miles away from me. I cannot tolerate intolerance.  I get very judgy on judgementalism.  I’m a pair of handcuffs away from any act of violence right now.  I carry a green heart.  I can no longer gaze at the pristine beach shots of those of you that selfishly post with abandon while gloriously lounging upon them.  How dare you have the means and time to voraciously travel to luscious destinations beyond my own abilities that you so earnestly deserve!   I do not care anymore that you are sipping on a Mai Tai in Tahiti.  My tender, envious heart won’t allow me to like, laugh or give you even a mere thumbs up.  I no longer have the capacity to be happy about your good fortune to travel and get the muck away for your droll life while I am still stuck here in deep doo-doo in DooDah.  How’s that for ugly?

I’m mad as hell.  I’m sick of my life.  I’m sick of people.  I am frustrated with our country.  I’m just mucking overwhelmed with EVERYTHING.  I AM SHOUTING!  AAARGH! SHIT! HELL! DAMN! POOP!

Whew.  Breeeeeathe.


I feel like I am losing at life.  And yet, – no.  My dilapidated house is still vibrant with Christmas color and decorations.  It’s messy. Again.  There’s actual good food in my fridge right now.  Some weeks it’s bare and we get on with our Ramen Noodle or Baked Potato evenings.

I can still pick up the phone and hear the real, live voices of my elderly mother and father, who are so sweet and dear to me right now.  I’m a shit daughter who hasn’t always given my all to them, but damn I’m lucky that I still have them around.  I’m scared that I will be losing them soon too because it is all about the circle of Life and that’s a reality.  I must stop fearing that life’s timing is not my own.  I’ll never be able to control when the Universe decides that it is time to call someone in to Her arms.


I don’t care what you say about your kids, but my daughters are the best!  Each one of them gives me love, warmth and encouragement in their own way. They are actually looking out for me, their ole Mom.  Amazing isn’t it? They are all in the same city right now and I damn well better cherish that before they get brave and realize that their own life adventures are a gas tank and a plane ticket away.  I have tried to encourage them to get the muck out of DooDah, while secretly at the same time hoping they don’t.  Twisted, conflicted, love of a mother; that’s what that is.


Through all the cesspool of sewage that I have dealt with this past year, I cannot walk, talk or breathe without remembering the pure goodness of the friends that I have. This includes my sister as well.  Those women (mostly) who have called me, texted me, or post things to me only because they were thinking of me.  They have told me that they love me, hugged me, let me weep and ugly cry to their faces; they have sent me money when I didn’t ask just because that’s who they are; they have been my voice of reason when I couldn’t hold a clear thought in my head; they’ve bought me wine and let me just hang around and take up space.  They have never forgotten me.  I have to remind myself of this…the greatest of all my blessings, especially when I feel so utterly defeated and alone, that they are just a phone call away.  And they like me.  They actually, really do like me.  I don’t know why.  For all the reasons I have stated above about my horrible self, they still care about me.  God help them.  GOD LOVE THEM.

I have spewed enough venomous spittle for one day now.  I will take my meds, go do some dishes, wash my hair,  brush my teeth.  Spend some loving time with that dork of a Polock in the hospital today and be glad.

That is all.

Meandering in the Mattress


Laying in bed depression

There’s an old saying: ”when Momma’s not happy, ain’t nobody happy.”  Embarrassingly I carried this anthem into two households.  I don’t know why my unhappiness affected the rest of my family when I was married; and now affects my current household, but I am beginning to discover many things about myself that I would love to share, if you have some time to kill.

I think I have always been the kind of person that loves really hard, takes things really hard and finally falls face mucking first really hard into the muckedy muck muck of my muck.

Therefore, I will get real ooey gooey honest and tell it like it is.  Those that judge or wanna be peeping into someone else’s crisis can mosey and meander on down the road.  This is real life, no-joke, mental health issues that I am discovering doesn’t just affect LIL OLE ME; there are thousands of people that suffer from this condition too.


Yep, depression is completely debilitating and can impact even the smallest pleasures in life.

My bout of living in the darkness occurred recently. Usually I have a one day ‘stay-in-bed-watching-crap-and-eating-crap’ session about once a month.  If I have to be honest, something almost always triggers it, but at the time, I don’t really know what it is. I find myself completely devoid of any emotions and motivation.  There’s always tons of stuff that I need to do, but I cannot find a way through the density of gloom to do anything. If by chance I allow the cork to pop and the floodgates to open, then I’m in trouble. When these incidents happen, God Bless the men and children in my life, as they just meander on through their daily routine and hope that I come out of the shrouded mist and ascend into the light again. And I always do – where tasks get done, food is cooked, hugs and smiles are distributed and everyone sighs with relief.  Momma is back!

The reason I am writing this is that I hope I allow others to recognize that this ‘phenomenon’ happens to many, many people.  I believed for years that it was my cross to bear, my mucked up genes, traveling back to at least three generations.  I felt alone and very messed up.  Am I really this flawed that I cannot even manage to brush my teeth or shower?  Here comes some real muck…this last time, I went from late Saturday evening, to Tuesday morning where I didn’t shower or brush my teeth.  YES. Gross! Gag!  I know.  Right?  Pretty bad, except there are others that have gone longer without performing basic hygiene, ON PURPOSE, because they just can’t!  It’s devastating to think about it.

Well, we are NOT alone.  I recently had conversations with two of my closest friends who admitted that they had been doing the very same thing.  WHAT?  For real?

We are all drowning in our beds, developing gingivitis, chomping on crap and feeling as blue and faded as your Daddy’s best jeans, Denim blue fading up to the sky. And the patches make the goodbye harder still. Ah Cat!

I digress.

When I learned that these women whom I love deeply were experiencing the same damn blackness that I was, I knew I had to find out if this really is a ‘thing’.

If you search phrases like:

  • laying in bed all day
  • staying in bed all day depression
  • why do we lay around in bed when we are depressed?

You will find a treasure of advice, testimonies, forums, support, and psychological jargon to explain away all the nuances of experiencing depression.

I was floored to discover hundreds of people take to bed for a myriad of reasons, but only one common denominator – DEPRESSION.  It’s such an overused clinical word that packs a huge wallop.


We might feel like we are broken because of this malady, but it doesn’t just get fixed in a day like a car repair.  I found an article in Huffington Post where Dr. John F. Greden, the executive director of the University of Michigan Comprehensive Depression Center explained it like this: “Depression can make people feel like their minds have completely rebelled against them. The hard truth is, depression is not the sort of thing you can just wake up and be over one morning.” He explains about it being cyclical similar to lunar cycles, menstrual cycles and motorcycles.  Particularly Harleys!  HAH!

Each person cycles through their days and nights grinding through work, kids, school, social life and doing pretty darn ok with life on life’s terms.  And then KA-POW.  The bed becomes the refuge against the big, bad world.

The good doctor furthers encourages, “It’s not a moral shortcoming. It’s not something people brought on themselves. And understanding that is a pretty powerful beginning to helping a loved one with depression. At the end of the day we have to decide if we are going to let this nasty illness beat us and take over our lives, yes we have some good days and lots of bad days, but stay strong and don’t let anxiety win.”

Easier said than done huh?


Some of us handle depression OUT of the bed.  We drink. We smoke. We eat. We have lots of sex. We pop pills. We yell at people. We enable people. We are co-dependent.  We never relax. We go, go, GO.  We DENY.  Pick one.  Sometimes we are so overwhelmed by how underwhelming we feel as a person, the bed beckons us, guiding us towards the reefs and rocks like Calypso’s sirens.  Rather than navigate through the rough waters of our lives, we find that we must crash.

So I dug even deeper and found another article that focused on different aspects of why people hunker down under blankets.

Reading this article got me asking questions. How do we lose that desire to pursue goals in the first place?  What about moods?  Again isn’t moodiness kind of cyclic too? High moods keep the wheels churning.  Low moods slow down the progress. What happens when we hit a wall towards that goal?  A big fat obstacle smacks us down.  But we’re tough bitches, right? We keep pluggin’ away.  We re-route, redirect, reevaluate and try again.  But damn it to hell, that muckin’ goal is still out of reach. Uh oh, here comes a low mood because the effort has drained the batteries of our energies and once again, the bed gestures to us like a ripple in the wind. Or like the ripples of Joe Manganiello’s abs. Well perhaps not THAT inviting. I’m too depressed to even enjoy Joe at this point.  Go away Joe!


Even Joe can’t get me out of bed

Needless to say, moods, goals and efforts do align with whether we end up mattress-bound or not.

Another smart dude, Jonathan Rottenberg, an Associate Professor of Psychology at the University of South Florida, where he directs the Mood and Emotion Laboratory, summed up this whole theory that had me saying ‘ah hah’. According to Rottenberg, “depressed people don’t end up lying in bed because they are under-committed to goals. They end up lying in bed because they are overcommitted to goals that are failing badly. The idea that depressed people cannot disengage efforts from failure is a relatively new theory.”

This next quote hit home for me.  “It [this theory] fits well clinically with the kinds of situations that often precipitate serious depression — the battered wife who cannot bring herself to leave her troubled marriage, the seriously injured athlete who cannot bring himself to retire, the laid off employee who cannot bring herself to abandon her chosen career despite a lack of positions in her line of work. Seeing these depressions in terms of unreachable goals may be useful clinically, and may help us better understand how ordinary low moods can escalate into incapacitating bouts of depression.”

Yessir.  I’m one of those people. The employee.  The over-weight, middle-aged, out-of-work woman whose Love and Soulmate is battling cancer.  Of course I’m depressed. DUH! And ya know what?  This ain’t my first rodeo.  I’ve carried this around like a precious brooch heirloom.  I pin it on the underside of my lapel so it’s not exposed to the public but it’s presence nags at me and reminds me that I am a Ponton woman.  I love how one gal explained how her depression is a family thing: “And it’s just the way it is with me. My family tree is poisoned with melancholy right down to the roots. Some of us manage our depression through alcohol or pot. Some of us don’t manage it at all, just wallow in it while simultaneously denying its existence.”


I do the best I can with what I have to work with.  I do small projects around my house that actually gives me joy and purpose.  I hang with Dave and laugh at all his silly Chano-isms because I do love him. I go to doctor appointments because I know it makes him feel like he’s not alone.  I make sure that I keep in contact with my daughters.  I have regular Meema time with my grandsons.  I started walking (FINALLY). As I mention this, I realize that I didn’t feel like walking for a long time because I was depressed.  So there ya go…cycle. I make sure that I spend time with friends and plan small outings when I can. I try to keep up with my aging parents and make memories with them that will last me through when their time comes to dance off this Earth.  I listen to music, watch movies, read, blog, drive, meander around in my garden…  Hmm.  I guess I’m doing ok.  Today I can say that. Last week I couldn’t even form the words to express how I felt.  One person said in the research I did, “My depression doesn’t feel like sadness, anyway; it feels like a void, an absence of emotion. I don’t feel joyful or devastated. I feel nothing, except maybe exhausted.”  Wow!  That also rang crisp and clear in my heart, because sometimes I do have a dull, sad ache in my heart; but other times I feel absolutely nothing and completely spent.


Serenity is just a backyard away


If you have read this all the way through … congratulations and THANK YOU … I hope this helps.  I want people to know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  We will hunt you down and kick your ass.  Well the depression will.  But don’t kick your own ass for doing this.  Allow yourself a day here or there.  If you’re coming up on the third day of wedded bliss with your bed, well then I might have to hunt you down and kick your ass.

In the meantime, I say to my sister friends, text me!  Let me text you!  When the blues begin to consume us, we need to send out an S.O.S… Take a minute from marinating in the mattress and simply say, “I’m in bed. I’m ok, but I feel crippled.”  That’s it.  We aren’t asking help to get us out of there so much as merely taking some ownership of our situation and letting someone else know that we are not alone in this.  That gets us out of the basement of our soul knowing that the sunlight will once again warm us back into the world.

No one should ever have to meander through their muck alone.

Love and Light

OTHER INFORMATIVE LINKS (and one not so informative, but rather funny)


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